Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Old habits die hard. From the second Anne returned with copies of Draco’s files Harry has spent every spare moment developing Draco’s case. Every healer visit, every mailing list, every mention in the Daily Prophet, every wizarding subscription he had ever had; if it had Draco Malfoy's name on it Harry had read it three times over.
Harry was already preparing for the next stages of the investigation, having created a profile of Draco; his current residence (Northern Quarter in Manchester), his current place of employment (Arkie Alderton’s magical repairs), and those he was known to associate with. Once the Hogwarts archives had been searched and their potential victims list narrowed further, the next phase would be to identify potential witnesses; those that knew the victims well enough to provide insight on the supposed trauma symptoms and maybe even saw something suspicious at the time.
Of course Harry already knew who all of Draco’s school friends were, as they featured heavily in all of their schoolyard face offs. Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson already each had a short write up. Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass were another set of familiar names, found on Draco’s marriage certificate as witnesses both had been sorted into Slytherin house in Harry’s year, belonging to families from the Sacred 28, the Notts, Greengrass’, and Malfoys went way back. The only new name was that of the bride herself, Astoria nee Greengrass.
Astoria Greengrass was two years their junior at Hogwarts, sorted into Slytherin house in 1993, a year after Lockharts tenure. After Hogwarts she had accepted an internship with the Wizarding Wireless Network to help develop programming for the Muggle Mondays program; her resume highlighting her NEWTS qualification in muggle studies, and final papers focus on muggle popular culture. An appearance at an industry party got her featured in the Prophets style pages in October 2004, and her marriage to Draco Abraxas Malfoy was announced in April 2003.
WWN had become a staple in the office, much to Anne’s delight. Astoria filled the midday to evening block Thursday through Monday, as well as being part of the rotation for the Friday night live program at the Drunken Dwarf. Between the tracks and ad reads Harry listened for the little details of her personal life - which pub she had visited the other night (the Waldorf), which brand of cigarette she shared outside with the most lovely muggle (Embassy’s), and which album a friend had turned her on to (Blur’s The Great Escape ).
She hadn’t kept her maiden name but she continued to use it on air, and she was very careful never to name names in her stories. Perhaps she had gone to the pub with her sister, the cigarettes had belonged to the muggle girl, and the friend was someone she had shared a dorm with at Hogwarts - it all went into the folder.
Perhaps Harry was getting a little ahead of himself, as July slid into August he and Ron had yet to complete the initial list, and Ron hadn’t even begun to search into any potential leads - if there was no evidence at Hogwarts there would be no point to, it would be a waste of time. If there was no further evidence at Hogwarts Malfoy’s case would be over.
“Well, McLaggen is off the list,” Ron announces, letting the folder he had just been reading fall onto his desk. “Now what to do with my knowledge of his persistent hemorrhoids,” said Ron with a mock contemplative sigh. Turning expectantly towards Harry, Ron finds his Auror partner with his nose in a file.
“Oi mate, we have other potential victims to clear yeah?”
Embarrassed, Harry sets the profile Rita Skeeter had written three years ago about WWN’s controversial new host, aside.
“So where are you at with your half then?” Ron asks, leaning back in his chair and resting a foot on the desk. The fan spins futilely against the stagnant August heat.
Pulling his share of the graduating class of 1997 list towards him Harry quickly counts the uncrossed names. “Oh, um about 3 names left.”
“Same,” Ron pauses to lick his lips, “means tomorrow is the big day then.”
The big day, when they go to Hogwarts to begin looking for hard evidence. When the list of leads becomes a list of suspects.
“I guess it is.”
The fan continues to whir persistently on Harry’s desk.
“….maybe Hermione is right,” Ron begins slowly. “Could always onboard someone else, transfer the case.”
Harry’s grip tightens on Malfoy’s file. “And what, wait months for Dawlish or Williamson to let us know what happened.”
