Harry Potter and the Sixth Year

The long warm autumn weather broke with a vengeance on the Friday before their first Quidditch match. At lunchtime, Harry noticed the sky filming over, and the sun becoming an opalescent blur. By late afternoon, the sky was a uniform grey, and as they sat in the common room that evening, they could hear the wind howling round the tower. In the morning, they looked out to a lowering sky, with drizzle being blown along with the gale force wind.

“Great. It’s going to be real fun playing Quidditch in this,” said Harry gloomily.

“Could be worse,” said Ron. “You could be in that fishing boat going round and round in circles off Rockall.”

“Maybe.”

They knew they were in for a soaking as they trudged along the wet, muddy grass to the pitch. Harry remembered to keep his glasses clear with the Impervius charm. The teams assembled, the captains shook hands; Madam Hooch, well wrapped up against the cold and wet, released the Quaffle, and the game began.

The Gryffindor tactics against Hufflepuff were to keep together in a close formation, with lots of short passes from one player to another. The Hufflepuff Chasers found it difficult to break into the tight knit group of players, and the wet weather meant the Hufflepuff Beaters had difficulty holding onto their bats and whacking the Bludgers towards their opponents. Scoring was difficult though: unless the Chasers were right up against the goals, the wind would blow the Quaffle clean away from the hoops. Against that, both Keepers were struggling against the driving rain pelting into their faces.

“And the lovely Katie scores the first goal of the season. Ten points to Gryffindor!” cried the new commentator – Wayne Smith of Ravenclaw. Wayne was a good commentator, who knew his Quidditch, but somehow lacked the pizzazz – and the asides - of Lee Jordan.

Ron had little to do except circle round the Gryffindor hoops. Harry swept round the pitch in great loops. The rain and poor visibility meant that seeing the Snitch would be well nigh impossible. He resigned himself to a long, long game.

The Hufflepuff Seeker had the same problem, but since he was on a much slower broom, he spent most of his time following Harry round and round. Harry would try the occasional loop to throw him off, but would soon find him dogging his tailsticks again.

“Gryffindor scores again. Well done, Katie! 80 to Gryffindor, 10 to Hufflepuff.”

If it were possible, the weather was getting worse and worse. The rain was becoming torrential, and distant thunder could be heard over the hills. These developed into flashes of lightning as the clouds drew thicker and closer. Harry remembered the England v France game of 1876, when a bolt of lightning killed both Seekers as they climbed up for a distant Snitch. That might almost be preferable to sitting on a broomstick getting hypothermia. But the players battled on despite the conditions, until eventually both captains asked for time out.

They gathered together in a shivering huddle. “We’re knocking up the score,” said Katie. “All we have to do is to keep pounding away.”

“And hope Harry gets the Snitch before we all freeze to death,” added Ron.

“Yeah. Come on. Let’s finish them off.”

They swooped out and began circling the pitch again, until Madam Hooch released the Quaffle again.

“150 to Gryffindor, 10 to Hufflepuff,” came the distant cry of Wayne Smith.

Well, thought Harry, soon it wouldn’t matter who caught the Snitch. Another two goals and Gryffindor would have an unassailable lead. The only thing left would be to get the Snitch caught so they could all get indoors. Down in the stands only a few diehard supporters were left. But what Harry didn’t see, as he hovered there in the rain, was a flutter of tiny golden wings six feet behind him. The Hufflepuff Seeker did, however. Not believing what he saw, he crept up slowly, then reached out and snatched the little golden ball from the air with a great yell of triumph.

Down on the ground, no one had quite realised what was happening. Then a slow cheer began to erupt from the few Slytherins left, which was gradually taken up by the Hufflepuffs. Harry was completely bewildered – until he turned round and saw his opponent clutching the Snitch. Madam Hooch blew the whistle.

Wayne Smith was equally bewildered. “Er …. the Hufflepuff Seeker catches the Snitch … so that’s …. 150 points to Gryffindor, 160 to Hufflepuff!”

The cheers from the Hufflepuff stands were tumultuous. Harry couldn’t believe what had happened. Nor, by the expressions on their faces, could the rest of the Gryffindor team. Katie circled up towards him.

“Harry?”

He felt incredibly guilty. “Um, sorry. I seem to have missed it.”

“You’re joking!” Katie looked at him as though she still could not quite believe what she was hearing.

“No,” feeling really miserable. “I completely missed it.”

Katie looked as if she was going to say something else, something a good deal ruder, but slowly spiralled down to the changing rooms. Eventually Harry followed her. It was too cold to be sitting out in the open circling the pitch. And listening to the jeers of the few remaining Slytherins. Inside the changing room, the rest of the team just stared at him.

“Hard luck, Harry,” said Ron eventually.

