Tracey Davis saw him first at the ghastly opening feast in the Great Hall at the beginning of her seventh year at Hogwarts. Fear and tension were everywhere — at home, on the train, in the faces of her fellow students in the Great Hall. Professor Dumbledore was dead, he who had been their stabilizer and mainstay during all her years here, and now everything seemed perilous, unpredictable, out of control. Tracey could see that the ranks of students at three of the four tables were remarkably thinned; only her table, Slytherin, had its full contingent.
It must be because all the Muggleborns are gone. I hadn’t realized there were so many of them.
The incoming class would probably be sparse also, for the same reason. She looked up at the High Table and felt a strong sensation that something was missing. That something was the imposing, white-bearded figure of Professor Dumbledore, and in its place was the thin, black-robed figure of Professor Snape, reminding Tracey suddenly of a spider; two squat strangers occupied seats close by. None of this boded well.
Professor McGonagall was escorting this year’s group of first-year students into the Great Hall. I wonder why she isn’t the Headmistress this year, Tracey thought. After all, she was Deputy Headmistress last year. She took over after Professor Dumbledore was killed. Maybe she didn’t want the job permanently. But Tracey could not convince herself of that; it would not be like Professor McGonagall not to take the job. No, something was not right.
As the first years filed into the Great Hall between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, Tracey could get a good look at them. Some of them stared doggedly straight ahead, while the eyes of others flickered nervously from side to side. They looked scared, but that was normal; first years always looked scared when they entered the Great Hall at the opening feast, but this year Tracey was afraid for them too. They would need protection, now more than ever.
At the end of the line were a few boys and girls who looked too old to be first years; they were too tall and had a look of maturity about them that was incompatible with an age of eleven years. Perhaps they were a rear guard escorting the first years from the back of the line, but that had not been the custom during Tracey’s previous years at Hogwarts. Another odd change in the usual procedures, she thought.
All the new arrivals lined up in front of the High Table, facing the House tables, and the Sorting began. Eight students were Sorted into Slytherin. We should have had more, Tracey thought, and she determined to make a special effort to help and protect these newcomers during their first year at Hogwarts. The other Houses acquired even fewer first years than Slytherin did. Maybe it’s just that eleven years ago a smaller than usual number of babies were born, Tracey told herself. Some classes are bigger or smaller than average just by random variation. Maybe there’s an innocuous reason for all this. But she really couldn’t convince herself of that either.
Seated next to her at the table, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode were whispering vigorously to each other during the Sorting Ceremony, but Tracey did not share their conversation. She never talked to them much anyway; they did not share common interests.
When only six students were left standing in the line, Professor Snape arose from his seat at the High Table and looked out over the House tables. Speaking in his slow, dry voice, he announced, –This year we have six new students who are not first years. Because of the edict from the Ministry of Magic, all students who were hitherto taught from home must attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. These students will now be Sorted into Houses.†He sat down.
Professor McGonagall glanced up briefly at him and then called the first name. –Wright, Andrew.†The first three students Sorted were still fairly young, probably second or third years, and that was not so bad; one could almost imagine that they were just slightly-tall-for-their-age first years. Then there were two students who were obviously older, maybe fourth years. They had a different air about them as they walked up to the stool and sat on it, more poise and self-confidence, even in this unfamiliar situation. All these transfer students were Sorted into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, none into Slytherin.
I’m glad, Tracey thought. The other Houses need more students to make up for their losses.
Then the last student was called to be Sorted. –Sutton, Howard.â€
This was crazy. Howard Sutton was the oldest of them all, about six feet tall with light brown hair and broad shoulders. He walked across the floor from his place, which had been at the end of the line, with a firmness of step, his gaze straight ahead, and sat down on the stool which had seemed so high for the first years but was no stretch for him. He placed the shabby Sorting Hat squarely on his head as if it were an action he did every day and sat still, upright. No one in the Great Hall was whispering anymore; all eyes were fixed on this unprecedented scene. Tracey realized she was holding her breath.
Above Howard’s dignified mien, the Sorting Hat looked totally ridiculous, inappropriate. For the little kids, wearing the battered hat was almost like playing dress-up, but with Howard it felt as if the school was deliberately trying to humiliate him. He sat on the stool, impassive, all his movements controlled, giving away nothing by the calm, unreadable expression on his face.
