Harry Potter and the Sixth Year

Chapter 17 - the return to another term

Ginny was sitting reading a book, but otherwise the room was empty. The firelight glowed in the room: it was good to be back.

“Hi,” said Ginny, looking up from her book.

“Hi,” replied Harry. “How are things?”

She shrugged, then looked up and smiled slightly. “Same as ever. Mum and Dad are out visiting. Ron’s in his room.” She stopped and stared into the fire. “Seems odd without Fred and George about.”

Harry slumped into a chair opposite. “Quieter. Anyway, Remus and I saw them over the New Year.”

“Oh?”

“Visited the shop,” Harry explained. “They were doing fantastic business.”

Ginny smiled. “Glad to hear it. They’ve got the business sense that obviously skipped a generation.”

Harry felt slightly uncomfortable at that. It wasn’t his family to criticise. And besides, Mr Weasley might not be the world’s richest wizard, but he had sufficient other good qualities for Harry to forget that.

Ginny saw his discomfort. “Don’t worry,” she said quietly. “Dad knows that as well as anyone.”

“Fair enough. I know it’s a tricky subject with Ron, though.”

“Yeah. It’s something we’ve had to grow up with.” She put down her book. “What are you going to do when you leave Hogwarts?”

“Become an Auror, I hope.”

“Really? You and Ron together?”

Harry wasn’t sure whether she was laughing at him or not. “What’s wrong with being an Auror?”

“Nothing. No, it’s just that – well, will we ever get that far?”

“What do you mean?”

“Voldemort. Tom Riddle.”

Harry was impressed that she said the name so casually – unlike Ron, who flinched whenever he used it. But then – Ginny had spent a lot of her second year at Hogwarts possessed by Tom Riddle – or, at least, by his memory.

“Hey, Ginny, you can’t think like that. We’ve got to get on with things. Who knows what will happen?”

“Yeah.” Ginny gazed into the flames.

Harry was rescued from this rather awkward conversation by the Weasleys’ clock suddenly chiming.

“Mum and Dad are on their way back.”

And as Ginny spoke, Mr and Mrs Weasley appeared in the fireplace.

“Harry!” cried Mrs Weasley. “Nice to see you back!”

Harry stood up and smiled. “It’s nice to be back.”

Mrs Weasley began bustling about, preparing supper. Ron came downstairs, yawning, said “Hi, Harry,” before setting the table without being asked. Over supper Harry told them about their visit to The Ginnell, and how Fred and George had offered Remus the job.

“That was good of them,” beamed Mrs Weasley.

“Well, Remus is pretty good,” said Harry.

“One of the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers we’ve had,” said Ron loyally.

“It’ll give him something to do,” said Mr Weasley. “That was one of Sirius’ problems – nothing to do.” There was a brief silence after this, then Mr Weasley went on: “It hasn’t been easy for Remus. But if he makes a good job of this, I imagine he’ll be asked to do more. Working from home like that must be very convenient.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. That was one of the attractions.”

Ron and Ginny cleared away the supper things, again without being asked. Harry went to give them a hand with the washing up – although with the cries of scurgify, there wasn’t a lot for them to do.

After clearing away, the three of them went up to Ron’s room to look through the Dark Arts books Harry had bought at Flourish and Blotts.

“Cool stuff, this,” said Ron, flicking through the pages. “What’s this … ugh!” He quickly turned the page. He put the book down and glanced over to Ginny, who was leafing through another of Harry’s purchases.

“Hey, Ginny – Percy’s your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, isn’t he?” Ginny nodded. “What’s it like – being taught by him?”

Ginny put the book down. “I sit at the back and keep my head down,” she said.

“I mean – what do you call him in class?”

Ginny shrugged. “Nothing really. I mean, if he asks me a question, I just give the answer. I don’t call him anything.”

“What does he call you?”

“Miss Weasley, usually.”

“Is he any good?”

Ginny shrugged again.” You know Percy. Very thorough. Does everything by the book.”

“What book are you using?”

“The one by Caliga Scelerata.”

Harry nodded. A good standard text. “Do you do much practical?”

Ginny screwed up her face. “A bit. He’ll demonstrate something, then pick someone from the class to do it.”

“Has he ever picked you?”

“Once or twice.”

