Harry Potter and the Path to Power

Chapter XX

A scarlet locomotive made its way through the British countryside on September first, just like it had for almost one hundred and fifty years prior, each time on that very date. This time it was a dreary day, the first like it since the beginning of summer. Clouds hung low and thick, and the air was moist.

Aboard, amongst their fellow students, were Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, making their way to Hogwarts to start their fifth year. Harry Potter was not with them; it reminded Hermione a bit too much of her second year, when both Harry and Ron had missed the train, but at least this time she knew that no disasters with flying cars were possible. Harry was at Hogwarts. She would be glad when they got there.

She was searching through Hogwarts: A History for any information about the Protectorate Council she had previously missed. It had surprised her that there had been no information given about its reinstatement at the Prefect meeting in the front carriage at the beginning of the trip. As a matter of fact, none of the other students seemed to know anything. If Dumbledore wanted to keep a secret, he was obviously good at it. The only thing that could possibly be related to it was the announcement of a special meeting of all Prefects in the first week with the headmaster.

She had been very proud to be able to board the train at the first carriage, the one reserved for Prefects.

The Head Girl and Boy of that year, Alicia Spinnet and a 7^th year Hufflepuff named Gordon Vimes, who was named Head Boy in trust, had given them their instruction and advice about what they could expect. Then a patrol schedule was handed out.

Now, after her rounds she was sitting in a compartment with Ron.

Ron had given up trying to draw her into a conversation. He had learned over the past years that when she had her head in a book it was near to impossible to distract her.

Instead, she saw him throwing desperate glances into the corridor, hoping for new company, while he was apparently re-reading an article in an old Daily Prophet he had brought for Harry.

It was about their friend after all.

The news that Harry had become Dumbledore's apprentice had been exciting. She would have given anything to be in that position.

The subsequent article, one day later, had been the real shock though.

She had read about the Wizard's Council of course. But she had thought it had been irrelevant for a long time and even disbanded more than twenty years ago. There was no mention of it after that date, nothing in any study book, no where to be found in any Ministry publishing or decree. Not that there had been much before then anyway.

And now Harry was going to be one of its foremost members?

Harry was the reason it had not functioned for so long?

The article had been vague, as if it had been written by and for people who had more facts than she had. Research had yielded no new information and Ron had only given her a blank stare, he had been of no use at all.

Oh, how she wished she had still been at The Burrow when the publication arrived so that she could have questioned Mr. or Mrs. Weasley.

Harry had a lot of explaining to do when they met up at Hogwarts.

"We'll find out when we get there, Hermione," Ron said, hoping against reason that she would give up her inquiries. He was trying to get his red-and-gold Prefect badge to shine a bit more, even though he had polished it several times.

"But I don't understand why Harry didn't tell us anything. He must have known something? The article said he was the heir to the Potter seat on the High Council. How could he have not known?"

"Remember first year? You knew more about him than he did himself, probably still do," Ron scoffed, irritated by her behaviour.

"But still, even if so, aren't you curious how the Wizarding World is ruled? I always thought there would be elections to choose a Minister every so often or something of the like, but that article implies a whole different system and I never knew. I never knew, Ron.

I mean, I of course read about the transition from the Wizards' Council to the Ministry of Magic in 1688, and before that the name Potter was mentioned, but I figured it was at best a very distant relation. You think it was one continuing line of Potters? And that they've always..."

"Hermione, you're babbling. I'm sure we'll find out all this from Harry when we see him at Hogwarts," Ron interrupted in an irritated tone.

"But why is the Wizard's Council never mentioned? What does it have to hide?

And aren't you worried about those other articles? They were very unfavourable towards Harry, except for some editorials."

"Hermione, please shut up. I don't know, you don't know, there's no use going on about it. We'll find out at Hogwarts."

"But..."

*****

It was dark and raining when the Hogwarts express pulled into Hogsmeade station. Ron and Hermione had argued most of the way there and the tension between them could be cut by a knife.

