Backwards Compatible
Introductory Classes
By Ruskbyte
Monday came soon enough, the weekend spent in preparation for those classes that had not yet been attended. The first lesson of the day, to the students' anticipation, was Defence Against the Dark Arts. After the farce they had to endure the previous year, under Professor Umbridge's tutelage, all were eager to see what the new professor could do.
Gathering outside the Defence classroom after breakfast, the sixth-year Gryffindors waited impatiently to enter, with the exception of Harry. He had woken up that morning with a throbbing headache which seemed to be trying to squeeze his head until it popped. It was very distracting, a result of which was that he had forgotten to bring his things down from Gryffindor Tower and had rushed to fetch them before class began.
After dashing madly through the corridors, almost trampling Dennis Creevey underfoot in the process, Harry skidded to a halt just before turning the corner leading to the Defence classroom. Pausing to catch his breath and wipe a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead, he composed himself and quietly made his way to where his housemates were waiting. He found it a bit odd that they were all still outside the classroom, rather than having already entered.
"I wonder why Harry isn't here already, he left breakfast before we did," he heard Ron comment to Hermione and Neville as he approached from behind them.
"Yeah, I wouldn't have expected him to be late for Defence," agreed Neville.
Harry stepped up, right behind the two boys and asked, "Who says I'm late?"
Both Ron and Neville practically hit the ceiling of the corridor as they jumped with fright. Hermione, who had been the only one of the three to see Harry sneak up on them, smiled wryly and shook her head at their antics. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who had been watching the group, twittered and giggled at the extreme reaction.
"Bloody hell, Harry, don't do that!" yelped Ron in surprise. He clutched at his chest and panted, "You just about gave me a heart attack!"
"Do what?" Harry asked innocently.
"I don't know how you could be surprised, Ron," stated Hermione, crossing her arms over her chest and giving the redhead a slightly smug look. "Harry was standing behind you for nearly half a minute before he spoke up."
"Bloody hell," repeated Ron.
"You're good at that, Harry," commented Neville, looking at Harry with some envy.
Harry leaned close, pitching his voice so that only they could hear him, and said, "Not as good as you will be."
Neville looked surprised for a moment, before remembering what Harry had told him the night after they arrived. He grinned happily and practically crowed, "Wicked." He paused for a moment and then asked, in a normal tone of voice, "Did you take a course in advanced sneakery over the summer?"
"As a matter of fact, I did," Harry nodded. Remembering that Neville had not yet had much contact with any member of the Order of the Phoenix, he mischievously suggested, "Remind me to introduce you to Tonks when she visits."
This was a bit of a joke, as Tonks regularly tripped over her own feet on a daily basis. Some would even say it was an hourly occurrence. Her natural clumsiness prevented her from being even remotely sneaky and she had almost failed her Auror stealth training because of it.
Neville, unaware of this, eagerly asked, "Tonks? Is she an Auror?"
"Yes," answered Hermione, giving Harry a disapproving frown, "and a rather clumsy one at that."
"Spoilsport," he countered, tempted to stick his tongue out at her, but deciding against it. It seemed a rather childish thing to do, and that part of him from the future rebelled against it. Looking to the nearby classroom door, he motioned for everyone to follow him as he walked up and pushed it open. "Come on, let's go inside."
The other sixth-year Gryffindors followed on his heels and crowded into the classroom, spreading out to take their seats. By unspoken agreement the front row of desks were open for the four members of the Ministry Crew, who seemed a bit self-conscious by the decision, with the sole exception of Harry. All but throwing himself into his seat, a habit he had picked up over the summer, Harry motioned for his friends to join him.
He was both disappointed and relieved when Hermione sat at the other desk, with Neville, allowing Ron to take the seat next to Harry. The two teenagers had barely spoken to each other since their... conversation in the Room of Requirements the previous Friday.
He wasn't sure about Hermione, but felt that his own reluctance to approach her stemmed from a mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty. Hopefully they would get over it soon, but for the time being they were dancing on eggshells around each other. It did not, however, stop him from engulfing her in a hug when greeting her.
"I hope this new bloke knows what he's doing," said Neville, looking around. The classroom did not seem all that different from the previous year, aside from several new bookcases that were jammed almost to overflowing with reference books.
"He does, for the most part," Harry answered absently.
He let his future 'memories' regarding their new professor bubble to the surface. Rhys Pisqual Smythe-White, despite his aristocratically hyphenated name, would prove to be one of Harry's more competent teachers. This did not say much, if you paused to consider Quirrel, Lockhart, the Moody impostor and Umbridge. Harry did not consider him on par with Remus Lupin, being perhaps slightly biased in the werewolf's favour, but would agree that Smythe-White did know what he was talking about.
His training as a Healer and later experience in St. Mungo's mental wards, allowed Smythe-White to 'play the crowd', so to speak. He would get along very well with most of the students, bar the Slytherins of course, and had eventually befriended Harry. It had taken most of the school year, but Harry had gradually opened to the charismatic wizard and unloaded some of his problems to the other man.
This time round, however, Harry knew that Smythe-White had been hired specifically for that task; to try and bring Harry out of his depression over Sirius' death. Suffice to say, he was not pleased with the knowledge that Dumbledore and Smythe-White had not revealed this until after Harry had already bared many of his feelings and insecurities.
Now, knowing what he did, Harry wasn't sure what to do about it, though he was hoping that he did not start hexing the professor the moment he stepped foot in the room.
"You know him?" asked Hermione, obviously aware that Harry must, thanks to his 'memories'.
"I've heard of him," Harry replied, aware that his housemates were listening. He phrased it so that he would be able to drop a few facts without sounding as if he had actually met the man. He shrugged and elaborated, "Tends to focus more on defence than offence, but that's not really surprising all things considered."
