~ chapter twelve: the patronus ~
fun fact: originally, i wasn't going to have harry receive the firebolt, since his broom wasn't destroyed by the whomping willow, but then it didn't make sense to me, so i decided to let him have it.
Y/N knew that Hermione had meant well, but that didn't stop her from being angry with her. She and Harry had been the owners of the best brooms in the world for a few short hours, and now, thanks to her, she wasn't sure if she or Harry would ever see them again. At least Harry had his Nimbus Two Thousand, should they never see them again, but what about her? She needed her broom for the Quidditch match. She was positive that there had been nothing wrong with the Firebolts now, but what sort of state would they be in once they had been subjected to all sorts of anti-jinx tests? Would it be destroyed beyond repair? What was she going to use in Quidditch matches now?
Ron was furious with Hermione too. As far as he was concerned, the stripping-down of a brand-new Firebolt was nothing less than criminal damage. Hermione, who remained convinced that she had acted for the best, started avoiding the common room. Y/N, Harry and Ron supposed she had taken refuge in the library and didn't try to persuade her to come back. All in all, they were glad when the rest of the school returned shortly after New Year, and Gryffindor Tower became crowded and noisy again.
Wood sought Y/N out on the night before term started.
"Had a good Christmas?" he said, and then, without warning for an answer, he sat down, lowered his voice, and said, "I've been doing some thinking over Christmas, Y/N. After the last match, you know. If the dementors come to the next one . . . I mean . . . we can't afford you or Harry to—well—"
Wood broke off, looking awkward.
"I'm working on it," said Y/N quickly. "Professor Lupin said he'd train Harry and I to ward off the dementors. We should be starting this week. He said he'd have time after Christmas."
"Ah," said Wood, his expression clearing. "Well, in that case—I really didn't want to lose you as Chaser, Y/N. And have you ordered a new broom yet?"
"No," said Y/N.
"What! You'd better get a move on, you know—you can't ride that Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!"
"She got a Firebolt for Christmas," said Ron. "So did Harry."
"Two Firebolts? No! Seriously? Two—two real Firebolts?"
"Don't get excited, Oliver," said Y/N gloomily. "We haven't got them anymore. They were confiscated." And she explained all about how theFirebolts were now being checked for jinxes.
"Jinxed? How could they be jinxed?"
"My so-called 'father,'" said Y/N wearily. "Sirius Black. He's supposed to be after us. So McGonagall reckons he might have sent them."
Waving aside the information that a famous murderer was after his Chaser and Seeker, Wood said, "But Black couldn't have bought a Firebolt, more or less two! He's on the run! The whole country's on the lookout for him! How could he just walk into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?"
"I know," said Y/N, "but McGonagall still wants to strip them down—make sure they're safe enough, I suppose, although there isn't really a point, seeing as how they're brand-new and all. . . ."
Wood went pale.
"I'll go and talk to her, Y/N," he promised. "I'll make her see reason. . . . Two Firebolts . . . two real Firebolts, on our team. . . . She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do . . . I'll make her see sense. Two Firebolts. . . ."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Classes started up the next day. The last thing anyone felt like doing was spending two hours on the grounds on a raw January morning, but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders for their enjoyment, and they spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. The first Divination lesson of the new term was much less fun; Professor Trelawney was now teaching them palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry and Y/N that they had the shortest life lines she had ever seen.
"At least we'll be dying together," Harry had joked, trying to make light of the situation. "Can't get rid of me, y'know."
He could have sworn that Y/N's cheeks tinged red with blush, but she turned away before he could confirm. "Y'know I don't want to get rid of you, Har."
It was Defense Against the Dark Arts that they were keen to get to; after Y/N's conversation with Wood, she and Harry wanted to get started on their anti-dementor lessons as soon as possible.
"Ah yes," said Lupin, when Harry and Y/N reminded him of his promise at the end of class. "Let me see . . . how about eight o'clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough . . . I'll have to think carefully about how we're going to do this. . . . We can't bring a real dementor into the castle to practice on. . . ."
"Still looks ill, doesn't he?" said Ron as they walked down the corridor, heading to dinner. "What d'you reckon's the matter with him?"
