Elexendrizella Snape || Kiss of Azkaban || 3 - Kang_Jael - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: The Knights Bus

Chapter Text

"What you doin' 'lone this time'a night, dear?"

"Wanderin'." I answered, mimicking the man's accent. "M'bored and my guardian's in Coventry. Want my Gringotts-security too? You know who I am."

"Aye' well where'ya off to? Know when'da stop."

I took a seat right behind the front seat of the Knights Bus. Behind a table against the wall. There were no seatbelts but I knew not to mess with the Knights Bus. I pulled a bungee cord out of my bag and linked it to the metal barrings behind my seat, around my waist.

"What'cha doin' that for?" Stan asked.

"Been 'ere before. Don't trust ya' an ounce." I smiled, "As I said, just wandering. I've got nowhere to be."

"Sounds like fun." He said, humoring me, he knew who I was, as I pulled a notebook out of my bag, which I'd also clipped to my chairleg so it didn't fly away. There normally weren't seats, just beds, but magic tended to adjust to your desires. I opened my notebook and glanced around the bus at the old hags and wizards laying about in the beds.

With a BANG I was glad for my bungee cord and looked out the window, lights blurring by faster than my eyes could focus. We rolled onto another street and they came to a halt, another wizard woman stepping onto the bus.

I flipped to a page of my notebook with Astronomy notes covering it. Something about Jupiter that I didn't remember writing.

I grabbed my other journal and stuck my notebook back in my bag. I flipped to a random page, first word I saw was Malfoy. Flipped to another random page, also saw Malfoy. Flipped through dozens of pages looking for one that didn't mention Malfoy. Took me a few minutes, the page was about how much Percy Weasley annoyed me, and how attractive Oliver Wood was.

BANG

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard and those that like wasting our time." That meant me. "Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve-" The conductor stopped abruptly. "What were you doin' down there?" Asked Stan.

"Fell over,"

I looked up, that was Harry's voice. I looked out the window behind me, I saw a street sign. Privet Drive,

"'Choo fall over for?" Snickered Stan.

"I didn't do it on purpose," said Harry's voice, annoyed.

"'Choo lookin' at?"

“There was a big black thing,” said Harry. I was sitting quietly, knowing he'd be shocked to see me. “Like a dog… but massive…”

“Woss that on your ’ead?” said Stan abruptly.

“Nothing,” said Harry quickly.

“Woss your name?” Stan persisted.

“Neville Longbottom,” said Harry, clearly saying the first name that came into his head. “So—so this bus,” he went on quickly, hoping to distract Stan, “did you say it goes anywhere?”

“Yep,” said Stan proudly, “anywhere you like, long’s it’s on land. Can’t do nuffink underwater. ’Ere,” he said, looking suspicious again, “you did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out your wand ’and, dincha?”

“Yes,” said Harry quickly. “Listen, how much would it be to get to London?"

“Eleven Sickles,” said Stan, “but for fifteen you get ’ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an ’ot water bottle an’ a toofbrush in the color of your choice. 'Nd if you choose eleven you gotta sit by this time-wastin'-witch."

He looked at me. "Elex! What're you doing here!?" He asked as him and Stan lifted his trunk into the bus.

"Wasting time. Hey Neville." I smiled dramatically at Stan.

Harry took the seat that appeared next to me. "What's the bungee cord?"

"You'll see."

"This is our driver, Ernie prang. This is Neville Longbottom, Ern." Stan introduced. "Take 'er away, Ern," said Stan, sitting down in the armchair next to Ernie's.

There was another tremendous BANG, and the next moment Harry found himself gripping onto the chair and me, thrown backward by the speed of the Knight Bus.

Pulling himself up, Harry stared out of the dark window and saw that we were now bowling along a completely different street.

"What're you doing flagging down the bus?" I asked Harry. "Get into some trouble."

"Ehm, I blew up my aunt."

"Exploded?"

"No, like a balloon. Went floating away."

I turned the page in my journal. "I'm so proud of you H- Neville." I was teasing.

Stan was watching Harry’s stunned face with great enjoyment. “This is where we was before you flagged us down,” he said. “Where are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?”

“Ar,” said Ernie.

“How come the Muggles don’t hear the bus?” Harry asked.

“Them!?” said Stan contemptuously. “Don’ listen properly, do they? Don’ look properly either. Never notice nuffink, they don’.”

“Best go wake up Madam Marsh, Stan,” said Ern. “We’ll be in Abergavenny in a minute.”

Stan passed Harry and I and disappeared up a narrow wooden staircase. Harry was still looking out of the window, clearly feeling increasingly nervous. Ernie didn’t seem to have mastered the use of a steering wheel. The Knight Bus kept mounting the pavement, but it didn’t hit anything; lines of lampposts, mailboxes, and trash cans jumped out of its way as it approached and back into position once it had passed.

"So, when yer' aunt blew up?" I asked, "Sorry, I tend to copy Stan. Your Uncle kick ya' to the curb?"

"I ran away." He said, "My Uncle tried to stop me but didn't seem too keen on keeping me there. I'm sure he won't mind me disappearing. Do you ride this bus often..?" He asked, still holding onto his chair for his life.

"Third time. They're sick of me, waste their time and money apparently. Like they got anything better te do, and like I'm not paying 'em."

"There's no... like... wizard law on them just picking up random fourteen year olds that summon them?"

"Kidnapping doesn't happen in our world often. The trace, along with the fact we have much more important things to do." I said, flipping a couple pages and seeing Harry's name. "We run free as long as we stay in the law. Andromeda and Ted don't care what I do. Ted doesn't ever know where I am, he's rarely in town. Andromeda would kill for me but knows I'm... feral? So, other than your aunt blowing up, how's your summer been?"

"Hell in a neckless-fatsuit."

"How I envy you."

Stan came back downstairs, followed by a faintly green witch wrapped in a traveling cloak.

“’Ere you go, Madam Marsh,” said Stan happily as Ern stamped on the brake and the beds slid a foot or so toward the front of the bus.

Madam Marsh clamped a handkerchief to her mouth and tottered down the steps. Stan threw her bag out after her and rammed the doors shut; there was another loud BANG, and we were thundering down a narrow country lane, trees leaping out of the way.

"What about you?" He asked once he'd settled into the movement again.

"Haven't done much. I've just been at home, told you most of everything last time I called you. Been eagerly awaiting September." I answered. "What's in London for you?"

"Diagon Alley."

"Of course. Mind if I get off with you? I'm pretty much on my own 'till the first anyway."

"Please." He nodded. "How do these people sleep...?"

"Complete derealization. I couldn't begin to guess." I wouldn't have been able to sleep on that bus unless I was knocked out.

Stan had unfurled a copy of the Daily Prophet and was now reading with his tongue between his teeth. A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinked slowly at us from the front page.

“That man!” Harry said, forgetting his troubles for a moment. “He was on the Muggle news!”

Stanley turned to the front page and chuckled.

“Sirius Black,” he said, nodding. “’Course ’e was on the Muggle news, Neville, where you been?”

He gave a superior sort of chuckle at the blank look on Harry’s face, removed the front page, and handed it to Harry.

“You oughta read the papers more, Neville.”

Harry held the paper up to the candlelight and read:

BLACK STILL AT LARGE

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

“We are doing all we can to recapture Black,” said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, “and we beg the magical community to remain calm.”

Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

“Well, really, I had to, don’t you know,” said an irritable Fudge. “Black is mad. He’s a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister’s assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black’s true identity to anyone. And let’s face it—who’d believe him if he did?”

While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.

“Scary-lookin’ fing, inee?” said Stan, who had been watching Harry read.

“He murdered thirteen people?” asked Harry, handing the page back to Stan, “with one curse?”

“Yep,” said Stan, “in front of witnesses an’ all. Broad daylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?”

“Ar,” said Ern darkly.

Stan swiveled in his armchair, his hands on the back, the better to look at Harry. “Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-’Oo,” he said.

“What, Voldemort?” said Harry, without thinking.

Even Stan’s pimples went white; Ern jerked the steering wheel so hard that a whole farmhouse had to jump aside to avoid the bus. I just sighed.

“You outta your tree?” yelped Stan. “’Choo say ’is name for?”

“Sorry,” said Harry hastily. “Sorry, I—I forgot—”

“Forgot!” said Stan weakly. “Blimey, my ’eart’s goin’ that fast…”

“So—so Black was a supporter of You-Know-Who?” Harry prompted apologetically.

“Yeah,” said Stan, still rubbing his chest. “Yeah, that’s right. Very close to You-Know-’Oo, they say. Anyway, when little ’Arry Potter got the better of You-Know-’Oo—”

Harry nervously flattened his bangs down again. “—all You-Know-’Oo’s supporters was tracked down, wasn’t they, Ern? Most of ’em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-’Oo gone, and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. I ’eard he thought ’e’d be second-in-command once You-Know-’Oo ’ad taken over. Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles an’ Black took out ’is wand and ’e blasted ’alf the street apart, an’ a wizard got it, an’ so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way. ’Orrible, eh? An’ you know what Black did then?” Stan continued in a dramatic whisper.

“What?” said Harry.

“Laughed,” said Stan. “Jus’ stood there an’ laughed. An’ when reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, ’e went wiv ’em quiet as anyfink, still laughing ’is ’ead off. ’Cos ’e’s mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?”

“If he weren’t when he went to Azkaban, he will be now,” said Ern in his slow voice. “I’d blow meself up before I set foot in that place. Serves him right, mind you… after what he did…”

“They ’ad a job coverin’ it up, din’ they, Ern?” Stan said. “’Ole street blown up an’ all them Muggles dead. What was it they said ’ad ’appened, Ern?”

“Gas explosion,” grunted Ernie.

“An’ now ’e’s out,” said Stan, examining the newspaper picture of Black’s gaunt face again. “Never been a breakout from Azkaban before, ’as there, Ern? Beats me ’ow ’e did it. Frightenin’, eh? Mind, I don’t fancy ’is chances against them Azkaban guards, eh, Ern?”

Ernie suddenly shivered. “Talk about summat else, Stan, there’s a good lad. Them Azkaban guards give me the collywobbles.”

"You would not go to Azkaban for that aunt thing, Neville." I reassured Harry, knowing that was what he was worrying about.

The Knight Bus rolled through the darkness, scattering bushes and wastebaskets, telephone booths and trees. After a while, Stan remembered that Harry had paid for hot chocolate, but poured it all over Harry when the bus moved abruptly from Anglesey to Aberdeen.

One by one, wizards and witches in dressing gowns and slippers descended from the upper floors to leave the bus. They all looked very pleased to go. Finally, we were the only passenger left.

“Right then, Neville,” said Stan, clapping his hands, “whereabouts in London?”

“Diagon Alley,” said Harry.

“Righto,” said Stan. “’Old tight, then…”

BANG! We were thundering along Charing Cross Road. I sat up and watched buildings and benches squeezing themselves out of the Knight Bus’s way. The sky was getting a little lighter. Harry told me his plan. He would lie low for a couple of hours, go to Gringotts the moment it opened, then set off—where, he didn’t know. I told him he was being a fool, but Gryffindors were loons.

Ern slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in front of a small and shabby-looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind which lay the magical entrance to Diagon Alley.

“Thanks,” Harry said to Ern. We jumped down the steps and helped Stan lower his trunk and Hedwig’s cage onto the pavement.

“Well,” said Harry. “’Bye then!”

But Stan wasn’t paying attention. Still standing in the doorway to the bus, he was goggling at the shadowy entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

“There you are, Harry,” said a voice. Before Harry could turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder. At the same time, Stan shouted, “Blimey! Ern, come ’ere! Come ’ere!”

I looked up at the owner of the hand on Harry's shoulder and felt a bucketful of ice cascade into my stomach—he had walked right into Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself.

Stan leapt onto the pavement beside us. “What didja call Neville, Minister?” he said excitedly.

Fudge, a portly little man in a long, pinstriped cloak, looked cold and exhausted. “Neville?” he repeated, frowning. “This is Harry Potter.”

“I knew it!” Stan shouted gleefully. “Ern! Ern! Guess ’oo Neville is, Ern! ’E’s ’Arry Potter! I can see ’is scar!”

“Yes,” said Fudge testily, “well, I’m very glad the Knight Bus picked Harry up, but he and I need to step inside the Leaky Cauldron now…” Fudge increased the pressure on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry found himself being steered inside the pub. I followed a few feet behind.

A stooping figure bearing a lantern appeared through the door behind the bar. It was Tom, the wizened, toothless landlord.

“You’ve got him, Minister!” said Tom. “Will you be wanting anything? Beer? Brandy?”

“Perhaps a pot of tea,” said Fudge, who still hadn’t let go of Harry.

There was a loud scraping and puffing from behind them, and Stan and Ern appeared, carrying Harry’s trunk and Hedwig’s cage and looking around excitedly.

“’Ow come you di’n’t tell us ’oo you are, eh, Neville?” said Stan, beaming at Harry, while Ernie’s owlish face peered interestedly over Stan’s shoulder.

“And a private parlor, please, Tom,” said Fudge pointedly.

“’Bye,” Harry said miserably to Stan, Ern, and me as Tom beckoned Fudge toward the passage that led from the bar.

“’Bye, Neville!” called Stan.

"I'll be here." I promised Harry, then called to Tom. "When you come back can I get a room?"

"Yes Miss..."

Chapter 2: The Leaky Cauldron

Chapter Text

It took Harry several days to get used to his strange new freedom. I was quite enjoying watching him get used to it and marvel at how it came naturally to me.

Never before had he been able to get up whenever he wanted or eat whatever he fancied. He could even go wherever he pleased, as long as it was in Diagon Alley, and as this long cobbled street was packed with the most fascinating wizarding shops in the world, Harry felt no desire to break his word to Fudge and stray back into the Muggle world. I would walk around the Alley with him half the time, wander or sit on my own. It was nice.

I ate breakfast each morning in the Leaky Cauldron, where me and Harry liked to watch the other guests: funny little witches from the country, up for a day’s shopping; venerable-looking wizards arguing over the latest article in Transfiguration Today; wild-looking warlocks; raucous dwarfs; and once, what looked suspiciously like a hag, who ordered a plate of raw liver from behind a thick woollen balaclava. I always got up before Harry and would eat quietly or chat with some old witches or wizards who found the young fascinating.

After breakfast Harry and I would go out into the backyard, take out our wands, tap the third brick from the left above the trash bin, and stand back as the archway into Diagon Alley opened in the wall.

I spent the long sunny days exploring the shops and eating under the brightly colored umbrellas outside cafes, where my fellow diners were showing one another their purchases (“it’s a lunascope, old boy—no more messing around with moon charts, see?”) or else discussing the case of Sirius Black (“personally, I won’t let any of the children out alone until he’s back in Azkaban”).

Harry and Idid my summer homework out in the bright sunshine outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, finishing all our essays with occasional help from Florean Fortescue himself, who, apart from knowing a great deal about medieval witch burnings, gave me and Harry free sundaes every half an hour.

I stopped by Gringotts and filled my bag with various gold, silver, and broze coins, greeting the goblins. I didn't buy much while I stayed there. Just what I needed for school, and a Firebolt, and as I didn't buy anything else frivilous, I could afford it. Harry was beyond jealous, he passed by the store everyday just to look at it. Buying the Monster Book of Monsters was misery, quite fun though.

That night I tramped up the stairs to his room, went inside, and dumped my books on a chair by my bed. Some maid had gone inside to tidy; the windows were open and the sunset was pouring in. The buses down in Muggle London rattled and the sounds of the invisible crowd in Diagon Alley rang. I stopped in front of my mirror and brushed my hair down, the curls straightening out for a little while.

"You're fighting a losing battle with that brush, dear," my mirror said.

"Give me advice when you have hair." I responded, plopping down on my bed and opening my journal to write.

As the days slipped by, I started looking wherever I went for a sign of Ron or Hermione. Plenty of Hogwarts students were arriving in Diagon Alley now, with the start of term so near. Harry met Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, his fellow Gryffindors, in Quality Quidditch Supplies, where they too were ogling the Firebolt; and I ran into the real Neville Longbottom, outside Flourish and Blotts.

I didn’t stop to chat; Neville appeared to have mislaid his booklist and was being told off by his very formidable-looking grandmother.

I woke on the last day of the holidays, thinking that Harry and I would at least meet Ron and Hermione tomorrow, on the Hogwarts Express. I got up, dressed, went for stroll around the alley, and was just wondering where I'd have lunch, when someone yelled Harry's name and I turned to see him just a ways away and Hermione as the yeller.

“Elex! HARRY!” They were there, both of them, sitting outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor—Ron looking incredibly freckly Hermione very brown, both waving frantically at him and I.

“Finally!” said Ron, grinning at Harry as we sat down. “We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you’d left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and Madam Malkin’s, and—”

“We got all our school stuff last week,” Harry explained. “And how come you knew we were staying at the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Dad,” said Ron simply. "We didn't know you were here though, Elex."

Mr. Weasley, who worked at the Ministry of Magic, would of course have heard the whole story of what had happened to Harry's aunt.

“Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry?” said Hermione in a very serious voice.

“I didn’t mean to,” said Harry while Ron and I roared with laughter. “I just—lost control.”

“It’s not funny, you two,” said Hermione sharply. “Honestly, I’m amazed Harry wasn’t expelled.”

“So am I,” admitted Harry. “Forget expelled, I thought I was going to be arrested.” He looked at Ron. “Your dad doesn’t know why Fudge let me off, does he?”

“Probably ’cause it’s you, isn’t it?” shrugged Ron, still chuckling. “Famous Harry Potter and all that. I’d hate to see what the Ministry’d do to me if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they’d have to dig me up first, because Mum would’ve killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself this evening. We’re staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight too! So you can come to King’s Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione’s there as well!”

Hermione nodded, beaming. “Mum and Dad dropped me off this morning with all my Hogwarts things.”

“Excellent!” said Harry happily. “So, have you got all your new books and stuff?”

“Look at this,” said Ron, pulling a long thin box out of a bag and opening it. “Brand-new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair. And we’ve got all our books—” He pointed at a large bag under his chair. “What about those Monster Books, eh? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two.”

“What’s all that, Hermione?” Harry asked, pointing at not one but three bulging bags in the chair next to her.

“Well, I’m taking more new subjects than you, aren’t I?” said Hermione. “Those are my books for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies—”

“What are you doing Muggle Studies for?” said Ron, rolling his eyes at Harry. “You’re Muggle-born! Your mum and dad are Muggles! You already know all about Muggles!”

“But it’ll be fascinating to study them from the wizarding point of view,” said Hermione earnestly.

“Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?” I asked, while Ron snickered. Hermione ignored us.

“I’ve still got ten Galleons,” she said, checking her purse. “It’s my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present.”

“How about a nice book?” said Ron innocently.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Hermione composedly. “I really want an owl. I mean, Harry’s got Hedwig and you’ve got Errol—”

“I haven’t,” said Ron. “Errol’s a family owl. All I’ve got is Scabbers.” He pulled his pet rat out of his pocket. “And I want to get him checked over,” he added, placing Scabbers on the table in front of them. “I don’t think Egypt agreed with him.”

Scabbers was looking thinner than usual, and there was a definite droop to his whiskers.

"Do you have a pet?" Hermione asked me.

I shook my head. "No, but I've been wanting one. I did buy a Firebolt-" Harry groaned in jealousy. "-but, y'know... I still got some leftover."

“There’s a magical creature shop just over there,” said Harry, who knew Diagon Alley very well by now. “You could see if they’ve got anything for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl. And Elex, you can look around.”

So we paid for our ice cream and crossed the street to the Magical Menagerie.

There wasn’t much room inside. Every inch of wall was hidden by cages. It was smelly and very noisy because the occupants of these cages were all squeaking, squawking, jabbering, or hissing. The witch behind the counter was already advising a wizard on the care of double-ended newts, so Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I waited, examining the cages.

A pair of enormous purple toads sat gulping wetly and feasting on dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shell was glittering near the window. Poisonous orange snails were oozing slowly up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit kept changing into a silk top hat and back again with a loud popping noise. Then there were cats of every color, a noisy cage of ravens, a basket of funny custard-colored furballs that were humming loudly, and on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats that were playing some sort of skipping game using their long, bald tails.

The double-ended newt wizard left, and Ron approached the counter.

“It’s my rat,” he told the witch. “He been a bit off-color ever since I brought him back from Egypt.”

“Bang him on the counter,” said the witch, pulling a pair of heavy black spectacles out of her pocket.

Ron lifted Scabbers out of his inside pocket and placed him next to the cage of his fellow rats, who stopped their skipping tricks and scuffled to the wire for a better look.

Like nearly everything Ron owned, Scabbers the rat was secondhand (he had once belonged to Ron’s brother Percy) and a bit battered. Next to the glossy rats in the cage, he looked especially woebegone.

“Hm,” said the witch, picking up Scabbers. “How old is this rat?”

“Dunno,” said Ron. “Quite old. He used to belong to my brother.”

“What powers does he have?” said the witch, examining Scabbers closely.

“Er—” The truth was that Scabbers had never shown the faintest trace of interesting powers.

The witch’s eyes moved from Scabbers’s tattered left ear to his front paw, which had a toe missing, and tutted loudly. “He’s been through the mill, this one,” she said.

“He was like that when Percy gave him to me,” said Ron defensively.

“An ordinary common or garden rat like this can’t be expected to live longer than three years or so,” said the witch. “Now, if you were looking for something a bit more hard-wearing, you might like one of these—” She indicated the black rats, who promptly started skipping again.

Ron muttered, “Show-offs.”

“Well, if you don’t want a replacement, you can try this rat tonic,” said the witch, reaching under the counter and bringing out a small red bottle.

“Okay,” said Ron. “How much—OUCH!”

Ron buckled as something huge and orange came soaring from the top of the highest cage, landed on his head, and then propelled itself, spitting madly, at Scabbers.

“NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!” cried the witch, but Scabbers shot from between her hands like a bar of soap, landed splay-legged on the floor, and then scampered for the door.

“Scabbers!” Ron shouted, racing out of the shop after him; Harry followed.

It took them nearly ten minutes to catch Scabbers, who had taken refuge under a wastepaper bin outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ron stuffed the trembling rat back into his pocket and straightened up, massaging his head.

I was inside looking around at the animals. I wanted all of them, but clearly couldn't have all of them. I looked at the owls, the cats, I knew I didn't want a rat or a toad. I saw a beautiful green-scaled viper at the back of the store, coiled around a pole in a cage.

I walked to it and looked behind me to double check the coast as I heard whispering from it.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Never met a wizard who could speak to me."

"I'm Elexendrizella. I'm one of the few." I said, looking around again.

"I'm Veltidor."

"That's a really interesting name. Would you be opposed to me taking you with me?"

"As- a pet."

"That's what everyone else would say."

"You don't waste my time. Yes. I've been here a year since I was born, I would quite like to leave."

"Good, well then, I'll be right back."

The boys made their way back up the crowded street to the Magical Menagerie. As they reached it, Hermione and I came out, but she wasn't carrying an owl and I wasn't carrying anything they expected. Her arms were clamped tightly around the enormous ginger cat, and I had the viper coiled around my neck on my shoulders.

“You bought that monster?” said Ron, his mouth hanging open.

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” said Hermione, glowing.

The cat’s ginger fur was thick and fluffy, but it was definitely a bit bowlegged and its face looked grumpy and oddly squashed, as though it had run headlong into a brick wall.

Now that Scabbers was out of sight, however, the cat was purring contentedly in Hermione’s arms.

“Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!” said Ron.

“He didn’t mean to, did you, Crookshanks?” said Hermione.

“And what about Scabbers?” said Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket. “He needs rest and relaxation! How’s he going to get it with that thing around?”

"Do you have a snake?" Harry realized.

"Scabbers is gonna get eaten with you two girls around!" Ron yelled, exhasperated, backing up. "A snake!?"

"Well it's nice, I can talk to it." I said under my breath. "Oh, Vi- what's your name again?"

"Veltidor."

"Veltidor..." I looked up. "Harry speaks Parseltongue too, Veltidor."

"Is he gonna try and eat us?" Ron shuddered.

"No."

"Speak for yourself."

Harry snorted and I smiled.

"What?" Ron asked, scared.

"He likes the taste of ginger." I said, walking off with the group trailing behind me.

We found Mr. Weasley sitting in the bar of the Leaky Cauldron, reading the Daily Prophet.

“Harry!” he said, smiling as he looked up. “How are you?”

“Fine, thanks,” said Harry as he, Ron, Hermione, and I joined Mr. Weasley with all our shopping.

Mr. Weasley put down his paper, and I saw the now familiar picture of Sirius Black staring up at us.

“They still haven’t caught him, then?” Harry asked.

“No,” said Mr. Weasley, looking extremely grave. “They’ve pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him, but no luck so far.”

“Would we get a reward if we caught him?” asked Ron. “It’d be good to get some more money—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,” said Mr. Weasley, who on closer inspection looked very strained. “Black’s not going to be caught by a thirteen-year-old wizard. It’s the Azkaban guards who’ll get him back, you mark my words.”

"Azkaban... I met a cobra who'd been taken there by mistake on a boat."

At that moment Mrs. Weasley entered the bar, laden with shopping bags and followed by the twins, Fred and George, who were about to start their fifth year at Hogwarts; the newly elected Head Boy, Percy; and the Weasleys’ youngest child and only girl, Ginny.

Ginny, who had always been very taken with Harry, seemed even more heartily embarrassed than usual when she saw him, perhaps because he had saved her life during their previous year at Hogwarts.

She went very red and muttered “hello” without looking at him. Percy, however, held out his hand solemnly as though he and Harry had never met and said, “Harry. How nice to see you.”

“Hello, Percy,” said Harry, trying not to laugh.

“I hope you’re well?” said Percy pompously, shaking hands. It was rather like being introduced to the mayor.

“Very well, thanks—”

“Harry! Alexander!” said Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing deeply. He knew what my name was. “Simply splendid to see you, old boys—” He bowed.

“Marvelous,” said George, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry’s hand in turn and Fred shook mine and I smiled.

“Absolutely spiffing.”

Percy scowled.

“That’s enough, now,” said Mrs. Weasley.

“Mum!” said Fred as though he’d only just spotted her and seizing her hand too. “How really corking to see you—”

“I said, that’s enough,” said Mrs. Weasley, depositing her shopping in an empty chair. “Hello, Harry, dear. I suppose you’ve heard our exciting news?” She pointed to the brand-new silver badge on Percy’s chest. “Second Head Boy in the family!” she said, swelling with pride.

“And last,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“I don’t doubt that,” said Mrs. Weasley, frowning suddenly. “I notice they haven’t made you two prefects.”

“What do we want to be prefects for?” said George, looking revolted at the very idea. “It’d take all the fun out of life.”

I held up Veltidor to Fred and he beamed, clearly approving of my choice in pet.

Ginny giggled.

“You want to set a better example for your sister!” snapped Mrs. Weasley.

“Ginny’s got other brothers to set her an example, Mother,” said Percy loftily. “I’m going up to change for dinner…” He disappeared and George heaved a sigh.

“We tried to shut him in a pyramid,” he told Harry. “But Mum spotted us.

Dinner that night was a very enjoyable affair. Tom the innkeeper put three tables together in the parlor, and the seven Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and I ate our way through five delicious courses.

“How’re we getting to King’s Cross tomorrow, Dad?” asked Fred as we dug into a sumptuous chocolate pudding.

“The Ministry’s providing a couple of cars,” said Mr. Weasley. Everyone looked up at him.

“Why?” said Percy curiously.

“It’s because of you, Perce,” said George seriously. “And there’ll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them—”

“—for Humongous Bighead,” said Fred.

Everyone except Percy and Mrs. Weasley snorted into their pudding.

“Why are the Ministry providing cars, Father?” Percy asked again, in a dignified voice.

“Well, as we haven’t got one anymore,” said Mr. Weasley, “—and as I work there, they’re doing me a favor—” His voice was casual, but I couldn’t help noticing that Mr. Weasley’s ears had gone red, just like Ron’s did when he was under pressure.

“Good thing, too,” said Mrs. Weasley briskly. “Do you realize how much luggage you’ve all got between you? A nice sight you’d be on the Muggle Underground… You are all packed, aren’t you?”

“Ron hasn’t put all his new things in his trunk yet,” said Percy, in a long-suffering voice. “He’s dumped them on my bed.”

“You’d better go and pack properly, Ron, because we won’t have much time in the morning,” Mrs. Weasley called down the table. Ron scowled at Percy. After dinner everyone felt very full and sleepy.

One by one we made our way upstairs to our rooms to check our things for the next day. Ron and Percy were next door to me. I had just closed and locked my own trunk when I heard angry voices through the wall, and went to see what was going on.

The door of number twelve was ajar and Percy was shouting. “It was here, on the bedside table, I took it off for polishing—”

“I haven’t touched it, all right?” Ron roared back.

“What’s up?” said Harry, who'd gone to look too.

“My Head Boy badge is gone,” said Percy, rounding on Harry.

“So’s Scabbers’s rat tonic,” said Ron, throwing things out of his trunk to look. “I think I might’ve left it in the bar—”

“You’re not going anywhere till you’ve found my badge!” yelled Percy.

"Boys, boys, you're both pretty. Let's get going."

Chapter 3: The Dementor

Chapter Text

The journey to King’s Cross was very uneventful compared with my trip on the Knight Bus. The Ministry of Magic cars seemed almost ordinary, though I noticed that they could slide through gaps that most couldn't have managed.

We reached King’s Cross with twenty minutes to spare; the Ministry drivers found us trolleys, unloaded our trunks, touched their hats in salute to Mr. Weasley, and drove away, somehow managing to jump to the head of an unmoving line at the traffic lights.

Mr. Weasley kept close to Harry’s elbow all the way into the station.

“Right then,” he said, glancing around us. “Let’s do this in pairs, as there are so many of us. I’ll go through first with Harry.”

Mr. Weasley strolled toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten, pushing Harry’s trolley and apparently very interested in the InterCity 125 that had just arrived at platform nine.

With a meaningful look at Harry, he leaned casually against the barrier. Harry imitated him. In a moment, they had fallen sideways through the solid metal onto platform nine and three-quarters and looked up to see the Hogwarts Express, a scarlet steam engine, puffing smoke over a platform packed with witches and wizards seeing their children onto the train. Ginny and I suddenly appeared behind them.

We were panting as we had taken the barrier at a run.

“Ah, there’s Penelope!” said Percy, showing up right behind us, smoothing his hair and going pink again.

Ginny caught Harry’s eye, and they both turned away to hide their laughter as Percy strode over to a girl with long, curly hair, walking with his chest thrown out so that she couldn’t miss his shiny badge.

Once the remaining Weasleys and Hermione had joined us, Harry and Ron led the way to the end of the train, past packed compartments, to a carriage that looked quite empty.

We loaded the trunks onto it, stowed Hedwig and Crookshanks in the luggage rack, I kept my snake, then went back outside to say good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Mrs. Weasley kissed all her children, then Hermione, and finally, Harry. I wouldn't let her touch me, which made her a bit sad but I hated touch.

“Do take care, won’t you, Harry?” she said as she straightened up, her eyes oddly bright. Then she opened her enormous handbag and said, “I’ve made you all sandwiches… Here you are, Ron… no, they’re not corned beef… Fred? Where’s Fred? Here you are, dear…”

Harry ran to the compartment door and Ron threw it open and stood back to let him on. They leaned out of the window and waved at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley until the train turned a corner and blocked us from view.

“I need to talk to you in private,” Harry muttered to Ron, Hermione, and I as the train picked up speed.

“Go away, Ginny,” said Ron.

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off.

We all set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train. That had only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window.

We checked on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students and we had never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushed the food cart.

The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard’s robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray.

“Who d’you reckon he is?” Ron hissed as we sat down and slid the door shut, taking the seats farthest away from the window.

“Professor R. J. Lupin,” whispered Hermione at once.

“How d’you know that?”

“It’s on his case,” she replied, pointing at the luggage rack over the man’s head, where there was a small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped across one corner in peeling letters.

“Wonder what he teaches?” said Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin’s pallid profile.

“That’s obvious,” whispered Hermione. “There’s only one vacancy, isn’t there? Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

We had already had two Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, both of whom had lasted only one year. There were rumors that the job was jinxed.

“Well, I hope he’s up to it,” said Ron doubtfully. “He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn’t he? Anyway…” He turned to Harry. “What were you going to tell us?”

Harry explained all about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s argument and the warning Mr. Weasley had just given him, to not go looking for Black, and that he might come after Harry.

When he’d finished, Ron looked thunderstruck, and Hermione had her hands over her mouth. I was tired and eating a sandwich, trying to look more bewildered.

“Sirius Black escaped to come after you? Oh, Harry… you’ll have to be really, really careful. Don’t go looking for trouble, Harry—”

“I don’t go looking for trouble,” said Harry, nettled. “Trouble usually finds me.”

“How thick would Harry have to be, to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him?” said Ron shakily.

They were taking the news worse than Harry had expected. Both Ron and Hermione seemed to be much more frightened of Black than he or I were.

“No one knows how he got out of Azkaban,” said Ron uncomfortably. “No one’s ever done it before. And he was a topsecurity prisoner too.”

“But they’ll catch him, won’t they?” said Hermione earnestly. “I mean, they’ve got all the Muggles looking out for him too…”

“What’s that noise?” said Ron suddenly.

A faint, tinny sort of whistle was coming from somewhere. We looked all around the compartment.

“It’s coming from your trunk, Harry,” said Ron, standing up and reaching into the luggage rack. A moment later he had pulled the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry’s robes. It was spinning very fast in the palm of Ron’s hand and glowing brilliantly.

“Is that a Sneakoscope?” said Hermione interestedly, standing up for a better look.

“Yeah… mind you, it’s a very cheap one,” Ron said. “It went haywire just as I was tying it to Errol’s leg to send it to Harry.”

“Were you doing anything untrustworthy at the time?” asked Hermione shrewdly.

“No! Well… I wasn’t supposed to be using Errol. You know he’s not really up to long journeys… but how else was I supposed to get Harry’s present to him?”

“Stick it back in the trunk,” Harry advised as the Sneakoscope whistled piercingly, “or it’ll wake him up.” He nodded toward Professor Lupin.

Ron stuffed the Sneakoscope into a particularly horrible pair of old socks, which deadened the sound, then closed the lid of the trunk on it.

“We could get it checked in Hogsmeade,” said Ron, sitting back down. “They sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and George told me.”

“Do you know much about Hogsmeade?” asked Hermione keenly. “I’ve read it’s the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain—”

“Yeah, I think it is,” said Ron in an offhand sort of way, “but that’s not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!”

“What’s that?” said Hermione.

“It’s this sweetshop,” said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face, “where they’ve got everything… Pepper Imps—they make you smoke at the mouth—and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you’re thinking what to write next —”

"I don't really want to go anywhere specific. It'll just be nice to be able to leave the school sometimes." I said, earning nods from them. I opened my journal again, looking at my second year entries. I glanced out through the doors, seeing the compartment across from us. Inside was Neville and some others.

“But Hogsmeade’s a very interesting place, isn’t it?” Hermione pressed on eagerly. “In Sites of Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack’s supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain—”

“—and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you’re sucking them,” said Ron, who was plainly not listening to a word Hermione was saying.

Hermione looked around at Harry. “Won’t it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?”

“’Spect it will,” said Harry heavily. “You’ll have to tell me when you’ve found out.”

“What d’you mean?” said Ron.

“I can’t go. The Dursleys didn’t sign my permission form, and Fudge wouldn’t either.”

Ron looked horrified. “You’re not allowed to come? But—no way—McGonagall or someone will give you permission—”

Harry gave a hollow laugh. Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, was very strict.

“—or we can ask Fred and George, they know every secret passage out of the castle—”

“Ron!” said Hermione sharply. “I don’t think Harry should be sneaking out of school with Black on the loose—”

“Yeah, I expect that’s what McGonagall will say when I ask for permission,” said Harry bitterly.

“But if we’re with him,” said Ron spiritedly to Hermione, “Black wouldn’t dare—”

“Oh, Ron, don’t talk rubbish,” snapped Hermione. “Black’s already murdered a whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street. Do you really think he’s going to worry about attacking Harry just because we’re there?” She was fumbling with the straps of Crookshanks’s basket as she spoke.

“Don’t let that thing out!” Ron said, but too late; Crookshanks leapt lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Ron’s knees; the lump in Ron’s pocket trembled and he shoved Crookshanks angrily away. “Get out of here!”

“Ron, don’t!” said Hermione angrily.

"May I kill the orange disaster?"

"No, sorry."

Ron was about to answer back when Professor Lupin stirred.

We watched him apprehensively, but he simply turned his head the other way, mouth slightly open, and slept on.

The Hogwarts Express moved steadily north and the scenery outside the window became wilder and darker while the clouds overhead thickened.

People were chasing backward and forward past the door of our compartment. Crookshanks had now settled in an empty seat, his squashed face turned toward Ron, his yellow eyes on Ron’s top pocket.

At one o’clock, the plump witch with the food cart arrived at the compartment door.

“D’you think we should wake him up?” Ron asked awkwardly, nodding toward Professor Lupin.

“He looks like he could do with some food.” Hermione approached Professor Lupin cautiously. “Er—Professor?” she said. “Excuse me—Professor?” He didn’t move.

“Don’t worry, dear,” said the witch as she handed Harry a large stack of Cauldron Cakes and me a pack of fizzy-gum. It helped my motion-sickness and ear-popping as we went to higher altitudes in the highlands. “If he’s hungry when he wakes, I’ll be up front with the driver.”

“I suppose he is asleep?” said Ron quietly as the witch slid the compartment door closed. “I mean—he hasn’t died, has he?”

“No, no, he’s breathing,” whispered Hermione, taking the Cauldron Cake Harry passed her.

"He looks sick but I wouldn't guess he's unhealthy." I said, as Hermione was worried about his overall health. "He looks really very tired. I would guess he hasn't slept in quite a bit. Probably shouldn't wake him."

He might not be very good company, but Professor Lupin’s presence in their compartment had its uses.

Midafternoon, just as it had started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window, we heard footsteps in the corridor again, and our three least favorite people appeared at the door: Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

Draco and I had been 'enemies' ever since we had met on our very first train journey to Hogwarts. Malfoy, who had pale skin, a pointed, sneering face, was in my Slytherin House; he played Seeker on the Quidditch team, the same position that Harry played on the Gryffindor team.

Crabbe and Goyle seemed to exist to do Malfoy’s bidding. They were both wide and musclely; Crabbe was taller, with a pudding-bowl haircut and a very thick neck; Goyle had short, bristly hair and long, gorilla-ish arms.

I took a second to look up, finishing reading the old page in my journal. I finally looked up and opened my mouth to speak, but I didn't.

“Well, look who it is,” said Malfoy in his usual drawl, pulling open the compartment door. “Snake, Pottie and the Weasel.” Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly. “I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley,” said Malfoy. “Did your mother die of shock?”

Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks’s basket to the floor. Professor Lupin gave a snort.

“Who’s that?” said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backward as he spotted Lupin.

“New teacher,” said Harry, who got to his feet, too, in case he needed to hold Ron back. “What were you saying, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s pale eyes narrowed; he wasn’t fool enough to pick a fight right under a teacher’s nose.

“C’mon,” he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared.

Harry and Ron sat down again, Ron massaging his knuckles.

“I’m not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year,” he said angrily. “I mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I’m going to get hold of his head and—” Ron made a violent gesture in midair.

“Ron,” hissed Hermione, pointing at Professor Lupin, “be careful…”

But Professor Lupin was still fast asleep.

"What's your problem?" Ron asked me, still irritated.

"Uhm- Nothing." I looked at Hermione while the boys muttered to eachother. I was glad it wasn't just me, 'cause me and Hermione shared the universal eye-widening and flat smile all the girls knew. "Summer did 'im well."

"And then we- WHAT!?" Ron turned to me. "What did you just say!?"

"Nothing." I said.

"Did you just say 'summer did him well'?" Harry gaped.

"I cannot deny plain attraction. Leave me alone."

Hermione laughed behind her hands.

"Are you saying Malfoy's attractive?!"

The blond boy had definitely aged well that summer. Past years he'd had annoyingly greased-back hair, and a baby-face with a strangely sharp nose. This year, he still looked like himself, but the awkward stage seemed to had ended quickly for him. His eyes were a bit more defined, maybe slightly bigger, very gray with a bit of blue. His hair wasn't slicked back, it was a little messy, but in a really cute way, some fringe hung off the front. His features evened out, the sharper ones softening a bit and the softer ones sharpening a bit. He was very attractive, I couldn't even begin to deny it, legitimately the most attractive boy I'd ever seen.

"Hermione, tell her she's insane."

"Well... I-I'mnot attracted to him but he's kind of-"

"No! 'Mione!?"

"Sorry!"

I flipped to halfway through my journal to the page after my last notes. I wrote down everything I'd just said and thought, it was some... processing thing I did, not obsessing. No one had ever asked about me writing in that journal and it was a secure place to think.

The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north; the windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks. The train rattled, the rain hammered, the wind roared, but still, Professor Lupin slept.

“We must be nearly there,” said Ron, leaning forward to look past Professor Lupin at the now completely black window. The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.

“Great,” said Ron, getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try and see outside. “I’m starving. I want to get to the feast…”

“We can’t be there yet,” said Hermione, checking her watch.

“So why’re we stopping?”

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.

Harry, who was nearest the door, got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments.

The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

“What’s going on?” said Ron’s voice from behind Harry.

“Ouch!” gasped Hermione. “Ron, that was my foot!”

Harry felt his way back to his seat. “D’you think we’ve broken down?”

"No... It's cold... Something's going on, it's warm outside. The rain's warm even, but it's freezing." I noticed.

“Dunno…”

There was a squeaking sound, and I saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.

“There’s something moving out there,” Ron said. “I think people are coming aboard…”

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell painfully over my legs.

“Sorry—d’you know what’s going on?—Ouch—sorry—”

“Hullo, Neville,” said Harry, feeling around in the dark and pulling Neville up by his cloak.

“Harry? Is that you? What’s happening?”

“No idea—sit down—”

There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks.

“I’m going to go and ask the driver what’s going on,” came Hermione’s voice.

I felt her pass us, heard the door slide open again, and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain.

“Who’s that?”

“Who’s that?”

“Ginny?”

“Hermione?”

“What are you doing?”

“I was looking for Ron—”

“Come in and sit down—”

“Not here!” said Harry hurriedly. “I’m here!”

“Ouch!” said Neville.

“Quiet!” said a hoarse voice suddenly. Professor Lupin appeared to have woken up at last. I could hear movements in his corner. None of us spoke.

There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired, gray face, but his eyes looked alert and wary.

“Stay where you are,” he said in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him. But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin’s hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. My eyes darted downward, and what I saw made my stomach contract.

There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimylooking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water… But it was visible only for a split second.

As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed my gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak. And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over all of us. I felt my own breath catch in my chest, my lungs freezing. The cold went deeper than my skin. It was inside my chest, it was inside my very heart… My eyes rolled up into my head. I couldn’t see. I was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in my ears as though of water. There was nothing else, I was just freezing into a cold water. It filled my body and it was almost peaceful, yet still terrifying.

“Harry! Harry! Are you all right?”

That was when I opened my eyes. While I had been out of it also, Harry was on the floor.Clearly the more important issue.

“W—what?” Harry opened his eyes.

I looked up, there were lanterns above us, on, and the floor was shaking—the Hogwarts Express was moving again and the lights had come back on.

Ron and Hermione were kneeling next to Harry, and above them Neville and Professor Lupin were watching.

I felt very sick; but Harry was clearly feeling worse. He was in a cold sweat and panting a bit.

Ron and Hermione heaved him back onto his seat.

“Are you okay?” Ron asked nervously.

“Yeah,” said Harry, looking quickly toward the door. The hooded creature had vanished. “What happened? Where’s that—that thing? Who screamed?”

“No one screamed,” said Ron, more nervously still. Harry looked around the bright compartment.

Ginny and Neville looked back at him, both very pale.

“But I heard screaming—”

A loud snap made us all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces. “Here,” he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. “Eat it. It’ll help.”

Harry took the chocolate but didn’t eat it.

“What was that thing?” he asked Lupin.

“A dementor,” said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else. “One of the dementors of Azkaban.”

Everyone stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.

“Eat,” he repeated. “It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me…”

He strolled past us and disappeared into the corridor.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Harry?” said Hermione, watching Harry anxiously.

Ginny realized I didn't look well either and asked me if I was okay. I nodded and muttered about feeling tired, I didn't like the attention.

“I don’t get it… What happened?” asked Harry, wiping more sweat off his face.

“Well—that thing—the dementor—stood there and looked around (I mean, I think it did, I couldn’t see its face)—and you—you—”

“I thought you were having a fit or something,” said Ron, who still looked scared. “You went sort of rigid and fell out of your seat and started twitching—”

“And Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and pulled out his wand,” said Hermione, “and he said, ‘None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.’ But the dementor didn’t move, so Lupin muttered something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of glided away…”

“It was horrible,” said Neville, in a higher voice than usual. “Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?”

“I felt weird,” said Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. “Like I’d never be cheerful again…”

Ginny, who was huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as Harry felt, gave a small sob; Hermione went over and put a comforting arm around her.

“But didn’t any of you—fall off your seats?” said Harry awkwardly.

“No,” said Ron, looking anxiously at Harry again. “Elex seemed to pass out and Ginny was shaking like mad, though…”

Harry didn’t understand. He felt weak and shivery, as though he were recovering from a bad bout of flu; he also felt the beginnings of shame. Why had he gone to pieces like that, when no one else had?

Professor Lupin had come back. He paused as he entered, looked around, and said, with a small smile, “I haven’t poisoned that chocolate, you know…”

Harry took a bite.

“We’ll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes,” said Professor Lupin. “Are you all right, Harry?”

Harry didn’t ask how Professor Lupin knew his name. “Fine,” he muttered, embarrassed.

We didn’t talk much during the remainder of the journey. At long last, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, and there was a great scramble to get outside; owls hooted, cats meowed, and Neville’s pet toad croaked loudly from under his hat. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets.

“Firs’ years this way!” called a familiar voice.

We turned and saw the gigantic outline of Hagrid at the other end of the platform, beckoning the terrified-looking new students forward for their traditional journey across the lake.

“All righ’, you four?” Hagrid yelled over the heads of the crowd. We waved at him, but had no chance to speak to him because the mass of people around us was shunting us away along the platform.

We followed the rest of the school along the platform and out onto a rough mud track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches awaited the remaining students, each pulled, I could only assume, by an invisible horse, because when we climbed inside and shut the door, the coach set off all by itself, bumping and swaying in procession.

The coach smelled faintly of mold and straw. I felt better since the chocolate, but still weak. Ron and Hermione kept looking at Harry sideways, as though frightened he might collapse again. As the carriage trundled toward a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with winged boars, I saw two more towering, hooded dementors, standing guard on either side.

The carriage picked up speed on the long, sloping drive up to the castle; Hermione was leaning out of the tiny window, watching the many turrets and towers draw nearer. At last, the carriage swayed to a halt, and Hermione and Ron got out. As Harry and I stepped down, a drawling, delighted voice sounded in his ear.

“You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?” Malfoy elbowed past Hermione to block Harry’s way up the stone steps to the castle, his face gleeful and his pale eyes glinting maliciously.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” said Ron, whose jaw was clenched.

“Did you faint as well, Weasley?” said Malfoy loudly. “Did the scary old dementor frighten you too, Weasley?”

“Is there a problem?” said a mild voice.

Professor Lupin had just gotten out of the next carriage. Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the delapidated suitcase. With a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice, he said, “Oh, no—er—Professor,” then he smirked at Crabbe and Goyle and led them up the steps into the castle. He glanced at me, I was unashamedly staring intently at him, and he definitely noticed. "See something you like, Snape?"

"Continue on, Malfoy. You can bully me later." I said, smiling sarcastically.

Hermione prodded Ron in the back to make him hurry, and the four of us joined the crowd swarming up the steps, through the giant oak front doors, into the cavernous entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches, and housed a magnificent marble staircase that led to the upper floors.

The door into the Great Hall stood open at the right; I followed the crowd toward it, and entered the bright and beautiful Great Hall.

I saw Harry and Hermione getting dragged away by Professor McGonagall and I walked to Slytherin table. I sat at the end, close to the teachers, and saw Adrien a few seats down.

"How was your summer?" He asked.

"Boring, nice though." I answered, "You?"

"Same."

I looked up and Malfoy had plopped down across from me. His cronies a bit of a way down the table.

"Of all places at the table?" I put my hands up. "You're obsessed with me."

"How was your summer?" He asked, with an undertone of an alterior motive.

"Fine. I terrorized Stan Shunpike on the Knights Bus. How was Malfoy Manor?" I asked, pretending to be civil.

"Quite nice." He said, "is it true? Did Potter faint?"

"I don't know. I passed out, I didn't see."

"You fainted?!"

"Yes." I answered, looking at the front as McGonagall started the sorting ceremony. "Don't act all high-and-mighty, you would've soiled your million-galleon-insured-self all the way to Baltimore if you'd seen it."

"Scar- what is that?"

I looked down at Veltidor coiling out of my hood and onto my shoulder. "May I bite him?"

I didn't answer with that many people around. "It's a snake, have you not even seen one?" I mocked. "His name's Veltidor, and no I didn't name him."

"It was in your clothes?!"

"I'm unwisely trusting him." I said, earning a hiss from V (that was what I was gonna call him as a nickname.)

"Well..." He hummed. "Excited for Divination?"

I stared, narrowed eyes. He could mock my little 'episodes' all he wanted, as long as he didn't tell anyone outright. "Yes, quite hoping to predict your death. Gruesomely."

"Réciproque."

"Did dear-old-daddy allow you to speak French again?"

"No." He glared. "I hoped maybe you'd've come around, realized you can do better than Potter and Weasley. I see I was wrong."

"Malfoy, judge my friends when you get some better than those two ugly-oafs." I gestured to Crabbe and Goyle.

"Hmph... N'importe quoi, casse-toi.Shove off."

Harry and Hermione came in right after the sorting ended.Professor McGonagall strode off toward her empty seat at the staff table, and Harry and Hermione set off toward the Gryffindor table.

People looked around at them as they passed along the back of the hall, and a few of them pointed at Harry. Had the story of his collapsing in front of the dementor traveled that fast? He and Hermione sat down on either side of Ron, who had saved them seats.

"Can you believe Potter fainted?" Draco asked the guy next to him. "Honestly-"

"Y'know, it's a shame you're a conasse." (I'd learned that one just for him.) "Fifth year, save me a broom closet." I winked, throwing him completely off his game.

"Uh- what- wait- what?"

"You're a jackass, but you're- hmm-" I smiled, looking him up. "Hit me up, fifth year." I smiled sarcastically and picked up a fork, knowing dinner was about to begin.Draco looked like he was trying to put on a smirk or something but was glancing at those around us like he was hoping they'd explain my hitting on him. "I'm messing with you, Malfoy, chill."

"Oh- good. I was- yeah, I would never- hah-"

I nearly-giggled, elated at how unnerved I made him. He glowered at my laugh and rolled his eyes.

Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always gave an impression of great energy. He had several feet of long silver hair and beard, half-moon spectacles, and an extremely crooked nose. He was often described as the greatest wizard of the age, though I definitely didn't agree.

Despite the fact I didn't agree, you couldn’t help trusting Albus Dumbledore, and I watched him beaming around at the students.