"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Lavender.
"He used to be an Auror, but a field Healer," answered Harry. "Never really got into the thick of things. Stayed on the sidelines."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Hermione commented. She looked at him and warily, obviously not wanting to set him off by saying the wrong thing, offered, "We would've been a lot better off over the years if we'd known some healing magic."
Harry shrugged, "Maybe, but I prefer to hit my enemy before he hits me."
Parvati interjected, "As long as he's better than that hag we had last year, I couldn't care if he makes us do finger painting."
"Nobody could be worse than Dumbridge," asserted Ron.
"Snape," countered Harry.
"Well, almost nobody."
"Why don't we reserve judgement until after he's taught the lesson?" huffed Hermione, crossing her arms and giving her friends an admonishing frown.
"Always a good idea."
Everyone, with the exception of Harry, jerked upright in surprise as Professor Smythe-White stepped into the room. The only reason Harry did not react was because he had known the professor was going to enter at that moment. An advantage of already knowing what was supposed to happen. Shifting languidly in his seat, he considered the new arrival.
Rhys Pisqual Smythe-White was a middle aged, tall and broad-shouldered man. His dark brown hair, beginning to go grey at the temples, was cropped close to his head. A thick, but neatly trimmed beard, shot through with streaks of grey, covered his round and smiling face. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown and seemed to have a similar twinkle to that of Dumbledore's, only without the impression of latent power behind them.
"Good morning, young witches and wizards," he greeted with a broad and inviting smile as he walked up to his desk at the front of the classroom. He leaned back against it, casually propped up with his arms, feet crossed at the ankles, and introduced himself, "I'm Professor Smythe-White, but I'd prefer for you to call me Rhys."
"Rice?" asked Ron, blinking in surprise.
"Rhys, Ron," corrected Hermione, clearly exasperated. "Honestly, do you ever not think with your stomach?"
"Only when I'm not hungry."
"Which is never," noted Neville.
"I'm a growing boy!"
A clearing of his throat drew all eyes back to Smythe-White, who appeared to have found their brief interaction quite amusing if his broad grin was any indication.
"We'll get started as soon as I've finished taking the roll," he told them, pulling out a sheaf of parchment from his robes. He glanced over it briefly before looking up at them. "I'd like to know more about you than just your names and faces, so when I call your name will you please stand up and tell me a bit about yourselves."
Smythe-White started going through the role, beginning with Lavender Brown. Harry was more focused on trying to ignore his headache, paid little mind to what his classmates were saying, save for Hermione. There was a slight ruckus when she mentioned that she enjoyed reading, whereupon Ron commented on her fascination with Hogwarts; A History.
It was perhaps a good thing that Ron was sitting next to Harry, otherwise Hermione would probably have bruised his ribs with a well placed elbow. As it was, she settled for a scathing glare that caused Ron to cringe down into his seat.
After Parvati sat down, having just delivered a gushing account about her love of all things pink or pastel and her admiration for Professor Trelawney, Smythe-White called out Harry's name.
Harry remained seated and stated, "Trust is earned, not given."
"Excuse me?" asked Smythe-White, blinking at the slightly hostile tone that had managed to creep into Harry's voice despite his efforts to remain neutral.
"Why should I give information that could potentially be used against me," asked Harry, "to someone I only met ten minutes ago?"
"Well, Harry--"
Harry interrupted, "I don't believe it proper for a teacher and student to be so informal, Professor."
The other students were staring at him, something he tried to ignore as he matched gazes with the professor. He was peripherally aware of Ron and Neville looking at him with wide eyes. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking worriedly back and forth between him and Smythe-White.
Smythe-White smiled at him and gestured with his arms, encompassing the entire room with the motion. It was supposed to be a placating and inviting gesture, but Harry thought he could detect a hint of falseness in the smile. Whether it really was a mask, or simple distrust on his part, he did not know, but Harry did not relax as intended.
"I want to promote an open atmosphere in this class, Harry."
"You can be open without using my given name, Professor."
"Harry--"
"Professor Smythe-White, I don't know you," Harry interrupted again, this time a bit curtly. He tilted his head so that he could peer at the professor from over the rims of his glasses. "Until I do, I'd prefer for you to call me; 'Mr Potter'."
"It's a little early to say you don't trust me, don't you think?" asked Smythe-White, sounding rather amused by Harry's announcement.
Some part of Harry felt the amusement and accompanying smile was a tad condescending, but he could not be sure. His future self and Smythe-White had not parted on the best of terms. It was possible that his 'memories' were colouring his judgement in this case, which is why he pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being.
Keeping his voice level, Harry calmly informed, "I don't trust anyone I don't know."
Smythe-White actually blinked at this bold statement. His jovial mask had started to crack and some concern was visible as he looked at Harry. "The world is filled with people you don't know."
"Which is why I never go anywhere without my wand and other assorted weaponry," Harry smiled, lifting his wand into view and giving it a deft twirl - sending a spray of red and glow sparks into the air.
"You're armed?" sputtered Smythe-White in alarm.
Father bobbed into view, the gleaming black sphere drifting back and forth behind Harry's shoulders. The Gatekeeper had been keeping a low profile, since Harry did not want more attention directed at him than necessary. Acting on its own initiative, thanks to its evolved AI, Father gathered its GM fields. The air around Harry seemed to shimmer and pulse with power, though in truth it was merely an advanced optical illusion caused by gravity distorted light.
Harry smirked, "I'm the most dangerous person in this room."
"Er, yes... quite," the professor muttered. Shaking it off, he looked back to the parchment in his hands and finished the roll call, ending with Ron who was so distracted by Harry and Father's earlier display that he completely forgot to mention the Chudley Cannons.
