Chapter Nineteen
THE HEAD BOYS
"Two inches," pleaded Ron. "I'm only asking you for two little inches of writing. You already have eleven more than we need! I won't even copy it word for word. I just need a few more ideas." He looked at Hermione pitifully.
"No, Ron, and that's final," said Hermione, amused. "It's not even due tomorrow, and I found all my information for it in the text, so you should be able to, too."
"Hermione," said Ron desperately.
"You may read my essay when yours is of required length," said Hermione, "but not a second before. I refuse to help you cheat."
"'Mione," whined Ron, "it wouldn't be cheating because I-"
"No," said Hermione again. She stood, gathering a stack of library books in her arms with a sigh. While Ron and Harry were still working on their regular homework, Hermione had finished hers before lunch and was no working fervently on her essay for Professor Lupin's class. She had run through the first two piles of books Madam Pince had lent her without the success she had hoped for.
"Harry?" questioned Ron hopefully. Hermione turned around, raising an eyebrow at her two friends.
"Er," said Harry. He didn't mind helping Ron, but he knew Hermione would disapprove. Instead of answering, he grabbed Ron's paper and quickly skimmed through it. "It doesn't look like you have anything in there about the individual properties of each ingredient. It took me four inches to cover them, and your writing is bigger than mine."
His answer seemed to satisfy both Ron and Hermione. Hermione started to walk toward Madam Pince again, and Ron began flipping quickly through his Potions book. Snape had gotten angry during class on Friday when everyone but Hermione had fouled up in the creation of a complex weight loss aid. Even Hermione had nearly lost her head with it when Pansy had told her not to screw up because she could really stand to use the potion. The overall lack of success had angered Snape more than Harry felt it should have, and he demanded that they write a three-foot composition on the potion, to be turned in during the next class period.
Thinking about the unfairness of the situation and the stricken look on Hermione's face at Pansy's words was enough to make Harry shake his head before returning to his work. He was halfway through outlining a complex Transfiguration, which was the last of his weekend homework. He'd thrown the books he was working from on essay about Dark Scars into his bag that morning, but he was no longer in the mood to work. Passing by the large castle windows on the way to lunch had Harry wanting to go outside and play Quidditch, or at least fly.
Harry hadn't slept well the night before. He had not been plagued with any nightmares or weird dreams, but he had had a lot on his mind, including his recent behavior towards Hermione. When he hadn't been able to draw any conclusions to it, he'd rolled over with the intention of sleep, but he had then been distracted by thoughts about their discovery down in the filing room
He wasn't sure when he finally fell asleep, but it didn't seem like much longer than a few minutes before the whole of the house was waking up and noisily heading to breakfast. Giving up on sleep, Harry had traipsed down to breakfast, where he discovered he wasn't the only one not sleeping well. Hermione had dark circles under her eyes, and she seemed a little timid around everyone. It had worried Harry when she merely pushed her breakfast around on her plate, but he had not said anything; instead, he just went the library with her afterwards to get ahead on assignments and studying. Ron had joined them several hours later, his wake up time much closer to the lunch hour than breakfast.
"So," whispered Ron, as soon as Hermione was out of earshot, "do you care if I just copy a couple of lines here and there?"
"Just don't let it be so obvious that Snape notices," said Harry. Or Hermione, he added to himself. Ron grinned widely.
"You're the greatest," said Ron enthusiastically, punching Harry's shoulder. He pretended to be looking at the book instead of Harry's composition, but his intent expression told Harry that he was really just restringing the sentences to change things up between the two essays. "Have a good time with our girl last night?"
"Ron," warned Harry quietly. He could almost feel Madam Pince burning holes into the back of her head with the eagle eyes that were perfectly in sync with her over developed hearing. Fortunately, a group of giggling first years stumbled in, and she stopped glaring at the older students already there. "I still don't know where you're getting this idea of me and Hermione, but it's-"
"-Completely ridiculous, I know," finished Ron. He glanced up at Harry innocently. "I never suggested that something was going on between the two of you, but now that you mention it... is there something I should know about?"
"Stop it with that innocent look," grumbled Harry. "And don't give me that look, either, that one where you pretend not to know what I'm talking about. And stop thinking about `Mione and I like that."
"Why? You do it," said Ron casually, turning his head back to his paper as if he were merely commenting on the weather. Harry could feel himself reddening, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the fifth phase of concentration involved with Anchimus, the process of turning another human into an animal or back again. They would never be taught the skills involved with it, but Professor McGonagall had declared it essential to know. She'd also dropped rather indiscrete hints that the steps in each phase would appear on the rapidly approaching O.W.L.s.
"There's nothing going on between the two of us," said Harry through clenched teeth. The words were awkward on his tongue. Ron just sniggered, tapping his foot nervously and fiddling with his quill.
"How far are you on Professor Lupin's essay yet?" asked Ron a few minutes later. He was refolding Harry's Potions essay. He looked up at Harry mournfully. "I just can't believe he's asking for fifteen rolls of parchment! Fifteen! That's practically novel length! Can you even consider that an essay?"
"Fifteen parchments as opposed to the original twenty-five discussed," said Hermione dryly. She had just appeared behind Harry, carrying another armload of books and stacking them on the table with numerous thuds. Still, something looked different about her. Harry noticed the twinkle in her eyes at once. "Or so I've heard.
