Harry Potter and the Tome of Shadows

             Chapter 10: Professor Weasley

    Harry awoke groggily on the first day of school, slowly getting dressed and then ambling down the dormitory steps and into the Gryffindor Common Room. It was empty, save for a few first years whispering nervously about going down to the Great Hall. Deciding against waiting for Ron and Hermione, he climbed out of the portrait hole and headed straight down to the Great Hall. Before he could get there, however, he ran into Peeves the Poltergeist.

    “Why it’s Snotty Rotty Potty!” Peeves said with glee, gliding in front of Harry.

    “Shove it, Peeves,” Harry said, bored, walking straight and not looking at the poltergeist.

    “Looks like the doomed is moody,” Peeves hissed. “It’s not Peevesy’s fault that Potter’s marked for death.” Harry felt a rage come over him; he whipped out his wand and waved it quickly. There was a large sucking sound, and Peeves collapsed to the size of a marble. There was a shrill whistling, and then Peeves expanded rapidly and shot down the hall, shrieking. There was a raspy, wheezing sound from behind him, and Harry turned and saw Argus Filch, the caretaker, cackling hysterically as he watched Peeves zoom down the corridor. Harry was taken aback; he had never seen Filch laugh before. Harry broke into a nervous grin; Filch turned to him, and suddenly the laughter died from his face.

    “No magic in the corridors, Potter. Now get to the Great Hall before I have you in detention,” Filch snarled and, scooping up his raggedy cat Mrs. Norris he stalked down the hall.

    “Right little ray of sunshine he is,” said another voice, and Harry was surprised to see Ron right next to him.

    “When did you get here?” Harry asked, caught off guard.

    “I followed you down the hall. I called you like twelve times but you apparently have gone deaf,” Ron said with a slight smile, but there was a slight chill in his voice.

    “I’m sorry, Peeves distracted me.”

    “What did he have to say that has you all in a huff?” Ron asked as they walked to the Great Hall. Harry looked away; he did not want to tell Ron that he was a marked man. But how did Peeves even know?

    “Nothing new, just the usual.”

    “Oh,” Ron responded, giving Harry a quizzical look. They walked into the Great Hall, and sat at the Gryffindor table. Harry sat down opposite Ginny, who was deep in conversation with Luna. However, when he and Ron sat down, Ginny turned and adopted an entirely different tone.

    “So Luna, do you Ravenclaws have a good schedule?”

    “It’s a bit busy, but since it’s O.W.L. year,” she said vaguely. “I can’t wait to find out how your mother is going to teach us.”

    “Neither can I,” Ron said under his breath, taking a small spoonful of oatmeal and scowling. Professor McGonagall handed him and Harry their new schedules, and, taking a fortifying swig of orange juice, Harry took a look at his new schedule.

    “Hang on...these aren’t schedules!” Harry said sharply.

    “That’s right, Potter,” McGonagall said sternly. “These are your career advising appointments. At your appointment, you will determine what career track you would like to pursue, and then what classes you will need to take. I would like you to note, Potter, that yours is in fifteen minutes, and I daresay that you should consider it inadvisable to be late.” McGonagall gave a curt nod, and then swept away, handing out more announcements.

    “Career tracks?” Harry whispered hoarsely. “I’m supposed to decide what I’m doing with the rest of my life in fifteen minutes?”

    “Well no,” Hermione said, just arriving at the table. “Professor McGonagall prepares that all for you, she’ll probably already have a list of careers for which you’d be best suited, judging by your interests and grades in classes.”

    “And just how do you know that?” Ron asked. “I expect it’s all in Hogwarts, A History?”

    “No,” Hermione said in a dignified voice. “Actually it’s at the end of your handout there, if you cared to read it.” Ron looked down at his own handout.

    “So when are your advising appointments?” Harry asked them.

    “Later tonight,” Hermione responded.

    “Same,” Ron said. “Looks like we can’t plan our classes together then, mate.”

    “We’re all probably going to be in several classes together,” Hermione said. “We’re all required to take Defense Against the Dark Arts through seventh year, and we still have one more year of Charms to go through too. So we have the books for those classes. The rest, though, depend on our career tracks.”