"Well, this was most informative. Thank you," concluded Smythe-White, trying to hide a worried glance at Harry before continuing, "Now let me tell you a little about myself."
The professor then began to list his qualifications and the various fields of experience he had talent in, carefully omitting any mention of his being a practicing psychologist. Harry, who had heard it all before during the first time he had lived this, found it boring to tears.
Instead, he decided to see if he could spook the man by staring stoically at him while he spoke. His eyes took on an icy expression and he followed Smythe-White's every moment. To compliment the forbidding look he allowed a small, slightly evil grin to stretch his lips as he propped his elbows on the desk and folded his hands just below his chin. If the professor had any sense, he would have started sweating.
Smythe-White seemed slightly put out by Harry's unblinking stare, and quickly wrapped up his little speech. Clearing his throat again he visibly forced himself to smile cheerfully. "Let's begin, shall we?"
"Finally," muttered Harry. He leaned closer to Ron, breaking his pose, and whispered, "I'd forgotten how much he liked to talk."
Ron, who had actually edged away from Harry during the professor's talk, looked at him with wide eyes. Apparently Harry's intimidating stance had worked not only on the professor, but on his classmates as well.
"From what I am given to understand, your education in the Defence Against the Dark Arts has been rather... inconsistent up till now," Smythe-White commented charitably as he began. Then he started to list some of the problems they had faced over the years. "A different professor every year, people with dubious qualifications, lack of any true experience, or in Dolores' case, a lack of any common sense."
"You knew that bi- er- witch?" asked Seamus as the students reacted with surprise.
Smythe-White nodded ruefully and admitted, "Much to my displeasure. We were in the same year at Hogwarts, though in different houses, thankfully."
Harry, suddenly remembering something, checked the time on his new wristwatch. It was a replacement for the one that had been damaged beyond repair during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. He had acquired it over the summer, during a brief stop over in San Francisco, and hoped that it would survive the rigours of his life.
"As I was saying, your studies have been haphazard, which leaves me with little idea of what you do and do not know," Smythe-White continued, circling his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick sheaf of parchment and handed it to Neville. "To remedy this, we'll be using this first lesson to determine what you have covered before now."
"I don't understand, Professor--" Hermione began to ask as Neville took one sheet of parchment and handed the remainder of the stack to her. She was interrupted, however, by Smythe-White.
"Rhys," he corrected, reminding them of his earlier request.
"...Rhys," finished Hermione, clearly uncomfortable with the informality of it all. She passed the stack of parchment over to Ron. "Wouldn't the O.W.L.s give an indication of what we know?"
"Yes, Hermione, in some ways they do," agreed Smythe-White with a nod, "however the O.W.L.s tend to focus almost entirely on your spellwork and not on those aspects of Defence that I consider just as important."
"Like what?" asked Dean.
Before the professor could begin to answer, Harry stuck his hand up in the air. All eyes immediately centred on him, no doubt wondering what he had planned.
"Five, four, three," he counted down on his fingers, "two, one, now."
A moment later a low, but loud boom rocked Hogwarts. One could almost imagine the castle trembling from the noise, but it would take much more to do that. Several students shot to their feet and looked around wildly.
"What the bloody hell was that?!" shouted Ron, who had drawn his wand and aimed it at the classroom door, just in case something dangerous was coming.
"I don't know," said Hermione, one of the few students still sitting.
"It's You-Know-Who!" cried Lavender dramatically. "The castle's under attack!"
"Don't be daft!" scoffed Dean.
"Well, what else could it be?" asked Parvati, standing next to her friend, wand also drawn.
Harry, who was struggling not to laugh, bit back a guffaw. His chuckles were enough to centre all attention back on him, reminding them that he obviously knew what was going on. Stifling his laughter as best he could, he explained in a good attempt at a calm voice, "One of the Muggleborn Hufflepuff first-years decided to get Shakespearian during his first Potions class."
"Shakespearian..." muttered Hermione, trailing off as her eyes grew round as realization dawned. She looked incredulously at Harry and stated, "You have got to be joking."
"As the explosion we just heard will testify," he confirmed dryly, "eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, do not a safe potion make."
"Oh dear, Professor Snape is not going to be happy."
"Look on the bright side," Harry cheerfully informed her, "your Potions class is going to be cancelled for today
"How do you know this, Ha-- Mr Potter?" asked Smythe-White, catching himself from using Harry’s given name just in time. He too was looking at Harry with a bewildered expression.
"I'm the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry answered, as if it were obvious, "I know everything."
Suffice to say, Professor Smythe-White was a little nonplussed by this answer. He blinked several times in quick succession before shaking his head and trying to restore the classroom to some semblance of order. "Uh, well... yes, I suppose... ahem," he cleared his throat and tried to smile brightly, "Let's carry on, shall we?"
The lesson continued peacefully after that, without any further interruption. The professor explained his lesson plan for the year as the Gryffindors worked through the short test he had handed out. Harry was pleased to note that any members of the DA should not have any problem answering all questions asked, and that they had even managed to cover several of the topics Smythe-White planned to teach them later in the year.
Professor McGonagall made a brief appearance to pass on the information that, while nobody had been seriously injured, the Potions dungeon had been rendered temporarily uninhabitable and that Potions classes would be put on hold until repairs had been finished. Apparently there was an ungodly amount of extremely sticky and foul smelling purple slime coating just about every available surface.
Finally the bell rang, signalling the end of class. Smythe-White quickly gathered the completed tests as the students got up to leave, heading to their next classes. Harry planned to visit the library, as he had dropped all his classes other than Defence, Transfiguration, Charms and Care of Magical Creatures.
