Heroic Perversions

Chapter 2

A Deadly Assignment

The morning of the first day of school was as usual characterized by hasty preparations, stationery suddenly gone missing and a peculiar whim of time to trot by more briskly than it ever would in the remainder of the year. Such was how one could see the world turning against one in a time one needed betrayal least: seconds before a Potions class.

"I'm afraid this year you'll have to abandon your persistent laziness at the door if you wish to make it to my NEWTs class."

Snape was in the middle of a decree when Harry and Ron skidded into the class, their bags slinging around the corner a second later. Snape and the rest of the class watched the flustered pair make a strict beeline for their seats. When the deafening scrapings of their chairs fell and they had taken out their stationery, Hermione looked away and seemed embarrassed to be sitting near them, let alone called their friend.

"And I see we're finally graced by the presence of Mr Potter and Mr Weasley. Aren't we lucky," drawled Snape. He drilled his cold, dark pits into Harry, who held them without fail as he blindly arranged his things on the table and flipped his book onto the wrong page. "Detention, the both of you. Seven o'clock. In this classroom."

The Slytherins cackled. Hermione closed her eyes.

"You had just run into a warning I was giving to the class that I should perhaps reiterate for your benefit - or perhaps for the both of you, given your timely arrival, it's a lost cause," said Snape. The noises of amusement from the Slytherins subsided. "OWLs are one of the most crucial examinations you will ever write. I do hope, Mr Potter and Mr Weasley, that your tardiness is indicative of how serious you are to surviving this course - I might then have to deal with a class of few imbeciles, a mercy I have scarcely enjoyed at Hogwarts."

Something told Harry Snape was choosing his diction quite deliberately and at the same time giving fair warning of what was to come inside his classroom. Why could he not have said "passed this course," not "surviving this course"? And though Snape had referred to both Harry and Ron, he stared resolutely at Harry again, his eyes, as usual, looking deadened and depthless. Snape slowly unfixed his gaze and turned it away onto the rest of the class.

"Your first assignment begins today... I beg your pardon. Do I hear an objection?" he asked with that murderously silky voice he sometimes used. There had been a surge of pained groans and incredulous mutters, loudest of which came from the Slytherins, who were no doubt outraged that Snape was dishing out assignments on the first day of term. Harry noticed Malfoy turning his face away from Snape and folding his arms in dissension. But the classroom felt quiet quite soon afterward.

"I did not think so," said Snape. He let the silence stretch for a moment, relishing it as evinced by his slow and indulgent intake of breath a moment later before he continued briskly, "So. You will compile for Monday the twenty-fifth, a twelve-page--" There was another wave of cautious but no less fuming murmurs. "--assignment on the Draught of Living Death, which you will thereafter make in class..."

"Draught of Living Death?" whispered Hermione in outrage. "That's a sixth-year spell! He's not allowed to teach it so early! We don't have the--we can't brew such a complex potion yet!"

"The definition of a bastard in my books," grumbled Ron. He then whispered back, "And aren't you supposed to be happy we're now going to be learning ahead of the lessons?"

Hermione grew even redder in indignation. "But that's mental! We can't do all that in three weeks!" She was beyond outraged now; she was frowning at Snape as though she thought him finally unhinged. Snape did have an unusually satisfied twist to his sullen features.

"I should warn you," Snape went on, "that Draught of Living Death is second only to Veritaserum in terms of volume of literature written upon it; you will have to scour through a considerable amount of information to come up with an essay worthy of a pass mark. I should also warn you that this assignment carries ten percent of your final year mark."

"Ah. Phew," sighed Ron, wiping his brow and scoffing. "He made it out to be something like an exam. Nearly had me for a sec there."

"I'm not even going to bother explaining it to you, Ronald," sighed Hermione, who in contrast looked sick.

"Miss Patil and Miss Lavender, I hope you're not busying yourselves with work from other teachers, or dare I say non-academic work at all." There was a swift noise of crushed parchment. "You may take out your textbooks," Snape ordered. "The instructions and criteria for the assignment are on the board." As Snape said this he waved his wand, whereupon his spidery scrawl appeared on the board, and headed for the door to his study with a lazily tossed instruction to the class to begin.

At the end of the period Hermione was fretting so much about the assignment that she seemed determined to keep a bad temper. It had been torture for Ron and Harry to familiarize themselves with new utensils and ingredients while Hermione reliably exploded at their slightest mispronunciation of a word.