From the shortness of her answers, Harry guessed she wasn’t too happy with the topic.

“Just as well he isn’t teaching me!” burst out Ron. “I’d say something – well, rude, and end up with detention or worse.”

“He’s quite fair,” said Ginny. “He’s not a ball of fire or anything. The others respect him because he works hard, and he knows his stuff. Other than that …” Yet another shrug.

Harry thought it must be hard for her, being taught by Percy after what had happened. And no one really knew what Percy’s position was now – was he still a diehard Fudge supporter? And after what had happened that night in the Ministry, he could hardly disbelieve Harry now. Or perhaps, whilst believing him on this, he still held to his opinion of the Order as troublemakers. The problem with tying yourself as closely as Percy had to someone like Fudge was that if Fudge went, so did Percy. Perhaps that’s why he’d taken the job at Hogwarts – to give himself some distance.

Then, unthinkingly, Ron asked: “Did he show you a Boggart?” Ginny nodded, looking down at her hands. Harry had a bad feeling about what was coming next.

“What shape did yours take?” Ron pressed on.

Silence for several seconds. Then, still looking down at her hands, Ginny said: “Tom Riddle.”

It took a few seconds to for the other two to realise what she meant. Then: “What?” blurted Ron.

Ginny sighed. “Tom Riddle. At eighteen.” Then Harry realised that Ginny’s greatest fear related back to that diary, to being taken over by a memory. “The others were really puzzled,” she said softly. “What Ginny feared most. This good looking eighteen year old boy. None of them know who it really was.”

“What did you do?” Harry asked softly.

“Used Neville’s trick,” she said simply. “Imagined him in a vulture’s hat. Then I could get rid of him. But I don’t think even Percy realised who it really was.”

“Oh.” Thankfully, Ron dropped the subject there, and they read through the books for an hour or so more, occasionally trying out some trick or refinement to charms or spells they knew already.

Then Ron yawned. “I’m for bed. It’s back to Hogwarts on Tuesday, and I’ve still got to do that essay for Snape.”

Going up to London to catch the train was a good deal easier now that there was only the three of them. It felt odd to Harry to be catching the train at this time of year: he’d always spent Christmas at Hogwarts before. There wasn’t the same sense of excitement on Platform 9¾ either: people were too jaded after their Christmas and New Year excesses.

Harry, Ron and Hermione did their prefect duties, walking down the train to make sure everything was as it should be. They passed the compartment with the Slytherin sixth years, and could almost feel the vibes emanating from it. Malfoy was sitting hunched in a corner, glaring at them as they looked through the glass. In another compartment Neville and Luna were sitting in what looked like a very earnest conversation. Harry waved at them and carried on down the train.

Then they saw a group of Gryffindor first years. Ron and Hermione carried on down the corridor, but Harry slid the door open and put his head in. The compartment suddenly fell silent, which gave Harry a rather guilty feeling.

“Hi,” he said brightly. “Good holiday?” There was still silence. He recognised a couple of them. “OK, David?”

David nodded, then: “I went to a Quidditch match in the holidays.”

“Oh yes?”

David nodded towards his friend. “I went to stay with Edward in the holidays. They took me to the match.”

“Right. Who was playing?”

“Purston Panthers against Fylde Flyers,” said Edward. He pulled a face. “Only village Quidditch really.”

“But Edward’s uncle was playing. We got to talk to the team afterwards.”

“So you had a good time?”

“Yeah. Never been in a wizards’ house before. Strange.”

Harry smiled. “I remember the same thing the first time I went to stay with the Weasleys.”

A fair haired girl opposite – what was her name? Margaret? Yes, that was it – asked curiously: “What do you mean?”

“Well, I was brought up by Muggles.” She looked even more baffled. The famous Harry Potter? Brought up by Muggles? “Well,” he went on, “when Voldemort killed my parents, Dumbledore took me to my aunt and uncle’s. And they’re Muggles.”

There was a ripple of amazement around the compartment. Harry didn’t know whether it was because he’d actually said ‘Voldemort’, or whether it was due to the idea of Dumbledore taking him away, or whether it was because of him being brought up by Muggles.

Margaret stared at him again. “You said his name!”

So that was it. “Yes,” said Harry. “Voldemort.”

“People … er … don’t usually say his name.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s a name. We might as well use it.”

