Chapter Eighteen.
The floor was cold, and Harry shivered as he pulled on an extra pair of socks. With less than two months to go until Christmas, the weather was beginning to change with a vengeance. He and the rest of the boys in his dorm room were grateful for the fire in the corner of their room, and even more grateful for the house-elf who always managed to get it lit about an hour before they had to crawl out of bed in the morning. Looking out of his window, however, Harry could see frost on the ground, and a thin mist hanging miserably around Hagrid’s hut, and he shivered again.
It struck him that, despite the previous day’s events at Hogsmeade, life at Hogwarts would likely go an as usual. It seemed to Harry that going on as normal was something that Hogwarts specialised in, and it didn’t improve his temper. He still had barely any idea of what had happened the day before “ none of the teachers would spare the time to explain to him, he couldn’t find Lupin and even Dumbledore was silent on the subject. Well, more silent than usual, he amended to himself. Granted, the Headmaster had been kept frantically busy since the attack on Hogsmeade (owls from concerned parents were swarming around his office window), but Harry was tired of being the last to know exactly what was going on. He was more than tired of it, and it didn’t improve his temper to know that he would have to go through classes today with no guarantee of getting any useful information at all.
He scowled as he knotted a shoelace, and looked up as the door opened, and Neville’s round face came into view. Harry was certain that he hadn’t quite gotten back all of his colour since the day before, as Neville still looked pale and worried.
“What is it, Neville?” he asked tiredly. “Breakfast about to be over, is it?”
“Bugger breakfast,” said Neville shakily, and Harry’s jaw dropped open in surprise. He didn’t think that he had ever heard the other boy swear before. “Hermione’s got a copy of the Daily Prophet down in the Common Room. You’re going to want to see it.”
“Of course I am,” said Harry sarcastically. “It’s my only source of information, don’t you know?” He rummaged for a scarf, and found it at the bottom of the trunk, wrapped around something heavy. He pulled it out, puzzled, and began unwinding the long woollen scarf that had been a birthday present from Mrs. Weasley.
“Is that Firewhiskey?” said Neville in amazement, as a bottle emerged from the scarf and dropped onto the bed.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “You know, I forgot that was there. Lupin gave me a whole case for my birthday, and we hid it in a Tupperware cupboard so that Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t find it.” He gave Neville a half-grin. “I couldn’t bring the case, of course, but I managed to sneak one bottle out when she was yelling at Fred and George for sticking their ton-tongue toffees in the trifle.” He reached back into his trunk, grabbed an old jumper, and began to wrap the bottle up again, replacing it carefully in the bottle of the trunk. “You never know,” he said. “It might come in handy one day.”
Together they trotted down the stone staircase, and into the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron and Hermione were already there, on their knees in front of the fireplace, with the Daily Prophet spread out before them. To Harry’s surprise, Lupin was also there, staring out of one of the windows, his arms folded and his lips pressed tight. He turned around as Harry clattered into the room.
“What are you doing here?” said Harry bluntly. “Not that I’m not glad to see you and all…” he hesitated. Lupin’s eyes had dark shadows under them, and his robe was torn in several places. He obviously hadn’t been to bed.
“I promised to try and keep you up to date,” he said wearily. “Although right now the Prophet knows as much as I do.” He gestured towards the newspaper.
“Are you hurt?” Harry asked. “Do you need to sit down?”
A small smile of amusement passed over Lupin’s face. “I expect I do appear rather dilapidated, don’t I?” He made his way stiffly over to the sofa, and sat down heavily. His neck cracked as he did so, and he sighed heavily.
“What happened?” said Harry. He had met Lupin the previous day, as he and Hermione were almost at the end of the tunnel leading from Hogsmeade. Lupin, as one of the Marauders, had known what Neville was talking about as soon as the other boy had reached the castle with his charges. Alerting Dumbledore, he had then rocketed down through the tunnel himself, nearly knocking both Harry and Hermione off their feet, and giving Harry a shock that he really hadn’t needed. Once Lupin had ensured that they were safe, he had gone on to Hogsmeade, where Dumbledore and a group of Aurors had already Apparated. “How many people were hurt?”
“No one, actually,” said Lupin slowly.