"Congratulations! On the first day you managed to get detentions!" said Hermione with a false lilt in her voice, stomping up the corridor. "That must be a record, even for you two."

"That bogey-eating prick!" Ron howled. "Can you believe him?"

"He was being rather lenient, if you ask--!" shot Hermione.

"I wasn't. Harry, d'you believe the git?" fumed Ron, turning to someone who could match his indignation.

"Can't have expected anything else on his fine first day of school, I guess," growled Harry as satisfying images of Snape howling in pain flashed through his mind.

Most depressingly they met similar pieces of advices to that of Snape about their OWLs in their following classes.

What was also unusual but far more baffling was the increasingly common sight of Malfoy surrounded by a pack of Slytherins competing for his attention and his handshake. Harry, Ron and Hermione, as well as every other student at Hogwarts observed, as the week stretched on, that Malfoy was a hot topic amongst the Slytherins for some bizarre reason. Given that it this new adulation for Malfoy had been visible from the first day, whatever had caused it, whatever had the Slytherins lapping up Malfoy's every word and gesture, had its origins in the summer. What is what, Harry simply could not fathom. He was certain of only one thing: there was a yawning chasm of difference in how they treated Malfoy from the previous year to now.

"Okay, what on earth is he so smug about?" said Hermione in a voice of genuine curiosity. She evidently could spot Malfoy's smirk as far as the other end of the corridor. Malfoy with his groupies were coming towards them. When they drew near enough to make out Harry's, Ron's and Hermione's figures the corridor bulged with their jeering laughter. Malfoy was smirking the hugest smirk Harry had ever seen him smirk: Malfoy had never looked more proud of himself. It physically sickened Harry.

"Let's see how that Potter runt likes it, Draco," one Slytherin spat as the gang swivelled past them, leering at Harry as they went past. The Slytherin who had spoken had an unbearably indulgent and harsh laughter that made Harry's skin crawl.

"You'll have it in no time, Draco!" praised another Slytherin as he stroked Malfoy's back.

"Fuck that, you'll be his favourite!" another declared.

Their rambling voices barely quieted as they moved further away. It was quite strange to see how Malfoy, one of the slightest and shortest of them all, commanded their fixation like a towering hero and had them so desperate to agree to anything he said.

"What makes him a Lockhart all of a sudden?" said Ron. "It's not like he got a Quidditch contract or something... did he?"

"I doubt it," snorted Harry. "Even Filch could run circles around him. If he's signed it's probably with the Chudley Cannons." His brain had not been able to catch up to his tongue, and he realized he had just slighted the Chudley Cannons and by extension Ron. He put up a valiant effort to avoid the redhead's eye as Ron was doing all he could to catch his and swear into him with simply the expression on his face. Harry struck up a breezy conversation with Hermione and in an unsuccessfully natural manner switched flanks so that she walked between him and Ron.

By dinner Ron had forgotten about it (Harry had relinquished some of his Dumbledore Chocolate Frogs, of which he had an excess anyway). After serving Snape's detention for an hour, he and Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower in sour moods which Hermione did not improve when she foiled their attempt to escape homework. She pulled out her trusty trump card: an ultimatum that she would not help them academically in the future if they did not buckle down. Given that they were to write their OWLs that year, Harry and Ron decided against sacrificing Hermione's assistance for sleep. As a result they only managed to trudge up the stairs literally at the eleventh hour, finger bones achy from pushing their homework and furtively doodling. They said goodnight to each before they dragged their curtains across their beds. Harry threw off his continental pillow and sunk into his bed, sighing deep into the sheets.

***

Two figures stood at a corner of a room cast in partial darkness. A fireplace cackled softly from the other end, throwing its dull, orange glow on a low coffee table carved with a double 'M' insignia. One of the figures stood with his hands behind his back. The sweep of his robes and his flowing, silvery hair which curved over the slope of his shoulders defined his pointy profile all the more. The other figure standing on the other side of the room paced back and forth before a window, upon which midnight darkness pressed. A wand twirled in his ghostly pale hands, the features of his face indistinguishable except for the scarlet glow of his eyes.

"Your son, Lucius," said Voldemort, "looked startled at the gathering."

"My Lord, it was his first time ever to be graced by your presence."

"Is that all? You think he was shaken by the sight of me?"

"M--My Lord, of course not that--"

"Did he think I was hideous to behold?"

"He wouldn't dare! He didn't!"

