Strangely, the next morning, it wasn't Harry that Seamus seemed to be avoiding, but Ron. He very deliberately got ready on the side of his bed that was furthest from Ron, but was therefore closer to Harry, his eyes fixed on the buttons of his shirt and never straying. Ron was reacting much the same, and was somehow managing to put his socks on angrily, his back determinedly facing towards the other boy. The tension in the room was palpable, and even Trevor seemed to give a ribbit of reproach at the unpleasant atmosphere. As a father of two nearly-teenaged boys, however, Harry was an expert at ignoring childish sulking, and got ready as normal.
He was buttoning his shirt up, and almost ready to go down for breakfast, when his fingertips brushed against fabric, and he remembered the bandages around his neck. He considered, for a moment, going to the bathroom to deal with it in private, before dismissing the idea as not being worth the effort. He hunted for the end of the wrapping, and once he had found it, the bandage seemed to practically melt away from him, sliding off with ease. He conjured himself a small mirror and used it to inspect his reflection. He revised his opinion from the night before, now that he was in the light of day - it didn't look much better at all. In fact, it looked just as red and angry as the day he was first released from the hospital wing.
The sudden lack of rustling from the others alerted him to the fact he was being watch. Seamus was staring, but it was Dean who spoke.
"Is that where he…?"
"Where fake Moody slit my throat? Yeah," he didn't rush doing his buttons up and sliding his tie around his neck, letting Seamus look all he wanted.
"Blimey, Harry," Dean said lowly, "It's a miracle he didn't kill you!"
"He nearly did,"
"Why does it still look like that?" Neville asked timidly, fiddling with his own tie.
"The knife was cursed - Snape isn't sure why it isn't healing,"
"Oh, is that where you disappeared too last night? Me and Hermione wondered where you'd gone," said Ron, making intense eye contact with Harry, as if he was concerned he might forget himself and look Seamus's way.
"Yeah - he wants me to treat it every night to see if it makes a difference," Harry stood, and Seamus snapped out of whatever headspace he had been stuck in, his eyes meeting Harry's, before he flushed at having been caught, and rushed to leave the dormitory. They watched him go, all of them silent.
"Don't worry about him, Harry," Dean said reassuringly, "He'll come around,"
Ron snorted, "Come on, Harry - Mione' will be waiting for us,"
Hermione was already in the common room when they arrived downstairs, and the moment she saw them, she stormed over, brandishing a poster in her hand.
"Have you seen this?!" She thrust the poster under Ron's nose, "They want to test their inventions on students!" Harry looked over curiously, still fiddling with his collar and tie to make them lie comfortably against his throat and found an advertisement from the Weasley twins recruiting testers for their joke shop products, "We have to talk to them Ron," she said firmly, and Ron looked gobsmacked.
"Us? Why?!"
"Because we're prefects," she reminded him tartly, "this is the sort of thing we're meant to put a stop to!"
Ron looked at Harry with pleading eyes, but Harry only shrugged, "Come on, I'm hungry," he tapped the poster in Ron's hand with his wand, and said: "Incendio!" Ron let out a little yelp of shock, and Hermione leant back in alarm when the parchment went up in flames in Ron's hands, "There you go, problem solved - now come on!" Hermione eyed the ashes on the carpet reproachfully, but apparently had nothing to say against his methods, following him to the portrait hole.
Ron was less blasé, "I'd appreciate a warning the next time you want to set fire to something I'm holding, mate," he grumbled, clambering out of the portrait hole.
"Why were you so late anyway?" Hermione asked curiously, steering them onto the grand staircase, and Ron's scowl deepened.
"Ron and Seamus got into a screaming match about me last night," Harry said, when it was clear that Ron couldn't even bring himself to talk about the other boy, "From the gist of what I heard, his mother thinks I'm a lunatic," he winced as his collar brushed harshly against his neck. He'd not had to wear a collar all summer and he hadn't exactly bothered to wear his uniform properly towards the end of the last term - apparently his scar and the surrounding skin were extremely sensitive. He pulled at his tie, trying to relax it enough so that the stiff fabric didn't rub so much.
Hermione watched him contemplatively, "Yes, Lavender thinks as much," she said mildly, "I put her right though, obviously - told her to shut her stupid mouth about you if she doesn't have anything nice to say,"
Harry smiled gratefully at her, "Thanks, Hermione,"
"You didn't say thanks to me," Ron grumbled.
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said, rolling his eyes, "To be fair to me, it would have been difficult to say thank you over all the shouting,"
"You know," said Hermione suddenly, "I think you should try and keep as much of your scar on show as possible," she nodded at his throat, "If it doesn't bother you that is," she added considerately, "I think it might sway a few people into supporting you - and if not, it might at least encourage them to feel sympathy for you. It's proof at the very least, that something really did happen at the end of the last school year," they joined the small collection of students waiting to enter the Great Hall for breakfast.