"Welcome!” said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast…” Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, “As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business. They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore continued, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises—or even Invisibility Cloaks,” he added blandly, and I glanced at each of the boys. “It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors. On a happier note,” he continued, “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. “First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Only those who had been in the compartment on the train with Professor Lupin clapped hard, me among them. Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.

“Look at Snape!” Adrian hissed in my ear.

My father was staring along the staff table at Professor Lupin. It was common knowledge that Snape wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, but even I, who hated my father, was startled at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face. It was beyond anger: it was loathing.

I knew that expression only too well; it was the look Snape wore every time he set eyes on Harry Potter.

“As to our second new appointment,” Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin died away. “Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.”

There was tumultuous applause, especially at the Gryffindor table.

I leaned forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby-red in the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard.

“We should’ve known!” Ron roared, audible from across the room, pounding the table. “Who else would have assigned us a biting book?”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last to stop clapping, and as Professor Dumbledore started speaking again, I saw that Hagrid was wiping his eyes on the tablecloth.

“Well, I think that’s everything of importance,” said Dumbledore. “Let the feast begin!”

The golden plates and goblets before us filled suddenly with food and drink. I helped myself to everything I could reach and began to eat. It was a delicious feast; the hall echoed with talk, laughter, and the clatter of knives and forks. I talked to Myra, Adrian, and occasionally fought with Draco. It was a nice night, if I didn't think about Draco's insults and annoying comments.

As usual, he did annoy me beyond belief. He was super rude, bigoted, and ignorant. But I couldn't deny something, which was that he was funny. Still pissing me off, still a jerk, but apparently with a newfound sense of humor, he was funny.

At long last, when the last morsels of pumpkin tart had melted from the golden platters, Dumbledore gave the word that it was time for us all to go to bed. The first day was always surreal to be back. You realize you've missed everyone, even Draco, even though I hate him. So you feel the missing them, but you're already back with them. It was always one of my favorite and least favorite days of the year.

“Congratulations, Hagrid!” I said as I walked past him out of the Great Hall. Draco rolled his eyes and I hit him, smiling to Hermione who'd just run up to Hagrid too.

"How it's good to be back to the way things are meant to be." I teased after hitting Draco. He rolled his eyes again, I swore his eyes were gonna get stuck like that, and I began walking away to join my crowd of Slytherins to the Dungeons.

There had always been rumors of sorts saying that the Slytherin's had the worst common room and dorms. Everyone said it was slimy, dingy, moss-filled, gross, and wet. Do you think Lucius Malfoy would let his dear-old-Draco live in a slimy dungeon? No. We had the best house. The dungeons were dingy and slimy down to our house but as soon as you entered it was very nice.

The fire was stoked and bright, chairs and couches around it. The windows across the room lead into the Black Lake, seaweed and fish swimming by. The lights all around the common room were lit the room bright and illuminated the green, white, and black common room.

I was tired and while most of the Slytherins were hanging out and enjoying the night I knew we had the whole year ahead. I went up to my dorm, which had 'Third Years' on it that time. I made my bed and changed into pajamas, letting Veltidor down on my pillow where he mumbled about humans and slithered away into a hole in my bedframe. I stared at the ceiling, I was glad to be home.

Chapter 4: Tea Leaves

Chapter Text

When I entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, the first thing I saw was Malfoy, who seemed to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story.

As I passed to sit down, Malfoy did a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit and there was a roar of laughter.

“Ignore him,” said Hermione, who was right behind Harry just about ten feet away. “Just ignore him, it’s not worth it…”

"Sorry..." I mouthed, shaking my head. For the first morning I just wanted to eat at Slytherin table. I didn't have the energy to hang with my friends quite yet.

“Hey, Potter!” shrieked Pansy Parkinson, a girl with a face like a pug. “Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!”

Harry dropped into a seat at the Gryffindor table, next to George Weasley.

"Shut up Pansy, you sound like a screech-owl." I whined, covering my ears. “Malfoy-honey, course-schedules, give it."

He cringed when his friends laughed at me calling him 'honey' and slid one down to me.

“What’s up with you, Elex?” Adrian asked.

“Nothing, Malfoy's harrassing Harry and Harry's in a bad mood and it's contagious,” I said, annoying some other Slytherins that just wanted me to laugh along.

"You don't think it's a little funny?"

"Oh it's funny, I never said it wasn't funny..." I hummed, taking a bite of my porridge. "In a way... Continue, leave me alone."

A few minutes passed and I got up and went to Gryffindor table and sat by George.

He rolled his eyes as Malfoy pretended to faint with terror again.

“That little git,” he said calmly. “He wasn’t so co*cky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn’t he, Fred?”

“Nearly wet himself,” said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.

"Heh, knew it..." I said, finishing my breakfast.

“I wasn’t too happy myself,” said George. “They’re horrible things, those dementors…”

“Sort of freeze your insides, don’t they?” said Fred.

“You didn’t pass out, though, did you?” said Harry in a low voice.

“Forget it, Harry,” said George bracingly. “Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he’d ever been, he came back all weak and shaking… They suck the happiness out of a place, dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there.”

“Anyway, we’ll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match,” said Fred. “Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?”

The only time Harry and Malfoy had faced each other in a Quidditch match, Malfoy had definitely come off worse. I was hoping Malfoy had gotten a bit better over the summer.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, Harry helped himself to sausages and fried tomatoes. Hermione was examining her new schedule.

“Ooh, good, we’re starting some new subjects today,” she said happily.

“Hermione,” said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, “they’ve messed up your schedule. Look—they’ve got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn’t enough time.”

“I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”

“But look,” said Ron, laughing, “see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And—" Ron leaned closer to the schedule, disbelieving— "I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s that good. How’re you supposed to be in two classes at once?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione shortly. “Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.”

“Well, then—”

“Pass the marmalade,” said Hermione.

“But—”

“Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my schedule’s a bit full?” Hermione snapped. “I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”

Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absentmindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand.

“All righ’?” he said eagerly, pausing on the way to the staff table. “Yer in my firs’ ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five gettin’ everythin’ ready… Hope it’s okay… Me, a teacher… hones’ly…”

He grinned broadly at us and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.

“Wonder what he’s been getting ready?” wondered Ron, a note of anxiety in his voice.

The hall was starting to empty as people headed off toward their first lesson.

Ron checked his course schedule. “We’d better go, look, Divination’s at the top of North Tower. It’ll take us ten minutes to get there… Elex, it's Slytherin too, you in it?"

"Yes, I gotta finish eating, I'm starving, I'll be right up. Go ahead."

"Okay, alright, see you." They got up and said bye to Fred and George, and walked back through the hall.

As they passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy did yet another impression of a fainting fit.

I got up after my last few bites and said bye to the twins. I began walking out and into the entrance hall. I started walking to the North Tower when I heard running footsteps behind me.

I looked back, "oh come on, why couldn't you wait a minute after me?"

"I'm so sick of Crabbe and Goyle, shut up, I'm avoiding them."

"Well look who was right, ugly oafs."

"Why-" He muttered something to himself.

"What?"

"I haven't spoken English in three months. Give me a break." He said, looking down the hall.

"Aww, I get it. You just want to spend time with me, so sweet." I said sarcastically.

"Flatter yourself and go home to no father and an empty bank account."

"I'd choose no father anyday with how mine is and how yours treats you." I said, "and for your information I'm loaded."

"Yeah, right."

"I bought a Firebolt this summer."

"You bought a Firebolt!? You're lying, right?"

"No, and if you're nice to me I'll let you use it for Gryffindor v Slytherin."

"What- why?"

"Because you're the Seeker and we need to win." I said plainly.

"Does Potter have one?" He frowned.

"Not as far as I know. He was super jealous over it while we were at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Lovers vacation.."

"No, I found him on the Knights Bus when I was terrorizing Shunpike, like I told you. My guardian, Andromeda, was on vacation, so I was already on my own until the first. Just decided to go with him to London."

"Andromeda-"

"Yes, your aunt."

"Hmm," he hummed, looking out the window. "My half-aunt. A Blood-Traitor."

"Interesting. I know about the affairs, I was told you didn't."

"By who?"

"My father."

"Yes, my mother was the child of my grandfather, Andromeda was the child of him and his wife, Bellatrix Lestrange was the child of Andromeda's mother." He confirmed.

"Bellatrix Lestrange..."

"You must know who she is, you're not a completely useless Mudblood."

"Oh I know who she is." I confirmed.

"Right... Wait, go back. How do you have money? Snape definitely does not and Andromeda was poor from the moment she was disowned."

"Andromeda married into a bit of money. She did fine without your family." I responded, "And I got quite a large inheritence from my mother."

"I thought you didn't know who your mother was."

"I don't.."

"How does that-"

"Nunya, hurry up, we're almost late." I said, hurrying up the stairs.

"She's a Muggle, isn't she."

"No, well, I don't know. Whatever, c'mon."

The journey through the castle to North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn’t taught us everything about the castle, and I had never been inside North Tower before.

“There’s—got—to—be—a—shortcut,” Draco panted as we climbed our seventh long staircase and emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.

“I think it’s this way,” I said, peering down the empty passage to the right.

“Can’t be,” said Draco. “That’s south, look, you can see a bit of the lake out of the window…”

I was watching the painting. A fat, dapple-gray pony had just ambled onto the grass and was grazing nonchalantly. I was used to the subjects of paintings moving around and leaving their frames to visit one another, but I always enjoyed watching it.

A moment later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armor clanked into the picture after his pony. By the look of the grass stains on his metal knees, he had just fallen off.

“Aha!” he yelled, seeing me and Draco. “What villains are these, that trespass upon my private lands! Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!”

We watched in astonishment as the little knight tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began brandishing it violently, hopping up and down in rage. But the sword was too long for him; a particularly wild swing made him overbalance, and he landed facedown in the grass.

“Are you all right?” I asked, moving closer to the picture.

“Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!” The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sank deeply into the grass and, though he pulled with all his might, he couldn’t get it out again. Finally, he had to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face.

“Listen,” I said, taking advantage of the knight’s exhaustion, “we’re looking for the North Tower. You don’t know the way, do you?”

“A quest!” The knight’s rage seemed to vanish instantly. He clanked to his feet and shouted, “Come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!” He gave the sword another fruitless tug, tried and failed to mount the fat pony, gave up, and cried, “On foot then, good sir and gentle lady! On! On!” And he ran, clanking loudly, into the left side of the frame and out of sight.

We hurried after him along the corridor, following the sound of his armor. Every now and then we spotted him running through a picture ahead.

“Be of stout heart, the worst is yet to come!” yelled the knight, and we saw him reappear in front of an alarmed group of women in crinolines, whose picture hung on the wall of a narrow spiral staircase.

Puffing loudly, we climbed the tightly spiraling steps, getting dizzier and dizzier, until at last we heard the murmur of voices above them and knew we had reached the classroom.

“Farewell!” cried the knight, popping his head into a painting of some sinister-looking monks. “Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If ever you have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!”

“Yeah, we’ll call you,” muttered Draco as the knight disappeared, “if we ever need someone mental.”

I smiled and we climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny landing, where most of the class was already assembled. There were no doors off this landing, but Draco nudged me and pointed at the ceiling, where there was a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it.

“‘Sibyll Trelawney, Divination teacher,’” I read. “How’re we supposed to get up there?”

As though in answer to his question, the trapdoor suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder descended right at Draco's feet. Everyone got quiet.

“After you,” I said, grinning, so Draco climbed the ladder first. We emerged into the strangest-looking classroom I had ever seen. In fact, it didn’t look like a classroom at all, more like a cross between someone’s attic and an old-fashioned tea shop.

At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little poufs. Everything was lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed, and the many lamps were draped with dark red scarves. It was stiflingly warm, and the fire that was burning under the crowded mantelpiece was giving off a heavy, sickly sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves running around the circular walls were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, many packs of tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls, and a huge array of teacups.

I appeared at Draco's shoulder as the class assembled around us, all talking in whispers. My golden trio of friends loudly pronounced their confusion and betrayal at me arriving with the Malfoy.

“Where is she?” Draco asked.

A voice came suddenly out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice.

“Welcome,” it said. “How nice to see you in the physical world at last.” My immediate impression was of a large, glittering insect. Professor Trelawney moved into the firelight, and we saw that she was very thin; her large glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size, and she was draped in a gauzy spangled shawl. Innumerable chains and beads hung around her spindly neck, and her arms and hands were encrusted with bangles and rings. “Sit, my children, sit,” she said, and we all climbed awkwardly into armchairs or sank onto poufs.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat themselves around the same round table and I glared at Neville playfully when he took the forth seat.

"Oh sorry- I'll-"

"No Neville, I'm playing, you can sit with them. I'll be over-" I turned to look at the table behind them, also full. The only table with room was one with Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

There was one bouf left so I walked over to one and was about to sit when Draco took it.

"Really?"

"I told you, I'm sick of them. Your turn."

"No, I weighed my priorities." I said, sitting on the back of the beanbag-type-thing and kicked Draco's arm.

"I'm not moving."

"Neither am I, and I'll keep kicking you."

"Fine."

Ron was giving me a laughter-filled approving look.

“Welcome to Divination,” said Professor Trelawney, who had seated herself in a winged armchair in front of the fire. “My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye.”

Nobody said anything to this extraordinary pronouncement. Professor Trelawney delicately rearranged her shawl and continued,

“So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can take you only so far in this field…”

At these words, Harry, Ron, and I glanced, grinning, at Hermione, who looked startled at the news that books wouldn’t be much help in this subject.

“Many witches and wizards, talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future,” Professor Trelawney went on, her enormous, gleaming eyes moving from face to nervous face. “It is a Gift granted to few. You, boy,” she said suddenly to Neville, who almost toppled off his pouf. “Is your grandmother well?”

“I think so,” said Neville tremulously.

“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you, dear,” said Professor Trelawney, the firelight glinting on her long emerald earrings. Neville gulped. Professor Trelawney continued placidly. “We will be covering the basic methods of Divination this year. The first term will be devoted to reading the tea leaves. Next term we shall progress to palmistry. By the way, my dear,” she shot suddenly at Parvati Patil, “beware a red-haired man.”

Parvati gave a startled look at Ron, who was right behind her, and edged her chair away from him.

“In the second term,” Professor Trelawney went on, “we shall progress to the crystal ball—if we have finished with fire omens, that is. Unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of flu. I myself will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever.” A very tense silence followed this pronouncement, but Professor Trelawney seemed unaware of it. “I wonder, dear,” she said to Lavender Brown, who was nearest and shrank back in her chair, “if you could pass me the largest silver teapot?”

Lavender, looking relieved, stood up, took an enormous teapot from the shelf, and put it down on the table in front of Professor Trelawney.

“Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, that thing you are dreading— it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October.” Lavender trembled. “Now, I want you all to divide into pairs... of the one closest to you, to make it easy. Example, you two on the plouf-" the wat? "Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer, wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of Unfogging the Future. I shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and dear”—she caught Neville by the arm as he made to stand up—“after you’ve broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I’m rather attached to the pink.”

Sure enough, Neville had no sooner reached the shelf of teacups when there was a tinkle of breaking china. Professor Trelawney swept over to him holding a dustpan and brush and said, “One of the blue ones, then, dear, if you wouldn’t mind… thank you…”

When Draco and I had had our teacups filled, we begrudingly went back to the 'plouf' and tried to drink the scalding tea quickly.

"I hate tea.." I gagged, "at least this kind."

"Are you even British?"

We swilled the dregs around as Professor Trelawney had instructed, then drained the cups and swapped over.

“Right,” said Draco as we both opened our books at pages five and six. “What can you see in mine?”

“A load of soggy brown stuff,” I said. The heavily perfumed smoke in the room was making me feel sleepy and stupid.

“Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!” Professor Trelawney cried through the gloom.

I tried to pull myself together. “Right, you’ve got a crooked sort of tree... cross…” I consulted Unfogging the Future. “That means you’re going to have ‘trials and suffering’—sorry about that—but there’s a thing that could be the moon… hang on… that means ‘great happiness at times’…so you’re going to suffer but will have times when you're very happy…”

“You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me,” said Draco, and I had to stifle my laugh, not wanting to let him know he amused me.

Professor Trelawney gazed in our direction.

“My turn…” He peered into my teacup, his forehead wrinkled with effort. “There’s a blob a bit like a bowling ball,” he said. “Maybe you’re going to work for the Ministry of Magic…” He turned the teacup the other way up. “But this way it looks more like a boy… What’s that?” He scanned his copy of Unfogging the Future. “Why is there one just for that? ‘heavy uncontrollable life turns, unexpected love wherever you go.’ Excellent, you can find me someone… and there’s a thing here,” he turned the cup again, “that looks like an animal… a rabbit… You'll try to escape your new obsession.”

Professor Trelawney whirled around at Harry and Ron suddenly. “Let me see that, my dear,” she said reprovingly to Ron, sweeping over and snatching Harry’s cup from him.

Everyone went quiet to watch.

Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it counterclockwise. “The falcon… my dear, you have a deadly enemy.”

“But everyone knows that,” said Hermione in a loud whisper.

Professor Trelawney stared at her.

“Well, they do,” said Hermione. “Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who.”

Harry, Ron, and I stared at her with a mixture of amazement and admiration. We had never heard Hermione speak to a teacher like that before. Professor Trelawney chose not to reply. She lowered her huge eyes to Harry’s cup again and continued to turn it. “The club… an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup…”

“I thought that was a bowler hat,” said Ron sheepishly.

“The skull… danger in your path, my dear…”

Everyone was staring, transfixed, at Professor Trelawney, who gave the cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed.

There was another tinkle of breaking china; Neville had smashed his second cup. Professor Trelawney sank into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed.

“My dear boy… my poor, dear boy… no… it is kinder not to say… no… don’t ask me…”

“What is it, Professor?” said Dean Thomas at once. Everyone had got to their feet, not me who was already elevated, or Draco who didn't care, and slowly they crowded around Harry and Ron’s table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney’s chair to get a good look at Harry’s cup.

“My dear,” Professor Trelawney’s huge eyes opened dramatically, “you have the Grim.”

“The what?” said Harry. He could tell that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand; Dean Thomas shrugged at him and Lavender Brown looked puzzled, but nearly everybody else clapped their hands to their mouths in horror.

“The Grim, my dear, the Grim!” cried Professor Trelawney, who looked shocked that Harry hadn’t understood. “The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen—the worst omen —of death!”

Lavender Brown clapped her hands to her mouth too. Everyone was looking at Harry, everyone except Hermione, who had gotten up and moved around to the back of Professor Trelawney’s chair.

“I don’t think it looks like a Grim,” she said flatly. Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with mounting dislike.

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future.”

Seamus Finnigan was tilting his head from side to side. “It looks like a Grim if you do this,” he said, with his eyes almost shut, “but it looks more like a donkey from here,” he said, leaning to the left.

“When you’ve all finished deciding whether I’m going to die or not!” said Harry, taking even himself by surprise. Now nobody seemed to want to look at him.

“I think we will leave the lesson here for today,” said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice. “Yes… please pack away your things…” She looked at me. "I sense... great power from you... boy-"

"What?" Draco asked.

"Yes, great Seer power."

"You're a bumbling fool." I said, getting up.

Silently the class took their teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packed away their books, and closed their bags.

"Until we meet again,” said Professor Trelawney faintly, “fair fortune be yours. Oh, and dear” —she pointed at Neville— “you’ll be late next time, so mind you work extra-hard to catch up.” Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I descended Professor Trelawney’s ladder and the winding stair in silence, then set off for Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration lesson.

It took us so long to find her classroom that, early as they had left Divination, we were only just in time.

Harry chose a seat right at the back of the room, feeling as though he were sitting in a very bright spotlight; the rest of the class kept shooting furtive glances at him, as though he were about to drop dead at any moment.

I would've been more worried but Professor McGonagall was telling us about Animagi (wizards who could transform at will into animals), and I was intently watching when she transformed herself in front of our eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes.

“Really, what has got into you all today?” said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint pop, and staring around at us all. “Not that it matters, but that’s the first time my transformation’s not got applause from a class.”

Everybody’s heads turned toward Harry again, but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand.

“Please, Professor, we’ve just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and—”

“Ah, of course,” said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. “There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?”

Everyone stared at her.

“Me,” said Harry, finally.

“I see,” said Professor McGonagall, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. “Then you should know, Potter, that Sibyll Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues—” Professor McGonagall broke off, and they saw that her nostrils had gone white. She went on, more calmly, “Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney—” She stopped again, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, “You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.”

Hermione laughed.

Harry felt a bit better. It was harder to feel scared of a lump of tea leaves away from the dim red light and befuddling perfume of Professor Trelawney’s classroom. Not everyone was convinced, however. Ron still looked worried, and Lavender whispered, “But what about Neville’s cup?”

When the Transfiguration class had finished, we joined the crowd thundering toward the Great Hall for lunch.

“Ron, cheer up,” said Hermione, pushing a dish of stew toward him. “You heard what Professor McGonagall said.”

Ron spooned stew onto his plate and picked up his fork but didn’t start. “Harry,” he said, in a low, serious voice, “you haven’t seen a great black dog anywhere, have you?”

“Yeah, I have,” said Harry. “I saw one the night I left the Dursleys’.”

Ron let his fork fall with a clatter.

“Probably a stray,” said Hermione calmly. Ron looked at Hermione as though she had gone mad.

“Hermione, if Harry’s seen a Grim, that’s—that’s bad,” he said. “My—my uncle Bilius saw one and—and he died twenty-four hours later!”

“Coincidence,” said Hermione airily, pouring herself some pumpkin juice.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” said Ron, starting to get angry. “Grims scare the living daylights out of most wizards!”

"Don't be a fool, Ronald."

“There you are, then,” said Hermione in a superior tone. “They see the Grim and die of fright. The Grim’s not an omen, it’s the cause of death! And Harry’s still with us because he’s not stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I’d better kick the bucket then!”

Ron mouthed wordlessly at Hermione, who opened her bag, took out her new Arithmancy book, and propped it open against the juice jug. “I think Divination seems very woolly,” she said, searching for her page. “A lot of guesswork, if you ask me.”

“There was nothing woolly about the Grim in that cup!” said Ron hotly.

“You didn’t seem quite so confident when you were telling Harry it was a sheep,” said Hermione coolly.

“Professor Trelawney said you didn’t have the right aura! You just don’t like being bad at something for a change!” He had touched a nerve. Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book down on the table so hard that bits of meat and carrot flew everywhere.

“If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea leaves, I’m not sure I’ll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish compared with my Arithmancy class!” She snatched up her bag and stalked away. Ron frowned after her.

“What’s she talking about?” he said to Harry. “She hasn’t been to an Arithmancy class yet.”

"Ron, the only one of us here who has any Seer potential is me. And I don't quite feel like explaining it right now, but I'm sick of only Malfoy knowing. If I see Harry dying in any dreams I'll let you know, for now, calm down." I said, grabbing my bag and leaving to Slytherin table. I didn't want to have to answer their questions.

"You think you're a better Seer than that hag?" Malfoy asked when I sat down.

"Oh, I didn't even realize you were sitting here..." I noted out loud, I was stuck in my thoughts. "Uhm, shush, but yes."

"I'm a better Seer than that hag."

"I don't know. I'm looking forward to the love that'll befoul me and watching you suffer."

"Keep your hopes up."

Chapter 5: Talons

Chapter Text

Iwas pleased to get out of the castle after lunch. Yesterday’s rain had cleared; the sky was a clear, pale gray, and the grass was springy and damp underfoot as we set off for our first ever Care of Magical Creatures class.

Ron and Hermione weren’t speaking to each other. Harry walked beside them in silence as we went down the sloping lawns to Hagrid’s hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. I wandered off from them when I realized they were gonna be a riot. Sarcasm.

We arrived and Malfoy was talking animatedly to Crabbe and Goyle, who were chortling. I guess he had a long enough break from them. I was quite sure I knew what they were talking about, so was Harry. His inevitable death.

Hagrid was waiting for the class at the door of his hut. He stood in his moleskin overcoat, with Fang the boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start.

“C’mon, now, get a move on!” he called as we approached. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!”

Hagrid strolled off around the edge of the trees, and five minutes later, we found ourselves outside a kind of paddock. There was nothing in there.

“Everyone gather ’round the fence here!” he called. “That’s it— make sure yeh can see—now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books—”

“How?” asked the cold voice of Draco.

“Eh?” said Hagrid.

“How do we open our books?” Malfoy repeated. He took out his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which he had bound shut with a length of rope. Other people took theirs out too; some, like me and Harry, had belted their book shut; others had crammed them inside tight bags or clamped them together with binder clips.

“Hasn’—hasn’ anyone bin able ter open their books?” said Hagrid, looking crestfallen. We all shook our heads. “Yeh’ve got ter stroke ’em,” said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Look—” He took Hermione’s copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book shivered, and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

“Oh, how silly we’ve all been!” Malfoy sneered. “We should have stroked them! Why didn’t we guess!”

“I—I thought they were funny,” Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione.

“Oh, tremendously funny!” said Malfoy. “Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” said Harry quietly.

"You're right, but shut up." I whispered under my breath.

Hagrid was looking downcast and we wanted Hagrid’s first lesson to be a success.

“Righ’ then,” said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his thread, “so —so yeh’ve got yer books an’—an’—now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I’ll go an’ get ’em. Hang on…” He strode away from us into the forest and out of sight.

“Gosh, this place is going to the dogs,” said Malfoy loudly. “That oaf teaching classes, my father’ll have a fit when I tell him—”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry repeated.

“Careful, Potter, there’s a dementor behind you—”

I hit him.

“Oooooooh!” squealed Lavender Brown, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock.

Trotting toward us were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures I had ever seen. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were half a foot long and deadly looking. Each of the beasts had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.

“Gee up, there!” he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood.

Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached us and tethered the creatures to the fence.

“Hippogriffs!” Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at us. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

I could sort of see what Hagrid meant. Once you got over the first shock of seeing something that was half horse, half bird, you started to appreciate the hippogriffs’ gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.

“So,” said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, “if yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer—”

No one seemed to want to but Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I however, approached the fence cautiously.

“Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ hippogriffs is, they’re proud,” said Hagrid. “Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ’cause it might be the last thing yeh do.”

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle weren’t listening; they were talking in an undertone and I had a nasty feeling they were plotting how best to disrupt the lesson.

“Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs’ move,” Hagrid continued. “It’s polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an’ yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh’re allowed ter touch him. If he doesn’ bow, then get away from him sharpish, ’cause those talons hurt. Right—who wants ter go first?”

Most of the class backed farther away in answer. Even we had misgivings. The hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful wings; they didn’t seem to like being tethered like this.

“No one?” said Hagrid, with a pleading look. “I’ll do it,” said Harry.

There was an intake of breath from behind him, and both Lavender and Parvati whispered, “Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!” Harry ignored them. He climbed over the paddock fence.

“Good man, Harry!” roared Hagrid. “Right then—let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.” He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Malfoy’s eyes were narrowed maliciously.

“Easy, now, Harry,” said Hagrid quietly. “Yeh’ve got eye contact, now try not ter blink… Hippogriffs don’ trust yeh if yeh blink too much…” Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and was staring at Harry with one fierce orange eye.

“Tha’s it,” said Hagrid. “Tha’s it, Harry… now, bow…”

He did as he was told. He gave a short bow and then looked up. The hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him. It didn’t move.

“Ah,” said Hagrid, sounding worried. “Right—back away, now, Harry, easy does it—” But then, to Harry’s enormous surprise, the hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow. “Well done, Harry!” said Hagrid, ecstatic. “Right—yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!”

Harry moved slowly toward the hippogriff and reached out toward it. He patted the beak several times and the hippogriff closed its eyes lazily, as though enjoying it. The class broke into applause, all except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were looking deeply disappointed.

“Righ’ then, Harry,” said Hagrid. “I reckon he might’ let yeh ride him!”

This was more than Harry had bargained for. He was used to a broomstick; but he wasn’t sure a hippogriff would be quite the same.

“Yeh climb up there, jus’ behind the wing joint,” said Hagrid, “an’ mind yeh don’ pull any of his feathers out, he won’ like that…”

Harry put his foot on the top of Buckbeak’s wing and hoisted himself onto its back. Buckbeak stood up. Harry wasn’t sure where to hold on; everything in front of him was covered with feathers. “

Go on, then!” roared Hagrid, slapping the hippogriff’s hindquarters. Without warning, twelve-foot wings flapped open on either side of Harry; he just had time to seize the hippogriff around the neck before he was soaring upward.

He just managed to hold on and push himself straight again as he landed minutes later with a thud.

“Good work, Harry!” roared Hagrid as everyone except Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and I cheered. I wasn't in the mood. “Okay, who else wants a go?”

Emboldened by Harry’s success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied the hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the paddock.

Neville ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn’t seem to want to bend its knees. Ron, Hermione, and I practiced on the chestnut, while Harry watched. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle over at Buckbeak. He had bowed to Malfoy, who was now patting his beak, looking disdainful.

“This is very easy,” Malfoy drawled, loud enough for me to hear him. “I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it… I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you?” he said to the hippogriff. “Are you, you great ugly brute?”

It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.

“I’m dying!” Malfoy yelled as the class panicked. “I’m dying, look at me! It’s killed me!”

“Yer not dyin’!” said Hagrid, who had gone very white. “Someone help me—gotta get him outta here—”

"Draco-it'll be okay- Draco-" Pansy mumbled.

"Quiet, Malfoy, you're fine." I said, kneeling down by him, not able to lie that he didn't look bad.

Hermione ran to hold open the gate and Hagrid lifted Malfoy easily. As they passed, I saw that there was a long, deep gash on Malfoy’s arm; blood splattered the grass and Hagrid ran with him, up the slope toward the castle.

Very shaken, the Care of Magical Creatures class followed at a walk.

"They should fire him straight away!” said Pansy Parkinson, who was in tears.

“It was Malfoy’s fault!” snapped Dean Thomas. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles threateningly.

"Malfoy's an idiot, an attractive idiot but still an idiot so all of you shut up and follow me." I yelled, earning a scowl from Ron.

We all climbed the stone steps into the deserted entrance hall.

“I’m going to see if he’s okay!” said Pansy, and everyone watched her run up the marble staircase.

I ran up after her and grabbed her arm, holding her back. Most of the students were surprised I cared, but I despised that girl. So much more after everything she said during that lesson.

"Hey Pansy, you wanna know what Malfoy told me? He doesn't like you, so run off and stop being a bitch, aye'?"

She gaped and burst into tears. She ran off down the steps past everyone.

Hermione looked upset with me. "Why'd you do that, Elexendrizella? That was really rude..."

"I hate her." I said plainly.

The rest of the Slytherins, still muttering about Hagrid, headed away in the direction of their dungeon common room; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I proceeded upstairs to Gryffindor Tower.

“D’you think he’ll be all right?” said Hermione nervously.

“’Course he will. Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts in about a second,” said Harry, who had had far worse injuries mended magically by the nurse.

“That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid’s first class, though, wasn’t it?” said Ron, looking worried. “Trust Malfoy to mess things up for him…”

I sighed, looking back. "Uhm... I'm gonna go ch-"

"Tell me you don't care about him!?" Ron gaped.

"No... I'm gonna try and talk him out of making this a bigger mess." I said, walking off from them.

"That's a waste of time, Elex-"

"Well I have plenty of it. I can afford to waste a bit." I walked down and up into the next tower, finding the hospital wing quickly.

Madam Pomfrey stopped me at the door. "Injured?"

"No, I need to talk to Malfoy."

"Yes... come in." She let me in and I looked around, seeing an almost empty bright room. I walked over where Draco was sitting, whining, with his arm in a sling, being as dramatic as I could imagine.

"Hola, Malfoy."

"What do you want?" He whined, rolling to face away from me. "Help me fire that oaf?"

"I'm here to talk you out of firing that 'oaf.'" I said.

"No- get out-"

"I made Pansy cry by telling her not to come here so you owe me one."

"Fine!" He yelled, "you can try to convince me, I'm going to owl my father."

"Honestly I agree with what most everyone's saying, and Hagrid should not be a teacher. He's bad at it, he's not responsible, and he doesn't know how to keep us safe. But he needs the job. If you get him fired you'll get on even more of the bad-side of the three other houses. They adore him. I really don't get it. He's sweet, but he's a reckless drunk if you really think about it. I don't really like him, I don't know why my friends love him, but they do, and Dumblebore adores him. If you involve your father it could get him fired, either way you'll be hated more than you already are, and with your father already in bad standing from last year, it would end terribly for him if Hagrid didn't get fired."

He scowled, silently staring at me. "Even if you're right, I already owled him."

"I thought you said you weregoing to-"

"I lied."

"Malfoy- just- please tell him you don't want to go through with it."

"He won't listen, he'll take it into his own hands anyway." Draco said, shrugging, then wincing. "Get out, I don't want to talk to you."

I sighed, storming out, "I hate you Malfoy..."

Iwas among the first to reach the Great Hall at dinnertime, hoping to see Hagrid, but he wasn’t there.

“They wouldn’t fire him, would they?” said Hermione anxiously, not touching her steak-and-kidney pudding.

“They’d better not,” said Ron, who wasn’t eating either.

I was watching the Slytherin table. A large group including Crabbe and Goyle was huddled together, deep in conversation.

Harry commented how he was sure they were cooking up their own version of how Malfoy had been injured.

“Well, you can’t say it wasn’t an interesting first day back,” said Ron gloomily.

We went up to the crowded Gryffindor common room after dinner and tried to do the homework. I didn't want to go back to my common room yet. All four of us kept breaking off and glancing out of the tower window.

“There’s a light on in Hagrid’s window,” Harry said suddenly.

Ron looked at his watch. “If we hurried, we could go down and see him. It’s still quite early…”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said slowly, and Harry saw her glance at him.

“I’m allowed to walk across the grounds,” he said pointedly. “Sirius Black hasn’t got past the dementors yet, has he?”

So we put our things away and headed out of the portrait hole, glad to meet nobody on our way to the front doors, as we weren’t entirely sure we were supposed to be out. The grass was still wet and looked almost black in the twilight.

When we reached Hagrid’s hut, Harry knocked, and a voice growled, “C’min.” Hagrid was sitting in his shirtsleeves at his scrubbed wooden table; his boarhound, Fang, had his head in Hagrid’s lap. One look told them that Hagrid had been drinking a lot; there was a pewter tankard almost as big as a bucket in front of him, and he seemed to be having difficulty getting them into focus. “’Spect it’s a record,” he said thickly, when he recognized them. “Don’ reckon they’ve ever had a teacher who lasted on’y a day before.”

“You haven’t been fired, Hagrid!” gasped Hermione.

“Not yet,” said Hagrid miserably, taking a huge gulp of whatever was in the tankard. “But ’s only a matter o’ time, i’n’t it, after Malfoy…”

“How is he?” said Ron as they all sat down. “It wasn’t serious, was it?”

“Madam Pomfrey fixed him best she could,” said Hagrid dully, “but he’s sayin’ it’s still agony… covered in bandages… moanin’…”

“He’s faking it,” I said at once. “I talked to him. He's in pain but he's fine. Madam Pomfrey can mend anything. She regrew half Harry's bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it’s worth.”

“School gov’nors have bin told, o’ course,” said Hagrid miserably. “They reckon I started too big. Shoulda left hippogriffs fer later… done flobberworms or summat… Jus’ thought it’d make a good firs’ lesson…’S all my fault…”

“It’s all Malfoy’s fault, Hagrid!” said Hermione earnestly.

“We’re witnesses,” said Harry. “You said hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It’s Malfoy’s problem that he wasn’t listening. We’ll tell Dumbledore what really happened.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Hagrid, we’ll back you up,” said Ron. Tears leaked out of the crinkled corners of Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes. He grabbed both Harry and Ron and pulled them into a bonebreaking hug.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, Hagrid,” said Hermione firmly. She took the tankard from the table and went outside to empty it.

“Ar, maybe she’s right,” said Hagrid, letting go of Harry and Ron, who both staggered away, rubbing their ribs. Hagrid heaved himself out of his chair and followed Hermione unsteadily outside. We heard a loud splash.

“What’s he done?” said Harry nervously as Hermione came back in with the empty tankard.

“Stuck his head in the water barrel,” said Hermione, putting the tankard away. Hagrid came back, his long hair and beard sopping wet, wiping the water out of his eyes.

“Tha’s better,” he said, shaking his head like a dog and drenching them all. “Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an’ see me, I really—” Hagrid stopped dead, staring at Harry as though he’d only just realized he was there. “WHAT D’YEH THINK YOU’RE DOIN’, EH?” he roared, so suddenly that we jumped a foot in the air. “YEH’RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN’ AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN’ YOU TWO! LETTIN’ HIM!” Hagrid strode over to Harry, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the door. “C’mon!” Hagrid said angrily. “I’m takin’ yer all back up ter school, an’ don’ let me catch yeh walkin’ down ter see me after dark again. I’m not worth that!”

I walked into the Slytherin common room, shaken, and my father and Draco were the first to see me.

"Where were you?" My father asked.

"Hagrid's..."

"Why do you look upset? What did he do?"

"Nothing, nothing..." I shook my head, walking to the fire.

"What did the oaf do?" Malfoy asked.

"Like I'm gonna help your little Hagrid-hating squad."

"I-"

"Oh shove it up your blond-ass, shut." I said, pulling my bag off my back and dropping it to the side.

"Tell me, it's not like I have proof."

"Drunk off his ass and yelled at Harry and us. It was actually really terrifying." I couldn't lie, still shaken and heart beating. "I will deny it to anyone else."

I saw an ounce of worry on his face before he realized who he was talking to and dropped it. "You know he shouldn't be a teacher."

"I do, but it shouldn't go down like this." I opened my journal, flipping off the page at the speed of light, as it was the one about Malfoy being attractive. "I don't want to be on your side on this. Give me time."

Chapter 6: The Boggart in the Wardrobe

Chapter Text

Malfoy didn’t reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. To be fair that was Madam Pomfrey's fault, she wanted to check up on him since he was being so dramatic.

He swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting as though he were the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle.

“How is it, Draco?” simpered Pansy Parkinson. “Does it hurt much?”

“Yeah,” said Malfoy, putting on a grimace.

“Settle down, settle down,” said my father idly.

Harry and Ron scowled at each other; Snape wouldn’t have said “settle down” if they’d walked in late, he’d have given them detention. But Malfoy had actually had an excuse from Madam Pomfrey so I didn't know what they were whining about.

We were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Harry, Ron, and I so that we were preparing their ingredients on the same table.

“Sir,” Malfoy called, “sir, I’ll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm—”

“Elex, cut up Malfoy’s roots for him,” said Snape without looking up.

“There’s nothing wrong with your arm,” I hissed at Malfoy.

Malfoy smirked at me. “Elexen, you heard your father; cut up these roots.”

I seized his knife, pulled Malfoy’s roots toward me, and began to chop them, calmly despite my annoyance. "Pansy's birthday is in a month. I'm buying her a love potion to give to you."

He took the knife back and begrudgingly began chopping his own roots awkardly, holding them down with his elbow.

“Seen your pal Hagrid lately?” he asked us quietly.

“None of your business,” said Ron jerkily, without looking up.

“I’m afraid he won’t be a teacher much longer,” said Malfoy in a tone of mock sorrow. “Father’s not very happy about my injury—”

“Keep talking, Malfoy, and I’ll give you a real injury,” I snarled.

“—he’s complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic. Father’s got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this”—he gave a huge, fake sigh—“who knows if my arm’ll ever be the same again?”

“So that’s why you’re putting it on,” said Harry, accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hand was shaking in anger. “To try to get Hagrid fired.”

“Well,” said Malfoy, lowering his voice to a whisper, “partly, Potter. But there are other benefits too..."

"Malfoy," I grabbed his collar as my father looked away. "Be something I can respect and I can help you get whatever you want. I agree with you, you're right, but you're a dramatic-childish-bigot that deserves the sh*t family he has. When they turn on you because you're too weak to be them you'll remember me."

He opened his mouth to respond but afew cauldrons away, Neville was in trouble. Neville regularly went to pieces in Potions lessons; it was his worst subject, and his great fear of Professor Snape made things ten times worse.

His potion, which was supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned— “Orange, Longbottom,” said Snape, ladling some up and allowing it to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone could see. “Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

Neville was pink and trembling. He looked as though he was on the verge of tears.

“Please, sir,” said Hermione, “please, I could help Neville put it right—”

“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” said Snape coldly, and Hermione went as pink as Neville. “Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.” Snape moved away, leaving Neville breathless with fear.

“Help me!” he moaned to Hermione.

“Hey, Harry,” said Seamus Finnigan, leaning over to borrow Harry’s brass scales, “have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning— they reckon Sirius Black’s been sighted.”

"You think he's right?" Ron muttered to me while Harry spoke to Seamus.

"Not right now, Ron."

“Where?” said Harry quickly.

Malfoy looked up, listening closely. He turned to me though, as they spoke. "You act so tough like you could do anything to me. But you're not even brave enough to stand up to your father."

I stood aggresively, shoving him, intentionally on the injured arm. "ThethingsI could do to you!"

"Elexendrizella!" My father began storming over and Pansy sqeaked.

"You're weak, you hate me because I'm better than you, you've had everything handed to you, and you cry like a baby over a damn scratch. Is it because you were beaten into not crying over anything else? Is it 'cause you've been coddled? Never felt pain? What is it!? You're jealous I really don't have a father? Want mine? He seems to love you more than me." I gestured to Snape loosely. "The THINGS I could do to you! You're a rat, I'm the child of-MUFFLIATO!"I yelled, blocking us out from anyone else. Draco looked scared. "I'm the child of TWO Death Eaters! I could-"

"Finite!"My father yelled.

"I could-"

"Elexendrizella! Twenty points from Slytherin! Sit down and do not speak until your potion is completely finished and do not touch Malfoy again or it'll be detention withme."

I sat down and the room slowly went back to their conversations. Veltidor slithered out of my sleeve and coiled around a beaker Draco was supposed to be using. He knew what he was doing.

“Not too far from here,” said Seamus, going back to the subject of Sirius Black being sighted. “It was a Muggle who saw him. ’Course, she didn’t really understand. The Muggles think he’s just an ordinary criminal, don’t they? So she phoned the telephone hot line. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone.”

“Not too far from here…,” Ron repeated, looking significantly at Harry. He turned around and saw Malfoy watching closely. “What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?” But Malfoy’s eyes were shining malevolently, and they were fixed on Harry. He leaned across the table.

“Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Harry offhandedly.

Malfoy’s thin mouth was curving in a mean smile. “Of course, if it was me,” he said quietly, “I’d have done something before now. I wouldn’t be staying in school like a good boy, I’d be out there looking for him.”

“What are you talking about, Malfoy?” said Ron roughly.

“Don’t you know, Potter?” breathed Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed.

“Know what?”

Malfoy let out a low, sneering laugh. “Maybe you’d rather not risk your neck,” he said. “Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I’d want revenge. I’d hunt him down myself.”

“What are you talking about?” said Harry angrily, but at that moment Snape called, “You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we’ll test Longbottom’s…” Crabbe and Goyle laughed openly, watching Neville sweat as he stirred his potion feverishly.

Hermione was muttering instructions to him out of the corner of her mouth, so that Snape wouldn’t see. Harry, Ron, and I packed away our unused ingredients and went to wash our hands and ladles in the stone basin in the corner.

“What did Malfoy mean?” Harry muttered to Ron as he stuck his hands under the icy jet that poured from the gargoyle’s mouth. “Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn’t done anything to me—yet.”

“He’s making it up,” said Ron savagely. “He’s trying to make you do something stupid…”

"I don't think so... I'll see if he'll tell me."

The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to Neville, who was cowering by his cauldron.

“Everyone gather ’round,” said Snape, his black eyes glittering, “and watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”

The Gryffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville’s potion, which was now green. He trickled a few drops down Trevor’s throat. There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then there was a small pop, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape’s palm. The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” said Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.”

We climbed the steps to the entrance hall. Ron was seething about Snape. “Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was all right! Why didn’t you lie, Hermione? You should’ve said Neville did it all by himself!” Hermione didn’t answer. Ron looked around.

“Where is she?” Harry turned too.

We were at the top of the steps now, watching the rest of the class pass us, heading for the Great Hall and lunch.

“She was right behind us,” said Ron, frowning.

Malfoy passed us, walking between Crabbe and Goyle. He smirked at Harry and disappeared.

“There she is,” said Harry. Hermione was panting slightly, hurrying up the stairs; one hand clutched her bag, the other seemed to be tucking something down the front of her robes.

“How did you do that?” said Ron.

“What?” said Hermione, joining them.

“One minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the bottom of the stairs again.”

“What?” Hermione looked slightly confused. “Oh—I had to go back for something. Oh no—”

A seam had split on Hermione’s bag. I wasn’t surprised; I could see that it was crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books.

“Why are you carrying all these around with you?” Ron asked her.

“You know how many subjects I’m taking,” said Hermione breathlessly. “Couldn’t hold these for me, could you?”

“But—” Ron was turning over the books she had handed him, looking at the covers. “You haven’t got any of these subjects today. It’s only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon.”

“Oh yes,” said Hermione vaguely, but she packed all the books back into her bag just the same. “I hope there’s something good for lunch, I’m starving,” she added, and she marched off toward the Great Hall.

“D’you get the feeling Hermione’s not telling us something?” Ron asked us.

Professor Lupin wasn’t there when we arrived at his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. We all sat down, took out our books, quills, and parchment, and were talking when he finally entered the room.

Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his tatty old briefcase on the teacher’s desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square meals.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.”

A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. We had never had a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts before, unless you counted the memorable class last year when their old teacher had brought a cageful of pixies to class and set them loose.

“Right then,” said Professor Lupin, when everyone was ready. “If you’d follow me.”

Puzzled but interested, we got to our feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led us along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing we saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum. Peeves didn’t look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song.

“Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves sang. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin—”

Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves usually showed some respect toward the teachers. Everyone looked quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he would take this; to our surprise, he was still smiling.

“I’d take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves,” he said pleasantly. “Mr. Filch won’t be able to get in to his brooms.”

Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin’s words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry. Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand. “This is a useful little spell,” he told the class over his shoulder. “Please watch closely.” He raised the wand to shoulder height, said, “Waddiwasi!” and pointed it at Peeves. With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves’s left nostril; he whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing.

“Cool, sir!” said Dean Thomas in amazement.

“Thank you, Dean,” said Professor Lupin, putting his wand away again. “Shall we proceed?”

We set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increased respect. He led us down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staffroom door.

“Inside, please,” said Professor Lupin, opening it and standing back.

The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin came in and made to close the door behind him, Snape said, “Leave it open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.”

He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

Neville went scarlet. I glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers.

Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows. “I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation,” he said, “and I am sure he will perform it admirably.”

Neville’s face went, if possible, even redder. Snape’s lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap.

“Now, then,” said Professor Lupin, beckoning us toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. “There’s a boggart in there.”

Most people seemed to feel that this was something to worry about. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively.

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” said Professor Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks—I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice. So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?”

Hermione put up her hand. “It’s a shape-shifter,” she said. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed. “So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears. This means,” said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville’s small sputter of terror, “that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?”

Trying to answer a question with Hermione next to him, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with her hand in the air, was very off-putting, but Harry had a go. “Er—because there are so many of us, it won’t know what shape it should be?”

“Precisely,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione put her hand down, looking a little disappointed. “It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake—tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening. The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please… riddikulus!”

“Riddikulus!” said the class together.

"This class is rediculous..." Draco mumbled. I wanted to laugh so bad.

“Good,” said Professor Lupin. “Very good. But that was the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville.”

The wardrobe shook again, though not as much as Neville, who walked forward as though he were heading for the gallows.

“Right, Neville,” said Professor Lupin. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?” Neville’s lips moved, but no noise came out. “Didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry,” said Professor Lupin cheerfully.

Neville looked around rather wildly, as though begging someone to help him, then said, in barely more than a whisper, “Professor Snape.” Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned apologetically.

Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful. “Professor Snape… hmmm… Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?”

“Er—yes,” said Neville nervously. “But—I don’t want the boggart to turn into her either.”

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said Professor Lupin, now smiling. “I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?”

Neville looked startled, but said, “Well… always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress… green, normally… and sometimes a fox-fur scarf.”

“And a handbag?” prompted Professor Lupin.

“A big red one,” said Neville.

“Right then,” said Professor Lupin. “Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind’s eye?”

“Yes,” said Neville uncertainly, plainly wondering what was coming next. “When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape,” said Lupin. “And you will raise your wand—thus—and cry ‘Riddikulus’—and concentrate hard on your grandmother’s clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag.”

There was a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled more violently.

“If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn,” said Professor Lupin. “I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…”

The room went quiet. I thought… What scared me most in the world? I really didn't know... I couldn't imagine what really scared me. Nothing much did.

Ron was muttering to himself, “Take its legs off.” I was sure I knew what that was about. Ron’s greatest fear was spiders.

“Everyone ready?” said Professor Lupin. I felt a lurch of fear. I wasn’t ready. How could I make something I couldn't prepare for funny?

"Neville, we’re going to back away,” said Professor Lupin. “Let you have a clear field, all right? I’ll call the next person forward… Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot—”

We all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready.

“On the count of three, Neville,” said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. “One—two— three—now!”

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin’s wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes flashing at Neville. Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes.

“R—r—riddikulus!” squeaked Neville. There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag.

There was a roar of laughter; none louder than me. The boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, “Parvati! Forward!”

Parvati walked forward, her face set. Snape rounded on her. There was another crack, and where he had stood was a bloodstained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face was turned to Parvati and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising— “Riddikulus!” cried Parvati. A bandage unraveled at the mummy’s feet; it became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off.

“Seamus!” roared Professor Lupin. Seamus darted past Parvati. Crack! Where the mummy had been was a woman with floorlength black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face—a banshee. She opened her mouth wide and an unearthly sound filled the room, a long, wailing shriek that made the hair on Harry’s head stand on end —

“Riddikulus!” shouted Seamus. The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice was gone. Crack! The banshee turned into a rat, which chased its tail in a circle, then—crack!—became a rattlesnake, which slithered and writhed before—crack!—becoming a single, bloody eyeball.

“It’s confused!” shouted Lupin. “We’re getting there! Dean!”

Dean hurried forward. Crack! The eyeball became a severed hand, which flipped over and began to creep along the floor like a crab.

“Riddikulus!” yelled Dean. There was a snap, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap.

“Excellent! Ron, you next!” Ron leapt forward. Crack! Quite a few people screamed.

A giant spider, six feet tall and covered in hair, was advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. For a moment, I thought Ron had frozen. Then— “Riddikulus!” bellowed Ron, and the spider’s legs vanished; it rolled over and over; Lavender Brown squealed and ran out of its way and it came to a halt at my feet.

"Elexendrizella!” shouted Professor Lupin.

Crack!

The legless spider had vanished. For a second the Boggart took a form of a blurry tangle of nothing, like it was just as confused as I was. What would terrify me?

I blinked and maybe the Boggart had been smarter than I thought. Maybe it knew public humiliation like that was my worst fear and knew how to manifest it. Maybe my brain was just a huge glitch. Maybe the hatred I felt toward the image was how I processed fear.

"Riddikulus!" I yelled immediately, the image needed to go, but it wouldn't. "Riddikulus!"

The image turned to Malfoy wearing a Hufflepuff girls uniform and the room laughed, most not having realized what the initial Boggart was. I backed away into the corner behind everyone, confused, thinking... It had been Draco, dead, and clearly having died in agony.

"Malfoy!"

"No, I'm not doing this."

"You're doing this or I'm giving you detention." Lupin said, as if he knew how annoying he was and needed a kick in the butt.

I stood up and looked at the front, watching, trying to shove mine in the back of my head.

