The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Chapter Twenty-Five
Putting aside all thoughts of Malfoy and Voldemort, Harry spent the evening hovering over Ron's bedside and when Madam Pomfrey shooed him away, he left, made himself invisible, and returned to watch over his friend until he was certain he would live. Being invisible made the whole world seem misty and Harry felt as though it was a truer state of his present reality than when things seemed sharp and clear. He let his mind drift, puzzling over the many mysteries that shrouded his life, seeking some clarity in the confusion.
What, he wondered, had Voldemort really wanted when he had frozen the Forest and nearly killed all the life there? Why was the land on the other side being developed now and did it have anything to do with anything other than the encroachment of Muggle progress on any wild bit of land? Would Fudge let Harry have the job he wanted, and if he did, would it be because Harry was qualified for it? And then there were NEWTs. A part of him thought he was horribly unprepared and would probably fail every subject. And another part of him said, so what? What possible meaning could passing his NEWTs have in his narrowing and ever more threatened life?
As always, his thoughts circled back to Voldemort. Ginny had been right, perhaps, that he had let Voldemort control him through fear. Yet he could find no better response, for any one that broke free of those fears, those cares, was so wrong, so selfish, that he could not long pretend it was acceptable. And there was the ultimate question that haunted him always. Why had Voldemort chosen him and not Neville, the pureblood?
Was it the whole answer, as Dumbledore suggested, that Harry was more like Voldemort because he was a half-blood? And why, had Harry lived? Why had Voldemort lived? And how could the prophecy be true, if Voldemort had lived and not died? The only answer was one that scared him nearly senseless because it demanded something from Harry he was not sure he had in him.
When the morning broke and Madam Pomfrey came in to check on Ron, Harry slipped back out did something he had never done before. He transformed into the bird, but instead of napping on the perch in the Room of Requirement, he took refuge in the freedom of flight and soared above the Forest shedding all of his cares and chains for one brief hour. The flight renewed him nearly as well as a full night's sleep.
Harry slipped back into the Castle and drank hot coffee whilst he thought about the one thing he had been meaning to discuss with Dumbledore for ages.
Ginny slid into the seat next to him and once again gave him a fleeting kiss on the cheek. Hermione sat on the other side, but at a stern glance from Harry, she kept her distance and coughed as she said, "So how's Ron?"
"He'll be all right," Harry answered, "as you know perfectly well, since you were there at the crack of dawn to check on him."
"Did you sleep at all?" Hermione asked. Harry shrugged.
"Of course not," Ginny said. "He sat with Ron the whole night blaming himself as usual."
"It was my fault," Harry said quietly. "I thought I could second guess Voldemort and I played the fool with everyone's lives. It won't happen again."
Ginny growled under her breath and said, "So now it's your fault that Malfoy's Mum died and the Death Eaters went after him? And I suppose it's your fault every time Voldemort kills somebody because you weren't there to stop him? Where did you get the idea that the whole world is your responsibility?"
"Not the whole world," Harry said, "But for my own stupidity, my own rashness, yeah, I am responsible. 'Specially when Ron got hurt."
"You're fighting a losing battle," Hermione said to Ginny. "Once he makes up his mind, nothing changes it." She examined his face closely and added, "You're not going to shut us out from your plans now, are you? I know you've thought of something. You had that look on your face."
"What plans?" Harry responded, as if puzzled. The two girls simply glared at him. Their combined force shriveled his intentions quite effectively.
And, his conscience said, what he intended to do wasn't really dangerous. Definitely not if he could persuade Dumbledore to come along.
They followed him to Dumbledore's office so closely you might have thought they were his military escort. Before knocking with the griffin knocker, he said fiercely, "Do me a favor and don't try to talk me out of this when I'm trying to convice Dumbledore okay?" He scowled at both the girls and added, "And maybe you should stay behind Ginny. I expect Ron will be wanting company when he wakes up."
"It's not my company he'll be wanting," she answered, "and if you can go back there, so can I." The door opening saved him from having to reply.
Dumbledore was awake and seated behind his desk. One of his innumerable silvery machines sat on his desk and a faint light was shining from the cabinet in which the Headmaster kept his Pensieve. Harry would have liked to ask Dumbledore what he had been thinking about, what thoughts he had added to the Pensieve, in search of what answers. He knew, however, that he might not have another opportunity to persuade the Headmaster to this particular deed once the mass of students returned to school and classes were again in full swing.
Quickly, before his resolution failed, Harry said, "Professor Dumbledore, I want your permission to go down into the Chamber of Secrets. I want you to come with me, if you will."
