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Aurora Areli
IN NO TIME AT all, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become most people's favourite class. Only Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins had anything to say about Uncle Remus.
"Look at the state of his robes," Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Uncle Remus passed. "He dresses like our old house-elf."
Nobody else cared that Uncle Remus' robes were patched and frayed, though. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. After Boggarts, we studied Red Caps, nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed, such as dungeons or deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had got lost. From Red Caps we moved onto Kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.
I wished I could say the same about our other classes. Worst of all was Potions. Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood, since the story of the Boggart assuming Snape's shape and had been dressed in Neville's grandmother's clothes had travelled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn't find it funny at all, and turned to sneering any time Uncle Remus was mentioned, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever.
Professor Trelawney's Divination lessons weren't terrible, aside from the fact that her classroom was always stiflingly hot and that she gave Harry strange, teary-eyed looks all the time.
Nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence, and we were in turn stuck spending lesson after lesson learning how to care for Flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence.
On a happier note, the start of October marked the approach of the Quidditch season. Oliver, who was in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, called a meeting one Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season. There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed the team in the chilly changing rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch pitch.
"This is our last chance — my last chance — to win the Quidditch Cup," he told us, striding up and down in front of us. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it.
"Gryffindor haven't won for seven years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world — injuries — then the tournament getting called off last year . . ." Oliver swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've got the best — ruddy — team — in — the — school," he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye.
"We've got three superb Chasers."
Oliver pointed at Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and me, to which we grinned.
"We've got two unbeatable Beaters."
"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," Fred and George said together, pretending to blush.
"And we've got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!" Oliver rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. "And me," he added, as an afterthought.
"We think you're very good, too, Oliver," George said.
"Cracking Keeper," Fred agreed.
"The point is," Oliver went on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry joined the team, and even Rory last year, I've thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this year's the last chance we'll get to finally see our name on the thing . . ."
"Don't worry, Oliver, this year's going to be our year," I said.
"We'll do it, Oliver!" Angelina said.
"Definitely," Harry nodded.
We started training sessions three times a week, because of sheer determination. The weather was getting colder and wetter, and the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind or rain could darken our vision of finally winning the huge silver Quidditch Cup.
Harry and I returned to the Gryffindor common room one evening after training, cold and stiff, but in high spirits, to find the room buzzing excitedly.
"What's happened?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione, who were seated in chairs by the fireside and completing some star charts for Astronomy.
"First Hogsmeade weekend," Ron said, pointing at a notice on the battered old noticeboard. "End of October. Halloween."
"That's great," I said, smiling. I had been looking forward to finally getting to experience the little village for myself ever since Atticus told me about it the previous year when he first got to go.
"Excellent," said Fred, who had followed behind us. "I need to visit Zonko's, I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets."
I sank down into one of the chairs by the fire, eager to warm my cold hands and feet. Harry threw himself into the one next to me with a sigh, and I noticed that he was frowning.
"Hey, don't worry, Harry, I'm sure you'll be able to go next time," I said, offering him a small smile.
"Rory's right," Hermione said. "They're bound to catch Black soon, he's been sighted once already."
"Black's not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade," Ron said. "Ask McGonagall if you can go this time, Harry, the next one might not be for ages —"
"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "Harry's supposed to stay in school —"
"He can't be the only third-year left behind," Ron said. "Ask McGonagall, go on, Harry —"
"Yeah, I think I will," Harry said.
"Good luck," I told him.
Hermione, however, opened her mouth to argue, but at that moment Crookshanks leapt lightly onto her lap, with a large, dead spider dangling from his mouth.
"Does he have to eat that in front of us?" Ron asked, scowling.
"Clever Crookshanks, did you catch that all by yourself?" Hermione cooed, ignoring Ron's question.
Crookshanks slowly chewed up the spider, his yellow eyes fixed insolently on Ron.
"Just keep him over there, that's all," Ron said irritably, turning back to his chart. "I've got Scabbers asleep in my bag."
"Careful, Ron, Crookshanks might hear you," I joked, before reaching into my bag to retrieve my own homework.
Harry yawned and did the same.
"You can copy mine, if you like," Ron said, shoving the chart towards us after he labelled his final star.