My heart goes out to him. He must think he’s landed in hell, Tracey thought. The Sorting Hat seemed to be taking its time, as if it were not accustomed to evaluating a personality at this stage of maturity. Tracey didn’t know if she wanted it to shout out –Slytherin!†or some other House. She felt a gut instinct to want to get to know him, to help him survive, but her housemates would not let her do that if he were in another House; Slytherin girls did not fraternize with non-Slytherin boys. But she had serious doubts that the Slytherin boys would accept someone who had not been with them from the beginning, especially someone who had been taught from home. They were so clannish.
The seconds ticked by. Howard looked patient enough to wait forever, although the word hatstall began to flit across Tracey’s mind. Then suddenly the hat shouted, –Gryffindor!â€, startling everyone out of their mental paralysis. A rush of relief flooded over Tracey, relief for a fear she didn’t even realize she had until the hat announced its decision. Gryffindor, the House of the brave. He can be protected there, if protection there be in any place this year.
Howard stood up in a fluid motion, placed the hat on the stool, and strode over to the table where the students were applauding and beckoning to him. He took a seat near the foot of the table where the benches were empty, alongside the newly sorted first years, but immediately two older boys sprang up from their places and went down the table to sit with him.
Merlin help him, Tracey thought. Merlin help us all.
********
Tracey’s first class the next morning was Herbology. The early morning sunlight, shining at a low angle and making the grass and leaves glow, erased the gloom of the evening before from her mind as she walked from the castle to Greenhouse Six. Soon enough the cold and snow would arrive and the long winter would set in, but for the present time it was almost possible to believe that things might be okay. Arriving at the greenhouse, she pushed the door open and went in. Most of the Herbology students were already there, seated at the tables. The group seemed smaller to Tracey this year; the three Gryffindors who always sat with Neville Longbottom were gone, and he was sitting with Wayne Hopkins of Hufflepuff, whom she knew from last year, and the new Gryffindor, Howard Sutton, and, what a miracle, the fourth chair at their table was empty. There were no other Slytherins in this class, so she could sit where she wanted, and she thankfully sat down next to Howard.
He must be a seventh year, she thought. I can get to know him better. The Slytherins won’t see.
She turned to Howard and said in friendly fashion, –Hi, I’m Tracey Davis of Slytherin House. I’m glad to see you in this class. Have you met Wayne yet?â€
–Yes,†he answered, smiling. –Neville introduced me.â€
–We really enjoy this class,†she continued. –Professor Sprout is a wonderful teacher.†What silly babble. I sound like an idiot, she scolded herself. Maybe he doesn’t even like Herbology.
–I’m sure it will be useful for me,†Howard said. –I live on a croft; we grow sheep, so everything about the natural world is important to me.â€
–Then it’s good you’re here,†Wayne observed from the other end of the table. –We had three other Gryffindors in here last year, but they didn’t come back to school this year.â€
–They didn’t have to? Isn’t it mandatory?†Howard asked with surprise, and Neville replied, –It’s complicated. I’ll tell you later.â€
–So you and I are the only Gryffindors in this class?†Howard asked Neville.
–And Tracey’s the only Slytherin,†Wayne offered.
–Slytherins don’t take Herbology. They don’t want to get their hands dirty,†Tracey explained.
–But you are,†Howard observed, looking at her.
–I want to be a Healer,†Tracey told him. –You need Herbology for that.â€
–And the other Slytherins don’t want to be Healers?†he asked.
–The men go into business, to make big Galleons. The girls make good marriages,†she said with a little sigh.
–You sound cynical,†he remarked.
