Harry Potter and the Sixth Year

The Great Hall was swarming and buzzing when they arrived: everyone knew the story, but already wild rumours were spreading. Still in their Quidditch robes, and feeling conspicuous, Ron and Harry pushed their way through the crowd to find Professor McGonagall, who was with Percy.

“That’s everyone now accounted for,” said Percy officiously as they arrived. They ignored him as they reported to McGonagall.

“What I don’t understand,” she said severely, “is what you were doing in the Forest yesterday.”

“Ah,” said Ron, “well, it was like this …”

At the conclusion of his story she sniffed and looked at them. “I would have thought you two would have had more sense.”

Harry felt she was being slightly unfair: they’d gone with Hagrid, and nothing had happened. Perhaps they should have told her about the possibility of Dementors – but it had been only a possibility. And Neville’s expedition had been perfectly legal – he’d had Professor Sprout with him.

“Some rule breaking gone on?” Percy broke in.

Harry could feel Ron about to say something he’d regret, and hastily cut in: “We were in the Forest with a member of the teaching staff.”

“With Hagrid, you mean.”

“Exactly,” said Harry. “With a member of the teaching staff.”

Percy was silenced momentarily.

“As prefects, we’d better be getting back to the Gryffindors,” said Harry guilelessly.

McGonagall gave them a severe look. Finally: “Very well then.”

Hermione and Katie had things fairly well under control. The other members of the team had briefed Hermione, but even so, the sixth years crowded round him.

“Neville’s OK,” he told them, “but Dean’s still missing. So’s Hagrid.”

He fended off more questions by saying over and over again, “I don’t know.” Eventually Hermione pulled him from the scrummage.

“Prefect time,” she said. “Can you go round and see if everyone’s okay?”

“I only seem to stir up more questions,” he told her.

He got a smile in return. “Then go and reassure some of the young ones.”

He looked round, and saw huddles of youngsters, all looking distinctly apprehensive. “Sure.”

He wandered over towards them. A small boy was sitting on a bench by himself, trying to look self-possessed, but Harry could see the fright underneath. He thought he’d better stop and say something.

“Hello. What’s your name?”

“David.”

“You’re new?”

The boy nodded. “What’s this all about? What are Dementors?” He had an accent – Harry was trying to place it. A bit like Seamus – but not quite. Northern Irish?

“You’re not from a wizarding family?”

The boy shook his head. “It was a bit of a surprise for us all when we got the letter like that back in July.”

Harry smiled. “I bet it was. Tell me, did things ever happen to you when you were young – things no one could explain.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Yeah. There was this time – we were out fishing, and the boat turned over, and we all ended up in the water. No life jackets. Then the boat rolled back again, and we climbed back in. But no one could work out how it rolled back over again.”

“You were doing magic without realising it. Same with me.”

“You were from a Muggle family too?” He stumbled over ‘muggle’.

“Yes and no. My parents were wizards. But they died when I was young, and I was brought up by Muggles.”

The boy’s eyes went rounder. “You’re Harry Potter!”

“That’s right.”

David was silent for a moment or two, looking at him – and, inevitably, noting the scar on his forehead. Then he seemed to take a grip on himself, and said: “OK, then, what are Dementors?”

Harry was impressed with the way the boy was coping. “Dementors …” he shuddered for a moment, then regretted it, seeing the effect it was having on David. If Harry Potter was afraid of Dementors … he started again.

“Dementors are particularly nasty creatures. They feed on people’s happiness. That’s how you know they’re around. You remember only the nasty things that happened to you. They used to use them as guards at the wizard prison.” He saw the look on David’s face. “Until a couple of months ago, when they disappeared.”

“Why did they disappear?”

Harry sighed. “A long story. But we think they’ve taken up with an evil wizard – Voldemort.”

“Voldemort?”

“Usually referred to as ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ or ‘You Know Who’. You won’t be popular if you use his name.”

“Why?”

“Because people are terrified of him. And it’s not just wizards and witches he’s after – Muggles are just as much at risk.”

“He’s the one that killed your parents.”

Harry nodded. “That’s right.”

“So what do we do?”

This time Harry smiled. “Trust in Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore?” The boy looked slightly sceptical. “He seems a bit, well …”

“Barmy? Loopy?”

David looked at him cautiously. “Yeah.”

“Underneath that, he’s the best wizard alive. If anyone’s going to bring Voldemort down, it’ll be Dumbledore.” But Harry remembered the prophecy, and felt somewhat guilty as he said this.