Ron moaned. "Does he really expect us to write that much?"
"Oh, don't fret over it," said Hermione soothingly. She added cheerfully, "You won't have it that bad; there's so much information out there on the Belwit Curse. On the other hand, there's precious little about the Affinity of Relations in all the references of this library. I've only been able to complete eight!"
Ron sucked in his breath, and Harry resisted the urge to laugh outright. Hermione looked dead serious in her response, and Ron looked just as shocked. Harry's own composition was between three and four scrolls.
"Eight?" squeaked Ron. "I'm only... okay, I haven't exactly started writing it yet, but I do have a lot of research!"
"Humph," muttered Hermione, looking at him disapprovingly. "You have started, Harry?"
"I'm at the top of my fourth parchment roll," promised Harry. Ron shook his head with disgust and turned back to the Transfiguration outline. He knew better than to ask again. Harry looked long and hard at Hermione for a few more seconds.
"You suddenly look better," said Harry. "I mean, you look like you're feeling better."
"I have something to show you," answered Hermione. She reached an arm across Harry to get Ron's attention. The feeling from the night before returned in his stomach. "You too, Ron."
Hermione withdrew a very thick, square book from her stack. It had a rich cover of violet cloth and seemed to be in good condition, despite its age. The silver lettering on the volume had long ago worn away to mere specks. She opened it, passing it to Harry. She motioned for him to fan through the pages. He couldn't and looked at her questionably.
"Sometimes authors would have a cladava charm put on their work," explained Hermione, "so that only a select few would be able to read it. To open such books, you must know a counter-cladava and have the correct desire to open it, Madam Pince demonstrated the process on this particular book... Cladaviat!"
The third tap of her wand completed the charm, and the pages immediately began to fill with inked words. She flipped her hand over the pages to show that they were no longer stuck together and looked up at Harry and Ron expectantly.
"The book you took out of the filing room!" breathed Ron. He grinned.
"Exactly," said Hermione, and she grinned.
"Where is it?" questioned Harry, pushing his schoolbooks to the center of the table. This was more interesting than any Transfiguration concept or editing the essay he had written for Snape.
"It should be in here," said Hermione, searching through her bulging book bag. After several seconds, she looked up, distressed. "It's not there!"
"Maybe it's back in your room," suggested Ron.
"No, I put it in here on Tuesday," explained Hermione, "because I had borrowed a seventh year's charms book to look for an unfastening charm. I was looking through it in the stands during your Quidditch practice-"
"Don't panic," interrupted Harry, touching her arm reassuringly. "You probably just took it out in your dorm room. That was five days ago, after all."
"No, I wouldn't have," insisted Hermione. "I know I put it back in my bag when you finished practicing, so I had it with me when-"
"When those bastards attacked you," finished Ron angrily, and Hermione didn't even give him the usual look of disapproval. "I picked up everything, though, I know I did."
"What do you mean?" said Hermione. Her nerves were obvious from the look in her eyes.
"Your bag had split," said Ron, looking at her like she was nuts. "Didn't you know? I had to repair it and then pick up all your books."
Hermione shook her head. "It never split," she said. "I just dropped it!"
"Yeah, well," said Ron, "with all the books you insist on carrying around, any sudden movement would make that bag explode."
"Are you sure it was in there?" asked Harry. He could practically feel a petty squabble starting. Hermione nodded miserably.
"I'm so sorry!" she blurted. "I never meant to-"
"It's not your fault," said Ron, stopping her apology. "I should have-"
"Stop, both of you," ordered Harry. "For all we know, it could still be lying in the corner of the landing, or Marks could have seen it and come back for it."
"But why would he want it?" said Ron. "We're the only ones that know anything about it."
"We don't know that for sure," said Hermione. "We can't possibly be the only ones. Someone put those things in that box, and they had to have a reason for doing so. That's at least one other person."
"Marks might know something we don't," said Harry, nodding to Hermione.
"Marks knowing something?" said Ron. "Think that's possible?"
"True, but we shouldn't assume anything," said Hermione thoughtfully. "We should probably focus on trying to find the book."
Harry nodded again. "Exactly. Let's go check the stairwell right now."
* * *
"Okay, two of the Ten Smokes of Brilliance have been used here at Hogwarts," recalled Harry, "gray and black. The gray smoke, though still very powerful, is a little easier to conjure than the black. It was used with each student disappearance."
"And the black, which is considered very advanced Dark Magic, was used at Halloween," said Ron, munching on some chocolate he had nicked from Fred and George. When they had not found the book on the landing, the three friends had headed up to the prefect common room. Now they were going back through all the odd happenings of the school year. "The staff blamed Crabbe and Goyle's deaths on their own foolishness, but Malfoy-worthless git-insists it was Voldemort, and-"
"There's one problem with that," interrupted Harry suddenly. He bit his lip as if he were still working through a particular thought. "Durmstrang was attacked on Halloween night, as well. How could Voldemort take out an entire school and kill two students here at the same time?"
"Hogwarts was attacked several hours before Durmstrang," said Hermione. "I had the same question, Harry, so I checked the Daily Prophet article after speaking with Malfoy."
