Chapter Eight.
Up until the beginning of term, life in Grimmauld Place had settled into a brief period of normality, punctuated with reminders of the gathering storm. Harry tried his best to keep things between himself and his friends on a more even keel, although it didn’t always work. Ron was determinedly cheerful, but Hermione’s moods seemed to change with the wind. Both Ron and Harry were worried about her, but couldn’t seem to find a way to get through to her, although Harry had to admit to himself that they didn’t try very hard, fearful of the consequences. For the most part, Hermione was best when distracted, either by the enormous library or by Lupin’s frantic redecorating.
Harry knew that his teacher had been utterly horrified by the revelation of the prophecy; but was hamstrung by the fact that Harry, underage and out of school, was unable to practice any practical form of defence. Instead, Lupin had found him some textbooks that, like Hermione’s, focussed upon the theoretical side of magic, in the hope that it would give him a head start on the school year. Harry was glad of the distraction, and buried himself in them as much for the information they contained as to avoid talking over the prophecy with his teacher. Recognising his reluctance, Lupin had channelled his dismay and anger into making Grimmauld Place a more pleasant house to live in; and he set about his task with a single-minded intensity that betrayed to Harry just how frustrated he really was.
Mrs. Weasley, concerned with the amount of time the teenagers were spending in the library (“Children like you need exercise! It won’t hurt you to work a bit...”) regularly routed them out and put them to work cleaning and sanding in preparation for fresh paint. This suited Harry fine “ the combination of work and study made it easier for him to forget both Sirius and the prophecy. Occasionally he was reminded of both, when from time to time he would stumble across Kreacher skulking through the corners of the house. Lupin was always polite to the house-elf, although the strain on him to be so was obvious. Harry could not match it, and at the sight of the creature would abruptly leave the room before he could say or do anything either of them would regret. He found it terribly hard, but was determined to control himself. Oddly enough, Kreacher seemed to respond best “ if one could call it that “ to Tonks, who popped in and out with paint and curtain samples whenever she could take time away from her job. Harry expected that it was because she was the only member of the Black family in the house, and was thus the one Kreacher was most disposed to tolerate. Two days after hearing the prophecy from Dumbledore, Lupin, in a fit of frustration, had blasted a cannon-ball sized hole straight through the portrait of Mrs. Black. It had been enough to dislodge the sticking charm, and though plaster seemed to drift everywhere for days, including into the food, even Ron wasn’t about to complain.
“It’s worth it to get rid of that old horror,” he had said with satisfaction, dusting off an apple. “They should have tried it years ago...”
The morning of the first of September was howling and miserable, and Harry was glad that the Ministry of Magic, under the auspices of Madam Bones, had provided them with Ministry cars, complete with Auror escorts. Unwilling to have them turn up on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, Lupin had flooed everyone through to the Ministry itself before herding them hurriedly into the cars. There hadn’t been any attacks since Harry had left the Dursley’s, but no-one was taking any chances. It was the same on platform nine and three-quarters, with Aurors and other Ministry officials supervising the transfer of students onto the Hogwarts Express.
Harry found it rather creepy. The platform was usually buzzing with activity, but now, as in Diagon Alley, students and their families were going about their business quietly, with grim and tearful expressions. Lupin hustled them onto the train and into a carriage. For once, they were there early, and found an empty carriage almost immediately.
“You three should get to the Prefect’s carriage,” said Lupin to Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, who had recently received her Prefect’s badge (much to the delight of her mother). “Come straight back here after you’re done. There won’t be much for you to do on this trip; Madam Bones has ordered that the Aurors accompany the train to Hogwarts. Just as a precaution,” he added in worried tone. He helped them stow their luggage on the overhead racks and under the seats, and shut the door firmly behind them. Harry felt a pang of isolation as his friends left but ignored it.
“You don’t have to baby-sit me, you know,” he said mildly to Lupin. “If they need you to help somewhere else, I mean. I’m not about to drop dead as we speak.”
Lupin blanched. “Don’t even joke about it,” he said hoarsely. “But yes, the protection on this train is about as tight as it can be at the moment. No-one was about to let all the students set off on their own, not under the circumstances. But I don’t fancy leaving you here by yourself, not until the others get back. It’s not a case of protection, you understand,” he added hurriedly. “I’d just feel better if you had some company, that’s all.”
“I’m fine,” said Harry. “Really.”
Lupin eyed him carefully. “You’ve been very quiet this summer...”
