Harry Potter and the Sixth Year

They got their timetables at breakfast the next morning. Most of the other Gryffindor sixth years were doing the new Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Hermione had twisted a few arms to get them to do the Intelligent Magical Creatures course. Neville and Dean were the only ones still to be doing Herbology, and Neville had also signed up for Potions, but with a heavy heart.

“I need it though,” he said. “I mean, think of all the potions that come from plants.”

“It means another two years more with Snape,” said Ron darkly.

“I know that. Think he’ll be any better this year?”

“Snape?” said Ron with a derisive laugh.

“At least no Crabbe and Goyle.”

“And Malfoy will keep his head down if he knows what’s good for him.”

“So what do we have first this morning?”

“Intelligent Magic Creatures,” said Hermione.

Ron looked at her suspiciously. “I hope this is going to be worthwhile.”

“Remember Umbridge?” she said sweetly.

“Yeah. Why? What’s she got to do with it?”

“Why did she hate Hagrid? And the centaurs?”

“Well … because they were ‘half breeds’.”

“That’s right. Just like Malfoy hating me for having Muggle parents. Dumbledore’s laid on this course because the likes of Umbridge think wizards are superior. Like Malfoy thinks ‘purebloods’ are superior.”

Reminders of Umbridge and Malfoy silenced Ron for the moment.

“OK then,” he said finally.

“Just keep an open mind, will you?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Well, we’d better go and get our things, hadn’t we?”

The new teacher’s room was along a first floor corridor. The room was locked, so they had to wait outside.

“No Slytherins,” observed Harry.

“I don’t think this course would be their cup of tea,” Hermione remarked.

Then Professor Wynne appeared from round a corner, and they all moved away from the door so he could unlock it.

“Alohamora,” he muttered.

Harry raised an eyebrow to Hermione. “Why didn’t you think of that?”

“Because it was probably locked for a good reason,” she answered, never being one to break the rules – well, not unless she had to.

They filed in after Wynne, Hermione immediately taking a seat in the front row, as did Neville. As a compromise, Ron and Harry sat one row back.

When everyone was settled, Wynne looked them over.

“Good morning,” he began. “I’m aware that this is a course which hasn’t been taught at Hogwarts before. However, Professor Dumbledore thought it was time that the older students were given a wider perspective on the wizarding world and the creatures that inhabit it.

“So. Our starting point is, obviously, what does it mean to be ‘intelligent’?”

There was silence, apart from Ron’s mutter of ‘Not me.’ Unfortunately, he was a little too audible.

“Perhaps not, Mr …?”

“Weasley,” said Ron, his ears going pink.

“Ah, yes. What makes you think you aren’t intelligent?”

Ron went redder. “It was just a joke,” he mumbled.

“Ah, a joke?” A pause. Ron, if possible, went redder still. “Actually, Mr Weasley, the ability to make a joke does show some signs of intelligence. In the more general sense, that is.” Another pause. “Even a joke as feeble as that.”

Ron slumped yet lower into his seat.

“Leaving that aside, intelligence – you, sir?” pointing. “Who are you?”

“Seamus Finnegan, sir.”

“Mr Finnegan. What is intelligence?”

“Er … the ability to think?”

“What do you need to think?”

“A brain?”

“Dogs have brains. Do dogs think?”

“Mine does, sir,” chimed in Parvati.

There was brief laughter as the tension was broken.

“Ah, Miss …?”

“Patil, sir.”

“Miss Patil. Does your dog think like you do?”

Parvati wasn’t sure whether this was an insult or not. “Er …”

“Can it plan ahead?”

She screwed up her face. “Not really, sir.”

“What else might we describe as intelligent behaviour? Yes, Miss Granger?”

Hermione’s hand had been up for the past five minutes. Ron and Harry exchanged looks – how had he known her name?

“The ability to communicate on an abstract level.”

“Chapter 3, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, sir.”

Professor Wynne turned to the rest of the class. “Miss Granger has stolen a march on the rest of you by reading a book that has never been published.”

