Studying, scheming and heart to heart conversations
Harry grinned. His grandfather had finally awoken - and managed to shut Hermione up in an instant. Not even the Professors managed to do that these days. Honestly, her being completely lost for words because of a painting was a hilarious sight.
Henry, having that classic Potter grin, just continued to lecture.
“You have to imagine runic alphabets as the basis for our reality. In most languages you have a set of letters, and those combine into a compound rune having multiple interpretations. Some languages don’t even have letters and just words or syllables as runes, that depends. What you learn at school these days is - if it hasn’t changed since my passing - is the interpretation of runes. You barely learn any grammar - if at all - and don’t write sentences anymore. Those are things you learn in your mastery. It’s truly sad. Anyway… You have to accept that runes, when used in enchanting or other magical settings, contain a fundamental truth. What you write is accurate, completely. Other than with spells there is no room for interpretation or intention. And that means…”
“...that even a wrong suffix, or a wrong conjugation, which renders the whole sentence senseless, could have horrible consequences. That is why we just learn the basics, not much to go wrong there. Oh! That is why, when we create luck charms, we just use the “luck” rune and get told that its effects can vary. If I were to inscribe “This object shall bring its bearer luck upon wearing” or something similar it’d be much more efficient.”
“Yes, exactly. But you don’t get the necessary information taught due to the dangers. Based on your curriculum you probably couldn’t write a grammatically correct sentence if you tried - no fault to you.”
Hermione slumped back into the armchair from which she had gotten up during the conversation, disappointed by Hogwarts’ classes. While she was coming to terms with the fact that most of what she knew about runes was incorrect and nothing compared to their true powers, Harry got up and took a seat on the arm of her chair, softly squeezing her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Mione, you’ll learn everything just fine. Take the books and read them, then Professor Babbling will surely help you. From what grandpa told me about her I can’t imagine she’s happy with the curriculum.”
Henry nodded and then began to explain further, intending to both distract the disappointed girl and to awake her interest into studying runes the right way.
“Yes, she will help you. Honestly, everyone should start with mandatory rune language classes in first or second year, solely focussed on teaching words and grammar. There are so many books written in runic languages and you all aren’t able to read them, which is a pity. And then, around third or fourth year, when you have basic proficiency in two or three languages you should begin writing basic magic phrases, like enchantments. Learn how they work, draw their power from ley lines and ambient magic, what kind of effect they have. Basic enchanting and warding in fifth year and then combat application, layered enchantments and proper warding until the end of school. Right now you wouldn’t even know which languages to use for what.”
Hermione, now all curious again, looked at Henry with confusion.
“Exactly what I mean. Elder and Younger Futhark for enchanting trinkets with positive effects, High Egyptian for efficient and deadly warding, Incan and Mayan for combat magic, Mesopotamian for complex wards and enchantments. A combination of Elder Futhark and Mayan together with a dash of Chinese symbol magic - though the scientific community calls it Chinese Runes, because hey, everything that isn’t our alphabet is “runic”... Idiots - makes the most sense in combat. Mayan and Incan - and no, magical Incan writing has nothing to do with those knots the non-magicals wrote with - cause terrible complications if you use them together, as do the Futharks. Mesopotamian and High Egyptian make the best wards, though current warding masters probably use Futhark due to idiocy… and lack of knowledge. I could probably shatter all those newer wards within seconds.”
Hermione had begun scribbling down everything he said, intending to research and check the textbooks for further information while Harry went and grabbed the notebook which would teach him Mayan Runes. He was lacking skill, especially in comparison with all the other champions, so beyond the basics he’d need combat magic right now. In the long run he would learn as much as possible, but not now.
Just as Harry began reading through the introductory chapter, he yawned.
“My boy, go to sleep. Both of you have class tomorrow morning. It’s probably very late already.”
This caused Hermione to briefly check her wristwatch (a completely mechanical watch so there was nothing Hogwarts’ ambient magic could destroy) and nod in agreement.