“What is there to say?” Harry asked him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about you-know-what,” he said, lowering his voice even more, “and I can’t talk about Sirius. Not really. Not anywhere Hermione can hear me “ you’ve seen what she’s been like this summer! I’d just make her feel worse...” he finished glumly.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” said Lupin.
“No? It makes me feel worse talking about him to her. I can’t help but think that her grief must be worse than mine,” said Harry fairly. “After all, I only knew Sirius for a short time, really. It’s not like I knew him my whole life...”
“That does not make your loss less,” said Lupin. “Time, amonst other circumstances, does not always accurately reflect the effect another person can have on your life.”
Harry shrugged. “If you say so.”
“I do. You’ve seen it yourself.” At Harry’s expression of disbelief, Lupin continued. “Look at Ron and Hermione. You’ve only known them since you started coming to Hogwarts. By your logic, you’d be more upset if something happened to your cousin Dudley that if it did to one of them.”
Harry made a face. “I suppose you’re right. Still, I don’t want to talk to them about it. Especially Hermione. I’d feel like I was... intruding, somehow.”
There was a rap on the glass of the carriage door. Looking up, Harry could see Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Susan Bones squashed into the narrow corridor outside. “Speaking of interruptions,” said Lupin dryly. “We will continue this later, I think. I should be outside, helping.” He opened the door and let himself out, while the other three pushed into the car. Susan Bones was wet through.
“This weather is absolutely appalling,” she said, turning her wand on herself and activating a drying charm. “I got a ride here with Ernie MacMillan and his parents “ Ernie’s in the prefect’s car now, I think “ and as soon as we got out of the car it just started pouring down.” She gave the other two a sour look. “You must have just missed it.”
“We can always go back out,” said Luna dreamily. “I like rain.”
“Er, probably not a good idea,” said Harry. “Things are a bit frantic out there at the moment.” He cast about for a topic to distract her. “How was your summer, anyway? Did you get to Sweden?”
“Oh, yes,” said Luna, settling by the window. “We saw lots of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, too. But they’re shy, you know. Don’t much like having their pictures taken. We could only get some from a distance, look.” And she passed over a copy of the Quibbler, which was liberally illustrated with what looked to Harry like very blurry woolly socks. They could have been anything, and he could almost hear Hermione scoff.
“It looks really interesting,” he said politely.
“You don’t like having your photo taken either, I expect,” Luna went on. “They had pictures of you in the Swedish Seer “ I think they got them from the Daily Prophet. You were in them too,” she said, turning to Neville. She cocked her head to taken them both in at once. “You didn’t look very happy. Was the photographer not nice?”
“We didn’t really notice,” said Neville. Luna was looking at him strangely, and it seemed to fluster him. “Er... how come you’re not in the Prefect’s car as well? I would have thought...”
“Oh, I’m not really Prefect material,” said Luna idly. Harry noticed that she had discarded her necklace of Butterbeer corks in favour of a troll with violently coloured spiky hair that hung from a chain around her neck. “Oh, you’ve seen Boris, have you?” she said, noticing Harry staring at it. “I found him in a little shop outside an old burial ground. Dad said it was just tourist rubbish and what I needed was a good solid set of rune stones, but I ignored him.” She stared at the figure in satisfaction.
“I’m beginning to wonder about runes myself,” said Susan darkly. “I got an ‘O’ in my Ancient Runes OWL, even though I made a mistranslation.” She scowled slightly to herself. “They both just looked the same! Oh well, I think you’re probably better off with Boris anyway.”
Harry just shook his head silently in amazement. Of all the strange conversation he had ever had on the Hogwarts Express, this was turning out to be the strangest.
Ron, Hermione and Ginny came back from the Prefect’s meeting with big smiles on their faces.
“Harry, guess what?” said Hermione, beaming in satisfaction. “Slytherin’s got new Prefects! Malfoy and that absolute cow Pansy Parkinson have had their badges taken away!”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope,” said Ron, smirking. “I can’t wait to see his face, for once.”
“Someone said he was down the back of the train. Probably hiding,” said Ginny scornfully. She dug out a pack of exploding snap cards from her suitcase. “Anyone want to play?”
“So who’s replacing them?” Harry asked. “Course, after Malfoy, anyone’s an improvement.” Ron snorted disbelievingly.
“Don’t you believe it. They’re all as bad as each other.”
“Really, Ron,” said Hermione, unlatching Crookshank’s cage and lifting the furry ginger cat into her lap “I’m sure that’s not true. It’s Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode,” she added, making a face.
“And Millicent Bulstrode’s not as bad?” said Ron. Harry got the impression that this was an argument that had been going on since they had left the Prefect’s carriage.