“You’ve met him.”

It was a statement, not a question. Harry hesitated.

“Yes,” he said, “but I’m not going to tell you about it now.” He could sense the disappointment all around the compartment. “But just in case you do one day,” he carried on, feeling that he was being the ultimate in hypocrisy, “you need to work hard in all your lessons, so you’ll know what to do. You need to make yourself the best year of students that Hogwarts has seen.” That was laying it on a bit thick, but so what.

They all nodded. He looked around at the solemn young faces. Perhaps he might have had some effect on them after all.

He stood up. “I’ve got to go along the train now. You remember what I said to you.”

Rather guiltily, he slid the door closed and went down the corridor.

And when they arrived at Hogsmeade, there was no Hagrid calling the first years. They all knew the form by now. But Harry couldn’t repress a slight shudder at the sight of the thestrals, and the reason why he could see them. Cedric Diggory – yet another of Voldemort’s victims. ‘Kill the spare!’

As one of the Gryffindor prefects, he had to show the first years to their carriages, and make sure no one was lost or left behind. Then he got into a carriage with the other prefects, and settled back for the dark ride up to the castle. The lights of Hogsmead village could be seen down in the valley as their carriage lurched along. Soon they were in front of the big entrance doors, flung wide upon so that all the students could file in and get ready for the beginning of term feast. Harry felt a feeling of warmth flooding through him as he saw the Great Hall, brightly candlelight, with the familiar house tables, and, up at the top, the teachers’ table. Several professors were already there: Hagrid, for one, was unmistakeable.

“Quidditch practice tomorrow,” said Katie, as she passed Harry and Ron. “Don’t forget – we’ve a match against Slytherin in three weeks.”

They all know this was the one – if they lost to Slytherin, they’d have no chance for the championship. And besides, losing to Hufflepuff might have been humiliating, but losing to Slytherin would be a complete disaster.

There was more news too after the feast – Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville were summoned to Professor McGonagall’s study. She stared at them severely as they stood in front of her desk.

“I received an owl from the Ministry this morning,” she told them. “Another date has been set for the trial – February 15th. You will need to arrange for your absence with your teachers, and sort out your homework for that week.”

“Do you know how long the trial might last, Professor?” asked Hermione.

She shook her head. “Although I cannot imagine it can be more than two or three days. The evidence seems fairly clear cut.”

“Will we all have to give evidence?” asked Neville.

“Not necessarily. But that we cannot tell in advance. It will depend on how the trial goes.” Neville nodded. “I’m sorry you’re going to have to be put through all this, but if it results in these people being put away, then it will have been worth it.”

Neville nodded again. “Thank you, Professor McGonagall.”

“Very well then. How is your father these days, Neville?”

Neville brightened up immediately. “He’s really doing well. We had a walk round the garden on New Year’s Day, and he can get about much more easily.”

Professor McGonagall’s normally severe features softened somewhat. “That really is good news.” She turned to the other three. “And thank you for the visit.”

Hermione said immediately. “We’d like to go again, if that’s possible.” Ron didn’t look too happy about being volunteered like this, but nodded, as did Harry.

They received their timetables for the term at breakfast the next day, and as they were reading through them, Justin Finch-Fletchly strode over to the Gryffindor table. Justin was looking even larger and more self important than usual: it wasn’t difficult to guess who would be Head Boy next year.

“Harry,” he boomed. He seemed to be louder than ever, too.

“Justin.”

“A few of us have been talking things over,” Justin began. “You know that Defence Against the Dark Arts classes you were giving last year?”

Harry blinked. “Yes,” he said cautiously.

“Well, some of us think it would be a jolly good idea if you started them up again. I mean, our lessons are jolly good and all that, but it would be even better to be put through our paces by an expert!” Justin was so loud that half the Hall must have heard him.

Harry was taken aback.” Yes, well – I think I’d have to ask Kingsley first.”

“Kingsley?”

“Oh – Professor Shacklebolt.”

Justin looked at him carefully. He obviously wasn’t used to teachers being referred to by their first names. “So you’ll do it then? If Professor Shacklebolt agrees?”

Harry looked around the table and saw Hermione nodding vigorously. Then his eye was caught by Malfoy at the Slytherin table: the narrow white face had a sneer on it, and as he caught Malfoy’s eye, he saw the Slytherin mouthing the words: ‘the famous Harry Potter!’.

