Harry Potter and the Sisters Three

Chapter 9 - Simply Knackered

    The Great Hall rang with the clamor of breakfast, students eating and talking their way through the first moments of the morning, the scrape and noise of the cups and plates and silverware being knocked against tabletops and each other, and the soft rushes of air that accompanied the lazy flights of the post owls.

    Harry had been sitting at an empty section of the Gryffindor table long before the breakfast dishes had sprung into existence on the tabletop. He had finished the little book on Occlumency the night before, but he had not gone back to bed. The first sentence he had read went something like this: "Occlumency is a practical art, but it is one that demands less knowledge of spell-casting and much more concentration: practice is imperative."

    So instead of returning to the tower, he had wandered up to the Room of Requirement. He had stood in front of the door for long moments, pondering exactly what the room would have laid out within it that he could use for practice in Occlumency. He almost left when the thought of Severus Snape, forbidding as a thundercloud in dark purple pyjamas (the thought of Snape in pyjamas was disturbing enough), standing on the other side of the door to provide the mental onslaught for Harry to fight. Having convinced himself that the Room couldn't summon actual people to its interior, Harry had opened the door.

    The room was dark, save for the long windows at the far end that allowed the moonlight to spill in and carve its brilliant diagonals of blue on the weathered floorboards. The rafters hung low, but the ceiling was high, almost like an old cathedral. Everything, Harry had noted, seemed to be washed of age and color, and he had realized that the room he had walked into was the real Room of Requirement, the way the room looked when it was not filling itself with something else, or (as he supposed in his particular case) the way it looked when it didn't know what to provide its occupant with. He had turned to leave when something in the air stopped him. The very atmosphere seemed to be growing heavier, and although he hadn't been able to put his finger on it, he could feel that something in the Room was off. There was no person to fight off, to be sure. But there was a magic room.

    Harry had erected the wall in his mind against the Room of Requirement more times than he could count the wee hours of that morning. When he succeeded, the Room returned to its former state, a non-threatening sort of shell of a place. Then it would begin to change again, to something different. Some of its incarnations were rather funny. At one time it tried to convince him that he was standing in the center of a circus tent, with the clowns and animals and all wending about him. The most difficult image to banish was one of a yellow-painted house in whose room he was alone, but he could oddly feel his parents the next room over, waiting for him. He had practiced on and on and on, and the Room had been trying to thrust an image of a sinking ship upon him. He had been looking at the empty shell-room, but he was still up to his ankles in the icy water when he finally called enough. The image vanished, and the room was itself again. The light spilling through the windows was a softer grey now, and Harry could see the faint red streaks of dawn through the mist. He had yawned, and made to leave the Room, supposing that he could sleep for an hour or two before he had to join the others at breakfast, and try to put some sort of dent in his exhaustion.

    But he was surprised again. The minute he closed the door, and it vanished behind him, his tiredness fell away from him. He felt ennervated and light, ready to begin his day. He had turned with wonderment and regarded the bland expanse of wall behind him. He had grinned, and muttered a "thanks" at the wall before making his way down to the Great Hall to await breakfast.

    Now he was surrounded with the throng that had arrived, trickling in as groups of three or five, to crowd the Hall with their noise. He dabbled his spoon in his cereal bowl, poring through the Daily Prophet that the post owl had dropped of for Hermione. Nothing of much interest seemed to be occurring in the Wizarding world outside of Hogwarts: There was to be a sale at Madam Malkin's, Minister Fudge had made an official statement confessing that the Ministry was still unsuccessful in their attempts to locate Voldemort, and the Chudley Cannons had (unfortunately, in Harry's opinion) lost their last match to Puddlemere United (though he was happy for Oliver Wood). He scooped some soggy cornflakes into his mouth and put the paper down with a sigh. He cast his eyes over to the door, waiting for Ron and Hermione. The only people entering were the Ministry guards who were coming in off their shift for breakfast before they went to bed. Harry swirled his spoon through his bowl to capture more cereal. At least Fudge had realized that the threat of Voldemort was serious, even if the only way of showing was to place useless guards at Hogwarts. Harry supposed that if Voldemort really wanted to get someone at the school, he had his ways.

    Like enrolling his servants, perhaps.