“Well, they needed another girl, didn’t they? And Millicent’s really the only other sixth year choice. I don’t like it any more than you do,” said Hermione resignedly.
“Never seen a girl who looked less like a girl than Bulstrode,” muttered Ron to himself, but quiet enough so that only Harry could hear him. They shared a quick grin.
The morning passed happily, with giggles and shrieks and small explosions. Harry had settled down with his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, and was reading contentedly when the door to their carriage swung open, revealing a pair of Aurors. Harry remembered being told that they worked in pairs.
“Hi kids,” said the first, “everything alright in here?”
“Fine, thanks,” said Harry. “Is something wrong?” The noise in the carriage had stopped abruptly, and Neville dropped his cards in worry.
“No, it’s fine,” said the Auror easily. “We’ve just been told to check in on everyone from time to time.” He winked at Susan Bones. “Your auntie’s a slave driver, lass.” He closed the door and two sets of footsteps could be heard wandering down the corridor.
“Do you think everything is alright?” said Ginny apprehensively.
“I should think so,” said Susan thoughtfully. “I heard my auntie talking to Mum and Dad last night. The Ministry’s had the Aurors practicing for today for the past week. There’s also a sort of panic button, I think, so that they can call for reinforcements if they need to.” She smiled at Ginny reassuringly. “We’re probably as safe as anyone at the moment.”
Harry nodded, as did everyone else except for Ron, who was staring wistfully in the direction that the Aurors had gone. Slowly, he turned to Neville. “So I suppose you’ll be taking Potions with Harry and Hermione this year.” The words came out a trifle painfully, but as if Ron was determined to be pleasant about it.
Neville’s round, open face gaped back at him. “No fear!” he said. “Why on earth would I want to do that? I hate Potions! I wouldn’t spend another year with Snape if you paid me,” he continued stoutly.
“But I thought you got an ‘O’ on your OWL...” Ron said in confusion.
“So? Doesn’t mean I want to keep going in it. It’s just... people spent all last year telling me I just needed more confidence. So I thought to myself, right, the least that I could do was to try and finish on good terms. Besides,” Neville reflected, picking up his exploding snap cards and sorting them gingerly, “the exams were actually alright. It’s a lot easier when Snape isn’t standing over you expecting you to fail.” He shuddered to himself.
Ron looked as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and as if he was finding it hard to contain himself. “But don’t you want to be an Auror?” he burst out suddenly. “After last term? I mean, what about... with your...” he trailed off in embarrassment as Neville stared very hard at his cards, a troubled expression on his face.
“If you’re talking about my parents,” he said in a small voice, “I don’t want the rest of my life being defined by what happened to them. I don’t want to be an Auror. I don’t want to take Potions. I only really like Herbology,” he finished sadly.
Ron was scarlet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”
“Really, Ron,” Hermione chimed in scathingly. “Not everyone wants to be an Auror, you know. I don’t much myself.” Harry wasn’t sure which out of the three of them looked more distressed.
“No, I don’t suppose they do,” said Ron flatly, and his effort to shut his mouth was plainly visible. “I think... I think I’ll go patrol the corridors for a bit,” he said unnecessarily, looking as if he couldn’t get out of the carriage fast enough. There was an awkward pause after he left, then everyone turned slowly back to what they were doing. Harry pretended to concentrate on his Quidditch book, though he wasn’t really taking anything in.
“He’s trying, you know,” said Ginny next to him, quietly. “It’s just you can take Potions even though you didn’t get the marks for it. Neville did get the marks and he doesn’t even want to. And Hermione... she’s taking it too, but not to be an Auror. I think he thinks it’s just a little unfair. But he’s trying.”
“I know,” said Harry wearily, but just as quietly. “Thanks.”
“He’ll find something else,” said Ginny bracingly, although her eyes betrayed her worry.
“Course he will.”
It was early evening when the Hogwarts Express arrived at its destination. Hauling his luggage out of the train, Harry squelched through the dark and the rain to the waiting carriages, shuddering anew at the sight of the ghostly Thestrals. Getting into the carriage, he was surprised to see Hermione outside in the rain, staring at the place where the creatures were. He and Ron shouted to get her attention (“Barmy,” said Ron worriedly, shaking his head, “She’ll get soaked”), and she clambered in after them.
“I don’t see them,” she said shakily. “I thought I would but I don’t...”
It was a relief to leave the dark, jolting carriages and run into the warmth of the Hogwarts Entrance Hall. Students began to move into the Great Hall, skidding as they went, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were about to join them when Professor McGonagall appeared.
