Chapter 15
After the “Annual Event" – as Harry had started mentally calling Halloween, three years in a row was a growing trend - November marched on, with the gossip and speculation about Sirius Black dwindling as more current, teenaged drama continued to happen in the castle and mounting excitement for the start of Quidditch Season.
For Harry, life tried to get back to normal. He stuck close to Neville in the dorm and at meals, sitting with friends from their study group in class. And tried to keep his head down. It felt like all the teachers were watching him though, like they were waiting for something. They found excuses to try and walk along corridors with him – Professor Lupin was strangely good at tailing Harry, even when he used some of the shortcuts he'd found over the last two years.
Professor Snape seemed to just ignore him in class and in the halls, which was a nice if unnerving change. Harry suspected foul play because there was no other explanation since he categorically refused to bring up to his uncle that he was, well, his uncle. Despite the many strongly worded suggestions from Miss Ana. Mom-guilt was a new sensation for Harry and one he wasn't sure he liked.
And Percy Weasley was constantly checking in on him. (Harry suspected it was on his mother's orders.)
To cap all of the frankly overbearing new supervision, Professor McGonagall summoned Harry into her office, with such a somber expression on her face Harry thought someone must have died.
“There's no point in hiding it from you any longer, Mr. Potter,” she said in a serious voice once he was seated in the hardback chair across from her desk. “I know this will come as a shock to you, but Sirius Black – ”
“I know he's after me,” Harry said wearily. “I was made aware this summer…”
Professor McGonagall seemed very taken aback. She stared at Harry for a long moment, then said, “I see. Well, in that case, Potter, you'll understand why I don't think it's a good idea for you to be out practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the field with only your team members, it's very exposed, Mr. Potter – ”
“We've got our first match on Saturday! We have to train!”
Professor McGonagall considered him intently after his outburst.
Harry started to squirm. He knew she was deeply interested in the Gryffindor team's prospects. He waited, holding his breath.
“Hmm … all the same, Mr. Potter. I'd be happier if a teacher were present. I'll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your training sessions and advise Mr. Wood to hold try-outs for another Seeker. If there is another security incident, you’ll be off the team until it is resolved.”
“But – ”
“I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but that is my final decision. I'll speak to Mr. Wood this evening.”
***
The steady drizzle that had set in steadily worsened as the first Quidditch match of the season drew nearer. Under the watchful eye of Madam Hooch, Oliver Wood trained the Gryffindor team relentlessly. The team had been in an uproar when it was announced that they would be holding try outs for an alternate Seeker, with Harry taking the brunt of the backlash for his lack of commitment. Only the twins stuck by him, uncharacteristically quiet and watchful.
It was at their final training session before Saturday's match when they got the unfortunate news.
“We're not playing Slytherin!” he told them, looking very angry. “Flint's just been to see me. We're playing Hufflepuff instead.”
“Why?”
“Flint's excuse is that their Seeker's arm’s still injured,” said Wood, grinding his teeth in frustration. “but it's obvious why they're doing in. Don't want to play in this weather. Think it'll damage their chances…”
There had been strong winds and heavy rain all day, and as Wood spoke, thunder rumbled in the distance.
“There's nothing wrong with Malfoy's arm!”
“He's just faking it!”
Harry grimaced as the accusations about his … friend … flew around the locker room.
A couple of days before, Malfoy – Draco – had missed Potions Lecture and finally showed up to History of Magic with his arm in a sling. Apparently, Hagrid, in all his misguided excitement, had decided that his third-year class needed to meet Buckbeak, a hippogriff that lived within the boundaries of the Forbidden Forest. And it had gone horribly wrong, with the proud animal charging into the group of nervous students. Draco had been knocked down and his arm broken in the panic before Hagrid was able to herd the creature back into the Forest. Hagrid had gotten in a bit of trouble for it with Dumbledore and McGonagall but nothing severe, with an admonishment that lessons needed to fit the age and experience for wixen children rather than adults with a Care Mastery.
Madam Pomphrey had been able to heal him easily enough but Draco was stuck in a sling for a week so that the potion and spell fused fractures could finish setting.
