The Secret of Godric's Hollow

Apparition Lessons

Unsurprising to anyone, Neville had managed to splinch himself yet again. Professor McGonagall shook her head with a sigh, as it was the seventh time such a thing had happened this month.

"Mr. Potter," she said, thoroughly exasperated. "I do believe you know the proper course of action, since you have had to do this many times already."

Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor. I'll do it."

Harry made his way over to McGonagall's desk. On it, he found the small switch labeled MISHAPS - NOTIFY MINISTRY OF MAGIC. He flicked it quickly, and turned around in time to see a witch's head burst into the fire.

"What mayhem has befallen you?" the receptionist witch asked. She looked around and took further notice of her surroundings, then smiled curtly and bobbed her head slightly at Harry. "Ah - I see the problem. The Apparition Control Center will intercept Mr. Longbottom immediately. Stay calm, and he shall be reunited with his . . . what body part was it this time? Just for paperwork purposes, of course."

"Right foot," Harry replied, "Again."

"How unfortunate. Well, we'll do our best. I'm sure he'll turn up again soon. When he does, we will make sure to send him back to class."

"Yes, thank you," he said, as the witch's head suddenly vanished from the fireplace.

Around him, seventh year wizards were Apparating with pops to different points in the room. Many of them, like Harry, had already passed their Apparition tests, but McGonagall had taken to teaching them special types of Apparition, such as Cross-Continental and Wandless Apparition, the former of which they were practicing today. McGonagall had appealed to Dumbledore to allow periods of Apparition within the castle so that the seventh-years could practice.

Ron appeared next to him with a bang, grimacing. "Ouch, I think I almost spliced my wand hand that time. Neville again?"

"Who else?" Harry replied sarcastically.

McGonagall's shrill voice rang through the room. "I would now like all of you to set down your wands and recite the incantation we have practiced. We will take turns to Apparate off of the blue square I have conjured on the floor. Since you are bridging a much larger space, you will need to focus more and think clearly about the exact location to which you want to Apparate. Now," she finished, gesturing at the map they had examined and memorized, "I will demonstrate and Apparate to Rio Magico, the only entirely wizarding village in Brazil. It will take me approximately ten minutes to reach my destination, but I expect that it will take many of you longer because you have had no practice on this type of Apparition. Everyone will Apparate at the same time as a partner, so that their partner can inform us if something has gone wrong in the process. I need not tell you that this is a very dangerous thing we are attempting, and therefore you will need to exercise the utmost caution while performing the spell. Ready?" She stepped onto the glowing blue square and chanted, "Cordius Apparate!"

The next thing they knew, she was gone. The prefects among them were given the task of making sure that the class did not throw a party in their absence, but rather completed their assignment.

"'Mione, you should probably go first, you know to demonstrate the proper way it's done," Ron said cautiously.

Hermione grabbed Lavender Brown and they stepped onto the square. They were gone. Two by two, all the seventh year Gryffindors disappeared hopefully to the village in Brazil. Soon, Harry and Ron were the only ones left. Ron looked slightly disappointed at having to try such a difficult incantation when they could invite the Ravenclaws on break in for a party since there was no teacher, but soon cleared his throat as he remembered that he was, in fact, a prefect. Harry stepped out onto the square, shortly followed by Ron, and felt a cold stinging sensation as he raised his wand and brought it down, whispering the spell while trying to focus clearly on the village in Brazil. A whoosh of air jetted past him, which, he supposed, was Ron's incantation.

He heard a muffled thump as he began to move. He felt himself twisting and writhing in awkward motions as he was seemingly pulled into a vacuum of nothingness. Below him, he saw grates, then black, for as far as he could see. His glasses were fogged and misty, and he realized that it was dark and damp as he flew through space. It wasn't a particularly enjoyable feeling, that weightless and powerless feeling. He closed his eyes and opened them to a new set of grates, through which he could hear voices echoing in another language. Spanish, or Italian, perhaps? Then there would be short, staccato bursts of English, but punctuated with a thick accent. Possibly, he was now tumbling through the nothing of the United States.

Then, he realized something, quickly, as if he had been jolted.

"Ron," he uttered. He looked frantically around. Ron was nowhere to be seen. He had been sure, as he stepped onto the square, that Ron had been beside him, and about to perform the Apparition just as Harry prepared to take off.