He turned to Justin: “Yes, of course I’ll do it,” he said in a firm voice.

“Excellent,” boomed Justin. Harry winced. He swore that Justin was getting louder term by term. “Shall I see Professor Shacklebolt or will you?”

Harry looked down at his timetable. “I’ve got Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts later this morning. I’ll see him after the lesson.” He knew Justin was in Kingsley’s other class.

“Good, good. I’ll see you at lunch then?”

“That’d be fine,” murmured Harry faintly.

Ron watched as Justin strode away. “He gets worse and worse!”

“Oh, Justin’s okay. Next year’s Head Boy.”

Ron stared at him. “That’d be you, surely.”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t think I’d want to be, anyway.”

“You’d be mad not to!”

But thinking about it, Harry realised really he wouldn’t want to be Head Boy. Prefect, yes. But Head Boy? He wasn’t so sure about that.

“We’ll see,” and he picked up his timetable and rose to his feet.

He stayed behind at the end of his lesson with Kingsley, and told him about Justin’s request.

Kingsley smiled. “Aren’t they getting enough in lessons?” he asked.

“Well,” said Harry, “I think these days everyone’s very nervous. And the club last year was quite a success, so I think they want to carry on.”

“Fair enough.” Kingsley smiled reminiscently. “You certainly put the wind up Umbridge and Fudge.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s Voldemort everyone’s worried about now.”

“Understandable. By the way, ready for the trial?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Kingsley stood up and stretched. Once again Harry realised how tall and wide the Auror was. “I must say this isn’t what I was expecting when I joined the Ministry. It’s been enjoyable enough, but I’ll be glad to get back to some real work.”

“You’re going to be here next year?” asked Harry in alarm.

“Who knows?”

“Because I don’t want Percy teaching us.”

“No, it wouldn’t be Percy. Another Auror, that’s for sure.”

“Mad Eye?” said Harry hopefully.

Kingsley laughed, a big booming sound. “You never know!”

Justin came bustling up to the Gryffindor table after lunch. “Everything sorted?”

Harry nodded. “No problem.”

Justin sat down opposite Harry. “So, when do we start?”

Harry blinked again. “Umm ..”

“Thursday night?”

“I suppose so – yes, okay, Thursday.”

“8 o’clock – same place as before?”

Now Harry was more certain than ever that Justin would make Head Boy. No way was Harry as organised or efficient as this. Or decisive. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Justin glanced down at a piece of parchment he was holding in his hand. “I’ve limited numbers to twenty. But – there are two names I’d like to run past you.”

“Oh?”

“Judd and Bodiley.”

Harry frowned. “Never heard of either of them.”

“They’re fifth years.”

“Really?” he said, none the wiser.

“The thing is …” Justin hesitated for a moment, which was not at all like him “… they’re Slytherins.”

“What?” exploded Ron, who was listening in. “No way!”

He made so much noise that half the table turned to look at him. Justin looked highly uncomfortable.

“Tell me about them,” said Harry.

“What is there to tell? They’re Slytherins, aren’t they?” Ron almost shouted.

Harry ignored him. “Go on, Justin.”

“Well, I don’t know a lot about them, but they seem straightforward enough.” Ron gave a loud snort. “They want to do the Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts course next year, and they think this will help them. I knew you might have had some issues with Slytherins before,” Justin said delicately, “but these two seem genuine enough.”

“Well, I think it’s a jolly good idea,” Hermione interjected.

Ron was still smouldering, and not that quietly. Harry thought about it.

“We’ll give them a trial,” he said finally. “Mind you, if they’re fifth year, they’ll be quite a bit behind.”

“I know. They said they’d be prepared to work at it.”

Harry nodded. “Okay.”

“You can’t mean that,” protested Ron.

“Hermione’s right. They’re not all Death Eaters in Slytherin, you know.”

Justin looked even more uncomfortable, and folded up his slip of parchment. “Right then. I’ll let them know.”

Ron stood up and stomped out the Hall. Hermione sighed. “He’ll come round to the idea sooner or later,” she said.

“It might do him good,” remarked Justin, “to meet some Slytherins that aren’t all like Malfoy.”