    “At least we do well enough in those classes,” Harry said bracingly. He took a look at his watch (the one Sirius had given him for his fifteenth birthday) and with a familiar pang in his heart at the thought of anything to do with Sirius, he cleared his throat. “Looks like my time is up. I’ll see you guys in the Common Room.”

***

    Harry knocked on Professor McGonagall’s door, and it opened quickly. He stepped over the threshold and sat in a stiff, wooden chair opposite his professor. He took a quick look around; the walls were adorned with complicated spell models and pictures of different transfigurations. He spotted only one personal picture in its frame, but McGonagall’s voice snapped him to attention.

    “Welcome, Potter,” she said briskly. “Straight to business.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a piece of parchment and a purple feathered quill.    

    “What do I do with it, Professor?”

    “You simply write your name, and the quill will do the rest. It should only take a few moments.” Not entirely sure of what was going to happen, Harry picked up the purple quill. It buzzed as if an electric current was running through it. With a nervous glance at Professor McGonagall, Harry wrote his name on the piece of parchment. The deep purple ink settled, and then suddenly, Harry’s hand seized around the quill. It then buzzed back and forth across the parchment, writing for itself, with Harry in no control. He let out a gasp of surprise as it whizzed across the parchment, until it ceased to move and fell out of his grip.

    “That was odd,” he muttered, flexing his hand.

    “It’s a Personality Quill, Potter,” McGonagall explained, picking up the parchment. “It’s much like the Sorting Hat, only it writes so that we teachers can examine the profile.” After a few moments of reading, Professor McGonagall set aside the profile and took out several leaflets and pamphlets.

    “So. I’ve reviewed your grades, Potter, and you seem to be up to scratch on most of them, with exception of Divination and History of Magic. I also see that you got seven out of nine O.W.L.’s. Impressive, Potter.”

    “Thanks,” he said meekly.     

    “Well, your profile shows that you’re exceedingly good at flying, obviously. And you show a remarkable aptitude for the Defense Against the Dark Arts subject. You’ve scored sufficiently well on your other O.W.L.’s to give you several opportunities.”

    “Professor, what about being an Auror?” he asked in what he hoped was an off-handed voice. He thought he saw McGonagall give him the faintest of smiles before responding.

    “Yes, your profile shows that your main calling would be one of an Auror. I warn you now, Potter, you’ll be taking many difficult courses to get to being an Auror.”

    “Right,” he said, collecting himself.

    “Defense Against the Dark Arts, naturally, will be your core class. You also need a N.E.W.T. in Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, and Potions. You’ve managed an O.W.L. in Potions, so you will be allowed to take Professor Snape’s Potion’s class. However, you will need to work extra hard to bring your grades up to scratch. You cannot take Potions in your seventh year if you are not at the Outstanding level, and right now you are barely scraping acceptable.” Harry felt as if the air was being let out of his stomach. Potions? He thought he’d be well shut of Professor Snape.

    “Only five classes, Professor?” he asked, changing the subject.

    “No, you’re required to take two other classes. Hogwarts usually only offers twelve classes for the general student body, but there are many different specializations that Professors elect to teach sixth and seventh year students. I need not remind you that you are already going to receiving lessons from me to master your transformations.”

    “Oh, right,” Harry said. He had forgotten that Professor McGonagall was going to help him with his Animagus training.

    “If you are serious about your ambition to be an Auror, there are really only two electives open to help augment your studies at this time. The first is a Dueling course that Professor Flitwick offers to sixth and seventh years. It is an extensive course on the theory and practice of dueling. The second is a course on Legilimency and Occlumency.”

    “What?”

    “Legilimency and Occlumency. It’s a joint study of penetrating another’s mind and protecting yourself from others doing the same to you. You’ll need it for interrogating witnesses and suspects, to see if they’re lying. It has other uses, of course, but you’ll learn those in time. Only two professors teach the course.” Harry crossed his fingers underneath the desk. “Professors Snape and Trelawney.” Harry closed his eyes; he couldn’t believe his luck.

    “Professor Trelawney?” Harry asked weakly.

    “Yes,” McGonagall said, her mouth thinning. “Though she may not seem it, Professor Trelawney is a superb Occlumens and Leglimens. She would have to be, given her profession.”