The first three were subjects he considered not only useful, but necessary for his upcoming battles. The fourth he kept out of loyalty to his first ever friend, Hagrid. Everything else was no longer of any use or interest to him at present. He had a war to fight, after all.
"My, how time flies when you're having fun," he commented as they packed away their things.
"We were having fun?" asked Ron jokingly.
"You two are incorrigible," observed Hermione teasingly.
Ron looked at Harry and then at Hermione. "If I knew what that meant, I'd probably be insulted."
Neville laughed and patted the redhead on the shoulder in commiseration. "For your own peace of mind, I think you should take it as a compliment instead."
Ron shook his head. "No, I'm sure it was an insult."
"It was both," Hermione informed him.
The group made their way to the door, where Harry was waiting for them. He had finished packing away before anyone else by the simple fact that he had not unpacked to begin with. He had already known that they would not be needing anything other than their quills, to fill in the questionnaire. Harry himself had used a Muggle ballpoint pen.
Motioning his friends through the door, Harry glanced back at Professor Smythe-White, who was watching them depart with an unabashed expression of bewilderment. Clearly they were not what he had been expecting.
"Just thought you might want to know, Professor; this isn't a school, it's a lunatic asylum," Harry told the professor before stepping outside. "And the inmates are in charge."
Smythe-White, who was still uncertain how to react to Harry, could only nod dumbly.
Shortly after lunch, which did not last as long as Ron would have liked, the sixth-years gathered by Hagrid's hut. Their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the year was about to begin.
Several students had dropped the subject after having taken their O.W.L.s, which led to the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs being combined into a single class. None of the Slytherins had continued into the N.E.W.T. class, which suited Ron down to the ground. It meant he wouldn't have to see Malfoy's ferret face during any of his classes.
As he, Harry, Hermione and Neville stood in a group near the door to Hagrid's hut, Ron could overhear the other students speculating as to what their half-giant professor had planned for them this time. As Hagrid had the unfortunate habit of finding the most vicious beasts known to wizards to be "cute", everything from dragons to griffins were being considered as possibilities.
"I don't suppose you plan to share?" asked Neville suddenly, directing the question to Harry.
"What d'you... Oh, yeah," Ron looked to his best friend as he realized that Harry must have memories of this class. He was listening to the guesses and rumours with a smug expression on his face. Clearly he knew something. "You know what Hagrid's new pet is, don't you?"
"I might," Harry smirked.
"Is it bad?"
Harry shrugged noncommittally and said, "Depends on your point of view."
"If you're trying to ease our fears, you're not succeeding, Harry," Hermione told him.
"Probably because your fears are justified," confirmed Harry.
Ron groaned and gave into the urge to hide his face in his hands. In a muffled, defeated voice, he asked, "Just tell us, is it worse than the skrewts?"
"Well..."
Harry trailed off as the door to Hagrid's hut swung open and Hagrid himself emerged, his cowardly boarhound Fang following on his heels. A lead weight seemed to settle into Ron's stomach at the sight of the delighted grin on Hagrid's face. It was the same, eager smile he had worn two years ago, just before introducing his students to the Blast-Ended Skrewts.
"'Lo there, 'Arry! Ron, 'Ermione, Neville, good ta see yeh," Hagrid boomed, lumbering over to the four Gryffindors. He beamed happily down at them and asked, "'Ave a good summer?"
"It had its moments," replied Harry with a sly smile. Everyone knew that Hagrid was simply terrible at keeping secrets, something the Gryffindor Trio had often exploited, so there was no chance of Harry telling their friend any details about his summer activities. "Good to see you too, Hagrid. How's your brother?"
"Great, thanks fer asking. His English is getting better every day."
"Please tell me he's not still hiding in the forest," pleaded Hermione.
"Nah, Professor Dumbledore arranged a place for him ta stay in a valley east o' here," Hagrid told them with a shake of his shaggy head and a wave in the mentioned direction. "Great man, Dumbledore is, great man."
"That's nice, Hagrid," Ron said diplomatically. He could all to clearly remember Harry and Hermione telling him about their first encounter with Grawp during the Quidditch Final the previous year. He would not say anything about it, but he was secretly relieved to learn that the giant was no longer staying near the castle. "You'll have to introduce us to him some day."
"'E'd like that, Grawp would. I think 'e gets a bit lonely, all by 'imself."
Ron silently thought that if anyone had to keep Grawp company, he'd rather it were not him. His friends might not be bothered by the idea of spending time with a giant, but they were Muggleborn. Or, in Harry's case, had been raised by Muggles. Ron, on the other hand, had grown up hearing horror stories about giant savagery. He did not want to come across as prejudice or the like, but the thought of being near Grawp filled him with trepidation.
"Alrigh', you lot," Hagrid hollered, capturing the other students' attention. It was time for the lesson to begin. He began to walk towards the lake. "Follow me."
"Uh, Harry?" asked Neville as they trailed after Hagrid, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. "If you're going to tell us what he has planned, now would be a good time."
"What, and ruin the surprise?" teased Harry.
"Yes!" insisted Ron with a vigorous nod.
"Okay, I'll give you a few clues," Harry relented. He assumed a thoughtful expression and finally said, "It's big."
Ron grumbled upon learning this. "Somehow I was expecting that"
Harry grinned and continued, "It's scaly."
"Oh gods, he's got his hands on a dragon," lamented Neville.
"It's called 'Mister Green Turtle'."
"Excuse me?" asked Hermione incredulously. Her expression exactly matched how Ron felt.
"A turtle?" repeated Ron, looking at Harry with confusion. His over active imagination had been expecting something akin to a Chimaera or a Nundu. Not some waterborne tortoise. "But turtles aren't magical."
Harry's eyes gleamed with mischief, putting Ron in mind of Fred and George right before they pulled one of their infamous pranks. He grinned and elaborated, "I said its name is Mister Green Turtle, not that it is a turtle."
