Secrets of the Animagi

Chapter 8 - The Cultured Wizard

Professor McGonagall was sitting at her desk with a cup of tea when Harry arrived in her office the next afternoon. "Well Potter, I presume you have come to tell me you will be participating in Special Studies?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I thought so, as Weasley and Miss Granger signed on this morning. I'm surprised you three didn't arrive at once. Professor Browne says your paperwork is in order and classes start immediately after breakfast tomorrow." She sniffed and handed Harry a schedule and class roster printed on scarlet parchment that looked suspiciously like a Howler. Just one more reminder that Professor McGonagall would not tolerate failure.

"Excuse me, did you say Professor Browne? I thought you were sending the owls."

"He volunteered to take care of yours personally, some nonsense about your guardians needing special treatment. Anything I should know?"

"No Professor, thank you." Harry surmised that anything Dumbledore hadn't told McGonagall about either the Dursleys or his fugitive godfather was best left unsaid. Now the question was what did Professor Browne know?

"Off you go then."

Harry wandered in the direction of the Gryffindor common room. Could Professor Dumbledore have told Professor Browne about Sirius? Why? Maybe Professor Browne was an operative just as his godfather was. Harry didn't feel comfortable approaching the new professor for answers, at least not until he knew more about him. Harry had learned not to trust professors or even other adults unconditionally. It was quite possibly the most important thing Harry had learned from Professor Moody's impostor. He thought about sending an owl to Sirius, but if his godfather already knew about the programme, it was hardly news. On the other hand, if Professor Browne had contacted the Dursleys instead, he didn't want to upset Sirius. In an attempt to escape from his latest bout with circular argument, Harry pondered the feasibility of sneaking into Professor Browne's office. One quick look at the files and all his questions might be answered.

Suddenly, hissing and spitting coming from a darkened corner distracted Harry. Mrs. Norris had trapped Trevor behind a suit of armour and was enthusiastically batting at the frightened toad. Harry shooed the cat away and scooped the toad into his pocket. Wherever Mrs. Norris was, Mr. Filch was soon to follow. Not wanting to risk a confrontation with the surly caretaker, Harry quickly proceeded to the Gryffindor tower to find Trevor's owner. He found Neville under Seamus Finnegan's bed, apparently searching for the prodigal pet.

"Neville, found Trevor for you. Perhaps you need to think about a heavier lid for his tank."

"Thanks, Harry." Neville emerged from under the bed covered in dust and bits of lint. He took the toad from Harry and placed him in the tank. Just to make sure his pet didn't escape, he secured the lid with his Astronomy text. "Harry?" Neville looked desperately uncomfortable.

"Yes, Neville?"

"You don't feel awful about not being selected for prefect, do you?"

"Neville, you'll just have to take my word that I have no wish to be prefect. Besides, it suits you." Although his statement was not entirely truthful, at least about the position suiting Neville, Harry said it with the best of intentions. Neville definitely needed a boost.

"Thanks. Well, erm, I'm supposed to be at a prefects' meeting in a few minutes. See you at dinner?"

"Sure, Neville."

Alone again, Harry went to his trunk to find the instructions for his Auror's Watch. He suspected Ron and Hermione were in the library, but he had no desire to seek out their company. It was the first time in over a month he'd had any time to himself. He found the envelope at the bottom of his trunk, under his Transfiguration text. Breaking the seal, he withdrew the manual and began to read. Fortunately, the instructions were simple and there were several diagrams included. But then, Aurors probably had enough to do without spending an entire day setting their timepieces. It was with some consternation that he discovered that if he had read the manual while staying at the Leaky Cauldron, he could have saved Hermione and himself much trouble. The watch allowed for both Portkey and Time Turner functions. Harry decided that he would start with the two simplest functions for the time being. He set the silver hand to be a Dark Detector. It would be much quieter than his Sneakoscope. For the copper hand, he selected the Compass function. Satisfied, he returned the manual to his trunk and sprawled on his bed. He had just enough time before dinner to study the parchments Professor had given him.