    “I don’t follow,” Harry probed further. Professor McGonagall’s eyebrows raised.

    “She’s in the business of prophecies, Potter. While some may take very little stock in such nonsense–” She took a deep breath. “–there are some that find prophecies to be of great value. And the fact that Professor Trelawney has made accurate predictions before makes her more vulnerable than most. Therefore, she must be an adept Occlumens and Legilimens. Of course, you could elect to take the course with Professor Snape...”

    “No,” Harry said a little too quickly. Professor McGonagall’s mouth twitched.                

    “Very well. You will receive your schedule tonight. Our first private transfiguration lesson will be later in the fall; I have a lot of work at the beginning of the term. Very well then, Potter, you may go.”

    “Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, and, hitching his bag over his shoulder, he left her office.

***

    Harry awaited Ron and Hermione in the Common Room, sitting in his favorite chair by the Gryffindor fire. The portrait hole opened and Hermione climbed through, looking pleased with herself. She sat in the chair to Harry’s right and beamed at him.

    “I’m all set for my classes,” she said breathlessly, and Harry could tell she was just bursting to tell him what she was taking.

    “Go on then, what are you taking?” Harry asked with a smile.

    “Well, we’re supposed to take five classes and two electives, but Professor McGonagall and I decided that I’m going to take seven classes and my electives.”

    “And?” Harry asked.

    “Well, the obvious. Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Advanced Arithmancy. Professor McGonagall told me that Advanced is the only class suitable for me, so Professor Vector is going to give me lessons.”

    “Great,” Harry said. “And your electives?”

    “Well, I had a wide variety of options, but I chose the ones that I’d need the most. So I’m taking a couple of Spell Theory classes from Professor Vector and Professor Flitwick.”

    “A couple?” Harry asked, his eyebrows raised.

    “Enough to be getting on with,” Hermione said. “Don’t worry, they all fit into a normal schedule. How about you?”

    “Almost the same,” Harry said distractedly, watching the fire dance in the grate. He took a side glance at Hermione, who was looking at him intently, but he turned back to the fire. He was worried about taking so many advanced classes; he couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. But most of all, he had an uncomfortable feeling stuck in his stomach, like he was dreading something, but he couldn’t figure out just what it was. He felt unsettled, restless, and talking to Hermione about classes was making him more nervous.

    “What’s wrong?” Hermione asked. Harry continued to stare into the fire.

    “Nothing,” he lied. “I’m going up to bed, I’m feeling a bit tired.”

    “You aren’t going to wait for your schedule?”

    “No, I’ll just wake up early tomorrow. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” And without another word, or so much as a kiss goodnight, Harry walked upstairs to his bedroom, leaving a very anxious and confused Hermione behind.

***

    Harry rolled out of bed early the next morning, feeling thoroughly exhausted from a night of restless sleep. He had disturbing dreams of a baby crying, and he couldn’t get the shrieks out of his head. He dressed distractedly, pulling on his school robes and preparing for the day. He saw his school schedule laid out on his dresser; Ron must have brought it up for him. He had Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing, followed by Double Potions. He sighed; it wasn’t the first day he had anticipated. After lunch was Herbology, and then Double Transfiguration. He rubbed his eyes wearily and, taking a side glance out the dormitory window, he descended the dormitory stairs and entered the common room. He saw Ron and Hermione discussing something heatedly.

    “...and what did you say?”

    “I told him I didn’t see anything, which is the truth. I didn’t see a thing, Hermione.”

    “Good. But it’s bad if he’s seeing things, you know what Professor Dumbledore said this summer.”

    “Don’t you think we should warn him?”

    “No, we can’t. It’d make it worse. Once he knows what it is he’s going to see it more. The best thing we can do is keep quiet about it.”

    “Harry!” Ron said, finally spotting him. Harry hitched on a fake smile.

    “Hey guys, ready for our first Defense lesson?”

    “No,” Ron scowled. “I just hope it’s not embarrassing.”

    “Why would it be?” Harry asked.