“Well, I know I wasn’t concentrating. But even so” – he shrugged – “I doubt if I’d have seen it anyway.”

“Beaten by Hufflepuff!” said Jeremy Lewis in despair.

“Only by ten points,” said Ron. “We could make that up in our next game.”

“Maybe.”

There was nothing Harry could say or do that would make matters better. In silence, he changed out of his sopping Quidditch robes. And, inevitably, lurking outside the changing rooms, was Draco Malfoy.

Harry got in first. “Come to gloat, Malfoy?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t need to,” Draco replied. “Just want to remind you that in the next Quidditch game you’ll be up against a real Seeker.”

“Oh, really? Who’s replacing you on the Slytherin team then?”

Malfoy smiled and shook his head. “Nice try, Potter.”

“Perhaps Snape will find someone else rich enough to buy their way on to the team. Has the size of your father’s fine been fixed yet?”

This was heaping coals of fire. “At least I have a father, Potter.”

“What are the visiting hours at Rockall? If they have them.”

Malfoy’s face creased in puzzlement. “Rockall? What are you talking about?”

Now Harry did laugh. “Haven’t you found out, Malfoy?”

“Found out what?”

“Do you get seasick?”

Malfoy stared at him, then shrugged. “Losing that game really has addled your brain.”

“You’ll find out soon enough. And you’re right – I don’t have a father. Because he went down fighting. Better than being in prison for the rest of your life.”

“He won’t be in there long!” hissed Malfoy.

“Oh? Got inside information on that, have you?”

“Never you mind.”

“What a witty reply.” Harry’s smile became taunting now. “Of course, you’re going to be in the dark from now on. No daddy to feed you titbits.”

“I can work this out for myself.”

“And make the wrong choices.”

“At least I don’t hang out with mudbloods!”

Harry laughed again. “You really are excelling yourself today. You know that the creature your father has pledged allegiance to had a Muggle father.”

“You’re lying,” hissed Malfoy.

Harry shrugged. “Go find out for yourself. Voldemort was once Tom Riddle. Go and look in the school records. Riddle spent his holidays in a Muggle orphanage.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Another shrug from Harry. “What should I care if you don’t even know things like that? If you don’t believe it – go check it out for yourself.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Your problem, not mine.” And Harry pushed his way past the other boy.

His delight in the trouncing of Malfoy faded fast, however, as he approached the Gryffindor common room. It felt as though a lump of lead was settling deeper and deeper into his stomach. He tried taking deep breaths of air, but that didn’t help. He found he was walking slower and slower. It was no good. He’d have to face everyone.

“Wronskei Feint,” he muttered to the Fat Lady, and the portrait swung open. He stepped inside to a silent common room, and the first people he saw were Edward and James. They were both soaking wet: they had obviously stayed for the whole match. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Bad luck, Harry,” said James quietly.

He eventually found his voice. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t luck I needed. Just skill.”

“It was right behind you. There was no way you could have seen it.”

“I would have done if I’d been concentrating.”

He knew that his tone of voice was wrong: it was him that was at fault, not them. Infuriated with himself, he pushed past them. Fortunately there were few other people in the common room: he hurried through and up to the dormitory, where he flung himself on his bed and stared upwards, not really seeing anything.

Around a quarter of an hour later, he heard Ron coming in, walking forward a few paces, then stopping.

“Don’t say anything,” Harry remarked, still gazing upwards.

“Umm … I wasn’t going to.”

Harry sighed and swung his feet off the bed. He looked up at Ron. “I think I’m in for a very unpleasant twenty four hours.”

Ron shrugged. “Tell me about it.”

Harry remembered Ron’s fiasco as a Keeper in some of the matches last year. “Yeah. Now we both know what it feels like.”

“Look, Harry, it was just one of those things, right? You lost concentration. You thought we’d won anyway. It was a hell of a day. And the Snitch just happened to pop up right behind you.”

“Yeah. I suppose.”

Mercifully, the rest of Gryffindor had the sense to keep quiet – which is more than could be said for the Slytherins. Wherever he went in the corridors, he had to put up with the taunts. Each time, he was forced to grit his teeth and keep walking.

But his mind was taken completely off the matter by Neville one lunchtime. Neville was in a state of high excitement.

“The Boletus mirabile!”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve managed to make an extract from it. And I’ve got permission from Snape to make the potion!”

“How did you do that?”

“Told him I wanted to do it as part of our NEWT project.”

“Is that all you told him?”

“Yeah.” And Neville looked down at his plate.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Hermione told him. “Projects like that you’re supposed to do yourself, and I said I’d help you.”

Neville looked up defiantly. “I’ve been through the recipe a dozen times. I reckon I can do it myself.”

