Drama Action
Multiple Eras
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Published: 04/25/2002
Updated: 06/24/2002
Words: 81,279
Chapters: 30
Hits: 96,527

Harry Potter & The Thousand Mysteries

A. A. Yarrum

Story Summary:
When Harry returns to fifth year, he finds himself faced with a whole lotta problems- Voldemort, puberty, exams, Ron & Hermione to name but a few. A lot of characters enter into his life from his previous shenanigans, There’s a Christmas Ball, OWL exams, Sirius, Lupin, and more!

Chapter 05

Author's Note:
This is my fic- bear with it, it gets better!


Harry climbed the silver stepladder, which led to the circular room at the top of the North Tower, where Professor Trelawney held her lessons. When he entered, he felt he had been knocked out. The air was thick with heat, and the horrific perfume she burned in the fireplace, which as Harry had come to expect, was turned on full blast.

Harry and Ron made their way to the small circular table where they usually sat. It was as out of the way as you could get in a circular room, and was near a window, so it had to do.

'Welcome, my dears,' said a voice behind them, in it's usual airy-fairy tone. 'Welcome to another year of Divination at Hogwarts!' Professor Trelawney whispered mystically. 'If you would all assume your seats.' She settled herself in an armchair beside the fireplace, and delicately waited for the class to settle down.

'Now then,' she said, when the rustling of bags and chattering had subsided. 'You have but two and a half terms left in which to complete your OWL grade examinations.

'I have already foreseen who in this class will fail, and those who will pass, but only I will have access to such information.

'This term, we will study bird entrails, specifically chickens, and next term we will progress on to further crystal gazing and palmistry. Are there any questions?' she paused, surveying the class. 'Then kindly take a bucket containing a chicken from the cupboard over there.'

After fifteen minutes of cutting dead chickens open and trying to decipher the future using their innards, Harry finally understood why Professor Trelawney kept the room filled with such powerful perfume. The stench coming off the creatures was unbearable, and many students had hands clapped over their mouths.

'What the bloody hell does this mean?' asked Ron, peering into the bird's rectal cavities. 'Let's see what Cassandra Vablatsky had to say on the subject.' He opened his thick textbook, searching for help. 'Ah, here we are...right... no, we don't have that...mmm-hmm, right...okay...'

'What is it?' asked Harry, as a lump of intestine slipped from his grip and splattered onto the floor.

'Right, that there,' he pointed a bloody pulp, which Harry assumed was the heart, 'means that there will be bloodshed.'

'What a coincidence.'

'And that means peace,' he said, pointing to the ribcage. 'How does that work?'

Professor Trelawney floated over, to help them decipher the 'hidden messages'.

'Ah, my dears,' she said, in her usual spiritualist fashion. 'I see hidden depths to this poor creature that your untrained eyes. Allow me,' she sat down, and shoved her hand inside.

'Yes, as I suspected. A torn gullet signifies torment and troubled times ahead for you both. And what's this?' she reached her hand in further. 'There is a small cut on the left armpit... that symbolises a loss, a tragedy...' She paused, feeling around, before pulling her blood stained arm out, holding a small black stone.

'Oh, my dears,' she said, holding the stone. 'A stone in the stomach, a black stone... this can only mean one thing-' Harry was prepared to bet everything he owned on what this meant. '- The worst omen, of Death!'

Harry looked at her doubtfully. 'Imagine my surprise,' he said sarcastically. Beside him, Ron snorted with laughter, while Professor Trelawney looked outraged.

'You may not realise the significance of this;' she snapped, 'but I assure you I do. I should have realised that your mundane minds would not have grasped this- but so be it.'

She turned to the rest of the class. 'Complete an essay on how chicken gizzards can be interpreted to show the future of money. Dismissed!'

The class grumbled and groaned, and made their way down towards the Entrance Hall, and Transfiguration.

When they reached Professor McGonagall's class, they found her talking quietly to Hermione.

'Ah, here you are,' she said, replacing her square rimmed spectacles. I was wondering where you all got to.'

Harry and Ron sat down beside Hermione.

'How was Divination?' she asked, as they took their books out.

