Harry Potter and the Last Goodnight

After lunch, Harry, Hermione, and Ron walked the familiar path to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"I wonder how Dumbledore found someone to take the job this time," Ron said. "You'd think he'd have a harder time of it than last year, after what happened with Umbridge."

"I think what happened to Umbridge was the Ministry's fault," Hermione said. "I'm sure that there are some educated people out there who aren't afraid to take the job. I mean it's not like every teacher has ended up dead."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Although, this one reminds me too much of McGonagall."

"Two McGonagalls would be my worst nightmare come true," Ron announced.

"Oh come on, Professor McGonagall isn't that bad. Especially after last year and the way she stood up to Umbridge." One of Hermione's greatest strengths was defending McGonagall, probably because they had so many of the same ideals. "Besides, if we do have someone like her teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, think of how much we're going to learn." It was startling how much of a resemblance there was between the two of them.

But as the three of them entered the classroom and took their seats, it was clear that in the visual category, Professor Leurre looked more like Professor McGonagall than Hermione did. She even appeared to have the same stern look on her face. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun again, and she was wearing robes of a rich chestnut color. She sat at her desk with her hands folded, studying each student with harsh eyes.

Hermione found a seat next to Luna, while Ron and Harry took the empty desk behind them. Nobody in the classroom was talking, but when Ron sat down, Luna turned around and mumbled, "Greetings," under her breath at them. Ron turned to Harry, one eyebrow raised, and made a motion around his head, mouthing, "loony." Harry stifled a laugh.

Most of the sixth years were in Defense Against the Dark Arts, including Malfoy and his groupies. He was sharing a desk with Pansy Parkinson; Crabbe and Goyle were sitting in front of them. The classroom was a little cramped, and by the time the bell rang, all of the seats were taken.

Harry had seen the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom under the wing of five teachers before Professor Leurre. She appeared to be somewhat of a bookworm. Old dusty books that smelled of mold were scattered around the classroom. There were piles on the floor and on her desk. There were also a few magical contraptions that Harry didn't recognize. One was a big, white globe on a pedestal that reminded Harry of a giant Moon Guide, like the miniature globe he carried in his pocket.

At the sound of the bell, Professor Leurre stood up and clasped her hands behind her back and paced the classroom in very McGonagall-like fashion. "Welcome to the N.E.W.T. Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Most of you already know who I am, but just in case you've forgotten, I'll remind you. My name is Professor Leurre. You may only call me Professor Leurre. I demand respect in this class just as you demand a proper education."

She turned on her heel and faced the class, studying the rows of students. Ron looked positively fearful. "The headmaster has informed me that last year you merely copied spells from the pages of your textbooks. I assure you, this year will be much different, as I prefer the hands-on approach to the Defense of the Dark Arts."

Hermione turned her head and smiled back at Harry and Ron. She hated Umbridge's open-book method. Harry was relieved to hear that they would be practicing the Dark Arts again. Then maybe no one would want to join D.A. again because they would get enough homework from Professor Leurre.

"I am very disappointed, however, that you are already in your sixth year and you haven't studied a spell's worth of ancient magic."

Some of the students gasped. Harry apparently didn't understand the magnitude of what she'd just said. His only knowledge of ancient magic consisted of Voldemort's ignorance. Ancient magic was the reason that he was the Boy Who Lived.

"Some of you may be more familiar with ancient magic than others. As many people are well aware of, ancient magic was the key to Voldemort's end sixteen years ago, and ancient magic was the very thing that brought him back." She was staring directly at Harry as she said this, and his stare did not waiver from hers.

At the mention of Voldemort's name, there were cries of astonishment from the class. Harry saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle all wince, the way Snape did when Harry spoke the Dark Lord's name. Ron made a little whining noise.

"In my class, there will be no mention of the Dark Lord or You-Know-Who. If you are going to speak of him, you must call him Voldemort and nothing else."

Harry was a little surprised. He had heard very few people besides Hermione and Dumbledore speak his true name. The rest of the class was in shock, however. Malfoy looked outraged. "But Professor," he said, not bothering to raise his hand, "you can't possibly expect us to..."

"Oh I can, Mr. Malfoy, and I do," Professor Leurre interrupted. "If you cannot bring yourself to say Voldemort, then perhaps you shouldn't say anything about him at all," she snapped.

