Screams that aren't dreams
Just after new years, the dorms, common rooms, and corridors were filled with students once more. Padma found the loss of silence rather frustrating. She’d left before the crowd had even arrived, muttering about a long run in the forest. Harry and Lisa went to their favourite sofa-- Luna went to go study with Neville, who she was apparently very good friends with-- Etta found them immediately. Her hair had regrown a considerable amount, no longer being thin patches, but atleast visible; Harry was surprised to see a dark brown instead of the blonde he was used to.
"Hey Harry, hi, Lisa! Have a good Christmas?" she asked.
"Good enough," Harry shrugged. There were still things he had to think over and even more things he didn't know how to feel about. Lisa nodded.
"That's wonderful to hear-- so, Harry, I was thinking over Christmas break: 'How far is Wood willing to go to try and win the Quidditch cup this year?' 'What if the dementors show up to our match again?'" She shuddered midsentence. "The rest of us aren't as susceptible to the dementors as you are, but it's as much of a chance as any that they'll try to..." she broke off, not wanting to finish her sentence, whatever it was she was hinting at.
"I'm working on it," Harry assured. "Professor Lupin said he's going to be teaching me how to ward off dementors soon."
Etta's face lit up. "Brilliant! You know, you're a good seeker. As good as Cho is, she can only do so well. Can't beat the best, right?" she elbowed his shoulder and was off, searching for Steve.
"Why didn't you tell her about the Firebolt?" Lisa asked.
"I’ll tell her next practice," said Harry. He was too tired right now.
"Still. A jinxed firebolt-- how would Black even get a Firebolt? The Ministry would be there in the minute-- if not the second! The whole country's on the lookout for him, I doubt anyone wouldn't notice the Azkaban-escapee walking right into their store and buying the most expensive broomstick on the market!" Lisa said, picking a book off the nearby shelf. "Sherlock Holmes... isn't he that detective, or something? Eh-- sounds like something you'd read, Harry," she hummed, tossing the book at him.
"Maybe when I find the time." Harry denied, enjoying the view outside the window. “I’m getting piles of homework tomorrow, I bet-- how long have we got, ten hours?"
"I guess you're right. We do start back classes tomorrow, don't we? That's real depressing, huh? The day right after break ends! Haven't they got any sense of what the word 'calm' means?" Lisa agreed, before her face lit up. "Hey- how about we join little miss Shewolf in the forest?”
The last thing anyone in the school felt like doing right after Christmas was spending up to two hours on the cold Hogwarts grounds in the raw morning of January, as far as the eye could see still coated in snow, but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders for their entertainment, and they spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scattered themselves up and down the crumbling logs. The first Divination class of term was much more mundane-- Professor Trelawney had begun to teach palmistry, and it didn't surprise anyone when she took no time to inform Harry that he had the shortest life line she'd ever seen.
It was mainly Defence Against the Dark Arts Harry was looking forward to; The conversation with Etta caused the thought of his anti-dementor lessons to remain in his mind persistently, making him more and more ecstatic to get started.
"Ah, yes," Lupin hummed when Harry brought it up after the lesson. "We said a Boggart, correct?"
Harry nodded.
"Let me think... how about eight o'clock Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough.. I'll have to think about it carefully... where would I find a Boggart?" Lupin turned away, muttering to himself.
"It looks like he's only getting worse, don't you think?" Ron said as they turned the corner to get to dinner. “He looks sick every month.”
“Every full moon,” Harry blurted. Padma nodded at him. “Almost every full moon. He was sick on Christmas, remember? It wasn’t the full moon until a few days later.”
“Still,” Harry shrugged. He’d gotten a thought, a little while ago, when he remembered the Defence lesson that Snape substituted... maybe he was overthinking it, and it was purely coincidental... but he supposed Snape must’ve chosen werewolves to be their lesson for a reason, even if he just wanted an excuse to make them all feel very stupid. But it was too coincidental, then... as if Lupin was a werewolf. The irony was too... ironic.
There was a loud and impatient 'tut' behind them; It was Hermione, who had been repacking her bag at the foot of a suit of armour-- apparently, her bag was growing less and less durable, unable to close from the weight of the books.
"What are you tutting at us for?" asked Ron irritably.
"I'm not," declared Hermione, scooping up her final Arithmancy book.