'Guess what?' said Harry rhetorically. 'I'm dying.'

'Oh, heaven forefend,' she said dryly.

'Thank you. What were you talking to McGonagall about?'

'Oh, nothing,' she said hurriedly, looking flustered.

At that moment, Professor McGonagall interrupted them, and began her very hard, taxing lesson.

'Hurry up, Harry, we'll miss Lunch! We've got Potions in half an hour!' said Ron, as Harry hastily stuffed his textbooks and parchments into his bag.

'You go on, I want to speak to McGonagall,' he said.

'Fine, but be quick, or you'll get no Lunch.'

Ron and Hermione left the room, leaving Harry alone in the cavernous chamber with Professor McGonagall.

He walked up to her desk, and stood there for a few moments. She paid no attention to him, but instead continued to put the papers from the lesson into about thirty different folders.

'Er, Professor?' asked Harry timidly.

She didn't look up. 'Yes?'

'Em, I was wondering, um, over the holidays, if um, if, er you could um, er...'

'Spit it out, Potter, we haven't got all day,' she snapped, fixing him beadily in her cold glare.

'Professor, could you train me to be an animagus?'

She looked at him for a moment, surveying him, more cat-like than ever. Once she had ascertained he definitely wasn't winding her up, she relaxed a bit.

'Well, Potter, I'll have to speak to Professor Dumbledore about it, you'll understands, but I'll certainly consider it. Now I suggest you get down to lunch, before you miss all the food. We couldn't have you dying of starvation, could we? Professor Trelawney would be unbearable, for one thing.'

Harry laughed. 'She predicted my death again this morning.'

Professor McGonagall checked her watch. 'Quite a record, if I do say so myself. Now then, hurry along!'

'Hi, Harry,' said Parvati, when he entered the Great Hall, which was packed with students enjoying their first luncheon at Hogwarts.

'Hi,' he said, sitting down beside her. As usual, Hermione's nose was buried in a book- this time Every Students Guide to OWL Revision. Ron was flirting with Lavender again, who seemed to have gone to extra expense with the make up today. Her angular face was coated in moisturisers, etc, and her brown blonde hair contrasted with her blue eyshadow.

'What did you need to see McGonagall for, Harry?' asked Ron, after five minutes.

'Oh, nothing,' said Harry, trying to look inconspicuous. At that moment he saw McGonagall enter the hall through the side archway that Snape had appeared at last night at the Welcoming Feast. She crossed the room, and whispered something to Dumbledore. Dumbledore listened, before looking directly at Harry from the top table. His eyes twinkled, and he raised his golden goblet to him, before returning to his meal. At that moment, the bell sounded once more throughout the Hall. In the noisy din of crossing the Hall, Dumbledore walked past Harry.

'Half past eight at the top of the South tower, Harry' he said, before ordering some noisy second years to settler down and get to class.

Harry and the rest of the class entered the large dungeon where Snape taught. They sat down at there seats, waiting for the rest of the class and Snape to arrive.

After waiting for about five minutes, after they had taken all their equipment out and laid it on the desk in front of them.

'What are you doing in my classroom?' as demanded of the class as soon as he walked in the door.

'We're in Potions, professors,' said Ron. A few of the Gryffindors sniggered.

'Thank you, Weasley, I was perfectly aware of that. I was enquiring as to why you were actually in my classroom, rather than waiting outside until I gave you permission to enter, which is where you should have been.'

The entire class remained in silence. Not even Hermione's hand rose into the air, something that Snape picked up on.

'Hmm, It seems I have finally found a question which Granger is unable to answer. Twenty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin for entering without permission. This is an extremely dangerous classroom- more so than Hagrid's paddock full of Blast-Ended Skrewts, and I don't see any of you desperate to climb in there...' he paused, glancing menacingly around the room. 'Except Potter, that is.'

The entire class sat in shock. The Gryffindors were stunned that Snape had managed to insult Harry, Ron and Hermione within five minutes of their first class- a record even for him.

The Slytherins on the other hand were shocked that Snape had taken twenty points from Slytherin, his own house. The most Snape had ever deducted from Slytherin was 15 points, at intervals.