Now Harry was surprised that Professor Leurre even knew who Malfoy was. He studied the professor, and decided that she did look about the same age as Narcissa, Malfoy's mother. Perhaps they had gone to Hogwarts together.

"Fearing a name is a waste of time," she continued, sitting down at her desk. "What you should all really fear is the wizard himself. But we're not going to debate about this right now." She began searching her desk, and there was a loud boom as she accidentally knocked some of her books on the floor. A mushroom-shaped cloud of dust floated through the air, and she coughed. She grinned sheepishly, pulling her wand out of a drawer. "First we are going to discuss the origin of ancient magic. For homework for the next class, I want you all to do a good twelve inches on what you already know about ancient magic, and also feel free to write any questions you have about it in your essay."

Harry knew next to nothing about ancient magic, but he was pretty sure he could fill up three feet's worth of parchment with his questions about ancient magic. Immediately, a question that had been burning inside of him for years and years popped into his mind:

Was ancient magic powerful enough to bring somebody back to life?

"I thought Professor Leurre was absolutely wonderful!" Hermione said enthusiastically. It was dinnertime, and the Great Hall was loud and noisy from the excitement of the first day of classes. "Finally, we're going to talk about ancient magic. I have so many questions about it."

"I think she was a tad strict," Ron replied. "Have you had her yet, Ginny?"

Ginny shook her head. "I don't have Defense Against the Dark Arts until Wednesday. And I doubt we'll be studying ancient magic. It's not on the O.W.L. examination."

Hermione sighed. "Well, we'll just have to tell you all about it during the D.A. meetings, right Harry?"

Harry frowned. He certainly didn't want to talk about D.A. meetings over dinner. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all looked at him expectantly, as though they wanted him to make some kind of announcement about when the first meeting would be. He loathed his role as their fearless leader. He tried not to look at them, but instead, studied the meal in front of him.

"'Arry!" exclaimed a voice from behind him. He turned to see Hagrid, the big half-giant gamekeeper and current Care of Magical Creatures instructor. "Good ter see ya!" He gave Harry a slap on the back that was more painful than friendly. "Hermione, Ron, Ginny." He nodded to each one of them.

"Hello, Hagrid," they replied automatically.

"Say, did ya get yer birthday gift?" he asked.

Harry gulped. He'd forgotten all about the other half that Hagrid had promised him at Hogwarts. "I did, thanks," he replied.

"Oh just you wait, 'Arry. You'll be thankin' me when you see her."

Her. There it was again. The curiosity and worry was overcoming him. "Hagrid, it's not an animal, is it?"

He just smiled. "You'll have ter wait and see, 'Arry. Just wait and see. You can stop by t'morrow night, if you like."

Harry wasn't sure he could wait until then. "What about tonight?"

Hagrid thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, it'll be better if ya wait 'til tomorrow."

He briefly wondered what Hagrid would be doing tonight, but Harry didn't question him. It was only the first day of class, after all. He probably still had lesson plans to create and a giant half-brother to visit. "All right Hagrid, I'll be at your hut tomorrow night then."

Hagrid grinned and ruffled Harry's hair. "I look forward to it. And you'd all better take care of yourselves this year, ya hear?"

"We always do, don't we?" Ron said, confused.

"You know what I mean," Hagrid replied. He lowered his voice. "No funny business. With You-Know-Who..."

"Voldemort," Hermione interrupted. Hagrid, Ron, and Ginny winced. A couple third years looked fearfully at Hermione, but her glare turned them away.

"With him runnin' around, you need to watch yer backs," Hagrid whispered. "And anything with that scar, 'Arry, you go and tell Dumbledore. He'll take care of ya."

Harry, feeling self-conscious, quickly folded his bangs over his scar, trying to hide it. "Er... thanks Hagrid. I'll keep that in mind."

And with that, the giant winked and headed towards the staff table, the silverware clattering on the table with each step he took.

"That was odd," Ron said, chewing on a mouthful of bread.

"He's just worried," Hermione supplied. "And with good reason."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, we don't need to worry about this. As long as I'm at Hogwarts, I'm safe. As long as Dumbledore's around, we don't have to worry about anything."