"But you were," Ron corrected, "I said how it looks like Lupin's only been getting worse, and after Harry said that--"
"Well he's been able to guess it by now, hasn't he? If it's not obvious enough for you yet, maybe you should bring it upon yourself to find out." Hermione said, nearly dropping another of her textbooks as she turned to walk away.
"She thinks she's got it all figured out, doesn't she?" muttered Ron, staring after her with a deep look of resent.
“She really does,” Padma said. “She’s a real know-it-all-- in a good way, and a bad way.”
"It wouldn't matter anyway,” Ron shrugged, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Lupin ‘ll be out of here by the end of the year-- pretty sure the spot of Defence teacher is cursed."
At eight o'clock, Thursday evening, Harry was quick to say goodbye to the girls and made for the History of Magic classroom. The class was slightly illuminated, a few of the lamps lit by Hermione, who'd already been waiting. It had been only a few minutes before Lupin showed up, carrying a heavy-looking packing case, heaving it onto Professor Binns's desk. Quinn was tailing him, presumably talking about his classes.
"What's in there?" Harry and Hermione asked, nearly in sync. She turned and looked at him first, and almost started laughing.
"Another boggart," said Lupin simply, handing his coat to Quinn, who immediately covered it over himself. "I've been searching the castle since Tuesday, and very luckily, Mr Filch had one hiding away in his filing cabinet. It's the closest we'll get to a real dementor. I can keep him in my office when we're not using him-- I've got a cupboard under my desk I'm certain he'll like."
Hermione nodded, and Harry hummed, glad that Lupin was able to find a boggart.
“I helped,” Quinn said, smiling. “I got lost and Filch thought I was trying to break the rules, and then when he opened his filing cabinet to write me up, he got scared by some old woman holding a wand. He was so scared he started crying and I told Uncle Moony about it.”
“I didn’t know he could cry,” Harry said, and Quinn snorted.
"So," Lupin said, smiling as he pulled out his wand, indicating for Harry and Hermione to do the same, "the spell I will be teaching you two is highly advanced magic-- well beyond that of your age, and even Ordinary Wizarding Level. As I'm sure you know, it is called the Patronus charm."
"What if it doesn't work against the boggart? Or against a real dementor?" asked Hermione, and Harry could hear the worry in her voice she was trying to hide.
"I will say, it may not work best against the boggart, but it will most certainly have an effect, especially on a dementor." Lupin explained. "When it works correctly, it conjures a Patronus, which is that of an, er, anti-dementor, so to say. A guardian acting as a shield between you and the dementor.
"A Patronus is a very positive force, a projection of exactly what dementors feed on-- hope, happiness, the desire to be alive and live-- but a Patronus cannot feel despair or a loss of their will the way we can. As a result, it can't be hurt. But I must warn you, both of you, that this spell is incredibly hard for even the most qualified of wizards to manage. It may be too advanced, even for your skill sets. And I know you both are very skilled."
"What does a Patronus look like?" Harry asked.
"Each Patronus varies-- it depends on the witch or wizard that conjures it."
"Speaking of, how is it conjured?" Hermione brought up.
"Ah-- right! With the incantation, but it will only work if you're focusing with all your might, on a single, very happy memory."
Harry thought hard. A very happy memory-- certainly nothing to do with the Dursleys. He took maybe a minute before deciding on one of the happiest moments he could think of; the moment, if not the day, he first rode a broomstick. Hermione was murmuring beside him, clearly still thinking. But then, she looked up, a determined look on her face.
"I've got mine," she declared with a beaming smile. Harry nodded in agreement.
"Alright then-- the incantation," Lupin took in a breath and cleared his throat. "Expecto Patronum! Keep it clear and loud, got it?"
"Expecto Patronum," Harry repeated, nearly forgetting his happy memory as he said it. He couldn't quite remember the burn in his chest as well as he could feel it, nor could he place when the air, once tight, became almost overwhelming as he found much more to breathe than he'd ever need, the wind slashing his face. He could remember it all very well, and he was able to keep it in his head; He just couldn't get the incantation down at the same time.
"ExpectoPatrono-- no, wait that’s not-- Ex- ExpectoPatronum- ExpectoPatronum--"
Suddenly, what looked like a wisp of silvery gas blew out his wand.
"Wonderful, Harry!" cheered Hermione, though her face had taken a reddish tint. She kept forgetting her happy memory.
"Very good indeed-- if you're think you're ready to try, you could go first while Hermione works on hers," Lupin suggested. "Or you could practice it more?"
