We were sitting in our first class with Umbridge, and Parvati Patil's paper bird was flitting around the room. One girl blew it higher as Finnigan tried to knock it down. Crabbe even managed to hit it with a slingshot before it burnt to a crisp in midair, twirling back down to the Patil twin's desk.
Professor Umbridge walked forwards through the lines of desks until she got to the front of the room and gave a small, mean smile. "Good morning, children." She then pointed to the blackboard off the the side, and with every flick and new word appeared.
"Ordinary... Wizarding... Level... Examinations," she emphasized the end of each word with a chalk flourish. "O-W-L-S. More commonly known as..." when no one replied she answered herself. "OWLS!" I groaned internally.
"Study hard, and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so, and the consequences may be... severe." The students all looked at each other with raised eyebrows. She gave a little chuckle and waved her wand at two tall stacks of books sitting on her desk.
"Your previous instruction in this subject has been disturbingly uneven," she continued as the books slapped themselves down in front of us. "But you'll be pleased to know that from now on you will be following a carefully constructed, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic."
I studied the cover of my book as she spoke. It read, "Defending the Dark Arts For Beginners," and there was an image of two young wizards with over-the-top hats smiling up at us, looking as though all they could possibly want in the world was this tiny little book. Next to me, Hermione raised her hand. I noticed that, of course, she had already begun to flip through the pages.
Umbridge nodded at her. "There's nothing in here about using defensive spells?" Hermione asked. I quickly skimmed my own pages. She was right.
"Using spells?" Umbridge laughed so high pitched it poked a hole in my eardrum. "Well I can't imagine why you would need to use spells in my classroom."
"We're not going to use magic?" Weasley asked.
"So the first time we'll be performing the spells is during the OWLS?" I added in disbelief.
"You'll be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way," Umbridge assured, although her toad face was gaining color quickly.
"Well, what use is that?" Potter said. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be risk-free."
Umbridge turned around and walked briskly back to the front. "Students will raise their hand when they speak in my class, Mr. Potter," she said sharply. Then she faced us again with another sickly smile. "It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge would be sufficient to get you through your examinations which, after all, is what school is all about."
"And how is theory supposed to prepare us for what's out there?" Potter challenged her again. He really needed to be quiet.
Umbridge clasped her hands together. "There is nothing out there, dear. Who do you imagine would want to attack children, like yourself?"
"Oh, I don't know," Potter replied in mock thought. "Maybe... Lord Voldemort?" A deadly silence descended upon the class. Umbridge's face dropped, but she attempted another, much more menacing face.
"Now, let me make this quite plain," she began, walking slowly up to Potter and Weasley's shared desk. "You have been told that a certain dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."
Potter slammed his hand down on the wood. "It is not a lie! I saw him, I fought him!"
"Detention, Mr. Potter!" Umbridge declared shrilly.
"So according to you Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord?" Potter asked hotly.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," Umbridge corrected, but her face was getting more flushed by the minute and she had completely given up on her smile, her lips now twisted furiously.
"It was murder, Voldemort killed him! You must know that," Potter responded. It almost scared me what his face looked like.
"Enough!" Umbridge screamed, and most of the students looked down at their desk or their hands. "Enough," she repeated again, calmer. "See me later, Mr. Potter. My office." She gave another girly giggle.
Later that night, around eight o'clock, Potter came back from his detention. When we asked him what happened he simply said that Umbridge had made him write lines, which surprised me. I expected a far worse punishment with her track record.
Around us, the common room was in a frenzy. Fred and George were setting up their "Skiving Snack Boxes" that they had been hiding from Mrs. Weasley all summer. They consisted of fudges and nougats and candies to make you sick or fevered during class.
They worked just long enough to allow you to be sent to the hospital wing, and then the symptoms vanished quickly enough for you to be able to wander around the castle instead of suffer through unprofitable boredom. That's what the packaging said anyways.
They had been testing the sweets out on unknowing first years, and Hermione was almost to the point of threatening them with writing to their mother. The four of us sat on the best couch in front of the fire. I was reading one of Hermione's Muggle books, Little Women, Potter and Weasley were laughing over an edition of the Quibbler Luna had given to them, and Hermione was busy fuming over the twins.
I looked over when Weasley snickered at another article, but something on Potter's hand caught my eye. "What's wrong with your hand?" I asked suddenly. He put his right hand, the one that had been turning the pages, on top of the magazine. "Nothing," he replied.
"Your other hand," I said, taking it in mine to examine it. On the back, right under his knuckles, was a bleeding sentence. It read, in raw, red cut words, "I must not tell lies." My stomach curdled.
"You've got to tell Dumbledore," I said fiercely.
"No," he took his hand out of mine gently. My fingers felt cold without it. "Dumbledore's got enough on his mind right now. Anyway, I don't want to give Umbridge the satisfaction."
"Bloody hell, Harry, the woman's torturing you," Weasley said quietly. "If the parents knew about this..."
"Yeah, well, I haven't got any of those, have I, Ron?" Potter said, determinately not looking up from the Quibbler. No one spoke for a minute.
I sucked in a deep breath before saying, "Potter, you've got to report this. It's perfectly simple, you're being-"
"No," Potter cut me off loudly. "It's not." I looked at him in shock, and he lowered his voice slightly. "Whatever this is, it's not simple. You don't understand."
"Then help us to," Hermione said as he began to pack up his things and walk away.
"Oh, no. I am not letting him snap on me, too," I muttered as I shot up and followed after him. Just as he left through the portrait hole I grabbed his arm to stop him. He turned around exasperatedly, but his face softened ever so slightly when he saw it was me.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked harshly. He ripped out of my grip and continued down the staircase wordlessly. "You've been like this ever since we got back to school, and I understand if you were mad that you didn't know what was going on over the summer, I was too for that matter, but you can't just-"
"Alexandra," he whipped around. We were now in an empty fourth floor corridor. "I don't really feel like talking about this right now."
