Chapter 34
The horseless carriages up to the castle were, it transpired, drawn by Thestrals. Harry was one of the only ones who couldn't see them. Nott thought they were ugly; Lovegood thought they were beautiful. Neville said they were "erm - unusual-looking." He was a little surprised Harry hadn't been able to see them.
"Seeing death isn't the same thing as just being in the room when someone dies," said Nott, condescendingly. "It has to be a human being that dies. You have to see it happen. And you have to be old enough and mentally capable enough to understand what you're seeing. Potter wasn't even two when his parents were killed." Harry thought about it. That made sense. He remembered the green light, and he strongly suspected that the woman who he heard screaming and asking for him to be spared was actually his mother. He'd seen it; but he hadn't understood it. He hadn't even remembered it at the time. He could just about recollect being very young indeed, just starting to learn how to do housework, and hoping his parents would come back for him one day if he was good; and then being told that they never would, because they were dead. No. His understanding of death came later. What about Quirrell? Harry had killed him. But he'd passed out, hadn't he, and woken to be told Quirrell had died. He hadn't actually seen the death as it happened. He'd seen the basilisk die, of course, but it wasn't human. And the shade of Tom Riddle? He'd stabbed the fang in the diary, watched the ink spurt out, heard the screams. He'd seen it die.
"So it doesn't work for parts of people, either?" he said. Nott and Pucey exchanged glances.
"What are you talking about, Potter?" sneered Nott. "Parts of people, indeed."
"If somebody put part of themselves into an object," said Harry, lowering his voice. "And the object could - could manifest something that looked a bit like a ghost. Something that could shape itself like a person, could talk. And if somebody else destroyed the object, watched it die. When they were old enough to understand death."
"That's serious Dark Arts you're talking about, Potter," said Pucey. "Or should I say, Regent Gaunt? I do read the Prophet, you know."
"Yeah, well," said Harry. "The person I declared Wolfshead against. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was the one into the Dark Arts. He had multiple objects like that. I stabbed three of them with basilisk fangs and watched them die. And I still can't see Thestrals."
"Merlin, Potter," said Pucey.
"I take being Regent Gaunt very seriously," said Harry. "I'm not handing the House over to Daisy with that monster still about, even as a wraith. I want him all the way dead. He's not coming anywhere near my cousins."
"Well," said Nott. "Parts of people indeed. You know, I don't think anyone's ever verified whether that would have been the case before. Whether killing what you so pedestrianly describe as "parts of people" would enable someone to see Thestrals or not. Most curse-breakers and Dark Wizard Catchers have already seen plenty of death before they come across one of those."
"You could write a journal article," said Pucey. "Not the kind of journal that gets published in this country, of course."
"Oh please, Saint Potter isn't going to write an article to be published in a Dark Arts journal," said Nott. "Even if his notoriously awful essay-writing skills were up to it."
"Ahem," said the shabby-looking man in the corner of the carriage. "As the new professor in Defence against the Dark Arts, I'd like to let you know that any of you would be welcome in my office hours, if you wanted to discuss the means and consequences of destroying Dark or cursed objects. Or, indeed, if you wanted advice on which academic journals are more reputable. Or any other defence-related matter. I'm Remus Lupin." There was a slightly ragged chorus of "Nice to meet you, Professor," and "hello, Professor," some greetings sounding more sincere than others. Nott clearly disapproved of the man's clothing, as did one of the older Ravenclaws, and everybody but Jennings had had the dubious pleasure of making Gilderoy Lockhart's acquaintance. Thora Dinnett started quizzing him about his previous experience and credentials, somewhat unsubtly; he chatted quite cheerfully about the various freelancing and piecework jobs he tended to do, from proof-reading and index-collating for wizarding publishers to eradicating Dark creatures and warding against them for magical farmers who didn't quite fancy calling in Gringotts; he'd also worked a bit in the Muggle world, including as a security guard, and of course he'd done a fair bit of tutoring back when he was a Prefect at Hogwarts.