    “Remember that stupid textbook we have to use? All of those survival sob stories?” Harry shrugged and led the way through the portrait hole. They walked quickly to the classroom, and they sat down in the middle of the class. After a few moments, everyone else had finally settled down, and Mrs. Weasley entered the classroom, wearing a shabby set of maroon robes.

    “Good morning everyone,” she said sweetly. “Let me do the attendance first, and then we’ll be all set.” She read the names out loud, and one by one they responded. Mrs. Weasley gave Harry a slight smile when she read his name, and then finished quickly.

    “All right, everyone is present. Now then, I’ve reviewed what you’ve studied the past few years, and Professor Figg has brought you all up to scratch on spell work. So I’ve decided, with Professor Dumbledore’s permission, to help prepare you for the emotional hardships that come from fighting the Dark Arts, and those who practice them. Most wizards and witches can perform various spells, but aren’t ready to deal with loss, with sacrifice, and with love. If you take a look at your books we’ll be reading, you’ll see several stories of loss and survival, which should be able to help you get an idea of the real life implications of Defense Against the Dark Arts.” She took a deep breath and smiled. Harry gave Ron a side look; he was looking around anxiously at the rest of the class, trying to gauge their reactions.

    “Ronald Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley yelled, her voice cracking like a whip. Ron wheeled around. “Ten points from Gryffindor, pay attention!” Ron’s face turned a deep shade of scarlet, and Harry moved uncomfortably in his chair. He could hear a wave of snickers through the rest of the class. “Can you tell me what I just said?” Ron’s mouth dropped open, he looked utterly horrified that Mrs. Weasley was picking on him.

    “I...um...well, you said,” he stuttered.

    “This is your problem, Ron, you are just too unfocused,” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “You need to pay attention when your professors speak to you, no wonder why you didn’t get an outstanding number of O.W.L.’s.” Ron looked down at his desk, turning even redder. Harry was at a loss; he didn’t know what to say. Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat, and then continued.

    “Now then. With You-Know-Who now operating again, it’s vitally important that you all be ready to deal with the unfortunate incidents that may occur until he is stopped. Turn to page 30 in your textbooks to the very first story.” Harry opened his book and saw the picture of a witch sobbing uncontrollably as a house was burning directly behind her. Harry began to read the story; a Death Eater, apparently, had blown up this woman’s house when she refused to join the cause. Her two children were in the house, and they didn’t make it out alive. Harry squeamishly turned the page, and the story got sickeningly worse. The picture on the next page showed the witch with her two children, and they looked as happy as they’d ever be.

    “Blimey, they even got her dog,” Harry heard Seamus say behind him. He looked up, expecting a reprimand from Mrs. Weasley, but she was reading the story, tears brimming in her eyes.

    “This is a load of rubbish,” Ron whispered furiously. Mrs. Weasley’s head snapped up from the book, but Ron turned back to the book before she could scold him. Harry found his attention wavering from the story; as tragic as it was, he wasn’t learning anything from it at all. After a half hour of reading, Mrs. Weasley stood up.

    “So, would anyone care to summarize the story for me?” Hermione’s hand shot in the air, but Mrs. Weasley turned her gaze on Ron. “Ronald, you?”

    “Um...the Death Eaters murdered the witch’s family,” Ron said cautiously.

    “Yes, but what is the moral of the tale?” Mrs. Weasley demanded. “The lesson learned is more important than the facts of the story.” Hermione waved her hand.

    “Yes, Hermione?” Mrs. Weasley asked kindly.

    “Well, Mrs. Norgin could have prevented the destruction of her house had she performed an Extinguishing Spell,” she said. “The lesson is to act quickly in the face of danger.”

    “Very good, Hermione. But you’ve forgotten the most important aspect of the tale.” Hermione looked slightly put out as she lowered her hand. “The most important part of the story was that she did not keep her children close enough to her. If she had her children with her, rather than in the house unattended, they would not have perished in the fire.” Harry gaze Mrs. Weasley a quizzical look, but she was not paying attention to him. Harry saw Dean Thomas raise his hand.

    “Yes, Dean?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

    “But if the Death Eater really wanted to murder her family, he would have just used the Killing Curse if they were out with her, right?”

