Harry gazed through the window of the common room in Gryffindor Tower when he heard the familiar whistle. "I suppose we'd better go get dressed," he mumbled to Ron.
"It'll be a while yet," Ron said. "Feel like a round of Exploding Snap?"
Harry wasn't in the mood. Truth be told, he wasn't in the mood for the feast either, for any of it, but he'd promised McGonagall he'd show. He would have made Rufus Scrimgeour swallow his broom and take Stan Shunpike for a ride around London before Harry would be a poster boy for the Ministry, but Hogwarts was another matter.
After the attack on the Ministry, no one felt safe anywhere in the country. Nearly every Wizard family in the UK had begged to send children to Hogwarts that fall. Even teens with no formal education in Sorcery had applied. Professor McGonagall had taken them all, creating a logistical nightmare for the faculty. Sixteen-year-olds who had never brewed a single potion, fourteen-year-olds who had never been out from under direct parental supervision, all in addition to the regular crop of eleven-year-olds who had never spent more than a night or two away from Mummy and Daddy. McGonagall added four extra prefects to each House, but Harry had bowed out when she asked him. He knew that if his hour came, it would be the worst possible time for her to be short a prefect.
Academics were in chaos as well. Introductory courses for older students had to be developed in every subject, but fortunately, those would concern themselves mainly with topics on self-protection. Only Professor Binns steadfastly insisted on teaching his regular curriculum, which was probably just as well; a good nap is, after all, a good nap. Professor Ondossi had a task no one envied; she would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts from dawn to dusk every day but Saturday. Most of the former Dumbledore's Army had volunteered as tutors, and Harry had joined in this time. He felt that anything he could do to help people protect themselves was worth the effort.
"Do you suppose they're going to Sort them this year?" said Ron, putting away his cards.
Harry pursed his lips. "Beats me. Who'd want to be sorted into Slytherin, eh? Though I suppose all the Junior Death Eaters won't be back this fall."
Ron nodded with a wry grin. "They could turn it into a whole new House. A kinder, gentler sort of Slytherin."
"Oh, give it a rest," said Hermione. "They may be selfish, but they're not all killers. Pansy Parkinson is coming back; she sent me an owl this summer."
"You're kidding!" said Ron and Harry at the same time. Ron added, "PLEASE tell me you checked it for jinxes before you opened it."
"Of course I did. But it was a very touching letter. She was devastated by what Malfoy did; she thought he was just showing off with all the 'Dark Lord' business."
"Hermione," said Ron incredulously, "every Death Eater dishes out that tripe when they get caught--'I never knew,' 'I thought he was only kidding,' 'I was under the Imperius Curse,' la de da, not my fault."
"You know," snapped Hermione, "sometimes people really do get deceived, or they turn a blind eye because they're in love. You don't know anything about her, Ron, maybe you ought to find out instead of assuming."
"So much judgement," mumbled Harry, and they both looked at him questioningly, but he said nothing more.
Harry sat alone at the Gryffindor table as students began to pour into the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione were off helping corral the new students with the rest of the prefects. Harry didn't want to look at the head table, at the gold chair that should have been Dumbledore's, where Professor McGonagall now sat. Harry realized with a start that she was usually out lining up the first years at this point in time; all the comfortable rituals he had come to know at Hogwarts were changing.
Hagrid himself led in the column of new students, which was considerably longer than usual, and kept getting taller as it progressed. He attempted to line them up before the head table, but there were simply too many. Harry reckoned it must have been "standing room only" on the train. When Hagrid finally managed to arrange the "first years" into two cramped rows, he stepped to the end of the table with arms spread wide, and solemnly said, "Headmaster, I present the new students at Hogwarts."
Professor McGonagall gave him a formal nod, then looked up expectantly. Hagrid smiled broadly, still indicating the group of students with his hands. McGonagall flattened her lips pointedly and jerked her eyebrows toward the center of the group. When Hagrid merely continued to grin, she tried tossing her head slightly, then harder, finally resorting to a sharp whisper, "The Hat!" Hagrid immediately gulped and brought out the traditional stool to the front of the group, and set the Sorting Hat upon it.
Ron and Harry exchanged a knowing glance. The Hat sat silently for a very long time, until Harry anxiously began to wonder if Hagrid had accidentally knocked it out with his powerful grip. It finally came to life and sung a solemn dirge:
By sorrow is this grand occasion bound,
We gather here still mourning for the slain.
A traitor walks the earth, while underground
The noble man whom he betrayed remains.
This year will see a prophecy fulfilled.
Upon his task the Chosen shall embark.
I only know that life's blood will be spilled
But whether good or evil, light or dark,
Cannot be known until the deed is done.
But certain 'tis, that one of two will fall.
If Dark succumbs, then broken will be One,
If Light dies, then accursed are we all.
For thirty-five score years now, my decree
Has sent the students to the House they sought.
On their first night, division did they see.
Divided did they live, divided taught.
To reinforce and strengthen was the goal.
Alas, behind closed doors, prejudice bred.
Like-minded friends all swimming in one shoal,
Came to distrust the others. Lies I've fed,
Foundations shattered, made rivalries last.
This lie must end! All persons must unite,
Must lay aside divisions of times past,
Collect their will and courage for the fight.
I was brought forth tonight for my decree
To rend this group along ideals enshrined.
Aut se jungite aut morimini
To sort you, I respectfully decline.
The silence that followed this song was both long and complete; were it not for the candles illuminating row after row of stunned faces, a passerby outside the doors would have thought the Great Hall was empty. Harry didn't dare take his eyes off the hat, for he knew people were staring at him from every direction.
The entire staff table had turned pale, except for one. Professor Ondossi studied the Hat for a moment, then came around the table and poked it roughly several times. It remained silent. She picked it up and, after examining the brim and looking inside, put it on her head. "Slytherin," it whispered immediately, the sound carrying through the entire Hall. She set it back down, petting it as though it were a living creature.