“If we hurry then we can get something to eat for dinner, Harry. And hiding away won’t do you much favour regarding the other students. I think Pince did you a huge favour at breakfast but you need to follow up on that.”
“Exactly, Harry. Listen to the smart lady, she knows what she’s talking about. You need good publicity.”
A laughing Harry and a blushing Hermione thanked him for his help, packed up, locked Harry’s trunk and went towards the Great Hall.
Once they stepped into the Great Hall - everyone was already eating - whispers began. It wasn’t as if every conversation suddenly stopped and everyone stared at them, but they were garnering attention. Harry looked quite exhausted and had two books under his arm, mostly for appearance’s sake. They then dropped down on a quiet spot at Gryffindor table and began eating.
Slowly, students began approaching them. While Ronald was talking about “arrogant Harry Potter and his need to show off” at the far end of the table, Angelina Johnson came up to them and offered Harry her help whenever he’d need it. She entered her name too and had a few notes regarding training. Timothy Harper, the student who accused Harry of cheating his way into the tournament, was the next one, accompanied by seventh year Ravenclaw prefect Anne MacDougal and a blonde third year student named Luna. They ensured that he had Ravenclaw’s support, because there was no way for him having entered his name. Even Cedric, though that was probably more or a peer pressure kind of thing, then came and shook Harry’s hand - grudgingly. Whether that was because he didn’t believe Harry or was just plain annoyed by someone stealing his (and all of Hufflepuff’s thunder), they didn’t know, but it was clear that Cedric wasn’t too happy.
For the rest of dinner, Harry acted as if he wouldn’t realise what was going on around him and acted all ignorant. Maybe then they’d leave him in peace. Still, he heard what they said and how they looked. Ron was still ranting about him, with Dean and Seamus (and a few other Gryffindors) gladly listening, Ginny was glaring at Hermione, seemingly upset for not giving up her spot at Harry’s side, and beyond that there were enough others still angry or disappointed in him. It was looking better than last evening though, that much was obvious. At least the claws were behind him. Hufflepuff…well, he’d have to wait and see how they would behave. And Slytherin was a mixture of anger at his audacity to enter the tournament and hope for his death or at least him getting maimed. At least the loud parts of the House of the cunning. Many of the older Slytherins (not that Harry knew their names, they tended to keep their distance and were a rather closed-off group) appeared to hold off judgement and seemed thoughtful. Hermione guessed that they were contemplating whether he was stupid, overly brave, victim of an assassination by proxy, potentially a strong wizard, unlucky or some sort of combination of those things. Those were the Slytherins he could reach with a show of skill and a demonstration of political knowledge - which he didn’t have just now.
This year was going to be interesting.
Just as Harry was leaving the Great Hall, hurrying towards a quiet corner to do something he couldn’t really do in public, a person stepped out of the shadow.
The man didn’t even flinch despite having two wands pointed at him. No, if there was any sort of reaction on his face, it was respect.
“So it really is true, Potter? You have not entered the Tournament willingly or intentionally.”
Harry nodded, his wand still pointed at Viktor Krum.
“Yes. You believe that?”
“ Da , I do. I believe you, and the fact that our Headmaster did not stop scratching his left arm all day tells me a lot. I would not have believed you, but I heard the confrontation in your Great Hall this morning. Was on my way to study in your library and this gave me something in particular to research.”
Both Harry and Hermione lowered their wands, but didn't holster them just yet.
“Wait, what was that about your Headmaster?”
“Miss…Granger, is it? Yes? Igor Karkaroff was once in service of your Dark Wizard no one wants to name. Gave up names and fled as soon as he was out of Azkaban. Went to teach Dark Arts at Durmstrang. Still has the mark on his arm. He tells us all about it in class and then goes on about trying to remove his slave brand. Still itching means he is not gone completely and getting stronger. Don’t worry, Karkaroff does not want to become a slave again. This is a message of support, and a warning, because we see the danger. Be careful, Harry Potter.”