Draco begrudgingly took the stand and held his wand out. The Boggart looked at him, and Draco scowled at me as the room cackled at his Hufflepuff-drag-persona that was looking him over. Then the Boggart changed and silence fell. It wasn't a spider, a ghost, a dead body, nothing expected. It was Lucius Malfoy, just Lucius.

Draco seemed to choke. "R-Reddik- I don't- Riddikulus-"

It wouldn't change.

"Riddikulus!" Draco yelled as the Lucius Boggart stepped forward, taking his wand out of the top of his cane and looking down at his son. "Riddikulus-" He said, a hint of hysterics in his voice.

I pushed to the front, hearing his fourth failed attempt as the Boggart lifted and pointed his wand, mouthing the beginning of a curse "cr-." The Boggart couldn't have actually cursed him but that wasn't why I jumped in. I held my wand out. "Riddikulus." Lucius transformed into a version of Lucius with crimped hair and a shirt that said "I <3 Muggles" which got a huge laugh from the class.

I jumped in shock as I felt a hand grab my wrist, then Draco realized he'd done it and let go, pushing through the crowd to the back of the class.

"Thank you Miss Snape. That's alright Mr Malfoy, some can't get it the first time, and sometimes it's just that the Boggart's too confused to change. My turn!"

I pushed past Harry who looked quite elated at Draco's fear. I pushed to the back of the class where Draco was pushed against the back wall, looking quite fearful and ashamed, disappointed, all of the emotions in one.

I grabbed his wrist to pull him out from the crowd. He jumped when I touched him but then let me pull him away just into the corner. "What're you doing-"

"Are you breathing- breathe, you perra." I said aggresively, noticing he hadn't taken a single breath.

He took a heavy breath, "happy?"

I opened the door and shoved him outside, closing it as quietly as I could. No one had noticed, too enamored with the lesson. "What was that?"

"What?!" He looked mildly hysterical.

"Are you crying?"

"Do I look like I'm crying?!"

"Yeah- just without tears." I said honestly, looking him over and watching his silent-hyperventillating.

"Shut up!"

"Draco-"

"Ga- don't pity me! Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Stop that!" He yelled, shaking with either anger or anxiety, probably both.

I made the boldest decision of my life and hugged him. I still hated him, but I felt some kind of instinct like it would kill me not to. I hugged him and he immediately fell to the ground sobbing and cussing me out.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise." I said, kneeling down and putting a hand on his shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing, nothing-"

Clearly terrified by his father, ashamed that we now knew that, absolutely hating the moment we were in, wanting to obliviate me in that moment. I pulled him behind a pillar in a little secluded corner as classes got out.

"Why are you doing this-?!"

"What? Trying to let you cry in mostly-solitude? I'm being nice because I can hate you and still not be a bitch." I answered, sitting down by him in the tiny corner. "You can cry, Draco. I'll obliviate myself as soon as I leave, I promise."

"What?"

"I'm serious." No, I was lying, but I had a plan.

"Pourquoi ferais-tu-?"

"English, honey, no comprende."

Draco just dipped his head down in his hands. I hated him more than I knew I was capable of hating someone, but it was heartbreaking. I guess that was what empathy was... I put a hand on his back and I heard Harry calling my name somewhere down the hall. I would find them later.

The next class came and went and people were wandering down the neighboring hall looking for both me and Draco. Ron and Hermione were starting to really worry. So were Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Draco sniffed, wiping his eyes, and sat up, looking away from me.

"Look at me, I know a spell."

He wouldn't, but I pushed his head toward me and said, "Immollorona." That let it not show he'd been crying.

"Thanks..." He mumbled.

"Yeah-"

"I can't- I have to go. I-"

"It's alright Draco. I really won't tell anyone."

"You said you'd obliviate yourself." He said, looking away. "Don't. It's not gonna help anything. I can't talk to you- I need to-"

"You're gonna avoid me because you cried in front of me?" I gaped.

"It's not- I have to- I don't wanna think about it-"

"Come here Draco." I pulled him back by the wrist. He looked at me blankly, but confused, his pale gray eyes cold and pretty as ever. He realized what I was gonna do and his eyes widened. "It'll be okay, I'll give them back to you someday. Don't worry. Obliviate."

But I didn't do it on me. I did it on him. His eyes glossed-over and he stumbled, falling his weight onto me. I put my arms around him to support him until I felt him coming to. I let go and linked arms with him. I swallowed hard, I could barely believe everything that'd just happened. "C'mon Malfoy, snap out of it."

He hummed incoherently, it occured to me it was probably French mutterings. He looked at me. "What...? What-?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" I asked.

"You- Boggart thing... Me as a Hufflepuff girl- me as a- I hate you for that! Wait- where?" He looked around.

"One of the students accidentally obliviated you, it's been about an hour." I lied.

"What-? Why are you- what?"

"Yeah, I found you after you wandered out dissoriantated." I said, "Can you hold up?"

"What-? Frickin- I don't know what's going on..." He mumbled, still very out of it.

I looked up, scruching my nose as I thought back to Andromeda teaching me French. I understood it was probably hell to understand your second language after getting Obliviated. "Avec moi en.. classe.Je t'expliquerai quand tu te réveilleras."

"Tu m'as dit que tu ne parlais pas français cinq fois!?" He gaped as I lead him down the hall to class.

"Slow it! Je peux parler un peu français. I can't understand it. Comprende?" I sighed. "C'mon, vamanos, see, I'm fluent in Spanish, not French though... Whatever, I'm rambling, c'mon."

"Elex!" Ron yelled when we arrived in class. "Where were you two!?"

"Someone accidentally Obliviated him, remember? I've been looking for him."

Ron understood immediately and luckily the other two didn't fight my story until I explained I'd had to Obliviate him because I said something I wasn't supposed to, and couldn't tell them yet. They bought it, while very suspicious.

I watched Draco from across the room. I'd dropped him at the seat in the front and gone back to my friends. He looked tired and confused but much happier without that memory. My heart broke even looking at him after that.

"Tell me what really happened later?" Hermione asked.

I nodded, girl talk always got the truth.

Chapter 7: Flight of the Fat Lady

Chapter Text

In no time at all, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become most people’s favorite class. Only Draco had anything bad to say about Professor Lupin. He didn't even remember the Lucius-then-crying thing so I couldn't give him the time of day over that.

“Look at the state of his robes,” Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. “He dresses like our old house-elf.”

"The one that changed your adolescent diapers?" I would say in response, or, "The one that outsmarted dear-old-daddy-Malfoy?"

But no one else cared that Professor Lupin’s robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. After boggarts, we studied Red Caps, nasty little goblinlike creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed: in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps we moved on to kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.

I only wished I was as happy with some of my other classes. Worst of all was Potions. Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood these days, and no one was in any doubt why. The story of the boggart assuming Snape’s shape, and the way that Neville had dressed it in his grandmother’s clothes, had traveled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn’t seem to find it funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Professor Lupin’s name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever. I was a bit disappointed that Snape in drag overan the Draco in drag story. No one seemed to be talking about Hufflepuff girl Draco.

I was also growing to dread the hours I spent in Professor Trelawney’s stifling tower room, deciphering lopsided shapes and symbols, trying to ignore the way Professor Trelawney’s enormous eyes filled with tears every time she looked at Harry. I couldn’t like Professor Trelawney, even though she was treated with respect bordering on reverence by much of the class.

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney’s tower room at lunchtimes, and always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they knew things the others didn’t. They had also started using hushed voices whenever they spoke to Harry, as though he were on his deathbed.

Nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. We were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence.

“Why would anyone bother looking after them?” said Ron, after yet another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the flobberworms’ slimy throats.

At the start of October, however, I had something else to occupy me, something so enjoyable it more than made up for the unsatisfactory classes. The Quidditch season was approaching, and Flint called a meeting one Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season. There were seven people on a Quidditch team: three Chasers, whose job it was to score goals by putting the Quaffle (a red, soccersized ball) through one of the fifty-foot-high hoops at each end of the field; two Beaters, one of which was me, who were equipped with heavy bats to repel the Bludgers (two heavy black balls that zoomed around trying to attack the players); a Keeper, who defended the goal posts, and the Seeker, who had the hardest job of all, that of catching the Golden Snitch, a tiny, winged, walnut-sized ball, whose capture ended the game and earned the Seeker’s team an extra one hundred and fifty points. Flint was a heavy-set burly seventeen-year-old, now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. I would be glad to see him gone, I would be sad to see Oliver Wood, Gryffindor captain, gone though.

There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed us in the chilly locker rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch field. He wanted to stop Oliver from winning I single year.

I returned to the Slytherin common room one evening after training, cold and stiff but pleased with the way practice had gone, to find the room buzzing excitedly. Draco came in behind me, smelling terrible from the practice, and plopped down on the couches.

“What’s happened?” I asked Adrian, who was sitting in two of the best chairs by the fireside and completing some star charts for Astronomy.

“First Hogsmeade weekend,” he answered, pointing at a notice that had appeared on the battered old bulletin board. “End of October. Halloween.”

“Excellent,” said Draco, “I need to visit the shops. I need replacement genouillères, these things-” He pulled off his Quidditch knee-pads and tossed them on the ground next to him.

"Knee pads."

"Oh yeah, obviously."

“What are you looking forward to?” Adrian asked.

"Just to walk around, see things." I answered. "I'll be stopping by the three broomsticks if I can find friends."

“Oh yeah, me too. The three broomsticks has amazing butterbeer. Try it as soon as you can get.” Adrian insisted, looking at Draco.

"If you can find friends." He mocked. "Little chosen one won't be far from you at any time."

"He can't go. His aunt and uncle wouldn't sign his slip." I said, "so you'll get lucky. Won't see him there."

"McGonagall won't sign it?"

"No, she's being weird. 'Cause of Black I think."

“Black’s not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade,” said Adrian, rolling his eyes. “He can’t be the only third year left behind."

"Don't ruin the best news of my life." Draco complained. "He's the special one in everything, of course he can be the only one left behind."

"You're just jealous of 'im." I sighed, holding my ice hands over the fire.

"What would I be jealous of? Being an orphan?"

"I'd think so." I said, thinking of his fear of Lucius, and the surprise of mine that no one realized my Boggart was dead Draco. "Of me. Just ask me out already, man up."

Draco gaped and Adrian laughed.

"I'm just kidding."

"You two getting along lately?" Adrian asked, looking between us.

"No..."

"Definitely not. The bantering is strong but I'm quite pissed off at him." I said, looking at him.

He pulled his fringe in front of his eyes and then pushed it back, ignoring us. He pulled out his star-chart homework and reminded me I needed to do mine.

I took mine out of my bag and began on it. Adrian started writing his History of Magic paper and Crabbe and Goyle joined us, trying to do theirs together, but they were too dumb for their well-being.

I sat against the fire, working for hours. As time passed and most of the common room went to bed I looked up and was looking at Draco for a moment. I wasn't staring, I was about to look away when he looked up at me. "What?"

"Nothing," I shook my head, looking back at my homework.

"Hmm..."

We sat in silence until Adrian yawned and bid us adieu, telling us not to get into a fight when he was gone.

Crabbe and Goyle were still there but they basically didn't exist, and Malfoy would say anything in front of them. He looked at me. "Why do you want me to not get Hagrid fired?"

I looked at him, confused. "You-? Okay... I uhm... I don't think he should be a teacher. It's his job to protect and take care of the students, not the other way around like me and my friends do, but that doesn't mean things should end this way. I think he'd be a good co-teacher, and I like his class but I don't respect him. But you weren't that hurt, I know it hurt in the moment, trust me, I could tell, but you were fine after an hour. Milking it for attention until a couple days ago. You were fine and you're just a dramatic ass trying to get attention and trying to get him fired just 'cause you don't like him. I have real reasons, you just think he's a 'magicless oaf' or whatever. The Ministry doesn't need to get involved and your father only wants to get rid of him because he's just as much a bigot as you are. He cares about you, but I would bet money that's a secondary reason, not the first."

He looked down at his parchment and then back at me. "If it wasn't too late I think I'd consider that."

"I know it's too late..." I sighed, "Malfoy..."

"What?"

"Nothing... If you get the chance, just try to be a better person."

"I'm what I am, I'm not going to change for a Blood-Traitor."

"I know."

The next morning at breakfast I sat down at Gryffindor table next to Hermione. The boys weren't there yet. It was just Hermione, and then Oliver was sitting close.

I set my bag under the bench and grabbed a cup of coffee, sighing the most dramatic sigh I possibly could.

"What's wrong?" She asked, setting down History of Magic Handbook.

"I think I like Malfoy."

Oliver Wood choked on his orange-juice from a few seats down and gaped at me. "Wait, sorry, not listening..." He finally said, looking away and making me laugh a bit inside.

"YoulikeMalfoy?" Hermione gaped. "Like... Romantically or as a friend?!"

"Hopefully romantically because if I genuinely just like him I deserve death!" I said, earning a snort from Oliver. I sighed, taking a sip of coffee and leaning my head on the table. "I don't know. I like him Hermione. What the hell?"

"But- he's actively trying to get Hagrid fired and-"

"I know, I know... I can't explain it but I just- genuinely enjoy being around him. I still literally cannot stop the urge from fighting him, and part of me still strongly despises him but..."

"I guess you can't help who you like." She shrugged. "Why though?"

"I don't know... And please don't tell the boys but... He's.. funny this year. I didn't realize how smart he was either.. and-"

"I won't tell them. Does this have to do with what really happened after DADA?" She asked.

I thought about that for a moment. "It... might actually."

"What did happen?" She asked, "Will you tell me?"

"Yeah but... ears have walls." I said, intentionally quoting it wrong and looking at Oliver.

"C'mon, I can't be a part of girl talk?" He asked, smiling. "I'm just kidding, I have to be down at the pitch anyway. Muffliato it, I'll be off, see ya. Definitely feeling worse about myself now that I know you liked me and Malfoy but okay-"

I laughed my ass off at that. "Who told you!?"

"Everyone." He laughed, smiling. "Good luck with this new little thing. See you."

"See you, Wood." Once he'd walked off I looked at Hermione. "He's still so cute."

She laughed. "I think you're boycrazy. Tell me what happened after DADA... Muffliato!"

"Okay, you can't tell anyone, especially Ron, he'll mock Draco mercilessly. And I obliviated Draco for his own sake after it, he doesn't even know it happened."

"Okay, very intrigued, tell me everything." She closed her book and that proved her interest.

I recounted the whole thing to her. She did acknowledge she'd been a bit worried over him after seeing his Boggart was his father. She was surprised I cared enough to check on him afterwards, I was too.

"But you obliviated him? That could've gone so badly-!"

"No, I knew what I was doing. And trust me, he's much happier without it..." I looked across the room at him and realized he was looking at me. I looked away quickly.

Ron and Harry sat down and Hermione undid the Muffliato.

"Morning." Harry said.

Ron seemed to be annoyed with Hermione but I didn't ask.

"What were you talking about?" Harry asked, referencing the Muffliato.

"Crushes." I answered, smiling dramatically. "Who do you like, Harry?"

"No, not today." He coughed and took a bite of his breakfast.

"Ronald?"

He said something I dare not repeat.

"Ronald- who sh*t in your breakfast this morning?"

Hermione winced at all the language and Ron rolled his eyes. "Nothing."

"Who's your crush?" Fred asked, jumping behind Ron with his twin.

"He must be very attractive." George grinned at his twin.

I laughed quietly and winked at Fred. "Malfoy."

"Ew, WHAT?!" Ron gaped.

"Disgusting." Fred said, "I thought I meant more to you."

"I'm kidddinggg." I lied, "I'll tell if you tell."

"Angelina of course." Fred said with no hesitation. "Spill the beans, as they say."

"Spill it."

"Can't say in front of Ron, he'll mock he mercilessly." I said honestly, smiling a bit. "Maybe you can talk me into it later."

"Challenge."

"Accepted."

Ron was still in a bad mood with Hermione next day. He barely talked to her all through Herbology, even though he, Harry, Hermione, and I were working together on the same puffapod.

“How’s Scabbers?” Hermione asked timidly as we stripped fat pink pods from the plants and emptied the shining beans into a wooden pail.

“He’s hiding at the bottom of my bed, shaking,” said Ron angrily, missing the pail and scattering beans over the greenhouse floor.

“Careful, Weasley, careful!” cried Professor Sprout as the beans burst into bloom before our very eyes.

We had Transfiguration next. Harry, who had resolved to ask Professor McGonagall after the lesson whether he could go into Hogsmeade with the rest of us, joined the line outside the class trying to decide how he was going to argue his case. He muttered some ideas to me but honestly I knew it wouldn't work.

There was suddenly a disturbance at the front of the line. Lavender Brown seemed to be crying. Parvati had her arm around her and was explaining something to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were looking very serious.

“What’s the matter, Lavender?” asked Hermione anxiously as we went to join the group.

“She got a letter from home this morning,” Parvati whispered. “It’s her rabbit, Binky. He’s been killed by a fox.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, “I’m sorry, Lavender.”

“I should have known!” said Lavender tragically. “You know what day it is?”

“Er—”

“The sixteenth of October! ‘That thing you’re dreading, it will happen on the sixteenth of October!’ Remember? She was right, she was right!”

The whole class was gathered around Lavender now. Seamus shook his head seriously.

I opened my mouth but Harry knew me well enough to cover my mouth and shut me up. She did not need logic at the moment.

Hermione hesitated; then she said, “You— you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?”

“Well, not necessarily by a fox,” said Lavender, looking up at Hermione with streaming eyes, “but I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn’t I?”

“Oh,” said Hermione. She paused again. Then— “Was Binky an old rabbit?”

“N—no!” sobbed Lavender. “H—he was only a baby!”

Parvati tightened her arm around Lavender’s shoulders.

“But then, why would you dread him dying?” said Hermione. Parvati glared at her. “Well, look at it logically,” said Hermione, turning to the rest of the group. “I mean, Binky didn’t even die today, did he? Lavender just got the news today—” Lavender wailed loudly. “—and she can’t have been dreading it, because it’s come as a real shock—”

“Don’t mind Hermione, Lavender,” said Ron loudly, “she doesn’t think other people’s pets matter very much.”

Professor McGonagall opened the classroom door at that moment, which was perhaps lucky; Hermione and Ron were looking daggers at each other, and when we got into class, they seated themselves on either side of Harry and I and didn’t talk to each other for the whole class.

Harry still hadn’t decided what he was going to say to Professor McGonagall when the bell rang at the end of the lesson despite having been passing notes to me about it the whole time, but it was she who brought up the subject of Hogsmeade first.

“One moment, please!” McGonagall called as the class made to leave. “As you’re all in my House and Snape has given me permission, you should hand Hogsmeade permission forms to me before Halloween. No form, no visiting the village, so don’t forget!”

Neville put up his hand. “Please, Professor, I—I think I’ve lost—”

“Your grandmother sent yours to me directly, Longbottom,” said Professor McGonagall. “She seemed to think it was safer. Well, that’s all, you may leave.”

“Ask her now,” Ron hissed at Harry.

“Oh, but—” Hermione began.

“Go for it, Harry,” said Ron stubbornly.

Harry waited for the rest of the class to disappear, then headed nervously for Professor McGonagall’s desk.

“Yes, Potter?” Harry took a deep breath. “Professor, my aunt and uncle—er—forgot to sign my form,” he said.

Professor McGonagall looked over her square spectacles at him but didn’t say anything.

“So—er—d’you think it would be all right—I mean, will it be okay if I—if I go to Hogsmeade?”

Professor McGonagall looked down and began shuffling papers on her desk. “I’m afraid not, Potter,” she said. “You heard what I said. No form, no visiting the village. That’s the rule.”

“But—Professor, my aunt and uncle—you know, they’re Muggles, they don’t really understand about—about Hogwarts forms and stuff,” Harry said, while Ron egged him on with vigorous nods. “If you said I could go—”

“But I don’t say so,” said Professor McGonagall, standing up and piling her papers neatly into a drawer. “The form clearly states that the parent or guardian must give permission.” She turned to look at him, with an odd expression on her face. Was it pity? “I’m sorry, Potter, but that’s my final word. You had better hurry, or you’ll be late for your next lesson.”

There was nothing to be done. Ron called Professor McGonagall a lot of names that greatly annoyed Hermione; Hermione assumed an “all-for-the-best” expression that made Ron even angrier, and Harry had to endure everyone in the class talking loudly and happily about what we were going to do first, once we got into Hogsmeade. I didn't talk about it for him, but also just didn't want to talk in general. I actually don't think I said a word throughout the next couple classes unless called on. I was deep in my thoughts and listening to Veltidor hum some old very eery snake melody in my hood.

I sat, head against the wall, in my thoughts, staring at the back of Draco's head as he sat at the front. I wasn't even staring at him intentionally, it was just how things worked out.

“There’s always the feast,” said Ron, in an effort to cheer Harry up. “You know, the Halloween feast, in the evening.”

“Yeah,” said Harry gloomily, “great.”

Dean Thomas, who was good with a quill, had offered to forge Uncle Vernon’s signature on the form, but as Harry had already told Professor McGonagall he hadn’t had it signed, that was no good.

Ron halfheartedly suggested the Invisibility Cloak, but I had to stamp on that one, reminding Ron what Dumbledore had told us about the dementors being able to see through them.

Percy had what were possibly the least helpful words of comfort. “They make a fuss about Hogsmeade, but I assure you, Harry, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said seriously. “All right, the sweetshop’s rather good, and Zonko’s Joke Shop’s frankly dangerous, and yes, the Shrieking Shack’s always worth a visit, but really, Harry, apart from that, you’re not missing anything.”

On Halloween morning, Harry awoke with the rest of us and went down to breakfast, feeling thoroughly depressed, though doing his best to act normally. It didn't convince me

“We’ll bring you lots of sweets back from Honeydukes,” said Hermione, looking desperately sorry for him.

“Yeah, loads,” said Ron.

He and Hermione had finally forgotten their squabble about Crookshanks in the face of Harry’s difficulties.

“Don’t worry about me,” said Harry, “I’ll see you at the feast. Have a good time.” He accompanied us to the entrance hall, where Filch, the caretaker, was standing inside the front doors, checking off names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making sure that no one was sneaking out who shouldn’t be going.

"I'll come up with something for you next time." I promised before leaving.

“Staying here, Potter?” shouted Malfoy, who was standing in line with Crabbe and Goyle. “Scared of passing the dementors?”

Harry ignored him and made his solitary way up the marble staircase.

"You're not staying with your boyfriend, Snape?" Malfoy mocked as I passed.

"Clever. I'd date you before I hate Harry. Good friend but not a chance." I said. Hermione looked like she didn't know whether to defend Harry or agree,

"What're you looking at, Mud-"

"Malfoy."

He looked at me, "what?"

"Leave her alone."

"Oh! I get it. Girly Snape's a lesbian-"

"Malfoy." I shoved him back against the wall, earning the attention from the crowd. "You want proof I'm not? I can burn your reputation with one kiss of a 'Blood-Traitor.'"

"Get off me you-" He shoved me back and I grinned to Hermione as he stormed off.

"He looked back."

"What, Seamus?" I asked, turning to him next to me.

"Nothin' nevermind then. Dean!" He wandered off.

"I would pay money to see you kiss Malfoy." Ron snorted.

"Kinky."

"Oh shut it, bloody-hay-"

I snickered, walking down the path past Filch, with my two friends following behind. I saw Fred and George losing their shiz over my interaction with Draco, laughing their asses off.

I snapped toward them, "Y'know I didn't mean it Freddie, you're my only true love!"

He finger-gunned and Ron gagged. Seamus and Dean cackled along with a few other Gryffindors.

Hogsmeade was fine, it was fun, and I enjoyed strolling around on my own. I stayed with Hermione and Ron for most of the time but went up to see the Shrieking Shack on my own.

I wandered over to some stones and sat down on a snow-covered boulder, resting against a tree. I stared off at the shack and sat in silence thinking. It was the quiestest place I'd been in a long time.

“There you go,” said Ron as we arrived back at Hogwarts to Harry. “We got as much as we could carry.” A shower of brilliantly colored sweets fell into Harry’s lap.

It was dusk, and Ron and we had just turned up in their common room, pink-faced from the cold wind. They looked as if they'd had the time of their lives, I was poker-faced despite having quite enjoyed it.

“Thanks,” said Harry, picking up a packet of tiny black Pepper Imps. “What’s Hogsmeade like? Where did you go?”

Everywhere. Dervish and Banges, the wizarding equipment shop, Zonko’s Joke Shop, into the Three Broomsticks for foaming mugs of hot butterbeer, and many places besides.

“The post office, Harry! About two hundred owls, all sitting on shelves, all color-coded depending on how fast you want your letter to get there!”

“Honeydukes has got a new kind of fudge; they were giving out free samples, there’s a bit, look—”

“We think we saw an ogre, honestly, they get all sorts at the Three Broomsticks—”

“Wish we could have brought you some butterbeer, really warms you up—”

“What did you do?” asked Hermione, looking anxious. “Did you get any work done?”

“No,” said Harry. “Lupin made me a cup of tea in his office. And then Snape came in…” He told them all about a goblet my father brought Lupin.

Ron’s mouth fell open. “Lupin drank it?” he gasped. “Is he mad?”

Hermione checked her watch. “We’d better go down, you know, the feast’ll be starting in five minutes…”

We hurried through the portrait hole and into the crowd, still discussing Snape. “

But if he—you know”—Hermione dropped her voice, glancing nervously around—“if he was trying to—to poison Lupin—he wouldn’t have done it in front of Harry.”

"He's, sadly, too smart for that." I agreed.

“Yeah, maybe,” said Harry as we reached the entrance hall and crossed into the Great Hall.

It had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats, and many flaming orange and purple streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.

The food was delicious; even I, who had eaten a lot of sweets at Hogsmeade, managed second helpings of everything.

I kept glancing at the staff table. Professor Lupin looked cheerful and as well as he ever did; he was talking animatedly to tiny little Professor Flitwick. I moved my eyes along the table, to the place where Snape sat. Was I imagining it, or were Snape’s eyes flickering toward Lupin more often than was natural?

The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, had a great success with a reenactment of his own botched beheading. It had been such a pleasant evening that my good mood couldn’t even be spoiled by Malfoy, who shouted through the crowd as I left the hall, "Have fun with your Muggles, Elexen! The dementors send their love, Potter!"

We followed the rest of the Gryffindors and friends along the usual path to Gryffindor Tower. I was gonna be hanging with them a little longer. But when we reached the corridor that ended with the portrait of the Fat Lady, we found it jammed with students.

“Why isn’t anyone going in?” asked Ron curiously. I peered over the heads in front of us. The portrait seemed to be closed.

“Let me through, please,” came Percy’s voice, and he came bustling importantly through the crowd. “What’s the holdup here? You can’t all have forgotten the password—excuse me, I’m Head Boy —”

And then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front first, so that a chill seemed to spread down the corridor. I heard Percy say, in a suddenly sharp voice, “Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick.”

People’s heads turned; those at the back were standing on tiptoe.

“What’s going on?” said Ginny, who had just arrived.

A moment later, Professor Dumbledore was there, sweeping toward the portrait; we squeezed together to let him through, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I moved closer to see what the trouble was.

“Oh, my—” Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm.

The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away completely. Dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned, his eyes somber, to see Professors McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape hurrying toward him.

“We need to find her,” said Dumbledore. “Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady.”

“You’ll be lucky!” said a cackling voice. It was Peeves the Poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry.

“What do you mean, Peeves?” asked Dumbledore calmly, and Peeves’s grin faded a little. He didn’t dare taunt Dumbledore. Instead he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his cackle.

“Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn’t want to be seen. She’s a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful,” he said happily. “Poor thing,” he added unconvincingly.

“Did she say who did it?” asked Dumbledore quietly.

“Oh yes, Professorhead,” said Peeves, with the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. “He got very angry when she wouldn’t let him in, you see.” Peeves flipped over and grinned at Dumbledore from between his own legs. “Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.”

Chapter 8: Grim Defeat

Chapter Text

Professor Dumbledore sent all the Gryffindors and those of us with them back to the Great Hall, where we were joined ten minutes later by the rest of the students from or with Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, who all looked extremely confused.

“The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle,” Professor Dumbledore told us as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the hall. “I’m afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately,” he added to Percy, who was looking immensely proud and important. “Send word with one of the ghosts.” Professor Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, “Oh, yes, you’ll be needing…”

One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

“Sleep well,” said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him. The hall immediately began to buzz excitedly; the Gryffindors were telling the rest of the school what had just happened.

“Everyone into their sleeping bags!” shouted Percy. “Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!”

“C’mon,” Ron said to Harry, Hermione, and I; we seized four sleeping bags and dragged them into a corner.

“Do you think Black’s still in the castle?” Hermione whispered anxiously.

“Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be,” said Ron.

“It’s very lucky he picked tonight, you know,” said Hermione as we climbed fully dressed into our sleeping bags and propped ourselves on our elbows to talk. “The one night we weren’t in the tower…”

“I reckon he’s lost track of time, being on the run,” said Ron. “Didn’t realize it was Halloween. Otherwise he’d have come bursting in here.”

Hermione shuddered.

All around us, people were asking one another the same question: “How did he get in?”

“Maybe he knows how to Apparate,” said a Ravenclaw a few feet away. “Just appear out of thin air, you know.”

“Disguised himself, probably,” said a Hufflepuff fifth year.

“He could’ve flown in,” suggested Dean Thomas.

“Honestly, am I the only person who’s ever bothered to read Hogwarts, A History?” said Hermione crossly to us.

“Probably,” said Ron. “Why?”

“Because the castle’s protected by more than walls, you know,” said Hermione. “There are all sorts of enchantments on it, to stop people entering by stealth. You can’t just Apparate in here. And I’d like to see the disguise that could fool those dementors. They’re guarding every single entrance to the grounds. They’d have seen him fly in too. And Filch knows all the secret passages, they’ll have them covered…”

“The lights are going out now!” Percy shouted. “I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking!”

The candles all went out at once. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling, which, like the sky outside, was scattered with stars.

What with that, and the whispering that still filled the hall, I felt as though I was sleeping outdoors in a light wind. I couldn't sleep with the bits of whispering and the beating in my chest.

I stared at the ceiling full of stars and watched the clear sky move along as time went along. The whispers went quiet as the darkness became comfortable and the night got later. Around the hall voices were heard mumbling in their sleep or when an important thought came to mind, that just couldn't wait for morning.

I didn't know who we were close to but I listened to a quiet Scottish voice talk about Quidditch in his sleep, Dean mumbling back as if they were having a conversation. Some Franglish in a cold and soft British accent. I could hear Angelina Johnson snoring quietly beyond them, same with Fred or George, not sure which or both.

Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the hall to check that everything was quiet. Around three in the morning, when most students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore came in. Me and Harry, some of the only ones awake, watched him looking around for Percy, who had been prowling between the sleeping bags, telling people off for talking.

Percy was only a short way away from us as Dumbledore’s footsteps drew nearer.

“Any sign of him, Professor?” asked Percy in a whisper.

“No. All well here?”

“Everything under control, sir.”

“Good. There’s no point moving them all now. I’ve found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor portrait hole. You’ll be able to move them back in tomorrow.”

“And the Fat Lady, sir?”

“Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor. Apparently she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked. She’s still very distressed, but once she’s calmed down, I’ll have Mr. Filch restore her.”

I heard the door of the hall creak open again, and more footsteps.

“Headmaster?” It was Snape.

I kept quite still, listening hard.

“The whole of the third floor has been searched. He’s not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either.”

“What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney’s room? The Owlery?”

“All searched…”

“Very well, Severus. I didn’t really expect Black to linger.”

“Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?” asked Snape.

I raised my head very slightly off my arms to free my other ear. “Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next.”

I opened my eyes a fraction and squinted up to where they stood; Dumbledore’s back was to us, but I could see Percy’s face, rapt with attention, and Snape’s profile, which looked angry.

“You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before —ah—the start of term?” said Snape, who was barely opening his lips, as though trying to block Percy out of the conversation.

“I do, Severus,” said Dumbledore, and there was something like warning in his voice.

“It seems—almost impossible—that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed—”

“I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,” said Dumbledore, and his tone made it so clear that the subject was closed that Snape didn’t reply. “I must go down to the dementors,” said Dumbledore. “I said I would inform them when our search was complete.”

“Didn’t they want to help, sir?” said Percy.

“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore coldly. “But I’m afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am headmaster.”

Percy looked slightly abashed. Dumbledore left the hall, walking quickly and quietly. Snape stood for a moment, watching the headmaster with an expression of deep resentment on his face; then he too left. Harry glanced sideways at Ron, Hermione, and I. Both of whom had opened their eyes too, reflecting the starry ceiling.

“What was all that about?” Ron mouthed.

The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of our next Herbology class telling anyone who’d listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.

The Fat Lady’s ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat gray pony. Nobody was very happy about this. Sir Cadogan spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day.

“He’s a complete lunatic,” said Seamus Finnigan angrily to Percy. “Can’t we get anyone else?”

“None of the other pictures wanted the job,” said Percy. “Frightened of what happened to the Fat Lady. Sir Cadogan was the only one brave enough to volunteer.”

Sir Cadogan, however, was the least of our worries. Harry was now being closely watched, and since I was always with him, me too.

Teachers found excuses to walk along corridors with us, and Percy Weasley (acting, I suspected, on his mother’s orders) was tailing Harry everywhere like an extremely pompous guard dog.

To cap it all, Professor McGonagall summoned Harry into her office, with such a somber expression on her face I thought someone must have died. So of course, I listened from outside the door.

“There’s no point hiding it from you any longer, Potter,” she said in a very serious voice. “I know this will come as a shock to you, but Sirius Black—”

“I know he’s after me,” said Harry wearily. “I heard Ron’s dad telling his mum. Mr. Weasley works for the Ministry of Magic.”

Professor McGonagall sounded very taken aback. “I see! Well, in that case, Potter, you’ll understand why I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the field with only your team members, it’s very exposed, Potter—”

“We’ve got our first match on Saturday!” said Harry, outraged. “I’ve got to train, Professor!”

Professor McGonagall considered him intently. I knew she was deeply interested in the Gryffindor team’s prospects; it had been she, after all, who’d suggested him as Seeker in the first place.

“Hmm…” Professor McGonagall stood up and stared out of the window at the Quidditch field, just visible through the rain. “Well… goodness knows, I’d like to see us win the Cup at last… but all the same, Potter… I’d be happier if a teacher were present. I’ll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your training sessions.”

The weather worsened steadily as the first Quidditch match drew nearer. Undaunted, the Slytherin team was training harder than ever. I was just glad we didnt have Hooch watching over us like Gryffindor. She would've gone beserk on mine and Malfoy's antics, and the words Flint shared with us in response.

Then, at our final training session before Saturday’s match, Flint gave the team some unwelcome news. "We'll not be playing Gryffindor. Hufflepuff is playing Gryffindor."

"What why-!?"

"No-"

"With the weather, and Malfoy's arm-"

"HIS ARM IS FINE!" I exploded, grabbing the very arm. "And we're not pansy's! We'll be fine in the rain!"

"Yeah!"

"Well it's too late, we're playing Ravenclaw and-"

"Yeah, I can't play like-"

"OH shut up!" I turned on Malfoy. "You want a reason not to play I'll give you an injury!" I grabbed his arm and hit it with my beater's club. He let out a yell of pain and Adrian gaped at me.

"Why the HELL-!?" Malfoy winced.

"I'm sick of you!" He was driving me crazy. Though I did immediately feel bad, 'cause I'd actually really hurt him. He was so rude and awful but I couldn't stop thinking about him and I just wanted to be with him always but I hated him and I couldn't handle it. "Ughhh- I'm so sorry, I didn't- come on. Pomfrey can fix it." I apologized begrudgingly, grabbing his other arm and pulling him along. "Flint! Get us back on with Gryffindor or I'm telling Professor McGonagall about you and Hannah in the broom cupboard! And I have proof so get a move on!"

Apparently blackmail worked, 'cause we got back on with Gryffindor I was told the next day. I dragged a heavily wincing Draco up to the hospital wing and I actually felt really bad.

"What happened now?" Pomfrey asked with a bit of an annoyed tone, letting us in.

"I hit him with my beater's club because I have anger issues and I think I broke his arm." I explained quickly, glancing at him as he held his arm, clearly in a lot of pain but actually impressing me with how calm he held his composure compared to prior times.

Madam Pomfrey had me hang around and then called me over and had me hold his arm up in place as she began to heal it with a spell. He couldn't really hold it up on his own without making some very real and quite empathetically painful sounds.

"I'm really sorry Ma-Draco." I said, using his first name, knowing it was more genuine. "Really, I'm not just-"

"Oh shut up-" He winced, Madam Pomfrey still working on the arm. I couldn't blame him, I'd be telling my best friend to shut up if they tried to talk to me when I was getting a broken bone fixed. I'd had to before, it felt like sh*t.

I really didn't know why I'd done that. It was completely unjustified and really awful of me. He was really getting to me... I needed to work my anger out.

Madam Pomfrey finished up and brought over an arm sling. "It'll be fine by morning, don't try to skimp out on classes again with this as an excuse. Pain should stop by curfew. Bring it back tomorrow, if I see you getting special-treatment for it again, be sure I'll tell them the truth. Okay, you two, be off, don't get into anymore trouble. Dinner's about to begin."

Draco walked heavily and was breathing in a way that made his anger very known to me if I paid attention. I walked a few feet behind him but didn't speak or try to apologize again. I knew how to read boundaries and he'd just put up one that clearly said 'get close to me and I will get even.'

Entering the Great Hall I passed him and saw firey anger in his otherwise cold eyes. I walked and sat by Hermione, Ron, and Harry.

"Malfoy's in a sling. Tell me he's still not trying to milk the-"

I interrupted Ron, "no, uh... I just broke his arm."

"You did!?"

"Heck yeah!"

"High-five!"

I couldn't bring myself to take that high-five from Ron. "No, I kinda feel bad."

"What happened? How'd you do it?"

"I found out we weren't playing Gryffindor because Flint doesn't want to play in the rain and was saying Malfoy's arm is still injured. I kinda blacked out in anger so I don't really know what I said but I know I said 'I'll give you a real injury' and broke his arm with my Beater's club."

"Damn."

"Go off girl."

"Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"He isreallymad at you." Harry noted, nodding his head to my table.

I looked hesitently over my shoulder and saw Malfoy death-glaring me from Slytherin table while eating some kind of soup. I looked back at my friends with a tone of fear. "Uhm... yeah..."

"Elex, watch your back, seriously." Ron said, acknowledging the look. "He isnothappy."

"Well he shouldn't be- I broke his arm!" I hissed quietly. "Help me, I don't want to feel bad for him- he deserves it-"

"You should say sorry, Elex..." Hermione said quietly.

"No she shouldn't!" Ron argued.

"I already did. I'm not going to again, at least for a while..." I grimaced, looking back at him, seeing him still death-glaring me. "I don't think that'd be a good idea..."

"Yeah."

I skidded to a halt outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom the next day, having had to run back to the common room, I forgot my books. I pulled the door open, and dashed inside. “Sorry I’m late, Professor Lupin, I—”

But it wasn’t Professor Lupin who looked up at me from the teacher’s desk; it was Snape.

“This lesson began ten minutes ago, Elex, so I think we’ll make it ten points from Slytherin. Sit down.” He pointed to the seat next to Draco.

"Uhm- can I- sit somewhere else-?"

"Sit where I tell you, Elex!" My father yelled.

I regretfully took the seat by Malfoy, avoiding his eyes like the plague. I'd managed to avoid talking or looking at him since the incident the day before. He was out of the sling and said to be fine, which was good, we were playing Gryffindor again.

“Where’s Professor Lupin?” I asked.

“He says he is feeling too ill to teach today,” said Snape with a twisted smile.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Snape’s black eyes glittered. “Nothing life-threatening,” he said, looking as though he wished it were.

Snape looked around at the class. “As I was saying before Elex interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far—”

“Please, sir, we’ve done boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows,” said Hermione quickly, “and we’re just about to start—”

“Be quiet,” said Snape coldly. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organization.”

“He’s the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had,” said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class.

Snape looked more menacing than ever. “You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you—I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and grindylows. Today we shall discuss—”

I watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know we hadn’t covered.

“—werewolves,” said Snape.

“But, sir,” said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, “we’re not supposed to do werewolves yet, we’re due to start hinkypunks—”

“Miss Granger,” said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, “I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394.” He glanced around again. “All of you! Now!”

With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened our books. I felt a hand on my wrist and jumped hard at Draco.

"I forgot my book." He said coldly.

I didn't look at him and nodded slightly, pushing it a ways toward him.

“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?” said Snape.

Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air.

“Anyone?” Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. “Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn’t even taught you the basic distinction between—”

“We told you,” said Parvati suddenly, “we haven’t got as far as werewolves yet, we’re still on—”

“Silence!” snarled Snape. “Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third-year class who wouldn’t even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are…”

“Please, sir,” said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, “the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf—”

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” said Snape coolly. “Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”

Hermione went very red, put down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a mark of how much the class loathed Snape that we were all glaring at him, because every one of us had called Hermione a know-it-all at least once, and Ron, who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week, said loudly, “You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?”

The class knew instantly he’d gone too far. Snape advanced on Ron slowly, and the room held its breath.

“Detention, Weasley,” Snape said silkily, his face very close to Ron’s. “And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed.”

"Why are you like this!?" I sat up and yelled. I felt tears in my eyes, not because of sadness, of anger and fear building up. I was shaking of one or the other.

My father faced me, "Quiet. Five points from Slytherin."

"No! I hate you, why are you such a terrible person! I don't want to be your daughter- why are you like this! She answered your question and you-"

"Silence!" He stepped toward me. I cowered but tried to act tough. "Do you think you have any right to speak to me like that! As your teacher or father! Silence and do not speak again! Ten points from Slytherin and-" He grabbed my wrist and something very unexpected happened.

Draco reached around and put his hand on my father's wrist on mine. He stood and the whole room went icey silent. "Get-" His voice was shaking a bit. "Get your hands off of her- That was- just off!"

My father let go of my wrist and glared at Malfoy like he wanted to curse him or toss him off the Astronomy Tower. "And what are you going to do?"

"I'll talk to Headmaster Dumbledore." He said.

"Detention Malfoy, and Elexendrizella." My father walked to the front.

Draco made a sort-of animalistic anger noise as he sat and glared at me. I still couldn't meet his eyes. "Don't let this make you think I like you for a second. I'm just decent." He growled.

No one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. We sat and made notes on werewolves from the textbook, while Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the work we had been doing with Professor Lupin.

“Very poorly explained… That is incorrect, the kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia… Professor Lupin gave this eight out of ten? I wouldn’t have given it three…”

When the bell rang at last, Snape held us back.

“You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention. Malfoy, Elexendrizella, you'll be having detention with Professor McGonagall tomorrow night and the day after. Meet her in the Great Hall after dinner.”

I left the room with the rest of the class, who waited until we were well out of earshot, then burst into a furious tirade about Snape.

“Snape’s never been like this with any of our other Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, even if he did want the job,” Harry said to Hermione. “Why’s he got it in for Lupin? D’you think this is all because of the boggart?”

“I don’t know,” said Hermione pensively. “But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon…”

Ron caught up with us five minutes later, in a towering rage. “D’you know what that—” (he called Snape something that made Hermione say “Ron!”) “—is making me do? I’ve got to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic!” He was breathing deeply, his fists clenched. “Why couldn’t Black have hidden in Snape’s office, eh? He could have finished him off for us!”

The noise of the storm was even louder in the common room the next morning. I knew better than to think the match would be canceled; Quidditch matches weren’t called off for trifles like thunderstorms.

Nevertheless, I was starting to feel very apprehensive. I'd gotten up early, worrying inside my head over so much. At long last I thought it must be time for breakfast, so I headed out through the dungeon alone.

I revived a bit over a large bowl of porridge, and by the time I'd started on toast, the rest of the team had turned up.

“It’s going to be a tough one,” said Flint, who wasn’t eating anything. "Malfoy, Snape, I need you to put aside your differences and work together. Especially today. Got it?"

We nodded.

“Stop worrying, Marcus,” said Adrian, “we don’t mind a bit of rain.”

But it was considerably more than a bit of rain. Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went.

The team changed into our green and silver robes and waited for Flint's usual pre-match pep talk, but it didn’t come. He just beckoned us to follow him.

The wind was so strong that we staggered sideways as we walked out onto the field. If the crowd was cheering, we couldn’t hear it over the fresh rolls of thunder.

Rain was splattering over us, Draco was especially seeming to have a hard time seeing. I knew it, I thought, I'd always had a theory he secretly needed glasses. How on earth was he going to see the Snitch in this? We had a full team of Nimbus 2000's but only the Firebolt could fight the wind in that storm and- oh great...

"Malfoy, trade brooms with me." I said begridgingly.

"Why?"

"You're the Seeker, we need to win." I said, taking his Nimbus and handing over my Firebolt.

"Great idea!" Flint yelled over the whooshing wind. "Malfoy! Grab the Snitch as fast as you can!"

The Gryffindors were approaching from the opposite side of the field, wearing scarlet-red robes. The Captains walked up to each other and shook hands; Flint smiled sarcastically at Wood but Wood now looked as though he had lockjaw and merely nodded.

I saw Madam Hooch’s mouth form the words, “Mount your brooms.”

I pulled my right foot out of the mud with a squelch and swung it over the Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and gave it a blast that sounded shrill and distant—we were off.

I rose fast, but the Nimbus was swerving slightly with the wind. I held it as steady as I could and turned, squinting into the rain, trying to find Draco or Flint. I needed to protect someone important.

Within five minutes I was soaked to my skin and frozen, hardly able to see my teammates, let alone the Bludgers. But I was managing, having hit five away from Malfoy.

I flew backward and forward across the field past blurred red and green shapes, with no idea of what was happening in the rest of the game. I couldn’t hear the commentary over the wind. The crowd was hidden beneath a sea of cloaks and battered umbrellas. Twice I came very close to being unseated by a Bludger; my vision was so clouded by the rain I hadn’t seen them coming.

I lost track of time. It was getting harder and harder to hold the broom straight. The sky was getting darker, as though night had decided to come early. Twice I nearly hit another player, without knowing whether it was a teammate or opponent; everyone was now so wet, and the rain so thick, I could hardly tell them apart…

With the first flash of lightning came the sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle; I could just see the outline of Flint through the thick rain, gesturing us to the ground. The whole team splashed down into the mud.

“Wood called for time-out!” Flint roared at the team. “Come on, under here—”

We huddled at the edge of the field under a large umbrella; Draco was shaking from the cold just as violently as I was sure I was. We were definitely the weakest on the team when it came to temperature. The others were burly and big and had the muscle-fat to stay warm.

“What’s the score?”

“They're fifty points up,” said Flint, “but it doesn't matter. Unless we get the Snitch soon, we’ll be playing into the night. Malfoy, you gotta get it."

"I-I kn-now, give me a b-break, it's hard."

“Well try harder. Okay, team, let’s go for it! They're back on!”

I was still wetter and colder than I'd ever been in my life, but I was trying to strengthen up and just keep playing. Full of determination, I urged my broom through the turbulent air, staring in every direction for the Snitch or Bludgers. If I found the Snitch I could yell at Draco.

Speaking of which, I hit a Bludger away from him and saw a glint of gold. "Over there!"

He went off, duckingbeneath Wood, who was streaking in the opposite direction… There was another clap of thunder, followed immediately by forked lightning. This was getting more and more dangerous.

Malfoyneeded to get the Snitch quickly— He turned, intending to head back toward the middle of the field, but at that moment, another flash of lightning illuminated the stands, and I saw something that distracted all me. Harry’s numb hands slipped on the broom handle and his Nimbus dropped a few feet. I saw him almost fall over.

"Draco!” I yelled. “Draco, behind you!”

He looked wildly around. A tiny speck of gold was shimmering in the rain-filled air between him and Harry—

“Come on!” Harry growled at his Nimbus as he passed and the rain whipped his face. “Faster!”

Something odd was happening. An eerie silence was falling across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though I had gone suddenly deaf—what was going on?

And then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over me, inside me, just as I became aware of something moving on the field below…

Before he’d had time to think, Harry had taken his eyes off the Snitch and looked down. I saw a Bludger coming at the two boys and flew over, taking my eyes off the dementor. Or... at least a hundred dementors, their hidden faces pointing up at us.

I hit the Bludger away but could barely think. It was as though freezing water were rising in my chest, cutting at my insides.

I felt something large collide into me, something other than a Bludger, I think it was Draco. I didn't even realize what'd happened.

“Lucky the ground was so soft.”

“I thought he was dead for sure.”

"Do we know why she fell?"

"I think Malfoy hit her."

“Harry didn’t even break his glasses.”

I could hear the voices whispering, but they made no sense whatsoever. I didn’t have a clue where I was, or how I'd got there, or what I'd been doing before I got there. All I knew was that every inch of me was in agony as though I had been beaten.

“That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

My eyes snapped open. I was lying in the hospital wing. The Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams, spattered with mud from head to foot, were gathered around the Hospital wing around me and Harry.

Ron and Hermione were also there, looking as though they’d just climbed out of a swimming pool.

“Harry!” said Fred, who looked extremely white underneath the mud. “How’re you feeling?”

"Elex!" Adrian took a deep breath. "You're awake, thank goodness."

"What- ohmysweet-" I cut off, shutting up, feeling a horrible pain in my most-likely-broken ribs.

“You fell off,” said Adrian, reading my mind. “Must’ve been—what—fifty feet?”

“We thought you’d both died,” said Alicia, who was shaking.

Hermione made a small, squeaky noise. Her eyes were extremely bloodshot.

“But the match,” asked Harry. “What happened? Are we doing a replay?”

No one said anything. “We didn’t—lose?” Harry asked.

“Malfoy got the Snitch,” said George. “Just after you fell. He didn’t realize what had happened. Caught it by mistake actually. Big bout of wind hit him, he knocked Elex off and caught it trying to stop himself from falling off. They won fair and square… even Wood admits it.”

“Where is Wood?” asked Harry, suddenly realizing he wasn’t there.

“Still in the showers,” said Fred. “We think he’s trying to drown himself.”

Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Fred grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. I was just trying to breath, everything hurt like hell.

“C’mon, Harry, you’ve never missed the Snitch before.”

“There had to be one time you didn’t get it,” said George. “It’s not over yet,” said Fred. “We lost by a hundred points, right? So if Slytherin loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw…”

“Hufflepuff’ll have to lose by at least two hundred points,” said George. “But if they beat Ravenclaw…”

“No way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Slytherin loses against Ravenclaw…”

“It all depends on the points—a margin of a hundred either way —”

After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave us in peace.

The team trooped out, trailing mud behind them. Madam Pomfrey shut the door behind them, looking disapproving. Ron and Hermione moved nearer to Harry’s bed.

Madam Pomfrey stood above me with her wand. "Your ribs were broken, they're already mending. Should be feeling slightly better in an hour but it'll sure not be a nice experience even then."

I nodded painfully.

"Malfoy wants to talk to you, feel up to it?"

Hermione looked up when she heard that, surprised.

"Ye-yeah-" I squeaked out. "That's okay."

"Okay."

Malfoy came over and was standing over me, folded his arms though he looked remorseful. "Are you okay?"

"Does it look like- no-" I winced, I couldn't pull off a quip right then.

"I'm sorry, it was an accident." He said, almost poker-faced but very remorseful in his eyes.

"Mph... It's alright-" I winced, trying to prop up my head a bit. "Call it even..?"

"Definitely." He said, "just casual hatred."

"Sounds good..."