"Are you confident in his conviction, Lucius?"

"I'm certain of it, yes, My Lord."

"Good," Voldemort hissed quietly, fingering the wand in his hands. "It's the kindest punishment I could put to you, Lucius. You know this."

"My Lord."

"I held that diary dear to me. It was worth six of your son's lives. You must only suffer for its loss, which, worse still, was for your own gain. If luck favours you, there's nothing to worry about... Do you fear death, Lucius?"

"My Lord?" Lucius gulped.

"Death. Do you fear it?"

It was several moments before Lucius could speak again.

"Yes. Yes, My Lord. I fear it very deeply."

"So did I."

Lucius' throat was working hard as he eyed the revolving wand in Voldemort's hands intently. He wiped a strip of sweat off the top of his lip.

"You may leave."

"My Lord." Lucius nearly stumbled with relief to the door.

***

Harry tightened his Invisibility Cloak around him, using it as a blanket against the midnight chill as he traipsed about the corridors. He thought much at these times.

He was used to the startling visions from Voldemort. In fact, they had come more frequently and felt realer than ever before. The period immediately following Voldemort's resurrection, when Voldemort had begun to settle and organize his affairs, had been exceptionally painful for Harry: his scar had flared in step with Voldemort's fury. He felt that steady pulse of controlled intent before a kill and felt that rush of strict exhilaration when Voldemort eventually unleashed his fury.

"Then something definitely happened in the summer," concluded Hermione when he told her and Ron about the vision at the back of the library a few hours later. "What were his exact words? Can you remember?"

"It's fuzzy like always. But I remember it clearest just before Malfoy's father turned his back and left the room when I--when he got really like excited--No, that's not the word... My heart - I mean his heart--whatever. It leapt in my chest like I was happy or like when you pull off just before you hit the ground on your broom, yeah, Ron? Voldemort nearly killed him. He had been going on about something he missed or lost or something..."

"Harry, please try to remember clearly!" begged Hermione. This had been the pattern of their conversation ever since they entered the library and started it. When Harry's words obfuscated any meaning whatsoever Hermione would nudge him to make him try to remember more clearly. She did it delicately, for she did not want him to lose his temper, as he in the day following the visions was usually sullen and cantankerous, not least because he had had little sleep. And Harry did not particularly enjoy recanting and therefore reliving his dreams.

Three tables away Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were in deep discussion about something. Yet another piece of parchment lay between them on which they made an occasional correction or drew an arrow leading to a bunch of more words.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Something about... about... a diary! He was talking about the diary that I destroyed in second year! That must be it! He was talking about Lucius deserving his punishment for losing it."

"Harry, you've got to tell Dumbledore," declared Hermione. She always ended up saying these words anyway; Harry did not know why he bothered. He wrestled with the imperative. One part of him still felt abashed about always childishly running to Dumbledore to tell him about a mere dream. Yet another part of him knew that his dreams were anything but mere.

"He's probably too busy, Hermione," Harry countered nonchalantly. "You heard what he said on the first day back. He's got bigger things to worry about than a meeting between Voldemort and Malfoy's father. Anyway, speaking of visions, I need a potion or two to stop seeing double. Does that Wheelock bloke Ginny used to ramble on about seem more around these days? But he's always dodging behind some corner or looking jumpy if I ever spot him."

Hermione gave him a frown that told him she was diagnosing him quietly in her head.

"I think you need to start seeing Madam Pomfrey more often. We should enquire if St. Mungo's have some kind of magical psychologists on standby."

The funny thing to Harry was that Hermione was completely serious about this.

After spending their lunch in the midst of dusty books they headed off for Care of Magical Creatures. They stayed behind after the lesson to console Hagrid after Malfoy had done what he did best, taking every chance to ridicule Hagrid's efforts at teaching. He was even more biting than ever, if it were possible. They met him again in Herbology but fortunately they were dealing with creatures which had less of a liking for sedate conversation than intense and limb-threatening physical activity wrestling their tentacles and smashing their pods recovered from their mouths, depriving Malfoy of any time or breath to give his tongue reign.

Some hours later they were working in front of the fireplace completing Professor McGonagall's homework.

"I reckon his father bought the whole Slytherin team Sindaras like second year all over again," Ron conjectured. "That has to be why they're all over him. I know I would've gone on my knees for one."

Harry had a feeling Hermione wanted to talk about his vision further. Fortunately Seamus had other ideas. "On your knees?" enquired the orange-haired boy, raising an eyebrow. Harry caught his eye and looked away.

