Harry Potter and the Brotherhood of the Besotted

Chapter 7: You Have Been Warned

In the showers, Ron was pleading with Harry to put some clothes on. Harry was singing, "Minerva, I just met a witch named Minerva, and suddenly that name, will never be the same to meeee," with his arms flung out wide. Fred and George had deserted the cause long ago, Fred pleading that Harry's abysmal singing was simply unbearable given their delicate artistic temperaments. Shortly after the twins had gone, Peeves the poltergeist turned up and was now taking great joy in singing along, not letting the fact that he knew neither words nor tune deter him in the least.

With all his other options exhausted, Ron pulled out his wand and said, "Somnambulus." Harry fell still and snored, leaving Peeves to make up the rest of song as best he could. Ron flung Harry's Quidditch robes over him and, taking him by his arm, began to lead him back to Gryffindor Tower before the jinx wore off.

As they passed through the Gryffindor portrait hole, the Fat Lady said, "You'd better check the notice board, dear." Ron looked at the board near the common room entrance and observed that, in addition to the timetable for fifth year student's medical examinations and aura readings on Sunday afternoon, Professor McGonagall had posted a special notice. The notice read:

Extraordinary Warning, Saturday 12 February

All fifth year students are to wait outside the Great Hall at dinnertime until instructed to enter by a prefect. Failure to do so will result in the loss of 50 house points and detention. The school reserves the right to deny any fifth year student access to the Great Hall by reason of their appearance or demeanour.

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Acting Headmistress

Somebody had drawn a large heart around the professor's signature at the foot of the parchment.

Ron settled Harry into an armchair where he could wake up comfortably and, with an hour or so to kill before dinner, placed his chess set on the table. The beauty of wizard chess was that you didn't have to physically move the pieces and, in a situation where you couldn't find an opponent, you could simply let the chessmen from the opposing team think for themselves. Ron chose white and started a game on his own.

He was gratified to see that the black chessmen had learnt a lot since the last time they played him. The pawns created small battering rams to defeat the king's side rook, and the black queen distracted Ron's knights for a while by dancing seductively. Still, in the end they were no match for the white team under Ron's generalship. "Better luck next time, lads," he said encouragingly.

A curt meow, followed by a familiar, if hoarse, girl's voice saying, "Barley Water," caused Ron's head to swing around.

"Where have you bee -," said Ron, his voice trailing off as Hermione stepped through the portrait hole.

She was barely recognisable. Hermione's brown hair was always bushy, and frequently untidy, but now it looked like the mane of a wild animal, strewn in every direction. Her hands were trembling as she held a stinking cauldron, and a large piece of folded reddish brown fabric. Her eyes, normally inquisitive and alert, were haunted and sunken within dark circles. Ron had never seen her look like this, even when she had been overworked and on the brink of despair in third year. In fact, Ron had only ever once seen another person who looked so dangerous. Because, looking at Hermione, Ron was immediately reminded of his first encounter, in the middle of the night, with Sirius Black.

"I've been preparing. Making safe. Making sure." Hermione's voice was a rasping whisper, but she spoke quickly.

"Hermione, whatever you're up to, its not worth it." Ron tried to take her arms to sit her down, but she brushed him off. "We need to get you to the hospital wing," he said.

"But now it's ready. Now it's safe. He's a worthy foe, but if I'm unseen and if I'm in control, then I can conquer him. He'll pay for all he has put me through. He'll be mine, Ron, don't you see? Mine alone, to do as I bid. But only if I can't be seen." Hermione's whole body was shaking now, as though even the effort of voicing her secrets could cause her to collapse.

Ron wished Harry were awake. Alone, he never felt like Hermione's intellectual equal, but Harry had a way of sometimes making her see reason. Harry stirred in his chair, but slept on. Hermione darted to the girls' dormitory stairs.

"What are you going to do? Don't do anything mad without letting us know," Ron pleaded.

Hermione merely turned on the stairs and said, "There's no way to stop this now Ron. But first of all, first thing of all, before I begin that is -" She hesitated, as though she really wanted to return to sanity, but could see no way back. So she merely added, "I think I'll do my hair."