There was a loud and impatient 'tuh' from behind them. It was Hermione, who had been sitting at the feet of a suit of armor, repacking her bag, which was so full of books it wouldn't close.
"And what are you tutting at us for?" said Ron irritably.
"Nothing," said Hermione in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back over her shoulder.
"Yes, you were," said Ron. "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.
"She doesn't know," said Ron, staring resentfully after Hermione. "She's just trying to get us to talk to her again."
There was a moment where Y/N wanted to go after Hermione, to ask if she actually knew what was wrong with Professor Lupin, but at quick as that feeling it came, it went.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
At eight o' clock on Thursday evening, Y/N and Harry left Gryffindor Tower for the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when both of them arrived, but they lit the lamps with their wands and had waited only five minutes when Professor Lupin turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he heaved onto Professor Binns's desk.
"What's that?" said Y/N.
"Another boggart," said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. "I've been combing over the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real dementor. The boggart will turn into a dementor when he sees either of you, so we'll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when we're not using him; there's a cupboard under my desk he'll like."
"Okay," said Y/N and Harry at the same time, both of whom were trying to sound as though they weren't apprehensive at all and merely glad that Lupin had found such a good substitute for a real dementor.
"So . . ." Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that the pair of them should do the same. "The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Y/N, Harry—well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm."
"How does it work?" said Harry nervously.
"Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus," said Lupin, "which is a kind of anti-dementor—a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor."
Y/N suddenly had a vision of her and Harry crouching behind a Hagrid-sized figure holding a large club, Harry shielding her. The thought made her heart race more than she'd like to admit. Professor Lupin continued, "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. But I must warn you both that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it."
"What does a Patronus look like?" said Y/N curiously.
"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it."
"And how do you conjure it?" Harry piped up.
"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory."
Y/N cast her mind about for a happy memory. Certainly, nothing that had happened to her at the Dursleys or back at the orphanage would do. Finally, she settled on the moment when she had first ridden a broomstick.
"Right," she said, trying to recall as exactly as possible the wonderful, soaring sensation in her stomach. "I'll go first, I suppose—"
"The incantation is this—" Lupin cleared his throat. "Expecto Patronum!"
"Expecto Patronum," Y/N repeated under her breath, "Expecto Patronum."
"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?"
"Oh—yeah—" said Y/N, quickly forcing her thoughts back to that first broom ride. "Expecto Patrono—no—Patronum—sorry—Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum—"
All the while she was trying to summon her Patronus, Harry was just staring at her with a fond smile on his face, admiring how beautiful she looked at that moment.
"Just like Sirius and Azora," Professor Lupin said to himself, smiling at how the two teenagers looked like Y/N's parents. Or maybe they looked like James and Lily more.
Suddenly, something whooshed suddenly out of the end of Y/N's wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.
"Did you see that?" she said excitedly. "Something happened!"
"Very good," said Lupin, smiling. "Right, then—ready to try it on a dementor?"
"Yes," said Y/N, gripping her wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. She tried to keep her mind on flying, but something else kept intruding. . . . Any second now, she might hear one of their mothers again . . . but she shouldn't think of that, or she would hear them again, and she didn't want to . . . or did she?
Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled.
A dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Y/N, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Y/N, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over her—
"Expecto Patronum!" Y/N yelled. "Expecto Patronum! Expecto—"
But the classroom, the dementor, Lupin, and Harry were all dissolving . . . Y/N was falling again through thick white fog, and her mother's voice was louder than ever, echoing inside her head—"Not Y/N! Not Y/N! Please—I'll do anything—"
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"
"Y/N!"
Y/N jerked back to life. Harry was now crouching next to her, holding her shoulders, looking very concerned. The classroom lamps were alight again. She didn't have to ask what had happened.
"Sorry," she muttered.
Harry reached up to wipe the cold sweat that was trickling down from her forehead. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Where's—where's the dementor?"
Lupin smiled down at Harry. "Harry here managed to conjure a beautiful Patronus himself—first try, too. Very well done, Harry."
"How come you managed to summon a Patronus on your first try?" Y/N demanded.
Harry shrugged, smirking. "I guess I'm just . . . better at this."