"I think I'm ready to try," Harry said determinedly, moving to the middle of the empty classroom. He tried to keep his mind back to that day-- the burn, the air, he reminded himself over and over again-- but he couldn't drop the thought that was slowly growing louder and louder in the back of his mind; Any moment now, he'd hear his mother. His and Hermione and Quinn’s mother-- he shouldn't be thinking of that, or he truly would hear her again, and he didn't know if that was what he really wanted or not.
Lupin came into view, pulling the lid of the packing case open. A dementor rose from the box, just as planned, and its hooded face turned to face Harry. the lamps around the classroom flickered, and a few went out completely. The dementor rose from the box, coming closer and closer. A wave of cold air flew over Harry as the dementor drew a rattling breath, and his head was suddenly throbbing so much that he had a hard time keeping his eyes open.
"ExpectoPatronum!" Harry forced himself to find his voice, trying to remember the-- the... wait, what was the memory he chose again? "Expecto-- ExpectoPatronum--" he tried to find any happy memory he could, but it seemed they were all gone. Every single one.
The classroom grew darker, though he could tell not a single lamp had turned off, and the dementor was disappearing before his eyes-- he was falling, as if he were in the middle of the Quidditch game again; The weak, screaming voice that he didn't notice at first grew louder and louder until it was clear enough for him to make out words.
"NO! No-- I- don't touch them! Please-- I'll- I'll do anything!"
"I've given you mercy, do not take your chances!"
"NO! "
"Harry?"
Suddenly, he was back in the classroom, lying flat on his back. The classroom lamps were alight again. Hermione and Lupin were standing over him, and he could hear sniffling from behind them; He needn't ask what happened.
"Sorry," Harry muttered briefly, sitting up to wipe sweat from his face.
"Are you feeling okay, Harry?" asked Hermione.
"I'm fine." He told her, pulling himself up on one of the desks.
"Here-- you should take a break before we try again. Hermione said she's ready to take a go." Lupin said, handing him a chocolate frog. "I admire your courage; It wasn't expected for you to do it on your first try, but it's great that you're determined."
"It's getting worse." Harry admitted, biting off the frog's head. "I could hear her louder, and- and clearer. And him-- Voldemort..."
Lupin had gone pale, and Hermione's breath hitched.
"Harry, If you don't want to continue, I will more than understand--"
"I do!" Harry declined, stuffing the rest of the chocolate frog into his mouth. "I have to! What if the dementors come to the next match against Slytherin? Or the one against Gryffindor? Or- or even show up during practice? I can't fall off again! We barely got any points the last game, if I don't catch the Snitch, we're never getting the Quidditch Cup!"
Lupin sighed. "If you're certain.... You... might want to select another memory to concentrate on... not to say your first choice wasn't happy. It just may not have been strong enough..."
Harry sat with Quinn as Hermione tried her luck against the dementor. He tried to do something, but it seemed Quinn felt best just resting at his side; And it gave Harry a bit of time to think. Hermione’s went better than his did, he felt. Mainly because she didn't faint like he did. She didn't manage to cast a patronus either, however; When the dementor got too close and she realised the spell wasn't going to cast, she screamed out "Riddikulus!" and Lupin forced the boggart, now looking like a stuffed pillow, back into the packing case.
"Do you think you're ready to try again, Harry?" Lupin asked, handing Hermione a chocolate frog.
"Ready," Harry nodded, and he and Hermione switched places, him taking the spot in the middle of the classroom, his new happy memory in his head. The day he first got to leave the Dursleys for Hogwarts. He’d never been happier-- a chance to finally escape the worst place he’d ever been.
He barely heard Lupin shout "Go!" as the room became freezing cold and dark again, focusing his attention on the dementor already gliding forward, it's rotting hand reaching for Harry, and the throbbing headache returned-- his eyes shut- but he didn’t need to see, not as well as he could hear; the dementor’s rattling breath coming closer and closer...
"ExpectoPatronum!" He yelled. "ExpectoPatronum! Ex-- Expecto--"
His senses grew foggy. His eyes were still shut, but he could see blurred shapes, much larger than he, were moving around in a horrified manner... then, came a voice- a new voice, shouting, panicked--
"Lily, take the babies and go! It's him! Run- find the Cloak! I'll hold him off!--"
Then, there was sounds of someone stumbling over their own feet, and a baby crying- a door flying open before slamming shut- a cackle of horridly high-pitched laughter and a sob, followed by much rummaging...