Hermione, who disapproved of copying, pursed her lips, but didn't say anything. Crookshanks was still staring unblinkingly at Ron, flicking the end of his bushy tail. Then, without warning, he pounced.
"OY!" Ron roared, seizing his bag, as Crookshanks sank his claws deeply into it, and began tearing ferociously. "GET OFF, YOU STUPID ANIMAL!"
Ron tried to pull the bag away from Crookshanks, but the mini-tiger clung on, spitting and slashing.
"Ron, don't hurt him!" Hermione squealed.
At that point, the whole common room was watching Ron whirl the bag around, with Crookshanks still clinging to it. Scabbers came flying out of the top —
"CATCH THAT CAT!" Ron yelled, as Crookshanks freed himself from the remnants of the bag and chased after the terrified Scabbers.
George made a lunge for Crookshanks but missed; Scabbers streaked through twenty pairs of legs and shot beneath an old chest of drawers. Crookshanks skidded to a halt, crouched low by the piece of furniture and started making furious swipes at the rat.
Ron and Hermione hurried over; Hermione grabbed Crookshanks around the middle and heaved him away, while Ron threw himself onto his stomach and pulled Scabbers out by his tail.
"Look at him!" he said furiously to Hermione, dangling Scabbers in front of her. "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!"
"Crookshanks doesn't understand it's wrong!" Hermione said, her voice shaking. "All cats chase rats, Ron!"
"There's something funny about that animal!" Ron said. "Rory was right, it heard me say that Scabbers was in my bag!"
"Oh, what rubbish," Hermione said impatiently. "What Rory said was a joke! And even then, Crookshanks could smell him, Ron, how else d'you think —"
"That cat's got it in for Scabbers," Ron said, ignoring the giggling crowd around him. "And Scabbers was here first, and he's ill!"
Ron marched through the common room and out of sight up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.
Harry and I looked at each other with wide eyes, in both surprise and exasperation at our two friends, before turning back to complete our star charts before it got too late.
. . . . .
Ron was still in a bad mood with Hermione next day. He barely talked to her at all through Herbology, even though him, Harry, Hermione and I were working together on the same Puffapod.
"How's Scabbers?" Hermione asked timidly, as we stripped fat pink pods from the plants and emptied the shining beans into a wooden pail.
"He's hiding at the bottom of my bed, shaking," Ron said angrily, missing the pail and scattering beans over the greenhouse floor.
"Careful, Weasley, careful!" Professor Sprout cried, as the beans burst into bloom before our eyes.
Before our next lesson, Transfiguration, the four of us were waiting outside the classroom, listening to Harry mutter ideas on how he was going to argue his case about the Hogsmeade permission form.
There was then a disturbance in the front of the line in the form of a crying Lavender Brown. Parvati had her arm around her, and was explaining something to Seamus and Dean, who looked very serious.
"What's the matter, Lavender?" Hermione asked anxiously, as we went to join the group.
"She got a letter from home this morning," Parvati whispered. "It's her rabbit, Binky. He's been killed by a fox."
"Oh," Hermione said. "I'm sorry, Lavender."
"I should have known!" Lavender said tragically. "You know what day it is?"
"Er —"
"The sixteenth of October!" she cried. "'That thing you're dreading, it will happen on the sixteenth of October!' Remember? She was right, she was right!"
The whole class was gathered around Lavender now. Seamus shook his head seriously.
Hermione hesitated a bit, before saying, "You — you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?"
I shot her a warning look, and shook my head, but she only glanced at me before turning back to Lavender.
"Well, not necessarily by a fox," Lavender said, looking up at Hermione with steaming eyes, "but I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn't I?"
"Oh," Hermione said. She paused again. Then —
"Was Binky an old rabbit?"
"N-no!" Lavender sobbed. "H-he was only a baby!"
Parvati tightened her arm around Lavender's shoulders.
"But then, why would you dread him dying?" Hermione asked.
"Hermione!" I hissed, but she didn't seem to hear me. Parvati glared at her.
"Well, look at it logically," Hermione said, turning to the rest of us. "I mean, Binky didn't die today, did he, Lavender just got the news today —" Lavender wailed loudly "— and she can't have been dreading it, because it's come as a real shock —"
"Don't mind Hermione, Lavender," Ron said loudly, "she doesn't think other people's pets matter very much."