Harry groaned when he saw that Malfoy had agreed to join the Special Studies Programme. Draco's presence was only minimally bearable when the only had two classes together. With seven classes with the Slytherin, Harry suspected that it wouldn't take long before the class was treated to an impromptu demonstration of duelling skill. In addition to the Slytherin and the three Gryffindor fifth years, there were six other students on the roster. Katie Bell would not be participating. Perhaps she had good reasons for not doing so, he thought. Harry noted his first class on Monday morning would be Continental Culture, followed by Muggles of Modern Europe. It was a light schedule, with only two classes per day, except for Wednesdays and Fridays which listed only Advanced Transfiguration. He had no doubt that Hermione would be adding an OWL revision schedule, as they would not be exempt from the end-of-year exam. Most surprising were the Tuesday and Thursday afternoon classes. Instead of being segregated from non-programme students, he would attend Herbology and Divination with the other fifth year Gryffindors.

"Harry, there you are. Haven't seen you all day, mate." Ron had entered the room so quietly; Harry nearly tumbled off his bed upon hearing his friend's voice. "I tried to wake you before breakfast, but you just mumbled something and swatted at me. Did you sign up for the Special Studies?"

"Of course I did. I trust Professor Dumbledore's judgement. Not sure about Professor Browne, though. He's a bit like Lockhart, isn't he?"

"Maybe a bit, but no one could be as dense as Lockhart. With what Professor Dumbledore said, I would guess that he has talent enough to keep the Death Eaters away. Ready for dinner? Hermione is waiting for us."

Hermione was chatting with Katie when Harry and Ron reached the Common Room. Harry presumed, correctly, that it was about Special Studies. Katie repeated what she had just told Hermione about several seventh years declining the programme.

"It's our last Quiddich season at Hogwarts, and then there's NEWT revision, you know."

"Not because you have a boyfriend?" asked Ron slyly. It hadn't been lost on anyone that it wasn't unusual for sixth and seventh year students to pair off.

Katie was livid. "Weasley, that's none of your business. If it was your brothers that snitched-"

"Relax, it was just a lucky guess. It's not Warrington is it?"

"Watch your step, Weasley. Must I remind you that if you ever hope to make the team, you'd best not cross me?"

"Ah Miss Bell, you have my most sincere apologies. May I escort you to dinner?"

"Weasleys," Katie muttered as she left them and went upstairs, presumably to retrieve the other seventh year girls.

"You'll let me on the team next year, right Harry?" Ron didn't look particularly worried about the prospect of not earning a position on the team.

"Dunno Ron. You need all your limbs to play. I should warn you that Katie's cursed Fred and George after nearly every match. They need those trips down the tunnel to Hogsmeade just to shake off the effects."

Harry met with the Gryffindor Quiddich team that evening. He felt slightly uncomfortable announcing his decision to participate in the Special Studies Programme. After all, he had been the team's only Seeker since first year.

"Never fear, we'll manage," said Fred.

"We've got to hold tryouts anyway," added George.

"We're not letting you off the hook, Harry. You won't be travelling right away. There'll be plenty of time for you to train up a replacement," said Angelina, the newly elected captain.

Katie was the next to speak. "How many programme members are from Quiddich teams, Harry?"

Harry looked at the Special Studies roster he had brought with him. "Malfoy, Warrington and Chang at least. Looks like all the teams will need a new seeker this year with Diggory gone."

"Yes, well. That's not any more your fault than the new programme is, Harry," said Angelina sadly. One more reminder that Cedric had been very popular among the students in his year. "Now, when should we hold tryouts?" It was agreed that Wednesday afternoon would be the best time. Harry's lighter schedule on Wednesdays meant that he would be in charge of procuring Quiddich balls from Madam Hooch.

"I'll take care of reserving the pitch," said Angelina. She also assigned Fred and George to handle post-tryout refreshments on the promise that their products would not be included. Katie and Alicia volunteered to make sign-up sheets for the two positions needed.

On the whole, Harry reflected as he readied for bed an hour later, Angelina was better at delegating than Oliver Wood had been. He almost regretted that he wouldn't be playing on the team this year. She had even vowed to ask Madam Hooch that all Quiddich-playing programme members be reinstated to their teams immediately upon their return to Hogwarts. Although Harry didn't expect to play in any matches this year, he appreciated the gesture.

The next thing Harry knew, light was pouring into the dormitory and Ron was shaking him. "Geroff, Ron! I'm up." It wasn't necessarily a good omen that Ron was so anxious for classes to begin. Last year's most anticipated class had put all the students through the rigours of Unforgivable Curses.

"You'd think that fancy watch of your's would have an alarm," Ron groused.

"Actually, it doesn't. Apparently, Aurors are naturally prompt. Thanks for waking me."