"It definitely made Seamus stop in his tracks," Ron mused, "Did you notice?"
Harry nodded, stopping to avoid running over a first year, before approaching the Gryffindor table and finding them a seat, "Couldn't take his eyes of it," Harry agreed.
"See, that's what I mean. It's hard to deny that, isn't it? Here, let me," Harry sat obediently while she fiddled with his collar, her brow furrowed in concentration as she experimented with tightening and loosening his tie, shifting his shirt to one side or the other, and undoing and doing up buttons, until she was satisfied with how the fabric lay against his skin, "There," she said, before pointing her wand at him and tapping his collar - he felt it flash cold against his skin for a second, "That should help it stay in place."
"Is it feel-up-Potter Day, Granger?" Harry looked up with a grin, to see Draco sitting himself down next to Ron, who looked mildly scandalised that he had done so.
"Why, are you wanting a turn?" Harry shot back, quickly snatching the apple Draco had been about to grab and biting into it with a satisfying crunch.
Draco rolled his eyes, his hand hovering for a moment above the fruit, before selecting a different, less attractive apple, "No, but I can help form an orderly queue for anyone else who wants a go. I'm sure Chang would be first in line," Harry scowled petulantly, prevented from replying immediately by the apple in his mouth, "Yes, that's what I thought," Draco said smugly.
"You know this is the Gryffindor table, right?" Ron said, sounding slightly bewildered.
"I'm not colour blind," Draco tapped the red and gold placemat meaningfully, but Hermione interrupted whatever else Ron had to say on the matter.
"I'm trying to adjust his collar so you can see his scar better," she explained, "I think it'll garner him some sympathy," she discreetly inclined her head to their left, where two fourth year girls Harry didn't know were sending him pitying looks. He wasn't sure that that was quite the goal, but he supposed they had to start somewhere.
Draco hummed in consideration, "Can't hurt I suppose,"
"If you know this is the Gryffindor table," Ron continued, "why are you sitting here?"
"We literally spent six whole weeks living together, and sitting at the same dining table, and now you have a problem with it?" Draco said incredulously, and Ron scowled at him.
"I meant," Ron said tightly, "Why aren't you sitting with the Slytherins?"
"Well, I'm going to see their ugly faces all day, aren't I?" Draco tugged his folded up schedule out of his top pocket, and waved it demonstratively, "Where as I won't have the pleasure of your company until double potions," Hermione looked about curiously, clearly wondering where her own timetable was - she relaxed when she spotted McGonagall working her way down the table.
Ron groaned, "Double potions! On a Monday! What did we do to deserve that?" Above them, the ceiling exploded in a flurry of activity, as the morning's post arrived. While Hermione paid a small barn owl for her copy of the Daily Prophet, Draco was gingerly bribing an especially angry looking eagle owl with bacon, as it appeared reluctant to give up the post tied to its leg. With its sharp beak now otherwise occupied, Draco quickly worked his letter free.
"Whose owl is that?" Harry asked warily, putting his hands in his lap to keep his fingers safe from the murderous looking bird.
"My solicitor's," Draco said grimly, "she thinks it's a good deterrent for people trying to steal her post - which is all well and good, but it's not particular fond of giving her letters to the people they're intended for either," he broke the letters seal, unfolded it, read it with a bored expression, and slipped it into his pocket, "Just a Gringott's update," he explained at Harry's curious expression, "they write to her every time they move onto the next step of putting the vault in my name. But there's about a hundred steps, and so far, I've had about ten letters," he added darkly.
"Mister Malfoy," McGonagall had finally reached them with their timetables, and was eyeing Draco cautiously, "Not causing trouble, I hope?"
"No, Professor," he answered politely, slipping the eagle owl one last bit of bacon before it took off with a loud screech. She only hummed. Her eyes lingered on Harry's neck when she handed him his schedule, but she said nothing more than 'Potter'.
"Oh Merlin," Ron groaned, "The rest of our day isn't much better either!! We've got a double period with that Umbridge woman too!" Hermione's eyes had narrowed at her own timetable, flicking briefly to Harry's.
"Sounds like you could do with one of our skiving snackboxes, little brother," George had appeared behind Harry, and sat down beside him, while his twin took a seat next to Draco, draping a heavy arm over his shoulder. Draco looked like he was reconsidering his earlier reassurance to their transfiguration professor that he wasn't causing trouble.
"How did the nosebleed nougat treat you?" Fred asked, jumping with a yelp, releasing Draco, and shying away when the Slytherin pinched his side harshly, "Ouch! Merlin! Are you sure you don't have brothers?" He grumbled.
"It was fine," Draco said, "Except that the antidote didn't quite work - had to sort it out myself,"
George gave a contemplative hum, "That one needs further testing," he admitted.