"Then it was more than just a punishment!" exclaimed Ron. Both Harry and Hermione turned to him. "Don't you remember? Malfoy said their fathers had failed to perform a task for Voldemort, so he killed Crabbe and Goyle!"
"Sick," muttered Hermione. It was.
"What else was it?" questioned Harry. Hermione seemed to be cottoning on to what Ron was saying, but he still wasn't following him.
"The Ministry would have been alerted immediately about the foul play here," said Ron, "and more than a little concerned. A threatening message and two dead students? Even the international ministries must have been in upheaval! How easy would it have been to take Durmstrang by surprise?"
"Brilliant," said Hermione, and she looked like she could have jumped up from her perch on the floor to the sofa and kissed him for the deduction. "You know, the Daily Prophet's coverage of Durmstrang was nothing like that for Beauxbatons, and they never mentioned another word about what happened here at Hogwarts."
"Aside from Dumbledore's mention of both the morning after," reminded Harry, "the staff has ignored it, too. We knew that Dumbledore and Bom have some kind of connection, so Hogwarts is tied to the Ministry of Magic more than it ever has been. They're both probably operating like this for the same reasons."
"We need that book," said Hermione wistfully. Harry, who was sitting on the floor next to her, put a reassuring arm around her shoulder, and she smiled gratefully at him. "If Bom did have some kind of training from Dumbledore, that book could somehow be related to it."
"Everything seems to be related," said Ron. He grimaced. "I think Snape's said that before..."
"Must not be, then," said Harry, which made them all laugh. "No, Hermione's right. That book is more important then we probably realize. Whatever reason Dumbledore had for training Bom, I'm sure we can safely assume that he infused a lot of his ideals into Bom, so he's probably going to be a lot like Dumbledore."
"What else do we know about him?" questioned Ron. "Anything?"
"He worked as an Auror," said Harry.
"He managed to be appointed as Minister of Magic without being in the Ministry," said Hermione at the same time. She and Harry shared a look at their contradictive statements. "That's impossible, though. If he was an Auror, he would have been a part of the Ministry!"
"Not necessarily," said Ron, and his two friends looked up at him with confused expressions. He shrugged. "I forget that the two of you don't know as much about how the Ministry works as I do. Technically, Hermione's right: Aurors do work for the Ministry. They have their own department, and the Minister sometimes advises them, but it's not like it used to be. In the past, Aurors could only work under his direct instruction, but that eventually changed. They don't consider themselves to be a part of the Ministry, and the other officials usually respect that."
"That makes... sense," said Harry a little sarcastically. Ron laughed.
"I know," agreed Ron. "Dad and Percy have explained it hundreds of times, and I think it makes less with each go round. The Ministry really is a peculiar organization. It's been around forever, and half the departments have rifts that span centuries, so they refuse to work together."
"Oh, that really demonstrates its purpose," said Hermione as she rolled her eyes. "How can you promote magical cooperation when you don't even want to associate with your coworkers?"
Ron sniggered, and Harry cleared his throat. "Let's say that the book we found did have something to do with Dumbledore training Bom. If that's the case, what would the staff lists from the forties and fifties have to do with it?"
"I don't know," said Hermione, looking thoughtful. She seemed to be thinking something through. "We know now that Dumbledore was gone for three years. I think-well, I'm pretty sure-all three of them would have been a little after Tom Riddle's time here, which was, at least, a quarter of a century before Bom."
"It's great that you can do math," said Ron, "but how is it going to help us?"
"You never know," said Harry. "It might. I think there's only one thing we can do."
"What's that?" asked Ron, curiously. Instead of questioning him, Hermione caught his eye. He nodded, and she seemed to understand.
"I think," said Hermione, "we need to go back down into the dungeons and take a closer look at the contents of that box. There could easily be something else in there that we didn't notice."
"Exactly," said Harry, and Ron was nodding. "Tonight?"
"Tonight," said Ron, and Hermione echoed.
"But how are we supposed to get in there?" said Hermione suddenly. "Snape took so many twists and turns to find that room; I don't really trust myself to find it again..."
"You forget what we have," said Ron. "We haven't used the Marauder's Map much this year, Harry, have we?"
"Not once," said Harry, an almost mischievous smile spreading across his face. "To think, if we don't use it soon, it might start feeling neglected..."
"Completely unloved," suggested Ron. Hermione rolled her eyes but nodded anyway. Harry glanced at his watch. It was almost dinnertime.
"We'd better go eat," he said. "We can't really be wandering around the dungeons until everyone is asleep. One of the Slytherins is bound to be down there. It would look a little suspicious if any one of them were to see us."
"That's where the invisibility cloak comes in," explained Ron. Hermione still looked a little nervous.
"We'll go after everyone has gone to sleep, just to be on the safe side," Harry said reassuringly.
* * *
"Tomorrow's the full moon," whispered Ron that night. He was looking heavenward out the window of their dorm room. Each passing minute put them closer to the time they were planning to meet Hermione down in the common room. It was imperative that they didn't wake any of their housemates on the way down; Harry didn't want Neville or anyone else trying to stop them that night.
