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Chapter Text

Sunday, March 17, 1996.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger sat in an out-of-the-way part of the Gryffindor Common Room on Sunday night, preparing for the ordeal that was coming the next day. True, they had had their earlier adventures aired out in front of the entire school over the past two weeks, but the events of their third year could well be the most emotionally draining of all off them (for everyone except Ginny), as Hermione was quick to remind Harry.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Harry?” she asked him.

“Yes, Hermione. I told you; this is why I wanted to keep going with the readings in the first place. I mean, it’ll be great if we can nail Malfoy Senior too, but we need to do this so we can prove Sirius innocent.”

“We really don’t,” she insisted. “Director Bones has seen the books. She knows the truth, or she will soon enough.”

“Yeah…but I still don’t want to take that chance,” he said. “This way, the Ministry can’t possibly cover it up again.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem with Director Bones,” Hermione said. “It sounds like she’s really reliable.”

“C’mon, Hermione,” Ron interrupted her. “It’s Harry’s story. If he wants everyone to hear it, we should let him. Mind, I’m not too excited about it myself, what with the mess with ‘Scabbers’ and all, but it’s still better if we have it all out, isn’t it? Besides, what it Sirius goes outside, and he runs into someone who still thinks he’s a murderer, huh?”

“That could happen anyway. We aren’t the Daily Prophet.”

“It’ll still help if everyone at Hogwarts knows,” Ron said.

Hermione sighed heavily. “Fine,” she said, and turning to her other friend, she added, “I just worry about you, Harry.”

“How come?”

“Well, it’s the same as the last book, isn’t it? If the teachers are reading about our third year, it’s going to show everything that went wrong that year, too. Especially your reaction to the dementors. Didn’t you say you heard your parents when that happened?”

That brought Harry up a bit short. He remembered all too well his father yelling for his mother to take him and go. His mother screaming for Voldmort to kill her instead. That was the kind of personal memory that he definitely did not want becoming common knowledge. But still, he needed to get through this book reading for Sirius’s sake.

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” Harry said. “It’s not like Umbridge is still here making them read every word. McGonagall skipped the parts that were the most embarrassing for Ginny. They’ll probably skip the worst parts like that.”

“Unless Snape gets that chapter,” Hermione pointed out.

Harry considered that. “Maybe I’ll mention something to McGonagall,” he decided.

“That’s a good idea. And that’s not the only thing, either. There’s the Time Turner. To be honest, I don’t know if the Ministry will let them read about the Time Turner. No one was supposed to know I had it, and we could really get in trouble for what we did with it. And technically, Sirius was still a wanted fugitive that we helped escaped, even though he was innocent.”

“Dumbledore told us to do all that, though,” Harry said.

“I know, and that will probably push the scrutiny onto him, but I’m not crazy about taking that chance. I’ll be glad when this whole thing is over…This will be the last public reading, won’t it, Harry?” she asked, and this type he heard a note of warning in her voice.

“I don’t see why there’d be any more,” he said. “Everyone already knows everything important that happened last year, and we don’t want people to know what’s gonna happen in the future.”

“Well, that’s good, at least. And I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Yeah, I could do with moving past this stuff myself,” Ron agreed.

“Yeah, we agree there,” Harry said. “I just want to make sure we finish what we started.”

Monday, March 18, 1996.

After the massive intel dump Dumbledore had dropped on her desk yesterday, Amelia Bones was relieved that he didn’t have more for her today, even though they needed the information to take down Voldemort for good sooner rather than later. His only correspondence this morning was a brief note placing a time limit of six to twelve months to remove the Acromantula nest from the Forbidden Forest. She happily placed that on the bottom of her stack.

Harry felt about as prepared as he was going to be when he went down to breakfast the next morning. If all went well, they would get into the next reading shortly, and by the end of the week, it would all be over. Looking around the Great Hall, he noted that Amelia Bones was not in attendance. However, he did see Percy sitting up at the High Table, presumably on behalf of the Ministry again.

“Oh, boy, Percy’s here,” Ron said worriedly once they sat down.

“He must be representing Director Bones,” Hermione said.

“Well, this isn’t gonna be pretty,” he said.

“Why not? He seems to have come around since the falling-out in your family.”

“It’s not that. Percy owned ‘Scabbers’ before I did, remember?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You mean you never told him?”

“How do you think he would’ve taken that, Hermione? I didn’t tell anyone about that night, not even Mum and Dad.”

Harry spoke up: “I was kinda surprised your Mum didn’t know about Sirius last year.”

“You think I could’ve told her that? She wouldn’t’ve believed me. Everyone still thought he was guilty. It was bad enough that I had a run-in with him at all to her.”

“So what you’re saying…” Fred cut in, making them jump as they realised the Twins had been listening in.

“…is that dear Percy is going to totally flip?” George finished.

“Totally,” Ron agreed. “This is gonna be bad.”

“But also hilarious,” Fred countered.

Ron thought about that and said, “That too.”

“Your attention, please,” the Headmistress called out to the Great Hall once breakfast was over. “You will remember we announced this last week—” she began, and already, there were some groans from the less interested students. “After carefully examining the books that have been read here over the past two weeks, and after discussing matters with the staff, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the Ministry of Magic, and other interested parties—” That mainly meant Harry. “—we have agreed to hold a third and final book reading this week.”

There were more groans this time, although they were intermingled with cheers from the students who were excited about another week of light classes (those were few because at least some of the teachers were making up for it with extra homework), or who wanted to hear more of Harry’s story.

“I want to assure you that this will be the last public book reading we do at Hogwarts,” she added firmly. “We agreed on these second and third readings because of certain truths that need to be brought to light, but there is no such need to continue further. Moreover, I know that these readings have been a large disruption to teaching and learning in the school, and for that we apologise, but we must ask you for your patience one more time. We will be using the same short class schedule in the afternoon as in the past two weeks. We anticipate this reading to take four days.”

After the murmurings of the students died down again, she continued, “You may also have noted that DMLE Director Amelia Bones has not joined us for this reading. She has elected not to attend so that she may devote herself more fully to the war effort.” Quite sensibly, she thought. “Instead, she has entrusted Professors Shacklebolt and Tonks as well as Mr. Percy Weasley to accurately report the events of these readings to her. If you have concerns relating to the reading that you believe merit her attention, I ask you to speak with one of them.”

McGonagall sat down and looked to her left. “Professor Dumbledore, if you would like to begin?” she asked.

“Certainly, Headmistress,” Dumbledore said. He held up a third book for the Great Hall to see. For the students sitting close enough to see it clearly, this book was noticeably thicker than the previous ones. He looked down at the cover, which, if they could see it, hosted a picture of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger riding on the back of a hippogriff. “The title of the book is Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban,” he said, and he opened it up and began to read: “Chapter One: Owl Post.

“Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, he really wanted to do his homework—”

“Horrors!” quipped Fred.

“Hey!” said Hermione.

“—but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard.”

At least the book was getting to the point right away this time. Harry was, for reasons that were unclear but probably had something to do with a flying car, allowed more liberty at the Dursleys’ than last year, but that still meant he was forced to do his homework like normal kids would read comic books, under his blankets to hide it from them. Right now, the subject was History of Magic.

“On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation.”

“Are we still teaching that?” Professor Bragnam interrupted. “That’s the kind of version that ought to be relegated to young childrens’ books.”

“For many people, I think that is how they want to remember it, Professor Bragnam,” Dumbledore said. “The very real murder of magical children during the Middle Ages is an unpleasant thought and does not especially inure wizards to muggles, either.”

In any case, it turned out that Harry’s newfound liberty was more a result of having learnt to pick the locks than any positive action on the Dursleys’ part. As Dumbledore read the description of Harry’s muggle relatives, Hermione jotted down a note: Definitely written for a muggle audience—explaining magic and summarising events of previous books. She’d already suspected it from the previous book, but it was even clearer now.

Unfortunately, for Harry, trying to stay in touch with his friends had not gone well.

“HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME?” the students laughed, and Professor McGonagall groaned as Dumbledore shouted in a recognisable impression of Ron’s voice shouting through the phone.

“That’s not how a telephone works,” said little Natalie McDonald, a muggle-born second-year who had often joined Harry, Ron, and Hermione during these readings.

“Well, yeah, I know that now,” said Ron.

“I probably should have tried calling you,” Hermione admitted. “But then, we were travelling, and there wasn’t much I could do.”

In fact, Harry hadn’t had any contact with his friends until his birthday, when three owls showed up all at once, though one of them had apparently passed out in mid-flight.

“Owls can carry each other through the air?” Hermione asked. “I’m not sure how that could work. Wouldn’t their wings get in each other’s way?”

“No idea, but that’s what I saw,” Harry said.

The owls, naturally, brought Harry’s birthday gifts and also an explanation of why he hadn’t heard from his friends—namely that Hermione was on holiday in France with her parents, and the Weasleys were splurging their lottery winnings on a holiday of their own.

“A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet, ‘We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank.’”

“Because perish the thought you actually spent it on new robes,” Malfoy called out.

“Mr Malfoy! Ten points from Slytherin,” McGonagall snapped. “If you can’t be civil during this reading…”

“They made sure to keep enough for what we needed,” Ron told his housemates in annoyance. After all, he had at least been able to replace his broken wand, and he was able to send Harry a useful present.

“Harry—this is a Pocket Sneakoscope. If there’s someone untrustworthy around, it’s supposed to light up and spin. Bill says it’s rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn’t reliable, because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. But he didn’t realise Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.”

“Eww!” came from around the Hall.

“Bloody hell,” Harry said. “I just realised, that thing must have been picking up on Wormtail the whole time.”

“Blimey, you’re right!” Ron hissed. “And I thought it was just you lot,” he added to Fred and George. “To think the thing turned out to be useless because we didn’t know who it was pointing at. We could’ve saved a lot of trouble if we’d known that.”

But there was nothing to be done about it. There really was no way they could have known. For the moment, the Harry in the book was exploring his other gifts: a broomstick servicing kit from Hermione and a copy of The Monster Book of Monsters from Hagrid, which was promptly wrestled into submission. The older students who remembered that class grimaced. And finally, tucked away with the book, was his Hogsmeade permission form.

“Which he never handed in that year,” the Headmistress pointed out. “It was never quite clear what had happened with that—though I can make some guesses with his relatives.”

“I suspect the book will give us a full accounting, Minerva,” Dumbledore said.

Harry groaned and sank lower in his seat. “This isn’t going to be fun,” he muttered.

Chapter Text

“Chapter two: Aunt Marge’s Big Mistake,” Professor McGonagall read upon taking up the book.

“Is she the one you blew up, Harry?” Hermione asked. Harry nodded.

“You blew up your aunt?” Seamus Finnigan said excitedly.

“She deserved it,” Harry said.

“Harry!” Hermione squeaked.

“She did! She’s even worse than Uncle Vernon.”

“Worse? How could she be worse?” said Seamus.

“Just wait.”

The first part of the chapter, however, did not mention Aunt Marge at all. Instead, it was a report on the muggle news about the escape of the notorious murderer Sirius Black—which of course was old news to practically all of the students, although it sounded a little bit weird, not to mention vague, coming from the telly.

“‘Hang on!’ barked Uncle Vernon, staring furiously at the reporter. ‘You didn’t tell us where that maniac’s escaped from! What use is that? Lunatic could be coming up the street right now!’”

“If only,” Harry grumbled.

Only then did Vernon inform Harry that his sister would be coming for a week. And Aunt Marge had quite as many offences to her name as Uncle Vernon did. Whacking a four-year old Harry in the shins was only the start.

“‘A few years later, she had turned up at Christmas with a computerised robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits for Harry—’ oh, good Lord. She is that bad,” Professor McGonagall said. Not even Snape contradicted her. The book painted quite the ugly picture of the woman even before she arrived. Vernon, for his part, wanted to keep the peace, even if he was a menacing arse about it.

“‘And thirdly,’ said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slits in his great purple face, ‘we’ve told Marge you attend St. Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.’”

Some people laughed. “There’s no such place!” Dean Thomas exclaimed.

Hermione wrinkled her nose: “I don’t think there’s even a St. Brutus. And she fell for that?”

“Of course she did,” Harry said. “She’d buy anything as long as it made me look bad.”

In the book, Vernon simply left Harry to stew, but then, Harry got the idea to get Vernon to sign his permission form in exchange for being good during Marge’s visit. “That’s a rather clever scheme,” McGonagall said, looking to Snape. “Perhaps Mr. Potter would have done well in Slytherin.”

That didn’t amuse Harry, but he did appreciate the look on Snape’s face. “Such a pity it obviously didn’t work, then,” Snape replied acidly.

It also didn’t help that Vernon threatened to “knock the stuffing out of” Harry is he let anything slip to Aunt Marge.

“Hang on. Better make a note there,” Tonks said. “Vernon never actually beat him in the earlier books. Didn’t even really threaten him. That escalation’s a warning sign.”

“Unfortunately, it tends to happen as the children get older,” Snape said. The newer teachers, who had not known him as a student stopped and stared at him. “You do not spend over a decade as a head of house without learning such things,” he defended himself.

“Except when it comes to Mr Potter,” Professor Sprout observed.

Snape’s look turned darker. That had been a deep struggle for him to accept. Yes, he had been blinded by his hatred for Potter’s father. He didn’t answer. Luckily, Dumbledore intervened with, “I believe we have already discussed this, Pomona. Please continue, Minerva.”

The school laughed at the description of Aunt Marge: a large, purple-faced woman with a prominent moustache, who was being followed by an ill-tempered bulldog named Ripper. The Dursleys didn’t seem to like her that much either. At least, Aunt Petunia had to pay Dudley to hug her, and not small change, either. (“Honestly, the depths they’ll sink to in bad parenting,” McGonagall said.)

Predictably, Marge also approved of Harry even less than the Dursleys did, although as Harry himself pointed out in the book, her sending him to an orphanage would have been an improvement. Not to mention she was even more enthusiastic about Harry needing a beating than her brother, which prompted gasps of horror from many of the students.

“‘I still don’t like your tone, boy,’ she said. ‘If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren’t hitting you hard enough. Well, the number of times Mr Potter has gone to the Infirmary…Petunia, I’d write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy’s case.’”

“I don’t think any muggle schools do that anymore,” Hermione sniffed.

“Ugh. It’s a good thing Filch is gone,” Harry muttered.

“And Umbridge probably would’ve let him sooner or later,” Fred pointed out.

Marge’s temperament didn’t improve throughout the week, and she seemed intent on insulting Harry every chance she got. “‘It’s one of the basic rules of breeding,’ she said. ‘You see it all the time with dogs. If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup—’”

There was an uproar from the Great Hall. They’d heard plenty of insults directed at Harry by now, but that was going too far. Professor McGonagall normally would have quieted them down at once, but at the moment, she was staring at Snape expectantly. Snape, for his part, had gone dangerously quiet, seemingly glaring holes in the air.

Harry’s reaction in the book was quieter, but no less forceful, making Marge’s wineglass shatter in her hand with uncontrolled magic. It was only by luck that Marge took the blame, claiming she could shatter a wineglass with her bare hand and had in fact done it before.

“That’s a little scary,” Ron muttered.

“Yeah, it was kinda weird,” Harry agreed. “I’m still pretty sure it was me.”

Harry fought off the urge to curse Marge by memorising his broom servicing manual, but as the week drew to a close, and with Marge drinking heavily, it was clear the stress was wearing on him. The drinking only served to highlight how gross she and the entire family were.

“‘Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy,’ she went on, winking at Dudley. Pfft. ‘Healthy-sized.’ Just when I think we’ve seen everything that’s wrong with them.”

“Perhaps we should see about removing him from his parents,” Professor Sprout suggested.

“That’s not normally our procedure,” said Kingsley, “but if we go after the Dursleys at some point, we’ll have to anyway.”

McGonagall winced as Marge lit into Harry and his mother. She could hear the angry murmurs rising from around the Great Hall again, but she tried to power through it. In the book, Harry was doing much the same. “Grasp your broom firmly by the—tail? Mr Potter, I think you must have misread that. I’m sure you know that tail damage is the first thing that will make a broom stop performing properly.”

“Maybe it was the base of the tail?” Tonks suggested.

“Perhaps. In any case…But he couldn’t remember what came next…”

James was next on the woman’s list: “‘As I expected!’ said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve.—Ugh.—‘A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who—’

“‘He was not,’ said Harry suddenly. The table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over. He had never felt so angry in his life. Oh, dear. This isn’t going to end well, is it?” McGonagall continued.

“‘MORE BRANDY!” yelled Uncle Vernon—” Though she refused to shout the words like her colleagues. “—who had gone very white. Honestly, I cannot fathom how he thought that would be a wise distraction technique. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge’s glass. ‘You, boy,’ he snarled at Harry. ‘Go to bed, go on—’ Well, at least that was a smart move.” And it might have worked too, had Aunt Marge not insisted Harry stay so she could berate him some more. Minerva worried someone in the Great Hall might lose their head, but next thing, Harry snapped in the book and caused Marge to inflate like a balloon. Privett Drive descended into chaos.

Harry did what even McGonagall thought was the smart thing in that case and made a break for it in confusion. “Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for the cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard door burst magically open when he reached it. Goodness! Two, possibly three bouts of accidental magic, and from a school-aged boy. It normally takes extreme pressure to build up that kind of stress.”

“It sounds like that’s exactly what it was, Minerva,” Filius pointed out.

“I suppose so,” she replied.

At the Gryffindor Table, Hermione and Ron were staring at Harry with knowing looks. They remembered his mostly-private experiments with wandless magic last week. Maybe there was more to this scene than met the eye. Harry, however, just shrugged it off, although he didn’t notice that Malfoy was also staring at him from across the Great Hall.

McGonagall she finished the chapter as Harry left the Dursley’s house, threatening Vernon to do so. “‘She deserved it,’ Harry said, breathing very fast. ‘She deserved what she got.’”

“Go, Harry!” several people yelled. Tonks might have been one of them.

Kingsley sighed when the chapter ended. “Not a very safe option,” she observed, “running away with no plan or magical resources.”

“Hey, it’s still probably better than staying there, Kings,” Tonks pointed out. “He might’ve blown up someone else.”

Chapter Text

The reading continued. “It’s your turn, Severus,” Minerva said, handing the book to her Deputy.

“If I must,” Severus grumbled. He examined the chapter title. “Hm, The Knight Bus,” he said. “Not the worst decision he could have made…”

It took Harry several blocks of running before he realised he had nowhere to go in either the muggle or the magical world—not with Ron and Hermione abroad. (“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione said.) And he had no owl to contact anyone, no money, and (he believed) he might already be on the run from the law for doing magic outside of school.

“He looked down at his wand, which he was still clutching in his hand. If he was already expelled (his heart was now thumping painfully fast), a bit more magic couldn’t hurt. It seems I spoke too soon. Typical Potter, digging himself in deeper,” Snape said.

“It’s hardly his fault that the Ministry scared him into thinking he’d been expelled, Severus,” McGonagall said. “No offence to our new professors, of course.”

“It’s also not our responsibility to ensure he knows every detail of Ministry policy,” Snape replied. “Ignorance of the law is no excuse. Isn’t that right, Professor Shacklebolt?”

Kingsley raised an eyebrow and turned towards Snape with a somewhat amused expression. “Yes, that is right, Professor Snape,” he said, “although I don’t think I’ve ever heard that maxim invoked over the law being more lenient than the perpetrator believed. And besides, the law itself calls for leniency with regard to children. So long as Mr Potter did not intentionally harm anyone or violate the Statute of Secrecy, we could have calmed him down and left his punishment up to the school.”

“Hey, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you, Shack,” Tonks spoke up. “I mean, look how the kid’s been treated.”

Kingsley sighed. “Yes, I suppose, so. Perhaps the initial letter and Minister Fudge’s treatment of Hagrid were a little too effective at ‘scaring him straight.’ We don’t send letters for accidental magic, of course, and we should had a note about the house elf in his file as well.”

“So he should have been clear with the Ministry, at least,” she said. “That just leaves the school. Come to think of it, what are the actual criteria for expulsion, Headmistress? I probably ought to know that if I’m supposed to be the responsible one now.”

“With your record, you ought to have known that when you were a student,” Sprout cut in. Several of Tonks’s former teachers and many of the students laughed.

“Strictly speaking, there are none, Professor Tonks,” Dumbledore spoke up. “It is up to the Board of Governors on a case-by-case basis. One incident that is sufficiently severe, such as would see the student arrested, could be enough, while multiple small charms performed in the muggle world in the privacy of one’s home may be met with only detentions.”

“Professor Dumbledore!” McGonagall exclaimed. “You don’t need to give the students any ideas.”

“Eh, I think the usual suspects know the score already on that part,” Tonks said.

“Ahem,” Snape cut in irritably. “If we can continue…”

Harry ultimately did resort to a Wand-Lighting Charm briefly before he was distracted by a dark shape that they now knew was Sirius (probably tipped off by him doing magic). Harry tripped in surprise and, quite by accident, summoned the Knight Bus to him.

Hermione made a note there: How/Why can you summon the Knight Bus when you don’t know it exists? Shouldn’t it be intent?

A very confused Harry was soon ushered onto the Knight Bus by Stan Shunpike, who wasn’t exactly helping matters, himself.

“‘What were you doin’ down there?’ said Stan, dropping his professional manner.

“‘Fell over,’ said Harry.

“‘Choo fall over for?’ sniggered Stan.” People laughed as much at Snape’s incongruous deadpan delivery as the story itself.

Harry did figure out just in time that his scar made him easily identifiable, so he covered it with his bangs and gave Neville’s name, prompting a surprised look from the actual Neville.

“Harry rummaged once more in his trunk, extracted his money bag, and shoved some gold into Stan’s hand.”

“Why did you pay in gold if the fare was less than a galleon?” Hermione asked.

“I was a little preoccupied with not getting caught, Hermione,” Harry hissed.

But the bus ride was informative for Harry (conveniently so, in Hermione’s opinion) because he was able to read a news article about Sirius Black. It rankled Harry, hearing the official story of Sirius as a murderous traitor repeated again, but he held his tongue, waiting for the book to reveal everything.

“‘Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Confederation of Wizards for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.’” Snape read from the article.

“That’s odd,” Hermione said. “Isn’t it his job to keep the muggle government informed?”

“Yeah, but the ICW is even more paranoid about secrecy than the Ministry,” Ron replied.

Although there was one odd detail that Harry noticed in the story that he had forgotten. According to Stan, Sirius apparently thought he would take over the Death Eaters after Voldemort was killed—that he was supposed to be high up in the Death Eaters or so people said. But he was also supposed to be a traitor. He must have been publicly seen fighting against the Death Eaters with the Order…or at least Harry thought so. He’d never really asked, he realised. His parents certain had been, though.

But the point was, that didn’t sound like much like a high-ranking Death Eater to him. It sounded more like a spy—which after all was exactly what Wormtail had been. One more point that didn’t fit, he thought. He wondered, just how plausible—or implausible—was the original official story?

But in the meantime, the Harry in the book was much more preoccupied with his immediate problems, thinking he was in trouble with the law himself.

“He, Harry, had broken wizard law, just like Sirius Black. Was inflating Aunt Marge bad enough to land him in Azkaban?” Snape chuckled disdainfully. “That may be the most teenaged thing Potter has ever said, and that’s against some stiff competition.”

“Well, it’s the same problem, isn’t it?” Tonks said. “They made it sound like what happened was worse than it was. Plus, he was raised muggle, so he didn’t know how it worked.”

“Nevertheless, comparing himself with a mass murderer…” Snape said, but he trailed off, remembering the reasons why Harry might be inclined to make such a comparison beyond mere ignorance. Ultimately, he resumed reading.

In the story, Harry did make it to London on the Knight Bus, only to intercepted immediately (and outed to Stan) by Minister Fudge. If anything, it was surprising now to see Fudge both acting competent and doing what Harry could now grudgingly admit was the right thing. He was pretty clearly telegraphing that he was trying to protect Harry from Sirius Black without telling him directly. It was such a distinct change from any the antics Harry saw from the man before or after that it was hard to believe.

Well, except for one point. Fudge assured the Harry in the book that the issue of Aunt Marge had been handled, and his relatives were willing to take him back the following summer, but not the mid-term holidays. Harry, naturally, did not take this well.

“‘I always stay at Hogwarts for Christmas and Easter holidays,’ he said, ‘and I don’t ever want to go back to Privet Drive.’

“‘Now, now, I’m sure you’ll feel differently once you’ve calmed down,’ said Fudge in a worried tone. ‘They are you’re family after all, and I’m sure you are fond of each other—er—very deep down.’”

The real Harry groaned and rubbed his forehead. “See what I deal with?” he asked his housemates.

However, in the story, it was Fudge’s suggestion that he spend the last three weeks of summer at the Leaky Cauldron that finally pushed him over the edge.

“‘Hang on,’ blurted Harry. ‘What about my punishment?’”

Fred and George gasped in shock, along with half the school. “Harry! Have we taught you nothing?” Fred demanded.

“You should’ve been in Hufflepuff if you’re playing honesty there,” George agreed.

“‘Last year, I got an official warning just because a house-elf smashed a pudding in my uncle’s house!’ he told Fudge, frowning. ‘The Ministry of Magic said I’d be expelled from Hogwarts if there was any more magic there!’” Snape shook his head: ‘And that may be the most boneheaded, foolish thing Potter has ever said—as much as I would like to see him expelled for…certain things. I certainly wouldn’t tolerate such breathtaking lack of forethought from any of my students, Headmistress.”

McGonagall turned pink. “Well,” she said, “I believe Mr. Potter had just suffered several serious shocks that day and was still trying to process them. I shouldn’t be that surprised to hear such an outburst from a lad who was at his wit’s end.”

At the Gryffindor Table, Harry responded to the continued stares of his friends (especially Fred and George) with a shrug. That had been a dumb thing to say, but looking back, he had been fed up with the double-standard he kept seeing, even if he didn’t quite understand it yet.

Regardless, Snape quickly wrapped up the chapter. Harry tried to ask Fudge to sign his Hogsmeade permission slip since his deal with Uncle Vernon obviously fell through, but that failed.

“Hah. Nice try, Harry,” Tonks called to him from the High Table. “Heck, it might’ve worked if Fudge wanted on your good side.”

“Alas, it appears that the Minister thought it would be safer if Mr. Potter did not go that year,” Professor Flitwick spoke up. “And with good reason, for all anyone knew.”

“Not that Potter paid attention to such things that year,” Snape grumbled.

“And, I might add,” McGonagall cut in, looking out sharply at the students, “the Minister’s signature would not have been accepted in lieu of a legally appointed guardian. At least, not without a special waiver with regard to custody or, Merlin forbid, one of those ridiculous Educational Decrees.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione agreed. “I know they’re supposed to follow those sorts of rules.”

Finally, Snape read how Hedwig had arrived to the Leaky Cauldron only minutes after Harry, and he was all too eager to pass the book along as the chapter ended. However, on hearing that, though, Hermione got a funny look on her face and jotted some arithmancy figures in the corner of her parchment, ciphering with times and distances. Finally, she wrote down a note: How did Hedwig know Harry needed help before he did?

Chapter Text

Professor Slughorn took up the book next, beginning from the next chapter. This one was markedly less eventful, as Harry went about a fairly normal routine at the Leaky Cauldron, shopping in Diagon Alley and admiring the new prototype Firebolt—or a mostly normal routine, at least.

“…with occasional help from Florean Fortescue himself, who, apart from knowing a great deal about medieval witch burnings, gave Harry free sundaes every half an hour. Goodness, even I didn’t know Florean was that generous,” Slughorn commented.

Hermione gave Harry a stern look. “Was it really every half hour?” she said. “How did you not get sick?”

“Put on a bit of weight that summer, eh, Harry?” Dean added.

Harry rolled his eyes: “I think the book is exaggerating, guys.” Or rather, thinking back, he was pretty sure he gave that up after the first day, when he really had had about all the ice cream he could stand.

The ice cream parlour wasn’t the only thing that was stranger than usual that year. Flourish & Blotts in particular was having a difficult time.

“Instead of the usual display of gold-embossed spellbooks the size of paving slabs, there was a large iron cage behind the glass that held about a hundred copies of The Monster Book of Monsters. Torn pages were flying everywhere as the books grappled with each other, locked together in furious wrestling matches and snapping aggressively.”

“It’s a miracle anyone got an intact copy that year,” grumbled Professor Sprout. “Why did they make them that way?”

“The better question is, ‘Why not?’” Tonks quipped, earning a rare glare from her.

“I thought we’d seen the worst when we bought two hundred copies of the Invisible Book of Invisibility—cost a fortune, and we never found them.”

“That has got to be the same publisher,” said Dean Thomas.

“‘Unfogging the Future. Very good guide to all your basic fortune-telling methods—palmistry, crystal balls, bird entrails—’”

“Ew, I’m glad we never used those in class,” Hermione whispered.

Somehow it also seemed fitting that the clerk said the book about death omens could scare someone to death, even though he was probably exaggerating about that, but it was only really relevant because Harry saw an oddly familiar-looking black dog on the cover. Still, he was very much in a mood after seeing that cover, since he was trying to convince himself that it was nothing in his bathroom mirror.

“He raised his hand automatically and tried to make his hair lie flat.

“‘You’re fighting a losing battle there, dear,’ said his mirror in a wheezy voice.”

“Ugh, I hate those things,” Hermione said. “I don’t need my furniture criticising my appearance. Plus—” She looked around suspiciously. “—where does it keep its brain?”

“It has a brain?” Ron countered.

Hermione tried to glare at him, but she failed and snorted with amusement. “Okay, fair point,” she said. But she made a note on her parchment anyway. That rule of thumb was obviously more complicated than she thought.

As the school year approached, Harry finally met Ron and Hermione in Diagon Alley, and Ron got to show off his new wand.

“Brand new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair.”

There was a low whistle nearby, thankfully not audible from the High Table. “And you know what they say about blokes with big wands.”

“Seamus!” several people yelped at the culprit as Ron turned beet-red and finally punched him hard in the arm.

“Quiet!” Professor McGonagall interrupted Slughorn’s reading. “Quiet down out there.” Thankfully, she hadn’t seemed to notice what they were saying.

“Huh? What do they say about them?” Natalie McDonald whispered cluelessly.

Ginny leaned over and clapped her hands over Natalie’s ears. “Nothing, Natalie,” she said, glaring at Seamus.

Back in the book, the trio were going to the pet shop. At the table, Harry growled with controlled anger when Ron talked about Scabbers being sick, the reason for his distress now being perfectly clear. But he still had to wait for that. Meanwhile, Hermione fell head over heels for the “problem kitty” of the shop, Crookshanks.

“‘It’s my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present.’

“‘How about a nice book,” said Ron innocently.”

Hermione’s friends laughed good-naturedly, causing her to glare at them.

“The cat’s ginger fur was thick and fluffy, but it was definitely a bit bowlegged and its face looked grumpy and oddly squashed as though it had run headlong into a brick wall.”

Hermione glared at Harry, but others at the table snickered at the description. “Honestly,” she said. “Muggles think Persians are very elegant-looking cats.”

Ginny shook her head: “Hermione, I love Crookshanks, but cats’ heads are not meant to be that shape.”

In the book, the group completed their shopping without incident after that, and in fact, it would have continued to be without incident had Harry not overheard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley discussing Sirius Black. The students gasped when they heard that Sirius Black had been muttering in his sleep and was specifically coming after Harry at Hogwarts. That evidently wasn’t widely known, even two years later.

“At some point, we ought to do something about this eavesdropping habit of yours, Potter,” Snape spoke down to Harry. “I’m sure certain other members of the staff could name other times when you’ve done so.” Clearly referring to the Order meetings, though Harry had hardly been alone in that. Although he could admit that listening through the door at Christmas hadn’t turned out so well for him.

As for the rest of the school, everyone who had been at Hogwarts that year remembered how the Ministry had stationed the Azkaban guards—the dementors—around the castle—and that had not gone as well as they’d hoped. In fact, that was probably the biggest question of that year, Hermione thought: Why did the Ministry think sending dementors to guard Hogwarts was a good idea when Sirius had already escaped them once before?

In the book, Harry was understandably unsettled by the whole thing.

“‘I’m not going to be murdered,’ Harry said out loud.

“‘That’s the spirit, dear,’ his mirror said sleepily.”

Neville laughed awkwardly: “You know things are getting weird when that’s the conversation you have with your mirror.”

However, for all that Sirius had worried him that year, the Harry in the book was presently more worried that the personal threat would make it harder for him to sneak out to Hogsmeade.

“Okay, I know I’m being a total hypocrite on this,” Tonks pointed out, “but maybe work on your priorities, Harry?” There was some weak laughter.

“In any other year, it would have been a fair criticism, I think,” said Professor Sprout. “It seems terribly unfair for a student never to be able to go to Hogsmeade if their guardians simply refuse to allow it out of spite.”

“Students’ parents and guardians have a right to declare that they do not want their child visiting Hogsmeade, Professor Sprout,” McGonagall replied. “In the case that their guardians were clearly unfit, that would be dealt with directly.”

“Except in Mr Potter’s case.”

She sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. There were extenuating circumstances, as we have seen. But we should continue. One more chapter this morning, I think. Professor Flitwick, if you would?”

“Very well, Headmistress,” Flitwick said. He took the book and then frowned deeply at the next chapter. “Oh, dear,” he said. “Chapter Five: The Dementor.”

Chapter Text

The next chapter, however, didn’t begin right away with the dementor, but rather with Harry and his friends preparing to catch the Hogwarts Express…and a bit of idle gossip.

“Mrs Weasley was telling Hermione and Ginny about a love potion she’d made as a young girl. All three of them were rather giggly.”

“Whoa, love potions are real?” asked Natalie. Then she thought a moment longer and added, “and they’re allowed? I would’ve thought people didn’t want magic interfering with true love or something like that.”

“They’re allowed within some tight limits,” Fred explained.

“Ask us how we know that,” George added, winking at the older girls at the table. Some of them giggled.

“Of course, anything Mum would make wouldn’t be too serious,” said Fred.

“Anything she’d make now,” Ginny corrected them knowingly, and they wisely refrained from enquiring further.

However, the main point of conversation at the moment was Mr. Weasley warning Harry about the same things about Sirius Black that he had already heard by eavesdropping the night before. But he had one additional warning on that day.

“‘Harry, swear to me you won’t go looking for Black.’”

“Wait, what?” said Harry’s friends.

“Why would he do that?” asked Neville.

“Even Harry’s not that crazy,” added Dean.

“‘Why would I go looking for someone I know wants to kill me?’ said Harry blankly.”

“See?” Dean said.

“What was that about?” Neville asked. “Did he think you’d want to play the hero again?”

“No, it’s more complicated than that,” Harry said. “I’m sure they’ll explain it later in the book. He had a reason…Honestly, it was really frustrating at the time ‘cause I didn’t know what was going on.”

After that, they just barely made it onto the Hogwarts Express as it pulled out of the station.

“‘I need to talk to you in private,’ Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione as the train picked up speed.

“‘Go away, Ginny,’ said Ron.

“‘Oh, that’s nice,’ said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off.”

“Should’ve just stayed and made you tell me,” Ginny said. “Not like it was a secret or anything, right?”

Harry shrugged, but in retrospect, she had a point. Even Malfoy had known about Sirius’s supposed crimes that year. It was only really himself that people didn’t want knowing. And in the book, the trio promptly undercut Ron’s words to Ginny by talking about it in front of a teacher, even a sleeping one.

Hermione reacted to the news about Sirius predictably.

“‘Don’t go looking for trouble, Harry—’

“‘I don’t go looking for trouble,’ said Harry, nettled. ‘Trouble usually finds me.’ Well, it certainly does based on these books,” commented Flitwick.

Down at the Gryffindor table, Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione. “Everyone kept telling me that that year, too.”

“You have been known to go looking for trouble yourself,” Hermione objected.

In fact, in the book, Ron provided evidence of exactly that as he began talking about Harry sneaking out of the castle to go to Hogsmeade, which they all knew he eventually did that year.

“‘Ron!’ said Hermione sharply. ‘I don’t think Harry should be sneaking out of school with Black on the loose—’

“‘Yeah, I expect that’s what McGonagall will say when I ask for permission,’ said Harry bitterly.

“Which I would not have said if he had had his permission form,” McGonagall cut in. “At least not until Black’s first attack. We did have other means prepared for protecting Potter.”

“‘But if we’re with him,’ said Ron spiritedly to Hermione, ‘Black wouldn’t dare—””

At that moment, Percy, remembering the events of the previous book, did one of the most un-Percy-ish things his brothers had yet seen from him and called out loudly, “How thick can you get?”

The Great Hall roared with laughter. Fred mimed having a heart attack from shock and yelled, “You told a joke, Percy! It’s a miracle!” Ron turned bright red as even he realised how dumb a thing that was for him to say.

Once everyone calmed down, in the story, Malfoy and his cronies made their usual visit to try to antagonise Harry, but they were scared off by the fact that there was a teacher in the car. Probably a good job he was, Harry thought. Knowing what he knew now, he suspected that Malfoy had been coming to taunt him about Sirius and egg him on to go after him.

Ron, meanwhile, was more direct about his feelings.

“‘I’m not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year,’ he said angrily. ‘I mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I’m going to get hold of his head and—’

“Ron made a violet gesture in midair.”

“Someone ought to speak with Mr. Weasley about his anger issues,” Snape said.

“Idle talk among students, Professor Snape,” Flitwick retorted. “Mr. Weasley did not attack Mr. Malfoy, nor even threaten him to his face. We hardly need to chase after every students’ disagreement. Now then…”

Flitwick continued with the story, and it was here that it began to take a dark turn. When the Hogwarts Express came to a stop several miles from the station, Hermione added another question to her list: Who stopped the train to search it and why? Were the dementors able to do that themselves? Unlike the previous book, she was finding a fair number of questions to be answered about the events of their third year, except this time, it was the Ministry’s fault rather than Dumbledore’s, and she had a nasty feeling that it was all based in sheer incompetence.

“There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering of light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. Ah, quite an impressive bit of wandless magic.”

Harry blinked in surprise. With all the shock of the dementor, he’d forgotten about that little trick of Remus’s. He’d have to ask him about it on his mirror.

Unfortunately, Remus was as ignorant as the students of why the train had stopped because he didn’t seem to put the pieces together until the dementor came gliding into their cabin, ostensibly looking for Sirius Black.

“I must apologise in advance for this,” Professor Flitwick said before he read the scene. “This may be difficult for some of you to hear, but I suspect it will be important to the story later on. And our older students will be all too familiar with it regardless. I want all of you to know that any student who wishes to leave the reading because of this may do so.”

“Now, and on the other days,” McGonagall agreed.

“Quite.

The first time the dementor appeared in the story—the first time Harry had encountered one—was mild, if you ever could apply that word to a dementor. Harry had almost forgotten what it was like after the much worse encounters he’d suffer later on. He had braced himself for the negative parts of this book, hearing his parents’ deaths narrated aloud. It was a price he was willing to pay to get Sirius freed, but he knew it would be difficult.

But in this case, it didn’t come. His first encounter with a dementor was “only” a literal bone-deep cold washing over him, hearing a scream that no one else did, and fainting at the monster’s feet (did they have feet?), which in fact was even more dangerous than he had first thought, given what they could do. Many of the students had had uncomfortable close encounters with the dementors at some point that year. Some of them had even snapped under the prolonged exposure, but it was unusual to them that Harry had fainted, and there were whispers around the Great Hall now, wondering what it might mean.

For his part, Harry found himself almost unconsciously glaring at Malfoy. Malfoy was the one who had spread the news of him fainting all over the school. Looking around, for the older students, it was different hearing it from Harry’s point of view. Even that small taste of the dementor, plus their own memories, made Malfoy’s mockery seem in terrible taste, especially with Professor Flitwick’s offer for people to leave.

Harry shivered from the memory, but then something occurred to him—something very worrying. He leaned in and whispered to his friends, “Was the dementor really looking for Sirius on the train?”

Ron looked back in confusion. “Well, they were supposed to be looking for him, weren’t they? Why else would they be there?”

He looked around nervously. “Maybe for me?”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped. “How can you say that? There’s no reason the dementors would want you.”

“They came after me last summer, didn’t they.”

“You said that was because of Umbridge, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but the dementors worked with Voldemort in the last war, remember? Maybe one of them wanted to finish the job. And it sure seemed like it was coming for me.”

Ron looked thoughtful, but Hermione shook her head. “It didn’t really go after you in particular,” she said. “It just affected you the most.”

“Now hold on,” Ron said. “Now that I think about it, they searched the whole train, but none of the others had to be chased off with a Patronus. Feels like there was something not right about it, beyond the obvious, I mean.”

“That…” Hermione stopped and started frantically scribbling notes. “That does seem a little odd. If Professor Lupin hadn’t been there…I’ve never really thought of dementors as thinking intelligently, but…or do they just target people who are more susceptible to them? Didn’t they ignore Sirius when he was in dog form? We probably ought to look into that…” She trailed off, still writing.

“And we’ve lost her,” Ron said with a grin.

In the story, after Remus drove the dementor away, gave them chocolate, and apparently talked to the driver to get the train the rest of the way to Hogwarts (who did drive the Hogwarts express? Harry wondered), they settled down in a carriage to go up to the school.

“Neville’s pet toad croaked loudly from under his hat.”

Everyone turned and stared at Neville.

“What? It keeps him from wandering off,” Neville said.

They weren’t out of the woods yet, as Malfoy still came along to taunt Harry about fainting at the dementor, though now, that had a lot of people glaring at him. However, once they reached the castle, McGonagall called both Harry and Hermione aside for a private discussion.

“Professor McGonagall had a way of making him feel he must have done something wrong.”

“Really,” said McGonagall. “I should think I’ve been quite professional in my dealings with students.”

“You can be rather intimidating, Headmistress,” Flitwick suggested delicately.

“I merely do what I must to maintain order,” she said. “Although I admit Potter has something of a family tradition of causing more trouble than most—not a word, Severus.”

The students laughed softly. As it happened, the McGonagall in the book had only called Harry aside so the he could go to the Infirmary for dementor exposure (over Harry’s protests). As for Hermione…

“Why did Professor McGonagall need to talk to you about your schedule?” asked Dean.

“It was nothing,” Hermione said a little too fast.

Harry frowned. He leaned close to her and whispered, “You know the book’s probably gonna tell it, right?”

Hermione blushed. “I don’t know. I wonder what the teachers will say about it. We’re still not supposed to tell anyone. Maybe I should—”

“No,” he said. “Dumbledore and McGonagall know, right? They can work it out.”

“Professor Snape, the Potions Master, was staring along the staff table at Professor Lupin. It was common knowledge that Snape wanted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, but even Harry, who hated Snape, was startled at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face—Sorry Severus,” Flitwick added. However the real Harry was unsurprised when he saw Snape turn that same expression upon him now. “It was beyond anger,” Flitwick continued, “it was loathing. Harry knew that expression only too well; it was the look Snape wore every time he set eyes on Harry.”

There was some scattered laughter, which did nothing to improve Snape’s mood. However, the rest of the chapter mainly consisted of Dumbledore telling the school about the staffing changes and warning them about the dementors—including a personalised warning for Harry not to try his invisibility cloak against them.

“They reached their familiar, circular dormitory with its five four-poster beds, and Harry, looking around, felt he was home at last. Well,” said Professor Flitwick, closing the book. “I do believe that is an appropriate place to stop. As we discussed earlier, the reading will resume tomorrow morning, as usual.”

Chapter Text

Percy Weasley was having a rough month—well, a rough year, really. He was nearly fired from the Ministry when his boss, Barty Crouch, died under suspicious circumstances on his watch. Or maybe not so suspicious circumstances, now. Oh, Percy wasn’t involved at all. Mr. Crouch had shockingly been killed by his own son (who was supposed to be dead himself). That was the one thing Fudge and Dumbledore had agreed upon. But Percy had missed the signs of the suspicious goings on around Mr. Crouch—his sudden illness, his erratic behaviour. He’d been so excited to be given the extra responsibility that he hadn’t asked questions that he probably should have.

So, he was investigated after Mr. Crouch died, and he was sure he was going to get sacked, but then Minister Fudge threw him a lifeline—a promotion, even! Junior Assistant to the Minister! He’d been so excited that he Apparated home to tell his folks straight away, and then things fell completely apart again. Dad accused Fudge of using him. Accused Percy of working for the enemy. Accused him of spying on his own family. And Percy, well, he didn’t like to think about the things he’d told Dad that day. He’d started out trying to say Fudge didn’t have any reason to spy on his family, hadn’t asked him to spy on his family, didn’t think his family was even worth spying on! But it had spiralled from there, and a lot of things he’d kept bottled up came spilling out that he’d known the moment he said them weren’t fair, but by then, the damage was done. He’d walked out, and his pride wouldn’t let him look back. Mum wanted him to come home, of course, but he couldn’t bear to face Dad again, and he was ashamed to say he wasn’t sure if Dad wanted him back while he was “spying” on them.

Percy shook his head. He could see now how blind he’d been, and for the same damn reason as before. He’d been so grateful to Minister Fudge for saving his job that he completely bought into everything the man said and didn’t question the holes in his story. Fudge’s sudden change in behaviour, his paranoia that Dumbledore was after his job when he’d previously relied on him—hell, even having Barty Crouch Jr. Kissed instead of questioning him, and then refusing to accept Dumbledore’s report of questioning him. It was such a radical change that he should have asked questions, but he didn’t.

The sad thing was that Fudge really hadn’t asked Percy to spy on his family, nor implied anything of the sort. Maybe he would have done if he’d stayed at home, but Fudge certainly hadn’t tried to persuade him to go back. He was pretty sure Fudge really didn’t think Dad was worth spying on. Harry Potter he did want to spy on, but he didn’t ask Percy to do it once he left. He hadn’t so much as seen the boy except at his hearing, up until the book reading. And Harry…

Despite appearances, Percy hadn’t disliked Harry, except for the potential threat he posed to his family. In fact, he’d felt sorry for the boy. He’d thought at the time that if Fudge was using him, then Dumbledore was definitely using Harry. The boy was clearly unbalanced, traumatised even before Diggory’s death (though Percy hadn’t know at the time, he’d even been made to sleep in a cupboard), and probably delusional. And Dumbledore wasn’t giving him the help he needed, but was instead using him as a pawn.

Yes, it all made perfect sense to Percy at the time…except that it was all a load of dragon dung, and if he’d stopped to question Fudge at any point in the past year, he might have figured that out. He should have figured it out when Fudge had called him up to Hogwarts for his—if he were being honest—completely harebrained scheme to sack Dumbledore with a public book reading of all things. And that…well, it couldn’t very well have gone much worse. Now, Fudge was dead—whether by You-Know-Who’s hand or Lucius Malfoy’s acting on his own they still weren’t sure. Either way, You-Know-Who was back, like Dumbledore was saying all along. Harry…well, he still needed help, Percy was sure, but most if not all of the stuff he said was probably true. And as for Percy himself, he was sure he was about to be sacked again. In fact, he was pretty sure the only reason he hadn’t been sacked already was that they had no one to replace him. With Fudge dead, Umbridge going to Azkaban, and Dumbledore, Amelia Bones, and Rufus Scrimgeour all too busy fighting You-Know-Who, he was the only person who knew how to keep the Minister’s Office running.

The fact that they could spare him to come up to Hogwarts again for yet another harebrained public book reading was probably a bad sign, all things considered. And since he didn’t have anything left to lose, he decided he wasn’t going to make the same mistake a third time. He was going to apply some actual logic to the situation.

“Headmistress, I don’t understand what the point is of these book readings,” he told Professor McGonagall. “I don’t doubt the value of the information in the books if it’s accurate, but why spend weeks reading them aloud to the school?”

McGonagall sighed. “That is a question I have asked several times myself, Mr. Weasley,” she said. “We do have our reasons, even though I don’t fully agree with them. Have your parents told you the truth about Sirius Black?”

Percy flushed at the mention of his parents. He gathered that they’d told him about as much as they were allowed in those few weeks he was at home, but he didn’t know how much more there was to it. “Not a lot, Professor,” he said. “They told me they’d met him—and I did not tell Fudge about that—and Dumbledore vouched that he was innocent—and he hadn’t tried to kill Harry when he had the chance, so there was no reason to doubt him.” And the reason he hadn’t taken it straight to the DMLE.

“All of that is true,” she said. “Sirius is innocent. I have seen certain proof of it myself. We planned to continue the reading through the third book because it will reveal the full story in the greatest possible detail.”

“I understand, but that still doesn’t explain the public reading,” he insisted.

“I know. But that was more Professor Dumbledore’s decision than it was mine—and Potter’s himself, which was the largest reason I went along with it. I’m sure Albus would wax poetic about the power of children’s stories and the written word, and he might well be right about that. Potter seems to think it’s the best way to get the word out to a large portion of our world quickly, and he might well be right, too. It is certainly a method that cannot be disrupted by the Ministry, the Daily Prophet, or You-Know-Who’s forces. Our hope is that nearly everyone will believe in Sirius’s innocence once this is over.”

“And that’s another thing, Professor. Why should anyone believe these books in the first place? I mean, books about Harry Potter’s life that just seemed to come from nowhere? Looking back, I’m not even sure why Dolores thought people would believe her about them.” He didn’t quite catch McGonagall’s scowl that he was on a first-name basis with that woman.

“I suspect that Dolores saw precisely what she wanted to see in these books and wouldn’t hear a word to the contrary from that point onward,” she scoffed. “Minister Fudge, I am sure, thought that his name would be enough for people to believe him. And I would be lying if I said we weren’t hoping our names will be enough for people to believe us. As for why we believe them, they have stood up against every attempt to fact-check them that we have been able to make.”

Percy sighed. “Alright, that’s…something, I guess,” he said. “But where did they come from? They don’t even seem possible.” McGonagall quirked an eyebrow at him but he pressed on. “Look, Professor, I got myself into the mess I’m in today by not questioning things when I should have for the past year and a half. It’s past time I made a change. And frankly, I have a lot of things to question about these books—like who wrote them, and where did they get their information? Even laying aside that bit about Harry’s dream in the first book, there’s a lot of material in there that whoever wrote them could’ve only got from Harry himself, and some of it I’m not even certain about Harry. I need something more to go on.”

McGonagall frowned thoughtfully. “I can sympathise with that, Mr Weasley,” she said. “But please understand that there are some things I cannot tell you. Madam Bones is read in on them, so she can vouch for us. But it is safer if they do not spread any further. I hope you can trust us in that.”

Percy grumbled, but he could understand the need for security. “I will be asking Madam Bones about that, but…fine,” he said.

“Very good,” she said. “Now, unless I’m much mistaken, Potter, Granger, and your youngest brother will be here soon, and if past readings are any indication, Miss Granger will have questions for you regarding the book.”