"Okay, no need to get so cocky," Y/N scoffed, shoving him away, making him land on his back with a groan. "But Professor," she addressed Lupin, "it's getting worse. I don't hear Harry's mum anymore, it's just mine . . . I could hear her louder that time . . . and Voldemort . . ."
Lupin looked paler than usual.
"Y/N, if you don't want to continue, I will more than understand—"
"I do!" said Y/N fiercely. "I've got to! Harry and I've got to! What if the dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? Harry and I can't afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we've lost the Quidditch Cup!"
"All right then . . . ," said Lupin. "You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on. . . . That one doesn't seem to have been strong enough . . ."
"If it's any consolation," Harry said in an undertone to Y/N, standing up, "I didn't think I'd be able to get my Patronus on the first try, either."
"Yeah. Thanks." It wasn't. But at least he tried. Y/N thought hard and decided her feelings when Gryffindor had won the House Championship last year had definitely qualified as very happy. She gripped her wand tightly again and took up her position in the middle of the classroom.
"Ready?" said Lupin, gripping the box lid.
"Ready," said Y/N, trying hard to fill her head with happy thoughts about Gryffindor winning, and not dark thoughts about what was going to happen when the box opened.
"Go!" said Lupin, pulling off the lid. The room went icily cold and dark once more. The dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting hand was extending toward Y/N—
"Expecto Patronum!" Y/N yelled. "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Pat—"
White fog obscured her senses . . . big, blurred shapes were moving around her . . . then came a new voice, a man's voice, shouting, panicking—
"Lily, Zora, take Y/N and 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—
"Y/N! Y/N . . . wake up . . ."
Lupin was tapping Y/N hard on the face. This time it was a minute before Y/N understood why she was lying on a dusty classroom floor.
"I heard Harry's dad," she mumbled. "That's the first time I've ever heard him—he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum and Harry's mum time to run for it. . . ."
She took notice of Harry just staring at her with an emotion she couldn't identify. He had paled significantly, and it made Y/N feel that maybe she shouldn't have said that she'd heard her crush's dead dad's voice while he was in the room. She bent down, pretending to do up her shoelace so nobody could see the tear streaks that were starting to run down her face.
"You heard Dad?" Harry croaked.
"Yeah . . ."
Harry shook his head and looked at Lupin. "You didn't know my dad, did you?"
"And you didn't happen to know my mum, did you?" Y/N asked, looking up, face dry.
"I—I did, as a matter of fact," said Lupin. "We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen, Y/N—since Harry seems to have mastered the spell, perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced. . . . I'm surprised Harry got it on his first try. . . . I shouldn't have suggested putting you through this. . . ."
"No!" said Y/N. She got up again. "If Harry's got it I want to get it too! I'll have one more go! I'm not thinking of happy enough things, that's what it is. . . . Hang on. . . ."
She racked her brains. A really, really happy memory . . . one that she could turn into a good, strong Patronus . . .
The moment that she had managed to survive down in the Chamber of Secrets after both her and Harry thought she would die and hugging him! Yes, that was it! If that wasn't a happy memory, she didn't know what was. . . . Concentrating very hard on how good she felt when she had embraced him and when she realized she was alive after all, she turned toward the packing case once more.
"Ready?" said Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his better judgement. "Concentrating hard? All right—go!"
He pulled off the lid of the case for the third time, and the dementor rose out of it; the room fell cold and dark—
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Y/N bellowed. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
The screaming inside Y/N's head had started again—except this time, it sounded as if it were coming from a badly tuned radio—softer and louder and softer again—and she could still see the dementor—it had halted—and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of her wand, to hover between her and the dementor, and although Y/N's legs felt like water, she was still on her feet—though for how much longer, she wasn't sure—
"Riddikulus!" roared Lupin, springing forward.
There was a loud crack, and Y/N's cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor; she sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if she'd just run a mile, and felt her legs shaking. She barely heard Harry whooping in excitement but still managed to give him a half-smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Professor Lupin forcing the boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a silvery orb again.
"Excellent!" said Lupin, striding over to where the other two sat. "Excellent, Y/N! That was definitely a start!"
"Can we have another go? Just one more go?"