"No Defense tomorrow," said Harry quietly. Thinking of Professor Lupin made him feel a bit guilty about what they were about to do. He was quietly pilfering through his trunk for the invisibility cloak. It was folded, very carefully, into one of the corners, beneath the sets of work robes he had outgrown in the last few months. The Marauder's map was already clutched tightly in his hand, taken from its own secure spot in the roomy trunk. They were essentially doing exactly what Sirius had told them not to do, yet they were doing it with a little assistance from Sirius and his three oldest friends.
"Five minutes," said Ron. "Are you ready?"
"Let's go," replied Harry. The two boys scrambled out of their room silently, but the door nearly gave them away. It hadn't creaked once in all the time they had lived in that particular room, yet it chose to do so that night. Harry cringed in the darkness, but they did manage to get down to the common room without incident; however, he couldn't ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Hermione was emerging from the girls' dormitories just as Harry and Ron entered the common room. Like the boys, she was wearing her school robes over her nightclothes. Ron began sniggering quietly when he saw her.
"What?" demanded Hermione, quietly but forcefully.
"Your hair," said Ron, still sniggering. Her normally bushy hair had been pulled up into a large clip, and it fanned out across the top of her head. Hermione scowled, her hands flying to her head and removing it.
"Lavender and Parvati," explained Hermione. She was a bit red as she tucked the clip into her pocket. "They've been fascinated with my hair lately. Every night before bed it's the same thing. `Can we do your hair, Hermione? We promise we won't hurt anything!' It amuses them, you see, and they let me study while they work, so at least I don't have to hear them having petty squabbles about Merlin-knows-what. Do you have everything?"
"Yes," said Harry, and he withdrew both the map and the invisibility cloak. He handed the cloak to Ron and took out his wand. Tapping the map, Harry whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Green ink began to spread across the worn parchment, and the three friends crowded around the map. With the exception of Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore, all of the teacher's ink dots were still, meaning they were probably asleep in their respective rooms. Both the school nurse and headmaster were in the hospital wing, causing Hermione to breath, "Oh, I do hope everything is okay!"
"Everything's fine, I'm sure," said Ron. He extended a finger and pointed at places on the first and sixth floors. "Filch is on the prowl, and it looks like that damn cat of his is heading where we want to be."
Harry was squinting at the map, trying to take in just where they were heading. Ron's finger moved again, this time to a part of the dungeons.
"Down here, I think," said Ron, scratching his chin. "It's either this dungeon or the one right next to it."
"He's right," said Hermione. She looked worried. "We'll have to be very careful, with both Filch and Mrs. Norris out."
"At least Peeves isn't around," said Harry. "I don't see him anywhere."
"Nick and the Grey Lady seem to be conversing," said Ron, "but you're right. Peeves is nowhere to be found. Oh well, he won't be able to see us anyway. Are you ready?"
Hermione and Harry nodded, and they unfolded the invisibility cloak. Shoving together, they walked slowly in the direction of the portrait hole. Suddenly, something burst out in front of them. It was small and furry, golden in color.
"Crookshanks!" croaked Hermione. The cat scuttled through the portrait hole in front of them, causing the Fat Lady much confusion.
"Who's there?" demanded the portrait, but Hermione's pet actually provided enough of a distraction that the Fat Lady didn't notice the three students slipping through behind him. "What student lets his pet out in the middle of the night? Humph! Filch isn't going to like this. No, he won't like this one bit!"
Hermione gulped as they turned the corner. Harry's eyes were still glued to the map; sure enough, Filch was approaching the seventh floor. He directed his friends down another corridor.
"Don't worry, Hermione," assured Harry quietly. "Crookshanks is smart. He'll be back to Gryffindor as soon as he wants to be, and Mrs. Norris is no match for him."
"Of course," whispered Hermione, but he knew she was still rather surprised and a bit worried. They moved awkwardly toward the dungeons, stepping on each other every few feet, and Harry squeezed her hand reassuringly. The three friends their destination without incident.
"Alohomora!" said Hermione, and the doorknob turned easily in Harry's hand. The room's candles lit automatically as it swung open, and Ron shut the door quickly behind them. The room was just as they had left it, all the boxes stacked against the wall in rows with little walkways between each row.
"Mischief managed," said Harry, tapping the map again. The ink disappeared, and he shoved it into one of his pockets.
"Where did we put it?" questioned Ron. Harry had already shrugged off the invisibility cloak and was walking carefully through the rows of boxes. He was muttering numbers under his breath.
"I think it's in this stack," said Harry, and his two friends followed behind him, careful not to brush against the boxes in fear that they would all fall. Whichever part of the room it was in, Harry could distinctly remember putting the blue box on the floor against a dimly lit wall.
"I don't think it's here," said Ron finally. He looked at Harry, starting to back out of the room, but Hermione stopped him. She was looking toward the ceiling.
"Ron," questioned Hermione, "did you leave any stacks incomplete?"
"No, why?" He, too, looked up, and so did Harry. The stack of boxes directly against the wall was one box shorter than all the surrounding stacks. The three friends shared nervous glances. Harry reached out and touched one of the boxes.
"This whole stack is slanted over," said Harry quietly, "and the blue box was in the bottom row. Someone must have pulled it right out from under the others."