Sure enough, the three fifth-years entered the Headmistress’s Office a few minutes later. They stared at each other awkwardly. This was the first time he’d had the opportunity to properly talk to any of them since…

Since he’d left home last summer. Merlin, he hadn’t even so much as acknowledged his family for Christmas, he was ashamed to remember.

“Percy,” Ron said with a tone like ice water.

“Ronald,” Percy replied uneasily. He nodded to the other two. “Harry. Hermione.”

They sat down across from McGonagall’s desk, Ron still glaring at him. The silence stretched as McGonagall seemed to want to let them say what they needed to say to each other rather than start the discussion about the books immediately.

Ron nor Harry seemed interested in talking either, so Percy took a deep breath and began, “Look, about that letter I sent you last autumn…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to interfere with your friends like that.” Even based on what he had been thinking at the time, he should have been urging them to get Harry some help. And he’d been worried about Ron’s career? As if Ron were…him?

“You called Umbridge a delightful woman!” Ron snapped.

“Yes…well…she tended to be if you stayed on her good side, but…well, that was ill-informed. And Harry, I was too harsh in judging you based on Minister Fudge’s word. My reasons were…”

“You being the world’s biggest git?” Ron cut in.

“…Yes, I was,” he said before he could change his mind.

“And about what you said to Dad?” his little brother demanded.

“That too.”

“And sending Mum back your Christmas jumper?”

Percy flushed redder than he already was. Even McGonagall turned and raised a stern eyebrow at him. She didn’t say anything, but he could feel the judgement. “I…I’ll…” he hesitated, and McGonagall kept up her stare. “I will be speaking with Mum and Dad directly,” he decided. Honestly, he probably should have done that sooner.

Ron drew back. He actually looked surprised. Impressed? No, more like self-satisfied. He leaned back in his seat, folded his arms and said, “Glad that’s sorted, then.”

“Quite, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall spoke for the first time. “Now, I presume you had questions, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, quite a few of them, Professor,” Hermione said. “But the most important ones are about the dementors. First of all, why did the Ministry station dementors to guard Hogwarts when Sirius had already got past them once before?”

Percy winced. “That,” he said, “is something people were asking even at the time, including within the Ministry. I know how Dumbledore feels about them. As for why, well, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but the simplest explanation is, ‘It was Cornelius Fudge.’”

The three of them groaned, and Harry muttered, “It figures.”

“I suppose I should have expected that,” Hermione said. “Honestly, it was their behaviour that was more worrisome—like searching the train. Did they decide to do that on their own? And how did they stop the train in the first place?”

“I’m…afraid I don’t know either of those things myself,” he said. “We all know I was ‘only’ Head Boy that year, and I didn’t look into it after I graduated. Why could be any number of reasons. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were told to search the train, but someone failed to tell them where and when. Or it could have been entirely intentional, and they forgot to tell someone—or didn’t want to tell someone in case it tipped off Black…although if he was on the train at the same time as Harry, we would have had larger problems, I think. How they did it, Professor Lupin might know, since he talked to the driver. Headmistress did he tell you at the time?”

“As I recall, the dementors simply stood on the track, forcing the driver to stop the train,” she answered.

“Bloody hell,” said Ron, and his friends looked equally shocked.

“What if it hadn’t been able to stop?” Hermione said, growing a shade paler. “Trains need a long time to stop.”

“That is unlikely, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said. “The Hogwarts Express can stop in a shorter distance than muggle trains. And a good thing, too,” she added, more to herself. “You saw at the end of that year what happens when the dementors’ anger is provoked.”

The students shivered, and Percy decided they should move on. “Was there anything else?” he asked.

“Er, just one thing,” Hermione said. “Harry?”

“Right,” he said, looking at Percy sharply. “Hearing it again, I thought it was odd. The dementors searched the whole train, but when that one came into our compartment, Remus had to chase it out with his Patronus. Do you think it might have been targeting me specifically?”

“Harry!” Percy said. “I assure you that the dementors are completely under the Ministry’s control.”

“Yeah, that’s what Fudge said at my hearing.”

Percy flinched. There it was again. He really needed to be more careful about that. He collected himself and told him, “I mean to say, the dementors follow the Ministry very reliably. Even the attack on you last summer I understand was…er directed at you by a rogue Ministry official.” Dolores again, as horrifying as that was.

“So? We know there are Death Eaters with influence in the Ministry, like Lucius Malfoy. And besides, the dementors worked with Voldemort in the last war. Maybe they do what they’re told, but one of them decided to finish the job with me when it was given a chance.”

“I’m…” He hesitated. For the dementors to act out at all was a scary thought. They were so inhuman that people liked to think of them as not having wills of their own, but he’d seen with his own eyes in his last year in Hogwarts how fickle they could be. “Well, I don’t think a dementor could identify you without being told who you are. They’re blind, after all.”

“Oh…right…” Harry said. He almost sounded disappointed.

“Still, it did sound a little odd,” he assured him. “I’ll pass it on to Madam Bones, just in case.”

Minerva, for her part, also passed along Harry’s question, though in her case, it was to Albus. Worryingly, he was contemplative when she asked about Potter’s theory.

“I do not believe any Death Eater could have influenced the dementors to attack Harry on the train,” he concluded. “None of them were close enough to the Minister’s office to do so without being noticed. And Percy is correct that no dementor would have recognized Harry the first time they met him.”

His tone was not comforting. “But…?” she ventured.

“Dementors may be blind, but they are not deaf. And too often, we ignore that they have their own agency. They are perhaps a dark reflection of House Elves in that regard. They surely heard from the prisoners in Azkaban about the boy who destroyed their one-time ally. And it is possible that they heard Harry’s name when they searched the train.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “But not certain.”

Albus shook his head: “Quite far from certain.”

“You have another theory don’t you?” he said.

“At least two, which are now moot regardless. The dementors do not take kindly to those who escape their clutches in any event, which Harry has now done twice. They will treat him as an enemy on his own merit should he encounter him again, so it matters little.”

Minerva suppressed a groan. Of course Albus was being inscrutable again. Still, one thing she could be sure of was that if he didn’t think it was important (at least for the war), it probably wasn’t.

Still, they had more pressing matters to worry about. Even Potter didn’t encounter dementors every day. Though she still ought to warn him, she decided. As if the boy didn’t have enough to worry about. But for now, they had to continue their reading of next year’s events. Merlin, that was never not going to be bizarre.

Chapter 15: The Unbreakable Vow

“I suppose it was too much to expect Malfoy to tell you what his plan was in Potter’s hearing,” Minerva told Severus when they finished the first chapter. “But for him to refuse to tell you at all out of pride is surprising.”

“Not pride, I think,” Severus replied. “Rather, desperation. As proud as Draco is—and I have no doubt he believes he can complete his mission—his quest for glory reads as a desire for greater clout with the Dark Lord to redeem his family. Though I also would not put it past Bellatrix to tell him I could not be trusted.”

Minerva frowned. “What makes you so sure?”

“How cavalier Draco was about my own life, telling me to break my Vow. Potter was not wrong that his hostility toward me was out of character.”

“Well, then,” she said, “it still seems we haven’t learnt anything new, except that we really ought to ban love potions.”

“We did ban love potions in the book,” Severus pointed out.

Her expression soured. “We banned the Weasleys’ love potions, but point taken. I suppose we should count ourselves lucky that a dozen girls haven’t been trying to steal Potter’s affections already. Albus?” She motioned to the book, indicating the next chapter.

“A moment, Minerva,” he said suspiciously cheerfully. “Just a brief note that I should drop by Xenophilius Lovegood and ask him what he knows about the Rotfang Conspiracy.”

“Albus!” she gasped, while Severus sputtered. “You can’t possibly believe that!”

“I find it highly unlike that Xenophilius has stumbled on a true conspiracy of gum disease,” he said. “However, his daughter’s words put me in mind just the slightest bit of that unfortunate business with ‘R’ a few years ago.”

“Ah, Miss Khanna’s death, of course,” she said sadly. “And Dai Ryusaki’s potion—but do you really think Xeno knows something?”

“In all likelihood, it is merely a coincidence. Yet if there is any man I could expect to have useful information and not know he did for five years, it would be Xenophilius Lovegood.”

Minerva and Severus were both forced agree he had a point.

Chapter 16: A Very Frosty Christmas

There was silence for a minute after the next chapter. It was the first time since the beginning of the book—some six months in the story—that they saw clearly the prosecution of the war by the Ministry, and just as clearly, it was not going well. Grasping at straws, failing to capture actual Death Eaters, failing even more at recruiting the werewolves, and Scrimgeour looking to score political points just like Fudge.

“Do you think,” Severus said, looking at Albus, “that it might be unwise to place Scrimgeour in the Minister’s seat?”

Albus looked solemn, but he shook his head. “I think we have few options,” he said. “Our best course of action is to ensure that Amelia Bones remains alive. With her running the DMLE, many of these problems can be avoided.”

“And if that fails?” Minerva asked. “Against these options, I have to wonder if it would be time for you to take the job yourself.”

Albus’s response caught her unawares; he looked genuinely surprised. “Minerva, my answer to that is the same as it was in the last war, and in the war before that, for that matter. I would be thoroughly unsuited to the day-to-day operations at the Ministry.”

She leaned back a little: “Very well, Albus. I merely thought…Anyway, there isn’t much else actionable here. I found it interesting that Potter asked Remus about the ‘Half-Blood Prince,’ though he didn’t recognise your name, Severus.”

“As I told you, I did not use that name in public,” he said.

“Of course. Though I was more interested that he didn’t recognise Levicorpus as your spell. Come to think of it, nonverbal spells do not get passed around simply by overhearing. I assume you shared it with some of your fellow Slytherins?”

“That was not my spell, Minerva.”

She nearly dropped her book in surprise. “It wasn’t? But in the book—”

“If you recall from the previous book, James Potter cast that spell on me in our fifth year. I subsequently wrote it out in my sixth-year potions book, after several failed attempts…” He waited for that to sink in and concluded with some pride, “I reverse-engineered it.”

“You reverse-engineered a nonverbal spell? While you were still a student?” she said in amazement.

“I had great motivation to do so.”

Her face fell. “Ah, I see. Still, it was a very impressive feat. Either way, it did not lead Potter to identifying you, so you may take that as you wish.” She flipped back a few more pages and considered. “Hm…”

“Yes?” he asked.

“Do you think,” she said, looking up and giving Severus a knowing smile, “that Tonks might be attracted to Remus?”

Severus scowled. “I neither know nor care, Minerva. You are free to play matchmaker for our colleagues on your own time.”

Chapter 17: A Sluggish Memory

“I take it that memory was the reason you recruited Horace?” Minerva asked.

“Indeed,” Albus replied, “though I now suspect that it will be far easier to obtain the full memory from the book than to wheedle it out of the man.”

“Assuming Potter is able to get it himself,” Severus retorted. “I am forced to agree with Phineas Nigellus on that point. I see no reason why Potter should be able to do any better.”

“On the contrary, I have every confidence in Harry,” Albus insisted. “He is uniquely positioned to be one of Horace’s favourites. More importantly, so was his mother. He can play on the man’s sympathies far better than I.”

“Horcruxes,” Minerva breathed. “I take it the ring was one?” He nodded. “And Horace was the one who told him about them? Well, not the name, I suppose…”

“More than likely, Tom already knew about them at that point,” Albus said. “Certainly, Horace would not tell him the details of how to make one if he even knew himself. Most unfortunately, the ritual was available to be read in the Restricted Section of the Library under Headmaster Dippet. I removed those books when I took the post, but by then, of course, the damage was done.”

“Then why talk to Horace about them at all?” she said.

“That is what I wish to find out. Perhaps something to do with the consequences of making more than one. Whatever it was, I am more interested in what Horace heard than in what he said. It may be the final clue we need.”

“We can only hope,” she said. “So we know for sure that the ring is still out there.”

“And the locket his mother wore,” Severus added. “If he ever got it back. And Merlin knows how many more there are.”

Minerva shuddered at the thought: “Oh, I do very much hope these books follow the usual conventions and actually have Harry win at the end. This is getting out of hand.”

Chapter 18: Birthday Surprises

“Merlin’s beard!” Minerva exclaimed. “Poisoned mead?”

“Evidently,” said Severus.

“I was going to criticise you for writing off all those antidotes with a bezoar, but now, I can see your point.”

“It is certainly the only sensible thing to do for any fast-acting poison,” he agreed.

“So was that Malfoy’s plan at work?” she asked. “If that mead was meant for you Albus…” She eyed Severus suspiciously once again.

Severus scoffed at her look. “I think we can all agree that Albus is one of the more likely targets for the Dark Lord’s plans. However, depending on how Horace got it, it is entirely possible that whoever poisoned it meant it for him.”

“True…” she said. “If Malfoy’s mission was to kill Horace before you could get his memories, Albus, it nearly succeeded.”

“Perhaps…” Albus mused, “although the necklace seems a poor fit to both Horace’s tastes and my own.”

“To kill multiple teachers, then? Unless he was telling the truth about not being involved with the necklace?”

Severus shook his head firmly: “Unlikely. While having multiple troublemakers in the school is depressingly normal, I know of no others who would resort to murder so easily in the current student body and are intelligent enough to be entrusted with it. Multiple targets are a possibility, but Draco’s mission sounded more singular than that. In fact, given Sybill’s drinking problems, she is the most obvious target who fits both attempts.”

“I am doubtful that Voldemort would see Sybill as a threat,” said Albus. “While it is possible she will give another prophecy, it is unlikely to be more significant to him than her first one. No, I rather suspect that Draco is simply making very weak attempts on his target’s life. As desperate as you say he is, Severus, he is no murderer. He has neither the knowledge nor the ruthlessness to be an effective assassin, and I dare even suspect that a part of him does not want to do it.”

“That still leaves the matter of his target, Albus,” Minerva said. “If it is you…” She didn’t look as Severus again, but the subtext was clear.

“I have some thoughts on that,” Albus replied calmly. “I do not wish to voice them yet in case I am wrong, but I would ask you to reserve judgement until the plan comes to fruition.”

Minerva took a deep breath. She didn’t voice it, not yet, but she felt the story weighing on her. Part of her was even starting to think as Potter did, that they were all hanging a lot upon Albus’s trust in Severus—although she did remember his Patronus. That was hard to reconcile with any other possibility.

And knowing Potter, he would stumble right into the middle of it. He was already spying on Draco with that map of his in the story. At least they would be able to head it off now.

She returned to her notes: “In the meantime, I may want to talk to Horace myself.”

“About?” Severus asked.

“Love potions—specifically how he teaches them. I will admit the man has a healthy respect for the dangers they can pose, but I really don’t think he’s conveying it properly.”

“Not that I object, but what specifically do you believe he should do?” Severus asked her.

She thought for a minute. Not brewing them. That would defeat her purpose. Yet not limiting it to showing them Amortentia either, and certainly they should be covered earlier than sixth year. Potter had fourth-year girls going after him. “I suppose the best course would be for him to add an antidote to love potions to the curriculum.”

“Replacing some of the other antidote units?” he said.

“I don’t see why not. It fits the theme. And regardless, the real goal would be to teach the students about the dangers of love potions. Certainly, Horace should warn them that the effects gets stronger with time, and that they may lead to—unwanted behaviour…All the more reason for a blanket ban,” she added more to herself. She added another note. “And I do wish the Ministry would send someone for Apparition with more teaching skill than Twycross…”

She continued taking notes, but she was snapped out of her musing when Albus asked, “Do you wish to stop here, Minerva?”

“What?” She blinked, but… “No! Honestly, Albus! We simply must know how Mr. Weasley’s situation resolves. Perhaps there are even some useful clues.”

Albus only smiled and turned to the next page.

Chapter 19: Elf Tails

Minerva’s relief that Ronald was slowly recovering was soon replaced with anger.

“I’ve half a mind to find an excuse to ban that McLaggen boy from the Quidditch team preemptively. Really! Leaving his post, trying to override the captain, knocking out his own Seeker when he wasn’t even playing Beater?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “If we can’t punish students for what they did in previous years, we certainly cannot punish them for future years,” he said smoothly.

She shot him a look: “I haven’t ruled out going after him for the doxy eggs. And don’t think you’re off the hook Severus. I wonder just what it was that you didn’t want to do anymore.”

He didn’t flinch. “Would you like a list, Minerva?” he asked. “While I have come to respect you and most of the staff as colleagues, I never wanted to do any of this. I have done it out of duty, but I do have limits.”

Minerva couldn’t refute that. That was more between Severus and Albus, but she could see the signs—had seen the signs ever since they hired the man, if she were honest.

“Hm, it seems as if everyone is reaching their limits in the book,” she admitted with a sign. “Hagrid and Filch fighting. House Elves fighting. And there was never real talk of closing the school in the last war.”

“Hogwarts was never infiltrated so deeply in the last war,” Severus pointed out. “Or rather, it was; I saw it daily. But the Dark Lord never sent a student on a mission in the school, and he had very little need of such.”

“I suppose. And speaking of infiltration, I confess I’ve never thought much of the danger that House Elves could pose. Any student with their own House Elf could call them and send them on a mission like that, and they might not be as benevolent as Potter. Do we have measures in place to prevent that, Albus?”

“Of course, the simplest measure of all,” Albus replied. “The Hogwarts Elves are alert and will intercept any suspicious behaviour. They will take note of an outside elf being called at all and immediately step in if that elf is ordered to do harm.

“I see. That’s good to know. And I think that is enough for one night.”

“Very well,” Albus agreed. “Well will reconvene tomorrow evening.”

Minerva took a deep breath as they wrapped up for the night and tried to think of happier things—what there were to be had these days. One thought in particular occurred to her as she reflected on the chapters. She would deny it to anyone who suggested it, but she found Miss Lovegood’s Quidditch commentary to be quite entertaining. Oh, she couldn’t use her in real life. They needed someone who could stay on topic. But it was entertaining.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, March 19, 1996.

Amelia Bones looked over her notes from Percy Weasley and frowned. Most of them were things she already knew, although were a couple new notes about Potter’s muggle relatives. And some rather pointed questions about the origin of the books. But his last question—had the dementors specifically targeted Harry Potter two years ago when they were supposed to be looking for Sirius Black? She didn’t want to believe it, but after what she’d seen in these past weeks, and knowing they had sided with Voldemort in the last war…

In fact, looking at it that way, she had to wonder why they trusted the dementors guard the Death Eater prisoners in Azkaban at all. It had worked, obviously, but who was to say they wouldn’t continue to side with the Death Eaters? Although knowing about the horcruxes, maybe they saw Voldemort as a kindred spirit who was nearly as soulless as they were. (Ugh, that was a gross thought.) Or maybe Voldemort was so powerful that he was the only one of the Death Eaters who could control them.

In any case, everything she was seeing was making her reevaluate Dumbledore’s stance that the dementors should be removed from Azkaban, even moreso with the separate report from Fudge himself that the dementors had indeed tried to Kiss Harry Potter of all people on the hunt for Sirius Black. Honestly, that had probably brought Fudge closer to being sacked than any of his other messes, if he were still alive to face them.

Dumbledore’s note was more substantive, but still didn’t have much that was actionable. A vague statement that they needed to try harder to sway the werewolves away from Fenrir Greyback. A note saying, in essence, that she needed to keep an eye on Rufus lest he turn into too much of a politician. And a note that they were still investigating an unspecified and thankfully not short-term plan of Voldemort’s to infiltrate Hogwarts.

She wrote him a note back telling he’d better finish that investigation sooner than later, then got to work for the day.

The students assembled in the Great Hall the next morning, and after breakfast, once again, Percy entered the Hall to join the teachers for another day of the book reading.

“I won’t waste any time,” Professor McGonagall said once the plates were cleared away. “We have a great deal to cover today. Professor Sprout, if you would begin?”

“Of course, Headmistress,” Sprout said, and she picked up the book, turning to the marked page. “Chapter Six,” she began. “Talons and Tea Leaves.”

Harry remembered just what happened in that chapter and muttered, “Ugh, at least Trelawney isn’t reading this chapter.”

The chapter began not much better, though, as Malfoy and Parkinson were both mocking Harry for fainting before the dementors, but Fred and George soon revealed the rest of the story.

“‘That little git,’ he said calmly. ‘He wasn’t so cocky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn’t he, Fred?’

“‘Nearly wet himself,’ said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.”

At the Slytherin table, Malfoy turned red and tried to glare but he looked unsure of himself under the contemptuous looks of his fellow students, including some of the Slytherins. It wasn’t as funny after everyone had heard the story from Harry’s point of view yesterday.

Meanwhile, in the book, Ron was pointing out the impossibility of Hermione’s overloaded class schedule, something that had the real Hermione looking nervously up at the High Table to see how the Ministry officials—and McGonagall for that matter—would react.

“‘But look,’ said Ron, laughing, ‘see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And’ —Ron leaned closer to the schedule, disbelieving— ‘look—underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o’clock. I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s that good. How’re you supposed to be in three classes at once?’

“‘Don’t be silly,’ said Hermione shortly. ‘Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.’”

Dean Thomas narrowed his eyes at Hermione suspiciously. He’d noticed Hermione behaving oddly in third year, though he’d had enough trouble to deal with at the time, what with the dementors and Black. He hoped this book would shed some more light on it.

There were some other muttered speculations around the Great Hall, especially from the older students, but Sprout continued on without incident. Regardless of her actual timetable, Hermione joined Harry and Ron for the one class of the three they shared: Divination—except they couldn’t find the classroom. They eventually got separated from the rest of the group and had to enlist the somewhat unhinged portrait of Sir Cadogan to find it.

“‘Yeah, we’ll call you,’ muttered Ron as the knight disappeared, ‘if we ever need someone mental.’”

“Which unfortunately we did, and it was still a disaster,” Ron answered himself at the table. Neville shivered slightly and nodded in agreement.

In any case, Professor Trelawney invited them up to her classroom, which could only be accessed through a trapdoor in the ceiling above them (although that wasn’t too weird for Hogwarts, all things considered). If anything Trelawney herself was weirder, speaking to them out of the shadows with a lot of pomp and pageantry.

“A lot like muggle fortune-tellers, really,” Hermione said.

“Muggles have fortune-tellers?” Neville said in surprise.

“Oh no, don’t get her started,” Lavender groaned before Hermione could respond. She and their other roommates had heard this spiel too many times already.

But she was too late “Yes, and they’re about as accurate,” Hermione said primly. “They say vague things that can be interpreted lots of different ways, and they use a lot of tricks like watching for body language to guess what people want to hear.”

“Er, I’m not sure Trelawney tells people what they want to hear,” said Neville.

“Yes. Well…she’s more playing a part, I suppose,” Hermione admitted.

“‘By the way, my dear,’ she shot suddenly at Parvati Patil, ‘beware a red-haired man.’

“Parvati gave a startled look at Ron, who was right behind her, and edged her chair away from him.”

“Hey, that never happened, did it?” Ron pointed out when Parvati turned to stare at him at the table.

“Well, you were a git to Padma at the Yule Ball. That’s close,” she insisted.

Hermione smacked her forehead.

The class began with a glorified tea party leading into their first attempt at “unfogging the future.” However, Harry’s and Ron’s attempts at reading tea leaves didn’t go very well. Harry’s initial impression (“a load of soggy brown stuff”) was useless, and his second effort wasn’t much better.

“‘…so you’re going to suffer but be very happy…’

“‘You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me,’ said Ron.”

That drew laughs, but Hermione had a thought. “That’d probably be a good idea,” she said. “If there’s any validity to Divination at all, shouldn’t we have an aptitude test to see who has the Sight so the people who don’t don’t waste their time in that class?” A few people nodded along. Even Lavender and Parvati looked thoughtful. Hermione made a note on her parchment.

And her conviction was only strengthened when Trelawney predicted Harry’s death (after all, Harry was still alive and well) and told her that she had “very little receptivity” to the art.

Professor McGonagall was equally sceptical when the rather disturbed Divination class brought it up in Transfiguration. “‘Then you should know, Potter, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favourite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues—’” Professor Sprout stopped and coughed. “Yes, because that’s not transparent at all, Minerva,” she said.

Professor McGonagall blushed slightly, but Professor Trelawney put on a long-suffering tone and said, “Do not concern yourself, Pomona. It is the burden that all of us with the true Sight must bear. A prophet is never accepted in her home town.”

Hermione started and blinked in surprise at that remark. “That…was disturbingly applicable,” she said. Lavender opened her mouth to respond, but she held up a finger to stop her: “Not a word.”

“‘You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.’” Almost everyone laughed at that.

After class, the Hermione in the book finally reached her limit and told them how much better her Arithmancy class was, then walked away.

“‘What’s she talking about?’ he said to Harry. ‘She hasn’t been to an Arithmancy class yet.’”

Dean again stared at Hermione. Or had she? he thought. That had literally been their first class, and it wasn’t like her to make things up like that, but she had apparently also been to Arithmancy. And he also remembered rumours of Hermione being in other places and classes that year where she couldn’t possibly have been because she’s been in his class. Suddenly, it hit him: “Bloody hell, you had a time machine, didn’t you?”

“WHAT? NO!” Hermione cried in horror.

“Quiet! Quiet down!” McGonagall scolded from the High Table, and they dropped their voices, but Dean didn’t let up.

“A time machine?” Natalie said in surprise.

“Well, it’s the only thing that makes sense,” Dean replied.

Hermione hissed as loudly as she dared: “No, I didn’t—!”

“Hermione!” Harry stopped her. “They’re gonna find out anyway.” He motioned back up to the teachers.

She looked around at her classmates. Everyone was still staring at her. “But it’s a secret,” she bit out. “I’m still not allowed to talk about it.”

Ron shook his head. “Not much point if it’s in the book,” he said practically.

“I…” she said, still looking around nervously. “Look, I’ll ask Professor McGonagall this evening. I still don’t know how this is going to work with the book reading…in fact, I don’t even know if any of the teachers besides Dumbledore know the whole story. I told you this was a bad idea, Harry,” she added sharply.

“Dumbledore agreed, didn’t he?” Harry countered.

“Can we go back to how wizards have bloody time travel?” Dean interjected.

“No!” Hermione hissed. “I mean…not until I talk to McGonagall…” Dean looked like he was about to say something more, but she cut him off, more quietly this time: “And you can’t go back very far, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Dean saw how much she was freaking out and reluctantly shut up. If it was explained later in the book, that would be enough. Meanwhile, in the story, they had moved on from Transfiguration to Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid had hinted a couple of times that he had a great lesson planned for them, but it didn’t start on a strong note, as he was disappointed that none of the class were able to open the Monster Book of Monsters.

“‘Oh, how silly we’ve all been!’ Malfoy sneered. ‘We should have stroked them! Why didn’t we guess!’

‘“I—I thought they were funny,” Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione.’ Hagrid was blushing furiously by now, so Professor Sprout tried to reassure him. “I think you’ve made great strides since you started teaching, Hagrid. But novelty books like those are rarely the best resources.”

“Hippogriffs were above our grade level, though,” Hermione muttered. “Especially to ride them.”

Harry was the first to approach the Hippogriffs, and he got Buckbeak to bow to him with a bit of trouble. Hagrid then did indeed encourage him to ride the beast, which Harry was barely able to manage even with his experience on a broomstick, and it probably was a bad move, he thought in retrospect. But things really took a turn when Malfoy made an arse of himself. And Harry thought Malfoy somehow managed to sound even more insufferable in print after he got himself slashed by Buckbeak.

“He should have been given detention for acting so foolishly,” Professor Bragnam said. “It’s a nasty thing to do. I remember that case, and it wasn’t the first time baiting an otherwise-peaceful animal to attack led to the animal being condemned.”

“You couldn’t do anything about it?” asked Professor Grubbly-Plank.

“Not my department—not full time, that is—and no, not with Lucius Malfoy throwing his weight around,” he said with a sigh. “And like it or not, the law is cautious about animals that attack wizards, even if they are baited. It’s just that the procedures were odd in that case.”

In the book, Hagrid carried Malfoy up to the Infirmary.

“‘D’you think he’ll be alright?’ said Hermione nervously.

“‘’Course he will. Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts in about a second,’ said Harry, who had had far worse injuries mended magically by the nurse.”

Over at the Slytherin Table, Daphne Greengrass gave Malfoy an unimpressed look. “See, I told you you were being a git for wearing your arm in a sling all that time,” she told him.

“Hey! That bloody beast nearly killed me!” Malfoy protested.

“Malfoy, just shut it,” Pucey said. “Much as I hate to agree with Potter, you were fine by the end of the day, and everyone but Parkinson knew it.” (“Oi!” protested Pansy.) “Flint let you carry on like that because it helped us at Quidditch, but it was even annoying to us. Plus, how thick do you have to be to insult a Hippogriff when you’re in range of its claws?”

Malfoy tried to object, but he could tell he wasn’t getting any sympathy except from his cronies.

In the story, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to visit Hagrid that evening, only to find him drunk and fearing he would be sacked immediately. And he didn’t improve much when he stuck his head in the water barrel to try to sober up.

“Hagrid stopped dead, staring at Harry as though he’d only just realised he was there.

“‘WHAT D’YEH THINK YOU’RE DOIN’, EH?’ he roared, so suddenly that they jumped a foot in the air. ‘YEH’RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN’ AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN’ YOU TWO! LETTIN’ HIM!’

“Hagrid strode over to Harry, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the door.

“‘C’mon!’ Hagrid said angrily. ‘I’m takin’ yer all back up ter school, an’ don’ let me catch yeh walkin’ down ter see me after dark again. I’m not worth that!’”

“Seems a little harsh,” said Dean.

“It felt kind of paranoid,” Harry agreed. “I mean, I did some dangerous stuff that year.” His friends snorted. “But we were still in the grounds—and it was before curfew. If that wasn’t safe, the castle wouldn’t be much better. And Sirius did get in, you know.”

“Mind, Hagrid was still drunk,” Ron pointed out.

“I think he meant it, though.”

“It’s better that he played it safe, Harry,” Hermione said. “If the rest of the year could have gone like that, it would’ve been an improvement.”

Chapter Text

“Chapter Seven: The Boggart in the Wardrobe,” began Professor Sinistra when she read the next chapter.

“Oh, boy,” Neville said uneasily.

“Headmistress, I must protest,” Snape interrupted, and the students who had been in that class snickered, remembering just what he was talking about.

“Your protest is noted and overruled, Professor Snape,” McGonagall responded without missing a beat. “It was hardly a secret at the time. Please continue, Aurora.”

The chapter began with Malfoy continuing to make an arse of himself, showing up to class with his arm bandaged.

Katie Bell scoffed: “He’d have to have his arm damn near ripped off to end up like that the next day.”

“Hah! As if Madam Pomfrey would let him leave with injuries like that,” Harry agreed.

Snape, as usual, was also being an arse. In fact, after playing along with Malfoy’s charade and forcing Harry and Ron to do his work for him, Snape got even nastier when Neville botched his potion: “‘Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.’ Really, Severus, that’s vicious even for you!” Sinistra exclaimed.

“I had hoped it would sufficiently motivate him,” Snape defended himself.

Suddenly, Tonks spoke up. “Oh come on! You call that motivating?” she complained. “How about don’t threaten students or their pets? Even Mad-Eye didn’t do that…Tell you in graphic detail what Death Eaters would do to you if you screwed up, but not threaten you himself.” She huffed. “I’m glad you’re not teaching anymore. You’ve been like this ever since I was a student.”

“Professor Tonks,” McGonagall warned her. “I think that is enough.” Having a fight between the teachers aired out in front of the students wasn’t good for anyone.

“She’s right, though,” Sinistra said. “That was completely unprofessional.”

Snape glowered at her. Finally, he said, “I believe we have established that we will not re-litigate past years during these readings.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised to find something from this year,” she said.

“But that is not why we are here, Aurora,” McGonagall cut in again, and Sinistra grumbled, but resumed reading. Malfoy remained true to form when he pointedly said to Harry that he would be out trying to catch Sirius Black himself—for unspecified reasons—which was a blatant lie, but was enough to pique Harry’s interest.

“‘Don’t you know, Potter?’ breathed Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed.

“‘Know what?’

“‘Malfoy let out a low, sneering laugh.

“‘Maybe you’d rather not risk your neck,’ he said. ‘Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I’d want revenge. I’d hunt him down myself.’

“‘What are you talking about?’ said Harry angrily. Well, that seems inappropriate on Mr Malfoy’s part. A bit more than schoolyard taunting, I mean. It sounded like he thought he knew a way to bait Potter.”

“If Harry had known anything,” Tonks pointed out. She looked down at the Gryffindor Table and met Harry’s eyes briefly. “Although I have to say I’m a little surprised he didn’t. Although…maybe not. It’s not like Harry is the kind of git who reads books about himself. I guess I’m more surprised Hermione didn’t know. Didn’t she read three books about him before they even met?”

A few people laughed, and Hermione turned bright red and looked down at the table. “They weren’t specifically about you, Harry,” she muttered.

“What was Malfoy going on about, though?” asked Neville. “That was even weirder than yesterday. I get he was trying to bait you into going after Black and getting yourself killed, but really!”

“That’s how I felt,” Harry said. “I was getting the impression there was something important that nobody was telling me. Like everyone was either scared to tell me or was making fun of me for not knowing like Malfoy was.”

“Wow, I get how you said you were frustrated. I’m getting frustrated just listening to it.”

“To be fair, we did have to talk you down after you found out,” Hermione pointed out.

“Okay, seriously, what did you find out?” Natalie McDonald demanded.

“I’m sure they’ll get to it later,” Harry said resignedly. “Just listen.”

In the story, Hermione provided a distraction in the form of disappearing on them and reappearing on the other side of the room with no apparent explanation.

“‘D’you get the feeling Hermione’s not telling us something?’ Ron asked Harry.”

“T’be honest, I’m kinda surprised you didn’t figure it out, Harry,” said Dean. “I mean, I wasn’t paying that close attention to her, but you two are her best friends.”

“How were we supposed to figure it out when she was hiding it from us?” said Harry.

“I mean, time travel? Any muggle would know it when she was clearly in two classes at once. Didn’t you ever see Back to the Future?”

Harry gave him a flat look. “Lived in a cupboard, remember?”

“…Oh. Sorry.”

Regardless, Hermione had papered over her odd behavior, and the trio later went down to their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Lupin, who decided to start with a practical lesson about how to banish a boggart.

“Huh, I wonder if Moody can see what boggarts look like with that eye of his,” Ron mused as Remus reviewed the properties of a boggart in the story.

“Well, we know he saw one—” Harry started, but he stopped, choosing his words. He couldn’t very well talk about Headquarters in the Great Hall—couldn’t really even talk about having been around Moody outside of his teaching last year, which of course wasn’t him at all. “Er…I mean I heard one time he saw through into where one was hiding and could tell what it was.”

“It sure seemed like he could see through everything else,” Parvati griped. “Even stuff he shouldn’t’ve.”

There was a slow wave of gasps and whispers around the table as people who hadn’t put the pieces together last year suddenly made the connection. Neville was particularly affected, staring at Parvati in wide-eyed horror. “Bloody hell, you don’t think he…”

“I don’t know!” Parvati complained, more annoyed than worried. “I mean, Dumbledore let him in, and all, but it still felt creepy as hell to be around him.”

“I’d expect the Ministry sorted any issues with that a long time ago,” Hermione said confidently. “Although I suppose it’s something we could look into, especially considering last year it…” She suddenly paled. “…wasn’t…actually…him.”

That realization set off a flurry of cursing loud enough that Professor McGonagall had to stop the reading to quiet them down, and everyone stared at the Gryffindor Table.

“Quiet! Quiet!” Hermione whispered. “I’ll ask later, alright? We’ll sound mental if we keep carrying on like this.”

That defused the situation for the moment, but the tension remained in the air. Back in the book, Remus began the boggart lesson with Neville. Neville confessed that his worst fear was Professor Snape, something that didn’t embarrass him so much now that the story of Snape in a dress had gone around the whole school two years ago, but it was still a nasty reminder. (Though it felt a little awkward that he was also worried about the boggart turning into his grandmother.)

“There, you see, Severus?” Professor Sinistra said. “If you’re a student’s worst fear, I think it’s clear you’re doing something wrong.”

“It’s not my fault if some students are overly sensitive, Aurora,” Snape replied. “Besides, many children’s fears are related to school. Indeed, I heard a rumour that Miss Granger’s boggart that year changed into Professor McGonagall.”

McGonagall scoffed at the notion. “I heard that rumour too, Severus,” she said, “and if we must bring it up, I am quite confident that Miss Granger’s boggart took the form of failure. Any particular teacher being involved was incidental.”

Neville successfully fought off the boggart-Professor Snape by using Riddikulus to dress it in his grandmother’s clothes. The students in the Great Hall were naturally eager to hear a recounting of the story that had provided so much entertainment two years ago. Snape, however, looked as murderous as he had when Lupin had been there. Either way, that bit had worked well, but Harry grew nervous when Lupin moved on to the rest of the class.

“The room went quiet. Harry thought…What scared him most in the world?

“His first thought was Lo—ahem—” Sinistra choked on the name “—was Lord Voldemort—a Voldemort returned to full strength. But before he had even started to plan a possible counterattack on a boggart-Voldemort, a horrible image came floating to the surface of his mind.

“A rotting, glistening hand, slithering back beneath a black cloak…a long, rattling breath from an unseen mouth…then a cold so penetrating it felt like drowning…”

“Lucky it wasn’t You-Know-Who,” said Ron. “That would’ve really started a panic.”

“Yeah…” Harry said. “Maybe. I think a boggart-dementor might’ve been worse, though.”

But Harry didn’t get a turn with the boggart at all (nor did Hermione, though that was more happenstance). Instead, Lupin called Parvati up. For her, the boggart turned into a mummy, which she made trip and fall and its head fall off.

Natalie turned to her with a weird expression on her face. “Um, Parvati’s that’s not really how you make a mummy funny,” she said.

“What? What do you mean?” asked Parvati.

“Well, the funny way is to make it spin like a top while its bandages unravel.”

“…What?”

Dean’s boggart became a crawling severed hand, which found itself caught in a mousetrap.

“See? A severed hand in a mousetrap; that’s funny,” Natalie confirmed.

“I take it you didn’t like The Addams Family?” Hermione asked.

“Ugh, no way,” said Dean, shuddering.

Ron’s was, perhaps unsurprisingly, an Acromantula, but he had a strange way of dealing with it by removing its legs, causing it to roll around the room.

“Ew!” said Natalie, reaching over and slapping Ron’s arm. “A spider without legs isn’t funny. It’s just gross.”

“Oi? How would you do it, then?” Ron protested.

“I don’t know? Hogtie it? Put it on roller skates?”

In fact, in apparent contrast to the class in the book, Natalie was fed up by the end of the exercise when Lupin showed his boggart…

(“The full moon. Of course,” said Lavender. It was known even to the younger students that Lupin was a werewolf—part of the legendarium of Hogwarts Defence Professors.)

…Natalie slapped her hand on the table and said as loudly as she dared, “Okay, a full Moon to a cockroach not only isn’t funny; it doesn’t even make sense! What is wrong with you people?”

“Well, it takes a lot of magical skill to turn a boggart into something very different,” Hermione ventured.

“But that’s not the point of the spell! It’s supposed to be funny! Come on, Dean, back me up. Have I lost the plot, or are wizards just crazy?”

“Er…” Dean said, looking like a deer in headlamps, “I’m not sure how I should answer that, considering I’m a wizard, and you’re a witch.”

“Augh! You know what I mean! Half the stuff in that boggart lesson didn’t make any sense, and I don’t understand wizards’ sense of humour.”

Dean snorted. “Natalie, do you remember the last book? If that’s your biggest problem with the magical world, I think you’re in good shape.”

Chapter Text

Professor Vector took up the book next and read the next title: “Chapter Eight: Flight of the Fat Lady.”

It soon proved that Professor Lupin was an actual competent Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher—although Malfoy still found fault with him.

“‘Look at the state of his robes,’ Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. ‘He dresses like our old house-elf.’”

“Ugh, where to start with that one?” Harry grumbled.

Harry’s other classes were not going so well. Snape was even angrier than usual, and Trelawney (and Lavender and Parvati) still insisted he was about to die. Harry raised an eyebrow at the pair upon hearing that.

“Well, it was a perfectly reasonable prediction at the time,” Lavender defended them.

“When nobody else had died?” he asked.

“Well, you could have. Load of times! We’ve all seen that. And prophecies don’t always come true, you know.”

Hermione scoffed at that.

Meanwhile, Hagrid had panicked a bit after the Buckbeak incident and spent the next several weeks teaching the class about Flobberworms. Professor Grubbly-Plank shook her head: “Hagrid, if you do resume the post, I’ll leave you my lesson plans. There is a curriculum to be followed.”

Quidditch season started, and Oliver Wood was obsessing over it, as usual. Though to be fair, he had been effectively robbed of the championship for the past two years by outside circumstances.

Well, outside circumstances the previous year, Harry reflected. It was his own failure to appoint a reserve Seeker in Harry’s first year.

Soon enough, the first Hogsmeade weekend was coming up (and Harry still had no solution for his permission slip problem), but that conversation was interrupted but Crookshanks having another go at Scabbers.

“‘CATCH THAT CAT!’ Ron yelled as Crookshanks freed himself from the remnants of the bag, sprang over the table, and chased after the terrified Scabbers.” The chase went on for a while, with everyone falling over each other.

“Wow, that’s even crazier than I remembered,” said Dean. “The book makes it sound like it was Tom and Jerry all year.”

“Who are Tom and Jerry?” asked one of the younger students.

All of the muggle-raised students looked at each other, and Dean said, “We have got to figure out a way to get a telly working in this place.”

“‘That cat’s got it in for Scabbers!’ said Ron, ignoring the people around him, who were starting to giggle. ‘And Scabbers was here first. And he’s ill!’

“You know, mate, there’s lots of cats in the castle,” said Seamus. “How did Scabbers survive so long with all of them around to begin with?”

“Er…” Ron said, not wanting to admit the truth, even though it would come out eventually. He hadn’t thought about it at the time, but Scabbers hadn’t had problems with any other cats up to that point.

“Scared them off, maybe?” Harry suggested.

“Huh?” asked Ron.

“Crookshanks knew something was up, right? Maybe the other cats could sense something, but—er, Scabbers intimidated them off because they weren’t part-Kneazle.”

“Or part-mental,” Ron countered, causing Hermione to glare at him.

“Or he changed when nobody was looking,” she added to the confusion of their classmates. Harry thought that also made some sense.

Scabbers escaped that time, but it was clear now that Crookshanks was giving him at least as much stress as Sirius was. And Ron wasn’t the only one having trouble with pets. The next day, they learnt that Lavender’s rabbit was killed by a fox, which she took to be Professor Trelawney’s prediction coming true despite Hermione poking multiple holes in the story. At the Gryffindor Table, Hermione decided discretion was the better part of valour and didn’t say anything as that story was repeated, since Lavender was still glaring at her.

Harry tried asking Professor McGonagall directly for permission to go to Hogsmeade, which was admittedly kind of dumb since she was the one enforcing the permission slips, but he was running out of ideas by that point. Unfortunately, it removed the possibility of forging Uncle Vernon’s signature from consideration.

Fred tsked and shook his head when they heard the story. “Rookie mistake, Harry. Why didn’t you just forge the signature from the start? It’s not like she’d know what your uncle’s handwriting is like.”

“Our Harry is too honest for his own good,” George agreed.

Up at the High Table, the teachers were also debating it. “Could you have done something, Minerva?” asked Professor Sprout. “Perhaps sent a new form to Potter’s relatives on principle, even if it was unlikely they’d sign it?”

“I suppose I could have,” she answered, “but I confess I wasn’t trying so hard because it would have been safer for Potter to stay at the castle anyway.”

“In my opinion, it’s good that you came down on him, Minerva,” said Snape. “Potter was getting too accustomed to getting away with things simply because of who he is. Not that it stopped him for the remainder of that year.”

“He…does have a small point, there,” added Professor Flitwick.

McGonagall shook her head: “A small point. And it is something I have tried to avoid myself, although circumstances often make it difficult. Regardless, we should continue. Septima?”

Professor Vector kept reading. On the day of the Hogsmeade visit, Ron and Hermione went down to the village while Harry was stuck wandering the castle. Filch was being his usual self, trying to force Harry to stay in his Common Room since he wasn’t going to Hogsmeade—which he had avoided as it would have left him trying to socialize with the hero-worshipping younger students (especially Colin Creevey).

After wandering around for a while, he eventually found his way to Lupin’s classroom, who was kind enough to invite him in for tea. This finally allowed Harry to ask about the Boggart, and Lupin explained that he had a good reason for Harry not to face it—namely, that he was worried it would turn into Voldemort, so that was one mystery solved. Harry also started to ask about the dementors, but they were interrupted by Snape bringing in a rather suspicious-looking potion that they now knew to be Wolfsbane. Harry had really thought Lupin shouldn’t drink it, but he couldn’t come up with a believable reason.

“‘Professor Snape’s very interested in the Dark Arts,’ he blurted out.

“‘Really?’ said Lupin, looking only mildly interested as he took another gulp of potion.

“‘Some people reckon—’ Harry hesitated, then plunged recklessly on, ‘some people reckon he’d do anything to get the Defence Against the Dark Arts job.’”

“And once again, Potter sees the situation and immediately jumps to the wrong conclusion,” Snape complained.

“It’s not like you make it hard to do, Severus,” said Professor Vector, “and it’s not as if Lupin was about to tell Potter the real reason for it.”

“Hey, that’s something,” Ron whispered cheerfully. “Snape’ll never get to be the Defence Professor now.”

Harry glanced up at Snape, who was looking as surly as ever. “I wouldn’t put it past him,” he said.

In the book, Ron did agree with Harry that it looked suspicious when they returned, although Harry thought now that Hermione had a point when she said it was far too obvious.

In any case, the Halloween Feast went off without a hitch. But afterwards, they returned to Gryffindor Tower to find the Fat Lady was gone, with Peeves of all people as the only witness. The poltergeist reported that the Fat Lady’s portrait had been slashed up by Sirius Black. The first- and second-years who hadn’t been there gasped.

“You know, I’ve got to wonder, did anyone think Peeves might be lying?” asked Ron when the chapter ended.

Harry thought about it, but he shook his head: “Eh, I don’t think Peeves would lie to Dumbledore.”

“I’m not sure Peeves lies at all,” Hermione said. “Plays word games, yes, we’ve seen it, but…well, look at him. He’s the archetype of the fool, and in Shakespeare, the fool always speaks the truth.”

“I seriously doubt Peeves even knows who Shakespeare is, Hermione,” said Harry.

Hermione had to admit that was a fair point.

Chapter Text

“Chapter Nine,” Professor Babbling began, taking up the book. “Grim Defeat.”

The news that Sirius Black had broken into the castle was obviously quite the shock. Professor Dumbledore had sent all the students back to the Great Hall while the teachers searched the castle, turning the whole place into a giant sleepover—one where no one particularly wanted to sleep.

“Now, hold on,” Tonks interrupted. “Dumbledore, the other houses must’ve already been in their dorms by then, right? At least mostly? Why did you call them back down to the Great Hall when it looks like the dorms were capable of keeping Sirius out?”

There was some whispering around the Great Hall at that, partly because it was pretty obvious in hindsight and partly because Tonks was the first teacher to call Sirius by his given name. Of course, she was his cousin. Harry wasn’t sure if she even noticed, herself.

Dumbledore could see the eyes on him, so he cautiously responded: “We had little choice for the Gryffindors. With the Fat Lady gone, we could not open the dormitory quickly enough. We could not even use our usual backup options because the portrait itself was damaged. And Ravenclaw Tower and the Hufflepuff Basement were not designed with an intruder inside the castle in mind. Most of Hogwarts’ security is on the outer walls and the grounds. The Slytherins may have been safe, but the other houses were not.”

“O…kay, I guess that makes sense,” Tonks admitted. “And the troll in the first book?”

Dumbledore smiled slightly: “A troll is not intelligent enough to bypass any of the houses’ security, Professor Tonks.”

“Er, right, but why send the students back to their dorms that night if you could secure the Great Hall?”

The veteran teachers all looked at each other in surprise, and several of them looked accusatorily at Dumbledore. Percy was frantically taking notes.

“That…would have been better, wouldn’t it?” Hermione said, making a note on her own parchment.

“Except we wouldn’t’ve found you,” Ron pointed out.

“Yes, but in general, I mean.”

Kingsley sighed, clearly thinking along similar lines. “When Minister Fudge insisted on sending Umbridge here this year, perhaps she should have paid attention to the security procedures first.”

Tonks snorted. “What, and botched those, too? This is why we’re here, isn’t it? But yeah, I’m starting to think they need some work.”

Finally, Professor Babbling continued reading, describing the nervous conversations of the students and later the overheard conversations of the teachers who were searching the castle. But this time, Kingsley interrupted.

“Just a moment,” he said. “Professor Dumbledore, you’re saying that Mr Filch, a squib, was searching the dungeons for a murderous wizard alone?”

Dumbledore was getting a sour look on his face. “It was…necessary to move quickly, Professor Shacklebolt,” he said. “We split up to cover more ground. I did attempt to send Argus to the safest part of the castle. At the time, I believed that Black was a loyal Death Eater and thus would have no interest in attacking the dungeons.”

There were more whispers around the Great Hall at the implication that Sirius wasn’t a loyal Death Eater. Although the fact that they were even having this book reading suggested that something fishy was going on.

Regardless, the search predictably failed to find Black, who had certainly fled once people were looking for him. Snape accused Professor Lupin of being in on it, but Dumbledore brushed him off.

“‘It seems—almost impossible—that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed—’

“‘I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,’ said Dumbledore, and his tone made it so clear that the subject was closed that Snape didn’t reply.”

Of course, they knew now that while Professor Lupin wasn’t helping Black, he was withholding information about how Black might be getting in, something that could cause trouble by the end of the story. Harry made a note of that for himself. He should probably talk to Remus about that issue being made public. Besides which, the secret passages were not all accounted for like Dumbledore seemed to think—something that Remus also knew—as did Fred and George, for that matter. And on top of all that, contrary to Dumbledore’s wishes, a dementor did cross the threshold of the castle a year later when Fudge had Barty Crouch Jr Kissed. Harry had to admit Tonks was right; the security of the castle wasn’t a good look.

The school was safe that night in the book, but things were very tense after that: “The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent most of their next Herbology class telling anyone who’d listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.”

Hannah turned bright red as people laughed at her theory, although it was closer to the truth than they might think.

“The Fat Lady’s canvass had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat grey pony. Nobody was very happy about this. Sir Cadogan spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day. And really, Minerva, you should have seen what happened coming,” Professor Babbling added. “If you change passwords that often, that’s the way you get people writing down the passwords and leaving them lying around, and I’d wager not just Longbottom.”