The light blue eyes were utterly astounded for the first time ever. "Because?" Dumbledore prompted.
"Because," Harry answered, "I think there's another tunnel out of Hogwarts from there. I think that's how Voldemort got in last time. We have to find it, and block it up, so he can't get in again."
“I see,” Dumbledore said. He seemed to hesitate, his eyes resting lightly on Ginny and Hermione and then with more open concern as he considered Harry again. Harry could guess at the internal debate going on, though the aged face was now quite calm again. One thing was certain; nobody was getting into the Chamber without Harry, as he was the only one at Hogwarts that spoke Parseltongue.
“Very well,” Dumbledore said, but he hesitated again as he looked at the girls.
“We’re going,” Ginny said firmly. “The basilisk is dead and Voldemort isn’t down there.”
“A fine certainty, Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore said, “When Harry has just told us there may be an opening outside of Hogwarts.”
“Harry would know if Voldemort was here,” Hermione asserted. “But who knows what else is down there? Anything to do with Voldemort is safer if more of us come.”
“I think Professor Dumbledore is quite capable of handling this,” Harry said dryly. However, Dumbledore made no more protest and permitted the girls to follow on. Harry wondered if the Headmaster were indulging the girls’ curiosity or their penchant for keeping Harry in their sight.
They proceeded down to the second floor girls’ bathroom, which as usual, was out of order due to Moaning Myrtle’s tantrums and which held the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Dumbledore’s eyes lit with a curiosity fit for a child when Harry found the faucet marked with a serpent and, squinting at it, spoke the word open in Parseltongue. One snowy eyebrow rose when the sink moved and the opening to the chamber emerged.
“It’s really dirty down there,” Harry said with a glance at the girls. Ginny and Hermione looked down in fascination and Harry wondered how much Ginny actually remembered of her wanderings down there, when she had been possessed by the bit of memory Voldemort had impressed in his diary.
Seeing no sign they would retreat, Harry stepped into the opening and slid down into the Chamber. Dumbledore followed and Harry held out a hand to steady the old man when he landed. The girls followed quickly, uttering small squeaks, which they quickly muted, though whether for Dumbledore’s benefit or his own, Harry could not tell. Harry cast a wary eye at the tunnel ceiling, which still bore the evidence of the cave-in caused by Lockhart’s ill-considered memory spell. He led them forward and the floor underneath crunched with the remains of long dead animals. They soon came to the hole in a wall of tumbled rock, where Ron had cleared a way out for Harry and Ginny. It was even smaller than he remembered.
“Can you get through there?” Harry asked Dumbledore dubiously. Dumbledore regarded the hole gravely and then drew his wand. With a flick and a word, the opening widened to allow them through, and at the same time, the rocks surrounding the opening fused, stabilizing it so there would be no further collapse, at least not for some time to come.
***
Wow, Hermione thought. She might even have spoken the thought aloud as Dumbledore gave her a passing glance of amusement. Harry, however, drew his wand and marched through the opening, stopping just inside momentarily before moving forward to let the others through. The inside of the Chamber had a damp and nasty feel to it. Small puddles of water soaked their shoes as they followed Harry through the maze of tunnels to another door with snakes carved into.
Once again, he hissed at the door in Parseltongue and the sound of the snake language issuing from her friend’s lips gave her an odd feeling of anxiety. At his command, the stone carved snakes began to move, to writhe, as though they were alive; stone serpent eyes seemed to see them, to mark them as intruders; stone mouths opened to reveal poisonous fangs that longed to bite. The door swung open and Harry moved through into the next set of tunnels, into the Chamber proper, she supposed.
Dumbledore’s light blue eyes recorded every detail minutely, yet Hermione thought she could detect the faint look of revulsion, as though the very existence and nature of the Chamber offended him. Ginny was quite pale, and her brown eyes darted in every direction. She oughtn’t to have come, Hermione thought. They reached a large open space with a stone wall on which was carved a huge replica of a bearded man whose face resembled nothing so much as a monkey. Serpents stood out in relief on nearby pillars, but before them, huge as some ancient dinosaur, lay the remains of what must be the Basilisk.
Hermione could not suppress the faint squeak of alarm and horror that the sight of the thing induced. The skeleton must have been thirty feet long and it was topped by a gigantic triangular head whose fangs, one of which was missing, reminded her of a Tyranosaurus, so large were they. The eye sockets were larger than one would expect in an ordinary reptile, and a faint flash of memory brought to mind the reflection of brilliant yellow orbs that froze one’s soul and breath.