“That’s good,” said Harry automatically, and checked at the expression on Lupin’s face. “Isn’t it?”
“It looks like it was all a trick, Harry,” said Hermione from the floor, waving a sheet of newspaper at him. “There were eight attacks like that last night, all over Britain. None of them did any serious damage.”
“I don’t understand,” said Harry, dropping into an armchair and rubbing his eyes. “Why would they attack, but not attack?” He saw the answer in Lupin’s face before the Professor had a chance to speak. “A diversion,” he said flatly.
Lupin nodded. “I’ve told you before, I think. Voldemort-” - Neville and Ron shuddered at the name “ “Voldemort doesn’t yet have the strength for an all out assault on the wizarding world. Last night was a coordinated effort on his part “ it very nearly emptied the Ministry of Aurors, I can tell you. All of them on no more than a wild goose chase.” He shrugged slightly. “Oh, I am aware that it probably didn’t seem like that at the time. But it appears that the object was to frighten and disrupt, rather than cause any lasting damage.”
“What was it a distraction for?” Harry asked reluctantly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Beside him Neville turned even paler, although his lips were clenched in what Harry thought was anger.
“Azkaban,” Ron volunteered bleakly. “There’s been a breakout.”
“How many?” said Harry, his lips suddenly dry.
“All of them,” said Ron unhappily, picking unconsciously at the corner of his jumper.
Harry’s knees felt wobbly, and he was suddenly glad that he was sitting down. He had to clear his throat a couple of times before he could speak. Anger threatened to choke him. “How did this happen?” he said, turning to Lupin. “The Ministry knows that the Dementors aren’t to be trusted. Weren’t there supposed to be Aurors there as well?”
“There were,” said Lupin. “There no longer are.” His voice was very soft. “The remaining Dementors turned on them. They tried to call for reinforcements, but…”
“But nearly everyone was already out,” said Neville unexpectedly, dropping down into the armchair next to Harry’s. “And by the time everyone realised what was going on…”
“It was too late,” finished Harry. “So they’re all out,” he summarised. “Voldemort’s Death “ will you two stop that! “ his Death Eaters.”
“Including Malfoy’s Dad,” Ron finished gloomily. “The stuck-up little git’s going to be insufferable.”
“Dumbledore’s out looking for them now,” said Lupin distantly. His eyes were nearly shut, but they sprang open again when the portrait hole opened and two small girls appeared.
“Oi! You two! Get back out of here now!” said Ron loudly, his face turning red. “Go on, get! Go and have breakfast or go to the Library or something. Just get out!”
“Ron!” said Hermione. “You didn’t have to frighten them.” The two girls had scuttled quickly back through the door. “Poor little things. Honestly, it’s their Common Room too.” She turned to Harry, brandishing the paper. “I’m afraid that’s not the worst of it,” she said grimly, and next to her Ron scoffed.
“Come off it, Hermione,” he said. “They’re goblins. They can take care of themselves.”
“That’s not the point,” said Hermione hotly. She turned back to Harry. “One of the “attacks” took place outside Gringott’s Bank, and-”
“They shut up shop,” Ron finished succintly. “People were banging on the doors, trying to get in “ you know what Gringott’s is like, safest place in London I reckon “ and they just left them there. Outside, with Death Eaters wandering around. They left them there!”
“They have a right to protect themselves,” Hermione interrupted, her voice getting louder and louder. “I’m not saying that what they did was best for everyone, but-”
“But nothing!” said Ron, turning red. “People were banging on their doors, trying to get in!”
“The same people who think goblins are inferior?” shouted Hermione. “The same people who would happily give them over to Voldemort without a second thought!” She swung over to Harry. “Did you know,” she said aggressively, leaning over him, “did you know that no-one sent the goblins those pamphlets on protecting themselves against Death Eaters? Apparently no-one even thought of it. Not that it would do any good, I’m sure,” she went on, and Harry could see Ron rolling his eyes in disgust behind her back. “It’s not as if they’re allowed wands, or places in the Ministry, or access to information or anything like that!” She gulped for breath, thrusting a page from the Prophet at him. “Read that!” she snapped, out of breath.