"Talking of testing," Hermione hissed, "I found your poster in the common room - you cannot test on students!!" she said, outraged.
"Why not?" argued Fred, "We're paying them after all - and its not anything we haven't already tested on ourselves!"
"You could cause serious harm to them!! What if you end up with a little first year bleeding to death from a nosebleed!" George scowled.
"Well we wouldn't let that happen - and you can't stop them from volunteering!"
"Why don't you have an age limit?" Harry suggested, the idea of some poor eleven year old coming to harm at the clumsy hands of the twins making him feel vaguely sick - the look on Draco's face suggested he was having similar thoughts, "How about fifth years and above only?" Hermione was still seething, "That way, they're more likely to be able to make an informed decision,"
George jumped on his suggestion immediately, "What an excellent idea Harry!" he praised, "Before long, you fifth years will be begging for one anyway, what with your OWLs coming up. Half of our year had a break down before the summer,"
"People kept fainting all over the place," Fred agreed.
"Coming out in hives and everything!" Hermione didn't look even slightly pacified, but she apparently could think of no counter argument either, or at least, she couldn't before Angelina Johnson appeared behind her.
"Hi Angelina,"
"Hi," not wasting time on niceties, she continued immediately, "Good summer? Great - look, since Wood has left, I've been made the Quidditch team captain,"
"Knew you would," said Fred with a flirtatious smile, and Angelina rolled her eyes, but her lips ticked up reluctantly in amusement.
"Anyway, as he's gone, we need a new keeper, so try outs are on Friday…" she trailed off, suddenly recognising the blonde head Fred was currently trying to silently force into a headlock; if she had any opinion at all on Draco's presence at the table, she put it to one side in favour of her true purpose, "… at five pm," she continued, still eyeing Draco's head suspiciously, "I want all of you to be there, okay? It's really important we find someone suitable, who works well with the rest of the team, and I really value your input,"
With the arm not currently wrestling with Draco, Fred saluted, nearly over balancing and toppling off the bench, and dragging the blonde with him, but he recovered smoothly, "You can count on us, oh fearless leader - OUCH!" Fred snatched his arm back, glaring, looking only mildly outraged at a grinning Draco, "Did you just bite me?!"
"All's fair in love and war," Draco taunted, taking a delicate sip of his pumpkin juice. Angelina looked between them and left without comment.
"You're unhinged, Malfoy," said George, though he looked faintly impressed.
It was hubris, Harry now realised, to assume that he had somehow grown beyond falling asleep in History of Magic class. He'd presumed that his improved maturity would be a boon to his attention span, and that he might be able to join Hermione in alertness and make detailed notes throughout the class. What he hadn't considered however, was that he now had twenty years of extra lived experience that had proven to him that he'd never learnt anything of use in this class. The only exception being the time he had had to offer a formal apology to an infuriated Goblin on behalf of the Auror's office - however, he was extremely skeptical that such a specific scenario was likely to reoccur. And so, he managed fifteen minutes of the class before giving up, slumping in his chair, resting his head back, and closing his eyes, confident in the knowledge that he wasn't missing anything important.
He was rudely awakened half an hour later by Hermione 'accidentally' bashing her bag against his head as she slung it over her shoulder. Ron snickered, but quickly stopped when Hermione levelled a glare in his direction. Rubbing his sore head, Harry clambered to his feet with an enormous yawn, and followed the pair out of the classroom for morning break.
"What would happen do you think," Hermione started furiously, "if I refused to let you two copy from my notes this year?"
Ron shrugged, "I guess we'd fail our OWL…. Now if you're prepared to have that on your conscience…," he said ominously.
"Well you'd deserve it," she snapped back, "You don't even try to listen!"
"We do try!" Ron said defensively.
"Harry was not trying in that lesson," she pointed back towards the classroom they had left, "he was asleep for more than half of it,"
"Yeah, I didn't really try in that class," Harry admitted with a shrewd smile, finally leaving his sore head alone, "I understand if you won't lend me your notes Hermione," he said sincerely, "I agree, it's not fair for us to profit off your hard work," Ron was looking increasingly scandalised as they stepped out into the courtyard and the drizzling rain, "it's okay - worse comes to it, I'll just have to go through the whole text book and try and pick out the important bits," Hermione's eyes bulged at the inefficiency of his suggested technique, "it's what I'd deserve," he finished sadly.
Hermione bit her lip, "Oh fine," she said finally, "but only because you'll waste all your revision time that way and fail all of your OWLs!"
Harry grinned sleepily, "Thanks Hermione!"
She rolled her eyes, bringing them to a stop huddled in a corner of the courtyard, sheltered from the poor weather, "I wonder what Snape will have us brewing," she mused, "it's going to be difficult getting us all up to scratch for our OWLs," she looked suddenly anxious, "I've heard that the potions OWL can be so changeable! Hannah was telling me, that a few years ago, they were asked to brew a potion that had never come up in the curriculum before!"
