Molly&Harry
Molly walked into the class she had been dreading the most out of all of them all week. Not because she was scared of it, or because she felt underprepared. In fact, it was one of her best classes, academically wise. She had been dreading it for the simple reason she hated essays and grammar, and today was English day. The way that the teacher, Professor Quirell, had set it up was that since all First and Second Years had Foundations twice, the first class of the week would be dedicated to English and the second class to Math. She didn’t mind Thursdays when she had math; she enjoyed the simplicity in the numbers, and found it useful for her potion measuring. What she really hated was grammar. Learning all the proper sentence structure and pronunciation of obscure Latin to be able to say spells right was infuriating. And he made everyone write a weekly essay on whatever nonsense he chose to assign to make them practice their writing abilities, both penmanship and essay’s.
So when she walked in, she was already dreading the class, and was mentally preparing herself, hoping against hope that she would not have a panic attack and spill her ink all over herself and probably ruin her paper.
As she made her way to her desk, the teacher looked up from his desk, where he had been hunched over some papers and scribbling furiously. She put her books down, along with her ink pot and parchment roll, and settled into her desk. And the class was every bit as boring as she had expected it to be, sadly. She zoned out several times during Professor Quirrell’s lecture, which today’s fascinating topic was on how to use a verb in its proper form, and how to recognize said verb in the sentence. It was super boring, and she quite nearly dozed off. But at least the pure dull monotone of it kept a possibility of a panic attack a distant one. So when the class was dismissed, she was one of the first to gather up her books and writing utensils and be up and heading towards the door.
“Miss Carpenter, Molly. Can you spare a second before heading to lunch, perhaps?” Professor Quirrell called. It was so unexpected that she nearly dropped her books. In all of the year, she didn't think she’d had one direct conversation with the quiet man, though she often caught him watching her or her brother at dinner. which did disturb her slightly and did not endear himself to her.
Turning around slowly, she put her books down on the desk beside her, and walked to where the Professor was sitting behind his desk. “Yes, Professor?” she asked, worried if she was going to be reprimanded for almost falling asleep on several occasions today in class.
“Ah, Molly. May I call you Molly?” He continued after a nod from her. “I just wished to check in with you, ask how you are doing. I heard you were wounded pretty badly?”
“Uh…yeah. I was.” She responded slowly, this conversation not going at all in the direction she had been expecting it to go at all. “But I’m fine, thank you, Professor.” She was prepared to start exiting the classroom when he continued talking.
“Not many can say that they survived a Rawhead, especially an eleven year old Muggleborn girl, and managed to put up a significant defense against the fa-.” He broke off to clear his throat, taking a sip of water from a glass on his desk before continuing. “-foul beast. I am quite impressed, to say the least.” He smiled, and she turned fully back towards him, unsure what this was all about. He had never truly spoken to her, and she was pretty sure this was the longest one-on-one conversation they had ever had, and if she was being honest, he was creeping her out. First with the wanting to call her Molly, which she supposed was not so unusual, but in Hogwarts it certainly felt so, and the fact that they had never spoken and now seemed so interested, it was all weird, especially with what he said next.
“Who did you say your parents were, again? They must be very special to raise a girl like yourself.” As he spoke, he shifted papers on his desk casually, his purple turban looking lopsided on his head and his weathered tanned face looking smooth and open, inviting almost, as he met her eyes. Maybe… maybe she should tell him. He was trustworthy, of course.
No, of course she shouldn't. She shook her head firmly, feeling the twinges of a headache coming on, and just wanting to get out of the room and go relax at lunch. “Oh, they are normal Muggles from Chicago, Professor. Only claim to fame is my brother, really.”
His gaze sharpened slightly, with suspicion or interest, she could not say. “Ah, well. It is even more impressive, then, what I have heard about Friday night.” Once again, she felt a wash of guilt over her for lying to this kind man. After all, he had never shown any reason why she couldn’t trust him. Surely, as a Professor, he would probably know about the secret world that her Dad participated in. But that guilt was overshadowed by another painful flaring of her headache, and she groaned and rubbed her forehead.
“Are you alright?” Professor Quirrell sounded genuinely concerned. “If this is a panic attack, I can go get Professor Sprout for you of course!”
“No, I'm fine. Thanks Professor,” she said through teeth gritted in pain. “If that is all, may I be going now? I’m sure my friends are missing me, and I don't want to keep them waiting too long.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry if this discussion seemed to come out of nowhere, Molly. I just wanted you to know that… I understand what you are going through in a way, and if you ever need someone to talk to, my door is always open. I know Professor Sprout is a great teacher and a great counsellor, of course.” He smiled thinly at that. “When I was in Hogwarts, I found myself in her office on more than one occasion. But,” here his voice took on a softer tone, and Molly strained to listen through the pounding in her eardrums, like bells being clanged right on either side of her head. “I’ve had more than my share of monsters in my quest for knowledge and power. I’ve… seen things. I know what it is like to face something more powerful than you and watch your people die. So I just want you to know I understand. Now you may go, Molly. I bid you farewell.”
“Thanks, Professor.” She huffed through gritted teeth and hurried out of the room, almost forgetting her stuff along the way. She really needed food and water, hopefully that would make this headache go away. By the time she made it to the Great Hall, her friends had already gotten food.
“Are you okay, Molly?” asked Penelope with concern in her voice, seeing Molly’s grimace of pain across her face. “Here, let me help you.” She got up and took Molly’s books for her, while Grey started preparing a plate of her favorite food, the ones he knew she loved.
“Thanks, guys,” Molly said gratefully as she began to chow down, stopping only to take a gulp of water.
“What was that all about? Why did the Professor call you back?” asked Grey as she ate. “I never knew he had an interest in…well, in anyone really. He always seemed so aloof.”