"It's not hexed or confunded," she said matter-of-factly. "It's fine. But it's quite firm about its decision."
Only Hagrid had both the presence of mind and absence of prudence to point out, "But it jus' sorted you, Professor." Ondossi responded only by winking at Hagrid with a sly grin.
Harry leaned onto his elbow, resting his chin in his hand and shaking his head cynically. The Hat obviously had to admit that anyone who would strike a deal with Voldemort and seal it with a kiss obviously belonged in Slytherin.
After a stunned pause, Professor McGonagall stood to address the crowd of bewildered first years. "It seems that our traditional welcome will not be performed this evening," she said. "You would normally have been each assigned to one of the four Houses tonight, but our Sorting Hat clearly believes that distinguishing between Houses is harmful in the...present clime.
"I ask all students present to consider the meaning of this gesture. You have become accustomed to neighbors with whom you have much in common. For the first time, you will be exposed to others in your common rooms that will be distinctly different from you, in their opinions, skills, and values. Uncomfortable confrontations will arise, in which both parties will feel that they simply cannot see eye-to-eye; they may find no ground on which to settle the matter.
"In the past, the Sorting has sheltered each of you from the difficult process of tolerating different beliefs. This is a process that requires maturity. It requires you to assume the best intentions of your fellow students, to accept that a word or act that you perceive as 'wrong' might mean something harmless to someone else, and therefore you cannot automatically take offense to such things. It requires you to be honest, and generous, to ask difficult questions, and accept answers without judgement.
"These are tasks which, frankly, many adults have never mastered. One reason for the Sorting is that these tasks were considered too burdensome for children. Perhaps we've had it backwards: that it is difficult for adults because we did not learn the process of tolerance when we were young.
"I do not want the Unsorted students to feel isolated within the established Houses. Tonight we shall make a first step toward that end, and establish a new tradition. I ask all of you to stand now, and step back from your House tables."
There was a tiny delay before benches began to scrape noisily on the flagstone floor and robes began to rustle. Harry and Ron exchanged a suspicious look before reluctantly getting to their feet, but Hermione had been one of the first to stand. As the students rose, Professor McGonagall huddled with Professor Flitwick in an intense discussion. The two of them raised their wands and traced them in an interwoven pattern.
The long tables snapped apart into squares; benches became chairs; students stepped back toward walls and aisles as the furniture and flatware arranged themselves into sets of twelve. The gold chargers turned color, so that each table bore twin processions of red, yellow, white, blue, green, and white place settings. The corners of the tables snapped off and Vanished, leaving four long edges and four short, then a second snap removed a section of each long edge. This turned the square tables into dodecahedra, with twelve equal sides. With a final flourish by Professor Flitwick, the chairs took on colors to match their place settings, and all became still again.
"From this night on," said McGonagall, "dining will be an opportunity to practice getting along. I ask each of you to find a new seat, according to your House colors; the white settings are for new students." She gazed sternly down at the group, lest anyone protest this new arrangement. The entire student body glanced nervously at one another, then (to no one's surprise), Luna Lovegood trotted blithely from the main door all the way down the center of the room, and plopped contentedly into a blue chair.
"Come on, Ron," said Hermione, dragging him by the hand to the next table and leaving him there. She turned back to give Harry an encouraging grin, then found a spot further away. The other prefects began following her lead. Harry clapped Neville and Seamus on the shoulders and the two of them nodded wordlessly and moved to separate tables, as did Parvati, Lavender, and other older students. The younger ones scattered quickly, once they realized they'd better hustle if they wanted to sit in pairs together. Ginny Weasley took the remaining red chair at Harry's table.
When everyone had found a seat, Professor McGonagall's glowing smile warmed the whole room. "Thank you," she said with such heartfelt sincerity it was almost painful to hear it. "I think we can uphold one tradition, that is, to save my opening speech until after the Feast." With those words, the tables became splendidly laden with food. Harry picked up a goblet of pumpkin juice and tipped the rim in a little salute to Ginny. She returned the gesture and they drank a silent toast.
Although conversations finally began to pick up at other tables, not much was said at Harry's. The Sorting Hat's song pretty much eliminated what little appetite he'd had, but he ate mechanically, rather than answer the questions that he knew were burning, unsaid, all around him. It was bad enough that he could hear snatches from the other tables, mutters of "Chosen," "prophecy" and "broken will be One." Why the Hat had felt compelled to bring all that up was beyond Harry; he wished it had kept its big yap shut.
When the tables had magically cleared, Professor McGonagall stood up once more. "There is much I need to tell you, though I don't wish to keep you from your beds too long.
"The forest on the Hogwarts grounds is forbidden to all students. There is to be no leaving the castle after dark, and no leaving the grounds at any time without the express permission of a member of the faculty. In years past, we have permitted occasional excursions to Hogsmeade, but I regret to announce--"a collective groan began to arise in the room before she could even complete the sentence "--that such trips are suspended until further notice. This is for your safety, young ladies and gentlemen; please do not attempt to circumvent this rule in any way.
"Quidditch trials will be held in three weeks. Anyone wishing to play should speak to Madame Hooch. We will continue to have House teams, though the captains will be required to invite at least one Unsorted player per team.
"As the Headmaster of Hogwarts, it is unfitting that I should remain Head of Gryffindor House." This was unexpected, and produced a number of gasps around the Hall. She acknowledged them with a nod and continued. "I have invited Professor Rubeus Hagrid to take over that responsibility." Harry, Ron, and Hermione leapt to their feet with wild applause, and though many of the other Gryffindors were not nearly as thrilled, they followed suit. Hagrid beamed; even his enormous beard couldn't hide the flush in his cheeks.