Lucius Malfoy had been far less understanding of the incident, billowing through the castle, his black inky green and silver robes rivalling Snape's.
Hagrid had received a summons, loudly and publicly, that he had a mandatory appointment with the Board of Governors when they next met to review his credentials and employment. The hippogriff had not been mentioned other than to remind Hagrid that wild animals should remain wild and away from school children.
Wood finally pulled the Seeker from his thoughts and called an end to training since it had devolved into nothing more than a giggle-fest about the dreamy Hufflepuff Captain Cedric Diggory and it was obvious no more strategizing was going to be happening before the game that Saturday.
***
The day before the first match, Harry and Neville were hurrying from Runes with Theo. Professor Babbling had kept them later the bell because Hermione couldn't shut her mouth and stop asking clarifying questions during the lecture so they ran over. Seriously, Harry was beginning to wonder what all he had missed the previous years if that was how she had been when they were sitting together. Scratch that, he thought as he scratched Ember under one of the chins, he missed everything that was crammed into his brain during Miss Ana's Really Over-the-top Unbearable Study Sessions over the summer. Hermione had been behind them but they seemed to have lost her on one of the turns.
The three boys skidded into their seats at the front of the classroom next to Draco just as the projector flicked on and the lights dimmed.
“The lesson bell has already rung, gentlemen. 5 points for tardiness.” Snape's deep voice rasped from the back of the classroom.
Harry gulped and saw Neville and Theo pale beside him on the bench. Tardy with Professor Lupin wasn't good. Tardy with Snape was … they were so dead.
“Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far --" the Potions Professor intoned from the back of the classroom.
“Please, sir, we've done boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows,” Hermione's voice rose from the front of the Gryffindor section, “and we're just about to start --"
“Be quiet,” said Snape coldly. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organization.
“Now, as your professor has decided to focus this year on creatures instead of a practical defense against spells, hexes, etc. that is standard for this subject, turn to page 394.”
The double period dragged on as their professor lectured, the scratch of quills and the click of the changing slides quietly underscoring the much more in depth lesson than they had previously received on any of the creatures covered so far that year. The only interruptions were from Ron, Seamus, and Dean in the back of the class, a solidifying new Gryffindor Trio who lost Gryffindor House another 25 points each over the course of the two hours as well as a couple detentions for unnecessary comments. Against his will, Harry had to agree with Snape, they were being distracting. Also, without the looming threat of a potion mishap, Snape was a less terrifying teacher, less wandering and looming over shoulders in disapproval.
After a subdued lunch as their brains recovered from an information overload, the mixed group of third years made their way to the library to get started on the essay Snape had assigned. It's safer back under Madam Pince's dragon eye even if they have to be quieter, since Hermione found their study room the previous week and started screeching abuse at the Slytherins and yelling at Harry and Neville for betraying their House. Honestly, she was losing the plot and nothing Harry or Neville had reported to McGonagall had helped keep her away from the boys. It helped that they had also somehow gained the quiet guardianship of the Slytherin Upper Classmen that popped in regularly to study. Graham Montague, Cassius Warrington, and oddly, Marcus Flint, being the most common.
Their outlines done, they started passing books back and forth for citations and help with Draco's quiet stream of conscious muttered under his breath as he scribbled elegantly on his quickly filling parchment. “Hogwarts is so sub-par… Father wanted to send him to Durmstrang … should have let him … Mother refused, didn't want him that far … Not like they see each other any more often … Pass that over, would you Neville … No, Daphne, that's wrong, it's been disproven in Halen's Creature Index…”
Harry’s head popped up as what Draco was muttering registered. “Other schools? Anyone know how to get in contact with them?”
Blank stares returned his from around the table.
He explained, “Even if we can't change schools, maybe we could write to them, at least figure out the assigned reading lists or something like that?”
“Potter, I hate to say this because, honestly, it’s causing me physical pain, but that's brilliant,” groaned Draco.
Theo nodded, his face thoughtful. “I have a cousin…mother's side. We don't talk much because of … family issues. That side of the family is Danish and attend Durmstrang. I think he's a couple years older. Like I said, we don't really talk much but I can reach out, see if he would be willing to pass at least his old book lists on?”
