Chapter 4
As Harry had dreaded, the sorting took forever. By the time the last first year - Zeller, Rose joined her housemates at the Hufflepuff table, Harry’s stomach was growling and he quickly served himself as soon as the platters and dishes of food were sent up by the house elves.
“What was with the clapping, mate?” Ron asked, mouth already half full of potatoes.
Sighing, Harry tries to explain his sudden reversal of four years of spite towards Slytherin (and, if he’s being honest - apathy and disinterest towards Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff).
“It’s like Hermione and the hat said, we should have more unity between the houses,” He says with a shrug. “And doesn’t it feel…I dunno, silly to feel this strongly about something that shouldn’t matter as soon as we graduate and leave Hogwarts.”
Ginny, leaning down from where she was sitting with some of the girls from her year, says, “Right, but did you have to clap for the slimy snakes? They’re the worst!”
Rolling his eyes at the question, and at her being the one to ask it despite her following his lead and clapping for everyone too, Harry replies, “I’m not saying some of them aren’t bigoted little pricks. But even the worst of them are still teenagers. And most would just be repeating whatever their parents told them. Besides, thinking like that means we’d have to basically count out a quarter of our population as ‘evil.’ Statistically, I think that’s pretty unlikely.”
Across from him, Hermione looks fit to bursting with pride at his logical reasoning. She’s just opening her mouth to say something when Harry hears a scoff from a few seats down.
“And I suppose you think you’re the resident expert on ‘evil,’ don’t you Potter.” Harry is surprised to see it’s Seamus who’s glaring hatefully at him. Dean, sitting next to his friend, has a placating hand on Seamus’ arm and seems to be quietly trying to talk him down but it’s not helping. Seamus continues, “Me mam almost didn’t let me come back because you’ve been running your mouth in the papers about You-Know-Who supposedly coming back from the dead.”
Harry sees heads turning in his direction, hears the chatter around them dying down as people start paying attention to his words instead of their own conversations.
“Actually Seamus, I haven’t spoken to a single newspaper all summer. So I’m not sure what your mother has been reading, but it’s clearly not quotes from me.” Harry turns back to his plate, hoping it ends there.
“So you’re changing your story then. Figures you’d walk that back as soon as you have to face all of us again. Must have had a few months to think over how ridiculous it was.”
Harry grips his fork, trying to stay calm. A few from the Hufflepuff table have turned to listen, and he knows whatever he says right now will be passed around the school in a matter of hours - maybe even before this feast ends. He also knows that, beyond when he told Dumbledore and the limited conversations he’s had about it since - with Sirius and his friends, he hasn’t really told anyone the full story. Every bit of information about what happened that night in June was told to the public by Albus Dumbledore.
“No, I’m not changing my story. Everything I said at the end of last term - about being taken out of the third task by Voldemort -“ Harry ignores the flinches and gasps from those listening, “about him being the one to submit my name in the Tournament in the first place - just so he could kidnap me, for the record, and what I said about his follower murdering Cedric Diggory on his orders. About the horrific ritual they did to give him back his body. About the Death Eaters he called back to him. About having to fight for my life and to return here. Bringing Cedric’s body back. All of that happened.”
Harry’s back had straightened while he spoke, and he wasn’t even trying to keep his voice down as he glared at Seamus with a fierce expression. “You don’t have to believe me Finnigan. Honestly I don’t even really care if you do. If you’ve spent four years living with me, and going to classes with me, and eating across the table with me, and still think that I’m the type of person to lie, to make up bullshit stories just to - what, get attention? If you’d rather believe the Ministry, believe that idiot Fudge. Well if you can think that, then you’re not someone I’m particularly concerned about. But whether you believe me or not. He’s still coming for all of us. So stick your head in the sand if you want, but don’t be surprised when you’re eventually cursed in the back.”
Seamus looks incensed, “Is that a threat, Potter? Are you going to curse me because I don’t believe the lies you’re spreading?”
Harry rolls his eyes, and sends a look across the table when it looks like Hermione might try and interfere. “I just said I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not Finnegan. I’ve got way bigger concerns than your opinions of me.” With that, Harry angles himself on the bench to turn his back to Seamus, ending the conversation.
