Harry Potter & The Blade of Carmen-Eversor

Harry Potter and the Blade of Carmen-Eversor

Year Seven

Chapter One

Harry and Ron were standing in front of a desk in the Gryffindor common room with their backs to the setting sun. Upon the table lay a black leather-bound book with a piece of folded parchment addressed to Harry next to it.

Harry picked it up with raised eyebrows and signalled for Ron to read it over his shoulder. It was as follows,

Harry Potter

The book is a Portkey - "Good job, you read the note first!" exclaimed Ron - it will take you to where you need to go. COME ALONE; I cannot guarantee the girl's safety if you do not...

A. Siramad

Harry continued to stare at the note in thoughtful silence long after he had finished reading it. The girl was, of course, Hermione. Now that he thought about it he realised he had not seen her since breakfast and though it was usual for her to spend hours on end in the library, it was not usual for him to see nothing of her all day.

"Well, of course we'll have to show ol' McGonagall the note. Not that she'll believe it. I suppose 'the girl' is Hermione?" Ron sighed.

"Hmmm? What? Sorry, I wasn't listening.," Harry said, looking up. It was probably one of the stupidest things he would ever do, but nevertheless Harry had made up his mind; he was going to do as the note said.

Some of what Harry was feeling must have shown on his face because Ron suddenly said, "Oh, hold up, Harry. I can see what you're thinking. Don't be an idiot, this is exactly what whoever wrote the note wants. For you to go tearing off at once without letting anyone know what you're doing. What if it's You-Know-Who? Think how easy you'll be making it for him. Don't go, Harry, you're just..."

But Harry did not even give Ron time to finish. He darted forward and clasped hold of the book in trembling hands. Immediately, Harry felt that all-too-familiar jerk behind his navel, as his feet left the ground in a howl of wind and swirling colour.

Barely a minute later Harry's feet careered into the floor with a thud and he staggered forward, just managing to stay upright.

When Harry had gotten himself into a more vertical position, he looked around him in order to get his bearings. He found himself standing in a stone passageway, dimly lit by torches held in brackets every few feet along the wall. The only other things in the corridor besides himself and the book (now with quite a few of its pages scattered across the floor) were heavy-looking wooden doors. Harry counted them - twelve in all and the second one on the left was ajar.

Harry made to move over to the open door, but hesitated. Ron's final words sounded in his head once more. What if the note was from Voldemort? Well, it was not as though he hadn't used a Portkey to capture him, Harry, before. But then, if it was Voldemort, what were the chances of Hermione still... Harry shuddered. Already he was beginning to regret his rash decision to come alone. Why had he not told McGonagall, or Dumbledore even?

While Harry was deliberating, the quality of the light behind the door changed. Moments ago it had been the last deep red rays of the setting sun. Now it was considerably darker with the hint of an eerie green light Harry did not much like. Impulsively, it seemed, he took a step closer to the door.

What Harry saw round the door intrigued him so much that he nudged it wider open, oblivious to the consequences that might follow.

On the opposite side of the room, Harry could see two gothic-style windows barely a foot below the ceiling, through which the last few dying rays of the sun shone. Directly beneath these windows was a crude stone table, more of a stone slab than a table, really. This table was situated on a platform so that it was too high for Harry to see what lay on it. However, the table was not what had interested him.

Harry was staring at a shrivelled old man robed all in white, save for a gold-coloured sash tied round his waist. The man was on his knees beside the table, swaying gently from side to side. He was concentrating on a small sphere (only about the size of a Muggle marble) in his hands that was emitting the green light.

The white-clad man swivelled round so abruptly that Harry started. Well, he thought, so much for the element of surprise.

For a moment silence reigned. Both Harry and the man were peering closely into each other's faces. Harry, for his part, was desperately trying to discern some clue as to whether the man was hostile or not. He stared into the aged eyes, but they were fixed on Harry's scar as though utterly astonished it was really there. This surprised Harry considerably. He was accustomed to people roving his hairline expecting to see his lightning-bolt scar, but he was not used to the astonishment this man felt because it was really there.

"You are late, Mr. Potter," croaked the man, recovering himself. "Time stands still for no man. You of all people should know that."

For the first time, old eyes looked into Harry's own and Harry did not look away.

"Who are you? Were you the one who sent the note? Where's Hermione?" Harry asked with a steely edge to his voice.

"My name is Siramad." Harry looked blank, and Siramad continued, "I sent the note, yes indeed. You look surprised, Mr. Potter. Why should you be surprised; it was you who wanted to be here."