“Potter. Miss Granger. I’d like to see the both of you in my office immediately, please. Gone on Mr. Weasley,” she said, fixing Ron with a beady stare. “I won’t keep them for long.” Harry shrugged at his friend in confusion and hurried up the stairs after Hermione and the Professor.
Professor McGonagall hustled them into her office. A large barn owl was scratching on her desk, and as she scowled at it another burst out of the fireplace, feathers ruffled from the weather. Both had letters bound to their legs, and McGonagall swept them both to one side angrily.
“Not again!” she snapped. “I’ve spent the past few days dealing with owl after owl; then I turn my back for a minute and more turn up! You’d think by now that people would have the sense to leave well enough alone...”
“Is something wrong, Professor?” said Hermione nervously.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” said their teacher severely; then softened slightly at the taken-aback expressions on Harry and Hermione’s faces. “Some of the parents have a... difference of opinion with regard to Professor Lupin, I’m afraid. That is all.” She gestured towards them irritably. “Sit, sit. We don’t have all day.” They sat uncomfortably in hard-backed chairs. Harry felt his stomach grumble, and wished he was in the light and warmth of the Great Hall. He looked up to see McGonagall eyeing them both beadily, a reluctant expression on her face.
“The Headmaster and I have devoted considerable thought to the pair of you over the summer,” she said. “I can’t say that I agree with everything that he “ and you “ have put forward,” and her gaze flicked to Hermione, “but Professor Dumbledore is of the opinion that it is better to channel your abilities than to leave you to your own devices.” She looked disapproving, and to his left Harry felt Hermione lean forward a little in excitement. “Nevertheless,” McGonagall continued, “there are conditions. Potter!”
“Yes, Professor?” said Harry.
“I believe that you were informed of there being conditions attached to your further study of Potions.” It was not really a question, and Harry remembered quite well the letter he had got from McGonagall that had been included with his OWL results. He nodded.
“Very well. I must tell you, Potter, that Professor Snape is not entirely happy about your inclusion in his classes.” That was of no surprise to Harry. The enmity between himself and the Potions Master had been complete since he had first walked into the dungeon where the subject was taught. Harry had no doubt that Snape would do everything possible to make him wish he had never chosen to undertake Potions in the first place. McGonagall leaned back in her chair, eyeing him severely and, Harry felt, sizing him up. “He insists “ and I support him in this “ that you maintain the same standard as every other student in his class. Your position will be reviewed at the end of the school year. If you cannot keep up, then you will not be permitted to continue to seventh year and take the NEWT exam. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Professor,” said Harry obediently. He hadn’t expected anything else, and was suddenly grateful that Hermione would be in the class to help him.
“You will also continue your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape,” McGonagall went on.
“What?” said Harry, dumbfounded. “You’ve got to be kidding...” His teacher’s glare silenced him and he sat back mutinously. Beside him, Hermione cleared her throat.
“Excuse me, Professor, but is that really such a good idea? Is there no-one else who could teach him? Perhaps Professor Dumbledore...”
“Professor Dumbledore has a good deal else to do with his time,” said McGonagall curtly. She turned to Harry. “It is his wish that you continue to work with Professor Snape.” She looked as if she didn’t much agree with it herself, but went on regardless. “Of course, if you feel it is beyond you, Potter, you may of course decline. We cannot force you to work with him.” Beside Harry, Hermione gasped quietly and clutched at his arm, but Harry didn’t need her warning. He could figure out himself what McGonagall was saying: if he couldn’t work at Occlumency with Snape, then his opportunity to study Potions would also be taken away.
“I understand,” he said through gritted teeth. “It won’t be a problem.” He felt Hermione’s grip loosen on his arm, and fervently hoped that he was telling the truth. He supposed that this was Dumbledore’s way of making sure he learned to control his temper; by working with a teacher whom he loathed and who loathed him. Unhappily, he remembered that if he had managed to do that last term, then Voldemort couldn’t have broken into his mind, making him think that Sirius was in danger, being held and tortured at the Ministry of Magic.
McGonagall relaxed minutely. “Good,” she said. “You’ll be taking extra lessons in Occlumency twice a week. Check your timetable tomorrow for the details. Professor Lupin has also expressed a desire to schedule some time with you weekly for advanced lessons in Defence. I trust that is acceptable to you?”
Harry nodded quickly. Lupin had been the best Defence teacher he had ever had, and Harry knew he needed all the help he could get if he was to have any chance at all of defeating Voldemort “ even if he didn’t exactly know how he was going to achieve that. He also knew that the revelation of the prophecy had horrified Lupin, and that throwing himself into extra training was one way his teacher had determined to aid him.