She gave herself a tiny shake. The thing was quite dead and could do no more harm. Dumbledore, she saw, looked from the skeleton to Harry and back again with something like wonder. It occurred to her that until this moment, none of them, with the exception of Ginny, had ever seen the full reality of the monster. Harry gave the skeleton a brief stare, and then moved on.
“Look there,” he said, pointing to the wall. “That’s where the Basilisk came out. I think,” he added, “that the Basilisk was originally meant to guard the rest of the Chamber. To keep anyone who intruded from discovering the rest of his secrets.”
“What other secrets?” Dumbledore asked.
Harry shrugged. “I dunno. The exit, for one thing.” Harry moved forward again and staring up at the wall, he hissed in the snake language for the third time and for the third time, he was obeyed. An opening appeared exposing a further tunnel and Harry made directly for it.
“You’re not going in there?” Hermione exclaimed.
“Of course, I am,” he replied impatiently. “It’s what we came for.” Then he stopped and said, “Perhaps you and Ginny ought to wait here.” Frowning, he continued, “We don’t know what other traps the old loony might have laid.” Hermione half expected Dumbledore to utter some remonstrance, that it wasn’t the thing to call one of the Four Founders an old loony, but he did not.
“I will go first,” the old wizard said. “Stay behind me.”
“But, Professor,” Harry protested, “I should go first. If there is some kind of trap, it probably can only be defused if you speak Parseltongue.” He did not say, though Hermione thought it, what if there were other snakes, poisonous ones, even another Basilik?
Dumbledore took in a breath, as though he might be angry at the contradiction, then he raised his snowy brows and said, “Very well.”
The outer Chamber, Hermione noticed, had been lit with a kind of diffused light. The next tunnel was dark and Harry lit his wand to guide the way. Their feet crunched again on the skeletons of small animals, probably rats, and the tunnel twisted and turned, sometimes leading up, sometimes down. The walls were sheer rock and smooth like volcanic glass, and the footing was treacherous.
They came at last to a fork in the way. Harry lifted his lit wand and peered down the right one first and then the left. The weak light cast shadows that emphasized the faint hollows in his cheeks and about his eyes. His mouth tightened and he said rather loudly, “Is anyone there?”
The question came out in ordinary English, not in Parseltongue, perhaps because there were no snakes, nor even any representations of snakes to elicit the hissing tongue. With a faint lift of his shoulders, Harry plunged down the right hand tunnel and the others went after. The tunnel sloped upward again and then leveled out. Hermione had lost all sense of direction and time. She could not figure out where they might be under the Castle, if they were still inside its bounds at all.
Harry stopped again, very suddenly, and said, “Look. The floor here is paved with blocks, not the same as before.” He played the light from his wand about the floor and walls and moved cautiously forward again. Another wall without any visible door lay a short way down. This one reminded Hermione of the painted reliefs she had seen in the Egyptian section at the British Museum.
Bright colors detailed a picture of a bearded man with a crown on his head that was made of intertwined serpents. In one hand was a serpent-headed sword and serpents twined about his waist to form a girdle for his robes, in the other was scepter, crowned again with the golden hooded head of a snake The relief showed the Pharoah-like figure stamping on the body of a golden lion. To the sides, other serpents wound themselves about an eagle and a raven and hieroglyphs ran in an odd circular pattern that had likely never been used by the ancient Egyptians. She realized with a shock that the hieroglyphs were in the form of a curled up snake, with its hooded head poised to strike.
“It’s just a painting,” Harry said with disappointment. They all looked at the wall as if it would simply dissolve. Its bright colors, as bright as if they had been painted yesterday and not more than a thousand years before, mocked them. The smile on the bearded man mocked them. Hermione gazed at the coiled hieroglyphs and thought how the coiled figures were perfectly representative of the twisted mind of the mad old wizard who had made them.
“Do you know what they mean?” she asked Dumbledore. “The hieroglyphs?”
She wished they had spent more time on the Egyptians in History of Magic or on their picture language in Ancient Runes. Dumbledore regarded the hieroglyphs with the same distaste he had shown upon entering the Chamber itself. The blue eyes darkened and a flash of anger again passed across his aged face.
“Those?” Harry asked, pointing at the coiled figures. He tipped his head to the side in a fashion that reminded her of his posture when he transformed into the bird and his green eyes widened slightly as though he were seeing something they could not. Their focus followed the twining of the hieroglyphs to the flared top where two eye-like ones gave the impression of actual serpent eyes. They even were slitted, like a serpent’s would be, unlike the ordinary form of that particular hieroglyph. The green eyes narrowed in satisfaction and Harry hissed again.