Eyebrows raised, Harry snapped, "What's this rubbish? I never wanted to be here. How could I, when I don't even know where I am?"

"Peace!" Siramad cried, as Harry was opening his mouth to speak again. "It is true, perhaps you do not want to be here as such, but here is where you will learn what you want to know."

"And what do I want to know?" asked Harry coolly.

Before answering, Siramad shot Harry a penetrating look, not unlike the ones Dumbledore had so often given him.

"You want to know how to defeat the Dark Lord; I am here to tell you."

Harry's jaw dropped and he stood mouthing wordlessly for a few seconds before regaining his composure. Then he began to feel faintly annoyed; who did this Siramad person think he was? Claiming he knew what Harry wanted. So what if he did want to know how to defeat Voldemort? Surely any half-wit could have worked that out. Yet, a nagging doubt kept resurfacing in his mind. Was it just coincidence, or was this even remotely connected to the occasion when he, Ron, and Hermione had made a wish at Camellia's Fountain on Christmas Eve? Had he not wished then, for the knowledge that would enable him to dispose of Voldemort once and for all?

As Harry mulled it over, Siramad stood quietly observing him, waiting patiently for him to make some kind of response. But Harry was still overawed and could only utter a faint, "Oh."

Siramad chuckled. "Is that the best you could manage boy, eh? 'Oh!'" And he chuckled again. It was a kindly sort of chuckle that only baffled Harry further. This man had just kidnapped one of his best friends, threatened to harm her if Harry did not do as he wished, and was now chuckling at him as friendly as you please. What the hell was going on?!

As though Siramad had understood Harry's tumble of thoughts, he said with a grin, "Right, then. It appears I have some explaining to do - you don't half look confused, Mr. Potter!"

Harry simply scowled as if to say, is it any wonder?

"Right, then," Siramad began. "As I said before, my name is Siramad and since my retirement from the Ministry I have been working at Camellia's Fountain. - "Ah-ha!" thought Harry - First, I listen to the wishes made and then, if I feel that a wish is appropriate and within my capabilities, I try to grant it.

"You would be surprised at the number of people I hear wishing for fame and riches; well, actually, perhaps you wouldn't, but anyway. The sorts of wishes I attempt to do something about are ones that are not totally selfish; ones I can see benefiting others also. That is why I chose your wish, Mr. Potter. For a small sacrifice on your part, many lives need not be extinguished by the unmerciful wrath of He Who Must Not Be Named."

"Er, what sort of small sacrifice?" Harry asked apprehensively.

Here Siramad shuffled his feet and lowered his eyes.

"The one thing you cherish above all others," he whispered.

For the second time since Harry's meeting with Siramad, silence reigned. By now the sun had completely set and the room was illuminated only by the vague flickering of the torches in the corridor and the green-globe Siramad still clutched in his hands. At this point Harry's poor brain had had enough and decided that Harry was in fact in a dream; none of what he had heard was true and, therefore, he could pretend that he had not heard it. This was why he suddenly changed the subject by asking, "What is that funny globe-thing? Why is it giving out green light?"

Siramad looked confused for a moment, but then masked his confusion as he answered airily,

"This," he held up the sphere between finger and thumb, "is simply an Impigritâs Modus." As Harry showed no sign of understanding, (quite the contrary, in fact), Siramad felt obliged to elaborate.

"It is a kind of energy measurer. Earlier today I performed a spell and the Impigritâs Modus shows me how much power the spell retains by the strength of the green light. As you are aware, most spells wear off after a while and judging by the way this thing keeps guttering, my spell is almost gone."

No sooner had Siramad finished his last sentence, the green light faltered into darkness and Harry heard a soft moan from the table behind Siramad. Suddenly, as though a mist had cleared from within his head, Harry rushed forward and scrambled onto the platform. Siramad thrust an arm painfully into Harry's chest, knocking half the wind out of him.

"Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Potter. You have not let me finish explaining the PrÃ'cerius charm, the one that will allow you to seal the Dark Lord's doom."

"If you really know how to defeat Voldemort," here Siramad flinched but Harry ignored him, "then why haven't you got on and done it yourself?"

Siramad smiled a strange smile whose meaning Harry found difficult to interpret. He thought it looked more like a smirk than a smile. "Because I am not the one who wants him dead."

"WHAT?" Harry practically shrieked. "You don't want him dead? Then how do I know I can trust you when you tell me how I can kill him?"