McGonagall peered at him closely. “I hardly need tell you that you will be having a rather busy time of it, Potter,” she said. “I would remind you, however, that I nevertheless expect Gryffindor to retain possession of the Quidditch Cup this year.” She drew out a long object from behind her desk.
“My Firebolt!” said Harry, excitedly. He cradled it to him, marvelling at the feel of it. It looked as perfect as it ever had. Next to him, Hermione rolled her eyes, but he ignored her. Harry had long since given up expecting Hermione to share his love of flying and Quidditch “ she was happier on the ground, and had funny ideas about the inter-House rivalry that the yearly tournament encouraged…
“As for you, Miss Granger,” his teacher’s voice snapped out, “I have been most... concerned by your intentions this summer. I realise that they have stemmed from a truly tragic occasion, but I must tell you that I thought long and hard before deciding to agree to your request.”
Hermione squeaked in her seat, face shining. Harry thought she looked happier then than she had all summer, but the moment faded as she became aware of his scrutiny. “Professor,” she began, glancing between them worriedly and biting her lip.
”There are conditions for you as well, Miss Granger,” McGonagall continued, over-riding her. “Professor Dumbledore is rather unhappy at the idea of the pair of you undertaking secret classes without another student to confide in. Your classes will be secret,” she said, taking in them both. “Potter, I believe the phrase ‘remedial Potions’ is not unfamiliar to you?” Harry nodded dismally, remembering how last year his Occlumency lessons had had to be explained to the other students. “Miss Granger, your lessons, if you choose to go ahead with them, will be held twice a week and explained as advanced Transfiguration. No doubt the thought of you taking extra-credit classes will not be thought of as remarkable.” Stifling a laugh, Harry silently agreed with her. Hermione was notorious for her obsessive study habits, and no student in Hogwarts would think twice about her cramming in extra work. “You may discuss your classes with each other,” McGonagall continued, “But I do not want to hear of details being spread to the rest of the students. Is that clear?” she snapped.
Harry and Hermione nodded hastily.
“Good.” McGonagall folded her arms and peered down her nose at Hermione. “That just leaves your workload to discuss, Miss Granger. Most of the sixth year students have confined themselves to taking six subjects.” She shuffled through some of the papers on her desk. “I believed that you have signed up for ten.” Typical, thought Harry in amusement. “Considering the extra workload that you will be getting from me,” McGonagall rapped out, “that is not acceptable. I will not have you overworking yourself in this manner. A lack of concentration could prove to be very dangerous. I must insist that you resign from two of your classes if we are to go ahead.”
Harry’s head swivelled towards Hermione in amazement. Her mouth opened in protest, but before anything could come out their teacher had pounced on her.
“This is not up for discussion. Mr. Potter had to accept restrictions on his study this year and you will have to do the same.” She fished up a piece of paper that looked similar to the course selection form that Harry had filled out earlier in the summer. “According to this, you signed up for Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, and Transfiguration.” McGonagall turned beady eyes towards Hermione, who was poised resentfully on the edge of her chair. “If you really wish to continue with your elective this year, you will resign from two of these classes and you will do it now, Miss Granger. Which are they to be?”
Hermione gaped like a fish, and began to stutter protests, but their Head of House was implacable. Harry watched her in a mixture of surprise and amusement. He had no idea what was going on, and while he meant to find out, the thought of Hermione forced to drop classes was an absolute novelty. Personally, Harry couldn’t see what the problem was. He leaned towards her. “Come on Hermione. It can’t be that hard. What about Arithmancy? Your homework for that always looks horrible.”
“But I love Arithmancy,” Hermione whimpered, wringing her hands. She shot pitiful looks at her teacher but McGonagall, Harry noticed, wasn’t buying it, and sat behind her desk stony-faced.
Harry tried again. “History of Magic, then? You can’t seriously want to spend another year with Binns...”
“That’s Professor Binns, Potter.”
“Right. Er... Sorry.”
Hermione looked scandalised. “But I can’t drop History of Magic! It’s a really important subject!” She looked close to panic, and Harry patted her awkwardly on the back. A part of him couldn’t help but think that if only she was more interested in Quidditch, she wouldn’t get so upset about her school-work.
“I don’t have all night, Miss Granger,” McGonagall commented, and Harry could have sworn there was a twinge of sympathy in her voice. “Of course, if you wish to take all ten subjects, you can always reconsider-”
“No! No!” cried Hermione shrilly. “It’s alright! I’ll... I’ll...” She dropped her head dejectedly. “Fine. I’ll drop Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures.”