Ron rubs his nose, the humid summer air hanging in the silence between them. “No, no, you’re right,” he answers weakly.
Each elimination had been a relief for Ron, a childhood memory that could remain untouched - uninvestigated and innocent. Of course, not every name had been ruled out, not yet. Classmates, Housemates, Quidditch teammates, and Dumbledore’s Army members, with the trauma of the war affecting so many their age it was expected that people they knew would be flagged, and it was likely they would be disregarded once at Hogwarts, they just hadn’t been ruled out yet, or maybe not ever.
The uncertainty only pushed Harry forward, if he had stumbled upon the strange silver box amongst his former Professor’s belongings he would have opened it too. Ignorance was bliss for some people, but not Harry.
Pushing his chair back roughly Harry begins to search through the few files still remaining in their office; the sooner they finish this round the sooner they could arrange to meet McGonagall at Hogwarts.
With a sigh Ron returns to his own work.
Harry sat at the wooden table, taken from Grimmauld place, fighting to airplane scrambled eggs into a wiggling James mouth. The Victorian window panes pattern the floor in neat little squares of sunshine. The window is open, despite there being no breeze, awaiting the post.
Standing at the yellow enamel countertop, Ginny pours herself a second mug of coffee, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Ugh, mum wants me to help her do something at the house for dinner Sunday, some surprise for Ron and Hermione, so we’ll have to be heading out soon.” We meaning her and James, who was happily banging his silicon spoon into his eggs. Replacing the pot back into the holder with a click, Ginny leans back against the kitchen counter to sip her coffee. “What have you got on today?”
“Not much actually,” said Harry, breaking up a banana for James to drop the majority of on the floor. “Bit of a stand-still in the case at the moment.”
He and Ron had finally completed the initial round of investigations, sending a request to access Hogwarts. Being summer the soonest McGonagall would be able to accommodate their investigation wouldn’t be until the end of the week. Ron was more than happy to take the time off they so rarely received, intending to spend the next few days setting up the nursery to surprise Hermione. Depending how he did she would either love or hate this.
“I can take him if you need,” Harry offered, casting scourgify on the mess of scrambled egg and banana on the floor.
“Ha, and deprive mum of seeing her grandson, she’ll never forgive me,” Ginny laughed into her mug taking another long sip. “But thank you.”
The screech of an owl pierces the kitchen as a small tawny owl glides through the open window, perching on the back of the wooden chair beside Ginny.
“Owl!”
“Yes James, that is an owl,” Ginny agrees with a smile. collecting the small bundle of letters the Tawny deposited from its beak. After a quick peck of James eggs the Tawny was back out the window into the clear blue sky.
“Fan letter for you, fan letter for you, fan letter for me, someone looking to use your fame and fortune,” Ginny listed as she slid Harry’s mail, letter by letter across the table, sorting the post. Taking up the letters Harry almost spills his entire mug of coffee when he reads the last return address, - WWN, Astoria Greengrass.
Ginny doesn’t notice, too engrossed in her reading.
“Ohh this must be the shower invitation- yes, oh look they’ve got a picture of the ultrasound,” Ginny over stresses the syllables of the unfamiliar word, holding the photo up to view it in the full sunlight from the window. “A girl, mum is going to be so excited.”
But Harry isn’t listening, fumbling with his butter knife to open his own mail. It is handwritten by Astoria herself on wizarding wireless network branded parchment, she is developing a new interview program wherein she will be interviewing known wizarding personalities about their favourite music and believes that the wizarding world would love to hear Harry’s opinions on the matter- it was as flattering as a letter could be while still professional.
“Maybe we should do it, even if it’s muggle it’s kind of cute,” said Ginny, still engrossed by the ultrasound photograph. She had mocked Hermione at the time, as magic rendered such a procedure wholly unnecessary, but there was something magical about the black and white still life she held in her hand.
Waiting for a response from Harry, she finally sets the photo down when she realizes he isn’t listening. “Oi, what is it?”