David shrugged. “If you say so.”

Harry reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “I do.”

But David was looking at his robes. “What are they?”

“Quidditch robes.”

“Ah.” David’s face cleared a little. “We had our first flying lesson yesterday.”

Harry grinned. “What was it like?”

David’s face creased up. “I don’t know – weird, really. Being up there, flying like that. I almost had to pinch myself, to convince me it was real. Is that your broomstick?” he added.

Harry realised he was still carrying his Firebolt around. “Yeah.”

“Can I look at it?”

“Sure.”

David took it from him, turning it over and over in his hands. “Is it a good one?” he asked finally.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “It was a present.” Then he remembered who had given it to him. David must have seen his face darken.

“What is it?”

“Well …” Harry paused. “The person who gave it to me – he’s dead now.”

“Oh.” David was silent for a moment or two, then: “How?”

“Killed by Death Eaters,” said Harry briefly.

“Death Eaters?”

“Voldemort’s followers,” now unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Oh.” David handed the broom back. Harry wondered if he hadn’t left the boy more worried now than he had been before.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s go and join the others.” He could see another huddle of first years.

David stood up and followed him. The little group saw them coming and turned towards them. Right, Harry. Take their minds off things.

“Hi,” he said, with as bright as smile as he could muster. “I’m Harry Potter.” Again, he saw eyes widen. In the back of his mind he heard that drawling voice: ‘the famous Harry Potter’. Well, he’d come to realise that there was a lot of envy buried in that remark. No one talked about ‘the famous Draco Malfoy’.

“Now you can all introduce yourselves. You see, I missed the Sorting again this year.

“Who are you?” he addressed another small boy.

“Umm … Edward.”

“Right. And you?”

As he talked to them, he registered that the sky was now quite black. And no word from the search. But as he carried on talking to them about Quidditch, there was a sudden commotion at the end of the Hall. Dumbledore was standing there, looking as tired and careworn as Harry had ever seen him. Slowly, the Hall fell silent.

“I am afraid, ladies and gentlemen, that our search for Dean Thomas has had no success.” Harry could see Hagrid in background, which was one small relief. “It is too dark now to continue our search, but we will recommence at first light in the morning.” A small faint smile came to his face. “As one small consolation, this means that the start of the morning’s lessons may be delayed. You are all free until eleven o’clock, at which time I would like you all to assemble back here. However, I must impress on you that you are to be restricted to the castle and the immediate grounds, and if you discover anything remotely strange or unusual, you are to report it immediately. Is that clear?”

The Hall was completely silent.

“In which case, prefects take their houses to their dormitories.”

Another babble broke out. Harry turned to his little group. “Are all you first years here?”

Edward looked round. “Yes.”

“Okay. Come on then.”

Their exit from the Hall was delayed for a moment by Peeves taking his chance to ambush them as they came out, but soon Harry and his party were standing in front of the Fat Lady. “Bludger.” The door opened. “OK, chaps, in we go. And up to your dormitories.”

Too subdued to argue, they headed for their staircase. Then he turned to the others. He felt slightly foolish still in his Quidditch robes.

“Well done with the first years,” said Katie quietly. He shrugged and looked over to Hermione. She was biting her lip, almost in tears. There wasn’t much he could do to re-assure her.

“What now?” asked Ron.

Seamus turned on him almost savagely. “What can we do? What chance has he? First Dementors, then left out in the Forest all night?”

Ron looked shocked. “Yeah, but …”

“Yeah but what?”

“There’s nothing any of us can do, Seamus,” said Hermione quietly.

“We ought to be out there looking for him!”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

He suddenly deflated. “No.”

“I think the best thing we can all do is to try and keep up some sort of front for the new first years, if nothing else. Harry was doing a good job there.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not even sure about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I made matters with one of them by telling him all about Voldemort and the Dementors.”

There was a long silence before Katie came back with: “They’ve got to find out sometime,” in a grim tone of voice.

“I suppose. At least they’ll be that little bit more prepared.”

“Come on,” she said, “there’s not much else we can do tonight except get some sleep. I’m shattered.”

The events had even greater impact as they went into their dormitory: there would be two empty beds there tonight. And Harry didn’t want to imagine how Dean might be spending the night. If he was still alive, of course.