“He wanted to ask me how I was doing. It was just as weird as you can imagine,” she said between mouthfuls of food. “And there was something… weird about the whole conversation. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but he seemed really insistent on learning about my family, and when he was speaking about the attack, firstly he-” her voice dropped to a whisper so only those immediately around her would hear, “he didn't call it an Ogre, and I don't remember anyone mentioning he was there when the beast was killed.”
“Well, it's not that unreasonable to assume they told the teachers the truth of the matter, but no I don't remember seeing him either.” Penelope replied thoughtfully.
“Well, it's not just that. Like I said, he seemed really focused on my family. And when he was speaking, he started to say something and then quickly cut himself off with a cough. I'm not sure what he was going to say, I just know it certainly wasn't the word foul.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead in tiredness. “Eh, I'm just overthinking it. guys! Maybe that’s why my head started to hurt.” She let out a little laugh, and everyone, but Daphne predictably, laughed also. And even though she did laugh it off outwardly, it still continued to bother her inside, some nagging at the back of her skull that she had missed something, and it was going to come back to bite her in the butt eventually.
* * *
“Thanks, Professor Sprout!” Harry said to the receding form of the Professor who had escorted him to the hut. The Professor waved back as she headed towards her greenhouses and Harry turned away, reaching an arm up and knocking twice on the door solidly. Not only was he knocking because it was the polite way to announce his presence, but because he didn’t think he could open the door even if he wanted to. The doorknob was above his head, and the door was so solid looking and heavy he probably couldn’t even push it open.
He was getting prepared to knock once more when the door slowly swung open, and he was instantly knocked to the ground. He struggled against a huge massive green weight on him, pressing him down on the ground.
“Oi! Get off ‘im, Kazki, ya glorified ferret! He’s a friendly,” said Hagrid, and Harry did not miss the affection and laughter in his voice.
The huge… thing, whatever it was, slid off of him slowly. He got his first good look at the creature. It was tall, its head slightly higher than Harry’s standing up, with a long sinewy body that was very similar to a ferret’s, and nearly twice as long. It had round eyes that seemed slightly too small for the size of its head, and instead of a gentle round muzzle like a ferret, it had a snout more reminiscent of a hog, with large snuffling nostrils and no fur on it. And it had two long tusks that curled from its mouth and vicious pointed teeth that looked like they could tear him apart at a moment’s notice. Each foot was adorned with four long claws that dug into the earth where it stood. The most striking feature of it, the one that disillusioned Harry from thinking it was simply a massively overgrown ferret, more so than even the tusks and hog face, was its color. It was green, a shade of light green like a leaf newly come into being in the spring. The only break from it was thin black stripes that spiraled around the body, starting from where the snout gained fur and spiraling around and around the body like a winding snake, ending at the long flexible tail and making it completely black. It also had yellow eyes, which complimented the yellow-stained tusks.
He clambered to his feet slowly, wiping the dirt and slobber off of himself. “Uh, what in God’s good name is that, Hagrid?” Trying to keep a note of panic out of his voice as he said it, looking at those massive tusks and beady yellow eyes.
“Ah, sorry about that ‘Arry. That’s just Kazki. He’s a species called a Ramidreju. Got ‘em from some folk who bought him from one of those exotic magical pet places.” Here, Hagrid’s lip twisted in disgust, “cause they are native to the hills of Spain. Stupid prick didn’t realize how big ‘e was gunna get, so he gave ‘em to me when he was taller that the owner himself, causin’ loads of trouble.” He shot a mock glare at the creature, who simply sniffled and sat back on its haunches, eyes now wide and friendly looking. “He won’t hurt ya now, dontcha worry bout it. Kazki, come ‘ere.” Harry flicked away involuntarily as the big creature slipped up to him and nudged Harry’s head with a wet snout, snuffling quietly. It then sat down on its haunches and lowered its head, tipping it so it met Harry’s eyes evenly, and then nuzzled him, getting wet snot all over the side of his face.
Harry stumbled backwards, scrubbing at his face with a shirtsleeve furiously, glaring atr the ferretdog and Hagrid in turn. “Gross! I just got a ton of magic snot on me!”
Hagrid chucked, the wrinkles on his face underneath his beard and mane of hair not disappearing exactly, but transforming into laugh lines that still had the same effect of making him look much younger. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder and motioned towards the cabin and the smoke Harry could see rising from it. “Well, ya met me pet, ya did! How about we go fer a bite to eat?”
Harry nodded, and instead of going inside like he expected, Hagrid led him around the hut to the back. He had never seen the back of Hagrid’s gut, had never seen much of Hagrid’s hut period to be honest. All he knew was that there was a pumpkin patch where pumpkins and other various herbs were grown for the holidays.
But around the back of the cabin, the pumpkin patch gradually faded from herbs and vegetables to flowers and fruits. There were lavender plants and rows of daisies and daffodils and rose bushes. And right in the center of the garden was a row of trees, each bearing different fruit. Clementines, apples, pears and peaches and mangoes. Hagrid wandered off to the grill, where he had a burger and hotdog slowly grilling there, and flipped them over. After doing that, he looked up and caught Harry’s gaze at the rows of plants and grinned. “Ah, yer like me garden, eh? It’s my pride and joy, it is. Planted those trees when the Headmaster firs’ got me a position here, gave me this little hut. Well… little for me anyways. Seen those trees grow from a wee sapling, tended them meself. Do you want one?” He asked, gesturing to the trees, of which the apple tree was the only one that was completely full of fruit, with the others just having a few scraggly remnants left on them.
“Oh I can have one? Thanks!” asked Harry. “I will definitely have one then.” He walked over to the tree, walking through the paths that had been laid out between the rows, which was quite easy as they were huge to accommodate Hagrid. He took a deep breath and smelled the lavender waft up his nose, and the smells of cooking meat on the grill. It felt like a day in summer just at home, a barbecue and plants and the birds singing. Of course, there was more of a biting chill in the air, due to it being November and in the middle of a lake. He reached up and plucked an apple, raising it to his mouth and taking a bite. It was every bit as rich as its bright red appearance had promised, and he chewed it slowly, savoring the crunchiness and the taste. Within minutes, he had eaten it all up and looked up to Hagrid, who was removing the hotdogs and hamburgers off the grill and doing something with them, he couldn't tell exactly what since his frame blocked it from view.