“And all the ones that have been,” mumbled Ron.

Wynne’s eye rested on Ron again, and this time he sat bolt upright, trying to look as angelic as he could. This was not a great success.

“Reading, Mr Weasley, is not everything.” Hermione looked almost offended at this point. “But you are proof that, without it, you have to try that much harder. If you wish to draw attention to yourself again, please try and make sure that your comments are more helpful.”

Harry grinned. Ron slumped down again.

“Right, then, Mr …?” said Wynne, pointing again.

“Longbottom, sir.”

“Mr. Longbottom. What do you think Miss Granger meant?”

“Er …”

“Tell him again, Miss Granger.”

“The ability to communicate on an abstract level.”

“What do you think that means?”

A long pause. Then: “What we are doing now?”

Professor Wynne looked impressed. “Very good, Longbottom. Very good indeed.”

At the end of the lesson, Ron leaned back in his seat and blew out a long slow breath. “Wow. What was that all about?”

“Don’t mess with Hermione’s friends,” said Harry with a grin.

And indeed Hermione was up at the teacher’s desk, absorbed in a deep conversation with Professor Wynne.

“Let’s get out of here. What’s next?”

“Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

Ron looked relieved. “Wow. At last something I can cope with.”

“You hope!”

“What do you mean?” said Ron, indignant.

“You’ll be up against real competition with an Auror taking the class.”

“If I can take on Death Eaters and survive,” said Ron with dignity, “I think I can cope with a Hogwarts Sixth Year lesson.”

“Okay, okay.”

Hermione came flurrying down the corridor and joined them. “Well?” she asked.

“Interesting,” said Harry, deliberately noncommittal.

“Interesting??” Hermione burst out indignantly.

“Oh, please, professor, I thought your Chapter 3 on communication at an abstract level absolutely fascinating,” said Ron, mockingly.

Hermione flushed. “Well done, Ron, at least you got the words in the right order.”

“He wasn’t bad,” admitted Ron, “but the homework? ‘Discuss the difference between the abstract and the concrete.’ What is that?”

“A perfectly acceptable essay title,” Hermione said huffily.

“Yeah, right.”

“You probably think concrete comes out of a cement mixer.”

“No, cement does.”

Hermione swung her bag of books at Ron’s head. And being Hermione’s bag, it was very heavy.

“What have you got in there? The collected works of Professor Wynne?”

“Yes,” she said defiantly, “bootleg copies.”

“Hermione,” Ron’s eyes widened melodramatically, “you haven’t been breaking ... rules ... to get those?”

With a noise like “Pchaw!”, she strode off down the corridor. Ron grinned. It was good to get one over Hermione occasionally.

The next class was very different. Kingsley Shacklebolt didn’t need sharpness of tongue to keep order; he dominated the room by his size and shape. Added to this was the knowledge that he was a Ministry Auror. The class fell silent as he surveyed them.

“Welcome,” he said in his deep voice. Then a slight smile: “The one thing I did not expect to become when I joined the Ministry was a teacher. But here I am.

“Now I know many of you have had considerable experience in practicing Defence Against the Dark Arts.” Did his eyes move slightly towards Harry? “However, my job this year is to, shall we say, polish those skills which you might have acquired under somewhat unorthodox circumstances.”

Harry was now convinced there was a flicker of amusement in those dark eyes. He glanced around the room: most of those present had been part of ‘Dumbledore’s Army’, although he was surprised to see three Slytherins sitting in desks near the back. He had seen them around before, but they hadn’t been part of Malfoy’s coterie.

“As you know,” Kingsley went on, “the Dementors have left Azkaban. Dementors are particularly nasty creatures, and we don’t have to try very hard to guess where they might have gone. Dementors were wizards once, you know, wizards who a very long time ago took a certain path – a path of darkness. Their sustenance is men’s happiness. This is all the more dangerous, since without Azkaban they are without their usual means of sustenance – and they will soon become hungry.