When the clapping had settled, McGonagall said, "We also need a new Head of Slytherin House." That darkened the mood considerably; Harry looked in turn at Ron and Hermione, each of them grim-faced from the reminder of Snape's foul deed. A traitor walks the earth, Harry recalled, rolling his wand through his fingertips under the table. "Professor Horace Slughorn who came out of retirement to teach, has agreed to fill this position as well." Polite applause filled the room, though some (undoubtedly hoping to curry favor with the well-connected Slughorn) displayed considerable enthusiasm.
It took hours to "sort" all the new students into dormitories, however, and as prefects, Hermione and Ron were deeply involved in that chore. Harry ended up napping on his four-poster, after practically sprinting up to the Tower when the Feast ended. Ron finally woke him up, bumbling into the dormitory and looking frazzled. "Good grief, Harry, I had no idea the Hat had such a hard job. Getting the right number of girls, boys, right ages, all matched up for roommates. And of course Slytherin House is like a Swiss cheese, people missing from every year...You don't care, do you, mate?" Harry shook his head firmly. "Fine then. Just give me five minutes to catch my breath, I'll be right down."
"Well, I guess the word's out now," said Hermione brightly, when Harry joined her at the window, slinking unobtrusively into a chair. There weren't many people left in the common room by then; most had gone upstairs to unpack or meet any new roommates. Nonetheless, he barely had time to wrinkle his nose at Hermione before all other conversations in the room ceased and all eyes were upon him. She scowled and, standing up, said loudly, "You're welcome to join us if there's something on your mind." Several more students were inspired to retreat upstairs while others turned away awkwardly, but Neville Longbottom and Ginny took her up on the offer.
"So," said Harry, "what do you think? 'Broken will be one?' Sounds great, eh?"
"Some would say Bill's broken, you know," said Ginny pointedly.
"And Lupin, for that matter," said Hermione. "I'm not too worried about that part, Harry, I don't think even you expect to get through a full scale battle with Voldemort unscathed. That penultimate line, though, that was pretty frightening. I don't think the Hat could have been more direct, do you?"
Ron had ambled over to the group by then. "Well, other than the fact it used a language no one speaks, I'd have to agree."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That was Latin, Ron. Like, oh, nearly every spell we've ever cast? Oh, never mind, I'm not even going to ask if you bothered to read the language supplements in History of Magic. It said, 'Either join yourselves together or die.' Is that clearer?"
"Crystal," said Ron, in a strained voice. Everyone shifted in their chairs as that settled in.
Harry weighed that a moment. "You know, it's almost contradicting itself. If 'the One' has to finish Voldemort, then what difference does it make if people work together?"
Hermione stared at him. "I think maybe that comes, um, if you don't, uh..."
Harry sunk into his chair. "Oh. Yeah. If I die trying." He ran his hands through his hair and tried to stretch his neck.
Ron took Harry's shoulders and gave them a firm shake. "Never happen. You've cleaned up the floor with him every time!"
Harry looked plaintively up at Ron's encouraging smile, not bothering to point out that he'd also had help at every single encounter. The one time he'd faced Voldemort alone, back in the graveyard, he got away only because of a freak malfunction of their wands--and Voldemort wouldn't make that mistake again, either. One on one, even the Sorting Hat couldn't tell who was truly the stronger.
"This year will see a prophecy fulfilled," Harry recalled. "I guess we'll all find out soon enough."
The next two days were adventurous, to say the least. With twice as many new students as usual, there were twice as many incidents of people getting lost, arriving late for class or meals, or simply getting trapped by the moving staircases (which apparently assumed that climbers over a certain height or weight were returning students who ought to know their way around). There were times when every level of the marble stairs had trapped at least one student on a balcony or dead-end hall, leaving them calling for help like so many mountain sheep bleating on a cliff face.
Hermione had naturally enrolled in every course she could possibly take, and therefore had little time off during the day. Harry and Ron, however, had determinedly taken the most slothful path they could get away with, which was essentially the same schedule as their sixth year: Charms, Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hagrid had invited them to look in on his Care of Magical Creatures classes now and again, and neither could think of a graceful way to decline the offer. They resolved to lend Hagrid some moral support at least once a month, since his seventh year classes (woefully small) were all right after lunch, and they'd probably just waste that time loafing in the common room anyway. Each of them also had one class period assigned to assist with Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Wednesday morning began with double Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Ravenclaws. The classroom windows had been completely covered and two small lamps burned in the front corners. Ron gave Harry a skeptical look; he was clearly envisioning Professor Trelawney's suffocating red classroom. "What is this," said an unidentifiable student, "Defense Against the Dark?"
Ondossi entered the room just as the bell rang, skirting the edges of the room with her eyes closed, guiding her way with one hand on the wall until the door clicked shut. Once the little bit of reflected sunlight from the hall had been banished, she stepped smartly to the front of the room.
"Good morning," she said to the class. "First off: no complaining about the darkness. This is an entirely practical class, and attacks in the dark are commonplace. And you won't be doing any reading in here anyway. Second: for obvious reasons, I'm emphasizing defenses against a direct assault, from human and non-human opponents. Those who have been in the Duelling Club have done a bit of this already. Please help one another; a little practice could make the difference between life and death. Quite possibly your own, even. Finally, I'm better at one-on-one than group instruction, so this is how class will be run: I do a demonstration, you pair off and practice, I walk around and help your form. Everyone got that?" She stopped abruptly and glared around the room, and when no one spoke up, she nodded.
"Good. Lesson number one: Your first line of defense is to avoid the fight. Always, always, always walk out of the line of fire if you can. By this I mean, if you see an aggressive situation arising, do your best to sidestep it. Cross the street; hide; run; Apparate. The surest way to come out without a scratch is not to fight in the first place."