"Harry... Harry, wake up.."
Lupin was tapping Harry on the face, and he could hear Hermione shrieking 'ExpectoPatronum' behind him. It was a minute before he understood why he was on a dusty classroom floor. When he sat up, he didn’t see Quinn anywhere.
"I-- I heard dad," Harry said. "That's the first time I've ever heard him-- he- he tried to take on Voldemort himself... to give mum time to run away and find the Invisibility Cloak..."
He just barely noticed that tears were running down his face, merging with sweat. He dropped his head as low as he could, pretending to still have been ailed by a headache to make sure Lupin wouldn't see. Hermione, who'd been trying her best to not stumble on her feet as she backed away from the boggart, screaming the incantation, bumped into Harry's back. She sighed, before dropping tiredly with a Riddikulus, sending the boggart back into the packing case herself.
"You heard dad?" She asked, just as Lupin asked, "You heard James?"
"Yeah," Harry said, looking up, face now dry. "Professor Lupin-- you- you knew dad, didn't you? I mean, you must’ve. You’ve told us all kinds of stories..."
"Ah, yes," nodded Lupin, looking reminiscent. "We were friends at Hogwarts... er, say, I think we should leave it here for now. This charm is... ridiculously advanced... I don't doubt you two's abilities in any way... I shouldn't have suggested putting you two through this, it's not well for you--"
"No!" denied Harry and Hermione. Harry was able to stand up on his own, but Hermione had to steady herself on a desk.
"Just one more go! I'm not thinking of something happy enough-- just- just give me one moment..." Harry swore.
He racked his brain; A really, really happy memory. He just kept losing them. He knew what he chose to remember, what he declared as his 'happy memory' but he couldn't hold it when the time came to use it against the dementor. Maybe this really was too much for him to try and take on. He had homework he should be doing.
No, he pushed away the thoughts, deciding on a new memory-- just last year, in the Hospital wing, when he was healing and his friends had skipped the feast so they could have one of their own. If that didn't work then, and only then, would he stop.
"I'm ready," he declared, taking the spot in the middle of the room once again. He'd get it this time.
"You're certain?" Lupin asked, looking like he were doing this against his better judgement. "Make sure you're concentrating, alright? Okay-- go!"
He pulled the lid off the case and the dementor rose like normal. The room grew cold and dark, and Harry shut his eyes and strained his ears; He could practically hear everything-- he could hear Hermione taking weak gasps-- he almost thought he could hear Lupin muttering... he almost hear.
" EXPECTO PATRONUM! " Harry shouted, as loud as he could. "EXPECTOPATRONUM! EXPECTOPATRONUM!"
The screaming had begun inside his head, and his headache began at once-- except, now, the screaming sounded as if it were coming out of a broken radio-- softer then louder then softer again and loud again-- and his headache wasn’t nearly half as terrible. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes-- he could see the dementor, and his eyesight became foggy, but not in the way it did when he fainted-- the dementor faltered-- and suddenly, a huge, silver shadow flew out Harry's wand, immediately going to hover between him and the dementor. His legs felt weak, as if he were standing under pounds and pounds of pressure, but in no way could he bring himself to fall. For how much longer, he was unsure, but he was too caught in the moment--
"Riddikulus!" Lupin roared, lunging forward. With a loud crack, Harry's cloudy patronus vanished with the dementor; He nearly let his knees buckle for a moment before forcing himself to stay up, dragging himself to a chair.
"Brilliant, Harry!" Hermione said, clapping him on his back.
"Brilliant indeed," Lupin agreed, striding over to them. "You've certainly proven me wrong. Here--"
He handed Harry what looked like a large bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate.
"Eat the lot. You need it-- and Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood," Lupin joked. "If you both still think you want to try, we can do this again- same time next week,"
"Certainly," Harry said absentmindedly, and Hermione snorted.
"'Certainly,'-- I knew it'd happen eventually-- you've begun to talk like Malfoy-- all regal and formal... you've spent so much time around him that you're speaking like him," she said, laughing. Harry’s smile became too much to stand, and shortly, he was laughing too.
"You would've given James a run for his money-- believe me, that's saying something." Lupin said, distracting them. "A Patronus... at thirteen... they would be proud. Your parents, I mean. Of both of you, for trying at all."