    “A fair point, Mr. Thomas,” Mrs. Weasley responded, looking slightly troubled. “You’ve given me a good idea for your first homework assignment. I want a roll of parchment on the different ways Mrs. Norgin could have avoided the horrible murder of her children. I would also like ten inches on the kind of emotional damage done to Mrs. Norgin on account of her tragic loss. You’re also to read the next story in that chapter. Be prepared to discuss it in class. That’s it, have a wonderful day.”

    “Two essays? And another story to read?” Ron repeated weakly.

    “I can’t believe she’s setting that much homework,” Seamus said behind them. “It was just one story.”

    “I know,” Dean agreed, packing up his bag. Harry saw him poke Seamus and nodding towards Ron as a warning not to say much else. Harry privately agreed with the two of them; it was an unusually large amount of homework on such a story. The rest of the class left the classroom, while Ron, Hermione, and Harry lingered to talk to Mrs. Weasley.

    “How did I do on my first day?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

    “Great,” Harry lied slightly. “How did you get to be professor?”

    “Well, Dumbledore had a right hard time finding someone to take the post,” Mrs. Weasley said, twirling her wand and conjuring a pot of tea and four cups. “And since Arthur doesn’t have the job security he once had–” Mrs. Weasley’s hands shook as she poured the tea, “– I offered to take up the post. I’m not the most brilliant witch but since I’ve had first hand experience with loss and coping, I think that I might be able to offer a few tidbits of advice.”

    “Are we going to be doing something...er...other than this book?” Hermione asked in a fake bright tone.

    “Oh of course, of course,” Mrs. Weasley said, waving her hand. “We’re also going to be discussing the last time You-Know-Who took power. What to watch out for, what to expect. Those are Dumbledore’s instructions. I’m sorry, Harry, dear, but unfortunately you’re going to have some share of the spotlight in the class.”

    “That’s all right, Mrs. Weasley, I’m used to it,” Harry said with a smile.

    “So try not to pay too much attention to it,” Mrs. Weasley said. Harry turned to leave, but Mrs. Weasley started to speak again.

    “And you, Ronald, need to start paying more attention. How it must have looked in front of the entire class when my own son won’t even pay attention.”

    “I was paying...” Ron started to say, but Mrs. Weasley cut him off.

    “You just tread carefully, Ron. The fact that I’m your mother does not excuse you from treating me like any other professor.”

    “Yes, mum,” Ron said, staring at the floor.

    “All right then, you’d better hurry off to your next class before you’re late.” When they were a sufficient distance away from the classroom, Harry turned to Ron. He was still a brilliant shade of maroon and looked positively fuming.

    “Don’t worry, Ron, it’s just one class,” Hermione said soothingly, but Ron would have none of it.

    “I don’t feel well, I’m going to the loo.”

    “But we have Snape next, he’ll curse you if you’re late,” Harry warned.

    “I don’t care,” Ron snapped and stalked off.

    “I’m beginning to worry about him,” Hermione said, watching Ron anxiously. “He’s been awfully upset lately with Percy, and now his mother.”

    “He’ll be ok, he just needs to blow off some steam,” Harry said uncertainly.     

    “I hope you’re right.” As they walked to Potions Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand. He felt an odd feeling wash over him, somewhere between discomfort and embarrassment, and he knew with some certainty that while he may have liked her very much, he was growing more and more nervous displaying affection acts towards Hermione. He slid his hand away from hers. Hermione looked at him oddly, slightly surprised.

    “If the Slytherins see us like that they’ll never shut up,” Harry offered, praying that Hermione took the excuse. She looked in his eyes, and Harry, feeling her gaze scraping at the back of his brain and feeling slightly guilty, looked away.

    “Good idea,” she said uncertainly. “I just thought that by now you wouldn’t care what the Slytherins say.” Harry was spared a response when they were faced with the queue to the dungeons. Some of the Slytherins were hooting and hollering.     

    “What’s going on?” Harry asked Dean, who was the only other Gryffindor in the queue besides a group of Slytherins, a rather large group of Ravenclaws, and a few Hufflepuffs.

    “I dunno, who knows what that group gets up to these days?” Dean asked. Harry stood on his tiptoes and saw Draco Malfoy standing somewhat apart from the other Slytherins, blood coloring his usually pale face. He had a look of malice on his face.