–I shouldn’t be,†she said, –but their mindset is different from mine. It’s always been hard for me to identify with them.â€
Their conversation was ended by the emergence of Professor Sprout from her office with copies of the class syllabus in her hand, and as soon as the professor had greeted the class, Tracey was surprised to see Neville leap to his feet and say, –Professor Sprout, I would like to introduce to you my new friend and fellow Gryffindor, Howard Sutton, from the Isle of Skye.â€
Howard immediately stood up, reaching across the table to shake Professor Sprout’s hand. –How do you do, Professor Sprout. It’s a pleasure to meet you. And please call me ‘Howe’; all my friends do.â€
The class kept getting better and better. Professor Sprout told the class that they would be doing original research in teams of four, and Neville suggested that each table of four students constitute a team, and Tracy thought Bless you, Neville, because that meant that her team members would be Neville, Wayne, and Howe. They all went into Greenhouse Seven, which was a catch-all storehouse for equipment, and stacked the equipment up at one end of the room to make space for work. Then each team had to build shelves at their work stations, and Tracey discovered that Howe was the best shelf-builder in the whole class. –I do all sorts of construction on our croft,†he explained.
While the other teams finished making their shelves, Tracey’s team stood around comparing their class schedules. –What courses did they put you in, Howe?†Wayne asked, and Howe pulled his class list out of his bag and read it off.
–Herbology, Charms, Potions, Transfiguration…I wanted practical subjects that would be good for agriculture. Here’s a laugh: they put me in Care of Magical Creatures. I guess they thought it would be good for farming, but we raise sheep, not unicorns. I’m in Muggle Studies too. Don’t think I need that; I interact with Muggles on Skye all the time. Should be an easy class.â€
–They put us all in that class. It’s compulsory this year, though I don’t know why. But you should be able to get out of Care of Magical Creatures if you want,†Wayne advised him.
–No, I told myself it might be fun,†Howe said. –I never intended to come here, but now that I’m here I might as well do something I’d never do otherwise.â€
After lunch Tracey went to her advanced Potions class, taught by Professor Slughorn in a dungeon classroom. The Potions students gathered in the hallway a little before one p.m. waiting for the professor to arrive and open the door. Neither Wayne nor Neville was in this class. There were three other Slytherins, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, and Theodore Nott, four Ravenclaws, Ernie Macmillan, who was a Hufflepuff, and Howe.
–I’m glad you found your way down here,†Tracey said to him when he appeared in the corridor and joined the rest of the group.
–Neville drew me a map,†he explained. Then, –Do you want to be partners in this class?â€
She could not bring herself to look him in the eye, and she felt edgy; he didn’t realize that his request was out of line.
–Um, we usually partner by House,†she said, –and since there are four Slytherins here, we’ll be two and two. But you and Ernie are singletons; let me introduce him to you.â€
In the classroom, Tracey shared a table with Blaise Zabini, while Ernie and Howe were partners. She kept her head down, spoke only to Blaise, and religiously avoided looking in the direction of Howe’s and Ernie’s table, but she could not help overhearing their conversation with each other as they worked at their cauldrons.
–How did you get into this class?" Ernie asked Howe. –Did you take O.W.L.s? How does that work for students who were taught from home?â€
–I went into London about a month ago and took some tests at the Ministry of Magic. First time I was ever there. They said I had to do it before coming to Hogwarts. Otherwise I wouldn’t have done. I don’t know how I scored on the test…†He stopped talking and hunkered down by bending his knees to bring his line of sight even with the level of his scales. –…but I guess they had to put me somewhere.â€
Ernie reached into his bag, and took out two textbooks. –Pick up your scales,†he ordered Howe, and placed the textbooks on the table where the scales had been. –Put your scales on top of the books. There, that’s better. Now you won’t have to lean over so much.â€
–Thanks, mate,†Howe said. –That helps a lot.â€
–They make the tables low, for the little kids, but sometimes they’re too low for some of us seventh years,†Ernie said.
–Are you glad to be here?†he continued.
Howe held out one hand, palm down and fingers spread, and moved it a little in a rocking motion to indicate –so-soâ€. –I’ve got nothing against school, in fact I went to Muggle school until I was fourteen, along with my home studies, but you know, in school a lot of time is wasted. At home you can learn a lot faster, cover more stuff in a shorter span of time.â€
–What’re you going to do next year?†Ernie asked.
–Work on the croft, keep building things up.†Howe laughed. –Maybe something I learn here will be useful and I’ll be glad I came. Make it up to my parents for having been gone all year.â€
Then the two boys caught a warning glance from Professor Slughorn, and their casual conversation ended and they turned their whole attention back to their classwork, but the damage had already been done. Tracey could see the surreptitious smiles and nudges that Blaise, Draco, and Theodore were giving one another, and she knew that they had been highly amused by this conversation. Although they did not dare to taunt Howe within the classroom itself, it was a certainty that the taunts would come later.