By now the group had arrived at the lake shore, preventing any further questions. Ron peered around, hoping to catch an early glimpse of Hagrid's latest pet, but aside from the Giant Squid floating in the distance, there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary.
Hagrid, water lapping at his heels, called out, "'Ere we are, now gather round, gather round!"
"I hope my mum's paid up my medical insurance," Ron heard Dean mutter.
"I'd be more worried about my life insurance," countered Justin Finch-Fletchley just as quietly, none of the students wanting to upset Hagrid.
"I'm sure we're not in any danger," Ernie Macmillan assured them all.
Terry Boot, who was practically twitching with nerves, looked at the Hufflepuff incredulously and asked, "Have you forgotten who our professor is?"
"Settle down, settle down," Hagrid interrupted, "We don't want to scare 'im off now, do we?"
"Scare him off? Scare him off?" repeated Ron, looking at his friends with wide eyes. Neville was the only one that seemed to share his apprehension. How Harry and Hermione could remain so calm was a mystery to him. "We haven't even seen him yet and I'm ready to be scared off!"
Hagrid, oblivious to his students' mounting alarm, said, "'Ere, let me call him for yeh."
He strode off to one side, where a large wooden bucket was sitting. Calling it a bucket was a bit of an understatement, as most normal sized people would have considered it large enough to bath in. Lifting the container off the ground, Hagrid carried it to the water's edge and dumped the contents into the lake.
"Is that... blood?" asked Susan Bones, positively appalled.
"I think I'm going to be sick," muttered Ernie thickly, looking a bit green.
A loud, warbling noise drew their attention away from the spreading pool of red and back to Hagrid. He had put the bucket back down and cupped his hands over his mouth in an attempt to make what Ron assumed was a call to draw his pet's attention. It sounded vaguely like a tortured rendition of Scotland Forever played on a ruptured set of bagpipes. If it attracted anything aside from a lovesick banshee, Ron would be surprised.
Hagrid continued his horrendous bellows for a minute or two until he abruptly dropped his hands and cried, "There 'e is! Comin' right ta daddy!"
"Daddy?" asked Hermione, looking at Hagrid as if he had lost his mind.
"He's having flashbacks to when he had Norbert," Harry explained.
"Holy shite!" exclaimed Seamus, "Look!"
Everyone stared where the Irish wizard was pointing and reacted to various degrees. A large dark shape was approaching the shore from beneath the water. It was easily as big as the Giant Squid and Ron almost thought it was the squid, had it not been for the fact that he could still see squid lounging in the shallows of the lake's far side.
Terry spoke in a hushed voice, "Gods, what a monster!"
"It's big. And scaly," groaned Neville.
"It's a sea serpent of some sort," decided Ernie, edging back.
Hannah Abbot shook her head and looked thoughtfully at the lake. "Actually, it looks more like some kind of wingless dragon."
Dean looked at her and snorted, "Don't be daft, it's a crocodile."
"Wait a second, I know what that is..."
Everyone looked at Hermione as she trailed off with a look of recognition in her eyes. Nobody bothered making any other guesses as to the breed of Hagrid's pet. If Hermione thought she knew what it was, then nothing they could come up with would be closer than hers.
She looked accusingly at Harry and said flatly, "You have to be joking."
Harry shrugged, "Nope. It's times like this that I wonder about Hagrid's sanity."
"Everyone, I'd like yeh to meet Mister Green Turtle!" announced Hagrid happily, bouncing on his heels as he stared at the approaching creature with something akin to rapture.
It was at this point that the assembled students noticed that Mister Green Turtle had begun to emerge from the lake. How Hagrid had come up with such a name would forever remain a mystery. Mister Green Turtle was most certainly not a turtle, in fact it wasn't even green and if there was a way of determining its sex, Ron couldn't see it.
Suffice to say, a minor amount of panic ensued.
There was a mad scramble as everyone, save Hagrid and Harry, tried to put some distance between themselves and the lake. Justin had the misfortune of slipping and landing face first in a stretch of mud, injury promptly being added to insult as a few students clambered right over him without stopping. Several other students tripped over each other, and in a couple of cases tripped over their own feet, but still managed to retreat a dozen or so paces from the lake.
Hagrid, who had been too busy watching Mister Green Turtle to notice, seemed quite surprised when he turned around and found his students to no longer be in the immediate vicinity. He looked at them in genuine puzzlement and asked, "What yeh all doin' over there?"
Neville, who had actually drawn his wand, gestured at the creature, "Hagrid, that's a bloody dinosaur you've got there!"
"Actually, it's a water wyrm," corrected Hermione, somewhat unsteadily. She looked slightly flushed, though if this was because of exertion of fleeing the lakeside or indignation at the identity of Hagrid's pet, Ron couldn't tell. After taking a deep breath to compose herself, she assumed what everyone recognised as her professor-giving-a-lecture stance and gave some more details, "Rather like wingless dragons, only without the ability to breathe fire, they're generally found in large, deep fresh water lakes. Some have even been spotted by Muggles in Scotland. They call them the Loch Ness Monster, or Nessie."
"Right as always, 'Ermione," congratulated Hagrid, "Five points to Gryffindor!"
"Hagrid, are you sure it's safe; having one of those at Hogwarts?" asked Susan, eyeing the creature nervously. It looked much bigger on land than it did when it had been underwater. The rows of glistening white teeth, which were displayed as it threw back its head to repeat the call Hagrid had used to summon it, were even less encouraging.
"Course it's safe," Hagrid assured them, sounding sceptical that anyone could consider such a beast dangerous. He turned to regard his pet and smiled warmly at it, "Mister Green Turtle's as harmless as a puppy."