"Well I do," I protested. "You're aggravating Umbridge and you're scaring the first years with you and Finnigan's shouting matches."
"That was once." He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.
I looked at him for a moment. "You're scaring me too," I said, quieter now. "There's something that's bothering you, and you're going to tell me what it is. Right now."
He took a deep breath before saying, "I feel like there are so many bad things that have happened to me, maybe they're starting to affect me. In my dreams I see all these crystal balls, and the hallway that I went down for my hearing at the Ministry. And Voldemort. I see him. What if... what if I'm turning into a bad person?" He looked so genuinely scared that my heart broke for him.
"Oh, Potter," I sighed. "You're not a bad person. You're a wonderful person that has experienced so much no one should have to experience. You just have to let the good things reflect your personality instead of the bad ones."
His face stayed in the same expression for so long, I thought I had been talking to myself until a faint smile curled at the corners of his lips. "You think I'm a wonderful person?"
I laughed. "Of course that was all you heard."
His face saddened again. "No, really. Thank you."
"Any time," I replied, suddenly breathless, although I couldn't figure out why. We stood for a moment, simply looking at each other, the only sound in the corridor being our breathing. My eyes began to roam around his face, and I found myself admiring the curve of his nose and the bumps of his cheekbones before I cleared my throat.
"We should go back," I said, surprised at how final my voice sounded.
"Right...," he nodded his head, and we made our way back to the common room. In other words, back to Hermione and Weasley, back to the Skiving Snack boxes and the judging eyes and the paused conversations as we passed.
I bumped his side like we always used to do as we carried ourselves back up the moving stairs. "You can talk to me, okay?"
He smiled at me, a real smile this time, and simply said, "I know."
When we came back through the portrait hole I saw Hermione and Weasley off to the side. Hermione was scolding Fred, again, and Weasley looked sheepish a couple steps behind her.
"Goodnight, Potter," I said over my shoulder as I went up the stairs to the girl's dormitory. He stood there, apparently at a loss for words. I didn't hear him whisper goodnight back until I was almost at the landing, and I couldn't help the grin that appeared on my face, even as I slipped under my covers for the night.
A week later I found myself allowing to be led by Luna Lovegood into the Forbidden Forest. I had no idea how I had ended up in this situation, I only knew that she had seen me after lunch in the corridor and asked me to follow her. I didn't have class for another hour, so I did. Now I was walking into a forest in the middle of November after a barefoot girl who seemed to be letting her feet lead the way instead of her brain.
I was about to make up some excuse about being cold and needing to go back to the castle when I heard a shrill howl.
"What is that?" I whispered, looking between the trees. There was nothing in sight.
"Thestrals," Luna answered. "Can you see them?"
"No, where are they?" I asked, wanting to know what animal had made such a horrific sound.
"Pity," she hummed. "Or maybe it's not. After all, you can only see them if you've seen death. You're one of the many."
"Oh..." I trailed off, still hoping to catch a glimpse of a head, or a leg, or a hoof, or whatever body parts these animals consisted of. Suddenly she threw a piece of meat, and it landed with a thump on the ground. For a moment nothing happened, and then layers began to get torn away by an invisible mouth. I took a hesitant step back.
"They're harmless," Luna assured me as she stepped forward and patted the air. There were a few second of silence before she said in her normal, dreamy voice, "Hello, Harry Potter."
I whipped around to see none other than Potter, walking over the tree roots carefully to get to us.
"Merlin, you scared me," I cursed, turning back around to watch Luna hold out an apple. A bite was taken out of it, but I could see no mouth actually chewing it. I could hear one, though. Potter stopped when he was next to me, and looked down at Luna's bare feet.
"Aren't you cold?" He asked her.
"A bit," she looked back and nodded. "Unfortunately, all my shoes have mysteriously disappeared. I suspect Nargles are behind it."
I sent a helpless look to Potter. "What are they?" He leaned in to me and whispered.
Before I could answer Luna said, "They're called thestrals. They're gentle, really, but people avoid them because they're a bit..."
"Different," Potter and I finished at the same time for her. Our eyes met each others for a moment that seemed to stretch for hours before Luna spoke again. When I finally broke the flushed eye contact I scrambled for something to say.
"Luna, you said only people who have seen death can see the thestrals," I began. "If you don't mind me asking..."
"My mum," she replied, her face and tone of voice never wavering. "She was quite an extraordinary witch, but she did like to experiment and one day one of her spells went badly wrong. I was nine."
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, ashamed that I even asked.
"Yes, it was rather horrible," she confirmed lightly. "I do feel very sad about it sometimes. But I've got dad."
Potter's face went blank for a moment as he gazed at the dirt, and I nudged him to snap him out of it. He jumped at my touch.
"We both believe you, by the way, Harry," Luna said, taking another small piece of meat out of her bag. "That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and you fought him, and the Ministry and the Prophet are conspiring against you and Dumbledore."
"Thanks," Potter mumbled. "It seems you're about the only ones who do."
"I don't think that's true," Luna said, throwing the raw meat up in the air. A small, baby thestral wobbled forward and caught it in his mouth. "But I suppose that's how he wants you to feel."
"What do you mean?" Potter asked, and we took a few steps closer until we were standing next to her.
"Well, if I were You-Know-Who I'd want you to feel cut-off from everyone else," she replied thoughtfully. "Because, if it's just you alone, you're not as much of a threat."
There was something just barely resembling a smile on Potter's face, and my chest warmed stupendously.