He understood that there was nothing he could do until he reached Brazil and McGonagall. There was no magic switch that connected him to the Ministry here, and there was no way of notifying anyone that Ron was missing, possibly spliced. And he knew from experience, with Neville, that the longer someone was spliced the less chance that they would be able to reunite with their missing body part. That was how, Harry reflected, Neville had lacked one pinky finger until he went for a prolonged stay at St. Mungos where it was welded back on.

Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could pull himself out at an early grate, where they would have a switch or some other way of notifying the Ministry. Ron could be fixed sooner.

Voices at the approaching grate were louder and had less of an accent. There seemed to be some sort of a bind once the spell had started, because Harry had trouble thinking of a different destination, and found he could not wrench himself out of the void and back into civilization. But if Ron had spliced himself . . .

He lifted his wand, and, as he was turning and traveling closer to Brazil and farther from wherever Ron was, brought it down forcefully in front of him, focusing on where he was, right now. The problem was that he didn't know exactly where he was at the moment, and he couldn't picture his location on a map or even visualize the room into which he would appear. Nevertheless he tried his hardest, summoning every power he had to change the course of the spell.

Abruptly, he heard a pop and saw a dark curtain all around him. The voices were the same ones he had heard from the grate, and a surge of pain eased up through his scar. Cautiously, he parted the curtain and peered out.

The scene that awaited him was strange indeed. A tall cloak reached to the ceiling, and Harry felt a cold lift itself across the room. He realized with a shudder that it was a dementor. Beside the dementor was a short, plump man with scaly skin and a bald patch crowning his head. It looked suspiciously like -

"Wormtail," a cold voice drawled, "Do hurry up. You know we don't have all day. The Dark Lord will return, assuming his mission went as planned, and at that point you know where we will have to go. Soon Potter will learn enough about it and try to beat us to it, but we cannot allow that to happen. Albus Dumbledore will tell Potter as soon as he learns of our plans, which he soon will, thanks to Severus. Has the dementor yet learned who Snape is? We will have to send him out as soon as we can . . . try to get to Snape before he gets to Dumbledore." Lucius Malfoy said this last part scathingly, as if he was trying to swallow something particularly nasty. Harry knew this tone; it was the one Snape usually saved for him.

His mind was reeling. What on earth were they speaking of? Once Potter finds out? Harry wondered what he should know, and didn't. He thought of his family, and wished that he knew more about them . . .

He realized with a panic rising in his throat that the dementor would, soon enough, sense Harry's presence and bring him out into the open. And he couldn't use a Patronus because it would be visible and would also give him away. The only way was to get out of this place, but Harry was curious. His curiosity kept him there, rooted on the spot behind a curtain, listening to them as if spellbound. And how, of all places, were Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew in the one place where he managed to pull off and Apparate to? It was too much, he thought, to be a coincidence.

He saw Wormtail nod back at Malfoy nervously, his silver arm gleaming in the false light. As he often did in perilous situations, he thought of Sirius . . . if only he were here . . . but then, what if this was a similar situation, a ploy constructed to lure Harry here? Perhaps Ron was somewhere in this very room. It had worked once, and Voldemort may have reasoned it would work again. Thoughts of Sirius and long-lasting guilt plagued his mind, making it deaf to all reason. He would not put Ron in mortal danger again. Ron was probably safe inside the Transfiguration classroom, or even in Brazil, and this whole Apparition had been nothing more than a scam.

Confident of his newfound wisdom, and ready to decide on the proper thing to do in a time like this, Harry peered out of the curtain once again. Malfoy was gone, but his footsteps could still be heard echoing in some hall, growing fainter as he went. It was only Pettigrew now.

Without thinking at all, Harry pushed open the curtain and watched with a touch of mirthful laughter as Pettigrew whirled around, sweating. "M-master?" he whispered, incredulous. Harry realized that Pettigrew thought he was Voldemort in disguise, or something like that.

"Do I look like Voldemort to you?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"N-no, of course not, b-but . . . he is coming. You should leave, now. I don't know how you got here, but y-you - you need to leave. He'll kill you!" Pettigrew whimpered.

"Why should you care?" Harry said, his voice full of hatred. "You didn't care when you sold my parents to Lord Voldemort - "

"Speak not the name!" Wormtail howled.