“What should I do with the apple core?” he called over, nibbling away the last edible bites of the apple, feeling some juice dribbling down his chin.
“Oh, yer can just drop it on the ground, ya can. It’ll be good as compost fer the plants. And,” With a quick turn, he placed two plates down at the small outside table and grinned over at Harry. “Lunch is served!”
Harry chucked the apple onto the ground, leaving it to nestle between the roots of the tree that poked themselves out of the ground before diving back in, deep in the earth. He once again walked down the short pathway to what was almost a deck, ducking his head against the wind chill and pulling his robe closer around him. The deck was simply many flat stones laid in front of the back of the hut, with a grill and two metal chairs with a large metal table sitting in between them. Kazki was curled up by the grill, its long tail draped over its eyes and purring contently. He had to use the rung on the bottom of the chair to haul himself up onto the chair, with it being so far off the ground. He felt like a toddler trying to pretend that he was an adult, with all this oversized furniture in front of him.
When he finally got himself seated properly, he found himself looking at a large, round white plate that was as large as his head. Sitting in the center, looking quite small surrounded by all of the empty expanse of whiteness that was the plate, was a hotdog. Well… he thought it was a hotdog. It looked a little burnt, and had an assortment of things on top of it. It had relish, pickles, peppers and tomatoes, topped with very generous squirts of mustard on top of it. And there seemed to be… salt sprinkled on it? He looked up at Hagrid, who was staring down nervously, hands clasped together in front of him in an effort to keep them still.
“I, er, hope ya like it. I know yer from Chicago and all, so I went to Madame Pince and asked ‘er if she had any Muggle biscuits in the library. She told me no, but could get me something if I needed it ‘er next trip into town. So,” he paused and made an all encompassing gesture to include the grill and the hotdog in front of Harry. “I got meself a cookbook and tried to make ya a Chicago-style hotdog.” He grinned earnestly when he said it, like a large child hoping for his parents approval. “I hope I did it right? The recipe called for something named celery salt, but I didn’t have that, so I just used regular salt. Can’t be much of a difference, can there?”
Now that Hagrid had explained, when Harry looked upon it once more, he could see the resemblance. The way one could see a resemblance between themself and their reflection in a fun-house mirror sort of way. The ones he was used to were a large overflowing mess of different veggies, yes pickles and peppers, but sometimes cucumbers and radishes as well. This was arguably the neatest Chicago-style hotdog he had ever seen. Everything was laid out meticulously and symmetrical on both sides. It didn't have the characterization of the sloppy hotdog he had come to know. Still, that didn't mean it was bad. He picked it up and took a bite from the hotdog, and found it to be delicious. The regular salt was definitely a jarring taste to be sure, but not unpleasant. Just different. That was how the whole hotdog could be described, really. Not unpleasant at all, just different from how he was used to. He looked up to find Hagrid staring in trepidation, and he gave a thumbs up in appreciation as he chewed his food and placed it back on the plate. “It’s delicious, Hagrid. You did great!”
Hagrid’s face split into a wide smile, and he relaxed slightly, turning and grabbing his own Chicago-style hot dog and placing it with deceptive gentleness on the table across from Harry and sitting in the chair opposite, his great bulk making the chair groan in protest. “Aye, that’s a relief to hear. I guess I better try it also then, eh? Ya know, I don't think I’ve ever had a hotdog before. Ain’t real big in Britain, yer see.” Hesitantly, he reached down and taking care not to crush the hotdog in his paws, he brought it to his mouth and took a bite. Because he was not a native Chicagoan, he did not bite it the proper way, tilting his head slightly, so bits and pieces of the radish and veggies fell all over the table as he did so. But still, he chewed and swallowed and his eyes lit up in excitement. “Now it don’t beat no sausage in biscuits, no way, but this is good meat indeed! I see why yer city likes it this way.”
“Thank you, Hagrid. This is delicious! I was not expecting this at all!” Harry said earnestly.
“Oh, dontcha go worrying over it, ‘Arry. It ain’t everyday that you get a chance to reconnect with yer friends’ child who ya thought was long dead. So really, you just sittin’ here eating a nice lunch with me, yer the one givin’ me a gift.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry not really sure how to respond to that exactly. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence by any means, they just sat companionably and ate their hotdogs, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Hagrid broke the silence as they both neared the end of their hotdogs.
“So, ‘Arry, tell me. How are ya finding school in ‘Ogwarts?”
“Oh, well it’s demanding work. But I am enjoying it a lot. The castle is so big though! I sometimes get lost, even if I’m going to the same class.”
Hagrid laughed that deep rolling belly laugh that seemed to come so easily to him. “I’ve worked ‘ere for half a century now, and even I still am constantly discovering something new ‘ere so let me warn ya right now that even if you live to as old as the Headmaster yer never gonna discover all the secrets this castle has to offer, I assure ya. I ‘ave whole rings of keys that I got no clue what they go to! What about the classes? My favorite when I was a wee lad was always Herbology.”
“Were you ever a wee lad, Hagrid?” Harry asked with a laugh.
“Alright, maybe wee ain’t exactly the right word now is it?” He cracked a grin and patted his large stomach, winking. “Always had a love of food, definitely true.”
As they both settled deeper into their seats, the conversation turned to Harry’s home life - Hagrid seemed endlessly fascinated by Harry’s upbringing in Chicago, with each response from Harry generating even more questions from the giant. Apparently the only city that Hagrid had ever visited was London, which he had hated. Despite consuming several shrinking potions beforehand, his size still drew unwelcome and intense attention from passersby. And the city itself felt constantly cramped and claustrophobic.