Hermione’s eyebrows went up. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“And you want to give it to your Dad?”

“I’ll get Gran and Travavitch to check it out first. Even Snape.”

Hermione shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“And – if it works – will you all come to see Dad?”

They all looked rather uncomfortable, but Harry came in: “Of course we will.”

As they walked out of lunch, Ron asked: “Do you really think Neville’s up to making that potion?”

“Well,” said Hermione judiciously, “It’s not that difficult. And if he gets it checked out first …”

A few days later, they were sitting in front of the common room fire late in the evening. Crookshanks was sitting purring on Hermione’s lap. Ron was idly leafing through one of the Quidditch books Harry had bought in Flourish and Blotts, watching as the Chudleigh Cannon Chaser put another Quaffle through a hoop. Harry himself was gazing idly into the flames, enjoying the relaxation. The portrait door swung open, and in came Neville. He walked over to them, a mixture of pride and defiance on his face. “I’ve just finished making that potion,” he told them, “and I’ve sent off some samples.”

“So soon?” said Hermione with surprise.

Neville shrugged. “As I said, it wasn’t that difficult.”

Ron stared at him. “What? After all those detentions form Snape? And you say potions are easy?”

“Some people work at it,” said Hermione acidly.

“Stop going on, will you?”

“You said you wanted to be an Auror?”

“Yeah? What of it?” Then the penny dropped. “Okay, okay. What you’re saying is that I need to work too.”

Hermione said nothing, but instead raised her eyebrows.

“Pass me that bootleg book of yours,” said Ron heavily.

Over the next few weeks, Harry began to notice how much more seriously Ron was taking his work. Perhaps it was helped by their having dropped Divination and History of Magic, both of which had bored the pants off them. But each evening, Ron, Harry, Hermione and Neville were to be found in the library, joined increasingly by Dean, who seemed none the worse off for his encounter in the Forest. Now that it was dark each evening, there was no Quidditch practice to get in the way of things. Harry almost felt at times like any other student. His scar was pain free; the Daily Prophet carried no reports of unexplained attacks.

Ron was also starting to be more effective in lessons too. Defence Against the Darks had never been a problem: he enjoyed that too much. But he was taking Charms and Transfiguration more seriously too. He’d even overcome the poor impression he’d made on Professor Wynne. He’d been sceptical enough about the subject to begin with, but was beginning to take it a lot seriously.

“Isn’t this all propaganda?” he asked one day.

Professor Wynne knew him well enough by now to take the question seriously. He looked at Ron carefully and asked: “What part of it do you object to?”

Ron was stumped for a moment. Harry could see his objections were instinctive rather than intellectual. “Well,” he started, “this stuff about giants …”

“Yes?”

“I mean, giants are supposed to be really dangerous, aren’t they? But you say that they’re basically harmless.”

“They’re harmless up to a point. I think they’ve become more savage as a result of our treatment of them. Having never met a giant, I can’t be more precise. But that’s what I think happened.”

Ron’s eyebrows went up. “You know Hagrid.”

“Yes, indeed, but he’s only half giant.”

“Would you like to meet a real giant?”

Professor Wynne smiled indulgently. “We’d have to go rather a long way for that.”

“Not really.”

“What do you mean?” asked the Professor curiously.

“Hagrid’s got a brother. Well, a half brother. Pure giant. He’s living in the Forest.” Ron was surprised that Hermione had never told him.

Wynne was completely taken aback. Harry saw him open his mouth, pause, close it again. He looked at Ron very carefully. “This isn’t a wind up, is it?”

“Seriously,” protested Ron. “Go and ask Hagrid yourself!”

And as soon as Wynne had checked Ron’s story, he was raring to go. There was a problem though – after what had happened to Dean and Neville, no one wanted to go back into the Forest, even if they’d been allowed to. But Hagrid arranged for a meeting just on the edge of the Forest – Grawp was apparently reluctant to come out into the open – and they persuaded Kingsley to come as an escort. Persuading McGonagall was another matter though – it was with very great reluctance that she agreed. And she insisted on coming with them as well.

Hagrid was a bit dubious about such a big party. Neville had declined the invitation, but three students and three members of staff were just about acceptable, he felt. So, on a dank November afternoon, the little group set out for Hagrid’s house. He was waiting for them crossbow at the ready.

“I told Grawp. Mind you, he doesn’t know much about time and the like, so I went and fetched him. He’s waiting for us. It’s not far in – just about a hundred yards.”

With some trepidation they followed him into the Forest. As Hagrid had told them, though, they hadn’t far to go. Even so, Harry noticed that both Kingsley and McGonagall had their wands out.

Grawp was sitting on a fallen tree trunk waiting for them. The little party stopped at the edge of the clearing, then Hermione walked forward.