    Draco Malfoy was striding into the Hall, taking his usual place at the Slytherin table between Crabbe and Goyle and Aracelis. The girl was looking rather tired, Harry thought. Her typically bright smile was drooping. Her hair was lackluster and her skin looked dull. Her violet eyes were looking down at her plate. Harry coughed with a little embarassment.

    'Staring at her like Ron, you are,' he thought to himself as he picked up the paper again. 'Might think she's a veela for all the attention she gets.' Harry's musings were interrupted by a swish of white only a foot in front of his face. His paper rustled in her wake as Hedwig landed gracefully on the table in front of him. She thrust out her leg, baring a slim tube of parchment tied around it with a dark red ribbon.

    "Remus?" Harry questioned her. The owl's head bobbed. He withdrew the parchment from her leg and pushed the leftover rinds of his bacon to her. She siezed them, and took off again to mill with the other owls around the enchanted ceiling before making off to the Owlery. Harry unfurled the letter, so engrossed in his reading that he failed to notice Ron's arrival at the table.

    "Wondered where you'd got off to so early," the taller boy said as he sat down across from Harry. He stopped and looked at his friend. Despite the fact that Harry hadn't come to bed at all (the noting of which had kept Ron himself up half the night), he looked remarkably alert. He was reading the reply from Remus, his brow furrowed, shaggy hair flopping over the top rims of his glasses. Ron started a little. In that moment, he looked like every picture Ron had ever seen of James Potter. Harry returned from his mail, and grinned at his best friend.

    "Morning. Have a scone." He shoved a plate of blueberry-studded scones in the other boy's direction. Ron obliged, taking one of the top ones and a generous helping of clotted cream. He gestured towards the parchment with his knife.

    "Who's that from?" he asked, deciding he would leave the discussion regarding Harry's late-night activities until Hermione's arrival. Anything that could keep someone out of bed all night after a day full of Potions, Quidditch, and various mental assaults had to be really serious.

    "Lupin," Harry replied, his face breaking into a grin. He pushed the over to Ron. "Read it." Ron complied.

    'Dear Harry,

        I'm glad you wrote, it does seem that something a little more sinister is happening within the school this year. Beware of the Malfoy boy. If his father is instrumental enough to the Dark Lord to warrant his aid in escaping from Azkaban, I'd say it's safe to assume that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has a purpose for the son as well. As for these girls: It's perfectly natural to begin taking more notice in girls at your age, Harry. I've no doubt that you'll be as popular as your father was with the female population in no time. I almost feel obligated to explain the finer points of, well, LIFE to you and all, but I rather hope someone has beat me to the job.

    'In any case, these particular girls might not be the best to pin your hopes on. In fact, I'd steer clear of them unless they seek you out first. And if anything else odd arises about them, don't hesitate to talk to me, or Dumbledore, or anyone. Take care, and be careful!

                Remus J. Lupin'

    "Right," Ron laughed as he handed the parchment back to Harry. "Never going to be able to NOT sound like a teacher, is he?"

    "Probably not," Harry agreed, spreading butter over his second scone of the morning. "I was especially fond of the part about girls. I must say I felt almost insulted!" Harry chortled to himself a little, his friend's face having turned a bit more serious.

    "He did seem to take it lightly. Did you not tell him everything?" Ron asked.

    "I told him all we knew then. The... thing in History of Magic happened the day I sent it. I just told him about the mandrakes and the Revelarum spell."

    "Even so," Ron continued, "I would have thought he'd be a bit more concerned. After all, that sort of thing isn't TYPICAL to girls, is it?" Harry shrugged.

    "It almost seems like EVERYONE is taking it a bit lightly, you know? As if there's something more going on about it. I just wish I knew what." He stabbed at his sausage violently with a fork. "Where's Hermione?" he inquired, glad to change the subject. Ron gave him a slant-eyed look, sending his friend the message that he wasn't satisfied with letting the subject drop, but he'd play along.

    "Upstairs, I think. She was studying like mad in the common room when I came down, and-" But his exclamation was interrupted by the arrival of the bushy-haired subject in question.

    "Sorry," she gasped out, lugging her overstuffed bag behind her. She collapsed into a seat next to Harry, grabbed a scone, and unceremoniously stuffed it into her mouth.