He also asked a lot of questions about what his Mom and Dad were like, what did his Dad do, how did they find him, so basically a whole bunch of questions that Harry had to be very careful in answering. But he found himself enjoying the conversation more than he had expected he would. He had been very stressed lately (obviously) and was glad for this chance to just relax and talk about his life back home with Hagrid. He gave off the energy of a grandfather Harry hadn't seen in a long time, one who was trying to reconnect with his grandsons, but was so out of date he did not know how. But his earnestness and effort to do so was clearly very evident upon his face that it was excusable if the conversation felt a bit stilted. As he asked about his family, however, the conversation turned to recent events, the things he had temporarily cast out of his head flooding back into him.
“Hey, how come you haven't really been coming to meals lately? I noticed you’ve been skipping breakfast and sometimes even dinner in the Great Hall. Are you alright?” Harry asked as Hagrid cleared up the plates and put the cover on the grill.
“Oh, I am, thanks for noticin’ though. It’s just been hard for me to be in the school and all, after the attack. It reminds me of… less pleasant times for meh, yer see. Times I would rather not be thinking about.” Hagrid said, not looking him in the eye as he spoke, his voice taking on a huskier tone, forfeit of its usual lightness and mirth.
“The Lord is my light and my salvation— so why should I be afraid? The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger, so why should I tremble?” Harry said, reaching out to touch the huge man on the arm. “I know I’m definitely scared too. We all are, as far as I can tell. I’m just telling you what brings me comfort when I think about m-” His voice broke, and he wrapped his hand around his cross sitting on his chest before taking a deep breath and continuing. “-my sister trapped all alone in the darkness with that beast. Or that poor girl who was killed, just for being in the wrong place in the wrong time. I should have been able to do something.” His voice shook and he felt a tear trickle down his face as he thought of the girl. He now knew her name was Charlotte, but before last Friday she had been just another face in the crowd, just someone he brushed by in the hallway as he went from class to class. And that was the true pain of it, that she was just another face . Nothing to distinguish her from anyone else. showing it could have happened to anyone else. It could have been his sister. It could have been Grey.It could have anyone.
Hagrid turned around and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, his huge palm warm and steadying to Harry. As Harry looked up through his tears, he was surprised to see that Hagrid’s face matched his. “Listen, ‘Arry. It aint your fault, It wasn't your responsibility. Not your responsi-” Hagrid broke off and more tears streamed down his face as he reached up and wiped some away on his sleeve. “It was mine, it was. I’m the groundskeeper and the Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts. Nothin’ is supposed to be able to get in or out without my knowledge.” He pounded his chest, his voice choking on emotion. “Me. I’m supposed to tend these grounds, watch and keep them safe. And I let an animal get right past me, let it get into my school and hurt you kids.” He sat down heavily and the tears fell hot and fast on the table as Harry held his arm and felt his own tears slide down his face. “I failed at me job, and you kids paid the price for it. That’s why I been missin' meals, ‘Arry. I can't look at the empty space at the Slytherin table and know that it is empty because of me.”
“Oh, Hagrid. You didn't fail at your job. There is nothing either of us could have done. How could you have foreseen that a random monster would sneak into the school?”
“I should have. Should have been keeping better watch, anticipated someone might make an attempt because of the Flamel operatio-“ Abruptly Hagrid cut himself off, going tight lipped. The mask of grief and pain was still there, but now there was a rigidness that had not been there moments before. “But perhaps you be right. Thank you fer yer words, ‘Arry.”
Harry narrowed his eyes slightly, wiping them with his hand to remove the tears that were still on his cheeks. “What about Flamel? What’s that mean?”
“It be meaning nothing, ‘Arry. I misspoke. My bad.” Hagrid said, looking worried as he dried his own tears from his face.
Harry considered pressing him for more information, and for a moment he almost did. But sensing Hagrid's anxiety and not wanting to repay the man who had just been so kind to him with an interrogation, he decided to let it drop. But filed the information away for later. So he decided to change the subject to something else that had been bothering him the entire time since the attack and hearing the casualties. “Hagrid… something else has been bothering me.”
Hagrid leaned forward slightly, looking at Harry, seemingly relieved by the subject change. “Aye? What is it, ‘Arry.”
“It’s just… the incident two weeks ago.” Instantly the air grew more somber, and Harry felt like he should be talking about this in a dark and quiet room, not outside under the sun and the birds chirping. “A student died, and it’s terrible. But… that’s not what’s bothering me. It’s that half a dozen House-Elves died and… no one seems to care. Even when I talked to the Headmaster and brought it up, he seemed to think that I was concerned my rooms wouldn’t be cleaned properly then that they died . I just thought as the Magical Creatures teacher…” Harry let his voice trail off, looking up hopefully to see if Hagrid would understand what he was saying.
Hagrid’s face was still a mask of sadness, and he seemed to deflate slightly in his chair, looking helpless. “Aye, I shoulda expected that. ‘Arry, what ya gotta understand about the Wizarding community is that they aren’t exactly the most accepting bunch. Centuries of hiding and judging from the Muggle’s tend to do that to ya.”
“That’s no-” Harry began to protest when Hagrid put up a huge hand to stop him.
“I know that ain’t no good excuse, ‘Arry. I’m not trying to excuse them. But take it from me. I've spent a lot of time thinking about it, as a Half-Giant, ya see. Now the Pureblood bigots, the ones who followed You-Know-Who and the like, they’re the worst. The Headmaster, I would be the first to throw myself in front of a Killing Curse for him, don't get me wrong. But he too is a product of this messed up world we be living in. He is better than most, gives the House-Elves some small pay, employs me. Yer know how many other people woulda turned me away simply fer being what I am? Can’t tell ya how many times there have been committees, usually headed by that prick Lucius Malfoy, er don’t tell Draco I said that, tryin to get me fired from ‘ere from one complaint or another.” He shook his great, shaggy head. “What I be tryin to say is, the Headmaster has done a lot of good in his position as Headmaster. But as yeh saw, he still has those same prejudices to a lesser degree that most other wizards do. Now, mind you, I’m not saying this to make you think the Headmaster is bad or nothin. He isn’t. He is a great man. But a man he still is, and he will always look out for his fellow men before thinkin of us sentient life. That’s just the truth of it. Wish it was different with all me heart, I do. But it aint, and I've accepted it. I've got a nice life here, I’m happy.” Hagrid smiled his great, wide smile again.