She paused and peered around the room, giving Harry a little wink when she came to him. "Some of you think that I've just described cowardice. Not true! If you're alone and a gang of enemies attacks you, or even just one against whom you are totally outmatched, there's nothing cowardly about escaping. In fact, it would be stupid to remain and fight in those situations. I want all of you to think about that, and think hard. One of the Dark Lord's tactics is to isolate his victims so they'll go down easily. He knows that noble people want to act courageous. He counts on you to confuse foolishness for courage--that you won't run away even if you can run. You must remember that if flight is an option, take it!"
A dissenting grumble began to form, but she raised a hand for silence. "That was lesson number one, the most important, and the one few people bother to teach. Running away, if you can, may save your life. You may not think of flight as a weapon, but you must make it part of your arsenal."
She wrinkled her nose with a fiendish grin and raised her wand like a baton before an orchestra. "Now we can spend the rest of the year learning what to do when fleeing is NOT an option." Hoots and applause broke out around the classroom. "Yeah, yeah," she said, rolling her eyes but still grinning, "I figured as much. I tell you how to save your life and you grumble, but I talk about mixing it up and it's 'Woohoo!' There's something fundamentally human about that."
She paused and peered at the class thoughtfully a moment. Harry felt an eerie sensation as though one of the castle's ghosts had walked through him, just as he caught her eye. He knew she was using Legilimency on everyone in the room, but no one else seemed to notice. I've got to find out how she does that, he thought to himself.
"Well, let's start with the Patronus charm. Hermione Granger, front and center!" Hermione glanced at Harry and Ron with a hint of self-consciousness, then headed to the front of the class. "Would you be so kind?" said Ondossi.
Hermione took a deep breath and made her Patronus, which drew several admiring "ooh's" from the class. A silvery otter took to the air as though it were a river, zipping about in a sleek swimming motion with many playful twists and rolls.
"Wonderful!" said Ondossi, who looked like she wanted to give chase to the otter and play with it. "Lovely animals, otters. Now, Miss Granger, if I wanted to make my own otter, what would I need to do?" She had Hermione describe the process, asking questions about all the details of performing the charm. "I think I get it," Ondossi finally said. "Do you mind if I try?"
"It's your classroom, Professor," said Hermione gamely.
Ondossi raised her wand and said, "Expecto Patronum," producing a fat, bewhiskered walrus which, in some ways, vaguely resembled Professor Slughorn. It pushed up onto its front flippers and attempted to follow the otter's graceful path, but after a few awkward lurches that sent jiggles and ripples all over its blubbery skin, it just rolled onto its back and curled its tail in the air. The class roared with laughter.
"Either I've been misled, or that was one fat otter!" said Ondossi cheerfully. "Very good, then. Pair up, everyone, and let's try to make a zoo."
Ondossi went around and rearranged a few pairs to see that each set had at least one person that could perform the charm to some extent. Harry ended up with one of the "first year seventh years," a seventeen-year-old fellow living in Ravenclaw who was new to Hogwarts. He held his wand stiffly as though he was afraid it would backfire, and Harry reckoned he ought to help the fellow loosen up.
"I'm Harry," he said, offering his hand.
"Elias," said the other boy, fumbling with his wand to his other hand in order to shake with Harry. "Heh, sorry. I'm still getting used to this thing," he said in a heavy Scottish brogue, looking a bit embarrassed.
"New wand?" said Harry.
"Aye." He pronounced it "ah." "That is, I just started using one. I live up in the highlands. Me family's never had much use for wands...or much else in the wizard world, for that matter."
"That's why you've never come to Hogwarts before?" asked Harry. Elias looked away, frowning. "I'm sorry!" said Harry sincerely. "I don't mean to embarrass you. I just never met anyone that...any other kind of wizard besides the kind that went to school." Great job there, he thought to himself.
Elias looked at him guardedly, but apparently decided that there were no hidden contempt in Harry's statement. "Aye, well, I've never been around so many other wizards in me life. We keep to ourselves mostly."
"What do you do, then?" Harry knew he ought to be working on the lesson, but if this fellow didn't even know how to use a wand, his prospects of making a Patronus were not very good.
Elias glanced around at the nearby pairs of students, all of whom were occupied in their own discussions. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked Harry with a mischievous grin.
"You have no idea," Harry said, winking.
"Well, for a living, we farm, right? But what we do is..." he dropped his voice, "we haunt things."
Harry's eyes grew wide. "You mean Mugglebaiting?!"
Elias nodded, grinning broadly. "Well, not like the Death Eaters or anything! We don't make trouble, we're artists. We keep the legends alive, so to speak."
Harry was duly impressed. "But that's against the law! Hasn't the Ministry come after you?"
Elias waved his hand contemptuously. "Oh, once in a great while something gets back to London and we get an inquiry. But it's not like we're doing anything spectacular--scary shadows in the cemetary, a weak love potion here and there, keep things interesting in the "haunted" houses, that sort of thing. Never anything that can be traced or proved--that's the whole point, ennit? Those twits who make toilets spit back at people? Kid stuff! Strictly amateur--who can't hex a toilet bowl? But you try setting up a scene that can't be explained by some scientific-minded Muggle with a clipboard! That's without leaving a shred of evidence, nothing to be filmed or photographed, not even a footprint or a scrap of cloth. But outrageous enough that the witnesses will stick with their story forever; if it's too weak, they decide they must've imagined it and all your effort goes for naught. It's an art form, you know."
Harry gazed in awe. "That sounds wicked! But what's that got to do with wands?"
Elias laughed. "They're not exactly subtle, eh? What good's a nice, intricate piece of spellwork that'll have people guessing for years if you have to stand in front of it with a wand to make it go? Rather gives you away, dunnit? So I've learned all me spells that don't need a wand. You don't use your wand to Apparate, eh? Okay, I may not be able to make a teapot turn into a perfect bunny rabbit, but I can make a Muggle portrait look the other way, or make a horse rear up at just the right moment. And fly me broom."