He can hear the other boy talking angrily to Dean, and others around him, but Harry wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t care. There was a tiny bit of him that was disappointed - hurt - that a boy he’d spent the last four years with could doubt him. A quiet voice in his head fuming over what felt an awful lot like betrayal. But it was a small part. Most of him…just didn’t care.
Harry knew, knew that eventually everyone would have to recognize that Harry told the truth last June. One day (probably pretty soon if Harry’s judgment of Voldemort's sense of restraint was accurate), Voldemort would get tired of operating in the shadows. Tom Riddle will step into the light - as much as a Dark Lord ever does - and the Wixen public will have to acknowledge that Harry’s story was one hundred percent truthful.
Until then, Harry was confident that the people he truly cared about believed him and were on his side. And to hell with all the rest.
Speaking of people on his side, Ron was still scowling down the table at Seamus, and there was a light in his eye that promised retribution. Vaguely, Harry wondered if Ron would actually go so far as to take points from his own house. Harry was pretty sure that Ron’s loyalty to Harry would win out over house pride, but Ron could always go another route and just set his older brothers on their dorm mate. Merlin knew revenge enacted by the twins would be worse than any point loss - or even detention for that matter.
“Anyways,” Hermione says loudly, as if to signify to those still trying to eavesdrop that they were moving on, “It was very well done of you to applaud for all of the first years like that Harry. I’m proud of you. You should come along with Ron and I when we escort the new students up to the common room. I’m sure they’d be happy to meet an older student other than just the prefects.”
Harry murmured something without actually committing. He was pretty sure that - in addition to the reason she gave, Hermione was also just trying to avoid letting Harry wander around on his own and potentially be confronted again. At least if he was with her and Ron they (or more accurately - she) would be there to try and help diffuse the situation. He hadn’t let her during the argument, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying again if someone else said anything.
But traditionally, the first years were brought on a much longer route from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower, skipping over any shortcuts and passing through some of the more impressive staircases and halls. Harry was already itching to get out of the public spaces and retreat to the tower - or better yet, retreat all the way to his four poster bed with the curtains that would block out light and sound. Today had dragged on, and it felt like his quiet breakfast with Sirius was months ago.
While he could appreciate Hermione trying to look out for him, he didn’t think he had the energy to make it through the long walk to the tower with a bunch of firsties that would surely be asking nonstop questions. Maybe he’d pull out his invisibility cloak and use that to ensure he made it to the dorm without being accosted.
He’s just decided this is the best plan of action, when he notices something strange and his eyes catch on something further down the table. Nearly Headless Nick was welcoming the new students, and doing his usual song and dance to show off his “nearly headless” status. Instead of the pearly white ghost Harry was used to however, Nick was in full color. If not for him still being slightly transparent (and the whole head falling off thing), Harry might have mistaken him for a living, breathing person. Even Nick’s skin had a rosy flush that would usually signify someone in good health - not someone that had been dead centuries.
Glancing around the hall, Harry notes that the other Hogwarts Ghosts had joined the feast. Most are aimlessly floating through the room, greeting new and returning students. Every single one of them are in color. Harry is disturbed to see that the Bloody Baron is positively drenched in bright red blood that still looks so fresh, Harry would swear the ghost is leaving droplets behind him. The Fat Friar is dressed all in yellow, and Harry can see the startlingly bright blue eyes of The Grey Lady (no longer Grey at all) even from across the hall. Peeves, bouncing along near the ceiling but mercifully not causing trouble, is wearing a clashing coat of bright orange and green.
Turning to Ron, Harry asks in a quiet voice, “Hey mate, do the ghosts look…any different to you?”
Ron glances around the Great Hall, eyes pausing on each ghost. “No. They look the same. Why?”
Maybe it’s like the thestrals. The rest couldn’t see them either. Harry thinks to himself. “No reason, they just looked different for a second. Probably just imagined it.” He reassures Ron, all the while making a mental note to track down Luna Lovegood at some point and ask if she also saw ghosts in color.