“Hermione!” cried Harry in amazement. “You can’t be serious! What about Hagrid?”
Hermione moaned softly, and bent over, her face hidden behind her hands. When she spoke, her voice was muffled and tearful. “Hagrid will understand,” she said. “It’s not as if I was planning to go into dragon-rearing or anything.”
“I can’t believe you’re choosing Binns “ sorry, Professor Binns “ over Hagrid,” said Harry blankly. He knew that Hermione had never been totally impressed with Hagrid’s teaching, but he had never thought she would quit his classes.
“I think it’s a very sensible solution,” said Professor McGonagall firmly. “It’s nothing against Hagrid, Potter,” she said, catching sight of his face, “but History of Magic is more important than you give it credit for. I must say, I’m quite impressed with your decision, Miss Granger.” She scratched on the course sheet with a quill, and Hermione whimpered pathetically. “Well then, that should be everything. Drop your broom off in your dormitory, Potter, then the two of you should get down to the feast.” Hermione stayed slumped in her chair, and Harry waited beside her, willing her to move. McGonagall glared sharply at them. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
“Er... nothing, Professor,” said Harry hurriedly, and grabbing his broomstick in one hand and Hermione’s arm in the other, he propelled her out of the room, Hermione walking as if she was in a daze. As they left, Harry heard what sounded like a soft feathery whump against glass.
“Not another owl!” McGonagall cried behind him, in disgust.
The trip up to Gryffindor Tower was painfully slow. Hermione was wandering in a daze, and Harry had to keep directing her through the long corridors and many staircases. When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he had to shake her to get her attention.
“Oh,” said Hermione faintly, looking about her as if she didn’t know quite how she had gotten there. “Crumpets.” The portrait swung open, the Fat Lady harrumphing at the delay, and Harry shoved her through the hole and into the common room. The chamber was bright and cosy, and Hermione collapsed into one of the old squashy armchairs that sat before the fire. Harry dashed up the winding staircase to his dormitory and propped his Firebolt carefully against his bed.
He jogged back down to the common room and found Hermione staring blankly at the fire. Harry sighed to himself. It had been a long day and he was starving, but he couldn’t very well leave her there while he went down to the Great Hall.
“It’s not that bad, you know,” he said. “Think of all the time you’ll have to practice advanced Transfiguration....” It wouldn’t have thrilled him, but he remembered that Hermione had spent much of the summer poring over Transfiguration texts in the library. “What exactly does McGonagall mean by that anyway?” He prodded her in the shoulder. “Hermione? Snap out of it, will you?”
She glared at him in irritation, batting his hands away. “Stop that!” Knowing how uncertain her temper had been since her parents’ death, Harry moved over to the rug in front of the fire and settled down to wait. His stomach grumbled again, and he thought wistfully of the feast beneath him. It should go on for a while yet, there was the Sorting to get through and everything. He might not miss it all... Perhaps Ron would think to bring something up? Harry snorted to himself. That was unlikely. Still, he knew the way to the kitchens now, and he could always count on Dobby to find him something to eat. He glared at Hermione pointedly.
“What?” she said, a trifle grumpily.
“I’m fed up with people keeping stuff from me,” Harry repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that summer. Guiltily, he remembered that he himself was keeping secrets from his best friends, but shoved the thought of the prophecy to the back of his mind. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about.
“Who says that it’s anything you should know?” snapped Hermione. At least, Harry thought, she seemed to have recovered her equilibrium, even if she had gone back to being horribly grouchy. He breathed in deeply “ after all, she had put up with his behaviour for the whole of the past year.
“Dumbledore,” he countered. “You heard Professor McGonagall.”
Hermione swelled ominously. “I’m sure she didn’t mean... oh fine,” she finished in exasperated voice, and then seemed to deflate slightly. “Sorry,” she offered, in a slightly friendlier tone. “I’ve been thinking this summer about... well, about a lot of things. One of those things was that I decided to want to learn how to become an Animagus.” She smiled a little at the look of shock on Harry’s face. “I’ve been trying to persuade Professor McGonagall all summer. I didn’t really think she’d agree,” she finished absently.
“But...but why?” said Harry, in amazement.
“Think about it, Harry,” she said, leaning forward in the armchair. “We know what a useful skill it is. Look at McGonagall and Sirius!” She snorted. “Look at Rita Skeeter and Wormtail, for that matter. It’s useful. You never know when these things are going to come in handy. So I thought that one of us should learn it and... well, I’m sorry Harry, but you and Ron have never been that good at Transfiguration. I am. It makes sense, really.”