Bloody mental, thought Ron. Worse than bloody mental, terrifying. Hermione had done some dangerous things in the past - brewed Polyjuice, misused a Time Turner, imprisoned an Animagus witch in a jar. Ron knew that she had the cunning, the knowledge, and the courage to do anything. However, up until now, her plots and schemes had always been directed against some outside enemy, not a teacher at Hogwarts school. The only time she had actually attacked a teacher, it had been on impulse, and luckily the teacher was more than willing to accord Sirius Black the ultimate blame for that assault. This time things could become far more serious. This time Hermione might end up, in her own words, "killed - or worse, expelled." Although it went against his every instinct, there was only one option left to Ron. He would have to warn Snape. Ron only hoped his teacher took the threat of Hermione seriously.

Harry mumbled something poetic in his sleep and Ron, realising that his best friend's "demeanour" was never going to let him be admitted to the Great Hall that night, decided that he would drop by the kitchens on his way to dinner to see if the elves could bring Harry up some food. He would then need to find a way to warn Snape at dinnertime.

In the kitchens, nearly every house-elf was contentedly and industriously preparing the next meal as the huge kitchen fires blazed mightily. Ron was grateful for the warmth of those fires as he poked his long thin nose around the kitchen door. However, he noticed that two elves in the far corner of the room were not preparing the vast platters to be magicked to the tables above. One of these elves was sitting at a small red table, making badges. The other was hitting the badge maker over the head with a ladle.

"Harry! Potter! Is! Not! Acting! Like! A! Silly! Sausage!" the ladle-wielding elf squeaked, bringing a vicious blow down on her friend's head with each word. "Dobby is a bad, wicked elf for saying so. Harry Potter is the most handsome, romantical wizard in the world. Winky thinks Dobby should be being more romantical sometimes, instead of spending all Dobby's time on naughty, bad politics."

Ron felt great sympathy for Dobby, so he approached Winky to ask his favour. Within seconds, Winky the house-elf had put down her ladle, much to Dobby's relief. She was now skipping blissfully up the stairs of Gryffindor Tower, taking a cheese and chutney sandwich and a half pint of Butterbeer to the most handsome, romantical wizard in the world.

A short walk up a narrow spiral staircase took Ron from the kitchens directly to the student's Great Hall entrance. McGonagall's warning notice did little to prepare Ron for the chaos he encountered there. While most of the students were being admitted through the door, fifth year students were being asked to queue to one side to be, as the Ravenclaw prefect Cho Chang described it, "vetted." The students standing in that line were an utterly bizarre lot.

All of the girls seemed to have made extra special efforts with their appearance, some more successfully than others. Padma and Parvati Patil were looking very pretty in their dress robes, which they had spent the day embroidering with an intricate interlocking letter "S" design. The thread they had used was enchanted, so that every time they moved, instead of rustling, their taffeta robes whispered, "Severus Snake-Hips Snape." Eloise Midgeon, who had always been sensitive about her complexion, was wearing so much pale makeup that she looked like a ghost. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington floated around her, gazing at her approvingly. Meek little Susan Bones had tried an engorgement charm on her bust line, to startling effect. At the end of the queue, Lavender Brown was tottering on very tall, hot pink stilettos. Her hair had been piled high upon her head in elaborate curls and she wore a dress that Ron assumed would be considered immodest even by Muggle standards. Moving along the line, Cho spotted Lavender and was taken aback. "Miss Brown," the completely scandalised prefect said, "I'm taking ten points from Gyffindor for that neckline and ten points for the hem line. Now go to your room and put some clothes on, or you'll be getting detention as well."

Ron thought that perhaps the most surprising thing about the efforts of the girls was how little they were appreciated, or even noticed, by the boys. Not even Lavender's skirt caused a flutter of interest. Instead, the boys were jostling and shoving each other like a herd of young bucks. Seamus' parcel was ripped in an altercation with some Hufflepuff boys. Cho spotted the present and confiscated it, promising Seamus he could have it back after dinner if he conducted himself sensibly. She also took Dean's fish, but made no promises for its safe return.

As Cho was checking the line, Hogwarts' Head Boy, Merlin Rhys-Jones, positioned himself by the Great Hall door. Merlin's father was a Muggle who had played rugby for Wales. Mr. Maldwyn Rhys-Jones, being a simple, direct sort of man, thought that Merlin was a fine name for a wizard. Little did he know that naming a wizard child "Merlin" was roughly equivalent to a Christian parent naming their baby "Lord God Almighty". The possibilities for embarrassment were endless. To his credit, Merlin had managed to overcome this disability, partly due to his affable nature and partly due to his imposing physique. At the age of eighteen, Merlin was taller, heavier and his neck was thicker than his da's. Lee Jordan had once complained that Rhys-Jones had only been appointed Head Boy because people were frightened Merlin would tackle them, if they chose anybody else.