“Oh, uh, I’ve been invited to be on the radio.” Harry explains, pulling out the note card with the return address provided in the envelope to record his response. With a flick of his wand a self inking quill pulls itself from the rummage drawer and into his waiting hand.
“An interview?” Ginny raises her brow skeptically, taking her mug back into her hands. “You?”
“What? I’ve been interviewed before?” Harry shrugs, going for nonchalance as he answers the short questionnaire, once completed the notecard folds itself neatly before vanishing before his eyes. Self sending.
“Um, sure, only when you have too, because it’s for the greater good, this is, what a celebrity publicity piece?”
“It might be fun, Anne listens to her programs all the time,” said Harry unconvincingly, he can’t explain the real reason, if Astoria knows she’s being interviewed for a case that could jeopardize the entire investigation, they can’t do traditional interviews.
Ginny shakes her head, “alright, sure, whenever you’re done lying to me and want to tell me the actual reason I’m dying to know.” Raising from her seat Ginny kisses Harry’s head before lifting James by the under arms out of his high chair “come on we are late.”
Hogwarts castle looked as magnificent as it did in Harry’s fondest memories, the spires slowly rising over the horizon as they walked the path from Hogsmeade.
“They really need to come up with a better system,” Ron huffed, taking a moment to wipe his brow. The walk to the castle was warm and uncomfortable in the late August weather.
They had finally finished the initial round of investigation, narrowing their list to 30 potential leads; the Hogwarts archive would eliminate most of these. Belonging to the war generation an abundance of trauma wasn’t exactly unexpected, they would need to verify that evidence of the effects of abuse pre-exist the war, if not then they would be taken off of the list.
In addition to the long-term effects they were already searching for, they would also be adding short-term effects when referencing sources from the 1992-1993 school year. Before entering the floo to the Three Broomsticks, Anne had typed them up another summary report, creating a much more transportable edition of Hermione’s report.
Short-term effects:
Increased illness (body aches, cold, flu, injury to genitals, painful urination, stomach aches, sexually transmitted disease); poor attendance; poor grades; difficulty concentrating; mood changes; regressive behaviours (see: bedwetting); difficulty sleeping (see: nightmares); disordered eating; lack of self-esteem; aggression; and acting out (see: vandalism, shoplifting, setting fires).
Pausing to mop the sweat from the back of his neck, Harry looks down the path to see a hulking figure waiting for them at the wrought iron gates.
“My how you two have grown up,” a deep, jovial voice greets them. “Seeing you in your uniforms, I remember when you were wee things, no taller than my knee youse was,” even still they’re barely taller than Hagrid’s hip. The half-giant is still as merry as he was the day he welcomed Harry into the Wizarding world by hand delivering his Hogwarts letter, a gentle giant with dark eyes and a sincere grin; his beard and mane now peppered with wirey silver strands. Opening Hogwarts gate, Hagrid gives them each a firm pat on the back that almost sends them flying to the ground.
“It’s great to see you, Hagrid,” Harry grins.
Ron huffs his agreement, righting his robes after Hagrids enthusiastic welcome.
“So how is Hermione, she must be gettin’ pretty far along now,” said Hagrid leading them towards the castle. Rolling meadows of lush green grass spread out before them, with the Whomping Willow gently swaying in the wind, the grounds seeming so much more alive then the rest of the world, as if the very ground was thrumming with magic. It is hard to remember so many terrible things have happened here with the sun glistening upon the lake.
“Oh yeah, but you can’t tell her that, she won’t stop for a second,” Ron laughs, shaking his head.
“Well, you never could tell Hermione nothin’ could ya,” said Hagrid, shaking his head fondly. “Ah, and you’re having a little girl too.”
“Because one girl in the house already isn’t enough.” Despite the faux exasperation it is clear how proud Ron is.
“And ‘Arry, another one on the way, how's Ginny and wee James doing?”