“I haven’t heard the full story yet, but that sounds about right,” Tonks agreed. “And if the passwords changed twice a day, how did the students find out the evening password when it was different from the morning?”

“It was a very trying time, Tonks,” McGonagall said.

“I believe that would have been the time to consider other options,” Kingsley said. “With the Fat Lady out of commission, you should have changed to a different security system right away. Slytherin doesn’t have a portrait at all, as we saw in the previous book. It’s protected by a solid wall.”

“Which still wasn’t entirely secure, but I take your point,” she replied. “Although as Albus said, we aren’t truly set up for internal security at Hogwarts…I admit we were improvising a fair bit at the time.”

They left it off at that, and Professor Babbling continued reading. The other fallout from Black’s break-in was that the teachers were becoming even more paranoid about Harry’s safety. “‘Well, in that case, Potter, you’ll understand why I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be practising Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the field with only your team members, it’s very exposed, Potter—’

“‘We’ve got our first match on Saturday!’ said Harry, outraged. ‘I’ve got to train, Professor!’”

“Yeah, I’m actually with Harry on that one,” Dean said. “Why were all the teachers so convinced the grounds were unsafe compared to the castle Black had got into both of them?”

“And the grounds were inside the wards and the dementor guards,” the real Harry agreed.

McGonagall, ever the Quidditch fan, finally allowed Harry to train so long as Madam Hooch supervised—not that anyone save for the most experienced teachers would present a serious obstacle to the murderer they thought Black was.

But it transpired that murderer or not, Sirius Black was not the greatest threat to Harry, but rather the weather was, as they descended into a whole week of violent storms. Malfoy was still faking his injury to get his team out of playing in the thunderstorms, despite the fact that it had been two months, and nothing but seriously dark magic took that long to heal in the magical world. So instead, Gryffindor was to play Hufflepuff. At the mention of their new captain Cedric Diggory, Cho Chang broke down in tears.

But before that, unremarked by the students, was the Full Moon, which meant that Professor Lupin was ill, and Snape was substitute teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, where he wasted no time in directing their attention to the chapter on werewolves. And now that everyone knew that Lupin was a werewolf, his motive in assigning the unit—especially with the emphasis on recognising them—was painfully obvious.

“I’m surprised no one else figured it out,” Hermione said. “Or maybe they did. I guess I’m just surprised he didn’t receive any letters about it.”

“Dumbledore probably kept it quiet if he did,” said Harry.

“Ugh, that was so mean of Snape,” Dean protested. “Lupin was a great teacher!”

No one except a couple of the younger purebloods who hadn’t had him disagreed. And Snape, predictably, was not a good teacher, especially to Harry and his friends.

“‘That is the second time you’ve spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,’ said Snape coolly. ‘Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.’ Professionalism, Severus!” Babbling said, but Snape didn’t respond. Ron, “who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week” was the loudest in defending her, but he only got detention for his trouble.

And if anything, Snape was even worse when critiquing the students essays, seemingly doing nothing but trying to find ways to undermine Lupin and his teaching style: “‘Very poorly explained…That is incorrect, the kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia…’ Wait, what?”

“Mongolia?!” said Professors Grubbly-Plank, Bragnam, and even Hagrid in unison.

Snape looked between the three of them nervously, then glanced at the rest of his colleagues. “I have no recollection of that,” he tried to defend himself. Still, it was too late to save the image the book presented of his lesson, and he looked thunderous a minute later when Professor Babbling read that Ron wished Black could have finished him off, something Harry now knew he would take even more personally than usual.

Next, the day of the Quidditch match got off to a poor start, with Peeves waking Harry up at half past four—although that did allow him to stop Crookshanks several times from going up to the boys’ dorm to stalk Scabbers.

“‘You know, I reckon Ron was right about you,’ Harry told Crookshanks suspiciously. ‘There are plenty of mice around this place—go and chase them. Go on,’ he added, nudging Crookshanks down the spiral staircase with his foot. ‘Leave Scabbers alone.’”

Harry groaned and dropped his forehead to the table with a soft thud.

“Okay, seriously, what’s the deal about you and Scabbers?” asked Natalie. “You’ve all been acting weird about him all month.”

“Just wait,” Harry grumbled. “It’s amazingly messed-up, and I’m sure the book will describe everything in excruciating detail.”

The weather during the match itself was still the worst storm Harry had seen in all his time at Hogwarts. By that morning, the wind had been howling for several days, and they could barely even walk through it, let alone fly. Thunder was crashing almost continuously—the noise so bad that they couldn’t hear Lee Jordan on the microphone and couldn’t hear Madam Hooch start the match even though she was standing not twenty feet away. The rain was so heavy as to make spotting the Snitch practically impossible, and that was if they caught it while it was still daytime.

“They really shouldn’t have played Quidditch in a thunderstorm, especially one that bad,” Hermione said. “Muggles will play sports in nasty conditions, but they always postpone for lightning.”

“It’s Quidditch, though,” said Ron. “It doesn’t stop for anything.”

“Was the storm really that bad?” Natalie asked, since she had started the year after. “I’ve never even heard of a storm that bad that wasn’t a cyclone or something—except maybe that really big one when I was four.”

“The Great Storm of ‘87,” Hermione supplied. “And yes, I remember that day. This one might have been worse. It’s just that there were so few muggles near Hogwarts to notice it.”

“Worse?” Natalie said incredulously. “But wouldn’t they notice with satellites and stuff?”

“Maybe not if it didn’t do much damage. And it might have just been because of the dementors. They can affect the weather, you know.”

Natalie shuddered. “Remind me never to get close to them.”

In the book, Harry thought finding the Snitch was a hopeless situation, but Hermione came up with the idea of casting Impervius on his glasses during a time out.

“‘There!’ she said, handing them back to Harry. ‘They’ll repel water!’

“Wood looked as though he could have kissed her.”

“I’m perfectly happy he didn’t, thank you,” said the Hermione at the Gryffindor Table.

Harry couldn’t catch a break, though, because the first thing he saw after that wasn’t the Snitch, but the Grim. (Although it made for a clever pun in the chapter title.) And then, naturally, it got worse. The Grim seeming to appear in the stands was one thing, but that it happened right before the dementors came onto the pitch was more than a little disturbing.

“Wow, that was an even worse day that it looked,” said Dean.

“Except if the dementors caught on that Sirius was there, it would make a little more sense,” Ginny pointed out.

“I don’t think they did,” said Harry. “They couldn’t really sense Sirius as a dog. And if they knew he was there, they would have gone straight for him.”

“So it was just a coincidence that they appeared at the same time?” asked Ginny.

“Heh. Typical Potter luck, I guess.”

The Harry in the book reacted worse to the dementors than last time. Instead of an inarticulate scream, he heard voices, dredged up from memories so deep that it really shouldn’t have been possible for him to have them in the first place.

“‘Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!’

“‘Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now…’

“‘Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—’

Harry bent down, his forehead on his hands. “Oh, bloody hell. I didn’t think about it telling this part.”

“Do you want to stop?” Ginny asked with concern. She leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“No, no, we need to get to the end.”

Up at the High Table, Minerva glanced over at Severus while trying to be subtle about it, and he looked…bad. She remembered his Patronus the other day. He was paler than usual and incredibly tense, with clenched teeth and gripping the edge of the table so hard it was actually starting to splinter. Very quickly, she considered intervening. For Potter’s sake would be a reasonable excuse and probably a good reason in itself. But the passage quickly ended before she could say anything as the Harry in the book blacked out. He woke up in the hospital wing, disoriented, after Dumbledore saved him from falling off his broom and also chased away the dementors.

“That was bloody scary,” said Dean. “I mean, not just for Harry. That was one of the few times we’ve really seen Dumbledore get angry.”

“Maybe the only time the whole school’s seen it,” Seamus agreed. “I think he might’ve killed the lot of ‘em if he could.”

“I think he’d be a little more restrained than that,” Hermione countered. “They were still technically Ministry employees.” But the boys were right that that match had been one of the few times that the power and fury of the wizard who defeated Grindelwald had shown through to the residents of Hogwarts. The older students whispered to the first- and second-years how scary it was to see.

Unfortunately, the dementors did mean that Gryffindor had lost the match, as Cedric had caught the Snitch just before Harry fell.

“That catch should have been ruled interference,” Dean complained. “The dementors were already on the pitch when Cedric made it, and everyone knows how distracting they are. Especially since the winning team tried to contest it. That wouldn’t have even been a question in football. They might have even forfeited if it were ruled good.”

“It’s like I said, Dean,” Ron told him. “Quidditch doesn’t stop for anything.”

Dean snorted: “And I thought us football fans were nutters.”

But even then, the bad news didn’t stop there, as Harry learnt that after he fell, his Nimbus Two Thousand had been blown into the Whomping Willow and come back as a pile of splinters.

Ron shook his head: “You just couldn’t catch a break that year, could you, mate?”

“Ha, that and every other year,” Harry said.

Chapter Text

Professor Trelawney had the next chapter, which was always an adventure, especially as Harry realised there was some harrowing stuff that was likely coming up soon. “Chapter Ten,” she began, “The Marauder’s Map.”

Suddenly, Fred’s and George’s eyes grew wide, and there was a clatter as they leaned over the table toward Harry.

“Harry, is it really gonna talk about the Map?” asked Fred.

“If I’m remembering right, it was kind of important,” Harry said.

“Are you sure you want them to tell everyone?” said George.

“Yeah, you can’t let everyone know your secret,” Fred insisted.

“And our secret,” added George.

“Oi, you two are graduating in three months anyway,” Hermione cut in.

“Well, we have to leave something to the next generation of pranksters, don’t we?” Fred told her.

Harry grit his teeth as he wrestled with the question. The Map was personal to him. It was a family heirloom, after all, and letting it be publicly known could bring him some trouble. (It was almost certainly against the rules.) And for the other part…He’d never really thought about it. Would he leave it behind at Hogwarts for the next generation of pranksters like the Marauders had? He’d sort of assumed he would take it with him when he left the school. Would he even be able to leave it behind if the teachers knew about it. And meanwhile, he’d never even used it for pranking, himself.

But then again, how would Sirius and Remus feel about the secret being out, especially since this whole thing was for Sirius’s benefit?

Well, he’d committed this far, he thought. And it was for Sirius. He and Remus would just have to suck it up. And, Harry realised with a start, it wasn’t as secret as it used to be anyway.

“Look, it’s not ideal, but we need to do it,” Harry told the twins firmly. “I’m doing this for Sirius—you know, one of the Marauders? Besides, the whole DA already knows some of what I was doing when I was watching for Umbridge all the time.”

They had to give him that last one. He hadn’t much thought about it at the time, but he had needed to reveal some of the Marauder’s Map’s secrets to make the DA work at all.

Meanwhile, Trelawney had in fact begun reading the chapter. In the book, they heard, Harry wasn’t only haunted by losing the match and his broomstick, but even more so by seeing the Grim again and by his reaction to the dementors. That he was still reacting worse—much worse—to the things than anyone else was wasn’t doing any favours to his self-esteem.

“Was the Grim going to haunt him until he actually died? Was he going to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the beast? I have said that the knowledge of the future is a heavy burden,” Professor Trelawney said airily. “I fear that Mr Potter may possess the most terrible aspect of the Sight—the knowledge of death.”

“That will do, Sybill,” Professor McGonagall cut her off. “I do not believe Mr Potter has ill omens following him. As I’m sure will be explained later, I happen to know that the animal following him that year was not a Grim.”

Trelawney turned to stare at her through her bug-like glasses.

“I have met the animal in question, in fact, and while it is certainly a rascal—” Harry snorted at her words. “—it is no harbinger of doom.”

Trelawney grumbled suspiciously, but turned back to the book and continued reading. It was soon made clear the rest of the school—those who hadn’t figured it out immediately, that the screaming voice in the last chapter was Harry’s mother, when Voldemort came to kill her. But that still didn’t explain Harry’s reaction to them.

“And then there were the dementors. Harry felt sick and humiliated every time he thought of them. Everyone said the dementors were horrible, but no one else collapsed every time they went near one. No one else heard echoes in their heads of their dying parents.”

Tonks groaned. “Not many people’s parents his age have died, though, much less in front of them. It shouldn’t have been that surprising. If there’s one mistake Remus made that year, he should have explained more about the dementors at the start of term.”

“Perhaps we all should have,” Professor Sprout agreed. “Mr. Potter may have had it worse, but all of us were affected by the dementors that year, and some students took it quite poorly.”

“I judged it best not to burden the younger students with more information than they needed,” Dumbledore said. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

Malfoy was back to his old tricks, of course. In addition to gloating over Gryffindor’s defeat, he had been milking Harry’s reaction to the dementors for two months by now, just like his nonexistent injury (although he’d finally dropped the injury): “Malfoy spent much of their next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon.”

“Okay, that really was in poor taste, Malfoy,” Daphne Greengrass told Draco at the Slytherin Table.

“Hey, I didn’t know that’s why Potter kept fainting,” Malfoy said.

She scoffed at him. “Like you would’ve cared. Aren’t you supposed to be the well-informed one? Besides, dementor impressions are in poor taste in general.”

Luckily, Lupin was back to teaching by the next class. He took the revelation that Snape had been egging them on about werewolves in surprisingly good humour and promptly cancelled the homework Snape had given them.

“‘Oh no,’ said Hermione, looking very disappointed. ‘I’ve already finished it.’”

People laughed at that, although Harry noted on reflection that that was a surprisingly normal reaction from Hermione under the circumstances. He would’ve been upset too if he’d done any more homework for Snape than he had to.

Luckily, Professor Lupin soon explained to Harry (and the audience) why the dementors affected him more than others—simply because, regardless of his strength of character, he had far worse memories for the dementors to bring to the surface.

“‘Azkaban must be terrible,’ Harry muttered. Lupin nodded grimly.

“‘The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don’t need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they’re all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most of them go mad within weeks.’” Even Trelawney didn’t have anything to add to that, perhaps because there was nothing she could say to make it more ominous.

Hermione scowled at Lupin’s words from the book. She’d had a growing sense over the course of the book that there was something deeply wrong about Azkaban, but this made it sound even worse.

Azkaban = cruel and unusual, she wrote in her notes. Short sentence (few months) as harsh as many years in muggle prison—disproportionate. Life-threatening?

Suicide rate coming out of Azkaban? In Azkaban? Does not eating count? Long-term effects?

Dementors should be abolished.

Lupin also explained that he had been the one to drive away the dementor on the train, and when Harry asked, he consented to teach him the Patronus Charm so that he wouldn’t risk falling off his broom again—although he wouldn’t be able to do it until next term.

On a more practical note, Hermione also wrote, Full moon had just passed, shouldn’t have held up Lupin’s Patronus lessons so long. Why?

In the book, the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch match resolved in a way that was favourable to Gryffindor—something that had Natalie scribbling numbers on a scrap of parchment to keep track of it. Harry was in better spirits after that, although he couldn’t escape his lack of a permission form for the next Hogsmeade weekend, just before Christmas.

Except that Fred and George could help him escape it. When that Saturday morning dawned, they called Harry aside and gave him an “early Christmas present”—a map of the school that showed where everyone was in the building at all times, made by a certain Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.

McGonagall (and several of the other teachers) stared with slowly widening eyes as she heard the description of the map and what it did. This was truly new information even to her—although Dumbledore wore a slight, but knowing smile.

“A map of the school,” McGonagall grumbled. “That explains so much of what those four boys got up to—and the Weasley Twins.”

“What’s this, now?” asked Professor Bragnam.

“You weren’t here at the time. The Marauders—James Potter’s little gang—” she said, to interested whispers from the students.

“Menaces to society,” Snape growled.

“—They got up to even more trouble pulling pranks and sneaking around than the Weasleys have, if only because there were four of them,” she concluded. “And the number of times they escaped being caught—we all wondered how they did it, but obviously, we never caught them red-handed to find out—not after they must have made that map, at least.”

Dean was thoroughly impressed by the magic. “Whoa, that map the thing you kept using to tell us when it was safe to leave the—” Hermione coughed. “—er, the you-know-what?” he asked.

“Yeah, that was it,” said Harry. “Came in really handy to stay out of Umbridge’s way.”

But it wasn’t just the map, as Fred and George also revealed the castle’s secret passageways—although there was only one of them that was still usable.

“So Mr. Filch didn’t know all of the secret passages leading from the castle,” Professor McGonagall said. “In fact, I don’t believe I knew about the passage behind that statue.”

“Pride goeth before the fall, Minerva,” Trelawney said. McGonagall rolled her eyes.

“What I want to know,” said Snape, “is why a closer watch wasn’t kept on the passage under the Whomping Willow—Albus? We knew that Black knew about it—I knew that personally—even if we didn’t know he was using it.”

That was news to the school. It had never been publicly acknowledged how Black had got into the school.

“Well, what about you?” Tonks demanded. “If you knew about it?”

But before Snape could defend himself, Dumbledore answered his original question. “We did not know, however, that he could get past the Whomping Willow unassisted—with no wand and no other tricks that we knew of that would help him.”

But Harry thought about this for a moment and realised something: “It’s not that hard to get out from under the tree, though,” he whispered to his friends. “You just reach up and press the knot. Sirius could’ve got into the school without changing. He just couldn’t get out again.”

“Bloody hell!” said Ron. “Was it a trap? Like in first year?”

Harry considered it, but… “No, even Dumbledore’s not that crazy. If he tried something like that, he’d’ve led Sirius to some out-of-the-way corner away from the students like he did with Quirrell.”

“That could’ve been really bad, though,” said Hermione. “What if Sirius really were after you, and he didn’t care about getting out alive?” No one had an answer to that one. “Something else for the security system,” she mumbled, making a note.

But even so, the Harry in the book was a little suspicious of the Map, not that it ultimately stopped him.

“But even as he stood there, flooded with excitement, something Harry had once heard Mr Weasley say came floating out of his memory.

“Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can’t see where it keeps its brain. Indeed, this Marauder’s Map is sure to lead him astray,” Trelawney said.

“I don’t believe Potter need the Map to speak to him to get himself in trouble, Sibyll,” McGonagall said, “although I shouldn’t need to say how irresponsible it was for him to sneak out of the school when we were trying to protect him personally from a criminal.” She stared down at Harry at the Gryffindor Table as she said this last. Harry didn’t have anything to say to that, though, since Remus already gave him that same speech that year.

In the book, however, Harry followed the secret passageway behind the One-Eyed Witch to reach Honeydukes’ basement in order to finally be able to visit the village, if still stuck under his invisibility cloak.

“Hundreds of steps up and down?” asked Dean. “Wouldn’t that put the passage, like, hundreds of feet under Hogsmeade?”

“I didn’t build it,” Harry said. “I just know it was a long way.”

Upon emerging from the passageway, Harry was mesmerized by the selection of sweets in Honeydukes: “…along yet another wall were ‘Special Effects’ sweets: Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum (which filled a room with bluebell-coloured bubbles that refused to pop for days), splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black Pepper Imps (‘breath fire for your friends!’), Ice Mice (‘hear your teeth chatter and squeak!’), peppermint creams shaped like toads (‘hop realistically in the stomach!’), fragile sugar-spun quills, and exploding bonbons.”

“Okay, I’ll say it again,” Natalie said with a huff. “What is wrong with you people? C’mon, muggle-borns, back me up here. Why would you want sweets like that.”

“But it’s magic, Natalie,” Dennis Creevey insisted. “It’s amazing what wizards can do.”

“Ugh, not you too!” she griped. “Dean?”

Dean shrugged awkwardly: “Being able to breathe fire is pretty cool.”

Natalie humphed and crossed her arms. Then she thought a bit longer and added, “And I’ve never tried Drooble’s. Do the bubbles really stay like that? I never see a mess of bubblegum bubbles around here.”

“They do if you let ‘em,” Seamus told her. “Me da’ always gets annoyed if I leave ‘em around. But I expect the house elves clean ‘em up quick here.”

In the book, Harry’s appearance naturally shocked Ron and Hermione, and there was some concern that Sirius might be able to get in through that passageway, but they assumed he wouldn’t know about it, and Ron pointed out that he would have to get past the dementors patrolling the village.

“Hermione bit her lip, looking extremely worried.

“‘Are you going to report me?’ Harry asked her, grinning.

“‘Oh—of course not—but honestly, Harry—’”

“Ha!” cried Fred. “We’ll make a delinquent out of you yet, Hermione.”

But Hermione ignored him. In her notes, she wrote, Dementors patrolling Hogsmeade. De facto curfew. Serious restriction, dangerous to residents.

In the story, Ron was extolling the virtues of the various products in the store.

“And the Acid Pops? Fred gave me one of those when I was seven—it burnt a hole right through my tongue.”

“It what?!” Natalie squeaked, loudly even for the teachers to notice. Luckily, she only got a stern look from Professor Sinistra, and Trelawney continued.

“I’d rather my sweets not try to kill me,” Natalie whispered to the Gryffindor table. “How is that even allowed? And how do you fix it if that happens every time.”

“Well, it did say special effects,” suggested Ginny.

“Special effects should not include trying to kill you.”

“It doesn’t happen every time,” Fred protested. “It’s like spicy stuff. You’ve gotta work up to it.”

“But isn’t acid that strong bad for your teeth or something, too?”

“To muggles, very if it doesn’t just kill you,” Hermione said. “But they can fix teeth annoyingly easily here.”

Harry chuckled. “I’m not sure I’d call never having to go to the dentist annoying, Hermione.”

“Well, my parents would,” she said.

In the story, Harry, Ron and Hermione went to the Three Broomsticks for some Butterbeers, but they had just barely finished when some familiar faces walked in, namely McGonagall, Flitwick, Hagrid, and Cornelius Fudge himself. A hush fell over the Great Hall. After Fudge was killed last week, hearing more about his doings as Minister felt…tense in a way that was hard to explain.

And then, prompted by Madam Rosmerta, their conversation immediately turned to Sirius Black, what he had done, and just how, precisely, it related to Harry Potter, and everyone was focusing on the story with rapt attention.

Everyone except for Harry himself, that is, who was digging his fingernails into his palms, both because he had already heard it and remembered his reaction to it, and because he now knew that so much of it was wrong.

But the rest of the school gasped at many of the revelations. They knew that Sirius had supposedly tried to take over the Death Eaters after Voldemort’s fall, starting with the attack on Peter Pettigrew—maybe even that he had been Voldemort’s second-in-command beforehand. Although…where did people get that idea? Wormtail certainly hadn’t been that high. That might be worth asking.

However, many people of them were surprised by other parts. They gasped when they learnt that Sirius had been James Potter’s best friend—revealed in the text in suitably dramatic fashion—and was after Harry for personal reasons and not just out of loyalty as a supposed Death Eater. Even more shocking was that Sirius had been Harry’s godfather, yet had still betrayed them. This was something that wasn’t in the standard stories. In fact, Harry wondered, how much did people know about the whole thing? It wasn’t widely known that the Potters were involved with the Order of the Phoenix—well, the existence of the Order wasn’t widely known. But surely, it must have been known that non-Ministry people in Dumbledore’s orbit were getting in fights with Death Eaters more than average. And the Potters were well-known and liked in the community for other reasons, and people must have noticed when they stopped appearing in public. But Harry supposed it wasn’t widely known that Voldemort was after them personally—at least up to the point where Voldemort himself had said it in the first book. And Sirius was known to be his father’s friend before being a supposed Death Eater, but most people wouldn’t have known enough to know that he had actively betrayed him.

But the Great Hall continued listening as Fudge explained how Sirius had supposedly been the Potter’s Secret Keeper and then betrayed them to Voldemort and blew up Peter Pettigrew into tiny pieces. Dumbledore had suspected there was a spy in their midst, but no one had suspected him in particular, he had supposedly hid so well. They shuddered at the idea that he could somehow resist the horrors of Azkaban—that fact seemed to make him an even bigger monster. Once again, even Trelawney didn’t have anything to add to make it scarier, although her dramatic reading style was having quite the effect, as some of the younger students were shaking in their seats.

“Bloody hell. That’s what everyone was trying to keep from you, Harry?” Dean said.

“Yeah, it was pretty crazy,” he said.

“He freaked out pretty bad, to be honest,” Ron agreed.

“It was good that Mr. Weasley talked to him because he really did want to go after him after that.”

Harry glared at his friends, but there was no venom in it.

“‘But what do you think he’s broken out to do?’ said Madam Rosmerta. ‘Good gracious, Minister, he isn’t trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?’

“‘I daresay that is his—er—eventual plan,’ said Fudge evasively—” And suddenly, Harry snapped to attention with wide eyes. “‘—But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing…” Harry jerked again at that bit. “—but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he’ll rise again…’”

Harry was about to speak up, but Tonks was faster: “Hold up! Fudge actually believed You-Know-Who was alive and might come back?”

Harry agreed. That would have been good information to have remembered two weeks ago.

The teachers all looked at each other. None of them were sure what to say. Finally, Percy Weasley said hesitantly, “Er…I suppose…I mean to say, I think Fudge was still relying on Professor Dumbledore’s advice at the time, and Dumbledore, you’ve always said You-Know-Who would come back. It’s only, when it actually happened, he got too scared, er, personally and politically to accept it.”

“Still, it’s freaky, hearing it now,” said Tonks. “It’s like Fudge was actually doing a good job that year.”

“He had an incentive to,” Kingsley said, “and very little incentive to deny it or go after an easier target.”

The chapter ended soon after with the Harry in the book in shock, and Ron and Hermione not much better. “Oh, yes, I sense great hardships coming for Harry Potter,” Trelawney said when it ended. She made to hand the book to Professor Burbage—a bit reluctantly, or so it seemed, when Professor Bragnam interrupted them.

“Just a moment, Professor Burbage,” Bragnam cut in. “That whole scene was…very odd. It seems awfully lucky that Potter happened to be sitting right there to overhear them—or unlucky, as it were. Are you sure there was nothing more to it?”

“Not quite as odd as you might think,” Kingsley said. “We had all hands on deck for the Hogsmeade weekends that year to protect the students, even if we weren’t conspicuous about it. Fudge said he wanted to see to the security personally after the Halloween break-in. It isn’t so surprising that he stopped by the Three Broomsticks on that particular day.”

“We teachers felt the same,” McGonagall agreed. “We always have some chaperones at Hogsmeade or simply want to go out for a day on the town ourselves, but we were keeping a larger presence that year.”

“But still, to be there at the same hour, and for Potter to be seated close enough to overhear that conversation, where you were discussing confidential information about him? Whereas he probably would have been seen and not spoken in front of if he’d been there with permission?”

“It’s a coincidence, yes, but stranger things have happened,” said Kingsley. “And none of that information in that conversation was truly secret—even Fudge wasn’t that stupid. It was just not widely known, as he said—that is, not widely known outside of those who knew James and Lily personally.”

That…did make some more sense. However, Hermione made a note of something that probably should have been looked into right away: Remains of Pettigrew not what would be expected for such a large explosion. Was it properly investigated at the time? (By Fudge?)

After a moment’s more thought she added. Fudge described multiple fragments. Did he cut off more bits of himself?

Harry, meanwhile, jotted down a note of his own. Something had twigged his memory in how Fudge had described Voldemort: “alone and friendless.” He’d later heard those exact words again, in Trelawney’s prophecy. Could they be connected somehow?

Chapter Text

“Chapter Eleven: The Firebolt,” Professor Burbage began, and Hermione turned pink at her memory of how that episode had gone down.

Understandably, Harry did not take the revelations about Sirius Black well, not speaking or acknowledging anyone at dinner, poring over his photo album in the evening, and lying awake through the night imagining the whole sordid tale.

“A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces.”

Harry winced. “Sorry, Neville,” he said. He’d have to talk to Sirius later, too. He’d forgotten the vitriol he’d felt for him back then, the memory washed away by the prospect that he still had family who loved him and might finally take him away from the Dursleys. Hearing his thoughts recited back to him, he sounded downright murderous. He’d hated Sirius. He’d hated that he supposedly wasn’t affected by dementors so that Azkaban wasn’t a punishment for him. He vividly pictured the whole affair of his betrayal. He wanted to hunt Sirius down and kill him just like Malfoy said, in spite of the advice of everyone he cared about and all good sense.

He’d suddenly understood, as the book said, just why everyone was telling him not to go after Black, and it was clear to the school now why Malfoy had been egging him on. And that he’d nearly succeeded. Ron and Hermione tried to talk Harry down, but he was only snapped out of his plotting for revenge by Hagrid’s distress at Buckbeak being taken to court—and that after wanting to interrogate Hagrid for everything he know about the whole thing.

No one said anything now. He didn’t think anyone would begrudge him his thoughts of revenge based on what he knew at the time—well, Dumbledore would still disapprove, he was sure. But it was jarring to hear it—his own thoughts read back to him when he now felt the complete opposite.

“I get it, Harry,” Neville said, leaning over and whispering to him. I’ve felt that way about the Lestranges since I was old enough to understand it. And I bet Bellatrix is crazy enough that the dementors don’t do much to her.”

“I dunno if anyone’s that crazy, Nev,” Harry said. Fudge had been disturbed by Sirius’s sanity in particular. He hadn’t mentioned anyone else—although Sirius was the only one at interest at the time. Still, Harry remembered the Penseive memory he’d seen of the Lestranges’ trial, how Bellatrix Lestrange had sat in the prisoner’s chair like a queen, certain of her superiority and unafraid of the worst place in the wizarding world. What had she been like when Voldemort broke her out of there? Was she as ragged and disturbed as Sirius had been? No one had seen the escapees in the past two months, but that didn’t mean much with Voldemort lying low.

“It’s different for you, though,” he added. “Not saying it wasn’t as bad, but…Bellatrix was caught in the act, proudly told everything she did and why she did it in front of everyone. With Sirius—what I thought it was, was betrayal—the way everyone said he did that to his best friends. And once I had time to think it over, I wanted to know why almost as much as I wanted to kill him.” He remembered their confrontation that night. “Almost.”

Neville sucked in a breath softly. “Yeah, that’s gotta suck,” he agreed.

Either way, as he had recalled, Harry’s rampage of revenge (or at least demanding answers) was only stopped (or put on hold) when he saw Hagrid in actual distress. To his credit, the fire left him pretty much immediately, although part of that may have be the fact that Hagrid had all but fallen on top of him with grief.

“Harry, about to collapse under Hagrid’s weight, was rescued by Ron and Hermione, who each seized Hagrid under an arm and heaved him back into the cabin.”

“How did you manage that? He’s huge!” exclaimed Natalie.

The Trio looked at each other. Hermione looked like she was calculating something and finding it didn’t add up. “Er…” Harry said dumbly. “Not as hard as it sounds as long as he’s not complete dead weight?” he speculated.

Hagrid revealed that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures (which he already disagreed with on principle) was going to have a hearing on whether to “dispose” of Buckbeak, which Hagrid believed (correctly) that Lucius Malfoy had rigged.

“What did Lucius get out of all that, anyway?” Harry wondered.

Ron just shrugged: “As if those gits need a reason?”

Meanwhile, Hermione hummed to herself. “Moral victory over Hagrid and Dumbledore?” she offered. “Or just indulging Draco in…”

“Being an arse?” said Ron.

“Yes, that.”

In the story, meanwhile, the trio were trying to comfort Hagrid and also devise a plan to help with the hearing.

“‘Er—shall I make a cup of tea?’ said Ron.

“Harry stared at him.

“‘It’s what my mum does whenever someone’s upset,’ Ron muttered, shrugging.”

“That really was very sensitive of you, Ron,” Hermione told him at the Gryffindor Table.

“Always the tone of surprise,” he replied.

“‘I’ve not bin meself lately,’ said Hagrid, stroking Fang with one hand and mopping his face with the other. ‘Worried abou’ Buckbeak, an’ no one likin’ me classes—’

“‘We do like them!’ lied Hermione at once.”

Hermione turned beet red. Looking up at the High Table, Hagrid was, if anything, even redder. And Harry was swiftly turning a similar colour. He hadn’t realised all their complaints would be read out here.

“‘Yeah, they’re great!’ said Ron, crossing his fingers under the table. ‘Er—how are the flobberworms?’

“‘Dead,’ said Hagrid gloomily. ‘Too much lettuce.’”

“Wait, I thought they were supposed to eat lettuce,” said Parvati.

“I’m pretty sure you can overfeed them just like you can a fish,” Hermione told her.

At the High Table, they were having a similar conversation. “Well, that is…definitely an indicator problems,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank.

“Hagrid is usually very good with animals,” Professor Sprout told her. “He must have been more out of it than we thought.”

“Hm, I suppose it could be a resource problem,” Grubbly-Plank said. “Hagrid did you have enough Flobberworms for all of your classes separately?”

“Er, well, no. I s’pose I didn’t,” Hagrid admitted.

“There’s your problem: having every class feed them for practice, but they were the same worms every time.”

However, the conversation in the book quickly turned from classes to Hagrid’s time in Azkaban, and how much he was affected by the dementors after having been there.

“‘Yeh’ve no idea,’ said Hagrid quietly. ‘Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin’ mad. Kep’ goin’ over horrible stuff in me mind…the day I got expelled from Hogwarts…day me dad died…day I had ter let Norbert go…’”

“Okay…not sure about his priorities,” Neville muttered.

“Yeh can’ really remember who yeh are after a while. An’ yeh can’ see the point o’ livin’ at all. I used ter hope I’d jus’ die in me sleep—oh, Merlin, this is wrong,” Professor Burbage stopped, unable to keep reading. “I am so sorry, Hagrid. And what was that, a month?”

“I…I think I lost track in the first week, meself,” Hagrid said quietly.

“Three weeks,” came the slightly hollow voice of Professor Vector, and everyone looked at her. “It was three weeks—from the eighth of May to the early morning of the thirtieth.”

Was it that short? Harry wondered. That time while Hermione was petrified had felt like forever, but it was after Easter; he remembered that much. And by a couple weeks, at least, since they’d had Quidditch practice. That didn’t leave much time in between since the year had also ended early with no exams.

“Merlin’s pants,” Hermione hissed, quickly scratching out notes with her quill. “Only three weeks did that to him? And Sturgis Podmore got six months for trying to break into a secure area? We have got to do something about Azkaban.”

“Uh, Hermione?” Ron said nervously. “Can we fight one war at a time, please? And maybe leave the massive political crusades until we’re out of school?”

“I mean it Ron,” she said, shooting him a fierce look. “The way they treat even the most minor prisoners in Azkaban compared with the muggle world is—” She stopped writing and looked up for a moment. “I think that might meet the legal definition of torture in the muggle world. I’d have to ask my parents.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not gonna tell them, are you?” he demanded.

“Well…” She bit her lip. “Not right away. I guess that can wait until after the war.”

Ron looked at Harry: “This is gonna be SPEW again, isn’t it? Mind, I can see the point a lot better than SPEW.”

Hermione glared at him, but said nothing.

With a perhaps questionably effective plan in place to help Buckbeak, the story proceeded onward to Christmas, when Harry was unaccountably sent a Firebolt as a present. Most of the school knew at least part of this story, but Harry noticed one thing that he’d forgotten. Hermione had tried to tell him immediately not to ride the broom because it looked suspicious, but she was interrupted by Crookshanks’s antics. If she’d had time to finish telling him then, before he’d got too worked up about it, the might have had an easier time of it that Christmas. Maybe.

“How did Sirius get the money for a Firebolt?” Hermione asked at the Gryffindor Table.

“Owl order, remember?” said Harry. “He said at the end of the year it was a gift for me, but only gave his Gringotts vault number, not his name.”

“But surely the goblins would have noticed the vault belonged to a fugitive. And they must have had some way of verifying his identity. Otherwise, anyone could just give any vault number.”

“Well, he told us he used my name and his vault, didn’t he? I guess maybe I have legal access to his vault since he’s my godfather.”

“What, so they thought it was you making a purchase for yourself?”

“Yeah, and if it weren’t, I could’ve just sent it back.”

Hermione didn’t look like she believed that, but Harry thought it was as good an explanation as any.

In the book, Scabbers still was not doing well from all the stress. In fact, even by human standards, Wormtail looked like he was being run into an early grave, though Harry had been sure at the time that it was old age.

“And despite Ron’s frequent complaints that Scabbers was both boring and useless, he was sure Ron would be very miserable if Scabbers died.”

Ron shuddered and made a slight gagging sound. “I still feel dirty thinking about that.”

“To be honest, carrying your rat in your pocket everywhere is a little weird even if he were a real rat,” Fred pointed out. “You were really attached to him.”

“No!” Ron snapped reflexively, but it was hard to deny. “I mean. It wasn’t about Scabbers so much. It’s just…well, when you don’t have that much, especially when it comes to pets…”

“I have heard that pet rats need a lot of socialisation,” Hermione admitted. Several people looked at her. “Some muggles keep them, too,” she added.

However, the Hermione in the book didn’t follow up on her concerns about the Firebolt as Harry and Ron continued examining it in the Common Room, which quashed Harry’s earlier thoughts about the situation.

“Why didn’t you say anything then?” he asked her.

Hermione stared at him uncomfortably, trying to process her own thoughts. “I…didn’t think you’d listen to me,” she said.

“Sure sounds like you wanted to tell us,” Ron pointed out.

“Well, as long as you didn’t try to ride it…”

Naturally, they didn’t try to ride the broom in the book because they were indoors, and they eventually pulled themselves away to go to lunch. Although Hogwarts had set its usual Christmas feast, the effect of the dementors was so severe that the castle was almost entirely empty—far more so than even the previous year when the Heir of Slytherin was on the loose. There were only six students in the entire school—at least those who came down for lunch—three of whom were Harry, Ron, and Hermione, so Dumbledore had brought the staff who were still there down from the High Table to sit with the students—the only time he had done that in Harry’s time at Hogwarts—with the arguable exception of the Yule Ball.

Dumbledore also somehow managed to get a hat with a stuffed vulture on it out of a Christmas Cracker and perched it on his own head, much to Snape’s consternation.

“Are you sure he didn’t set that up?” asked Fred.

“Sounds like a great prank on Snape. Wish we could’ve seen it,” George agreed.

Professor Trelawney also made a rare appearance at lunch, but she was reluctant to join them.

“‘I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!’”

“Where did she get that, anyway?” asked Ron.

“Biblical tradition, of course,” said Lavender, and her house-mates turned to her in surprise. “What? Judas was the first to rise from the Last Supper, and he hanged himself a few hours later. That’s basic omen-reading. Haven’t you been paying attention in class?”

McGonagall managed to convince Trelawney to stay, but she couldn’t help needling her over her divination skills.

“‘Certainly I knew, Minerva,’ she said quietly. ‘But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous.’

“‘That explains a great deal,’ said Professor McGonagall tartly.”

That got snickers from the Great Hall, and Hermione shot Lavender a sceptical look.

Ultimately, Ron and Harry rose first from the table at the same time, to Trelawney’s alarm, but her “prediction” was soon forgotten as Hermione brought McGonagall up to Gryffindor Tower to confiscate the Firebolt on the grounds that it was probably sent by Sirius Black. (Which…was entirely correct.)

“‘It will need to be checked for jinxes,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Of course, I’m no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down—’”

That caused uproar from a number of Quidditch fans around the Great Hall who hadn’t heard that detail at the time.

“Strip it down?!” Tonks said, outraged. “Is that even allowed?”

Even Percy agreed: “It does sound like it would void the warranty.”

“I don’t see how you could strip down a thousand-galleon broom without breaking it!” said Tonks. “I mean, no offence, Professor Flitwick, but I’m sure the Firebolt has loads of proprietary spells on it that even you wouldn’t know about. What if Harry had crashed because you broke the Unbreakable Braking Charm?”

Professor Flitwick knew enough about charms and countercharm that he at least had the sense not to make the obvious retort.

“Did you at least have someone from the company come to take a look at it,” Kingsley asked.

McGonagall hesitated, but shook her head. “We…didn’t, Kingsley, I’m afraid. There was no Firebolt reported stolen, and if the company had sent it willingly on Black’s behalf, from what we knew at the time, they might have been in on it.”

“If you couldn’t trust them, you might have involved the Aurors, Minerva,” he told her. “And you still should have called the company after your own checks came back clean. In fact, you should probably call them now, even if Mr. Potter has been flying it safely for the past two years.”

Harry’s eyes widened with horror, and the rest of the Quidditch term turned to stare at him. Of all the bad things he thought might come of this book reading, this was the last one he’d expected. They were going to take his broom to check it again? It was working fine!

Angelina’s gaze was the harshest. “Harry, you had better not lose your broom again right after you got back on the team,” she warned him.

“Hey, I didn’t know that would happen!” he protested. “I dunno what they did to check it, but it’s never had a problem.”

“You really should, Harry,” Hermione said, ignoring the annoyed stares being directed her way for her actions in the book. “I mean to say, if it were a car…well, a car you want to have someone look over once a year regardless…And from what I’ve seen of the school brooms they should do those too if they aren’t already.”

It was clear the argument wasn’t going to be resolved anytime soon. Luckily, that was the last chapter for the day. McGonagall rose from her seat and addressed the Hall: “Thank you all again for your patience. That was very…illuminating, and I believe we have much to discuss, so we are finished with the reading for the day. We will reconvene as usual tomorrow morning.”

Under her breath, she muttered, “Only two more days of this.”

“It can’t have really been Sirius Black who sent the Firebolt, can it?” Seamus asked Harry as they filed out of the Great Hall. “I mean, we know your broom wasn’t jinxed.”

“It was him,” Harry groaned. “I’ve been saying he’s innocent from the start. Just listen to the rest of the book. They’ll explain it.”

Chapter Text

“So, I was just wondering, Professor,” Harry asked Professor Dumbledore as soon as he could reach him, “was there something to Fudge describing Voldemort as ‘alone and friendless’? I mean, that was in Trelawney’s prophecy. Did he know something…or even predict something?”

For a moment, when Harry mentioned the prophecy, he thought he saw Dumbledore flinch in surprise, but a moment later, he was sure he imagined it because he looked as calm as ever, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I noticed that as well, Harry,” he said, “and I thought it was curious. But on the whole, I think not. While it is possible that Cornelius had some sort of minor premonition, the much likelier place to look is the only common link between the two occurrences: you.”

“Me?” Harry said in surprise.

“More specifically, I believe Professor Trelawney’s prophecy included those words specifically because you had heard them before,” he explained. Harry looked on incredulously. “There is much we do not know about prophecies and where they come from. Every faith tells its own tales about them, and those wizards who do not believe in a deity per se tell other tales still. These are the sorts of things that are studied in the Department of Mysteries, and even I do not know all that goes on in there. But one thing we do know is that prophecies are not merely spoken into the aether. Each one is delivered to someone who can influence it—not always or even often to the subjects of the prophecy themselves, but someone close to the action, as it were, who could influence the outcome or at least interpret the prophecy afterwards.”

“But don’t all prophecies have to come true anyway, Professor?”

“Certainly not. And you would do well to remember that, Harry,” Dumbledore said sharply. “Not all prophecies are fulfilled, and those that are can sometimes be fulfilled in more than one way. Indeed, far too often, a wizard will seek to prevent a prophecy only to bring about the very thing he sought to avoid. Prophecies can be treacherous, and there is a reason they are studied in secret by the Ministry. But no, not all prophecies come true, and the one who hears it will almost always have a say in that. But as for Professor Trelawney’s prophecy. I suspect that it contained words you had heard before because she delivered it to you, and so it would have more significance to you, even if you did not realise it at the time.”

“So it didn’t mean anything coming from Fudge?”

“Aside from it being a rare instance of Cornelius being appropriately, if mistakenly, proactive? I do not think so.”

“Alright, thanks, Professor,” Harry said, and he turned and left. That was a relief, he thought. He had enough time shenanigans going on as it was.

Minerva McGonagall sat down heavily in the Headmistress’s office after lunch.

“What a mess,” she said. Even though they were dealing with events from two years ago, the problems were piling up. Some of them had already been brought up during the reading, including what were, looking back, an alarming number of safety issues. If Potter’s first year had been characterised by poor judgement and bad decisions on the part of the Hogwarts staff, and his second year characterised by bad decisions on Potter’s own part, his third year was marred by rampant carelessness or at least sloppiness on the part of everyone involved in the face of an unfamiliar threat.

The only saving grace was that Sirius had not, in fact, been there to kill Harry Potter, for if he’d wanted to, he could have done any number of times. And as loath as she was to admit it, much of that blame could be laid squarely at the feet of Remus Lupin for not revealing the very tricks Sirius had ultimately used to infiltrate the castle.

But there was a fair share to go around for her and Albus, too. The Whomping Willow passage was a gap in their security that they should have anticipated, and it wasn’t the only one.

Percy Weasley already had a plethora of notes about that year, which weren’t of immediate importance, but which she was certain would be brought up to the Board of Governors soon enough. Just when she thought she might get used to the new changes at the school.

She had a feeling that things were only going to get worse by the end of the book. Just as she was equally sure that Miss Granger would have a long list of her own concerns. What she hadn’t anticipated was that Potter had a list of his own when her students arrived that afternoon.

“I mean, most of these are for Sirius and Remus, Professor,” Harry told her when he saw her reaction to seeing his list. “But there’s one thing I really wanted to ask.”

“Yes, Potter?” she said, while Percy Weasley sat at the side of the room, listening silently.

“I want to borrow the book for the night,” he told her. Minerva raised her eyebrows, but he pressed on. “I didn’t remember what all might be in it before. It’s like the second book. You skipped some of the worst stuff about Ginny, I think? There was a lot of personal stuff in my third year that we maybe should’ve been skipping. I—I still don’t want to stop the reading, but I thought I could read ahead and see if there’s anything we ought to keep private?”

Minerva grew pensive at that, a faraway look in her eyes. “Read ahead…” she muttered to herself, and she also remembered the Occlumency lessons they had read about in the fifth book. Some of that was very personal. “Yes, I think that might be a good idea, Mr. Potter,” she told him. “I am sorry that you had to hear your private memories read out today. If there are more to come, it would be better to find them and pick them out in advance—for you and your friends. I should review any changes that you make, but yes, I can loan a copy of the book to you. Just be sure to bring it back to my office before breakfast tomorrow.”

She pulled the book out of her desk drawer, conjured a duplicate, applied some additional spells to ensure it would last long enough, and handed it to Harry.

“Thanks, Professor,” he said.

“It is my pleasure, Potter. Now, I sense you three have some more serious concerns?”

Hermione’s list, she could see from where she was sitting, was a long one, and she mentally settled in for a difficult discussion.

Hermione, for her part, turned to Percy first. She took a deep breath and said, “First of all, Azkaban is monstrous, and the use of dementors should be abolished immediately!”

“I can see—” Percy began, but Hermione spoke over him.

“It probably violates the Geneva Convention. Does the muggle Prime Minister even know?”

“I don’t think—”

“I mean, Hagrid said three weeks in Azkaban left him wishing for death and saying ‘I can’t go back to prison’ afterwards. That might be worth three years in a muggle prison!”

“Well, that’s certainly—”

“Merlin, I can’t believe I didn’t see that before,” she groused to herself. “Maybe it’s because I hadn’t seen enough of wizarding ‘justice’ yet—”

“Really, Miss Granger!”

“And that’s to say nothing of the ethical and theological issues with using beings who can suck out peoples souls as prison guards—”

“HERMIONE!” Percy shouted, shutting her up and causing Harry, Ron, and even McGonagall to freeze in shock. He took a deep breath and collected himself. “Hermione, I have no reason to argue with you, but reforming Azkaban is way above my pay grade,” he told her gently.

“Well, then whose bloody pay grade is it?” she snapped.

“The Wizengamot’s,” he said firmly, “and good luck with them. Dumbledore himself has been trying to convince them to remove the dementors from Azkaban for decades, and he hasn’t succeeded.”

She glared at him for a moment, but she huffed and said, “Fine,” and she crossed a line off her list. She started to turn to McGonagall as she scanned the list, but then she said, “Oh!” and turned back to Percy. “One other thing about the dementors: I know this wasn’t you, but having the dementors patrolling Hogsmeade looking for Sirius, that was basically a curfew on the residents—and one with life-threatening consequences for breaking it. Is that typical for the Ministry?”

Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Hermione, you might remember we’d never had a breakout from Azkaban before. Nothing about that case was typical. And we certainly got a lot of complaints. Fudge still talked about them every so often this year.”

“Oh…of course,” Hermione said, turning pink. She cross off another line and scanned the rest of her list more carefully. “One other thing, Percy, if you know it. Did anyone think it was odd that they found so little of Pettigrew? They had his robes, but almost none of his body. And what they did find was a finger and a few other ‘fragments.’ Did he cut off more bits of himself in that short window of time?”

“…Cut off?” Percy asked confusedly.

“Pettigrew cut off his finger to leave behind evidence to frame Sirius,” Harry said, “but Hermione’s right; it seems weird that he could’ve left behind more than a finger.”

Percy shivered. “I…really don’t know, Harry,” he said. “As for not finding more, there are plenty of curses that could leave behind very odd remnants. But for finding more than the one piece, I have no idea, and it’s…rather unsettling. I’ll look into it, though. Suddenly, I’d like to know, too.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed. Then she finally turned back to McGonagall. “I have a few more things, Professor—”

Minerva resisted the urge to say “Of course you do.”

“—First of all, I think we should have an aptitude test for Divination before people sign up for the class. Even granting that there’s some validity to it, it doesn’t do much good for students who don’t have the Sight.” Softly, she mumbled under her breath, “Which I apparently don’t.”

McGonagall sighed. “That is a good idea in principle,” she said, “but it would not work in practice, simply because there would not be enough students to justify the class. An identifiable aptitude for the Sight is uncommon, even at low levels.”

“Besides, a Divination class is useful for its academic value even if you don’t have the Sight,” Percy pointed out.

“But it’s not taught that way, Percy,” Hermione insisted. “It’s taught as a practical. Professor Trelawney expected us to perform divination for our homework and exams. And I happen to know Harry and Ron get good marks just by making up answers—”

“Oi! Don’t tell them that!” Ron protested.

“Honestly, I doubt you’re the only ones, Ronald. What I mean is that there are no objective standards, at least the way Professor Trelawney teaches it. In fact, come to think of it, it might be good to give people the option to switch electives instead of just dropping them like I did—”

“You didn’t have any to switch to,” Harry pointed out.

“Not the point, Harry,” she grumbled. “The point is, even if they started late, they could still sit their O.W.L.s before they graduate and not be stuck with Professor Trelawney predicting their deaths for three years like you were.”

“Ahem,” McGonagall interrupted, “be that as it may, there is little that we can do at this time about the Divination class. To be frank—and I ask you not to repeat this—there were times when we considered eliminating the class entirely. However, Professor Dumbledore wishes for Professor Trelawney to stay because she rarely—very rarely—makes true prophecies. And at this point, she has nowhere else to go.”

They had seen that two weeks ago when Umbridge had tried to eject her from the castle. Although only Minerva knew the full reason for keeping her around—that Voldemort wanted to get to her because of her original prophecy about Harry.