"Yeah? What're you flying?" Harry asked.
"A Nimbus. Got it used, after I sold me prize heifer--an' worth every Knut of the trade."
Harry smiled. "You play Quidditch?"
"Aye," laughed Elias. "Beater. I'm the seventh son of a seventh son, got enough cousins for ten teams. Me family's nearly as big as Hogsmeade!"
Harry had a feeling that this was his lucky day. "I'm captain for the Gryffindor team. Would you like to play for us?"
"Love to!" said Elias cheerfully. "I thought I'd play for me house, but no one's asked me. Probably be better to play for another, I suppose, with the spirit of the times, eh?"
"Works for me." Harry proffered his hand. "Harry Potter." To his surprise, Elias shook his hand without any particular reaction, not even checking for his scar. It must have shown in his face, because Elias gave him a knowing grin.
"Aye, I guessed as much. I know how it is, having a famous name. I've got one too, you see." He paused with a somewhat abashed grin. "Elias Ravenclaw."
Harry's jaw fell open automatically, even as he realized that this was exactly the kind of unwanted reaction he usually received. At that moment, however, Ondossi appeared beside them abruptly and said, "Less talking, more conjuring, gentlemen."
"You've saddled Potter with a grim challenge," said Elias, holding up his wand. "I've barely just learned which end of this to hold onto."
Ondossi gave Elias a piercing look which only Harry understood, then nodded approvingly. "An old-fashioned sorceror, hmm? I like that." She stepped in front of Harry as if he weren't even there, which made him feel rather affronted, but he let it go--he was quite curious about what this lesson would entail.
"Hold your arm out. Fingers straight up," she told Elias, and he did as he was instructed. "Palm forward. The Patronus will come from your palm. Keep your fingers out of the way." She moved to his side and placed her hand behind his, furrowing her brow. "You don't speak your spells either, do you? Very old-fashioned. You're all ready for the Spanish Inquisition!" She paused as nearby students snickered. "You'll need to speak out loud for this one though--focus your mind on the joy and courage and let the words bring the spell together. Try it. I'll help you this first time."
Elias frowned at her uncomprehendingly for an instant, but closed his eyes and appeared to concentrate. Most of the class had turned to watch by now. Harry noticed Ondossi quietly raise her other hand and rest a single fingertip on the back of the boy's skull. This ought to be good, he thought to himself.
Presently Elias said, rather loudly, "Expecto Patronum." A silvery mist erupted from his hand, and though he immediately yanked his arm back as though it had touched something very hot, the mist swirled and coalesced into a vaguely quadruped shape before dissipating.
The entire class cheered. Elias looked rather embarrassed to be the focus of attention, but Ondossi held up his hand as though he had just won a boxing match. "Wonderful!" she said. "Now the rest of you, get back to work!"
Harry missed being able to talk to Ron and Hermione at mealtimes. Even if one of them sat with him at the same table, they had to practically shout across to one another. They had managed to find three red chairs in reasonable proximity at three adjoining tables, and established a little triangular territory for themselves. But they had to turn their backs on one another to eat, and people were constantly walking around the tables; any lengthy private discussion was hopeless. Besides, Hermione kept insisting that they pay more attention to people from other Houses like Professor McGonagall had intended. After less than three days of school, Harry and Ron were already developing a complex series of coded looks.
Knowing that their vocabulary of glares was not sufficiently developed for the news about Elias Ravenclaw, Harry bounded up to Ron to tell him in the corridor as they left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "I invited him to come and practice with us tonight, just to see if he can really fly, but he sounds like a ringer!"
Ron laughed. "Hey, now, just because he's from a big family with lots of brothers won't automatically make him a Beater! Okay, a lifetime of dodging obviously helps the old reflexes, but not everyone's as mental as Fred and George." Harry and Ron had reached the Great Hall by that point, and regarded one another with the usual resignation that their conversation would have to be postponed...
As though a Muggle film projector had suddenly flipped on before his eyes, Harry saw a strange sort of vision. Ron had not quite disappeared like he would during an episode of Legilimency, yet Harry knew he was seeing a fragment of Ron's thoughts. Quidditch, that's right, thought Harry. We were talking about Quidditch, and brothers. Ron was recalling a scrimmage match with his brothers on a warm summer evening. Bill and Percy were there, not Charlie though, and Dad came home from work early enough to toss the Quaffle about with them. Fred and George had to behave themselves--no knocking young Ronnie off his broom and stranding him in the treetops with Dad around. Mum had even brought their dinner out to the stand of trees where they were playing, and it had smelled just like the aromas wafting out of the Great Hall...
"What?" said Ron, looking puzzled but not upset. The vision disappeared and Harry snapped back to the external world.
"Did you..." began Harry, but he wasn't quite sure what to ask. "I think I just read your mind. Were you thinking about a picnic with your family that smelled just like--"
"--what we're smelling now. Yeah," said Ron. "You read that?"
"Yes!" said Harry enthusiastically, but Ron looked downright flustered.
"Oh, that's just grand! Everyone tells me when you do Legilimency, their whole life flashes before their eyes. And all I see is dinner?" Ron's face sagged with disappointed resignation.
"No, no, something was different this time," said Harry. "It was like I just caught a single thought...at the forefront of your mind." Harry's voice slowed as comprehension began to dawn in his mind. This must be the same thing Tura had done earlier in class. "Ron, quick, think about something else," he said with excitement. "Don't tell me what it is." Harry concentrated on recalling and duplicating his composure before he saw the vision.
Ron gaped at Harry as though he'd just asked Ron to do a backflip. "Uhh..."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, just think of anything! What'd we do in class tod--ah, never mind, I can't already know what it is. Just think, already!"