The coiling figure changed. Black glyphs seemed to melt and fuse into one another and the entire figure altered, seeming to leap out at them. Hermione and Ginny leaped back, but Harry grinned again and seized what was actually a black iron door handle shaped like a serpent and turned it. A faint seam in the wall became a visible join and the wall divided into two and opened inward.
They drifted into the great room, which Hermione thought must be at the base of one of the Castle’s outer towers as it was circular in shape and from tiny slits located very high up light filtered down. A large couch covered with green silk and with serpent shaped feet sat to one side. Rolled parchments lay on ebony shelves and in the center of the room was an octagonal table that looked as if it had been hewn from the bedrock on which the Castle sat. Opposite the couch was a large stone sarcophagus like the ones they had seen in the Museum and on its lid, painted and decorated with gold leaf, was the same bearded man whose form was on the outer wall.
They tried opening the sarcophagus in various ways, both by physical effort –it resisted the combined strength of all four of them –and by various spells. At long last, Harry said, “I am an idiot,” and for the fifth time, he hissed in Parseltongue. The lid of the coffin swung open revealing the extraordinary sight of an actual mummy. Parvati would have shrieked, Hermione thought with a sudden fit of merriment. The mummy’s wrapped linens were brown with age and the hands were oddly twisted. She realized that they had, in fact, been broken, sometime long after the ancient one’s death and immurement. At other places, the linen wrappings were torn or sliced open. The most ghoulish object, however, was the skeleton of a serpent that lay coiled inside the stone box at the mummy’s feet, just as the hieroglyphic serpent had lain coiled nearby the painted pharaoh-Slytherin.
“Isn’t it just like Voldemort,” Harry said coldly, “to rob his own ancestor? Just like he robbed his own father’s grave to bring himself back.”
“You don’t know it was Voldemort,” Hermione said. “It could have been someone else.” The suggestion received the deafening silence of certain disagreement.
“If it was Voldemort,” Ginny said quietly, “what do you suppose he took?”
“A weapon,” Harry said. “What else would he be interested in? Not how to be preserved after death as a mummy: that’s the least of his interests.”
Dumbledore had moved from contemplation of the mummy to the shelves of parchments. He reached up and opened one, but it crumbled to dust at his touch. An odd shiver made the floor tremble. Then a faint green light hissed as all of the rest of the scrolls crumbled to dust as well. Dumbledore cursed, and they all gawked at him. “Come,” he said. “The exit must be down the other fork in the tunnel.” They followed the old man, who strode down the tunnel with the speed of far younger man.
This tunnel snaked upward again and twisted from time to time without rhyme or reason. After a time, Hermione realized they must be near the end as the air in the tunnel grew warmer and less damp and took on an earthy smell. They met no other obstacles and saw no life with the exception of a stray spider or two.
The tunnel ended with a flight of stone stairs, neatly cut into the rock. At the top of the stairs, which numbered exactly thirteen, Harry hissed the command to open one final time. The stone roof, which had also been decorated with serpents, slid to the side to reveal a wide open grassy field. Not ten yards from the exit sat the caravan which housed the estate agent who was selling the country cottages to any willing Muggle he could find, and behind them, parked at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, was a large yellow bulldozer with a broken shovel at its front.
"Now isn't that a fascinating coincidence," Harry said sardonically. The cool dry tone was so oddly like one that Snape might use that Hermione thought the Potions Master must have had a decidely bad influence on him.
Dumbledore gave Harry a very sharp look and said even more dryly; "True coincidences are exceedingly rare, especially where Lord Voldemort is concerned." Harry turned to stare at Dumbledore. The old man inclined his head toward Hermione and added, "Miss Granger told me all about your visit here yesterday. A very curious coincidence indeed, considering the conspicuously close placement of the caravan to the Chamber's exit."
"But why would Voldmeort deal with Muggles?" Harry asked. Then he answered his own question, "For concealment, then, to divert attention from his real purposes." Dumbledore nodded and cast a considering glance at the caravan.
Harry said quietly, "Erm, perhaps we ought to secure the exit, Sir?"
Ginny shuddered and said, "Yes. I'd rather not go back the way we came, anyway." Her freckled face was paler than normal and Hermione had again the feeling that it had been most unwise to permit the younger girl to come down with them.