Ron goggled at him in disbelief. He looked at his friends and stammered, "Harmless? Harmless?! How can he consider something like that harmless?"
"We're talking about a man who named a giant, three-headed dog, Fluffy," said Harry, who had only now joined them at their safer distance from the lake. He had not participated in the mad scrabble, opting instead to let everyone else pass before lazily following them.
"Oh, right," agreed Ron, as if that explained everything.
Perhaps it did.
Hagrid clapped his hands enthusiastically and rubbed them together before reaching into his pockets. After searching about for a short while he withdrew a long length of rope that looked thicker than Ron's arm. It was attached to a large, studded collar that would not have looked out of place on the aforementioned giant, three-headed dog.
"Righ', now let me jus' put 'is leash on," he said.
"It has a leash?" asked Seamus incredulously. "What does he do, take it for walks in the evening?"
"I can't believe this, I simply can't believe it," stammered Hermione as Hagrid approached Mister Green Turtle, clearly planning to slip the collar around the beast's long neck.
"Don't worry, it's only for a couple of months," Harry assured them. He was watching with thinly veiled amusement as Mister Green Turtle objected to Hagrid's plan and tried to shy away. "He'll have something new for us to 'play with' before Christmas."
"Do we even want to know?" asked Neville.
Harry thought about it for a moment, while Hagrid leapt forward and began wrestling with the wyrm in an attempt to leash it. Finally he said, "Well... they are harmless. Sort of."
Ron focused on the last two words and turned to Harry. "What d'you mean, 'sort of'?"
That same mischievous expression from earlier cross Harry's face. With an innocent look, totally betrayed by a quirky grin, he elaborated, "They don't have any teeth."
"That's good, but it still doesn't explain 'sort of'," persisted Ron.
"Let's just say, we're going to have our hands full."
"Harry?" asked Hermione.
"There's not much we can do about it, Nee," Harry answered. He watched intently as Hagrid managed to pin Mister Green Turtle's long neck under one knee and clipped on the leash. The mischief in his eyes, as he turned to face his friends, was almost a palpable thing. "We can only hope that all our tribbles will be little ones."
The Gryffindor common room was sparsely occupied late that night, after dinner, most of the house having already gone to bed. The few students present were working on their homework, the fifth and seventh-years in particular having a large number of assignments to wade through.
Harry and Hermione were sitting at their usual table, several books and rolls of parchments scattered about. Or at least Hermione was surrounded by parchment. Harry had apparently abandoned the traditional wizarding writing material and was transcribing his Charms assignment into a Muggle notebook.
It certainly looked easier to use, as the paper was both lined and considerably simpler to organise than multiple sheets of loose parchment. Hermione wondered why she had never thought to do the same.
She and Harry not spoken since Ron and Neville had retired. Ron had departed first, after beating Harry in three straight games of chess. Apparently having access to a super-computer Gatekeeper did nothing to improve the Boy-Who-Lived's skills in that area. Half an hour later, Neville had finished his Herbology assignment and retired upstairs as well, leaving them to their own devices for the past hour.
Hermione glanced up at Harry, who was bent over one of his other notebooks and writing in another. Ever since she had burst in on him during his... soak... last Friday, she had barely been able to look him in the eyes. Whenever she did, memories of that form-fitting red and gold bikini came back to her. Not to mention those tight black swim-trunks Harry had been wearing, as well as how wonderfully warm and comfortable it had felt to be held in his arms. She looked back at her own assignment, Potions (ugh), and hoped Harry did not notice her sudden blush.
She paused halfway through writing the word 'infuse' as something strange occurred to her. Looking up at Harry again, this time for longer, she silently considered him. Something about him was bothering her, but she didn't know what. He looked positively adorable in the low firelight, but that wasn't it...
She paused again and wondered how and why that particular thought had popped into her head. Shaking off these disturbingly amorous thoughts, Hermione turned back to Harry and tried to focus on what he was doing, rather than his current appearance.
His new silver-framed, rectangular glasses were perched on the tip of his nose. Nothing unusual there. He was gently tapping his right foot on the floor, in a measured rhythm that was probably a tune of some sort he had recently heard. Nothing unusual there either. He was tracing his progress through one notebook with the index finger of his right hand, while scribbling untidily in the other with his left hand...
"Are you all right, Harry?" she asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between them for an hour or so.
"Sure, why do you ask?" he responded, pausing in his writing and looking up at her. He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.
"You're writing that assignment with your left hand," she pointed out. This is what had been bothering her, since Harry was most emphatically right-handed. He always wrote with his right hand, held his wand with his right hand, and even caught the Golden Snitch with his right hand. That he was apparently using his left hand all of a sudden was a definite sign that something was off.
For a moment, Hermione considered that perhaps Harry had pulled off another disappearing act and left new version of the Doppelganger Unit to take his place. If that were true, then it was certainly a better fake than the first one had been.
"Not writing the assignment, just copying it," Harry corrected.
"Why?" she asked, puzzled as to why he would do such a thing as copy his own homework out twice. Harry had never shown much interest or dedication to his schoolwork over the years. Probably due to Ron's influence, he seldom did more than the bare minimum needed to complete whatever was asked of him.
"A few years from now I'm going to break several knuckles and other bones in my right hand. It'll be a couple of weeks before I can get it fixed, by which time the bones will have started to heal incorrectly and the Healer with have to re-break them," he informed her, laying down the pen he had been writing with. "I was almost totally unable to use my wand during that time."
Hermione nodded in understanding. "So you're practicing with your left hand."
Harry shrugged and settled into a more comfortable position in his chair, "I don't know if you can train yourself to be ambidextrous, but I'm going to try."
"How did you break your hand?" she asked.