Harry hesitated for a moment. “Okay. Assuming you can do it “ and of course you can,” he said hastily, seeing Hermione’s face darken at his words, “what would you use it for?” He was careful to keep his voice very neutral, but Harry got the impression that he wouldn’t like her answer. Not one bit.
“I would have thought that was obvious,” said Hermione coolly. “Once I can change into something else it will be easy for me to get close to Voldemort, get information from him that will help to stop him.”
“You must be joking,” said Harry loudly, his voice shaking in anger. “Have you completely lost your mind?!” he bellowed. “So much for being the smartest witch in Hogwarts! I’m sorry about you parents, but this has gone FAR ENOUGH! IT’S NOT YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO GO AFTER VOLDEMORT! IT’S NOT...It’s not...” Even utterly infuriated, Harry could see that Hermione was listening to him quite calmly, and was gazing at him with a jaundiced eye. “You’re not serious, are you?” Harry asked weakly, sinking back to the rug.
Hermione slid out of the chair to join him. “Of course I’m not serious,” she said snappishly, but her expression was gentler than her tone. “That would be an utterly, utterly stupid thing to do.” She sighed unhappily. “The truth is... the truth is, Harry, that I’ve got no idea what sort of thing being an Animagus would be useful for. I’ve just seen that it is useful, and that’s enough. I could try doing it on my own, of course, but that would take longer and would be harder to get right.”
Harry shot her a hard stare. “No going after Voldemort alone, then?”
“Of course not,” Hermione sighed again, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d actually believe me. It was meant to be a joke.”
Harry snorted. “It wasn’t a very good one.”
“No,” said Hermione reflectively. “Perhaps not. But it was a useful one,” she shot back, her voice growing harder. “It’s not your responsibility to go after him...” she mimicked, and stared at him crossly. “Do you know something I don’t know?” she asked shrewdly. “Secret-keeping only bad when it applies to everyone else, is it?”
“You’re one to talk!” snapped Harry. “All summer long, and not a word! Nothing!” He didn’t bother to deny her accusation about keeping secrets of his own. Hermione knew him too well and would have seen right through him. “And when I finally did find out what happened “ after everyone else, I might add “ then still nothing!”
“What is it your want from me?” broke in Hermione shrilly. “All the gory details, is that it? Coming home to find them... to find them...” she sobbed suddenly, a single unhappy spasm, and Harry’s temper evaporated, leaving him feeling guiltier than ever.
“Sorry,” he said fervently, clutching her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that...” Briefly, he wondered what it was that he did mean.
“It’s alright,” sniffled Hermione. “It is. And there is something else... but I can’t talk about... that part of it yet. Not to anyone. I just need time.”
“Me too,” said Harry quietly. “You’re right. There is something I’m not telling you; you and Ron.” His breath caught in his throat at the thought of the prophecy. “I just... I can’t do it yet. Not yet.” He felt Hermione squeeze his hand.
“Okay,” she said simply, and gave a watery giggle as Harry’s stomach groaned again. “Honestly, you’re as bad as Ron. Get down to the Great Hall while you still can. At least you’ll get pudding.”
Harry nodded in relief, glad to be back on more familiar ground. Lately he seemed to be getting a lot of practice with crying girls, and he didn’t feel like he was getting any better at handling them. “Are you going to come?” he asked.
Hermione looked startled. “Oh, no. I don’t think so. I don’t really want to come in late this year. I’ve had enough of people staring at me, pointing and whispering. You go. I can wait until breakfast.”
Harry heaved her up. “No you don’t. It won’t be any easier then. They’ll still stare “ believe me, I know what I’m talking about. Best get it over with now. Besides, if both of us go in together they won’t all be staring at you. I’m the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ again, remember?”
Hermione dragged him to a stop outside the Great Hall. She plucked at her robes nervously to straighten them, and Harry could see she wanted nothing more than to turn around and head straight back to the tower. He grabbed her hand.
“Come on. With any luck we might be able to sneak in without anyone noticing.” He led her into the Hall, keeping himself between her and the rest of the students as they made their way across the back of the room, over to the Gryffindor table. He was dismayed “ although not really surprised “ to notice that their entrance had indeed attracted more attention than he had hoped. “Just ignore them. Just ignore them,” he kept repeating under his breath, trying to keep his lips from moving.