Harry went downstairs at dawn the next morning, to find Hermione already at the window. They could see parties assembling at the edge of the Forest. There was more than just Hogwarts staff: the Ministry must have sent in a team of Aurors. Kingsley’s shape was unmistakeable in the faint rays of the rising sun.

The two of them watched as groups of wizards disappeared into the Forest. Soon Ron had joined them, and slowly the rest of the seniors came down. Some looked as though they hadn’t slept much.

“Come on,” said Katie eventually, breaking the silence, “we’d better make sure all the juniors get down to breakfast.”

Only the four Heads of Houses were on the staff table, and near the end of breakfast, Professor McGonagall stood up and called for silence.

“As you all are aware, most of the staff are still searching the Forest. In addition, a team of Aurors from the Ministry is here to help. There will be no lessons – at least, in the first part of the morning. You are reminded that you are to stay with the castle or the immediate grounds. Any infringement of this will be taken very seriously indeed.”

They needed little reminder of that. Slowly people began drifting out of the Hall. Professor McGonagall came over to the Gryffindor table.

“Miss Granger, Mr Potter. Can you come with me?”

Harry was aware of Ron sitting beside him, bursting to come along. McGonagall must have seen his face. “You too, Mr Weasley, if you so wish.”

Once in her study, she turned to look at them all.

“Things become more mysterious,” she started. “Last night, representatives of the school and the Ministry visited the Thomas household, but there was no one there – and none of the neighbours knew anything as to why they might be away. Dean said nothing to any of you?”

“No, Professor,” Hermione replied. Ron and Harry also shook their heads.

“This matter becomes stranger and stranger. And we still haven’t worked out why Dean and Neville were the targets for this attack – if indeed it was a planned attack.”

“Why else would Dementors be in the Forest?” asked Harry. “I mean, there’s not much there for them.”

“Exactly. I gather from talking to Neville that he fought them off – and it is a tribute to him and his lessons – official and unofficial – in Defence Against the Dark Arts that he was able to produce such a powerful Patronus.”

“We’ve been doing them with Professor Shacklebolt.”

“So I gather. Even so, fighting off a whole horde of Dementors is certainly a considerable feat.” She sighed. “It’s the waiting that’s the worst, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Anything we can do, Professor?” asked Hermione.

She sighed again. “Keep an eye on the young ones. Those particularly from Muggle families – not that I think they’ll be targets, but that they’ll have less idea of what this is all about.” Harry thought of David last night, and nodded. “And any news – you come straight to me. No interventions on your part. Is that clearly understood?”

No one would argue with McGonagall in this mood. They all nodded. “Yes, Professor,” they chorused.

“Right then.”

They filed out, leaving a very anxious looking McGonagall behind her desk.

The morning dragged by. To keep the juniors occupied, the prefects rounded them all up and sat them down in the common room to do their homework. When one of the second years protested she’d finished all of hers, Ron snarled at her: “Then find something else to do. Or I’ll set you more!”

Harry had difficulty suppressing a smile: he remembered how he and Ron had too often left their work to the last minute. While the juniors worked away, Harry, Ron and Hermione started on their next essay for Wynne: ‘Describe how the house elves lost their freedom’.

There were no lessons that morning, and a skeleton timetable was arranged for the afternoon. As school came out, Harry went outside onto the lawns, where he could see groups of teachers and Aurors drifting back from the Forest. He shivered, even though the sun was still warm. What had happened to Dean? But as he stood there watching, he was suddenly aware of someone behind him, and turned to see who it was. Two of the new first year Gryffindors – he remembered their names from last night: David and Edward – were watching him. He forced a smile to his face.

“You’re in the House Quidditch team,” Edward said.

“That’s right.” He remembered being in the Great Hall, still in his Quidditch robes after the practice.

“Wow. I went to the World Cup a year ago. Ireland versus Bulgaria.”

“Did you? I was there too.”

“Really?” Then he faltered. “We saw the Dark Mark too.”

“Yeah. They thought I did it at first.”

“You?”

“Yeah. It was my wand that was used.”

Edward goggled at him. He thought he’d better change the subject.

“So. You had your first flying lesson last week?” They both nodded. “Enjoy it?” They nodded again. “Want another one now?”

“With you, you mean?”

“Yes, please.”

“OK.”

He closed his eyes and concentrated, remembering that time at the TriWizard Tournament. “Accio Firebolt!”

His broomstick appeared in his hand. The two youngsters goggled. “Wow,” said David eventually. “Will we be able to do that?”