Luckily, Professor McGonagall opened the classroom door at that moment. Hermione and Ron were looking daggers at each other, and when we got into class, they seated themselves on either side of me and Harry, and didn't talk to each other all lesson.
Professor McGonagall had just brought up the subject of Hogsmeade as the bell rang, which Harry was still very stressed about.
"One moment, please!" she called, as the class made to leave. "As you're all in my house, you should hand Hogsmeade permission forms to me before Halloween. No form, no visiting the village, so don't forget!"
Neville put up his hand.
"Please, Professor, I — I think I've lost —"
"Your grandmother sent yours to me directly, Longbottom," Professor McGonagall told him. "She seemed to think it was safer. Well, that's all, you may leave."
"Ask her now," Ron hissed at Harry.
"Oh, but —" Hermione began.
"Go for it, Harry," Ron said stubbornly.
"Rory," Hermione said, turning to me. "Help me!"
I sighed, tilting my head to look at her. "I want him to go too, Mione, so I think it's worth a shot, at least."
Hermione huffed, but didn't argue any further.
Harry waited for the rest of the class to exit the room before nervously making his way to Professor McGonagall's desk. Hermione, Ron and I waited by our desks to see what she would say.
"Yes, Potter?"
"Professor, my aunt and uncle — er — forgot to sign my form," Harry said.
Professor McGonagall looked over her square spectacles at him, but didn't say anything.
"So — er — d'you think it would be all right — I mean, will it be okay if I — if I go to Hogsmeade?"
Professor McGonagall looked down and began shuffling papers on her desk.
"I'm afraid not, Potter," she said. "You heard what I said. No form, no visiting the village. That's the rule."
"But — Professor, my aunt and uncle — you know, they're Muggles, they don't really understand about — about Hogwarts forms and stuff," Harry attempted to explain, while Ron egged him on with vigorous nods. "If you said I could go —"
"But I don't say so," Professor McGonagall said, standing up and piling her papers neatly into a drawer. "The form clearly states that the parent or guardian must give permission." She turned to look at him with an expression that seemed almost like pity. "I'm sorry, Potter, but that's my final word. You had better hurry, or you'll be late for your next lesson."
Harry nodded at Professor McGonagall before he slumped back over to us. My heart broke at the expression of both sadness and disappointment on his face.
"There's always the feast," I said, in an effort to cheer Harry up, linking my arm with his as we left the classroom. "That's always something to look forward to."
"Yeah," Harry said gloomily.
As we followed the crowd thronging through the corridors, there was a loud, excited chatter from our classmates about what they were going to do first, once they got to Hogsmeade.
Ron had taken to calling Professor McGonagall a lot of names that greatly annoyed Hermione, (and me, too, but I wasn't about to retaliate), who had assumed an "all for the best" expression that made Ron even angrier.
Dean offered to forge Uncle Vernon's signature, since he was very good with a quill, but Harry had already told Professor McGonagall that he hadn't had it signed, so that wouldn't be an option. Ron half-heartedly suggested the Invisibility Cloak, but Hermione stamped on that one, reminding Ron what Dumbledore had told us about the Dementors being able to see through them. Percy's words, however, were the least helpful.
"They make a fuss about Hogsmeade, but I assure you, Harry, it's not all it's cracked up to be," he said seriously. "All right, the sweetshop's rather good, but Zonko's Joke Shop's frankly dangerous, and yes, the Shrieking Shack's always worth a visit, but really, Harry, apart from that, you're not missing anything."
Hermione had to snatch a book from my hand when I went to whack Percy with it.
. . . . .
On Halloween morning, I awoke feeling excited for the day ahead. I tried not to look it, though, because Harry seemed thoroughly depressed that he couldn't go.
"We'll bring you lots of sweets back from Honeydukes," I told him, nudging him in the ribs and offering a smile. Harry looked down at me and returned the gesture, albeit half-heartedly, but it was a welcome change from the frown he was wearing before.
"Yeah, loads," Ron nodded.
"Don't worry about me," Harry said, in an offhand voice. "I'll see you at the feast. Have a good time."