Hermione went red, flustered, and Harry paused, and his stomach churned. He broke off maybe two pieces of the chocolate bar to try and satiate the feeling before he got a sudden thought.
"Professor-- you knew Sirius Black, didn't you? I mean-- if you knew either of our dads, then, you had to--"
Lupin turned briskly, catching Harry off guard.
"What gives you that idea?"
"Er-- n- nothing really-- I was just thinking, since they were friends when they were in Hogwarts too... and he's our uncle..." Harry explained, and Hermione nodded in agreement. "I thought that too. I assumed so, since you both knew dad-- that you atleast knew eachother..."
Lupin's expression softened in what looked like relief.
"Yes, I knew him," he said briefly, and he glanced sideways at his left hand. "Or I thought I did."
“Wait, before, er,” Harry started again. “Why did- why did Quinn call you, Uncle, er--"
“Moony?” Lupin was smiling again, and he buried his hand in his pocket. “It was a nickname I had during school... I suppose he heard it from Lily. She’s the only person who knows about it at all-- I have no clue how he would’ve learned it otherwise.”
Harry almost dared to ask if he knew the Marauders-- but before he could, Lupin spoke again, “You two better be off. It's getting late. It won't be a short walk..."
He couldn’t find it in him to continue to pester Lupin into the night. With that, Harry and Hermione were on their way. The more time Harry spent walking, he was suddenly aware of how faint he felt, and going up any more stairs made him feel sick. He bid Hermione a brief goodbye, rushing for the fourth floor bathroom. He found the longer he went, the harder it was to focus. His headache felt worse-- as if he was before the dementor again. The moment he got to the sink, he immediately splashed his face with handfuls of water.
Everything was spinning, his ears were ringing, and all he could hear was the sound of running water and his parents' voices, which were echoing in his head so persistently that even the water fell silent. He tried to cover his ears, but it seemed to only get louder. There was a stinging in his chest that only grew worse with every passing second, and it didn't help that the air felt like it was becoming denser and denser every passing second.
He held onto the frame of the sink desperately, trying his hardest to focus on his reflection. He was better off being able to see himself, even if nothing else, but he really couldn’t manage that, either... the world was becoming blurry, but he was able to keep from falling. His stomach ached; He shouldn't have skipped dinner, he felt, but soon decided it may have been better that he had with the growing return of chocolate in his throat. It wasn’t that serious... he was just being dramatic...
He couldn't cast a Patronus if he was too busy crying over voices, he told himself. Listening to them wasn't going to bring them back.
He paused.
"What would you know," He muttered angrily, splashing his face with water again. He was starting to get dizzy. He was being dramatic...
He stood up and straightened his spine, looking his reflection right in the eye.
"Pull yourself together. Pull yourself together. " He said sternly. "You’ve got more important stuff to do..."
Suddenly-- the mirror cracked, and along with it did Harry finally realised where he was. It was only now that he realised the cold feeling he felt was not just dread-- the sink was still running; overflowing, infact, and his hands, which were still holding onto the sink, were very cold and dripping with what felt like ice water.
It was a bit foolish, he thought, to have come to the bathroom. He should’ve just kept going upstairs... all he got out of it was wet shoes and a horrible headache.
The walk up to Ravenclaw Tower felt longer than normal. Maybe it was that the bottom of his feet were wet, or that he couldn't quite remember if he turned off the faucet of the sink. Maybe it was that he was still thinking about his parents, and wondering what he last did with the photo album... Or maybe it was that he could've sworn he had work to do for Arithmancy, but he'd just ask Hermione for help with that later. She was better at Arithmancy than he was.
When he'd gotten to the common room, Padma and Lisa had been playing Wizard's chess. It was empty, save for their squawking at eachother.
"Harry! You're back! How'd it go?" Lisa asked, directing a knight, and Padma groaned. "Why don't you and Ron play eachother? I think you need to lose for once!"
"It went fine-- I was able to cast a kind-of Patronus." Harry said, dropping into an arm chair. He was beginning to get a bit nauseous.
"Fine? Harry-- that's amazing! Patronuses are hard for even super advanced wizards to cast!" Padma said, nearly knocking over one of her chessmen. It screamed back up at her, before Lisa's knight beheaded it. "Lisa!"