    "Hungry, eh?" Ron teased, passing her a glass of pumpkin juice. She stared at him balefully, chewing all the while. She swallowed the bread, and gulped some pumpkin juice before replying.

    "Just in a hurry, really. I've got to get into the library before class. I need to finish looking up the other two charms we're going to cast on Harry's broom before tomorrow."

    "Tomorrow?" the boys chorused together, confused. Hermione rolled her eyes.

    "Honestly, don't you two EVER read? Even when it has something to do with Quidditch? Plain as day on the board in the common room, Madam Hooch has decided to hold scrimmages on Saturday, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw versus Slytherin." Harry's fork clattered to the tabletop as he groaned.

    "We're nowhere near ready," he complained.

    "Isn't it a bit early to begin play? They usually don't start for another month or so, do they?" Ron asked no one in particular.

    "Apparently Gryffindor isn't the only team with a lot of new members this year, so Madam Hooch thought it would be good practice to let the teams try a little actual play before the games for the cup begin. But that isn't important right now, what IS important is that we get Harry ready to fly." she said forcefully.

    "I don't see that it'll make that much of a difference, Hermione," Harry argued. "Every time something's happened, it's been to ME, not something of mine. I'm much easier to sabotage," he explained somewhat sardonically.

    "We shouldn't take any chances!" she cried.

    "And we won't," Ron agreed, "although I do think Harry's right on this one."

    "Well, regardless of that," Hermione went on, a bit miffed, "I've got another idea. I've been doing a lot of research about the entity theory, and it's the closest thing I could find with what we know."

    "Why does that sound like the beginning of a plan?" Ron asked piteously. Harry stifled a laugh. Hermione glared.

    "Because it is. We need more information about them."

    "Well, if they aren't solid, we can't exactly Polyjuice our way into things, so what did you have in mind?"

    "A little shadowing. With Harry's Invisibility cloak."

    "We can't all fit under it anymore, you know," Ron pointed out. "Who's going to do it?"

    "We'll take it in turns," she replied, looking frantically over her shoulder. The crowd in the Great Hall had begun to disperse somewhat. "I'd better get to the library." She took another hurried gulp of pumpkin juice and headed to the door.

    "I s'pose we ought to be getting to Divination, eh Harry?" Ron suggested, standing and putting the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

    "Right," Harry agreed, "but we're in classroom 11 today, remember? With Firenze." Ron breathed an audible sigh of relief.

    "Wonderful. That bloody red light of Trelawney's would have set me to sleep for certain today!" he exclaimed as they left the echoes and white noise of the Hall behind them.

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    The candles guttered in the dank air surrounding the sisters in their strange cabbalistic circle.

    "At least you managed to save him."

    "I tried," Aracelis responded. "They were heavy." Muirgen giggled.

    "Now what?" she asked. Aedain sighed heavily.

    "Saturday ought to afford a perfect opportunity. They're so vulnerable when they're flying."

    "His friends, though. They KNOW," Aracelis spat out, her eyes flashing somewhat malevolently.

    "They know nothing. The only thing that can shield him from us is something that only he can do. You know that."

    "But they might make things difficult," she whined to her sister. Aedain sighed again.

    "Hinder them if you must. But only as much as is necessary, it's more than it's worth to arouse suspicion with those damned wizard guards hounding every step taken out of doors. Be careful."

    "I will be," the violet-eyed girl purred. "Perhaps I'll let someone else do it for me."

    "My dear, this is not a good time to delegate authority. There is far too much at stake!" Aedain's sharp tone sent her sister into a sullen silence. Muirgen looked at them both with wide, frightened eyes, and timidly put her hand over the sputtering flame of the candle that squatted like a waxy toad in the center of their circle.

    "I'll do it," she volunteered softly.

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    "Welcome to you all again," Firenze greeted his class solemnly as they stepped timidly into the transformed classroom 11. As it had been last year, the room had been changed into a green, sun-dappled wood. Firenze stood under two of the larger hemlock trees, his palamino body caught golden in the sunlight. One of his front feet pawed the earth impatiently as the students trickled slowly through the door that seemed to be standing free in the clearing and seated themselves on tussocks of grass and small boulders. Ron and Harry trailed in behind Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, both of whom were wearing smug sort of expressions. Harry smiled a little to himself, remembering how Firenze had shaken their faith in Professor Trelawney with his last lesson. He plonked down in a shady spot, closely followed by Ron, and pulled out his copy of 'Unfogging the Future.'