"So we aren't the only ones that know," said Hermione softly. She looked at her two best friends dejectedly. "We should go."
Harry nodded. The nervous feeling in his stomach intensified. He didn't speak as he pulled the cloak over the three of them. The expression on each of his friends' faces was enough to tell him that they were feeling the same way. Someone else knew about the box, and someone else wanted it. Ron shut the door softly behind him.
They were just past the Potions dungeon when the light sound of their footsteps was joined by another set in the darkness. It was Mrs. Norris. Harry stopped short; being in the middle, he prevented Hermione and Ron from going any farther. The cat changed directions suddenly, and she walked right into them. Purring loudly, she studied what wasn't in front of her for several long moments before taking off. She was no more than a foot away from them when something else shot out of the shadows.
It was Crookshanks. He leapt on top of Mrs. Norris, causing the old gray cat to practically hiss. His bushy tail thumped against her face, and Mrs. Norris sat there, stunned. Wasting no time, Harry dragged his friends up the stairs and away from the dungeons.
"You know," whispered Ron, "your cat just saved us from the wrath of Mrs. Norris."
"Just hope he keeps her from going to Filch until we're safe back in Gryffindor," said Harry softly. They hurried along, and it looked as if Crookshanks had succeeded in keeping Mrs. Norris from going to her caretaker. The trio inched up the stairs to the third floor. They were passing the Defense classroom when heavy footsteps began echoing down the hall in the opposite direction. Harry couldn't help but suck in his breath as Filch passed by them. He moved to take the Marauder's map out of his pocket again, but Ron stopped him.
"That was close," said Hermione, obviously shaken, as the caretaker turned the opposite corner. Harry sighed with relief, and they climbed the stairs to the fourth floor.
They were halfway to the staircase that would take them directly to the seventh floor when they heard footsteps again. This time, they were coming from right behind them, and they were quickening in pace. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had no choice but to speed up, also. There was no use. Filch was on their heels, and he stepped purposely on the back of the invisibility cloak.
"Aha!" cackled Filch. "Students out of bed, students in the halls! Thought you'd fool me with that cloak, eh? Thought you'd get past Argus Filch, did you? Oh no you don't! These halls are mine when night falls... and you are mine when you chose to pass through them after hours. Come, come with me..."
And, laughing to himself, he turned on his heels and took off down the corridor. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had no choice but to follow him.
* * *
The fact that, as he paced the confines of his small office, Filch kept pausing to stroke the chains he kept hanging from the back ceiling lovingly was not making Harry feel any better about his current situation. The sinister caretaker had marched them down to his office and sat them down in three precarious old chairs. Mrs. Norris had stumbled in right behind them, so Filch had sent for Professor McGonagall.
Now, he made a great show of tromping across the room and folding Harry's invisibility cloak into one of his filing cabinets. Ron, who was sitting to Harry's left, nudged him, and Harry knew they were thinking the same thing. Harry made a mental note to consult Fred and George about sneaking in here immediately. At least he still had the Marauder's Map tucked safely in his pocket.
"What were you doing out of your beds?" barked Filch.
"Er," said Harry when Filch's steely gaze settled on him. His lack of confidence seemed to trigger something in the man, and he began laughing and muttering once more.
"Mr. Filch?" The caretaker was silenced when the door to his office swung open. A very unhappy looking Professor McGonagall stepped in. Her hat was askew on her head, and she had obviously awakened and dressed very quickly. Mrs. Norris was on her heels, and Harry couldn't help but feel pleased to see the skeletal cat looking uncharacteristically shaken. Crookshanks had obviously let her have it. "Your cat was scratching at my door and refused to-"
"Students out of bed," cackled Filch. He eyed the manacles fondly once more. "Students in the halls. Gryffindor students, Professor McGonagall!"
"Miss Granger," said McGonagall. Her eyes fell on each of them in turn, and she sighed. "Potter and Weasley. I should have known."
"Have any other two names brought about so much trouble?" said Filch. "Those Weasley twins, absolutely no respect for authority! That James Potter, always up to something! Only had him in here a few times, of course, he was halfway through when I started, but I've heard the stories. What Pringle had to say about him! And the incident with the Evans girl-"
"That's more than enough, Mr. Filch," said McGonagall sharply. "Dare I ask what you were doing up at this hour?"
"Dare you need to?" challenged Filch. "What do students of their age usually do late at night?"
"I rely on Miss Granger to have more sense than that," said McGonagall, causing all of them to blush deeply, "and I would hope she has infused the same standards of conduct into her friends as well. That aside, what do you have to say for yourselves?"
"We couldn't sleep," said Ron quickly.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow, but Filch had gone back to stroking his miscellaneous torture devices. "I could have sworn that the three of you sleep in different Gryffindor dormitories."
"We were just taking a walk," said Hermione timidly.
"Potter? Five seconds to contribute your own unconvincing excuse?" said McGonagall. She almost looked amused. Almost.
"Er," said Harry, but that was all.
"Very well," said McGonagall. She looked down at her watch. "I do hope you realize it's approaching the hour of one. This school has always, and will always, forbade wandering the corridors late at night. I keep hoping you will eventually see to this rule, especially now that you are looked upon as prefects to set a good example. Twenty points apiece from Gryffindor and-"
"Twenty points?" Filch scowled. "That's not a punishment! Why, a punishment is labor and beating! These points, this system-"
"-And a detention as Mr. Filch sees fit," finished McGonagall, looking very put off by his interruption.
