None of the fifth‐years talked very much at breakfast next day, either: Parvati was practicing incantations under her breath while the salt shaker in front of her twitched; Lavander was rereading Achievements in Charming so fast that her eyes appeared blurred; and Ron kept dropping his knife and fork and knocking over the marmalade.
Once breakfast was over, the fifth‐ and seventh‐years milled around in the Entrance Hall while the other students went off to lessons; then, at half past nine, they were called forwards class by class to re‐enter the Great Hall, which had been rearranged: The four house tables had been removed and replaced instead with many tables for one, all facing the staff‐table end of the Hall where Professor McGonagall stood facing them. When they were all seated and quiet, she said, ʹYou may begin,ʹ and turned over an enormous hour‐glass on the desk beside her, on which there were also spare quills, ink bottles and rolls of parchment.
Harry turned over his paper, his heart thumping hard and lowered his eyes to the first question:
a) Give the incantation and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly.
Harry had a fleeting memory of a club soaring high into the air and landing loudly on the thick skull of a troll… smiling slightly, he bent over the paper and began to write.
The fifth‐years ate lunch with the rest of the school (the four house tables had reappeared for the lunch hour), then they trooped off into the small chamber beside the Great Hall, where they were to wait until called for their practical examination. As small groups of students were called forwards in alphabetical order, those left behind muttered incantations and practiced wand movements, occasionally poking each other in the back or eye by mistake.
Halfwy down the register, it took a while before Professor Flitwick called, "Parkinson, Pansy ‐ Patil, Padma ‐ Patil, Parvati ‐ Potter, Harry."
"Good luck," said Neville quietly. He had already finished his practical and was confident he'd scraped an Outstanding at best, a Exceeded an worst. Harry walked into the Great Hall, calm and relaxed
"Professor Tofty is free, Potter," squeaked Professor Flitwick, who was standing just inside the door. He pointed Harry towards what looked like the very oldest and baldest examiner who was sitting behind a small table in a far corner, a short distance from Professor Marchbanks, who was halfway through testing Draco Malfoy.
"Potter, is it?"ʹ said Professor Tofty, consulting his notes and peering over his pince‐nez at Harry as he approached. "The famous Potter?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry distinctly saw Malfoy throw a scathing look over at him; the wine‐glass Malfoy had been levitating fell to the floor and smashed. Harry could not suppress a grin; Professor Tofty smiled back at him encouragingly. "Thatʹs it," he said in his quavery old voice, "No need to be nervous. Now, if I could ask you to take this egg cup and make it do some cartwheels for me."
There was no time to relax that night; they went straight to the common room after dinner and submerged themselves in revision for Transfiguration next day; Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with complex spell models and theories.
He forgot the definition of a Switching Spell during his written paper next morning but thought his practical could have been a lot worse. At least he managed to Vanish the whole of his iguana, whereas poor Hannah Abbott lost her head completely at the next table and somehow managed to multiply her ferret into a flock of flamingos, causing the examination to be halted for ten minutes while the birds were captured and carried out of the Hall.
They had their Herbology exam on Wednesday (other than a small bite from a Fanged Geranium, Harry felt he had done reasonably well); and then, on Thursday, Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had no problem with any of the written questions and took particular pleasure, during the practical examination, in performing all the counter‐jinxes and defensive spells right in front of Umbridge, who was watching coolly from near the doors into the Entrance Hall.
"Oh, bravo!" cried Professor Tofty, who was examining Harry again, when Harry demonstrated a perfect Boggart banishing spell. "Very good indeed! Well, I think that's all, Potter… unless…ʺ He leaned forwards a little. "I heard, from my dear friend Tiberius Ogden, that you can produce a Patronus? For a bonus point… ?"
Harry raised his wand, looked directly at Umbridge and imagined her being sacked, "Expecto patronum!" His silver stag erupted from the end of his wand and cantered the length of the Hall. All of the examiners looked around to watch its progress and when it dissolved into silver mist Professor Tofty clapped his veined and knotted hands enthusiastically.
ʹExcellent!ʹ he said. "Very well, Potter, you may go!"
On Friday, Harry had a day and he took the day off, as did the rest who had the entire weekend to revise – and the group was in perfect position to hear Umbridge screaming from the shores of the Black Lake. Somebody had obviously put something in her office – again.
Potions that Monday and it was the exam which Harry had been looking forward to least ‐ and which he was sure would be the downfall of his ambitions to become an Auror. Sure enough, he found the written paper difficult, though he thought he might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion; he could describe its effects accurately, having taken it illegally in his second year.