*
The rest of the welcoming feast is blissfully free of any other confrontations. Harry mostly ignores the rest of the hall and just continues chatting with Ron and Hermione. By the time Dumbledore stands again, Harry is stuffed and is lingering over a slice of treacle tart that he’s nearly too full to eat.
Harry listens half-heartedly to the usual start of term announcements but tunes back in when Dumbledore moves on to talking about staffing changes.
“And I am pleased to announce that Alastor Moody will be serving as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for this year.” Dumbledore continued, glossing over the whole fake-moody-Barty-Crouch-in-disguise of it all from last year.
Harry scans the front table, but doesn’t spot Moody. He must have been skipping the Welcoming Feast. When he glanced at his friends, Ron met his gaze with an eyebrow raised in question while Hermione continued staring at Dumbledore - Harry could practically see the wheels turning in her brain. All three of them were wondering why Dumbledore didn’t take the opportunity to try and explain what had happened last year. After decades of DADA professors only lasting a year (or less), the appearance of one returning for a second year was sure to be commented on.
Considering Dumbledore had been vocal about Voldemort’s return all summer, it was surprising he wouldn’t take the opportunity to speak out about a Death Eater plot.
Harry’s confusion grew when Dumbledore moved on to announcing that Professor Grubby-Plank would be covering the Care of Magical Creatures classes.
Where was Hagrid?
But again, Dumbledore didn’t provide an explanation.
But perhaps the headmasters out of character recalcitrance had to do with the next person Dumbledore introduced.
“I am happy to share with you all that Minister Fudge has appointed Madame Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minster, as the first ever Hogwarts High Inquisitor.” Dumbledore announced, waving his hand towards a woman seated towards the end of the high table.
The woman, who’s photo Harry had seen in The Prophet just that morning, was dressed entirely in a bright shade of pink with a large bow in her tightly curled hair. There was a loud screeching sound as she stood and pushed her chair back.
“Madame Umbridge is here to review the current goings on at Hogwarts, such as curriculum, student abilities and wellness, and staff performance. Do not be surprised if you see her sitting in on any of your classes or speaking with your professors in the coming weeks.” Harry thought the headmaster was speaking surprisingly genially about a woman that seemed to have been planted by the Minister to oversee Hogwarts.
The woman in question was surveying the Great Hall with a smug expression on her face. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Harry was hoping she’d actually be a reasonable and competent member of the ministry, and be able to bring about some good at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore was just about to move on when he was interrupted by a high pitched scraping noise, and Harry was surprised to see Umbridge had stood from her chair and was beginning to make her way to the Headmaster’s place in the front of the Great Hall. Every professor she passed watched her with a shocked expression, and even Dumbledore looked surprised before stepping back and sweeping his arm out to gesture her to his winged podium.
No one but Dumbledore (and the hat) had ever given a speech during the Welcoming Feast. Harry glances around and sees that the rest of the students are watching with surprise clear on their faces.
“Thank you Headmaster, for your very kind welcome.” Dumbledore nods magnanimously at her, as she turns to face the rest of the Great Hall.
“The Ministry of Magic considers children’s education to be of the utmost importance, and Minister Fudge, in his great wisdom, believes it is time for some educational reform. I am very honored to have been appointed to this position - the first ever Hogwarts High Inquisitor. And it is so very lovely to see all of your bright and happy faces smiling up at me.” Her voice was sickly sweet, and her tone similar to what one would use when talking to toddlers. When Harry looks around again he doesn’t see a single face smiling.
His hopes that Umbridge might be able to do some good at Hogwarts are rapidly shrinking. He doesn’t thinks anyone that would speak that glowingly of Fudge, or talk to Hogwarts students like their ten years younger than they are is going to be able to do much.
“Hogwarts is one of Wizarding Britain’s most treasured and long lasting institutions. The Ministry would like to ensure that the standards and expectations that have guided the school for centuries remain just as important as the day the Founders first opened the doors to this great school. Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect what can be perfected, and prune practices that ought to be prohibited.”
“I look forward to working with all of you - students and faculty - to ensure that Hogwarts continues its great legacy of education of the highest caliber.”
With that, Umbridge returns to her seat to the sound of lackluster applause. Dumbledore picks back up with his announcements, and Ron leans across the table to Hermione. “That was…something. ‘Prune what ought to be prohibited’…what do you think she means by that?”