“Eventually. If you pay attention in lessons. If you do your homework.” Just as well Hermione wasn’t here now to hear him now.

He concentrated again. “Accio broomstick!” he cried twice.

Two of the school brooms lay on the grass next to them.

“Mount your brooms,” he told them, “and try flying round me in a circle.”

He watched as cautiously they got onto their brooms, kicked off, and flew in a tentative circle. Strangely, David seemed the more confident of the two.

“You’ve never flown before?” he asked Edward, as they touched down again.

The boy shook his head. “My parents wouldn’t let me.”

“Right. What we’ll do now is ‘follow my leader’. I’ll take off, with you behind me, and David third. Follow me at a safe distance and copy what I do.”

He kicked off and waited until they were both ready, then took them in widening circles, then diving and climbing gently, looking back over his shoulder to make sure they were still with him. After about a quarter of an hour of this, he stopped in mid air, about ten foot from the ground. The two youngsters stopped either side of him.

“OK?” he asked them. They both nodded, filled with enthusiasm. “Do you have to think about hovering like this?”

“A little,” admitted Edward.

“Do you ride a bike?”

“I do,” said David.

“It’s like riding a bike: after a time, you don’t even think about it. You just do it. It’s like that on a broomstick.”

They nodded again.

“You’re both coming on really well,” he said. David grinned and took off in an attempt at a barrel roll.

“Hey, go easy. I don’t want to be picking you up off the grass.”

But as he was talking to them, he noticed something from the corner of his eye: something happening down by the Forest, someone staggering out. It couldn’t be! In a flash he had the Firebolt pointed at the edge of the Forest, zooming down. He was vaguely aware of the other two following him.

“Dean!”

“Harry. Look, Harry, there’re Dementors in there,” pointing behind him as he lurched forward. “Neville, Professor Sprout, Hagrid … they’re still in there!”

“No, it’s OK, they’re all safe,” Harry re-assured him.

“Oh – right,” said Dean, stopping, and holding his sides, gasping for breath. Harry looked at him carefully. Apart from being very dishevelled, he seemed just as usual. “Am I the last then?”

“You are,” said Harry getting off his broom. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah – apart form the Dementors, that is. It was horrid. Really nasty.”

“I know,” said Harry dryly. “Come on, we’d better get you up to the castle. Accio broomstick!”

Another broomstick appeared: Harry handed it to Dean.

“Thanks,” he said gratefully, as he climbed on it.

The four of them zoomed up to the castle, stopped by the entrance, and dismounted.

“Go and tell Gryffindor the news,” he said to David and Edward. “Come on, Dean, we’ve got to find Professor McGonagall.”

As they ran up the stairs, Harry said: “Well, you’ll be popular for one thing - lessons were cancelled this morning.”

Dean stopped in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“All the staff were out in the Forest looking for you, of course. So was a load of Aurors from the Ministry.”

Dean screwed up his face. “But there’re no lessons today – it’s Sunday. Besides, I’ve only been gone an hour or so.”

It was Harry’s turn to stop in surprise. “Dean. It’s Monday. You’ve been missing for twenty four hours.”

“Never!”

“Yep. Come on, we’d better find McGonagall and Dumbledore as soon as possible.”

They ran up the staircase and burst into McGonagall’s study – much to her surprise. Then the expression on her face changed when she saw Dean.

“Ah, thank Heavens you’re back,” she cried, flinging her arms round him.

Dean looked at Harry with amazement, and Harry did his best to stifle a grin. McGonagall hugging someone – what next?

“Um, Professor,” began Dean, but she stepped back, surveying him.

“Well, for someone who’s been in the Forest for twenty four hours, you look remarkably well.”

“But I was just saying to Harry – it wasn’t that long!”

But before Dean could carry on, the door was flung open again, and Dumbledore swept in, closely followed by Percy, Kingsley, and, to Harry’s surprise, the man they’d met at Neville’s mother’s funeral: Arbuthnot.

“Dean. You’re well, I trust?” said Dumbledore, looking him over.

“Yeah. But Harry’s been telling me that I’ve been missing for twenty four hours!”

“That’s right. The entire staff of the school, as well as many from the Ministry, has been combing the Forest for you. Now sit down, and tell us all about it.”

And Dumbledore did his usual trick of conjuring up comfortable chairs – which made McGonagall’s study, large as it was, look distinctly crowded.

Dean began telling his story. He’d been helping Professor Sprout gather up the specimen boxes with the toadstools, when they’d first felt the Dementors. They’d reached for their wands as they appeared.