“It would be a good idea then to train you in means of warding off Dementors. There is no known spell that will kill them – if they can be said to be alive - or easily disable them, but they can be sent packing. Can’t they, Harry,” suddenly swivelling round.

“Er … yes,” said Harry, knowing what would come next.

“What do you use?”

“A Patronus.”

“Exactly. Not the easiest of things to conjure up. And there are some tricks and hints about the use of a Patronus which you probably haven’t come across. So, today, we start on how to produce a Patronus, and how to make best use of it.”

In some ways it was an easy class for Harry: the others had a lot of catching up to do. But the end Kingsley announced: “Good. You can all produce a basic Patronus. Next time, how to use them to their best effect.”

By lunchtime, it seemed as though they’d been back for a week. Near the end of the meal, Katie came over to Ron and Harry.

“No Quidditch practice tonight, I’m afraid. It’s my fault for not booking the pitch on time. But we’ve got the weekend.”

“Fair enough,” replied Harry.

“We’ve a lot of ground to make up after last term. It’s going to be hard work.”

“We’re up for it,” Ron assured her.

“Good.”

By the end of the afternoon all they wanted to do was slump in the armchairs in Gryffindor common room, even though Double Potions had gone better than they had feared. Even Neville had coped well – the Oblivius potion was largely herb based, and Neville’s knowledge of plants had helped him through without any help from Hermione – and without any points being deducted from Gryffindor by Snape. Indeed, it was Neville’s potion that Snape had bottled for future reference – to the obvious annoyance of Malfoy. Snape had hovered over Neville’s cauldron for a long time, while Neville looked at him with a mixture of defiance and fear.

Finally: “Well, well, well, Mr Longbottom. You’ve got something right at last.” Snape examined it still further. He looked closely at Hermione, then at her cauldron – but her potion hadn’t quite the colour and consistency of Neville’s. He looked at Malfoy’s – but his, too, wasn’t quite right.

“Take it up to the front,” said Snape brusquely. “And bottle it.”

Then he turned on his heel.

“You should have got points for that, Neville,” Hermione said afterwards.

Neville shrugged. “It’s not the points that matter. Particularly with Snape. It’s getting it right that matters.”

Hermione beamed. “Exactly.”

The others were too tired even to care.

“Just as well there’s no Quidditch practice,” said Ron lazily.

“There’s your essay for Professor Wynne,” reminded Hermione.

“Not due until Monday.”

“You could always make a start.”

“What are you going to do – copy out Chapter 3?” Then Ron’s eyes widened. “That’s what you were doing in Flourish and Blotts!”

“What do you mean?”

“When you went off behind the counter like that – getting your bootleg copy of his books!”

“Honestly, Ron.”

“You were, though. Go on. Admit it!”

“Well, I …”

“Thought so!”

“They’re very well researched and thought provoking books. If it wasn’t for Ministry censorship,” and she hissed the last word, “they’d be out on the open shelves for everyone to read.”

“Well, lend us your copy to read.”

“Certainly not! You can do your own homework this year, Ron.”

Ron grinned. “And I suppose you think writing out Chapter 3 is doing your own homework, then?”

For once Hermione was taken aback. “Well, I …” she began, and Ron was grinning even wider. “Well, tomorrow night then. Just for the evening.”

“Done,” said Ron briskly.

“And me the night after,” said Harry.

“So when I am going to use it?”

“One, you’ve read it already,” said Ron. “Two, you could always make a start this evening.”

Hermione went very quiet.

Ron glanced over to Harry. “Well, since we don’t have any Quidditch practice, and since Hermione will be using Professor Wynne’s book to write her essay, why don’t we take a walk and say hello to Hagrid?”

Hermione glared at him. “Pig!”

Harry stood up. “I think your essay will keep an hour or two, Hermione. Come on – let’s take that walk.”

The sun was low in the sky as they walked across the fields, although the evening was still warm. A few figures could be seen flitting on their broomsticks over the Quidditch pitch. Hermione was obviously still smarting a little from her exchange with Ron.