How could he feel so happy, after what he explained to him? Harry thought silently to himself, feeling the great weight of sadness on him double down.
He was about to say something to that effect to Hagrid but thought better of it, not wanting to bring up more guilt on Hagrid, since he was clearly feeling enough as it was. Instead, he took a glance at the watch on his wrist, and it was a good thing he did. He looked up quickly and said, “Hagrid, can you escort me to the castle? Class starts in a few minutes.”
Hagrid seemed briefly disappointed that their time together was at an end, but he nodded. “Sure, ‘Arry. Let’s go.” And with that, Harry and Hagrid walked back to the castle, making plans to perhaps meet up next Friday also for a pleasant lunch, as long as the weather stayed amicable.
* * *
Harry awoke the next morning tired. He had not slept well, tossing and turning all night. He just had so many things on his mind, worrying about his sister and the state of the whole school and whatever Hagrid meant by Flamel and, and… He rolled over groggily and his sleep quickly faded away to shock as his watch showed the time. 10:48 AM! Breakfast was at 10 on Saturdays, and now he might not even get the chance to eat said breakfast now. He hurriedly pulled back his curtains and was scrambling out of his blankets, his stomach growling at him in protest, when he stopped short. Sitting on his own bed, quietly reading a book, was Ron.
“Ron, what are you doing here? You're going to miss breakfast!” Harry said, beginning to move once more as he said the word breakfast out loud, but still surprised to see his food-loving friend just sitting there.
Ron looked up from his book and grinned. “Harry! You’re awake! Bloody finally. And yeah, but we didn't want to make you get up, but also couldn't leave ya all alone up here either. So I volunteered to stay and wait for you till you got up. ‘Ermione is gonna make plates for both of us, if you hurry up and get a move on it, we might still get some time to eat.”
Harry felt a surge of gratitude swell inside him. Even though his friend was trying to play it casual, he knew how much breakfast - well, really, all meals but especially breakfast - meant to Ron.
"Thanks for staying, Ron," he said, trying for the same casual tone. But from Ron's vaguely embarrassed expression, he suspected he hadn't fully succeeded.
Ron looked up. “Oh, don't worry about it, mate. Now like I said, get a move on it! We have…” he checked his own watch around his wrist. “Blimey, we have barely ten minutes left! Let’s go!”
Harry got dressed quicker than he ever had in his life, jumping into his robes and running a comb through his hair once before pushing his way out of the bathroom. Ron was already standing by the stairs, tapping his foot as he waited for Harry. Once Harry grabbed his wand from his drawer and subtly slipped the knife into his shoe, he waved to Ron, who took that as the signal and began to take the stairs two at a time, almost tripping in his haste. They made their way through the hallways and began to go quickly through the hall, but slowing down just enough that if they were seen they would not get in trouble for running in the hallways, an activity that seemed to be a deeply personal pet peeve to Mr. Filch.
“So, are you doing okay, Harry?” asked Ron as they went through the halls, ducking under tapestries and changing directions before the hallways shifted on them. “You were thrashing and muttering in your sleep.”
“Oh… I didn't realize I was making such a fuss,” Harry said as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I'm just super worried for my sister right now, that’s all.”
Ron shot him a puzzled look. “How come? She looked fine when you were talking to her at dinner last night.”
“I don't know really,” Harry said with a tone of helplessness. “She just seems… gah, its hard to really put into words. It's just a vibe I picked up when talking with her.”
“How can you be sure if it was just a vibe?” Ron protested as they started down the grand staircase to the main hall.
“Okay, think of it like this. When Fred and George pretend to be each other, and they fool all of you, except Ginny apparently, right?”
“Yeah…?” said Ron hesitantly.
“Well, it’s like that. I just… sense it, you know? She was too quiet, and you know of the panic attacks she has been having also. But she won't talk about it with me. I’m…” He stopped abruptly in frustration, not sure how to finish the sentence.
Ron put a hand on his shoulder before Harry pushed open the doors and Harry turned to look at him. “You’re just scared that you’re gonna lose her without ever getting a chance to say goodbye, right? Let alone come to terms with it.”
Harry felt surprise flicker across his face that his best friend had so perfectly encapsulated in words what he could not express. “Yes, exactly! How…?”
Ron gave a wry smile as he dropped his hand from Harry’s shoulder. “How did I know? Because it’s the same feeling I get every time Bill goes to Egypt or Brazil or some other dangerous, far off place to dismantle dangerous wards for Gringotts. Or when Charlie goes on a trip to rescue some poor dragon from those awful breeding farms with a Ministry task force. So I know exactly that horrible feeling of waiting and watching and wondering what is about to go down without being able to do anything about it. I’m sure she’ll be fine though.” Ron pushed open the doors and they made their way into the lunch room, where they began to make their way to their table to try and eat breakfast before the food disappeared along with the plates.
Before they could get to the table, they were stopped by a very triumphant looking Professor Snape, who smirked down at them. “Out in the halls, Potter, without a teacher.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I guess I should not be surprised, though I thought that with your own sister being the one who was attacked you might be more… conscientious about the new rules. I suppose I expected too much from you. From a Weasley though, I’m not surprised.”