"So why do you care if Voldemort kills me? Sirius tried to kill you four years ago, and now I think I'll try to finish his work up for him." Spite and malevolence had seized Harry, and taken control of his mind. He didn't see a person in front of him, living and breathing, but a rodent, and murderer, and the man who was responsible for the deaths of his parents. Right now he didn't care if he lived or died, as long as Pettigrew was justly punished for what he had done.

"Harry - y-you don't understand," Wormtail pleaded, obviously frightened. "I have, I really have, been working for you. As best as I can, at least, f-for . . . He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not a forgiving master."

Harry was sick and tired of Wormtail groveling and wallowing in self-pity. All he knew is that he wanted to kill him, and didn't care about the consequences. He remembered that Bellatrix Lestrange had told him, the day she killed Sirius, that one must really want to kill, to enjoy being evil . . .

"Avada Kedavra," he yelled, knowing nothing except desire to kill Wormtail. It was only when he crumpled to the floor in a heap that Harry realized what he had done, and fainted.

N.E.W.T.S.

This was it - the culmination of Harry's Hogwarts education. Entering the room crowded with seventh-year students, he could feel the incredible tension in the atmosphere. Everyone knew that these exams would either allow them to pursue their ideal career or leave them to enjoy a life mopping floors at Gringotts. Ron, in particular, looked particularly terrified. His face was a pale sort of green all the way to the roots of his bright red hair. Even Hermione seemed to have been affected by the enormous pressure leading in their N.E.W.T.S. She, however, had studied for at least fifty hours for each of her six N.E.W.T.-level courses, so Harry felt that she had little reason to be worried. On the other hand, Harry felt completely justified in his queasiness because his low marks in regular term N.E.W.T. potions were so low that he would have to scrape out an E on his potions exam.

Checking in with the examiners, he took his assigned seat next to Parvati Patil. She scowled at him, and Harry wondered what he had done until he remembered that he had dated her sister once or twice and for some reason infuriated her. Harry just did not have much luck with girls.

"Er - how much did you study for this one?" he asked, trying to make friendly conversation. She did not seem to be interested.

"Few hours," she said shortly. Then she added, "But I studied for hours for the Divination test... you know, to be a licensed Seer, you must get an O on your Divination N.E.W.T. I want to open a shop in Arabia, of course, it's the Seeing capital of the world..."

"So you've really got the Sight," Harry asked her skeptically. She gave in an astonished glance and remained silent, as if his question did not deserve to be answered.

Harry was relieved that their conversation was cut off by the announcement that the exams and the Anti-Cheating quills would be passed out and as soon as you received your exam you may begin. He felt a flutter of butterflies in his stomach . . . This was it . . . If he didn't score a pass on this Transfiguration test his career as an Auror would be over before it had begun.

Hermione came rushing over to Harry after the exams. She was practically bubbling with excitement.

"Harry!" she squealed. "The examiner for my practical told me that he'd never seen such a neat human transfiguration before! He thought I had loads of potential!"

"But Hermione," he said, as Ron rolled his eyes obviously, "You don't even need a Transfiguration N.E.W.T. to work at the Ministry in the Protection of Wizard Species Department, do you? I mean, to pull through your spew-"

"It's S.P.E.W., not 'spew'-" she said haughtily.

"Whatever, anyways . . . to write the bill and send it to the Wizengamot, you don't need-"

"Just because I don't need it doesn't mean it won't help me. If you two had worked harder on History of Magic, that would be useful, but you don't care just because you don't need it to become an Auror or work at Fred and George's joke shop! And yes, Ron, I still think you should have higher ambitions. I mean, a joke shop? What good is that doing anyone?" she said disdainfully.

"Lots of good," said Ron disinterestedly. He was staring across the lawn at a group of girls giggling behind their hands as they passed.

Harry didn't care. He was already dating Ginny Weasley, and Ron was satisfied because Harry was the only one of Ginny's many boyfriends that he had approved of. Ron however, had grown interested in Luna Lovegood, but only since she had stopped wearing strange hats and talking about heliopaths. It also helped that she had gone to France one summer and come back tan and with a new haircut. Luna Lovegood's transformation was something of a myth at Hogwarts, simply because she had gone from someone who everyone teased to someone everyone talked to. She was still a bit . . . well, eccentric . . . but no one minded very much anymore.

"Our next N.E.W.T. is Defense Against the Dark Arts," Ron said, looking at his schedule. "Do we really need to study more for that one? I mean, look at the sky. Doesn't this look like Quidditch sky to you, Harry?"