Hermione’s lips are pursed and she’s almost glaring at Umbridge where she sits at the head table.
“It means the ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts.”
Harry runs his eyes down the Head Table, and sees that all of the professors look unhappy. Even Snape, who’s usually pretty blank faced unless he’s wearing a glare, looks like he’s smelled something unpleasant and has turned his body slightly to face away from the dressed-in-pink witch next to him.
“Looks like the professors aren’t happy either. Wonder if they know more about what she’ll be up to. The article - and her speech for that matter - was pretty light on the specifics of what she’ll be ‘reforming.’”
Hermione nods in response, and they listen in silence to Dumbledore’s final notices before he wishes them a good night and a good start to the term.
*
The dorm room was quiet, the candles around his bed flickering to life as he entered leaving most of the room in darkness. Ron and the rest of the boys weren’t here yet. Harry had taken every shortcut he knew of to beat the rest of the House to the tower, and he pulled off his cloak and sat on his bed with a sigh of relief.
It was only about nine o’clock, but felt much later. In past years his dorm mates and he had stayed up late on the first night back, catching up and sharing stories from their summer break. Harry had a feeling it wouldn’t go that way this year.
And not just because September 1 fell on a week day this year, so they’d be starting with a full day of classes tomorrow.
Harry was already done with his quick shower, and changed into his pajamas with the curtains of his bed mostly drawn before his dorm mates entered. Judging by the shuffling steps, Harry thought it was just Neville. Ron would still be dealing with the firsties for a bit longer, and Seamus and Dean must be hanging out in the common room.
“Night Nev.” Harry says, waiting just long enough for Neville to wish him a goodnight in return before pulling his curtains all the way shut, and the sounds of his dorm mate changing for bed are suddenly cut off.
Stretching out beneath the heavy blanket, Harry curls up on his side and fidgets with the mirror he had retrieved after his shower.
Was it too soon to call Sirius?
Harry wasn’t a little kid. He should be able to make it more than twelve hours without talking to his godfather.
Flipping the mirror over and over in his hand, Harry eventually sets it aside. He’ll call in a few days.
*
The first week of term is…fine, Harry thinks. He can’t call it good - not all with the attention he’s receiving, the constant eyes on him. But it’s also not really bad either. Classes were easier than usual after Harry actually managed some revising this summer. He doesn’t have any more arguments with his dorm mates, or others. People are clearly wary of confronting him after Seamus was publicly humiliated when someone spelled something he ate and he was transfigured into an ostrich for a full twelve hours.
Even after Madame Pomphrey and Professor McGonagall managed to turn Seamus back, he was trailing feathers behind him for another few days and he kept clear of Fred and George.
Harry didn’t see the new Hogwarts High Inquisitor at all, but he also didn’t see Dumbledore much. In past years, the headmaster usually ate in the Great Hall for all meals, or at least dinner. Dumbledore also enjoyed wandering the halls during passing periods and having short interactions with students. His sudden absence from the public areas of the school - missing meals, and never seen in the halls, was noticeable to more than just Harry.
Finally, Harry had reached the class he had been most looking forward to since Sirius had told him Moody would be returning to Hogwarts. Despite them being taught by a crazy death eater, Harry couldn’t argue that Barty Crouch Junior had been a phenomenal teacher last year. Harry was excited to see how the actual Moody measured up to his imposter.
The Gryffindor and Slytherin students filed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom in a subdued manner.
The Slytherins, barring Malfoy, were typically a quieter bunch, but the Lions were much more somber than usual. Even those who didn’t believe Harry that Voldemort had returned had accepted that the “Alastor Moody” who taught them last year, had in fact been a Death Eater in disguise. How they justified the motive for his actions, Harry had no idea, but regardless, everyone was a bit apprehensive to see how the real Mad-Eye Moody would behave.
Harry took a seat between Ron and Hermione towards the front of the classroom, on the left. Looking around, he saw that it wasn’t set up too different than how Fake Moody had arranged things. The desks all faced the front of the room, where there were a few chalkboards. In addition to many of the same dark detectors they had seen last year, there were now various bookshelves set up behind the professor's desk, absolutely loaded down with books and scrolls of parchment.