"Well, I look forward to seeing what your classes are like, Professor," said Dinnett, as the carriages drew up to the castle. She sounded cautiously optimistic. Professor Lupin's polite reply was drowned out by Madam Pomfrey, who had spent the whole drive taking pulses, feeling foreheads, and casting diagnostic charms.
"You may all attend the feast," she said. "However, Mr Nott and Miss Lovegood, you should report to the Infirmary afterwards. I'm keeping you both overnight for observation. And the rest of you, if you feel any recurrence of symptoms, you should come and see me. Don't think I didn't notice you all shiver when we went through the gates!" As soon as the carriage door opened, Harry saw Ted Tonks standing there.
"Harry!" he called. "I'm so relieved you're all right. And are these all the others who had severe dementor exposure?"
"Now, now, Mr Tonks!" called out Madam Pomfrey. "You should know as well as I do that patient confidentiality applies!"
"Oh, naturally!" said Ted. "But in case the Minister needs some extra persuasion to get the Dementors away from the children, I thought a little class action suit might be a good idea, if enough people were amenable. Of course, anybody underage would need their guardians' permission. Here, I have business cards, with the floo address on. Or you can owl me. If Harry agrees, well, my partners and I are already involved in the matter, and I'm already on retainer to House Potter, so it wouldn't cost the other students anything extra if they and their guardians wanted to get involved, and it might really make a difference. We're unlikely to get any actual monetary compensation out of the Ministry, but you never know." Most of the students simply tucked the cards away in their robe pockets, and hurried away to dinner, but Dinnett stayed.
"If it really won't cost me any galleons, I have absolutely no objections to making it public that I definitely did not enjoy re-living the memory of my parents being murdered by Death Eaters for being Muggle-borns, and of being left for dead in a burning house," she said. "I'm seventeen, and I have no living Wizarding relatives, so it's my decision. Thora Dinnett."
"I'm sorry for your loss," said Ted, a sentiment that was echoed incoherently by Harry. "And you shouldn't have had to re-live it like that, and I'd be honoured to help make those responsible regret it. Never cross a badger, right?"
"We have claws," she replied. It seemed to be a Hufflepuff catch-phrase.
Harry, still rather taken aback by Dinnett's brutal honesty, agreed that he was absolutely on board with Ted trying to sue the Ministry on behalf of Harry and as many others as wished to involve themselves, and calling it part of his duties for House Potter. It was agreed that Ted would keep Harry posted on his progress, and would owl Miss Dinnett once he knew how many other people would be involved, and check the wording of the demand with her before sending it off. Neville had also lingered. He told Ted he obviously couldn't promise anything, but would be owling his Gran with all the details, and including Ted's card in his letter. But even once he'd said his piece, he didn't go.
"Is there something else, Neville?" Harry finally asked. "You can say anything you like in front of Ted - law-wizard Tonks. He knows all my business." Neville squared his shoulders.
"It's about what you said on the coach. The Regent Gaunt stuff. And about your not seeing Thestrals."
"I kind of mentioned I'd destroyed three dark objects with basilisk fangs," Harry told Ted, sheepishly. "And that they each contained part of Tom Marvolo Riddle, who I'd declared Wolfshead as Regent Gaunt."
"Well, I suppose that was going to get out sooner or later," said Ted. "Especially once Professor McGonagall let you know the twins' surname was appearing on magically generated documents as Gaunt. Just a matter of time."
"It's the Wolfshead declaration that bothered me," said Neville. "You're really that determined to kill someone? Someone who's a distant cousin of yours? I mean, I get that they've been dabbling in some serious Dark Arts, but even so..."
"Not just that," said Harry. "Riddle killed my parents. And a lot of other people's parents, too. That's Voldemort's birth name, Neville. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He's not really alive, but he's not quite dead either, at the moment. But my allies and I are working on making him all the way dead." Neville looked lost for words.