Snape sat down at his huge oak bench at the front of the dungeon. He began to leaf through his Register book. 'And a further twenty points from Gryffindor, Weasley,' he added, not looking up, 'for your cheek.'

The class sat in utter silence for the rest of the period, as Snape had them take down very complicated notes on potions which cure disease, and then even more complicated notes on those which cause disease. He then had them make a potion that would inflict the drinker with the common cold, and a potion to cure them of it. Unfortunately, this involved filleting a flounder and a bullfrog, nasty, smelly work.

The class were chatting quietly among themselves as Snape crawled among them, inspecting their simmering potions.

'Excellent, Malfoy,' he said, as he inspected Malfoy's potion. He prowled along the row, coming to Neville.

'Longbottom,' he said, looking down on Neville's potion, which even Harry had to admit, was looking pretty bad. 'This is repugnant to every one of my senses. One, it is army green, when the potion should be blue. Second, it smells like fish, rather than grass. Did you even add the powdered scarab beetles? Third,' he continued, ticking off the numbers on his hands. 'It is making a bubbling noise that it certainly shouldn't. Fourthly,' he reached for the potion ladle, and slopped it back into the cauldron. 'As I suspected,' he said, 'far too watery.

'I am most certainly not going to taste it, Longbottom, but I can imagine what it would be like. You have failed in making this potion on every front- I'd rather suffer the common cold than touch this stuff with a bargepole. Go and pour it down the sink.'

He stalked away, leaving Neville trembling like a nervous wreck. Harry could feel himself shake with anger- he wanted to whip his wand out that moment and hex Snape into oblivion. He could feel himself seethe with anger.

'What is this?' he asked Parvati, slopping her potion back into the cauldron, allowing all the class to see it, which was grey, rather than blue. Just as he replaced the ladle, the jar containing a picked *creature* in the jar behind Snape exploded, covering his head with a putrid smelling liquid, and the rapidly decomposing corpse of what Harry now recognised as a rat.

'What!' spluttered Snape, spitting some of the pickling concoction into Parvati's potion. Harry tried not to smile- it was really bad that he had used uncontrolled magic- Snape would kill him if he knew it was him.

'Get out of my sight,' he said to the class. 'Write a three thousand word essay on the Potions to Cure and Cause the Common Cold for tomorrow. Now get out.' He strode to the door of his study and banged it shut. The class hurriedly packed their things and sped out the room.

As soon as Harry, Ron and Hermione were out into the freedom of the corridor, they burst into gales of laughter. Soon, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Parvati and Lavender had joined them, howling with laughter as they made their way up to Gryffindor Tower.

'Who was it?' asked Neville eventually, wiping the tears from his eyes.

'Not me,' said Parvati, sitting down on a carpeted wooden staircase. The rest of them sat down beside her.

'Was it you, Hermione?' asked Ron.

'Don't be daft,' she said. The only person here with enough power and hatred of Snape to do that is Harry.

They all turned around to look at him. He grinned sheepishly.

'Harry! That's attacking a teacher!' said Hermione, looking scandalized.

'Shut up, Hermione, it was provoked,' said Ron, clapping Harry on the back. 'Nice one!'

'Brilliant,' said Seamus.

'Superb,' said Neville.

'Fantastic,' said Parvati, and she patted his leg.

Harry felt a small thrill at Parvati saying this to him. As he sat on the stairs with the rest of him, he felt very happy.

'We've only got three more years before we have to leave this place,' he said to the rest of them.

'Yeah,' said Lavender pensively. 'I can't believe it.'

'Where d'you think we'll all be in five years?' asked Dean.

God alone knows. I'll be dead, thought Harry, me or Voldemort.

Voldemort. The thought came rushing back to him unbidden as he sat on the stairs, surrounded by his friends. He could strike anywhere at any time.

As they rose to make their way up to the Common Room, Harry looked around at his friends, laughing and chatting with each other. Could any of them really be able to fight Voldemort? Would a single one of them stand a chance against Voldemort's army of Death Eaters, who even now were stalking the country, unwatched and uncontrolled. The thought haunted him that night, as he made his way up the spiral staircase that led to the top of the South Tower.