"Okay, Malfoy. You've made up, now, give her time to rest." Pomfrey said, walking over.

He nodded and walked off, leaving me there alone if you didn't count my three friends a bit over. I rest my head down and took the heaviest breath I could without a stabbing pain.

"How do you feel?" Hermione asked me.

"Can't talk..." I winced, "focus on Harry."

She nodded. “Dumbledore was really angry,” Hermione said in a quaking voice. “I’ve never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. That's why Elex is more injured, he didn't get to her. It's a miracle she's alive. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away… He was furious they’d come onto the grounds. We heard him—”

“Then he magicked you and Elex onto a stretcher,” said Ron. “And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were…” His voice faded, but I hardly noticed.

“Did someone get my Nimbus?” Harry asked.

Ron and Hermione looked quickly at each other. “Er—”

“What?” said Harry, looking from one to the other.

“Well… when you fell off, it got blown away,” said Hermione hesitantly.

“And?”

“And it hit—it hit—oh, Harry—it hit the Whomping Willow.”

The Whomping Willow was a very violent tree that stood alone in the middle of the grounds.

“And?” he said, dreading the answer.

“Well, you know the Whomping Willow,” said Ron. “It—it doesn’t like being hit.”

“Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around,” said Hermione in a very small voice. Slowly, she reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed, the only remains of Harry’s faithful, finally beaten broomstick.

Chapter 9: The Marauders Map

Chapter Text

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry and I in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend. I didn’t argue or complain and neither did Harry, but he wouldn’t let her throw away the shattered remnants of his Nimbus Two Thousand which she really wanted to do. He knew he was being stupid, knew that the Nimbus was beyond repair, but Harry couldn’t help it. Trying to help I told him I'd let him borrow the Firebolt during games I wasn't in.

We had a stream of visitors, all very intent on cheering Harry up and making sure I wasn't in pain. Hagrid sent Harry a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages and both of us his treacle fudge. Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, turned up with a get-well card she had made herself, which sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his bowl of fruit. The Gryffindor team visited again on Sunday morning, this time accompanied by Wood, who told Harry (in a hollow, dead sort of voice) that he didn’t blame him in the slightest.

Slytherin team didn't visit me of course but Adrian did and Draco came in once, trying to act like he didn't really care. Ron and Hermione left our bedside only at night. But nothing anyone said or did could make Harry feel any better, because they knew only half of what was troubling him. He hadn’t told anyone but me about the Grim, not even Ron and Hermione, because he knew Ron would panic and Hermione would scoff. He only told me because he knew I wouldn't tell, and we didn't have much to talk about alone there.

The fact remained, however, that he claimed it had now appeared twice, and both appearances had been followed by near-fatal accidents; the first time, he had nearly been run over by the Knight Bus; the second, fallen fifty feet from his broomstick. And then there were the dementors. Everyone said the dementors were horrible, but no one else collapsed every time they went near one.

It was a relief to return to the noise and bustle of the main school on Monday, where I was forced to think about other things, even if I had to endure Draco being so weird. Malfoy was almost beside himself with glee at Gryffindor’s defeat, but was also trying to act less happy around me because we'd only one due to me getting knocked off. But he was still Malfoy, so he was still being a bit of an ass to the Gryffindors.

Malfoy spent much of our next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor.

“If Snape’s teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I’m skiving off,” said Ron as we headed toward Lupin’s classroom after lunch. “Check who’s in there, Hermione.”

Hermione peered around the classroom door. “It’s okay!”

Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiled at the class as we took our seats, and we burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape’s behavior while Lupin had been ill.

“It’s not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?”

“We don’t know anything about werewolves—”

“—two rolls of parchment!”

“Did you tell Professor Snape we haven’t covered them yet?” Lupin asked, frowning slightly.

The babble broke out again.

“Yes, but he said we were really behind—”

“—he wouldn’t listen—”

“—two rolls of parchment!”

Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face. “Don’t worry. I’ll speak to Professor Snape. You don’t have to do the essay.”

“Oh no,” said Hermione, looking very disappointed. “I’ve already finished it!”

We had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless-looking.

“Lures travelers into bogs,” said Professor Lupin as we took notes. “You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead— people follow the light—then—”

The hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass.

When the bell rang, we gathered up our things and headed for the door, Harry among them, but— “Wait a moment, Harry,” Lupin called. “I’d like a word.” Harry doubled back and watched Professor Lupin covering the hinkypunk’s box with a cloth. I walked out with Ron and Hermione and didn't get to hear their conversations.

Harry was in a good mood. Lupin had given himthe promise of anti-dementor lessons and Harry, knowing I had a very strong reaction toward them, asked Lupin if I could join. He happily agreed.

The thought that I might never have to feel that icy-cold again, and the fact that Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff in their Quidditch match at the end of November, mineandHarry'smood took a definite upturn. Ron and Hermione didn't really get it but definitely weren't complaining.

Gryffindor were not out of the running after all, although they could not afford to lose another match. Wood became repossessed of his manic energy, and worked his team as hard as ever in the chilly haze of rain that persisted into December.

Slytherin were in the lead running and had a very good chance of winning. Flint was still working us just as hard as Wood was working his team. We knew, and could bring ourselves to admit, Gryffindor was a serious threat since the new team came together first year. The rain and snow that battered during December froze us to the bone but Flint didn't give us a break, told us to man up, including me, especially me. He told me and Draco to build up some muscle fat and keep ourselves warm, 'cause that worked. When I say me and Draco were the least "buff" don't get me wrong, that didn't mean I was weak, and that didn't mean Draco was a twig. Trust me, I wouldn't be that attracted- I mean, mildly attracted to a twig. And I was a damn good Beater.

I saw no hint of a dementor within the grounds. Dumbledore’s anger seemed to be keeping them at their stations at the entrances. Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies.

We, thestudents were all happily discussing our plans for the holidays. Both Ron and Hermione had decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though Ron said it was because he couldn’t stand two weeks with Percy, and Hermione insisted she needed to use the library, Harry wasn’t fooled; they were doing it to keep him company, and he was very grateful. I was staying just because I didn't want to go home, and I was the only one whose story Harry bought. Don't get me wrong, I was staying for him too.

To everyone’s delight except Harry’s, there was to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of the term.

“We can do all our Christmas shopping there!” said Hermione. “Mum and Dad would really love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!”

Resigned to the fact that he would be the only third year staying behind again, Harry borrowed a copy of Which Broomstick from Wood, and decided to spend the day reading up on the different makes. He had been riding one of the school brooms at team practice, an ancient Shooting Star, which was very slow and jerky; he definitely needed a new broom of his own. I was letting him borrow the Firebolt every once and a while but since we practiced at most of the same times it didn't work out for him to use it often. He did appreciate it anyway.

On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid goodbye to Ron, Hermione, and I. We were wrapped in cloaks and scarves, and I was wearing a very on-the-nose Slytherin sweatshirt.

We walked down the path to Hogsmeade and I had a funny feeling my two friends were feeling a little self-conscious about being walking with such a loudly-proclaimed Slytherin but they didn't speak up so I was fine with it. We talked and laughed, occasionally voicing the fact we missed Harry.

After an hour-or-so we were in Honeydukes and I was staring up at a sign that said(UNUSUAL TASTES).

"That could literally be anything. I have an unusual taste-"

Ron snorted and Hermione hit him.

“Ugh, no, Harry won’t want one of those, they’re for vampires, I expect,” Hermione was saying about blood-flavored lollipops.

“How about these?” said Ron, shoving a jar of co*ckroach Clusters under Hermione’s nose.

“Definitely not,” said Harry. R

on nearly dropped the jar.

“Harry!” squealed Hermione and I smiled, turning around.

“What are you doing here?"

"How— how did you—?”

“Wow!” said Ron, looking very impressed, “you’ve learned to Apparate!”

“’Course I haven’t,” said Harry. He dropped his voice so that none of the sixth years could hear him and told us all about a thing called the Marauder’s Map.

“How come Fred and George never gave it to me!” said Ron, outraged. “I’m their brother!”

“But Harry isn’t going to keep it!” said Hermione, as though the idea were ludicrous. “He’s going to hand it in to Professor McGonagall, aren’t you, Harry?”

"Don't you dare." I said, making Hermione gape.

“No, I’m not!” said Harry.

“Are you mad?” said Ron, goggling at Hermione. “Hand in something that good?”

“If I hand it in, I’ll have to say where I got it! Filch would know Fred and George had nicked it!”

“But what about Sirius Black?” Hermione hissed. “He could be using one of the passages on that map to get into the castle! The teachers have got to know!”

“He can’t be getting in through a passage,” said Harry quickly. “There are seven secret tunnels on the map, right? Fred and George reckon Filch already knows about four of them. And of the other three —one of them’s caved in, so no one can get through it. One of them’s got the Whomping Willow planted over the entrance, so you can’t get out of it. And the one I just came through—well—it’s really hard to see the entrance to it down in the cellar, so unless he knew it was there…”

Ron cleared his throat significantly, and pointed to a notice pasted on the inside of the sweetshop door. —— BY ORDER OF —— THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC Customers are reminded that until further notice, dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius Black. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping well before nightfall. Merry Christmas!

“See?” said Ron quietly. “I’d like to see Black try and break into Honeydukes with dementors swarming all over the village. Anyway, Hermione, the Honeydukes owners would hear a break-in, wouldn’t they? They live over the shop!”

“Yes, but—but—” Hermoine seemed to be struggling to find another problem. “Look, Harry still shouldn’t be coming into Hogsmeade. He hasn’t got a signed form! If anyone finds out, he’ll be in so much trouble! And it’s not nightfall yet—what if Sirius Black turns up today? Now?”

“He’d have a job spotting Harry in this,” said Ron, nodding through the mullioned windows at the thick, swirling snow.

I nodded, “Come on, Hermione, it’s Christmas. Harry deserves a break.” I picked up a thing that said 'Sulfer Knarlspike.' I put that down, I'd rather choke on a-

“Are you going to report me?” Harry asked Hermione, grinning.

“Oh—of course not—but honestly, Harry—”

“Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Harry?” said Ron, grabbing him and leading him over to their barrel. “And the Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops? Fred gave me one of those when I was seven—it burnt a hole right through my tongue. I remember Mum walloping him with her broomstick.” Ron stared broodingly into the Acid Pop box. “Reckon Fred’d take a bit of co*ckroach Cluster if I told him they were peanuts?”

When we had paid for all our sweets, the four of us left Honeydukes for the blizzard outside. Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card; the little thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees.

Harry shivered; unlike us, he didn’t have his cloak. I saw that and since I had my sweater and a jacket I leant him mine. He was very appreciative.

We headed up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Ron and Hermione shouting through their scarves.

“That’s the post office—”

“Zonko’s is up there—”

“We could go up to the Shrieking Shack—”

“Tell you what,” said Ron, his teeth chattering, “shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?”

Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and all our hands were freezing, so we crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn. It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

“That’s Madam Rosmerta,” said Ron. “I’ll get the drinks, shall I?” he added, going slightly red. Harry, Hermione, and I made our way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.

“Merry Christmas!” he said happily, raising his tankard. I drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of me from the inside. A sudden breeze ruffled my hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again.

Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked before I could warn him. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak—Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

In an instant, Ron and I had both placed hands on the top of Harry’s head and forced him off his stool and under the table. Dripping with butterbeer and crouching out of sight, Harry clutched his empty tankard and watched the teachers’ and Fudge’s feet move toward the bar, pause, then turn and walk right toward him. Somewhere above him, Hermione whispered, “Mobiliarbus!”

The Christmas tree beside our table rose a few inches off the ground, drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of our table, hiding us from view.

“A small gillywater—”

“Mine,” said Professor McGonagall’s voice.

“Four pints of mulled mead—”

“Ta, Rosmerta,” said Hagrid.

“A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella—” “

Mmm!” said Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips.

“So you’ll be the red currant rum, Minister.”

“Thank you, Rosmerta, m’dear,” said Fudge’s voice. “Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won’t you? Come and join us…”

“Well, thank you very much, Minister.”

“So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?” came Madam Rosmerta’s voice.

“What else, m’dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?”

“I did hear a rumor,” admitted Madam Rosmerta. “Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?” said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly.

“Do you think Black’s still in the area, Minister?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.

“I’m sure of it,” said Fudge shortly.

“You know that the dementors have searched the whole village twice?” said Madam Rosmerta, a slight edge to her voice. “Scared all my customers away… It’s very bad for business, Minister.”

“Rosmerta, m’dear, I don’t like them any more than you do,” said Fudge uncomfortably. “Necessary precaution… unfortunate, but there you are… I’ve just met some of them. They’re in a fury against Dumbledore—he won’t let them inside the castle grounds.”

“I should think not,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?”

“Hear, hear!” squeaked tiny Professor Flitwick, whose feet were dangling a foot from the ground.

“All the same,” demurred Fudge, “they are here to protect you all from something much worse… We all know what Black’s capable of…”

“Do you know, I still have trouble believing it,” said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. “Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought… I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you’d told me then what he was going to become, I’d have said you’d had too much mead.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Rosmerta,” said Fudge gruffly. “The worst he did isn’t widely known.”

“The worst?” said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity. “Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?”

“I certainly do,” said Fudge. “I can’t believe that. What could possibly be worse?”

“You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,” murmured Professor McGonagall. “Do you remember who his best friend was?”

“Naturally,” said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. “Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here—ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!”

Harry dropped his tankard with a loud clunk. I kicked him.

“Precisely,” said Professor McGonagall. “Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course— exceptionally bright, in fact—but I don’t think we’ve ever had such a pair of troublemakers—”

“I dunno,” chuckled Hagrid. “Fred and George Weasley could give ’em a run fer their money.”

“You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers!” chimed in Professor Flitwick. “Inseparable!”

“Of course they were,” said Fudge. “Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him.”

“Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.

“Worse even than that, m’dear…” Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble. “Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn’t an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm.”

“How does that work?” said Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. “An immensely complex spell,” he said squeakily, “involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find—unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window!”

“So Black was the Potters’ Secret-Keeper?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.

“Naturally,” said Professor McGonagall. “James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself… and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters’ Secret-Keeper himself.”

“He suspected Black?” gasped Madam Rosmerta.

“He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements,” said Professor McGonagall darkly. “Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who.”

“But James Potter insisted on using Black?”

“He did,” said Fudge heavily. “And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed—”

“Black betrayed them?” breathed Madam Rosmerta.

“He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters’ death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it—”

“Filthy, stinkin’ turncoat!” Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.

“Shh!” said Professor McGonagall.

“I met him!” growled Hagrid. “I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an’ James’s house after they was killed! Jus’ got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an’ his parents dead… an’ Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin’ motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin’ there. I didn’ know he’d bin Lily an’ James’s Secret-Keeper. Thought he’d jus’ heard the news o’ You-Know-Who’s attack an’ come ter see what he could do. White an’ shakin’, he was. An’ yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN’ TRAITOR!” Hagrid roared.

“Hagrid, please!” said Professor McGonagall. “Keep your voice down!”

“How was I ter know he wasn’ upset abou’ Lily an’ James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou’! An’ then he says, ‘Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I’m his godfather, I’ll look after him—’ Ha! But I’d had me orders from Dumbledore, an’ I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an’ uncle’s. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. ‘I won’t need it anymore,’ he says. I shoulda known there was somethin’ fishy goin’ on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin’ it ter me for? Why wouldn’ he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he’d bin the Potters’ Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin’ ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o’ hours before the Ministry was after him. But what if I’d given Harry to him, eh? I bet he’d’ve pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes’ friends’ son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there’s nothin’ and no one that matters to ’em anymore…” A long silence followed Hagrid’s story.

Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, “But he didn’t manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!”

“Alas, if only we had,” said Fudge bitterly. “It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew—another of the Potters’ friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters’ Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself.”

“Pettigrew… that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?” said Madam Rosmerta.

“Hero-worshipped Black and Potter,” said Professor McGonagall. “Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I—how I regret that now…” She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.

“There, now, Minerva,” said Fudge kindly, “Pettigrew died a hero’s death. Eyewitnesses—Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later—told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, ‘Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?’ And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens…”

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, “Stupid boy… foolish boy… he was always hopeless at dueling… should have left it to the Ministry…”

“I tell yeh, if I’d got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn’t’ve messed around with wands—I’d’ve ripped him limb— from—limb,” Hagrid growled.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Hagrid,” said Fudge sharply. “Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I—I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him… a heap of bloodstained robes and a few—a few fragments—” Fudge’s voice stopped abruptly.

There was the sound of five noses being blown. “Well, there you have it, Rosmerta,” said Fudge thickly. “Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black’s been in Azkaban ever since.”

Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. “Is it true he’s mad, Minister?”

“I wish I could say that he was,” said Fudge slowly. “I certainly believe his master’s defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man—cruel… pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there’s no sense in them… but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You’d have thought he was merely bored— asked if I’d finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the dementors seemed to be having on him—and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night.”

“But what do you think he’s broken out to do?” said Madam Rosmerta. “Good gracious, Minister, he isn’t trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?”

“I daresay that is his—er—eventual plan,” said Fudge evasively. “But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing… but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he’ll rise again…”

There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass. “You know, Cornelius, if you’re dining with the headmaster, we’d better head back up to the castle,” said Professor McGonagall.

The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the teachers had disappeared.

“Harry?” Our faces appeared under the table. We were all staring at him, lost for words.

Chapter 10: Firebolt and MH

Chapter Text

We watched Harry nervously all through dinner, not daring to talk about what we'd overheard, because Percy was sitting close by us. When we went upstairs to the crowded common room, it was to find Fred and George had set off half a dozen Dungbombs in a fit of end-of-term high spirits.

Harry, who didn’t want Fred and George asking him whether he’d reached Hogsmeade or not, sneaked quietly up to the empty dormitory.

I sat close to the Weasley twins, laughing at their antics and chatting with Seamus. I was one of the few that'd bothered to learn Scottish Gaelic slang and Ron oogled at the nonsense Seamus spat that I seemed to be understanding. Dean showed me a drawing he did of Seamus in a kilt and I laughed at that for maybe an hour. Lee Jordan came over and was playin' around with the twins and setting off more fireworks out the window.

The rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor was still strong but I was definitely some kind of mediator. People seemed to forget I was a Slytherin, I was always in Gryffindor tower and most of my friends were there. The only time people seemed to remember I wasn't Gryffindor was in Slytherin or when I'd be wearing my Slytherin robes. That and when I'd get points taken away for fighting with Malfoy. One time a teacher took points from Gryffindor for me, of course I didn't correct them, but Lee did.

“Harry, you—you look terrible.” I said as I walked up to Gryffindor to find my friends sitting around the table.

“Where is everyone?” asked Harry.

“Gone! It’s the first day of the holidays, remember?” said Ron, watching Harry closely. “It’s nearly lunchtime; I was going to come and wake you up in a minute.”

Harry slumped into a chair next to the fire. Snow was still falling outside the windows. Crookshanks was spread out in front of the fire like a large, ginger rug.

“You really don’t look well, you know,” Hermione said, peering anxiously into his face.

“I’m fine,” said Harry.

“Harry, listen,” said Hermione, exchanging a look with Ron, “you must be really upset about what we heard yesterday. But the thing is, you mustn’t go doing anything stupid.”

“Like what?” said Harry.

“Like trying to go after Black,” said Ron sharply.

I could tell they had rehearsed this conversation while he had been asleep. He didn’t say anything.

“You won’t, will you, Harry?” said Hermione.

“Because Black’s not worth dying for,” said Ron.

Harry looked at them. They didn’t seem to understand at all. “D’you know what I see and hear every time a dementor gets too near me?”

Ron and Hermione shook their heads, looking apprehensive. I tilted my head, remembering he told me in the hospital wing.

“I can hear my mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort. And if you’d heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be killed, you wouldn’t forget it in a hurry. And if you found out someone who was supposed to be a friend of hers betrayed her and sent Voldemort after her—”

“There’s nothing you can do!” said Hermione, looking stricken. “The dementors will catch Black and he’ll go back to Azkaban and— and serve him right!”

“You heard what Fudge said. Black isn’t affected by Azkaban like normal people are. It’s not a punishment for him like it is for the others.”

“So what are you saying?” said Ron, looking very tense. “You want to—to kill Black or something?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione in a panicky voice. “Harry doesn’t want to kill anyone, do you, Harry?”

Again, Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. All he knew was that the idea of doing nothing, while Black was at liberty, was almost more than he could stand.

"Did you sleep?" I asked Harry, digging around for something in my bag.

"No." He shook his head.

I took out a sugar-blast ball. It was some crazy candy that was like a caffine-blast. I gave it to him. "It'll wake you up until at least dinner."

"Thanks..." He ate it, shivering at the overwhelming sweetness. "Malfoy knows,” he said abruptly. “Remember what he said to me in Potions? ‘If it was me, I’d hunt him down myself… I’d want revenge.’”

“You’re going to take Malfoy’s advice instead of ours?” said Ron furiously. “Listen… you know what Pettigrew’s mother got back after Black had finished with him? Dad told me—the Order of Merlin, First Class, and Pettigrew’s finger in a box. That was the biggest bit of him they could find. Black’s a madman, Harry, and he’s dangerous—”

“Malfoy’s dad must have told him,” said Harry, ignoring Ron. “He was right in Voldemort’s inner circle—”

“Say You-Know-Who, will you?” interjected Ron angrily.

“—so obviously, the Malfoys knew Black was working for Voldemort—”

“—and Malfoy’d love to see you blown into about a million pieces, like Pettigrew! Get a grip. Malfoy’s just hoping you’ll get yourself killed before he has to play you at Quidditch.”

"No.. he's... different these days- I mean, still a-" Hermione gasped at what I called him. "-But he doesn't want Harry dead..."

“Harry, please,” said Hermione, her eyes now shining with tears, “please be sensible. Black did a terrible, terrible thing, but d-don’t put yourself in danger, it’s what Black wants… Oh, Harry, you’d be playing right into Black’s hands if you went looking for him. Your mum and dad wouldn’t want you to get hurt, would they? They’d never want you to go looking for Black!”

“I’ll never know what they’d have wanted, because thanks to Black, I’ve never spoken to them,” said Harry shortly.

There was a silence in which Crookshanks stretched luxuriously, flexing his claws. Ron’s pocket quivered.

Veltidor popped out of my sleeve where he'd been wrapped around my wrist and said something like, "I was taken from my parents by an Eagle. Never found them. Went off on my own early."

Harry stared at my snake like it had almost been a comforting sentiment.

“Look,” said Ron, obviously casting around for a change of subject, “it’s the holidays! It’s nearly Christmas! Let’s—let’s go down and see Hagrid. We haven’t visited him for ages!”

“No!” said Hermione quickly. “Harry isn’t supposed to leave the castle, Ron—”

“Yeah, let’s go,” said Harry, sitting up, “and I can ask him how come he never mentioned Black when he told me all about my parents!”

Further discussion of Sirius Black plainly wasn’t what Ron had had in mind.

“Or we could have a game of chess,” he said hastily, “or Gobstones. Percy left a set—”

“No, let’s visit Hagrid,” said Harry firmly.

So we got our cloaks on and set off through the portrait hole (“Stand and fight, you yellow-bellied mongrels!”), down through the empty castle and out through the oak front doors.

We made our way slowly down the lawn, making a shallow trench in the glittering, powdery snow, our socks and the hems of our cloaks soaked and freezing. The Forbidden Forest looked as though it had been enchanted, each tree smattered with silver, and Hagrid’s cabin looked like an iced cake.

Ron knocked, but there was no answer.

“He’s not out, is he?” said Hermione, who was shivering under her cloak. Ron had his ear to the door.

“There’s a weird noise,” he said. “Listen—is that Fang?”

Harry and I put our ears to the door too. From inside the cabin came a series of low, throbbing moans.

“Think we’d better go and get someone?” said Ron nervously.

“Hagrid!” called Harry, thumping the door. “Hagrid, are you in there?”

There was a sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaked open. Hagrid stood there with his eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather vest.

“Yeh’ve heard?” he bellowed, and he flung himself onto Harry’s neck. I jumped back. Hagrid being at least twice the size of a normal man, this was no laughing matter.

Harry, about to collapse under Hagrid’s weight, was rescued by Ron and Hermione, who each seized Hagrid under an arm and heaved him back into the cabin. Hagrid allowed himself to be steered into a chair and slumped over the table, sobbing uncontrollably, his face glazed with tears that dripped down into his tangled beard.

“Hagrid, what is it?” said Hermione, aghast. I spotted an official-looking letter lying open on the table.

“What’s this, Hagrid?”

Hagrid’s sobs redoubled, but he shoved the letter toward Harry, who picked it up and read aloud: "Dear Mr. Hagrid, Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident."

“Well, that’s okay then, Hagrid!” said Ron, clapping Hagrid on the shoulder. But Hagrid continued to sob, and waved one of his gigantic hands, inviting Harry to read on.

"However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee’s offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated. Yours in fellowship…" There followed a list of the school governors.

“Oh,” said Ron. “But you said Buckbeak isn’t a bad hippogriff, Hagrid. I bet he’ll get off—”

“Yeh don’ know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o’ Dangerous Creatures!” choked Hagrid, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “They’ve got it in fer interestin’ creatures!”

A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid’s cabin made us whip around. Buckbeak the hippogriff was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor.

“I couldn’ leave him tied up out there in the snow!” choked Hagrid. “All on his own! At Christmas.”

We looked at one another. We had never seen eye to eye with Hagrid about what he called “interesting creatures” and other people called “terrifying monsters.” On the other hand, there didn’t seem to be any particular harm in Buckbeak. In fact, by Hagrid’s usual standards, he was positively cute.

“You’ll have to put up a good strong defense, Hagrid,” said Hermione, sitting down and laying a hand on Hagrid’s massive forearm. “I’m sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe.”

“Won’t make no diff’rence!” sobbed Hagrid. “Them Disposal devils, they’re all in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket! Scared o’ him! An’ if I lose the case, Buckbeak—”

Hagrid drew his finger swiftly across his throat, then gave a great wail and lurched forward, his face in his arms.

"I'll talk to Draco, Hagrid, I promise I'll see what I can do."

"It won' matter!" He sobbed, "Lucius will be doin' it through even if Malfoy agreed."

"Well I'll still... Do you have paper anywhere?"

"Over ther'"

"May I?"

"Go ahe'"

“What about Dumbledore, Hagrid?” said Harry.

“He’s done more’n enough fer me already,” groaned Hagrid. “Got enough on his plate what with keepin’ them dementors outta the castle, an’ Sirius Black lurkin’ around—”

I set a piece of parchment down on the table and started writing.

Ron and Hermione looked quickly at Harry, as though expecting him to start berating Hagrid for not telling him the truth about Black. But Harry couldn’t bring himself to do it, not now that he saw Hagrid so miserable and scared.

“Listen, Hagrid,” he said, “you can’t give up. Hermione’s right, you just need a good defense. You can call us as witnesses—”

“I’m sure I’ve read about a case of hippogriff-baiting,” said Hermione thoughtfully, “where the hippogriff got off. I’ll look it up for you, Hagrid, and see exactly what happened.”

Hagrid howled still more loudly. Harry and Hermione looked at Ron to help them.

“Er—shall I make a cup of tea?” said Ron. Harry stared at him.

“It’s what my mum does whenever someone’s upset,” Ron muttered, shrugging.

At last, after many more assurances of help, with a steaming mug of tea in front of him, Hagrid blew his nose on a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth and said, “Yer right. I can’ afford to go ter pieces. Gotta pull meself together…”

Fang the boarhound came timidly out from under the table and laid his head on Hagrid’s knee.

“I’ve not bin meself lately,” said Hagrid, stroking Fang with one hand and mopping his face with the other. “Worried abou’ Buckbeak, an’ no one likin’ me classes—”

“We do like them!” lied Hermione at once.

“Yeah, they’re great!” said Ron, crossing his fingers under the table. “Er—how are the flobberworms?”

“Dead,” said Hagrid gloomily. “Too much lettuce.”

“Oh no!” said Ron, his lip twitching.

“An’ them dementors make me feel ruddy terrible an’ all,” said Hagrid, with a sudden shudder. “Gotta walk past ’em ev’ry time I want a drink in the Three Broomsticks. ’S like bein’ back in Azkaban—” He fell silent, gulping his tea.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched him breathlessly. We had never heard Hagrid talk about his brief spell in Azkaban before. I didn't look up, putting all my attention into the letter.

After a pause, Hermione said timidly, “Is it awful in there, Hagrid?”

“Yeh’ve no idea,” said Hagrid quietly. “Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin’ mad. Kep’ goin’ over horrible stuff in me mind… the day I got expelled from Hogwarts… day me dad died… day I had ter let Norbert go…” His eyes filled with tears.

Norbert was the baby dragon Hagrid had once won in a game of cards. “Yeh can’ really remember who yeh are after a while. An’ yeh can’ see the point o’ livin’ at all. I used ter hope I’d jus’ die in me sleep… When they let me out, it was like bein’ born again, ev’rythin’ came floodin’ back, it was the bes’ feelin’ in the world. Mind, the dementors weren’t keen on lettin’ me go.”

“But you were innocent!” said Hermione. Hagrid snorted.

“Think that matters to them? They don’ care. Long as they’ve got a couple o’ hundred humans stuck there with ’em, so they can leech all the happiness out of ’em, they don’ give a damn who’s guilty an’ who’s not.” Hagrid went quiet for a moment, staring into his tea. Then he said quietly, “Thought o’ jus’ letting Buckbeak go… tryin’ ter make him fly away… but how d’yeh explain ter a hippogriff it’s gotta go inter hidin’? An’—an’ I’m scared o’ breakin’ the law…” He looked up at us, tears leaking down his face again. “I don’ ever want ter go back ter Azkaban.”

I held my letter up, reading it in the light of the orange fire Hermione had stoked brighter for the drunk Hagrid.

Draco Malfoy - 5706 Dittany Blvd, Wiltshire England

Buckbeak has been set a trial date I’m sure you’ve heard. Your father had it set up and I’m at Hagrid’d hut right now. He’s beside himself, I’m sure you would’ve enjoyed watching Hagrid almost take out Harry with a hug. He’s wasted, cryin’ his eyes out, and Buckbeak’s in the corner eating some dead thing. It’s a weird-ass situation and very uncomfy but still, this feels very wrong.

Hagrid cannot continue to be a teacher on his own for the safety of students, but he’s been pardoned. I know you don’t like him, and I don’t really either. But you know the damn bird didn’t hurt you that bad. I’ve hurt you worse than that and I’m pretty sure you didn’t try to get me executed. Wouldn’t rly blame you though. We both know you were over exaggerating it to get girls empathy and people to do stuff for you. Which I also can’t rly blame you for, I would’ve done that too.

All I’m asking is please try to get your dad to repeal this thing. Hagrid won’t get fired, and I know you kinda suck, but I also know you’re not a sociopath, and making him suffer the death of his bird just to make him miserable is semi-sociopathic. Just think about it, and when you come back I’ll owe you a debt. I’ll do whatever for you (not sexual don’t be like Ronald and make everything sexual). And if you say no I’ll get a love potion and make you fall in love with me. Aye’, okay. Thanks for hearing me out. - Elexen

Harry let me borrow Hedwig to send the letter and I sent it as quickly as I could.

The trip to Hagrid’s, though far from fun, had nevertheless had the effect we had hoped. Though Harry had by no means forgotten about Black, he couldn’t brood constantly on revenge if he wanted to help Hagrid win his case against the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. They didn’t believe my letter would do anything so we were brainstorming everything.

We went to the library the next day and returned to their empty common room laden with books that might help prepare a defense for Buckbeak. The four of us sat in front of the roaring fire, slowly turning the pages of dusty volumes about famous cases of marauding beasts, speaking occasionally when we ran across something relevant.

“Here’s something… there was a case in 1722…but the hippogriff was convicted—ugh, look what they did to it, that’s disgusting—”

“This might help, look—a manticore savaged someone in 1296, and they let the manticore off—oh—no, that was only because everyone was too scared to go near it…”

Meanwhile, in the rest of the castle, the usual magnificent Christmas decorations had been put up, despite the fact that hardly any of the students remained to enjoy them. Thick streamers of holly and mistletoe were strung along the corridors, mysterious lights shone from inside every suit of armor, and the Great Hall was filled with its usual twelve Christmas trees, glittering with golden stars. A powerful and delicious smell of cooking pervaded the corridors, and by Christmas Eve, it had grown so strong that even Scabbers poked his nose out of the shelter of Ron’s pocket to sniff hopefully at the air.

On Christmas morning, I woke up, scooped up all the gifts and made my way to Gryffindor tower to see my friends. Once I arrived they brought all of theirs down to the common room and we opened them together.

Ron was already ripping the paper off his own presents. “Another sweater from Mum… maroon again… see if you’ve got one.” Harry had. Mrs. Weasley had sent him a scarlet sweater with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front, also a dozen home-baked mince pies, some Christmas cake, and a box of nut brittle. I had a sweater also, black with a green Slytherin snake on it.

As Harry moved all his things aside, he saw a long, thin package lying underneath.

“What’s that?” said Ron, looking over, a freshly unwrapped pair of maroon socks in his hand.

“Dunno…” Harry ripped the parcel open and gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto his bedspread. Ron dropped his socks and jumped off his bed for a closer look.

“I don’t believe it,” he said hoarsely.

It was a Firebolt, identical to mine. Its handle glittered as he picked it up. He could feel it vibrating and let go; it hung in midair, unsupported, at exactly the right height for him to mount it. His eyes moved from the golden registration number at the top of the handle, right down to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.

“Who sent it to you?” said Ron in a hushed voice.

“Look and see if there’s a card,” said Harry.

Ron ripped apart the Firebolt’s wrappings. “Nothing! Blimey, who’d spend that much on you?”

“Well,” said Harry, feeling stunned, “I’m betting it wasn’t the Dursleys.”

“I bet it was Dumbledore,” said Ron, now walking around and around the Firebolt, taking in every glorious inch. “He sent you the Invisibility Cloak anonymously…”

“That was my dad’s, though,” said Harry. “Dumbledore was just passing it on to me. He wouldn’t spend hundreds of Galleons on me. He can’t go giving students stuff like this—”

“That’s why he wouldn’t say it was from him!” said Ron. “In case some git like Malfoy said it was favoritism. Hey, Harry”—Ron gave a great whoop of laughter—“Malfoy! Wait till he sees you on this! He’ll be sick as a pig! This is an international standard broom, this is!”

"Well... Malfoy's been using Elex's Firebolt but- wow... I can’t believe this,” Harry muttered, running a hand along the Firebolt, while Ron sank onto the chair nearby, laughing his head off at the thought of Malfoy.

“Who—?”

“I know,” said Ron, controlling himself, “I know who it could’ve been—Lupin!”

“What?” said Harry, now starting to laugh himself. “Lupin? Listen, if he had this much gold, he’d be able to buy himself some new robes.”

“Yeah, but he likes you,” said Ron. “And he was away when your Nimbus got smashed, and he might’ve heard about it and decided to visit Diagon Alley and get this for you—”

“What d’you mean, he was away?” said Harry. “He was ill when I was playing in that match.”

“Well, he wasn’t in the hospital wing,” said Ron. “I was there, cleaning out the bedpans on that detention from Snape, remember?”

Harry frowned at Ron. “I can’t see Lupin affording something like this.”

“What’re you two laughing about?” Hermione had just come in, wearing her dressing gown and carrying Crookshanks, who was looking very grumpy, with a string of tinsel tied around his neck.

“Don’t bring him in here!” said Ron, hurriedly snatching Scabbers and stowing him in his pajama pocket. But Hermione wasn’t listening.

She dropped Crookshanks onto the couch and stared, open-mouthed, at the Firebolt.

“Oh, Harry! Who sent you that?”

“No idea,” said Harry. “There wasn’t a card or anything with it.”

To my great surprise, Hermione did not appear either excited or intrigued by the news. On the contrary, her face fell, and she bit her lip.

“What’s the matter with you?” said Ron.

“I don’t know,” said Hermione slowly, “but it’s a bit odd, isn’t it? I mean, this is supposed to be quite a good broom, isn’t it?” Ron sighed exasperatedly.

“It’s the best broom there is, Hermione,” he said.

“So it must’ve been really expensive…”

“Probably cost more than all the Slytherins’ brooms put together,” said Ron happily.

“Well… who’d send Harry something as expensive as that, and not even tell him they’d sent it?” said Hermione.

“Who cares?” said Ron impatiently. “Listen, Harry, can I have a go on it? Can I?”

“I don’t think anyone should ride that broom just yet!” said Hermione shrilly.

We looked at her.

“What d’you think Harry’s going to do with it—sweep the floor?”

But before Hermione could answer, Crookshanks sprang from the couch, right at Ron’s chest. “GET—HIM—OUT—OF—HERE!” Ron bellowed as Crookshanks’s claws ripped his pajamas and Scabbers attempted a wild escape over his shoulder. Ron seized Scabbers by the tail and aimed a misjudged kick at Crookshanks. Crookshanks’s fur suddenly stood on end. A shrill, tinny whistling was filling the room. The Pocket Sneakoscope had become dislodged from Uncle Vernon’s old socks and was whirling and gleaming on the floor.

“I forgot about that!” Harry said, bending down and picking up the Sneakoscope. “I never wear those socks if I can help it…”

The Sneakoscope whirled and whistled in his palm. Crookshanks was hissing and spitting at it.

“You’d better take that cat out of here, Hermione,” said Ron furiously, sitting on Harry’s bed nursing his toe. “Can’t you shut that thing up?” he added to Harry as Hermione strode out of the room, Crookshanks’s yellow eyes still fixed maliciously on Ron. Harry stuffed the Sneakoscope back inside the socks and threw it back into his trunk.

Scabbers was huddled in Ron’s hands. It had been a while since I had seen him out of Ron’s pocket, and I was unpleasantly surprised to see that Scabbers, once so fat, was now very skinny; patches of fur seemed to have fallen out too.

“He’s not looking too good, is he?” I asked.

“It’s stress!” said Ron. “He’d be fine if that big stupid furball left him alone!”

But I, remembering what the woman at the Magical Menagerie had said about rats living only three years, couldn’t help feeling that unless Scabbers had powers he had never revealed, he was reaching the end of his life. And despite Ron’s frequent complaints that Scabbers was both boring and useless, I was sure Ron would be very miserable if Scabbers died.

Christmas spirit was definitely thin on the ground in the Gryffindor common room that morning. Hermione had shut Crookshanks in her dormitory, but was furious with Ron for trying to kick him; Ron was still fuming about Crookshanks’s fresh attempt to eat Scabbers. Harry gave up trying to make them talk to each other and devoted himself to examining the Firebolt. For some reason this seemed to annoy Hermione as well; she didn’t say anything, but she kept looking darkly at the broom as though it too had been criticizing her cat.

Everything was boring and tense until I found a small suspicious box at the bottom of my pile.

"Oo, who sent that?" Ron asked, "what is it?"

"Dunno," I opened it up and out rolled a silver remembrall that turned purple when you forgot something instead of red. There was a note with it. “Thanks for being around me. Here’s a thing because I didn’t know what to get you this year. I did try to put some thought into it but I don’t really know what you like realistically. Still pretty, still fire, keep it up. - MH”

”It’s MH again!” I said, showing them. “This is the third year in a row they’ve sent something!”

Ron took the note and read it aloud. Hermione went into deep thought over who it could be but we couldn’t come up with anyone that actually made sense, and we spent a while trying to figure it out.

”Definitely the funniest note so far. I love it… wish they’d tell me who they are.” I said, shrugging. “As long as they’re a dude they have a chance.”

”What if it’s Malfoy?”

”I would bet one hundred galleons it’s not him so he doesn’t count.” I said, laughing. “Also, Harry. When Hedwig’s back-“

”Yeah I’ll bring you his response, if he sends one.”

“Thanks.”

At lunchtime we went down to the Great Hall, to find that the House tables had been moved against the walls again, and that a single table, set for twelve, stood in the middle of the room. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were there, along with Filch, the caretaker, who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a very old and rather moldy-looking tailcoat. There were only two other students, one extremely nervous-looking first year and a sullen-faced Slytherin fifth year I didn’t know the name of.

“Merry Christmas!” said Dumbledore as we approached the table. “As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables… Sit down, sit down!”

We sat down side by side at the end of the table.

“Crackers!” said Dumbledore enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver noisemaker to Snape, who took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew apart to reveal a large, pointed witch’s hat topped with a stuffed vulture.

I, remembering the boggart, caught Ron’s eye and we both grinned; Snape’s mouth thinned and he pushed the hat toward Dumbledore, who swapped it for his wizard’s hat at once.

“Dig in!” he advised the table, beaming around. As I was helping myself to roast potatoes, the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward us as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.

“Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!” said Dumbledore, standing up.

“I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster,” said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest, most faraway voice, “and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness…”

“Certainly, certainly,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “Let me draw you up a chair—”

And he did indeed draw a chair in midair with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream.

“I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!”

“We’ll risk it, Sibyll,” said Professor McGonagall impatiently. “Do sit down, the turkey’s getting stone cold.”

Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table.

Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest tureen. “Tripe, Sibyll?”

Professor Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she looked around once more and said, “But where is dear Professor Lupin?”

“I’m afraid the poor fellow is ill again,” said Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. “Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day.”

“But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?” said Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows raised.

Professor Trelawney gave Professor McGonagall a very cold look. “Certainly I knew, Minerva,” she said quietly. “But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous.”

“That explains a great deal,” said Professor McGonagall tartly.

Professor Trelawney’s voice suddenly became a good deal less misty. “If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him—”

“Imagine that,” said Professor McGonagall dryly.

“I doubt,” said Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to Professor McGonagall and Professor Trelawney’s conversation, “that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you’ve made the potion for him again?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” said Snape.

“Good,” said Dumbledore. “Then he should be up and about in no time… Derek, have you had any of these chipolatas? They’re excellent.”

The first-year boy went furiously red on being addressed directly by Dumbledore, and took the platter of sausages with trembling hands.

Professor Trelawney behaved almost normally until the very end of Christmas dinner, two hours later.

Full to bursting with Christmas dinner and still wearing our party hats, Harry and Ron got up first from the table and she shrieked loudly. “My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?”

“Dunno,” said Ron, looking uneasily at Harry.

“I doubt it will make much difference,” said Professor McGonagall coldly, “unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the entrance hall.”

Even Ron laughed.

Professor Trelawney looked highly affronted.

“Coming?” Harry said to Hermione.

“No,” Hermione muttered, “I want a quick word with Professor McGonagall.”

“Probably trying to see if she can take any more classes,” yawned Ron as I got up and we made our way into the entrance hall, which was completely devoid of mad axe-men.

When we reached the portrait hole, we found Sir Cadogan enjoying a Christmas party with a couple of monks, several previous headmasters of Hogwarts, and his fat pony. He pushed up his visor and toasted them with a flagon of mead.

“Merry—hic—Christmas! Password?”

“Scurvy cur,” said Ron.

“And the same to you, sir!” roared Sir Cadogan as the painting swung forward to admit us.

Harry went straight up to the dormitory, collected the Firebolt and the Broomstick Servicing Kit Hermione had given him for his birthday, brought them downstairs, and tried to find something to do to the Firebolt; however, there were no bent twigs to clip, and the handle was so shiny already it seemed pointless to polish it. He and Ron simply sat admiring it from every angle until the portrait hole opened, and Hermione came in, accompanied by Professor McGonagall.

Though Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, I had seen her in the common room only once before, and that had been to make a very grave announcement.

We stared at her, both boys holding the Firebolt. Hermione walked around us, sat down, picked up the nearest book, and hid her face behind it.

“So that’s it, is it?” said Professor McGonagall beadily, walking over to the fireside and staring at the Firebolt. “Miss Granger has just informed me that you have been sent a broomstick, Potter.”

We looked around at Hermione. We could see her forehead reddening over the top of her book, which was upside down.

“May I?” said Professor McGonagall, but she didn’t wait for an answer before pulling the Firebolt out of their hands. She examined it carefully from handle to twig-ends. “Hmm. And there was no note at all, Potter? No card? No message of any kind?”

“No,” said Harry blankly.

“I see…,” said Professor McGonagall. “Well, I’m afraid I will have to take this, Potter.”

“W—what?” said Harry, scrambling to his feet. “Why?”

“It will need to be checked for jinxes,” said Professor McGonagall. “Of course, I’m no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down—”

“Strip it down?” repeated Ron, as though Professor McGonagall was mad.

“It shouldn’t take more than a few weeks,” said Professor McGonagall. “You will have it back if we are sure it is jinx-free.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it!” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly. “Honestly, Professor—”

“You can’t know that, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, quite kindly, “not until you’ve flown it, at any rate, and I’m afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed.”

Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and carried the Firebolt out of the portrait hole, which closed behind her. Harry stood staring after her, the tin of High-Finish Polish still clutched in his hands.

Ron, however, rounded on Hermione. “What did you go running to McGonagall for?”

Hermione threw her book aside. She was still pink in the face, but stood up and faced Ron defiantly.

“Because I thought—and Professor McGonagall agrees with me— that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!

Chapter 11: The Patronus

Chapter Text

Harry knew that Hermione had meant well, but that didn’t stop him from being angry with her. He had been the owner of the best broom in the world for a few short hours, and now, because of her interference, he didn’t know whether he would ever see it again. He was positive that there was nothing wrong with the Firebolt now, but what sort of state would it be in once it had been subjected to all sorts of anti-jinx tests?

Ron was furious with Hermione too. As far as he was concerned, the stripping-down of a brand-new Firebolt was nothing less than criminal damage.

I was actually fully in agreement with Hermione but let Harry borrow my Firebolt a lot more just to feel better. I did make it known I agreed with her but let Harry rant about the anger towards her actions.

I got a letter back from Malfoy the day after Christmas and Harry delivered it to me at breakfast. I opened it while my three friends waited with baited breath, hoping for something futile.

Elexendrizella Snape - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

As much as I want to fall in love with you I'm already trying. - Draco

That was all it said but that was more than we were hoping for. The boys were confused at the first part so I told them how I'd ended my letter and they laughed.

Hermione, who remained convinced that she had acted for the best about the Firebolt, started avoiding the common room. Harry and Ron supposed she had taken refuge in the library and didn’t try to persuade her to come back. All in all, they were glad when the rest of the school returned shortly after New Year, and Gryffindor Tower became crowded and noisy again.

Wood sought Harry out on the night before term started. “Had a good Christmas?” he said, and then, without waiting for an answer, he sat down, lowered his voice, and said, “I’ve been doing some thinking over Christmas, Harry. After the last match, you know. If the dementors come to the next one… I mean… we can’t afford you to—well—” Wood broke off, looking awkward.

“I’m working on it,” said Harry quickly. “Professor Lupin said he’d train me to ward off the dementors. We should be starting this week. He said he’d have time after Christmas.”

“Ah,” said Wood, his expression clearing. “Well, in that case—I really didn’t want to lose you as Seeker, Harry. And have you ordered a new broom yet?”

“No,” said Harry. “What! You’d better get a move on, you know—you can’t ride that Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!”

“He got a Firebolt for Christmas,” said Ron.

“A Firebolt? No! Seriously? A—a real Firebolt?”

“Don’t get excited, Oliver,” said Harry gloomily. “I haven’t got it anymore. It was confiscated.” And he explained all about how the Firebolt was now being checked for jinxes.

“Jinxed? How could it be jinxed?”

“Sirius Black,” Harry said wearily. “He’s supposed to be after me. So McGonagall reckons he might have sent it.”

Waving aside the information that a famous murderer was after his Seeker, Wood said, “But Black couldn’t have bought a Firebolt! He’s on the run! The whole country’s on the lookout for him! How could he just walk into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?”

“I know,” said Harry, “but McGonagall still wants to strip it down —”

Wood went pale. “I’ll go and talk to her, Harry,” he promised. “I’ll make her see reason… A Firebolt… a real Firebolt, on our team… She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do… I’ll make her see sense. A Firebolt…”

"Hey, Wood. Chill out man. Either way I'm letting Harry use my Firebolt against Ravenclaw."

"Really! Yeah! You're awesome Elex! Okay, I'm still gonna talk to McGonagall."

Classes started again the next day. The last thing anyone felt like doing was spending two hours on the grounds on a raw January morning, but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders for our enjoyment, and we spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs.

The first Divination lesson of the new term was much less fun; Professor Trelawney was now teaching us palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry that he had the shortest life line she had ever seen. And I had a scar over my love line which apparently meant due to my own choice I would never fall in love. Nothing could've depressed me more.

It was Defense Against the Dark Arts that I was keen to get to; after Harry's conversation with Wood, I was reminded of the anti-dementor lessons we were going to be given.

“Ah yes,” said Lupin, when Harry reminded him of his promise at the end of class. “Let me see… how about eight o’clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough… I’ll have to think carefully about how we’re going to do this… We can’t bring a real dementor into the castle to practice on…”

“Still looks ill, doesn’t he?” said Ron as we walked down the corridor, heading to dinner. “What d’you reckon’s the matter with him?”

There was a loud and impatient “tuh” from behind us. It was Hermione, who had been sitting at the feet of a suit of armor, repacking her bag, which was so full of books it wouldn’t close.

“And what are you tutting at us for?” said Ron irritably.

“Nothing,” said Hermione in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back over her shoulder.

“Yes, you were,” said Ron. “I said I wonder what’s wrong with Lupin, and you—”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” said Hermione, with a look of maddening superiority.

“If you don’t want to tell us, don’t,” snapped Ron.

“Fine,” said Hermione haughtily, and she marched off.

“She doesn’t know,” said Ron, staring resentfully after Hermione. “She’s just trying to get us to talk to her again.”

I thought quietly and something came to mind. I would have to do some reading before I gave it the time of day but...

At eight o’clock on Thursday evening, we left Gryffindor Tower for the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when we arrived, but Harry lit the lamps with his wand and we had waited only five minutes when Professor Lupin turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he heaved onto Professor Binns’ desk.

“What’s that?” said Harry.

“Another boggart,” said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. “I’ve been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch’s filing cabinet. It’s the nearest we’ll get to a real dementor. The boggart will turn into a dementor when he sees you, so we’ll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when we’re not using him; there’s a cupboard under my desk he’ll like. Elex... it's be harder with you because your Boggart wasn't a dementor but I know a spell I might be able to use to keep it that way.”

“Okay,” I nodded.

Harry sounded as though he was trying to sound like he wasn’t apprehensive at all and merely glad that Lupin had found such a good substitute for a real dementor.

“So…” Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that we should do the same. “The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic—well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.”

“How does it work?” we asked nervously.

“Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus,” said Lupin, “which is a kind of anti-dementor—a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor.” Professor Lupin continued, “The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the dementor feeds upon—hope, happiness, the desire to survive—but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can’t hurt it. But I must warn you, children, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it.”

“What does a Patronus look like?” asked Harry curiously.

“Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it.”

“And how do you conjure it?”

“With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory.”

I cast my mind about for a happy memory. Certainly, nothing that had happened with my father was going to do. My mind settled on the moment I met my three friends.

“Right,” Harry said.

“The incantation is this—” Lupin cleared his throat. “Expecto patronum!”

“Expecto patronum,” we repeated under our breath, “expecto patronum.”

“Concentrating hard on your happy memory? Let's try you both together, Harry in front so the Boggart turns into a dementor.”

“Oh—yeah—” said Harry. “Expecto patrono—no, patronum—sorry—expecto patronum, expecto patronum—”

Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.

“Did you see that?” said Harry excitedly. “Something happened!”

“Very good,” said Lupin, smiling. “Right, then—ready to try it on a dementor? Elexendrizella? Are you ready?”