"Okay," he said. "I suppose if it's You-Know-Who, it's different. That's-" he paused. "If he were in my family, and if I were the head of it, or Regent or whatever, I hope I'd do the same thing. I'm sorry I doubted you, even for a moment." He paused again. "Wait, that means you really know, know for sure, that he isn't completely dead? That's... that's scary. But you think you can fix it. You have help. Okay." He was visibly trying to calm himself down. "And Harry, if you ever need more help - if there's ever anything I can do to help - not that I expect I could do much, but even so - I'll be there if you need me."
"Thanks, Neville," said Harry. He didn't really know what else to say.
"You're a fine young man," said Ted. "Your mother would be proud of you."
"You knew her?" asked Neville.
"She was a Hufflepuff firstie when I was a fifth-year Hufflepuff prefect," said Ted. "She was a very sweet kid, until someone offended her moral compass, and then she was a force to be reckoned with. And she was growing into a truly formidable witch by the time I graduated. We weren't close friends, or anything - I think we sent each other congratulations cards on seeing wedding and birth announcements in the papers - but I knew her well enough at one time to be able to say she would have approved of who you are now, very much. You're brave, and loyal, and you've got a good sense of right and wrong." Neville looked like he was about to cry.
"Nobody's ever said anything like that before," he said. "And you don't even know me."
"I've only just met you," said Ted, "and it's obvious to me. I think certain other people could stand to pay a bit more attention to you, if they haven't noticed yet."
"I - er - excuse me," said Neville, and dashed off, not in the direction of the feast. Harry was privately quite sure he was going off somewhere to cry, and didn't entirely blame him.
"Poor kid," said Ted meditatively, "I'll have a word with Gornuk, see if we can get Gringotts' permission to read him into the agreement more fully. You already mentioned you wanted to get Miss Granger and Mr Weasley involved, and he's working on it. One more name shouldn't hurt. And his being your godbrother as well as your cousin might carry some weight." Harry hesitated. Ron wouldn't like it, he knew. And then he remembered the look on Neville's face when he said he didn't expect he could do much.
"Okay," he said. "I'd like that." Dahlia tugged at Harry's trouser leg.
"Want potty," she said. By the time Harry had seen to that for her and Daisy, and made sure everyone had clean hands, and said goodbye to Ted, the first years had already disappeared from the Entrance Hall. The sorting was underway. Harry was hesitating by the doors when he was joined by Neville, Hermione, and Professor McGonagall, who flung open the doors and strode in; the others headed over to the Gryffindor table, trying hard not to draw attention. Ron had saved space for them. Harry rapped three times on his chosen spot on the bench, as he had been instructed, and whispered "booster seat, please"; a superstructure promptly appeared for the twins, and he could slide onto the bench next to it. The sorting had got up to the 'T's now, and it was Professor Sprout standing by the stool with the hat. Professor Dumbledore's golden thronelike seat sat empty, and instead of going to her own seat at the High Table, Professor McGonagall was standing before the dias, directly in front of the empty throne. The last student was sorted, and Professor McGonagall spoke.
"To our new students, welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "To our old students, welcome back. I say this on behalf of Headmaster Dumbledore, who is currently at the Ministry, trying to ensure none of you will be further menaced by the Dementors. But for now, there is the feast. Eat well, sleep well, and be prepared to study diligently tomorrow." She clapped her hands before turning her back and moving to her seat; the dishes appeared on the table. It looked and smelled delicious, as always.
"I can't believe I missed the Sorting," said Hermione.
"What did McGonagall want?" asked Ron, his mouth full of chicken.
"Professor McGonagall," said Hermione. "She just had to sort out some last minute issues with my timetable. And really, Ron, your table manners are dreadful. You're setting a bad example for the little ones." Ron made some kind of retort, but, perhaps fortunately, it was inaudible. Harry settled in. It was good to be at Hogwarts.