Dumbledore continued to look at the opening. He hummed very softly under his breath, a soft, buzzing sound, and then he said with hint of his usual twinkle, "We shan't close it up altogether. We shall simply change the means of ingress and egress." Dumbledore sent a silvery flash from his wand. Almost instantly, a red and gold flash saw the appearance of Fawkes. The phoenix landed on Dumbledore's shoulder and gave a soft trill. They waited for a while longer, though not as long as one might expect, for Professor McGonagall to appear, or rather, the tabby cat with the markings about its eyes that looked exactly like the square glasses she wore.
"Don't transform, Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore said. "I shall be needing your assistance in your animagus form." The tabby cat gave him and the others a very severe look and Hermione could almost hear her sharp-voiced criticisms. "This is the outside entrance to the Chamber of Secrets," Dumbledore said. Fawkes fluffed his feathers and gave a peculiar hoot. The tabby's fur bushed out so far that it appeared to have doubled its size and she growled quite mennacingly.
"Quite right," Dumbledore replied. "Now, I am going to change the spell which allows one to enter or exit the chamber. Parseltongue will no longer be the key. Instead, only the talon of a phoenix or the paw of a cat will be the key. Harry," he continued, "If you would be so kind as to close the door?" Harry nodded, and after a moment of staring at the lone remaining serpent, he made a sound that was a cross between a spit and a hiss and the door slid closed. Where the opening had been, only a dirty, earth covered slab of rock remained. Hermione noticed though, that if you looked closely, the coiled form of a serpent was engraved in the rock.
Dumbledore spoke softly. Red light flashed from his wand and heated the rock. A green light mixed in with it at first, but after a short flare, it sizzled away, and the rock was left, looking almost molten. After another wave, Dumbledore nodded and first Fawkes, and then the tabby made a faint impress on the warm rock. He smiled with satisfaction and Fawkes disappeared again with a golden shimmer.
"My," Professor McGonagall said, "That was a most interesting procedure Albus." With a beady stare, she continued, "I do hope these students are not out of bounds without permission."
"Not at all," Dumbledore replied. Hermione noticed that he said nothing of the fact that she and Harry and Ron had been altogether out of bounds without permission only the day before.
“Can only Fawkes and Professor McGonagall open it now?" Hermione asked.
Dumbledore gave her a piercing glance, one that said, I know about you, and replied, "Any cat's paw, large or small can open it, Miss Granger, even your very intelligent Crookshanks, and any phoenix's claw."
"I thought there's only one phoenix at a time," Ginny said curiously.
Hermione did not look at Harry. His reply, however, left her still uncertain whether he understood what kind of bird he was in his animagus form. "Fawkes is so Professr Dumbledore can open it," he answered. "But," he continued, "what about the rest of it? If someone does go in, they won't be able to get out unless we change the enchantments on the rest of the doors. And there are some other tunnels before the first great chamber that we haven't explored yet."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "But not today. I'm afraid I can't spare the entire day as there are a number of details to see to and I have a pre-term staff meeting set for this afternoon."
Unexpected and jarring, the sound of a mobile phone went off nearby. The estate agent descended from the caravan, speaking on the phone in a very irritable voice. "Well, I know you've been putting in advertising, but I've only had one show of interest so far." The agent paused as he spotted their group and looked askance at Professor Dumbledore, who was dressed in deep purple robes and looked like every Muggle's idea of a Merlin-like wizard. And then there was Professor McGonagall, whose emerald green robes and genuine witch's hat must make the Muggle agent believe they were holding a costume ball, or were escapees from some sort of asylum.
With a vey quick, beseeching glance at Hermione, Harry strode forward to greet the agent. "Hallo," he said, holding out his hand in his best company manners. "I've just been looking over the site and thinking about which lot I might like."
The agent gawped at him and said suspiciously, "You again. You're back awfully quickly."
Harry gave the man an angelic smile and answered, "Well, you did say something about pre-construction prices, and I thought, you know, I ought to take advantage of the interest rates and such."
Professor McGonagall glared at him. The expression on her face said that he was talking more incomprehensibly than if he had continued hissing and spitting in snake language. Professor Dumbledore, however, had got an expression of unholy glee. Harry planted himself right on the rocky slab that was the entrance to the Chamber and said, "How about this lot, then? I can see you've already started work on it, and I'd like to have my house finished as soon as possible. By this summer, in fact."
The estate agent sputtered and said, "That's to be the showhouse, for customers to look at."
Harry ignored that and said, "I think I like the Elizabethan look, you know. Leaded glass and gothic shapes. My Aunt Petunia will love it and want to bring all her garden club friends for the weekend."