"Mr. Potter," snapped Siramad curtly, with no trace of a smile now, "you misunderstand me. I would be delighted if the Dark One was no more, yes indeed. But I am a coward. I could not sacrifice my most precious thing, so I have waited for someone who can. That someone is you. Now, will you allow me to tell you how to perform the charm now?"

However, just at that very moment the thing on the table sat up and stretched. It was Hermione.

"Now see what has happened; you should have arrived here earlier. It would all be over by now. No matter, you can make a start on the charm while I restrain her again." As he said this, Siramad both handed Harry a scroll and took out his wand.

"STOP!" Harry bellowed, causing Hermione, Siramad and even himself to jump. This bought Harry enough time to push past Siramad and place himself between the wand and Hermione. Siramad raised his eyebrows and lowered his wand as Harry said,

"Look, would you mind telling me firstly what Hermione has to do with all of this and secondly why you are inclined to feel she ought to be 'restrained,' as you put it?"

"You really don't know why the girl is here? Are you really such a simpleton that you had not figured it out yet?" Siramad frowned, clambering down the platform with as much dignity as he could muster with his full-length robes hitched up past his knees. Before Harry could have time to wonder what he was playing at now, Siramad had reached some torches on the opposite wall and lit them with some well-chosen words and a swish of his wand. Meanwhile, Hermione had shuffled about sleepily so that she was almost completely obscured from the view of her captor.

"Where are w-w-w-we?" she asked, failing to stifle a yawn.

"I don't know," Harry muttered, his eyes on Siramad. "Not in Hogwarts, that's for sure."

Then suddenly, without warning, Harry gasped. The penny had finally dropped; he knew why Hermione was there too.

"Really," tutted Siramad, "and I assumed that you would already know what you cherished above all things; most people do."

Harry said nothing, his face as grey as the stone table Hermione was perched upon. He now faced a great dilemma. Hermione was the thing he treasured most and he had only just realised it. What was worse was that he now had the choice of disposing of Voldemort but losing Hermione, or keeping Hermione and allowing Voldemort to rampage through the world unchecked. He cursed himself for making that blasted wish which had brought about the whole awful situation.

Hermione, Harry could see, was utterly bewildered. It was plain to her that Harry was in an agonising turmoil but as she had slept peacefully through the beginning of the meeting, she had no way of knowing what tormented him so.

"Harry, what is it?" she whispered gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shook his head and suddenly felt very sick as the full extent of what he would have to do sank in. He would not just lose Hermione - he would have to kill her.

"I need time to think," he mumbled.

Siramad, who had been muttering incoherently for the past few minutes, looked anxious. However, he contented himself by saying, "Of course you do, Mr. Potter. Of course you do. But just bear this in mind. She is only one person; think of all those you would be saving from certain doom. Her one life for their many. Think of how you'll feel knowing He could never harm anyone again."

Siramad glanced at Hermione as he spoke and looked horrified when she uttered a startled cry. As unfeeling he may have seemed toward Hermione, he did not really mean her harm. By wanting Harry to perform the charm, his heart was in the right place. The problem arose because Hermione was an innocent person, too, and didn't deserve to die any more than Voldemort's unfortunate victims did. However, he pacified his conscience by telling himself what he had told Harry; that many lives would be saved.

Hermione had cried out because now she, too, could see how the land lay; her one life for their many. Both Siramad and Harry realised this. In response, Harry had turned round to face her but could not look her in the eye. She was about to cry; he could sense it. Yet she held back her tears and he knew it was for his sake.

"Harry," she said at last in a voice choked with emotion. "Harry, you know it makes sense. Please do this for me; think how I'll feel if you don't. Knowing that all the deaths you could have prevented were down to me. Please - " but she could not continue, so she gave him a weak smile instead.

Their eyes met and Harry immediately knew what he would do. He stiffened his resolve before taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Forgive me," was all he said to her before turning and advancing on Siramad with his wand raised. "Send us back; I won't do it."

Noooooo! But you must! Oh, you are a coward. You will regret this for the rest of your days, you -"

"I don't doubt I'll regret it," Harry retorted grimly, "but I don't believe magic should be used to determine the death of an innocent person. That would put me on the same level as Voldemort. Just send us back."

Siramad was wringing his hands in frustration, but he nodded silently. Harry held out the scroll to him, but he frantically shook his head and backed away, saying, "I implore you, Mr. Potter, take the scroll. One day you may have need of it."