Sure enough, once the classroom door had closed behind them all, it began.
–Maybe you can learn to make better fertilizer, farm boy. Your parents would be proud of that.â€
Why don’t you guys just stuff it, Tracey thought, but she didn’t say anything.
The mandatory Muggle Studies class the next day was a shock. In lieu of textbooks, Professor Alecto Carrow distributed paperback pamphlets with inflammatory titles and lurid line-drawing illustrations of figures, supposedly Muggles, who resembled a hybrid between humans and apes. Some of the Slytherins in the class laughed at the sight of them, but the Gryffindors generally looked appalled. Tracey leafed quickly through her pamphlet, reading a few lines here and there; it was all vitriol, scurrilously abusive, viciously insulting. She was shaken; this was what every student would be forced to study? This was no textbook; it was slanderous rubbish of the worst sort. Even though she didn’t know any Muggles personally, she knew they didn’t look like those line drawings.
The pamphlet had the appearance of having been hastily printed, but it nevertheless had a table of contents and chapters devoted to characteristics of Muggles — stupidity, laziness, filth, low morals, disease, untrustworthiness, violence, danger to society. She glanced across to the other side of the room where the Gryffindors were sitting, to see Howe’s reaction to it. He was looking at his pamphlet, wide-eyed, and as she watched, he closed the pamphlet and stared straight ahead.
How can they do this to us?, Tracey thought in anguish. How can they do it to him?
Professor Carrow began lecturing, a diatribe about the stupidity of Muggles that went on and on, and then assigned the students to read the first chapter in the pamphlet and write an essay on the topic.
Eventually, blessedly, the hour came to a close. There had been no class discussion, nothing but vile indoctrination, and Tracey was desperate to talk with someone about this — no, it didn’t even deserve to be termed a –class†— but the other Slytherins did not seem to be bothered by it. As they all filed out of the classroom, Malfoy and Zabini were joking, saying it was going to be an easy –passâ€. Tracey wanted to run up to Howe and tell him that Hogwarts wasn’t really like this, but she dared not. Neville will tell him, she thought.
In the ensuing weeks, Herbology was the bright spot of her days. On Mondays and Wednesdays the class met in Greenhouse Six for academic instruction and on Fridays in Greenhouse Seven to work on their research projects. It was a pleasure for Tracey, working in such friendly fashion on the research about venomous tentacula with Neville, Wayne, and Howe, not having to censor her words or worry about what they thought of her. For the first time in all her years at Hogwarts, she felt wholly accepted.
On the third Monday of the term, Howe caught her eye as he passed the foot of the Slytherin table at the end of breakfast and moved his head slightly to indicate –Outsideâ€. Tracey quickly finished her meal, excused herself from her housemates, and went out into the entrance hall, where she saw Howe leaning against the wall. –Meet me at the greenhouse,†was all he said, and then he vanished up the stairs.
Tracey ran down to the Slytherin dormitories, grabbed her schoolbag, and hurried out to Greenhouse Six. It was half an hour before the start of class, and no one was there. She stood outside the greenhouse door and shivered in the cool air, watching the empty path, waiting for someone to come and wondering if she had misunderstood.
In a few minutes Howe appeared around the corner of Greenhouse One and broke into a smile on seeing her, picking up his pace until he was by her side.
–Let’s go inside,†he said, opening the door.
–What’s this about? What do you want to see me for?†she asked, curious. He sat down at one of the white tables and motioned for her to do the same.
–I wanted to talk to you,†he began, –but not about Herbology. I just want to get to know you better, but I sense that that would not be completely…†he searched for the word, –permitted. Am I right?†He looked at Tracey frankly, with an unswerving gaze.
She met his eyes for a moment and then looked down at her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers a little. –You mean, would there be trouble if we met in the library, or studied together, or took walks outside? Yes,†she said raising her head, –that could be hard. Some people would not approve.â€
Be brave, be honest, she told herself. –The Slytherins would not approve. They think they’re better than anyone else.â€
–Just because they got Sorted into Slytherin House? Howe asked.