He then turned around and walked away, but not without glancing left and right to check for anyone overhearing them.
“Did he just…?”
“I…think so, yes. So Karkaroff’s a Death Eater, or former at least. That’s…not good.”
Hermione nodded, and then turned toward Harry. Before they were interrupted, she wanted to ask him something.
“Anyway… I was about to ask what you were gonna do now. That’s definitely neither the way to the common room, nor to the library.”
“Oh yes, just wanted to write a letter to…our dog friend. Nothing I want to talk about in the middle of the Great Hall, sorry. Do you wanna help me phrase something that doesn’t give away either of our identities? I have a few ideas.”
His mischievous grin made Hermione laugh. Gosh he could be adorable.
Ten minutes later Harry was done writing a letter to Sirius and Hermione had to admit, it was fantastic.
Dear Lord Apparent Black,
I hope this letter finds you well, surrounded by peace and quiet as you tend to like it. I thought I’d best keep you informed about how things are looking on the British Isles as I assume you are still not receiving the local papers at your current place of residence. Hogwarts reinstated the (in)famous Triwizard Tournament again, together with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. When the Goblet of Fire selected the three champions (Hufflepuff student Cedric Diggory, Beauxbatons student and (quarter) Veela Fleur Delacour - more I don’t know about her yet - and internationally renowned Quidditch seeker, Seeker of Bulgaria’s national quidditch team and Durmstrang student Viktor Krum), something peculiar happened. Harry Potter, youngest and last scion of House Potter, was selected as fourth champion, apparently competing for Hogwarts as well. As it is a binding magical contract, there was no way out for him. Scholars, including Hogwarts’ very own Irma Pince, have assured me and the student body that there was no way he could have entered himself due to the Goblet’s protections. This required a tremendous amount of rare skills and power Mr Potter could not have had at this age. My running theory is that it is an assassination by proxy by Death Eaters or associates.
Rest assured, Mr Potter is, by my sources at least, doing fine and gets support from his friends, as the staff may not assist him. In addition to that he asked trustworthy staff members for further lessons to protect himself from dangerous individuals like Sirius Black or Fenrir Greyback. This includes his late mother’s favourite teacher and our old friend Henry’s student and protegee. For privacy reasons and if this should get into the wrong hands, I shan’t name them, but you will know who I am. Beyond that, one more individual, no Professor though, has expressed support. Beyond that it seems that everyone else is either shunning him, scheming and plotting with his life. Other matters regarding rumours around Mr Potter shall not be discussed via letter and at a later point in time, but they are rather urgent.
Oh and on top of that, the small criminal matter regarding a member of your house, I shall bring it up with Lord Crouch in the near future and work towards resolving it. Gringotts is already informed and you may visit them regarding these matters and your inheritance situation and the Heir Black (blood magic might tell you interesting things about that). Your account manager awaits your message eagerly.
I would ask of you that you don’t share the contents of this letter with anyone beyond your steward Mr Moony and treat this information as House business under the normal secrecy clauses.
Your dear friend,
Marquis de Fleamont
Lord and Heir of British Nobility
The last line of the letter was just scribbled as an appendix. It wouldn’t attract too much attention if someone were to read this letter, one would just assume the French title was the highest and the two British titles were of minor houses. Just say you’re a Lord and don’t say of which House because that would just diminish its worth. Something people actually tended to do to protect their (lack of) ego. And Henry, he used that fact to conceal his true identity and attract less attention, especially when getting his hands on books, items or services he didn’t want everyone to know about.
Sirius would know who the sender of the letter was, he would know which two Professors were helping Harry, he would understand the subtle slight against Dumbledore, he would understand that Harry was working on getting him free, that the goblins knew about his innocence, that Sirius was Lord Apparent and he would honour the secrecy agreement as it was house business.