Behind the student desks, a large space had been cleared and enlarged. There were training dummies and targets scattered around this area, which reassured Harry there would be plenty of practicals in this class.
Glancing down at his watch, Harry saw the minute hand tick over to exactly ten o’clock. Flicking his gaze up, he looked around for Moody, and so was one of the few students who didn’t jump slightly when the door to Moody’s office slammed open.
Since Professor Moody had skipped the welcoming feast and hadn’t joined the school for any meals since, this was the first time Harry had seen him since that night in June when the fake Moody had rushed him to his office, and ranted and raved about how he would be honored above all other Death Eaters. When the real Moody thumped into the classroom and glared out at all the students, Harry was uncomfortably reminded of the pain and fear he had felt the last time he had been stared down by that startlingly blue eye.
Harry clenches his trembling fists and moves to hide them beneath the table, a movement which has the unfortunate byproduct of catching Moody’s attention. Harry thinks he stops breathing for a moment as Moody locks eyes on him, and wonders if it’s his imagination that there is just a hint of apology in the hardened former-Auror’s expression.
If there is, it’s gone in a flash as Moody continues further into the room and assesses the rest of the students.
“For all that he was a Death Eater impersonating me, by all accounts Barty Crouch Junior did a fair job teaching you all last year. You’ve had an unfortunately high turnover in professors while at Hogwarts, which has no doubt led to many of you having substandard skills in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I’ll be doing my best to counteract that this year.”
“But first. Attendance.” Moody perches himself against the desk and picks up a piece of parchment and a quill.
As Moody begins reading names off, Harry wonders how much time Barty Crouch spent with Moody to be able to mimic his mannerisms so closely. Attendance is taken in almost the exact same way as it was last year, with Moody’s brown eye focused on the parchment and his magical blue eye tracking the students as they responded to their names being called.
At least this Moody doesn’t hesitate on any of the names. He reads Harry’s name and moves on just as quickly as he does any other student, even those with last names shared with people that Moody had probably at one point dueled against. Names Harry had heard in the Graveyard.
“Because Defense Against the Dark Arts is its own class, many assume it is its own branch of magic, but that is not accurate.”
Moody’s voice was in his usual gruff tone, but Harry was surprised at the volume. Instead of nearly shouting at them as the Fake Moody had frequently done, he spoke at a normal level, almost quietly. It forced everyone in the classroom to be silent and still, leaning forward to make sure they heard every word.
“In truth, Defense is an amalgamation of every other type of magic you practice. We classify Dark Arts and Defense Against the Dark Arts as curses and countercurses, or the less harmful ones might be called a hex or a jinx. But these are just various charms and spells that are most commonly used for offensive or defensive reasons. This also means that there is no real excuse for not being able to adequately defend yourself against the average attacker. Unless you are completely useless, you will have at least one branch of magic that you are more proficient in. Perhaps you’re terrible at charms, but a dab hand at transfiguration. Your Defense strategy should focus primarily on transfiguring your enemies or the environment around you. Even those individuals who are not strong with wand-magic can effectively utilize runes and arithmancy for defensive and offensive measures.”
“Your project for the fall term in this class will be to develop a personalized defensive strategy, where you will research the methods that you would be able to most effectively utilize when under an attack. You will write a paper on this, as well as demonstrate to me your proficiency in at least three methods you have identified and chosen via a practical exercise.”
Harry quickly scribbles down notes on this assignment, even though he’s sure Professor Moody will provide more information at a later date. He had never heard of Defense being described in this way, with the instruction to find and use specific methods that you would be most skilled at. Harry had usually just memorized the various spells, and not bothered thinking about which branch of magic they were from.
“We will focus on Defensive maneuvering until the holiday break. Once you return, we’ll shift to planning offensive strategies. You’ll receive another, similar project, to focus on that term. The last few months of the year will be devoted to ensuring you’re all well rounded in your defensive maneuvers. This will also lend well to revision for the OWLs in June.”