The first clue that something was strange was that as the Professor leaned in, Harry noticed that he smelled worse than usual. Did he recognize that smell? He could have sworn he did, but he could not place it. It smelled faintly like… No, he had no clue. But before he could continue pondering it, Ron spoke up beside him. “Professor, what’s that?” asked Ron as he noticed the same smell that Harry just had. Well, he assumed that it was the smell, but then he saw Ron was pointing at a strange canister that had been revealed when the Professor had lifted his arm. All he could see was the top half of the container, but what he did see was strange, to say the least. At first Harry thought it was a thermos, but then he noticed the multiple clasp locks that was holding the lid down. Then when he took a closer look at the clasps, he saw symbols drawn into them. They looked like runes, pulsing with some black energy. And actually, now that he looked, he could see different runes carved into the lid and the container itself. In fact, was the-
“That,” the Professor snapped in annoyance, hastily lowering his arm and retucking the container back fully into the pocket of his robes. “is what is called none of your business, Weasley.” And with that, without even giving them detention or some longer, more nasty punishment, simply turned heel and walked away swiftly, robes swishing in such a dramatic fashion that Harry had to wonder if there was any way it was not intentional.
Harry and Ron shot each other a glance, wondering what the heck that was all about. Just another thing to add on to my increasingly long list of problems I guess, sighed Harry as he and Ron crossed the rest of the room and slid into place next to Hermione, with just one minute to spare. There were two steaming plates of food sitting in front of the empty seats, and they began to dig in gratefully. Strangely though, when all the other food and plates disappeared, his and Ron’s plate had not.
Hermione had been in a hushed conversation with Neville when they had arrived, which she and Neville, Seamus, and Dean had broken off when he and Ron plopped themselves down. Now she looked over to them. “Before you ask, I cast a preserving charm on them. It’s not permanent but should last about ten more minutes for you too to continue eating before they disappear.”
“I didn't know you knew the preserving charm. I thought we didn't learn that till the end of the year!” said Ron as he continued to eat.
“Oh, we don't.” Hermione patted the Charms textbook next to her. “I learned it while I was waiting for you two in case you didn't get here in time.”
Ron turned to look at her, his eyes wide with shock. “You… learned an end-of-the-year spell in fifty minutes?! Bloody hell, ‘Mione!”
“Thirty actually,” Hermione said nonchalantly, but Harry could see that she was clearly preening under her facade at the praise. “But it was quite easy, actually.”
“Wow. And I barely managed to master the locking spell this week, and you're already a dozen spells ahead.” Harry said, shaking his head in wonder. Once again, Hermione was far ahead of the curve, outshining him in pretty much every aspect.
After the warm glow of pride had faded from Hermione’s face, Harry noticed that Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Neville, whom Hermione had been quietly talking to, were all staring at him weirdly. When they saw that he had perceived him they acted like the table was the most fascinating thing they had ever seen in their entire lives, studying it with studious expressions.
Harry exchanged a look with Ron, who just shrugged as he finished the last of his breakfast off his plate.
“So,” Hermione said with uncharacterized hesitation. “How is your sister? Saw you visiting with her last night right after dinner.”
Immediately, everyone looked up out of the corner of their eyes with interest, though they pretended they couldn't care less. Ohhh. So that is what they were muttering about when we came in. “Well, she seemed to be doing fine when I talked to her. She was a little quiet when I talked to her, but that was about it.”
“Oh! That’s good. It’s just that with her panic attack in Potions I was wondering...” Hermione trailed off as she raised an eyebrow, and Seamus took that opportunity to butt in.
“Aye, an' o' course, right now she's tae school hero! We wanna be knowing how tae ‘ero o’ ‘Ogwarts is takin this!”
Dean smacked his friend on the back of the head and Seamus leveled a glare at him. “Aye, what was dat fer? Feckin hurt, that did.”
“You weren't supposed to mention that to him!” hissed Dean through clenched teeth as he cast a furtive glance at Harry as if he couldn't hear every word that Dean was saying.
“Why? It be true, innit?” protested Seamus, before a brief glare from Hermione stopped both of them from talking as Harry just sat there bemused.
Hermione sighed and looked back at Harry. “Well, if you didn't know, I guess you do now. Everyone is calling your sister the Hero of Hogwarts.” They cast a look at the Slytherin table, where Draco was sporting a black eye and sitting stiffly upright, eating in small, ginger bites. “Okay, well almost everyone that is. They say that she was the only thing standing between our classmates and the Ogre, and that she was a one-man army, bringing down the thing almost single-handedly. That the thing used foul magic to mess with her head when the great club of darkness hit her! They say-“
“I get it, Hermione. They are saying quite a lot of things. Listen, as far as I can tell, she wasn’t touched by a club of darkness, and she certainly did not hold it off alone. I mean, this is my sister we are talking about.” He spread his hands and laughed. “She’s still struggling with the locking charm, let alone standing against the beast all by herself . She’s been having panic attacks because she has some PTSD. She saw horrible things that night. A lot of really bad things happened that night!” The moment that was out of his mouth, he knew that was the exact wrong thing to say to quell the rumors, the whole table not even pretending they weren’t listening in now. He saw faces light up at this news, and they began to talk loudly, voices clamoring over each other to speak.
“- ten feet tall!”
“No I heard it was twenty, and had huge horns!”
“I heard it smashed through a wall with one kick!”
“-undead-“
“-demon-“
Even kids from other tables started to join in on the action, Susan Bones coming over when Dean asked if her Aunt had told her anything. She didn’t know anything either, which instead of tampering down the rumors simply added to them, people claiming it was so dangerous that even the Ministry didn’t know what it was, some new undiscovered monster never before seen.
At first, Harry tried to cut in as the crowd only grew and the stories got more outlandish. Eventually, he just sat there quietly and felt increasingly uncomfortable in the midst of everyone yelling over each other about his sister, making her out to be the grand hero and champion of all things.
Some quiet part of him in the back of his brain whispered that maybe he wished all the attention was on him. He was the one who defeated the Dark Lord after all. Shouldn’t he be getting the attention? But he silenced that part of his brain, the part that whispered that he should be the one in charge, the one that got the attention, the real celebrity. He just focused on being as unnoticed as possible.