"Not now," said Lupin firmly. "You've had enough for one night."
He handed Y/N and Harry large bars of Honeydukes's best chocolate.
"Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?"
"Okay," said Harry. He and Y/N took a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguishing the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the dementor, when suddenly Y/N had a thought.
"Professor Lupin?" she said. "If you knew Harry's dad and my mum, you must've known my dad as well. Sirius Black?"
Lupin turned around very quickly.
"What gives you that idea?"
"Nothing—" said Y/N quickly. "I mean, Harry and I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts, too. . . ."
Lupin's face relaxed.
"Yes, I knew him," he said shortly. "Or I thought I did. You'd better be off, Y/N, Harry, it's getting late."
Y/N and Harry left the classroom, walking along the corridor and around the corner, then took a detour behind a suit of armor and sank down on its plinth to finish their chocolate, Y/N wishing she hadn't mentioned Black, as Lupin was obviously not keen on the subject. Then Y/N's thoughts wandered back to her mother and Harry's parents. . . .
She felt drained and strangely empty, even though she was so full of chocolate. Terrible though it was to hear their parents' last moments replayed inside her head, these were the only times Y/N had heard their voices since she was a very small child. But she'd never be able to produce a proper Patronus if she half wanted to hear their parents again. . . .
"They're dead," she told herself sternly. "Your mum and Harry's parents are dead and listening to echoes of them won't bring them back. You'd better get a grip on yourself if you want that Quidditch Cup."
"You ready?" she asked Harry as she crammed the last of the chocolate into her mouth.
He nodded, stood up, took her hand, and led her the rest of the way to the Gryffindor Tower, where they went their separate ways.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Y/N had constantly asked me about what I had thought about to make me conjure a Patronus on my first try, even offering to share hers with me, and as much as I was tempted to take on the offer, I didn't give in.
Ravenclaw played Slytherin a week after the start of term. Slytherin won, though narrowly. According to Wood, this was good news for Gryffindor, who would take second place if we beat Ravenclaw too. He therefore increased the number of team practices to five times a week. This meant that with Lupin's anti-dementor classes, which in themselves were more draining than six Quidditch practices, Y/N and I had just one night a week to do all our homework. Even so, we weren't showing the strain nearly as much as Hermione, whose immense workload finally seemed to be getting to her. Every night, without fail, we all saw Hermione in a corner of the common rom, several tables spread with books Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; she barely spoke to anybody and snapped when she was interrupted.
"How'd she doing it?" Ron muttered to us one evening as we sat finishing a nasty essay on Undetectable Poisons for Snape. Hermione was barely visible behind a tottering pile of books.
"Doing what?" said Y/N.
"Getting to all her classes!" Ron said. "I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday's lesson, but Hermione can't've been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures! And Ernie Macmillan told me she's never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she'd never missed one of them either!"
Y/N nor I had time to fathom the mystery of Hermione's impossible schedule at the moment; we really needed to get on with Snape's essay. Two seconds later, however, we were interrupted again, this time by Wood.
"Bad news, Y/N, Harry. I've just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolts. 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 they threw you off, as long as we got the most points in the end." Wood shook his head in disbelief. "Honestly, the way she was yelling at me . . . you'd think I'd said something terrible. . . . Then I asked her how much longer she was going to keep it. . . ." He screwed up his face and imitated Professor McGonagall's severe vice. "'As long as necessary, Wood' . . . I reckon it's time you two ordered a new broom. There's an order form at the back of Which Broomstick . . . you could get a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, like Malfoy's got."
"We're not buying anything Malfoy thinks is good."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
January faded imperceptibly into February, with no change in the bitterly cold weather. The match against Ravenclaw was drawing nearer and nearer, but Harry and Y/N still hadn't ordered a pair of new brooms. They were now asking Professor McGonagall for news of the Firebolts after every Transfiguration lesson, Ron standing hopefully at their shoulders, Hermine rushing past with her face averted.
"No, Potter, Black, you can't have them back yet," Professor McGonagall told them the twelfth time this happened, before either one of them could open their mouths. "We've checked for most of the usual curses, but Professor Flitwick believes the brooks might be carrying Hurling Hexes. I shall tell you once we've finished checking them. Now, please stop badgering me."