Harry took his school robes and padded down the hall to the lavatory. Upon his return, Ron was foraging in his trunk for parchment and quills. His old satchel lay on the floor, looking rather forlorn. Harry could see that the strap had been repaired several times and there were several small holes in the bottom of the bag. Harry picked up his own satchel from the end of his bed, already packed with the necessary items. Never mind, he thought, that he hadn't actually emptied it at the end of the last term. He was sure there was plenty of parchment, ink and quills inside it.

Before leaving the tower, they paused to look at the Quiddich sign-up sheets. There were at least ten names for each of the positions and Harry guessed there would soon be more. It was going to be a long trial on Wednesday. Perhaps he would ask Ron and Hermione help him draft an inventory for evaluating each Seeker candidate.

At breakfast, it seemed that every potential Gryffindor Seeker wanted to speak to Harry. Each time he picked up his spoon for another mouthful of porridge, there was another question to answer.

"Will you be giving points for skill or for style," asked Lavender, adjusting her robes. She was the fourth to approach him since he sat down.

"Er, skill mostly."

"Hmm, right. Fair, I guess. But do we have to wear the same robes as the other players. I was thinking along the lines of-"

"Lavender, I'm really sorry. You'd have the wear the same as the rest of the team." Harry could see another candidate approaching, so he quickly took another bite of his breakfast.

This time, it was Gordon Weasley. "Harry, I was just wondering. Do we have to take flying lessons with Madam Hooch if we make the team?"

"Everyone is expected to fly well."

"Right," muttered Gordon as he walked away. It was very odd that a potential team member would ask about flying lessons. Play Quiddich without decent flying skills? Impossible.

"See any more?" Harry whispered to Ron as he looked down at his bowl. He didn't want to draw attention to the fact that he was available to the next candidate.

Ron gazed nonchalantly down the table. "All clear. Should we head to the classroom?" They quickly picked up their satchels and walked out of the hall, followed closely by Hermione. She had spent breakfast chatting with Ginny.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were running away," she said.

"Well," started Harry.

"We are. Harry could barely get a bite in. Besides, class is about to begin," finished Ron.

"I was only joking, Harry. I saw how no one would let you alone. Did you want me to help design an evaluation form for the trials?"

"That would be wonderful, Hermione, thanks."

Reaching the classroom, Hermione headed straight for one of the front desks. There was one seat left among the Ravenclaw girls. Harry and Ron selected desks near the centre of the room and watched with amusement as the rest of the students wandered in. All of the girls, including the extremely unattractive Ursula Flint, were seated as close as possible to Professor Browne's desk.

"Lockhart," coughed Ron.

"Hush," hissed Hermione from the first row. She turned away from them and proceeded to put her desk in order.

"No pushing," hissed Cho Chang. Ursula was trying, unsuccessfully, to squeeze her desk into the first row. Between the staunchly defended territory of Hermione and the Ravenclaws and the small size of the room, Ursula had no hope.

Thankfully, Professor Browne entered the room before the situation could get out of hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Special Studies. Monday mornings will be devoted to the study of Continental Culture. As you all know, we will be travelling in a few months. It will be necessary that we adopt the customs followed by students at the institutions we will be visiting, along with those of the surrounding countries. As ambassadors of Hogwarts, we do not want our behavior to reflect poorly on this institution. We will be ladies and gentlemen meeting similar ladies and gentlemen. We will start with grooming and posture. Will everyone take out their wand please?"

There was a rustling as each student pulled out their wand. Harry and Ron shrugged in unison. What could wands possible have to do with posture? Draco had taken the opportunity to whisper to Ellen Phelps that his wand had been custom made to family's exacting specifications. If the remark was meant to impress her, it was in vain. She was too busy staring at the instructor's profile.

Professor Browne paced between the four rows of students, looking at each wand. "Very good Miss Phelps, Miss Chang. Ah Miss Flint, that will need some work. Gentlemen, you can do better." Harry and Ron looked at their wands not seeing anything wrong. Well, perhaps they were a bit smudged. Professor Browne had moved on, nodding at Malfoy and Stebbins before returning to the podium.