But he was noticed. Noticed by Ron and Hermione, who picked up on his obvious discomfort. Hermione leaned over to him and said in a quiet voice so only he could hear, “Do you want to go and get out of here? The library is quiet this time of day. I’m usually the only one in there when I go.”
Harry gave Hermione a weak smile and a nod. “Yea. It’s getting quite… heated in here.” He said, gesturing to the discussion that had grown to include Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and now even some Ravenclaws were drifting over to join in. No Slytherins had yet, but they were clearly watching, especially Malfoy as his face grew redder and redder.
“Alright, let me just go get Professor McGonagall.” Ron said with a grunt as he stood up from his seat and pushed himself through the crowd to get to the Head Table. The teachers were all still sitting there, watching over the students. No one really seemed that eager to leave the room, seeing as there were no classes to get to and the events of last weekend still fresh in everyone’s minds.
A few moments later, Professor McGonogall was nodding and following behind Ron as he walked by their table on the outskirts of the crowd and jerked his head in a Follow me gesture. As conspicuously as possible, he and Hermione rose from their seats and threaded their way through the crowd and once on the other side made their way to the double doors where the Professor and Ron were waiting. Without a word, Professor McGonagall flicked her hand and the doors swung open with a groan of the great hinges.
Harry felt his eyes widen slightly at the intimidating display of casual wandless and wordless magic. He didn’t know much about it, to be honest, but he knew that they both were meant to be extremely difficult, and the Professor had just performed both at once as if it was nothing! He shook his head in quiet wonder. I hope I’ll be able to perform that level of magic one day. He thought to himself quietly as he hurried to keep up with the Professor’s brisk, long strides.
Sure enough, Hermione had been right. There was no one in the library when they got there except for Madame Pince. Harry had never really had much interaction with her, just knew that she was a harsh woman with deep protectiveness over her books. And when Professor McGonogall went over and talked quietly to her, she turned and glared at them, annoyed to have her private time interrupted it seemed. Her gaze softened marginally when it fell upon Hermione, but only marginally. Harry shifted uncomfortably until she looked away. Hermione herded them to her favorite table, which was a small table near a huge glass window in the back. It overlooked a gorgeous view of the long sparkling lake and the rolling hills of Scotland in the distance. They settled down comfortably in the very well-furnished chairs.
“Hermione,” started Harry once they sat down, not wanting to waste any time lest he forget the image in his head. “When me and Ron were late to breakfast Professor Snape confronted us outside and… something weird happened. I think he might be up to something.”
Hermione pursed her lips together. “Harry I know you don’t like him bu-“
“Hermione. I don’t dislike him. He just has a hatred for me .” Protested Harry. “I have no clue why but he’s out to get me. But that’s not important right now.” He waved his hand in the air as if to bat the words away and pulled out a piece of parchment paper and a quill from the box where they were stored on every library table. “This is what’s important. When me and Ron were talking to him we noticed a weird smell.”
“Weird smell?” Cut in Ron. “Nah, not to me. Didn’t think he smelled any weirder than normal, which isn’t saying much of course but still. I just noticed the weird symbols.”
Now Hermione lost the skeptical look and it morphed into one of intense curiosity. Harry nodded. “Yeah, I noticed that after. The whole canister was weird.” He put his quill on the parchment and began to draw to the best of his ability. Now he wasn’t an artist by any means, but this wasn’t exactly a complicated picture diathermy. The hardest part was remembering all the shapes. Painstakingly he recreated some of the symbols he could remember, with Ron leaning over and occasionally pointing out something that he had missed, or when he put a line in the wrong place, making it straight instead of swirled. At first he tried to do them in the order they had been, but that had been an impossible task full of second guessing, so he just drew them as he came to them.
Eventually, between him and Ron, they managed to remember about eight full and complete symbols they had seen. They had been arrayed in two lines, one on the lid and one on the metal canister itself and Hermione reasoned that judging by what they had seen, there were probably twenty six.
“Alright, Hermione.” Ron said. “I’ll bite. Why twenty six do you suppose?”
“If there were two rows of symbols, both encircling this mysterious black canister, and you both saw about four full ones on each row, then by simple conjecture one can assume there were thirteen symbols in total.”
“How come thirteen per row? Seems quite a random number, Hermione.” Harry said, not following at all.
She shot him a level look. “Really, Harry. Everyone knows how important the number thirteen is in binding and containing things.”
“Everyone knows that?” Harry said wryly, raising an eyebrow. He glanced at Ron who mumbled something about Bill might of mentioning it once or twice but he didn't seem to convinced of himself either.
Hermione sighed dramatically and threw her hands up in the air. “Really. Do you never pay attention. Nevermind then. Just take my word for it.”
“Was already planning on it.” Harry replied as she leaned forward and took the parchment and began to puzzle over it. “Hmm. These symbols… I don’t know all of them but I think I’ve seen some of them!” Chewing on her lip, as she did when she was deep in thought, she got up carrying the parchment and hurried away down the rows of bookshelves.
“Should we follow her?” Harry said in a tone that he hoped conveyed to Ron just how very much he did not want to follow her.
“Nah. Best to just let her do her thing. Sure ‘Mione will be back shortly.”
It was not that short at all. Harry and Ron sat there for a good quarter of an hour before Hermione came back with a stack full of books and the paper all balancing precariously in her arms. She deposited them loudly on the table, earning a harsh shush from Madame Pince from wherever she was sitting. Hermione winced but then began talking a mile a minute.
“I knew I recognized those symbols! Here, look at this.” She spun a book around and pointed at the open page, where a bunch of symbols with descriptions underneath each one sat. “Does this look familiar?” Harry leaned forward, and Ron also leaned over.
“Yeah!” Said Ron as he traced his finger over it. “The lines were a bit less straight but that was the symbol alright. What does it… oh bloody hell.” Ron said as he read the title above the symbol, Bonebinding. “What the heck does bonebinding mean?”