The afternoon practical was not as dreadful as he had expected it to be. With Snape absent from the proceedings, he found that he was much more relaxed than he usually was while making potions. Neville, who was sitting very near Harry, also looked happier than Harry had ever seen him during a Potions class. When Professor Marchbanks said, "Step away from your cauldrons, please, the examination is over." Harry corked his sample flask feeling that he might not have achieved a good grade but he had, with luck, avoided a fail.
"Only four exams left," said Parvati Patil wearily as they headed back to Gryffindor common room.
Harry performed well in Tuesdays Care of Magical Creatures exam so as not to disappoint Hagrid. He felt it was the least he could do, to honor the half-giant who had been his first, true wizarding friend. The practical examination took place in the afternoon on the lawn on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where students were required to correctly identify the Knarl hidden among a dozen hedgehogs, then demonstrate correct handling of a Bowtruckle; feed and clean out a Fire Crab without sustaining serious burns; and choose, from a wide selection of food, the diet they would give a sick unicorn.
The Astronomy theory paper on Wednesday morning went well enough. They had to wait until evening for their practical Astronomy; the afternoon was devoted instead to Divination.
Even by Harryʹs low standards in Divination, the exam went very badly. He might as well have tried to see moving pictures on the desktop as in the stubbornly blank crystal ball; he lost his head completely during tea‐leaf reading, saying it looked to him as though Professor Marchbanks would shortly be meeting a round, dark, soggy stranger, and rounded off the whole fiasco by mixing up the life and headlines on her palm and informing her that she ought to have died the previous Tuesday. But that was an exam he had known he was doomed to fail for over a year.
When they reached the top of the Astronomy Tower at eleven oʹclock, they found a perfect night for stargazing, cloudless and still. The grounds were bathed in silvery moonlight and there was a slight chill in the air. Each of them set up his or her telescope and, when Professor Marchbanks gave the word, proceeded to fill in the blank star‐chart they had been given.
Professors Marchbanks and Tofty strolled among them, watching as they entered the precise positions of the stars and planets they were observing. All was quiet except for the rustle of parchment, the occasional creak of a telescope as it was adjusted on its stand, and the scribbling of many quills. Half an hour passed, then an hour; the little squares of reflected gold light flickering on the ground below started to vanish as lights in the castle windows were extinguished.
As Harry completed the constellation Orion on his chart, however, the front doors of the castle opened directly below the parapet where he was standing, so that light spilled down the stone steps a little way across the lawn. Harry glanced down as he made a slight adjustment to the position of his telescope and saw five or six elongated shadows moving over the brightly lit grass before the doors swung shut and the lawn became a sea of darkness once more.
Harry put his eye back to his telescope and refocused it, now examining Venus. He looked down at his chart to enter the planet there, but something distracted him; pausing with his quill suspended over the parchment, he squinted down into the shadowy grounds and saw half a dozen figures walking over the lawn. If they had not been moving, and the moonlight had not been gilding the tops of their heads, they would have been indistinguishable from the dark ground on which they walked. Even at this distance, Harry had a funny feeling he recognised the walk of the squattest of them, who seemed to be leading the group.
He could not think why Umbridge would be taking a stroll outside after midnight, much less accompanied by five others. Then somebody coughed behind him, and he remembered that he was halfway through an exam. He had quite forgotten Venusʹs position. Jamming his eye to his telescope, he found it again and was once more about to enter it on his chart when, alert for any odd sound, he heard a distant knock which echoed through the deserted grounds.
Something, just didn't feel right. He looked down at his right hand, where the Legion rested and contemplated sending an alert but looking around him, he hesitated. He could afford to throw it all away. He had money to spare. But he couldn't jeapordize anyone else's future as he stared across the grounds: The six figures were approaching the small stand of trees on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Firenze had made his home.
Suddenly, he felt the eyes of Professor Marchbanks on the back of his neck and pressed his eye again to his telescope, staring up at the moon though he had marked its position an hour ago. "Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls," she said softly.
He'd never heard it in person but the loud bang was to Harry, exactly what a gunshot should have sounded like. Several people cried "Ouch!" when they poked themselves in the face with the ends of their telescopes as they hastened to see what was going on below.
There was no front door to speak off as a several large balls of light suddenly illuminated everything as the Centaur burst on to the scene, and spun lightly, bringing his hind legs to bear as he kicked somebody hard in the chest, sending him flying back first in to the forest. Surrounded by five people, Firenze drew a massive sword as threads of light streaked towards him. Stunners, harry realized.
"Fuck me!" said Harry as he rose, knocking his chair over as his telescope smashed to the stone floor and, shattering at least one of its lenses.
"Young man!" said Professor Marchbanks, "This is an examination!"
But nobody was paying her any attention as jets of red light streaked back and forth in front of Firenze's shelter, all of them either missing or being deflected by the massive blade of a sword the Centaur wielded. Cries and yells echoed across the grounds; a man yelled, "Be reasonable you beast!"