At last they reached the table, where Dean and Seamus made room for them on one side of the table. They sat beside Ron, who gave them a rather hard stare at the sight of their joined hands. Quickly, Harry disentangled himself. They had indeed arrived in time for pudding, and he began heaping portions of his favourite treacle tart onto a plate. He shot a quick glance at the top table, to find both Lupin and Snape watching him. He nodded to the former and pointedly ignored the surge of anger in his stomach at the sight of the latter. Hagrid, he noticed in alarm, was nowhere to be seen; and in his place was Professor Grubbly-Plank.
“Why isn’t Hagrid here?” he asked Ron quietly.
“And what happened with the Sorting Hat?” Hermione questioned, in a somewhat watery tone. Seeing her red eyes, Ron regarded them both with a friendlier expression.
“Dunno about Hagrid,” he said. “Dumbledore said he was off on sabbatical or something, for the first term anyway. He should be back after Christmas.” Next to him, Harry felt Hermione let out a long, shuddering sigh. At least she wouldn’t have to disappoint Hagrid immediately, he thought. “Sorting Hat was a bit like last year,” Ron continued. “All doom and gloom and ‘I’ve got no good purpose in life’. You know, same old stuff. What did McGonagall want with the two of you?” he asked suddenly.
“Oh,” said Harry carefully, privately thinking that it was a stupid thing to ask, given that half the Gryffindor sixth years were listening in to their conversation. “She, er, she wants to me continue with remedial Potions,” he said clearly.
“Ah,” said Ron, realisation dawning. He regarded Harry with a look of pity. “Rather you than me, mate,” he said, obviously remembering Harry’s Occlumency lessons of the previous year. “And what about you?” he said to Hermione casually. Harry froze.
“Yeah. Is everything alright?” said Dean, a little too casually. “It’s just that we heard...” He and Seamus looked at each other and stared at Hermione, both at a loss for words.
“It’s fine,” she said thinly. “She just wants to give me some private lessons. Advanced Transfiguration.” She had taken a helping of trifle, and was poking at it with a spoon, but not actually eating it.
“Oh, I get it,” said Ron cheerfully, in a loud tone. “That’s what you get for being the smartest witch in Hogwarts! Extra homework!” he grinned manically, and some of the students around him began to chuckle. Harry and Hermione stared at him as if he had grown an extra head, and Hermione, Harry noticed, looked a bit hurt. “That’s just typical,” continued Ron, as loudly as before. “I bet you’ll love every minute of it!” he sniggered, heaping his bowl with a second helping of dessert. “Just don’t go expecting the rest of us to go learning it too! There’s life outside the library, you know!”
“I had noticed that, Ronald,” said Hermione, a little stiffly, and turned to talk to Ginny, who was on the other side of her.
As soon as her back was turned, Harry rounded on Ron. “What was that for?” he hissed, then yelped as Ron’s foot connected solidly with his ankle.
“Shut up,” his best friend grunted, with the manic smile still plastered to his face. “Would you rather everyone knew the real reason she’s having extra lessons with McGonagall?”
Harry gaped at him. How had Ron figured it out? He, Harry, had only just found out himself. Ron was looking at him expectantly, and to give himself a few more seconds to think he shoved in a mouthful of treacle tart. Ron, he noticed, was looking at him with long-suffering expression.
“Don’t tell me you hadn’t guessed something like this would happen,” Ron said under his breath. “Come on, Harry! You’ve seen her this summer “ up one minute, down the next. Like a ruddy bludger. Not that you can blame her, I s’pose.” He wedged an enormous forkful of rhubarb crumble into his mouth, speaking around the food. “No wonder McGonagall wants to keep an eye on her. Transfiguration lessons,” he snorted. “As if. She needs advanced Transfiguration lessons as much as you need a new broom.”
“I don’t need a new broom, Ron,” started Harry, utterly confused. “I just got mine back half an hour ago.”
Mouth bulging, Ron shot him a look of deep pity. “No kidding,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s an excuse, Harry. McGonagall will teach her some complicated little tricks to get her mind off stuff, and that way she’ll be able to check up on her without Hermione having to admit she’s veering off the bloody rails.” He swallowed another giant mouthful. “Hey, Dean! Pass us a bit more of that crumble, will you? So anyway...” he said, lowering his voice again and turning back to Harry, “...just go along with it, will you? Last thing Hermione needs right now is for everyone to know exactly why she’s taking those lessons.”
Harry stared at him, dumbstruck. Raising another forkful of pudding towards his face, Ron opened his mouth and then shut it again, lowering the fork.
“Honestly, Harry” he said. “I know that you’ve had a rough summer and all, but try and be a little more sensitive, will you?”