Whether it was the mention of the garden club or Harry's appallingly accurate imitation of a public school man, the estate agent swelled his chest and smiled and said, "I have just the thing. Perhaps you'd care to choose what options you'd like? The conservatory at the back for your plants in winter? Fireplace in the upstairs master bedroom?" the agent favored Harry with a keen glance and said, "The deposit for that lot and that particular style cottage is five thousand at signing of the initial contract and a minimum of an additional fifteen at closing. The rest, of course, can be financed by your bank?"
"Right," Harry said. "Hold the lot for me and I'll be back next week with a cheque for the deposit."
"I'll need proof of identity and of age," the agent said anxiously.
Hermione said smoothly, "He'll have his National Insurance card. That'll prove both, won't it?" The agent waved happily after as they entered the path into the Forbidden Forest to return to the Castle.
"You can't hope to get away with that," Professor McGonagall said. "That’s a fortune he's asking. Fifteen thousand galleons! That's robbery!"
"Pounds," Hermione said. "He meant Muggle money." She looked at Harry and asked, "Can you afford that?"
"I dunno," Harry said cheerfully. "Probably. And if I can't, I bet Uncle Vernon can. In fact, why don't I buy you and Ron one, too, Hermione. We could have Outer Hogsmeade and make it the second all wizard's village."
"You could spend your entire fortune," Mcgonagall said. "Save it for the future." Her glance at Ginny said she knew all about them. Well, after Ginny's recent behavior, everyone did. Harry's face changed however. He went quite still and remote, as if to say, what future? And the look in his eyes was so sad it brought tears to her eyes.
***
Ron was awake when they returned and very annoyed he’d missed the fun.
“You might have waited another day or two,” he said indignantly.
“Yes,” Harry said, “only I was worried because of this business with Malfoy. I thought Voldemort might decide to move his plans up a bit and I wanted Dumbledore along.”
“You’ve never stopped to get him before,” Ron grumbled.
“It was a good thing he was there,” Hermione said severely. “I don’t know if even Harry could have changed the spell that opens the door.” Harry nodded.
“That was quite amazing. I wish he’d teach us some of that stuff. It’d be a lot more useful than sitting in Trelawney’s class twice a week.” He was not looking forward to the remaining term of Divination classes. Firenze had not returned from the forest and Harry did not know whether his herd had accepted him or killed him for daring to return. Come to think of it, he wasn’t looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts either.
Like everyone else, he had been hoping that Tonks would stay on as their Professor. She had really been quite good – better than they had expected. Unfortunately, on the very first day after the holidays had started, she had tripped going down the stairs and broken her knee so badly that Madam Pomfrey had sent her to St. Mungo’s rather than try to heal it herself. Hermione had been the only one in the school who refused to believe in the jinx after that. Ron’s comment had made them all laugh.
“It’s too bad really, but just think: Now Snape will take over and the jinx will get him!” It was on account of Snape that Harry was glad they have one more day of vacation. Snape had assigned them a final Potions essay, which he claimed was a pre-NEWT review and for which he insisted a passing grade was required in order for them to pass Potions that year. At any rate, it required three feet of parchment and covered everything they had learned in Potions for close on seven years. He had also assigned a Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment in anticipation of his new post.
After a night of unpleasant dreams in which his test quills turned into serpents and in which he kept hearing a wailing that might have been that of a hungry baby or an angry banshee, he forced himself to finish his homework, breaking only to drink innumerable cups of coffee and to ignore Hermione’s silent reproaches over study time wasted.
At dinner time, the students who'd gone for the holiday returned and the Castle returned to its usual, crowded state. Seamus and Dean were holding one of their ongoing debates about the virtues of soccer versus quidditch. Neville was unusually gloomy and snapped at Colin Creevey when he tried to show Harry the pictures he'd taken of the last quidditch match.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked quietly.
"Nothing," Neville answered. He poked savagely at his mashed potatoes and his normally good-natured round face was pale and strained.
"Is it your Mum and Dad?" Harry asked tentatively. He'd never raised the issue with Neville before on his own initiative. But he knew that was one of Neville's great worries and he didn't like to see his friend so downcast. Neville looked at Harry angrily at first. Then he looked down at his plate and pushed it away.
"I thought my Mum was getting a bit better," he said dully. "She - well, I thought she might be learning to know me. Not that I'm her son, just to recognize I'm the one that visits." He frowned and his round eyes looked despairing. "When we visited yesterday, she didn't recognize anyone. She was catatonic, just staring at the ceiling. She hasn't been like that in years. And Gran won't hear of me trying out for St. Mungo's. She says I won't pass enough NEWTs for it and I ought to take what I can get at the Ministry." Neville dropped his fork and said, "What's the use of studying anyway?"