“Oh she’s great, James is still causing havoc, he’s discovered the toilet - been flushing anything he can get his hands on. Have had to accio all sorts of bits and bobs from down the drain.”
“Ah, all the trouble you would get up to, you were due for it.” Hagrid laughs heartily. “Before you know I’ll be taking them to Hogwarts, ‘cross the lake for the first time, believe me, you won’t know where all the times gone.”
“Oh yeah, sneaking out past curfew, fighting off a hoard of giant spiders, breaking into the Ministry of Magic, the usual school day shenanigans,” Ron replies with a mock wistfulness.
“Unlocking the chamber of secrets,” Harry continues, seeing Hagrid’s reminiscing for the opportunity it was. “The same year Ron memory wipes a professor.”
“Oi, my wand not me!” Ron defends, his uneasiness lending to the mock offended tone.
“Do you remember Lockhart?” Harry asks, risking a glance at Hagrid from the corner of his eye.
“Of course,” Hagrid booms. “Not one of the better Dark Arts Professors Hogwarts has had, of course even being Hogwarts once there are rumours ‘bout a curse it’ll be difficult to find anyone brave enough for the job.”
“I’ve always wondered what the other teachers thought about him,” Harry promoted.
“Not much, really,” said Hagrid. “Curious in the beginning sure, but they didn’t seem to think too much of him once he started, decent writer I suppose, but not much with a wand, and that means alot comin’ from me.”
Of course Hagrid couldn’t legally own a wand, having been expelled and never exceeding a third year education. While not much of a spell caster as a result he was still better with his umbrella then Lockhart with a wand.
“Come on Hagrid, we're all adults now,” said Ron with a conspiratorial grin. “Was there any juicy gossip.”
“Juicy gossip?” Hagrid laughed. “I don’t know what you imagine but the life of a professor isn’t all that excitin’ even at Hogwarts. Leave all the excitement for the students.”
Pulling a dish towel sized handkerchief from his pocket, Hagrid dabbed the sweat from his forehead. “ ‘side’s, I never bothered myself with all that. Even when I started teachin’, wasn’t worth the pettiness.”
It isn’t much longer until they’ve reached the grand wooden doors of the entrance. Headmistress McGonagall, waiting for them in the stone archway.
“Right, right, I’ll let you go do your investigation now, but don’t be ‘fraid to ask me if you need anything,” said Hagrid, “if it's got to do with Hogwarts I know more than a thing or two.”
With a much gentler pat farewell, Hagrid lumbers off back towards his hut.
“Good morning, I trust the walk was good.” McGonagall looks as severe as she was on Harry’s first day, hair tied into a tight bun, but now with silver strands shining in the sunlight. Still favoring emerald, her robes are regal, quality befitting a headmistress.
“Oh yea, lovely,” said Ron using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow.
Harry steps forward to shake her hand, it was difficult to remember to act as peers, they were all adults now. “Thank you for coming in during your holiday, we know that this isn’t usual.”
The Hogwarts archives were difficult to access, back during their school days Minister Fudge would have loved access to some of the ancient magical documents stored away in the castle's walls.
“But of course, I trust you wouldn’t ask unless it were strictly necessary,” said McGonagall in her usual stern tone. It isn’t just a statement, it is a warning- she knows them too well.
Harry hopes the August heat hides his flush.
Leading them through the front entrance the doors close behind them with a heavy thud, their footsteps echoing off of the stone floor. The castle is eerily quiet without the usual sounds of students to fill the large halls, it’s just them and Hagrid and Pomfrey - they were alone.
Despite being summer, the hospital wing is still clean, with crisp fresh looking linens on the beds, and Pomfrey having arrived in her healer robes, laundered and starched.
“Class of 1997, 1998, and 1999” Pomfrey explains, hitting the fronts of the filing cabinets as she goes. “Every student from the past 20 years, anything older then that you’ll have to go down to the dungeons for.”