Staring in disbelief at Harry, Ron only managed to open and close his mouth, resembling a brilliant red tropical fish. "My mind's a blank."
"RON!" said Harry in exasperation.
"Well, you try it sometime, you big git!" squawked Ron defensively. "This is worse than being called on in class! Just shut up a minute, let me think." He closed his eyes, but Harry could see the pupils flickering about under the lids. "Okay...no, wait, not that, hold on."
"Oh, for Pete's sake, Ron!" Harry was afraid if he waited too long to try again, he'd lose the insight of how to do it.
"Okay!" Ron finally said sharply. "Try it now."
Harry started to peer deep beyond Ron's eyes, but his stomach tightened and he knew instinctively that he was pushing further than he wanted to go. It was just casual eye contact, a friendly glance. Harry tried again with a less intense gaze, but nothing happened.
"Well?" asked Ron dubiously.
Harry harrumphed. "Are you sure you're thinking?"
Now it was Ron's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm about to start thinking you're a complete prat."
Harry grinned despite his efforts to concentrate. "Fine, fine, just don't tell me, I have to try before I forget how." He forced himself to unfurrow his brows, drop his shoulders, unclench his jaw. He'd been perfectly relaxed, having a normal conversation with a friend; they'd been exchanging the casual sorts of glances that people do as they walk along and talk with someone. Harry blinked his eyes several times, trying to focus at the proper depth, but nothing worked; all he could see was Ron, who was looking more and more dubious with every passing second.
Small crowds of students were beginning to gather both behind them in the Entrance Hall and before them in the Great Hall. Harry and Ron were not completely blocking the door, but they were certainly prominently visible within it, as though it were a picture frame. Harry began to feel self-conscious, knowing he must look ridiculous standing in the middle of the entryway, blinking and staring. Drat! Harry thought, I guess I just have to wait until it happens again.
At that precise moment, the room became less distinct again, and Harry saw the two of them flying Mr. Weasley's blue Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow.
"The car, our second year, right?!" Harry nearly shouted, gripping Ron gleefully by the forearms.
Ron grinned, surprised. "That's it!"
"And you didn't feel anything, did you?" Harry asked.
Wrinkling his forehead and shrugging, Ron said, "You were just looking at me strangely. That was it."
As Harry broke into a broad grin, Hermione pushed past them and said crossly, "For heaven's sake, you two, maybe you ought to go someplace private!"
Harry and Ron glared after her in affront, then Ron snidely remarked, "Isn't that nice? Malfoy's gone, but his spirit lingers on!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed for the Quidditch pitch as soon as they finished their dinner that evening. Hermione brought along some books, to study in the quiet evening air, but of course Harry and Ron could think of nothing but the game. Elias was already there, zipping high above the field on his broom.
Harry and Ron stopped right in the middle of the entrance to the stadium, staring up in joyous disbelief. Elias was a skilled flier, executing incredibly sharp turns with practiced ease, all the while holding his Beater's club high overhead in one hand. At times it seemed as though his broom had stalled out underneath him; he was practicing some sort of abrupt vertical drop that neither of them had ever seen before.
"Harry," said Ron, after a long pause, "please tell me that's our man up there."
"It's him," said Harry. They watched a few more minutes as Elias switched to practice an abrupt upward leap, the opposite version of his first stunt. It looked as though his broom was possessed by a wild bronco, yet Elias maintained a graceful posture along with his tenacious grip. He was clearly used to playing a rougher-than-usual version of Quidditch with those many cousins of his.
Elias caught sight of Hermione sitting in the stands and utterly ignoring him, then presently noticed Harry and Ron and made a smart landing right before them. "Think I'll do, then?" he said cheerily.
"How did you learn to fly like that?" Ron sputtered.
"Matter o' survival, ennit?" said Elias, laughing. "We play a pretty tough game when we all get together. We allow any magic as can be done without a wand--at least when the mums and aunties aren't watching." He winked. "Got to stop pretty sharp when a spell's comin' straight for yah. Get up, I'll show the both of you a trick or two, if you like."
Harry and Ron leapt onto their brooms in an instant, leaving Hermione clicking her teeth reproachfully in the stands as she flipped open her Arithmancy text.
By Friday afternoon, it occurred to Harry that he had not done a single Occlumency lesson during the entire first week of school. Potions and Charms were all fine and good, but he hadn't returned to Hogwarts to take classes; he was here to learn whatever Ondossi was supposed to teach him.
The professor didn't attend dinner in the Great Hall that evening, so Harry trudged down to the dungeons to inquire about their next lesson. It was hard for Harry to go down there at all, but somehow in the summer brightness and quiet, it had seemed more neutral, more bearable. But now that the nights were growing longer and the familiar background sounds of house-elves and Slytherins echoing almost imperceptibly through the stones had returned, every trip down to the dungeons was a stark reminder of the man Harry hated almost as much as Voldemort. It was no wonder Slughorn had declined to inhabit Snape's former office again this year; the very walls were contaminated by the treachery of their former occupant.
Ondossi didn't seem to mind a bit, but of course she had never met either HIM or Dumbledore; for her, they were just more rocks and stones that didn't "know" her. Perhaps the feeling that the dungeon somehow still contained Snape's inherent evil was the sort of magic she was referring to when she spoke of the Earth as though it were alive. It was strange, Harry pondered, that the stones of Gryffindor Tower were probably mined from this very passage of the dungeons, yet the two places could hardly feel more different. Down here, the stones were cold, dark, suffocating; in the Tower, they seemed cozy and protective. But surely they were the same color and temperature in both places. Perhaps there was something to Tura's ramblings after all.