"Expecto patronum-" I said, a little wisp, smaller than Harry's, appearing.

"Very good."

“Yes,” Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom.

Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled. A dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over us—

“Expecto patronum!” Harry yelled. “Expecto patronum! Expecto—”

"Expecto patronum!" I tried, a bigger wisp appearing but not enough.

"Riddikulus!" Professor Lupin said, shutting the Boggart in the case again.

“Harry!”

Harry jerked back to life. He was lying flat on his back on the floor. The classroom lamps were alight again. He didn’t have to ask what had happened. “Sorry,” he muttered, sitting up and feeling cold sweat trickling down behind his glasses.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes…” Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned against it.

“Here—” Lupin handed him a Chocolate Frog. “Eat this before we try again. I didn’t expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had.”

“It’s getting worse,” Harry muttered, biting off the Frog’s head. “I could hear her louder that time—and him—Voldemort—”

Lupin looked paler than usual. “Harry, if you don’t want to continue, I will more than understand—”

“I do!” said Harry fiercely, stuffing the rest of the Chocolate Frog into his mouth. “I’ve got to! What if the dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can’t afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we’ve lost the Quidditch Cup!”

“All right then…,” said Lupin. “You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on… That one doesn’t seem to have been strong enough…”

Harry thought for a moment and nodded.

"Okay, Elex, you try it alone this time. Ready?” said Lupin, gripping the box lid.

“Ready,” I said, trying hard to fill my head with happy thoughts.

The dementor appeared and Lupin put a spell on it to stay as a dementor when I approached. The room went icily cold and dark once more. The dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting hand was extending toward me— “Expecto patronum!” I yelled. “Expecto patronum! Expecto pat —” I coughed at the cold filling my lungs. "Expecto patronum!" I got dizzy and fell to the ground, not reacting as strongly as Harry but still nearly passing out.

“Elex! Elex… get up…” Lupin was tapping my head.

I stood dizzily and the dementor was gone.

"You're doing good but the memory doesn't seem to be happy enough. Try another." Lupin suggested, then giving Harry a turn.

That time after his failure it was a minute before Harry understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom floor. “I heard my dad,” Harry mumbled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him—he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it…” Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see. I saw though. Then I realized something quite unfortunate... I had a memory that made me really happy.

“You heard James?” said Lupin in a strange voice.

“Yeah…” Face dry, Harry looked up. “Why—you didn’t know my dad, did you?”

“I—I did, as a matter of fact,” said Lupin. “We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen, Harry—perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced… I shouldn’t have suggested putting you through this…”

“No!” said Harry. He got up again. “I’ll have one more go! I’m not thinking of happy enough things, that’s what it is… Hang on…” He racked his brains. A really, really happy memory… one that he could turn into a good, strong Patronus… The moment when he’d first found out he was a wizard, and would be leaving the Dursleys for Hogwarts! If that wasn’t a happy memory, he didn’t know what was… Concentrating very hard on how he had felt when he’d realized he’d be leaving Privet Drive, Harry got to his feet and faced the packing case once more.

“Ready?” said Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his better judgment. “Concentrating hard? All right—go!”

He pulled off the lid of the case for the third time, and the dementor rose out of it; the room fell cold and dark—

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Harry bellowed. “EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

“Riddikulus!” roared Lupin, springing forward. There was a loud crack, and Harry’s cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor; he sank into a chair.

“Excellent!” Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat. “Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!”

“Can we have another go? Just one more go?”

“Not now,” said Lupin firmly. “You’ve had enough for one night. Here—” He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes’ best chocolate. “Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week? Elexendrizella, one more time for you."

"Okay..." I stepped forward.

"You have a happy memory?" He asked.

"Somewhat. I think it'll work." I nodded.

"Okay." And he opened the lid. The dementor appeared again and cold sweeped the room. "Expecto- oh wait-" I had to think of the memory. I shook a bit, I hated that the memory made me happy. I felt like a bad person, but it wasn't his suffering that made me happy, it was the moment of sitting with him, him crying into my shoulder... The gray eyes, blonde-white hair, crying to me, the one moment of us being closer than I've ever been to someone. "Expecto patronum!" And a silver shadow bounded from my wand, knocking down the dementor. I hated that it worked.

"Very good!" Lupin beamed. "Incredible! That was almost corporeal! Very good. Okay... Same time next week!"

“Okay,” I said, smiling and taking the chocolate Lupin handed me. Itook a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguish the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the dementor.

“Professor Lupin?” Harry said as I took a seat for a breather. “If you knew my dad, you must’ve known Sirius Black as well.”

Lupin turned very quickly. “What gives you that idea?” he said sharply.

“Nothing—I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too…”

Lupin’s face relaxed. “Yes, I knew him,” he said shortly. “Or I thought I did. You’d better be off, both of you, it’s getting late.”

We left the classroom, walking along the corridor and heading back to Gryffindor Tower. Ravenclaw played Hufflepuff a week after the start of term. Hufflepuff won, though narrowly. According to Wood, this was good news for Gryffindor, who would take second place if they beat Ravenclaw too. He therefore increased the number of team practices to five a week. Same with Flint and Slytherin.

This meant that with Lupin’s anti-dementor classes, which in themselves were more draining than six Quidditch practices, me and Harry had just one night a week to do all our homework. Even so, we weren't showing the strain nearly as much as Hermione, whose immense workload finally seemed to be getting to her. Every night, without fail, Hermione was to be seen in a corner of the common room, several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; she barely spoke to anybody and snapped when she was interrupted.

“How’s she doing it?” Ron muttered to us one evening as Harry sat finishing a nasty essay on Undetectable Poisons for Snape. Harry looked up. Hermione was barely visible behind a tottering pile of books.

“Doing what?”

“Getting to all her classes!” Ron said. “I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday’s lesson, but Hermione can’t’ve been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures! And Ernie McMillan told me she’s never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she’s never missed one of them either!”

I didn’t have time to fathom the mystery of Hermione’s impossible schedule at the moment; I really needed to get on with Snape’s essay. Two seconds later, however, we were interrupted again, this time by Wood.

“Bad news, Harry. I’ve just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She—er—got a bit shirty with me. Told me I’d got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn’t care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch first.” Wood shook his head in disbelief. “Honestly, the way she was yelling at me… you’d think I’d said something terrible… Then I asked her how much longer she was going to keep it…” He screwed up his face and imitated Professor McGonagall’s severe voice. “‘As long as necessary, Wood’…I reckon it’s time you ordered a new broom, Harry. There’s an order form at the back of Which Broomstick… you could get a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, like Malfoy’s got.”

“I’m not buying anything Malfoy thinks is good,” said Harry flatly.

"Say what you want but he has good taste." I confessed. I shuddered inside. Every time Malfoy got mentioned I thought about the fact I had to use a memory with him to get a patronus.

January faded imperceptibly into February, with no change in the bitterly cold weather. The match against Ravenclaw was drawing nearer and nearer, but Harry still hadn’t ordered a new broom. He was now asking Professor McGonagall for news of the Firebolt after every Transfiguration lesson, Ron and I standing hopefully at his shoulder, Hermione rushing past with her face averted.

“No, Potter, you can’t have it back yet,” Professor McGonagall told him the twelfth time this happened, before he’d even opened his mouth. “We’ve checked for most of the usual curses, but Professor Flitwick believes the broom might be carrying a Hurling Hex. I shall tell you once we’ve finished checking it. Now, please stop badgering me.”

To make matters even worse, Harry and I's anti-dementor lessons were not going nearly as well as he had hoped. Several sessions on, he was able to produce an indistinct, silvery shadow every time the boggart-dementor approached him, but his Patronus was too feeble to drive the dementor away. It didn't help that I'd managed a complete corporeal Patronus in the form of a siberian-tiger by thinking about Draco. Harry was trying to be nice but it didn't make him feel good, and he didn't understand why I seemed so annoyed by it. I wasn't gonna tell anyone.

Harry felt angry with himself, guilty about his secret desire to hear his parents’ voices again.

“You’re expecting too much of yourself,” said Professor Lupin sternly in our fourth week of practice. “For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren’t passing out anymore, are you?”

“I thought a Patronus would—charge the dementors down or something,” said Harry dispiritedly. “Like Elex's... Make them disappear—”

“The true Patronus does do that,” said Lupin. “But you’ve achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. Elex is showing an amount of talent I could never expect with this. You cannot compare yourself to her in this. If the dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground.”

“You said it’s harder if there are loads of them,” said Harry.

“I have complete confidence in you,” said Lupin, smiling. “Here— you’ve earned a drink—something from the Three Broomsticks. You won’t have tried it before—” He pulled two bottles out of his briefcase.

“Butterbeer!” said Harry, without thinking. “Yeah, I like that stuff!”

Lupin raised an eyebrow.

“Oh—Ron, Elex here, and Hermione brought me some back from Hogsmeade,” Harry lied quickly.

“I see,” said Lupin, though he still looked slightly suspicious. “Well—let’s drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I’m supposed to take sides, as a teacher…,” he added hastily.

I smiled, laughing. We drank the butterbeer in silence, until Harry voiced something he’d been wondering for a while. “What’s under a dementor’s hood?”

Professor Lupin lowered his bottle thoughtfully.

“Hmmm… well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon.”

“What’s that?”

“They call it the Dementor’s Kiss,” said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile.

"I'd go mad if I were kissed by that thing too.' I said, making Harry laughed.

“It’s what dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and—and suck out his soul.”

"Ew-ew-ew-"

Harry accidentally spat out a bit of butterbeer. “What—they kill—?”

“Oh no,” said Lupin. “Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you’ll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no… anything. There’s no chance at all of recovery. You’ll just—exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever… lost.” Lupin drank a little more butterbeer, then said, “It’s the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the dementors permission to perform it if they find him.”

I sat stunned for a moment at the idea of someone having their soul sucked out through their mouth. "No... that kills you."

"Why would you think so?" Lupin asked curiously.

"You can't live without a soul. You are your soul. The body is an empty shell but you're dead." I said with a surity that surprised Lupin, but he didn't fight me in that belief.

“He deserves it,” Harry said suddenly.

“You think so?” said Lupin lightly. “Do you really think anyone deserves that?”

“Yes,” said Harry defiantly. “For… for some things…”

"No... absolutely not." I shook my head. "I'm sorry Harry, but I'll never believe that."

"You've said you'd kill someone if you needed though."

"That's not just death." I shook my head.

I knew he would have liked to have told Lupin about the conversation we’d overheard about Black in the Three Broomsticks, about Black betraying his mother and father, but it would have involved revealing that he’d gone to Hogsmeade without permission, and he knew Lupin wouldn’t be very impressed by that. So he finished his butterbeer, thanked Lupin, and we left the History of Magic classroom.

I half wished that Harry hadn’t asked what was under a dementor’s hood, the answer had been so horrible, and we were both so lost in unpleasant thoughts of what it would feel like to have your soul sucked out of you that he walked headlong into Professor McGonagall halfway up the stairs.

“Do watch where you’re going, Potter!”

“Sorry, Professor—”

“I’ve just been looking for you in the Gryffindor common room. Well, here it is, we’ve done everything we could think of, and there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with it at all. You’ve got a very good friend somewhere, Potter…” Harry’s jaw dropped.

She was holding out his Firebolt, and it looked as magnificent as ever.

“I can have it back?” Harry said weakly. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” said Professor McGonagall, and she was actually smiling. “I daresay you’ll need to get the feel of it before Saturday’s match, won’t you? And Potter—do try and win, won’t you? Or we’ll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night…”

Speechless, Harry carried the Firebolt back upstairs toward Gryffindor Tower. As we turned a corner, I saw Ron dashing toward us, grinning from ear to ear.

“She gave it to you? Excellent! Listen, can I still have a go on it? Tomorrow?”

“Yeah… anything…,” said Harry]. “You know what—we should make up with Hermione… She was only trying to help…”

“Yeah, all right,” said Ron. “She’s in the common room now— working, for a change—”

We turned into the corridor to Gryffindor Tower and saw Neville Longbottom, pleading with Sir Cadogan, who seemed to be refusing him entrance. “I wrote them down!” Neville was saying tearfully. “But I must’ve dropped them somewhere!”

“A likely tale!” roared Sir Cadogan. Then, spotting us.

“Good even, my fine young yeomen and lady! Come clap this loon in irons. He is trying to force entry to the chambers within!”

“Oh, shut up,” said Ron as we drew level with Neville.

“I’ve lost the passwords!” Neville told us miserably. “I made him tell me what passwords he was going to use this week, because he keeps changing them, and now I don’t know what I’ve done with them!”

“Oddsbodikins,” said Harry to Sir Cadogan, who looked extremely disappointed and reluctantly swung forward to let ua into the common room.

There was a sudden, excited murmur as every head turned and the next moment, Harry was surrounded by people exclaiming over his Firebolt.

“Where’d you get it, Harry?”

“Will you let me have a go?”

“Have you ridden it yet, Harry?”

“Ravenclaw’ll have no chance, they’re all on Cleansweep Sevens!”

“Can I just hold it, Harry?”

After ten minutes or so, during which the Firebolt was passed around and admired from every angle, the crowd dispersed and we had a clear view of Hermione, the only person who hadn’t rushed over to the boys, bent over her work and carefully avoiding their eyes.

Harry and Ron approached her table, I followed behind, and at last, she looked up.

“I got it back,” said Harry, grinning at her and holding up the Firebolt.

“See, Hermione? There wasn’t anything wrong with it!” said Ron.

“Well—there might have been!” said Hermione. “I mean, at least you know now that it’s safe!”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” said Harry. “I’d better put it upstairs—”

“I’ll take it!” said Ron eagerly. “I’ve got to give Scabbers his rat tonic.”

He took the Firebolt and, holding it as if it were made of glass, carried it away up the boys’ staircase.

“Can I sit down, then?” Harry asked Hermione.

“I suppose so,” said Hermione, moving a great stack of parchment off a chair. I sat in the other.

I looked around at the cluttered table, at the long Arithmancy essay on which the ink was still glistening, at the even longer Muggle Studies essay (“Explain Why Muggles Need Electricity”) and at the rune translation Hermione was now poring over.

“How are you getting through all this stuff?” Harry asked her.

“Oh, well—you know—working hard,” said Hermione. Close-up, I saw that she looked almost as tired as Lupin.

“Why don’t you just drop a couple of subjects?” Harry asked, watching her lifting books as she searched for her rune dictionary.

“I couldn’t do that!” said Hermione, looking scandalized.

“Arithmancy looks terrible,” said Harry, picking up a very complicated-looking number chart.

“Oh no, it’s wonderful!” said Hermione earnestly. “It’s my favorite subject! It’s—”

I nodded in agreement. I actually quite enjoyed it other than for the fact the seating assignments put me next to Draco.

But exactly what was wonderful about Arithmancy, Harry never found out. Hermione was interrupted by a strangled yell echoing down the boys’ staircase. The whole common room fell silent, staring, petrified, at the entrance. Then came hurried footsteps, growing louder and louder—and then Ron came leaping into view, dragging with him a bedsheet.

“LOOK!” he bellowed, striding over to Hermione’s table. “LOOK!” he yelled, shaking the sheets in her face.

“Ron, what—?”

“SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!”

Hermione was leaning away from Ron, looking utterly bewildered.

I looked down at the sheet Ron was holding. There was something red on it. Something that looked horribly like—

“BLOOD!” Ron yelled into the stunned silence. “HE’S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?”

“N—no,” said Hermione in a trembling voice.

Ron threw something down onto Hermione’s rune translation. We leaned forward. Lying on top of the weird, spiky shapes were several long, ginger cat hairs.

Chapter 12: Insults

Chapter Text

It looked like the end of Ron and Hermione’s friendship. Each was so angry with the other that I couldn’t see how they’d ever make up. Ron was enraged that Hermione had never taken Crookshanks’s attempts to eat Scabbers seriously, hadn’t bothered to keep a close enough watch on him, and was still trying to pretend that Crookshanks was innocent by suggesting that Ron look for Scabbers under all the boys’ beds.

Hermione, meanwhile, maintained fiercely that Ron had no proof that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, that the ginger hairs might have been there since Christmas, and that Ron had been prejudiced against her cat ever since Crookshanks had landed on Ron’s head in the Magical Menagerie.

Personally, I was sure that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, and when I tried to point out to Hermione that the evidence all pointed that way, she lost her temper with me too.

“Okay, side with Ron, I knew you would!” she said shrilly. “First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything’s my fault, isn’t it! Just leave me alone, I’ve got a lot of work to do!”

Ron had taken the loss of his rat very hard indeed.

“Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring Scabbers was,” said Fred bracingly “And he’s been off-color for ages, he was wasting away. It was probably better for him to snuff it quickly—one swallow—he probably didn’t feel a thing.”

“Fred!” said Ginny indignantly.

“All he did was eat and sleep, Ron, you said it yourself,” said George.

“He bit Goyle for us once!” Ron said miserably. “Remember, Harry?”

“Yeah, that’s true,” said Harry.

“His finest hour,” said Fred, unable to keep a straight face. “Let the scar on Goyle’s finger stand as a lasting tribute to his memory. Oh, come on, Ron, get yourself down to Hogsmeade and buy a new rat, what’s the point of moaning?”

In a last-ditch attempt to cheer Ron up, Harry persuaded him to come along to the Gryffindor team’s final practice before the Ravenclaw match, so that he could have a ride on the Firebolt after they’d finished. This did seem to take Ron’s mind off Scabbers for a moment (“Great! Can I try and shoot a few goals on it?”) so they set off for the Quidditch field together.

I had a lot of work to do so I went down to the Great Hall to do some homework at the empty Slytherin table.

I spread out my Arithmancy and Divination homework, doing it together and soon I heard a clunk of a bag and the bench across the table move and someone sit down. I looked up. "What're you doing?"

Malfoy frowned and dumped his books and homework on the table, pulling over his parchment for Snape's class. "Your father despises me. He told me to write six more inches than the rest of the class."

"Yeah, he doesn't like those that seem to know what's better for me than him."

"I talked to my father. The chicken's still getting tried."

"Damn it... You tried, though?" I asked, confused.

"Yes." He said, flipping open a book. "But it wasn't 'cause of you, don't flatter yourself. I came to the same conclusions before your letter."

"Right, you're such a good person on your own." I held my Arithmancy up, "what's five to eight?"

"Same as one to five plus the statistic thirty-five."

"Oh my gosh, I don't know how I've made it this far." I started adding the statistics and trying to figure out if Draco was right.

"Why have you been meeting with Lupin?" Malfoy asked.

"Jealous? It's a secret."

"You and Potter-" He made a joke I dare not repeat.

I tried not to laugh but I did choke on my own spit 'cause holy cow... "Draco Malfoy!"

He cackled, "I'll take that as a no."

"Oh shut up... three to seven."

"Reference C4-32."

"This is the most confusing thing I've ever seen." I wrong down what he was saying, hoping he was being honest. "Lupin's teaching me and Harry the patronus spell since we react strongest to the dementors."

"Hmm... Why does he care enough to teach you two?"

"I think he was a good friend of Harry's dad. Harry said he'd like to have a friend that needed help there so Lupin's doing me a favor."

"Hmm..." He looked at his watch and opened his mouth to say something but Flint had just walked up.

"Glad you two are hanging out. Get along. Last minute Quidditch practice. You two go get your brooms and meet us at the pitch."

"We have homework." I said, gesturing in front of us.

"And we have to win Quidditch, come on."

I dumped all my books back in my bag and me and Draco left the Great Hall to walk down to the dungeons. We didn't talk on the way down and split up at the dorms. I put on my Quidditch stuff and grabbed my Firebolt. I met Draco in the common room and we walked back up, passing my three friends in the hall.

"Weasel, Potter, Mudblood."

"Shut up Malfoy."

I grabbed his pretty hair and shoved him away.

"What're you doing hanging out with him?" Ron asked with betrayal in his voice.

"Trivia night. What does it look like?" I held up my Firebolt.

Draco sneered, rubbing his head where I'd grabbed his hair.

"Well, good luck." Ron said, glaring at Draco.

"See you, then." Harry nodded and me and Draco left through the entrance hall and down to the Quidditch pitch where our team had already begun. We just joined them in the air without another word.

I wasn't in a very good mood and Malfoy even noticed when I had the perfect opportunity to send Bludger at him and didn't even feign doing it. Nothing was wrong, I just was tired and existentially bored.

"Malfoy, Snitch, over there!" I yelled half-heartedly.

He looked to where I was pointing and noticed the Snitch right above the goal hoops. He launched himself across the pitch and up toward the Snitch.

I saw a Bludger heading toward Malfoy and I flew over as quick as I could. My Firebolt was doing me well. I hit it away just in time. The Bludger passed dangerously close to him, grazing his shoulder. He cursed and steered away toward the Bludger.

Flint yelled "good job! Keep up the work! Malfoy! Snitch!"

He flew off and I flew around the pitch, keeping an eye out. I hit one Bludger away from our Keeper, Terence.

I looked over and saw Malfoy steer back toward the Snitch, flying with an annoying amount of talent. I saw some Bludgers hovering around him and flew over just in case.

He was focused enough on the Snitch that he didn't notice the Bludger. He barely noticed me swooping in and knocking one away. Another approached and I hit it away. I heard Flint yell another paraphrase of "good job" and sent him a thumbs up.

While flying Draco hit me a bit in the air and I was fine but a good bit annoyed even though I knew it was an accident. I moved on and flew around the pitch keeping my cool.

He realized he might've hit me and swiveled around to check but saw I was fine and kept on his path toward the Snitch.

I saw Draco catch the Snitch and Flint called us to the ground with excitement in his voice. As all of us landed in the pitch I panted, the Bludgers had been particuraly annoying that practice.

I glanced at Malfoy, annoyed at how cute his messed-up hair was from the wind. He was panting and stepped aside. I was glad for the adrenaline as it would've been freezing otherwise.

He leaned his broom against the stands and seemed to relax a bit. I saw him looking over at me and raising an eyebrow like he was asking why I was staring at him. I shook my head and looked away.

If I had been looking I would've seen him smile a bit at me, a sort-of amused smile. He mumbled something to himself that I couldn't hear and Adrian walked over to him to chat as Flint told us how good we'd played.

I pushed my hair back out of my face and put it up even though I didn't think my hair up looked very good. I dropped off my broom in the tent and made my way toward the castle with the rest of my team for dinner. It wasn't dinnertime yet but I was hoping it was close because I was starving.

For some reason beyond me Draco seemed in a chatty mood. He hurried and caught up with me, walking beside me.

"Hi?" I half-asked, expecting him to bully me. "What do you want?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Nothing, I just, well I thought... You're going to dinner though, right?"

"Where else?" I asked, with a suspicious tone in my voice. Did he want to poison me?

"Well, yes..." He sighed and smirked. "Maybe I felt like talking to you."

"I'll believe in us having a civil conversation the day that Harry marries Dumbledore. Never happening. What's your alterior motive? Poisoning me?"

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I swear, not everything I do is some elaborate scheme to mess with you. You have a really huge ego, you know that?"

"Yeah, I got it from my mom. Oh wait..." I looked in my bag as if I was missing something. "That's right, I don't have one. Well Malfoy, I'll let you in on something. When you're this pretty..." I gestured to myself. "And a blondie with daddy issues bullies you constantly. All you have is ego."

He stared straight ahead, expression a mix of annoyance and amusem*nt. "You know. I think the more and more you talk, the bigger your ego gets..."

"Ugh... Malfoy, I might actually sit at Slytherin table tonight. Did I tell you that Hermione's cat ate Ron's rat Scabbers? They're pissed off at each other right know, it's misery."

He snorted a bit, a small smile over his face. "I heard. You're eating at our table tonight?"

"Yeah, you seem intrigued. I knew you were planning on poisoning me."

He raised an eyebrow. "You think I would waste my time poisoning you?" He smirked, then deadpanned, said, "of course that was my plan. As soon as we get to the dining hall."

I looked up as I felt it start to sprinkle. "Oh, we better hurry, it's gonna ruin your hair gel." I said mockingly.

He couldn't help get a bit riled up, his ego getting the better of him. "It's not gel. It's a potion. I have to use it every morning to get my hair like this. Besides, at least I can afford to have my hair proper. How much time to you spend on your hair? Nothing? Oh, I forgot you don't have a mom to help you."

I gaped in shock. I couldn't believe he'd said that. Anyone else would've been insanely offended. It was incredibly rude, but against all odds I absolutely lost it laughing.

He stared at me, surprised at my amusem*nt, as he was clearly sure he'd successfully offended me. He looked tempted to say something else, just to get a reaction and figure out why I wasn't upset.

"My gosh Malfoy, that was worse than usual. Why the hell- you're funny. My gosh, shut up." I cackled to myself as I walked ahead.

He was baffled. He didn't even have a retort. He caught up and walked alongside me.

"Seriously, you're gonna have to try harder than that my main man." I laughed.

His mouth curved into a smirk as he walked close to me. "Oh, you think I was done? I've got years worth of these."

"They better be better than mom jokes, I expect more from you." I said, stepping inside the entrance hall. "What happened to Draco that knocked me off my broom and boke all my ribs?"

He stepped inside right behind me, continuing to speak just loudly enough for me to hear. "You really want me to go all out? What if I say something... awful..."

"You constantly mock my friends for being Muggle-raised or born and my other friend for being a ginger. I expect nothing less than racist and bigoted from your mouth."

"I suppose I could say something awful. There are so many things I don't like about you. You just wouldn't stop speaking. You're selfish. You're arrogant. A little self absorbed, too."

"Are you looking in a mirror, Malfoy?" I asked, snorting as we walked into the crowded Great Hall, dinner had arrived, and we walked to Slytherin table.

"Oh really? At least I'm not some orphan. That's one thing I've got over you."

"Oh get a new insult. At least my father doesn't abuse me with curses." With those words I knew I'd made a mistake. First of all, he didn't even know that I knew about that. I'd obliviated him after his Boggart had been his father and then he cried to me. Besides, that was a terrible thing to mock, even to Draco, especially when I'd seen him so upset over it. Whether he had those memories or not.

His jaw dropped. He was in shock, speechless for a moment. We stopped in the middle of the Great Hall and he just stared ahead, trying to think of what to say. That's when I watched something click in his eyes. He looked at me, a look of genuine pained ager was clear on his face.

I felt my heart pound in my chest. In his eyes I saw his memories return.

"You obliviated me! And-"

"Oh my gosh... Draco, I didn't mean-"

He remembered. In his eyes I watched him remember the pain, the anger, and the shame he'd felt. He remembered so much. Too much. And he feel it all at once. The emotions he felt. The agony, and the pain. His hands curled into fists, as his teeth become clenched. He wanted to deny that it'd happened, I wanted him to forget. But it was too late. He'd remembered everything... I saw him tearing up and I didn't know if it was because of the emotions of the memory or just pure anger. I felt the eyes of the whole Great Hall on us and I knew everyone would remember whatever it was he was about to say to me.

He took in a sharp breath. He looked around like he knew he'd regret whatever he said but didn't care.

A cold stare appeared on his face and his voice was like steel. His voice was completely devoid of any humor it'd had a few moments earlier.

"I always wondered. Why do you even put up with your pathetic life? Don't you get sick of it? Don't you get sad, just being all alone? Watching everybody be close to their family, while you are always left to the side... all alone. Never having someone to talk to... I can't imagine how painful it must be. No family, your best friend is the celebrity of the millenia. Who gives you the time of day!?"

He clenched his fists and teeth like it was all that was stopping him from shoving me into the Hufflepuff's behind me. Even my father at the staff table was watching, but didn't say a word. With that Draco stormed out of the Great Hall.

I slowly walked to the Gryffindor table and sat in between Fred and Harry.

"What was that Elex?" Fred asked.

"Seemed worse than your usual tizzys." George added, peaking over.

I put my head down on my arms folded on the table and started crying. I couldn't imagine the look on Harry's face but Fred was kind, no matter how chaotic neutral he was at times. Fred put his arm around me, patting my back. "Hey kid, it's just Malfoy. Don't let 'em get to you. None of that's true."

"Y-yeah, it isn't." Harry echoed. "You're our friend-"

"Yeah, you're not alone!" Hermione squeaked, looking sad.

"I'm not crying 'cause of that!" I said, a bit hysterically, leaning into Fred. "I'm crying 'cause of what I said!"

They sat in confused silence and then Ron asked the burning question, "what did you say?"

"I- I can't tell anyone else." I said quietly, hiding my face into my robes. I couldn't eat, I didn't know if I'd ever be hungry again, and I hated feeling sorry toward Malfoy. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn't in that moment.

I got back to Slytherin dungeon with the rest of the Great Hall Slytherin's. I didn't want to be there alone when they all arrived and look sulky. I also didn't want to risk seeing Draco alone.

After a few moments of being in the common room Adrian came down from the dorms and sat next to me by the fire. "Elex. Draco's up there sulking on his bed and I'm pretty sure he's crying. What just happened with you two?"

I felt my stomach twisting and I couldn't take it. I walked to the stairs to the boys dorms and yelled, "Draco!"

I heard him heavily walk to the top of the stairs and he looked down at me, tears streaming down his face. I put a hand over my mouth, I felt heartbroken watching it even though I was supposed to hate him and want him to suffer.

He threw his hands up, "what!? Apparently you've seen this before, don't act surprised! Leave me alone." and he stormed back to his dorm.

I walked straight to the other staircase and went up to my dorm. It was way too early at seven o'clock but I just went to bed. I couldn't do the whole 'awake and thinking' thing anymore.

The next day Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw in their Quidditch match. Most of the schools moods were up, mine was down. I couldn't speak to nor look at Draco and it was driving me insane. I couldn't eat, I hadn't been able to sleep, and on top of that a way bigger problem was added. Ron had seen Sirius Black in the Gryffindor common room that night.

Chapter 13: Malfoy

Chapter Text

No one slept that night. We knew that the castle was being searched again, and the whole of Hogwarts stayed awake in our common rooms, waiting to hear whether Black had been caught.

My fathercame back at dawn, to tell us that he had again escaped. Throughout the day, everywhere we went we saw signs of tighter security; Professor Flitwick could be seen teaching the front doors to recognize a large picture of Sirius Black; Filch was suddenly bustling up and down the corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the walls to mouse holes. Sir Cadogan had been fired. His portrait had been taken back to its lonely landing on the seventh floor, and the Fat Lady was back.

She had been expertly restored, but was still extremely nervous, and had agreed to return to her job only on condition that she was given extra protection. A bunch of surly security trolls had been hired to guard her. They paced the corridor in a menacing group, talking in grunts and comparing the size of their clubs.

Harry couldn’t help noticing that the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor remained unguarded and unblocked. It seemed that Fred and George had been right in thinking that they—and now Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I—were the only ones who knew about the hidden passageway within it.

“D’you reckon we should tell someone?” Harry asked us.

“We know he’s not coming in through Honeyduke’s,” said Ron dismissively “We’d’ve heard if the shop had been broken into.”

Harry was glad Ron and I took this view. If the one-eyed witch was boarded up too, he would never be able to go into Hogsmeade again. Ron had become an instant celebrity. For the first time in his life, people were paying more attention to him than to Harry, and it was clear that Ron was rather enjoying the experience.

Though still severely shaken by the night’s events, seeing Sirius Black with a knife in the Gryffindor common room, he was happy to tell anyone who asked what had happened, with a wealth of detail. \

“…I was asleep, and I heard this ripping noise, and I thought it was in my dream, you know? But then there was this draft… I woke up and one side of the hangings on my bed had been pulled down… I rolled over… and I saw him standing over me… like a skeleton, with loads of filthy hair… holding this great long knife, must’ve been twelve inches… and he looked at me, and I looked at him, and then I yelled, and he scampered."

“Why, though?” Ron added to us as the group of second-year girls who had been listening to his chilling tale departed. “Why did he run?”

I had been wondering the same thing. Why had Black, having got the wrong bed, not silenced Ron and proceeded to Harry? Black had proved twelve years ago that he didn’t mind murdering innocent people, and this time he had been facing five unarmed boys, four of whom were asleep.

“He must’ve known he’d have a job getting back out of the castle once you’d yelled and woken people up,” said Harry thoughtfully.

“He’d’ve had to kill the whole House to get back through the portrait hole… then he would’ve met the teachers…”

Neville was in total disgrace. Professor McGonagall was so furious with him she had banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, given him a detention, and forbidden anyone to give him the password into the tower. Poor Neville was forced to wait outside the common room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him. None of these punishments, however, came close to matching the one his grandmother had in store for him. Two days after Black’s break-in, she sent Neville the very worst thing a Hogwarts student could receive over breakfast—a Howler. The school owls swooped into the Great Hall carrying the mail as usual, and Neville choked as a huge barn owl landed in front of him, a scarlet envelope clutched in its beak.

We, who were sitting opposite him, recognized the letter as a Howler at once—Ron had got one from his mother the year before.

“Run for it, Neville,” Ron advised.

Neville didn’t need telling twice. He seized the envelope, and holding it before him like a bomb, sprinted out of the hall, while the Slytherin table exploded with laughter at the sight of him.

We heard the Howler go off in the entrance hall—Neville’s grandmother’s voice, magically magnified to a hundred times its usual volume, shrieking about how he had brought shame on the whole family.

“Ouch! Oh—thanks, Hedwig.” Harry said, taking my eyes off of Neville as he tore open the envelope while Hedwig helped herself to some of Neville’s cornflakes.

The note inside said: Dear Harry and Ron, How about having tea with me this afternoon ’round six? I’ll come and collect you from the castle. WAIT FOR ME IN THE ENTRANCE HALL; YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED OUT ON YOUR OWN. Cheers, Hagrid

“He probably wants to hear all about Black!” said Ron.

So at six o’clock that afternoon, Harry and Ron left Gryffindor Tower, passed the security trolls at a run, and headed down to the entrance hall.

I sat in Gryffindor tower miserable and pretty much alone. Hermione was there working but I felt entirely alone. Everyone knew I'd been miserable the last two days but no one really brought it up. I had barely seen Malfoy, and he was furious. And I was getting really hungry and tired, I couldn't survive on what my guilt and nerves was doing to me.

I eventually wandered back to Slytherin dungeon on my own and sat down on one of the couches next to the fire. I laid my head on the arm of the chair, sulking silently. I was barely even thinking until I saw Malfoy come in. He didn't even bother to look at me.

He walked over and I feared he'd talk to me for a moment, but then he sat down on the farthest couch away from me. Apparently he still didn't like me all that much... Couldn't blame 'em.

I was so tired, so so tired. I felt like I could drop unconscious at any moment. I'd barely slept since everything had happened, and I'd barely eaten. I felt awkward and just to do anything at all I started playing with my hair, trying to get the knots out of it with my hands. I couldn't look at him.

I leaned down to grab a book out of my bag and just stayed in that position, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, curly hair blocking my entire peripheral. I was either gonna throw up from starvation or pass out. I was rooting for the second.

Suddenly, right as I was considering curling up on the ground and dying, I heard Draco say something. "Have you slept? Or eaten?"

"Non parle English..." I mumbled, barely alive, then I remembered he was French.

"Je parle Français. Have. You. Slept. Or. Eaten?"

"Since when..?" I asked hesitantly.

He rolled his eyes. "Since everything that happened? Have you eaten? Have you slept?"

"I ate half my breakfast today and I haven't slept, no..."

"Look at you... you look absolutely miserable. Why haven't you been sleeping?"

"Stomachache..." I mumbled.

"Stomach ache... that's nonsense. You don't get a stomachache for two days in a row. That's not possible."

"You underestimate the week I had a stomachache the first time I had a crush on Oliver Wood."

"You could not have possibly been in this state just because you had a crush."

"Try me...." I put my head in my hands, feeling absolutely miserable but so glad he was talking to me.

His curiosity got the better of him. "Tell me, how bad was it? The stomach ache from a crush."

"Let's say weird things were happening to my bowels."

He was trying to keep a straight face. But the thought of me having horrible bowel movements because of a crush... that's something that was really funny. He tried not to chuckle, but at the end of the day he failed.

"Was it that awful, really?"

"No, I'm joking, I'm a girl, we don't have bowel movements." It absolutely was that bad but I couldn't miss an opportunity for that joke.

That was apparently it for him. The final straw. He lost it entirely at that. He burst out laughing, I'd never seen him laugh like that. He put his hand over his mouth, so he could at least hold some of the laughter in.

"So tell me, you don't have bowel movements... but you do get crushes? That's curious..."

"Obviously they're directly related. You can only have one."

Heburst out laughing once again."So if you ever get another crush, you lose the ability to sh*t?"

"No, upon birth God asked if I wanted to have bowel movements or like boys and I chose boys and he made me a hoe."

He was almost collapsing laughing. "And why would you choose... boys over being able to have bowel movements?"

"Y'all are cute."

"Boys are 'cute'? Really?"

"You know I'm like deeply enamorado with Fred Weasley."

He managed to stop laughing for a moment before dissolving again. "You... you're actually in love with Fred Weasley?"

"No but I sure would be if I had a chance."

"Why...why Fred?"

"Have you met Fred? Because he's- damn."

Hechuckled for a second, and then sighed. "Yeah, okay... he is... hot."

I fell off my chair laughing, "what!?"

He burst out laughing again. "What?! He's hot. That's the truth. You know it, I know it, the whole school knows it."

"I KNEW YOU WERE GAY!" I was kidding entirely but-

Still laughing he choked out, "Wait wait wait... I'm gay now?"

"The amount of sexual tension in your voice when you say 'Pottah' speaks for itself."

He was struggling to breathe, choking. It was clearly the most laughter he'd had in a long, long, long, long time. It was just hilarious. Finally, after what felt like years, he managed to speak. "Okay, I'm not... I'm not gay, but just... just fine, fair enough. It's true."

"Okay... Malfoy... I need a hand up..." I mumbled between my tired laughter. "I have no bodily strength right now. Help me."

He was still laughing and nodded, taking my hands and helping me up where I dropped on the couch next to him.

"Wow, how long have you not slept?"

"I got an hour the night of the whole situation... Since then not at all so two nights of no sleep?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "That's... that's not good. That's not good at all. You need to sleep."

"I can't make it up there right now... I need a nap... a breather at least." I nodded, resting my head on the back of the couch as he settled down next to me.

I don't know when it happened. I was barely awake, but before I could realize, and too late to have any energy to move, I realized I was leaning against Draco and by the sound of his calm breathing he didn't seem to mind.

My eyes opened to an empty common room and a crackeling fire in the fireplace. The silence was almost eery, I'd never been in the common room that late. I was only awake for a few moments before falling back asleep, exhausted.

I woke up in the morning to Adrian as one of the firsts in the common room. I felt blurry momentarily, I didn't know what was happening. I just knew I was warm and comfortable and then I realized there was someone leaning against me as I leaned against him. I saw his blond messy hair in front of my eyes as he'd fallen asleep and his head had fallen against my shoulder. I pulled back and luckily Adrian hadn't gotten close enough to see yet. Draco didn't wake as I got up to go to my dorm and get dressed. I did just that, internallylosing my damn mind.

I made it down to the Great Hall and played it as cool as I was capable. Ron asked why I was acting weird but I said it was my time of month so he'd leave me alone.

Hermione didn't fall for it. When Ron got busy talking with Harry about the Firebolt she moved to sit next to me and asked, "what's wrong?"

"Uhm... Nothing..."

"Did something happen?" She asked. "You're being weird and Malfoy's staring at you and if he's worried about you, I know it's serious."

I looked up considering. "No, I'm fine. Still feeling awful about what happened with Draco... I think he's just worrying about me..." But for the first day since, I was actually able to eat breakfast. I ate a lot too, I was starving,

It was Saturday and we had another Hogsmeade trip. I had been planning not to go because I really didn't feel well, but I needed to do something that day. Harry was coming again but filled me in that that time he was bringing his invisibility cloak but Hermione didn't know.

Hermione kept shooting suspicious looks down the table at him, but he avoided her eye and was careful to let her see him walking back up the marble staircase in the entrance hall as everybody else proceeded to the front doors.

“’Bye!” Harry called to Ron and I. “See you when you get back!”

Ron grinned and winked.

I went off on my own when we got there. I needed some serious time to think away from people. I got a butterbeer alone at the Three Broomsticks and then went walking up to the Shrieking Shack to sit down on my designated "thinking boulder."

If my friends ever found out... It wasn't even bad, but speaking with the enemy is about as bad as marrying them in Ron's eyes. Let alone accidentally cuddling... I wanna say "sleeping with" but that implies something entirely different.

After a bit I sighed and got up. I walked back into town and went to Honeydukes to buy some sugar to drug my mind with.

I walked down the street and met Ron and Harry outside of Zonkos. Well, I met Ron and knew Harry was there. The day was fine and breezy, and none of us felt like staying indoors, so we walked past the Three Broomsticks and climbed back up a slope to visit the Shrieking Shack.

It stood a little way above the rest of the village, and even in daylight was slightly creepy, with its boarded windows and dank overgrown garden. I loved sitting there though, it was a beautiful place, peaceful.

“Even the Hogwarts ghosts avoid it,” said Ron as we leaned on the fence, looking up at it. “I asked Nearly Headless Nick… he says he’s heard a very rough crowd lives here. No one can get in. Fred and George tried, obviously, but all the entrances are sealed shut…”

Harry, feeling hot from their climb, spoke up about considering taking off the cloak for a few minutes when we heard voices nearby.

Someone was climbing toward the house from the other side of the hill; moments later, Malfoy had appeared, followed closely by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy was speaking.

“…should have an owl from Father any time now. He had to go to the hearing…”

Crabbe and Goyle snigg*red.

Malfoy suddenly caught sight of Ron and I. His pale face split in a malevolent grin. “What are you doing, Weasley, Elexen, having a romantic time? Well if only you knew... nevermind.” Malfoy looked up at the crumbling house behind us. “Suppose you’d love to live here, wouldn’t you, Weasley? Dreaming about having your own bedroom? I heard your family all sleep in one room—is that true?”

Harry seized the back of Ron’s robes to stop him from leaping on Malfoy.

“Leave him to me,” he hissed in our ears.

The opportunity was too perfect to miss. Harry crept silently around behind Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, bent down, and scooped a large handful of mud out of the path.

"Malfoy..." I mumbled.

“We were just discussing your friend Hagrid,” Malfoy said to Ron. “Just trying to imagine what he’s saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures..."

SPLAT.

Malfoy’s head jerked forward as the mud hit him; his silver-blond hair was suddenly dripping in muck. “What the—?”

Ron had to hold onto the fence to keep himself standing, he was laughing so hard. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle spun stupidly on the spot, staring wildly around, Malfoy trying to wipe his hair clean and I was laughing on the ground.

“What was that? Who did that?”

“Very haunted up here, isn’t it?” said Ron, with the air of one commenting on the weather. That made me cackle.

Crabbe and Goyle were looking scared. Their bulging muscles were no use against ghosts. Malfoy was staring madly around at the deserted landscape. Harry sneaked along the path, where a particularly sloppy puddle yielded some foul-smelling, green sludge. SPLATTER.

Crabbe and Goyle caught some this time. Goyle hopped furiously on the spot, trying to rub it out of his small, dull eyes.

“It came from over there!” said Malfoy, wiping his face, and staring at a spot some six feet to the left of Harry.

Crabbe blundered forward, his long arms outstretched like a zombie. Harry dodged around him, picked up a stick, and lobbed it at Crabbe’s back. I doubled up with laughter as Crabbe did a kind of pirouette in midair, trying to see who had thrown it.

As Ron was the closest person Crabbe could see, it was Ron he started toward, but Harry stuck out his leg. Crabbe stumbled—and his huge, flat foot caught the hem of Harry’s cloak. The cloak slid off his face. For a split second, Malfoy stared at him.

“AAARGH!” he yelled, pointing at Harry’s head. Then he turned tail and ran, at breakneck speed, back down the hill, Crabbe and Goyle behind him. Harry tugged the cloak up again, but the damage was done.

“Harry!” Ron said, stumbling forward and staring hopelessly at the point where Harry had disappeared, “you’d better run for it! If Malfoy tells anyone—you’d better get back to the castle, quick—”

“See you later,” said Harry, and without another word, he tore back down the path toward Hogsmeade. Would Malfoy believe what he had seen? Would anyone believe Malfoy? Nobody knew about the Invisibility Cloak—nobody except Dumbledore.

Me and Ron ran back to Hogwarts knowing Malfoy would get back first… He did, but that night Harry told us he'd gotten off. He told us everything that happened. Snape had entirely believed Malfoy but he couldn't prove it and it didn't really make sense. Lupin had also taken the Marauder's Map and seemed to secretly know about it, though Harry couldn't prove that.

I sat at Slytherin that night. I didn't feel well, maybe it was actually almost my time of month, I don't know. But I couldn't handle my friends, Harry trying to figure out what was wrong with me, Hermione yelling at the boys, and Ron pretending to vomit every time I spoke to Fred. I sat by Adrian and, because the universe can't be nice to me, Draco sat across from us with his cronies.

"Saw you two talking last night and this morning. Made up?" Adrian asked.

"Talking." I repeated.

"Arguing." Draco corrected, clearly going through the same panicked thoughts as me.

"Right... Well then... potatoes?"

"Yeah, gimme..." I pulled the bowl closer. "MY GOSH eyes over there Malfoy!" I pointed way far from me. "I know I'm pretty, stop staring."

"I wasn't staring! I want potatoes!" He defended, scowling. "You go sit with your mudblood and ginger, hangit!"

"What's your problem?" Adrian asked.

"You go sit somewhere else with your boyfriends and shut up." I gestured to his cronies.

"My-"

"Or go get a girlfriend! Scat."

"Man what'd I do?" He rolled his eyes. "Hit a nerve didn't I?"

"Seems like it." Adrian said, expression somewhere between amusem*nt and worry. "What did y'all argue about last night, man?"

"Racism..."

"Oh shut up," Draco rolled his eyes. "Homework, her friends, my friends, what happened the other night. She refuses to apologize."

"I apologized, you rat bastard!"

"That's rich coming from you."

"Oye' Malfoy."

"Take it up with my father." I said, taking a bite of my potatoes. "I dare you. Now, I'm tired and mildly traumatized by our argumentlast night so goodnight girls." I stood up and grabbed my bag, walking down to Slytherin dungeon on my own. I was tired and had a lot of homework to do.

I wasn't actually mad at Draco, I was just stressed out and bantering. Apparently it didn't come off that way. But either way I was surprised when he soon was the first one back in the common room. He walked over to me with heavy footsteps and a slightly annoyed or aggresive expression.

He stopped behind the couch across from me, folding his arms and resting them on the back of the couch. "What'd I do?! I feel I've been quite nice to you considering."

"Nothing, I was bantering." I said, not looking up from my Potions homework.

"'Traumatized' personally I think falling asleep on a couch next to each other isn't particularly that bad." He sighed, walking around the couch and sitting down. "What's bad is, y'know, obliviating me for no reason!?"

"Oh, you want to talk about that, fun."

"You don't get to get mad I want an explanation!"

Okay that's fair...

"I didn't want you to act like it'd happened. We aren't friends, we don't care about each other, and there's no way to go forward from that without those two things... Besides, you looked happier without remembering it."

"Who knows about it?"

"Hermione."

"Why?!"

"I had to talk to someone!"

"Talk to me!? IT WAS MY THING!"

"How was I supposed to talk to you about something serious!? We can't even joke around without fighting at the end."

"You obliviated anything else?"

"No..."

"I hate you."

"What?" I asked, that didn't seem to be a proper reaction.

"I hate you so much!" He stood like he was gonna leave but stopped, hand on the couch. "I tried to be your friend and you ditched me for Potter of all people. Then you break my arm! You drive me crazy! You fight me as much as you possibly can! Even theminisculeamount of times we've gotten along we can't just let it be! How could weeverlet that happen?" That was sarcasm. "Then you want my help keeping Hagrid here. Well Buckbeak's been sentenced to death and there's nothing I could do but even if I could why would I ever for someone like you?" He put his head in his hands against the wall. "Then you see I'm scared of my father and decide to obliviate that and pretend it didn't happen 'causehowcould we ever have had that happen and still hate each other? Easily! I despise you! That meant nothing. Thanks for the moment but clearly it didn't mean anything!"

"What're you yelling at me for? Like I'm the only one?! You tried to be my friend but I ditched you because you are an absolute narcissistic bigot and you can't stand that I have friends that aren't products of blond incest. I broke your arm, and I'm sorry, but you broke all my ribs. Sure it was an accident but it HURT LIKE HELL, and it's not like that was the first time you've done something to me. Dozens of curses, I hit you playfully, you curse me. I fight you because you attack my friends and attack me and you're so weirdly obsessed with Harry just because he's famous! Let him be! I hate that part too but what can we do? Nothing. And you shouldn't have to be trying to help Buckbeakforsomeone. You should just be a decent person. I'm sorry I obliviated you! But what was I supposed to do when I see you crying because your father scares you!? What is anyone supposed to do when youhate me?Itbroke my heartwatching that but I'm not supposed to care about you. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel about you. Do you even know what that does to me?"

"Yeah, trust me. I know." He said angrily, grabbing his bag and walking toward the stairs to the dorms. "And in case you were wondering. Maybe I just like you for some reason and want to be your friend?"

I sighed, looking over at him. "Malfoy... It is absolutelybeyond mewhy either of us would want to be the other's friend but I reallywishwe could be friends. But I can't be your friend and I won't be your friend with how you treat mine. I will not care about you as long as you are proud to be your father's son."

Chapter 14: The Quidditch Final

Chapter Text

“Hagrid—he sent me this,” Hermione said, holding out a letter at breakfast the next morning.

Harry took it. The parchment was damp, and enormous teardrops had smudged the ink so badly in places that it was very difficult to read.

Dear Hermione,

We lost. I’m allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts.
Execution date to be fixed.
Beaky has enjoyed London.
I won’t forget all the help you gave us.
- Hagrid

“They can’t do this,” said Harry. “They can’t. Buckbeak isn’t dangerous.”

“Malfoy’s dad’s frightened the Committee into it,” said Hermione, wiping her eyes. “You know what he’s like. They’re a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared. There’ll be an appeal, though, there always is. Only I can’t see any hope… Nothing will have changed.”

“Yeah, it will,” said Ron fiercely. “You won’t have to do all the work alone this time, Hermione. I’ll help.”

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione flung her arms around Ron’s neck and broke down completely.

Ron, looking quite terrified, patted her very awkwardly on the top of the head.

"I'll help too, Hermione..." I said, sincere but quiet. I felt quite mentally destroyed the past few days and it was worse after last night.

Finally, Hermione drew away. “Thank you two so much... Oh Ron, I’m really, really sorry about Scabbers…,” she sobbed.

“Oh—well—he was old,” said Ron, looking thoroughly relieved that she had let go of him. “And he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now.”

The safety measures imposed on the students since Black’s second break-in made it impossible for us to go and visit Hagrid in the evenings. Our only chance of talking to him was during Care of Magical Creatures lessons. He seemed numb with shock at the verdict.

“S’all my fault. Got all tongue-tied. They was all sittin’ there in black robes an’ I kep’ droppin’ me notes and forgettin’ all them dates yeh looked up fer me, Hermione. An’ then Lucius Malfoy stood up an’ said his bit, and the Committee jus’ did exac’ly what he told ’em…”

“There’s still the appeal!” said Ron fiercely. “Don’t give up yet, we’re working on it!”

We were walking back up to the castle with the rest of the class. Ahead I could see Malfoy, who was walking with Crabbe and Goyle, and kept looking back, looking pretty much how I felt with a fake but convincing devious smirk.