–Not completely,†Tracey replied with a feeling of anguish. –There’s more to it than that. They belong to families that have always been Sorted into Slytherin; it’s like it’s in their blood. They’re mostly rich or at least well off; they’re mostly pureblood or almost pure. They know they’re Slytherins even before they ever put on the Sorting Hat.â€
–Ah, yes, the Sorting Hat,†Howe said with a faint smile. –A strange relic, that’s for sure. Well, it didn’t send me into Slytherin House. I guess I’m not rich enough. It doesn’t send crofters there.â€
–I’m not rich either,†Tracey protested.
–And you’re not like the other Slytherins. I can see that.â€
–But I am a pureblood, so they tolerate me.â€
–What does that mean, exactly, ‘pureblood’?â€
–It means your parents and grandparents were all witches and wizards.â€
–Then I guess I qualify on that score. But there’s still the crofter thing. Can’t get around that.â€
–Do you always mean to be a crofter?†Tracey asked. –Didn’t you ever want something else, something more?â€
Howe sighed. –Look at your cloak,†he said, fingering the black fabric that hung down from her shoulders. –Look at your robes. What are they are made of? Wool. Wool that’s spun into thread and woven into cloth and made into clothes to keep you warm. It’s people like me that keep you clothed and warm. Where did we just come from? Breakfast. It’s crofters who grow the food that keeps you alive. If we don’t have good food and warm clothes, nothing else matters.â€
He looked into her eyes. –I love being a crofter, just like you’ll love being a Healer. We’re alike, in a way, both dealing with living things.â€
Tracey instantly felt regretful for having implied that he should aspire to something different, so she sought to change the subject a little.
–Are there many witches and wizards on Skye?â€
–There’s some, not a lot, but then there’s not many people on Skye. It’s small.â€
–Do you…do you interact with the Muggles a lot?â€
–Yeah, pretty often. I know a lot of Muggles, went to school with them until I was fourteen. We have lots of Muggle friends.
–Do they know you’re a wizard?â€
–I don’t think so. The crofts are far enough apart that we don’t look into each other’s windows.†They both smiled at that.
–So, friends?†Howe asked.
Tracey nodded. –Howe, I am so sorry. About that terrible Muggle Studies class, I mean. I don’t want you to think we’re all horrible people or that we believe that rubbish. They’re talking about your friends, and you have to sit there and listen to it!â€
Howe leaned forward and took one of her hands in both of his own. –I know that. I know it’s not your fault. Everything that’s happening, making us come here, making us take that class, it’s all part of some plot, some campaign that I don’t understand yet. Neville tries to tell me about it. He’s one brave kid, you know?â€
Tracey smile wanly and nodded.
–Hey,†Howe said, straightening up again and letting loose of her hand. –I’ll be here a little early for every Herbology class, if you just want to come by and talk some days.â€
–Thanks, Howe. That would be so nice. I don’t have a lot of people to talk to here,†she answered.
–Well, you’ve got me.â€
********
In the weeks that followed, Tracey began hearing rumors of frequent, arbitrary disciplines being imposed on students in the form of detention. In past years detentions had been handled by the Heads of the various Houses, but now the Carrows were claiming jurisdiction over all these punishments, and from what she had seen of Alecto Carrow’s character in Muggle Studies class, Tracey expected only the worst.
So she frequently warned the younger Slytherins about not being out after curfew, and she established a –study table†in the Slytherin common room and enforced that all eight first years report there each evening after dinner and complete their next day’s assignments, with help from her if necessary, before they went to bed, to avoid being unprepared for their classes. This was not difficult; the first years all had the same class schedule.
When she saw Howe in the morning before Herbology class, she told him about her study table. –Millicent and the other girls call me ‘Little Professor’ and say I’m wasting my time, that no one can lay a hand on Slytherins, but I don’t know if that’s true. I know I don’t feel safe.â€
–That’s a good idea, the study table. We should pass it on to the other Houses. You’re right, nobody’s completely safe,†he said gravely.
Howe had changed from the outgoing person she had originally met; now he seemed more wary, and she had the sense that he knew more than he let on. She asked him about the –Dumbledore’s Army, still recruiting†signs that had started appearing on walls around the castle.