"Oh yes," said Filch. He was rubbing his hands together, and he squinted from Harry to Ron to the chains hanging from his ceiling. "Not the right height for the two of you, but this one will fit quite nicely..." He reached out to touch Hermione, but she shrank back against Harry, whimpering. McGonagall glared at him.
"None of that!" barked McGonagall. She smiled thinly at Hermione. "Hogwarts is a progressive academy that looks down on such means of castigation. Dumbledore has clearly stated what rules we must abide by in assigning detentions, and I expect you to uphold-"
She was interrupted again, this time by the door creaking slowly open. Harry realized it had not been properly shut, and a ginger ball of fur shot in. For the third time that night, Crookshanks had darted out of nowhere.
The scene that unfolded sent both Harry and Ron into a fit of sniggers. Hermione, on the other hand, looked terrified for the well being of her cat. Crookshanks had scrambled onto an empty chair and leapt at Mrs. Norris, who was resting on top of Filch's file cabinet. She seemed to think such action was compromising it.
"CROOKSHANKS!" exclaimed Hermione. "NO!"
With a large sweep of his tail, Crookshanks had given Mrs. Norris a fairly good lashing. The ash gray cat retaliated by pouncing at him, but she overshot the jump and ended up clawing Harry hard across the face. Filch swore loudly at the commotion, and it wasn't until Hermione managed to grab a struggling Crookshanks that it ended. Mrs. Norris bolted from the room.
"Mrs. Norris!" cried Filch, watching his retreating cat. He glowered at Hermione and Crookshanks. "Precious, precious Mrs. Norris. If that worthless ball of fur hurt my cat-" Filch drew a hand swiftly across his throat and tried to lunge at them.
"It's neither the time nor place for threats," said McGonagall. She was staring at Crookshanks in wonderment. "That cat-Crookshanks, did you call him? Is he your pet?"
"He didn't mean anything by it!" protested Hermione. Her eyes were wide with fear. "He doesn't know any better. I didn't mean for him to get out of the tower tonight!"
"Of course not," said McGonagall, her voice taking an odd tone. The three friends shared confused looks, and Harry moved his hand to his cheek. He pulled back his fingers when it stung at his touch, surprised to see that Mrs. Norris had drawn blood. "Of course not," she repeated. "Give him here, Miss Granger. I will see that he stays in the common room for the night."
Filch glowered at her but said nothing. Hermione was stroking Crookshanks reassuringly as she passed him to the professor. "It's okay, Crookshanks, Professor McGonagall is only going to take you back to Gryffindor. Don't you dare leave my room again!"
Harry was not surprised that the look in Crookshanks eyes showed comprehension of her words, but he was surprised at ease in which Hermione was able to pass him to their Head of House. He knew Hermione's cat to be a lot of thing, but accepting of strangers was not one of them, and he could not remember Crookshanks ever encountering McGonagall ever before. The professor gave Filch one last stern look before exiting the office.
Filch looked sullen as she walked out of the door. For a few moments, no one spoke, making his movement toward them feel all the much more sullen. Hermione nearly shrieked, and she flinched noticeably.
"You're a jumpy one," observed Filch. The corners of his mouth turned slowly up into a smirk. "Weasley," he barked, "you are still familiar with the trophy room?"
"Yes, sir," said Ron, lowering his head. Harry might have been forced to help the former Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail, but Ron had spent many hours polishing the silver in the trophy room as punishment for driving a flying car to Hogwarts in their second year.
"That's good, very good," said Filch, twiddling his fingers in an evil manner. "Then you will have no trouble leading your friends to the plaque room. You will find it just two doors down from the trophy room."
"The plaque room?" questioned Harry, not sure if it was any better.
"The plaque room," said Filch. "Do you have a problem with that, Potter? Those students that feel they are above authority and refuse to serve detention are promptly expelled, you know. Are you asking for expulsion?"
"No, sir, not at all," said Harry quickly, shuddering at the thought of having to live with the Dursleys' again.
"Go back to your rooms and change," said Filch. "You will be working until the start of morning classes tomorrow. I expect to see you in no more than ten minutes. Understood?"
"Yes," said Ron, and Harry and Hermione both nodded. Filch smiled.
"THEN GO!" he barked.
* * *
"I think I'm getting closer to the turn of the century," said Hermione. She looked across the room to where Ron and Harry were working. The slight movement made the stepstool she was standing on totter precariously.
"Turn of the century," grumbled Ron. "That wouldn't be so bad, except you could be talking about any one of them."
"Sixteenth," said Hermione, "Marilee Burgess, Ravenclaw, and Winfield Madessi, Hufflepuff."
It was half past four, and, three hours into their work, it was easy to understand why Filch had been so eager to spring the job on them. There were two plaque rooms in Hogwarts; one was small and filled with miscellaneous awards and honors, and the second was practically wallpapered with plaques inscribed with the names of the Head Boy and Girl from every year Hogwarts had been opened. There were over a thousand to polish, and Harry had a sinking feeling they had little more than gotten started.