"Wand grooming is of utmost importance to the cultured wizard. Your wand isn't just a tool; it is a reflection of your inner being. From now on, I expect all wands to be free of splodges and smears. If should have bits of core protruding, and you know who you are," Professor Browne paused to look directly at Ursula, "I expect you to have them repaired as soon as possible. Professor Flitwick can help you there, or you can take them to the shop in Hogsmeade. It's your choice." Professor Browne continued to lecture on the various points of wand etiquette while the students took notes. Harry pulled out his watch while Professor Browne answered a question from Juno Grant regarding recommended brands of wand polish. Had it only been an hour? He noted that the silver hand on his watch was spinning. Most likely, the close proximity of the Slytherins had set it off. He couldn't think of anything else that would.

"Mister Potter," said Professor Browne suddenly.

"Yes sir," Harry replied, trying not to look guilty.

"Would it happen to be ten o'clock? I want to end on time."

"It's five before, sir."

"Excellent. We will take ten minutes and then return for Muggles of Modern Europe. Mister Potter, Miss Granger, Miss Phelps and Miss Grant please approach my desk.

Harry looked quizzically at Ron and approached the professor's desk. Once they were all assembled, Professor Browne addressed them in low tones as if he did not wish anyone to overhear. Harry thought it a bit melodramatic, as only Ron was the only other person in the classroom. "I am excusing you four from attending Muggle Studies on the condition that you complete a written assignment each week. I also expect all of you to tutor the others as needed. Three of you have been raised in the Muggle world. Miss Phelps, your former instructor has shared with me your excellent class record." He handed each of the students a small slip of paper. "These are your assignments for the week. Have a wonderful afternoon."

"Professor," began Hermione. Harry suspected that she actually wanted to remain in class. "Might I-"

"Miss Granger, you of all people know how tetchy purebloods can get. There is entire file dedicated to young Mister Malfoy's behavior alone. It would be easier to conduct the class, I think, if you accepted my offer."

"But-"

"C'mon Hermione," said Harry tugging gently at the back of her robe. He had no intention of remaining in the classroom any longer than necessary. Even he wasn't safe from Malfoy's Muggle-bashing. "Thank you, Professor."

Harry returned to his desk to gather his papers. Ron looked at him wistfully. "Are you going, then? Must I be the sole defender of all that is good and holy?"

"See you at lunch," said Harry cheerfully as he left the classroom.

No, he didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. Hogwarts was the best place on earth, he thought. It was even better when one didn't have to listen to a preening, self-important professor natter away. Hermione was waiting for him in the corridor. It was not without difficulty that he nudged her away from the door. It took two flights of stairs before she put away her quill and parchments. Apparently, her intent had been to stay in the corridor taking notes.

"What do you say to a walk by the lake, Hermione? We could start on that Seeker evaluation. Ron's going to be awhile."

Hermione could not be coaxed outside. She was intent on researching her Muggle Studies assignment, if only to prove to Ron later that the exemption from class was merely conditional. As she explained, there would be plenty of daylight left after lunch, when Ron could join them by the lake. Harry had to content himself with staring out the windows of the library and leafing through back issues of Quiddich Quarterly. He had no intention of writing three feet on the nature of French Muggle culture until at least Thursday evening, if not later. Hermione had been assigned to write about Bulgarian Muggles, a task she immediately began with the book she had previously borrowed. Too convenient to be a coincidence, thought Harry as he pulled out his pocket watch again. At least the silver hand had stopped spinning.

"Hermione, why is it all the girls stare at Professor Browne?"

"Well, he's younger than most professors here."

"So is Snape, most of the wizards in Diagon Alley, and every male student."

"Snape hardly smiles. Professor Browne has such a nice smile. And he dresses well. Did you notice how his hair ribbon perfectly coordinates with his spectacles and robes?" Hermione's eyes were starting to glaze over.

Harry was now dreadfully sorry he brought up the subject. "Hermione, wake up! Everything matches because everything is black. Black, black, black."

"Oh but Harry, it's such a lovely combination. He's the first professor we've had since Lockhart with any dress sense." Hermione sighed blissfully.

Harry grimaced as he snapped open his magazine, now intent on ending the conversation. He didn't see the mischievous expression on Hermione's face.

"You do know I'm kidding, don't you Harry? Professor Browne's almost as much of a prig as Professor Lockhart was, and I suspect he's a phoney. I didn't find a single book or article published under his name when I was here yesterday. What do you think, a midnight visit to his office?"

"It's a possibility." Harry got to his feet and slung his satchel over his shoulder. "But first, we talk to Ron."