“Okay, now, there was more about the security procedures for the school…” Hermione said, and McGonagall couldn’t hold back a sigh that time. “Why did Professor Dumbledore send everyone back to their dorms when the troll got loose in the castle? I know it was good for me personally, but wouldn’t it have been safer to shelter in the Great Hall?”

“I asked him that this afternoon,” Miss Granger, “and I will tell you the answer he gave me. It may not be the best response, or even one that I agree with, but I can understand it. Searching the castle for an intruder, even one as large as a troll, could take a long time if it were trying to evade us. We do not wish to have students bed down in the Great Hall if we can help it, and as he said this morning, a troll, though intelligent by animal standards, is only a beast. The dorms would be at least as safe against it than the Great Hall, and the risk to students was not as great as it may seem if they went as a group directly to the dorms, and escorted properly.” She glanced meaningfully at the Trio, and at Percy, who had failed to keep Harry and Ron from running off that night. “It may well have been overconfidence, but we used a good deal less caution against a troll than we ever would a dark wizard.”

Hermione frowned. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting there. There weren’t any good answers to be had there, she thought, but against an animal attack, which was ultimately what this was, there were a lot more options than against a human criminal. She eventually shrugged an decided to move on. “Our third year,” she continued, “why was everyone so worried about Harry being out on the grounds as opposed to inside the castle?”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow: “I should think that would be obvious, Miss Granger. As Professor Dumbledore said, the castle is designed to stand up to a siege. The grounds are not. And while the grounds were theoretically protected by the dementors, we knew that Sirius had already got past them once. Besides which, the patrols of the Forbidden Forest were far from airtight. We could not bring the dementors too close to the centaurs without causing greater trouble.”

“But what about after Sirius had already got in?” Harry protested.

“Even then, even if the castle were not secure, it was certainly more secure than the grounds.” She eyed him a bit suspiciously. “I should think that we accommodated you well enough in that year, Potter.”

Harry flushed a little. “Er, yes, Professor. We just wondered…” he said.

Hermione, however, pressed on: “One other thing that year, Professor: didn’t you consider that Sirius could have got into Hogwarts through the Whomping Willow passage? You knew that he knew about it, and how to work it. Professor Snape must have told you as much.”

“The tree—” McGonagall began.

“Makes it hard to get out, but not to get in, Professor. You can reach the knot on the trunk from the tunnel. And Sirius was supposed to be mad. What if he didn’t care about getting out again? Or, it’s not even that hard if you have a wand. What if he’d stolen one?”

McGonagall frowned in thought. Percy was staring at her pointedly; though he didn’t speak, his expression was enough. Finally, she said, “I would need to check with him, but I believe Professor Snape placed detection charms on that passage himself. I am certain he would trust no one else besides Professor Dumbledore with the task. But of course, he did not know to place charms against Animagi. If Sirius had changed form too close to the tree, he may have been caught in human form that way.”

Suddenly, Percy cut in, “Wait, Sirius Black is an Animagus?”

“He was the ‘grim’ I kept seeing all that year,” Harry said dismissively. “I’m sure it’ll come up soon.”

“What about the One-Eyed Witch’s passageway?” Hermione continued.

“To my knowledge, Professor Snape never discovered how to open it,” said McGonagall.

Harry groaned: “I bet he’s gonna do it now.”

“That is our duty as teachers, Potter,” she said sharply. “Now, as for the rest of us…by rights, Remus probably ought to have done…though he may have believed like you that Sirius couldn’t break into Honeydukes undetected. Do you know if Sirius ever used that passage?”

“Er, I don’t think so,” Harry said. “I saw him wandering the grounds as a dog—” (“Of course you did,” McGonagall muttered.) “—I think he was using the Whomping Willow passage the whole time.”

“Right. Was there anything else, Miss Granger?” McGonagall asked.

“Er…” Hermione tapped at a couple of lines with her quill, thinking. “Just one, Professor, and I’m not sure if you’re the right person to ask, but…Do you happen to know if Mad-Eye Moody’s eye can see through clothes?” Percy gasped, though McGonagall only raised an eyebrow. “And also,” Hermione added quickly, “even if Moody is a perfect gentleman—” (Something Harry didn’t think he could say with a straight face even if it were true.) “—was Barty Crouch Junior one?”

Now, McGonagall gasped, and she and Percy looked at each other in horror. “Oh, Merlin,” she breathed. “I…I will enquire with Mad-Eye myself,” she said. “…Actually, I’ll tell Albus to ask him. He’s more likely to get an honest answer out of the man.”

Harry stared at the book in his hands. He hadn’t really had an opportunity to look at one up close since the Weasley Twins stole a copy of the first one from Umbridge, and he honestly hadn’t looked all that close at that one. This time, he took a close look at the cover of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, wondering once again how all this could have come about, much less from the future. The front showed an illustration of him and Hermione clinging to the back of an annoyed-looking Buckbeak. (For some reason, the author’s name read “J. K. Rowling” rather than “Joanne Rowling,” as the teachers had said.) Meanwhile, the back had an illustration of Sirius in dog form—though it honestly looked more like a true Grim—shrouded in fog, jaws dripping with drool, and eyes milky white. There was an illustrator’s name listed there and a muggle barcode.

In fact, the book was listed as being published by what he thought was a real muggle publisher, with a…was that a World Wide Web address? He only had a passing knowledge of the Internet from Dudley. There was no proper summary of the book inside or out, but the back cover had quotes from The Guardian and The Times, saying how popular the Harry Potter books were with children, parents, and teachers alike. (He wasn’t enthused that The Times had said the books had “started a cult,” either. He really hoped that was metaphorical.)

“…What the hell?” he muttered.

The front flap further showed that the books had won all sorts of awards, and there was another quote from The Times comparing the purported author to famous fantasy authors whom even Harry, as sheltered as he was, had heard of.

“The next Roald Dahl?” he said. “Maybe even the next Lord of the Bloody Rings?”

Harry blanched as he slowly realised that if what the book was saying was true, he was going to be even more famous in the muggle world than in the magical world! Never mind that it would be in the guise of a fictional character.

At least, he assumed it would be as a fictional character. If the books brought down the Statute of Secrecy somehow, Voldemort was going to be the least of his worries. But on that point, at least, the books were clearly marketed as fiction. And for that matter, he reflected, the later books already didn’t reflect reality, from what McGonagall had said. They only recorded what was going to happen before they had changed the future.

This was getting to be too much. And he still had to read the bloody thing!

Harry had decided to read the book before contacting Sirius and Remus, since there would probably be things he would need to consult with them about in its pages. Looking at it now, he didn’t think he would get through the whole thing, but he at least needed to see what they would be reading tomorrow.

And honestly, he could afford to take his chances just paging through it. He remembered what happened that year, and there was plenty he could gloss over. Plus, he still had homework to do.

“Chapter Twelve: The Patronus…” He murmured to himself, and he started in.

“Let’s see…” he continued under his breath. “Mad at Hermione…get Oliver involved…Hermione figured out about Remus…the Patronus lesson…”

He lingered over the Patronus lesson, his quill poised to strike out the words of his most intimate memories, plus and his conflicted feelings about hearing his mother’s voice again. He nearly did it, but two things stayed his hand. First was the fact that he’d inadvertently let the whole school hear half of the memory already. And second was that he remembered Dumbledore’s advice that he ought to go ahead with teaching the DA the Patronus Charm. He still needed to do something about that, he reflected with embarrassment. He thought about it and decided he’d ask Hermione about setting it up for Thursday night. Trying it right after learning about his big encounter with the dementors at the end of Third Year might give them some better guidance.

He moved on. There wasn’t much there that people didn’t already know or guess. Even the fact that his happiest memory was when he’d learnt he would be able to leave Privet Drive was something that was understandable by this point.

“Hermione was in two classes at once all year—pretty obvious now that I see it…Firebolt again…Dementor’s Kiss, ugh.” He made a note of that. He wasn’t proud that he thought that Sirius deserved the Kiss back then. Having come face-to-face with it himself, he wasn’t so sure anyone that anyone deserved it now, just like Remus said—well, he’d allow Voldemort.

Neville losing the passwords was embarrassing, but everyone who was there that year knew all about that. Neville had probably guessed it was coming himself by now, and at least the book would vindicate him that Crookshanks stole them.

Crookshanks apparently eating Scabbers was even worse, but that was also something everyone knew about. (They’d certainly heard the shouting.) And it was also something that was important to the story.

When the book revealed Harry’s crush on Cho at the Quidditch match, he did cross those lines out—rapidly and almost without thinking. He hadn’t wanted Snape to delve into those memories in his Occlumency lessons, and he didn’t want them read out to the school, either. But then he stopped, worried, and counted off chapters to figure out which teacher would be reading that one. Good: Kingsley, not Tonks. Tonks might’ve read it out loud anyway.

“Okay, winning the Quidditch match, knocking down Malfoy’s gang…” He laughed at that memory. Then, that was the night Sirius had got into the dorm. Even reading Ron’s scream of terror was alarming with how it took up two whole lines on the page! He wondered if Kingsley would be as theatrical as Flitwick was. They still hadn’t told McGonagall about the secret passage to Honeydukes after that. That could cause some trouble, but it wasn’t the sort of trouble that crossing out the lines would avoid.

“Buckbeak’s hearing…Hagrid taking us to task about Hermione…” He didn’t take that out entirely, but…maybe it was selfish, but he crossed out the most accusatory parts of the conversation. “Going to Hogsmeade again…attacking Malfoy…Snape…the Marauder’s Map…”

Harry stopped and stared. Then, he cracked up and was soon laughing hysterically, so loud that it attracted Ron’s attention (he thankfully being the only other one in their dorm room at the time). He couldn’t help it. When he realized Tonks would be the one with the privilege to read out the Marauders’ insults to Snape on the Map—that was just too good.

Ron, of course, demanded to know what was so funny. Harry started to explain, but stopped. He didn’t think he’d ever told him the details of that episode, and it would be more fun to surprise him. Instead, he said, “Just wait till tomorrow, mate. Tonks’ chapter is gonna be amazing.”

Though Harry still hesitated at the end of that chapter. Remus’s admonishment of him for sneaking out the castle…hurriedly, he crossed out the most personal parts of that conversation, too.

Buckbeak lost his hearing, of course. There was a lot speculation about Lucius Malfoy threatening the committee into taking his side (after all, he had done that to the Board of Governors), but there wasn’t anything they could prove. In fact, he wasn’t certain it was even true. Hagrid already wasn’t fond of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creature, and he knew how even muggles like his Aunt Petunia felt about “dangerous” animals that weren’t Aunt Marge’s bulldogs.

“Hermione slapping Malfoy, they’d better read that,” he said to himself. (It shouldn’t get her in any trouble with the rules they’d agreed to so far.) “Hermione missing Charms…Trelawney’s crystal gazing…Hermione walking out, that was pretty good, too…The Quidditch final…wait, there’s Sirius talking to Crookshanks, then the Quidditch final.” He hoped they could get some colour commentary on that. Who would be reading this chapter? Bragnam? He still didn’t know much about the new History Professor. He’d done alright with the one chapter he read last week. And he was better than Binns, but there were times Harry had thought a rock would be more interesting than Professor Binns.

“Chapter Sixteen: Professor Trelawney’s Prediction.” If the pattern held, this would be the last chapter tomorrow. And it was just the start of that insane night. “Hermione’s exams…she must’ve thought we were really thick…my exams…Buckbeak’s appeal…Fudge…” Macnair was the executioner, and Harry now knew he was a Death Eater, apparently because he couldn’t stand not killing things for that long. He was definitely someone to watch out for. “Then Trelawney’s prophecy…finding Scabbers…and Buckbeak’s execution.”

He was startled when he read it. The book certainly made it look Buckbeak had really been killed. Even though the books were (somehow) from his point of view, it would have been obvious the anyone who was looking that Buckbeak had flown away. Wait, no, Hagrid’s garden was behind his hut from where they were standing. They couldn’t actually see it. But Dumbledore would have seen it and might have even suspected them. In fact, it was something they might have been able to pull off on the spot if they’d thought of it and run for the Forest afterwards.

“Okay, nothing too crazy tomorrow,” Harry had to himself. He felt exhausted even though he’d only skimmed the chapters. The rest could wait. Now, he still had to talk to Sirius and Remus. He pulled out his enchanted mirror, checked to make sure only Ron was still around, and called, “Sirius Black.”

Sirius soon appeared with his usual half-mad grin. “Hey there, Prongslet, how’s it going?”

Harry gave him a wan smile in return. “Still completely mad, Padfoot. Is Remus there with you?”

Remus appeared, and Harry explained the situation—what had already happened and what would be coming up tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” he said when he was done, close to tears. “All those things I thought about you—I was ready to throw you to the dementors myself.”

“Hey,” Sirius cut in. “I don’t blame you, Harry. You were only going off what you’d been told. I would’ve wanted revenge, too, no matter how stupid it was.”

“And it would have been stupid,” Remus confirmed. “You don’t go up against a supposed mass murderer as a thirteen-year-old, even if he doesn’t have a wand. But as for what you were thinking, you shouldn’t worry about it. For every bad thing you said about Sirius that year, I guarantee I said something worse. Not to minimise what you went through, but to you, Sirius was an abstract horror you only knew from photos. For me, he was my best friend I’d known for ten years, and then I spent the next twelve years questioning everything I thought I knew about him and wondering how I could have missed it. Plus, I know more swear words than you thanks to this idiot.” He nodded in Sirius’s direction.

Sirius’s smile started to come back. “I’ve picked up some pretty good ones over the years.” He drew in a breath as if to elucidate some of them, but Remus cut him off.

“Padfoot, if you teach Harry the one with a bucket of you-know-what, I will string you up so help me!”

Sirius huffed a sigh and mumbled something that sounded like “Alakazam…But really, Harry, I’m not worried about that. Merlin knows I was beating myself up worse than anyone all those years. I’m more worried about the other stuff,” he continued more sharply. “Did you really have to tell everyone about the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry winced. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t really think about it until they started reading about it. But I don’t know if the story would really work without it. And the teachers kind of knew anyway, didn’t they? Snape saw it.”

Remus nodded: “That’s true…” He sighed, “Which was my fault, among many other things. “And Snape already knew what it was when he confiscated it from you, though not how to work it. His hinting was clear as day to me. He’d figured out enough while we were in school.”

Sirius sighed heavily. “Yeah, I guess the cat’s already out of the bag, there. But hey, it’s not like they can take it now; it’s a family heirloom.”

“I’m not sure about that,” said Remus, “but at least it sounds like you’ve been putting it to good use with your secret defence club.”

“Not it’s intended use, though,” Sirius said, looking pointedly at Harry.

“Padfoot…” Remus warned.

“Hey, Dumbledore knows how to take a joke. And she’ll never admit it, but so does McGonagall.”

“True,” he admitted. “But was there anything else, Harry?”

“Er, yeah,” Harry said. “About you, Remus. You didn’t tell anyone about Sirius being an Animagus—or about the secret passages. They might’ve smoothed over the part about the passages, but the first one—will you get in trouble for that?”

“Hmm…” Remus said resignedly. “I’m not sure I’d get in any more trouble than I already did. I already quit the job. And I got a lecture from Dumbledore about not telling the truth. You know what that’s like.”

Harry nodded sympathetically. Dumbledore being disappointed with you could be worse than a detention with Snape.

“But I was never directly questioned by the Aurors or anything, so I didn’t lie to the Ministry,” he continued. “And I never directly lied at all, I think. I doubt they’ll pursue anything once Sirius is declared innocent, especially with Voldemort still on their plate.”

Harry relaxed a bit. At least the worst of it wouldn’t cause any trouble. “That’s good, then. But I had a question for you, too. Something bugged us—well, really bugged Hermione about the Patronus lessons when we thought back on them. Why did it take you until after Christmas to start them? It was only a week past Halloween when I asked you.”

“Oh, right,” Remus said awkwardly. “Well, part of it was I may have downplayed the difficulty of acquiring another boggart for you. I didn’t mention it, but those boggart lessons really clean out the castle, especially when it’s missed for a year or two, and we have to catch up. Yours wasn’t the only class I did. It’s a sort of an autumn cleaning service. Then, there was my teaching schedule. End of term exams right before Christmas, which was also the longest full moon of the year. It was not a good time for me. And…well, truthfully, I was hoping you would forget about the whole notion. I confess I didn’t expect you to be able to pull off the Charm at all at that age. I should have known I was wrong on both counts, with you being James and Lily’s son. James wouldn’t have taken ‘no’ for an answer, and Lily was even more stubborn when she wanted to be—and she was simply too good at Charms.”

Harry smiled, albeit weakly. “Lucky I got it down before my next Quidditch match, then. It was kind of short notice.”

Remus winced. “Well, that’s true. Though if you hadn’t managed it in one month, I’m not sure you’d have had a much better chance in three months. Up until I saw you cast that first shield, I thought it was something you would have to come back to when you were older.”

“Guess he showed you, huh, Moony?” Sirius said, ribbing him.

“He certainly did. Although it’s not as surprising now, knowing that you can do wandless magic, Harry. You’ve pulled far ahead of the curriculum there.”

Harry grinned more at that. And then a thought struck him: “Say, didn’t you guys learn to become Animagi in your fifth—?”

“No,” Remus cut him off.

Harry’s mouth hung open for a moment, but he rallied: “But if even Wormtail—”

“No,” Remus repeated.

Sirius shook his head: “While I’d normally tell Moony not to be a stick in the mud, I have to agree with him on that one, Prongslet. James was a transfiguration prodigy. That doesn’t just mean he was better at learning it; it means he was able to fix our mistakes—and we did make mistakes. That’s not the kind of thing you do without help. You are a Defence Against the Dark Arts prodigy, but you don’t have the transfiguration chops to go solo. So you’re not even gonna think about becoming an Animagus until summer when I’m there to supervise—” Remus coughed loudly. “—when we’re there to supervise. Got it?”

“Yeah, got it” Harry said. It was just an idle thought, after all. “Anyway…” He checked his list. “Hermione was wondering how exactly you managed to owl-order my Firebolt when you were on the run. I can see the goblins not caring you were a criminal, but how did you prove the purchase was authorised or whatever?”

“Oh, that?” Sirius said in surprise. “That’s a bunch of complicated paperwork that amounts to: you’re on the account.”

“Right. We thought it might be something like that, but how did that happen?”

“That’s the complicated bit. It’s because I’m your godfather, and because your parents are dead, and your official guardians are muggles, then I’m your presumptive source of funds—never mind that you’ve got a good inheritance yourself. It doesn’t hurt that I don’t have any immediate family left who could counter-claim it…My parents made me learn all this crap. The most annoying thing is it actually turned out to be useful.”

“Huh. And that was good enough for the goblins?” Harry asked. “And the Firebolt Company? McGonagall said they were worried the company was in on your evil plan.”

“Ha!” Sirius laughed. “That would’ve been fun. The criminal becomes a broom salesman. But yeah, pretty much. Since it was intended for one of the account holders, they wouldn’t’ve cared. If it were a gift for someone else, they would have looked closer at it…probably.”

Harry really felt like he needed to learn more about goblins. It sounded like there were some important practical considerations, and Binns’s lectures about them were worse than useless.

“Anything else?” Sirius asked.

“Er, yeah…” Harry said awkwardly. “When you were…on the run, everyone said you were Voldemort’s second-in-command. But that doesn’t make sense. Wormtail wasn’t that high up. I don’t think any of the other Death Eaters even liked him. And no one even knew you were…you know, supposed to be a Death Eater until the war was over.”

Sirius winced, but then shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? It’s the press. Last scion of an old pureblood family notorious for dark magic, maybe?”

“That’s probably part of it,” Remus agreed. “Although I bet it was partly Fudge playing you up to make himself look better for catching you. And then when you were the first person ever to escape Azkaban…”

Sirius muttered some colourful words under his breath. (Though apparently not the ones that would see Remus stringing him up.) “I did look like a wannabe dark lord, didn’t I? Huh…maybe I could—”

“No,” Remus said.

“But I could be the Siriusly Black Lo—”

“No!” Remus and Harry said simultaneously.

“Fine, but it’d still be a good prank.”

Chapter Text

Minerva waited after dinner for Albus and Severus to come back up to her office, still mulling over Potter’s idea of reading ahead in the book privately. She hadn’t had time to read tonight’s chapters in advance of their group book reading, but she thought she could set aside a bit of time tomorrow afternoon to look ahead—only a quick skim, perhaps glossing over the less important details. There was still another Quidditch match to hear about, for example, which while entertaining, wouldn’t be important to the war.

She wasn’t sure herself why the idea had sounded so profound to her when Harry had said it—wasn’t sure why she was even considering it now. For a public reading, certainly it was the only sensible thing to do, but only two other people would read this book in the foreseeable future, and she trusted…well, she definitely trusted Albus. Severus had given her strong proof of his trustworthiness—his Patronus—proof that Albus considered ironclad, and she didn’t have much reason to disagree. And yet, something in her wanted that extra bit of control over what was still an extremely chaotic situation—to actually get on top of things for once.

Still that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, they had another reading session where she would be in the same boat as Albus and Severus, and if the previous few nights were any indication, it would be a depressing one.

Albus has his own thoughts to contend with that evening. In addition to Minerva’s rather disturbing question about Alastor’s eye—one he was surprised he had never asked, himself—young Harry’s visit earlier had reminded him of another complication. The public book reading, either tomorrow or the next day, was quite likely to reveal Sybill’s second prophecy, and indeed that she was a true prophet to begin with. And given that it was her second prophecy, it might lead people to ask awkward questions about her first prophecy.

On its own, this was not a great concern. Voldemort already knew all he needed to know about Sybill. Her prophecy of two years ago was fulfilled the very night it was given (or at least it was when Voldemort had returned). And her first prophecy, as he had told Amelia, was chiefly useful for preoccupying Voldemort’s time while they continued to move against him.

No, the concern was that people might start asking awkward questions about Harry. The boy had more than enough attention on him as it was. And it might lead to more people on both sides of the war snooping around and causing mischief around the Department of Mysteries, thus complicating their plans there.

But on the whole, he decided, it was only a minor issue. He would make a note of it in his report to Amelia, but he had no reason to interfere with the reading.

Severus was in a bad mood. Many of his students would say that was normal for him, and there was some truth to that. But this was worse than usual. The public book readings were tedious at best, and he had been fuming ever since the recounting of the boggart version of himself in that horrible outfit, not to mention everything else that had happened that year. (He would never admit it—he barely even admitted it to himself—but he really was angry about missing out on the Order of Merlin.)

The private book readings were no better. While they were ostensibly leading them to a swift resolution to the war, it came at the cost of wading through thousands of pages of drivel about Potter’s life interspersed with harsh reminders of his own shortcomings, all filtered through the point of view of someone who hated him. All this for insights into how to defeat the Dark Lord that could probably be summarised in a few pages if they knew where to find them.

Plus, he had a nasty suspicion about what Draco’s assignment from the Dark Lord was, and how Albus would respond to it. In fact, he had himself considered reading ahead in the book. But in addition to not having the time (even being done teaching, these readings were making him horrendously busy), with the future books locked in the Headmistress’s Office for security reasons, he was unsure he could get a copy without raising her suspicions.

He decided he would at least wait until Friday after the public readings were finally done before trying to do something about that. For today, he joined Minerva and Albus at the usual time for their normal evening reading.

Chapter 20: Lord Voldemort’s Request

“Those memories were disturbing and gave me several new reasons to be glad I never overlapped with Tom Riddle in school,” Minerva said with a shiver. Seeing the young Voldemort flirting with an elderly witch who didn’t have the sense to realise she was being played, only to then kill her and take her treasures, was an experience she didn’t need.

“Was the second memory before or after you started teaching here?” Severus asked.

“After, by several years, but I did not cross paths with him that night, thank Merlin.”

“It may have been better if you had,” Albus suggested. “He could not have attacked you openly at that time, and it could have given us clues as to his intent.”

“Then you don’t believe it was only the curse on the Defence Position?” Severus asked.

“From what I know of Voldemort, it does not feel like a risk he would take—to come to me directly, risking discovery, for such an uncertain benefit as placing that curse.”

“He sounded surprised you knew so much about him, though,” Minerva pointed out. “He might have been confident enough. And that curse has definitely weakened the Light Side. The lack of new Auror applicants in recent years…”

“Today, yes, but today is long after he originally expected to win his war, and he laid that curse only a few years before he began fighting it: too soon for it to bear fruit by removing or scaring away all of the competent teachers of the subject. And that fruit was never certain thanks to remedial courses like Kwikspell being in play. No, I suspect a deeper motive.”

“Couldn’t it just be spite?” Severus asked. “He would appear to you and thumb his nose at you for the ways you had thwarted him over the years if he were confident he could get away with it.”

“I am certain that was one motive. And pride at being able to pull one over on me, as it were. But again, he does not make such decisions without planning. It seems unlikely that he would take the risk without some material gain to be had.”

It finally clicked for Minerva. “The horcruxes,” she said. “You think he was trying to get one of the Founders’ artefacts?”

“That is one of my more likely theories,” Albus replied, “though if he found what he was looking for in the short time he was here, I cannot guess.”

“Or could he have…no, surely not,” she stopped herself. Voldemort couldn’t possibly have been foolish enough to hide a horcrux under Albus’s nose. Unless… “What about to hide one?” she asked. “Could he have got down to the Chamber of Secrets.”

He shook his head: “That seemed like a good possibility, but I investigated the Chamber thoroughly after Harry revealed its location, and I found no horcrux there. Tom may not have been able to get down there unnoticed, especially with Miss Warren haunting the entrance. In retrospect, I also believe he would not want to connect his diary with a second horcrux.”

That made sense, though it still left them the puzzle of where to look for the remaining horcruxes. They could only hope that the books gave accurate and current information about the subject.

“Do you happen to know what caused the red eyes?” Severus mused. “A gaunt appearance is one thing, but are the eyes a typical symptom of horcruxes?”

“Not conclusively from the limited records we have,” Albus said. “But then, Voldemort has delved far deeper into dark magic than any other. There are no known reports of any other wizard making more than a single horcrux, and exposure to that much dark magic can have unpredictable and dangerous effects. In any case, we can now identify Slytherin’s Locket and Hufflepuff’s Cup as two more horcruxes.”

“Still potentially leaving more,” Minerva clarified.

“Indeed—which I am sure we will also learn in due time. Let us continue.”

Chapter 21: The Unknowable Room

“I find it highly unlikely that Tonks is in love with Sirius,” Minerva said to herself. “She’s sensible enough not to carry on the family tradition.”

“I again find myself not caring,” Severus scoffed, “much less caring enough to trust Potter’s limited social instincts. And I repeat that we should stay on topic.”

“I’m well aware of the topic Severus,” Minerva sniped back. “Malfoy’s plan—and the lengths he’s going to finish it. He had those boys transforming into first-year girls! Is that even legal?”

Severus nodded dismissively. “While Polyjuice Potion is something of a grey area, there’s no law against it in principle,” he said, “at least if it’s not being used for anything that would be illegal for an actual eleven-year-old.”

Minerva stared at him with a disturbed expression, her eyebrows creeping into her hairline. Even Albus looked a little surprised.

“What? As a Potions Master, it’s necessary for me to know such things,” he said.

The tension largely drained away. “Fair enough, I suppose,” she conceded. She checked her notes: “On a similar note, didn’t we tell Miss Warren ages ago to stay out of the dorm room bathrooms?”

“We did,” Albus agreed, frowning, “but for ghosts, it is occasionally necessary to have a refresher. We should also get Harry’s side of the story, if he is willing.”

“I expect he won’t be keen on the idea, but I can try,” she said. “But for Malfoy—we still don’t know what he’s up to—or what he would…then…be up to in the future, I suppose.” This was why she didn’t care for time travel, even when it was necessary. “And there are a great many things he could be doing in the Room of Requirement—perhaps even artefacts he wouldn’t have access to otherwise. Maybe we should go up there and have a look for ourselves. It won’t be sealed off now.”

“I think it would be a better use of our time to finish the books,” Albus countered, to her chagrin. It was still hard to get used to solving their real-world problems by reading further ahead. “Or rather, it would be wise to investigate the Room of Requirement on general principle, but it can wait until we are finished with this.” He motioned to the book as he jotted some notes. “And we do have additional hints as to Death Eater activity—Octavius Pepper, for example—”

“And Mundungus!” Minerva groused. “That Inferius business was a new low even for him. I’m starting to wonder if he’s worth the trouble.”

“It is worth it, Minerva, to not be completely cut off from the less reputable portions of society,” Albus said more seriously than usual. “He has been able to provide invaluable information that neither I nor the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could acquire by direct questioning.”

Minerva grumbled, but she couldn’t very well refute that. Even so, she hoped she could wash her hands of him once the war was over.

Meanwhile, Severus made a note of his own.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A note to tell the Weasley Twins to fix their Spell-Checking Quills to stop making their spelling worse when they wear out.”

Minerva stared at him in shock again. “You’re helping them? Who are you, and what have you done with Severus Snape?” She subtly held her wand at the ready, not entirely certain it was a joke.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Not for their own sake, Minerva. It is merely that if I can save future generations of teachers from such atrocious spelling, I will do so. Now, is there anything else?”

Minerva considered mentioning that “they’re transparent” was a perfectly good way to distinguish ghosts from Inferi, but she immediately decided discretion was the better part of valour.

Chapter 22: After the Burial

“Well, at least Potter finally got the memory,” Minerva grumbled. “I still don’t know how you were expecting him to do it without the Felix Felicis, Albus.”

“Harry always had the ability to do it,” Albus said confidently. “He knew enough about Horace to use that approach on his own. He only had to believe in himself.”

“Believing in himself wouldn’t help him stumble upon Aragog’s funeral. Or put him in a situation to get Horace too drunk to remember it the next day. Even if he could eventually stumble on the right approach, he might have taken too long—or tried so many wrong things that Horace panicked and left the school. He was already avoiding Potter enough to make it harder.”

“Alas, this is a situation where there are not always clear or achievable answers,” he said with a sigh. “Although I did know he had the Felix Felicis when I gave him the assignment, so I may have anticipated him using it.”

“You might have told the boy that,” she countered.

“If it became time-sensitive, I could have, Minerva. But this way will build his confidence to take his own initiative. And it is wiser to let him develop a proper understanding of the use of the potion on his own.”

“I’m not sure I would credit Potter with that much wisdom, Albus,” said Severus. “If you recall, he was saving it with a mind to get a girlfriend.” His last word all but turned into a sneer.

“I would wager four out of five boys and girls his age would have that sort of thing on their minds, Severus,” Minerva countered. “Certainly if they used the potion for something legal, which Potter did.”

“Legal so far.”

But that was nearly the extent of the revelations from that chapter. Horace using house elves to taste-test his wine was distasteful, especially given the resources he had at his disposal as a Potions Master, but they had known him long enough that it didn’t surprise them. There was the note about the Montgomery Family being targeted by Greyback, but that was at the end of a long list of targets by this point.

“Shall we conclude for the night?” Albus asked innocently. “We have caught up with our planned schedule.”

Minerva glared at him. “If you think we’re going to leave it at that after it was so much trouble to get that memory, Albus, you have another think coming.”

Albus just smiled and motioned for her to continue reading. It was then that she became acutely aware that he was baiting her, but she couldn’t contradict him now.

Chapter 23: Horcruxes

“So, six horcruxes,” Severus concluded, “of which we have identified five, but the sixth was unknown to you even in the book.”

“Correct on both counts, Severus,” Albus agreed.

“And did we really need to see that memory to learn that, Albus?” Minerva asked. “We already knew the rest.”

“To confirm the number, yes. It was a likely possibility, but hardly the only one.”

“Which there was no guarantee the memory would tell you,” she objected. “In fact, I’m not even sure what You-Know-Who thought that conversation with Horace would accomplish in the first place.”

“I believe that Tom was concerned about negative effects it might have on him if he were to make more than one horcrux,” Albus replied. “He was attempting to enquire with Horace on that point.”

“Which to his credit, Horace didn’t tell him…unless it was to entertain the concept at all.”

“I suspect that Tom had to content himself with that. If Horace had rejected the idea for technical or practical reasons rather than moral ones, it would have been reason for caution. As it was, it was not as certain as he might like, but he had already tipped his hand too far.”

“Then it was lucky that we learnt the number,” she said. “We might have been left forever wondering if we’d got them all.”

“I believe there are other signs that would become manifest if Voldemort were fully dead,” he said, “but you are right that our task would have been much harder, especially if he suspected what we were doing.”

Severus frowned. “But if that is the case, what was your motive in seeking the memory,” he reasoned. “It might not have been useful at all.”

Albus sighed: “On that, I cannot be certain. I am not sure what I had deduced or suspected at that point. I can tell you why I sought out Horace two weeks ago. In that case, seeking Horace’s memory was a guess—asking him about what Tom might have known about horcruxes as part of a general investigation. I would have pursued it further when it became apparent that memory could contain something useful, but of course, this book has bypassed the problem.”

“Except that there’s been an awful lot of guesswork in this book, Albus,” Minerva said. “I don’t like it.”

“Less than in the first war, I should think, when we did not know what dark rituals Voldemort might have done.”

“I suppose,” she admitted, “and the next question is, how did You-Know-Who learn how to make them if there were no books about them here?”

“I am afraid Horace was wrong on that point,” he told her, “though whether he did not know or was merely obfuscating I am unsure. Headmaster Dippet allowed several books that included a discussion of such Dark Arts to remain in the Restricted Section of the Library. I made the decision to remove them when I became Headmaster.”

“I…see. Then, after that…” She checked her notes. “…we have the problem that even if we know how many horcruxes there are, and what they are—which we don’t yet—you seem to have precious few leads for where to look for them.”

“Which I hope the remainder of the books will tell us,” Albus told her.

“We’re staking an awful lot on that,” she snapped. “And I think the general point still stands. You say You-Know-Who would only use powerful magical artefacts for his horcruxes, and you may be right. But what if there were—” she shuddered at the thought. “What if there is a dark wizard out there somewhere who has put a part of his soul in an unassuming rock somewhere.”

Surprisingly, Albus looked rather calm at that: “Ah, that is a puzzle that is far older than I am amongst the few who know about horcruxes—one that is not fully solved, I am afraid, though I have my own theory. Minerva, Severus, you were both raised in the muggle world. Did either of you have the opportunity to read The Lord of the Rings.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. Albus had read it? She thought back. “Yes,” she said, “during my brief time living in London. Father read The Hobbit to us before Mother told him about real magic. I remembered the story fondly, so I picked them up when I saw them in the muggle bookstores. Severus?”

“No,” he said. “Neither of my parents were interested in such things. I know the outline of the story, though…” He trailed off. From Lily, she could guess.

“That will be enough,” Albus said. “In brief, I suspect that, like the One Ring, a horcrux left idle for centuries would not remain so, and even an unassuming rock would influence those around it, both human and animal, until someone suggestible found it and was corrupted by in. In a vault, protected by magical traps is one thing. But in the wild? That sort of dark magic festers if left to its own devices. Moreover, the evidence around Herpo the Foul, inventor of the horcrux, though circumstantial, points to the same conclusion.”

That was some comfort, but still… “And if they buried it somewhere no one could reach it? Or used a Fidelius Charm?” Minerva asked.

“As I said, an unsolved problem. Though there are good reasons not to make a horcrux completely unreachable, even if direct access to it is not required to return to life.”

“The Dark Lord would not use a Fidelius Charm,” Severus added. “Even though there are multiple ways to use it, it still requires trust in another. He’s far too paranoid for that.”

“Indeed,” Albus agreed. “The Fidelius Charm is a powerful light spell that requires trust to cast in and of itself, just as the Patronus Charm requires joy. And one thing we can be certain of Lord Voldemort is that he trusts no one.”

Minerva nodded slowly. It was a nuance of the spell she had missed in Filius’s explanation, but it made sense. And of course, both Albus and Severus had ample reason to know that spell inside and out. For their own problems, they didn’t have to worry about that.

“Very well,” she accepted. “Now, there is another problem I can see, Albus. You didn’t seem to give Potter very much direction in how to fight You-Know-Who.”

Albus’s bushy eyebrows rose high at her words: “I should think I answered that quite clearly.”

“You answered ‘love.’ But you left how on Earth Harry is supposed to turn love—and I’ll grant it’s very powerful—but how to turn it into a winning strategy. In fact, leaving aside all that discussion of prophecies—you know that’s out of my expertise—it seems to me that you’re being overly literal. His ability to love shows great strength of character, which is not nothing, but again, is not a winning strategy on its own.”

“Then what would you suggest, Minerva?” he asked.

“You ought to know better than I, but the most obvious one is that Potter has friends, where You-Know-Who only has followers, and frightened ones, at that.”

Albus smiled: “This I believe Harry knows very well—even if he is not fully aware of it. The previous books would have turned out very differently if it were not so. And…” He looked over the last few pages of the chapter. “…perhaps I was unclear on one point: it is not merely Harry’s ability to love, but his instinct to love. Harry thinks, naturally, in ways that Voldemort does not—in ways that are both for the good of, and relying on his friends. And that is already powerful in itself. Voldemort will always struggle to predict Harry, more so than the reverse. Add to that a certain humility—”

Severus scoffed loudly.

“More than Lord Voldemort has, Severus; of that you may be certain,” he said sternly.

“Hmph,” Severus grumbled. “I might admit that in limited domains. Still, I’m not sure you should be so confident that Potter is not seduced by the Dark Arts. I seem to recall he dreamed of hexing his cousin from his first day in the Wizarding World.”

“Boyhood indiscretions,” Albus dismissed him. “James—even I can admit—did worse than that. And he was no friend to the Dark Arts.”

“And the title of the next chapter?” he pressed, growling slightly at James’s name.

“That remains to be seen. But at this point in the story, I would point out that Harry does not know what the spell does or how severe it is. Nor can we even be certain he is the one who casts it. Perhaps you will reveal yourself as the creator of the spell in a suitably dramatic fashion. If you would like to continue reading on…”

Albus said this with his usual good humour, but neither Severus nor Minerva were smiling. Minerva had of course noticed the title of the next chapter herself: “Sectumsempra.”

But she was done for the day, no matter how ominous it looked. “I think we have enough to be worrying about tonight as it is,” she cut off their argument. “We should sort out what we’ve read so far before tackling even more problems. Besides which, there are still a couple of things that confuse me—such as what was You-Know-Who doing wearing that ring around where people would notice if he was using it for a horcrux?”

“Oh? That seems like a simple enough explanation,” said Albus. “Tom wore the ring as a sign of his heritage—proof to his housemates that he was the Heir of Slytherin. But once he placed a piece of his soul in it, he did not wish to keep it with him and instead protected it somewhere secret.”

That gave her pause. “Wait, the ring wasn’t a horcrux yet in the memory?” she asked.

Albus stopped and thought for a moment. “I suppose I cannot be certain one way or the other. My expectation is as you said—that he would not want to wear it around after he had made it a horcrux, but it is possible he continued to use it as a status symbol in Slytherin House.”

“But wouldn’t he have made it a horcrux directly after killing his father?” she protested.

“Why would that be?” he asked.

“Well, if the horcrux requires a human sacrifice—”

“No, you misunderstand, Minerva,” he cut her off. “The horcrux is not sacrificial magic.”

That brought her up short. “It…it’s not?”

“No—or, at least, not a human sacrifice. There are a number of other unsavoury actions involved, of which I will spare you the details. But the murder is required to become capable of performing the ritual—to fracture the soul—not for the ritual itself.”

“But…but then he could use an old murder to make a horcrux at any time,” she said, aghast.

“No older than the last time he made a horcrux, but yes. Though it is undoubtedly more reliable to do so promptly. The books record that feeling remorse, or even a lack of conviction regarding the murder will cause the ritual to fail, perhaps catastrophically. Yet such has never been a problem for Voldemort.”

“And so…” she reasoned, “You-Know-Who killed his father and stole the ring…and then he…or did he? If he could have waited…no, I think I’ve missed something. Was the ring or the diary his first horcrux?”

“The Riddles were murdered before Miss Warren. That much is certain,” Albus told her. “Barring a very unusual turn of events, the ring must have been made a horcrux before the diary. And indeed, the fact that he intended the diary as a weapon—to be used rather than hidden away—bears this out in that he would be unlikely to try a novel method with his first horcrux.”

Severus took up the thread: “So he took the ring. Perhaps he made it a horcrux immediately and only spoke to Horace when he looked into making multiple of them, or perhaps he spoke to Horace before putting his plan into action at all. Meanwhile, that same year he found the Chamber of Secrets—later in the year, I assume?” Albus nodded. “And began attacking muggle-born students. What I wonder is if Myrtle’s death was a planned murder, or if he was eliminating a witness.”

“If he wanted to kill, why not start with that when he opened the Chamber?” Minerva pointed out. “Or at most after one test run. There was the risk of closing the school and that stopping him, but he didn’t seem to anticipate that.”

Severus nodded: “Eliminating a witness, then. He didn’t hear that she was in the room and had to act fast. He didn’t know or didn’t trust a Memory Charm at that age—”

“I think it more likely that it was merely his instinct to skip directly to murder,” Albus interrupted.

“Perhaps. So, he had to act fast, commanding the basilisk to kill her. Obviously, it was still enough to make a horcrux afterwards, but it wasn’t planned.”

“Wait,” Minerva said suddenly. “In the second book, when Potter was pulled into the diary—he wasn’t wearing the ring then.”

Albus shook his head: “He did not wear the ring in my presence. He flaunted his status as the Heir of Slytherin within his own House, but already, he was canny enough not to leave clues that could point me, personally, to his heritage—and thus to his crimes.”

“Ah, I see,” she said. “Well, either way, he must have made the ring into a horcrux by then. Maybe even did it in the Chamber. And then he used the diary…Why did he even have a muggle diary, anyway?”

“Another oddity that I have never fully understood since Harry presented it to me,” Albus mused, “though I admit I have never had cause to look into it deeply.”

“If we’re looking, it’s not clear to me when he could have acquired a muggle diary,” Severus pointed out, “especially a blank one—if it was blank at the time—and it was dated for January through December of that same year. It was nearly the end of term, and you said he never left the school for holidays. He would be far more likely to buy such a thing in Hogsmeade, if anywhere.”

“Unless it was Myrtle’s diary,” Minerva said idly.

Albus and Severus both stopped and stared at her with wide eyes.

“What?” she said. “You think…” The penny dropped. “It was Myrtle’s diary, wasn’t it?”

“My dear Minerva,” Albus said with a smile, “I believe you have solved a very old case that I did not even see, though it was right under my nose. Tom Riddle was not the sort of boy to possess any diary, where his thoughts could be written down and found out, much less a muggle one. And we have seen that the young Tom liked to take trophies from his victims. Though I had not remarked upon it, Miss Warren would have been an exception in that regard. I think it very likely the diary was hers.”

Minerva blushed a little. “I…thank you, Albus. But in that case, if it was her diary, then I would have to agree with Potter; it seems like quite the plain object to make into a horcrux.”

“It was rushed decision,” Severus answered with an air of certainty.

“Come again?”

“The young Dark Lord had to act quickly to eliminate a witness. He stole her diary, perhaps out of sheer habit…or perhaps to see if she had written about him, on the chance that her presence wasn’t a coincidence. Then, Dippet threatened to close the school—”

“And he framed Hagrid,” Minerva said with a snarl.

“Yes, he framed Hagrid, but he also had to abandon his plan to purge the school of muggle-borns. So, he decided to make a horcrux that he could use to manipulating someone else into doing it after he graduated.”

“And he used Myrtle’s diary?”

“He used the best thing he had on hand. Dippet may have kept the school open, but there was still only a week left in the term at that point. He didn’t have time to think about other options.”

Minerva narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. “Do you know something about this, Severus?” she demanded.

He didn’t rise. “I know the Dark Lord’s character—and what we’ve read in these books. No, I cannot prove it, but it’s enough to guess.”

“It does ring true,” Albus agreed, “and it would also explain why he chose Miss Warren for it—a rather insignificant death—by his standards, of course.”

“Do you really think that’s how he did it?” Minerva challenged him. “The ‘significant deaths’?”

“I admit I cannot connect all of the horcruxes in that way. I am more certain of it regarding Harry’s intended death than the others simply because of Voldemort’s actions afterwards—turning his snake Nagini into a horcrux, indicating he did not take advantage of his numerous earlier opportunities.”

That was fair, she supposed. He’d had however many years—at least a decade—when he was killing people regularly, and he could have made his last horcrux at any time. In fact… “He was waiting even before he heard about the prophecy,” she pointed out.

“He was—perhaps waiting for access to the Founders’ artefacts he coveted. One thing we must remember is that, for all his violence and aggression, Voldemort fancies himself immortal, and so he is willing to wait many years to accomplish his goals—to achieve the perfect scenario in his mind. With five horcruxes and feeling secure in his—shall we say, conventional power, he would have felt little urgency.”

That…also made sense, though it gave Minerva a headache to think in those terms, which was probably a good sign for her personally. She turned over all the things they had learnt about horcruxes in her mind, considering all the angles. And she realised there was one more issue that wasn’t merely academic: “Albus, you said you were close to finding another horcrux in the book. Do you know what that’s about?”

“No, I have not made those investigations yet,” he said.

“And you’ll wait before getting the ring from the Gaunts’ shack so you don’t get cursed this time?”

“Of course, Minerva. I am waiting to see if the books give any additional information about it.”

“And you’ll take help along?” She remembered his word in the book. “Other than Potter?”

“If it is warranted.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he stood his ground. The need for secrecy, she had to admit, was still very much in play. Finally, she relented. She’d at least be able to keep an eye on him before he got into trouble. Probably.

“Was there anything else?” he asked innocently.

She checked her notes: “Just one. The Fat Lady was trying to keep Potter out of the dorms. And she was lying about the password. She shouldn’t be able to do either, especially in a time of enhanced security. It was bad enough with Sir Cadogan.”

“Well, you know how portraits can be, Minerva. That is the same reason we had so many problems two years ago.”

“Hmpf. Be that as it may, this time, I am going to ensure we have more options.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday, March 20, 1996.

Amelia Bones frowned as she read the report from Dumbledore from last night. There was not a lot regarding the war: just two more names for the list of potential Death Eater targets. And he warned her that that coming days could lead, indirectly, to increased public interest in the prophecy about Harry Potter, which would be a pain. And of course, there was Percy Weasley’s report of an alarming number of safety and security issues at Hogwarts from two years ago, which she had a nasty feeling was only going to get longer. Maybe she should go back up to the school herself for tomorrow’s reading.

But mostly, she was concerned about Dumbledore’s report regarding the horcruxes. The man had, in fact, had a breakthrough last night from the books. He was now confident that Voldemort had six horcruxes in total. (Precisely how confident, she wasn’t certain. They were banking rather a lot on the premise that the books would follow narrative convention and end with Voldemort’s final defeat.) Of those, the tally stood at one destroyed and two more located, if she counted the snake. In all, four of the remaining five were positively identified, or near enough. Not great, but it could be worse.

And Dumbledore was advising her not to go after the one lead they had because of the danger level, and because he expected there would be more information forthcoming. She could tolerate that for now. She had enough to do as it was. But she sent a note back warning him that her patience was wearing thin.

Minerva frowned as she read the note she’d received her own note from Albus. She could at least credit him with acting quickly. It had transpired that Mad-Eye’s eye, needing to see through many layers of solid objects—desks, entire people, walls, and more—could see through clothes if he wanted, but only if he was actively trying. He’d admitted that to Albus, and Albus seemed to believe him. It was tricky to do it, or so he said—all the more so if the clothes were skintight, making it near-impossible to distinguish between the layers. Even spotting concealed weapons held directly against the skin didn’t require that much effort.

That was assuming Mad-Eye wasn’t lying—never a sure thing with him. But Moody was trusted by Albus and vouched for by the DMLE both, so it was acceptable among the powers that be for him to bring his eye into the school. Although she wondered if the Board of Governors had properly considered the issue.

All of which was moot because it wasn’t Moody using it all last year, but Barty Crouch Junior, a known Death Eater. What had he done with that eye? Since the younger Crouch had had his soul sucked out on Fudge’s orders (or at least Fudge’s carelessness), they couldn’t ask him. And since all of his personal effects had been left in the school and searched, he probably hadn’t done anything nefarious liking smuggle photographs out of the school.

Minerva laughed bitterly. No, he’d only gone and helped resurrect He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. A garden-variety pervert would be bad, but that was one of the few things that were worse.

Meanwhile, there was still her idea of reading ahead in the later books. She would make time for that this afternoon, at least for a quick look, but for now, she had more pressing concerns, in the form of a knock on her door, and she suspected she knew from whom. She quickly filed Albus’s note out of sight, and bade her expected visitor come in.

True to his word, Potter had brought his copy of the third book back early this morning with his redactions marked—along with more questions.

“Professor, from the reviews on the cover, it looks like these books are, like, bestsellers in the muggle world?” the boy said nervously.

“Are they? I confess I had not looked that closely at them,” she said. She took the book now and examined the dust jacket, and her eyes widened when she saw the reviews: praise heaped on Potter’s life story from major muggle newspapers she remembered from her own childhood. “Goodness!” she exclaimed. “The next Lord of the Rings?”

“You know them, Professor?”

“Of course, I—oh, you wouldn’t know, Potter. Like you, I am a half-blood, grown up in the muggle world—though with a much better family situation, I assure you. I have read The Lord of the Rings.” And how eerie that she had discussed the trilogy with Albus and Severus just last night.

“Right, er…do you know how big these books get?” Potter asked, still uneasy. “Like, what do the later books say?”

An interesting question—and an important one, she realised. Fiction though they were—or though they were marketed, at least—if the Harry Potter books became truly famous in the muggle world, it could be a serious issue for the Statute of Secrecy. “I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose I could look…” She didn’t go digging for the entire series, but she pulled her copy of the sixth book out of her desk drawer. This one, it turned out, did not have any reviews printed. She checked the dust jacket inside and out, and she saw a synopsis of the book printed twice, a brief “about the author” note that claimed that Joanne Rowling had come up with the idea for Harry Potter whilst riding a train from Manchester to London. And then…

“What the bloody hell?!” she exclaimed.

“Professor?” Potter said in alarm.

Minerva turned pink with embarrassment at became caught out swearing by a student. “Ahem, excuse me Potter. I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention that. It’s just that I saw this line here.” She turned the book around to show him, pointing to the note in the bottom corner of the jacket:

“J. K. Rowling has also written two other companion books, Quidditch Through the Ages and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, in aid of Comic Relief.”

“What the bloody hell?” Potter repeated, and Minerva was forced to stifle a laugh to keep from cracking up. When he realised what he’d said, he started laughing too, albeit briefly. But after a beat, he demanded, “There are more books?!”

“It would appear so. More worryingly, these are our books—written by wizards, for wizards. For them to get into the muggle world…”

“But…you don’t have them, do you?” he asked.