"You know, they always say that," Ron said, "but somehow, Voldemort always manages to infiltrate Hogwarts's defenses. It's a good thing you've got us, Harry." He grinned. "I've got your back, mate."

"Me too," Hermione said quietly. "So Ron, what did Professor McGonagall want to talk to you about after Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Ron stopped chewing and swallowed the food in his mouth in one gulp. His ears turned slightly red. "Ah... I don't think now's the best time to talk about it, Hermione."

"You had to meet with McGonagall already?" Harry said. "Did you get a early detention or something?" he joked.

"Er... no. Not a detention."

"Oh, that's right!" Ginny cried. "I heard it from Colin Creevy in the Common Room. Congratulations, Ron! Fred and George would be proud."

"Proud about what?" Harry had the distinct impression that everybody knew something he didn't. He turned to Ron, who wouldn't meet his eyes. "What's going on?"

"You know, you're right Ron, we should talk about it later," Hermione said suddenly.

"Why?" Ginny demanded suddenly. "Harry's going to find out soon enough."

"Find out what?"

Ron sighed. For a few endless moments, he played with the scalloped potatoes on his plate. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry. I tried to tell you on the train before Seamus came in. When McGonagall wrote me about meeting with Snape, she also congratulated me on making captain." He spoke quickly, his words all in one breath. "Please, don't hate me. I didn't ask for it. It's just, after last year - after you were banished from Quidditch..."

Harry felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. He was shocked. He was angry. Jealous. He heard a voice inside of his head commanding him not to feel. Act normal. Show no emotion. "Oh, that's... that's really great Ron. You deserve it."

Ron scowled at Ginny. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry. It's just that, last year you were banished from Quidditch so technically you're not even on the team anymore. And there aren't any seventh years on the team..."

"No, it's great, Ron." Harry heard himself speaking, but he wasn't quite sure where his voice was coming from. "I understand." There were loud voices all around him from the other tables. He tried not to concentrate on the disappointment he felt. The anger. Stupid Umbridge - stupid Malfoy. It was his fault Harry had been banished from Quidditch in the first place.

And then it began to sink in. He realized what Ron was saying to him. "What do you mean that I'm not technically on the team anymore?"

Ron exchanged glances with Ginny again. "Well, as of right now, Ginny holds the seeker position on the team."

Harry felt the rush of blood through his ears as his anger boiled inside of him. He couldn't even look at Ginny. The thought of her taking over as seeker hadn't even crossed his mind. Did he really think he could just waltz back onto the team - onto Ron's team - when he was absent for nearly all of the last season? If he couldn't be seeker for the Gryffindor team, he didn't know if he wanted to play Quidditch at all.

"But you could tryout for seeker, and if you're better than her at tryouts, you can have your old position back." His voice was quiet. He was torn between his sister and his best friend.

Ginny's face had turned as red as the hair on her head. "Actually, Ron, I was kind of hoping to take Angelina's position," she said. "Harry can be Seeker."

"I don't want your..." Pity was what came into his mind. Ginny pitied him. She felt sorry for him. "I don't need your charity."

"It's not charity," she quickly replied. "I'd rather be working with the Quaffle and scoring some points. You know, where the real action is." She grinned wickedly at Harry.

"Well, that works out great then," Hermione said. "Harry can have his position as Seeker and Ginny can tryout for Chaser."

"Great," Ron said lightly. "That makes my life a lot easier."

"I bet it does," Harry said quietly. "So do I still have to try out?"

Ron shook his head. "Only if somebody else wants to try for that position. But I wouldn't worry about it. Although, it would be nice to have you around at tryouts on Thursday."

"Why?" Harry questioned.

"Because I've only been on the team for one year. I'm going to need all the help I can get." Ron smiled carefully.

Harry realized that he was getting upset over something he had absolutely no control over. So what if Ron was the new Quidditch captain? Ron hardly ever got anything he wanted. He had to become a prefect before his parents would even get him a decent broom. Harry scolded himself. He should be proud of Ron. He'd come a long way in a year. And besides, there was always next year for him to be captain. If he could manage not to get suspended from Quidditch again and survive whatever Voldemort had planned for him.

Harry managed to return his smile. "Right. I'll be glad to help out - if you need it."