Privately, Harry disagreed, but saw it would be better not to argue so he pocketed it. Then, as Siramad went out to retrieve the battered book that had brought them there, Harry strode back over to the platform and Hermione. She was now standing by the table visibly trembling. For a moment they just stood there staring at each other before Hermione rushed forward and flung herself on Harry's neck. For the first time, Harry did not feel in the least bit awkward about being hugged by her and did the most natural thing in the world; he put his arms right around her and hugged her back.

The door creaked on its hinges as Siramad returned and they hastily broke apart, feeling a little shy. Harry was amazed he had never noticed the way he felt about her - it was immeasurably stronger than he had felt for Cho, which astonished him. The sound of Siramad speaking brought him back from his reverie.

" - it is done." Siramad sighed, placing the book down on the table. He swivelled to face Harry, considering him intently for a moment.

"I don't know if you are aware of it, but you look startlingly like Tom Riddle. As like him, in fact, as though you were brothers. When I saw you standing framed in the doorway earlier, you very near gave me a heart attack. It was only when I glimpsed your scar," here his eyes flicked upwards to Harry's forehead, ignoring the scowl Harry was now wearing., "that I realised who you really were. Now then, Miss, err..." - 'Granger' muttered Hermione - "...I want you to appreciate that I mean you no ill regard, despite all that has occurred here. I bid you both farewell; I shall not see either of you again." He nodded at Harry, who inclined his head only very slightly in acknowledgement.

Harry turned to Hermione and they both took hold of the book. Instantaneously, they were being dragged irresistibly forward by a pull behind each of their navels. In a howl of wind and swirling colour they sped back to the safety of Hogwarts.

CRASH! The pair of them fell onto the very same table Harry had picked up the book from earlier. There were many screams and strangled yells of surprise and fright, not only from Harry and Hermione, but also from what appeared to be most of Gryffindor packed into the circular common room.

Having smashed the table, Harry lay on his back on the floor, blood gushing from a cut above his left temple and Hermione sprawled diagonally across him. He felt an agonising stab of pain in his chest as several people rushed forward and hauled Hermione upright. Then, he passed out.

*

The next morning, Harry awoke with a pounding headache to find himself in the hospital wing, which was illuminated by the weak rays of the October sun. He peered around blearily (for someone had removed his glasses) and saw Hermione lying in the bed nearest his on the right. She was on her side, with her back to him, so it was difficult for him to tell whether she was awake or not.

Harry made to sit up but yelled in agony, clutching at his ribs. Sinking back onto his pillows, Harry saw Hermione roll over in her sleep and Madam Pomfrey come bustling over carrying a large and horribly familiar bottle labelled 'Skele-Gro'.'

"I see you're awake, then," she tutted, bending over him to peer into his eyes before gently tilting his head to the right so she could inspect where he had cut it. Harry winced. He was aching all over.

"How's Hermione?" he gasped as she put a hand on his side and felt his ribs.

"She'll be fine. She's just exhausted and perhaps a little bruised. From what I've heard you seem to have broken her fall." She smiled kindly at him before continuing more grimly, "Now, I'm sorry, Potter, but you have done yourself some considerable damage: broken three of your ribs, which will need to be re-grown - "

"Re-grown?" Harry cut across her. "But if I only broke them, why do they need to be re-grown?"

"If you'll let me finish," she said, frowning, "then I'll tell you. When you broke them, they got compressed," here she shot a glance in Hermione's direction before continuing, "so that the broken shards stuck inward, puncturing your lung. While you were unconscious you were unable to take the potion to mend the bones. So, to minimise the damage to you internally, I felt it would be best to remove them."

Harry said nothing and Madam Pomfrey poured out a glassful of the Skele-Gro. Resigned to experiencing the burning sensation he knew would follow taking the potion, he drank the Skele-Gro. Coughing and spluttering, his throat on fire, Harry took the second glass Madam Pomfrey held out to him. It contained water and he gulped it down gratefully as she went to check on Hermione, who was just waking up.

Harry closed his eyes and grimaced as the stabbing pains started in his chest. The sound of retreating footsteps told Harry that Madam Pomfrey had finished seeing to Hermione. He opened his eyes and turned his head in her direction. She was on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest with her forehead resting on them.

"Hermione?"

"Mmm?" she said, looking up. Harry could see she was very pale and had dark circles beneath her eyes.

"You alright?"

She nodded, then swung her legs over the side of her bed and walked over to him. Harry patted the blankets, indicating for her to sit there, but she remained where she was, looking uncertainly at him.