The rest of the study group offered to reach out to their assorted relatives that attend different magical schools. Apparently, Harry wasn't the only one confused about the jumping round in the textbook…and they all begrudgingly – the Slytherins less so – agreed with Snape the class has bounced around a bit in the textbook about creatures. (They all also jokingly agree that they should take care to check sky for signs of an apocalypse because of that.) All were rather put out that they have basically been having to do homework for a Creatures class and self-study a Defense class, and those that are actually taking COMC with Hagrid were doubly frustrated.
“Hey Theo, can you ask if your cousin will send along their old assignments or syllabus too so that we know what to focus on, maybe even going back to first year so we know what gaps we need to fill?”
“Sure Hannah.”
The group settled back down to their werewolf essay and other homework. At least between what Harry brought from home (home!) in his trunk and the books his new friends have directed him to, they were doing okay with it.
***
At dinner, Ron, Dean, and Seamus spent the entire meal complaining, loudly, about Snape and the DADA class earlier that day with Hermione butting in at random intervals when she pulled her head out of her essay that she was frantically working on at the table. Getting everything down for her outline and from the class text was imperative so that she just needed to flesh things out with the additional books she put the request in for right after class. Snape had just sneered as he signed the request with a scathing remark about her “Not able to hog the books like she usually did” when she was on an in-library research binge. With her library ban still in place, she only had limited time with any of the reference books.
Harry and Neville did their best to ignore them from farther down the table, sheltered by the Weasley Twins and some of the other 5th years until Oliver Wood found them and started in on them again about his thoughts and strategies for the upcoming game, only stopping when Percy walked by with Penelope Clearwater, Head Girl, mouth open with an incomplete thought and a strange sad glint in his eyes as he tracked the couple leaving the Great Hall arm in arm.
***
The game that weekend against Hufflepuff was the stuff of nightmares. The castle woke to a growing storm, rain lashed the stone walls and gusting winds churned the Black Lake deep enough for the creatures that usually haunted the Slytherin House windows to risk the depths of the lake and the harsher creatures that dwelled there for relative safety from the storm above.
Despite the raging storm and freezing temperatures, the school turned out in droves from the first game of the season. Between the weather and the less than friendly competition between the team captains, the game was brutal. Gryffindor was playing dirty, for Lions, and Hufflepuff was living up to the darker reputation of Badgers. Madam Hooch was going to need to order a new whistle with how often she was having to call fouls and penalties on both teams.
Harry was trying to look for the snitch from where he was perched high above the stadium. Honest, he was. As well as a blind child wearing glasses in a rain storm can anyway. Mostly he was trying to figure out how to wandlessly cast warming charms through chattering teeth and praying that intent and sheer willpower was enough as his fingers slipped on the wet broom handle, numb within his dragonhide quidditch gloves.
The screams from the stadium and pitch below him barely registered as darkness closed in over him and his broom iced over. Too late, he realized that the screams weren't just from below, but all around him as black cloaks descended, surrounding him, pulling at his very core. And then he was weightless, floating, as his numb body gave into the closing black.
***
Harry slowly became aware of a dim light and cozy warmth surrounding him. Lavender and antiseptic swept over him with a deeper breath. Hospital Wing. Murmurs buzzed around him as he covertly took stock of his body. Head: fuzzy but not horrible; Arms: not broken – or missing bones (stupid Lockhart adding that now completely rational fear to his mental checklist); Core: sore and hungry but livable; Legs: stuck, held down? Starting to panic slightly, Harry cracked open his eyes. Ah, Neville was draped across the end of his bed and the rest of their group was clustered around, faces worried.
Feeling movement, Neville sat up, releasing Harry.
“Hey, welcome back,” the larger Gryffindor boy whispered. That got the attention of the rest of his friends and the loitering Quidditch team. Luckily, before they could descend on him, Madam Pomphrey shooed them all out.
“You've assured yourselves that he's alive, now to dinner with the lot of you.”
With murmured best wishes, the large group slowly made their way out of the Hospital Wing as the Matron waved her wand over Harry to check him over.
“Gave us all a scare, young man.”
Harry winced at her pinched expression.