"I'm trapped in the nineteenth," joked Harry. "You wouldn't happen to have a relative named Weegus, would you, Ron?"
"Weegus?" questioned Ron. "You have to be kidding me."
"I'm not," said Harry, stepping aside and gesturing to the plaque with a flourish. Sure enough, the name of the Head Boy was Weegus Weasley. He took the moment to reach back and rub his shoulder. Filch kept poking in and out, criticizing their cleaning technique and waving their wands tauntingly at them. Considering he had just come and gone, Harry figured he was safe in breaking.
"That's something to write home about," remarked Hermione.
"Oh yeah," said Ron. "Can you imagine what I would say to Mum? `Harry and Hermione and I are doing fine, but we did get the notion to sneak down to the dungeons in the middle of the night to look through some confidential documents we stumbled across during our last detention. Filch caught us, even though we had the assistance of an invisibility cloak and once confiscated map, and he had us polish plaques well into the night. Anyway, I was just wondering if we had a relative named Weegus. He was the Head Boy in eighteen thirty-one, you know.' That would sit real well."
Hermione giggled. "I liked how you included every single one of our misdoings. It was a nice touch."
"Nah, I wouldn't send that to her," said Harry, returning to his work. He finally managed to get the muck off the plaque. He couldn't figure out what caused it to become so disgusting, and he didn't dare ask. "My ears couldn't take the Howler she'd send."
"I don't know if it would be a Howler," said Ron, "but I bet she'd say something about the precious few Head Boys that came from our family."
"What about Head Girls?" questioned Hermione. Ron looked at her as if she'd suggested growing a second pair of legs.
"Herms?" said Ron. "You do realize that Ginny's the first girl to be born into the Weasley family for seven generations?"
"Seven?" said Hermione. Ron nodded. "I really didn't know that."
"All you need to know is that there's a lot of us," joked Ron. "We really should look into getting a Head Girl into the Weasley clan. Say, if you married one of my brothers, that would almost be like having one."
Hermione gave Ron an odd look, and Harry couldn't tell if it was from the suggestion to marry one of his brother or the assumption that she would be Head Girl. He didn't have to wait long to find out; it was clear that it had been brought about by the second when she opened her mouth.
"What makes you so sure I'm going to be Head Girl?" said Hermione, narrowing her eyes. "I'm sure there are-"
"Face it, `Mione," said Harry, cutting in. He wiped his hands on his robe, getting ready to start another column of plaques. The plaques were stacked ten in a column, floor to ceiling, and they stretched from wall to wall in rows. The ceiling was rather low for the castle's usual spacious standards, and Harry and Ron were both tall enough to reach the top row without assistance. Hermione, who was over a head shorter than both boys, did not have that advantage. "Ron's right. You're the cleverest witch in our year, and the teachers adore you."
"Except Snape," said Hermione.
"And Filch," echoed Ron, and she glared at him. Harry shook his head as Ron sniggered.
"The point is, I doubt you could come up with a single reason why to chose someone else over you," said Harry.
"I'm always in trouble!" exclaimed Hermione instantly.
"Always?" questioned Harry.
"You're only in trouble when we're in trouble," said Ron with a grin, "but they made us all prefects, didn't they?"
"Humph," said Hermione. She shook her head and went back to her work. Harry and Ron did the same, but a large clatter pulled them away again a few seconds later. Hermione had taken a tumble off the stepstool she was using, and both boys were at her side immediately.
"Just fine," said Hermione weakly, but Harry could tell she was more embarrassed than anything. He relaxed his grip on her arm a little bit as he helped her to her feet, but he looked her over thoroughly before releasing her.
"You shouldn't do that, Hermione," Ron deadpanned. "What would we have done if you'd hurt yourself? Harry and I would have had to do your share of the polishing, too."
Hermione rolled her eyes, righting her stool and starting to step back on it, but Harry caught her before she could even step off the ground.
"No you don't," said Harry, guiding her away from that wall and to one that they hadn't started on yet. "I don't want you to get hurt."
"Harry," said Hermione, "I can't reach the top two rows otherwise."
"Harry and I can," said Ron. He appeared at her side with her polishing rag and the special solution Filch had given them. "We don't want you to get hurt because we'll just have to do-"
Hermione had slung an arm into Ron's stomach, and he crossed back to where he was working, cursing under his breath. Harry grinned. Hermione seemed to study him for a second, and she reached up and touched his cheek.
"I can't believe Filch didn't let you go to Madam Pomfrey with that," said Hermione. Harry's hand flew to his face, but it only settled over hers.
"It's not a big deal," said Harry nervously. "It's just a scratch. Crookshanks has scratched me dozens of time."
"Yes, but Crookshanks isn't quite as cold as Mrs. Norris," said Hermione. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his other cheek. "Just take a look in a mirror-or even one of the plaques-when you get the change. It's puffed up some, and I don't think it should do that, so I'm fairly certain Mrs. Norris has something sinister inside of her."
"I could have told you that," remarked Ron from the other side of the room, "and your face does look kind of mutant at the moment, Harry."
"Thanks," said Harry sarcastically. He slipped away from Hermione and went back to work with Ron. Working backwards down the column, Harry finished the eighteen thirties and started on the eighteen forties.