“Hello, Grawp.”

“Hermy,” the giant rumbled.

The others followed more cautiously. Hagrid walked up and sat down on the tree trunk next to his half brother.

“Some more people come to see you, Grawp.”

The giant nodded slowly. Harry looked at Wynne, who seemed to be ecstatic at the sight of the huge creature. Obviously screwing up his courage, Wynne walked forward, very slowly, and stopped a few feet away.

“Grawp.”

The giant blinked. “Who you?”

“Ferdinand Wynne.” The professor obviously realised this was too much for Grawp. “Ferd.”

Ron and Harry looked at each other and grinned.

Hermione walked forward too, then the rest of them. They sat round in a semicircle.

Wynne was obviously bursting with questions, but Harry got in first.

“How’s the Forest, Grawp? Any more trouble.”

The big head swivelled towards him. “Not much. Not now. Big trouble – oh, many days ago.” Harry guessed that was when Neville’s party was attacked.

“So they’ve gone?”

“I hear about them. A little bit. But not like it was.”

“That’s good.”

Grawp nodded.

“Do you like it here?” asked Hermione.

Grawp nodded. “Grawp likes it. Not at first. But now – yes.” He waved a hand. “Lots of creatures to talk to.”

“You talk to them?” Grawp nodded. “How?”

The giant frowned. This was a bit much for him. “Not like I talk to you. Not in words. But I know what they mean. And they know what I mean.”

“Fascinating,” murmured Wynne.

They stayed for almost two hours, sitting on the damp forest floor. Hagrid slowly coaxed Grawp’s story from him, whilst the others sat listening intently. Grawp’s confidence in talking to them grew as he realised their interest in what he had to say to them. But eventually Kingsley looked at his watch.

“We’d better be getting back,” he murmured.

They stood up, stiff from the damp. Grawp stood up too, and they all instinctively took a step back. Grawp smiled slightly.

“Grawp not hurt you. You friends of Grawp.”

“Thank you,” murmured Professor Wynne.

“You come see Grawp again? Grawp has much to talk about.”

“Yes, please.”

Slowly and carefully Grawp held out a hand, a hand that was half as big as the Professor himself. Wynne took one of the fingers, and shook it gravely.

“We will come back,” he told the giant.

Kingsley began marshalling the party, and waving farewells at Grawp, they walked back through the short section of the Forest into the fields by Hagrid’s house. Only then did Kingsley relax.

“Wow!” said Wynne. He turned to Ron. “Thank you for that,” he said quietly.

Harry could see the embarrassment on Ron’s face as he muttered something in return.

“It’s amazing,” Wynne went on, “when you think of the prejudices we hold. There’s Hagrid – only half a giant, perhaps, but a kindlier person you couldn’t imagine. And Grawp – completely harmless. Treat him right and he’s your friend. Instead, what did we do? Drive them into the hills and exterminate them.”

He turned to Harry. Up to now, Wynne had treated Harry just as any other pupil, which suited him fine. But now he said: “You as much as anyone know that we need these people on our side at a time like this. Instead, we relied on the Dementors, and look where it got us. We should never have had anything to do with them in the first place!”

“Why did we?” asked Ron.

“It was convenient, that’s why. Just the job for keeping people in prison quiet. But they are evil creatures, and feeding them people’s happiness and people’s souls only strengthens them.”

“What do you think Voldemort promised them?”

Wynne shrugged. “More souls, I suspect. Muggles, wizards, whoever.”

Kingsley cut in. “It’s something we’ve been watching for. Direct attacks are easy enough to spot, but if he’s been letting them loose on Muggles, allowing them to Kiss them …”

Harry shuddered. The thought of having your soul removed, leaving just an empty shell.

“Just as Dumbledore says, we need the giants, the centaurs, the elves, the goblins on our side,” went on Wynne. “And not just by offering them gold or whatever. But by making them see that in the end Voldemort has nothing to offer them.”

Harry remembered Kreachur, and before he could stop himself, he found himself pouring out the tale to Wynne, who listened quietly, nodding his head form time to time.

“I never knew Sirius Black,” he said, “other than what I read in the Prophet. But I did notice the other day that he’d received a posthumous pardon. Of course, being in Azkaban all those years with the Dementors wouldn’t have helped his mental state. It does go to show, though, that what you get from people – or elves – does depend on how you treat them.”

Harry nodded. “I’m glad Dumbledore asked you to come and teach us.”

“Harry, it’s my pleasure. I’ve spent years trying to get my message across, and now I have the best audience of all. I just hope some of you Hogwarts students will grow up realising that wizards and witches are not the be all and end all of the wizarding world.”

Harry caught Hermione’s eye. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.