To make matters even worse for Y/N, her anti-dementor lessons were not going nearly as well as she had hoped. Several sessions on, she was able to produce an indistinct, silvery shadow every time the boggart-dementor approached her, but her Patronus was too feeble to drive the dementor away. All it did was hover, like a semi-transparent cloud, draining Y/N of energy as she fought to keep it there. She felt angry with herself, guilty about her secret desire to hear her mother's voice again. How come Harry could do it and not her? How come he was able to do it so well?
"You're expecting too much of yourself," said Professor Lupin sternly in their fourth week of practice. "For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren't passing out anymore, are you?"
"No, but—I thought a Patronus would—charge the dementors down or something," said Y/N dispiritedly. "Make them disappear—"
"The true Patronus does do that," said Lupin. "But you've achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. If the dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you will be able to keep them at bay enough to get back to the ground."
"You said it's harder if there are loads of them," said Harry.
"I have completely confidence in you both said Lupin, smiling. "Here—you two have earned some drinks—something from the Three Broomsticks. You won't have tried it before—"
He pulled three bottles out of his briefcase.
"Butterbeer!" said Y/N, without thinking. "Yeah, Harry and I like that stuff!"
Lupin raised an eyebrow.
"Ron and Hermione brought us some back from Hogsmeade," Harry lied, thinking fast.
"I see," said Lupin, though he still looked slightly suspicious. "Well—let's drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I'm supposed to take sides, as a teacher . . . ," he added hastily.
They drank the butterbeer in silence, until Y/N voiced something she'd been wondering for a while.
"What's a dementor's hood?"
Professor Lupin lowered his bottle thoughtfully.
"Hmm . . . well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon."
"What's that?" said Harry.
"They call it the Dementor's Kiss," said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile. "It's what dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and—and suck out their soul."
Harry accidentally spat out a bit of butterbeer.
"What—they kill—?"
"Oh no," said Lupin. "Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no . . . Anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just—exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever . . . lost."
Lupin drank a little more butterbeer, then said, "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the dementors permission to perform it if they find him."
Y/N and Harry sat stunned for a moment at the idea of someone having their soul sucked out through their mouth. But then Y/N had a thought.
"He deserves it," she said suddenly. Harry nodded.
"You think so?" said Lupin lightly. "Do you really think anyone deserves that?"
"Yes," said Harry defiantly. "For . . . for some things . . ."
They would have liked to have told Lupin about the conversation they'd overheard about Black in the Three Broomsticks, about Black betraying Harry's parents, but it would have involved revealing that they'd gone to Hogsmeade without permission, and they knew Lupin wouldn't be very impressed by it. So they finished their butterbeer, thanked Lupin, and left the History of Magic classroom.
Y/N and Harry, for the first time, walked side by side in silence, both of them half wishing that she hadn't asked what was under a dementor's hood, the answer had been so horrible, and they were so lost in unpleasant thoughts of what it would feel like to have your soul sucked out of you that they walked headlong into Professor McGonagall halfway up the stairs.
"Do watch where you're going, Black, Potter!"
"Sorry, Professor—"
"I've just been looking for you in the Gryffindor common room. Well, here they are, we've done everything we could think of, and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it at all. You two have got a very good friend somewhere, Potter, Black. . . ."
Y/N and Harry's jaws dropped. She was holding out their Firebolts, and it looked as magnificent as ever.
"We can have them back?" said Harry weakly. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," said Professor McGonagall, and she was actually smiling. "I daresay you'll need to get the feel of it before Saturday's match, won't you? And Potter, Black—do try and win, won't you? Or we'll be out pf the running for the eighth tear in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night. . . . ."
Speechless, Harry and Y/N carried the Firebolts back upstairs toward Gryffindor Tower. As they turned a corner, they saw Ron dashing toward them, grinning from ear to ear.
"She gave 'em to you? Excellent! Listen, can I still have a go on one of them? Tomorrow?"
"Yeah . . . anything . . . ," said Y/N, her heart lighter than it had been in a month. "Y'know what—we should make up with Hermione. . . . She was only trying to help. . . ."