Harry was spared an answer when Hermione took the matter into her own hands. "Of course we do!" Hermione interjected shrilly. "Just because you have passing grades in the class doesn't mean you'll have passing grades on the exams. And Harry, if you want to be an Auror . . ."

"Yes, well, I mean, I've already studied a lot for this one and as you said, I outscored you on all of the tests this year - " Hermione shot him a nasty glare, because she was still not over the fact that Harry was better at a school subject than she was "- so I'm not really too worried."

But she had made him guilty enough that he dutifully headed back to the Gryffindor tower to put in another few hours of reviews on hexes and countercurses. As they were walking through the corridors, whenever they passed a window Ron would stop and gaze wistfully outside. Harry heard him muttering things like, "Blimey, I'll miss the quidditch pitch" and "If only Hermione appreciated the real important things" to himself. His sentiments matched Ron's exactly, and by the time they reached the Fat Lady's portrait he was wishing that he had taken Ron's advice to heart. What if he didn't ever have time to play Quidditch at Hogwarts again?

When they entered the common room, Ginny was waiting for him in a plush armchair. He started to walk over to talk to her, but Hermione let out a tut-tut under her breath to show her disapproval. He was quite annoyed by this point, and told her angrily, "Hermione! Just leave me alone, alright?"

"Don't you want to be an Auror, though, Harry? Shouldn't you be studying for your exams?" she said in superior manner.

"I've already studied for hours," he told her shortly. She gave up and dumped her schoolbag on a table. Ron had moved toward the Gryffindor broom cupboard, but Hermione shot a hex at him that left him jumping up and down on one foot.

"Look what Hermione has done to me!" he yelled indignantly. Heads all around the common room snapped in his direction, some then looking towards Hermione with an expression of awe on their face.

"What hex is it, d'you think?" Harry asked him as he walked over to Ron.

"I dunno, a foot-snapper, perhaps? Or maybe a Glue-Shoe Jinx."

Harry uttered a counterjinx so Hermione couldn't hear him, and when it didn't work he tried another. Ron's foot stopped bobbling on the ground and he returned the other to the floor.

"Much appreciated, mate," Ron said with a grin as he turned back toward the broom cupboard.

Harry crossed the common room again and sat down in a chair across from Ginny. He waited until she looked up at him before he said anything.

"How were the exams?" she asked him.

"They were alright, I suppose. I mean, on the practical my human transfiguration wasn't nearly as neat as Hermione's, but I didn't sprout antlers like Dean did, or grow sloth fingers like Goyle," he told her. She laughed.

"Goyle's fingers are probably sloth fingers anyway," she added. "Are you sure it was the spell?"

"And the written was pretty good, considering how much Hermione made me study for it, it probably should have been even easier than it was . . . I missed a couple of questions on Cross-Species Switches, but I think I did alright," he finished.

"Well, that's good. I'm so glad I don't have to take them this year. You know, they really should give more than a one year break between O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S. Not that sixth year is easy, since you start all those N.E.W.T. level courses. I had much more time this year to practice goal-scoring, though . . . Speaking of Quidditch, I was wondering if you were going to pursue a contract or go straight into a career, because if you play Quidditch, we could maybe get signed for the same team, you know, like a package or something, since Gryffindor slaughtered everyone else this year. Maybe Ron, too! Think of it," she gushed enthusiastically.

He had thought about it a lot this year. He just felt a burning desire to become an Auror while Voldemort was still at large so he could make a difference. He didn't want to tell Ginny this, though, because he didn't want to smash her fancy about their Quidditch career. As he was thinking this, Ron walked by and kicked Harry's foot.

"Listen," he whispered, "If you get tired to studying with that old witch - she's a right old Umbridge, isn't she? - then just wander on down to the pitch, will you?" Harry nodded appreciatively.

Ginny looked at Harry curiously. "Ron doesn't fancy Hermione, does he? I know he says he fancies Luna, but really, can't you tell?"

The truth was that there had been moments when he had fleeting suspicions of Ron's feelings towards Hermione, but they usually vanished as soon as they came. Now that she pointed it out, he saw it too . . . His anger when Hermione continued to correspond with Krum, how he was furious when, in the sixth year, she went on a few dates with Ernie Macmillan . . .