Because Merlin, like most of his Hufflepuff housemates, was of a gentle, hardworking disposition, he wasn't enjoying the enforcement role that had been foisted on the prefects this weekend. However, looking at the fifth year rabble, he also accepted that Professor McGonagall was quite correct when she insisted that he would have to be firm now. It was simply for their own good.

"Can I have your attention please?" Merlin asked. Terry Boot from Ravenclaw, who had just been disfigured by a Jelly-legs Jinx, was holding a Hufflepuff boy in a headlock. A Slytherin girl grabbed Hannah Abbott by the hair. Merlin lifted his wand above his head and produced a mighty spark that struck the floor at the fifth years' feet. "CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE?" he repeated loudly.

"The school has imposed the following conditions on your attendance at dinner this evening," Rhys-Jones explained. "Firstly, all fifth year students are to remain seated for the entirety of the meal. Talking is to be kept to a conversational level of volume. No singing of any kind is permitted," with these words, Rhys-Jones looked down the line carefully but to his immense relief Harry Potter was not there. "No student is to approach the High Table, or to pass, levitate or otherwise convey any article to the High Table. If you break any of these conditions, as well as a house points penalty of 50 points for each misdemeanour, students will receive detention." Merlin cleared his throat and added in what he hoped was an ominous tone, "You have been warned."

The fifth years were then permitted to file into the Great Hall, where seats had been set aside for them at the end of each house table, as far away from the High Table as was physically possible. The phalanx of prefects who had guarded the High Table at lunch time were once again on duty, but the door to the teacher's common room was closed. No teachers had entered the Great Hall. When all the fifth year students had been made to sit down, the teacher's common room door opened.

The Great Hall fell eerily silent, as though everybody feared something monstrous was about to happen. It came as an immense relief when Professor Flitwick and Madam Pince came into the hall, chatting unconcernedly to each other. Professor Trelwaney followed, sighing sadly to herself under the weight of her private sorrows. Madam Pomfrey, who looked as though she had endured an exhausting day's work, came into the hall next, quietly complaining about something to Madam Hooch. All eyes were trained on the common room door and the Great Hall was so quiet you could hear a fairy burp.

Within the teachers' common room, a woman with a stern voice and a Scottish accent was clearly audible. She was saying, "Really, Severus, don't be such a Jessie. They're not going to eat you!" A moment later, side-by-side, Professors McGonagall and Snape stepped through the door.

The whole student body of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry remained hushed as the pair walked to the High Table, Professor Snape's eyes remaining determinedly downcast. Nobody uttered a sound as the house heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor took their seats. The suspense that gripped the Great Hall was unbearable. The fifth years (with the exception only of Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy) sat on the edge of their seats, every muscle tensed, and stared adoringly at the objects of their collective affections. Then, self-consciously, tentatively, Severus Snape picked up his spoon to eat his soup. Looking up, he brushed a strand of oily black hair away from his face, and unwittingly met the gaze of the Slytherin fifth year girls. All hell broke loose.

"He looked at me, he looked at me!" a shrill voice, part girl, part banshee, screamed. "NO, no, she looked at ME," a boy's voice howled. Soon nearly every student in fifth year was hysterically screaming, sobbing or shouting. The fifth year Hufflepuff boys, lead by Justin Finch-Fletchley, ripped off their shirts, jumped up onto their table and started to flex their muscles. The Ravenclaw boys came over and grabbed the Hufflepuff's ankles, pulling them from the table into a brawling heap on the floor. Students from first year to seventh year were laughing, hooting and yelling and the Weasley twins, always on hand to further the cause of pandemonium, let off many fireworks.

Some of the prefects at the High Table rushed down to break up the brawl between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Millicent Bulstrode saw her chance and rushed up to the teachers, jumping onto their table and sending the contents of the soup tureen splashing over little Professor Flitwick. Like a possessed hag, she ran down the High Table until she reached her target, who had risen to his feet and was shouting in terror, "Fifty points from Slytherin, Miss Bulstode!" Soon, he was enveloped in Millicent's gigantic, muscular arms, struggling as though he was trapped in Devils' Snare. It was the first and last time that anyone ever heard Severus Snape take points from his own house.