"What?" Lisa asked mockingly. "Harry's done something, like, super impressive, but we're still playing chess. I'm not letting you get away from the easiest loss I've ever gotten the chance to give you! If you think it's over from here, then just say so-- it'll feel less painful if you admit to it,"
"Oh, shut it, you just lost your bishop-- also, again, brilliant job Harry." Padma said, turning to face him. "Patronuses are really hard to do-- it’s very brilliant you managed it at all. Even trying is super impressive." She said, smiling, and it calmed Harry's nerves more than Padma knew.
The Gryffindors formally played the Slytherins a week after term started. Gryffindor's Seeker, Adeline Ismene, caught the Snitch before Runcorn, bringing their score up to 270, leaving them the winners over the 190 that the Slytherin's had. Draco said Flint hadn't minded one bit, surprisingly, seeing as their total left them in the lead for the Quidditch Cup nonetheless. Harry, on the other hand, was quite pleased to find Etta only wanted three nights of practice a week; Ron said Wood had the Gryffindors doing six nights a week, and Harry had never been happier that Etta was no longer competing with him for the pitch. However, despite that, four nights was barely enough to get all the homework he had done, and with the addition of Lupin's anti-dementor lessons, which was more tiring than any Quidditch practice he'd ever done, he was ever so grateful to Lisa for gifting him his Time-Turner.
Whenever he wasn’t doing anything else, hoarding books in the library was his and Hermione’s usual, very few times, helping eachother. Hermione was less than excellent at Divination, though she'd never admit to it, and Harry could say he found Arithmancy really was as hard as the Muggle kids insisted. They both had taken to snapping at people whenever their working was interrupted, and frankly, that did not exclude the few times where they'd accidently lashed out at eachother.
"How're they doing it?" muttered Ron across the library one evening. Harry could barely see Ron, Padma, Lisa, and Draco at their table past the piles of books towered on his and Hermione's own table.
"If you're asking about how they've yet to miss a single class, it's better to not to, um, question. We've got homework to do anyway-- Professor Snape gives out, like, the most essays out of all our classes." Lisa whined, scratching her quill on the table.
"Yeah, but--"
"Weasley! We get it," Draco said sharply, cutting off Ron's sentence.
Suddenly, someone tapped on Harry's shoulder.
"Hello, Harry! Lovely day, no?" Etta said, leaning on the bookshelf unconvincingly. Harry could already tell something was the matter. "Alright-- bad news. So, you know how you told me about the Firebolt last practice? So, I asked Professor Flitwick about it.... He got all jumpy and told me I'd be repeating a year again if I brought it up-- he thinks I care more about the Quidditch cup than I do your safety! I said it'd be near impossible to curse a broomstick to the point you can't detect it with a spell, and apparently, I don't care for your well-being!" She said, in an exaggerated manner, but Harry could tell she was being serious. "'As long as it is necessary, we will be keeping it...' Can't think of a single time I've ever seen him act like that! On the other hand... I reckon you'll have to really buy yourself a new broom. There's an order form at the back of the Which Broomstick magazine- I can get you a copy. You could get a Nimbus Two-Thousand and One... or maybe a Nimbus Two-thousand, like your old one. Not to say you fly bad on a Cleansweep or- er- whatever broom that was--"
"I get what you mean," Harry muttered with a sigh. "I'll look into it."
"Wait, what'd you say?" Etta asked. She'd been hard of hearing ever since she got struck by lightning.
January faded into February almost seamlessly, the days growing warmer and warmer in the very slightest every passing day, the air still a bitter kind of cold. The Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match drew near, but Harry hadn't bought a new broom. He’d looked, but he just really couldn’t bring himself to order anything. It hadn't stopped him from asking Professor Flitwick about his Firebolt whenever he got the chance however.
"No, Potter, you will not be getting it back yet," Professor Flitwick said strictly when Harry walked up to his little stool, right after that day's Charms class. "I do not believe it'd be as easy as a simple spell check. I will inform you when you may have it back--"
"Has anyone tried to fly it yet?" Harry asked briskly, making Professor Flitwick look at him as if he said something ridiculous. "Sir, you've said it's been checked for spells, but wouldn't it be easier to fly it? Wouldn't you know whether or not it's cursed if you just flew it in a circle?"
"Potter, I haven't got the time for your ideas. You will get the broomstick back one way or another."
To make matters worse, the anti-dementor lessons were not going as well as it was hoped they would. Harry's Patronus had yet to become more than just a silvery shadow, too weak to drive the boggart-dementor away, and Hermione still wasn't able to cast one of her own. All Harry's Patronus did was float in one spot, like a semi-transparent cloud, while it drained Harry of nearly all his energy just keeping it there. He wouldn't admit it, especially not now, but he felt that the fact he hadn't grown any better came from his secretly-growing desire to hear his parents' voices again.