Harry answered the question in a quiet voice as he read the passage under the symbol. “A powerful symbol that when partnered with other symbols can produce the result of binding dark magic to a bone or fragment of bone. Can be used in containing dark energy of a dangerous magical creature to the corpse or… creating one.”
“Bloody hell.” Ron whispered again. “Hermione, where did ya get this book? Look at all these other symbols! Ones for blinding a creature in case something is watching it, one for severing any location spells attached to objects, rerouting location spells. This is complicated and dark stuff!” Ron said, his voice steadily growing louder as he spoke in panic the more he read.
“Shhh.” Hermione said, quieting him with a kick under the table and glaring. “If you must know, I was doing some light reading in the library when I came across a book in the index called Dark Magic and the Runes Asscotiated With It. I searched the index, found out that book had been donated along with a bunch of others from a private library by someone named Jurgen Leitner upon his death so I… sneaked into the Restricted Section and checked it out.”
“Hermione!” Hissed Harry as he felt his eyes go wide. “You went into the Restricted section and took out a book on Dark Magic? You don’t see any way that could be misconstrued at all?”
“It was just because I was curious! And I put it right back!” Hermione protested as she closed the book to show them the cover, which was exactly what she had said it was, a dark leather tome with the name in raised font. The words Dark Magic seemed to bore into him.
“Whatever. Let’s just hurry this up so we can get it back.” Harry said with resolve as they reopened the book and began to flip through it. They eventually managed to match all the symbols they could remember to the ones in the books. After they were done, Harry sat back in his chair heavily and rubbed his face with his hands. “So. That was a lot. Symbols on binding, rending, tracking and dismantling presences. What the heck was in that canister?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, one more thing! Forgot to mention but there was this weird smell to it that I could have sworn I smelt before. But I can’t place exactly what it was.”
“Mate, could it be possible that you smelt it when you were in the infirmary with your sis?” Ron asked as he looked up, an idea clearly written across his face. All he needed was a big cartoon lightbulb above his head to complete the image.
Harry sucked in a breath as it suddenly clicked. “Yes! That was it! When they were doing the surgeries I could smell it in the room! How did you know that?”
“Well, it’s kinda obvious mate if you think about it. That canister must have something to do with the creature that attacked. I mean, symbols for bone binding, containment of energies, disabling trackers and tracing origins? All arranged in lines of thirteen for containment? Not to mention the locks of course. I mean…” Ron spread his hands out. “I can’t see what else those symbols could mean. He must be transporting the remains for some reason.”
“But why? Why would he need to transport the remains? I don’t get it.” Harry said with a frustrated sigh. “And why did he book it the moment we noticed?”
“Maybe he’s the one who let it in!” Ron said, mostly jokingly.
“Ronald-“ Hermione began chidingly but Harry cut in.
“Wait! What if he’s onto something? What if he was connected with the attack?”
“Really Harry. Both of you? Just because you don’t like the man doesn’t mean he attacked the school. What possible reason could he have for doing so?”
“Think about it. Everyone knows that he hates Potions, hates the dungeons. What if he let the creature in so that he could defeat it and make himself look good, so he could get the position he really wants instead?”
“Blimey! He lets in a dark creature so he can be seen defeating it and get the DADA position!” Ron’s face twisted in horror and anger. “All a ploy to get that long coveted position!”
“Or something else. I think it might have had a double reason.” Harry said quietly, his mind working furiously to catch up and supply reasoning to the words that seemed to be pouring out of his mouth. “It could have also been a distraction. See, when I was talking to Hagrid, well he mentioned something weird. He acted like it was misspeaking but he said something about an Operation Flannel. It might not be connected but by the way he reacted to misspeaking it seemed pretty important.”
“Alright, wait for just a moment!” Hermione’s voice cut through his thoughts “Why would he want to release a monster as a distraction and harm his own students ?”
Harry stopped. He hadn't considered that. Why would he want his own students hurt? Yes, Professor Snape was a jerk, but he was marginally nicer to his own House, if only marginally.
“Well, they weren’t supposed to be down there, remember.” Ron put in. “They were all late by over ten minutes to dinner. What if they weren't meant to be there, and they just happened to be unforeseen when he prepared to release the ogre.”
“Then why didn't he go down there and collect them earlier?” Hermione countered.
“Well, that would immediately make him the most likely suspect if he went rushing down to get marginally late students, and then the beast attacks,” Harry replied, his brain kicking back into full gear with Ron’s reasoning.
Hermione looked back and forth between them, her expression slightly shocked. “You two truly think that Professor Snape might have something to do with all this, just to get a job that he always wanted? And just because you saw a suspicious-looking canister that could have been for anything in his robe pocket?”
“Just think about it. That canister is bloody suspicious, you have to admit. And Snape is exactly the sort of git who would pull off this double-edged underhanded scheme just to get a new job.
“Harry, I thought Jesus said something along the lines of not judging people by their appearance and judge them for who they are inside.” Hermione said, giving him a long level look that felt deeply uncomfortable.
“Yes, but we aren’t just judging by his appearance and behavior are we?” Harry pointed at the parchment on the table, all the symbols they had managed to identify splayed in front of him. “Can you honestly name me one good reason how all this could be used for anything good, Hermione.”
She didn’t have an answer, and she just sighed and shook her head. “Alright. I’m not on board with your suspicions yet, but I’ll look into this operation you mention and see if I can find anything in the books and all that.”
“Alright. Frankly, I’m done with all this research for today. Ron, do you want to go play a game?” Harry asked, turning to Ron.
“Sure,” Ron said, his face splitting into a wide grin. “I saw an open set of Wizard’s Chess over there in the game corner, want to go do that?” He winked at Harry as they got up and left Hermione to her research. “I promise I will even go easy on you.”
“Yeah right.” Scoffed Harry, grinning also. “You can't handle losing and you know it.”
“Guilty as charged, mate. But who knows? Maybe you will get lucky!” They continued their good-natured bickering as they sat down and began to set up the pieces. And sure enough, Ron wiped the floor with him.