“S’no good, Ron,” said Hagrid sadly as we reached the castle steps. “That Committee’s in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket. I’m jus’ gonna make sure the rest o’ Beaky’s time is the happiest he’s ever had. I owe him that…” Hagrid turned around and hurried back toward his cabin, his face buried in his handkerchief.

“Look at him blubber!” Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had been standing just inside the castle doors, listening. “Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?” said Malfoy. He gave up on every little ounce of good development he'd had in the past months. Apparently I really hurt him... “And he’s supposed to be our teacher!”

I wanted to go after him, but I just didn't have anything left. Harry and Ron both made furious moves toward Malfoy, but Hermione got there first—SMACK!

She had slapped Malfoy across the face with all the strength she could muster. Malfoy staggered. Harry, Ron, Crabbe, Goyle, and I stood flabbergasted as Hermione raised her hand again.

“Don’t you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul—you evil—”

“Hermione!” said Ron weakly, and he tried to grab her hand as she swung it back.

“Get off, Ron!” Hermione pulled out her wand.

Malfoy stepped backward. Crabbe and Goyle looked at him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered.

“C’mon,” Malfoy muttered, and in a moment, all three of them had disappeared into the passageway to the dungeons.

“Hermione!” Ron said again, sounding both stunned and impressed.

“Harry, you’d better beat him in the Quidditch final!” Hermione said shrilly. “You just better had, because I can’t stand it if Slytherin wins! Sorry Elex..."

"It's fine... I'm feeling particularly Hufflepuff lately anyway...

“We’re due in Charms,” said Ron, raising an eyebrow at me but still goggling at Hermione. “We’d better go.”

We hurried up the marble staircase toward Professor Flitwick’s classroom.

“You’re late, boys!” said Professor Flitwick reprovingly as Harry opened the classroom door. “Come along, quickly, wands out, we’re experimenting with Cheering Charms today, we’ve already divided into pairs—”

Wehurried to a desk at the back and opened our bags. I needed to find a partner. Ron looked behind him. “Where’s Hermione gone?”

Welooked around too. Hermione hadn’t entered the classroom, yet I knew she had been right next to Harry when he had opened the door.

“That’s weird,” said Harry, staring at Ron. “Maybe—maybe she went to the bathroom or something?”

But Hermione didn’t turn up all lesson. I ended up pairing with some random Gryffindor girl I didn't know.

“She could’ve done with a Cheering Charm on her too,” said Ron as the class left for lunch, all grinning broadly—the Cheering Charms had left them all with a feeling of great contentment. Being in such the bad mood I had been it set me back to my normal attitude, which was nice at least.

Hermione wasn’t at lunch either. By the time we had finished our apple pie, the after-effects of the Cheering Charms were wearing off, and we had started to get slightly worried.

“You don’t think Malfoy did something to her?” Ron said anxiously as we hurried upstairs toward Gryffindor Tower.

We passed the security trolls, gave the Fat Lady the password (“Flibbertigibbet”), and scrambled through the portrait hole into the common room.

Hermione was sitting at a table, fast asleep, her head resting on an open Arithmancy book. We went to sit down on either side of her. Harry prodded her awake.

“Wh—what?” said Hermione, waking with a start and staring wildly around. “Is it time to go? W—which lesson have we got now?

“Divination, but it’s not for another twenty minutes,” said Harry. “Hermione, why didn’t you come to Charms?”

“What? Oh no!” Hermione squeaked. “I forgot to go to Charms!”

“But how could you forget?” said Harry. “You were with us till we were right outside the classroom!”

“I don’t believe it!” Hermione wailed. “Was Professor Flitwick angry? Oh, it was Malfoy, I was thinking about him and I lost track of things!”

"Same, constantly..." I mumbled unhelpfully.

“You know what, Hermione?” said Ron, looking down at the enormous Arithmancy book Hermione had been using as a pillow. “I reckon you’re cracking up. You’re trying to do too much.”

“No, I’m not!” said Hermione, brushing her hair out of her eyes and staring hopelessly around for her bag. “I just made a mistake, that’s all! I’d better go and see Professor Flitwick and say sorry… I’ll see you in Divination!”

Hermione joined us at the foot of the ladder to Professor Trelawney’s classroom twenty minutes later, looking extremely harassed. “I can’t believe I missed Cheering Charms! And I bet they come up in our exams; Professor Flitwick hinted they might!”

Together we climbed the ladder into the dim, stifling tower room. Glowing on every little table was a crystal ball full of pearly white mist.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sat down together at the same rickety table.

“I thought we weren’t starting crystal balls until next term,” Ron muttered, casting a wary eye around for Professor Trelawney, in case she was lurking nearby.

“Don’t complain, this means we’ve finished palmistry,” Harry muttered back. “I was getting sick of her flinching every time she looked at my hands.”

“Good day to you!” said the familiar, misty voice, and Professor Trelawney made her usual dramatic entrance out of the shadows. Parvati and Lavender quivered with excitement, their faces lit by the milky glow of their crystal ball.

“I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned,” said Professor Trelawney, sitting with her back to the fire and gazing around. “The fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice.”

Hermione snorted. “Well, honestly…‘the fates have informed her’…who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!” she said, not troubling to keep her voice low.

Harry and Ron choked back laughs. I would've laughed, and I wasn't trying to be a sad nihilistic oaf but I pretty much was. I was just glad they hadn't really seemed to notice. It was hard to tell whether Professor Trelawney had heard them, as her face was hidden in shadow.

She continued, however, as though she had not. “Crystal gazing is a particularly refined art,” she said dreamily. “I do not expect any of you to See when first you peer into the Orb’s infinite depths. We shall start by practicing relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes”—

Ron began to snigg*r uncontrollably and had to stuff his fist in his mouth to stifle the noise—

“so as to clear the Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will See before the end of the class.”

And so we began.

“Seen anything yet?” Harry asked us after a quarter of an hour’s quiet crystal gazing.

“Yeah, there’s a burn on this table,” said Ron, pointing. “Someone’s spilled their candle.”

“This is such a waste of time,” Hermione hissed. “I could be practicing something useful. I could be catching up on Cheering Charms—”

Unlike them I could see some things. Nothing too concrete, my mind just seemed to blur away and in my depression the images were sad and dark.

"Are you actually seeing something Elex?" Ron asked.

"Mhm..." I mumbled, not paying too much attention to them.

Professor Trelawney rustled past. “Would anyone like me to help them interpret the shadowy portents within their Orb?” she murmured over the clinking of her bangles.

“I don’t need help,” Ron whispered. “It’s obvious what this means. There’s going to be loads of fog tonight.”

Both Harry and Hermione burst out laughing.

“Now, really!” said Professor Trelawney as everyone’s heads turned in our direction. Parvati and Lavender were looking scandalized. “You are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!” She approached our table and peered into our crystal ball.

“There is something here!” Professor Trelawney whispered, lowering her face to the ball, so that it was reflected twice in her huge glasses. “Something moving… but what is it? My dear…,” Professor Trelawney breathed, gazing up at Harry. “It is here, plainer than ever before… my dear, stalking toward you, growing ever closer… the Gr—”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” said Hermione loudly. “Not that ridiculous Grim again!”

Professor Trelawney raised her enormous eyes to Hermione’s face. Parvati whispered something to Lavender, and they both glared at Hermione too. Professor Trelawney stood up, surveying Hermione with unmistakable anger. “I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class, my dear, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed, I don’t remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane.” There was a moment’s silence. Then—

“Fine!” said Hermione suddenly, getting up and cramming Unfogging the Future back into her bag. “Fine!” she repeated, swinging the bag over her shoulder and almost knocking Ron off his chair. “I give up! I’m leaving!” And to the whole class’s amazement, Hermione strode over to the trapdoor, kicked it open, and climbed down the ladder out of sight. It took a few minutes for the class to settle down again.

"Well in Hermione's defence there is something here but it's Draco Malfoy in fifth year by the look of it. Not the fruckin' Grim. You're about as Seer as Hermione." I jumped in. "I think I'm the only real Seer here and you couldn't tell, could you? Well I'm tired and I don't care who knows. So let me tell you what I see-"

Professor Trelawney seemed too intrigued by my self-proclaiemd seerness to care I'd insulted her. "Ohhhh of course... I had visions of you... yes, yes, what do you see dear?"

I looked into the crystal, and my mind became foggy again. I felt asleep as I looked at it. "As I said... it's Draco Malfoy..." who was staring very intently at me by-the-way. "Fourth or fifth year I think... It's him, me, Harry, and some Hufflepuff guy, but he's the clearest... There's some weird lady in green talking to us. She seems mainly focused on Harry but... something... It's blurry but I think I'm worried about him.. which would never happen so- Oh, I lost it." I looked up and people were staring at me with such interest you would've thought I'd predicted Dumbledore would get thrown off the Astronomy tower tomorrow.

"You have a gift dear-"

"Since when are you a Seer?!" Ron gaped.

"Since forever, ask Malfoy, he knew." I said, slightly annoyed. "Listen, I know it's impressive to y'all, but it's normal to me so move on with your lives please."

Professor Trelawney seemed to have forgotten all about the Grim. She turned abruptly from our table, breathing rather heavily as she tugged her gauzy shawl more closely to her.

“Wow... okay... well... Some day Hermione’s having, eh?” Ron muttered to us, looking awed.

“Yeah…” Harry glanced into the crystal ball but saw nothing but swirling white mist.

Had Professor Trelawney really seen the Grim again? Would he? The last thing he needed was another near-fatal accident, with the Quidditch final drawing ever nearer.

The Easter holidays were not exactly relaxing. The third years had never had so much homework. Neville Longbottom seemed close to a nervous collapse, and he wasn’t the only one.

“Call this a holiday!” Seamus Finnigan roared at the common room one afternoon. “The exams are ages away, what’re they playing at?”

But nobody had as much to do as Hermione. Even without Divination, she was taking more subjects than anybody else.

She was usually last to leave the common room at night, first to arrive at the library the next morning; she had shadows like Lupin’s under her eyes, and seemed constantly close to tears.

Ron had taken over responsibility for Buckbeak’s appeal. When he wasn’t doing his own work, he was poring over enormously thick volumes with names like The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology and Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff Brutality. He was so absorbed, he even forgot to be horrible to Crookshanks.

Harry and I, meanwhile, had to fit in our homework around Quidditch practice every day, not to mention endless discussions of tactics with Wood. The Gryffindor-Slytherin match would take place on the first Saturday after the Easter holidays. Slytherin was leading the tournament by exactly two hundred points. This meant (as Wood constantly reminded his team) that Gryffindor needed to win the match by more than that amount to win the Cup. It also meant that the burden of winning fell largely on Harry, because capturing the Snitch was worth one hundred and fifty points.

The whole of Gryffindor House was obsessed with the coming match. Gryffindor hadn’t won the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley (Ron’s second oldest brother) had been Seeker.

The enmity between me and Malfoy was at its highest point ever. Never, in anyone’s memory, had a match approached in such a highly charged atmosphere. By the time the holidays were over, tension between the two teams and our Houses was at the breaking point. A number of small scuffles broke out in the corridors, culminating in a nasty incident in which a Gryffindor fourth year and a Slytherin sixth year ended up in the hospital wing with leeks sprouting out of their ears.

Harry was having a particularly bad time of it. He couldn’t walk to class without Slytherins sticking out their legs and trying to trip him up; Crabbe and Goyle kept popping up wherever he went, and slouching away looking disappointed when they saw him surrounded by people.

Wood had given instructions that Harry should be accompanied everywhere he went, in case the Slytherins tried to put him out of action.

The whole of Gryffindor House took up the challenge enthusiastically, so that it was impossible for Harry to get to classes on time because he was surrounded by a vast, chattering crowd.

All usual pursuits were abandoned in the Gryffindor common room the night before the match. Even Hermione had put down her books. “I can’t work, I can’t concentrate,” she said nervously. There was a great deal of noise.

Fred and George Weasley were dealing with the pressure by being louder and more exuberant than ever. Despite being on the rival team I couldn't help enjoy the excitement of their common room.

Oliver Wood was crouched over a model of a Quidditch field in the corner, prodding little figures across it with his wand and muttering to himself. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were laughing at Fred’s and George’s jokes.

“You’re going to be fine,” Hermione told Harry, though she looked positively terrified.

“You’ve got a Firebolt!” said Ron.

“Yeah…,” said Harry, his stomach writhing. It came as a relief when Wood suddenly stood up and yelled, “Team! Bed!”

Me and the rest of the Slytherin team entered the Great Hall the next day to enormous applause from the rest of our house and booing from Gryffindor.

I couldn’t help grinning broadly as I saw that both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were applauding Gryffindor. Of course I wanted to win but I also really wanted Oliver to win once.

Most of our table hissed loudly as Gryffindor passed. I noticed that Malfoy looked even paler than usual. I spent the whole of breakfast urging him to eat, while touching nothing myself. I didn't really care about him, I was pissed at him, but he was out most important player.

Then Flint hurried us off to the field before anyone else had finished, so we could get an idea of the conditions. As we left the Great Hall, everyone applauded again.

“Good luck, Draco!” called Pansy.

“Okay—wind's strong, looks like it might rain—sun’s a bit bright in the areas the clouds aren't, don't let it impair your vision, watch out for it—ground’s fairly hard but if it starts raining it'll be slippery, prepare for that, but it just needs to hold off till the game starts, that’ll give us a fast kickoff—” Flint paced the field, staring around with the team behind him.

"Yeah, the veil's coming." I nodded into the horizon where you could see a thick wall of rain moving across the highlands.

Finally, we saw the front doors of the castle open in the distance and the rest of the school spilling onto the lawn.

“Locker rooms,” said Flint tersely. None of us spoke as we changed into our green robes. I wondered if they were feeling like I was: as though I'd eaten something extremely wriggly for breakfast. I could tell Draco did and if he wasn't imperative to our team I would've said he deserved it.

In what seemed like no time at all, Flint was saying, “Okay, it’s time, let’s go—”

We walked out onto the field to a tidal wave of noise. Threequarters of the crowd was wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion upon them, or brandishing banners with slogans like “GO GRYFFINDOR!” and “LIONS FOR THE CUP!”

Behind the Slytherin goal posts, however, two hundred people were wearing green; the silver serpent of Slytherin glittered on their flags, and Professor Snape sat in the very front row, wearing green like everyone else, and a very grim smile.

“And here are the Gryffindors!” yelled Lee Jordan, who was acting as commentator as usual. “Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best team Hogwarts has seen in a good few years—” Lee’s comments were drowned by a tide of “boos” from the Slytherin end. “And here come the Slytherin team, led by Captain Flint. He’s made some changes in the lineup and seems to be going for size rather than skill—” More boos from the Slytherin crowd.

I, however, thought Lee had a point. I was easily the smallest person on the Slytherin team, Malfoy a close second; the rest of them were enormous.

“Captains, shake hands!” said Madam Hooch. Flint and Wood approached each other and grasped each other’s hand very tightly; it looked as though each was trying to break the other’s fingers. “Mount your brooms!” said Madam Hooch. “Three… two… one…”

The sound of her whistle was lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms rose into the air.

My nerves left me in the thrill of the flight; I glanced around, saw Malfoy on Harry's tail, and sped off toward the Bludger trailing them.

“And it’s Gryffindor in possession, Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Slytherin goal posts, looking good, Alicia! Argh, no—Quaffle intercepted by Warrington, Warrington of Slytherin tearing up the field—WHAM!—nice Bludger work there by George Weasley, Warrington drops the Quaffle, it’s caught by—Johnson, Gryffindor back in possession, come on, Angelina—nice swerve around Montague—duck, Angelina, that’s a Bludger!—SHE SCORES! TEN—ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!” Angelina punched the air as she soared around the end of the field; the sea of scarlet below was screaming its delight—

“OUCH!” Angelina was nearly thrown from her broom as Marcus Flint went smashing into her.

“Sorry!” said Flint as the crowd below booed. “Sorry, didn’t see her!”

A moment later, Fred Weasley chucked his Beater’s club at the back of Flint’s head. Flint’s nose smashed into the handle of his broom and began to bleed.

“That will do!” shrieked Madam Hooch, zooming between them. “Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Chaser!”

“Come off it, Miss!” howled Fred, but Madam Hooch blew her whistle and Alicia flew forward to take the penalty.

“Come on, Alicia!” yelled Lee into the silence that had descended on the crowd. “YES! SHE’S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY—ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!”

The veil hit us and rain poured down harder and more sudden than I'd ever felt. I turned my Firebolt sharply to watch Flint, still bleeding freely, fly forward to take the Slytherin penalty. Wood was hovering in front of the Gryffindor goal posts, his jaw clenched, hair soaking wet, I could barely see him.

“’Course, Wood’s a superb Keeper!” Lee Jordan told the crowd as Flint waited for Madam Hooch’s whistle. “Superb! Very difficult to pass—very difficult indeed—YES! I DON’T BELIEVE IT! HE’S SAVED IT!”

It was essential that he hold Malfoy got the Snitch before Gryffindor was more than fifty points up—

“Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession—no!— Gryffindor back in possession and it’s Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she’s streaking up the field—THAT WAS DELIBERATE!”

Montague, a Slytherin Chaser, had swerved in front of Katie, and instead of seizing the Quaffle had grabbed her head. Katie cartwheeled in the air, managed to stay on her broom, but dropped the Quaffle.

Madam Hooch’s whistle rang out again as she soared over to Montague and began shouting at him. A minute later, Katie had put another penalty past the Slytherin Seeker.

“THIRTY—ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING—”

“Jordan, if you can’t commentate in an unbiased way—!”

“I’m telling it like it is, Professor!”

I felt a huge jolt of dissapoinment. Harry had seen the Snitch—it was shimmering at the foot of one of the Gryffindor goal posts—but he mustn’t catch it yet—and if Malfoy saw it— Faking a look of sudden concentration, Harry pulled his Firebolt around and sped off toward the Slytherin end—it worked. Malfoy went haring after him, clearly thinking Harry had seen the Snitch there…

"NO! MALFOY! HE'S FAKING YOU OUT!" I yelled at the top of my lungs through the sound of the wind. I started shaking, freezing and soaking wet.

WHOOSH.

One of the Bludgers came streaking past Harry’s right ear, hit by the gigantic Slytherin Beater, Derrick. Then again— WHOOSH. The second Bludger grazed Harry’s elbow.

Me, as the other Beater flew over, knowing the Bludger was about to hit Malfoy. I hit it away just in time and Harry turned the Firebolt upward at the last second.

“Ha haaa!” yelled Lee Jordan as me and the other Beater smashed into each other, lurched away, clutching our heads. “Too bad, Slytherdorks! You’ll need to get up earlier than that to beat a Firebolt!"

I have a Firebolt dolt!

"And it’s Gryffindor in possession again, as Johnson takes the Quaffle—Flint alongside her —poke him in the eye, Angelina!—it was a joke, Professor, it was a joke—oh no—Flint in possession, Flint flying toward the Gryffindor goal posts, come on now, Wood, save—!”

But Flint had scored; there was an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Lee swore so badly that Professor McGonagall tried to tug the magical megaphone away from him.

“Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won’t happen again! So, Gryffindor in the lead, thirty points to ten, and Gryffindor in possession—”

It was turning into the dirtiest game I had ever played in. Enraged that Gryffindor had taken such an early lead, the Slytherins were rapidly resorting to any means to take the Quaffle. Derrick hit Alicia with his club and tried to say he’d thought she was a Bludger.

George Weasley elbowed Bole in the face in retaliation.

Madam Hooch awarded both teams penalties, and Wood pulled off another spectacular save, making the score forty-ten to Gryffindor.

The Snitch had disappeared again. Malfoy was still keeping close to Harry as he soared over the match, looking around for it—once Gryffindor was fifty points ahead— Katie scored. Fifty-ten.

Fred and George Weasley were swooping around her, clubs raised, in case any of the Slytherins were thinking of revenge. Me and Derrick took advantage of Fred’s and George’s absence to aim both Bludgers at Wood; they caught him in the stomach, one after the other, and he rolled over in the air, clutching his broom, completely winded. Madam Hooch was beside herself.

“YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS WITHIN THE SCORING AREA!” she shrieked at us.

“Gryffindor penalty!” And Angelina scored. Sixty-ten. Moments later, Fred Weasley pelted a Bludger at Warrington, knocking the Quaffle out of his hands; Alicia seized it and put it through the Slytherin goal—seventy-ten.

The Gryffindor crowd below was screaming itself hoarse— Gryffindor was sixty points in the lead, and if Harry caught the Snitch now, the Cup was theirs.

And then I saw it. The Snitch was sparkling twenty feet above Harry. Harry put on a huge burst of speed; the wind was roaring in his ears; he stretched out his hand, but suddenly, the Firebolt was slowing down— Horrified, he looked around. Malfoy had thrown himself forward, grabbed hold of the Firebolt’s tail, and was pulling it back.

"YES!" I yelled, laughing.

“You—” Harry was angry enough to hit Malfoy, but couldn’t reach— Malfoy was panting with the effort of holding onto the Firebolt, but his eyes were sparkling maliciously. He had achieved what he’d wanted to do—the Snitch had disappeared again.

“Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I’ve never seen such tactics!” Madam Hooch screeched, shooting up to where Malfoy was sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

“YOU CHEATING SCUM!” Lee Jordan was howling into the megaphone, dancing out of Professor McGonagall’s reach. “YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B—”

Professor McGonagall didn’t even bother to tell him off. She was actually shaking her finger in Malfoy’s direction, her hat had fallen off, and she too was shouting furiously.

Alicia took Gryffindor’s penalty, but she was so angry she missed by several feet. The Gryffindor team was losing concentration and the Slytherins, delighted by Malfoy’s foul on Harry, were being spurred on to greater heights.

“Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal—Montague scores—” Lee groaned. “Seventy-twenty to Gryffindor…”

Harry was now marking Malfoy so closely their knees kept hitting each other. Harry wasn’t going to let Malfoy anywhere near the Snitch…

“Get out of it, Potter!” Malfoy yelled in frustration as he tried to turn and found Harry blocking him.

“Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Angelina, COME ON!”

Every single Slytherin player apart from Malfoy was streaking up the pitch toward Angelina, including the Slytherin Keeper—we were all going to block her— Harry wheeled the Firebolt around, bent so low he was lying flat along the handle, and kicked it forward. Like a bullet, he shot toward the Slytherins.

“AAAAAAARRRGH!” We scattered as the Firebolt zoomed toward us; Angelina’s way was clear.

“SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor leads by eighty points to twenty!”

Harry, who had almost pelted headlong into the stands, skidded to a halt in midair, reversed, and zoomed back into the middle of the field.

Malfoy was diving, a look of triumph on his face—there, a few feet above the grass below, was a tiny, golden glimmer— Harry urged the Firebolt downward, but Malfoy was miles ahead —

“Go! Go! Go!” Harry urged his broom. He was gaining on Malfoy —Harry flattened himself to the broom handle as I sent a Bludger at him—he was at Malfoy’s ankles—he was level— Harry threw himself forward, took both hands off his broom. He knocked Malfoy off his broom into the mud and-

“YES!” He pulled out of his dive, his hand in the air, and the stadium exploded. Harry soared above the crowd.

"NO!"

The tiny golden ball was held tight in his fist, beating its wings hopelessly against his fingers. Then Wood was speeding toward him, half-blinded by tears; he seized Harry around the neck and sobbed unrestrainedly into his shoulder.

“We’ve won the Cup! We’ve won the Cup!” Tangled together in a many-armed hug, the Gryffindor team sank, yelling hoarsely, back to earth. Wave upon wave of crimson supporters was pouring over the barriers onto the field. Hands were raining down on their backs.

“Yeh beat ’em, Harry, yeh beat ’em! Wait till I tell Buckbeak!”

There was Percy, jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity forgotten. Professor McGonagall was sobbing harder even than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag; and there, fighting their way toward Harry, were Ron and Hermione. Words failed them.

They simply beamed as Harry was borne toward the stands, where Dumbledore stood waiting with the enormous Quidditch Cup. As a sobbing Wood passed Harry the Cup, as he lifted it into the air my team pat each other saying good wishes and good game.

Malfoy tramped forward shivering his ass off. I was freezing too but he was clearly on a whole other level, mixed with anger at Harry.

We walked out of the field and into the locker room. Malfoy plopped down on a wooden bench shivering more than I knew was humanly possible and cursing under his breath about Harry. I walked over and took off my soaking Slytherin Quidditch robes, with my regular clothes under, as Malfoy did the same. I dropped my cloak, which I'd left in the locker rooms, over him and though giving me a weird look he did look appreciative.

"Good try Malfoy." I pat his shoulder and went into the changing rooms to change into the clean pair of clothes I'd brought.

I walked out of the changing room to see Terrence trying to cheer Draco up and he was nodding along but didn't look well at all. I walked back over and saw him holding my cloak around him tightly but still shivering violently.

"Hang on Terrence, sorry, Draco are you okay?" I asked, looking down at him, tilting my head.

"He's just dissapoin-"

"No, not that, you're freezing-"

"Remarqué..." He said through gritted teeth.

I rest a hand on his shoulder absent-mindedly. "You got English right now?"

He didn't answer, he sighed and dropped his head down, mumbling something incoherently.

"Okay, I'm worrying Draco. Are you just disappointed or is something really wrong?" I asked.

He didn't respond at all to that.

Terrence looked down at me. "I don't think he's doin' so well."

"Yeah I noticed..." I said, putting a hand on his head and forcing him to look at me. His eyes were kinda absent but he looked a bit annoyed, yet also confused. "Okay Draco, c'mere." I put my arms under his and forced him up, it was a good thing he wasn't as ginormous as the other teammates. "Oye' Flint! Malfoy's got hypothermia or something. I'm taking him up to the castle."

"Alright, good luck-" He didn't even seem to be paying attention.

"Want me to come?" Terrence asked.

"No, you're good. Go comfort Flint."

I could tell something was really wrong with Draco when I had to drag him out of the tent and he kinda slouched down, resting his head against me. He was shivering so hard when we got back into the rain I almost wished I hadn't walked him back out. He was mumbling in Frenglish again, all of it utterly irrelevant.

I dragged him up to the hospital wing, and he was virtually unconscious by then. I dropped him by the fire in there before going to find Madam Pomfrey. I pulled my cloak off of him, as it was now also soaking wet, and he dropped his head against the brick wall. "Stay awake honey, keep muttering French nonsense..." I pat his head and then walked into the other room. "Madam Pomfrey?!"

"Oh yes, coming dear! Injury!?" She called, walking out of her office.

"I think Malfoy's got hypothermia from the match." I said, walking out and back over to him.

"He talkin'?" She asked, putting a hand on his forehead.

"Only in incoherent French." I answered.

"Okay, I got it, step out, gotta magic some warm clothes on him."

"Alright-"

"Stick around outside though. I gotta know what happened."

I stuck around and she had me come back in just to end up telling her about the cold rain. Draco would be fine, she gave him a 'pepperup potion' and something to warm him up. He did have hypothermia though, hit him really fast. He'd fallen unconscious by the time Madam Pomfrey checked up on him but she did promise he'd be fine and was glad I brought him over quickly.

She did ask me to hang around next to him while she tended to other patients who'd fallen victim of the flu season.

I left around dinnertime and joined my depressed but still celebrating team.

"Where's our Seeker?" Everyone was asking, hoping to cheer him up.

"Hospital wing, hypothermia." I answered before heading to Gryffindor to celebrate with my friends. Once I knew Malfoy was gonna be fine, it was a good night.

Chapter 15: Execution

Chapter Text

My sadness at losing the Quidditch Cup lasted only a little bit. Draco came back to classes and was getting the attention he craved by people worrying over him, but got a taste of what he deserved because he felt terrible and wanted to be left alone. That lead to him sitting by me just 'cause he knew I'd leave him alone. It was only a day or two. He got past the hypothermia quickly but the few days following were just a lot of problems with temperature regulation. So he'd be sitting next to me shivering in anywhere from -1C to 21C degrees or sweating in -6C to 15C. It was strange but I didn't mind it since all he wanted from me was silence and occasionally my water bottle against my will. Ron was annoyed I was letting him sit by me but Ron could suck it up.

As June approached, the days became cloudless and sultry, and all anybody felt like doing was strolling onto the grounds and flopping down on the grass with several pints of iced pumpkin juice, perhaps playing a casual game of Gobstones or watching the giant squid propel itself dreamily across the surface of the lake. But we couldn’t. Exams were nearly upon us, and instead of lazing around outside, the students were forced to remain inside the castle, trying to bully our brains into concentrating while enticing wafts of summer air drifted in through the windows.

Even Fred and George Weasley had been spotted working; they were about to take their O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels). Percy was getting ready to take his N.E.W.T.s (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests), the highest qualification Hogwarts offered. As Percy hoped to enter the Ministry of Magic, he needed top grades. He was becoming increasingly edgy, and gave very severe punishments to anybody who disturbed the quiet of the common room in the evenings. In fact, the only person who seemed more anxious than Percy was Hermione.

We had given up asking her how she was managing to attend several classes at once, but we couldn’t restrain ourselves when we saw the exam schedule she had drawn up for herself. The first column read: Monday 9 o’clock, Arithmancy 9 o’clock, Transfiguration Lunch 1 o’clock, Charms 1 o’clock, Ancient Runes...

“Hermione?” Ron said cautiously, because she was liable to explode when interrupted these days. “Er—are you sure you’ve copied down these times right?”

“What?” snapped Hermione, picking up the exam schedule and examining it. “Yes, of course I have.”

“Is there any point asking how you’re going to sit for two exams at once?” said Harry.

“No,” said Hermione shortly. “Have either of you seen my copy of Numerology and Gramatica?”

“Oh, yeah, I borrowed it for a bit of bedtime reading,” said Ron, but very quietly. Hermione started shifting heaps of parchment around on her table, looking for the book. Just then, there was a rustle at the window and Hedwig fluttered through it, a note clutched tight in her beak.

“It’s from Hagrid,” said Harry, ripping the note open. “Buckbeak’s appeal—it’s set for the sixth.”

“That’s the day we finish our exams,” said Hermione, still looking everywhere for her Arithmancy book.

“And they’re coming up here to do it,” said Harry, still reading from the letter. “Someone from the Ministry of Magic and—and an executioner.”

Hermione looked up, startled. “They’re bringing the executioner to the appeal! But that sounds as though they’ve already decided!”

“Yeah, it does,” I said slowly.

“They can’t!” Ron howled. “I’ve spent ages reading up on stuff for him; they can’t just ignore it all!”

But I had a horrible feeling that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures had had its mind made up for it by Mr. Malfoy. Draco, who had been noticeably subdued since Gryffindor’s triumph in the Quidditch final and getting hypothermia, seemed to regain some of his old swagger over the next few days. Though I was pretty sure it was irrelevant to Buckbeak's execution,.

"Feeling better?" I asked when I was forced to sit next to him in Potions one morning.

"Yeah, thanks." He said, which was one of the kindest interactions we'd ever had.

My father walked into the room and gave me and Draco a sneer and a suspicious look.

Exam week began and an unnatural hush fell over the castle. The third years emerged from Transfiguration at lunchtime on Monday, limp and ashen-faced, comparing results and bemoaning the difficulty of the tasks they had been set, which had included turning a teapot into a tortoise. Hermione irritated the rest by fussing about how her tortoise had looked more like a turtle, which was the least of everyone else’s worries.

“Mine still had a spout for a tail, what a nightmare…”

“Were the tortoises supposed to breathe steam?”

“It still had a willow-patterned shell, d’you think that’ll count against me?” Then, after a hasty lunch, it was straight back upstairs for the Charms exam.

Hermione had been right; Professor Flitwick did indeed test us on Cheering Charms. I slightly overdid mine out of nerves and Pansy, who was forced to partner me, ended up in fits of hysterical laughter and had to be led away to a quiet room for an hour before she was ready to perform the charm herself.

After dinner, us students hurried back to our common rooms, not to relax, but to start studying for Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and Astronomy. Hagrid presided over the Care of Magical Creatures exam the following morning with a very preoccupied air indeed; his heart didn’t seem to be in it at all. He had provided a large tub of fresh flobberworms for the class, and told us that to pass the test, our flobberworm had to still be alive at the end of one hour. As flobberworms flourished best if left to their own devices, it was the easiest exam any of us had ever taken, and also gave us plenty of opportunity to speak to Hagrid.

“Beaky’s gettin’ a bit depressed,” Hagrid told us, bending low on the pretense of checking that Harry’s flobberworm was still alive. “Bin cooped up too long. But still… we’ll know day after tomorrow— one way or the other—”

We had Potions that afternoon, which was an unqualified disaster. Try as Harry might, he couldn’t get his Confusing Concoction to thicken, and Snape, standing watch with an air of vindictive pleasure, scribbled something that looked suspiciously like a zero onto his notes before moving away. I managed to get mine done with the help of my consistently forced partner, Draco.

Then came Astronomy at midnight, up on the tallest tower; History of Magic on Wednesday morning, in which I scribbled everything Florean Fortescue had ever told me about medieval witchhunts, while wishing I could have had one of Fortescue’s choco-nut sundaes with me in the stifling classroom.

Wednesday afternoon meant Herbology, in the greenhouses under a baking-hot sun; then back to the common room once more, with sunburnt necks, thinking longingly of this time next day, when it would all be over. Our second to last exam, on Thursday morning, was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin had compiled the most unusual exam any of us had ever taken; a sort of obstacle course outside in the sun, where we had to wade across a deep paddling pool containing a grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, squish our way across a patch of marsh while ignoring misleading directions from a hinkypunk, then climb into an old trunk and battle with a new boggart.

“Excellent, Harry,” Lupin muttered as Harry climbed out of the trunk, grinning. “Full marks.”

Flushed with his success, Harry hung around to watch us. Ron did very well until he reached the hinkypunk, which successfully confused him into sinking waist-high into the quagmire. Hermione did everything perfectly until she reached the trunk with the boggart in it. After about a minute inside it, she burst out again, screaming.

“Hermione!” said Lupin, startled. “What’s the matter?”

“P—P—Professor McGonagall!” Hermione gasped, pointing into the trunk. “Sh—she said I’d failed everything!”

It took a little while to calm Hermione down. When at last she had regained a grip on herself, we went back to the castle. Ron was still slightly inclined to laugh at Hermione’s boggart, but an argument was averted by the sight that met us on the top of the steps.

Cornelius Fudge, sweating slightly in his pinstriped cloak, was standing there staring out at the grounds. He started at the sight of Harry.

“Hello there, Harry!” he said. “Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

We, not being on speaking terms with the Minister of Magic, hovered awkwardly in the background.

“Lovely day,” said Fudge, casting an eye over the lake. “Pity… pity…” He sighed deeply and looked down at Harry. “I’m here on an unpleasant mission, Harry. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures required a witness to the execution of a mad hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in.”

“Does that mean the appeal’s already happened?” Ron interrupted, stepping forward.

“No, no, it’s scheduled for this afternoon,” said Fudge, looking curiously at Ron.

“Then you might not have to witness an execution at all!” said Ron stoutly. “The hippogriff might get off!”

Before Fudge could answer, two wizards came through the castle doors behind him.

One was so ancient he appeared to be withering before their very eyes; the other was tall and strapping, with a thin black mustache. I gathered that they were representatives of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, because the very old wizard squinted toward Hagrid’s cabin and said in a feeble voice, “Dear, dear, I’m getting too old for this… Two o’clock, isn’t it, Fudge?”

The black-mustached man was fingering something in his belt; I looked and saw that he was running one broad thumb along the blade of a shining axe. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione nudged him hard in the ribs and jerked her head toward the entrance hall.

“Why’d you stop me?” said Ron angrily as we entered the Great Hall for lunch. “Did you see them? They’ve even got the axe ready! This isn’t justice!”

“Ron, your dad works for the Ministry, you can’t go saying things like that to his boss!” said Hermione, but she too looked very upset. “As long as Hagrid keeps his head this time, and argues his case properly, they can’t possibly execute Buckbeak…”

But I could tell Hermione didn’t really believe what she was saying. All around us, people were talking excitedly as they ate their lunch, happily anticipating the end of the exams that afternoon, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione, lost in worry about Hagrid and Buckbeak, didn’t join in. I hated to admit I didn't care much.

Our last exam was Divination. We walked up the marble staircase together. We proceeded all the way up to the seventh staircase, where many of our class were sitting on the spiral staircase to Professor Trelawney’s classroom, trying to cram in a bit of last-minute studying.

“She’s seeing us all separately,” Neville informed us as we went to sit down next to him. He had his copy of Unfogging the Future open on his lap at the pages devoted to crystal gazing. “Have either of you ever seen anything in a crystal ball?” he asked us unhappily.

“Nope,” said Ron in an offhand voice.

"Yeah, you know I have."

Thee line of people outside the classroom shortened very slowly. As each person climbed back down the silver ladder, the rest of the class hissed, “What did she ask? Was it okay?” But they all refused to say. “She says the crystal ball’s told her that if I tell you, I’ll have a horrible accident!” squeaked Neville as he clambered back down the ladder toward us, who had now reached the landing.

“That’s convenient,” snorted Ron. “You know, I’m starting to think Hermione was right about her”—he jabbed his thumb toward the trapdoor overhead—“she’s a right old fraud.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, looking at his own watch. It was now two o’clock. “Wish she’d hurry up…”

Parvati came back down the ladder glowing with pride. “She says I’ve got all the makings of a true Seer,” she informed us. “I saw loads of stuff… Well, good luck!” She hurried off down the spiral staircase toward Lavender.

“Ronald Weasley,” said the familiar, misty voice from over our heads. Ron grimaced at us and climbed the silver ladder out of sight. Me and Harry were now the only people left to be tested. I did fine but when I stepped out, over in the corner, sat Ron and Hermione.

“Buckbeak lost,” said Ron weakly. “Hagrid’s just sent this.”

Hagrid’s note was dry this time, no tears had splattered it, yet his hand seemed to have shaken so much as he wrote that it was hardly legible. Lost appeal. They’re going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don’t come down. I don’t want you to see it. - Hagrid

“We’ve got to go,” said Harry at once. “He can’t just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!”

“Sunset, though,” said Ron, who was staring out the window in a glazed sort of way. “We’d never be allowed…’specially you, Harry…”

Harry sank his head into his hands, thinking. “If we only had the Invisibility Cloak…”

“Where is it?” said Hermione.

Harry told us about leaving it in the passageway under the one eyed witch.

“…if Snape sees me anywhere near there again, I’m in serious trouble,” he finished.

“That’s true,” said Hermione, getting to her feet. “If he sees you… How do you open the witch’s hump again?”

“You—you tap it and say, ‘Dissendium,’” said Harry. “But—”

Hermione didn’t wait for the rest of his sentence; she strode across the room, pushed open the Fat Lady’s portrait and vanished from sight.

“She hasn’t gone to get it?” Ron said, staring after her. She had. Hermione returned a quarter of an hour later with the silvery cloak folded carefully under her robes. “Hermione, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately!” said Ron, astounded. “First you hit Malfoy, then you walk out on Professor Trelawney—” Hermione looked rather flattered.

We went down to dinner with everybody else, but did not return to Gryffindor Tower afterward. Harry had the cloak hidden down the front of his robes; he had to keep his arms folded to hide the lump. We skulked in an empty chamber off the entrance hall, listening, until we were sure it was deserted. We heard a last pair of people hurrying across the hall and a door slamming. Hermione poked her head around the door.

“Okay,” she whispered, “no one there—cloak on—”

Walking very close together so that nobody would see us, we crossed the hall on tiptoe beneath the cloak, then walked down the stone front steps into the grounds. The sun was already sinking behind the Forbidden Forest, gilding the top branches of the trees. We reached Hagrid’s cabin and knocked. He was a minute in answering, and when he did, he looked all around for his visitor, palefaced and trembling.

“It’s us,” Harry hissed. “We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off.”

“Yeh shouldn’ve come!” Hagrid whispered, but he stood back, and we stepped inside.

Hagrid shut the door quickly and Harry pulled off the cloak. Hagrid was not crying, nor did he throw himself upon their necks. He looked like a man who did not know where he was or what to do. This helplessness was worse to watch than tears.

“Wan’ some tea?” he said. His great hands were shaking as he reached for the kettle.

“Where’s Buckbeak, Hagrid?” said Hermione hesitantly.

“I—I took him outside,” said Hagrid, spilling milk all over the table as he filled up the jug. “He’s tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an’—an’ smell fresh air—before—”

Hagrid’s hand trembled so violently that the milk jug slipped from his grasp and shattered all over the floor.

“I’ll do it, Hagrid,” said Hermione quickly, hurrying over and starting to clean up the mess.

“There’s another one in the cupboard,” Hagrid said, sitting down and wiping his forehead on his sleeve. I glanced at Ron, who looked back hopelessly.

“Isn’t there anything anyone can do, Hagrid?” Harry asked fiercely, sitting down next to him.

“Dumbledore—”

“He’s tried,” said Hagrid. “He’s got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told ’em Buckbeak’s all right, but they’re scared… Yeh know what Lucius Malfoy’s like… threatened ’em, I expect… an’ the executioner, Macnair, he’s an old pal o’ Malfoy’s… but it’ll be quick an’ clean… an’ I’ll be beside him…” Hagrid swallowed. His eyes were darting all over the cabin as though looking for some shred of hope or comfort. “Dumbledore’s gonna come down while it—while it happens. Wrote me this mornin’. Said he wants ter—ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore…”

Hermione, who had been rummaging in Hagrid’s cupboard for another milk jug, let out a small, quickly stifled sob. She straightened up with the new jug in her hands, fighting back tears.

“We’ll stay with you too, Hagrid,” she began, but Hagrid shook his shaggy head.

“Yeh’re ter go back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don’ wan’ yeh watchin’. An’ yeh shouldn’ be down here anyway… If Fudge an’ Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh’ll be in big trouble.”

Silent tears were now streaming down Hermione’s face, but she hid them from Hagrid, bustling around making tea. Then, as she picked up the milk bottle to pour some into the jug, she let out a shriek.

“Ron! I—I don’t believe it—it’s Scabbers!”

Ron gaped at her. “What are you talking about?”

Hermione carried the milk jug over to the table and turned it upside down. With a frantic squeak, and much scrambling to get back inside, Scabbers the rat came sliding out onto the table.

“Scabbers!” said Ron blankly. “Scabbers, what are you doing here?” He grabbed the struggling rat and held him up to the light.

Scabbers looked dreadful. He was thinner than ever, large tufts of hair had fallen out leaving wide bald patches, and he writhed in Ron’s hands as though desperate to free himself.

“It’s okay, Scabbers!” said Ron. “No cats! There’s nothing here to hurt you!”

Hagrid suddenly stood up, his eyes fixed on the window. His normally ruddy face had gone the color of parchment. “They’re comin’…”

We whipped around. A group of men was walking down the distant castle steps. In front was Albus Dumbledore, his silver beard gleaming in the dying sun. Next to him trotted Cornelius Fudge. Behind them came the feeble old Committee member and the executioner, Macnair.

“Yeh gotta go,” said Hagrid. Every inch of him was trembling. “They mustn’ find yeh here… Go now…”

Ron stuffed Scabbers into his pocket and Hermione picked up the cloak.

“I’ll let yeh out the back way,” said Hagrid.

We followed him to the door into his back garden. I felt strangely unreal, and even more so when I saw Buckbeak a few yards away, tethered to a tree behind Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. Buckbeak seemed to know something was happening. He turned his sharp head from side to side and pawed the ground nervously.

“It’s okay, Beaky,” said Hagrid softly. “It’s okay…” He turned to us. “Go on,” he said. “Get goin’.”

But we didn’t move.

“Hagrid, we can’t—”

“We’ll tell them what really happened—”

“They can’t kill him—”

“Go!” said Hagrid fiercely. “It’s bad enough without you lot in trouble an’ all!”

We had no choice. As Hermione threw the cloak over us, we heard voices at the front of the cabin. Hagrid looked at the place where we had just vanished from sight. “Go quick,” he said hoarsely. “Don’ listen…” And he strode back into his cabin as someone knocked at the front door.

Slowly, in a kind of horrified trance, we set off silently around Hagrid’s house. As we reached the other side, the front door closed with a sharp snap.

“Please, let’s hurry,” Hermione whispered. “I can’t stand it, I can’t bear it…”

We started up the sloping lawn toward the castle. The sun was sinking fast now; the sky had turned to a clear, purple-tinged grey, but to the west there was a ruby-red glow.

Ron stopped dead.

“Oh, please, Ron,” Hermione began. “It’s Scabbers—he won’t—stay put—”

Ron was bent over, trying to keep Scabbers in his pocket, but the rat was going berserk; squeaking madly, twisting and flailing, trying to sink his teeth into Ron’s hand. “Scabbers, it’s me, you idiot, it’s Ron,” Ron hissed.

We heard a door open behind us and men’s voices. “

Oh, Ron, please let’s move, they’re going to do it!” Hermione breathed.

“Okay—Scabbers, stay put—”

Wewalked forward; I, like Hermione, was trying not to listen to the rumble of voices behind us.

Ron stopped again. “I can’t hold him—Scabbers, shut up, everyone’ll hear us—” The rat was squealing wildly, but not loudly enough to cover up the sounds drifting from Hagrid’s garden. There was a jumble of indistinct male voices, a silence, and then, without warning, the unmistakable swish and thud of an axe.

Hermione swayed on the spot. “They did it!” she whispered to Harry. “I d—don’t believe it— they did it!”

Chapter 16: Cat, Rat, Dragon, and Dog

Chapter Text

The four of us stood transfixed with horror under the Invisibility Cloak. The very last rays of the setting sun were casting a bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds. Then, behind us, we heard a wild howling.

“Hagrid,” Harry muttered. Without thinking about what he was doing, he made to turn back, but three of us seized his arms.

“We can’t,” said Ron, who was paper-white. “He’ll be in worse trouble if they know we’ve been to see him…”

Hermione’s breathing was shallow and uneven. “How—could—they?” she choked. “How could they?”

“Come on,” said Ron, whose teeth seemed to be chattering.

We set off back toward the castle, walking slowly to keep ourselves hidden under the cloak. The light was fading fast now. By the time we reached open ground, darkness was settling like a spell around us.

“Scabbers, keep still,” Ron hissed, clamping his hand over his chest. The rat was wriggling madly. Ron came to a sudden halt, trying to force Scabbers deeper into his pocket. “What’s the matter with you, you stupid rat? Stay still—OUCH! He bit me!”

“Ron, be quiet!” Hermione whispered urgently. “Fudge’ll be out here in a minute—”

“He won’t—stay—put—” Scabbers was plainly terrified. He was writhing with all his might, trying to break free of Ron’s grip. “What’s the matter with him?”

But I had just seen—slinking toward us, his body low to the ground, wide yellow eyes glinting eerily in the darkness— Crookshanks. Whether he could see us or was following the sound of Scabbers’s squeaks, I couldn’t tell.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione moaned. “No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!” But the cat was getting nearer—

“Scabbers—NO!” Too late—the rat had slipped between Ron’s clutching fingers, hit the ground, and scampered away. In one bound, Crookshanks sprang after him, and before any of us could stop him, Ron had thrown the Invisibility Cloak off himself and pelted away into the darkness.

“Ron!” Hermione moaned.

We looked at each other, then followed at a sprint; it was impossible to run full out under the cloak; we pulled it off and it streamed behind us like a banner as we hurtled after Ron; we could hear his feet thundering along ahead and his shouts at Crookshanks. “Get away from him—get away—Scabbers, come here—” There was a loud thud. “Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat—”

The three of us almost fell over Ron; we skidded to a stop right in front of him. But that wasn't the end of our problems.

"What the hell!?"

I looked over, "oh f-"

Hermione hit me for saying that word as the blondie ran over. "I've been looking for you!" He hissed at me.

"Why-? What are you doing?!"

"I was- irrelevant. What areyoudoing!?"

"Oh shut up-" I turned around, "and be quiet. There are ministry members out here. Ron?"

He was sprawled on the ground, but Scabbers was back in his pocket; he had both hands held tight over the quivering lump.

“Ron—come on—back under the cloak—” Hermione panted. “Dumbledore—the Minister—they’ll be coming back out in a minute — Malfoy, I guess-”

But before we could cover ourselves again, before Draco knew what was going on, before we could even catch our breath, we heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws… Something was bounding toward us, quiet as a shadow—an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog.

Harry reached for his wand, but too late—the dog had made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest; he keeled over backward in a whirl of hair; he felt its hot breath, saw inch-long teeth — But the force of its leap had carried it too far; it rolled off him.

Harry tried to stand up; he could hear it growling as it skidded around for a new attack. Ron was on his feet. As the dog sprang back toward us he pushed Harry aside; the dog’s jaws fastened instead around Ron’s outstretched arm. I had my wand out but I didn't know what spell to even use on it.

Harry lunged forward, he seized a handful of the brute’s hair, but it was dragging Ron away as easily as though he were a rag doll— Then, out of nowhere, something hit Harry, Draco, and I so hard we were knocked off our feet. I heard Hermione shriek with pain and fall too. Harry groped for his wand, blinking blood out of his eyes— “Lumos!” he whispered.

The wandlight showed me the trunk of a thick tree; we had chased Scabbers into the shadow of the Whomping Willow and its branches were creaking as though in a high wind, whipping backward and forward to stop us going nearer. And there, at the base of the trunk, was the dog, dragging Ron backward into a large gap in the roots—Ron was fighting furiously, but his head and torso were slipping out of sight—

“Ron!” Harry shouted, trying to follow, but a heavy branch whipped lethally through the air and he was forced backward again. All we could see now was one of Ron’s legs, which he had hooked around a root in an effort to stop the dog from pulling him farther underground—but a horrible crack cut the air like a gunshot; Ron’s leg had broken, and a moment later, his foot vanished from sight.

"Oh my gosh-" I cringed at the sound and looked at Draco, who looked mildly in shock.

“Harry—we’ve got to go for help—” Hermione gasped; she was bleeding too; the Willow had cut her across the shoulder.

“No! That thing’s big enough to eat him; we haven’t got time—”

“Harry—we’re never going to get through without help—”

Another branch whipped down at us, twigs clenched like knuckles.

“If that dog can get in, we can,” Harry panted, darting here and there, trying to find a way through the vicious, swishing branches, but he couldn’t get an inch nearer to the tree roots without being in range of the tree’s blows.

“Oh, help, help,” Hermione whispered frantically, dancing uncertainly on the spot, “please…”

Crookshanks darted forward. He slithered between the battering branches like a snake and placed his front paws upon a knot on the trunk. Abruptly, as though the tree had been turned to marble, it stopped moving. Not a leaf twitched or shook.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione whispered uncertainly. She now grasped Harry’s arm painfully hard. “How did he know—?”

“He’s friends with that dog,” said Harry grimly. “I’ve seen them together. Come on—and keep your wand out—”

We covered the distance to the trunk in seconds, and Draco didn't move. "Malfoy!"

"I'm not-"

"Come on! You'll get expelled if you're found out this late and the ministry is out here. Come on!" I grabbed him and pulled him along but before we had reached the gap in the roots, Crookshanks had slid into it with a flick of his bottlebrush tail.

Harry went next. I went after Draco, not trusting him to come in behind me. I crawled forward, headfirst, and slid down an earthy slope to the bottom of a very low tunnel. Crookshanks was a little way along, his eyes flashing in the light from Harry’s wand at the front. Seconds later, Hermione slithered down beside us.

“Where’s Ron?” she whispered in a terrified voice.

“This way,” said Harry, setting off, bent-backed, after Crookshanks.

“Where does this tunnel come out?” Hermione asked breathlessly from behind him.

“I don’t know… It’s marked on the Marauder’s Map but Fred and George said no one’s ever gotten into it… It goes off the edge of the map, but it looked like it was heading for Hogsmeade…”

"The Marauder's Map?" Draco asked.