"For a Nimbus Sindara? Sure yeah," replied Ron, but then cried, "Not like that, no! Seamus!" Seamus chuckled - his most genuine-sounding chuckle yet. "Get your head out the gutter, mate! Merlin..." Ron shivered and pulled weird faces. "Eurgh... Imagine knobbing Malfoy, Harry. I'd rather die, I'm sorry. Take my chances with the Dementors. Maybe it'll have a change of heart halfway through Kissing me and leave me with a little something to live on."

"Changing the subject," Dean urged. His eyes wandered over to Ginny, who was doing her homework with a few friends.

Harry glanced at his wristwatch and made a great show of yawning. He had to repeat this several implausible times before Ron caught on and broke out into loud gestures of exhaustion. Hermione put a hand to her mouth and stretched, but her eyes were far from cloudy as they darted observantly between the faces of her House-mates.

"I'm getting really drowsy," Hermione declared in a disparately crisp and clipped yawn, the odd ring of which was lost on the others as they gave murmurs of agreement.

Dean threw his quill down. "Fuck it. This woman doesn't know what she wants," he bleated. It was a gesture of defeat which became infectious to Seamus, who nodded in agreement and started packing up. Neville's nose was still stuck in a book, however, as he traced his finger on some print, a quill still ready in his hand.

"Neville, aren't you feeling tired?" Hermione demanded as though trying to make Neville feel exhausted by the sheer force of sound waves.

Neville's eyes grew owlish again. "Professor McGonagall wants my essay perfect, Hermione. She said I could pass if I tried."

Hermione's nostrils flared as her annoyance gave its final thrashes and her eyebrows arched: she was torn between annoyance and sympathy. Harry bolstered her with a concentrated dose of puppy eyes, which made Hermione's mouth twist as though she had tasted a pepper-flavoured Every Flavour Bean.

"Oh bring it here, Neville, I'll do it for you!" Hermione burst out.

"Sorry?" Neville said.

"I'll do your homework for you. Just go upstairs and sleep!"

"But I can't ask you to do--"

"Yes you can!" shrieked Hermione wildly. She yanked Neville's things from underneath his nose and Ron marched him up the stairs, assuring him that Hermione would take care of everything.

Hermione sighed woefully as she studied the progress Neville had made. "He's completely hopeless..." Neville's words had touched her so deeply that she had worked on his essay quietly for the better part of an hour while Harry and Ron made idle chatter.

"You'd think they'd be afraid of her," Ron was saying in a reverent tone. "But no, they just packed up and started a bloody joke shop. I swear if mum sees them again I wouldn't like to see the colour of their backsides."

"I bet she'll be happy when the money starts rolling in, though," said Harry.

"Sacrificing their education to open a joke shop is actually their funniest joke I've heard in four years," said Hermione. Harry coughed, 'Wow' while Ron looked as though he had taken a blow to the face. "Actually it's a rather sad joke and it makes no sense whatsoever whichever way you slice it," declared Hermione, looking up at them sternly as though wishing to squash any plans of Harry's and Ron's to follow in the twins' footsteps and foreswear academia. "You'll have the money but you'll also have the intellectual capacity of a Blast-Ended--Sirius!"

The fireplace had surged and spat, and in it Harry could distinguish a familiar face.

"Sirius!" he called, forgetting himself. Ron and Hermione glanced around the common room.

"I have the intellectual capacity of a Blast-Ended Skrewt, do I now?" Sirius chortled. "It's not like you to state the obvious, Hermione."

They had been hard-pushed to find a time when it was empty after trying all week. Hermione had hazarded to risk today since the due date of Snape's essay was nearing alarmingly. Those who had slacked were burning midnight candles in the library. The rest, those who had been more prepared, such as her, were enjoying their sleep right now with the peace of knowing they had done the bulk of the work.

The three of them chatted with Sirius about what was happening at Hogwarts and might be happening out there. Ron and Hermione at some point excused themselves subtly and Harry only realized when he said goodbye to Sirius that they were not around. Such was how elated he felt that he could finally talk to Sirius again. He missed that endearing barking laughter and the warmth that filled his chest when he spent time with his godfather. They had covered everything, even the night Voldemort was reborn, as well as Cedric. Harry was able to say goodbye to Sirius feeling much lighter than before.

But however vast his elation at seeing Sirius was, it did not save him from his nightly terrors.