    “Just back off,” Draco spat.

    “Oh, the little mongrel is telling us to back off?” a Slytherin responded. “What are you going to do if we don’t? Tell your daddy? Oh wait, he’s in Azkaban isn’t he?”

    “You shut your mouth about my father,” Draco snapped, standing up to his full height. There was a quick flash, and Draco was on the ground, his nostrils flaring, and his mouth completely gone.

    “No, you shut your mouth,” the Slytherin responded. The Slytherins roared with laughter as Draco’s fingers scrabbled over the skin covering his mouth.

    “That’s sick,” Hermione said. “That’s enough Capulet!” Hermione shouted. She waved her wand and Malfoy’s mouth returned. He flexed his jaw a little bit.

    “And the mudblood comes to the mongrel’s rescue,” the Slytherin called Capulet responded. “Pity you didn’t leave him like that, only filth comes out of his mouth.” Harry spotted Blaise Zabini leaning against the wall, looking slightly bored with the proceedings.

    “You watch your mouth,” Hermione shot back. Crabbe and Goyle gave Hermione their usual scowl. “Twenty points from Slytherin, and I’ll be informing Professor Snape that...”

    “Informing me of what, Miss Granger?” Harry turned and saw the source of the icy voice; Snape had appeared in the hallway. Harry avoided Snape’s gaze.

    “Capulet Vanished Malfoy’s mouth, sir,” Hermione said. Snape looked coldly at Malfoy.

    “I don’t see a Vanished mouth here, Miss Granger. Ten points from Gryffindor for your lies. Now everyone, proceed into the dungeons.” Harry glared at Snape as he passed. Harry took a seat next to Hermione in the dungeons. As the rest of the class got settled, Snape read over his class list.

    “Welcome to Advanced Potions,” Snape said. “This class is an exhaustive study of the most advanced potions in the wizarding world. Regardless of your Outstanding marks in your O.W.L.’s, I know that very few of you will actually pass this class. Only the smartest and most adept potion makers make it into this class and can survive...” Snape trailed off.

    “Potter. To my desk. Now,” Snape said icily. Harry gave Hermione a side look as he walked up to Snape’s desk.

    “Yes, Professor?”

    “Did you get an Outstanding mark on your Potions O.W.L.?”

    “No, Professor,” Harry responded through gritted teeth.

    “Then why are you in my class roll?” Snape whispered with unmistakable malice.

    “Professor McGonagall said that we only needed an O.W.L. to take the sixth year Potions class, and that I’d need an Outstanding for the seventh year.”

    “She is mistaken,” Snape said, his eyes glittering madly. “You are not allowed to take this class unless you receive an Outstanding grade on your O.W.L.’s.”

    “She enrolled me in the class, Professor. She couldn’t have done if I was ineligible,” Harry responded coldly.     

    “Very well, get back to your seat. I will be seeing to this, make no mistake.” Harry walked quickly back to his seat.

    “What was that all about?” Hermione whispered.

    “I’ll tell you later.”

    “Your first task in Advanced Potions is to begin work on the Glacius Potion, a potion designed to make the drinker immune to the effects of frost and cold. You must be very careful while preparing the ingredients as well as composing the potion; if you are not precise, you will freeze the drinker’s innards, a condition which is potentially lethal. The potion takes three weeks to brew correctly, so a mistake now will be costly throughout the next three weeks. Now then, your first task is to prune the Frostbloom Flowers I have provided into this shape.” Snape waved his wand, and a complicated pattern of shaved Frostbloom leaves appeared. “The shape is absolutely critical, for it is in the pruning that unlocks the power of these plants. You will then prepare the rest of the potion for the first stage of brewing. You will find all of the ingredients in the cupboards, and the instructions are on the board. Proceed.”

    “Where is Ron? If he doesn’t start now he’ll be behind for three weeks!” Hermione hissed.

    “I don’t know, we’ll check on him soon,” Harry whispered back. He needed all of his concentration to make the Potion; he couldn’t afford to mess up, especially since his career as an Auror depended on it. He pruned the Frostbloom leaves sufficiently well, and he reread the directions three times in order to make sure he didn’t forget anything. He was surprised to find that Snape was not picking on him as usual. The recipe called for a ten minute lapse after the inclusion of nightshade, so he took a glance up. Snape was standing over Blaise’s cauldron, and had a sneer.