“You'll be fine after some dinner and rest. Luckily you were caught before you fell too far by Professor Snape. I believe he's been up having words with Headmaster Dumbledore about the Wards since depositing you here.
“Now, Mr. Potter. Is there anything you want to tell me? you're significantly healthier than you usually are this term. Don't deny that something has changed, we've spent enough time together, unfortunately, for us to be honest with each other, yes? Just like everything else, it stays between us.”
Harry drew in a deep breath as he made himself more comfortable in His Bed. He'd labelled it once in first year with a bit of parchment and a sticking charm, the Matron had just smiled sadly when she'd seen it but it was still there next time he was, and every time since.
“Yeah, this spring, a lady and her kids moved into the Dursley's neighborhood. Couple streets over, far enough that I don't think the Dursleys ever realized that there was another Magical in the area other than me. They, she…I felt safe. She took care of me whenever we ran into each other. After I ran away … she found me and took me home.” Harry spilled his summer to the quiet School Matron. Everything. All about his time with Miss Ana, feeling like part of a family, the revelations about his mum and Snape. Everything since the start of school. Over a dinner tray, Harry shared the burden of his secrets with the only adult he had at the school to ever see him, care about him, Harry, not whatever sensationalized Harry Potter everyone else saw when they looked at him.
“With your permission, Harry, I'd like to write to her. I hate that you're one of my students with two files, the one for the school and then one that is real. You deserve to have someone that I can contact other than the Headmaster when something like this happens. I understand your hesitation about Professor Snape, us Snakes are strange creatures. But I think all of us would feel better if I had your permission to reach out to her when things like this happen. From one mum to another.”
Harry grimaced but nodded his agreement. It would be nice to have someone else break the news to Miss Ana. And to have someone with access to his real file with Madam Pomphrey instead of the empty decoy she kept with the rest of the student files that the Headmaster had access to.
“Get some rest, Harry. Professor McGonagall wanted to speak with you as well but I can put her off until the morning.”
“Thanks, I'd rather not have her kick me off the team right now on top of everything.”
Harry rolled over, pulling the stiff, lavender scented hospital sheets over his chin, missing the sad look on the lined face of his only adult ally in the school.
“Good night, child.” A whisper of skirts disappeared quietly as the woman headed to her office at the front of the ward, silent tears finally making their way down her cheeks in sympathy for the sweet boy that was too often in her care.
***
Harry was released from the Hospital Wing the next morning after breakfast, an absurdly large chocolate bar in his pocket with instructions to consume the entire thing slowly over the course of the day to mitigate the dementor exposure that was still lingering in his system and instructions to go see Professor McGonagall.
That conversation had gone worse than he had anticipated. In addition to his Head of House pulling him from the team for safety reasons, his broom had been lost in the storm after he fell from it. The remains had been discovered that morning scattered around the base of the Whomping Willow.
Harry had wandered aimlessly after that, finding himself eventually sitting in one of the alcoves on the bridge over the ravine on the far side of the castle. Curled into his wool jumper, he stared blankly off into the gray, but thankfully dry, distance.
Quiet, irregularly halting steps approached, pulling the dark-haired boy back to the present. “Hullo, Professor,” Harry sighed, bracing himself against the corner of the alcove as he licked his chapped lips, finding a tiny remnant of his ridiculous chocolate bar that did nothing to overshadow the musty smell of dog. Must be where he stores his coat or something.
The odd pair share the silence for a few moments before the professor shuffles a bit with his cane and clears his throat awkwardly.
“Mr. Potter, Harry. If you'd like … the dementors …” Harry just stares out of the corner of his eye at the man, trying not to feel cornered in, what had been a rather nice, alcove.
“Sorry. I'm not doing this well,” Harry assumed not, not that he had any idea what “this” was. “The dementors seem to cause a severe reaction in you. If you would like, there is a charm, the Patronus Charm, that helps ward against them.”
Harry just stared at the scarred man as he shuffled again and leaned harder on his cane.
“Just think about it. No rush to make a decision. Just let me know if or when you decide.” With a few awkward glances back, the professor walked back across the bridge toward the castle, his cane landing heavily in the quiet.