Deciding it was better to obey, Harry skimmed through the article. He had to admit, he had more sympathy with Ron’s position on this one “ Hermione’s reactions to non-humans were often exaggerated, and Harry felt very sorry for the people who had been denied entrance to the safety of Gringott’s. His mood changed, however, as he read the article. No wonder the goblins don’t get on with us, he thought. The article was full of accusations of perfidy, and the treachery of the goblins in not obeying the orders of legitimate wizards. There were even comments from minor Ministry officials stating that Gringott’s shouldn’t be taking its historic independence too seriously after this, and that “everyone would just be better off if those bloody thieving runts were made to do what they were told for a change.” No wonder they don’t like us. Hardly surprising that Voldemort might seem the better option. He thought of the effort he had put into trying to build a bridge with Griphook, and his jaw clenched.
He folded the paper carefully, putting off meeting the eyes of his friends for as long as possible. “Tell me,” he said neutrally, anger rising in him, “Is there any mention of Hogsmeade? Because the same thing happened there, you know. Except it wasn’t goblins locking people out, it was wizards. That group of first years we found hiding “ who in Hogsmeade came out to help them?” He looked at Hermione, and for a moment they understood each other very well. “There’s no mention of that, is there?” he said, his voice fraying at the edges.
“No,” said Hermione flatly. “Just the goblins.”
“Right,” said Harry flatly. “Right.” He got up, remembered that he had left his bag in his room, and saw a familiar-looking school-bag draped over one of the tables. “Is this yours, Neville?” he asked casually, rifling through the contents. He pulled out a sheet of parchment, a quill, and a small bottle of ink. “D’you mind if I borrow these?”
“What are you doing, Harry?” said Lupin warningly.
“Nothing,” said Harry, unconvincingly. “Don’t worry. I’m just going up to the Owlery for a few minutes. I won’t be long.” He stalked to the portrait hole, and slammed it shut behind him.
*
“Honestly, Harry!” said Hermione is exasperation, clambering after him through the portrait hole. “If you’d only let me read it first…”
“What for?” said Harry, barely keeping hold of his temper. The frustrations of the day had gotten to him, and he had hoped to escape Hermione’s questioning, but she had followed him despite his best efforts. He tried to keep his voice as quiet as possible, but the two of them were already gathering some funny looks from the rest of the Gryffindors. Now more than ever, he was the focus of too much unwelcome attention. Behind them, Ron and Ginny entered the Common Room, both looking anxious.
“Come on, mate,” said Ron, taking his arm. “I think I’ve got the new issue of Quidditch Weekly upstairs. Want to come and see?” Harry scowled at him, and Ron, reddening slightly, shot Ginny a sideways glance full of desperation.
“Potions!” she blurted suddenly, moving in front of Hermione and plastering a hopeless expression on her face. “Hermione, you’ve got to help me! Snape wants a foot of parchment on… on… the legal uses of Veritaserum by the end of the week, and I don’t get it! You’ve got to help me, please!” She tried to tug Hermione away from Harry and towards a table across the other side of the Common Room, where a group of fifth years were sitting. They were staring at the tableau before them “ like everyone else, Harry noticed furiously. Apparently Hermione had noticed too.
“Not right now, Ginny,” she said, breaking away forcefully and steering back towards Harry, her face grim. “What d’you mean “what for?”” she snapped.
“Too thick to do it myself, am I?” sneered Harry. “Poor little Harry, all upset and not understanding what he’s doing, I would have thought-”
“But it’s my OWL year…” broke in Ginny heroically, if a trifle desperately.
“Shut up,” said Harry and Hermione together, not even bothering to look in her direction, but continuing to glare at each other.
“Don’t you tell my sister to shut up!” said Ron loudly. “She’s only trying to help!”
“Keep out of this, Ron,” Harry warned. He glared at Hermione, but before he could open his mouth she interrupted him.
“I hope you do understand it,” she said forcefully. “Do you know what you might have set off?” Her voice rose shrilly. “Do you know what they could make it look like?”
“It’s the truth!” Harry yelled back. “They can’t change that!”
Hermione rolled her eyes at him, and fixed him with her most prim and condescending expression, the one she had used in years past when she was trying to goad him and Ron into keeping awake during History of Magic. It infuriated Harry, and for a moment he was too angry to speak. The frustrations of the day boiled within him, and he was suddenly, savagely glad for a chance at a screaming match with someone. He would have liked to throw something.