Ondossi didn't answer when Harry knocked on her door. It annoyed him that he'd made the trip down that despised corridor for nothing, almost as much as the fact that he still had no lessons planned. Harry knew he would see her on Sunday to assist with her remedial Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but that would make it a whole week since his last lesson. Even though he hadn't liked what he'd seen in her mind, he'd managed to step away on his own, and he'd limited his vision with Ron. Who knew when he'd be in the groove like this again?
Frustrated, Harry climbed the long, familiar flights of stairs to his room atop Gryffindor Tower and rummaged through his trunk. He found the Marauder's Map after a brief search--it was a lot easier to find things after Hermione forced him to clean the trunk out to repair that mirror. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Ondossi's presence on the Map. Harry searched it carefully from top to bottom; she wasn't in the castle.
Ron bounded into the dormitory, startling both of them with his sudden appearance. "Hey, Harry--we're all getting started on that big Charms assignment, you coming?" he asked, picking up his textbook from the foot of his bed.
"Hmm?" mumbled Harry distractedly. "Erm, yeah, I'll be down in a bit, I suppose."
"You suppose?" Ron asked indignantly. "Better not let Hermione hear you talking about homework like that! She might drop dead from the outrage." Ron peered more closely and recognized the Map. "What're you up to, then?"
"I was trying to find Ondossi," Harry said. "As much as I love my other classes, I'd rather like to get on with Occlumency lessons. She's not in the castle."
Ron looked intrigued. "Are you fancying a little hunt, then?"
Laughing, Harry said, "Now Ron, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were procrastinating."
"On a Friday night?" said Ron. "Why, I resemble that remark!"
As the sun had not quite set, the two of them felt justified in going out to the grounds, but they brought along Harry's Invisibility cloak for their return--not to mention for slipping past the rather unenthusiastic group of seventh years in the common room watching Hermione set up the Charm they'd been assigned. Once out on the stone steps before the castle, however, they weren't quite sure where to start.
"Do you suppose she's back in the Shrieking Shack?" asked Ron.
Harry frowned. "I doubt it. She sticks to her word, once you can get it out of her. But she did mention moving into the greenhouses once."
A quick jaunt to the Herbology buildings revealed no sign of anyone, except a few semi-sentient plants which seemed to eyeball the young men hungrily, despite their lack of ocular apparati. Harry wondered if she were crazy enough to move into the Forbidden Forest despite the centaurs, when he spotted the lights on in Hagrid's cabin.
"You know, Hagrid's her friend, maybe she's down there," said Harry.
"Let's go then," said Ron enthusiastically. "Hagrid may have some more news about the giants, in any case."
Harry hesitated a moment. "He is our Head of House now...maybe we shouldn't deliberately sneak down to his house after hours."
Ron had already started down the hill, but he stopped and glanced back at Harry with pure incomprehension. "Are you joking? This is Hagrid we're talking about. He'd probably dock House points if we didn't come visit once in a while!" Ron winked and continued down the hill.
Harry rapped firmly on Hagrid's door. As soon as it opened, Fang bounded out to bestow loving (but slobbery) greetings upon both of them. "Knew it was you!" said Hagrid with equal affection, ushering Harry and Ron inside. "Term's not even a week old--who else would be out after dark, breakin' the rules already?"
"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry warmly, extracting himself from Fang's soggy welcome so the mutt could concentrate his efforts on Ron. Harry did a bit of a double-take as he regarded the interior of Hagrid's hut; the stone walls were darker, charred by the same fire that had consumed the roof, which was now made of a pale, fragrant wood. Gone were the dozens of items Hagrid had always kept suspended from hooks in the ceiling--only a thin bundle of unicorn hair, some cured meats, and a coarse net bag full of fruit dangled beyond Harry's reach now. Though Harry recalled putting out the fire fairly quickly, apparently Hagrid's furniture had been damaged beyond repair and had been replaced. Even Hagrid's immense table, which had seemed sturdy and thick enough to weather a bit of fire, was gone; in its place stood one equally large but far more delicate-looking.
"Quite a difference, eh?" noted Hagrid rather proudly. "Yeh know, I remembered somethin' me mum once tol' me, when I was just a wee tot. I was cleanin' up from the fire and suddenly it was clear as day: her sayin' that it wasn't good teh stay in one place fer too long, yeh have to move on and break clean or yeh'll become a slave to yer possessions. I think that mighta been righ' before she lef' us, maybe. Anyways, I'd forgot all about it 'til I was pickin' through the rubble and feelin' sorry for meself, and then it come back to me in a flash. I'd been livin' in one room more'n fifty years, never changin' nothing."
Hagrid tut-tutted at himself, shaking his head. "An' here I'm tryin' ter get to know a classy lady, tryin' to make a nice little home for Grawpy, wi' half a century o' dirt on me floors and walls. It was hard, losin' all the things I'd had fer so long, but then Mum's words set me straight. It's all junk, yeh know, Harry, Ron...all tha' matters in the en' is the company yeh keep."
With that, Hagrid began to sniffle tearfully and pulled Harry and Ron swiftly into one-armed hugs that tenderly knocked the wind out of both of them. Trapped on either side of Hagrid's vast girth and turning purple with effort to breathe, Harry and Ron regarded one another with hints of smiles in their bulging eyes, along with a tad of concern that Hagrid might inadvertently do them both in.
When Hagrid finally let go and both of them enjoyed a welcome rush of air into their lungs, Harry fell into Ron's mind further than he had ever gone with anyone.
As he had done with Ondossi, Harry found himself shrugging off his own identity and seemingly becoming Ron, seeing his memories not only through Ron's eyes but all of his senses, with all the rich emotional overtones that were unique to Ron and therefore colored every minute of his day with a shade all his own. But Ron was no Occlumens, and did not restrict Harry's vision only to selected incidents. Ron's whole life was suddenly open to Harry, probably more of it than Ron himself could remember.