    “You must stir vigorously, Zabini, lest your potion congeal,” Snape hissed. Blaise did not respond, nor did he stir faster. “Perhaps I am not speaking loudly enough for you to hear, Mr. Zabini, but you must stir faster than that. I knew Potter wasn’t the only dunderhead that leaked into this class.”

    “Don’t rise to his bait,” Hermione hissed. Harry, feeling his face go hot, watched as Snape went over to Malfoy’s cauldron.

    “Another poor effort,” he said waspishly. Malfoy looked stunned. “Malfoy, I think it’s stated quite clearly on the instruction board that only a flick of nightshade is needed. You were too heavy handed with this ingredient, and the end result will likely kill your drinker. A zero for today’s efforts. You are to come to my office later to arrange for a make-up session.” Harry heard snickering throughout the dungeons.

    “Why is Snape picking on those two as well?” Hermione asked.

    “Maybe he misses picking on Neville,” Harry offered. Snape hitched on a cruel smile as he approached Harry’s cauldron.

    “And for the worst mess of the bunch,” he said. Snape bent over Harry’s cauldron and, with a look of sharp surprise, fell quiet. He took a slight glance at Hermione’s potion, probably to make sure the two hadn’t switched, and then stood upright.

    “If you let this simmer for too long your potion will be ineffectual. You must pay more attention to the instructions, Mr. Potter.” He swept away to criticize Terry Boot’s potion, which was running over the side of his cauldron.

    “But I have four minutes left!” Harry said furiously.

    “He’s just trying to find something to criticize. Your potion is perfect,” Hermione said with a smile.

    “Too bad Ron wasn’t here to see that,” Harry whispered with a slight grin. “He’d love to see Snape without anything really cruel to say.”

***

    Harry and Hermione didn’t see Ron again until after dinner. He still looked extremely upset, though slightly pale. Hermione suggested that this look was due to Ron’s lack of eating.

    “You can’t starve yourself to death just because your brother is Minister and your mother is a professor,” Hermione said sternly. “You have to eat, you look ill.”

    “I’m fine,” Ron said through gritted teeth. “I’m just not hungry.”

    “Of course you are, what kind of nonsense is that,” Hermione responded. “I’m going to go down to the kitchens and get something for you to eat.” Hermione swept out of the Gryffindor common room.

    “I’m going up to bed before she gets back,” Ron said quickly, standing up. “Any more nagging today and my ears will bleed.”

    “You should really eat something wrong, all this worrying is going to make you sick,” Harry said.

    “Don’t you start too,” Ron warned. “I’m fine, I just need to go to bed.”

    “Hermione won’t be thrilled.”

    “She’ll live with it. Night.” Harry watched Ron head up the staircase into the dormitory. He sat next to the fire, staring into the flames, wondering whether or not Ron would be able to deal with the latest changes in his life. As he watched the flames flicker, however, his thoughts turned once again to Sirius. The memories were starting to fade in detail; he used to be able to remember entire conversations with his godfather; now he was lucky if he could remember a few sentences. A horrible sense of guilt stole over his heart. How could he be forgetting Sirius already? He hadn’t even been dead for a year and he was fading. Was it an insult to his memory to forget?

    Harry shifted restlessly in his chair. He felt drowsy as guilty thoughts swirled through his head. He could barely hear the faint cry of a baby as he faded in and out of consciousness.

    “Harry!” Hermione’s said sharply.

    “Sorry. I was falling asleep there.”

    “It’s fine, but where’s Ron?”

    “He went up to the dormitory for some rest. He said he didn’t need food.”

    “And you let him go up there?” Hermione demanded.

    “Yes, if he says he only needs rest, he only needs rest,” Harry responded.

    “Fine. I’m off to bed too then. See you tomorrow,” Hermione said, huffily storming upstairs and into her dormitory. Feeling even more exhausted than before, Harry took the sandwich Hermione had made for Ron and bit into it, his thoughts wandering back towards Sirius once more.