Hermione pulled her cloak tightly around her as she stepped into the gentle rain.

The station was only dimly lit and as she looked around for Hagrid she reasoned that even now the Half-Giant would stand out.

"First years over here, please," A vague voice sounded. It was very familiar, but distorted by the rain and the students who were quickly walking past her in the opposite direction, towards the carriages stationed at the front side of the station.

"Quickly, Hermione, we want to get a carriage as soon as possible or we'll be soaking wet," Ron said as he pulled on her arm.

"First years, over here."

"Just a moment, Ron," Hermione answered distractedly. She could see an indistinct human shape, holding a staff with a lantern attached to it, turned towards the rest of the train, the Prefect carriage behind him. The man, for it was a male voice, wore a heavy black cloak with the hood pulled up against the rain.

She started walking towards the figure, still finding the voice familiar and wanting to know where Hagrid was.

"Hermione..." Ron sighed, but he followed her nonetheless.

"First years, over here," said the man again. By this time most of the first years were assembled in front of him, openly staring at the figure.

"Excuse me," Hermione started in a brisk but polite tone, "Could you please tell me where Hagrid is?"

The figure turned around, his cloak falling open as he did so.

Before he could lower his hood she knew who it was, but he looked so different.

He was wearing the armour she knew he had ordered in Diagon Alley, but it was so much more than the letter had ever implied.

Apparently the armourer had not only made him the required upper body armour, but also wrist guards and greaves. The wrist guards, which covered his entire under arms, were decorated with twisting golden dragons, so were the greaves. On his chest was another dragon of the same colour, this one standing proudly upright, roaring fire, just like in the picture in the Daily Prophet.

This all fell into nothingness when he lowered his hood, his face a stage of light and shadow from his lantern. And then she saw his eyes; those green eyes that had always held that spark of life; those eyes that had been so greatly diminished at the end of the previous school year and which had been so dull during his stay at the Burrow... those eyes that now had a roaring flame in them.

It was not the same; it was not like that spark she had known so well, that had been so full of life and laughter, drinking in every moment of happiness as if it was the first. No, this was a flame of determination and... power.

The boy who had been her friend was gone, here stood a man; it had both reduced him and made him more than he had been.

"Hello, Hermione," he said in a quiet voice, a measured smile on his lips, "it's good to see you; you too, Ron. I don't know where Hagrid..."

"What's this?" a sneering voice interrupted from behind her. Hermione spun around to see a familiar but disliked face. "Wearing personal crests is strictly forbidden at Hogwarts, Potter," Draco Malfoy said with a smirk on his face, his eyes glittering in malicious anticipation. Malfoy looked nothing like he had done last year. His pale face was disfigured by a pronounced white scar that ran from his jawline to his hairline just above his right eye and his face was thinner, giving it an unhealthy look.

On his chest was pinned a green-with-silver badge,

"I think Professor Snape will be most interested in hearing about this. He'll probably keep you in detention until you graduate.

And were you just impersonating a teacher? Oh, this will mean expulsion for sure, Potter. I think this is going to be great year after all."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron barked, "there is no such rule, is there Hermione?"

"Actually there is, Ron," Hermione said despondently. She turned back to Harry, desperately looking for an explanation.

"It's a sad day when they make a Mudblood and a Weasley Prefects," Malfoy mocked, observing the red and gold badges. "I'm not sure which one is actually worse," the Slytherin continued with an ugly sneer. "And I'm surprised Dumbledore didn't make his Golden Boy Prefect; not good enough, were you, Potter? No Gryffindor badge for you?"

"Malfoy, leave now," Harry said, throwing open his cloak even further, revealing his golden badge with the letter 'P' on it, "You are interfering with my duties as a Proctor. In other words: Sod off."

Harry's attention seemed to leave Malfoy, as if he was of no further consequence. Instead he turned towards Ron and Hermione.