Hermione was proud of Harry for this feat, the letter was quite clever indeed. Now, to be even less conspicuous, Hermione would address it to “Lord Apparent Black” and bring it to the owlery and send it off, not using the very well-known and noticeable Hedwig, but rather a school owl for the delivery.
Harry entered the common room alone, Hermione had insisted on making the trip to the owlery alone. It was already so late that most younger students had gone to their dorms, but there were still several Gryffindors studying or chatting. This included Ron, who sat together with Ginny, Dean, Seamus, Lee, Cormac McLaggen and a few of Gryffindor’s quidditch fanatics (though no team members). Seemed like Ron had found another group of people to hang out with.
He decided to ignore the glares, sit down in a quiet corner and revise the material for the classes on the next day. Divination wouldn’t be much trouble, he’d probably use it to study something else, but Care and Herbology needed some revision.
About two minutes later Neville slumped in the armchair next to Harry’s - the one left of him, not the one on his right side. Harry had pulled that one next to his before sitting down, clearly intending to save the seat for Hermione.
“Bouncing Bulbs? Preparing for tomorrow then? May I…?”
Even before Neville finished his question, Harry turned to him and nodded.
“Sure, grab your stuff and let’s look over that. Hermione’s gonna join too soon, hope you don’t mind. The more the merrier, and why wouldn’t I want to have a non-jealous friend join in? Especially one who’s a Herbology genius.”
Neville laughed.
“I see, I see, Potter, you just want to surround yourself with brilliant people to make your life easier. That’s why you need me, your resident plant master, to help you deal with all those monster plants attacking you.”
Harry tried to make a serious face, but failed just as much as Neville as they were both laughing.
“Indeed. That’s why I parted ways with Mr Weasley over there, I deem it unlikely that I’m gonna run into a lifesize, murderous chess board more than once. Oh and he’s a jealous, stupid prat and you’re a good guy.”
The last part was said without laughter and Harry was completely serious, causing Neville to smile.
“Thanks, Harry. I’m gonna go get my stuff.”
Just as Neville hurried up the stairs to the dorms, Hermione stepped out of the shadow, looking slightly amused.
“We’ve been unfair to Neville those past years. He is a good guy and maybe we can boost his confidence a little.”
“Yeah, I realised that. He even believed me yesterday. So do Angelina and Katie - Alicia probably too, haven’t talked to her yet. I think we’ve been hanging out with the wrong people. Everything went well with your trip to the owlery?”
“Yep. You’re revising?”
Harry nodded and gestured at the empty chair next to him. She sat down and looked over to his notes, trying to pinpoint what exactly he was doing. It didn’t take long before she began to talk in-depth about the plants and its properties. Soon Neville joined, who then took over to give them information while Hermione spell-checked his essay. Eventually that turned into a scientific discourse about both Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures in preparation for the following day. It was interesting, because other than usual Ron didn’t complain about studying. So they made quite the progress and by the end of it Harry was sure that this was the most prepared he had ever been for any class.
Shortly after eleven Neville decided to go to sleep, feeling confident about class and glad that he had friends in Harry and Hermione. The duo stayed down in the common room a little while longer, just to chat a bit and enjoy the peace and quiet now that everyone else was in their dorms. Mostly Hermione just wanted to make sure that Harry would be okay with all the chaos in his life. He had to take several potions each evening to get healthier so they could eventually remove the soul piece in his scar, he had been disappointed by several people - teachers and “friends” alike - but found new help. On top of that was all the stuff about his family legacy and so on. It was just a lot to deal with, in addition to the damned deadly tournament.
“I just hope that everything is going to be alright.”
“Hey, don’t worry. You have me…and all the others too. We’ll help you through it.”
Hermione smiled at him, which made Harry feel optimistic. Maybe he would manage to get through this alive. There was hope for him.
“Thanks Mione. This year just seems so impossible to get through. Bloody tasks, the damn Horcrux, trying to get Sirius acquitted, learning all my family duties from Grandpa, all the rune magics, I have to learn bloody dancing, dealing with all the annoying students…”
Before Harry could continue his rant, Hermione interrupted him.