“Oh no this is perfect, thank you.” Harry assured her,
“Right then, I’ll leave you to it,” said Pomfrey, bustling off looking as busy as she always did during Harry’s school days.
“Actually, if you could stay on the premises - in case we have any further questions,” said Harry with a wince. At what age would it feel appropriate to boss your former teachers?
Pomfrey does her best to hide her irritation, evidently this is not how she wanted to spend one of the few days remaining of her holiday.
“I’ll be in the Great Hall,” with a nod she promptly excuses herself in the direction of the great hall.
Slowly, Ron mozzy’s over the filing cabinets, knocking against the top of one, nervously. “Right…so, who’s getting who?”
They hadn’t discussed how they would be dividing the remaining leads before, because Ron was avoiding it and Harry didn’t want to have to admit to wanting Malfoys file. Pulling the magically shrunken stack of case files from his inner robe pocket, Harry returned them to their full size with a wave of his wand.
He doesn’t need to open it, or look at the cover to recognize it. He can tell which one it is by the wearing of the spine.
“Here, your half,” Bisecting the pile he hands Ron half of the stack, keeping the half with Malfoy’s file for himself, “and mine.”
Thumbing through his names, Ron’s expression turns sour.
“Right, so, I guess we pull everything from that school year and….”
Ron doesn’t finish his sentence tailing off into an unsure silence. Harry however is already pulling out a drawer, the metal whines with the effort.
He forces himself go through all of his other names first- most becoming tentative no’s, he doesn’t want to say for sure until he’s gone through everything Hogwarts has to offer.
Sabrina Fawcett had arrived at the hospital wing with persistent colds, no individual illness unusual on its own, but the high amount abnormal. She had also been treated for a urinary infection in April 1993. Flipping through her file he can see why she had been flagged as a lead, with documented visits to the witches' shelter and a wellness check requested on her from her sister. She's always been a bit unstable, and she hasn’t answered my letters. I don’t think she would but…
Fawcett, Harry remembered her, a year ahead of him in Ravenclaw she had been caught with her date in the bushes outside of the Yule Ball by Professor Snape - he would need to look into that.
Duplicating Fawcetts files (an act McGonagall had requested they not do), Harry adds the files to her folder, separating it from the rest.
A few more tentative no’s later and it was time for Malfoy. Many of the incidents reported Harry already knew; the hippogriff attack in third year, the time he was transformed into a ferret and bounced against the floor in fourth year (wasn’t as funny when you were looking at the medical report). Just as he had suspected the stomach ache complaints began at Hogwarts, first appearing in mid October carrying on throughout the term before slowly tapering off towards the end of the year- either because the pain stopped or because it was pointless to keep coming, each report ended the same “no physical cause”. Appointment notes also detailed requests for dreamless sleep, nothing that would send off any alarms, each instance few and far between. These are duplicated as well.
He had always had the feeling that there was something dark going on with Malfoy, and he can’t fight off a creeping guilt that he should have known; that very year he was investigating Malfoy, trying to prove he was the one opening the Chamber of Secrets, hadn't he noticed anything?
Harry coughs to wet his dry throat.
“I’m going to the dungeons to pull detention records, need anything?” Harry asks Ron, he doesn’t look up as he gathers all of Malfoys papers back into their folder.
With Harry having taken over the desk, Ron sits with a mess of files around him on the floor, his reluctance to open every new file slowing his progress. “Um, yeah, Declan Summerby, just bring up everything.”
With a nod Harry leaves the hospital wing.
In order to get to the dungeons via the main staircase Harry needs to pass by the great hall, he doesn’t consider the route, walking the familiar track from his school days, leaving from breakfast to trudge down to potions.
Pomfrey is sitting in the great hall, just as she said, with a large mug of tea and a biscuit, reading a well worn paperback. A personal favourite Harry would guess, as the tea stained pages suggested this was a personal copy and not a library book.