He accompanied us to the Entrance Hall, where Filch was standing inside the front doors, checking off names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making sure that no one was sneaking out who shouldn't be going.
"See you when we get back, yeah?" I said. Ron and Hermione had already gone ahead to get themselves checked, since I wanted to say goodbye.
Harry nodded, and was about to reply when a familiar voice stopped him from doing so.
"Rory, hey," it said. I turned around to see Cedric making his way over to us with a grin on his face.
"Hey, Ced," I said, waving at my Hufflepuff friend. We had been seen each other in the library a couple times, and would spend time catching up. At that point, I considered him a good friend of mine. "Have you met Harry?" I added.
"No, not officially," Cedric said. "I'm Cedric, by the way. Rory's told me about you."
"Hello," Harry said awkwardly, looking between Cedric and I.
"Are you two coming to Hogsmeade?" Cedric asked.
"No, I didn't get my form signed," Harry said stiffly.
"Oh, that's a shame," Cedric said sympathetically. "How about you, Rory?"
I nodded happily. "I was just about to head out with Ron and Hermione."
"Great, shall we go, then?" he asked, to which I nodded. "It was nice meeting you, Harry."
"Bye," I said, waving to my emerald-eyed crush as we turned to join the others. "I'll see you soon."
"Have fun," Harry told me, smiling weakly.
After we got checked by Filch, Cedric and I joined Ron and Hermione outside, who were waiting for me. I introduced Cedric to them, and the four of us walked to Hogsmeade together, talking and laughing the whole way. Much to my relief, the older Hufflepuff got along well with them.
Hogsmeade village looked like something straight out of a Muggle film. There were countless small shops lining the streets, each with a cute little sign hanging out front or on the door to tell what exactly was inside. The view of the purple mountains beyond the village only added to the charming scene.
"Don't you want to go with your other friends?" I asked Cedric once we arrived.
"They'll be all right without me," he laughed. "I was actually wondering if you wanted to walk around a bit — if your friends don't mind, of course."
"Not at all," Hermione said, and Ron nodded in agreement. I frowned in confusion at the knowing looks on their faces. What was that about?
"Okay," I agreed, and I bid them goodbye as Cedric and I started down the cobbled street. "Where to first?"
"Well, there's Honeydukes," he told me, pointing at one of the buildings to our left. "They have loads of different sweets, and you said you wanted to get some for Harry, right?"
"Honeydukes it is, then," I agreed, smiling.
After a few hours, Cedric and I found Hermione and Ron again, and the four of us decided to visit the Three Broomsticks to warm up before we had to go back to Hogwarts. Cedric introduced us to Butterbeer, which easily became one of my favourite things about Hogsmeade.
By the time it was time to return to the school, it was nearing dusk. The temperature had dropped significantly, and the cold wind that whipped against my face promised winter. I had my hands stuffed in the pockets of my coat for the entire walk back.
When we got back to Hogwarts, Ron, Hermione and I said goodbye to Cedric before heading off towards our separate dormitories.
The trek up to Gryffindor Tower took a little longer than usual since we were so tired from walking and were laden with purchases from places like Honeydukes and Zonko's.
"Password?" the Fat Lady asked us.
"Fortuna Major," I answered, allowing entrance to the common room.
As soon as we crossed through the portrait hole, I spotted Harry seated on one of the sofas by the fire.
I hurried over to greet him, not bothering to wait for Ron or Hermione. Apparently, Harry hadn't heard me approach him, because when I ruffled his messy black hair and chirped out a, "Hiya, Potter," he jumped about a foot in the air.
"Woah, sorry," I said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"No, you didn't scare me," Harry said, his cheeks reddening.
I raised my eyebrows at this, but didn't argue, and instead plopped down onto the sofa next to him. Ron and Hermione had also joined us, looking especially happy and pink-faced from the cold in the firelight.
"There you go," Ron said, depositing the large array of brilliantly coloured sweets into Harry's lap. "We got as much as we could carry."
I nodded and reached into my pockets to retrieve the handfuls of sweets I had gotten for him.
"Thanks," Harry said, picking up a packet of tiny black Pepper Imps. "What's Hogsmeade like? Where did you go?"