"I'll be interrogating a Death Eater and will get so... enthusiastic... that I'll stop using my wand and start punching him," he answered in the same, calm, deadly voice he used whenever one of the more disturbing events from the future came up as a topic of conversation. "By the time Ron pulled me off, I'd caved his head in and broken my hand."
Appalled and a little horrified, Hermione gaped. "You were beating him?"
"He'll have information I want," Harry countered. His expression turned dark as he looked narrowly at her, "The names of all the Death Eaters that took turns with you."
"Funny, how we seem to keep getting back to that," Hermione noted after a long silence, during which they watched a seventh-year witch leave the common room and climb the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories.
"Back to what?"
"My... abduction."
"Makes sense, actually," Harry informed her, his expression no longer as dark as it had been. Now, instead of slightly menacing, he looked somewhat thoughtful.
Hermione looked at him for an explanation and asked, "How so?"
Harry smiled slightly, shifting in his chair and asked in return, "Have you ever heard of the Butterfly Effect, Nee?"
"Yes," she nodded. Though she had never studied the idea in any depth, she did have a general idea of what the concept involved. "Basically; a butterfly flapping its wings can be the cause of a storm on the other side of the planet. The smallest action can have great and far-reaching consequences."
"Your... abduction, as you call it, is something much more important than a butterfly."
"I still don't think I understand what you're trying to say, Harry," she admitted, shaking her head. "I know it must have been traumatic, for all of us, but--"
"It cost us the war," Harry interrupted.
"Excuse me?"
"They tortured, raped and essentially drove you to suicide," he told her, staring off into space, "and we lost the war because of it."
Hermione looked at him, hating to see how blank his eyes grew when he delved into his memories like he currently was. He had, as long as she had known him, taken things personally. "Harry..."
Harry's attention suddenly focused on her, his eyes dark. "I spent years hunting after Death Eaters, looking for revenge. If I hadn't done that, maybe I could've taken care of Voldemort before it was too late."
"I don't know, Harry," she whispered, ducking her head to avoid his intense stare. There was also a slight blush, which she could feel rising to her cheeks, that she did not want him to see. The idea that he considered her important enough to put his battle against Voldemort on hold set her heart aflutter. "I'm not that important."
"Yes, you are," he countered immediately, reaching across to hold her hand. "To me, you are."
"Thank you," she said, her blush deepening and growing almost painfully hot. Daringly Hermione leaned forwards and kissed him on the lips.
Fortunately the common room was practically empty, and those students still present were too busy with their homework to notice. Otherwise, the rumours already spreading around Hogwarts would finally have some proof to back them up. Harry's insistence on greeting Hermione with a hug each time he saw her, had not escaped anyone's notice.
As with all their prior kisses, it was short and chaste. Still, when they broke apart, it did leave them both blushing a furious red and panting lightly.
"You really ought to stop doing that, Nee," Harry told her as he settled back in his chair. His eyes were wide and slightly unfocused. "Otherwise you'll scramble my brains beyond repair."
"You mean you like it?" she asked timidly. Harry was the only boy she had ever kissed, the only boy she had ever considered kissing truth be told.
"Quite a lot, actually," he admitted. He fingered his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face as he murmured, "Though it does seem a bit strange when I think about it."
"Strange? How?"
"I can't put my finger on it, but I'll let you know when I do."
They sat comfortably together for a while, ignoring everything else in favour of simply holding hands and occasionally stealing glances at the other. After the comfortable silence had stretched on for a minute or two, Hermione looked up at Harry with a bit of a smirk and asked, "Scramble your brains, huh?"
Harry laughed and nodded, "You're good at that."
"That's nice to hear," she replied with a pleased grin. Giving his hands a gentle squeeze she leaned forward and asked another question on a related topic. "Have you thought about what I asked?"
"About what?"
"Our first Hogsmeade weekend this year," she elaborated. "About going together."
Harry visibly considered this for a minute, staring up at the ceiling in thought. Finally he turned his gaze back to he and asked, "Would it be all right if the others come with?"
"Well, I'll admit that I'd prefer to go alone," she admitted, wondering why she had ever hoped that Harry would react in a romantic manner to the suggestion. He had been raised by the Dursleys, who had doubtless stunted his social growth, but she had not thought he would request they have company during what amounted to their first date. "It's rather difficult, I imagine, to have a proper date with four other people joining you at the table."
"If things get out of hand we'll need all the help we can get," Harry muttered darkly, more to himself than to Hermione.
"It's our first date, Harry," she noted, a small amount of exasperation in her voice. "Somehow I don't think we're going to need chaperones."
"I'm talking about Death Eaters trying to either kidnap or kill the both of us," he replied, giving her an incredulous expression, clearly wondering what she was thinking. Evidently his thoughts regarding their date were on a completely different track to her own. "I'd rather not risk being caught alone if there's trouble of some kind."
"Do you really thing Voldemort will risk attacking you during the day, in the middle of an entire village of wizards?"
"Things have changed since last year, Nee," he explained patiently. "Then he was keeping a low profile, taking advantage of the fact that almost nobody believed he was back. Using the Ministry's idiocy while he secured a power base. He's not going to be hiding in the shadows for much longer."
"Neither of us are slouches in a fight, Harry," observed Hermione, thinking back to the disastrous episode in the Ministry of Magic. True, they had nominally lost that fight, but when six students could hold off a dozen fully-trained wizards for as long as they had... that was an accomplishment of note. She then indicated the black ball that was resting on the table, next to three of Harry's Muggle notebooks. "And even if they did somehow manage to capture us, couldn't Father get us out?"
"I'd rather not risk it," Harry shook his head. Sighing deeply he continued, "Voldemort was willing to wait, first time round, but things are different. He must know about Father by now, or at least he knows that the status quo has changed. He might decide to come after me before I can go after him."