"A map thing, long story." I summarized as we walked.

We moved as fast as we could, bent almost double; ahead of us, Crookshanks’s tail bobbed in and out of view. On and on went the passage; it felt at least as long as the one to Honeydukes according to Harry…

All I could think of was Ron and what the enormous dog might be doing to him… I was drawing breath in sharp, painful gasps, running at a crouch… And then the tunnel began to rise; moments later it twisted, and Crookshanks had gone. Instead, I could see a patch of dim light through a small opening. We paused, gasping for breath, edging forward.

Both Harry and Hermione raised their wands to see what lay beyond. It was a room, a very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up. I glanced at Hermione, who looked very frightened but nodded.

Harry pulled himself out of the hole, staring around. We climbed out after him, Draco gave me a hand out of the tunnel and looked quite frightened. The room was deserted, but a door to their right stood open, leading to a shadowy hallway. Hermione suddenly grabbed Harry’s arm again. Her wide eyes were traveling around the boarded windows.

“Harry,” she whispered, “I think we’re in the Shrieking Shack.”

I looked around. My eyes fell on a wooden chair near us. Large chunks had been torn out of it; one of the legs had been ripped off entirely.

“Ghosts didn’t do that,” he said slowly.

At that moment, there was a creak overhead. Something had moved upstairs.

All ofus looked up at the ceiling. Hermione’s grip on Harry’s arm was so tight he was losing feeling in his fingers. He raised his eyebrows at her; she nodded again and let go.

Quietly as we could, we crept out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Draco was walking slightly behind me, almost touching me. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, where a wide shiny stripe had been made by something being dragged upstairs.

We reached the dark landing. “Nox,” Hermione and Harry whispered together, and the lights at the end of their wands went out. Only one door was open. As we crept toward it, we heard movement from behind it; a low moan, and then a deep, loud purring.

I exchanged a last look with Draco, he looked ahead, Hermione gave a last nod. Wand held tightly before him, Harry kicked the door wide open. On a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings lay Crookshanks, purring loudly at the sight of us. On the floor beside him, clutching his leg, which stuck out at a strange angle, was Ron.

We dashed across to him. “Ron—are you okay?”

“Where’s the dog?”

“Not a dog,” Ron moaned. His teeth were gritted with pain. “Harry, it’s a trap—”

“What—”

“He’s the dog… he’s an Animagus…” Ron was staring over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry wheeled around. With a snap, the man in the shadows closed the door behind them. A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If eyes hadn’t been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin. It was Sirius Black.

“Expelliarmus!” he croaked, pointing Ron’s wand at us.

Our wands shot out of our hands, high in the air, and Black caught them. Then he took a step closer. His eyes were fixed on Harry. “I thought you’d come and help your friend,” he said hoarsely. His voice sounded as though he had long since lost the habit of using it. “Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful… it will make everything much easier…”

Without knowing what he was doing, Harry started forward, but there was a sudden movement on either side of him and two pairs of hands grabbed him and held him back…

“No, Harry!” Hermione gasped in a petrified whisper; Ron, however, spoke to Black. “If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!” he said fiercely, though the effort of standing upright was draining him of still more color, and he swayed slightly as he spoke.

Something flickered in Black’s shadowed eyes. “Lie down,” he said quietly to Ron. “You will damage that leg even more.”

“Did you hear me?” Ron said weakly, though he was clinging painfully to Harry to stay upright. “You’ll have to kill all four of us!”

“There’ll be only one murder here tonight,” said Black, and his grin widened.

“Why’s that?” Harry spat, trying to wrench himself free of Ron and Hermione. “Didn’t care last time, did you? Didn’t mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew… What’s the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?”

“Harry!” Hermione whimpered. “Be quiet!”

“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!” Harry roared, and with a huge effort he broke free of Hermione’s and Ron’s restraint and lunged forward— He had forgotten about magic—he had forgotten that he was short and skinny and fourteen, whereas Black was a tall, full-grown man—all Harry knew was that he wanted to hurt Black as badly as he could and that he didn’t care how much he got hurt in return— Perhaps it was the shock of Harry doing something so stupid, but Black didn’t raise the wands in time—one of Harry’s hands fastened over his wasted wrist, forcing the wand tips away; the knuckles of Harry’s other hand collided with the side of Black’s head and they fell, backward, into the wall— Hermione was screaming; Ron was yelling; there was a blinding flash as the wands in Black’s hand sent a jet of sparks into the air that missed Harry’s face by inches; but Black’s free hand had found Harry’s throat—

“No,” he hissed, “I’ve waited too long—”

The fingers tightened, Harry choked, his glasses askew. Then I kicked Black as hard as I could. Black let go of Harry with a grunt of pain; Ron had thrown himself on Black’s wand hand and I heard a faint clatter— Harry fought free of the tangle of bodies and saw his own wand rolling across the floor; he threw himself toward it but—

“Argh!” Crookshanks had joined the fray; both sets of front claws had sunk themselves deep into Harry’s arm; Harry threw him off, but Crookshanks now darted toward Harry’s wand— “NO YOU DON’T!” roared Harry, and he aimed a kick at Crookshanks that made the cat leap aside, spitting; Harry snatched up his wand and turned— “Get out of the way!” he shouted at us.

We didn’t need telling twice. Hermione, gasping for breath, her lip bleeding, scrambled aside, snatching up her and Ron’s wands. Ron crawled to the four-poster and collapsed onto it, panting, his white face now tinged with green, both hands clutching his broken leg. I, despite Ron's cries against it, forced him to straighten his leg back out in what was close to a natural state. I knew Draco knew Episkey and told him to use it. He tried but it didn't work, in the stress I couldn't blame him.

Black was sprawled at the bottom of the wall. His thin chest rose and fell rapidly as he watched Harry walking slowly nearer, his wand pointing straight at Black’s heart.

“Going to kill me, Harry?” he whispered. Harry stopped right above him, his wand still pointing at Black’s chest, looking down at him. A livid bruise was rising around Black’s left eye and his nose was bleeding.

“You killed my parents,” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly, but his wand hand quite steady. Black stared up at him out of those sunken eyes.

“I don’t deny it,” he said very quietly. “But if you knew the whole story.”

“The whole story?” Harry repeated, a furious pounding in his ears. “You sold them to Voldemort. That’s all I need to know.”

“You’ve got to listen to me,” Black said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now. “You’ll regret it if you don’t… You don’t understand…”

“I understand a lot better than you think,” said Harry, and his voice shook more than ever. “You never heard her, did you? My mum… trying to stop Voldemort killing me… and you did that… you did it…” Before either of them could say another word, something ginger streaked past Harry; Crookshanks leapt onto Black’s chest and settled himself there, right over Black’s heart. Black blinked and looked down at the cat.

“Get off,” he murmured, trying to push Crookshanks off him. But Crookshanks sank his claws into Black’s robes and wouldn’t shift. He turned his ugly, squashed face to Harry and looked up at him with those great yellow eyes. To my right, Hermione gave a dry sob. Harry stared down at Black and Crookshanks, his grip tightening on the wand. So what if he had to kill the cat too? It was in league with Black… If it was prepared to die, trying to protect Black, that wasn’t Harry’s business… If Black wanted to save it, that only proved he cared more for Crookshanks than for Harry’s parents…

Harry raised the wand. Now was the moment to do it. He was going to kill Black. He had to kill Black. This was his chance… The seconds lengthened. And still Harry stood frozen there, wand poised, Black staring up at him, Crookshanks on his chest. Ron’s ragged breathing came from near the bed; Hermione was quite silent. And then came a new sound— Muffled footsteps were echoing up through the floor—someone was moving downstairs.

“WE’RE UP HERE!” Hermione screamed suddenly. “WE’RE UP HERE—SIRIUS BLACK—QUICK!”

Black made a startled movement that almost dislodged Crookshanks; Harry gripped his wand convulsively—but the footsteps were thundering up the stairs and Harry still hadn’t done it. The door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks and Harry wheeled around as Professor Lupin came hurtling into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready. His eyes flickered over Ron, lying on the floor, over Hermione, cowering next to the door, me and Draco standing, not sure what to do, and to Harry, standing there with his wand covering Black, and then to Black himself, crumpled and bleeding at Harry’s feet.

“Expelliarmus!” Lupin shouted.

Harry’s wand flew once more out of his hand; so did the two Hermione was holding, mine, and Dracos. Lupin caught them all deftly, then moved into the room, staring at Black, who still had Crookshanks lying protectively across his chest. Then Lupin spoke, in a very tense voice.

“Where is he, Sirius?” I looked quickly at Lupin. I didn’t understand what Lupin meant. Who was Lupin talking about? He turned to look at Black again. Black’s face was quite expressionless. For a few seconds, he didn’t move at all. Then, very slowly, he raised his empty hand and pointed straight at Ron. Mystified, Harry glanced around at Ron, who looked bewildered.

“But then…,” Lupin muttered, staring at Black so intently it seemed he was trying to read his mind, “…why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless”—Lupin’s eyes suddenly widened, as though he was seeing something beyond Black, something none of the rest could see, “—unless he was the one… unless you switched… without telling me?”

Very slowly, his sunken gaze never leaving Lupin’s face, Black nodded.

“Professor,” Harry interrupted loudly, “what’s going on—?”

But he never finished the question, because what he saw made his voice die in his throat. Lupin was lowering his wand, gazing fixedly at Black. The Professor walked to Black’s side, seized his hand, pulled him to his feet so that Crookshanks fell to the floor, and embraced Black like a brother. I felt as though the bottom had dropped out of my stomach.

“I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” Hermione screamed.

Lupin let go of Black and turned to her. She had raised herself off the floor and was pointing at Lupin, wild-eyed.

“You—you—”

“Hermione—”

“—you and him!”

“Hermione, calm down—”

“I didn’t tell anyone!” Hermione shrieked. “I’ve been covering up for you—”

“Hermione, listen to me, please!” Lupin shouted. “I can explain —”

“I trusted you,” Harry shouted at Lupin, his voice wavering out of control, “and all the time you’ve been his friend!”

“You’re wrong,” said Lupin. “I haven’t been Sirius’s friend, but I am now—Let me explain…”

“NO!” Hermione screamed. “Harry, don’t trust him, he’s been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too—he’s a werewolf!”

There was a ringing silence. Everyone’s eyes were now on Lupin, who looked remarkably calm, though rather pale.

“Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione,” he said. “Only one out of three, I’m afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle and I certainly don’t want Harry dead…” An odd shiver passed over his face. “But I won’t deny that I am a werewolf.”

Ron made a valiant effort to get up again but fell back with a whimper of pain.

Lupin made toward him, looking concerned, but Ron gasped, “Get away from me, werewolf!”

Lupin stopped dead. Then, with an obvious effort, he turned to Hermione and said, “How long have you known?”

“Ages,” Hermione whispered. “Since I did Professor Snape’s essay…”

“He’ll be delighted,” said Lupin coolly. “He assigned that essay hoping someone would realize what my symptoms meant… Did you check the lunar chart and realize that I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realize that the boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?”

“Both,” Hermione said quietly.

Lupin forced a laugh. “You’re the cleverest witch of your age I’ve ever met, Hermione.”

“I’m not,” Hermione whispered. “If I’d been a bit cleverer, I’d have told everyone what you are!”

“But they already know,” said Lupin. “At least, the staff do.”

“Dumbledore hired you when he knew you were a werewolf?” Ron gasped. “Is he mad?”

“Some of the staff thought so,” said Lupin. “He had to work very hard to convince certain teachers that I’m trustworthy—”

“AND HE WAS WRONG!” Harry yelled. “YOU’VE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL THE TIME!” He was pointing at Black, who suddenly crossed to the four-poster bed and sank onto it, his face hidden in one shaking hand. Crookshanks leapt up beside him and stepped onto his lap, purring. Ron edged away from both of them, dragging his leg.

Draco leaned closer to me and whispered the first smart thing I'd heard him say in quite a while. "I don't think Black's actually a criminal..."

"I had the same thought..." I mumbled. "Professor... I thinkweunderstand."

"What could Malfoy understand that I don't!?" Harry yelled.

“I have not been helping Sirius,” said Lupin. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll explain. Look—” He separated Harry’s, Ron’s, Hermione’s, mine, and Draco's wands and threw each back to its owner; Harry caught his, stunned.

“There,” said Lupin, sticking his own wand back into his belt. “You’re armed, we’re not. Now will you listen?”

“If you haven’t been helping him,” he said, with a furious glance at Black, “how did you know he was here?”

“The map,” said Lupin. “The Marauder’s Map. I was in my office examining it—”

“You know how to work it?” Harry said suspiciously.

“Of course I know how to work it,” said Lupin, waving his hand impatiently. “I helped write it. I’m Moony—that was my friends’ nickname for me at school.”

“You wrote—?”

"Will you tell me what this is?" Draco asked quietly.

"Later."

“The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening, because I had an idea that you, Ron, Elex, and Hermione might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn’t I?” He had started to pace up and down, looking at them. Little patches of dust rose at his feet. “Though I am very confused at what Draco's doing here. You might have been wearing your father’s old cloak, Harry—”

“How d’you know about the cloak?”

“The number of times I saw James disappearing under it…,” said Lupin, waving an impatient hand again. “The point is, even if you’re wearing an Invisibility Cloak, you still show up on the Marauder’s Map. I watched you cross the grounds and enter Hagrid’s hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid, and set off back toward the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else.”

“What?” said Harry. “No, we weren’t!”

“I couldn’t believe my eyes,” said Lupin, still pacing, and ignoring Harry’s interruption. “I thought the map must be malfunctioning. How could he be with you?”

“No one was with us!” said Harry.

"And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labeled Sirius Black… I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow—”

“One of us!” Ron said angrily.

Draco leaned close again, and said something absolutely mad, that kind of made sense. "It's the rat."

"It's the what?" I whispered, turning around.

“No, Ron,” said Lupin. “Two of you.” He had stopped his pacing, his eyes moving over Ron. “Do you think I could have a look at the rat?” he said evenly.

“What?” said Ron.

“What’s Scabbers got to do with it?”

“Everything,” said Lupin. “Could I see him, please?”

Ron hesitated, then put a hand inside his robes. Scabbers emerged, thrashing desperately; Ron had to seize his long bald tail to stop him escaping. Crookshanks stood up on Black’s leg and made a soft hissing noise. Lupin moved closer to Ron. He seemed to be holding his breath as he gazed intently at Scabbers.

“What?” Ron said again, holding Scabbers close to him, looking scared. “What’s my rat got to do with anything?”

“That’s not a rat,” croaked Sirius Black suddenly.

“What d’you mean—of course he’s a rat—”

“No, he’s not,” said Lupin quietly. “He’s a wizard.”

“An Animagus,” said Black, “by the name of Peter Pettigrew.”

Chapter 17: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Chapter Text

It took a few seconds for the absurdity of this statement to sink in. Then Ron voiced what we all were thinking.

“You’re both mental.”

“Ridiculous!” said Hermione faintly.

“Peter Pettigrew’s dead!” said Harry.

“He killed him twelve years ago!” He pointed at Black, whose face twitched convulsively.

“I meant to,” he growled, his yellow teeth bared, “but little Peter got the better of me… not this time, though!”

And Crookshanks was thrown to the floor as Black lunged at Scabbers; Ron yelled with pain as Black’s weight fell on his broken leg.

“Sirius, NO!” Lupin yelled, launching himself forwards and dragging Black away from Ron again, “WAIT! You can’t do it just like that—they need to understand—we’ve got to explain—”

“We can explain afterwards!” snarled Black, trying to throw Lupin off. One hand was still clawing the air as it tried to reach Scabbers, who was squealing like a piglet, scratching Ron’s face and neck as he tried to escape.

“They’ve—got—a—right—to—know—everything!” Lupin panted, still trying to restrain Black. “Ron’s kept him as a pet! There are parts of it even I don’t understand! And Harry—you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!”

Black stopped struggling, though his hollowed eyes were still fixed on Scabbers, who was clamped tightly under Ron’s bitten, scratched, and bleeding hands.

“All right, then,” Black said, without taking his eyes off the rat. “Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for…”

“You’re nutters, both of you,” said Ron shakily, looking round at us for support. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.” He tried to heave himself up on his good leg, but Lupin raised his wand again, pointing it at Scabbers.

“You’re going to hear me out, Ron,” he said quietly. “Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you listen.”

“HE’S NOT PETER, HE’S SCABBERS!” Ron yelled, trying to force the rat back into his front pocket, but Scabbers was fighting too hard; Ron swayed and overbalanced, and Harry caught him and pushed him back down to the bed. Then, ignoring Black, Harry turned to Lupin.

“There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die,” he said. “A whole street full of them…”

“They didn’t see what they thought they saw!” said Black savagely, still watching Scabbers struggling in Ron’s hands.

“Everyone thought Sirius killed Peter,” said Lupin, nodding. “I believed it myself—until I saw the map tonight. Because the Marauder’s map never lies… Peter’s alive. Ron’s holding him, Harry.”

Harry looked down at Ron, and as their eyes met, they agreed, silently: Black and Lupin were both out of their minds. Their story made no sense whatsoever. How could Scabbers be Peter Pettigrew? Azkaban must have unhinged Black after all—but why was Lupin playing along with him?

Then Hermione spoke, in a trembling, would-be calm sort of voice, as though trying to will Professor Lupin to talk sensibly. “But Professor Lupin… Scabbers can’t be Pettigrew… it just can’t be true, you know it can’t…”

"No... Hermione, Harry, it makes sense." I said, looking back at Draco. "He figured it out just before Lupin asked to see the rat."

"Well if Malfoy says so it has to be true!" Ron yelled sarcastically.

“Why can’t it be true?” Lupin said calmly, as though we were in class, and Hermione had simply spotted a problem in an experiment with grindylows.

“Because… because people would know if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus. We did Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. And I looked them up when I did my homework—the Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals; there’s a register showing what animal they become, and their markings and things… and I went and looked Professor McGonagall up on the register, and there have been only seven Animagi this century, and Pettigrew’s name wasn’t on the list—”

I had barely had time to marvel inwardly at the effort Hermione put into her homework, when Lupin started to laugh. “Right again, Hermione!” he said. “But the Ministry never knew that there used to be three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts.”

“If you’re going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus,” snarled Black, who was still watching Scabbers’s every desperate move. “I’ve waited twelve years, I’m not going to wait much longer.”

“All right… but you’ll need to help me, Sirius,” said Lupin, “I only know how it began…” Lupin broke off. There had been a loud creak behind him. The bedroom door had opened of its own accord. All seven of us stared at it. Then Lupin strode toward it and looked out into the landing.

“No one there…”

“This place is haunted!” said Ron.

“It’s not,” said Lupin, still looking at the door in a puzzled way. “The Shrieking Shack was never haunted… The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me.” He pushed his graying hair out of his eyes, thought for a moment, then said, “That’s where all of this starts—with my becoming a werewolf. None of this could have happened if I hadn’t been bitten… and if I hadn’t been so foolhardy…” He looked sober and tired.

Ron started to interrupt, but Hermione said, “Shh!” She was watching Lupin very intently.

“I was a very small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those days there was no cure. The potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent discovery. It makes me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform… I am able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for the moon to wane again. Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully fledged monster once a month. It seemed impossible that I would be able to come to Hogwarts. Other parents weren’t likely to want their children exposed to me. But then Dumbledore became Headmaster, and he was sympathetic. He said that as long as we took certain precautions, there was no reason I shouldn’t come to school…” Lupin sighed, and looked directly at Harry. “I told you, months ago, that the Whomping Willow was planted the year I came to Hogwarts. The truth is that it was planted because I came to Hogwarts. This house”—Lupin looked miserably around the room,—“the tunnel that leads to it—they were built for my use. Once a month, I was smuggled out of the castle, into this place, to transform. The tree was placed at the tunnel mouth to stop anyone coming across me while I was dangerous.”

I couldn’t see where the story was going, but I was listening raptly all the same. The only sound apart from Lupin’s voice was Scabbers’s frightened squeaking and Draco's breathing just 'cause he was right against me.

“My transformations in those days were—were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf. I was separated from humans to bite, so I bit and scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirits. Dumbledore encouraged the rumor… Even now, when the house has been silent for years, the villagers don’t dare approach it… But apart from my transformations, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I had friends, three great friends. Sirius Black… Peter Pettigrew… and, of course, your father, Harry—James Potter. Now, my three friends could hardly fail to notice that I disappeared once a month. I made up all sorts of stories. I told them my mother was ill, and that I had to go home to see her… I was terrified they would desert me the moment they found out what I was. But of course, they, like you, Hermione, worked out the truth… And they didn’t desert me at all. Instead, they did something for me that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They became Animagi.”

“My dad too?” said Harry, astounded.

“Yes, indeed,” said Lupin. “It took them the best part of three years to work out how to do it. Your father and Sirius here were the cleverest students in the school, and lucky they were, because the Animagus transformation can go horribly wrong—one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on those attempting to do it. Peter needed all the help he could get from James and Sirius. Finally, in our fifth year, they managed it. They could each turn into a different animal at will.”

“But how did that help you?” said Hermione, sounding puzzled.

“They couldn’t keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals,” said Lupin. “A werewolf is only a danger to people. They sneaked out of the castle every month under James’s Invisibility Cloak. They transformed… Peter, as the smallest, could slip beneath the Willow’s attacking branches and touch the knot that freezes it. They would then slip down the tunnel and join me. Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind seemed to become less so while I was with them.”

“Hurry up, Remus,” snarled Black, who was still watching Scabbers with a horrible sort of hunger on his face.

“I’m getting there, Sirius, I’m getting there… well, highly exciting possibilities were open to us now that we could all transform. Soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the school grounds and the village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were able to keep a werewolf in check. I doubt whether any Hogwarts students ever found out more about the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade than we did… And that’s how we came to write the Marauder’s Map, and sign it with our nicknames. Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs.”

“What sort of animal—?” Harry began, but Hermione cut him off.

“That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you’d given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?”

“A thought that still haunts me,” said Lupin heavily. “And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless—carried away with our own cleverness. I sometimes felt guilty about betraying Dumbledore’s trust, of course… he had admitted me to Hogwarts when no other headmaster would have done so, and he had no idea I was breaking the rules he had set down for my own and others’ safety. He never knew I had led three fellow students into becoming Animagi illegally. But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next month’s adventure. And I haven’t changed… Lupin’s face had hardened, and there was self-disgust in his voice. All this year, I have been battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus. But I didn’t do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I’d betrayed his trust while I was at school, admitting that I’d led others along with me… and Dumbledore’s trust has meant everything to me. He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am. And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using dark arts he learned from Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it… so, in a way, Snape’s been right about me all along.”

“Snape?” said Black harshly, taking his eyes off Scabbers for the first time in minutes and looking up at Lupin. “What’s Snape got to do with it?”

“He’s here, Sirius,” said Lupin heavily. “He’s teaching here as well.” He looked up at us. “Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons… you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me—”

Black made a derisive noise. “It served him right,” he sneered. “Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to… hoping he could get us expelled…”

“Severus was very interested in where I went every month.” Lupin told us. “We were in the same year, you know, and we—er—didn’t like each other very much. He especially disliked James. Jealous, I think, of James’s talent on the Quidditch field… anyway Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she led me toward the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be—er—amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he’d be able to get in after me. Well, of course, Snape tried it—if he’d got as far as this house, he’d have met a fully grown werewolf— but your father, who’d heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life… Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody, but from that time on he knew what I was…”

“So that’s why Snape doesn’t like you,” said Harry slowly, “because he thought you were in on the joke?”

“That’s right,” sneered a cold voice from the wall behind Lupin. Severus Snape was pulling off the Invisibility Cloak, his wand pointing directly at Lupin.

Chapter 18: The Servant of Lord Voldemort

Chapter Text

Hermione screamed. Black leapt to his feet. Harry jumped, I felt as though I’d received a huge electric shock and jumped back into Draco, who I hadn't seen the reaction of. He put his hands on my shoulders as I almost knocked him over.

“I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow,” said Snape, throwing the cloak aside, careful to keep this wand pointing directly at Lupin’s chest. “Very useful, Potter, I thank you…” Snape was slightly breathless, but his face was full of suppressed triumph. “You’re wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here?” he said, his eyes glittering. “I’ve just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along. And very lucky I did… lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your desk was a certain map. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running along this passageway and out of sight.”

“Severus—” Lupin began, but Snape overrode him.

“I’ve told the headmaster again and again that you’re helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here’s the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your hideout—”

“Severus, you’re making a mistake,” said Lupin urgently. “You haven’t heard everything—I can explain—Sirius is not here to kill Harry—”

“Two more for Azkaban tonight,” said Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. “I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this… He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin… a tame werewolf—”

“You fool,” said Lupin softly. “Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?”

BANG!

Thin, snakelike cords burst from the end of Snape’s wand and twisted themselves around Lupin’s mouth, wrists, and ankles; he overbalanced and fell to the floor, unable to move. With a roar of rage, Black started toward Snape, but Snape pointed his wand straight between Black’s eyes.

“Give me a reason,” he whispered. “Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will.”

Black stopped dead. It would have been impossible to say which face showed more hatred. I stood there, paralyzed, not knowing what to do or whom to believe. I glanced around at Ron and Hermione. Ron looked just as confused as everyone else did, still fighting to keep hold on the struggling Scabbers.

Hermione, however, took an uncertain step toward Snape and said, in a very breathless voice, “Professor Snape—it—it wouldn’t hurt to hear what they’ve got to say, w—would it?”

“Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school,” Snape spat. “You, Potter, Weasley, Malfoy, AND MY OWN DAUGHTER are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in your life, hold your tongue.”

“But if—if there was a mistake—”

“KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!” Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. “DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!”

A few sparks shot out of the end of his wand, which was still pointed at Black’s face. Hermione fell silent.

“Vengeance is very sweet,” Snape breathed at Black. “How I hoped I would be the one to catch you…”

“The joke’s on you again, Severus,” Black snarled. “As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle”—he jerked his head at Ron—“I’ll come quietly…”

“Up to the castle?” said Snape silkily. “I don’t think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be very pleased to see you, Black… pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay…”

What little color there was in Black’s face left it.

“You—you’ve got to hear me out,” he croaked. “The rat—look at the rat—”

But there was a mad glint in Snape’s eyes that I had never seen before. He seemed beyond reason.

“Come on, all of you,” he said. He clicked his fingers, and the ends of the cords that bound Lupin flew to his hands. “I’ll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a kiss for him too—”

Before I knew what I was doing, I had crossed the room in three strides and blocked the door.

“Get out of the way, Elexendrizella, you’re in enough trouble already,” snarled Snape. “If I hadn’t been here to save your skin—”

“Professor Lupin could have killed me or Harry about a hundred times this year,” I said. “We've been alone with him loads of times, having defense lessons against the dementors. If he was helping Black, why didn’t he just finish him off then?”

“Don’t ask me to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind works,” hissed Snape. “Get out of the way, Elex.”

“YOU’RE PATHETIC!” I yelled. “JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL YOU WON’T EVEN LISTEN—”

“SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!” Snape shrieked, looking madder than ever. “Like mother, like daughter, Elexendrizella! I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he’d killed you! You’ll die like your mother will, in Azkaban or too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken—now get out of the way, or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, ELEXENDRIZELLA!”

I made up my mind in a split second. Before Snape could take even one step toward me, I had raised my wand.

“Expelliarmus!” I yelled—except that wasn’t the only voice that shouted. There was a blast that made the door rattle on its hinges; Snape was lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall, then slid down it to the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from under his hair. He had been knocked out.

I looked around. Ron, Harry, Draco, and Hermione had tried to disarm Snape at exactly the same moment. Snape’s wand soared in a high arc and landed on the bed next to Crookshanks.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Black, looking at me. “You should have left him to me…”

I avoided Black’s eyes. I wasn’t sure, even now, that I'd done the right thing.

“We attacked a teacher… We attacked a teacher…,” Hermione whimpered, staring at the lifeless Snape with frightened eyes. “Oh, we’re going to be in so much trouble—”

"He's my father, shut up! Nothing like that matters right now!" I yelled, shutting her up. Draco walked across the room to me and didn't say a word but stood there, looking down at my father.

"Azkaban... Elex, you know who your mother is?" Ron realized.

"That's not important!" I yelled, pointing to Lupin and Black.

Lupin was struggling against his bonds. Black bent down quickly and untied him. Lupin straightened up, rubbing his arms where the ropes had cut into them.

“Thank you, Harry,” he said.

“I’m still not saying I believe you,” he told Lupin.

“Then it’s time we offered you some proof,” said Lupin. “You, boy —give me Peter, please. Now.”

Ron clutched Scabbers closer to his chest. “Come off it,” he said weakly. “Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on Scabbers? I mean…” He looked up at us for support, “Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat—there are millions of rats—how’s he supposed to know which one he’s after if he was locked up in Azkaban?”

“You know, Sirius, that’s a fair question,” said Lupin, turning to Black and frowning slightly. “How did you find out where he was?”

Black put one of his clawlike hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show the others. It was the photograph of Ron and his family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet the previous summer, and there, on Ron’s shoulder, was Scabbers.

“How did you get this?” Lupin asked Black, thunderstruck.

“Fudge,” said Black. “When he came to inspect Azkaban last year, he gave me his paper. And there was Peter, on the front page… on this boy’s shoulder… I knew him at once… how many times had I seen him transform? And the caption said the boy would be going back to Hogwarts… to where Harry was…”

“My God,” said Lupin softly, staring from Scabbers to the picture in the paper and back again. “His front paw…”

“What about it?” said Ron defiantly.

“He’s got a toe missing,” said Black.

“Of course,” Lupin breathed. “So simple… so brilliant… he cut it off himself?”

“Just before he transformed,” said Black. “When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I’d betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself—and sped down into the sewer with the other rats…"

"Didn’t you ever hear, Ron?” said Lupin. “The biggest bit of Peter they found was his finger.”

“Look, Scabbers probably had a fight with another rat or something! He’s been in my family for ages, right—”

“Twelve years, in fact,” said Lupin. “Didn’t you ever wonder why he was living so long?”

“We—we’ve been taking good care of him!” said Ron.

“Not looking too good at the moment, though, is he?” said Lupin. “I’d guess he’s been losing weight ever since he heard Sirius was on the loose again…”

“He’s been scared of that mad cat!” said Ron, nodding toward Crookshanks, who was still purring on the bed. But that wasn’t right, I thought suddenly… Scabbers had been looking ill before he met Crookshanks… ever since Ron’s return from Egypt… since the time when Black had escaped…

“This cat isn’t mad,” said Black hoarsely. He reached out a bony hand and stroked Crookshanks’s fluffy head. “He’s the most intelligent of his kind I’ve ever met. He recognized Peter for what he was right away. And when he met me, he knew I was no dog. It was a while before he trusted me… Finally, I managed to communicate to him what I was after, and he’s been helping me…”

“What do you mean?” breathed Hermione.

“He tried to bring Peter to me, but couldn’t… so he stole the passwords into Gryffindor Tower for me… As I understand it, he took them from a boy’s bedside table…” My brain seemed to be sagging under the weight of what I was hearing. It was absurd… and yet… “But Peter got wind of what was going on and ran for it…” croaked Black. “This cat—Crookshanks, did you call him?—told me Peter had left blood on the sheets… I supposed he bit himself… Well, faking his own death had worked once… And why did he fake his death?”

"Because he knew you were about to kill him like you killed my parents!”

“No,” said Lupin, “Harry—”

“And now you’ve come to finish him off!”

“Yes, I have,” said Black, with an evil look at Scabbers.

“Then we should’ve let Snape take you!” Harry shouted.

“Harry,” said Lupin hurriedly, “don’t you see? All this time we’ve thought Sirius betrayed your parents, and Peter tracked him down— but it was the other way around, don’t you see? Peter betrayed your mother and father—Sirius tracked Peter down—”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE!” Harry yelled. “HE WAS THEIR SECRETKEEPER! HE SAID SO BEFORE YOU TURNED UP. HE SAID HE KILLED THEM!”

He was pointing at Black, who shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly overbright.

“Harry… I as good as killed them,” he croaked. “I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me… I’m to blame, I know it… The night they died, I’d arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he’d gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn’t feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents’ house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies… I realized what Peter must’ve done… what I’d done…” His voice broke. He turned away.

“Enough of this,” said Lupin, and there was a steely note in his voice I had never heard before. “There’s one certain way to prove what really happened. Ron, give me that rat.”

“What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?” Ron asked Lupin tensely.

“Force him to show himself,” said Lupin. “If he really is a rat, it won’t hurt him.”

Ron hesitated. Then at long last, he held out Scabbers and Lupin took him. Scabbers began to squeak without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head.

“Ready, Sirius?” said Lupin. Black had already retrieved Snape’s wand from the bed. He approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face.

“Together?” he said quietly.

“I think so,” said Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. “On the count of three. One—two—THREE!”

A flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly—Ron yelled—the rat fell and hit the floor. There was another blinding flash of light and then— It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree.

A head was shooting upward from the ground; limbs were sprouting; a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks was spitting and snarling on the bed; the hair on his back was standing up. He was a very short man, hardly taller than Draco. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers’s fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow.

I saw his eyes dart to the door and back again.

“Well, hello, Peter,” said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. “Long time, no see.”

“S—Sirius… R—Remus…” Even Pettigrew’s voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward the door. “My friends… my old friends…”

Black’s wand arm rose, but Lupin seized him around the wrist, gave him a warning look, then turned again to Pettigrew, his voice light and casual.

“We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed—”

“Remus,” gasped Pettigrew, and I could see beads of sweat breaking out over his pasty face, “you don’t believe him, do you…? He tried to kill me, Remus…”

“So we’ve heard,” said Lupin, more coldly. “I’d like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you’d be so—”

“He’s come to try and kill me again!” Pettigrew squeaked suddenly, pointing at Black, and Harry saw that he used his middle finger, because his index was missing. “He killed Lily and James and now he’s going to kill me too… You’ve got to help me, Remus…”

Black’s face looked more skull-like than ever as he stared at Pettigrew with his fathomless eyes.

“No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” said Lupin.

“Sorted things out?” squealed Pettigrew, looking wildly about him once more, eyes taking in the boarded windows and, again, the only door. “I knew he’d come after me! I knew he’d be back for me! I’ve been waiting for this for twelve years!”

“You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?” said Lupin, his brow furrowed. “When nobody has ever done it before?”

“He’s got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!” Pettigrew shouted shrilly. “How else did he get out of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!”

Black started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room.

“Voldemort, teach me tricks?” he said.

Pettigrew flinched as though Black had brandished a whip at him.

“What, scared to hear your old master’s name?” said Black. “I don’t blame you, Peter. His lot aren’t very happy with you, are they?”

“Don’t know what you mean, Sirius—” muttered Pettigrew, his breathing faster than ever. His whole face was shining with sweat now.

“You haven’t been hiding from me for twelve years,” said Black. “You’ve been hiding from Voldemort’s old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter… They all think you’re dead, or you’d have to answer to them… I’ve heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters’ on your information… and Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort’s supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they’ve seen the error of their ways… If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter—”

“Don’t know… what you’re talking about…,” said Pettigrew again, more shrilly than ever. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up at Lupin. “You don’t believe this—this madness, Remus—”

“I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat,” said Lupin evenly.

“Innocent, but scared!” squealed Pettigrew. “If Voldemort’s supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban—the spy, Sirius Black!”

Black’s face contorted. “How dare you,” he growled, sounding suddenly like the bearsized dog he had been. “I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter—I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you? It used to be us… me and Remus… and James…”

Pettigrew wiped his face again; he was almost panting for breath. “Me, a spy… must be out of your mind… never… don’t know how you can say such a—”

“Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backward. “I thought it was the perfect plan… a bluff… Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you… It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.”

Pettigrew was muttering distractedly; I caught words like “far-fetched” and “lunacy,” but I couldn’t help paying more attention to the ashen color of Pettigrew’s face and the way his eyes continued to dart toward the windows and door.

“Professor Lupin?” said Hermione timidly. “Can—can I say something?”

“Certainly, Hermione,” said Lupin courteously.

“Well—Scabbers—I mean, this—this man—he’s been sleeping in Harry’s dormitory for three years. If he’s working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt Harry before now?”

“There!” said Pettigrew shrilly, pointing at Ron with his maimed hand. “Thank you! You see, Remus? I have never hurt a hair of Harry’s head! Why should I?”

“I’ll tell you why,” said Black. “Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort’s been in hiding for fifteen years, they say he’s half dead. You weren’t about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore’s nose, for a wreck of a wizard who’d lost all of his power, were you? You’d want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn’t you? Why else did you find a wizard family to take you in? Keeping an ear out for news, weren’t you, Peter? Just in case your old protector regained strength, and it was safe to rejoin him…” P

ettigrew opened his mouth and closed it several times. He seemed to have lost the ability to talk.

“Er—Mr. Black—Sirius?” said Hermione.

Black jumped at being addressed like this and stared at Hermione as though he had never seen anything quite like her.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how—how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn’t use Dark Magic?”

“Thank you!” gasped Pettigrew, nodding frantically at her. “Exactly! Precisely what I—”

But Lupin silenced him with a look.

Black was frowning slightly at Hermione, but not as though he were annoyed with her. He seemed to be pondering his answer. “I don’t know how I did it,” he said slowly. “I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn’t a happy thought, so the dementors couldn’t suck it out of me… but it kept me sane and knowing who I am… helped me keep my powers… so when it all became… too much… I could transform in my cell… become a dog. Dementors can’t see, you know…” He swallowed. “They feel their way toward people by feeding off their emotions… They could tell that my feelings were less—less human, less complex when I was a dog… but they thought, of course, that I was losing my mind like everyone else in there, so it didn’t trouble them. But I was weak, very weak, and I had no hope of driving them away from me without a wand… But then I saw Peter in that picture… I realized he was at Hogwarts with Harry… perfectly positioned to act, if one hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again…”

Pettigrew was shaking his head, mouthing noiselessly, but staring all the while at Black as though hypnotized.

“…ready to strike at the moment he could be sure of allies… and to deliver the last Potter to them. If he gave them Harry, who’d dare say he’d betrayed Lord Voldemort? He’d be welcomed back with honors… So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive… It was as if someone had lit a fire in my head, and the dementors couldn’t destroy it… It wasn’t a happy feeling… it was an obsession… but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog… It’s so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were confused… I was thin, very thin… thin enough to slip through the bars… I swam as a dog back to the mainland… I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I’ve been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry…”

He looked at Harry, who did not look away.

“Believe me,” croaked Black. “Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them.” And at long last, Harry believed him. He nodded.

“No!” Pettigrew had fallen to his knees as though Harry’s nod had been his own death sentence. He shuffled forward on his knees, groveling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying.

“Sirius—it’s me… it’s Peter… your friend… you wouldn’t…”

Black kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled.

“There’s enough filth on my robes without you touching them,” said Black.

“Remus!” Pettigrew squeaked, turning to Lupin instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. “You don’t believe this… wouldn’t Sirius have told you they’d changed the plan?”

“Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter,” said Lupin. “I assume that’s why you didn’t tell me, Sirius?” he said casually over Pettigrew’s head.

“Forgive me, Remus,” said Black.

“Not at all, Padfoot, old friend,” said Lupin, who was now rolling up his sleeves. “And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?”

“Of course,” said Black, and the ghost of a grin flitted across his gaunt face. He, too, began rolling up his sleeves. “Shall we kill him together?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Lupin grimly.

“You wouldn’t… you won’t…,” gasped Pettigrew. And he scrambled around to Ron. “Ron… haven’t I been a good friend… a good pet? You won’t let them kill me, Ron, will you… you’re on my side, aren’t you?”

But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion. “I let you sleep in my bed!” he said.

“Kind boy… kind master…” Pettigrew crawled toward Ron, “you won’t let them do it… I was your rat… I was a good pet…”

“If you made a better rat than a human, it’s not much to boast about, Peter,” said Black harshly.

Ron, going still paler with pain, wrenched his broken leg out of Pettigrew’s reach. Pettigrew turned on his knees, staggered forward, and seized the hem of Hermione’s robes.

“Sweet girl… clever girl… you—you won’t let them… Help me…”

Hermione pulled her robes out of Pettigrew’s clutching hands and backed away against the wall, looking horrified. He stumbled over to me. "You, you must know- with Snape as a father-"

Draco shoved him away from me with force that quite surprised me. Pettigrew knelt, trembling uncontrollably, and turned his head slowly toward Harry.

“Harry… Harry… you look just like your father… just like him…”

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?” roared Black. “HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?”

“Harry,” whispered Pettigrew, shuffling toward him, hands outstretched. “Harry, James wouldn’t have wanted me killed… James would have understood, Harry… he would have shown me mercy…”

Both Black and Lupin strode forward, seized Pettigrew’s shoulders, and threw him backward onto the floor. He sat there, twitching with terror, staring up at them.

“You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,” said Black, who was shaking too. “Do you deny it?”

Pettigrew burst into tears. It was horrible to watch, like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor. “Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord… you have no idea… he has weapons you can’t imagine… I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me—”

“DON’T LIE!” bellowed Black. “YOU’D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!”

“He—he was taking over everywhere!” gasped Pettigrew. “Wh— what was there to be gained by refusing him?”

“What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?” said Black, with a terribly fury in his face. “Only innocent lives, Peter!”

“You don’t understand!” whined Pettigrew. “He would have killed me, Sirius!”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” roared Black. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”

Black and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised.

“You should have realized,” said Lupin quietly, “if Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter.”

Hermione covered her face with her hands and turned to the wall.

“NO!” Harry yelled. He ran forward, placing himself in front of Pettigrew, facing the wands. “You can’t kill him,” he said breathlessly. “You can’t.”

Black and Lupin both looked staggered.

“Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,” Black snarled. “This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family.”

“I know,” Harry panted. “We’ll take him up to the castle. We’ll hand him over to the dementors… He can go to Azkaban… but don’t kill him.”

“Harry!” gasped Pettigrew, and he flung his arms around Harry’s knees. “You—thank you—it’s more than I deserve—thank you—”

“Get off me,” Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew’s hands off him in disgust. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because—I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted them to become killers—just for you.”

No one moved or made a sound except Pettigrew, whose breath was coming in wheezes as he clutched his chest. Black and Lupin were looking at each other. Then, with one movement, they lowered their wands.

“You’re the only person who has the right to decide, Harry,” said Black. “But think… think what he did…”

“He can go to Azkaban,” Harry repeated. “If anyone deserves that place, he does…”

Pettigrew was still wheezing behind him.

“Very well,” said Lupin. “Stand aside, Harry.”

Harry hesitated.

“I’m going to tie him up,” said Lupin. “That’s all, I swear.”

Harry stepped out of the way. Thin cords shot from Lupin’s wand this time, and next moment, Pettigrew was wriggling on the floor, bound and gagged.

“But if you transform, Peter,” growled Black, his own wand pointing at Pettigrew too, “we will kill you. You agree, Harry?”

Harry looked down at the pitiful figure on the floor and nodded so that Pettigrew could see him.

“Right,” said Lupin, suddenly businesslike. “Ron, I can’t mend bones nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey, so I think it’s best if we just strap your leg up until we can get you to the hospital wing.”

He hurried over to Ron, bent down, tapped Ron’s leg with his wand, and muttered, “Ferula.”

Bandages spun up Ron’s leg, strapping it tightly to a splint. Lupin helped him to his feet; Ron put his weight gingerly on the leg and didn’t wince.

“That’s better,” he said. “Thanks.”

“What about Professor Snape?” said Hermione in a small voice, looking down at Snape’s prone figure.

"Leave him here." I said, earning raised eyebrows from everyone.

“There’s nothing seriously wrong with him,” said Lupin, bending over Snape and checking his pulse. “You were just a little— overenthusiastic. Still out cold. Er—perhaps it will be best if we don’t revive him until we’re safely back in the castle. We can take him like this…” He muttered, “Mobilicorpus.” As though invisible strings were tied to Snape’s wrists, neck, and knees, he was pulled into a standing position, head still lolling unpleasantly, like a grotesque puppet. He hung a few inches above the ground, his limp feet dangling.

Lupin picked up the Invisibility Cloak and tucked it safely into his pocket.

“And two of us should be chained to this,” said Black, nudging Pettigrew with his toe. “Just to make sure.”

“I’ll do it,” said Lupin.

“And me,” said Ron savagely, limping forward. Black conjured heavy manacles from thin air; soon Pettigrew was upright again, left arm chained to Lupin’s right, right arm to Ron’s left. Ron’s face was set. He seemed to have taken Scabbers’s true identity as a personal insult. Crookshanks leapt lightly off the bed and led the way out of the room, his bottlebrush tail held jauntily high.

Chapter 19: Dementors Kiss

Chapter Text

I had never been part of a stranger group. Crookshanks led the way down the stairs; Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron went next, looking like entrants in a six-legged race. Next came my fatner, drifting creepily along, his toes hitting each stair as we descended, held up by his own wand, which was being pointed at him by Sirius. Me and Draco brought up the rear with Harry and Hermione in front of us.

Getting back into the tunnel was difficult. Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron had to turn sideways to manage it; Lupin still had Pettigrew covered with his wand. I could see them edging awkwardly along the tunnel in single file. Crookshanks was still in the lead. I went right after Harry and Sirius, who was still making Snape drift along ahead of us; he kept bumping his lolling head on the low ceiling.

I had the impression Black was making no effort to prevent this.

“You know what this means?” Black said abruptly to Harry as we made our slow progress along the tunnel. “Turning Pettigrew in?”

“You’re free,” said Harry.

“Yes…,” said Black. “But I’m also—I don’t know if anyone ever told you—I’m your godfather.”

“Yeah, I knew that,” said Harry.

“Well… your parents appointed me your guardian,” said Black stiffly. “If anything happened to them… I’ll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle,” said Black. “But… well… think about it. Once my name’s cleared… if you wanted a… a different home…”

“What—live with you?” he said, accidentally cracking his head on a bit of rock protruding from the ceiling. “Leave the Dursleys?”

I stopped paying attention to their conversation and looked at Draco at my side. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No, just a werewolf, an escaped convict, a rat turn into a man, and our teacher hug the escaped convict. It's the strangest night of my life."

"Yep... Are you shivering?"

"It's cold. I'm not hypothermic anymore. Don't worry about me, that's sweet, and we don't do sweet." He said, making me laugh quietly.

"Okay..."

We didn't speak again until we had reached the end of the tunnel. Crookshanks darted up first; he had evidently pressed his paw to the knot on the trunk, because Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron clambered upward without any sound of savaging branches. Black saw Snape up through the hole, then stood back for us to pass.

At last, all of us were out.

The grounds were very dark now; the only light came from the distant windows of the castle. Without a word, we set off. Pettigrew was still wheezing and occasionally whimpering. My mind was buzzing.

“One wrong move, Peter,” said Lupin threateningly ahead. His wand was still pointed sideways at Pettigrew’s chest.

Silently we tramped through the grounds, the castle lights growing slowly larger. Snape was still drifting weirdly ahead of Black, his chin bumping on his chest. And then— A cloud shifted. There were suddenly dim shadows on the ground. Out party was bathed in moonlight.

Snape collided with Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron, who had stopped abruptly. Black froze. He flung out one arm to make Harry and Hermione stop.

I could see Lupin’s silhouette. He had gone rigid. Then his limbs began to shake.

“Oh, my—” Hermione gasped. “He didn’t take his potion tonight! He’s not safe!”

“Run,” Black whispered. “Run. Now. Leave it to me—RUN!”

There was a terrible snarling noise. Lupin’s head was lengthening. So was his body. His shoulders were hunching. Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling into clawed paws. Crookshanks’s hair was on end again; he was backing away— As the werewolf reared, snapping its long jaws, Sirius disappeared from Harry’s side. He had transformed. The enormous, bearlike dog bounded forward. As the werewolf wrenched itself free of the manacle binding it, the dog seized it about the neck and pulled it backward, away from Ron and Pettigrew.

They were locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at each other— I stood, transfixed by the sight, too intent upon the battle to notice anything else. It was Hermione’s scream that alerted me— Pettigrew had dived for Lupin’s dropped wand. Ron, unsteady on his bandaged leg, fell. There was a bang, a burst of light—and Ron lay motionless on the ground. Another bang—Crookshanks flew into the air and back to the earth in a heap.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry yelled, pointing his own wand at Pettigrew; Lupin’s wand flew high into the air and out of sight. “Stay where you are!” Harry shouted, running forward.

Too late. Pettigrew had transformed.

I saw his bald tail whip through the manacle on Ron’s outstretched arm and heard a scurrying through the grass. There was a howl and a rumbling growl; I turned to see the werewolf taking flight; it was galloping into the forest—

“Sirius, he’s gone, Pettigrew transformed!” Harry yelled.

Black was bleeding; there were gashes across his muzzle and back, but at Harry’s words he scrambled up again, and in an instant, the sound of his paws faded to silence as he pounded away across the grounds. We dashed over to Ron.

“What did he do to him?” Hermione whispered. Ron’s eyes were only half-closed, his mouth hung open; he was definitely alive, we could hear him breathing, but he didn’t seem to recognize us.

“I don’t know…” Harry looked desperately around.

Black and Lupin both gone… we had no one but Snape for company, still hanging, unconscious, in midair.

“We’d better get them up to the castle and tell someone,” said Harry, pushing his hair out of his eyes, trying to think straight. Come —” But then, from beyond the range of their vision, we heard a yelping, a whining: a dog in pain… “Sirius,” Harry muttered, staring into the darkness.

Harry set off at a run, us right behind him. The yelping seemed to be coming from the ground near the edge of the lake. We pelted toward it, and I, running flat out, felt the cold without realizing what it must mean— The yelping stopped abruptly.

As we reached the lakeshore, we saw why—Sirius had turned back into a man. He was crouched on all fours, his hands over his head.

“Nooo,” he moaned. “Noooo… please…”

And then I saw them. Dementors, at least a hundred of them, gliding in a black mass around the lake toward us. I spun around, the familiar, icy cold penetrating my insides, fog starting to obscure my vision; more were appearing out of the darkness on every side; they were encircling us…

“Draco, think of something happy and yell 'Expecto Patronum'!” I ordered, raising my wand, blinking furiously to try and clear my vision, shaking my head to rid it of the depression that had started inside it—

I fell against Draco, nearly passed-out already. But with him there that's what gave me enough energy, and while I hated it, that may have helped save our lives. “Expecto patronum! Expecto patronum!” The four of us yelled together.

Black gave a shudder, rolled over, and lay motionless on the ground, pale as death. H

“Expecto patronum! Hermione, help me! Expecto patronum!”

“Expecto—” Hermione whispered, “expecto—expecto—” But she couldn’t do it.

The dementors were closing in, barely ten feet from us. They formed a solid wall around us, and were getting closer…

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Harry yelled, trying to blot the screaming from his ears. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” A thin wisp of silver escaped his wand and hovered like mist before him. At the same moment, I felt Hermione collapse next to us. “Expecto—expecto patronum—”

I felt my knees hit the ground and Draco tried to keep me held up but he was also trying to do the spell.

Fog was clouding my eyes. “Expecto patronum! expecto—expecto patronum—”

My tiger patronus bounded out, knocking back the Dementors close to us. I could feel them watching us, hear their rattling breath like an evil wind around us. The nearest dementor seemed to be considering Harry. Then it raised both its rotting hands—and lowered its hood. Where there should have been eyes, there was only thin, gray scabbed skin, stretched blankly over empty sockets. But there was a mouth… a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the sound of a death rattle.