“Are you serious?” said Hermione nastily, stalking up to him and fixing him with a beady eye. “This is the Prophet we’re talking about! Have you forgotten what they’re capable of?”
“They wouldn’t dare,” said Harry, but he felt a sudden twinge of uncertainty.
“Ha!” said Hermione, and he could see from the glint in her eye that she was just as determined to fight with someone as he was. The Gryffindor Common Room was so quiet that he could have heard a pin drop. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see unhappy faces, some of which were turned away in a futile pretence of ignoring the fight a few feet away, and some were watching with looks on their face that were close to horror. He thought he saw a group of small first years by the fireplace that looked close to tears. Neville was on the floor before him, playing a game of Exploding Snap with Dean and Seamus, and their expressions were equally shocked. Guilt stabbed at him momentarily, but he brushed it aside, and let it feed his anger. He was so bloody tired of feeling guilty! And he was even more tired of feeling utterly, hopelessly useless. As if he were floundering lost in some dark cavern where even the walls were impossible to find.
He had sent of a fiery letter to the Prophet, too angry to think about the possible repercussions, and had sneaked in late to Transfiguration. McGonagall had scowled at him, but forbore to give him a detention, for which he had been profoundly grateful. But a missed breakfast, combined with the crowing and smirking of Malfoy whenever McGonagall’s back was turned (since the breakout of Azkaban, Malfoy’s position in Slytherin House was seemingly once more on solid ground “ he was closer to his normal horrid self than Harry had seen him for months) had left him with a very short fuse. Hermione’s frequent attempts to get him to tell her what he had done were met with silence “ Harry had a feeling that she wouldn’t approve, and it had been born out spectacularly. She had spent the entire lunch hour seemingly too furious to talk to him. Ron had done his best to run interference, but it hadn’t worked. Harry had gone into Care of Magical Creatures (with more smirking from Malfoy) and Divination knowing that the two of them were yet to fight it out.
All afternoon the feeling had been growing in him that he might have done something very rash indeed, and defensiveness made him even angrier. What did they expect from him, when he never had all the information?
He had been let off the day’s Occlumency session with Snape, as the Potions Master was almost as busy as Dumbledore answering questions from the parents of the Slytherin students. Harry would have given his eye-teeth in order to find out exactly what questions they were…
Instead, churning inside, he had gone to see Dumbledore. Standing before the stone statue at the base of Dumbledore’s moving staircase, Harry had recited the names of every sweet he knew, but the door to the Headmaster’s office remained stubbornly shut. Fuming silently, Harry had waited at the base of the staircase for two hours, before Professor Flitwick, in passing, had informed him that Dumbledore was spending the evening at the Ministry and wouldn’t be back until late. It hadn’t improved his temper, with his anger subsiding temporarily into a cold, hard pit in the base of his stomach. He could almost feel his own fears battering away at the wall he had carefully constructed in his mind. That vague, nebulous feeling that he had hidden away since the end of the previous year, too afraid to look at, was stirring.
It wasn’t just stirring. It was getting stronger, and Harry was beginning to have a rather horrible suspicion as to what it might be.
He felt something shake him. Blinking slightly, trying to focus his eyes, he looked around to find himself in the Common Room, Ron shaking his arm. Hermione was standing before him, hands on her hips and looking simply furious. Harry was so angry that he had to force himself to unclench his fists. Half of Gryffindor House was staring at them, silently appalled.
“You know, I think we all just need a good night’s sleep,” said Ron worriedly, glancing between them. “Everything will look better in the morning, that’s what Dad always-”
“You weren’t even listening to me, were you?” said Hermione coldly. “You stand there, nodding in all the right places, but I know you, Harry Potter. You can’t fob me off! I could’ve helped you!” Her voice got progressively higher.
“I’m sure Harry didn’t mean to upset you, Hermione,” Ron cut in desperately. “Did you, Harry?”
“I’m not a complete bloody idiot!” Harry said, his voice loud, ignoring his friends hold on his arm. “Stop treating me like one! I don’t need you running after me like I’m some eleven year old who’s left his homework till the last minute! I am capable of deciding things on my own, thank-you very much!”