    The whole class finally arrayed beneath the trees, Firenze began to pace a little. He centered his gaze on Harry, and smiled, albeit briefly. Then he turned to Parvati.

    "What did Professor Trelawney discuss in your first class with her?" he asked.

    "We reviewed crystal-gazing," Parvati replied somewhat breathlessly (It appeared she was one of the many girls in the class that found Firenze handsome, horsey hindquarters or no). "And she told us to read the chapter on tarot for next time."

    "I see. Well, I suppose we can discuss a little of the tarot today. I do not wish our paths to diverge completely, as I'm sure it would prove more a hindrance than a help to our students." With this, Firenze seemed to smirk a little. Ron smirked as well. "But you will find, as I'm sure you remember well enough, that our methods of teaching differ considerably."

    "Thank goodness," Ron muttered not-so-under his breath, earning him black looks from Lavender and Parvati.

    "You were to have studied the tarot a little, yes?" Firenze asked the class. Most nodded, some more than a little sheepishly. "Then you will be able to tell me a few things, will you not? For instance, who can tell me how the tarot is divided?" To Harry's ultimate surprise, Ron raised his hand. Firenze nodded at him.

    "The Major Arcana and the Minor Arcana."

    "Good. Today, I think we shall start with a discussion of some of the basic meanings of the more important cards." Harry became somewhat lost to Firenze's words as he poked Ron in the ribs.

    "You mean to tell me that you actually READ the chapter?" he asked in disbelief. Ron reddened.

    "Well, yeah. A bit. Just for background. It's actually pretty interesting. It's like this whole convoluted story. Just listen." Ron poked Harry and simultaneously pointed to Firenze, who had procured a deck of tarot cards and was quizzing the class on some of their meanings.

    "Mr. Thomas, what is this card?" Firenze was holding up a worn rectangular card bearing an illuminated drawing of a jolly-faced young man in a motley uniform, particolour tights, and a cap adorned with bells. The man was carrying a pack, and had a little dog frisking about his heels. Blithe though he was, he seemed to be heading for the edge of a cliff. Dean, at whom the question was directed, was riffling through the pages of 'Unfogging the Future' in a frantic manner.

    "Um, er, the Fool?" he answered timidly. Firenze nodded, and Dean sighed his relief. Firenze began to expound on the card itself, and Harry noticed strange things happening in the wood behind him. The figure from the card, with his little dog, seemed to be larking about in the trees. Harry watched, transfixed, as Firenze spoke.

    "The Fool is the card most often associated with the Querent. In its original form, the Fool is the beginning of a new journey, the pack on his back signifying all the things he may need on the path ahead, and thus his preparedness and promise. But he seems to disregard the dangers, like the cliff's edge. And next he meets..."

    The story continued, and Harry and the rest of the class watched in awe as each character appeared in the woods as Firenze drew the cards from the deck, and the story was played out before them on the stage of Firenze's solemn, steady voice. The Magician, conjuring the possibly futures from the Fool's pack, the High Priestess who helps him find his own way, the Empress who bids him take care building his future, and the Emperor who inspires him to lead.

    They had just been told the story of the Lovers, which had most of the girls in the class giggling like mad, when the chimes to dismiss sounded in the dreamy wood. The tarot-figures gamboling beneath the trees vanished, and Firenze's voice lost its sleepy storytelling quality.

    "I'll see you next Friday. And if you haven't read the passages on the Major Arcana, do." He bade them, and cantered back into the darker parts of his private forest.

    "Didn't I tell you it was interesting?" Ron crowed.

    "Did you see them? In the trees?" Harry asked, grinning. He was already flipping through his book, eager to find the place they'd left off.

    "Wicked, wasn't it? I didn't know centaurs could do magic like that," Ron said, a little awed.

    "I don't think they can," Harry replied, brow furrowed as he tried to read and talk at the same time. "I think it's more like the room sort of follows along and helps him out, or something."

    "Well, whatever it is, it's quite something," Ron affirmed.