–Do you do that? I know the Gryffindors are behind it.â€
–And Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws too, not just Gryffindor,†he answered.
–Are you one of them?†Tracey persisted.
He fiddled with some bits of wood that were lying on the table and began to speak slowly. –I’m staying out of it. The truth is, I don’t feel the same deep connection or loyalty to Hogwarts as the people who have been here so long, whose families always go here. Those people who are on the run, I don’t really know who they are; I’ve never met them. And yet I’m not so short-sighted as to assume that the issues that threaten people here, now, won’t also threaten us on Skye eventually. I have to prepare myself for stuff that I never dreamed would happen. So no, I’m not painting slogans on walls. The DA doesn’t really mean anything to me. But Neville is making sure I’m proficient in defensive spells. He’s a pretty good teacher. He says it took him a long time to learn them, but he’s pretty skilled now. If I get to be as good as he is, I’ll be satisfied.â€
Howe lifted his head and took a deep breath. –But we’ll make it if we stick together.â€
A somber silence filled the air between them as Tracey pondered his heavy words.
–Tracey,†he said, hesitating,†if you ever overhear anything that sounds strange, anything you think could be important, let me or Neville know, okay?â€
–Like what?â€
–Anything. Talk about what’s going to happen, or what people are doing…â€
–You mean anything the Slytherins say?â€
–Yeah, that’s partly it.â€
–Okay, I’ll tell you.†This was not like her. Tracey had always tried to keep out of trouble; until now she had thought that she could simply stay in the background, her spine pressed firmly against the wall, while the currents of war swept past her. But maybe not anymore. Instinctively she glanced around the empty greenhouse as if expecting to spot eavesdropping Slytherins behind the shelves.
Howe stood up from his chair; the other students would be arriving soon for class. Tracey arose also. Howe put his arms around her and hugged her close. –Don’t be afraid. It’s going to be all right.â€
************
Despite her strenuous attempts to stay out of trouble, Tracey finally stepped over the line in Muggle Studies class. Professor Alecto Carrow had given the class an assignment to write an essay about, essentially, the Muggles’ inability to do anything right. Tracey didn’t want to write that, but she also didn’t want to get into trouble, so she decided to try to strike a fine balance.
In her early morning meeting with Howe before Herbology class, she outlined her plan to him. –Howe, I thought I could write about Muggle farming, just mention the things they do without magic that we would use magic for. I wouldn’t say anything like, ‘they’re stupid,’ just describe how they do things, and maybe Professor Carrow will just make those assumptions herself. Can you help me with that? I don’t really know what they do. I can take notes really fast; we don’t have much time.â€
So before the other Herbology students arrived for class, Howe described to her how Muggles cut wood with saws and fastened the pieces together with hammers and nails, how they sheared sheep with electric clippers, cleaned out sheds and barns with hosepipes, and so on, while Tracey scribbled notes on parchment as fast as she could.
After about ten minutes she said, –I think that’ll be enough It only has to be twelve inches long.â€
–Yeah, Carrow is too lazy to read anything longer than that.†He stood up from his chair. –I hope this is going to work for you. The Carrows may not be very bright, but they seem vindictive and unpredictable. Loose cannons, I would call them.
–What can she do?†Tracey replied. –I don’t care if she gives me a low grade; this class doesn’t have any value to me. I’ll just try to ride it out and keep a low profile. It makes me feel dirty just to be there.â€
Unfortunately, Tracey’s plan did not work. Professor Carrow was not satisfied with the essay, and the next week she read it aloud in the Muggle Studies class as an example of a terrible essay.
–This is rubbish, you stupid girl,†she exclaimed. –You’re makin’ the Muggles sound like bleeding geniuses. There’s nothing in here about how stupid they are, or how dirty, or lazy! I oughta give you detention for writing this trash!â€
Tracey began to tremble and she felt her heart pounding. She clutched the edge of her desk with one hand and could not raise her eyes to look at the Professor. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before; she had never gotten into trouble, but now it seemed unavoidable. She could never have brought herself to write the essay that Alecto Carrow wanted, but trouble was the only alternative.