Harry wasn't sure what to say. He felt that way himself often enough. "You can't give up," he said.
"Oh?" Nevile said. "I'm not like you, Harry. Things don't come easly to me. I have to work at them. And I don't know how I'll get through Defense class with Snape teaching."
That was one thing Harry could answer. "You'll get through it because you're good at it Neville. Since you got your own wand, you do get things easily, especially in Defense."
Nevile's face brightened a little. "You realy think so?"
Harry nodded. He knew just how Neville felt. It was hard to keep going when people told you how worthless you were. It was hard to keep your spirits up when it seemed you were faced with the impossible. Sympathy moved him then to the next thing, a promise that was to have unexpected consequences. "Don't give up on St. Mungo's either," he said. "I'll go on the tour with you. You don't know you won't get in. You're really good in Herbology and that's a very important subject for Healing." The change in Neville's face made Harry feel much happier too.
On Monday morning, Harry stuck his Potions essay, which was only two and half feet, into his book sack and tried to look for something positive in the day’s schedule. Snape twice in one day, followed by Trelawney, was bound to depress anyone, he thought. To top it off, Ginny was late coming down to breakfast and he was startled to find he missed that little morning kiss that had so embarrassed him. Hermione was ticking off another set of NEWT study tasks in her agenda and with a flick of her wand she altered the week’s schedule to include an extra evening session for Transfiguration.
“You’re going to have a breakdown,” Ron said, “if you keep that schedule up.”
Wanting to avoid another argument between them, Harry interrupted and asked, “Where’s Ginny? She’s usually down for breakfast by now.”
“She slept in,” Hermione replied.
“So what?" Ron said yawning. “She has Snape first this morning. Anyone’d want to sleep in for that.” Hermione shook her head and gave Harry a glance as if unsure whether to say anything further.
“Well?” he said.
“She had bad dreams, I think,” Hermione said quietly. “And don’t tell her I said anything. She doesn’t want you to know.”
“Why ever not?” Harry asked. “I have bad dreams all the time.”
“She thinks you’ll think she’s not strong enough to go next time you, erm, do something,” Hermione answered.
“I will not,” Harry said.
Sighing impatiently, Hermione replied, “You will too. You’re always trying to protect her; and me, for that matter. It’s a male thing I suppose, thinking we girls are weaker and less brave.”
“Good god!” Harry said with annoyance, “I don’t think anything of the sort and she knows it. She’s too brave of her own good sometimes.”
This time, both Hermione and Ron gave him the sort of look of long-suffering he hated and then they laughed, which annoyed him more.As they made their way down to the dungeon for Potions, Harry was wondering how Snape was going to manage being in two places at once.
Perhaps he would use a time turner like Hermione had third year. However, when they entered, he gawped at first and then a wide grin crept up all the way from his heart. Instead of the looming black figure of Professor Snape, two red haired men with identical freckled faces cracked into two identical expressions of glee.
"Welcome to your last term of NEWT level Potions," Fred said.
"Your last term of anything NEWT level," George said.
"And you’re first and only term where Potions will be fun!" Fred continued. The rest of the class was divided into to two groups: those whose faces were smiling delightedly and those whose faces were possessed of the most dubious doubt. Among the latter, surprisingly, was Ron.
Hermione looked neither happy, not doubtful, and not in the least surprised. Harry recalled then that Dumbledore had appointed the two Weasleys to teach the last term of Potions at the meeting at Grimmauld Place in which he had drafted Bill and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Snape to divide up the year for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Somehow, though, he had thought that Dumbledore might be joking when he had told the twins they might stand in for Snape.
"Fun?" asked Draco Malfoy. "Your idea of fun doesn't seem like anything we need to know to pass our NEWTs in this class."
"You'd think so, you little git" George replied quite affably. "But we can tell you, you've already had everything you need to know to pass Potions NEWTs if you simply complete your three foot essay for Professor Snape and know how to do either the Draught of Living Death or the Draught of Peace. One of them always comes up on the NEWTs."
"Right," Fred said. "So we figure we've got five weeks in which to learn some things that are practical and worth while and one week to review for your NEWTs, which of course, are held starting the first of June."
“Mr. Malfoy!” Fred snapped in a creditable imitation of Snape at his meanest, “Kindly remind the rest of the class what the uses of sulfur are in Potions.”
Harry had to stifle a grin at that and the rest of the class was openly snickering. Malfoy flushed slightly and said, “Sulfur is used to reduce fevers, in dragon pox fever vaccine, and as an ingredient in topical paste for healing infected wounds.”