Hearing his approach she set down her book, face down and spine open saving her place, “having trouble finding something?”
Stopping in his tracks Harry decided this is as good a time as any to follow up on what he has found.
“Oh no, it’s all very organized Madame Pomfrey,” said Harry. Pomfrey gave a self satisfied nod. “I just had a question about one of the reports I read.”
Her brow creased. “I keep very thorough notes-“
“No I don’t think anything is missing, I just mean-“ Harry offered her the file in question. “Draco Malfoy came pretty often about stomach aches- did you ever think to refer him to St Mungos?”
“Mr. Malfoy wouldn’t be the first student to claim a stomach ache to get out of classes,” she sighed, setting the report aside. “I conducted every test there is, everything they would have done at St. Mungos, there was nothing to report,” Pomfrey pauses to sip from her mug, “he was a known faker.”
Of course Harry thought that too. Third year after the hippogriff attack Draco had worn a sling around Hogwarts for months, using his injury to get out of menial tasks and change the quidditch schedule to be optimal for Slytherin. What was a few fake stomach aches to supposedly get out of class to forfeiting use of an arm.
“And the dreamless sleep?”
“Kids get nightmares,” Pomfrey shrugged. “That was the year the chamber of secrets was opened, remember. A beast wandering the castle, imaginations were running wild.”
Harry nods as he scribbles a few notes, maybe it could all be explained away, or maybe it was just reasons why no one ever looked.
“I never overprescribe if that’s where this is going, never more than the recommended dose and never closer than a month between.”
“Your medical expertise isn’t in question,” Harry assures her.
“Is that all?”
He asks some follow up questions about Sabrina as well, garnering similar responses, it isn’t unusual for kids to get sick, and she’s right, it isn’t.
Reading over his meager notes he’s hoping for something more concrete in the dungeons, except there wasn’t anything concrete. These sorts of cases have a lack of evidence in the ideal scenarios, no one is saving evidence from a crime they don’t even remember being committed.
The door sticks to the frame, the wood swollen in the warm, damp dungeon air, requiring Harry to force it open with his shoulder. He had been in Filch's office only once before, back in second year after crashing Arthur’s dying car into the whomping willow. It is just as cluttered and worn out looking as he remembers, musty for having been closed all summer.
While himself a squib the filing cabinet had been magiced at some point as it held far more files then was possible- thumbing through the files Harry pulls out Summerby for Ron, Fawcett, and Malfoy.
Fawcett had a fairly clean record, if not a good then a quiet student, however along with being caught with Stebbins, her Yule ball date she had two more instances of being caught after hours with dates in the castle.
Malfoy is a different story, while it had felt like he’d always gotten away with everything his file showed otherwise. A known bully, Draco had a fair few detentions throughout the years, from being caught repeatedly talking and disrupting lessons, passing notes and carving pictures onto desks, or taunting classmates in the halls. When caught by someone other than Snape the appropriate punishments followed. Second year tells a similar story, with a few detentions with Flitwick and Sprout for disruptive behaviour, Draco also had a few detentions with McGonagall, however, rather then for antics taken in class, they are for repeatedly arriving late - very late - to her lesson.
A quick scan through the other detention slips confirms what Harry already thought, he hadn’t been caught skipping class before. Closing the cabinet with a slam Harry decides to follow up on these detentions while he has McGonagall in the castle.
***
The office looked just as Harry remembered, even when he knew that couldn’t be true. McGonagall had taken it over 7 years ago now, some differences must exist, but besides the lack of Lemon Sherbert's Harry couldn’t say. Your memory presents itself based on the information you currently have available Hermione’s voice chided in his ear, the reason why they couldn’t speak to the victims directly, not for a while anyway.