"You're forcing yourself too much," said Professor Lupin sternly in the fourth week of practice. "At your age, and in general, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You haven't passed out anymore since our first lesson, and Hermione, however little or large progress you've made is progress nonetheless-- you haven’t had any trouble at all remembering your memory. And neither of you would say your abilities have declined, would you?"
"No, of course not," Hermione shook her head.
"I wouldn't say so either-- I just thought a Patronus would do more than... push the Dementors back a little bit. And..." Harry admitted, before trailing off. "Nevermind." he mumbled.
"A true Patronus does do more," Lupin said. "But once again, you've both made incredible progress. If the dementors make an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you'll be able to keep them at bay for as long as necessary to get to safety. That is all that matters in the end."
"But you said yourself the more of them there are, it's harder to hold them off." Hermione said.
"I have complete confidence in you both." said Lupin, smiling. "Fear is as strong as confidence, I imagine, in the right circumstance. Here-- you've earned a drink- it's from the Three Broomsticks. You won't have had it before, Harry, but I think you'll enjoy it--"
He pulled three bottles out his briefcase.
"Butterbeer!" Harry smiled. "Yeah, I like it!"
Lupin looked at him oddly.
"Lisa brought me back some from Hogsmeade a while back," He said quickly.
"I see," Lupin nodded, though his face showed he didn't look to believe it completely. "Well-- to the Quidditch cup. I'm not supposed to be taking sides as a teacher," he added with a chuckle.
They all drank their butterbeer in silence, before Harry brought up something he'd been thinking of for a while.
"What's underneath a dementor's hood?"
Professor Lupin lowered his bottle with a thoughtful look on his face.
"Hmm... well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, a dementor lowers it's hood only to use it's last and worst weapon."
"What is it?"
"It's called the Dementor's Kiss," Lupin said with a slightly twisted smile.
"I've read of that," said Hermione. "it's when a dementor sucks out your soul. People consider it the worst kind of death to ever suffer, a punishment only dealt out to the worst. It's not death, really..."
Lupin nodded.
Harry nearly spat out a bit of butterbeer.
"You can... live without your soul, can't you? You'd just... never be the same." Ha asked.
"Yes-- as long as your brain and heart are still working, you'd be alive." Lupin nodded, "Depending on what you consider 'alive'-- you'd have no sense of self, no memory... nothing at all. There's no chance of recovery. You'd just exist- as an empty shell. Your soul gone forever..."
Lupin drank a little more butterbeer, looking between the two of them, both of which unsure what to say, before he spoke, "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Prophet this morning. The Minister himself gave the dementors permission to perform it in the case he's found."
Harry and Hermione sat stunned, Harry unable to process the idea it was possible to deserve a fate as such. But then he thought of something.
"What happened to Regulus? How did he die?"
"Ah, Regulus," sighed Lupin. "He was the spy. It was just after you both turned a year old. Regulus made... certain decisions in his life that landed him in a bad spot... got the dark mark and everything... but Voldemort found him out after he'd done something... particularly against him. If it's what you're thinking, Sirius didn't have anything to do with it."
Harry took a moment to think. "I still... I still think he still deserves it... the Kiss. Even if he didn't kill his brother."
Hermione looked at him, shocked.
"You think?" asked Lupin lightly. "You think anyone can deserve that?"
"I don't think... anyone, can. And maybe it's just that... what he did... I think Sirius does."
"I didn't think anyone would ever tell you." admitted Lupin. "That he is the reason you don't have your parents."
"We didn't either. No one... told us, we just... er-- learned." Hermione said, pausing. "Thank you for the butterbeer, Professor."
"Yeah, thank you. We should get to our common rooms, it's getting late..." Harry nodded, looking at his pocket watch. It was nearly nine.
"I was going to ask-- er- do you know?" asked Hermione, lowering her voice when they'd gotten a good ways from the History of Magic classroom.
"I think you'll have to clarify." Harry said.
"Do you know that-- that Lupin's a-- oh! Hello, Professor!" Hermione said suddenly, when she saw just who she greeted walking down the halls; Professor McGonagall.