"Yeah, all right," said Ron. "She's in the common room now—working, for a change—"
They turned int the corridor to Gryffindor Tower and saw Neville Longbottom, pleading with Sir Cadogan, who seemed to be refusing him entrance.
"I wrote them down!" Neville was saying tearfully. "But I must've dropped them somewhere!"
"A likely tale!" roared Sir Cadogan. Then, spotting Y/N, Harry, and Ron: "Good even, my fine young yeomen! Come clap this loon in the irons. He is trying to force entry to the chambers within!"
"Oh, shut up," said Ron as he, Harry, and Y/N drew level with Neville.
"I've lost the passwords!" Neville told them miserably. "I made him tell me what passwords he was going to use this week, because he keeps changing them, and now I don't know what I've done with them!"
"Oddsbodikins," said Y/N to Sir Cadogan. "Well?" she added impatiently when he didn't swing forward to let them through. "Aren't you going to let us in?"
Reluctantly, Sir Cadogan swung forward to let them into the common room.
"Thank you!" said Y/N exasperatedly as she stepped in, but then there was a sudden, excited murmur as every head turned, and the next moment, Y/N and Harry were surrounded by people exclaiming over their Firebolts.
"Where'd you get them, Y/N, Harry?"
"Will you let me have a go?"
"Have you ridden it yet?"
"Ravenclaw'll have no chance, they're all on Cleansweep Sevens!"
"Can I just hold one of them?"
After ten minutes or so, during which the FIrebolts were passed around and admired from every angle, the crowd dispersed and Y/N, Harry and Ron had a clear view of Hermione, the only person who hadn't rushed over to them, vent over her work and carefully avoiding their eyes. The three approached her table and at last, she looked up.
"We got 'em back," said Harry, grinning at her and holding up his Firebolt.
"See, Hermione? Therre wasn't anything wrong with them!" said Ron.
"Well—there might have been!" said Hermione. "I mean, at least you know now that they're safe!"
"Yeah, I suppose so," said Y/N. "We'd better put them upstairs—"
"I'll take them!" said Ron eagerly. "I've got to give Scabbers his rat tonic anyhow."
He took the Firebolts and, holding them as if they were made of glass, carried them away up the boys' staircase.
"Can we sit down, then?" Harry asked Hermione.
"I suppose so," said Hermione, removing great stacks of parchment off two chairs.
Y/N looked around at the cluttered table, at the long Arithmancy essay on which the ink was still glistening, at the even longer Muggle Studies essay ("Explain Why Muggles Need Electricity"), and at the rune translation Hermione was now poring over.
"How are you getting through all this stuff?" she asked her.
"Oh, well—you know—working hard," said Hermione. Up close, Y/N saw that she looked almost as tired as Lupin.
"Why don't you just drop a couple of subjects?" Harry asked, watching her lifting books as she searched for her rune dictionary.
"I couldn't do that!" said Hermione, looking scandalized.
"Arithmancy looks terrible," said Harry, picking up a very complicated-looking number chart.
Y/N glanced at the Muggle Studies essay. "Yikes, so does Muggle Studies."
"Oh no, they're wonderful!" said Hermione earnestly. "Arithmancy is my favorite subject! It's—"
But what exactly was wonderful about Arithmancy or Muggle Studies, Y/N and Harry never found out. At that precise moment, a strangled yell echoed from down the boys' staircase. The whole common room fell silent, staring, petrified, at the entrance. Then came hurried footsteps, growing louder and louder—and then Ron came leaping into view, dragging with him a bedsheet.
"LOOK!" he bellowed, striding over to Hermione's table. "LOOK!" he yelled, shaking the sheets in her face.
"Ron, what—?"
"SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!"
Hermione was leaning away from Ron, looking utterly bewildered. Y/N looked down at the sheet Ron was holding. There was something red on it. Something that looked horribly like—
"BLOOD!" Ron yelled into the stunned silence. "HE'S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?"
"N-no," said Hermione in a trembling voice.
Ron threw something down onto Hermione's rune translation. Hermione, Y/N, and Harry leaned forward. Lying on top of the weird, spiky shapes were several long, ginger cat hairs.