"Go up to the castle, I'll meet you there. I have to take these First Years across the lake.

Hagrid isn't back yet, so Dumbledore asked if I could do this 'little task' for him," he said with a sarcastic grin on his face.

As he turned around and told the First Years to follow him, she could hear them ask them if he was really Harry Potter.

"What the hell is a Proctor?" Malfoy shouted at Harry's back, but was ignored. "Don't you ignore me, Potter. POTTER!"

But Harry ignored the Slytherin and led the First years off the platform. Hermione watched him disappear from sight around the station building. She turned and walked towards the carriages with Ron. Malfoy had apparently retreated, probably unsure of what had just happened, but like a typical Slytherin, not prepared to take a risk without clear gain.

*****

With a wave of his hand Harry commanded the lead boat to start its journey to the castle, the rest would follow. No magic was necessary on his part; it was an element of the boats themselves, a necessity when something was Hagrid's job, Harry reflected.

As Hogwarts came into sight he heard the sounds of awe all around him. He looked up to the castle and tried to see the castle through a First year's eyes; he found that its wonder had not diminished. The torches that burned everywhere in this gloomy night gave it a quality that was hard to describe, but the first thing that came to mind was 'fairytale'.

The boats completed their pre-determined route at the underground docks where Harry and his charges disembarked.

He led them to where he knew Professor McGonagall was waiting for them, listening to the astonished whispers behind him with a smile.

The Deputy Headmistress was standing at the top of the staircase with a stern look on her face that Harry thought was mostly a show for the new students.

"The First years, Professor," he said, mimicking Hagrid's words.

A smile tugged at the lips of his teacher, but she managed to keep a stern look and dismissed Harry with a gesture of her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Potter; I will take them from here. You may go and take your post now."

Harry nodded and walked past her. As he made his way towards the Great Hall he could hear her talking to the First Years.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room..."

The rest of her speech was too far off for him to hear.

He left his cloak and lantern in the cupboard next to the doors of the Great Hall and then proceeded to open them.

A great murmuring, louder than normal, greeted him and, as he walked in, he could hear the level rise in intensity. He moved towards the High Table at the Gryffindor side of the Hall and saw a great many faces staring at him.

"... Potter is one of 'm too..."

"... seen Zabini...?"

"...What's that on his chest...?"

"...hell is going on...?"

He gave a quick smile as he walked past Ron and Hermione. Hermione returned the smile but Ron was completely distracted by Blaise Zabini who was standing beside the head of the Gryffindor table, fully dressed in her armour, holding her Quarterstaff.

Zabini's armour was different from the rest. When she had come out of the provisional dormitories wearing it, the rest of the Proctor's had been dumbfounded and then riddled her with questions. In a tone that said it was all very obvious she told them that her armour was made according to her own design. The dark blue upper body armour was cut differently; to begin with, it had cleavage, something the other female Proctors were either very derisive of or very jealous, their reactions had varied. Her breastplate was adorned with a beautiful, white coloured Unicorn on the right breast, but unlike Harry's Coat of Arms it was not a part of the armour, but inlaid.

Harry took his place next to the High Table as he threw a few amused glances between the staring Ron and Blaise. But every time he looked at the Slytherin Proctor he could feel a funny sensation in the pit of his stomach.

As he surveyed the Hall he saw that the other Proctors, who where wearing full armour and stationed around the Great Hall, were getting their share of attention as well. Two stood guarding the door, three stood against each wall at the beginning, middle and end of the student tables, and two stood to each side of the High Table.

Closest to him was Cho Chang, who had the post next to him at the High Table, and then Blaise Zabini.

"...read about him and Dumbledore...?"

"...what's with the Dragon...?"

"...you are such a Muggleborn..."

"...looks good in leather..."

Harry was pretty sure that last remark had come from either Lavender or Parvati and had been about him. He was furiously fighting down a blush.