She heard a sound of movement; someone was standing up. A voice — it was Howe’s voice — said, –Professor Carrow, I have had long and close communication with the Muggles on the Isle of Skye in my lifetime, and they are not as you have depicted in this class. The Muggles on Skye are intelligent, hardworking, honorable people who manage their crofts wisely and productively. What I have heard you read in Miss Davis’ essay is factual and accurate, from my experience.†Astonished, Tracey looked across the room just in time to see Howe sit down again at his desk and Neville sink his head onto his hands.
Alecto Carrow’s reaction was instantaneous. –I’ll have your head, you insolent boy!†she screeched. –It’s detention for you, this very night! You can’t talk to me like that!†She huffed and puffed, with her little eyes darting around the classroom, skewering the students at random with her fiery gaze.
Tracey sat stunned. He did it for me, she thought. The whole class was silent, motionless, except for Neville, who slowly raised his head from his hands, and shook his head faintly side to side. After a few minutes, Professor Carrow had calmed down sufficiently to continue with the class, warning Howe that he must appear for detention that evening and then delivering a particularly scurrilous lecture about Muggles. She made no further comment about detention for Tracey.
However, as the students were leaving the room at the end of the class, Pansy Parkinson elbowed her way to Tracey’s side and remarked snidely, –Got yourself a farmer boyfriend, Tracey? Is he going to teach you how to milk cows and pitch hay? You must be really happy. He’s probably a Muggleborn.â€
–You know there aren’t any Muggleborns here this year,†Tracey snapped back.
–Oho, she’s all defensive,†Millicent Bulstrode chortled. Then, –Be careful who you associate with. You don’t want to shame your House by consorting with Gryffindors. And if he’s not Muggleborn, then why wasn’t he here at Hogwarts before this year?â€
Tracey pushed past them without answering. She had wanted to thank Howe for standing up for her, but now she didn’t dare say anything. And what was going to happen in detention? She had heard rumors, seen bruises…
That night at dinner in the Great Hall, she took a seat at the Slytherin table where she could see the Gryffindor table and tried to glance unobtrusively from time to time at Howe. He was sitting next to Neville, deep in conversation. She felt sick at heart and wished she knew what they were talking about. Returning to the Slytherin common room after dinner, she tried to study and to oversee the study table of the first years, but she could barely concentrate.
The next morning Tracey hurried to Greenhouse Six after breakfast, while the sun was just rising over the hills and a chilly wind made dry leaves dance and flutter in the air. Dear Merlin, let him be there, she prayed. She slipped inside the door but felt too tense to sit in a chair, so she paced back and forth, clutching her arms together and trying not to imagine the worst.
After what seemed like an infinite time, the door opened. It was Howe, and Thank Merlin he looked perfectly normal and unharmed. Tracey ran across the room and threw herself into his arms, almost crying with relief. –Oh, Howe, I was so worried. Those horrible people! Are you okay, did they hurt you, what happened?â€
–There, there,†Howe reassured her soothingly. –I’m fine, nobody got hurt. You can stop worrying.â€
–But I’ve heard such awful stuff. I didn’t know…â€
–Come on, sweetheart,†he said, and she didn’t know if that was a common, everyday term of affection on Skye, or if he meant it especially for her. –Sit down, relax, and I’ll tell you what happened.â€
They sat down at one of the white tables, and Howe continued, –They took us down to this room in the lower part of the castle, near where we have Potions class but farther down the corridor. There were three young students in the group. There were a couple of older kids too, Slytherins, by their colors, but not people I knew. The Carrows said we were going to practice disciplinary spells on the little kids. I was really appalled. They looked so scared. That wasn’t something I wanted do at all, so I said I didn’t know how, which was the truth, I didn’t, but they said they would teach me.
–They said it would be Cruciatus, and they showed me the wand movements and ordered me to do it. The other guys were watching me with big smiles. They thought it was funny. I couldn’t believe it, and I thought I gotta stop this, and my mind was racing a mile a minute — what could I do? So I pretended to practice, but I did the wand movement real clumsily and just made random blasts against the wall, didn’t hit anything. That was easy, because the kids were all huddled together, so it was easy to avoid hitting them. The Carrows were pretty mad and called me stupid, and the other guys laughed, but by then I knew what I was going to do.