Ron was surveying the scene with no small degree of satisfaction. If Millicent Bulstrode pulled Snape's miserable head off, then Hermione wouldn't be able to get herself into any trouble, would she? Unhappily, it was not to be. Millicent fell forward off the table, her arm's empty. "He's gone, he's gone," she sobbed, clutching thin air where her beloved had been. Snape had apparently Disapparated.

Many prefects tried, but failed, to restrain Millicent and soon the whole area around the High Table became a wild melee. Madam Hooch had summoned her broom and was using it vigorously, swatting away the boys who had charged towards Professor McGonagall. Professor Flitwick had placed the soup tureen on his head for protection. Professor Trelawney was waving her hands, her bangles clattering, as she loudly declaimed that she alone had foreseen it all.

Meanwhile, Ron had remained seated and was trying his hardest to think. Snape had Disapparated. Could Snape Disapparate? What was Hermione always telling Harry and he about Apparating and Disapparating on Hogwarts grounds? Something that she had read in Hogwarts, a History? Ron stood up and moved to where he could get a better view of the High Table, but not the end where McGonagall sat and Millicent fought. Instead, he tried to get a better view of Professor Flitwick's end of the table or, more particularly, under the table. He thought he could just make out a skeletal white hand protruding from the bottom edge of the long tablecloth.

Professor McGonagall, who had hitherto been prepared to take the absurdities of the weekend in her stride, realised that things were now seriously out of hand. She stood up. Her tall, imperious form and forbidding manner made it quite clear that she was not a witch to be crossed. Sparks shot from her wand up into the air. A flash of lightning split the dark storm clouds that formed the ceiling of the Great Hall. "That is quite ENOUGH!" she shouted.

All eyes fixed on Professor McGonagall, except for the eyes of Ron Weasley. He alone saw a tall thin wizard crawl out from the end of the High Table, and rush through the doors leading to the cloisters. Ron followed Professor Snape outside.

The breeze that had been troubling Colin Creevy at Quidditch practice had gained considerable strength during the afternoon. An icy wind blew into the cloisters, signalling that a snowstorm was on its way. Ron yelled to make himself heard over the wind's howling. "Professor, stop. Please stop. I need to talk to you."

Snape was running, but Ron could run faster. He overtook the Potions Master and barred Snape's way back into the safe haven of the teacher's common room. Snape stopped and stared at Ron, the wind whipping at their hair and robes, their skin glowing by the light of the moon. The Potions Master gave Ron a look of pure venom.

"Stand aside, Mr Weasley," Snape commanded as he drew his wand.

"But you need to listen to me. I need to warn you. It's Hermione, she's dangerous," Ron blurted out.

Snape laughed derisively. "Hermione Granger? Are you seriously telling me to fear Hermione Granger? You stupid boy, I have hunted vampires. I have slain dragons. I have seen the face of He Who Must Not be Named and lived. Are you really telling me to be afraid of a self important, bookish, little fifteen year old girl?"

"You don't know her like I do," explained Ron desperately. "She's dangerous."

"You don't know what danger is," sneered Snape, baring his yellow, uneven teeth.

Ron stood his ground indignantly. He had seen his fair share of dangers in the past five years, mountain trolls, three-headed dogs, Acromantula, werewolves, Dementors and Howlers from his mum. He knew danger all too well and he knew that Snape would need to be made to see reason.

"But if you only knew what she's capable of -" Ron started.

Professor Snape angrily interrupted. "I have no desire to find out what she's capable of, Mr Weasley. Rest assured, your precious inamorata is quite safe from me."

Ron didn't fully understand what Snape had said, but felt like he wanted to punch him anyway. Fortunately, Merlin Rhys-Jones opened the common room door behind Ron and grabbed Ron by his shoulders instead.

"Whoa boyo! How did you get out here?" Rhys-Jones asked. "You have to come with me. All fifth year students are being kept in their rooms for the rest of the evening." Ron was unceremoniously frogmarched back to Gryffindor Tower, haunted by the realisation that his warning had gone unheeded.