Professor McGonagall chose that moment to lead the first year students into the Hall for which Harry was grateful.

Normally, in the few moments it took her to retrieve Sorting Hat and accompanying stool, a subdued silence would set in, but this year this was not the case; the speculative murmuring continued.

"May I please have quiet?" McGonagall said in a piqued voice.

Slowly a hush fell.

Dumbledore rose from his seat, a first in anyone's memory, he never said anything before the sorting.

"A warm welcome to Hogwart's for our newest students, and welcome back to our old hands," the headmaster said in a ringing voice.

"I know it is has not been my custom to speak before the Sorting, but as you can see, some things have changed. All will be explained after dinner, so I ask your patience."

Murmuring started up again, but soon quieted down when Dumbledore raised his hand.

"For now, we will begin the Sorting Ceremony as it was last preformed 350 years ago."

Dumbledore looked toward the doors. "Mr. Smythe, is the Great Hall secure?"

The 7^th year Ravenclaw, by agreement provisional Proctor-Commander until next week's testing, stepped forward and in a formal tone of voice said: "The doors have been locked, the houses are guarded. No intruder has been sighted in Hogwarts. The castle is secure, Headmaster."

"Proceed with the Sorting then," the Headmaster said, nodding to McGonagall.

Immediately the Sorting Hat began.

Gryffindor, with courage to the fore

Hufflepuff, loyal to the last

Ravenclaw, with mind and magic

Slytherin, that cunning may preserve

In times that see peril once more

These old words where spoken

United we must stand

Or the wizarding world might be broken

Danger lurks about

As old becomes new, and new becomes old

The ancient houses stand divided, full of doubt

Will magic bring us salvation, or a grave most cold?

An old hat I might be

Aged and ragged

But even I can see

That war is coming

That war is coming

Who will you follow?

Who will you lead?

Tomorrow may be too late

'Learn now' is thus my creed

Not always easy is the way

How will you make a choice?

On that fateful day

On what you have been taught,

Or on what you have learned?

Now put me on, and let me see

Four houses, one school

Where it is you would best be.

For I know that war is coming

For I know that war is coming

Harry could see the confusion on most faces and the quiet whispers exchanged by the older students. Gone was the funny Sorting Song. The tone of the Sorting Hat was different from normal; the voice sounded grave and the song had sounded like a warning.

"That didn't even rhyme all the way," Ron whispered.

McGonagall, after a moment of uncertainty, turned to her list of names and read off the first one: "Abercrombie, Euan"

"GRYFFINDOR," the Sorting Hat shouted a short moment after the boy had put it on.

The applause seemed a bit more obligatory than normal; most students were too busy talking to each other. Harry didn't really care about the Sorting, not anymore; best not to know any of the students, they might get hurt. He allowed his mind relax and let himself float in his magic.

Vaguely he heard McGonagall say: "Baylor, Jeffrey."

In the recesses of his mind he could hear a faint whisper, as if someone was talking, but he could not understand what was being said. Curious, he delved deeper.

"... not unconditionally loyal enough. Ah, but your mind possesses a sufficient amount of trickiness, better be..."

"SLYTHERIN," he heard the Sorting Hat cry.

His mind returned to the real world with a shock, his eyes flew to the Sorting Hat.

"Bhailcroft, Elizabeth."

Had he heard the Sorting Hat? The words had been consistent, but very short. It was more of an instinct that had led him to the conclusion.

Still he could hear the whispering in a dim corner of his mind.

"Hufflepuff," he whispered, going on the feeling he was getting.

"HUFFLEPUFF," the Hat shouted.

The small girl hopped off her chair, unaware of Harry's surprised look at her.

As she made her way to the Hufflepuff table, McGonagall called out the next name: "Dinton, Samuel."

The boy took his place on the chair and put on the Hat. Harry tried to concentrate on the echoes of whispering he heard within his mind, but again only got a feeling, this time he could name it: Courage.