“Certainly not. This it the first that I’ve heard of any others.”

“Well, then, where are they—Professor?” Potter added quickly.

“I wouldn’t know, Potter. They may be nowhere. We never did find out where Umbridge got them in the first place…” She paused as she remembered a very similar conversation two weeks ago. “Although…Potter, when we were first discussing the books, you mentioned a room on the seventh floor where they might have come from?”

“Right…yes, I remember, Professor,” he said, brightening. “That’s where we’ve been having our defence lessons. Er, I told Professor Dumbledore about that. And, well, if the books really did come from the castle, that seems like the way to do it.”

Potter explained the Room of Requirement to her, how to open it and the sorts of things it could do. Producing books from years the damn future, which looked for all the world like they came from a muggle bookstore, author profile, reviews, and all, seemed like a stretch by any magical standards. But then again, Hogwarts was old and filled with long-forgotten enchantments. Even Albus didn’t know all of its secrets. It seemed at least as likely as anything else.

“Thank you, Potter,” she told him. “I will investigate that this afternoon. You had best get along to breakfast, now. We have another long day ahead.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together at breakfast and found themselves looking over a short note from Percy—one sent to Harry, in fact—addressing one of the questions they had had yesterday:

Dear Harry,

I figured you had a right to know this information since it’s not a secret, and the story we’re reading is about you, even if I don’t understand all of it yet. I have also sent my findings on to Professor McGonagall and Director Bones. You asked me what became of the other “fragments” Minister Fudge mentioned being found of Peter Pettigrew. I looked up Fudge’s original incident report of the incident between Black and Pettigrew, and frankly, I was shocked at how shoddily it was written. I could cut him some slack, considering that Black was laughing maniacally and claiming that he did it, which would in principle negate the need for forensics, but that’s no reason to ignore proper procedure—

Ron snorted loudly. “Hah! Typical Percy,” he said.

—Besides which, it’s not clear how coherent Black was at the time or if anything he said could be trusted. Regardless, reading it now, it looks like Fudge was more interested in getting a high-profile arrest than in actually documenting the scene.

As for Pettigrew himself, I had to go to the Coroner’s report to learn more. It turns out that Pettigrew’s finger was the only identifiable piece of him that was found. Given that you say he’s still alive, it seems like he faked the rest of the evidence. I know he must have got the blood from somewhere, and reading between the lines, I think he must have had a handful of raw meat that he sprinkled around the crime scene, and maybe cut off some hair as well.

Notwithstanding Fudge’s incompetence, you should remember that there were also twelve very real muggle bodies lying around the scene, and while they were mostly intact, it would have been difficult to sort out all of the smaller pieces. If Pettigrew had been the only purported victim, or if there were only one or two others, the Coroner might have tested more of the residue and found that it was fake. As it was, Fudge should have looked closer, but it’s understandable that they sorted out all of the identifiable body parts and called it a day.

Your friend, I hope,

Percy

“That’s…disgusting,” Hermione said. “But another dead end, I guess. Though I still think muggles would have been more careful about potential human remains.”

“What were we actually looking for there?” Ron asked her.

“I…I don’t know, I suppose,” she said. “The way the explosion was described was odd, and I wondered if there was someone to be blamed for bungling it.”

“We already knew that was mostly Fudge, didn’t we?” said Harry.

“And Barty Crouch Senior,” she pointed out. “He was the one who sent Sirius to Azkaban without a trial.”

“Course, seeing as they’re both dead, there’s not much we can do about it, is there?” added Ron.

“Yeah, I guess,” answered Harry. He read over Percy’s letter again. Something was bugging him about it—something in the back of his mind. He thought back to what he knew of that day…He had it. “Hold on,” he said. “Wormtail just had a handful of raw meat on him? Was he preparing to frame Sirius all day?”

Hermione and Ron looked at each other in surprise.

Ron shrugged: “Dunno. Could be.”

“Maybe it was part of his plan,” Hermione suggested. “Fudge did say Wormtail found Sirius, not the other way around.”

Harry shook his head: “No, I can’t see that. Wormtail was too big a coward. Besides, Sirius was definitely hunting him down. He told us so.”

“Didn’t Sirius say Wormtail was afraid of the other Death Eaters coming after him because he was with Voldemort that night?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow: “More afraid of them than he was of Sirius.”

“Well, of anyone, then. Maybe he wasn’t planning on a fight, but he was planning to fake his own death somehow. He could’ve…he could’ve blown up his own safehouse and put the Dark Mark over it. He was a Death Eater. He must have known how.”

That one, Harry could see. The timing was a little odd, but then, there was about about the timing of that day that was odd. And Wormtail was certainly paranoid enough to be planning to fake his death before Sirius found him. Well, it was annoying not knowing for sure, but it was a minor point in the book overall.

And they had to cut the discussion off soon enough, as Professor McGonagall called for order to begin the reading.

“Thank you for indulging us in this once again,” she told the assembled students and staff after breakfast had concluded. Of course, some of the students surely liked these diversions, but for many of them and all of the teachers, these readings were really more trouble than they were worth, she thought. “I repeat that tomorrow will be the last day for this, but again, the interested parties believe it is important for this information to become widely known. Professor Grubbly-Plank, you have the next chapter.”

“Yes, Headmistress,” the Care of Magical Creatures teacher said. She took up the copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and turned to: “Chapter Twelve: The Patronus.”

The chapter began with the continuation of Harry’s and Ron’s argument with Hermione over the Firebolt. Harry had, in fact, been worried about the teachers damaging it at the time, which looking back, maybe he should have mentioned, but McGonagall hadn’t seemed in a mood to listen. Ron had got Wood all excited about it before Harry could stop him, which probably hadn’t helped matters.

On the bright side, Professor Lupin had finally got around to scheduling Harry’s Patronus lessons, though still working around his illness.

“‘I said I wonder what’s wrong with Lupin, and you—’

“‘Well, isn’t it obvious?’ said Hermione, with a look of maddening superiority.

“‘If you don’t want to tell us, don’t,’ snapped Ron.

“‘Fine,’ said Hermione haughtily, and she marched off.”

“Why didn’t you tell them if you figured it out so easily?” asked Ginny.

“I wanted to protect Professor Lupin’s secret,” Hermione said. “I thought Professor Dumbledore must have had a good reason to trust him, even if he was a werewolf. But I was also surprised no one else had figured it out, so I got a bit annoyed about it…And those two were being prats.”

“Hey!”

“Well, that’s fair,” Ginny agreed.

“Hey!”

In the book, Harry went to his first Patronus lesson that week, and Lupin explained that Harry would be able to practice the spell on a boggart, since the boggart would turn into a dementor for him. Hermione made a note of that in preparation for the Patronus lesson Harry wanted to have with the DA, although there wasn’t a lot they could do with it. As far as she knew, Harry was the only person in the group whose boggart was a dementor (although maybe that would change after this book reading). Plus, they didn’t have any boggarts on hand.

“Is that what took so long?” Ron wondered at the explanation. “It can’t have been hard to find a Boggart in Filch’s filing cabinet. It probably would’ve been clear when Filch ran away screaming that Fred and George had pranked his office.”

Their friends laughed, but Harry shrugged; “He said the lessons at the beginning of the year cleared out the castle, and it took a while for another boggart to appear.”

“‘The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the dementor feeds upon — hope, happiness, the desire to survive — but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can’t hurt it.’”

“You know, I’ve never quite understood how that works,” Hermione mused at Lupin’s explanation of the Patronus. “I understand how it protects you, but how does it drive the dementors away? It seems like it might even attract them.”

“Well, part of it is, they can’t feed on it,” Neville spoke up, to the surprise of the others. “That’s why they can’t hurt it. And my Uncle Algie says it’s like water. You need it to live, but too much, and you drown—except with dementors, it’s more like fire…if that makes sense?”

Everyone looked at him in surprise. “Wow, Neville, how’d you know all that?” asked Parvati. “I’ve never heard those things before.”

Neville blushed, but shrugged awkwardly. “Old pureblood family, plus my uncle’s an Unspeakable. Even just what he can tell us, I’ve learnt a lot.” He didn’t mention, but Harry could guess that he also had more reason than most to learn about dementors.

Harry, to Lupin’s surprise, actually made something happen with the spell on the first try—a very small something, but still impressive for anyone, much less a Third-Year. And he moved straight on to the boggart-dementor.

“I’m not sure he should have gone straight to the dementor on the second try,” Hermione pointed out.

“I dunno, it kind of worked,” Harry offered. “I mean, not at first, but I don’t think I would’ve been prepared for the dementor no matter when he did it.”

Harry’s happy memories, though, left something to be desired: the first time he rode a broom, winning the House Cup, and finding out he was a wizard, which was better, but even that was mostly his joy at being able to leave the Dursleys. It was a valid happy memory, but didn’t exactly feel like the right kind of happy memory. And it didn’t help that he was feeling conflicted; a part of him wanted to hear his parents again, even under the influence of the dementor. Harry tried to ignored the pitying looks he got from the others on hearing that.

The second time he tried the spell against the dementor was even worse:

“‘Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off—!’

“The sounds of someone stumbling from a room—a door bursting open—a cackle of high-pitched laughter—”

A shudder ran through the Great Hall on hearing even more of the story, confirming things that were only speculated upon all those years ago. (Voldemort himself had alluded to it in first book, but not the details.)

Neville, however, was giving Harry a funny look. “Harry, that…that doesn’t make sense,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Harry said, maybe a bit snappishly.

“Why did—he ask your mum to stand aside and not your dad? Your dad was a pureblood, and your mum was a muggle-born.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. That didn’t make sense. He remembered Voldemort’s words in his first year: Your mother needn’t have died. At the time, he was focused on Voldemort coming after him. But why? Sure, his father had fought, while his mother had only shielded him with her body, but why would Voldemort care? Why didn’t he just laugh and kill her like his dad? In fact, why didn’t Voldemort kill his dad faster? Harry tried to picture the scene, and that only made it worse, not just emotionally, but in terms of making sense. He realised with a start that he didn’t know what his parents’ house had looked like. But he could only guess that his dad had been in a confined space with nowhere to run, facing a powerful wizard who thought nothing of using the unblockable killing curse. He didn’t want to sell his dad short, but he thought it was a good bet Voldemort could have killed him before he finished calling out his warning.

“I…I don’t know,” He said finally. “Maybe Voldemort was just toying with them. I mean, he probably would’ve killed them anyway, right? And it’s not like my mum would’ve really stood aside.”

Neville frowned sadly: “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

The Harry in the book fainted twice against the boggart-dementor, and Lupin told him to ease off, but Harry stubbornly wanted to face it one more time. And Lupin, perhaps unwisely, let him. But this time, it actually worked. It seemed that learning he would be leaving the Dursleys was the right kind of happy memory, and concentrating on that happy enough memory did keep the dementor at bay, pure and simple. The Patronus, even before it appeared, held off the memory of his parents’ deaths to a distant, indistinct screaming, and the spell soon formed into a silver shield, blocking it from reaching him.

Up at the High Table, Percy looked on with wide eyes. “That was extremely impressive for a first session,” he said. He knew part of the story, of course, from the antics at the next Quidditch match, but not precisely how it had come about. “Many fully qualified wizards don’t even bother going past the shield stage if they try at all. To get to that point right away at thirteen is unheard-of.”

“Mister Weasley, I’ve found that when Potter’s involved, the unheard-of eventually becomes the inevitable,” McGonagall said drily, “usually in a far more disruptive way.” Some of the students laughed, and Harry glared at the Weasley Twins when they joined in.

Harry stayed focused on Quidditch through his lessons, and fortune seemed to be favoring them for once, as Slytherin narrowly defeated Ravenclaw in their next match. “…According to Wood, this was good news for Gryffindor, who would take second place if they beat Ravenclaw too. He therefore increased the number of team practises to five a week.”

“That seems rather excessive, don’t you think, Headmistress?” Professor Sprout interrupted. “Besides which, they didn’t fail to win the previous year for lack of talent.”

“I tend to allow my Quidditch Captains to exercise their best judgement on such things, Professor Sprout,” McGonagall replied. “Wood may have been more fanatical than most, but I would have reined him in if I received complaints from the other members of the team.”

“And did you inform the team that they could come to you if they had complaints?” Professor Sinistra pointed out.

McGonagall looked chagrined, and quiet whispers broke out around the Great Hall. That question coming from the new Head of Gryffindor was especially awkward. Harry was startled, too. He had to admit, he’d never thought to complain to McGonagall about his workload, Quidditch or otherwise. Complain to his friends, sure, and Hermione might have done if she thought it was excessive, but, well, her idea of “excessive” was somewhere out in the realm of using a time machine to take extra classes. In fact, in the story, she still seemed to be doing worse that he was. By that point Ron was actually gathering some pretty solid evidence that Hermione was regularly in two classes at once, something Harry might have found very suspicious if he’d been paying attention, but by that point, he was too busy to care.

Oliver wasn’t helping, in more ways than one.

“‘Bad news, Harry. I’ve just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She — er — got a bit shirty with me. Told me I’d got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn’t care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch first.’ Wood shook his head in disbelief. ‘Honestly, the way she was yelling at me . . . you’d think I’d said something terrible.’”

“Really, Headmistress,” said Professor Sprout, “by that point, I really hope you at least considered relieving him of his captaincy.”

“I did, and I told him so,” McGonagall said, “though I’m not sure it properly penetrated at the time.”

In the book, Harry was not satisfied with his progress on the Patronus Charm, but Lupin still thought it was impressive and assured him it was good enough that he wouldn’t fall off his broom again. He even rewarded Harry with a celebratory Butterbeer (which Harry had to cover for himself that he’d tried it before). And then Harry had to go and ruin the mood.

“They drank the butterbeer in silence, until Harry voiced something he’d been wondering for a while.

“‘What’s under a dementor’s hood.’

At that point, Professor Grubbly-Plank paused and had the sense to scan down a few lines after all the horrors the books had shown so far. She was surprised to see this part wasn’t crossed out. McGonagall had told them that Harry had redacted the most personal parts of the book. (Although she was also surprised that the memory of his parents’ deaths hadn’t been redacted.) She had to wonder what was. “Hm…I think maybe we ought to skip this part,” she said. Then, more quietly, “For the sake of the younger students. Headmistress?”

Harry couldn’t hear all of it, but he could guess. He hadn’t thought of that problem. He’d thought since he’d come so close to it at the end of that year, there was no reason to leave it out.

Up at the High Table, Minerva sighed. She wasn’t aware of this specific conservation, but she knew full well how the ending of that year had gone. She glanced at Albus, but he sent her a look that indicated it was her decision. “I think we should go through with it, Professor Grubbly-Plank. I’m afraid the matter will come up again before the end of the book. And—well, you weren’t here yet, but we could hardly keep it from the younger students when it was in the morning paper at the time.”

Grubbly-Plank accepted this and continued reading Lupin’s explanation of the Dementor’s Kiss. There was shock and even a whimper or two from the First- and Second-Years even at his clinical description of it, but Harry knew it wouldn’t be anywhere near the most disturbing part of the book. And most everyone in Third Year and up had learnt about the Kiss when the Daily Prophet had announced it had been authorised on Sirius. Harry hadn’t much noticed the reactions at the time, but he knew vaguely that it hadn’t been so widely known before that. After all, Sirius had been the first person in generations actually sentenced to the Kiss, and that only because Azkaban seemingly couldn’t hold him. It was a definite novelty at the time.

Harry was again embarrassed, as he was last night, at his past self thinking that Sirius deserved the Kiss. He had no idea how most of the students would feel about that, but there was no time to dwell on it as the story continued, and immediately after that conversation, McGonagall had given him back his Firebolt.

“‘See, Hermione? There wasn’t anything wrong with it!’ said Ron.

“‘Well—there might have been!’ said Hermione. ‘I mean, at least you know now that it’s safe!’”

“And really, from our point of view at the time, it should have been odd that it was,” Hermione added in the present. “I never did understand where it could have come from until Sirius told us.”

Unfortunately, those good feelings were interrupted by Scabbers faking his death. That was an especially difficult time for everyone involved; Ron just buried his head in his hands at how he’d treated Hermione over it, and over Peter bloody Pettigrew!

“You know, I gotta wonder, Ron,” Dean said, “how’d you even know those were cat hairs you found. How did you know they weren’t your own hairs?”

“Don’t remind me,” Ron groaned.

“You know, they might have been, considering,” Hermione added.

“I said don’t remind me,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry, okay. I was freaking out, and I was wrong.”

“I’m not mad anymore, Ron,” Hermione assured him. “It just seemed so strange at the time. In fact, I wonder if he even meant to leave the hairs there. Maybe it was only meant to be the bloodstains. That seems like it would be enough. But either way, I can’t really blame you. I made the same mistake the year before, if you recall.”

Ron snorted and cracked a smile. “That’s right. That was messed up, but at least I didn’t turn myself into a cat.”

Chapter Text

Professor Grubbly-Plank passed the book on to Kingsley, who read out the next title: “Chapter Thirteen: Gryffindor Versus Ravenclaw.”

Harry had taken Ron’s side over the Scabbers debacle, much to Hermione’s dismay, which, granted, was exactly what Scabbers had wanted him to think. Fred and George were not trying to take Hermione’s side, exactly, but were trying in their own obnoxious way to break Ron out of his funk. On the other hand, Harry finally got to try out his Firebolt, which was like night and day even compared with his Nimbus, which had been top-of-the-line just two years earlier.

Harry finally showed off the broom in the Great Hall, to great excitement. Malfoy had looked horrified, Cedric Diggory was impressed, and Percy became just about the most overconfident that Harry had ever seen him.

“‘Now, now, Penny, no sabotage!’ said Percy heartily as she examined the Firebolt closely. ‘Penelope and I have got a bet on,’ he told the team. ‘Ten Galleons on the outcome of the match!’

“Penelope put the Firebolt back down again, thanked Harry, and went back to her table.

“‘Harry—make sure you win,’ said Percy, in an urgent whisper. ‘I haven’t got ten Galleons—’  Now that was an unwise move, Mr. Weasley,” Shacklebolt commented. “Especially with your girlfriend.”

Down the table, Percy winced. “Not my smartest move, Professor Shacklebolt,” he admitted. “Penny didn’t much like my attitude when I called it in, either.” A mixture of laughter and groans sounded around the Great Hall.

“Are Percy and Penny still together?” Harry wondered. “I haven’t heard about her since she graduated.”

“Nah, they broke up, but not over that,” Fred told him.

“It was when Percy got to be a git about his Ministry job,” George explained.

“And wouldn’t come out of his room till he finished his report on cauldron bottoms.”

“We might have made some poorly-timed jokes at his expense, too.”

Harry rolled his eyes and kept listening.

“‘Got plenty of special features, hasn’t it?’ said Malfoy, eyes glittering maliciously. ‘Shame it doesn’t come with a parachute — in case you get too near a dementor.’

“Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

“‘Pity you can’t attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy,’ said Harry. ‘Then it could catch the Snitch for you.’

The Great Hall rolled with laughter. Even Kingsley cracked and had to take a moment to compose himself.

“Ooh, we’ll have to remember that one, Harry,” Fred chortled.

“Yeah, I’d forgotten about it,” George agreed. “That was one of your best lines.”

Kingsley resumed reading, continuing into the match itself. He got to where Harry thought the first line was that he had crossed out about Cho, and Kingsley looked up over the book and out at the Great Hall. Harry was sure Kingsley had met his eyes for a moment, but he continued on without comment.

Given a Quidditch chapter to read, Kingsley turned out to be fairly entertaining. He read Harry’s play-by-play in a more dynamic style, and while he didn’t exactly know Lee Jordan’s cadence, he could manage commentary pretty well.

“‘Chang’s Comet is just no match for it, the Firebolt’s precision-balance is really noticeable in these long—’

“‘JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!’”

The Great Hall jumped—even McGonagall herself—as he shouted that last line in a passable imitation of McGonagall’s voice, if pitched an octave or two lower. People laugh, and just as it died down, Lee called up from the Gryffindor Table, “I stand by it!” Which made everyone laugh even harder.

In the match, Cho tried to mark Harry—not an expert move, that (even without Oliver telling Harry to knock her off her broom), and all the more so when your opponent had the faster broom. Harry soon had bigger things to worry about, in the form of dementors appearing to take the field, but he quickly bowled them over with his Patronus—a corporeal Patronus, which he hadn’t understood the significance of until later—and even caught the Snitch at practically the same time.

Then, it turned out that the dementors were really just four Slytherins in black robes, led of course by Malfoy, in a prank so severe that McGonagall took them straight to Dumbledore for additional discipline.

“That was in really bad taste,” Angelina Johnson complained. “Quidditch or no Quidditch, that sort of thing’s just not done.”

“Casting the Patronus was technically a foul, wasn’t it?” Hermione asked, to general surprise that she would know that. “There aren’t to be any spells used, are there?”

Ron shrugged: “I guess so, but I dunno if anyone would’ve called him on it with dementors around. Besides, it was the end of the match.”

“But what’s the rule if there’s a foul, but the Snitch is caught right after?” she pressed.

“Nothing. The match is over.”

“But what if a penalty shot could have changed the outcome of the match?”

“I keep telling you, Hermione, Quidditch doesn’t care about that stuff.”

“We did straight-up play a man down when Harry was in the Hospital Wing his first year,” Fred pointed out.

“Well, I suppose…” Hermione said. At the time, she had been too worried about Harry to pay attention. “Wait a minute! Why didn’t you reschedule that match? Slytherin got a match changed with an excuse as bad as Malfoy’s.”

“Slytherin didn’t reschedule. They only swapped,” Fred answered.

“Besides, we couldn’t in Harry’s first year. It was the last weekend of term,” George added.

Hermione thought a moment longer and said, “That’s right. That was…well, the only other year we’ve had a final, it was in April. What was it before we got here?”

“May, our first two years,” said George.

“Charlie complained about them moving it around, but I don’t think it was ever after exams before,” Fred agreed. “Not sure what that’s about, to be honest.”

The party after winning the match against Ravenclaw went so late into the night that McGonagall had to come up to tell the Gryffindors to wrap it up and go to bed, the excitement at suddenly finding themselves back in the running for the Cup after their disastrous first match that year was so great. After he went to bed, Harry had a strange dream that he honestly had completely forgotten about, in which he was walking through a forest with his Firebolt on his shoulder and following what he now knew could only be his Patronus up ahead. It shouldn’t have been so surprising given that it was directly related to the Quidditch match, but it had felt odd to him when he read it last night—odd enough that he wrote it down. (And after all, how often did the books repeat his dreams for no reason?)

Kingsley reached perhaps the most alarming line he had seen yet in the books. He raised an eyebrow and slowed his reading for a moment, considering how to approach it. He remembered the first book’s reading and decided to just go for it. Well, not quite. No need to start a panic. “Well, this should be interesting,” he said. He cleared his throat and—

“‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’”

People screamed. Even Harry, who had known what was coming, jumped and realised it might have been a mistake to leave that line in. Kingsley’s bellow, coming from a groan man, was even scarier than Ron’s had been that night. There was a loud clatter as Tonks leapt to her feet next to him and knocked over her chair, wand in hand. Flitwick and, oddly, Snape had done the same before they relaxed and connected the dots to what Kingsley had said. Even Dumbledore half-rose from his seat, wand out, scanning the area before determining there was no threat.

McGonagall rose to her feet, too, but not to face a threat; she was livid. “KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT! WHAT THE BLAZES DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” she shouted as if to an errant student.

Kinglsey had the decency to look embarrassed. “Ahem, I apologise, Headmistress. Perhaps I should have given more warning just then. But that is what the book says: ‘AAAAA—’”

“Silencio!” His shout wasn’t as loud as the first one, but it was still enough that Tonks was done it with. She silenced him and ripped the book from his hands. “Give me that, Shack,” she said. “Honestly, I thought I was the one who was supposed to mess with people.” She examined the book. “Well, that is was it says,” she admitted. “Two full lines of screaming. But really, Shack!”

Kingsley pointed his wand and unsilenced himself. “Again, I apologise. I’m afraid I was getting a little too into the story. But do you really think you wouldn’t have done, Tonks?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t have!”

He stared at her accusingly.

“Probably.”

Some of the students snickered. Kingsley kept staring.

“Maybe,” she admitted. More people laughed. Sufficiently cowed, she righted her chair and sat back down as Kingsley continued reading. As the older students had probably guessed, this was the night when Ron had woken up frantic that Sirius Black had got into the Gryffindor dorms.

“‘IT WASN’T A NIGHTMARE!’ Ron yelled. ‘PROFESSOR, I WOKE UP, AND SIRIUS BLACK WAS STANDING OVER ME, HOLDING A KNIFE!’” Kingsley restrained himself some this time, but he read Ron’s words in an appropriately dramatic fashion.

“Professor McGonagall stared at him.

“‘Don’t be ridiculous, Weasley, how could he have possibly got through the portrait hole?’”

Harry felt a strange sense of deja vu, even though he hadn’t ever been in the situation Ron had. It took him a moment to place it. He’d felt that way when he saw Mr Weasley being attacked by Voldemort’s snake, when he’d shouted to everyone who would listen and had felt like no one had believed him. He still considered it a miracle of sorts that the Order had recovered him before he’d bled to death.

Ron, of course, did have proof, as Sir Cadogan reported that he had let an unidentified man into the dorm after he read the entire week’s passwords off a slip of parchment, which Neville admitted to having lost.

Natalie McDonald slapped her forehead. “What an idiot,” she said. She looked up to see Neville staring at her, and she added, “Not you, Neville. I meant Sir Cadogan—mostly. I know you told me, but I still didn’t believe it. How was he that stupid?”

Ginny shook her head: “That’s a mystery that might never be solved, Natalie.”

Chapter Text

“Chapter Fourteen,” Tonks said. “Snape’s Grudge…Oh, this’ll be fun. He has so many of them.”

“Even better than she thinks,” Harry whispered to his housemates. “Everybody listen up.”

Snape coughed loudly. “Headmistress, wasn’t there something earlier about professional behaviour by the staff.”

Tonks guffawed: “Pot, kettle, Snape. After all the stuff you’ve done in these books? I’m looking forward to this. Now…No one in Gryffindor Tower slept that night. They knew that the castle was being searched again, and the whole house stayed awake in the Common Room, waiting to hear whether Black had been caught—Wait a minute. Why didn’t you have the students go down to the Great Hall again. Especially if you knew the dorms weren’t secure against him anymore. If they were all in one place, Dumbledore and the other teachers could have protected them.”

There was silence as the Great Hall waited, and Dumbledore sighed heavily. Harry could have sworn he looked disappointed with himself. “As I mentioned before, in the previous incident, the Gryffindor dormitories were temporarily inaccessible to us, and the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw dorms were not as well protected as we would like. Thus, it made sense to make alternative accommodations. In this incident, that Gryffindor Tower was breached led us to believe that no passive security was safe, and only armed guards would suffice. In that case, it was better not to move the students.

“I might add,” he continued, “that while we did search the castle that night, the Heads of House remained on guard outside their respective dorms. This unfortunately reduced the effectiveness of our search, but we knew it was unlikely we would capture Sirius regardless.”

Tonks’s mouth moved silently as she repeated his words to herself. Meanwhile, Kingsley asked, “And you did not summon Aurors to help?”

“We already had dementors,” Dumbledore said, “which, with no offence meant, are regarded as even more effective guards than the Aurors. That is one thing on which I could agree with the Ministry.”

Kingsley looked grim. Tonks started to object, but she tilted her head and thought. “Okay, I can give you that. But still—okay, Shack? We need to draw up some proper security procedures for incursions into the school. We can’t just go by whatever strikes our fancy.”

“I quite agree,” Kingsley said. He turned back to Dumbledore and told him, “You are a powerful wizard and an excellent battlefield commander, Professor, but security is not your area of expertise. Unfortunately, these books have made that clear.”

Dumbledore didn’t object, nor did McGonagall, and Tonks finally went back to reading the book. The castle continued to raise its security, with the front doors being specifically charmed against Sirius’s photograph (which they maybe should have done sooner), sealing up any cracks in the walls (against what Harry wasn’t certain) and Sir Cadogan replaced with the Fat Lady again plus a troop of security trolls.

“How did you two stand that after what happened our first year?” Hermione demanded. “I couldn’t walk past them alone for weeks.”

“You couldn’t?” Ron said in surprise.

Hermione glared at him sourly. “You still weren’t speaking to me at the time, or you might’ve known.”

Harry shrugged, turning pink as he realised he hadn’t noticed either. “Guess I didn’t think about it that much,” he said. “I was more worried about Sirius, I think. Or I figured trained trolls weren’t so bad.”

But for all this security, the secret passage to Honeyduke’s, however, remained unguarded and seemingly undetected to the teachers.

“‘D’you reckon we should tell someone?’ Harry asked Ron.

“‘We know he’s not coming in through Honeyduke’s,’ said Ron dismissively. ‘We’d’ve heard if the shop had been broken into.’” Tonks shook her head. “You really should’ve told someone, Harry. I know you would’ve lost your route to Hogsmeade, but leaving security holes like that is really dangerous. And you might not’ve heard about a break-in if there were one.”

Harry turned even redder, but McGonagall cut off the discussion: “That is something we will investigate later, Professor Tonks,” she said. Harry felt grateful for that. He remembered he had crossed out a couple of the conversations along similar lines in the book that he didn’t want aired out. Still, he had a nasty feeling McGonagall would be giving him that same lecture later.

Besides the security, both Harry and Ron were also wondering about something else: “Why had Black, having got the wrong bed, not silenced Ron and proceeded to Harry? Black had proved twelve years ago that he didn’t mind murdering innocent people, and this time he had been facing five unarmed boys, four of whom were asleep. Alright, at least on that part, you’ve got good instincts, you two,” Tonks said. “In the Aurors, we see a case that doesn’t add up like that; we start to wonder if we’re wrong about the perp’s motives. Even crazy people have them, and despite what you said then, there was no good reason for Sirius not to kill you—based on what you knew.” She looked down at the book, but then looked back up. “Probably wouldn’t’ve changed the security we’d want to use then, though,” she added.

Neville, naturally, got the worst of it after he allegedly lost the passwords. He was banned from Hogsmeade, given detention, received a Howler from his grandmother, and worst of all (well, at the time, Harry had thought the Howler was the worst), he was forbidden from being told the password to the dorm.

“Poor Neville was forced to wait outside the Common Room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him…Okay, that’s definitely not safe,” Tonks complained. “In fact, I’m not sure if that’s even legal. Shack?”

“There’s probably no law against it,” Kingsley said, “since it was an internal Hogwarts matter, and Longbottom wasn’t left outside the castle. But you’re right, Tonks. That was not an appropriate response Headmistress. You might have instead required him to be escorted to the dorm by a prefect.”

Suddenly, McGonagall glared down at two people at the Gryffindor Table, and for once, it wasn’t at Harry and Ron, or at the Weasley Twins. She was glaring at the seventh-year prefects. “I did tell the prefects to escort Longbottom to the dorm, Professor Shacklebolt,” she said, her voice tense. “It appears that some people were neglecting their duties.”

“Ooh, busted,” Fred whispered conspiratorially.

“And did you tell Neville he was supposed to go to the prefects for help?” Tonks asked, and the glare suddenly vanished from McGonagall’s face, replaced with worry.

“Ouch. Double busted,” George echoed.

Professor Sinistra shook her head. “So once again, we’ve run into the problem of a lack of a formal complaint process,” she concluded. “That should probably be next on our list.”

“It would appear so,” McGonagall agreed. “Still, for the prefects not to properly inform Longbottom at all…”

“But that’s not all of it, Professor,” Tonks cut in. “Maybe Neville’s punishment was fair, but why didn’t you go with security trolls immediately when you realised Sir Cadogan was a poor guard. His constant changing of passwords should have told you you couldn’t rely on him.”

“The security trolls were a compromise—especially considering this school’s history with trolls,” McGonagall said. “We would have rathered not use beasts for our security, but the Fat Lady and Sir Cadogan were the only portraits willing to guard the tower against black, and the Fat Lady insisted on security trolls. To be frank, we were running out of options, at least that we could deploy on short notice.”

Percy was continuing to take notes on the discussion, Harry saw. He had a feeling this would get to Amelia Bones soon enough—hopefully without as much disruption as the first book had.

Regardless, satisfied for the moment, Tonks continued reading.

“Harry tore open the envelope while Hedwig helped herself to some of Neville’s cornflakes.”

“Huh?” said Natalie. “I don’t think I’ve seen an owl eating cereal. I mean, owls are carnivores. Why would they?”

Harry rolled his eyes fondly. “At some point, I think I stopped questioning the things Hedwig does.”

In the story, Hagrid had called them down to his hut to have a talk with them about Hermione, although he was also getting ready for Buckbeak’s hearing.

“Harry saw a gigantic, hairy brown suit and a very horrible yellow-and-orange tie hanging from the top of Hagrid’s wardrobe door. Hagrid, I think we need to get you some fashion advice.” Tonks skimmed a few more lines. “Also, I’d like to know how taking a Hippogriff on the Knight Bus went.”

“Didn’t seem ta have a problem with it as long as I were there ta keep Beaky calm,” Hagrid said.

Tonks tried to continue, but she stopped, confused, as lines were crossed out in a haphazard fashion. “What is all this?” she muttered to herself at the same time that it occurred to Harry that he might not have crossed things out in such a way as to get a smooth word-by-word text out as a result. “Er, well, basically, Hagrid’s telling them off for being mean to Hermione,” she said, and at the questioning looks, she tried to cover it by saying, “Sorry, there’s, um, a stain on the page.”

Harry leaned forward and slapped a hand to his forehead. This wasn’t going at all the way he’d hoped. But luckily, Tonks moved on. In the story, Harry was planning how to sneak away to Hogsmeade again. Hermione threatened to tell McGonagall on him about the Marauder’s Map if he did, but they ignored her.

Harry turned pink as he recalled how hard he’d begged off hanging out with Neville in his quest to get to Hogsmeade. (Maybe he should have crossed that out, but with Tonks reading, it might not have done much good.) But after that, he made it to the village without incident. The visit even went mostly smoothly until the end. Harry throwing mud at Malfoy and pretending to be one of the ghosts got some good laughs, even though it got him caught. It was only on his panicked run back up to the castle that things went wrong.

“He would have to leave the cloak where it was, it was too much of a giveaway in case Malfoy had tipped off a teacher…”

Ginny turned to Harry in confusion. “Really? Why didn’t you just leave the cloak on? No one would’ve seen you then.”

“Er, they still would’ve seen the statue open up. And if Snape was there—which he was…”

“Why didn’t you check if someone was there with the Marauder’s Map before you came out?”

“I…” Why hadn’t he? After all, it was pretty bad luck that Snape caught him at the exact moment he was coming out. It was hard to believe even Snape could have set that up deliberately. “Well, not sure what I’d’ve done if he tried to wait me out, but…I guess I was tired and not thinking straight.”

Frek tsked at him: “Clearly your sneaking skills still needed work, Harrikins.”

“You also could’ve dropped your Zonko’s haul in the passage and come back for it later so Snape couldn’t catch you with it,” George pointed out.

“And the Map,” Fred agreed. “Not like anyone else knew where to find it.”

“‘What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter?’ said Snape softly. ‘Your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade. No part of your body has permission to be in Hogsmeade.’ Okay, I admit that was a good one,” Tonks said. But besides that line, Snape was generally being quite harsh with Harry about his admittedly true accusations of Harry sneaking out. And he was especially unkind to Harry’s father: “‘A small amount of talent on the Quidditch field made him think he was a cut above the rest of us, too. Strutting around the place with his friends and admirers…The resemblance between you is uncanny.’

“‘My dad didn’t strut,’ said Harry before he could stop himself. ‘And neither do I.’ Eh, he kinda did, sorry,” Tonks added. “Course, I was still pretty little when I met him.”

At the Gryffindor Table, Harry wanted to protest, but given some of the stories Sirius had told him, he had to grudgingly admit that there might be something to it. However, the Harry in the book finally got fed up and did something few seventh-years would dare do and shouted at Snape to shut up, calling him out on the fact that his dad had saved Snape’s life.

“Enough! This is personal material,” Snape interrupted the reading. “I don’t think it would be appropriate to continue the reading here.”

“Well, tough luck, Snape,” said Tonks. “This is too good to pass up. Besides, if you told Harry then, he could still tell everyone else anytime. Now…‘Then let me correct you—your saintly father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have resulted in my death if your father hadn’t got cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts.’”

“Ah, I think I should clarify here,” Dumbledore cut in. “I will not give details, Professor Snape, though I would not be surprised if the book does before the end. However, suffice it to say it was clear that only one of James Potter’s friends was culpable in that—for lack of a better work, ‘trick’—specifically, Sirius Black…as you were informed at the time.” He looked at Snape sharply. “James Potter was protecting his friends rather than himself—at no small risk to himself, I might add. If he had chosen to sit on his knowledge and neither report it nor intervene, it is possible he would have been expelled, but not for the trick itself.”

“And are we to hear my side of the story, Dumbledore?” Snape said with a sneer.

“I believe we just have, Severus, and we are likely to hear more later,” Dumbledore answered firmly.

The reading continued, although things were tense, as Snape was clearly on edge. He did catch Harry just shy of red-handed for sneaking out of the castle. And he soon found the Marauder’s Map after he forced Harry to turn out his pockets.

“‘Surely you don’t need such a very old piece of parchment?’ he said. ‘Why don’t I just—throw this away?’

“His hand moved toward the fire.

“‘No!’ said Harry quickly.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry murmured to his friends. “If I’d known then that was my dad’s, I might’ve really flipped out.”

“‘Severus Snape, master of this school, commands you to yield the information you conceal!’ Master of the school, Snape?” Tonks needled him. Snape only continued to look angrier. But soon enough, the Marauders made their appearance: “‘Mr Moony—’” She snorted. “‘Mr Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people’s business.’”

The Great Hall roared with laughter. Even some of the teachers struggled to hide their reactions. Snape looked murderous. “That is enough,” he said, standing up. “We will skip to the next chapter.”

“Not a chance,” Tonks said. “This is gold! ‘Mr Prongs agrees with Mr Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git.’”

The laughter was even louder, and Tonks was loving it. She was finally getting to say things that a whole generation of wizards would have loved to say to Snape’s face. Her superiors, however, were less enthusiastic.

“Professor Tonks,” the Headmistress said. “I think that is enough. Repeating insults against a fellow member of Hogwarts’ staff is unnecessary.” A few students actually booed her, but she silenced them with a glare.

“Come on, Professor. I can’t pass up an opportunity like this,” Tonks said. “Mr. Padfoot—”

“Enough!” roared Snape. He drew his wand and, in a flash, he summoned the book to himself. It leapt out of Tonks’s hands, and there was a gasp as, in one motion, he caught it in midair grabbed the top few pages and started to tear them out. But at that very moment, Tonks, still looking surprisingly in control, waved her own wand. The book didn’t move, but the pages flew out of Snape’s fingers even as he tore them and back to her own waiting hands.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said with a smirk. She leaned back as she quickly squared the pages and found her place. “Here we go: ‘Mr Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a professor.’”

The laughter began, but it was quickly cut short when the pages in Tonks’s hands suddenly burst into flames. She let out a squawk as she dropped them, more from indignation than fear, but she acted immediately. She shot to her feet. Snape pointed his wand. Kingsley shot to his feet. But this time, Dumbledore was faster. So fast that Harry, transfixed on the scene, hadn’t even seen him move, Dumbledore stood and flicked his wand; there was a loud crack that silenced the Hall, and Snape, Tonks, and Kingsley froze. For a split second, it was almost like they had been petrified, but it quickly passed, and they lowered their wands.

“Severus, Nymphadora, I will not allow you to disrupt this school any further,” Dumbledore spoke. His voice was quiet, but there was a deadly fire in his tone. “This is highly inappropriate behaviour on both of your parts. Please sit.”

They all sat. None of the students dared speak.

“Thank you.” Dumbledore flicked his wand again, what was left of the book flew from Snape place at the table to McGonagall’s hands. Then, he sat too.

“Thank you, Professor Dumbledore,” McGonagall said heavily. More quietly, too quiet for the students to hear, she added, “That was foolish on your part, Tonks. And that was especially foolish on your part, Severus. I only hope that we haven’t lost anything important.” She stood up and called out to the Great Hall, “Mister Potter.”

Harry, already shocked from the sight, paled further. He hadn’t expected Snape to freak that badly. (Maybe he should have, but he hadn’t.) But was McGonagall going to call him out for that in public, too? It wasn’t his responsibility, exactly, but he’d had the opportunity to redact the book if he’d wanted. Nervously, he stood up. “Yes, Professor?”

“The top of the next page in the book reads… breakneck speed, trying to avoid a spurt of flames from Malfoy’s steed’s mouth, when he realised he had forgotten his Firebolt. He fell through the air and woke with a start.

“It was a few seconds before Harry remembered that the match hadn’t taken place yet. That would be shortly before the Quidditch final. Can you tell us if anything of import happened in the missing pages?”

“What? Oh—OH! That. Yes, Professor…” He tried not to let the relief show too much on his face as he thought back to the chapters he’d skimmed last night. What order had things gone in again? Of course, he’d lived through those events, but it was so handy having them written down like that. “Well, Lupin confiscated the Map. Buckbeak lost his appeal. Oh, that was when Hermione slapped Malfoy,” he said with a chuckle, and there was an indignant noise from Malfoy. “I’m pretty sure that was when Hermione walked out of Divination Class, too—yeah, it must’ve been. It was around Easter. That’s about it.”

Harry dearly wish he could repeat the Map’s final insult to Snape, Mr Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball. He wanted to finish that scene. But that would be monumentally stupid under the current circumstances.

“Thank you Potter,” McGonagall said as he sat down. “In the interest of maintaining decorum, I will not allow this to disrupt the remainder of the reading.” She levitated the now-torn book to the far end of the table. “Professor Bragnam, please read the remainder of the next chapter. But I urge all of our readers to be more cautious about any further offensive material that may appear.”

Professor Bragnam, also looking a bit shell-shocked, composed himself and took up the book. “Well, I don’t know what the chapter title was, but I assume we’re about to hear about the Quidditch final…” he began.

Chapter Text

As the Great Hall was calming down after Snape’s outburst (which Tonks hadn’t helped), Professor Bragnam began reading what was left of the next chapter: “It was a few seconds before Harry remembered that the match hadn’t taken place yet, that he was safe in bed, and that the Slytherin team definitely wouldn’t be allowed to play on dragons…”

“Wow, was that a dream you had, Harry?” asked Dean Thomas. “That was cartoon logic, there.”

“At least we know you can outfly a dragon now, right?” Ron offered with a grin.

However, the first thing that happened, before the match, was that Harry saw Crookshanks out wandering the grounds in the middle of the night, and seemingly befriending a large, black dog that looked suspiciously like the Grim. But he couldn’t wake Ron up before they disappeared, and he had no idea what it meant.

The next morning, everyone was ready for the Quidditch final, and everyone was so excited at the prospect of Slytherin being defeated for the first time in years that even Cho Chang was on his side after he’d beat her in the last match.

“‘Good luck, Harry!’ called Cho. Harry felt himself blushing.”

Oops, he’d missed that bit, Harry thought. But at least it wasn’t as embarrassing as the other parts.

The match began, and Harry was pleased to see Bragnam was at least as good at Quidditch commentary as Kingsley, emulating Lee Jordan about as well as could be expected from someone who hadn’t heard him.

Harry’s own reading last night and this one again today had reminded also him of how insane that match had been. It was still the dirtiest game of Quidditch he’d ever seen (well except for the “Weasley is our king” bit from this year). It reached the point of almost literal aerial fistfighting within the first two goals, and it didn’t let up after that.

“‘THIRTY-ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING—’

“‘Jordan, if you can’t commentate in an unbiased way—!’

“‘I’m telling it like it is, Professor!’ Wow, Quidditch has certainly got more exciting since I was a student,” Bragnam commented.

“I stand by that, too!” Lee called out from the Gryffindor Table, to general laughter.

The commentary certainly kept the Great Hall entertained, especially the younger students who hadn’t seen it for themselves. Harry spotted the Snitch when Gryffindor was up by the requisite fifty points, but he was foiled in catching it.

“Harry put on a huge burst of speed; the wind was roaring in his ears; he stretched out his hand, but suddenly, the Firebolt was slowing down — Horrified, he looked around. Malfoy had thrown himself forward, grabbed hold of the Firebolt’s tail, and was pulling it back. Merlin’s beard!”

That move was so scummy that McGonagall didn’t even tell Lee off for swearing, as she was too busy shouting at Malfoy herself (though Harry hadn’t heard what she was saying).

“Goodness! I’d forgotten about that,” the real McGonagall said from the High Table. “That’s all the more reason to have that broom looked over. Potter’s lucky that Malfoy didn’t damage it.” She looked down, and she must have seen Harry’s face because she added, “And don’t look so worried, Potter. It will go much faster this time with someone from the company looking it over, especially as we know there was no dark magic used on it.”

Harry turned red as his teammate stared at him with uncertain expressions.

But soon enough, the Harry in the book caught the Snitch, winning the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor. Even the students listening in the Great Hall erupted into cheers on hearing that, although they quieted down much faster than the crowd in the book, where Oliver Wood was openly sobbing, and McGonagall herself was sobbing even harder.

Harry himself sighed, looking back on that day. It had been the highlight of his year at the time, and he hadn’t had many—maybe any—days as joyful since then. Still, he had the hope that Dumbledore would be as good as his word and end the war quickly, so that he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore soon enough.

Chapter Text

Reaching the end of the lineup (there were still other staff members, but they had stuck with teachers reading out of habit), Professor Dumbledore took the book back from Professor Bragnam. The half-destroyed chapter had saved them some time, but they still weren’t done for the day.

“Headmistress, if you are intent on continuing our plan, I believe we have one chapter remaining for today?” he asked. He looked at McGonagall, who nodded. “Very well. Chapter Sixteen: Professor Trelawney’s Prediction.”

The real Trelawney started. “My prediction, Albus?” she asked.

“Yes, Sybill, I think you will find this chapter very enlightening.”

Harry’s euphoria from winning the Quidditch Cup lasted all the way until they had to start revising for exams. But they ran into another puzzle when they saw Hermione’s exam schedule, and that she was double-booked for Transfiguration and Arithmancy, and again for Charms and Ancient Runes.

“Okay, I know I wasn’t paying attention that year,” Dean said, “but there is definitely something wrong with that. Charms is a core class. How did anyone take Ancient Runes that year if it conflicted with Charms?”

“Should I be worried about that when I pick out my electives?” Natalie asked.

Whispers broke out around the Great Hall. Other people were wondering the same thing. Harry didn’t know if anyone else had figured out the time travel bit yet, even among the muggle-borns, but people could see it didn’t add up. (Actually, if should have been obvious at the time.)

Luckily, Dumbledore didn’t let things run away from him. He cleared his throat for silence and said, “For the younger students who may be considering next year’s classes, you should know that we do not normally have scheduling conflicts that would prevent someone from taking all of the classes if they wish. We will caution you about taking so many classes, but you can do so. We had to change the usual schedule that year for Professor Lupin. Even though he was not in the school during full moons, he asked us not to schedule any of his classes so they could possibly overlap with those nights, and as you know, in December, sunrise at Hogwarts can be as late as nine o’clock in the morning, and sunset as early as three-thirty in the afternoon. This forced us to schedule all of the Defence classes in the middle of the day, and the electives were pushed together toward the morning and evening, causing the conflicts.”

However, the trio in the story were soon distracted by another note from Hagrid informing them of the day of Buckbeak’s appeal—and that the executioner would be coming with the committee.

That elicited some more whispers, though mainly from muggle-borns, and Hermione made a note. She’d been horrified at the time, but now, she was much more interested in the procedural side of things: Executioner brought to the appeal. Improper procedure?

In the book, Harry suspected that it was all Lucius Malfoy’s fault, especially with how Draco was swaggering around.

“And the worst thing of all was that they had no time or opportunity to go and see Hagrid, because the strict new security measures had not been lifted, and Harry didn’t dare retrieve his Invisibility Cloak from below the one-eyed witch.”

“Wait, it was still down there?” Tonks cut in.

“Evidently,” Dumbledore said, frowning slightly. Harry recalled that part of the explanation for why he had left the cloak in there had been in the pages Snape had burnt.

“Harry!” Ginny hissed. “Did you really leave your invisibility cloak down there for—what, months? Why didn’t you get it?”

“The book just said. I couldn’t,” Harry protested. “I was sure Snape was watching the place, and I didn’t have the Map anymore.”

“Why didn’t you ask someone else to get it. We could’ve.”

“Hermione did when we needed it, Ginny. But it’s not like anyone but she and Ron knew about the passage. The teachers never blocked it off or anything. And I wasn’t about to go sneaking about again. I could’ve just got it at the end of the year.”

“We probably should’ve believed that Sirius might know about that passage,” Hermione grumbled, mainly to herself.

Exams soon started, and “Hermione had irritated the rest by fussing about how her tortoise had looked more like a turtle—”

“Seriously, I don’t think there’s a difference, Hermione,” Ron told her at the table. She just glared at him.

Later, Harry sent Ron into hysterical laughter with a Cheering Charm. Hagrid was so distraught that he gave everyone a pass by going back to the flobberworms for his exam. And Snape gave Harry a zero for his Confusing Concoction.

“And you still passed the year?” asked Natalie.

“He gave me good enough marks the rest of the year—barely,” Harry explained.

Some of the exams were better. Harry still looked back fondly on Lupin’s Defence Against the Dark Arts final. The obstacle course had been very clever, even if it had tripped Hermione up.

“‘Hermione!’ said Lupin, startled. ‘What’s the matter?’

“‘P—P—Professor McGonagall!’ Hermione gasped, pointing into the trunk. ‘Sh—she said I’d failed everything.’”

That got a lot of laughs, but Hermione wasn’t amused. “It’s not funny!” she protested. “I still have nightmares about failing all my classes.”

“Hermione, you’re the smartest witch in school!” Ron insisted. “If you’re that worried about failing everything, you need help.”

“I’m just making sure I’m prepared, Ronald…And you might’ve cut that part out, Harry,” she whispered at her other friend.

Harry turned red. “Sorry, Hermione,” he mumbled. “I didn’t read every word. And I guess I wasn’t looking that close at the regular school stuff.”

After that, the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures arrived at Hogwarts, with Cornelius Fudge himself as witness for the execution, since he was (or so he claimed) there on other business to check on “the Black situation.” The executioner, Macnair, who was far too eager to use that axe of his, was of course now known to Harry and his friends to be a Death Eater.

“Why was Fudge there?” Professor Bragnam interrupted. “Shacklebolt, do you know? I can understand the Hogsmeade weekend, but did he come up to the school any other time that year? Like after Black had broken in twice?”