"Sit down. I'm alright; well, so long as you don't fidget too much." He smiled at her. She smiled back meekly and sat down carefully. She was biting her lip. Harry knew she only did that when there was something difficult she needed to say. Then she took a deep breath and looked him in the eye as she whispered,

"Harry, I'm really, really sorry." A single tear trickled down her cheek.

Feeling more than a little confused, Harry answered, "Why? You've done nothing to be sorry for."

"This whole mess is my fault - if only I hadn't let him trick me into picking up that book. Then none of this would have happened. You now know how to defeat You-Know-Who, yet it's my fault you won't do it. Then, when you bring me back, I repay you by nearly killing you," she cried hysterically, her face shining with tears. Harry reached across and took her hand in his, wincing at the pain in his chest. He had just opened his mouth to say something reassuring, when the hospital wing door swung open.

Madam Pomfrey poked her head round her office door as the headmaster strode in, accompanied by Professor McGonagall.

"Ah, Poppy," said Dumbledore, "would it be alright if I had a word with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger?"

Judging by Madam Pomfrey's scowl, it was not all right, but Harry knew she would not refuse Dumbledore so she merely nodded briskly and went back into her office.

Hermione, meanwhile, had been hurriedly trying to dry her eyes. This was made difficult, however, by Harry refusing to let go of her hand. Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore drew up chairs and sat down next to Harry's bed.

"I don't know what you were thinking of, Potter! Storming off like that - anything might have happened," burst out Professor McGonagall sternly, though Harry thought she sounded relieved. He remained silent but glanced at Hermione before returning his gaze to Dumbledore, who was surveying him intently.

"Your friend Mr. Ronald Weasley was extremely concerned when you disappeared; he came straight away and told us what happened. It is lucky you dropped the note, or else we might all have gone out of our minds with worry." Dumbledore chuckled at the matching expressions of confusion Harry and Hermione now wore. " Mr. Siramad is an old friend of mine; a little, err, senile, perhaps, but nevertheless harmless. We knew no harm would befall either of you, but as you weren't to know that, I can perfectly understand how you reacted. Did Alaric have any particular reason why he was so anxious to see you?"

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling as he said this, but his smile faltered slightly at the expression on Harry's face. Again, Harry felt physically sick at the thought of what Siramad had wanted him to do. He turned ashen-faced to Hermione and saw she was shaking. Still looking at her, he answered quietly, "Yes; Siramad told me how to destroy Voldemort."

As the door swung shut, signalling Dumbledore's leave, Harry scrambled to sit up on his pillows, yelping as he did so. Seeing Hermione look questioningly at him, he tugged her hand and, taking the hint, she edged closer to his uninjured side. There was just about enough room for her to lie down next to him, if she lay on her side. This she did and he put his arm around her and held her close, trying his best to ignore the increase in pain.

They lay there quietly for a while, Harry listening to her breathing softly. All of a sudden, he burst out, "Do you think I look a lot like Tom Riddle?"

Hermione leant her head back to peer into his face, "Well - I - um - I don't know what he looks like, so there's not really much point in asking me."

"Oh, ok. I'd forgotten that you weren't there with me when..." His voice trailed off as he got to thinking about his meeting with Tom Riddle. It had occurred during Harry's second year at Hogwarts when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and the Basilisk within was unleashed, petrifying some of the students. Tom Riddle had been a pupil at the school over fifty years ago now, but by preserving a memory of his sixteen-year-old self in a diary he had managed to enchant Ginny Weasley, forcing her to open the Chamber of Secrets. Harry shuddered as he thought about the meeting that had taken place between Riddle and himself. Suddenly catching sight of Hermione's face, Harry frowned and was brought back to the present. She was biting her lip again.

"You do know what he looks like, don't you?"

Very slowly and looking extremely apprehensive, she nodded.

"So do I look like him, then?" he asked, although he thought he already knew the answer. She nodded again and Harry glowered. The hospital wing became quiet for a time, until Harry forced himself to speak.

"How do you know what Riddle looked like?" he said with a voice full of curiosity.

Hermione did not answer straight away, but instead stared at her hands. At length she said offhandedly, "There are some records in the library of all the Hogwarts' students - I found a photograph of him in one of the books."

"Fair enough," he replied, though feeling that she was not being entirely truthful. "Are you alright?"

Hermione looked up, surprised, but nodded again.

"It's just that you're very quiet; I normally can't get a word in edgeways," he said, grinning at her.

"I was just thinking, that's all," she said, then stuck her tongue out at him.