Gryffindor," he whispered.

"GRYFFINDOR," the Hat shouted.

Harry turned his head to look around the Hall to see if anyone else heard something, but everyone seemed to be either busy greeting First years or talking amongst themselves.

"Ravenclaw," he whispered when the next First year was sitting under the Sorting Hat.

"RAVENCLAW"

"Slytherin."

"SLYTHERIN."

"Hufflepuff."

"HUFFLEPUFF."

On and on it went, Harry placed every student a mere second before the Sorting Hat did until McGonagall called for the last First year: "Zeller, Rose."

Again Harry called it: "Hufflepuff."

"HUFFLEPUFF."

And just like that the sorting ceremony was over.

The Headmaster rose from his seat once more. With a wave from his hand a new table appeared in front of the dais on which the High table rested.

"Mr. Smythe, you may stand down your Proctors," Dumbledore said.

"Stand down," Smythe called, "you may take your place for dinner."

All the Proctors took their place at the new table, facing the hall. Smythe was sitting in the middle, but everyone else just took a seat.

As soon as they had all taken their seat, Dumbledore resumed speaking.

"As curious as I am sure you all are, I am even surer you are all hungry. Tuck in."

A feast appeared on all six tables. Next to Harry's plate the last of his potion vials appeared.

He swallowed it in one gulp, glad he would never have to take it again.

Soon he was eating like there was no tomorrow. The potion always did this to him; he could out eat Ron after one.

As he tore the meat of a chicken leg he noticed both Cho Chang and Blaise Zabini giving him questioning stares, as if they were trying to figure something out about him.

He tried to ignore them and shifted his attention to the Gryffindor table.

He saw Ron and Hermione bickering as usual, George and Fred were obviously plotting something between them. The Creevy brothers seemed to be reading a magazine together while eating and Ginny was chatting with a few girls from her year.

All in all everything seemed to be normal, although he did wish he was sitting between his two best friends instead of at the Proctor table.

As he continued his meal, he and Katie Bell started a conversation on Quidditch, specifically how much they were both looking forward to flying again and what the prospects for a new Keeper were.

As the remnants of dessert disappeared, Dumbledore rose from his seat once more and clapped his hands once. All the tables cleared of leftover food, plates and cutlery.

Quiet descended on the Great Hall, the curiosity at a breaking point for many.

"The last time I spoke to you, I told of the return of our greatest enemy, the one whose name strikes so much fear in most hearts that you do not dare speak his name. I speak of Voldemort," Dumbledore began. The reactions amongst both teachers and students were predictable. Most winced, a few screams could be heard, and one Hufflepuff fell off his chair.

"But fear of a name only increases fear of the thing, so no, I refuse to call him by anything else but his name, although even this is a only a name he assumed.

Hogwarts is safe, even with his return; we, your elders and teachers, have seen to this.

Enchantments have been strengthened, shields enhanced, and we have brought the Protectorate Council back in service," Dumbledore continued his speech.

Harry felt and saw that a lot of people lowered their gaze to look at the table he sat at.

Not knowing what to do with the attention, he focused his eyes on the main doors.

"The Protectorate Council was first instated by the Founders, who discovered that they taught many students from rivalling states, as Great Britain was divided in many lands in that era.

On it were the students who were the very finest Hogwarts had to offer in the areas of Defence Against the Dark Arts, duelling and who had, above all else, a sense of honour and justice.

It was their job to keep the peace amongst rivalling factions and to guard the castle.

In its entire existence Hogwarts has been under siege no less than five times, been the site of countless skirmishes, but each time the council has served with distinction.

350 years ago the council was disbanded, but its charter still exists.

This summer, to aid in our coming battles, I have reinstated it, and have found twelve of our finest students to serve the school. They sit before me," Dumbledore said with a broad introductory gesture of his hand.