“What was that about dancing?”
Harry blushed. That one particular issue he definitely didn’t mean to speak out aloud.
“The…the…the yule ball with the champions having to do the opening dance with a partner. Filius told me about it and I can’t even bloody dance. That should be the least of my worries, but to be honest…”
Suddenly, Harry felt himself wrapped up in a bone-crushing hug. Hermione had practically hopped onto his armchair, flung herself around him and held him tight.
“Oh Harry. I know, it’s those bloody relatives of yours. As if they would ever teach you something like that. And I know that you’re not a big fan to be touched…oops.”
Before Hermione had any chance to pull back he looked at her with a smile.
“Shush. You, Mione, are one of the few people…”
And again…caught in a tight hug. Gosh, Hermione was such a perfect, lovely and adorable person.
“I’ll help you. I know a bit of dancing and just in case we can ask Professor Babbling. I should train a bit too, it's been a while since my lessons. Oh and we’ll find you a perfect date. How about…”
Before the girl could continue rambling, Harry gently placed his index finger on her lips, causing her to stop talking instantly.
“Mione. As you might have realised just a minute back, I’m not a fan of people touching me. If, then I want to go to the ball with someone important to me, someone I can trust and rely on, someone who makes me feel safe and cared for. A person to always have my back. I don’t need a boy-who-lived worshipper like Ginny or half the female population of this school. I…”
He blushed - again - and looked down, too afraid to continue talking. Hermione, as clever as always, understood what he was saying - but couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t want to go with her?
“Full disclosure, Filius threatened to hex me into oblivion in our training sessions if I wouldn’t stop acting like a dumb fool. Apparently I resemble my father quite a lot when it comes to…things like that.”
That comment seemed to break the ice and caused both to laugh.
“I’m not saying he’s right, because I can’t. I just don’t know…how should I know what love and care feel like? Not with my upbringing. But I’m not saying he’s wrong, I doubt he is. It was an eye opener, and now I have to sort through that mess in my head - and heart.”
Tears were running down Hermione’s face by now. To actually hear Harry say that he didn’t know what love and care was…that was just too much. That poor boy whose life never seemed to be fair.
“Oh, please don’t cry. I’m not worth your tears.”
“DON’T you ever dare say that! I know you believe that, but I know what I’m saying.”
“Trying my best. What I mean is…I can’t make any promises regarding what my emotions are doing. But I know for a fact that I care for you beyond all measures and if there’s any person to go to the ball with, then it’s you. Because you make me feel safe.”
Harry was afraid. Afraid that he said something wrong. Afraid that he said too much and scared her away. But no.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll go to the ball with you, be it as friends or as whatever we might become. Take your time and know that I’ll always be here, and that I’ll always be in your life, Harry. Always. You are my best friend, and so much more.”
“Thank you, Mione. Thank you so much.”
After this heart to heart talk, not much more was said. Both had things to think about. Neither of them was really good with emotions, but they would work through it and find their way. However that might look.
And while staff and students alike were asleep at Hogwarts, a dark-haired man was startled by an owl. Someone sent him an owl? He put aside the glass, only to an extent able to walk a straight line, and reached for the letter. Even in his drunk state, and despite the nearly non existent lighting in his ancestral home, he immediately recognised the sigil on the back of the envelope. A French Coat of Arms. No one should have claimed that title. No one but his godson could.
With shaking hands he tore open the envelope, unfolded the letter and skimmed across the page. Suddenly his eyes began to light up, filled with new energy and hope. His pup had done the impossible once again.
“MOONY! Get your arse down here. We have things to do.”
Oh, Harry was brilliant, and the prank on Moony was fantastic. He’d be so annoyed at becoming steward. And he couldn’t refuse the money. Oh that boy was fantastic.
Sirius Black was more energetic than he’d been in a long time. Fantastic.