“Hordes of them. Neville did this really good Patronus: it was a bull, just like you see at bullfights. But he seemed to get cut off from the rest of us, and Professor Sprout produced this Patronus like a giant walking plant!”

“I’m told it’s called a triffid.”

“Yeah? Well, I tried too, but mine was a bit feeble.” He looked over to Kingsley. “Sorry, Professor.”

Kingsley smiled. “To have produced any sort of Patronus under those circumstances is impressive in itself.”

“Yeah? Well, we were coping, then I turned round, and there were these two Dementors really close to me, and well … I just passed out.”

“Where was this, Dean?”

“Where? Right next to the tree, where we were gathering specimens.”

“Hmm.” Dumbledore pondered. “It’s just that we have searched the entire area many times, and found no trace of you.”

“But that’s where I woke up. And there was no one about, and the Dementors had gone. I ran out of the Forest, and shot some sparks into the air, then Harry saw me, and we came up here.”

“Extraordinary.”

“What does this mean, Professor?” asked McGonagall, leaning forward in her seat.

Dumbledore looked at her over his glasses for a long time, and finally admitted: “I have absolutely no idea, Minerva.” He paused, looked at Dean. “Stand up, please.”

Looking worried, Dean did so. Dumbledore stood in front of him, his wand raised, occasionally muttering the odd word or phrase. He walked around Dean several times, before finally stopping.

“Would I be right in saying that Neville was attempting to put a jinx on you during Professor Shacklebolt’s lesson on Friday?”

“Er … yes.”

“Not very successfully.”

“No, sir. We were practicing blocking the jinx.”

“I see. Well, as far as I can tell, that is the last spell that was performed on you. There is the possibility of a potion. I think that will need a small amount of blood, and some other … er … samples for the Potions master to investigate.”

Harry had a vision of Snape investigating some of Dean’s ‘samples’, and his mouth began to twitch – before he caught the tail end of a severe glance from Professor McGonagall.

There was a very quiet knock on the door; it opened, and a figure outside gestured to Arbuthnot, who went to talk to whoever it was. Dumbledore remained standing in front of Dean, viewing him carefully but benevolently. Arbuthnot closed the door again and said quietly: “The parents are back. They seem to be missing twenty four hours too, but are otherwise fine.”

Harry could see the alarm on Dean’s face. “Parents? My parents?”

“Yes, Dean,” said Dumbledore quietly. “We tried to contact them yesterday, after your disappearance, but no one was home. It seems now that they are.” He paused for a full minute. “So, what should we do now?”

Percy chipped in. “Surely the boy – and probably his parents too – should be isolated for observation.”

“Hmm. I think Madam Pomfrey has beds to spare.”

“Surely, Headmaster, we need somewhere more secure than the sanatorium wing!”

Although there was only the slightest perceptible change in Dumbledore’s manner, the room suddenly became very icy.

“Secure, Professor Weasley?”

“The boy may be a danger to us all. And to the school.”

“I doubt if Dean Thomas is a danger to anyone, except perhaps to himself occasionally. As to the school – I think I am the judge to that.”

Kingsley was looking inscrutable; Arbuthnot adopted an air of scrupulous neutrality.

“But, Headmaster …”

“Thank you, Professor Weasley.”

“The Ministry may wish …”

That was not a good move. “I believe the Ministry has attempted to interfere in the workings of this school before, Professor Weasley. It was not a good idea then.” The rest of the sentence was left unspoken. Percy went a very bright red. There was another long painful pause before Dumbledore turned to Harry: “Would you escort Dean to the sanatorium wing, Harry, and give my compliments to Madam Pomfrey?”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry knew he would miss the rest of the meeting, which would be a pity. However, Dean and he set off for the sanatorium, just catching some raised voices as he closed the door.

Dean was looking very shaken.

“What happened to me, Harry?”

“Dumbledore doesn’t know. And if he doesn’t know …” Harry finished with a shrug.

Neville had already been discharged, and the ward was empty. Madam Pomfrey settled Dean down, and Harry promised to bring some of the others to visit as soon as they could.

“Please, Harry. Things have been bad enough – I’d like some company.”

He hadn’t reckoned with Madam Pomfrey. “Not yet, Master Thomas. I need to give you a thorough check over first.”

Harry grinned at the sight of Dean’s face. “In a while,” he promised.

“Make sure you do.”