“I wasn’t in on that particular operation,” Kingsley said. “Dumbledore?”

“Cornelius was there for precisely the reason he said, Professor Bragnam,” Dumbledore assured. “With the end of exams, he was concerned that we might grow complacent, and that Sirius might be growing desperate. And he also wanted to make provisions for the summer under the expectation that the dementors would stay for the following year.”

That was surprisingly mundane and even sensible, Harry thought. Of course, Fudge had taken Sirius…seriously as a threat, which he generally failed to do most of the time. It still seemed pretty weird that he was there as a witness, but not impossible.

Their final exam of the year was in Divination, and it was a joke, much like all of Trelawney’s assignments. And Professor Trelawney herself was up to her usual tricks.

“‘She said the crystal balls told her that if I tell you, I’ll have a horrible accident!’”

“That’s convenient,” Hermione complained.

“‘That’s convenient,’” said Ron in the book. Their friends all giggled, and even the two of them had to laugh at it.

Parvati claimed to see “loads of stuff” in her crystal ball, so that Trelawney said she might be a Seer herself, which caused Hermione to stare at her suspiciously. Ron couldn’t see anything and just made things up. Harry also couldn’t see anything, so he claimed to see Buckbeak flying away from Hagrid’s hut—which was exactly what happened, he realised with a start. He didn’t think that would indicate Seer abilities—at least he hoped not. He had enough trouble as it was. Trelawney seemed far too eager to know if Buckbeak still had his head, and she was disappointed when Harry gave the “wrong” answer. But just as he was leaving—

“‘It will happen tonight.’”

Harry jumped, as did a fair number of students. The sound was so uncanny that his eyes strayed over to the real Professor Trelawney to see if she had spoken, but she looked just as surprised as everyone else.

“Excuse me,” Dumbledore said. “This is not my first experience with true prophecy. It is better to get the full effect, and I can hope that I’ve picked up the appropriate cadence.” He kept reading, and a paragraph later, he started back up, reading Trelawney’s words in that harsh, unnatural tone so much like when Harry had first heard it that it sent shivers down his spine.

“‘The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight…the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant’s aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight…before midnight…the servant…will set out…to rejoin…his master…’”

Dumbledore then coughed once and cleared his throat loudly. “But it is rather hard on the voice, I admit.” The real Trelawney looked too surprised to speak.

“You see?” whispered Parvati. “A prophecy. That proves she’s a real Seer.”

“And it proves that the rest of what she’s doing is nonsense,” Hermione countered. Parvati and Lavender both glared at her.

However, the Trelawney in the book was skeptical of her own words: “‘The Dark Lord? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? My dear boy, that’s hardly something joke about…Rise again, indeed—’”

Dumbledore trailed off as he noticed people starting—not at him, but instead, several of the teachers sat stock-still and then slowly turned to face Professor Trelawney herself.

“What is it?” she said.

McGonagall shook her head. “All the doom and gloom you’ve preached over the past fifteen years, Sybill, and that is where you draw the line?”

“But…well, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning? That isn’t something to joke about. Yes, he did come back, but…Are you saying I really said that, Albus?” she asked nervously.

“You did, Sybill,” he told her gently. “You have always said that you have the Gift. How that manifests may be challenging, but it is real.”

Trelawney looked close to tears, but she didn’t continue the conversation. After giving her a minute to compose herself, Dumbledore kept reading. In the story, Harry didn’t get a chance to tell Ron and Hermione what had happened because Buckbeak lost his appeal, and they needed to comfort Hagrid. Hermione went out to get Harry’s invisibility cloak unprompted so they could pull it off.

“‘Hermione, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately!’ said Ron, astounded. ‘First you hit Malfoy, then you walk out on Professor Trelawney — ’

“Hermione looked rather flattered.”

“Hardly anything to be proud of,” Snape interrupted, but the other professors glared at him.

Even with the cloak, it took a bit of doing to get down to Hagrid’s.

“They skulked in an empty chamber off the entrance hall, listening, until they were sure it was deserted. They heard a last pair of people hurrying across the hall and a door slamming.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide, and she gasped softly.

“What?” said Harry.

“Harry, I think that was us!”

“You?” Dean said suspiciously.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other. “Long story. You’ll find out tomorrow,” Harry said.

And while Hagrid might have needed comforting, he wasn’t much in the mindset for visitors—so distraught that he could barely serve them tea. Up at the High Table, Hagrid looked to be trembling just at the memory. But that train of thought was derailed completely, and the audience could hardly have been more surprised when Hermione found Scabbers alive, hiding out in Hagrid’s hut.

“What?!” said several people at once.

“We’ve been trying to tell you,” Harry said.

“He was alive the whole time?” Parvati said. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because of what happened next,” Ron said darkly. “Just wait.”

“But where did the blood come from?” asked Lavender.

“Do I look like I care?” Ron demanded.

“We think he bit himself,” Harry said. “Don’t worry; it’ll all come out tomorrow.”

Scabbers, however, was not behaving like his usual self. Indeed, he was fighting with Ron the whole way back to the castle after Hagrid shooed them out, even trying to bite him.

“Oi, you sure it was really Scabbers?” Seamus asked Ron. “There must be lots of rats around.”

“Yes, he’s more distinctive than you’d think,” Harry answered for him.

Unfortunately, Scabbers’s antics slowed the trio down so that they couldn’t get away before…

“—the unmistakable swish and thud of an axe.

“Hermione swayed on the spot.

“‘They did it!’ she whispered to Harry. ‘I d — don’t believe it — they did it!’”

The Great Hall was silent. Some of the younger students were crying. And Dumbledore closed the and said, “I am afraid that is where we must end things for today.” Many of the students groaned, but he held up his hand. “I know things appear dark now, but if we continued reading, it would only be harder to stop at the next chapter. But remember that hope, however unexpected, yet comes with the morning. We will reconvene here tomorrow for the final reading of the book.”

Chapter Text

Minerva was expecting to get to her private reading this afternoon soon, but first, she had a mystery to solve, and so, she climbed up to the seventh floor to investigate what Potter called the “Room or Requirement.” The location wasn’t hard to find, and in fact, the procedure to open the Room wasn’t even that unlikely, but it wasn’t very intuitive, and, if the boy’s description was accurate, she could imagine many a student finding the Room at some point and then failing to ever find it again unless they knew the trick.

Passing the tapestry of the dancing trolls, she walked up and down the corridor three times, while thinking, feeling a bit foolish, I need the companions books to the Harry Potter series. I need the companions books to the Harry Potter series…

A door appeared in the blank wall—not a grand, ornate door, but an ordinary door just like any other in the castle. It was almost anti-climactic in a place as magical at Hogwarts. Even so, Minerva held her wand at the ready as she opened the door, just in case it wasn’t what she expected.

The little room behind the door was almost disappointing compared with the grand training room Potter had described, but for how small it was, it was quite nice. It was a cozy little reading room—smaller than any real reading room would be designed, yet not cramped despite being barely larger than a broom cupboard, clearly custom-made by the castle for only one person. It contained a small fire grate, a wing chair, and a side table with a lamp on it. And also on that side table were not two, but three very slim booklets, barely more than pamphlets: one green, one red, and one hard-bound in brown.

Minerva picked them up and read the titles: Quidditch Through the Ages, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and…The Tales of Beedle the Bard. All there, the first two even labelled with the correct authors, although far too small to be the actual volumes.

This called for further investigation. She sat down in the wing chair to read. She began with Quidditch Through the Ages, as that was the one she knew best. As Potter had noted the oddities of the original books, she studied the cover carefully. She noted the reproduction of the Hogwarts Library seal on the front. Then on the back cover…

Was a note to the muggle readers with Albus’s bloody signature! There were logos for both muggle and wizarding publishers and a price listed in both pounds and sickles. This really was a violation of the Statute of Secrecy!

But no, not necessarily. She calmed herself. She couldn’t be sure of that yet. The original Harry Potter books were marketed as fiction. That much was clear. If these were purporting to be nonfiction, that could just be artistic license. She needed to see what was inside.

The first page was a reproduction of the Hogwarts Library check-out log and the usual warning from Madam Pince about not defacing the book. Then after the magical world reviews, the “about the author” page, and the table of contents, there was a foreword that also proved to have Albus’s signature on it (which was certainly not in the library’s version).

And when she got halfway through it, she practically threw the book down upon seeing the mention of a Thief’s Curse on it. That was not the kind of thing to put that far in! Certainly, she hadn’t stolen it, but she also couldn’t know where it had come from. However, when she checked it over with her wand, there was no Thief’s Curse in evidence. Presumably just another joke to play along with the premise.

Then, at the end of the foreword, was the information she needed: “…and to beg Muggles not to try playing Quidditch at home; it is, of course, an entirely fictional sport and nobody really plays it.” Minerva relaxed when she read that. The Statute was still safe; any claims of fact in the book were merely part of the act.

With that, she thumbed through the rest of the book, and it was soon apparent that these were mere excerpts from the actual Quidditch Through the Ages. Barely a tenth of the material in Kennilworthy Whisp’s tome was included—most of the nuance removed, whole sections rearranged and renumbered. The entire chapter on flying techniques and styles (which she vaguely recalled Granger reading in the first book) had been excised, and the “Quidditch Today” chapter was stripped down to a short list of common plays. She supposed muggles would enjoy it if they liked the Harry Potter books, and it was fine to send a few sickles to charity, but it was a far cry from an in-depth exploration of the game.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was the same. Indeed, it was even more trimmed down. But what most surprised her was that it was not a library book, but marked on the cover as Harry Potter’s personal copy, and its pages filled with notes and doodles in Potter’s (and Weasley’s and Granger’s) own handwriting. She hesitated, considering that, but she decided that if the books were from the future, someone could have easily copied’ Potter’s notes at some point. As for Scamander’s text, the introductory “What is a beast?” and “Muggle Awareness” sections were printed in their entirely, but the rest was an extremely thin summary. Most of the entries included only the first paragraph of Scamander’s writing; they weren’t properly broken down by region, and many non-European beasts and even a few European ones were omitted entirely.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard was very different, though just as short when she saw the number of words on a page. She checked the dates on all three books. Quidditch Through the Ages and Fantastic Beasts were both dated 2001, but Beedle the Bard was dated all the way in 2008. Looking inside, it proved to be an annotated copy of just five of Beedle’s tales—annotated, once again, by Albus bloody Dumbledore. She gave up at that point and decided that Albus would have to deal with it.

Besides, she still had her original reading plan to contend with. She pulled out her copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, carefully concealed under her robes to take it out of her office, and began to thumb through the next few chapters.

By the end of the first chapter, even just skimming it, she was already starting to regret doing it, what with all the trouble Potter was causing. That was an unpleasant situation all around, and it would only get more unpleasant when they had to discuss with Severus Potter’s misuse of his spell.

By the end of the second chapter, she suddenly realised the flaw in her plan. She was going to have to go in there with the others and pretend she hadn’t read ahead. Even she hadn’t known that Severus was the one who had overheard Sybill’s first prophecy and reported it to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ironically, she thought Albus had the right of it in this case. Potter’s fixation on the incident, thought entirely justified, was a distraction. Severus was not necessarily a good man, but he was, so far as even Albus could tell, a stalwart ally in the war.

But now, she would have to face them both. It wasn’t the end of the world if they found out, but she could imagine their reactions if they found. Albus would be disappointed and concerned with them not being on the same page, literally and figuratively. Severus would feel slighted and distrusted, and they’d be back to their same argument from over the weekend.

Minerva did know basic Occlumency. Was it enough to fool Severus? Maybe. But then again, Severus didn’t customarily use Legilimency on her, and she was pretty sure she would notice if he tried. Was it enough to fool Albus? She didn’t know. Albus just seemed to know things. Either he was just that good at Legilimency, or he was just that good at reading people without it. Neither would surprise her, and he knew her better than anyone else still living.

She had to get herself into the mindset of going into the chapters fresh…or, perhaps alternatively, of not being so surprised by them. The title “Sectumsempra” did suggest Potter using Severus’s curse in some fool way. And while she was surprised by the bit about the prophecy, Albus’s reaction to set the matter aside was a sensible one she could emulate.

She looked at the third chapter. Did she dare? No, she’d better not tempt fate—well, mostly. She flipped to the end of the chapter just to see if Albus and Potter had got the horcrux. They had, and she saw on the page the both of them leaving in one piece, although Albus looked the worse for wear. That was enough.

Without intending to, she saw the title of the next chapter: The Lightning-Struck Tower. Oh, she dearly wanted to know, but at the same time, she definitely didn’t want to know until after her current crisis was over. This was their nominal stopping point for the day, and that was enough for now.

Minerva closed the book and shivered. It was probably better on the whole if she didn’t try something like this again, no matter how alluring the desire for further knowledge was. (She was a Hatstall with Ravenclaw, after all.) Tomorrow, she would leave it for their group reading. Probably. Maybe.

For now, she packed up to go. She had a great deal more work to do today.

“Only one more day,” she said to herself. Only one more day of the public reading, that was, and she’d be glad to be shot of it. “Though it’s too bad we lost a chapter from the third book,” she muttered. It wasn’t a great loss to the story, but in the interest of completeness, it would be good to have it. The Ministry would certainly want a full copy when it came to it, and then there were the student complaints. “If we could—”

She was just about to open the door when she heard a faint rustling sound. She turned around, and on the side table, there was a stack of loose pages that she recognised at once as coming from the main book series. Nervously, she picked them up and scanned down the first page.

Mr Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball.

These…these were the missing pages from the book. She flipped to the back.

Harry slept badly. First he dreamed that he had overslept, and that Wood was yelling, “Where were you? We had to use Neville instead!” Then he dreamed that Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team arrived for the match riding dragons. He was flying at—

That was Potter’s dream where the surviving pages of the book had picked up again. The Room provided them just as they were before. She supposed the Room had had to provide the entire stack of books in the first place, but even so, she didn’t like it. Even by magical standards, this room was starting to weird her out. Minerva grabbed the lost pages and left with haste.

She was none to soon getting back to her office, as Potter and his friends—and Percy Weasley—arrived for their by-now-expected daily visit not long afterwards.

“Firstly, Potter,” she said, “I investigated the Room of Requirement to see if it would produce the other books we learnt about.”

“There are more books?” Hermione exclaimed.

“There are, though none of any consequence, Miss Granger. Abridged versions of a few of our books repackaged as fiction and sold for charity. Nothing bearing on the current situation.”

Hermione looked like she wanted to demand more information, but at a look from McGonagall, she stayed silent.

“More importantly, Potter,” she continued, “I surprised to find that room also produced the missing pages from the current book reading that were destroyed this morning.”

Harry gave a start: “It did, Professor?”

“Yes. We can include them in tomorrow’s reading for completeness. But first, I want to ask you if you could repeat your redactions to these pages from last night.”

She held the pages out to Harry. Harry still looked surprised, but he took them in hand. “Er, I suppose I can, Professor,” he said. “If you think we need to?”

“Do we need to include them in the reading tomorrow, Professor?” Percy asked. “We’ve kind of moved past that already.”

“I’ve already received complaints about what happened this morning,” McGonagall said flatly. “It will be easier for all of us if we just complete the reading.”

Harry began leafing through the pages. He saw that she had already crossed out the Marauder’s Map’s insults to Snape, just so there was no confusion. Once he reoriented himself in the story, he confirmed that there was only one other part he needed to remove: the more personal parts of his conversation with Remus. Perhaps a bit stubbornly, he left in the bit about Hermione slapping Malfoy. Of course, he’d already mentioned it in the morning’s reading anyway. He marked them up appropriately and handed them back. “There, that was the only thing I wanted to remove, Professor,” he said.

“Thank you, Potter,” she replied. “And I do have a copy of the book for you to redact the remaining chapters, if you still wish to do so.” She magicked the torn pages into the book and duplicated it. He nodded as he took his copy. “Now, while the reading is not over yet, it is my duty to ask about some of the things we heard today.”

“Professor?” Harry said nervously.

“Your and Ronald Weasley’s knowledge of the secret passages into the school from this ‘Marauder’s Map.’ Weasley, I would like to ask your brothers the same questions, and Professor Lupin, for that matter, but with you and Potter, it is particularly pertinent. It is, perhaps, understandable that you did not want to reveal the map when you first received it. However, after Sirius’s second break-in, it seems foolish in the extreme that you did not approach us then—after you, Weasley, or so it appeared, narrowly escaped being killed by him personally. How did you think he was getting into the castle other than by one of the secret passages—specifically, one of the passages the staff did not know about?”

Harry and Ron both winced, and Hermione crossed her arms at them with an “I-told-you-so” look. “Well, it’s like we said in the book, Professor,” Ron said. “We thought we would’ve heard about him getting in through Honeydukes.”

“That would be far from a certain thing with the Ministry putting their fingers in the pie,” McGonagall said. “And it also does not answer my question. How did you think he got in?”

The boys looked at each other. “I dunno,” Harry admitted. “Dark magic, I guess. Plus, with Sir Cadogan gone, the Tower was safe again, wasn’t it?”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “Safe from that same dark magic? That’s a dangerous assumption. I admit you were hardly the only weak link in our security that year. Professor Lupin, for all his virtues, made a far greater lapse in judgement. And all of us missed that Sirius could be getting in through the Whomping Willow passage. Regardless, I urge you to be more careful about such matters of security in the future.”

Harry nodded morosely. He’d already been chewed out by Remus for it in the book—and by Hermione, for that matter.

“Now, can we help you with some of these matters?” she continued.

Hermione nodded, checking her notes: “Yes, Professor. Er, well, the first thing is something I wanted to know even at the time: was it normal procedure to bring the executioner to Buckbeak’s appeal? Percy?”

“For a beast? Of course it was,” Percy said, to her surprise. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but you’ve got it backward. For a beast, the appeal is only a formality; it’s really just the execution.” Hermione squawked in protest, but Percy held up his hand. “As much as Buckbeak meant to Hagrid, and as much as Malfoy was…well, being Malfoy, the standards for a beast are much lower than they are for a Being. The initial hearing is only challenged under extraordinary circumstances—mistaken identity, witness was lying, that sort of thing.”

“Malfoy was lying!” Hermione exclaimed.

“He was definitely malingering,” he admitted, “but he was injured, and it’s not hard to spin a tale that would convince the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. In fact, I doubt Lucius even had to threaten them, although I’m sure he threw his weight around.”

Hermione sighed heavily. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I know there are things like the Dangerous Dogs Act even in the muggle world, but—well, in the muggle world, an appeal means a full court hearing! I just thought with them going through a whole hearing with Buckbeak to begin with…” She shook her head. “Well, there was one other thing I wanted to know. I don’t understand how the Quidditch schedules are made out. The first match is always the Saturday after Halloween, but the final—our first year, it was after exams. Our third year, it was in April, and…Ron, what is it this year?”

“Not sure, but I’m pretty sure it’s before O.W.L.s,” Ron answered.

“Right. Why does it change so much? Why isn’t there a set schedule?”

“That…is a complicated matter,” McGonagall said wearily. “Part of it is set based on the teams themselves. You heard how Wood always was about the practice schedules.”

“The captains don’t have a say in the match schedule, though,” Harry cut in.

“No, but the Heads of House do, and you know that Professor Snape has interfered with it on more than one occasion. However, there was a more important issue. Normally, the Quidditch final is in the last couple of weeks before exams begin. But in your first year, much like your second year, there was a safety concern. You three may not have noticed at the time—from the sounds of the books, you did not notice—but dead unicorns tend to attract a lot of attention. We were delaying the Quidditch final that year, quietly, in the hopes that the danger had passed. Unfortunately, by the time it did, you were in the Infirmary, Potter, and there was no more time to wait for you to recover.”

“And our third year?” Hermione pressed.

“In your third year, the dementors were growing restless again. That was something else you might not have noticed, although it might explain why they came after you, Potter. But in that case, we accelerated the schedule as much as we could manage to give them less time to test Professor Dumbledore’s ban.”

“Say, what about our second year?” Ron spoke up. “Why’d take so long to start up the matches again.”

McGonagall levelled a stare at him. “In that case, Weasley, we very much wanted to either find the Chamber of Secrets or catch the Heir of Slytherin before resuming the season. When that failed to happen—I hated to admit it, but it was possible Lockhart was correct, and the Heir had been scared off—we delayed the season as long as we could while still having time to finish it before exams. But of course, you know how that went.”

“Yeah. Mind, it was kinda odd how Ginny waited so long to steal the diary back.”

“If she hadn’t, Riddle’s diary might still be at the bottom of my trunk, and no one would’ve known what happened,” Harry mused.

“Yes, what happened certainly wasn’t the worst possible scenario in several respects,” McGonagall agreed. “Was there anything else?”

Hermione shook her head, while Harry said, “I had a couple questions, Professor, but I think they’re things Professor Dumbledore would need to answer.”

“Very well,” McGonagall said. “The rest of you may go. There is something I need to discuss with Potter privately.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. Ron and Hermione looked to him, but he shrugged and nodded, and the two of them got up and left. Percy quickly followed at a sharp look from McGonagall.

When they had gone, leaving only the two of them, Harry still very confused, McGonagall looked down kindly at him and said, “Mr. Potter, I was concerned about an incident we read about in the sixth book…which recounted that Myrtle Warren was at some point spying on you in the bath.”

Harry flushed scarlet, groaned, and he put his head in his hands. “Oh, no, it mentioned that?” he said.

“So it has already happened?”

“Don’t remind me, Professor. I’d prefer to just forget about it. I know she kind of helped me, but—”

“Helped you?!”

“Yeah, it’s a long story, but—”

“Potter, this is a serious matter,” McGonagall interrupted. “We told Miss Warren long ago to stay away from the dorm room bathrooms. We can’t keep her out of the plumbing entirely, but we cannot have her harassing the younger students.”

Harry’s head popped up as her words registered. “What? The dorm rooms? Myrtle’s never come into the dorms, Professor, at least that I know of. I was in the Prefects’ Bathroom.”

Now, it was McGonagall’s turn to blink in surprise: “The Prefects’ Bathroom? When were you in the Prefects’ Bathroom?”

Harry winced again, if only because that whole incident was so awkward. “It was to solve the clue for the Second Task in the Tournament. Cedric gave me the password and told me to try it…didn’t really explain himself, to be honest.”

“I see. That changes matters, then. And of course, since you are not a prefect yourself, you never received Madam Pomfrey’s speech about proper usage of the Prefects’ Bathroom, including, among the more obvious things, how to address Miss Warren’s occasional visits.”

“Yeah, guess not,” Harry agreed glumly. He still didn’t like to be reminded about being passed over for prefect—although it wouldn’t have helped him as a fourth-year.

“Regardless, you may speak to Madam Pomfrey or any of the staff if you have any further problems with Miss Warren’s behavior. We will be improving our process for handling student concerns and complaints in the coming week.”

“Um…right, Professor,” he said, flushing again.

“You may go, Potter.”

Harry left as quickly as he could.

However, Harry had more people to talk to that day. Harry didn’t speak to Professor Dumbledore every day after the reading. And in fact, he hadn’t seen Dumbledore at all in his new office—only at the discussions in what was now Headmistress McGonagall’s office—but he did need to seek him out this time.

It was unnerving to see Dumbledore at a normal desk in a normal office—well, as normal as any Hogwarts teacher’s office ever was. Some of the spinning silver instruments were there, but not all of them, and they were on ordinary shelves instead of the spindly-legged tables they were before. And there was other equipment set up at the back of the room that looked almost, but not quite like a potions station, including a large fire pan.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Harry said distractedly as he looked around. “Er…”

“You are surprised to see me in these surroundings, Harry?” Dumbledore said with a smile.

“Uh, kinda, yeah.”

“This is the office for the Hogwarts Professor of Alchemy. As it happens, the equipment that I need to have on hand for that class is different that it was as Headmaster.”

“Ah, sure.” Harry said, though it was still a surprise. “But…didn’t you…live…?”

“Above the Head’s Office? Yes, I did. It is a bit of an adjustment, but the beauty of magic is that I can set up my new living quarters with a virtually identical appearance. But I think you did not come just to admire the scenery, did you, Harry.”

“No, sir. I just had a couple of questions I wanted to know about the reading today, and I wondered if you understood what they meant.”

“Certainly, I will explain what I can,” he said.

Harry hesitated, still working up to his big question, so he started with his dream that was seemingly about his Patronus and why it might be important.

“That is nothing to be concerned about, Harry,” Dumbledore explained. “I believe you had a dream that was at once of great significance, and yet simultaneously quite insignificant. Insignificant in that it had little to no bearing on the story. Dreams in these books are used in different ways, but I suspect that dream was included simply because you were woken from it by your friend Mr. Weasley’s screaming.

“However, I believe your dream was of great significance to you personally,” he continued. “After all, that was your first time casting a fully corporeal Patronus that day, was it not?”

“Yes. But I didn’t get a good look at it.”

“Had you not been woken, I suspect you would have done in your dream. This is a curiosity that many wizards never encounter, but you no doubt noticed that learning the Patronus Charm reaches a deep spiritual level that ordinary spells do not.”

Truthfully, Harry hadn’t noticed anything of the sort—or not in so many words, at least—but looking back, it made sense, so he nodded.

“Magic, I have found, has a tendency to align itself with such efforts. Not as a strict rule, you should understand, but just a tendency. When a witch or wizard learns the Patronus Charm, or immediately afterwards in your case, it is common for an image of your Patronus to appear in their dreams, leading them on to their goal, as it were. Professor McGonagall tells me that similar dreams can occur while learning to become an Animagus, with which it shares certain similarities.”

“Huh…” Harry said, not sure what else he could add. He was sure he never would have got it on his own, but it had a ring of truth to it that he couldn’t fully explain, even accounting for it coming from Dumbledore.

“Incidentally, Harry, have you given further thought to teaching your study group the Patronus Charm?” Dumbledore added.

“Tomorrow night, sir,” he confirmed. “So they’ll have the rest of the reading fresh.”

“Yes, I think that might be the push some of them need,” he said, stroking his beard, “though I suggest you not bring up the matter of the dreams. It is better to go into such things with no expectations.”

Harry nodded again.

“Now, I sense there was something more important you wanted to know.”

“Um…yes, sir,” Harry said, more hesitantly. “Back in my first year, Voldemort told me…told me my mum didn’t have to die. And then, with the dementors, I heard him tell my mum to stand aside, but he just killed my dad, and…well, Neville pointed out my dad was a pureblood, and my mum was muggle-born, so…well, why would Voldemort do that, sir?”

At that, Dumbledore gazed at him sadly, and he seemed to sit more heavily in his chair and speak more slowly: “Harry, that day in your first year, you asked me why Voldemort came to kill you personally. I told you then that it was a matter that should be left until you were older. Your question now is tied up with that one, and alas, I must ask for your patience once again—not another year, but a few more weeks, until I finish with my own study of the books and formulate a new plan to deal with Voldemort. Then, Harry, I promise I will give you the full story—as much of it as is mine to tell.”

“Oh, um, thank you, sir,” Harry said, surprised. “I…I’ll look forward to that.”

“Very good, Harry. I do think it is time, but I shall not keep you any longer today.”

Harry took his leave. Part of him still wanted to know right away, but that was far better than he would have expected for his question from first year, and he did still have more work to do tonight.

Harry didn’t waste any time after getting back to his dorm after dinner. He pulled out the copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban that McGonagall had given him and started to skim the remaining chapters.

“Okay, Sirius grabbed Ron and dragged him under the Whomping Willow…We followed him, which was…well, not great, but we thought he was just a big dog. Get to the Shrieking Shack…find out he’s Sirius Black…”

Harry shuddered, seeing the words. He really had come close to killing Sirius on the spot.

And Sirius, he was forced to admit, wasn’t helping matters: “Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful…it will make everything much easier…” And it only got worse as the fight went on. Harry had punched Sirius, and then kicked Crookshanks for helping him. It was true, Sirius was…maybe not entirely sane at that point, but he had certainly been acting the part of a deranged killer. Harry was glad now he hadn’t done it, but it had been a near thing.

He debated whether to cut out any of the fight. It didn’t paint any of them in a good light. He also considered who would be reading it. McGonagall for this one, if they kept up the rotation. He decided to keep most of it; he had a weird urge to see how his schoolmates would react to the drama of the whole thing. But he did cross out the paragraph where he was thinking about killing Crookshanks. Hermione—nor McGonagall, now he thought about it—didn’t need that.

But he’d check with Sirius later, just to be sure.

“Remus showed up, er…also acted evil. Hermione told us he was a werewolf.” Quickly, Harry crossed out Ron’s reaction to the news. He didn’t need that aired out. Remus then revealed that Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew—at least in theory. Then they argued about it—and about whether to kill him right away. Remus explained his life story.

That gave him pause. The bit about the Marauders sneaking out of the Shrieking Shack on full moons. “‘A thought that still haunts me,’ said Lupin heavily. ‘And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless—carried away with our own cleverness.”

It was one thing that they had led Moony out of the Shack as a werewolf. It was one thing, the “prank” Sirius had pulled on Snape. But the thought that there were other near misses during their time in school—he’d completely forgotten that. That was something that could get both Sirius and Remus in real trouble. Dumbledore knew all about it now, but the Aurors might not. Harry crossed out a fair bit of that, and even that he feared might not be enough. Madam Bones wanted to inspect the books for herself. She might find out anyway. Then Snape appeared…

And then Harry realised, to his horror that Snape would be reading that chapter! Would Snape even respect his redactions? Maybe he could blot out the entire paragraph so he couldn’t see the words, but even then Snape knew some of the story himself. And he’d probably try to spin it in his favour regardless. No, there was nothing for it. He’d have to ask McGonagall to skip Snape tomorrow in the reading.

Harry frowned as he flipped through more and more pages. “Wow, this whole thing took a really long time,” he muttered. In the years since that night, he’d forgotten how long it had taken them to just get to the point. (And Snape hadn’t helped anything.)

Actually, that was another problem. What if Snape flipped out again during the reading? The bit with the Marauder’s Map had been fun, but had gone wrong—but that part wasn’t really important. A disruption to reading these chapters could derail the whole plan.

Still, not much he could do while still getting the point across. Ultimately, they revealed Wormtail for who he was, and Wormtail had tried every line he could think of to get out of it. The way he had approached Ron was…well, Harry almost crossed that part out, too. In fact, he started to. But he remembered one thing: that bit of the story was one of the few things they had actually talked about before beginning this book’s reading. More to the point, he didn’t really want to cut out anything Wormtail said or did. He wanted the full story told.

“Then we brought Wormtail up to the castle, Remus transformed, Wormtail escaped, dementors attacked. And then…well, then it goes straight to the Hospital Wing—ugh, fight with Fudge, Time Turner…” Would the Ministry object to the Time Turner being revealed? Well, Dean had already figured it out; it would probably get around soon enough. That whole night was a mess, he thought, but maybe if everyone saw how much of a mess it was, they’d make some changes. “Hermione was leading me around all over the place…” The time travel business still confused him two years later. He preferred not to think too hard about it. After some thought, he decided to keep everything about him conjuring his Patronus. It didn’t make sense without the mistaken identity with his dad, and it could be useful for the DA meeting.

“Rescuing Sirius, getting back to the Hospital Wing, fight with Snape…This really doesn’t make Snape look very good,” he muttered to himself. Granted, Snape had been right in accusing Harry of breaking Sirius out, but he still sounded pretty unhinged. “Should I…?” He didn’t want to cut anything out, but that hadn’t gone so well today. Although could he trust the teachers to judge it? Tonks wouldn’t be reading again. Who was would depend on if he successfully got Snape removed, but it would be mainly the the Heads of House, so it shouldn’t be much trouble. Harry didn’t want to go through the whole thing line-by-line, let alone guess how Snape would react to it. And at the same time, he kind of wanted people to know how Snape was acting that night because he had been really bad then. Harry decided he’d settle for warning McGonagall about it. He certainly wasn’t going to make keeping Snape in line his responsibility.

“And the ending…Snape told everyone Remus is a werewolf—git. Remus resigned…” Then there was the conversation with Dumbledore about letting Wormtail escape. He crossed out parts of that. That wasn’t something he needed repeated to everyone.

“Huh, Percy had ideas for Magical Law Enforcement. I wonder what happened with that?”

Hermione dropped muggle studies, still defending herself about keeping the Time Turner secret—which now reminded Harry uncomfortably of last summer when she and Ron had promised Dumbledore not to tell him anything important. He wasn’t sure what to think about that. And finally, there was the train ride home and Sirius’s letter. No problems there.

Harry sighed and closed the book. Tomorrow would be the last reading. And with any luck, the full story would get out quickly, and Sirius would be freed in…well, with his hearing last summer, it had taken nearly two weeks. But before next summer, anyway. That would be good enough for him.

There was silence as Minerva, Albus, and Severus met for their own nightly reading. Severus was still looking sourer than usual. He wasn’t happy being scolded by Minerva for blowing up at the public reading, and even less happy about being scolded by Albus. And looking back at his own actions two years ago, and with the bias the books showed toward Potter, tomorrow’s reading stood to be even worse. It didn’t help that he would be in the lineup, either.

Minerva had decided to leave her discovery of the extra books for the weekend—one more thing they would have more time to discuss after the public reading was off their plate.

“Since I am sure I will not convince you to call it off, I trust you will be more cautious about suppressing any offensive material in tomorrow’s reading?” Severus finally said acidly after they settled in.

“I have already informed everyone else who will be reading tomorrow, Severus,” Minerva answered stiffly. “It will be the two of us and the Heads of House only; I trust all of them. Professor Tonks was an unfortunate coincidence.”

Severus seethed with possible retorts to that, but he held his tongue.

“And I trust you will be equally fair in your part,” she added.

“I will not sugarcoat anything those miscreants have done, if that is what you mean, Minerva. But I shall avoid any wanton insults that may upset the peace.”

“And you will respect any omissions Potter makes?”

“I reiterate that I see no reason to coddle the boy when he is the one who demanded this farce.”

“I can remove those passages from the book entirely, if need be,” she warned. “It will take longer, but I’ll do it.”

“Fine. I’ll respect Potters wishes for the sake of decorum,” he grumbled. He didn’t like it. Even his reformed attitude regarding Potter’s upbringing over the past three books did little to dim his anger over how the current reading was going. But it wasn’t worth testing Minerva over it.

“I suppose that is all I can ask for,” Minerva said with a sigh. “Shall we begin?”

Chapter 24: Sectumsempra

“Well, Minerva,” Severus said, barely holding his tongue until they had all finished the chapter.

“I admit, Severus, that it is not surprising that Potter stepped in it with that curse. Though as he did not know what it did, that was as much foolishness about safety as it was about duelling with dangerous curses.”

“He nearly killed Draco,” he snarled. “Which, in addition to the intrinsic disaster, may have also invoke my Vow to finish his mission.” He had flipped back to the beginning of the book to double-check the exact wording of his Vow; unfortunately, the answer probably depended on the exact nature of Draco’s mission.

“Need I remind you that Malfoy was attempting to use an Unforgivable Curse on Potter? Potter had a substantial right to self-defence in that situation.”

“If Potter heard him correctly,” he countered.

“From what we’ve seen of these books, I don’t believe they would outright mislead like that, but that’s beside the point. In a fair assessment, Malfoy would have borne a fair bit of the blame.”

“I you are suggesting I was too harsh on Potter—” Severus started.

Albus cut in: “I do believe your punishment of Harry was reasonable, Severus, albeit not for the same reason—yes, even the Quidditch ban, though he does seem to have bad luck with his games, doesn’t he? Regarding his aggression towards Draco, you will note that Harry was appropriately horrified when he saw what your curse did. And you will note that Draco cast first. On the other hand, a harsh punishment would be an appropriate lesson in the dangers of using unknown magic, and especially dark magic. You know the standards I hold the Order to in that regard.” Except Alastor, he didn’t say, but no one could tell Alastor what to do.

“And lying to me about the book?” Severus pressed.

“Certainly, although on that point, the punishment may have been more effective if you had revealed yourself to him as the Prince—if you had shown proof that you knew Harry was lying.”

Severus glared at him, but not for long. “Effective, maybe, but more trouble than it’s worth,” he said. “Regardless, I’ve already removed my copy of Advanced Potion Making from the classroom, so we there will be no repeat of this incident. Now, shall we continue? I’d rather get through the insipid account of Potter’s romantic affairs as quickly as possible.”

Chapter 25: The Seer Overheard

In retrospect, in Severus’s mind, the previous chapter was tame compared with this one. Of all the information he didn’t want Potter to learn, the fact that he had delivered the prophecy to the Dark Lord was up there with his memories of Lily from the last book, maybe worse. Though this—this chapter didn’t make him angry. This just left him sad, stewing in the failures of his past. It didn’t help that Granger had tracked down his mother in the Daily Prophet archives. At this rate, she probably would make the connection to the Prince before the end of the book.

Minerva hoped she hadn’t tipped off Severus and Albus about her pre-reading. She had made appropriate noises of shock and indignation while reading it this time. In fact, reading it properly, word-for-word, had greatly increased its impact; she had even felt tears coming to her unbidden, commiserating with Potter in the loss of her former students and friends.

Albus was grave. Several very serious matters were colliding at the same time in the story, and he clearly did not have the resources to immediately handle them all. In fact, he suspected that the version of himself in the book was not quite as confident as Harry believed.

Minerva broke the silence first. “So…it was you?” she sniffed staring at Severus.

Severus was silent for a time, and he couldn’t come up with a response other than a plain “…Yes.”

“You showed me your Patronus before…because of that?”

“I—no. I was not expecting that to come up. I’d hoped that would never be revealed.”

“But your Patronus—?”

“I showed you my Patronus because of my Vow to complete Draco’s mission, whatever that might be. If I were forced to do something that appeared to break your trust, I wanted you to know.”

“And…well, I’m sorry, but I had to ask after something like that,” she said. “And you, Albus. That is your proof of Severus’s loyalty?”

“In addition to some rather longer conversations on the matter, yes,” he confirmed. “I hope that you can accept this proof together with my judgement, Minerva.”

“Regarding that,” she said, “it sounded like Malfoy was close to finishing his mission,” she pointed out. “You told Potter the castle was protected, but neither you nor apparently you, Severus, knew what Malfoy was up to. How certain could you be that everything was in hand?”

Albus held out his hands in an innocent gesture. “Once again, I am at a disadvantage compared with my future self,” he said. “I can only guess that it was a calculated risk to take in a time-sensitive situation. Though I do have confidence in the Order and the teachers to handle anything young Draco was likely to try, even if he found some powerful artefact he could use in the Room of Requirement.”

“Hm. Fair enough. I don’t like it, but I supposed needs must in that situation…” She took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Well, shall we see how to actually find a horcrux?”

“Indeed,” Albus agreed.

Chapter 26: The Cave

Minerva didn’t have to act for this chapter, and it was perhaps the most horrifying chapter they had read in the entire series thus far. Seeing anyone in such a broken state, but especially Albus of all people was too much to bear, and it broke her composure even before she finished reading.

“Albus, surely there was another way!” she exclaimed.

Albus, easily guessing where she was at in the chapter, shook his head sadly; there were tears trickling down his cheeks, too. “You saw how thoroughly I tested the protections on the potion, Minerva,” he said.

“But—I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if Potter—”

He stopped her, his voice harder this time: “It was vital that at least one of us remain fully lucid. If Harry had taken even a fraction of that potion, we would have lost that edge.”

Minerva stared, struggling and failing to come up with a counterargument, before turning to Severus: “And you, Severus? Do you know this potion?”

“The potion itself, yes,” he confirmed. “Not the enchantments on the basin. It causes an imbalance of various salts in the body, leading to extreme thirst, altered mental state, and other neurological symptoms, but that is a side effect. Its main effect is severe hallucinations—hallucinations of the sort that are induced by dementors. It’s also very difficult to treat, both because of its dark nature and because restoring the patient’s salt levels is a complex process. As Albus said, it does not kill directly, but survival would be fifty-fifty with a Healer who doesn’t know what to do.”

“And you brewed that potion for You-Know-Who?”

“I don’t know if it was that particular batch. The Dark Lord was capable of brewing it himself if he wanted. But yes, I did produce it for him when he demanded it.”

“As I knew he would have to do,” Albus said before she could protest his actions. “Severus was required to maintain his cover in the face of weightier matters than that one. That was a part of our understanding. Now, I believe there are a few more pages…”

Minerva tried, but she struggled to get through those few remaining pages. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to do it if she hadn’t read earlier that Albus did survive the ordeal. When the Inferi surfaced with Albus seemingly incapacitated and Potter ill-equipped to fight them, she would have been sure they were done for. She was shaking by the end of the chapter.

“Couldn’t you have taken someone else, Albus?” she pleaded.

Albus’s eyebrows rose: “Whom would you suggest?”

“An Auror? Alastor? Kingsley? …Me?”

“The boat would only seat one,” he reminded them. “I do not know, but I believe I was oversimplifying with Harry; I suspect the boat would only seat one adult, and even Miss Granger and Mister Weasley were of age by then. And there would surely be protections against broomsticks. There was no one more suited than Harry.”

“I’m sure he was trying his best,” she conceded, “and he certainly had the right, but he still nearly got both of you killed. The boy wasn’t ready.”

“Alas, there was not enough time to train him to our satisfaction. He was still the best in his year at Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he held several unique advantages. With those in hand, I still trust that his instincts would steer him right. In any case, we did retrieve the horcrux.”

Minerva took a deep breath, calming herself. “I suppose you did. Though I do wonder…Potter’s choice not to use the Felix Felicis in that mission…”

“For which I would have applauded him,” Albus insisted. “It was far better that Harry was assured that his friends were safe. And Felix would be of limited efficacy on such a mission.”

“Wouldn’t it?” she asked. “I’ve never really thought about it, I suppose. You would know better, Severus. I know about the dangers and limitations of Felix Felicis in general, but I don’t have the expertise for the details. Why not use it for specific vital missions? For that matter, why didn’t You-Know-Who use it when he went after James and Lily?”

“Luck is no substitute for prior planning,” Severus said disdainfully. “And Felix Felicis actively conflicts with prior planning. It rewards spontaneity and aimlessness, and there is only so far you can truly direct it. Potter may have succeeded with Horace, but if you turn it to a task that’s too difficult, it may make you lucky by distracting you away from it and towards something more useful. Turn it to a task that’s too dangerous, and it will make you lucky by preventing you from starting out in the first place. Among master potioneers, it is said that using Felix Felicis as a crutch in place of proper planning is even worse than simple overuse.”

“Besides which,” added Albus, “Voldemort does not wish to be dependent on a potion for his success, and he is arrogant enough to think he does not need it regardless of the circumstances.”

“True enough,” Minerva conceded. “Well, after all that, I think we’ve done enough for tonight. Albus, I trust you’re not going to go charging after this horcrux either until we finish the reading?”

Albus smiled: “You have my word, Minerva. Barring Voldemort making a major move of his own, we will do better to learn about all of the horcruxes first and deal with them all at once.”

“Very good. In that case, good night to both of you.”

Chapter Text

Thursday, March 21, 1996.

“Well, it’s a ‘good news-bad news’ sort of day, isn’t it?” Amelia Bones said to herself. Dumbledore’s latest report on the book reading was short, but impactful. He had a reliable lead on a second horcrux, this time including a detailed account of the protections on it. Unfortunately, it was in an underground lake accessible only by a tiny boat that could only hold one “adult” wizard (she wasn’t sure she wanted to know how he knew that); it also required drinking several quarts of a dark potion to retrieve, and it was guarded by an “army” of Inferi that would attack if anyone did anything wrong. He again recommended waiting for further information on the other horcruxes to act, despite the detailed account of this one, to which she reluctantly agreed, if only because of the “one adult wizard” bit. That would need strategising to do at all safely.

Percy Weasley’s report from the public reading was longer and highlighted yet more safety issues in the school during the manhunt for Black. Specifically called out were a lax attitude toward the secret passages into the castle, including ones the staff did know about at the time, and physical and emotional safety concerns relating to the lack of a formal complaint process against teachers and student officers. (And the idiot guard on the Gryffindor dorms, but that was a special case.) He also detailed a minor fight between Auror Tonks and Professor Snape, which she’d have to have a talk with Tonks about.

But most seriously, Weasley mentioned that there were hints in the book that all was not as it seemed regarding Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, as Dumbledore had been saying for the past two years. And that was the last confirmation she needed. Since today was expected to be the climax of the book, she had already cleared her schedule to go up to the school and hear it in person.

Harry stopped by the Head’s Office again before going down to breakfast. Upon being admitted by the gargoyle, he made his way inside, saying, “Professor, I finished the book last night, and—oh, Director Bones?”

Sure enough, Amelia Bones was in the office alongside Headmistress McGonagall as they pored over a copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, speaking softly to each other. Both of them looked up at him when he spoke.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, I decided to come in person for the final reading. If what you and Professor Dumbledore say is true, it will save time.”

“Oh. Thank you for coming, then, ma’am.”

“Did you need to speak with the Headmistress?” Bones asked.

“Er, yes, ma’am, I…”

“Potter asked to read ahead in the book so that we can remove any particularly private or embarrassing material from the public reading,” McGonagall explained. “You’ll recall there were some issues with that in the second book, not to mention yesterday. I take it you are ready, Potter?”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry handed her the book. “Although there was one thing…” He hesitated. He wasn’t expecting Madam Bones to be here. This would be harder to justify with her in the room, since he didn’t want to give anything away to her if he didn’t have to. “The thing is, we got in a couple pretty big fights with Snape in the book.”

“Professor Snape, Potter,” McGonagall interrupted.

“Right, him. And some of the other stuff is about him, to. I just didn’t want what he did to be swept under the rug because he was after Remus, not just Sirius, and he wasn’t listening to any of us, and—”

“You do you realise Professor Snape will be reading a chapter today?” she interrupted again.

“Yes, Professor, and that was the other thing. There was some stuff in his chapter that I crossed out, and I’m worried about him following that. After, er, yesterday, I wanted to be more careful and make sure that was really clear. So…I was wondering if you could just skip him in the reading order?”

McGonagall gave Harry a stern look. “Is there a particular reason you think you think this material is so sensitive? I should think Professor Snape would hold to a higher standard of professionalism than that.”

“Er, sorry, but you weren’t there that night, Professor,” Harry insisted. “I’d never seen Snape like that before—or since.” Harry didn’t dare look at Madam Bones, though out of the corner of his eye, he saw her raise an eyebrow. This was exactly what he was worried about. If she had enough thread to pull to find out about Remus’s school activities, this whole mess could get away from him. It was still probably fifty-fifty regardless, if he were honest with himself, but he had to try. “I was kind of scary, to be honest. He has a history with Sirius and Remus you know, and the book talks a lot about Remus’s history that he doesn’t deserve to have aired out in public, so…”

Then Madam Bones spoke up: “This is Lupin’s history as a werewolf, Mr Potter?”

Harry managed not to flinch. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Of course, I can understand your wish not to give him any more grief than necessary. I can leave this up to the Headmistress, but you realise skipping over Professor Snape will raise questions of its own?”

“I know, ma’am, but still…” Harry said.

McGonagall thought for a moment and said, “Just one question, Potter. The problem is with Professor Snape’s chapter? Is that with or without the missing pages I recovered yesterday?”

He blinked. “Oh, the missing pages? I forgot about those. Er…” He double-checked the table of contents. “I suppose without, Professor.”

“And the chapter before that one?”

“That’s…” He thought back to the redactions he’d made to the first chapter. It would be unpleasant if Snape didn’t follow them, but not catastrophic—and they weren’t about Sirius and Remus. “Well, there’s still stuff I crossed out, but it’s not that big a deal.”

“Then that is easily enough solved,” she said. “I will simply hand the book off to Professor Snape immediately after the missing pages, and I will ensure he knows to remain professional about the reading. Mind you, I still don’t think it’s truly necessary, Potter, but I can agree it will probably be easier for everyone involved.”

“Thank you, Professor,” he told her. It would have to be good enough.

“For the moment, I have more to discuss with Director Bones. You can go along to breakfast,” McGonagall dismissed him.

“Your attention please,” McGonagall called to the Great Hall at the end of breakfast. “Thank you for your patience one last time. And welcome back to Amelia Bones, the Ministry of Magic’s Director of Magical Law Enforcement, who has returned for today’s reading. We are now ready for the final day of reading,” she said, putting as much emphasis on the word “final” as she could manage.

“However, before we return to the book where we left off, I wish to revisit the incident that occurred yesterday. You will recall that due to a series of poor decisions, a number of pages from the book were destroyed. By a fortunate coincidence, I was able to acquire a copy of the missing pages from the book.” Snape spun around to look at her with shock mingled with a warning glare, while excited whispers began to build from the rest of the Hall. “I also did what I should have done before and made a copy of the book to avoid any future mishaps.” Really, she should have just renewed the conjured copy she had made for Potter to read rather than copying his annotations, she thought. It would have lasted long enough for the reading. “Since some of our students were rather insistent in asking,” she continued, “we will cover these pages before continuing with the story. And since some of our teachers had difficulties with this yesterday…” She looked down the table at Tonks. “I will be reading them with the proper standards of professionalism. And I expect all those reading today to behave similarly.” She gave a meaningful look to Severus. Meanwhile, the more vocal students groaned in disappointment at missing out. “You will recall that this was immediately after Professor Snape confiscated Potter’s map of the school. Ahem…”

Skipping the final insult from the Marauder’s Map, she began reading: “Harry waited for the blow to fall.

“So…,” said Snape softly. “We’ll see about this…”

Snape, enraged, had summoned Lupin by Floo and interrogated him with what McGongall—and also Harry down at the Gryffindor Table—now recognised as thinly-veiled accusations—quite reasonable under the circumstances—that Harry must have got the Map from Lupin himself. They both denied it, Harry honestly, and Lupin covering for him by claiming it was a Zonko’s product. Then, Ron ran up, out of breath, and said the same (if far less convincingly).

After getting rid of Snape, Lupin confronted Harry and Ron, saying they should have turned the Map in, especially after what happened with Sirius and the passwords. McGonagall of course skipped the most personal parts—the parts Harry had crossed out—where Remus had berated him for gambling his parents’ sacrifice.

That still stung two years later, Harry thought, though for different reasons. It stung now because he knew Sirius was innocent. It stung because he’d been exposed to so much more “Keep your head down and be good,” this year without being told why, and he was fed up with it. And at the same time, it stung because he knew Remus was right. He’d thought Sirius was out to kill him at the time, and he could’ve been waiting for him the minute he stepped outside the castle (in fact, he kind of was, with what happened at the end of that year), so he really shouldn’t have been wandering off like that. Even so, it still felt like a low blow on Remus’s part.

But as far as anyone else heard from the book, Remus simply took the Map with an admonishment to be more careful and let them go, and they were soon distracted by Hermione’s news that Buckbeak was going to be executed.