Ron, Hermione and I immediately began telling him about the different places we went, like Dervish and Banges, the wizarding equipment shop, Zonko's Joke Shop, the Three Broomsticks, and many places besides.
"The post office, Harry! About two hundred owls, all sitting on shelves, all colour-coded depending on how fast you want your letter to get there!"
"Honeydukes have got a new kind of fudge, they were giving out free samples, there's a bit, look —"
"We think we saw an ogre, honestly, they get all sorts at the Three Broomsticks —"
"I wish we could've brought you some Butterbeer, I swear, they make it all with magic —"
"What did you do?" Hermione asked, looking anxious. "Did you get any work done?"
"No," Harry said. "Lupin made me a cup of tea in his office."
I smiled. "That sounds like him. He better not have told you any stories about when I was a little kid . . ."
"Well, now that you mention it . . ." Harry trailed off, looking at me with a mischievous smile.
"Oh no," I moaned, covering my face with my hands.
Harry only laughed, but his expression suddenly turned serious. "But then Snape came in . . ." He told us about the goblet Snape had given Uncle Remus because he felt ill, and that Harry thought it might've been poison, making me frown and Ron's mouth fall open.
"Lupin drank it?" Ron gasped. "Is he mad?"
Hermione checked her watch.
"We'd better go down, you know, the feast'll be starting in five minutes . . ." We hurried through the portrait hole and into the crowd, still discussing Snape.
"But if he — you know —" Hermione dropped her voice, glancing nervously around, "if he was trying to — to poison Lupin — he wouldn't have done it in front of Harry."
"Yeah, maybe," Harry said, as we reached the Entrance Hall and crossed into the Great Hall.
It had been decorated with hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.
The food, as usual, was delicious. Even though Ron, Hermione and I were full to bursting with Honeydukes sweets, we still managed second helpings of everything. I couldn't help but watch the staff table nervously, where Uncle Remus was looking cheerful and healthy as ever, talking animatedly to Professor Flitwick.
"Is it just me, or is Snape paying extra close attention to Uncle Remus?" I muttered to Harry.
"It's not just you," Harry assured me. "I noticed it too."
The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped in and out of the walls and tables to do a spot of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with the re-enactment of his own botched beheading.
It had been such a good day that I couldn't find it in me to get very irritated with Malfoy when he shouted, "The Dementors send their love, Potter!" as we left the Hall.
Harry, Ron, Hermione and I followed the rest of the Gryffindors along the usual path to Gryffindor Tower, but when we reached the corridor which led to the secret entrance behind the portrait of the Fat Lady, we found it jammed with students.
"Why isn't anyone going in?" Ron said curiously.
I put a hand on Harry's shoulder so that I wouldn't fall when I stood on my tiptoes to get a better look over the heads in front of us. With a little hop, I managed to catch a glimpse of the portrait, that oddly seemed to be closed.
"Let me through, please," came Percy's voice, and he came bustling importantly through the crowd. "What's the hold-up here? You can't all have forgotten the password — excuse me, I'm Head Boy —"
And then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front first, so that a chill seemed to spread down the corridor. Suddenly, I heard Percy say in a sharp voice, "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick."
People's heads turned.
"What's going on?" Ginny, who had just arrived at my side, asked.
I only shook my head in response.
Next moment, Professor Dumbledore was there, sweeping towards the portrait; the Gryffindors squeezed together to let him through, and Harry, Ron, Hermione and I moved closer to see what the trouble was.
"Oh, my —" Hermione exclaimed, and grabbed my arm.
The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away completely.
Dumbledore took one sombre look at the ruined painting and turned to see Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Uncle Remus hurrying in our direction.
"We need to find her," Dumbledore said. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."
"You'll be lucky!" a cackling voice said.
It was Peeves, bobbing over the crowd with his usual delighted guise at the sight of wreckage or worry.
"What do you mean, Peeves?" Dumbledore asked calmly, and Peeves' grin faded a little. He didn't dare taunt Dumbledore. Instead he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his cackle.
"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful," he said happily. "Poor thing," he added, unconvincingly.
"Did she say who did it?" Dumbledore said quietly.
"Oh, yes, Professorhead," Peeves said, with the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see." Peeves flipped over and grinned at Dumbledore from between his legs. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."