Firenze replied with a warcry and actually deflected a spell back at its caster. That was enough for Harry as he broke in to a run, his right foot stepped on to the parapet and he kept going, taking a flying leap in to the air, "Wingardium Leviosa!" arrested his downward momentum, as he pointed his wand towards the one sided battle, "Traho!"
Students and examiners alike watched in amazement as Harry streaked like a missile directly towards the embroiled combatants. With his free left hand, he cast a shield behind Firenze, deflecting a curse from a man he recognized: Dawlish. He landed lightly, rolling and coming to a halt in a crouch. Drawing his magic to him, he cast a single spell in to the ground.
Pandemonium ensued as the ground shook and then erupted, a barrier of earth some three feet high and almost as thick surrounded both Harry and Firenze, giving them scant moments of cover. "Harry Potter," said Firenze, "You are the last human I would expect to come to my aid, yet somehow, I am, unsurprised."
"Surprise can wait," replied Harry, "Dobby! Winky!" The house elves appeared with a pop, "Firenze, you are under the Protection of House Potter. Now listen to me: Harry Potter resides in Potter Manor, Wales." He turned to his house elves, "Get him out of here!"
There was shouting coming from beyond his barrier, a woman's voice, "…dare you! Leave him alone! Alone!" Professor McGonagallʹs voice through the darkness. "On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such ‐"
The House elves vanished with a pop and Harry propelled himself skywards in time to watch Professor McGonagall take four stunners straight to the chest. She stumbled as the first one hit, staggered back with the second and then glowed an eerie red as the last two collided with her, lifting her clean off her feet. She slammed to the ground, and moved no more.
"Galloping gargoyles!" shouted Professor Tofty, her voice carrying in the cool night air. She also seemed to have forgotten the exam completely. "Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behavior!"
Harry landed lightly next to Professor McGonagall, and sized up the battlefield: Four opponents, and Umbridge was one of them. Both sides eyed each other cautiously for a long moment before Harry pulled something from a pocket and slapped it on to McGonagall. She vanished in a swirl of lights and colors, "Madame Pomfrey's gonna be pissed," he thought ruefully.
There was a long minutes quivering silence as everybody gazed open‐mouthed into the grounds. Nobody seemed to care that their exam had just undergone a brutally rude and sudden interruption. Everyone was too busy gawping at Harry Potter, who stood with his wand held loosely at his side, in front of three Aurors and the High Inquisitor, "It takes all of you to take on a centaur?" growled Harry, "Then four of you to bring down one unarmed witch?"
The Auror's hesitated, and so did Umbridge. She had miscalculated. The examination should have kept Harry, like the rest of the students out of her hair, letting them banish the half breed creature with ease. "The might of the Ministry," said Harry, his voice dangerously quiet, "I'm actually wondering whether you bastards can stand and fight against an opponent who fights back with a wand."
"Go ahead Potter!" snarled Umbridge, "Raise your wand and attack and I'll have you up on charges of assault by dawn!"
Harry smiled, "Somebody must have forgotten to mention it to you, but when you attack the protectorate of a noble house, you answer to the head of said noble house." It took Umbridge a fraction of a second to put the pieces together, the Aurors took several seconds to process what he had just said, "So I suggest, you get the fuck," he drew out the word, making the vowel sound nice and long, "outta here, before I hex off something, that magic has not yet figured out how to grow back."
To his complete lack of surprise, the Auror's folded and began backing away slowly, leaving a furious, spluttering Umbridge stand alone, cast in moonlight shadow, "You are interfering in Ministry business!"
"Ministry business that concerns one of the protectorates of House Potter is my business," he retorted. "Here's the deal: piss off right now, and I'll let this slide, without pressing charges. Otherwise..." he let the implied threat hang in the air.
"When the Prophets a hold of this –" began Umbridge
"Let the Prophet have it," said Harry, "The storm is coming, Dolores Umbridge. You're a minor spring rain in comparison to that storm. And I'm getting tired, really tired of dealing with you drizzling on everything." He lowered his wand, "Now piss off would ya, yeah?" he turned and walked across the grass towards the doors of the castle which swung open a few steps ahead of him and slammed shut behind him. He heard a heavy lock engage behind him and he suppressed a snicker as he made his way through the castle to the Residence and its Floo.
Their final exam, History of Magic, was not to take place until the following afternoon. He spent the morning reviewing his notes, wondering if this exam was going to go as bad or possibly worse than his Divination exam. The fifth‐years entered the Great Hall at two oʹclock and took their places in front of their face‐down examination papers. Harry felt mentally exhausted. He just wanted this to be over, so that he could find his girlfriend and take her out for a quiet dinner, and quite possibly fall asleep in his appetizer salad.