"You're expecting him to try something, aren't you."
"It's not just Voldemort that I'm worried about."
"Who else could it be?"
"Malfoy," Harry all but spat the name, his voice filled with a venom that would have made a Basilisk jealous. "It would be quite a feather in his wizard's cap if he could catch the 'famous Harry Potter's new Mudblood girlfriend' and deliver her to his master."
Hermione thought about that for a moment or two, thinking about the tone Harry's voice had taken and his reaction to Malfoy since the start of term. She did not like the conclusion she reached and immediately checked with Harry. "He was one of them," she said with certainty, "Wasn't he?"
"I'm going to kill him, Nee," Harry said plainly. "Again."
"He might not this time," she offered, not sounding very convinced.
"Even if he doesn't lay a finger on you, I'm going to kill him just for thinking about it," he asserted, such grim and assured certainty in his voice that Hermione had no doubts that Harry meant every word.
A slightly uncomfortable silence stretched on for a minute or two, both teenagers sitting in silent contemplation over Harry's assertion. The conviction and determination in Harry's voice drove home even moreso the fact that the Boy-Who-Lived had changed greatly over the summer.
He had always possessed an unwavering sense of conviction in what he believed was right as well as an unrelenting determination to achieve his goals, but now... Hermione could not help but think that the experience of merging with his future self's memories had a more profound impact on Harry than any of them had thought.
He was certainly far more ruthless than he had been, though who was to say that part of that was not an offshoot of Sirius' death at the Department of Mysteries? Harry had always, for the most part, been willing to give the benefit of the doubt to those who supposedly desired a second chance.
Witness his persuading Sirius and Remus to spare Wormtail's life during their encounter inside the Shrieking Shack during third year.
Hermione frowned as a thought occurred to her. It was odd that she had never noticed it before, but somewhat understandable considering how stressful things had been at the time. Harry had not spared Pettigrew out of any sense of mercy or desire to see justice done in proper fashion.
He did it so that Sirius and Remus, his father's friends, would not stoop down to the same level as the man who had betrayed them. He did it, because some part of him had considered simple death to be far too kind a punishment for the man that had cost him his parents. Hermione could vaguely recall him muttering something about feeding the treacherous rat to the Dementors - a fate practically everyone agreed was worse than death.
Harry had always had a dangerous side, she began to realize. Certainly she had always known, it would be impossible for him not to be that way, considering his upbringing by the Dursleys. What he had suffered through during his childhood, if the word could apply, would have either broken him or tempered him.
Obviously Harry had not been broken. Instead he had been forged into someone capable of doing things that ordinary people would shy away from, capable of doing whatever he deemed necessary to achieve his goals.
And now this part of him had been brought to the fore. An aspect of his personality that had previously been hidden underneath the veneer of a somewhat shy, quiet young wizard, only glimpsed at during times of duress or danger.
Thinking back over the years, Hermione could easily recall the times this most dangerous facet of Harry had come forth to save the proverbial day. Whether it be against trolls in the bathroom, giant snakes in the basement (so to speak), dementors on the grounds, Death Eaters in a grave yard or even the Ministry's own High Inquisitor.
Thinking back to more recent times, in particular those since Harry's return from his sorjourn over the summer, Hermione paused to consider the events of that morning.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Why were you so defensive in Professor Smythe-White's class today?" she asked.
Harry shrugged and replied, "Feedback."
Hermione sighed and settled back in her chair, gracing her friend with a wry smile of understanding. "Well, at least you didn't throw him across the room like a rag doll."
"He isn't just a field Healer for the Aurors," Harry revealed after a moment, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "He's a practicing psychologist from St. Mungo's, or whatever the wizarding equivalent is called. Dumbledore hired him to keep an eye on me this year."
"But, that's good isn't it?" she asked, her smile turning into a puzzled frown. She knew that Harry was incredibly stubborn when it came to talking about his feelings, but even he had to admit that he sometimes needed to do just that. "Having someone to tell your troubles to."
"Not under false pretences," he fairly growled.
"False... you mean he didn't tell you?" she asked incredulously.
Harry sighed and nodded in confirmation. "I only found out a couple of years later. Broke both his arms and never saw or spoke to him again."
She shook her head in disbelief, appalled at the thought. Still, she could possibly see the need to do so, considering Harry's unwillingness to discuss such matter when prompted. "I can't say I agree with his deception, Harry, but his intentions are good."
"Road to Hell, Hermione, road to Hell."
There was another subdued pause in the conversation, the somewhat uncomfortable silence lasting a minute or so until Harry visibly brightened.
"I don't need Smythe-White to tell my troubles to," he told her, leaning forward and kissing her briefly on the lips, followed by a peck on the tip of her nose before backing away. "I have you."
Hermione stared at Harry in frank astonishment, both at his words and his actions, as he quickly packed away his things. She had thought he would have been more willing to speak to Ron, his best friend, rather than her. And the fact that he had just taken some measure of initiative and actually kissed her, rather than the other way around... well, it was a struggle not to break into an ear-to-ear grin.
His school things gathered up, Harry made his way to the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitories. He paused at the foot of the staircase and looked back at Hermione, who had been watching him with wide eyes and a slight blush.
"Now I know what feels so strange about kissing you," he told her.
"What?"
"It's not so wet," he said, grinning boyishly, "and you haven't burst into tears yet."
He vanished up the stairs, climbing them two at a time, leaving Hermione to her own devices in the near empty common room. She mulled over what he had just said, quickly making the connection to Harry's brief relationship (if you could call it that) with Cho Chang.
The laughter that followed filled the common room, and prompted those Gryffindors still present to cautious'y back away from the delighted sixth-year witch.
TBC...