"About?"

"Yesterday," she sighed. She did not need to put into words what she felt; Harry already knew. He rested his head on hers and, although it was the morning, they were very soon both sound asleep.

Quite a few hours later, Harry awoke to find himself alone in the hospital wing. Hermione had gone. He felt a little hurt that she had not at least stayed until he was awake, but at that moment Madam Pomfrey came strolling into the ward to see if he was still asleep. On finding him the reverse she sat down in one of the chairs next to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Ok, I guess. Where's Hermione?" he said, looking around again.

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "She seemed perfectly recovered by the time she woke up, so I thought it'd be better if she left." Seeing Harry's scowl she added, "I just came back to see if you felt like having another visitor."

"Oh, yes, please - who is it?" he asked brightly.

As he spoke, Ron's head appeared round the door. Seeing Harry was awake he hurried over. "How are you feeling?" he asked as Madam Pomfrey left them to it.

"I'm alright. Sorry about going off and everything."

Ron shook his head to say it didn't matter then grinned widely and said, "That was some entrance, Harry! You guys scared everyone nearly half to death! Trust your bad luck to crash into the table, though." He paused, looking pensive, then said, "You know what's up with Hermione? She seemed really upset just now - I s'pose she feels guilty about breaking your ribs and stuff," here he allowed himself another grin before continuing more seriously. "So, tell me - what happened to you guys after you took the Portkey? Hermione refused to say anything, just burst in tears and stalked off to(?) her dormitory."

Harry gave Ron a piercing look. What if Ron still had a crush on Hermione? They had gone out for a brief spell during their fifth year but had been so awkward and shy around one another that it had not worked out. Harry had his suspicions that Ron was still sweet on her, but as Ron refused to talk about it, Harry could not be sure exactly how Ron felt. On instinct, Harry made up his mind to tell Ron everything that had happened since he had taken the Portkey earlier. Well, he told himself, Ron would probably figure out that there was something between him and Hermione anyway, so it made no sense not to tell him.

Harry took a very deep breath, trying to ignore the extra discomfort in his chest this caused, and began. He told Ron all that had occurred during his meeting with Siramad, while Ron just sat there in silence.

By the time Harry was finished, Ron was looking so put out about something that Harry wondered if he had been wrong to tell him about Hermione. After a very pregnant pause, Harry could bear the stillness no longer and asked, "Ron, are you ok? You've gone awfully quiet."

Ron leapt up so suddenly that Harry jumped in surprise. Ron then mumbled something about needing to be somewhere, before striding out and slamming the door behind him. Harry lay there, feeling both guilty and annoyed. Well, it was not like he had planned for this to happen. Ron always flew off the handle, like he had back in their fourth year when Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, selecting him as a Triwizard champion. Ron had assumed then that Harry had entered himself and it was not until quite some time afterward that he could be persuaded otherwise. Basically, Ron's problem was that Harry got all the attention. Harry did not ask for it or even want it, but that did not matter; he got it anyway. He rolled onto his uninjured side, sighed deeply, and then thumped his pillows. When he got out of the hospital wing he would go talk to Ron and in the meantime he would try to think about something else.

*

Madam Pomfrey had insisted on keeping Harry in overnight just to make sure that his bones had re-grown properly. By the time she had finished checking him over for the third time and was finally satisfied that he was well enough for lessons after all, Harry was running very late and still needed to go back to Gryffindor tower to pick up his books and bag.

Harry breathed a huge sigh of relief when he checked his timetable, to see which books he would need, because he realised he had Transfiguration first. As Professor McGonagall knew what had happened with Siramad, she would understand why he was so late. He started cramming books into his bag at a more leisurely pace and set off for the first floor.

Harry met Professor McGonagall, standing outside her classroom muttering and waving her wand about. Harry raised his eyebrows but did not pass comment on it; instead, he said, "Sorry I'm late, Professor. Madam Pomfrey - "

"Yes, yes, that's fine, Potter. Kindly go in and find yourself a seat; the lesson has already started," she interrupted him, with a bite of impatience in her voice. Harry shrugged and pushed open the door.

He looked toward the front of the room and blinked. Professor McGonagall was standing there, dictating notes for the rest of the class. She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of him, put her hands on her hips, and said, "You're late, Potter."

Harry just stared. He swivelled to face the door and then swivelled back again to face Professor McGonagall, feeling totally bewildered. "Professor - I - you - How did you do that?" Everyone stared at him as Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, making him blush.