“Nobody said that you weren’t,” said Ron gamely, in as calm a voice as he could manage. Harry glared at him. It sounded as if Ron was trying to calm down a hyperactive two year old.
“Oh, yes!” Hermione scoffed.
“STOP TREATING ME LIKE AN IDIOT!” Harry yelled, and for a moment Hermione seemed to falter.
“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Harry,” she said, and it sounded as if she was on the verge of tears. “I just want you to listen, that’s all. I’ve been trying to tell you about this kind of things for years now, and I know that you haven’t always paid attention. But I honestly think you might have made matters worse. Couldn’t you have asked what I thought and listened? You never listen!”
“LISTEN TO WHAT!” Harry roared, pushed beyond all endurance. Hermione’s accusation seemed to him to be supremely unfair, when he would have given his entire Gringott’s vault for the opportunity to listen to anyone. “No-one EVER tells me ANYTHING! It’s not enough that Voldemort’s after me and Death Eaters are on the doorstep! No-one ever tells me what’s going on! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO? TELL ME THAT, HERMIONE!”
There were tears streaming down her face, and the room was utterly silent. Even Ron couldn’t look at him, but Harry felt too strangely empty to feel even the slightest bit of guilt.
“You said you wouldn’t ask!” Hermione half-sobbed at him. “You promised, Harry!” Her voice rose to level that had matched his own, half-roar, half-shriek. “You said you wouldn’t ask!”
“I’M NOT ASKING!” Harry bellowed at the top of his voice. “I’m not asking! But no-one’s telling!”
Ron’s voice interrupted him. It was tense and miserable, but he moved to stand between them. “Look,” he said. “Look, maybe we should just-”
“SHUT UP, RON!” Harry and Hermione roared at him, together. Their voices were so loud that Ron recoiled in surprise, tripped over a stray cushion and toppled backwards against the corner of a desk. There was a resounding thud as his head hit the wood. There’s was a moment of pure stillness, and then he got to his feet groggily, a smear of blood on his forehead.
The stillness was broken when Neville quietly pulled himself up from the floor in front of the fireplace, and headed, expressionless, to the stairs that led up to the boy’s dormitories. His movement appeared to break the spell holding everyone in place, and muted, miserable whispers echoed around the room.
Hermione squeaked, and Harry gasped as if someone had just thrown water on him, and started towards him. But before he could reach his friend, Ginny had come between him and slapped his hand away. Her eyes blazed furiously. “Don’t you touch him,” she said coldly, taking her brother’s arm and whipping a handkerchief out of her pocket to press against his head. “Come on, Ron. I’ll take you to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey will be able to fix you up, no problem.”
Harry stumbled towards her. “I’ll help you.”
“Like hell you will,” said Ginny forcefully, steering Ron towards the door. Dean scrambled towards her, and took Ron’s other arm. “Haven’t you done enough already?” she said.
Harry felt as if he had been the one hit over the head. He turned miserably to Hermione, who was pale and shaking.
“It was only an accident, Harry,” she said, in a hollow voice. “We didn’t mean to do it.”
“Story of my life,” said Harry bitterly. He looked at her helplessly, and at last all his anger drained away. “I just don’t know what to do anymore,” he said hopelessly. “I’m not asking you to tell me what’s going on with you, Hermione. I promised I wouldn’t. But not knowing is so damn hard, and no-one tells me anything. Ever.” He reached out and tugged at her sleeve in mute apology. “I just don’t know what to do anymore,” he said brokenly.
He didn’t expect the response. “I do,” said Neville, from behind him. Harry turned around hurriedly, almost colliding with the other boy. Neville had a set, determined expression on his face, and an old jumper under his arm. He gazed at Harry steadily, then Hermione, and neither of them could hold his gaze.
“I think Ron’s right,” said Neville slowly. “It’s about time this got sorted. But not here “ I think there’s been quite enough excitement here for one night.” He hitched the jumper up higher.
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” he said, and his voice had the curiously adult inflection that Harry had heard when he had met Neville in the Owlery earlier that term. “But it’s going to stop. Tonight.” He gazed at them mildly, and Harry was almost too ashamed to look at him.
“Follow me,” said Neville placidly, moving towards the portrait hole, and they trailed behind him like two lost ghosts.