"Tomorrow morning you will receive a guide as to how they fit into the new system together with your schedules. For those interested, more about the history of the Protectorate Council can be found in the Hogwarts library. If you have any questions you may address your respective Head of House."

An explosion of talk erupted as soon as Dumbledore sat down. Students started to talk amongst themselves and the most heard word was 'Proctor'.

"Prefects, please guide your houses to your dormitories. Proctors will give escort," McGonagall called above the noise.

With twelve Proctors there were three to a house, but Harry had been fortunate enough to be assigned escort of Gryffindor.

The houses started to rise and he could hear Hermione call out: "First years follow me please."

"Yes, just follow the bossy lady, midgets," Ron said as Harry approached the table.

"RON."

Hermione suddenly turned around to see Harry standing behind her. She smiled and turned back to the First years. "Well, we'll be very safe on our trip. We will be escorted," she told a nervous looking girl.

"But the castle is so dark," the girl said.

"Nonsense, there are torches everywhere and if you like, I'll even light my wand for you," Hermione tried to reassure her.

"But what if You-Know-Who is here?" the little girl almost cried.

Hermione seemed to hesitate but then turned around, grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him forward.

"Well, Simone, this is Harry Potter, and he defeated You-Know-Who once, so he can do it again. Just stay really close to him and you'll be fine."

Big blue eyes looked up at Harry, blinking away the tears, wonder replacing fear.

Hermione pushed the little girl's hand in his and headed off to make sure the other First years knew where to go.

Harry looked down at his hand and then heard Ron give a loud guffaw.

He threw him an irritated look and tried to gently remove his hands from the First year's, but was unsuccessful.

He sighed and decided that the only way to get out of this was to bring the girl to the Common room.

After that he might just kill Ron and Hermione.

****

"Where are you going, Harry?" Hermione asked after she had gotten all of the First year girls to their dorm.

Harry had just been about to leave, trying to avoid anymore questions from his housemates, but turned around in the entrance.

"I'm going to the Great Hall again. Dumbledore is showing us our dorm. Proctors have their own, you know; because we need to be able to get around the castle quickly it's more centrally located."

"Oh, alright then. I just didn't want you to go out after hours but this is alright. Will... will you be joining us here from time to time?"

"As often as I can. Or you two can visit me in the Proctor common room, I can invite guests, I think. Well, I better be going or I'll be late. Say hi to Ron for me, will you? He's taking awfully long. Goodnight, Hermione," he said, and left.

****

Dumbledore led them to a corridor that ran along the entrance to the Astronomy Tower.

It was here that he stopped at two suits of armour that were holding their Halberds crossed, as if stopping everyone from passing.

But all they were guarding was a blank wall.

"Arcis tutum."

The two armours sprang to attention and the wall began to open, folding back the bricks.

Dumbledore led them into a relatively small common room.

The room was neutrally decorated, with big leather chairs and couches in brown.

A large fire was crackling in an even larger fireplace.

At the back, opposite the entrance, was a corridor lit by torches.

"You will find that the door to your room has a plaque with your name on it.

Your things have already been brought up. I suggest you go take a look at your new home."

The other Proctors enthusiastically made their way to their rooms, but Dumbledore had put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

When the others were gone, he spoke.

"During the week some mail arrived. I took the liberty of letting Dobby take delivery of it for you. I understand he put in your room. He told me you received some dispatches that are... political in nature. I want you to read them and come see me tomorrow evening."

Harry nodded and walked towards the corridor. "Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight, Harry."

He walked past several doors, until he found his room at the end of the corridor to the right hand side, it was marked: HAROLD JAMESON POTTER. The only other door was at the end of the corridor and was marked P.C.

He entered into a fairly large room. The first thing he saw was a little sitting corner, two chairs and a couch. In another corner he saw a standard Hogwarts bed, and a desk next to it.

The bed and desk were covered with envelopes, packages and boxes; the pile was at least three feet high.

"Bugger," was the only thing Harry thought to say.