“Not bad,” George said condescendingly. “What else is sulfur used for? Miss Granger?”
“Sulfur is an important ingredient in alchemical reactions,” Hermione said promptly. “It is very useful in the creation of various alloys, in refining and purifying metals, and in the creation of acids for etching metals and glass.” Both Fred and George looked excessively interested in that, although George stroked his chin, on which he had begun to grow a goatee, and said merely, “Ten points to Gryffindor.” Harry could not help noticing that no points had been given to Slytherin for Malfoy’s prompt and accurate answer.
“Very interesting answer,” Fred said after a moment. Then he added curiously, “Which part of the Restricted Section did you find that information in?” Hermione turned pink and did not answer, not that Fred expect an answer in any case; however, Harry was surprised when Fred continued, “I expected you to tell me some of the Muggle uses for sulfur, you know.”
Hermione frowned and said, “I don’t know all that many. It’s used in the Muggle science of chemistry, I suppose, but I never studied that in grammar school.”
“Pity,” George said. He grinned evilly and went on, “the advantage of having a father who works with the Misuse of Muggle artifacts, is you sometimes learn a useful thing or two you might not otherwise. Can anyone else suggest a practical use for sulfur?”
Dean Thomas raised his hand and looked surprised at himself for his own daring. Malfoy, on the other hand, was looking positively contemptuous. “Sulfur,” Dean said, “is a main ingredient in gunpowder, which is the substance that creates explosions in many Muggle weapons. It is also an ingredient in fireworks.”
“Right again,” Fred said. “Though we’re not telling you all of the ingredients in ours; which, of course, you can order from our catalogues or purchase directly from our premises in Diagon Alley.” Again, Harry grinned as he recalled the marvelous display of fireworks which had punctuated Fred and George’s last day as students at Hogwarts, and which had driven the evil toad Umbridge nearly apoplectic with fury.
“So what are you planning on doing, then?” Malfoy asked, “Teaching us to make gunpowder for Muggle weapons that wouldn’t work here anyway and which even Longbottom could disarm if they could?”
“Not at all,” George said seriously. “We are going to try a few little experiments to see if we can come up with a formula or two that will, erm, discommode You Know Who.”
The alteration in Malfoy’s demeanor was instant and complete. He sat up straight, took out his notebook and said with the greatest respect and with the most vengeful glint in his eyes, “Carry on then. Anything that’ll get the murderer is worth a try.”
Fred and George favored Malfoy with identical stares of dislike. They said nothing further however to taunt the Slytherin with their new status. Harry supposed that Dumbledore must have informed them of Mrs. Malfoy’s death. He wondered how Draco was going on with class as usual. After his first wild moments of grief, Malfoy had appeared to be his usual self and Harry was quite certain that his abrupt disillusionment with Voldemort did not mean Malfoy would become a friend or an ally.
The remainder of the class passed quickly as they tried various combinations of sulfur and other elements and applied various kinds of spells, particularly Charms, as a means of ignition. It was fortunate that they were using very minute quantities. At least one combination caused a sufficient explosion to denude Seamus’s eyebrows and leave him looking like a surprised hedgehog. It could just as easily have been Seamus misfiring the spell though. At the end of class, the students filed out laughing for the first time after any Potions class Harry could recall.
Only Ron did not seem overly amused. He waited until they were in Transfiguration class to say quietly, "I wonder if Dumbledore realizes what kind of experiments they're doing."
"I thought it was very interesting," Hermione said. She hesitated as though she wanted to say something and didn't think Ron would like it. For once, though, Ron understood her without explanations.
"I'm not worried about them acting like gits to me cause I'm their younger brother and Headboy," he said, "even though I know they probably will. It's just," he said defiantly, "I need to pass my NEWTs, all my NEWTs to get a job with Fudge in office. I'm not brilliant, like you Hermione, nor famous, like Harry. I can't afford to waste five weeks of class on their fun and games."
Harry didn't know whether to be annoyed at the implication that he'd be hired because of his fame, which he knew was true, or to sympathize and agree. Half the time he was certain Fudge would use his failure at any NEWT as an excuse not to hire him; the other half, he was sure Fudge would say his fame would endanger other Ministry workers and keep him out for that.
None of them got to respond because McGonagall had come in and began to lecture them on how hard NEWTs were and how they must concentrate and study and that she would tolerate, "No foolishness! Not from any of you!" The last irked Harry quite a lot as it appeared to be directed right at him. He had a hard time concentrating on their latest conjuring spell after that, and twice he conjured up a ballpoint pen instead of the quill he was supposed to be doing.