    Herbology passed quickly enough, though both Ron and Harry were surprised to note Hermione's absence. They were soon obliged to forget it, however, as they struggled to unwind the new shoots of the Coiling Creepers from around the parent plants, that were being choked by their offspring. Tired, hot and sweaty, the boys made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. Hermione was not there.

    "She can't have gotten sick. She was fine this morning, wasn't she?" Ron asked.

    "She didn't look ill. She'd mentioned putting those Charms on my broom, so maybe she's in the library," Harry suggested.

    "But she'd got the charms, hadn't she?"

    "She mentioned we didn't have everything we needed. I s'pose there's some sort of stone or something she'd have to borrow, and who knows how she'd be able to lay hands on it without anyone finding out." Harry stopped, his spoonful of tomato soup paused in midair. He raised his stricken eyes to Ron.

    "What if she got caught?" Ron stopped chewing and looked at Harry, equally stricken, for a moment. Then it passed and his face took on a look of disbelief.

    "Caught doing what?" he scoffed. "You know Hermione wouldn't go off breaking a bunch of school rules without even telling us... would she?" The uncertainty had crept back into his face, along with a note of worry. Harry shrugged, uneasy.

    "I dunno. I wouldn't think so, but-"

    "Potter. Weasley." Professor McGonagall stood over them, her hands on Ron's shoulders. "I think you'd better come with me."

    Ron and Harry left the Gryffindor table, aware of the many curious stares that followed them from the Great Hall. They followed Professor McGonagall through the corridors, until they reached the hospital wing. Harry's stomach sank. She led them in, to one of the many white-covered beds within. On it lay Hermione, who appeared unhurt but unconscious.

    "What happened?" Harry cried, as Ron sat on the side of the bed in a daze. "Has she been hurt?" McGonagall shook her head.

    "Not hurt. Just put out of commission, as they say. She's been hit with a very strong Sleeping Hex, and Madam Pomfrey hasn't found the antidote just yet. Professor Snape is still searching his stores for anything that might help." At this moment, Hermione let out a small snore.

    "So she's never going to wake up, then?" Ron asked somewhat hysterically. He began pumping Hermione's lifeless hand, bringing it up and down upon the coverlet. "Come on, Hermione! Wake up!"

    "Calm down, Mr. Weasley!! Of course she's going to wake up! It will just take awhile to determine exactly what caused her condition before we can take the appropriate steps to remedy it. Madam Pomfrey has sent for an expert mediwizard from St. Mungo's regarding the situation, but I must inform you that it may be several days before a treatment is found. So please try to remain calm." She fixed Ron with one of her most severe stares. "And I will also be counting on you two to keep detailed notes in the classes you share with Miss Granger... no doubt she'll want them quite desperately when she awakens." Professor McGonagall patted Hermione's hand, and turned to leave. Harry turned quickly.

    "Professor," he asked, "who did this?" He looked unwaveringly into McGonagall's eyes, almost daring her to answer him. She sighed. Was there a look of regret in those eyes... a look of complicity?

    "We don't know, Potter. The headmaster is doing all he can. She was found asleep in the girl's bathroom outside her first class. But rest assured, whoever is found to be responsible will be dealt with quite harshly."

    Ron turned back to look at Hermione, still holding her hand. She let out another snore, much louder than the first. Harry looked at them for a long moment, then turned back to face the door. He was sure McGonagall would have gone by then, but she was still poised in the doorway, gesturing at him to come closer. Quizzically, he walked over to her.

    "Potter," she whispered, "how are you getting on with that reading I gave you?" She fixed him with a stare even more rigid than the one with which she'd pinned Ron.

    "Alright, I suppose," he answered uneasily. "I've been practicing." He offered this in a voice so small it almost sounded like a question. Professor McGonagall's face instantly broke into a look of relief.

    "Good, good," she said. "Well, then, keep at it, Potter. And good luck in the match today. I believe we drew Hufflepuff this morning." And with that, she turned on her heel and strode down the corridor. Harry stared after her, more than a little confused. She'd never said outright that the Occlumency book was a secret, but she was certainly being furtive about her inquiries. He sighed, and turned back to Ron.

    "We'd better get going," he prodded his friend. "We're going to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

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