McGonagall flipped a page: “Chapter Fifteen: The Quidditch Final.”

Hagrid had sent the trio a tear-stained letter with the news. Harry protested, but Hermione was resigned. At the time, even she hadn’t had any hope for the automatic appeal.

“‘Malfoy’s dad frightened the committee into it,’ said Hermione, wiping her eyes. ‘You know what he’s like. They’re a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared.’”

The real Hermione blushed. It was quite another thing to hear her words repeated in front of Ministry officials, even if they were true.

In the book, Hermione hugged Ron forcefully when he offered to help with the appeal, much to Ron’s alarm, which only made her blush harder. On the bright side, the two of them did reconcile about Scabbers. They both pledged to help Hagrid with Buckbeak’s appeal, though they now knew from their discussion last night that it was effectively a lost cause.

Malfoy, of course, took the opportunity to gloat.

“‘Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?’ said Malfoy. ‘And he’s supposed to be our teacher!’

“Harry and Ron both made furious moves toward Malfoy, but Hermione got their first—SMACK!’”

The school jumped as McGonagall shouted the sound effect. She hadn’t been acting out the reading dramatically for the most part, but it seemed appropriate in that case. The students laughed when they pieced together what happened: Hermione had finally lost her temper and slapped Malfoy across the face.

“‘Don’t you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul—you evil—’”

At the Slytherin Table, the real Malfoy turned red and glared around him, but he knew he was outnumbered. Most of the students, even some of the Slytherins, were happy to see him get his comeuppance. The Hermione in the book was done with him. Not only did she slap Malfoy, she would have punched and hexed him too if Harry and Ron hadn’t stopped her. It was even enough to make her care about Quidditch.

“I should stress that any fighting of that sort will be disciplined properly if it is found out,” McGonagall said lightly, as much for Madam Bones’s benefit as the students’.

Hermione paled. “Harry, you should have taken that out!” she hissed.

“No way,” Ron defended him. “That was too good to pass up.”

“However, as with the previous books, we do not need to revisit disciplinary matters from past years,” McGonagall continued.

Ron gave Hermione a look that said see? And Harry said, “Yeah, we knew they were going to stick to that.” Hermione glared at them.

Too quietly for the students to hear, McGonagall added to herself, “And Merlin knows those three have done worse things in these books.”

In the book, however, Hermione’s woes were not over, as she was driven to such exhaustion that she slept through Charms class, even with what they now knew was the help of her Time Turner.

“Sounds like you really were working too hard,” Dean told her. “I mean, getting extra hours in a day? It had to’ve thrown off your sleep. Or—why not just use it to get more sleep?”

“I couldn’t!” Hermione hissed. “Professor McGonagall told me it was strictly for classes. Besides, I couldn’t make sure I wasn’t seen if I was asleep.”

“And that was better than driving yourself mad,” Dean retorted.

“Well, that’s why I gave the Time Turner back at the end of the year.”

“How much time did you gain that year, anyway? I assume that still counts toward your age, you know?”

“Not legally, but yes, it does,” Hermione said. “It’s not as much as it sounds. I’m not sure exactly, but it wasn’t more than a month.”

“Your birthday’s in September. If it were legal, you could move up a year.”

She thought about that for a minute. “Maybe,” she said. “It probably adds up to enough days…but if we’re playing that game, I also lost three weeks when I was petrified. Honestly, it’s easier to just follow the calendar unless there’s a good reason.”

In the story, Hermione only got more abrasive. After sleeping through Charms and losing her temper in Divination, Professor Trelawney was finally fed up with her sniping: “‘Indeed, I don’t remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane.’”

Hermione still went red as she remembered that, and redder at the giggling from her roommates, among others. In the book, as they recalled, she did the most un-Hermione-ish thing imaginable and stormed out of the class. Then she dropped her forehead to the table when Lavender remembered that it fulfilled one of Trelawney’s predictions.

By that point in the story, tensions were high all over the school. Half the students were freaking out about exams, and Oliver Wood was freaking out about Quidditch and dragging the whole team along with him, since this was his last chance to win the Quidditch Cup (and impress the talent scouts). Though he did have a point in ordering the Gryffindors to protect Harry so that he didn’t suffer an unfortunate “accident” before the match.

“Harry slept badly. First he dreamed that he had overslept, and that Wood was yelling, ‘Where were you? We had to use Neville instead!’”

The students laughed, but Neville was a good sport about it. “I think I’d be even more horrified than you,” he said.

“Then he dreamed that Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team arrived to the match riding dragons. He was flying at breakneck speed, trying to avoid a spurt of flames from Malfoy’s steed’s mouth, when he realised he had forgotten his Firebolt. He fell through the air and woke with a start.”

“Oh, that was great! That was some cartoon logic, there,” said Dean.

“At least we know you can outfly a dragon now, Harry,” Ron added.

“Very funny, guys,” Harry grumbled.

McGonagall cleared her throat and said, “And that brings up to where we picked up again yesterday, so we have covered everything for those who wanted to hear it. Now, we will resume with the remaining chapters of the book. Professor Snape, I will leave the first full chapter to you.” She handed him the book.

Chapter Text

Snape took the book, briefly shooting a disgruntled look at McGonagall. From where Harry was sitting, he couldn’t tell if Snape suspected something was up with the reading order, but he was probably more annoyed at having to read from this part of the book in general. “Chapter Seventeen,” he began resignedly, “Cat, Rat, and Dog…Harry’s mind had gone blank with shock. The three of them stood transfixed with horror under the Invisibility Cloak.”

Among the students listening, the shock at Buckbeak’s apparent execution had been muted, first by the overnight break in the reading, and now by separating it from the previous scenes with the more humorous passage McGonagall had just read. But now, it came rushing back, and the horror was palpable as people started to remember. In the book, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all dumbstruck, and even in the Great Hall, some sniffles could be heard from the younger students who didn’t know the full story as it sank in.

But they were soon distracted again by Scabbers, who suddenly became so terrified—seemingly of Crookshanks, though that wasn’t clear—that he bit Ron to try to escape him. That sent Hermione into a tizzy when they had to run after him.

“‘Ron — come on — back under the cloak — ’ Hermione panted. ‘Dumbledore — the Minister — they’ll be coming back out in a minute —’”

“Why were you so worried about being spotted?” asked Natalie.

“And why would Hagrid be in worse trouble if they knew you were there?” added Dean.

The trio looked at each other.

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to be out after dark because of Sirius,” said Harry. “I mean, they didn’t even want me out there for Quidditch practice without Madam Hooch watching, remember?”

“Sure, but they wouldn’t give you detention or something, would they?” said Dean.

“They might,” Harry said.

“Well, maybe, but what was so bad with Hagrid if you didn’t interfere with the execution?”

“Hagrid was still freaking out about getting in any kind of trouble,” Hermione said. “I guess…maybe I was too focused on that—and the fact that the Ministry wasn’t being fair to begin with. Mind, it turned out to be important later,” she added quickly.

Meanwhile, in the story, a huge black dog appeared and jumped on top of Harry. Ron tried to protect him from what looked for all the world to be the Grim coming for him, only for the dog to grab Ron by the ankle and drag him under the Whomping Willow.

“The Grim attacked Ron?” Lavender yelped.

“It wasn’t the Grim, Lavender,” Hermione groaned. “There was no Grim around the school. Just listen.”

Harry wanted to go after Ron, fearing there wasn’t enough time to go get help, but he couldn’t get past the Whomping Willow’s branches. Then Crookshanks darted under the tree and touched a knot on the trunk.

“Abruptly, as though the tree had been turned to marble, it stopped moving—”

“Oh, good grief!” McGonagall interrupted Snape’s reading. “Students are still not to approach the tree, even if you can stop it moving. It’s too dangerous,” she said loudly. She seemed to be looking in the direction of Fred and George when she said it. Some of the students laughed.

A few moments later, Snape stopped again of his own accord: “‘He’s friends with that dog,’ said Harry grimly…” He looked up in the direction of Harry, one eyebrow raised, but he didn’t say anything and instead shook his head and continued reading.

Harry and Hermione followed the tunnel, eventually finding that it came out in the Shrieking Shack, which didn’t look quite as ghost-infested as it should have done. In the upper room, they found Ron with a broken leg, and Crookshanks, but no dog, and Ron immediately informed them that it was a trap.

“‘He’s the dog…he’s an Animagus…’

“Ron was staring over Harry’s shoulder. Harry wheeled around. With a snap, the man in the shadows closed the door behind them.

“A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If his eyes hadn’t been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin. It was Sirius Black.”

A loud gasp rose from the Great Hall as they listened in growing horror to the revelation, and excited whispers broke out about what it could mean, growing progressively louder as people put the pieces together regarding how he had got into the castle. Plus, just the fact that the most wanted fugitive in the country had such a rare trick up his sleeve that no one had expected. Harry hadn’t been shy about Sirius’s innocence over the past two years, but few people had listened, and he hadn’t told anyone about him being an Animagus.

Even Amelia Bones nearly dropped her quill when Snape read the line. “Sirius Black is an Animagus?” she said. “That…that explains quite a lot.”

“More than you think,” Snape said darkly.

“And it raises even more questions about our security procedures,” she added.

“Indeed, it does, Madam Bones,” Dumbledore agreed, “but I do urge you to listen through the rest of the story.”

“Of course, Dumbledore. I have a feeling this is going to be just as much of a fiasco as the last two books.”

In the story, Sirius disarmed them all before they could react and then made what sounded an awful lot like a taunt about Harry’s father. “‘Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful…it will make everything much easier…’” Snape scoffed. “That explains a lot as well, if he was in that state of mind,” he said, more to himself than the students.

The apparent taunt was enough that Harry flipped out and tried to attack Sirius with his bare hands before Ron and Hermione stopped him. “For the first time in his life, he wanted his wand back in his hand, not to defend himself, but to attack…to kill…”

Snape trailed off at that and looked up at Harry again, this time giving him a far more appraising look. At the Gryffindor Table, the people around him started watching Harry nervously, and he turned red. He’d felt like he had to keep that part in the reading, but he wasn’t proud of it.

Ron stood up to Sirius for Harry (despite barely being able to stand at all), to which Sirius’s response was just plain weird for a supposed deranged killer, and Snape’s frown only deepened as he read it. Sirius, it seemed, wasn’t interested in killing anyone besides (supposedly) Harry, which Harry called him out on.

“‘Harry!’ Hermione whimpered. ‘Be quiet!’”

“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!”

The school jumped as Snape of all people actually raised his voice that line—not that loudly. It hadn’t sounded like Harry. It hadn’t even sounded like an angry Snape, but even so, Snape raising his voice at all always sounded at least a little angry. Even some of the teachers turned to look at him in surprise, but he ignored them.

In the story, harry, in his rage, lunged forward and actually landed a punch on Sirius, and then it all descended into chaos. Hermione and Ron joined in, and Crookshanks. Sirius tried to choke out Harry; Hermione kicked him; Ron couldn’t do much besides fall on him, but it was enough. Harry got his wand back and stood over Sirius with it, ready to kill.

“You three actually beat Sirius Black?” said Seamus in awe.

“It was easier than it sounds,” Harry said. “He wasn’t really trying to kill us.”

“‘You killed my parents,’ said Harry, his voice shaking slightly, but his wand hand quite steady.

“Black stared up at him out of those sunken eyes.

“‘I don’t deny it,’ he said very quietly. ‘But if you knew the whole story.’

“‘The whole story?’ Harry repeated, a furious pounding in his ears. ‘You sold them to Voldemort. That’s all I need to know.’

“‘You’ve got to listen to me,’ Black said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now. ‘You’ll regret it if you don’t. ... You don’t understand. ...’

“I don’t get it,” said Dean. “Why do you keep saying Black’s not guilty?”

“Because he’s not,” Harry hissed.

“But he just said—”

“Just listen. I know it’s a mess, but he’ll explain.” Eventually, Harry thought.

The Harry in the book still hesitated, and Crookshanks involved himself again by sitting on top of Sirius. The real Harry tensed. This was the first important part he had crossed out. Would Snape abide by it? Snape paused for a long while. It felt to Harry like even longer than he should need to read the paragraph…

“Okay, I’m lost,” said Katie Bell. “Why did Crookshanks protect Black? He’s part-Kneazle, isn’t he? They’re supposed to sense untrustworthy people.”

“That’s exactly why,” Hermione said. “We’ve been telling you.” Honestly, it was a wonder people weren’t putting the pieces together yet, she thought.

Snape spoke again, and Harry relaxed upon realising he had indeed skipped the redacted material: “Harry raised the wand. Now was the moment to do it. Now was the moment to avenge his mother and father. He was going to kill Black. He had to kill Black. This was his chance…

“The seconds lengthened. And still Harry stood there, wand poised, Black staring up at him, Crookshanks on his chest.”

“Why didn’t you kill him Harry?” Neville asked in surprise. “I would’ve if I could’ve got the upper hand like that.”

“Because Harry’s a better person than that,” Hermione said. “No offence, Neville; I shouldn’t say it like that. But it’s just not in his nature.”

“Plus, I could tell something not right was going on,” Harry said. “I didn’t realize it yet, but I think part of me did want answers.”

But any conversation they might have had at that point was blocked because Professor Lupin rushed in—and immediately disarmed Harry.

“Lupin was with Black, too?!” Lavender squeaked.

“Calm down, Lavender. Just listen,” Hermione said.

And Remus had looked guilty, immediately going to Sirius’s side and asking where “he” was. But Sirius pointed to Ron instead of Harry, whom he had just a moment ago shown real concern for. Lupin spoke in what had sounded like gibberish to Harry at the time, then pieced together the Secret Keeper switch and embraced Sirius, much to everyone’s horror.

“‘I DON’T BELIEVE IT!’” Snape raised his voice again when he read Hermione’s reaction, and this time, Harry was certain he heard a little more genuine emotion in it.

When the Hermione in the book revealed that Lupin was a werewolf, both Hermione and Ron were ashamed of their reactions, knowing what they knew now. Harry had removed Ron’s reaction, of course, which Snape again skipped, but he’d had to keep Hermione’s for the story to make sense, and Hermione clearly thought Remus was untrustworthy because he was a werewolf (though equally because he was helping Sirius). Ron hadn’t even want to be near him because he was a werewolf, more so than because he appeared to be in league with a mass murderer—even though he’d sat in class with him all year.

“‘How long have you known?’

“‘Ages,’ Hermione whispered. ‘Since I did Professor Snape’s essay. ...’

“‘He’ll be delighted,’ said Lupin coolly. ‘He assigned that essay hoping someone would realize what my symptoms meant.’ On the contrary,” Snape commented. “I was more disappointed that more people didn’t figure it out—at least who would say so.” Some of the teachers and students glared at him, but he took it in stride: “Regardless of what I think of Lupin, that is an important skill for students Defence Against the Dark Arts to learn.”

In the book, they continued arguing, rather confusedly by that point, and Harry’s confusion only grew when Remus gave him his wand back as a show of goodwill.

Harry didn’t know what to think. Was it a trick? “If you haven’t been helping him,” he said, with a furious glance at Black, “how did you know he was here?”

“‘The map,’ said Lupin. ‘The Marauder’s Map. I was in my office examining it—’

“‘You know how to work it?’ Harry said suspiciously.

“‘Of course I know how to work it,’ said Lupin, waving his hand impatiently. ‘I helped write it. I’m Moony—that was my friends’ nickname for me at school.’”

“Whoa. Does that mean your dad wrote the Map too, Harry?” asked Neville, surprisingly quick on the uptake.

“Yeah. Listen, they’ll explain the whole thing,” Harry said.

“‘I had an idea that you, Ron, and Hermione might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his Hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn’t I?’”

Hermione gasped softly. “Oh, Merlin’s pants!”

“What? What is it?”

“I didn’t think about it at the time, but if Remus was watching the Map at that exact time, he must have seen two of us on it.”

“Huh?”

“Two copies of us when we went back in time. He would have known something more was up than just Pettigrew.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide. “Bloody hell. Did he know about the Time Turner?”

“I’m not sure, honestly. A lot of the teachers did, but Professor McGonagall wanted as few people to know as possible.”

“‘I couldn’t believe my eyes,’ said Lupin, still pacing, and ignoring Harry’s interruption,’ Snape continued reading as they discussed. ‘“I thought the map must be malfunctioning. How could he be with you?’”

“How could who be with you?” said Dean.

“Malfunctioning…” Hermione mused. “But if he saw two of us on the Map, that should’ve been even more evidence that it was malfunctioning. He must have known about the Time Turner.”

“I guess,” said Harry. “I can ask him on my mirror tonight.”

“‘And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labeled Sirius Black. ... I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow — ’

“‘One of us!’ Ron said angrily.

“‘No, Ron,’ said Lupin. ‘Two of you.’”

“What was he going on about?” demanded Katie.

“Don’t worry, he’s just about there,” Harry said.

Finally, Remus got to the point and asked Ron to hand over Scabbers.

“‘That’s not a rat,’ croaked Sirius Black suddenly.

“‘What d’you mean—of course he’s a rat—’

“‘No, he’s not,’ said Lupin quietly. ‘He’s a wizard.’

“‘An Animagus,’ said Black, ‘by the name of Peter Pettigrew.’”

Chapter Text

If the revelation that the dog was Sirius Black put the Great Hall in an uproar, the idea that Scabbers, of all pets, was an Animagus—an Animagus who was supposed to be dead—defied sanity. (Albeit it wasn’t exactly coming from a reliable source.) But on the other hand, they had just seen that Sirius was also an Animagus, which no one had expected. Everyone had a big reaction to that. Harry looked around, and he blinked when he saw Luna Lovegood was frantically taking notes of her own. He remembered the Quibbler article about Sirius from the beginning of the year. That should be interesting. And as for Percy, still sitting up at the high table, he had suddenly turned an unhealthily pasty shade. “No…there’s no way…” he gasped.

“Wait…if the rat was a wizard…” Goyle said slowly at the Slytherin Table. “Does that mean a wizard bit me? That’s just weird.”

That was surprisingly intelligent for Goyle, and Harry was forced to agree it was weird. He suddenly wondered how Wormtail felt about the other Death Eaters. Barty Crouch Jr had hated the ones who had lied their way out of Azkaban. But then again, Wormtail had done a lot of weird things to pretend to be a common rat.

“I’m still confused,” said little Natalie McDonald. “What does Pettigrew being alive have to do with anything? Doesn’t that just mean he escaped the explosion?”

Dean nodded along. “Yeah, it’s like I said. Black admitted he did it.”

Harry shook his head. “Sirius had…issues. He blamed himself, and with the dementors…but he wasn’t the one who did it.”

“They really weren’t explaining it very well, then,” Natalie griped. “It sounds like a bad soap opera.”

“What’s a soap opera?” Lavender asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes: “I’ll explain later, Lavender.”

“But yeah,” Harry agreed. “I forgot how drawn out this conversation was. It felt like it took forever for them to get to answers that made sense.”

“Plus, Sirius wasn’t very interested in explaining,” Hermione pointed out.

“And Harry wasn’t keen on listening,” Ron added. Looking to Harry he added, “I get why, but it’s true.”

It took some time for the teachers to get the students back under control so they could start reading again. By the time they had, Snape had already handed the book off to Professor Slughorn, and he looked thoroughly glad to be shot of it.

“Merlin’s beard!” Slughorn mused as he flipped to the correct page. “This whole thing is becoming much more dramatic than I expected.”

“Imagine being here when it happened, Horace,” Snape grumbled.

“Well, I suspect we’ll be finding out soon enough,” he said. “Now, Chapter Eighteen: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs…”

Harry relaxed. The greatest danger with Snape was over, although he could still be a problem if he reacted to things as poorly as he had yesterday. Counting off the chapters again, Harry determined that Professor Flitwick would get the next chapter, with the big fight with Snape in the Shrieking Shack. That shouldn’t be a problem. Professor Sprout would get the dementor attack. (There was no way to make that pleasant.) Sinistra would get the Time Turner. And Professor Vector would get the fight in the Hospital Wing and the end of the story. No big issues there.

Slughorn read the opening paragraphs of the chapter, where Harry and Ron were trying to refute the idea that Scabbers was Pettigrew. Meanwhile, Remus and Sirius were fighting over whether to tell Harry the whole thing or just get on with it: “‘Sirius, NO!’ Lupin yelled, launching himself forwards and dragging Black away from Ron again, ‘WAIT! You can’t do it just like that — they need to understand — we’ve got to explain —’”

“They weren’t explaining it to begin with,” Natalie repeated.

Ron loudly insisted that Scabbers was really just Scabbers (which now that they knew the truth was starting to sound a little ridiculous, but hadn’t then). Harry pointed out that there were witnesses to Pettigrew’s death, but Remus wasn’t deterred, insisting that the Marauder’s Map must be correct.

“Which shows a great deal of overconfidence in their handiwork,” Snape cut in.

“But it was right, wasn’t it,” Flitwick pointed out.

“I would say the point stands, Filius.”

But in the story, Hermione had another argument against Sirius’s and Remus’s claim: “‘…I went and looked Professor McGonagall up on the register, and there have only been seven Animagi this century and Pettigrew’s name wasn’t on the list—’”

Slughorn stopped as Snape interrupted again: “Miss Granger, I thought you were supposed to be the logical member of your little group. You trusted the Animagus Registry to be right about Pettigrew even though you had just found out that Black was an Animagus, and he wasn’t on the list?”

Hermione turned bright red as everyone looked at her. A few people laughed. That had been a pretty silly slip on her part. And then, when the silence stretched, it became clear that Snape wanted an actual answer, and she spoke up, saying, “Well, Professor, Black was a criminal—or he was supposed to be, I mean. And Pettigrew was supposed to be law-abiding. I thought he would have registered if he could.”

“Of course. Which only goes to show how little you knew about the Marauders,” Snape replied acerbically.

Hermione crossed her arms. “I think I’ve learnt to watch out for Animagi, now,” she grumbled to herself.

But Slughorn went back to reading.

“Lupin broke off. There had been a loud creak behind him. The bedroom door had opened of its own accord.”

Harry, watching the High Table, was sure he saw Snape flinch at the same moment the pieces fell together in his own mind. He hadn’t even caught it last night. He sat bolt upright. “Bloody hell! That was Snape!” he hissed.

“What?” said Hermione and Ron in confusion.

“The door opened on its own. Remus thought it was weird. We know there weren’t any ghosts there. And then a few minutes later, Snape shows up? That bastard was listening in the whole time!”

“Blimey! Are you sure?” Ron asked.

“What else could it be?”

“It could be a coincidence,” Hermione suggested. “The wind…”

Harry shook his head forcefully. “Remus knew it wasn’t normal.”

“The the building had been empty for years—”

“It was him, Hermione.”

“Shush! I’m trying to listen!” Ginny snapped.

In the book, Remus told his story: how Dumbledore had allowed him to attend Hogwarts despite being a werewolf as a student. (A few people gasped at that. Everyone knew he had been a werewolf as a teacher, but his childhood wasn’t as well-known.) The Shrieking Shack had been set up for him to ride out his transformations in (relative) safety. (A lot of people were disappointed when they learnt the Shrieking Shack wasn’t really haunted.)

“The only sound apart from Lupin’s voice was Scabbers’s frightened squeaking.”

Dean blinked in surprise. He turned to Ron and said, “Wait, was Scabbers still trying to get away from you that whole time?”

“Yeah?” Ron said.

“How did he not chew your fingers off or something?”

“Oi! He bit me pretty good!” Ron protested. “You didn’t see my hands after. They were all bitten up. Madam Pomfrey spent just as long on them as my leg. Even gave me a potion against rabies even though I told her he wasn’t really a rat.”

“Yikes,” Dean said, wincing.

“How did you even hold onto him that long without breaking his ribs or something?” Ginny asked.

“It wasn’t easy, Ginny!”

“Rats are very flexible,” Hermione pointed out. “It’s probably harder to break their ribs than it looks.”

The rest of the school, however, was horrified by Remus’s story, even the parts Harry had left public. He’d had to leave most of the parts about the werewolf transformation for the bit with the Marauders to make sense, but it was brutal. Werewolf transformations were recorded in various places, including Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, but rarely from a firsthand account. And the more quick-witted among the students were even more horrified to remember that Remus had been suffering that pain as a young child, even before Hogwarts.

“‘The Potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent discovery. It keeps me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform—’”

“Pfft, and did the fool remember then that he hadn’t taken it that night?” Snape interrupted.

“An unfortunate mistake on his part, Severus,” Dumbledore cut in, “but he did take responsibility for his actions—actions done, I might add, under a great emotional shock. I have little doubt that he would have resigned his position in response to that error even if his status had not become known.”

Harry was surprised by that, although now that he knew Remus better, maybe it wasn’t surprising. That did feel like his style. And he was impressed with Dumbledore. The man hadn’t even hinted about who had leaked Remus’s secret.

Regardless, in the story, Remus recounted that his three friends, James, Sirius, and Peter, found out what he was, and, far from abandoning him, they became Animagi to help him, all of them achieving it in their fifth year.

“Harry’s dad was an Animagus, too?” several people asked.

But before they could explore that, McGonagall sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I suppose I should have seen this coming,” she said. “Students are not to attempt to become Animagi at Hogwarts, and they are especially not to attempt it without supervision under any circumstances. Any books that tell you how to do it are already in the Restricted Section of the Library, but in the event you find out by other means, do not do it! It is very dangerous should you not have someone on hand to fix mistakes. And I will add that the Marauders were already better off than most would be in that situation. James Potter was a transfiguration prodigy like few others I have taught, and I still would have said it was too dangerous for them had I known.”

“Quite right, Minerva,” Slughorn said before continuing with the reading. Sirius was getting impatient, while Remus’s story grew more and more alarming as he spun his tale, especially when he admitted that with his new Animagi friends, he left the Shrieking Shack.

“Soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack…Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were able to keep a werewolf in check…Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs.”

Harry had left in as little detail as possible, even omitting the specific connection between the Marauders’ “adventures” and them writing the Marauder’s Map, but it wasn’t hard to piece at least some of it together.

“They roamed the village with a werewolf?!”

That was Madam Bones, and the sentiment was echoed by many of the students. After all quite few of them lived in Hogsmeade, although none of the current students had been born during their “adventures.”

“They did, Madam Bones,” Snape said with a triumphant sneer.

“That was extremely dangerous and reckless.”

“Well, it seems that no permanent harm was done, Madam Bones,” Slughorn said, more cheerfully than was really warranted. “Certainly, there were no records of any bites when Mr. Lupin was a student.”

“Sheer dumb luck,” said Snape.

“It sounds like they had a system in place to keep him under control.”

“I reiterate—”

“I think that will be enough,” Dumbledore stopped them. “Remus has since confessed to his past indiscretions to me. For myself, I consider the matter closed. If there are more concerns, we can address them later, but for the moment, we should continue the reading.”

Harry said a silent thanks to Dumbledore. It wouldn’t surprise him if the old man had guessed what he had been up to and was trying to cover for him—or maybe he was trying to cover for Remus for his own reasons as a loyal Order member. Either way, it was a help.

“‘All this year, I have been battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus. But I didn’t do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly—’” There were a few whispers from the Gryffindor Table. Admitting to cowardice was one of the worst things a Gryffindor could do, for many people. “‘—It would have meant admitting that I’d betrayed his trust while I was at school.’”

“You see, Albus?” Snape interrupted again. “Clearly, he wasn’t trustworthy, by his own admission.”

“Severus, I believe we have already had this conversation,” Dumbledore said warningly. Snape grumbled, but said nothing.

When it was revealed that Snape had gone to school with the Marauders, the students were surprised. Many of them had thought Snape was older than that. Some suggested much older. (Although those with older siblings or parents the right age to know might know better.) On the flipside, it had gone over Harry’s head at the time that Sirius hadn’t even known that Snape was teaching at the school until Remus told him. He supposed Sirius hadn’t had much opportunity to learn what was going on that year.

“‘…you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me—’”

Harry watched Snape intently. Would Snape protest this part of the reading? He came off looking relatively good here, so maybe not. And he must know what was coming in the later chapters, if not exactly what the book would say. No, the next chapter was where the real trouble would start.

“Severus was very interested in where I went every month.” Lupin told Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “We were in the same year, you know, and we — er — didn’t like each other very much. He especially disliked James. Jealous, I think, of James’s talent on the Quidditch field—”

“Excuse me?!” Snape cut Slughorn off indignantly. “Quidditch? If the wolf thinks that—”

“Severus…” Dumbledore warned, and Snape shut up again.

“‘So that’s why Snape doesn’t like you,’ said Harry slowly, ‘because he thought you were in on the joke?’

“‘That’s right,’ sneered a cold voice from the wall behind Lupin.

“Severus Snape was pulling off the Invisibility Cloak, his wand pointing directly at Lupin.”

Chapter Text

The students gasped dramatically at Snape’s reveal, although there wasn’t a shocking revelation of information that needed discussing this time. However, Harry was even more certain now that Snape had been listening for most of the last chapter and had deliberately chosen the most dramatic moment to reveal himself, though he wasn’t sure what to do about that.

Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick quickly took the book and continued the reading: “Chapter Nineteen: The Servant of Lord Voldemort.” There were nervous whispers around the Great Hall as people remembered Trelawney’s prophecy from yesterday. That was also interesting timing. At this point, it was pretty clear that it meant Wormtail, but to place it immediately after Snape appearing was very suggestive.

“‘I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow,’ said Snape, throwing the cloak aside.”

Suddenly, Ginny whacked Harry in the back of the head.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You threw your dad’s invisibility cloak away again, Harry?” she scolded.

“Hey, I was worried about saving Ron!” he protested. “And I thought Sirius was just a dog, I didn’t thinks we’d need it.”

“Harry, that is not something to leave just lying around. You need to be more careful with it.”

“Well, I got it back, anyway.”

“‘I’ve just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along. And very lucky I did…lucky for me.’”

“Didn’t care enough to bring it with him, did he,” Harry growled.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. But then her eyes went wide. “Merlin’s pants! We never actually checked!”

Harry’s eyebrows rose as well. “I never thought of that.”

“And we knocked him out before he finished talking. And I was the only one who was paying attention to the Moon cycle,” Hermione said. “I should have known. But I was so distraught over Buckbeak and then Wormtail…”

But Harry rallied, then: “Still, shouldn’t he have given it to him right away?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.”

In the story, Remus tried to talk Snape down. He…still wasn’t doing the best job of it, Harry thought, but also, Snape wasn’t in a mood to listen to anyone, regardless. He tied up Remus; he was even more ready to kill Sirius than Harry was, and Hermione suggesting they should hear them out was met with even more venom.

“‘But if — if there was a mistake — ’”

“‘KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!’ Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. ‘DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!’”  The effect was…strange. Professor Flitwick didn’t put as much drama into the words as he had before, but it was enough. Some people were indignant on Hermione’s behalf, but others laughed—not at Hermione, but at Flitwick’s reading. Flitwick tried to imitate Snape, but with his higher and squeakier voice, it came across sounding comical.

Then Flitwick coughed a couple times. “Pardon me, Severus, I don’t think I can do your voice quite right,” he said, to more laughter. Snape was glaring at him. “A few sparks shot out of the end of his wand, which was still pointed at Black’s face. Hermione fell silent. Now, that is a sure sign that you need to stop for a minute and calm down, Severus. Losing control of your magic even with a wand is a fast way to get dangerous disruptions in your casting.”

Sirius tried to turn the tables by offering to come quietly with the evidence he needed, but Snape said he wasn’t interested in having Sirius’s case heard.

“‘Up to the castle?’ said Snape silkily. ‘I don’t think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be very pleased to see you, Black…pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay…’”

“Okay, that’s going overboard, Snape,” Tonks cut in suddenly. “If you actually want to see the Dementor’s Kiss, you need your head examined.”

“Auror Tonks,” Madam Bones warned, “let’s keep it civil. Although she has a point, Professor Snape. If you had ever seen the Dementor’s Kiss before, I highly doubt you would ever want to see it again, even in that situation.”

Snape glowered, but he also kept it civil. “You might find yourself surprised, Madam Bones,” he said.

In the book, Snape was ready to escort them back up to the grounds. “‘I’ll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a kiss for him too—’”

“WHOA!” Tonks blurted, again without thinking, nearly rising from her seat. “Where did that come from.”

Snape glowered even harder at her. “If you’ll recall, Professor Tonks,” he said slowly, as if he were explaining potions to a particularly thick student, “I was under the impression that Lupin was aiding and abetting a mass murderer. It was an entirely reasonable course of action.”

“I…” she started, but she faltered and sank back into her chair. “Okay, yeah, I can see that from what you knew.” A little more softly, she added, “Sounded a lot more personal to me, but I can see it. But why didn’t you give him his potion then?”

“What?”

“The Wolfsbane Potion? You said you took it up to his office. That night was the full moon, wasn’t it? Didn’t the werewolf attack we heard about in the DMLE happen right after that? Shouldn’t you have bottled it and taken it to him?”

“I…” Snape sputtered. Now, Madam Bones was staring at him.

“Bloody hell, he didn’t bring it with him,” Harry whispered, to Hermione’s shock.

But he rallied: “He was bound hand and foot and muzzled! He wouldn’t have been a threat if Potter hadn’t freed him.”

“For good reason!” Tonks protested.

“There was no reason to think that!”

“Enough!” Madam Bones cut them off again. “We all want to finish this reading today, so let’s try to keep it moving rather than fighting. Professor Snape, I will want to talk to you afterwards about that incident, given the number of other safety incidents at Hogwarts that year. Auror Tonks, while your insight is appreciated, I do still have the authority to remove you from the Great Hall if it comes to it.”

Tonks sat still and stared. She gaped at being spoken to like an errant child like that, but soon, she resignedly sat back in her chair.

In the story, Harry tried to stop Snape. “‘Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve been alone with him loads of times, having defense lessons against the dementors. If he was helping Black, why didn’t he just finish me off then?’

“‘Don’t ask me to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind works,’ hissed Snape. ‘Get out of the way, Potter.’ Well, that was uncalled for,” Flitwick said. “A werewolf is just as capable of logic as the rest of us. I would say it was a valid question.” Then he hesitated, reading down the rest of the page. Harry hadn’t cut any of this part out, but it was plain to see it could cause trouble.

“Excuse me, Severus, but I think this will prove relevant to the plot,” he said. “Ahem—‘YOU’RE PATHETIC!’ Harry yelled. ‘JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL YOU WON’T EVEN LISTEN—’” Flitwick did not act this line out in dramatic form, but he did still speak loudly enough to hear the capital letters, and that was enough for Snape to interrupt him.

“That is uncalled for, Filius!” he snapped.

“I’m hardly praising the boy for that insult, Severus, but I think it’s important to understand the full conversation in this instance: ‘SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!’ Snape shrieked, looking madder than ever. ‘Like father, like son, Potter! I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he’d killed you! You’d have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black — now get out of the way, or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!”

Harry saw a vein pulsing in Snape’s forehead, and he was sure the man was about to snap and set spells flying like he did yesterday, but he didn’t. In the story, however, Harry didn’t get out of the way, and not just him, but Ron and Hermione, too. All three of them cast Expelliarmus at Snape at the same time, throwing him into the wall and knocking him out cold.

The school gasped again. They weren’t laughing this time, even though most of them would have loved to see that, but many students were looking back and forth between Snape and the Gryffindor trio, wondering just how much trouble they would be in. For most of Hogwarts, just insulting Snape to his face felt like a task for someone with a death wish, but attacking him? There would be stories told in future years about how Harry Potter was the only student ever to attack Severus Snape and live to tell of it (no matter how inaccurate it was).

And then Sirius stuck his foot in his mouth again by saying they should have left Snape to him.

“Harry avoided Black’s eyes. He wasn’t sure, even now, that he’d done the right thing.”

“‘We attacked a teacher…We attacked a teacher…’ Hermione whimpered…”

“And it was awesome!” said Fred and George together, which didn’t help the real Hermione’s attitude.

Snape finally found his voice again, and it held that low, dangerous tone that the students knew spelt doom for anyone who dared even think of crossing him. “Are you,” he said, “going to do something about that, Madam Bones?”

Bones, with a scowl on her face at the whole situation, huffed loudly. “I will need to hear the rest of the story, Professor Snape,” she said. “And I find it rather telling that all three of them independently reached the same conclusion at the same time. The way things are going, there may be a case for defence of an innocent there—if not Black, then certainly Lupin.”

“What—?! I—Madam Bones, I cannot countenance the idea that Potter is a reliable narrator.”

“Are you claiming that Black is guilty, then?” she asked.

“I…” Snape opened his mouth to respond, but he stopped after receiving a stern look from Dumbledore. He couldn’t very well say that. “That’s beside the point! Black tried to kill me when I was still in school! And Lupin—”

Suddenly, Tonks spoke up again: “Now, wait just one minute! It sounds to me like you already suspected Remus was a werewolf. Someone as smart as you should have been able to figure it out.”

“Tonks,” Madam Bones warned.

“Hold on, ma’am, this is important,” she said, speaking sharply, but still controlled. “Snape, you saw Madam Pomfrey escorting Remus across the grounds; not his friends, not even one of the teachers, but the Mediwitch. That’s obviously a medical issue, so we’ve already got invasion of privacy there. And she escorted him to the Whomping Willow, not, you know, the hospital. That’s not exactly normal medical procedure, is it? If you cared enough to look, you could’ve worked out it was always at the full moon. Yeah, maybe Sirius was dumb for telling you to go down there, but you must have known there was at least a chance you would wind up confronting a transformed werewolf that night.”

Suddenly Snape shot to his feet, screaming, “BE QUIET! DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, YOU STUPID GIRL!”

Tonks mirrored him, standing up herself and her hair flashing bright red: “I UNDERSTAND ENOUGH! WHAT DID YOU DO THAT NIGHT IN THE BOOK? YOU DID THE SAME DAMN THING!”

Madam Bones shot up out of her seat before Snape could retort. “AUROR TONKS!” she barked.

“YOU DON’T KNOW—!” Snape yelled

BANG!

A blast the echoed like a cannon in the Great Hall issued from Dumbledore’s wand, louder than yesterday. Some of the students screamed at the sound, but quickly fell silent. Dumbledore was standing as well, wand out, looking angrier than Harry would have ever expected him to look at a fellow teacher. McGonagall had risen too, though Dumbledore was faster. From where he was sitting, he couldn’t tell if Dumbledore was staring at Snape, Tonks, or both of them, but perhaps tellingly, he didn’t speak to them directly, but instead nodded to Madam Bones for her to continue. Tonks’s hair shifted from red to a paler pink that was almost white.

Bones nodded in return. “Thank you, Dumbledore,” she said. “Auror Tonks, this is a serious matter and will be investigated, but the time to deal with this is later, after the reading is over.”

Tonks took a deep breath, as if considering, but she stood her ground. “With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t think it is,” she said. “Snape called out Harry last week for his screw-up, and yeah, a bit of that was on me, but at least that was an honest mistake. And he was twelve.” Tonks looked back at Snape. “You were, what, sixteen? It was at least fifth year.” She turned back to Bones. “But that’s not even the worst of it. I’m talking about what he clearly did wrong that night in the book, and I think it’s only fair that we get it out there.”

Bones continued giving Tonks a stern look, but before she could respond, Kingsley stepped in. “I would be very interested to hear what Tonks has to say as well, Madam Bones,” he said. He turned to Tonks and added, “Calmly.”

At that, Bones relaxed fractionally and said “Very well,” with a resigned look on her face. Snape, meanwhile, was turning redder than ever, and it seemed to be only the continued stares of the other teachers keeping him from speaking out. “What do you need to say, Auror?” Bones said.

Tonks looked back at Snape and spoke: “I’m saying, Professor Snape, that night in the book, you knew Remus was in the Shrieking Shack. You knew he was a werewolf; you knew it was the full moon, and you knew he hadn’t taken his potion because you had it with you, but you apparently left it in the castle. In fact you kind of did what Harry did in the last book and abandoned a good plan that you already had by leaving behind the Wolfsbane potion that you had already brought with you to his office. Except you have a lot less excuse!” Tonks was breathing heavily, her voice sounding more and more agitated, her hair shifting back to red again. “You knew that giving Remus his potion would have been the safest thing to do whether you thought he was a criminal or not! Unless you were trying to make thing worse for him—”

“Tonks—” Madam Bones warned before she could finish her accusation.

But at that, Snape finally cracked and responded, not shouting this time, but with the same breathless tone of seething anger that Tonks had, as if he might slip again at any moment. “You have no right to speak for them to me,” he growled. “You don’t know what they did, for years, and I nearly got killed, and they got off scot-free!”

 Suddenly, Dumbledore spoke up for the first time. “Severus, I believe we have had this conversation before as well,” he said sternly.

Snape froze and slowly turned around to face Dumbledore. “Yes, of course, sir. Several times, sir. But that doesn’t make it right, sir,” he snapped in return, sounding unsettlingly like a petulant schoolboy. It was a bit disturbing, Harry thought.

“I am not saying it was right, Severus, but neither are your accusations,” Dumbledore countered. “Since you insist on airing this publicly, that prank was perpetrated by Sirius Black, alone—as everyone involved told you at the time, including myself. James Potter did not know of it. If you cannot see that because of your prejudice, that is your own problem. Remus Lupin certainly did not know of it. As reckless as he was to roam Hogsmeade while transformed, he would never position himself to attack a chosen target, as Fenrir Greyback does.”

“Greyback?” Harry whispered in confusion, but no one in his immediate vicinity knew the name any more than he did.

“And as for Sirius,” Dumbledore continued. “He baited you into entering what you suspected to be a dangerous situation, and you chose to take that bait. In spite of that, I personally punished Sirius as harshly as I dared for other infractions for the remainder of that year. But I could not punish him for baiting you, for that would have exposed Remus’s condition, and he would have faced expulsion at the very least. For a prank in which, again, he had no witting part.”

Snape wasn’t deterred. “So you thought he was more valuable than I was, then?” he said.

Dumbledore’s face grew hard again. “Yes, Severus, I thought that the lifelong reputation and education of a boy who was as much a victim as yourself was more important than the—I admit, very real, but one-time emotional trauma of another. As I have told you before.”

Far from being assuaged, Snape looked downright murderous. But he couldn’t very well challenge Dumbledore, and looking around, he could see Bones, McGonagall, and various other teachers staring at him with expressions ranging from questioning to hostile. He was also getting some looks from the students.

Though he clearly wanted to dispute it further, Snape could read the writing on the wall. He drew himself up and ground out, “I have had enough of this farce, Headmistress, Madam Bones. It should have been ended long ago.” And he stalked down the from the High Table toward the exit.

“Professor Snape!” Madam Bones called out.

Snape stopped cold and turned around with an expression that suggested he was considering either ignoring her or hexing her.

“I can’t speak to what happened when you were a student,” Bones said, “but what I’m seeing in this book is troubling. While it was not illegal under the current law given the low availability of Wolfsbane Potion, you were being reckless with your own life and the lives of others by not taking Lupin’s potion to him. And that is just one of many security failures I’ve heard about from that school year. We will still be talking about this after the reading,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Snape stared at her for a long moment, then said, “Of course, Madam Bones,” before continuing out of the Great Hall.

“Well,” Bones huffed, sitting down. “That was very irregular, but we do still need to finish this.”

“I don’t like it, ma’am,” Tonks said as she sat down, too. “With the way he was acting toward Remus—I mean, yeah, he thought he was helping a criminal, but that stunt with the potion was suspicious.”

“Agreed, Auror Tonks, but again, that is a matter for later. For now, we need to finish this damn reading so we can be done with it.”

It wasn’t until after the reading was over that someone pointed out that Snape had used exactly the same insult on Tonks that he had used on Hermione just a few pages earlier in the book. When Harry heard about it, he decided that Snape probably hadn’t even noticed.

At the moment, however, Harry had a different thought on his mind. “D’you think Snape did that on purpose?” he whispered to Ron and Hermione. “Not bringing Remus’s potion? He sure sounded like he wanted to get Remus, too.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she said. “It is odd that he didn’t. Maybe he just ran out there without thinking like Remus did, but…I don’t know what we do if it was on purpose.”

“Tell Madam Bones?” Ron suggested obviously.

“We don’t have any proof,” Hermione countered. “Besides, it’s like she said; it wasn’t technically illegal.”

But in the book, Flitwick was finally able to get back to the reading—which quickly went off the rails again when Sirius explained that he noticed Scabbers in the news article of the Weasleys’ trip to Egypt.

SMACK!

Madam Bones slapped her hand down on the table. “Are you telling me, Professor Flitwick,” she demanded, “that Cornelius Fudge caused a breakout from Azkaban by handing a prisoner a newspaper?”

Flitwick shrugged: “I supposed so, though it was by a very improbable chain of coincidences. Surely, there are prisoners who are just as motivated to escape as Black was, who don’t have the means of being an Animagus.”

Bones sighed: “Right of course…This is going to be a mess, isn’t it?”

Flitwick, for his part, shrugged again and went back to reading. “‘He’s got a toe missing,’ said Black.

“‘Of course,’ Lupin breathed. ‘So simple ... so brilliant ... he cut it off himself?’”

“He cut off his own finger? Ew!” said Natalie.

Harry shook his head: “He cut off his entire hand when he brought Voldemort back.”

Most of his friends who didn’t know stared at him aghast.

“What the hell?” said Dean.

“Er…you probably don’t wanna know.”

In the book, they were still trying to convince Ron that Scabbers was Pettigrew. Looking back, Harry couldn’t believe Ron had managed to hold onto him that long either. Maybe Wormtail wasn’t that good at being a rat. Then Sirius and Remus pointed out how long the rat had lived.

“‘Twelve years, in fact,’ said Lupin. ‘Didn’t you ever wonder why he was living so long?’”

“Yeah, that’s actually a good question,” Tonks cut in. “At least some of the teachers had to notice. He was yours before, wasn’t he Percy?”

“Don’t remind me,” Percy groaned.

“No, really. Headmistress, did anyone notice ‘Scabbers’ living at least six or seven years here? Pets have to be recorded somewhere, right? Didn’t you think that was odd?”

McGonagall sighed: “To be honest, Professor Tonks, I though that it was not the same rat. Parents are sometimes known to replace their children’s small pets when they die, with their children none the wiser. Or perhaps Mr Weasley got a new rat himself and gave it the same name.” She turned to Percy, who gave her a surprised and slightly disturbed look back. “Both would have been odd at your age, Mr Weasley, but it seemed obvious to me at the time. And even if it hadn’t, I would have thought ‘magical rat’ far more likely than ‘unregistered Animagus.’”

It also turned out Neville had not been so careless as to leave a list of passwords lying around in public. Crookshanks had stolen them from inside the dorm after the cat had befriended Padfoot and—somehow—understood that he wanted him to fetch Scabbers.

“Part Kneazle, huh?” Dean asked.

“Crookshanks is very intelligent,” Hermione said.

But that revelation caused another stir.

“Yes!” Neville spoke up, loud enough to draw the attention of the Hall. “I knew I didn’t leave the passwords lying around. I never took them out of my bag except to get in the dorm.”

McGonagall sighed. “Indeed. I owe you another apology, Longbottom. I still believe speaking to the prefects or to me would have been preferable to writing down the passwords, but in this case, I can place the blame more securely on Sir Cadogan.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Neville said cheerfully. “I’m just glad to’ve figured out what happened.”

Harry winced. “Sorry, Nev. We probably should’ve told you.”

But it was only then in the story that they came to the real truth—or more likely, that Harry made his feelings known again—loudly—and Sirius and Remus remembered that they hadn’t actually got around to telling Harry the truth: that Sirius had convinced James and Lily to switch Secret Keepers from him to Peter as an extra level of misdirection—and that because of Peter’s betrayal, Sirius blamed himself for their deaths—which honestly was the source of a lot of his problems.

“He couldn’t just spit it out, could he?” Dean asked.

“No. That night was rough,” Harry agreed.

“They switched Secret Keepers,” Madam Bones said thoughtfully. “So that’s what they were talking about before. That would fill in a lot of the holes—from the time of the incident and the ones revealed in the book.”

“Indeed,” agreed Dumbledore. “I am afraid they kept their secret a little too well. Even I did not know they had switched, and by the time the dust had settled, there was no one left who was willing and able to tell it.”

“And I suppose with the emergency powers Barty Crouch had at the end of the war, they took his raving to be a confession and didn’t question it further.”

Then, Percy spoke up: “I think part of that was on Fudge, Director. He was the first one who said Black confessed, and if he’d investigated the scene more, he might have seen it was suspicious.”

Bones sighed: “I think we’re going to have quite a few files to review after today.”

But in the book, Remus finally convinced Ron to give up Scabbers, and at last, the rat was revealed, once and for all, to be Peter Pettigrew.

“Finally,” Harry grumbled. “That really did take a long time.”

What followed was an almost painful interrogation—painful in just how weaselly Pettigrew was. He was doing an admirable job pretending that Black’s story was completely mad and trying to talk his way out, saying he’d been hiding from Black and fearing his eventual escape, improbable as that was. But Black wasn’t deterred. In fact, he’d heard from the other prisoners that they thought Peter was a traitor to Voldemort. They knew that Voldemort had gone to the Potters’ on his information and was defeated there, and Death Eaters who had avoided Azkaban would know that, too.

“Huh,” said Harry. “I never really thought about that. The Death Eaters I saw in the graveyard didn’t say anything. Voldemort already had Wormtail and vouched for him when he came back.” His friends all looked uneasy at him mentioning it so casually.

“Lupin was right,” said Professor Sprout. “There was no good reason for an innocent man to spend twelve years as a rat.”

“A pet rat! In a cage!” Tonks exclaimed.

“And he’d have been welcomed as a hero if he showed himself,” Kingsley agreed. “For all he didn’t deserve it.”

Regardless, Sirius’s story seemed to hang together much better than Pettigrew’s, especially seeing as he thought Remus had been the spy and so hadn’t confided in him. But even so, the children weren’t fully convinced, as Hermione pointed out.

“‘Well—Scabbers—I mean, this—this man—he’s been sleeping in Harry’s dormitory for three years—’”

Flitwick's next statement was interrupted as Neville, Dean, and Seamus, who hadn’t quite made the connection, reacted loudly.

“Ew! Gross!” Seamus yelled.

“That’s just wrong!” said Dean.

Neville was trembling, but not with fear as he might have at the time. “That bastard,” he growled. “If I ever get my hands on him…”

“Yeah, well, now you know how I feel,” grumbled Ron.

But that wasn’t her only question, either.

“‘If you don’t mind me asking, how—how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn’t use Dark Magic?’”

“Yes, I’d very much like to know that, too,” said Madam Bones.

The answer of course was Animagus, but Madam Bones nodded along in an exasperated way when she heard the exact details. Meanwhile, Pettigrew was still trying every last line he could think of to get himself out of trouble, including some truly boneheaded ones.
“‘Ron…haven’t I been a good friend…a good pet?’”