Cluttered with magical bric a brac, the grand desk at the centre and chairs are the same. Taking a seat to await McGonagall's return Harry gazes up at the gallery of former headmasters and headmistresses really only looking for one face. Seeing Dumbledore’s wise eyes and bemused smile, even as oil on canvas, Harry can’t help but to feel that he must have the answers.
“Ah, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled. “For us old professors it is always a point of pride to see our students succeed in their endeavours.”
“Huh?” Harry followed Dumbledore's nod to look at his Auror uniforms, of course, when Dumbledore had died Harry was still in sixth year, still needing to pass his NEWTS in order to one day be an Auror. Last time they had spoken Harry was on his way to meet death in the forbidden forest.
“I- I’m here on a case actually.”
Dumbledore nods, signaling for Harry to continue.
“Professor, do you remember Gilderory Lockhart, his time as a teacher, I mean?”
“Not the most exemplary Professor, but I must admit the position was at times rather difficult to fill,” Dumbledore recalls, the corner of his mouth twitching mischievously, both in on the secret of the validity of the cursed rumours. Harry’s stomach turns itself into a knot.
“Oh no, writing all those books, on paper he would be a great Professor,” said Harry, not wanting to sound like he is criticizing Dumbledore, and yet. “I mean…didn’t you realize he was bad ?”
”In what way?” Dumbledore tilts his head, curious, Harry has never presented Dumbledore with something he did not, in fact, already know. He doesn’t like it. “In all my years I have never been able to assess a teacher's skill in the field from appearances, and I must say I prefer it - those that do I fear are not making a judgment of character.”
He doesn’t know.
“I don’t mean as a teacher, but as a person,” Harry continues, fumbling to find the right words without saying it. “If someone is evil can’t you tell?”
“From a resume? From an initial meeting? From the day to day minutiae of our lives- evil is not a constant Harry, it is things we choose to do, and not all that we do.”
Harry bites his nail, thinking it over. It used to be easy to tell, when it was Voldemort, when it was wearing a dark mark and preaching loud and proud about blood purity. Those days ended a long time ago, now it wore the same robes as everyone else, whispered and resigned.
“Lockhart revealed himself to be a fraud, beyond that I do not know,” Dumbledore continued softly. “I’m sorry Harry, you have outgrown the wisdom of your teachers.”
Harry nods, not sure what there is to add.
“But you didn’t come here to speak to me, Minerva will be here shortly.” Dumbledore walks further into his portrait until he has disappeared leaving an empty frame.
On cue the door opens, revealing McGonagall, arms laden with parchment. “Ah, Harry, the investigation is going well I’m sure.”
Setting her stack of papers neatly onto the desk, McGonagall takes her seat in the headmistress's chair. It is still weird to be on a first name basis.
“Oh, uh yeah, I wanted to ask you about something actually,” fumbling with his files Harry produces the detention slips, yellow with age. “I know it’s been a long time ago but do you remember these detentions?”
Reading down her nose, through her wire spectacles McGonagall furrowed her brow, if she suspects this has more to do with Harry’s fascination with Malfoy and not the case she doesn’t say.
“Yes, Mr. Malloy was repeatedly late for lessons, even after ample warnings,” she explains, folding her hands together upon her grand desk.
“Did he say anything to defend himself?”
“That he was talking to a teacher, however he never could produce a note to corroborate this, nor explain how a simple discussion could last nearly half an hour,” said McGonagall. “Just as with any other student I explained that everyone has the same amount of time between lessons and he needed to manage his time better- it was no secret he wasn’t fond of our lessons.”
“Past time tables, those would still be on record yeah?”
“Yes, they would.” McGonagall furrowed her brow, thinking back to something she’d never given much thought to before.
“Can I have copies of the teacher timetables for the 1992-1993 school year,” asked Harry, replacing the detention slip back into his folder. “Please” he adds.
Just as Harry suspected, in the second year after Defence Against the Dark Arts with Ravenclaw, Slytherin had Transfigurations; and Lockhart had a prep period.