Hermione let out her breath as if she'd been holding it for a long time. Ginny stood up and grabbed a piece of bread from the table. "Oh, there's Neville. I've got to go ask him a question about my Herbology homework." She sauntered off to the other end of the Gryffindor table.

"So Harry, about D.A., I really think we should get started as soon as possible," Hermione began.

"Hermione, would you just lay off?" Harry said shortly. "It's the first day of school. I'd like to enjoy it a little before we have to get down to business." He was still feeling a bit raw from the shock of losing Quidditch captain to his best friend.

"'Arry's right," Ron said, his mouth full of pork roast. "Give it o' rest for one day."

Hermione frowned, looking disgusted at Ron's lack of table manners. "I don't know how you can eat that."

"Eat what?" he asked.

"Do you know what they did to that pig before they slaughtered it? How they treated it?"

Ron swallowed in one gulp, looking confused. "I suspect they gave it a nice home inside a barn somewhere and fed it all the slop it wanted."

"You are so ignorant." Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed back her plate, the roast left untouched. "I'm going to the library to get started on that essay for Professor Leurre."

"Ah, yes, the first day of school wouldn't be complete without an evening journey to the library," Ron said quietly as he and Harry watched her leave the Great Hall. "There's no pleasing her," he muttered, and went back to his plate of pork.

* * *

Harry awoke with a start, his breath catching inside his chest. His scar was tingling, but it didn't hurt. It just felt overly sensitive in the cool night air. His body was drenched in sweat, his boxer shorts hugging his thighs.

Had it been a dream? Sometimes it was difficult for him to distinguish a vision from a dream. But it must have been a dream. Sirius was there. No, he wasn't physically there, but his voice was. Harry could hear him. The vividness that had awakened him disappeared into the cloudiness of his mind. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. If only he could remember. What was Sirius saying?

And as he tried to fall back asleep, visions of Ron being carried across the Quidditch Pitch with the Cup in his hands paraded through Harry's mind. But instead of feeling relief and excitement, all he could feel was bitterness and resentment.

He felt empty, realizing that there was really nothing for him to look forward to. He would always be a bit envious of Ron, wearing the sparkling "C" captain patch on his house robes. Harry felt his own failure with Ron's promotion. There was no excitement for Quidditch. He had no interest in his heart - he wouldn't feel butterflies in his stomach when he was near Cho Chang. And every time he looked at Ginny all he could feel was her mouth pressed against his and how utterly wrong it felt.

Feeling more alone than ever, Harry reached out from his four-poster to his nightstand. Very quietly, he opened the drawer and grabbed Remus's Moon Guide. After slipping on a robe, he crept quietly to the deserted Gryffindor common room, leaving the snores of his roommates behind him.

Harry plopped down onto one of the red plush couches. The room was almost completely dark except for the smoldering orange ashes in the fireplace. After surveying the room one more time, making sure that he was absolutely alone, he pulled out the Moon Guide.

"I solemnly swear I only want to watch," he said quietly. The small white orb began to quiver slightly in his hands. Harry brought it to his eye like a monocle as it glowed brightly in the darkness. All he could see was white, and for a few moments he thought that maybe he hadn't done it properly. Then suddenly, he saw a reflection of his own green eye, and an illustration of Remus came into focus.

Harry had thought he would find him in a bed somewhere, sleeping in the early hours of the morning. On the contrary, he was sitting in an old dusty rocking chair, reading a book. He looked content. He was wearing a dressing robe, his socks rolled down to his ankles. He had on small reading glasses and his hair was swept back from his face in a ponytail.

Harry wondered where he was. He didn't recognize the furniture or the room around him. He wished he could have been inside the vision of Remus, like he was inside the memory in the pensive. Harry wished that he could talk to Remus. Not even about what was happening at Hogwarts, but just about anything normal. About the weather. About the way Bulgaria had swept the World Cup away from Estonia earlier that month. About how much he missed Sirius.

"I have seen all there is to be seen," Harry whispered. The small orb lost some of its glow as Harry pulled it away from his eye.

He thought briefly of writing a letter to Remus. But what would he say? He knew if he picked up a quill and parchment all of his thoughts and emotions about Quidditch and Ron and Ginny would spill out of him. He didn't want to burden Remus with his silly schoolboy problems.

Instead, he slipped the Moon Guide into the pocket of his robe and stared at the fireplace until the ashes turned gray.