Moody continued, “The most skilled at Defense Against the Dark Arts will have three things - a broad knowledge of spells, a great deal of creativity in using these spells against their enemy, and strong intent and willpower that allows them to potentially take a seemingly benign spell and use it aggressively.”
Moody was pacing around the perimeter of the room. Pausing at some tables to get a read of each student before passing on to the next.
“These things are what I will attempt to teach you this year, although I’ll warn you that your will is something many of you either will or will not have. I can’t teach you to be a stronger-minded person. You’ll need to work on that on your own.”
“But as for spell knowledge and creativity, you can all expect to improve in these areas this year. You’ll see me twice a week. On Tuesdays, we will focus on theory, and Fridays will be entirely practical. Personally, I think expecting you lot to learn how to defend yourself with only two sessions of Defense Against the Dark Arts is setting you all up for failure, but due to your ‘busy schedules with O.W.L revision,’ I was overruled on my request for more classes.” Moody said this last bit with a sneer, and Harry wondered if he thought poorly of standardized testing in general, or just the need to focus on it when Voldemort had returned to the living.
“I’ll be holding weekly tutoring sessions for fifth years on Wednesday nights at eight o’clock. These will be a mix of practical and theoretical, depending on the needs of those students who show up. Additionally, I’ve received permission to reinstate the Dueling Club, which will run Saturday mornings from seven o’clock to nine o’clock in the lower dungeons. If you show up, expect to stay for the whole time, and don’t be late. I may occasionally bring guest lecturers, and will not be embarrassed by you lot wandering in half asleep and tardy.”
A slight pause here, to allow for the fifth-years, who had all glanced around at each other meaningfully and a few even dared whispers of excitement at the return of Dueling Club, to focus back on the professor.
Memories of the disastrous attempt at a Dueling Club back in their second year, which ended in Harry revealing himself as a parselmouth, had him wincing for a moment, but overall he was still excited at the opportunity to practice dueling and was planning to be there bright and early tomorrow morning.
“Now. I saw some of you giving me skeptical looks when I said any spell can be used in Defense. Anyone have a suggestion on a spell you think would be useless in a duel?”
A long moment of silence, and then Seamus hesitantly raised his hand.
“Well lad, what’s your idea?”
“The scourgify charm sir? It’s for cleaning?” Seamus suggested
Moody snorted, “I’ve used that in an actual fight, helped me get Crispin Cronk arrested and in Azkaban after he was discovered illegally breeding sphinxes. I could aim it at your eyes and blind you or the ground to make you slip and fall. Who else? Come on, if anyone can stump me, I’ll excuse you from the first homework assignment.”
Emboldened at the idea of lessening their homework, which was already growing to massive proportions just from their first few days of classes, more hands were raised.
All suggestions were shot down quickly.
Neville’s idea of the flower growing charm, was quickly rebutted with Moody’s assertion that he could make flowers grow out of someone’s lungs, leading to suffocation or a ruptured organ.
Nott, from Slytherin, suggested a charm Harry had never heard of, which was typically used to make jewels grow from the earth. Moody countered that he would make them grow large enough to block his enemies’ spell casting, and depending on the type of jewel, grow them big and then explode them so the shrapnel would cause injury.
Around and around they went, until every student had raised their hand and named a spell. Harry’s own suggestion, which was a charm to turn water into freshly brewed tea, was dismissed with the argument that humans were mostly made of water, and changing the water within a body into tea would lead to catastrophic injury.
It seemed like the more benign the spell a student offered, the more violent the professor's theorized usage of it would be.
Once everyone had a chance to give Moody a spell, he quieted them all down from where most of the students were whispering to each other. As far as Harry could hear, everyone was trying to discuss potential spells that Moody wouldn’t be able to counter.
“All right. That’s enough now. One point to each of you for your suggestions.”
“Before we get into the thick of it, I want to see where you’re all at. Draw your wands, and let's step to the back of the classroom to get some practical work in. Form two lines, facing the practice dummies.”
As he moved to the back of the room with his classmates, Harry silently thanked Merlin that they had a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year. He’s not sure what he would have done if they’d gotten another Lockhart or Quirrell. At least with Moody everyone will learn the necessities to both pass the OWL and defend themselves against Death Eaters.