The South Tower was a large, square tower at the south of the castle, overlooking the Quidditch Pitch and the Forbidden Forest. Unlike most of the other towers, it didn't have battlements, and instead had a large room, with a beamed ceiling, which took the same shape as the pyramid roof above it, and had windows looking out on all sides. In the centre of the wall opposite the door, there was a huge stone fireplace, and beside it a few armchairs and footstools. According to Hogwarts: A History, it had previously been a Ministry of Magic office, but they had discontinued their workings at the castle in 1897.

When Harry entered, it was to find Professor McGonagall, in cat form, sitting stiffly, like an Egyptian statue of Bast, on one of the faded green velvet armchairs.

'Hello, Professor,' said Harry. 'May I sit down?'

The Cat sitting in the chair didn't make a move, but instead continued to watch him. After a few minutes, however, it leapt up form the chair, and began to pace the floor beside the massive fireplace.

The door behind Harry opened, and he turned around to see Professor Dumbledore enter the room.

'Ah, Harry, how nice to see you!' he exclaimed, as he shut the door. 'Tell me, how were the summer holidays for you? I daresay your Aunt Marge was a pain, but you seem to have avoided any unusual catastrophes that ensued during her last visit to Little Whinging.'

'Er, yes, I suppose,' said Harry unsure of himself.

'Really, Albus, I was wondering where you had got to!' said Professor McGonagall sharply, causing Harry to whip around.

Dumbledore chuckled. 'Yes, it's not like me to be late, is it?' Harry got the feeling that he was being sarcastic.

'So...have you made a decision?' asked Harry.

'Yes, we have,' said Professor McGonagall.

'We have decided,' said Dumbledore, 'that it would be a very valuable weapon to have in your arsenal when you undoubtedly have to fight Voldemort.'

'Excellent!' said Harry. He had been worried they would have said no.

'Have you had contact with Sirius over the holidays?' asked Dumbledore.

'No...' said Harry. He had been quite hurt when he received no letters from Sirius. 'I didn't get any letters from anyone, as a matter of fact,' he said.

'I'm afraid I might be partly responsible for that,' said Dumbledore. 'You see, I was worried that you might receive abusive or dangerous mail over the holidays- it would be a weak point which Voldemort might use to attack.

'I wrote to everyone who would send you letters normally, such as Sirius and the Weasleys, and told them not to write to you. Of course, Ron disobeyed my instructions, and his letter came to me instead of you, as I had jinxed Privet Drive not to allow owls to enter. Hedwig being the exception, of course.'

Harry wasn't sure what to say. It was eventually Dumbledore, however, who started the ball rolling. He clapped his hands together.

'Well, now, I'll leave you two to it!' He rose out of his chair.

'To what?' asked Harry.

'To your animagus lesson, of course!'

Harry spluttered in disbelief. 'You want me to begin training now?' he asked, incredulously.

'Of course! The sooner the better!' He turned around, and walked out the room. Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall, arms folded, looking more dangerous than ever.

'Right then, Potter, we'll get cracking, shall we?' She took off her cloak and rolled up her sleeves.

'Professor,' asked Harry. 'How long are you expecting it to take before we complete this training?'

She paused for a moment, perusing her answer. 'I can't before until I've seen you perform some wandless magic, but going by your escapade in the Potions dungeon today with Professor Snape...'

'How did you know it was me? How did you even know it happened?'

'Oh please,' she waved him aside. 'We do talk about things other than house points in the staff room, you know. Even teachers are permitted a little gossip from time to time, Potter.

'Anyway, I would estimate that it would take you roughly about six to eight months, roughly.'

'What!' asked Harry. He had been expecting years. 'It took my father over three years!'

'Yes, I heard about that...' her lips thinned dangerously. 'Abnormally intelligent though your father and his cohorts were, I'm afraid they hadn't a lick of common sense among them. I imagine they spent two years and eleven months stuttering around aimlessly, before deciding to consult a book. You, however, will be trained by a professional, even if I do say so myself.

'Now then, to work!'