A small swirl of smoke came lazily from the chimney of Hagrid’s cabin. From an open window they could hear the clattering of pots and pans. Harry tapped on Hagrid’s door and after a moment or two it swung open to reveal Hagrid beaming down at them.

“Ah! You three. Wondered when you’d be paying a visit. Come on in, then.”

They settled themselves into chairs while Hagrid bustled around. Harry inspected him covertly, looking for any more of the signs that he’d been dealing with his half brother Grawp, but he seemed clear of the bruises that had so disfigured him last year. Eventually Ron summoned up the courage to ask how his brother was.

Hagrid stopped pouring the tea and beamed at him. “He’s really taken to the Forest now. Spends all day walking round. Getting on quite well with lots of the folk in there.”

“Even the centaurs?” asked Hermione, slightly sceptical.

“Yeah, even the centaurs. Well – I wouldn’t say he’s getting on well with them, but he don’t disturb them and they don’t disturb him.”

“And how are the English lessons going?”

“Good. I mean, well, he’s never going to be what you might call eloquent. But he gets by.” He gave Hermione a sideways look. “I suppose, well, I mean, there’s no chance that …”

“Maybe, Hagrid, maybe. Possibly. Perhaps. But we’d like to take a look at him first – unobserved.”

Hagrid sighed. “Well, can’t say as I blame you. But as I say, he’s getting on grand with some of the folks in there. And that could be useful.”

“How’s that?” asked Ron, who was trying to fend off a slobbering Fang at the same time.

“Well, he tells me things, like. About who he’s met, and who’s around. That sort of thing. Useful having a contact in the Forest in times like this. Creatures in there seem to trust him. P’raps that’s why he likes it so much in the Forest.”

He poured the tea and handed round cups.

Hermione nodded. “He’d be all right in there, won’t he?”

“Grawp? All right? I’d say. He can take care of himself. Don’t worry about Grawp.”

“Professor Wynne says giants are misunderstood – that they’re harmless really.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“Course they are. Talks a lot of sense, that man. Another good man that Dumbledore’s got. Not like …” then he stopped, embarrassed.

“Not like Percy, you mean,” said Ron quietly.

“Now, Ron,” said Hagrid, slightly uneasy.

“It’s all right, Hagrid – we feel the same about him too.”

“But he’s yer brother!”

“I know he is. But he’s more interested in his career at the Ministry than his family.”

“Oh? Then if he’s so interested in his career, what’s he doing teaching at Hogwarts?”

“Fudge’s spy,” Ron told him.

“Oh. Ah. I see. You mean …?”

“I do. So be careful what you say around him.”

Hagrid shuffled awkwardly. “I see.”

“You haven’t been telling him things?” asked Ron in alarm.

“No. Well, not much anyway. Only about that woman …”

“Hem hem,” went Hermione quietly.

“Yeah, her. And what a disaster she was.”

“I don’t think Percy would think so,” Ron remarked.

“No? Then he wants telling.”

“Don’t, Hagrid. It’s not worth it. And you wouldn’t change his mind. Told him anything else?”

“Well … what a good job you lot did last summer.”

“Dumbledore’s Army?”

“Yeah - that sort of thing,” said Hagrid, again looking uneasy.

Ron looked at him. “Harry, tell him about the time in Dumbledore’s study. With Fudge and Umbridge, when we were caught. And Percy.”

Harry looked very uncomfortable. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

So, reluctantly, Harry began telling the story of how Umbridge, Fudge, Percy and the Aurors had confronted him and Dumbledore. Hagrid sat listening, mouth open.

“They never!” he said, as Harry finished.

“Oh yes, they did,” said Ron.

“I knew there was trouble, but I never did find out exactly what went on.”

“And, Harry, tell him about our Apparating licences – at the Ministry.”

“You can tell him that.”

“Oh, no. It would come better from you.”

And so, again, reluctantly, Harry described how he had Apparated in front of Percy, and what had happened.

When he’d finished, Hagrid sat staring silently into the empty fireplace. Finally he turned to Ron: “He’s young. We’re all allowed to make mistakes.”