A paralyzing terror filled me so that I couldn’t move or speak. My Patronus flickered and died. I held onto Draco and didn't even realize it. White fog was blinding me. I had to fight… expecto patronum… I couldn’t see… expecto patronum… he groped in the mist for Sirius, and found his arm… they weren’t going to take me… But a pair of strong, clammy hands suddenly attached themselves around my neck. They were forcing my face upward… I could feel its breath… It was going to get rid of me first… I could feel its putrid breath… And then, through the fog that was drowning me, I thought I saw a silvery light growing brighter and brighter… I felt myself fall forward onto the grass… Facedown, too weak to move, sick and shaking, I opened my eyes. The dementor must have released us.

The blinding light was illuminating the grass around us… The cold was ebbing away… Something was driving the dementors back… It was circling around us… They were leaving… The air was warm again… With every ounce of strength I could muster, I raised my head a few inches and saw an animal amid the light, galloping away across the lake… Eyes blurred with sweat, I tried to make out what it was… It was as bright as a unicorn…

Fighting to stay conscious, I watched it canter to a halt as it reached the opposite shore. For a moment, I saw, by its brightness, somebody welcoming it back… raising his hand to pat it… I felt the last of my strength leave me, and my head hit the ground as I fainted.

Chapter 20: Hermione's Secret

Chapter Text

“Shocking business… shocking… miracle none of them died… never heard the like… by thunder, it was lucky you were there, Snape…”

“Thank you, Minister.”

“Order of Merlin, Second Class, I’d say. First Class, if I can wangle it!”

“Thank you very much indeed, Minister.”

“Nasty cut you’ve got there… Black’s work, I suppose?”

“As a matter of fact, it was Potter, Weasley, Malfoy, Granger, and my daughter, Minister…”

“No!”

“Black had bewitched them, I saw it immediately. A Confundus Charm, to judge by their behavior. They seemed to think there was a possibility he was innocent. They weren’t responsible for their actions. On the other hand, their interference might have permitted Black to escape… They obviously thought they were going to catch Black single-handed. They’ve got away with a great deal before now… I’m afraid it’s given them a rather high opinion of themselves… and of course Potter has always been allowed an extraordinary amount of license by the headmaster—”

“Ah, well, Snape… Harry Potter, you know… we’ve all got a bit of a blind spot where he’s concerned.”

“And yet—is it good for him to be given so much special treatment? Personally, I try and treat him like any other student. And any other student would be suspended—at the very least—for leading his friends into such danger. Consider, Minister—against all school rules—after all the precautions put in place for his protection—out-of-bounds, at night, consorting with a werewolf and a murderer—and I have reason to believe he has been visiting Hogsmeade illegally too—”

“Well, well… we shall see, Snape, we shall see… The boy has undoubtedly been foolish…”

I lay listening with my eyes tight shut. I felt very groggy. The words I was hearing seemed to be traveling very slowly from my ears to my brain, so that it was difficult to understand… My limbs felt like lead; my eyelids too heavy to lift… I wanted to lie here, on this comfortable bed, forever…

“What amazes me most is the behavior of the dementors… you’ve really no idea what made them retreat, Snape?”

“No, Minister… by the time I had come ’round they were heading back to their positions at the entrances…”

“Extraordinary. And yet Black, and Harry, and the girls, and Malfoy's son—”

“All unconscious by the time I reached them. I bound and gagged Black, naturally, conjured stretchers, and brought them all straight back to the castle.”

There was a pause.

My brain seemed to be moving a little faster, and as it did, a gnawing sensation grew in the pit of my stomach… I opened my eyes. Everything was slightly blurred. I was lying in the dark hospital wing. At the very end of the ward, I could make out Madam Pomfrey with her back to me, bending over a bed. I squinted. Ron’s red hair was visible beneath Madam Pomfrey’s arm.

I moved my head over on the pillow. In the bed to my right lay Draco. Moonlight was falling across his bed. His eyes were open too. He looked petrified, and when he saw that I was awake, pressed a finger to his lips, then pointed to the hospital wing door. It was ajar, and the voices of Cornelius Fudge and Snape were coming through it from the corridor outside. Madam Pomfrey now came walking briskly up the dark ward to my bed. I turned to look at her. She was carrying the largest block of chocolate I had ever seen in my life. It looked like a small boulder.

“Ah, you’re awake!” she said briskly. She placed the chocolate on my bedside table and began breaking it apart with a small hammer.

“How’s Ron?” I asked.

“He’ll live,” said Madam Pomfrey grimly. “As for you two… you’ll be staying here until I’m satisfied you’re—Potter, what do you think you’re doing?” She turned around. Harry was sitting up, putting his glasses back on, and picking up his wand.

“I need to see the headmaster,” he said.

“Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey soothingly, “it’s all right. They’ve got Black. He’s locked away upstairs. The dementors will be performing the kiss any moment now—”

“WHAT?” Harry jumped up out of bed; Hermione had done the same. But his shout had been heard in the corridor outside; next second, Cornelius Fudge and Snape had entered the ward.

“Harry, Harry, what’s this?” said Fudge, looking agitated. “You should be in bed—has he had any chocolate?” he asked Madam Pomfrey anxiously.

“Minister, listen!” Harry said. “Sirius Black’s innocent! Peter Pettigrew faked his own death! We saw him tonight! You can’t let the dementors do that thing to Sirius, he’s—”

But Fudge was shaking his head with a small smile on his face. “Harry, Harry, you’re very confused, you’ve been through a dreadful ordeal, lie back down, now, we’ve got everything under control…” “

YOU HAVEN’T!” Harry yelled. “YOU’VE GOT THE WRONG MAN!”

“Minister, listen, please,” Hermione said; she had hurried to Harry’s side and was gazing imploringly into Fudge’s face. “I saw him too. It was Ron’s rat, he’s an Animagus, Pettigrew, I mean, and—”

"It's true-"

“You see, Minister?” said Snape. “Confunded, all of them… Black’s done a very good job on them…”

“WE’RE NOT CONFUNDED!” Harry roared.

"We're not! And my father is an absolutely terrible person so if you trust him for a second-"

"Elexendrizella!"

“Minister! Professor!” said Madam Pomfrey angrily. “I must insist that you leave. They are my patients, and they should not be distressed!”

“I’m not distressed, I’m trying to tell them what happened!” Harry said furiously. “If they’d just listen—”

But Madam Pomfrey suddenly stuffed a large chunk of chocolate into Harry’s mouth; he choked, and she seized the opportunity to force him back onto the bed.

“Now, please, Minister, these children need care. Please leave—” The door opened again. It was Dumbledore. Harry swallowed his mouthful of chocolate with great difficulty and got up again.

“Professor Dumbledore, Sirius Black—”

“For heaven’s sake!” said Madam Pomfrey hysterically. “Is this a hospital wing or not? Headmaster, I must insist—”

“My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Miss Snape, and Mr. Malfoy,” said Dumbledore calmly. “I have just been talking to Sirius Black—”

“I suppose he’s told you the same fairy tale he’s planted in Potter’s mind?” spat Snape. “Something about a rat, and Pettigrew being alive—”

“That, indeed, is Black’s story,” said Dumbledore, surveying Snape closely through his half-moon spectacles.

“And does my evidence count for nothing?” snarled Snape. “Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him on the grounds.”

“That was because you were knocked out, Professor!” said Hermione earnestly. “You didn’t arrive in time to hear—”

“Miss Granger, HOLD YOUR TONGUE!”

“Now, Snape,” said Fudge, startled, “the young lady is disturbed in her mind, we must make allowances—”

“I would like to speak to Harry and Hermione alone,” said Dumbledore abruptly. “Cornelius, Severus, Poppy—please leave us.”

“Headmaster!” sputtered Madam Pomfrey “They need treatment, they need rest—”

“This cannot wait,” said Dumbledore. “I must insist.”

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and strode away into her office at the end of the ward, slamming the door behind her. Fudge consulted the large gold pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat. “

The dementors should have arrived by now,” he said. “I’ll go and meet them. Dumbledore, I’ll see you upstairs.” He crossed to the door and held it open for Snape, but Snape hadn’t moved.

“You surely don’t believe a word of Black’s story?” Snape whispered, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore’s face.

“I wish to speak to them alone,” Dumbledore repeated.

Snape took a step toward Dumbledore. “Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen,” he breathed. “You haven’t forgotten that, Headmaster? You haven’t forgotten that he once tried to kill me?”

“My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus,” said Dumbledore quietly.

Snape turned on his heel and marched through the door Fudge was still holding. It closed behind them, and Dumbledore turned to us. We all burst into speech at the same time.

“Professor, Black’s telling the truth—we saw Pettigrew—”

“—he escaped when Professor Lupin turned into a werewolf—”

“—he’s a rat—”

“—Pettigrew’s front paw, I mean, finger, he cut it off—”

"-and somehow Malfoy fricking guessed-"

“—Pettigrew attacked Ron, it wasn’t Sirius—”

But Dumbledore held up his hand to stem the flood of explanations. “It is your turn to listen, and I beg you will not interrupt me, because there is very little time,” he said quietly. “There is not a shred of proof to support Black’s story, except your word—and the word of two thirteen-year-old wizards will not convince anybody. A street full of eyewitnesses swore they saw Sirius murder Pettigrew. I myself gave evidence to the Ministry that Sirius had been the Potters’ SecretKeeper.”

“Professor Lupin can tell you—” Harry said, unable to stop himself.

“Professor Lupin is currently deep in the forest, unable to tell anyone anything. By the time he is human again, it will be too late, Sirius will be worse than dead. I might add that werewolves are so mistrusted by most of our kind that his support will count for very little—and the fact that he and Sirius are old friends—”

“But—”

“Listen to me, Harry. It is too late, you understand me? You must see that Professor Snape’s version of events is far more convincing than yours.”

“He hates Sirius,” Hermione said desperately. “All because of some stupid trick Sirius played on him—”

“Sirius has not acted like an innocent man. The attack on the Fat Lady—entering Gryffindor Tower with a knife—without Pettigrew, alive or dead, we have no chance of overturning Sirius’s sentence.”

“But you believe us.”

“Yes, I do,” said Dumbledore quietly. “But I have no power to make other men see the truth, or to overrule the Minister of Magic… What we need,” said Dumbledore slowly, and his light blue eyes moved from Harry to Draco, “is more time.”

“But—” Hermione began. And then her eyes became very round. “OH!”

“Now, pay attention,” said Dumbledore, speaking very low, and very clearly. “Sirius is locked in Professor Flitwick’s office on the seventh floor. Thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. But remember this, all of you: you must not be seen. Miss Granger, you know the law—you know what is at stake… You—must —not—be—seen.”

I didn’t have a clue what was going on.

Dumbledore had turned on his heel and looked back as he reached the door.

“I am going to lock you in. It is—” he consulted his watch, “five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck.”

“Good luck?” Harry repeated as the door closed behind Dumbledore. “Three turns? What’s he talking about? What are we supposed to do?”

But Hermione was fumbling with the neck of her robes, pulling from beneath them a very long, very fine gold chain.

“You three, come here,” she said urgently. “Quick!”

Draco sighed as he forced himself up and we moved toward her, completely bewildered. She was holding the chain out. I saw a tiny, sparkling hourglass hanging from it.

“Here—” She had thrown the chain around our necks too, magically enlarged. “Ready?” she said breathlessly.

“What are we doing?” Harry said, completely lost.

"Yeah, what in the world-?" Draco began.

"Why are you even here?" Harry started.

"I just go with it at this point." I said, patting Draco's shoulder.

Hermione turned the hourglass over three times. The dark ward dissolved. I had the sensation that I was flying very fast, backward. A blur of colors and shapes rushed past me, my ears were pounding, I tried to yell but couldn’t hear my own voice— And then I felt solid ground beneath my feet, and everything came into focus again—

I was standing next to them in the deserted entrance hall and a stream of golden sunlight was falling across the paved floor from the open front doors. I looked wildly around at Hermione, the chain of the hourglass cutting into my neck. “Hermione, what—?”

“In here!” Hermione seized my arm and dragged us across the hall to the door of a broom closet; she opened it, pushed us inside among the buckets and mops, then slammed the door behind us.

“What—how—Hermione, what happened?”

“We’ve gone back in time,” Hermione whispered, lifting the chain off our necks in the darkness. “Three hours back…”

“But—”

“Shh! Listen! Someone’s coming! I think—I think it might be us!”

Hermione had her ear pressed against the cupboard door. “Footsteps across the hall… yes, I think it’s us going down to Hagrid’s!”

“Are you telling me,” Draco whispered, “that we’re here in this cupboard and we’re out there too?”

“Yes,” said Hermione, her ear still glued to the cupboard door. “I’m sure it’s us. It doesn’t sound like more than four people… and we’re walking slowly because we’re under the Invisibility Cloak—” She broke off, still listening intently. “We’ve gone down the front steps…” Hermione sat down on an upturned bucket, looking desperately anxious, but I wanted a few questions answered.

“Where did you get that hourglass thing?”

“It’s called a Time-Turner,” Hermione whispered, “and I got it from Professor McGonagall on our first day back. I’ve been using it all year to get to all my lessons. Professor McGonagall made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone. She had to write all sorts of letters to the Ministry of Magic so I could have one. She had to tell them that I was a model student, and that I’d never, ever use it for anything except my studies… I’ve been turning it back so I could do hours over again, that’s how I’ve been doing several lessons at once, see? But… I don’t understand what Dumbledore wants us to do. Why did he tell us to go back three hours? How’s that going to help Sirius?”

I stared at her shadowy face.

“There must be something that happened around now he wants us to change,” Harry said slowly. “What happened? We were walking down to Hagrid’s three hours ago…”

“This is three hours ago, and we are walking down to Hagrid’s,” said Hermione. “We just heard ourselves leaving…”

"I feel so out of place..." Draco mumbled to me. I just pat his hand playfully.

Harry frowned; “Dumbledore just said—just said we could save more than one innocent life…” And then it hit him. “Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!”

“But—how will that help Sirius?”

“Dumbledore said—he just told us where the window is—the window of Flitwick’s office! Where they’ve got Sirius locked up! We’ve got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can escape on Buckbeak—they can escape together!”

From what I could see of Hermione’s face, she looked terrified.

“If we manage that without being seen, it’ll be a miracle!”

“Well, we’ve got to try, haven’t we?” said Harry. He stood up and pressed his ear against the door. “Doesn’t sound like anyone’s there… Come on, let’s go…”

Harry pushed open the closet door. The entrance hall was deserted. As quietly and quickly as we could, we darted out of the closet and down the stone steps. The shadows were already lengthening, the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest gilded once more with gold.

“If anyone’s looking out of the window—” Hermione squeaked, looking up at the castle behind them.

“We’ll run for it,” said Harry determinedly. “Straight into the forest, all right? We’ll have to hide behind a tree or something and keep a lookout—”

“Okay, but we’ll go around by the greenhouses!” said Hermione breathlessly. “We need to keep out of sight of Hagrid’s front door, or we’ll see us! We must be nearly at Hagrid’s by now!”

Still working out what she meant, we set off at a sprint, Hermione behind us. We tore across the vegetable gardens to the greenhouses, paused for a moment behind them, then set off again, fast as we could, skirting around the Whomping Willow, tearing toward the shelter of the forest… Safe in the shadows of the trees, I turned around; seconds later, Hermione arrived beside us, panting.

“Right,” she gasped. “We need to sneak over to Hagrid’s… Keep out of sight, it's important…”

We made our way silently through the trees, keeping to the very edge of the forest. Then, as we glimpsed the front of Hagrid’s house, we heard a knock upon his door. We moved quickly behind a wide oak trunk and peered out from either side. Hagrid had appeared in his doorway, shaking and white, looking around to see who had knocked. And I heard Harry's own voice. “It’s us. We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off.”

“Yeh shouldn’ve come!” Hagrid whispered. He stood back, then shut the door quickly.

“This is the weirdest thing I've ever done,” Draco said fervently.

“Let’s move along a bit,” Hermione whispered. “We need to get nearer to Buckbeak!”

"How you feel about this?" I whispered to Draco.

"I'm- I'm chilling-"

"Right..."

We crept through the trees until we saw the nervous hippogriff, tethered to the fence around Hagrid’s pumpkin patch.

“Now?” Harry whispered.

“No!” said Hermione. “If we steal him now, those Committee people will think Hagrid set him free! We’ve got to wait until they’ve seen he’s tied outside!”

"Why not set him free now Elexen? Then Hagrid gets fired but nothing worse will happen, surely."

Hermione and Harry gaped at him. "No?"

"Why would we want Hagrid fired?"

"Not you, me and Elexen were talking about-"

"Elex, do you want Hagrid fired?

"That's not important right now. We're waiting and releasing Buckbeak after they see him."

“That’s going to give us about sixty seconds,” said Harry.

This was starting to seem impossible. At that moment, there was a crash of breaking china from inside Hagrid’s cabin.

“That’s Hagrid breaking the milk jug,” Hermione whispered. “I’m going to find Scabbers in a moment—”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, we heard Hermione’s shriek of surprise.

“Hermione,” said Harry suddenly, “what if we—we just run in there and grab Pettigrew—”

“No!” said Hermione in a terrified whisper. “Don’t you understand? We’re breaking one of the most important wizarding laws! Nobody’s supposed to change time, nobody! You heard Dumbledore, if we’re seen—”

“We’d only be seen by ourselves and Hagrid!”

“Harry, what do you think you’d do if you saw yourself bursting into Hagrid’s house?” said Hermione.

“I’d—I’d think I’d gone mad,” said Harry, “or I’d think there was some Dark Magic going on—”

“Exactly! You wouldn’t understand, you might even attack yourself! Don’t you see? Professor McGonagall told me what awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time… Loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake!”

“Okay!” said Harry. “It was just an idea, I just thought—”

But Hermione nudged us and pointed toward the castle. I moved my head a few inches to get a clear view of the distant front doors. Dumbledore, Fudge, the old Committee member, and Macnair the executioner were coming down the steps.

“We’re about to come out!” Hermione breathed.

And sure enough, moments later, Hagrid’s back door opened, and I saw myself, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walking out of it with Hagrid. It was, without a doubt, the strangest sensation of my life, standing behind the tree, and watching myself in the pumpkin patch.

"This is so weird, is this what the Chamber of Secrets was like?" Malfoy asked.

"I'll tell you later."

"No becoming friends guys. We have a Buckbeak to save."

“It’s okay, Beaky, it’s okay…,” Hagrid said to Buckbeak. Then he turned to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I. “Go on. Get goin’.”

“Hagrid, we can’t—”

“We’ll tell them what really happened—”

“They can’t kill him—”

“Go! It’s bad enough without you lot in trouble an’ all!”

I watched the Hermione in the pumpkin patch throw the Invisibility Cloak over Harry, Ron, and I.

“Go quick. Don’ listen…”

There was a knock on Hagrid’s front door. The execution party had arrived. Hagrid turned around and headed back into his cabin, leaving the back door ajar. I watched the grass flatten in patches all around the cabin and heard four pairs of feet retreating. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I had gone… but those of us hidden in the trees could now hear what was happening inside the cabin through the back door.

“Where is the beast?” came the cold voice of Macnair.

“Out—outside,” Hagrid croaked.

We pulled our heads out of sight as Macnair’s face appeared at Hagrid’s window, staring out at Buckbeak. Then we heard Fudge.

“We—er—have to read you the official notice of execution, Hagrid. I’ll make it quick. And then you and Macnair need to sign it. Macnair, you’re supposed to listen too, that’s procedure—”

Macnair’s face vanished from the window. It was now or never.

“Wait here,” Harry whispered to us. “I’ll do it.”

As Fudge’s voice started again, Harry darted out from behind the tree, vaulted the fence into the pumpkin patch, and approached Buckbeak.

“It is the decision of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures that the hippogriff Buckbeak, hereafter called the condemned, shall be executed on the sixth of June at sundown—”

Harry stared up into Buckbeak’s fierce orange eyes once more and bowed. Buckbeak sank to his scaly knees and then stood up again. Harry began to fumble with the knot of rope tying Buckbeak to the fence.

“…sentenced to execution by beheading, to be carried out by the Committee’s appointed executioner, Walden Macnair…”

“Come on, Buckbeak,” Harry murmured, “come on, we’re going to help you. Quietly… quietly…”

“…as witnessed below. Hagrid, you sign here…”

Harry threw all his weight onto the rope, but Buckbeak had dug in his front feet.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” said the reedy voice of the Committee member from inside Hagrid’s cabin. “Hagrid, perhaps it will be better if you stay inside—”

“No, I—I wan’ ter be with him… I don’ wan’ him ter be alone—”

Footsteps echoed from within the cabin.

“Buckbeak, move!” Harry hissed. Harry tugged harder on the rope around Buckbeak’s neck. The hippogriff began to walk, rustling its wings irritably. They were still ten feet away from the forest, in plain view of Hagrid’s back door.

“One moment, please, Macnair,” came Dumbledore’s voice. “You need to sign too.”

The footsteps stopped. Harry heaved on the rope. Buckbeak snapped his beak and walked a little faster.

“Harry, hurry!” Hermione mouthed.

I could still hear Dumbledore’s voice talking from within the cabin.

Harry gave the rope another wrench. Buckbeak broke into a grudging trot. They had reached the trees…

“Quick! Quick!” Hermione moaned, darting out from behind her tree, seizing the rope too and adding her weight to make Buckbeak move faster.

Harry looked over his shoulder; we were now blocked from sight; we couldn’t see Hagrid’s garden at all.

“Stop!” he whispered to Hermione. “They might hear us—”

Hagrid’s back door had opened with a bang.

We stood quite still; even the hippogriff seemed to be listening intently. Silence… then—

“Where is it?” said the reedy voice of the Committee member. “Where is the beast?”

“It was tied here!” said the executioner furiously. “I saw it! Just here!”

“How extraordinary,” said Dumbledore. There was a note of amusem*nt in his voice.

“Beaky!” said Hagrid huskily. There was a swishing noise, and the thud of an axe. The executioner seemed to have swung it into the fence in anger.

And then came the howling, and this time we could hear Hagrid’s words through his sobs. “Gone! Gone! Bless his little beak, he’s gone! Musta pulled himself free! Beaky, yeh clever boy!”

Buckbeak started to strain against the rope, trying to get back to Hagrid. The four of us, even Draco, tightened our grip and dug our heels into the forest floor to stop him.

“Someone untied him!” the executioner was snarling. “We should search the grounds, the forest—”

“Macnair, if Buckbeak has indeed been stolen, do you really think the thief will have led him away on foot?” said Dumbledore, still sounding amused. “Search the skies, if you will… Hagrid, I could do with a cup of tea. Or a large brandy.”

“O’—o’ course, Professor,” said Hagrid, who sounded weak with happiness. “Come in, come in…”

We listened closely. We heard footsteps, the soft cursing of the executioner, the snap of the door, and then silence once more.

“Now what?” whispered Harry, looking around.

“We’ll have to hide in here,” said Hermione, who looked very shaken. “We need to wait until they’ve gone back to the castle. Then we wait until it’s safe to fly Buckbeak up to Sirius’s window. He won’t be there for another couple of hours… Oh, this is going to be difficult…” She looked nervously over her shoulder into the depths of the forest. The sun was setting now.

“We’re going to have to move,” said Harry, thinking hard. “We’ve got to be able to see the Whomping Willow, or we won’t know what’s going on.”

“Okay,” said Hermione, getting a firmer grip on Buckbeak’s rope. “But we’ve got to keep out of sight, remember…”

We moved around the edge of the forest, darkness falling thickly around us, until we were hidden behind a clump of trees through which we could make out the Willow.

“There’s Ron!” said Harry suddenly.

A dark figure was sprinting across the lawn and its shout echoed through the still night air.

“Get away from him—get away—Scabbers, come here—”

And then we saw two more figures materialize out of nowhere.

I watched myself, Harry, and Hermione chasing after Ron, Draco running after us in the distance.

Then I saw Ron dive.

“Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat—”

“There’s Sirius!” said Harry.

The great shape of the dog had bounded out from the roots of the Willow. We saw him bowl Harry over, then seize Ron…

“Looks even worse from here, doesn’t it?” said Harry, watching the dog pulling Ron into the roots. “Ouch—look, I just got walloped by the tree—and so did you—this is weird—”

The Whomping Willow was creaking and lashing out with its lower branches; we could see ourselves darting here and there, trying to reach the trunk. And then the tree froze.

“That was Crookshanks pressing the knot,” said Hermione.

“And there we go…,” Harry muttered. “We’re in.”

The moment we disappeared, the tree began to move again. Seconds later, we heard footsteps quite close by. Dumbledore, Macnair, Fudge, and the old Committee member were making their way up to the castle.

“Right after we’d gone down into the passage!” said Hermione. “If only Dumbledore had come with us…”

“Macnair and Fudge would’ve come too,” said Harry bitterly. “I bet you anything Fudge would’ve told Macnair to murder Sirius on the spot…”

We watched the four men climb the castle steps and disappear from view. For a few minutes the scene was deserted. Then—

“Here comes Lupin!” I said as we saw another figure sprinting down the stone steps and haring toward the Willow. I looked up at the sky. Clouds were obscuring the moon completely. We watched Lupin seize a broken branch from the ground and prod the knot on the trunk. The tree stopped fighting, and Lupin, too, disappeared into the gap in its roots.

“If he’d only grabbed the cloak,” said Harry. “It’s just lying there…” He turned to Hermione. “If I just dashed out now and grabbed it, Snape’d never be able to get it and—”

“Harry, we mustn’t be seen!”

“How can you stand this?” he asked Hermione fiercely. “Just standing here and watching it happen?” He hesitated. “I’m going to grab the cloak!”

“Harry, no!” Hermione seized the back of Harry’s robes not a moment too soon.

Just then, we heard a burst of song. It was Hagrid, making his way up to the castle, singing at the top of his voice, and weaving slightly as he walked. A large bottle was swinging from his hands.

“See?” Hermione whispered. “See what would have happened? We’ve got to keep out of sight! No, Buckbeak!” The hippogriff was making frantic attempts to get to Hagrid again; Harry seized his rope too, straining to hold Buckbeak back.

We watched Hagrid meander tipsily up to the castle. He was gone. Buckbeak stopped fighting to get away. His head drooped sadly. Barely two minutes later, the castle doors flew open yet again, and Snape came charging out of them, running toward the Willow. My fists clenched as we watched Snape skid to a halt next to the tree, looking around. He grabbed the cloak and held it up.

“Get your filthy hands off it,” Harry snarled under his breath.

“Shh!”

Snape seized the branch Lupin had used to freeze the tree, prodded the knot, and vanished from view as he put on the cloak.

“So that’s it,” said Hermione quietly. “We’re all down there… and now we’ve just got to wait until we come back up again…”

She took the end of Buckbeak’s rope and tied it securely around the nearest tree, then sat down on the dry ground, arms around her knees.

I took a seat on the ground and Draco did too. We sat close in the cold, listening to Hermione.

“There’s something I don’t understand… Why didn’t the dementors get Sirius? I remember them coming, and then I think I passed out… there were so many of them…”

Harry sat down too. He explained what he’d seen; how, as the nearest dementor had lowered its mouth to Harry’s, a large silver something had come galloping across the lake and forced the dementors to retreat. Hermione’s mouth was slightly open by the time Harry had finished.

“But what was it?”

“There’s only one thing it could have been, to make the dementors go,” said Harry. “A real Patronus. A powerful one.”

“But who conjured it? Didn’t you see what they looked like?” said Hermione eagerly. “Was it one of the teachers?”

“No,” said Harry. “He wasn’t a teacher.”

“But it must have been a really powerful wizard, to drive all those dementors away… If the Patronus was shining so brightly, didn’t it light him up? Couldn’t you see—?”

“Yeah, I saw him,” said Harry slowly. “But… maybe I imagined it… I wasn’t thinking straight… I passed out right afterward…”

“Who did you think it was?” Draco asked to my surprise. I looked at him and saw great tiredness in his eyes, though he sounded plenty awake.

“I think—” Harry swallowed, knowing how strange this was going to sound. “I think it was my dad.”

Harry glanced up at Hermione and saw that her mouth was fully open now. She was gazing at him with a mixture of alarm and pity.

“Harry, your dad’s—well—dead,” she said quietly.

“I know that,” said Harry quickly.

“You think you saw his ghost?”

“I don’t know… no… he looked solid…”

“But then—”

“Maybe I was seeing things,” said Harry. “But… from what I could see… it looked like him… I’ve got photos of him…”

Hermione was still looking at him as though worried about his sanity.

“I know it sounds crazy,” said Harry flatly. He turned to look at Buckbeak, who was digging his beak into the ground, apparently searching for worms.

The moon drifted in and out of sight behind the shifting clouds. Hermione sat with her face turned toward the Willow, waiting. Eventually Draco had rest his head against the tree real close to me, not touching, but really close. And then, at last, after over an hour…

“Here we come!” Hermione whispered.

I shook Draco awake. We got to our feet. Buckbeak raised his head.

We saw Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron clambering awkwardly out of the hole in the roots… followed by the unconscious Snape, drifting weirdly upward. Next came us and Black.

We all began to walk toward the castle. My heart was starting to beat very fast. I glanced up at the sky. Any moment now, that cloud was going to move aside and show the moon…

“Harry,” Hermione muttered as though she knew exactly what I was thinking, “we’ve got to stay put. We mustn’t be seen. There’s nothing we can do…”

“So we’re just going to let Pettigrew escape all over again…” said Harry quietly.

“How do you expect to find a rat in the dark?” snapped Hermione. “There’s nothing we can do! We came back to help Sirius; we’re not supposed to be doing anything else!”

“All right!”

The moon slid out from behind its cloud.

We saw the tiny figures across the grounds stop. Then we saw movement—

“There goes Lupin,” Hermione whispered. “He’s transforming—”

“Elexen!” said Draco suddenly. “We’ve got to move!”

“We mustn’t, I keep telling you—” Hermione began

“Not to interfere! Lupin’s going to run into the forest, right at us!”

Hermione gasped. “Quick!” she moaned, dashing to untie Buckbeak.

“Quick! Where are we going to go? Where are we going to hide? The dementors will be coming any moment—”

“Back to Hagrid’s!” Harry said. “It’s empty now—come on!”

We ran as fast as we could, Buckbeak cantering along behind us. We could hear the werewolf howling behind us… The cabin was in sight; Harry skidded to the door, wrenched it open, and we flashed past him; Harry threw himself in after us and bolted the door. Fang the boarhound barked loudly.

“Shh, Fang, it’s us!” said Hermione, hurrying over and scratching his ears to quieten him. “That was really close!” she said to Harry.

“Yeah…” Harry was looking out of the window.

It was much harder to see what was going on from here. Buckbeak seemed very happy to find himself back inside Hagrid’s house. He lay down in front of the fire, folded his wings contentedly, and seemed ready for a good nap.

“I think I’d better go outside again, you know,” said Harry slowly. “I can’t see what’s going on—we won’t know when it’s time—”

Hermione looked up. Her expression was suspicious.

“I’m not going to try and interfere,” said Harry quickly. “But if we don’t see what’s going on, how’re we going to know when it’s time to rescue Sirius?”

“Well… okay, then… We'll wait here with Buckbeak… but Harry, be careful—there’s a werewolf out there—and the dementors—” Harry stepped outside again and edged around the cabin. I could hear yelping in the distance. That meant the dementors were closing in on Sirius… We would be running to him any moment…

Soon we looked out the window and saw Harry running to the lake. The four of us, counting Buckbeak, bolted out the door and chased him down to stop him from whatever he was about to do.

Harry stood there at the lake, Dementors gone, hand outstretched.

“What did you do?” Hermione said fiercely. “You said you were only going to keep a lookout!”

“I just saved all our lives…,” said Harry. “Get behind here— behind this bush—I’ll explain.”

We listened to what had just happened with our mouths open yet again. “Did anyone see you?”

“Yes, haven’t you been listening? I saw me but I thought I was my dad! It’s okay!”

“Harry, I can’t believe it… You conjured up a Patronus that drove away all those dementors! That’s very, very advanced magic…”

“I knew I could do it this time,” said Harry, “because I’d already done it… Does that make sense?”

“I don’t know—Harry, look at Snape!”

Together we peered around the bush at the other bank. Snape had regained consciousness. He was conjuring stretchers and lifting the limp forms of us onto them. A sixth stretcher, no doubt bearing Ron, was already floating at his side. Then, wand held out in front of him, he moved us away toward the castle.

“Right, it’s nearly time,” said Hermione tensely, looking at her watch. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes until Dumbledore locks the door to the hospital wing. We’ve got to rescue Sirius and get back into the ward before anybody realizes we’re missing…”

We waited, watching the moving clouds reflected in the lake, while the bush next to us whispered in the breeze. Buckbeak, bored, was ferreting for worms again.

“D’ you reckon he’s up there yet?” asked Harry, checking his watch.

I looked up at the castle and began counting the windows to the right of the West Tower.

“Look!” Hermione whispered. “Who’s that? Someone’s coming back out of the castle!”

I stared through the darkness. The man was hurrying across the grounds, toward one of the entrances. Something shiny glinted in his belt.

“Macnair!” said Harry. “The executioner! He’s gone to get the dementors! This is it, Hermione—”

Hermione put her hands on Buckbeak’s back and Harry gave the three of us a leg up. Then he placed his foot on one of the lower branches of the bush and climbed up in front of Hermione. He pulled Buckbeak’s rope back over his neck and tied it to the other side of his collar like reins.

“Ready?” he whispered. “You’d better hold on each other —” He nudged Buckbeak’s sides with his heels. Buckbeak soared straight into the dark air.

I felt the great wings rising powerfully beneath us. I was holding Draco very tight around the waist; not caring how weird it was and muttering, “Oh, no—I don’t like this—oh, I really don’t like this—”

Harry urged Buckbeak forward.

We were gliding quietly toward the upper floors of the castle… Harry pulled hard on the left-hand side of the rope, and Buckbeak turned. I was trying to count the windows flashing past—

“Whoa!” he said, pulling backward as hard as he could. Buckbeak slowed down and we found ourselves at a stop, unless you counted the fact that we kept rising up and down several feet as the hippogriff beat his wings to remain airborne.

“He’s there!” Harry said, spotting Sirius as we rose up beside the window. He reached out, and as Buckbeak’s wings fell, was able to tap sharply on the glass. Black looked up. I saw his jaw drop. He leapt from his chair, hurried to the window and tried to open it, but it was locked.

“Stand back!” Hermione called to him, and she took out her wand, still gripping the back of Harry’s robes with her left hand. “Alohom*ora!” The window sprang open.

“How—how—?” said Black weakly, staring at the hippogriff.

“Get on—there’s not much time,” said Harry, gripping Buckbeak firmly on either side of his sleek neck to hold him steady. “You’ve got to get out of here—the dementors are coming—Macnair’s gone to get them.”

Black placed a hand on either side of the window frame and heaved his head and shoulders out of it. It was very lucky he was so thin. In seconds, he had managed to fling one leg over Buckbeak’s back and pull himself onto the hippogriff behind me.

“Okay, Buckbeak, up!” said Harry, shaking the rope. “Up to the tower—come on!”

The hippogriff gave one sweep of its mighty wings and we were soaring upward again, high as the top of the West Tower. Buckbeak landed with a clatter on the battlements, and we slid off him at once.

“Sirius, you’d better go, quick,” Harry panted. “They’ll reach Flitwick’s office any moment, they’ll find out you’re gone.”

Buckbeak pawed the ground, tossing his sharp head.

“What happened to the other boy? Ron?” croaked Sirius.

“He’s going to be okay. He’s still out of it, but Madam Pomfrey says she’ll be able to make him better. Quick—go—”

But Black was still staring down at Harry. “How can I ever thank—”

“GO!” We shouted together.

Black wheeled Buckbeak around, facing the open sky.

“We’ll see each other again,” he said. “You are—truly your father’s son, Harry…”

He squeezed Buckbeak’s sides with his heels. We jumped back as the enormous wings rose once more… The hippogriff took off into the air… He and his rider became smaller and smaller as we gazed after them… then a cloud drifted across the moon… They were gone.

Chapter 21: Owl Post

Chapter Text

“Harry!” Hermione was tugging at his sleeve, staring at her watch. “We’ve got exactly ten minutes to get back down to the hospital wing without anybody seeing us—before Dumbledore locks the door—”

“Okay,” said Harry, wrenching his gaze from the sky, “let’s go…”

Draco looked down at me and we slipped through the doorway behind them and down a tightly spiraling stone staircase. As we reached the bottom of it, we heard voices. We flattened ourselves against the wall and listened. It sounded like Fudge and Snape. They were walking quickly along the corridor at the foot of the staircase.

“…only hope Dumbledore’s not going to make difficulties,” Snape was saying. “The Kiss will be performed immediately?”

“As soon as Macnair returns with the dementors. This whole Black affair has been highly embarrassing. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to informing the Daily Prophet that we’ve got him at last… I daresay they’ll want to interview you, Snape… and once young Harry’s back in his right mind, I expect he’ll want to tell the Prophet exactly how you saved him…”

Harry clenched his teeth. I caught a glimpse of Snape’s smirk as he and Fudge passed our hiding place. Their footsteps died away.

We waited a few moments to make sure they’d really gone, then started to run in the opposite direction. Down one staircase, then another, along a new corridor— then we heard a cackling ahead. “

Peeves!” Harry muttered, grabbing Hermione’s wrist. “In here!”

We tore into a deserted classroom to our left just in time. Peeves seemed to be bouncing along the corridor in boisterous good spirits, laughing his head off.

“Oh, he’s horrible,” whispered Hermione, her ear to the door. “I bet he’s all excited because the dementors are going to finish off Sirius…” She checked her watch. “Three minutes, Harry!”

We waited until Peeves’s gloating voice had faded into the distance, then slid back out of the room and broke into a run again.

“Hermione—what’ll happen—if we don’t get back inside—before Dumbledore locks the door?” Harry panted.

“I don’t want to think about it!” Hermione moaned, checking her watch again. “One minute!”

We had reached the end of the corridor with the hospital wing entrance.

“Okay—I can hear Dumbledore,” said Hermione tensely. “Come on, guys!”

Wecrept along the corridor. The door opened. Dumbledore’s back appeared.

“I am going to lock you in,” we heard him saying. “It is five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck.”

Dumbledore backed out of the room, closed the door, and took out his wand to magically lock it. Panicking, we ran forward.

Dumbledore looked up, and a wide smile appeared under the long silver mustache. “Well?” he said quietly.

“We did it!” said Harry breathlessly. “Sirius has gone, on Buckbeak…”

Dumbledore beamed at us. “Well done. I think—” He listened intently for any sound within the hospital wing. “Yes, I think you’ve gone too—get inside—I’ll lock you in—”

We slipped back inside the dormitory. It was empty except for Ron, who was still lying motionless in the end bed. As the lock clicked behind us, we crept back to our own beds, Hermione tucking the Time-Turner back under her robes. A moment later, Madam Pomfrey came striding back out of her office.

“Did I hear the headmaster leaving? Am I allowed to look after my patients now?” She was in a very bad mood. We thought it best to accept our chocolate quietly. I actually felt really sick eating chocolate so it wasn't great for me but Madam Pomfrey stood over us, making sure we ate it. I could hardly swallow. We were waiting, listening, nerves jangling… And then, as we both took a fourth piece of chocolate from Madam Pomfrey, we heard a distant roar of fury echoing from somewhere above us…

“What was that?” said Madam Pomfrey in alarm.

Now we could hear angry voices, growing louder and louder.

Madam Pomfrey was staring at the door. “Really—they’ll wake everybody up! What do they think they’re doing?”

I was trying to hear what the voices were saying. They were drawing nearer— “He must have Disapparated, Severus. We should have left somebody in the room with him. When this gets out—”

“HE DIDN’T DISAPPARATE!” Snape roared, now very close at hand. “YOU CAN’T APPARATE OR DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS—HAS—SOMETHING—TO—DO—WITH—POTTER!”

“Severus—be reasonable—Harry has been locked up—”

BAM.

The door of the hospital wing burst open. Fudge, Snape, and Dumbledore came striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looked calm. Indeed, he looked as though he was quite enjoying himself. Fudge appeared angry. But Snape was beside himself. “OUT WITH IT, POTTER!” he bellowed. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“Professor Snape!” shrieked Madam Pomfrey. “Control yourself!”

“See here, Snape, be reasonable,” said Fudge. “This door’s been locked, we just saw—”

“THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!” Snape howled, pointing at us. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth.

“Calm down, man!” Fudge barked. “You’re talking nonsense!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW POTTER!” shrieked Snape. “HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT—”

“That will do, Severus,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Think about what you are saying. This door has been locked since I left the ward ten minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?”

“Of course not!” said Madam Pomfrey, bristling. “I would have heard them!”

“Well, there you have it, Severus,” said Dumbledore calmly. “Unless you are suggesting that Harry, Hermione, Draco, and your daughter are able to be in two places at once, I’m afraid I don’t see any point in troubling them further.”

Snape stood there, seething, staring from Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirled about, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward.

“Fellow seems quite unbalanced,” said Fudge, staring after him. “I’d watch out for him if I were you, Dumbledore.”

“Oh, he’s not unbalanced,” said Dumbledore quietly. “He’s just suffered a severe disappointment.”

“He’s not the only one!” puffed Fudge. “The Daily Prophet’s going to have a field day! We had Black cornered and he slipped through our fingers yet again! All it needs now is for the story of that hippogriff’s escape to get out, and I’ll be a laughingstock! Well… I’d better go and notify the Ministry…”

“And the dementors?” said Dumbledore. “They’ll be removed from the school, I trust?”

“Oh yes, they’ll have to go,” said Fudge, running his fingers distractedly through his hair. “Never dreamed they’d attempt to administer the Kiss on an innocent boy… Completely out of control… no, I’ll have them packed off back to Azkaban tonight… Perhaps we should think about dragons at the school entrance…”

“Hagrid would like that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at us. As he and Fudge left the dormitory, Madam Pomfrey hurried to the door and locked it again. Muttering angrily to herself, she headed back to her office. There was a low moan from the other end of the ward.

Ron had woken up. We could see him sitting up, rubbing his head, looking around. “What—what happened?” he groaned. “Harry? Why are we in here? Where’s Sirius? Where’s Lupin? What’s going on?”

We looked at each other.

“You explain,” said Harry, helping himself to some more chocolate.

I looked over at Draco, who was staring disapprovingly at his cholocate. "Don't want it?"

"I don't like chocolate."

"Me either."

When Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and I left the hospital wing at noon the next day, it was to find an almost deserted castle. The sweltering heat and the end of the exams meant that everyone was taking full advantage of another Hogsmeade visit. None of us felt like going, however, so we wandered onto the grounds, still talking about the extraordinary events of the previous night and wondering where Sirius and Buckbeak were now.

Sitting near the lake, watching the giant squid waving its tentacles lazily above the water, Ron complained, asking why Draco was with us. Hermione told him to be nice but Draco's retort wasn't too kind either. I ended up sitting with Draco a ways over, explaining everything he didn't know and wanted to know. I lost the thread of the conversation as I looked across to the opposite bank. Harry's stag had galloped toward him from there just last night… A shadow fell across us and we looked up to see a very bleary-eyed Hagrid, mopping his sweaty face with one of his tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs and beaming down at them.

“Know I shouldn’ feel happy, after wha’ happened las’ night,” he said. “I mean, Black escapin’ again, an’ everythin’—but guess what?”

“What?” we said, pretending to look curious.

“Beaky! He escaped! He’s free! Bin celebratin’ all night!”

“That’s wonderful!” said Hermione, giving Ron a reproving look because he looked as though he was close to laughing.

“Yeah… can’t’ve tied him up properly,” said Hagrid, gazing happily out over the grounds. “I was worried this mornin’, mind… thought he mighta met Professor Lupin on the grounds, but Lupin says he never ate anythin’ las’ night…”

“What?” said Harry quickly.

“Blimey, haven’ yeh heard?” said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight. “Er— Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin’…Thought everyone’d know by now… 'Specially you two..."

"We left the common room early."

"Ah, Professor Lupin’s a werewolf, see. An’ he was loose on the grounds las’ night… He’s packin’ now, o’ course.”

“He’s packing?” said Harry, alarmed. “Why?”

“Leavin’, isn’ he?” said Hagrid, looking surprised that Harry had to ask. “Resigned firs’ thing this mornin’. Says he can’t risk it happenin’ again.”

Harry scrambled to his feet. “I’m going to see him,” he said to Ron and Hermione.

“But if he’s resigned—”

“—doesn’t sound like there’s anything we can do—”

“I don’t care. I still want to see him. I’ll meet you back here.”

As he ran off Hagrid looked down at us. "Well, blimey, what're you doin' with this group Malfoy?" He asked, just realizing the name that belonged to the blond next to me.

"I'm wondering the same thing." Ron said, earning a rock thrown at him by me.

"I d'know." He shrugged.

"Well, glad to see you two're gettin' along better."

Nobody at Hogwarts now knew the truth of what had happened the night that Sirius, Buckbeak, and Pettigrew had vanished except Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, I, and Professor Dumbledore. As the end of term approached, I heard many different theories about what had really happened, but none of them came close to the truth.

Percy Weasley, meanwhile, had much to say on the subject of Sirius’s escape. “If I manage to get into the Ministry, I’ll have a lot of proposals to make about Magical Law Enforcement!” he told the only person who would listen—his girlfriend, Penelope.

Though the weather was perfect, though the atmosphere was so cheerful, though I knew we had achieved the near impossible in helping Sirius to freedom, I had never approached the end of a school year in worse spirits. I certainly wasn’t the only one who was sorry to see Professor Lupin go. The whole of Harry’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class was miserable about his resignation.

“Wonder what they’ll give us next year?” said Seamus Finnigan gloomily.

“Maybe a vampire,” suggested Dean Thomas hopefully.

It wasn’t only Professor Lupin’s departure that was weighing on my mind. I didn't really have a good reason, but I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to leave my friends. I didn't want to put whatever me and Draco were working through on hold...

The exam results came out on the last day of term. Harry, Ron, Hermione, I, and Draco had passed every subject. I was amazed that Harry had got through Potions and I'd gotten through Divination. Percy had got his top-grade N.E.W.T.s; Fred and George had scraped a handful of O.W.L.s each. Gryffindor House, meanwhile, largely thanks to their spectacular performance in the Quidditch Cup, had won the House championship for the first yeae. This meant that the end of term feast took place amid decorations of scarlet and gold, and that the Gryffindor table was the noisiest of the lot, as everybody celebrated.

As the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station the next morning, Hermione gave us some surprising news. “I went to see Professor McGonagall this morning, just before breakfast. I’ve decided to drop Muggle Studies.”

“But you passed your exam with three hundred and twenty percent!” said Ron.

“I know,” sighed Hermione, “but I can’t stand another year like this one. That Time-Turner, it was driving me mad. I’ve handed it in. Without Muggle Studies and Divination, I’ll be able to have a normal schedule again.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” said Ron grumpily. “We’re supposed to be your friends.”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone,” said Hermione severely. She looked around at me, who was watching Hogwarts disappear from view behind a mountain. Two whole months before I'd see it again…

“Oh, cheer up, Harry!” said Hermione sadly, noticing Harry was doing the same thing.

“I’m okay,” said Harry quickly. “Just thinking about the holidays.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about them too,” said Ron. “Harry, you’ve got to come and stay with us. I’ll fix it up with Mum and Dad, then I’ll call you. I know how to use a fellytone now—”

“A telephone, Ron,” said Hermione. “Honestly, you should take Muggle Studies next year…”

Ron ignored her. “It’s the Quidditch World Cup this summer! How about it, Harry, 'Mione, Elex? Come and stay, and we’ll go and see it! Dad can usually get tickets from work.”

This proposal had the effect of cheering me and Harry up a great deal.

“Yeah… I bet the Dursleys’d be pleased to let me come… especially after what I did to Aunt Marge…” Harry said.

Feeling considerably more cheerful, I joined them in several games of Exploding Snap, and when the witch with the tea cart arrived, I bought myself lunch, though nothing with chocolate in it. I even stopped by Draco's compartment to chat before we got home. I did go back to my friends and something interesting happened.

“Harry,” said Hermione suddenly, peering over his shoulder. “What’s that thing outside your window?”

Harry turned to look outside. Something very small and gray was bobbing in and out of sight beyond the glass. He stood up for a better look and saw that it was a tiny owl, carrying a letter that was much too big for it. The owl was so small, in fact, that it kept tumbling over in the air, buffeted this way and that in the train’s slipstream. Harry quickly pulled down the window, stretched out his arm, and caught it. It felt like a very fluffy Snitch. He brought it carefully inside.

The owl dropped its letter onto Harry’s seat and began zooming around our compartment, apparently very pleased with itself for accomplishing its task. Hedwig clicked her beak with a sort of dignified disapproval. Crookshanks sat up in his seat, following the owl with his great yellow eyes.

Ron, noticing this, snatched the owl safely out of harm’s way. Harry picked up the letter. It was addressed to him. He ripped open the letter, and shouted, “It’s from Sirius!”

“What?” We said excitedly. “Read it aloud!”

Dear Harry, I hope this finds you before you reach your aunt and uncle.

I don’t know whether they’re used to owl post.
Buckbeak and I are in hiding.
I won’t tell you where,
in case this owl falls into the wrong hands.
I have some doubt about his reliability,
but he is the best I could find,
and he did seem eager for the job.
I believe the dementors are still searching for me,
but they haven’t a hope of finding me here.
I am planning to allow some Muggles to glimpse me soon,
a long way from Hogwarts,
so that the security on the castle will be lifted.
There is something I never got around to telling you during our brief meeting.
It was I who sent you the Firebolt—

“Ha!” said Hermione triumphantly. “See! I told you it was from him!”

“Yes, but he hadn’t jinxed it, had he?” said Ron.

“Ouch!” The tiny owl, now hooting happily in his hand, had nibbled one of his fingers in what it seemed to think was an affectionate way.

Crookshanks took the order to the Owl Office for me.
I used your name but told them to take the gold from my own Gringotts vault.
Please consider it as thirteen birthdays’ worth of presents from your godfather.
I would also like to apologize for the fright I think I gave you that night last year when you left your uncle’s house.
I had only hoped to get a glimpse of you before starting my journey north,
but I think the sight of me alarmed you.
I am enclosing something else for you,
which I think will make your next year at Hogwarts more enjoyable.
If ever you need me, send word.
Your owl will find me.
I’ll write again soon. -Sirius

Harry looked eagerly inside the envelope. There was another piece of parchment in there. He read it through quickly and felt suddenly as warm and contented as though he’d swallowed a bottle of hot butterbeer in one gulp. I, Sirius Black, Harry Potter’s godfather, hereby give him permission to visit Hogsmeade on weekends.

Ron’s eyes widened. The minute owl was still hooting excitedly. “Keep him?” he said uncertainly. He looked closely at the owl for a moment; then, to our great surprise, he held him out for Crookshanks to sniff.

“What do’you reckon?” Ron asked the cat. “Definitely an owl?”

Crookshanks purred.

“That’s good enough for me,” said Ron happily. “He’s mine.”

Harry read and reread the letter from Sirius all the way back into King’s Cross station. It was still clutched tightly in his hand as we stepped back through the barrier of platform nine and three-quarters.

I spotted my Aunt Andromeda at once. She was standing a good distance from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, eyeing them happily, and when Mrs. Weasley hugged me in greeting, she gave them a big smile.

“I’ll call about the World Cup!” Ron yelled after us as me and Harry bid him and Hermione good-bye, then wheeled the trolley bearing my trunk and Veltidor's cage toward Andromeda, who greeted me happily. It was looking to be a good summer.