"Potter, Granger! Just the two I've needed to see. Well, here you are, Potter. We've done everything we can think of, and nothing popped up. You've got a very good friend somewhere. And Ms Granger, while I applaud you for being cautious, we didn't find any issues."
Harry's jaw dropped, and his ears suddenly burned. Professor McGonagall was holding out his Firebolt, and it looked brand new, as if he'd just taken it out the wrapping again.
"I can have it back?" he asked faintly. "Really?"
"Really," nodded Professor McGonagall. "No point in keeping it any longer, now that we have thoroughly checked it. I'd rather Slytherin not win the Cup yet another year. Professor Snape was all too delighted to remind me who was in the lead..."
Speechless, Harry turned to look at Hermione, who had a smile on her face, before he went dashing up to Ravenclaw Tower. When he turned a corner, Padma and Lisa were running towards him, Lisa in her sleeping gown.
"She gave it back to you? Like-- she really, really gave it back to you? She came up to the common room a few minutes ago-- we didn’t believe it! You've got to fly that thing next chance you get! Fastest broom in the world-- the other teams are done for! We've got the Quidditch cup in our hands already!"
Hermione came up behind him, panting.
Padma and Lisa were silent for a moment, before, hesitantly, Lisa spoke up.
"Sorry... for being so rude to you, Hermione. I know for sure now you were only trying to help. You wouldn't believe the hell Harry's given us to forgive you. You're way too nice, Harry, also--"
Hermione smiled as Lisa continued. “Thanks.” She almost began to say something else, but then decided otherwise.
Lisa, very pink, turned around in the blink of an eye, already heading back for Ravenclaw Tower. When Harry and Padma said goodbye to Hermione and caught up with Lisa, they ran into Amanda, who'd been waving around a small paper and shrieking quietly yet angrily and Sir Cadogan, who refused to let her in.
"You-- you ratty portrait! You see me everyday, just let me in, for Merlin's sake!" She squealed. "I've always said hello to you, are you seriously going to make me sleep out here? You’re a bloody bastard!”
"A likely tale!" growled Sir Cadogan, before he spotted Harry, Lisa, and Padma. "Good evening, fine young children! Come, tell this woman off-- she is trying to force entry to the chambers within!"
"We don't care. She's here everyday." said Padma simply.
"I've told him the password twice, and if I didn't know any better, I'd suspect that he changed it! I had him tell me the passwords he was going to use this week, but apparently, I've got the wrong one!" Amanda said, glaring at Sir Cadogan and looking back at the paper. “This is why--"
"Oddsbodikins," yawned Lisa, and Sir Cadogan, although he looked extremely disappointed, reluctantly let them into the common room.
"I said that! Ugh-- not worth the time of day... thank you," Amanda said dejectedly, walking in first. The moment Harry entered, there was a sudden excited buzz as everyone turned their heads, trying to get a good look at the Firebolt.
"How'd you get it, Harry?"
"Will you let me have a go?"
"Have you tried it out yet, Harry?"
"Ooh, we've got the Quidditch Cup this year! Someone wake up Etta!"
"You'll atleast let me hold it, won't you?"
After maybe ten minutes, all of which, the Firebolt having been passed around and admired from every angle, the crowd dispersed, many going to their dorms. Harry was no different, as he found himself more tired than when he left his anti-dementor lesson. Lisa had already gone to bed, and Padma was trying to keep herself awake.
When he got to his dorm room after changing into his pyjamas, he found Hydrus curled up on his bed, looking rather proud.
"What's up with you? " Harry asked, setting the Firebolt up against the wall inside his bunk.
"Not a thing at all," replied Hydrus simply, though Harry didn't quite believe him. Hydrus, as well behaved a snake he was, had his moments. He definitely had his moments.
"Well... goodnight then." Harry muttered, pulling up the comforter. And now, he knew why Hydrus was being so weird. Sitting right on his bed, underneath his comforter, was a spot of blood, and a curled up rat that looked quite familiar. Harry was too grossed-out to really focus on how.
"Hydrus! Why would you leave a dead rat on my bed!"
"It's not dead," Hydrus hissed. "It shouldn't be."
"Fine then-- why would you leave a bloody rat on my bed? "
Hydrus didn't have a thing to say, hissing that he'd take it out if Harry was that displeased. The rat was gone within the minute, and with a quick spell, the blood was gone.
"Hydrus, i- it's very... nice of you, but do not-- just... never leave a dead rat on my bed again. Please. "
"No promises."