–So I played the ‘stupid crofter’ card. I hate to do that because it’s always a problem — people think that because we live on Skye and grow sheep, we must be stupid and unsophisticated, compared to the wizards who live in London and work for the Ministry. They think we live there because we’re not capable of doing anything else, and I’m always having to explain that we live there because we love nature and that agriculture is as demanding a career as any other.
–But this time the ‘stupid crofter’ role was going to work to my advantage. So I started talking. I said that I wasn’t good at this because on the croft we only do simple spells. I said, ‘We grow sheep, and when it’s time to shear them, we can do it really fast. When you shear a sheep by using magic, it’s called ‘verging’ and when I use my wand I verge only five minutes and the job’s all done.’
–While I was saying the spell, I moved my hands like this,†and he moved both hands outward at waist level in slight arcs, –as if to emphasize the only five minutes, but with my right hand holding my wand, I was casting my spell over all their wands because I had positioned myself to the left of them, facing them, so I could cover all their wands in one motion. Then I kept talking about how we use magic to do chores on the croft, so they would forget what I said earlier.â€
–What are you talking about?†Tracey asked, bewildered. –What spell did you cast? I didn’t hear any spell.â€
–I said it in the sentence,†Howe explained. –Divergeo. Listen how I did it: When I use my wand I verge only five minutes. Did you hear the word in there? And I moved my hands just at the exact moment I said it. So their wands were Diverged and they didn’t know it.â€
–What does that mean, Diverged?â€
–It means that when they try to aim their wands to cast a spell, the power of the spell goes off at odd, unpredictable angles, not straight. You can’t hit anything you’re aiming at, and you can’t adjust for it because the deviation is totally random, different every time. It’s a defensive spell but kind of dangerous because you never know what’s going to get hit.â€
–So what happened?†Tracey whispered.
–They tried to curse the little kids, but their curses were flying way off target, and they couldn’t get them under control. They almost hit each other. They were yelling at each other, and it was a bad scene. After a minute I scooped the little kids up and herded them out the door, while the Carrows and the Slytherins were still yelling. Then we all made tracks back to our dormitories.â€
–Do you think they knew it was you who did it?†Tracey asked in a shaky voice, still trying to envision the chaotic scene in the dungeon.
–Nah,†Howe replied, shaking his head. –I’m sure they think I’m not capable of doing it. And I depended on their not knowing anything about farming, not knowing that there’s no such word as ‘verging’ â€. He laughed slightly, and then suddenly a look of alarm swept over his face. –You’re not going to tell them, are you? Not tell them what I did?†He stared into Tracey’s face with mute appeal.
Tell them? How could she? –Oh, no,†Tracey exclaimed, seizing his hand. –I could never tell!â€
–I shouldn’t have told you any of this,†Howe said regretfully, shaking his head. –What if they interrogate you, even torture you? And I promised my dad and the other crofters not to talk about it.â€
–About what? What other crofters?â€
–When we got the letter that said that all students had to attend Hogwarts, my parents talked long and hard about what to do. They got my brother and my sister all the way through by homeschooling them, and they got me almost all the way through; I just had one more year to go when the letter came. They talked about going abroad, but they finally decided to stay here. So my dad got all the crofters together who were wizards, and they taught me all the tricks and non-standard spells and oddball jinxes they knew, stuff that’s not in the books but country folk know how to do it — maybe they invented it — to help me stay safe, and they told me not to share it with anyone else.â€
–You mean illegal stuff and dirty tricks?â€
–Well, I wouldn’t call any of it illegal. There aren’t any laws against it because, for one thing, the Ministry doesn’t know about it. In fact, there’s a lot of stuff about us they probably don’t know, and it’s best kept that way.â€
Tracey was silent for a few moments, taking this all in.
–What’s going to happen now? Does the spell wear off?â€
–I’m not sure,†Howe replied. –When the guys were teaching me at home, we just turned it off at the end by using Finite Incantatem with another, unaffected wand.†He laughed a little. –I don’t know if they’ll think of that. They can’t do it with each other’s wands because they’re all Diverged. They’d have to borrow someone else’s wand; I’d love to hear them try to explain that to the person they’re borrowing from.â€
The Crofter and The Snake by Oregonian
Story Notes:
This story parallels and complements my previous story Greenhouse Seven. It is enriching but not necessary to read Greenhouse Seven first.