Harry recognized immediately that the limited glimpses he'd seen of Ron during the wedding reception were but a distorted fraction of his friend. At a moment of chemically-enhanced lonliness and self-pity, Ron had dropped briefly into a mode of thinking he'd outgrown years before. The "modern" Ron was quietly confident: the young man who had stepped courageously into the unknown in the Chamber of Secrets, the Department of Mysteries, and the vacant lot at Godric's Hollow.
Harry could see the turning point that had brought Ron out of his shell. It had happened on the Quidditch pitch, of all places. Not the game in which Ron believed he'd taken the Felix Felicis, nor even the one after that, but their last match, the one Harry spent in detention with Snape. Through Ron's memory, Harry saw the entire game in a flash--as well as Ron's epiphany. Ron was out there without Harry. All the excitment and admiration he'd felt from the stands as a spectator...and now he was a player, as independent and valuable as Charlie or Fred or George had ever been. He'd let the Quaffle slip past him, he was so caught up in the revelation that, just perhaps, he'd been valuable all his life.
What little bit of Harry that remained separate and objective chuckled at the irony, that Ron had faced so many fearsome challenges over the years, yet his confidence had finally bloomed during a Quidditch game. Harry made a mental note to point that out painstakingly to Hermione in the near future. Realizing that he'd become distracted, Harry parted from Ron's mind almost effortlessly, only to find that he could barely stand when he was firmly planted in himself again.
Just as the Legilimency had been more powerful than ever, so now was the numbness that followed it. Harry felt as if his will had evaporated; even breathing seemed a paltry waste of time and effort. Fortunately, Hagrid caught him as his knees gave way. "Oops, there. I've seen that look before," Harry heard Hagrid mutter. "No turnin' blue on me now, Harry, lad," he said firmly as he picked Harry up like a rag doll and set him rather roughly in one of the oversized chairs at the table.
"You okay there, Ron?" said Hagrid, shaking Harry's shoulders until his daze broke long enough to put his lungs back to work. Harry slumped sideways until he became wedged into the chair; he was far too serene to care if he fell, or twisted his neck uncomfortably. But he recognized that breathing was a requirement, and Hagrid nodded approvingly before turning back to Ron.
"Yeh'll be needin' a bit o' chocolate, I wager," said the enormous professor as he lumbered over to the fireplace and fetched the kettle. Hagrid poured two oversized mugs of tea and rummaged in his new pantry for a tin of chocolate squares. Ron was quite relieved to find that these were "store bought," not homemade, and gratefully took several bars to have with his tea.
"Hagrid...what's wrong with Harry? Did I do something to him?" Ron asked.
Hagrid glanced back at Harry before plopping into his own chair and slurping some tea. "Nah, he's all right," said Hagrid with a casual wave of his arm. "He'll come roun' again pretty quick. Tura gets like that too, though I've never got a straight answer from her abou' why it is. Said somethin' about "becomin' a being o' pure thought," wha'ever that means, silly gel."
Hagrid reached over and gently pulled Harry's eyes closed with one swipe of his huge hand. "Can't stand tha' empty stare," he told Ron confidentially. "Reminds me of a fish layin' out on a slab of ice, yeh know? There were a few times I thought we'd los' Tura; she worked over some o' them Sasquatch giants pretty hard before she'd trust 'em with Grawpy. I think they get so caught up in Legilimency, they forget they got a body ter keep alive, too. She gets her hackles up at me an' says, 'I never died yet,' but it's no fun watchin' her turn gray from bein' so still. You an' Hermione oughter keep an eye on Harry, make sure he don' forget ter breathe."
Harry attempted to say, "That's not necessary," but the words were so slurred, no one could understand him.
"Oh, an' wait'll he starts ter talk," said Hagrid with a knowing wink. "He'll say the darnedest things."
Ron kept an anxious eye on Harry as Hagrid chattered away as though nothing was amiss. "Whad'ya think o' me new digs, eh? Cherry wood," he said reverently, rapping on the glossy tabletop. "Made in America. Oh, Ron, lad, you should see them giants there. It's like night an' day, compared to us. There's a giant city not far from where Tura grew up; tha's how she knew of 'em, to arrange the meetin's. I guess the giant city's in Canada, technic'ly speakin', but it's all just miles and miles o' wilderness up there anyhow. That's where me furniture came from--built by giants!" He rapped the table again proudly.
"It's very nice, Hagrid," said Ron politely, and it was; though big and strong enough to hold Grawp, the chairs were elegantly made with flowing form and many carved details. Ron recalled a story Harry had once mentioned about a man named Gulliver who had traveled to a land of tiny people, then to a land of giants. Perhaps the author had stumbled into the northern Canada wilderness. "What's the city called?" Ron asked curiously.
Hagrid cocked his head a moment, then to the other side. "I don' reckon it's got one, Ron. Never heard no mention of a name, now that I think of it. There's only one, so I suppose they jus' call it The City."
Ron nodded, grinning. Giants were not big talkers, even if they did "get civilized."
Both of them jumped as Harry spoke. "Hagrid." Harry had opened his eyes, though he still slouched to the side of his chair in an awkward position.
"Need somethin', Harry?" asked Hagrid.
"Yes. I will ask you some difficult questions."
Hagrid paled slightly and gulped. He peered uneasily at Ron. "Ut oh." He pulled the tin of chocolates closer to his chair. "All righ' then, Harry. Ask away."
"Tell me all that happened in Godric's Hollow."
Hagrid groaned painfully. "I was afraid o' that comin'. You sure this is the time, Harry--you bein' all funny at the moment?"
"I'm sure. Please speak of it."
Turning even more pale, Hagrid gulped the rest of his tea, then pulled his chair around to face Harry. "Better get comfy, Ron," he said with a final glance at his other guest. "We'll be here a while."