"Harry," said Hermione softly a few minutes later. She stopped polishing. Harry and Ron followed suit, looking at her expectantly. She beckoned them over. "I didn't know your parents were Head Boy and Girl."
"I think Hagrid mentioned it once," said Harry. He bit his lip, but he refused to let any regrets or thoughts of what could have been get to him. He felt Hermione touch his arm, which made him smile. "After all the pranks Sirius claims the two of them played, it's hard to imagine that Dad was Head Boy."
"That's the spirit," said Ron, clapping Harry on the back. He turned to Hermione, grinning mischievously. "See, Hermione? If James Potter, one of Hogwarts's greatest troublemakers, was Head Boy, there's no way you won't be Head Girl on the account of a few detentions every now and then."
Harry chuckled, and Hermione squeezed his hand reassuringly before they went back to work. He caught her eye; it never ceased to amaze him how she just seemed to understand him sometimes.
"Bom was Head Boy," called Hermione a few moments later, "along with-get this-an Elena Malfoy."
"Do you think she's related to our favorite Malfoy?" said Ron, putting a sarcastic emphasis on the second to last word.
"It couldn't be his mum," said Harry. "Her name is-was-Narcissa."
"There must be more than one Malfoy family out there," said Hermione finally.
"Why do you say that?" questioned Ron, curious.
"Well, I couldn't tell at first because a little bit of grime was covering it," said Hermione, "but this girl was a Hufflepuff."
"Definitely not the same," said Ron, laughing. He had reached the corner and started on the same wall as Hermione. The very first plaque he polished seemed to catch his attention. "Emanuel McClaggitt. Why does that name sound so familiar?"
"Emanuel McClaggitt was one of the seven registered Animagi this century," said Hermione, but Harry spoke at the same time.
"He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts when Dumbledore was gone," said Harry. The two of them looked at each other and smiled.
"Wouldn't he teach Transfigurations if he was an Animagus?" questioned Ron.
"It would make sense," said Hermione, "but you never know. Almost all of the recent Animagi have been educators."
"The registered ones, right?" said Harry, and Ron sniggered. He turned back to his work, but his next plaque to clean was also unusual. It was larger than the rest, and it had three names inscribed into it instead of just two. The first name was none other than Albus Dumbledore, and the second was Preston Peeves. The third name, obviously the Head Girl, was Aurelia Hester. "Have either of you stumbled across a plaque with three names?"
"No, have you?" said Hermione, looking up with interest.
"Albus Dumbledore, Gryffindor," read Harry, which caused the other two to smile, "Preston Peeves, Gryffindor, and Aurelia Hester, Ravenclaw, all on the same plaque."
"Now that's weird," said Ron, but Hermione seemed more interested with the names than the number.
"Peeves?" repeated Hermione. Harry nodded. "It couldn't be Peeves the Poltergeist, could it?"
Harry and Ron stared at her, wondering. They didn't have to wait long for an answer because a familiar voice called to them from the doorway.
"None other, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, stepping into the room. "Preston Peeves, Order of Merlin, First Class, Associate Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards, Minister of the Ministry of Imprecise Wizarding History. Peeves was one of the finest wizards of his time, indeed. Sadly, they're always the first to depart."
"Pro-Professor Dumbledore," stammered Hermione. She turned around to see the Headmaster standing with his arms folded across his chest. He didn't look angry; he was wearing his usual smile.
"Filch informed me that he had students performing detention in this particular room," said Dumbledore. "He knows I often stroll down here late at night, when I cannot sleep, to muse over the students of the past."
At the word detention, the surprised look on the three friends' faces changed to embarrassment. Dumbledore seemed to notice this, and he just chuckled.
"Seeing as our caretaker did not see it necessary to inform me of the nature of your misdoings," said Dumbledore, "I feel no need to question you on them. It's been years since I stopped asking. I think it was after your father, Harry, decided to cast anti-gravity spells on the whole of his Charms class. Upon reflection, I care not to know his reasoning behind the prank."
"Anti-gravity spells?" Harry couldn't help but ask.
"None other," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Half his classmates spent the afternoon walking around on the ceiling, a prank I would prefer you did not share with your elder brothers, Ron."
"Are you having trouble sleeping, Professor?" said Hermione kindly. Dumbledore was standing behind her, apparently reading the names of students he once taught. He gently touched her shoulder.
"I await an urgent message, I'm afraid," said Dumbledore. The earlier cheer seemed to leave his voice from that one statement. "I have known this was coming for many months now, but I cannot sleep without confirmation now that it has. The quirks of an aged mind, I'm afraid."
"Who's it from?" asked Ron. Hermione glared at him, but Dumbledore just smiled. He was already crossing the room for the door.
"Tomorrow," called Dumbledore over his shoulder. He stopped in the doorway. "Your question is one for the morning, and even then, you will ask not who, but what. Why don't the three of you go get some rest? It's crucial you're able to devote your full attentions to class with O.W.L.s approaching. I will tell Filch I pardoned you."
And with that, he was out the door. Harry and Ron and Hermione were thankful to put down their rags and leave, but they were more curious than they had ever been. They slipped silently through the halls, but the old bond of friendship kept them close.
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