Ron snorted. “Young? Percy? He was born middle aged.”

Hagrid shook his head. “I dunno. I really don’t. First, You Know Who back. Then Fudge behaving like that. Dementors going over to the Dark Side. And now Percy. What’s happening to the world?”

“I’ll tell you what’s happening,” said Hermione quietly. “It’s not true to say none of this would be happening if it weren’t for Voldemort” - Hagrid winced at the name - “but without him, we could sort out our troubles with a lot less pain.”

“Aye, true enough. But what I want to know is – where is he?” He turned to Harry. “Any clues?”

Harry shook his head. “This portable Voldemort detector doesn’t register anything. No twinges, no dreams.”

“Wherever he is, he’s plotting something.” Hagrid thrust out a huge stubby finger. “And don’t you lot forget that. By good luck and – well, skill – you’ve got away with it up to now. But let some of the others have a go now.”

Harry nodded. But he thought of the prophecy, and what it meant. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave it to others even if he wanted to.

“You’re right. But we’ll have to see what turns up.” It was getting darker outside now. “Come on,” he said to the other two. “Supper. Time we were heading back.”

Hagrid stood by the door as they left. “Remember what I told you, now. Leave it to the others.”

Harry turned and gave a wave of acknowledgment.

It was a silent trio that made its way across the field. Eventually Hermione asked: “Why did you bring up that stuff about Percy?”

“Because he’s a git,” said Ron fiercely. “Because he’s upset Mum and Dad. Because he’s a snitch. And because if Hagrid starts telling him things, they’ll go straight back to the Ministry.”

“Oh.” Hermione was a bit taken aback by Ron’s vehemence.

As they walked into the Entrance Hall they could see Professor McGonagall going up the stairs. As she saw them come in, she turned back and headed towards them.

“Ah, just the three I want to see. Come with me, please.”

Exchanging glances, they followed the Professor to her study. They followed her in, and she turned round and surveyed the three of them.

“No, you’re not in trouble – not yet, at any rate,” she began. “But, as you all know, Neville’s mother died yesterday. Her funeral will be on Saturday, and Neville has asked me if the three of you can go – if you would like to, that is.”

They were all completely taken aback. Eventually Hermione said: “I’d like to go.”

“Me too,” said Ron, and Harry in his turn nodded his agreement.

“Very well. And can I say thank you to the three of you for supporting Neville at a time like this?”

“I can understand what it’s like,” said Harry quietly.

“Of course.” Hermione and Ron nodded. “Very well. Thank you again for being so thoughtful. You may go now.”

An invitation to a funeral was not something that uplifted the spirits. They walked back to the common room in silence. It was not until they were nearing the Fat Lady’s portrait that Ron smacked his head.

“Saturday. Quidditch practice!”

“You’re not going to practice Quidditch instead of going to the funeral, are you?” said Hermione furiously.

“No – it’s just the thought of what Katie is going to do to us. Golden Snitch!” he said to the Fat Lady, who smiled at him before opening the doorway. Since Katie had become Head Girl, all passwords had something to do with Quidditch in one way or another.

The first thing Ron did on entering the Common Room was to look round for Katie. She was sitting in a chair near the fireplace, reading her Potions textbook. Ron looked around to Harry for moral support, and the two of them approached her gingerly.

“Um, Katie?” Ron asked.

She looked at the pair of them suspiciously. “Yes?”

“We’ve been asked to go to Neville’s mum’s funeral.”

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t this. She was thrown completely by Ron’s statement, and gaped up at them, not quite sure what to say. “Really?”

“Yeah. Well, the thing is, it’s on Saturday.”

“Oh?” Then the implications sank in. For a moment she looked furious, then resigned. “Ok. I can hardly say no to that, can I?”

“Sorry.”

“Can’t be helped. It’s nice you’re going – well, you know what I mean. To have some Gryffindors there. We can have our practice on Sunday.”

“Right,” said Ron, relieved that Katie hadn’t blown her top.