"Turn over your papers," said Professor Marchbanks from the front of the Hall, flicking over the giant hour‐glass, "You may begin."
Harry stared fixedly at the first question. It was several seconds before it occurred to him that he had not taken in a word of it; there was a wasp buzzing distractingly against one of the high windows. Slowly, tortuously, he at last began to write an answer.
He was finding it very difficult to remember names and kept confusing dates. He simply skipped questions 2 and 3, after putting something down in bulletpoints. Question four, however made him smirk:
In your opinion, did wand legislation contribute to, or lead to better control of, goblin riots of the eighteenth century?
His time with the Goblins made that a relative easy question for him, but he just couldn't find it in himself to actually bothering writing an answer in full sentences and paragraphs and resorted to a list of bullet points reasons as to why wand legislation did not contribute anything positive to the control 18th Century goblin riots.
Question 5 had something to do with the Statute of secrecy in 1749 but he was sure he'd missed a few points, dates and a large part of the story involving vampires. The rest of the questions he put something down on paper… though he wasn't sure at all about the accuracy or even the validity of his answers as he scanned the final question:
Describe the circumstances that led to the formation of the International Confederation of Wizards and explain why the warlocks of Liechtenstein refused to join.
'I know this,' he thought, though he felt his brain entering a state of torpor, like it was dribbling out his ears, and began to write, based off the note he had read that morning. He paused for a moment and cracked his neck, checking the large hour glass on the desk beside Professor Marchbanks. He was sitting right behind Parvati Patil, whose long dark hair fell below the back of her chair. Once or twice he found himself staring at the tiny golden lights that glistened in it when she moved her head slightly, and had to give his own head a little shake to clear it.
… the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was Pierre Bonaccord, but his appointment was contested by the wizarding community of Liechtenstein, because …
Harry closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, so that the glowing red of his eyelids grew dark and cool. He opened his eyes; they stung and watered at the sight of the blazing white parchment. Slowly, he wrote two lines about the trolls and read through what he had done so far. It did not seem very informative or detailed, 'Think!' he told himself, his face in his hands, while all around him quills scratched out never‐ending answers and the sand trickled through the hour‐glass at the front…
He was walking along the cool, dark corridor to the Department of Mysteries again, walking with a firm and purposeful tread, breaking occasionally into a run, determined to reach his destination at last… the black door swung open for him as usual, and here he was in the circular room with its many doors… Straight across the stone floor and through the second door… patches of dancing light on the walls and floor and that odd mechanical clicking, but no time to explore, he must hurry…
He jogged the last few feet to the third door, which swung open just like the others… Once again he was in the cathedral‐sized room full of shelves and glass spheres… his heart was beating very fast now… he was going to get there this time… when he reached number ninety‐seven he turned left and hurried along the aisle between two rows…
But there was a shape on the floor at the very end, a black shape moving on the floor like a wounded animal… Harryʹs stomach contracted with fear… with excitement… A voice issued from his own mouth, a high, cold voice empty of any human kindness, "Take it for me… lift it down, now… I cannot touch it… but you can." The black shape on the floor shifted a little. Harry saw a long‐fingered white hand clutching a wand rise at the end of his own arm… heard the high, cold voice say ʹCrucio!ʹ
The scream of pain came from a woman, who curled reflexively in to a ball. The curse was lifted, and she lowered her arms. They had been shielding her head and face. Long blond hair spilled and trembled as she shook, and moaned in pain. Harry was laughing as the figure moaned in pain and feel motionless.
"Lord Voldemort is waiting," he said casually as the woman on the ground raised her shoulders a few inches.
Blood flowed from wound at her temple, and the edge of her left eye. Blood dribbled from a split lip and she looked up, eyes twisted in pain, yet set firm. Rigid, defiant and filled with a hatred, and something else: A calm acceptance of her fate, "You'll have to kill me," she whispered.
"Undoubtedly I shall in the end," said the cold voice. "But you will fetch it for me first, you half breed. You think you have felt pain thus far? Think again… we have hours ahead of us and nobody to hear you scream, and my followers would also enjoy making you scream like a whore…"
"When Harry finds you," the tortured woman whispered, "he will make you scream for mercy and death, before he ends you!" she said, spitting a mouthful of bloody phlegm on to Voldemort's robes.
Voldemort's hand lowered, his wand and the screaming began again, "I can kill you, and him, and all who oppose me, for I am Lord Voldemort," he spoke calmly, over the her screams of agony, "I am immortal, Fleur Delacour."
His scar exploded with pain, and in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, many hundreds of miles away, Harry James Potter slid sideways from his desk and slammed in to the stone floor, screaming her name.