Ron bent down and stared resolutely at the table so he wouldn’t have to face the stares of everyone watching him right now.

“Wow. Of all the words that shouldn’t go together…” said Natalie.

“But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion.

“‘I let you sleep in my bed!’ he said.”

The horrified uproar was deafening. Harry could just barely hear it when Ron’s head thudded against the table, and he groaned, “Just kill me now.”

The noise was just dying down when Natalie added in a flawless deadpan, “No, I was wrong. That was worse.” Enough people heard it that a wave of nervous laughter mingled with gasps circled the Hall. Ron tried to glare at her, but he was still too mortified to pull it off.

Up at the High Table, Percy was if anything taking it even worse. He sputtered incoherently: “I—but he—can’t believe—I thought—”

“Let me guess; you did too?” Tonks asked.

Percy gagged loudly. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he said, and he jumped up and bolted from the Great Hall, already looking green around the gills.

“Okay…that was even more dramatic than I expected,” Tonks muttered.

McGonagall stared uneasily, considering how to address this problem. That sort of invasion was a nightmare for a school—the kind that cast a shadow on the entire institution, and Madam Bones was already here. Publicly (more publicly, anyway) was unthinkable. But she shot Madam Pomfrey a meaningful look, and she nodded. Knowing her, the Matron would check over all of the boys in Weasley’s dorm, just in case, even though Minerva privately doubted there was any such issue. Pettigrew was a coward and a traitor, but he didn’t have the feel of an abuser.

Bones shook her head and rubbed her temples. “Just…just keep going,” she said.

Pettigrew did keep going in the next story, next appealing to Hermione and then to Harry himself.

“‘Harry ... Harry ... you look just like your father ... just like him. ...’”

“‘HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?’ roared Black.” The students jumped at Flitwick shouted the words. “‘HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?’” People flinched at the anger in his voice. This was different from when he tried to imitate Snape. His voice still didn’t sound much like Sirius’s, but the tone was spot on. Harry could hear the genuine anger this time.

Pettigrew still tried everything he could think of, the coward, but he finally admitted to his deeds with the last excuse he could muster.

“‘You don’t understand!’ Pettigrew whined. ‘He would have killed me, Sirius!’”

“‘THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!’ roared Black. ‘DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!’”

Flitwick was so into it by now that some of the students shouted and cheered in agreement—as did Tonks. In the story, Sirius and Remus were predictably unmoved. But just as they were prepared to kill the rat, Harry completely flipped his earlier thoughts of murder and jumped in front of him.

“‘You can’t kill him,’ he said. “You can’t.”

“WHAT?!” roared many of the listeners.

“Harry, why would you do that?” Neville said, looking indignant this time.

But the book explained it soon enough: “‘I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because—I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted them to become killers—just for you.’”

“You didn’t want to kill him yourself?” Neville repeated. “After you wanted to kill Black before?”

“But I didn’t want that either,” Harry said. “Not really. That’s why I didn’t do it.” He saw Neville’s darkened expression and guessed what he was thinking. “Look, Voldemort—even the Lestranges, they’re different. They’ve always had it in for us. You have to kill them before they kill you. But Pettigrew…it’s like I said. He wasn’t worth it. He was just too pathetic…And maybe it was a mistake,” he admitted. “I thought it was a mistake afterwards, but that’s what I thought.”

Neville was still frowning, but he relaxed fractionally and nodded in acknowledgement. In the story, with Pettigrew’s fate decided, they tied him up, bound Ron’s broken leg, and levitated Snape in front of them, still unconscious. And to make sure he didn’t get away, they bound Ron and Remus to Pettigrew with conjured chains and headed back up to the castle.

Hermione sighed and smacked her forehead. “The chains didn’t stop Pettigrew from transforming,” she said. “We should have thought of that. He probably could’ve run for it any time once you were out of the tunnel.”

“Sirius and Remus threatened him not to, though,” Harry pointed out.

“We were going to send him to Azkaban. At some point, even he might have decided to take his chances.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “I’m don’t know how you contain an Animagus, though.” He smirked at Hermione. “Besides catching them in animal form and putting them in a jam jar.”

“Harry!” Hermione hissed, turning red.

“Well, that is the end of the chapter,” Professor Flitwick said. “Unfortunately, from my recollection of that night, I’m afraid it isn’t going to get any better. Pomona, you should be next.”

Chapter Text

Professor Sprout took the book from Professor Flitwick. She blanched when she saw the chapter title. “Chapter Twenty,” she said, “and I do hope it is not as bad as it sounds. The Dementor’s Kiss.”

After hearing the explanation of the Kiss before, some of the audience gasped in horror at the title. Even Malfoy didn’t look smug about it anymore. In the story, the group in the Shrieking Shack started back up to the castle, with some difficulty.

“Harry went right after Black, who was still making Snape drift along ahead of them; he kept bumping his lolling head on the low ceiling. Harry had the impression Black was making no effort to prevent this.”

Madam Pomfrey sputtered down the High Table. “Severus never saw me that night,” she said. “He must have had an awful headache.” She looked like she very much wanted to question him and look him over immediately, but she couldn’t very well do that now since Snape had stormed out during the last chapter.

“He was rather preoccupied with other matters, as I recall,” Flitwick spoke up.

“He deserved it after the stunt he pulled,” Tonks griped.

“I will be the judge of what injuries are ‘deserved,’ thank you, Professor Tonks,” Pomfrey said sharply. “After all, I am the one who has to treat them whether they are ‘deserved’ or not.”

Meanwhile, in the book, Sirius finally put the pieces together that bringing Wormtail in alive meant that he could be freed, and he offered for Harry to come live with him, although perhaps predictably, he and Harry still had trouble communicating, and he interpreted Harry’s excitement as reluctance up until Harry spelt it out for him.

“‘Are you insane?’ said Harry, his voice easily as croaky as Black’s. ‘Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?’” Sprout shook her head. “Tsk tsk tsk. For a boy his age to be so eager to leave the home he was raised in should have been a warning to anyone with the ability to do anything about it.”

“Which objectively should have been Professor Lupin,” Kingsley pointed out.

“Sadly, he resigned the first thing the next morning,” McGonagall said. “Though if he had told me what he had heard…” But she trailed off. She was ashamed to admit she wasn’t sure she would have done anything with Albus still calling the shots.

When the group reached the grounds again, they finally realised, far too late, that that very night was the full moon, and Remus transformed. Sirius was forced to transform as well to hold him off, and in the confusion, Pettigrew dove for Lupin’s wand and got away.

“Wait, did Pettigrew need Lupin’s wand to open the shackles?” Tonks asked. “Couldn’t he just have transformed, then.”

“I suspect he needed a wand to transform, Professor Tonks,” McGonagall replied. “After that much time in animal form, he was likely too out of practice to do without. In fact, it is possible that he was unable to change back to human form while he was a rat—or at least to do so quickly.”

“Really? Well, that’s some relief,” Ron said down at the Gryffindor Table.

Sirius successfully fought off Moony, but before Harry could run for help to find the escaped Wormtail, a far more dangerous enemy appeared.

“The yelping stopped abruptly. As they reached the lakeshore, they saw why—Sirius had turned back into a man. He was crouched on all fours, his hands over his head.

“‘Nooo…’ he moaned. ‘Noooo…please…’

“And then Harry saw them. Dementors, at least a hundred of them, gliding in a black mass around the lake toward them.”

“Hold on,” Tonks spoke up again. “I clearly need to learn more about Animagi, Professor. Why would he change back to human? He said he could resist the dementors better as a dog.”

“It was likely the pain that forced him out of it,” McGonagall explained. “While it is possible to get stuck in animal form with insufficient experience—another reason not to attempt it without help,” she added sharply, glancing out at the audience. “—it does require a tiny amount of magic to maintain because an animal body with a human mind is not a natural state. Thus, sufficient trauma can force an Animagus back to human form.”

“I’d be interested to know how the dementors found Black so quickly,” Professor Sprout said. “It sounds like he was on the grounds many times that year, from the sounds of it, and they never found him before.”

Professor Grubbly-Plank answered that one. “From that sounds of the book, that may have been the first time Black was truly happy whilst on the grounds,” she said. “Muted or even negative emotions attract dementors far less readily than positive ones. Or for that matter, it may have been the first time he was on the grounds in human form…in human form outside the castle, I should say.”

“So it was the first real opportunity they had at him?” Sprout said, shaking her head. “I am so glad that we got rid of them after that year.”

The dementors encircled Sirius, Harry, and Hermione together. Harry desperately tried to fend them off with his Patronus, but he was completely overwhelmed. He even tried to enlist Hermione’s help, to no avail.

“‘Expecto patronum!’ Hermione, help me! Expecto patronum!’

“‘Expecto—’ Hermione whispered, ‘expecto—expecto—’”

“Oh?” Professor Flitwick interrupted. “Miss Granger, may I ask if you had ever tried that spell before.”

Hermione blinked in surprise at being addressed. “Er, no, Professor,” she said. “I’d read about the theory, but I’d never tried it.”

“It was a lot worse than the boggart,” Harry said.

Indeed, Hermione was in such shock that she couldn’t even complete the incantation, much less cast the spell. Harry managed a little, but it was just barely enough to stop one dementor—certainly not enough to achieve the area of effect he would need against a swarm.

“The…the nearest dementor seemed to be considering him. Then…” Professor Sprout’s voice was trembling. “Th-then it raised both its rotting hands—and lowered its hood….Where…Merlin! Wh-where there should have been eyes, there was only…thin, grey scabbed skin, stretched blankly over empty eye sockets—oh goodness!” she said as some of the younger students whimpered in horror. “Should we even be reading this?”

McGonagall’s gaze turned sharply down to the Gryffindor Table to look directly at Harry. Harry steeled himself and nodded back to her. He didn’t want to back down now. And it felt important somehow, beyond the usual. Sprout, however, was looking to all three authority figures for guidance: McGonagall, Bones, and Dumbledore.

“It’s the Headmistress’s call to make,” Madam Bones said, “But more to the point, when it was reported that two students were attacked by dementors at Hogwarts, no one said it was nearly that close. Why wasn’t I informed, Dumbledore?”

“I am afraid that was Minister Fudge’s call to make,” Dumbledore said. “He did not want the public to know that the dementors were out of control. Pomona, how much more is there?”

“I…I don’t know, Albus…” she said. She flipped the page. “Well, there’s only a page or so more in the chapter. I hope that’s all there is to it.”

Dumbledore gave a subtle nod to McGonagall. McGonagall still looked uncertain herself, but she said, “It’s probably better that we get it over with, then, Pomona. Get the full story out there.”

Sprout took a deep breath to steady herself. “Alright, Headmistress…But there was a mouth…a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the sound of a death rattle.”

Professor Slughorn made a funny gagging sound. Professor Trelawney was shaking, with tears in her eyes.

“Have…” Kingsley said, though even his voice was trembling, “Have even the Unspeakables seen what’s under a dementor’s hood?”

“Probably,” said Madam Bones, “though I’ve never asked them; I never wanted to.”

“A paralysing terror filled Harry so that he couldn’t move or speak. His Patronus flickered and died.”

Things weren’t much better even at the Gryffindor Table. No one had heard about this part. They hadn’t even told Ron the visceral terror of it. Natalie McDonald was openly crying. Dennis Creevey put his arm around her for comfort, though he looked pale himself. Even with no dementors present, the horror at hearing the description was palpable.

Sprout kept reading, as if in a trance, though her voice quavered and grew weak. “But a pair of strong, clammy hands suddenly attached themselves around Harry’s neck. They were forcing his face upward…He could feel its breath…It was going to get rid of him first…He could feel its putrid breath…His mother was screaming in his ears…She was going to be the last thing he ever heard—”

Several high-pitched cries of fear rang out around the Great Hall, but there was little anyone could do this far in, except for Sprout to keep reading: “And then, through the fog that was drowning him, he thought he saw a silvery light grow brighter and brighter…”

The Patronus appeared—a Patronus of incredible power that drove the entire swarm of dementors away, and such a wave of relief swept over the Great Hall that some people were in tears from that alone.

“But you said you conjured the Patronus, Harry,” Katie Bell said shakily. But you were lying there with a dementor grabbing you by the bloody throat. What happened?”

“I did conjure it,” Harry said.

“He went back in time and did it,” Dean said as if it were obvious. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“I’m still confused,” Katie said. “How does that even work?”

Dean sighed and shook his head: “We have got to introduce wizards to science fiction one of these days.”

In the book, once the dementors were gone, the Patronus returned to its caster. Harry thought the caster looked strangely familiar, but he fainted before he could figure out what was going on.

“Well, at least that was averted,” Madam Bones said, taking a breath to steady herself. “I’m going to ask the Aurors at Azkaban to question some of the dementors. It’s not easy to get anything useful out of them, but I’m going to try. I hope that they only went for Potter because he stood in their way of getting to Black, but if not…” she let the implication hang.

“A useful first step, I am sure, Madam Bones,” Dumbledore agreed. “You are, of course, aware of my own position on the matter.”

“I’m just glad it’s over with,” Sprout said. “Aurora, you’re up next.” She handed the book to Professor Sinistra.

Chapter Text

Professor Sinistra took up the book and read the next heading: “Chapter Twenty-One: Hermione’s Secret.”

Hermione bit her lip nervously. “Harry, are you sure this is going to be okay?” she asked.

“Can’t be too bad, can it?” Harry said. “Dumbledore’s okay with it.”

In the story, Harry awoke slowly in the Hospital Wing, just in time to hear Snape take credit for “saving,” him, Ron, and Hermione from Sirius—and also claim that Sirius had Confunded the three of them to think he was innocent. Snape then went on listing Harry’s supposed—and technically real—crimes to Minister Fudge, clearly pushing to have Harry expelled. Some people in the audience shouted in indignation, but as the real Snape had already stormed out, they couldn’t do anything about it.

“Can’t we do something about him?” Tonks groused.

“Snape was unconscious when most of the revelations took place,” Kingsley pointed out. “From the descriptions, I don’t believe he even saw Pettigrew. I have issues with his behaviour too, but his actions were consistent with what he reasonably believed was happening.”

On the other hand, Snape also revealed that, in perhaps his one responsible act that night, he had been the one to bring the three of them to Madam Pomfrey, but that didn’t count for much in Harry’s mind.

“‘Ah, you’re awake!’ she said briskly. She placed the chocolate on Harry’s bedside table and began breaking it apart with a small hammer.” Sinistra stopped reading and looked over to Madam Pomfrey. “A hammer? Why did you have a block of chocolate that needed a hammer?”

“I asked the house elves for chocolate, and I wasn’t specific enough,” Pomfrey said with a sigh. A few people laughed.

Snape had caught Sirius again, and of course, the dementors were going to Kiss him. Harry shouted at Fudge to let Black go, but Snape was there too and brushed him off. Madam Pomfrey wasn’t being very helpful either, trying to keep Harry from leaving his bed (which of course would have been the sensible thing under any other circumstance). Then Dumbledore came in and, after another brief exchange, told Fudge and Snape to leave, along with Pomfrey herself.

“The most disruptive night I’ve ever had for a patient,” the real Madam Pomfrey muttered. “Excepting perhaps the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, which also involved Potter.”

“I am sorry that I could not be more accommodating when a man’s soul was on the line, Poppy,” Dumbledore pointed out.

But Pomfrey didn’t flinch. “That sounds like a problem for a priest, Albus,” she said. “As for me, I will continue to do my duty.”

“Dedicated as always, Poppy,” he said with a smile.

“I could have overruled you throwing me out of my infirmary, you know. Healers’ orders have priority.”

“Alas, had you done so, given the urgency of the situation, I would have had to remove you by force.”

The students gasped. They could maybe believe that of Dumbledore, but they were shocked to hear him actually admit it.

Luckily, Madam Pomfrey took it in stride. “You haven’t changed, have you?” she said, shaking her head with a slight smile.

In the book, Dumbledore told Harry and Hermione he believed them, but he also pointed out that they had no evidence of the facts, and no one would be likely to listen to any of them—nor to Remus, for that matter.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and made a note: Is/Was werewolves’ testimony considered invalid? Dumbledore had said people wouldn’t listen, but how far did that go?

“I would like to know what reason you had to believe Black at that point, Dumbledore,” Bones cut in during the discussion.

“His mind was quite open to me, Madam Bones,” Dumbledore said. “And as has been said, his story hung together far better than the official account. I regret only that I had no evidence to show for it, though even if I had, Fudge was clearly biased because it would have made his actions as Head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes look incompetent.”

“Which they were, it seems,” she said, more to herself.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, his investigation left much to be desired,” he said diplomatically.

In any case, the Dumbledore in the book confirmed that his legal options were exhausted, so he turned to other methods: “‘What we need,’ said Dumbledore slowly, and his light blue eyes moved from Harry to Hermione, ‘is more time.’

“‘But —’ Hermione began. And then her eyes became very round. ‘OH!’”

But at that moment at the High Table, Amelia Bones’s eyes also became very round, and she suddenly leapt to her feet and yelled, “STOP!”

Many of the students jumped in surprise. Even Professor Sinistra jumped, jolted out of her reading. Harry and Hermione stared at each other in worry.

“Dumbledore, if this is going where I think it is, I’m going to have to stop the reading.”

“WHAT?” came from many voices in the audience, and the students shouted with indignation. However, they were silenced quickly with loud cracks from Bones’s, Dumbledore’s, and McGonagall’s wands, as even the Headmistress had caught on how serious it was.

“Be quiet, everyone,” Bones said imperiously. “We have already heard what we needed to hear from this story. We can clear up the matter with Black as soon as we can convince him to turn himself in. I know there are still unanswered questions, but if the book is about to reveal Ministry secrets, as appears likely, we must finish it in private.”

But to her surprise, Dumbledore had an answer to that at once: “You are mistaken, Madam Bones. Miss Granger returned the device at the end of that year. The law of secrecy does not apply.”

“Are they talking about your time machine?” Dean whispered.

“The Time Turner,” Harry corrected.

“Yes. There are a lot of important laws about it,” Hermione whispered back.

“I’m sure your usage of it was not sanctioned,” Bones said, lowering her voice and stepping closer to Dumbledore and McGonagall.

“Well, as Chief Warlock at the time, I believe that may be something of a grey area,” Dumbledore said innocently.

Their voices fell as Bones, Dumbledore, and McGonagall huddled together and seemingly began a whispered, but heated debate about the finer points of Ministry law as it related to the Department of Mysteries and the powers of government officials.

“Is that a problem?” Dean asked amidst the rising tide of murmurs around the Great Hall. “I mean, if it’s a secret, I figured it out already.”

“And I’ve heard of Time Turners before—or something like that,” Katie Bell added.

Hermione sighed heavily and forced herself to relax. “The law isn’t that Time Turners are a secret,” she said. “The law is you’re not allowed to tell anyone that you have a Time Turner.”

“Why not?” asked Dean.

“Why do you think? Because someone might try to steal it! And there are a bunch of laws against meddling with time, too. You’re only allowed to use a Time Turner for authorised purposes. That’s why I couldn’t use it to sleep.”

“They didn’t let you use it to sleep?” Dean protested.

“I…well, maybe there was some flexibility, but Professor McGonagall told me I needed to be really careful with it! If they found out I used it wrong, they could at least take it away even if I didn’t reveal the secret, and at the time, I thought I might need it for three years. I didn’t know about the schedule being different because of Professor Lupin.”

“Fine,” Madam Bones concluded, her voice making some of the students jump again in surprise. She returned to her seat, saying, “There’s enough wiggle room in the authorisation from the Department of Mysteries that you’re probably in the clear, and—against my better judgement—I have no grounds to embargo the rest of the reading. But I want to register my disapproval at you messing with time like that.”

“As would I,” McGonagall agreed. “I personally assured the Ministry that the Time Turner would be used responsibly, and I do not like to be made into a liar.”

“I would say the use I ordered was very responsible, under the circumstances,” Dumbledore counted. “But regardless, thank you, Madam Bones, for resolving the matter. Aurora, you may continue.”

In the book, Dumbledore told Hermione—in cryptic terms from Harry’s point of view—that they needed to go back in time to save Sirius.

“‘Miss Granger, you know the law—you know what is at stake…You—must—not—be—seen.’”

“What happens if you were seen?” asked Dean.

“I’d go to Azkaban for exposing classified Ministry secrets,” Hermione said. “It’s considered as bad as breaking the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Pretty sure they never send minors to Azkaban,” Fred pointed out.

“We checked,” added George, to general amusement.

“I still would’ve been expelled, I’m sure. The Unspeakables take those things really seriously.”

Most of those who weren’t close enough to the Gryffindor Table to hear the conversation there were shocked at the revelation of the Time Turner, although some of the other muggle-borns may have figured it out. Many of the Ravenclaws thought it was grossly unfair. Even if the schedule hadn’t precluded taking all of the classes in other years, having extra hours to get to all of them would have made Hermione the envy of their entire house.

But even more annoyed than Bones and McGonagall, if it were possible, was Madam Pomfrey, who had already known about the Time Turner. “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!” she snapped. “Did you send two of my patients on a mission running around all over the grounds for three hours before you allowed me to tend to them? Merlin, I should’ve noticed it at the time!”

“A far less harrowing time than their previous three hours, I assure you, Poppy,” Dumbledore said, “and Mr Potter and Miss Granger had suffered little harm aside from the dementor exposure, which, while serious, could be deferred until after the crisis. I have no doubt of your diagnostic capabilities.”

Madam Pomfrey didn’t respond to that, but she did mutter some choice words under her breath that she would never utter in the hearing of a student.

Meanwhile, in the book, Harry was very confused when he and Hermione went back in time, which was good from a narrative perspective because most of the Hogwarts students, having never read a muggle time travel story, were also very confused, so Hermione’s hurried explanation in the book was invaluable. Although there was one part that didn’t make sense despite that—the fact that they landed in the Entrance Hall and not the Infirmary.

“Why did it send you to the Entrance Hall?” Dean asked. “Wouldn’t it be safer to send you to the same place at an earlier time?”

“Not if you didn’t know if that place was empty at the time,” Hermione said.

“But if you did it in a broom cupboard or something—or, heck, even scoped out places to come out before you went back. You could keep a lookout for yourself.”

“No!” Hermione said. “I couldn’t do that! I couldn’t let myself be seen by my past self!”

Dean frowned. “There wouldn’t be a universe-destroying paradox, would there? That sounds too dangerous even for wizards.”

“Universe destroying paradox?” she said in confusion.

“You know, like in Back to the Future II?”

“Oh, that. No, of course not. That would be ridiculous.”

“Then what would be the problem if you knew you were going to do it? Or just knowing you had the thing. You could do like in Terminator—Come vith me if you vant to live.” He said this last part in a bad Austrian accent, making Hermione giggle. Most of their classmates were just confused.

“And why did it send you back to near where you were at the time and not exactly where you were?” asked Natalie.

Hermione paused. She evidently hadn’t considered that part. “I…don’t know,” she said. “Unless they deliberately designed it that way so you’d be less likely to see yourself.”

“Scoping it out in advance still sounds better,” Dean insisted, and in retrospect, she had to concede the point.

Meanwhile, the Hermione in the book, though she had followed Dumbledore’s orders, didn’t know what she was actually supposed to do with them. (“You could have been a bit clearer about that, Albus,” Professor Sinistra said.) But eventually, it was Harry who made the connection: “‘Dumbledore just said—just said we could save more than one innocent life…’ And then it hit him. ‘Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!’”

“Except…knowing what happened…” Hermione mused, “Dumbledore already knew Buckbeak had escaped! He didn’t know how it’d happened, but he must have been piecing it together between then and when he met us in the Hospital Wing!”

“Remus might’ve told him something, too,” Harry pointed out. “You said he must’ve seen two of us on the Map.”

Harry and Hermione went around the back way to Hagrid’s hut—behind the greenhouses and then down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They had to wait for everyone to be out of sight before they could make a move on Buckbeak, but they also had ti ensure the Minister Fudge saw him as proof that he was still in the garden. Then Harry was nearly overwhelmed by the temptation to intervene when he realised that “Scabbers” was up there in the hut.

“‘No!’ said Hermione in a terrified whisper. ‘Don’t you understand? We’re breaking one of the most important wizarding laws! Nobody’s supposed to change time, nobody! You heard Dumbledore, if we’re seen—’”

“Can you change time?” whispered Dean. “It didn’t sound like you could before. You already noticed the things you did the first time around, didn’t you?”

“Er…” Hermione said, confused.

“‘Professor McGonagall told me what awful things happened when wizards have meddled with time…Loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake!’”

Dean took approximately three seconds to digest this, and then he shouted out, “Bullcrap!”

“Mr Thomas! What do you think you’re doing?” McGonagall exclaimed as the students shouted in surprise.

Dean, to Hermione’s horror, stood up. “Sorry, Professor, but that’s obviously wrong,” he said. “You can’t kill your past self. It’s impossible! Not with these rules of time travel. I don’t think you can change the past at all, from the sounds of it.”

“Excuse me, Thomas? What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been paying attention to the book, Professor,” he said. “Everything Harry and Hermione did, they already noticed the first time around. They heard their future selves crossing the Entrance Hall. We know that one hundred percent. Buckbeak had already been freed the first time, I’m guessing? And Harry says he conjured that Patronus—his future self did. That means you can’t change the past because everything you do in the past already happened. If you could change the past, Harry would’ve been Kissed the first time around, so he wouldn’t have been able to come back and change it. It’s like Terminator, not Back to the Future. If you go back and try to interfere with the past—kill your past self or something—something else will stop you. Or if you try to stop something happening you might accidentally cause the event you were trying to stop.”

Professor Sinistra shook her head. She’d lost the thread somewhere around “everything they did already happened.” Several of Dean’s classmates were muttering to themselves, trying to make sense of what he’d just said. Some of the Ravenclaws had pulled out quills and were taking notes.

“Ugh. This is why I hate muggle time travel literature,” Professor Burbage said. “It only gives you a headache.”

Professor McGonagall was speechless at his words. Dumbledore smiled knowingly, impressed at his student’s perceptiveness. But Amelia Bones was quicker on the draw. She stood again and said in a resigned voice, “That’s enough, Mr. Thomas; I understand what you’re saying.” She addressed the Great Hall as a whole and said, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but since your classmate has already mostly figured it out, no, as far as the Unspeakables are aware, you cannot change the past. However, the law against meddling with time still stands—” She shot a glare at Dumbledore. “—because trying to change the past can have disastrous consequences. Events will conspire so that whatever had already happened still happens, and the harder you push against it, the harder things will push back, often in unpleasant or downright dangerous way. And to clarify, that is also the reason for the law against being seen by your past self. While it would be harmless in most cases, there have been recorded instances of time travelers killing their future selves by mistake—perhaps you were a bit unclear on that point, Headmistress—or seeing their future selves injured or killed and trying to stop it, again with disastrous consequences. Does that answer your questions, Mr. Thomas?”

Dean blushed at being called out like that. “Er, yes, ma’am,” he said. Then he rallied: “Thank you, ma’am. That was a lot clearer than the book was.” Then he sat down.

Hermione had turned red. She really didn’t like being called out like that, but at least Dean had cleared things up. That was a lot clearer than she had understood herself at the time, much less explained to Harry. Even what she had understood, she’d been too worried about getting caught at the time to think clearly.

Professor Sinistra finally got back to the reading, then, where Harry and Hermione, with difficulty, untied Buckbeak and led him back into the trees.

“Why did you lead Buckbeak away on foot?” asked Angelina. “They’d be less likely to spot you if you flew over the Forest, wouldn’t they?”

“I thought it would make too much noise,” Hermione said.

Dumbledore seemed to be helping a little by stalling the Committee, although it wasn’t for very long, and it was hard to tell from the book what he actually knew at that point. Regardless, the Ministry officials eventually stepped out of Hagrid’s hut only to find Buckbeak gone, much to their bewilderment. Still, that explained several of the confusing incidents earlier. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione had heard the axe fall, it turned out that Macnair had thrown it into a fence post in anger. And Hagrid’s howling, which they had mistaken for howls of sorrow, where actually howls of joy, and they had simply been too far to hear his words clearly.

Dumbledore, whatever he did or didn’t know at that point, helped them again when he suggested searching the skies rather than the grounds for the escaped Hippogriff, though he made clear that he himself thought it was a lost cause: “‘Hagrid, I could do with a cup of tea. Or a large brandy.’ Albus, how is the one of those anything like the other?” Sinistra asked, to laughter from the Hall.

With that resolved, Harry and Hermione were forced to sit by and watch as Ron was attacked by Sirius and dragged under the Whomping Willow, and their past selves followed; then Remus followed them a few minutes after that. At that point, Harry was determined to go up to the tree and grab his invisibility cloak so that Snape couldn’t use it, but Hermione stopped him, and they narrowly avoided running into Hagrid.

“‘See?’ Hermione whispered. ‘See what would have happened? We’ve got to keep out of sight!’”

“What would’ve happened, though?” asked Dean. “There weren’t two copies of you around, and Hagrid didn’t know about time travel, did he?”

“He still would’ve delayed us,” Hermione said. “Asked us questions we couldn’t answer And Harry wasn’t supposed to be out on the grounds…but mainly, I was just trying to do anything to stop Harry getting in more danger trying to change the past, like Madam Bones said.”

“Still annoying, though,” Harry groused.

“At least you remembered your cloak that time,” Ginny pointed out.

In the book, Snape did come and pick up the cloak a few minutes later and followed the others, and then Harry and Hermione had to wait. Though while they did, Hermione asked Harry about the Patronus, and Harry finally revealed to the audience who he thought had done it. In his dementor-addled state (and not knowing about time travel at the time), he thought he had seen his father cast it—which would have been a much bigger surprise to the rest of the students had Dean not told everyone that Harry himself had cast it just a few minutes ago.

Finally, the group came back up from the Shrieking Shack. The future Harry wanted to catch Pettigrew, something that theoretically wouldn’t have been against the rules of time travel, but Hermione forced him to admit, reluctantly, that they couldn’t catch a rat in the dark, especially without being seen.

“Maybe we should’ve tried anyway,” the real Harry grumbled at the Gryffindor Table.

The two of them and Buckbeak were then force to make a break for it to Hagrid’s hut after Remus transformed. Harry also insisted on going back down to the Black Lake to see what happened—sincerely saying it was just to watch that time, but he had to step in when his father didn’t appear, and he understood that he had cast the Patronus himself, knocking the entire swarm of dementors away from across the Lake.

“Whoa!” exclaimed Colin Creevey excitedly. “Your Patronus drove away a hundred dementors? You must be super-powerful.”

Harry turned pink. “Well, it’s not like fighting a hundred of them is a hundred times as hard as fighting one…I’m not sure how it works, really, but if it’s strong enough, it’s like it covers the area and doesn’t let them get close.”

“I…don’t really get what your happy memory was,” Angelina said. “Or happy thought, even.”

“Well, it’s like I said. I knew I could do it…because…I’d already done it.” It really did sound lame when he said it out loud.

“So…you were happy that you’d already done it, or could do it…and that was enough to do it?”

“That still doesn’t sound like it would work,” said Katie.

“Er, more or less; look, come to the you-know-what tonight. I’ll be talking about it there,” he said, and the DA members around him all nodded eagerly.

In the book, Harry and Hermione witnessed Snape carrying the injured into the castle, and then, when Macnair rushed back out to summon the dementors, they knew it was time. Harry and Hermione flew Buckbeak up to Professor Flitwick’s office and rescued Sirius out the window.

“How does a hippogriff hover?” asked Natalie in confusion.

“And even if it does, how was it steady enough for Sirius to climb on?” added Dean.

“I dunno. It just kinda worked?” said Harry.

Ron chuckled and slapped Harry on the back. “Only you, Harry,” he said. “You really can fly anything.”

And finally, Sirius dropped Harry and Hermione off at the West Tower and flew out of sight, ending the chapter.

“That was awful,” Neville said, to his friends’ surprise. “I mean, not that he got away. But Sirius was the only family Harry ever had, and he had to run away like that.”

“Hey, we’re Harry’s family too,” Ron protested.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he smiled: “Thanks, Ron.”

“At least Sirius’ll be getting off after this,” Ginny said. “With everyone here hearing it, it should get taken care of pretty quick.”

“Plus, it’ll make Snape mad, which is always good,” Fred added.

Hermione rolled her eyes: “I think we’ve had enough of that for one day. At least it’s almost over.”

Chapter Text

“It looks like you have the last chapter, Septima,” Professor Sinistra said, handing the book off to Professor Vector.

“It’s about time,” Vector said, and she started to read: “Chapter Twenty-Two: Owl Post Again.”

“Not the most original title,” muttered Hermione.

Harry’s and Hermione’s adventure was not over. They had saved both Sirius and Buckbeak, but they were still standing on top of the West Tower with only ten minutes left to midnight, when they were supposed to be back in the Infirmary. They ran back, having to dodge Fudge and Snape and then Peeves on the way.

“‘Hermione—what’ll happen—if we don’t get back inside—before Dumbledore locks the door?’ Harry panted.

“‘I don’t want to think about it!’ Hermione moaned, checking her watch again. ‘One minute!’”

“Um, Hermione? That sounds like by far the least illegal thing you did that night,” said Dean. “I don’t think anyone would have noticed if you were a couple minutes off.”

Madam Bones seemed to be thinking along the same lines, prompted by some questioning looks from the teachers. “The problems of messing with time notwithstanding, the time travel itself would have meant a stern warning, Miss Granger, since you weren’t seen by anyone who wasn’t privy to time travel.” But while that may have been comforting, she added, “Aiding and a convicted murderer, however—or rather, who we thought was a convicted murderer—would have been the real crime.”

“Most fortunately, Professor Snape had already provided us the explanation that they were Confunded, had that been an issue,” Dumbledore spoke up lightly. “And of course, if all else had failed, I would have been willing to take the blame.”

Bones glared at him: “And caused ten times as much trouble for me, I’m sure.”

In the book, however, Harry and Hermione got back to the Hospital Wing just as Dumbledore was locking the doors.

“See?” Dean whispered. “You didn’t even get there before he locked the doors—and you couldn’t have done because you didn’t see yourselves the first time. Why did he even lock the doors if he was just going to unlock them again to let you back in?”

“Er, I think that was more to avoid witnesses,” Harry reasoned.

Let back into the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was finally able to attend to her patients. As she had said, she didn’t really notice the three-hour delay when they were gone at the time, though granted, they weren’t really suffering any injuries, only dementor exposure.

They then heard a roar of fury, presumably Snape finding out that Sirius had escaped, that was so loud they could hear it all the way from Flitwick’s office to the Hospital Wing. Professor Vector did not attempt to shout Snape’s all-caps screaming when he burst into the infirmary with Fudge and Dumbledore, but she did raise her voice enough to make the tone of his words known.

“‘OUT WITH IT, POTTER!’ he bellowed. ‘WHAT DID YOU DO?’”

Snape was raving nearly as much as before, accusing Harry of somehow helping Sirius escape.

“Mind, he was right about that,” Ron pointed out with a grin.

“Yeah, but he didn’t know how…or did he? Hermione, did Snape know about the Time Turner?” asked Harry.

“I thought he did,” Hermione said. “Especially if Remus knew.”

“‘Well, there you have it, Severus,’ said Dumbledore calmly. ‘Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I’m afraid I don’t see any point in troubling them further.’”

“Hold on, that sounds like he didn’t know,” Harry said.

“Unless that was Dumbledore warning him not to question it.”

“Would he go along with that, though?”

“From Dumbledore, I think he would.” But she narrowed her eyes. “But I thought Fudge might have known, too. It took a lot of people in the Ministry signing off to get the Time Turner.”

“Yeah, but knowing Fudge, would he have figured it out to begin with?” Ron suggested.

“I don’t think Fudge was stupid, Ron,” she answered, “just very, very self-deluded.”

In the story, however, Fudge didn’t figure it out, and even he thought Snape was “quite unbalanced,” but Dumbledore quickly moved on to other matters.

“‘And the dementors?’ said Dumbledore. ‘They’ll be removed from the school, I trust?’

“‘Oh yes, they’ll have to go,’ said Fudge, running his fingers distractedly through his hair. ‘Never dreamed they’d attempt to administer the Kiss on an innocent boy…Completely out of control—’”

“And yet he denied the Ministry wasn’t in control of them a year later,” said Harry.

“‘—no, I’ll have them packed off back to Azkaban tonight…Perhaps we should think about dragons at the school entrance…’”

“Bloody hell!” Madam Bones exclaimed. “I would’ve killed him myself!”

“That was insane!” said Angelina. She looked at Fred and George: “Did you two know all that?”

“Not at the time,” Fred answered.

“Just bits and pieces,” George agreed.

“We didn’t hear all of it until last summer. And Percy wasn’t there.”

“But we couldn’t really tell anyone else. You know, it might’ve caused trouble.”

“And not the fun kind, either,” Fred finished.

The next day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the Hospital Wing and wandered the grounds until Hagrid met them and informed them that Lupin was leaving, much to most of the school’s display. Almost everyone in the Great Hall (even half the Slytherins, though they wouldn’t say it) agreed Snape was a jerk for exposing Lupin. Most of them had even felt that way at the time. He may have been a werewolf, but at least he wasn’t Lockhart.

“It’s too bad you couldn’t get him to stay,” Tonks said. “I mean, it was Snape’s fault there was a problem in the first place.”

“The Board of Governors would not have stood for it,” Dumbledore said. “And you cannot place the blame entirely on Severus, Tonks. Remus was correct that it was his own mistake that caused him to become a threat to the students that night, even if Severus unwisely contributed to the situation.”

“Should’ve been able to do something,” she grumbled.

In the book, Harry rushed to see Remus, who confirmed the story.

“‘Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives.’ He sighed. ‘That was the final straw for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard.’”

“Karma!” someone called out.

On the bright side, Remus was pleased by Harry’s Patronus was able to confirm that it resembled James, whose Animagus form was a stag. And he also gave Harry his mischief-making articles back.

“‘Here—I brought this from the Shrieking Shack last night,’ he said, handing Harry back the Invisibility Cloak—’”

“OH MY GOD!”

The scream came from Ginny, who half stood from the table and whacked Harry so hard in the back of the head that his head jerked forward, nearly hitting the table, and even Professor Vector stopped reading.

“Ow!” Harry said, but he was drowned out by Ginny.

“How do you keep leaving something so important behind, Harry?” she demanded. “That was three times in one year! And it was your dad’s! Do you even know where it is now?”

People around them giggled at her scolding.

“Ow,” Harry repeated, rubbing the back of his head. “Of course I do! It’s in my trunk up in my dorm. That’s where I always keep it.”

“When you don’t leave it in a secret passage for three months!”

“Look, Ginny, that whole night was a fiasco, okay? But I’ve got more careful. I haven’t left it lying around since then, have I?”

Ginny looked to Ron and Hermione, and he realised she wouldn’t know as well as they did. Harry turned to them “Have I?” he pressed.

“No, Harry. Not that we’ve seen,” Hermione said. “And…we should probably let them get back to it.”

Harry looked around and saw that everyone was staring at them, even the teachers. He felt his face flush, and he slowly lowered his forehead to the table.

Remus also gave back the Marauder’s Map to Harry, which he had confiscated months earlier, citing that he was no longer a professor and thus no longer required to be “responsible.” (Madam Bones scoffed, but said nothing.)

Still, Harry was understandably despondent after that, in spite of Dumbledore’s efforts to cheer him up. And it was easy to feel that way; after all that trouble, it seemed he’d only pushed things back to the way they were before, and the risk of Voldemort coming back was greatly increased (and of course, he did just that a year later).

Dumbledore revealed that Professor Trelawney’s prediction was, indeed, a true prophecy, and that it was her second. That very much offended Trelawney, who claimed indignantly to have made many prophecies, but Professor Babbling shushed her. Several students called out, asking what the first prophecy was, but the real Dumbledore claimed it wasn’t of consequence.

However, Harry, who had recognised the mysterious corridor he kept dreaming about as the Department of Mysteries weeks ago, suddenly had two seemingly disparate pieces of information fall into place in his mind with a certainty somehow deeper than knowledge.

“Bloody hell!” he blurted, barely maintaining enough self-control to keep it below a shout.

“What?!” Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all said.

Harry looked around and saw all their housemates staring at him and quickly deflected. “Nothing,” he said. “Not here. I’ll explain later.” Fortunately, the teachers didn’t seem to notice.

“‘Pettigrew owes his life to you. You have sent Voldemort a deputy who is in your debt…When one wizard saves another wizard’s life, it creates a certain bond between them…and I’m much mistaken if Voldemort wants his servant in the debt of Harry Potter.’”

“Blimey. Does You-Know-Who know that, Harry?”

Harry didn’t know the answer, but Ron figured it out for him. “Probably does,” he said. “You said You-Know-Who can read minds, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, there’s that,” Harry agreed. “And Voldemort would want to know everything.”

“How does that life debt thing work, anyway,” Ron asked him. “Does he have to do what you say or something?”

“Can’t be. Or he wouldn’t’ve attacked me when he was with Voldemort last spring.”

“‘I knew your father very well, both at Hogwarts and later, Harry,’ he said gently. ‘He would have saved Pettigrew too, I am sure of it.’”

Several people stared at Harry again, especially Neville, his eyebrows raised. Harry didn’t say anything, but privately, he was grateful. That should allay some of the concerns from his friends in the present, but even at the time, after he’d had a chance to think about it, that had been a greater comfort to him about his decision to spare Wormtail than anything else Dumbledore had said, and most of what Sirius and Remus had told him since then.

But the story wasn’t quite over yet. The first two books hadn’t ended until the students actually returned to London, and this book was the same. After the fiasco of the night of the full moon, Malfoy was furious about Buckbeak (much to the amusement of the other students, including some of his own housemates). Percy had lots of ideas to give the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when he joined the Ministry.

“Any idea what happened with that?” Harry asked the Weasleys, but they all shook their heads. Since Percy had also fled the Great Hall at the revelation that Scabbers wasn’t who he seemed, and was apparently too ashamed to return, no one could question him about it now.

In the book, Dean suggested that they might get a vampire for their next Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. (“Would’ve been an improvement over a Death Eater,” said Harry.) Though the Harry in the book had other things on his mind.

“He kept wondering where Pettigrew was now, whether he had sought sanctuary with Voldemort yet. But the thing that was lowering Harry’s spirits most of all was the prospect of returning to the Dursleys.”

“Because You-Know-Who coming back isn’t completely terrifying,” Tonks cut in sarcastically.

Professor Sprout sent her a sharp look. “It’s quite a shame that returning to his relatives was the most depressing thing weighing on the boy in spite of that.”

Madam Bones shook her head: “A shame, yes, but…well, I suspect Potter’s attitude has changed under the present circumstances.” (That much was true. The Dursleys had been the least of Harry’s problems ever since the dementors showed up last summer.) “Regardless, they will be dealt with in due course.” By that, Harry knew, she meant that they would be arrested after Voldemort was dealt with, but (hopefully) before the end of the school year, which was good enough for him.

Later, on the train ride back to London, Hermione had another piece of news.

“‘I went to see Professor McGonagall this morning, just before breakfast. I’ve decided to drop Muggle Studies.’

“‘But you passed your exam with three hundred and twenty percent!’ said Ron.”

Half the teachers turned to Professor Burbage.

“Mr Weasley is exaggerating, obviously,” she said.

Ron promised to bring Harry with him to the Quidditch World Cup the following summer (though everyone knew now how that had ended), and then, a tiny grey owl appeared in the train’s slipstream—so small that it could fly circles inside the train compartment, bringing a letter to Harry from Sirius. The letter confirmed that he and Buckbeak were safe and staying a step ahead of the dementors, and confirmed that Sirius really had sent Harry the Firebolt. He also gave the soon-to-be Pigwidgeon as a gift to Ron, and most importantly, he signed Harry’s Hogsmeade permission form.

Professor Bragnam spoke up from the end of the table. “That’s a new one,” he said. “I’m guessing it was good enough for you, Professor Dumbledore, but was it actually legally valid for Sirius to sign Harry’s Hogsmeade form?”

Madam Bones had to think about that for a minute. “I…want to say no?” she said, “but I’d need to talk to the Legal Division to be sure. Black was a wanted fugitive. As far as anyone knew, his guardianship rights should have been revoked.”

“Except he was never convicted, ma’am,” Tonks pointed out, “or even tried. You don’t lose your rights automatically just for being arrested.”

Kinglsey shook his head: “They should have been suspended pending the outcome of the case, Tonks,” he reminded her.

“Oh, right,” she said, her hair draining of a bit of colour.

“And Potter was also living with his muggle guardians,” Madam Bones added. “They should have been his presumptive guardians.”

“I’m not sure about that part, ma’am,” Kingsley said. “We’ve already established that placement was never legal in the first place.”

She sighed. “So, the Ministry should have determined Potter guardianship earlier, but it never did. In the absence of that, Sirius was Harry’s legal guardian the whole time, but as you said, his rights would be suspended.”

“So without a valid placement on the books…” he continued.

“Potter would have been a ward of the Ministry, pending us taking actual action,” Bones concluded.

Suddenly, Tonks sputtered loudly, half-laughing. “Wait a minute,” she said with mingled laughter and horror on her face, “are you saying that Cornelius Fudge really did have the power to sign Harry’s permission form, and he didn’t know it?”

Several of the teachers gasped in shock. Some of the students guffawed at the absurdity. Harry dropped his forehead to the table again and groaned, “You have got to be kidding me.”

As for Madam Bones, she sat there blinking like a deer in headlamps before she got it together and scowled, “Bloody hell, he did, didn’t he?”

“We should be thankful he never found out, then,” McGonagall said. “It would still technically apply even now—” (Harry groaned again.) “—but Cornelius Fudge in direct control of Potter would have been even more disastrous,” McGonagall continued.

“Is it too late to get, like, emancipated or something?” Harry said to his friends.

“Weren’t you declared to be an adult to join the Tournament last year?” Fred suggested.

Harry’s head popped up again with a shocked expression as he stared at Fred. Then, he quickly scribbled a note on his parchment. “With my luck, probably not, but I’m bloody well gonna check,” he said.

In the book, Ron had Crookshanks confirm that Pigwidgeon was definitely an owl, to general amusement, and then, they arrived in London, and Harry got the chance to confront his relatives.

“‘Godfather?’ sputtered Uncle Vernon. ‘You haven’t got a godfather!’

“‘Yes, I have,’ said Harry brightly. ‘He was my mum and dad’s best friend. He’s a convicted murderer—’” The audience laughed. “‘—but he’s broken out of wizard prison and he’s on the run. He likes to keep in touch with me, though…keep up with my news…check if I’m happy…’ Well, at least he figured out a way to keep the muggles under control that year,” Vector said, to laughter from the students.

“And, grinning broadly at the look of horror on Uncle Vernon’s face, Harry set off toward the station exit, Hedwig rattling along in front of him, for what looked like a much better summer than the last.”

Professor Vector snapped the book shut with a loud crack and thumped it down hard on the table. “And that is the end,” she said.

Some of the students cheered—not raucously; it wasn’t a universal feeling. In fact, it wasn’t clear whether more of them were cheering at the overall performance of the three weeks of reading, or at the fact that it was finally over. Other students, especially the younger ones, groaned, wanting to hear more. The teachers and staff were universally wearing expressions of relief (with the possible exception of Tonks).

And Harry—Harry felt wrung out, emotionally. Continuing the readings for another two weeks had been his idea, but that didn’t make it easy. But now, they had finally done it. Everyone knew Sirius was innocent—or at least, everyone had heard the book, which they had largely believed up to this point, and Madam Bones had said during the last chapter that she was ready to clear everything up. Students would be excitedly writing letters home, and the Daily Prophet would probably know by the weekend. Everything seemed to be going according to plan.

Lunch still needed to be served, of course. It had been a long morning—not longer than the others in time, but certainly in how hard it was. And while most of the school was excitedly discussing the ending of the story, Harry ate in silence and was very grateful when his friends ran interference for him. He really didn’t want to go to class this afternoon, but he knew his teachers wouldn’t let him off the hook. They were still trying to get by on the shortened schedule this week. Harry would be glad that was over himself, if only because of how much it had increased their homework.

There was just one unusual incident that happened as the students were filing out of the Great Hall for class. Madam Bones came out and called to Harry, “Excuse me, Potter, could I have a word?”

Harry looked to Ron and Hermione for a moment, but then he shrugged and followed her to the antechamber where the new students normally waited for the Sorting.

“Ma’am, about Sirius—?” he said.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she told him. “I suspended the Kiss-on-Sight Order last weekend and moved all the parchmentwork I needed to.”

“Suspended…?”

“Strictly speaking, only the Minister can fully rescind an order to the dementors, and there’s no Minister right now—or if Black is found innocent, and it becomes moot. Legally, I cannot accept the word of the book, you understand, but all we need to do is question him properly. I’m guessing you’re in contact with him?” Harry nodded. “Then you can tell him to come in, and I’ll take care of it personally.” She stopped and thought for a moment and added, “Tell him to come in tomorrow. We’re not prepared to do it today.” She thought a moment longer and said “In fact, it might be better to wait until Saturday for word to get around, but we’ll be able to resolve it quickly when he does. But that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you.”

“It’s not?” Harry said with a jolt.

“No, there was something more personal…” Bones said. “Potter, for whatever it’s worth coming from me, I wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you for sparing Pettigrew.”

“Really?” he asked. “You…you don’t think it was a mistake?”

“I don’t. Maybe not for the same reasons as Dumbledore, but no. You did the right thing. Do you know the term ‘rules of engagement’?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve heard of it, but…”

“In the Aurors, we have rules for how we operate—how and when we fight. It’s not just avoiding the Unforgivable Curses. It’s not even just avoiding dark magic. It means that how we react when we win is even more important than how we react when we lose. You did the right thing by Aurors’ rules of engagement; have no doubt about that.

“But even that wasn’t the most important thing, I knew your parents, Potter,” she said. “Not well, but my brother Edgar fought alongside them on several occasions. Neither of your parents were afraid to fight—or even to kill—to protect themselves and their friends. But they had limits, and they stuck to them. They both scrupulously avoided dark magic, more than the rest of us who were fighting—except Dumbledore, I suppose. And I am quite certain that neither James nor Lily would ever have killed an enemy who was disarmed and at their mercy. That’s the standard the Aurors follow, and it’s the one they followed. You may have had different reasons, but I know they would have been proud that you held yourself to the same standard.”

Harry stood still, struggling to find his voice. It did mean a lot to hear that coming from her—more than he thought it would—not so much as the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, but as someone who knew his parents. But also, when he thought about it later, it was an opinion from outside his usual circle, from someone who was more neutral. And while Dumbledore had been reassuring, he understood the why a lot better coming from her.

“Th-thank you Madam Bones,” he choked out.

“You’re welcome, Potter. I won’t keep you any longer,” she said. “I know we still have a lot of work to do.”