"I'm sure that won't happen," Harry said soothingly, squeezing her shoulder, "and even if they did - when was the last time you didn't brew a new potion perfectly the first time?"
"Yeah - you'll be fine, it's us plebs you aught to be worrying about," said Ron, though he didn't actually sound particularly concerned, "anyway, can we not be stressing over exams this side of Christmas? Or we'll be the ones fainting all over the place! I'm more interested in who will be the new Gryffindor keeper," his gaze flicked nervously to Harry for a moment, "Wood was good, sure, but they could really use some new blood,"
"Why don't you go for it Ron?" Harry said encouragingly, "You could be really good! Might as well make the most of your new broom,"
Ron hesitated, "Do you think so?"
"Yeah! Absolutely! It would be cool to have you on the team," whatever Ron had to say on the matter, he kept to himself, frowning slightly, "I can practice with you tomorrow after class if you like?" Harry added, crossing his fingers that he managed to avoid detention with Umbridge.
Ron grinned, "That would be amazing! Thanks mate,"
"Hello Harry," engrossed in their conversation, they hadn't noticed Cho approaching them (though judging by the way Hermione looked eagerly between Harry and Cho, maybe she had) until she was practically under their nose, her eyes fixed intently on Harry.
Harry flashed her a nervous grin, "Hi Cho," oh Merlin what was he meant to do? The idea of coming straight out with it, that he wasn't interested, and that for many reasons, he would never be interested felt impossible, even on a good day, never mind less than six months after the poor girl's last boyfriend had been murdered.
"Good first lesson back?"
"Uh, I slept through most of it if I'm honest, it was History of Magic," she seemed to be torn between laughing, and frowning in disapproval of his less than attentive attitude towards his education - he supposed she was a Ravenclaw for a reason.
"Potter!" relief swooped through Harry's belly at the familiar voice, "Potter! There you are," marching over from the castle's double doors was Draco, with a reluctant Blaise in his wake, and while he didn't shove Cho out of the way, it was a near thing, "Come on - it's potions next - what are you lot hanging around for?" he sidestepped the Ravenclaw and pressed himself so far into Harry's personal space that Harry was surprised to find they weren't actually touching. Blaise stayed at a more polite distance.
"The bell hasn't rung yet!" Ron protested.
Draco shook his head and tutted, "Rookie mistake Weasley - if you get there last, you'll end up stuck with the worst workstations,"
"All the workstations are exactly the same," Hermione insisted, but she had stepped out into the courtyard and was clearly readying herself to head to class despite her doubts.
"That's what you think," Draco said gravely.
"The station at the back to the left burns hotter than all the others," Blaise offered as supporting information, looking distinctly bored, eyeing Ron and Hermione with something like trepidation.
"No, it doesn't," Hermione said suspiciously, but Blaise only shrugged, and turned to start making his way into the castle.
"Come on then!" said Draco with finality, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulder and steering him after Blaise.
"Oh uh, bye Cho!" Harry called as Draco pulled him past the poor girl - she had the distinct look of someone who had had the rug pulled from under her.
"Oh, bye Harry," she gave a little wave.
"Thanks for that," Harry said, his voice full of relief, "I don't know what to do about her," he admitted lowly, so that only Draco could hear him, "I want to put her off, but I don't want to be tearing down a sixteen-year-old girl's self-esteem if I can help it,"
"Don't worry," Draco said with a smirk, jostling Harry slightly with the arm resting across the back of his neck, leaning in to say conspiratorially, "I don't mind being your knight in shining armour," Harry scoffed and shoved the laughing Slytherin away.
Just as they were descending the stairs to the potions' classroom, Harry turned and asked curiously, "Do those burners actually burn hotter?"
Draco grinned, "Wouldn't you like you know,"
They joined the queue to enter the potions classroom just as the bell rang, joining behind Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott. Nott immediately turned his back on Draco, facing towards the classroom door. Pansy rolled her eyes at him, but equally looked less than enthusiastic at the company Draco had brought with him.
"I wondered where you'd gone," she said coolly as Blaise came to stand between her and Nott.
Draco only shrugged, "Can't leave Potter alone for five minutes, or he's getting chatted up by Ravenclaw sixth years - someone's got to stop him making a fool of himself,"
Pansy's eyes narrowed, "Why are you doing this? Disowning yourself is one thing, but adopting stray Gryffindors? Why?" she said incredulously.
"To make friends," Draco answered dryly, "To make connections outside of Slytherin house. To try and get a head start on repairing the reputation of my family name - only a matter of time before Father burns it to the ground after all," at that, Nott noticeably twitched, "We've been taught all our lives that others are below us Pans, muggleborns and half-bloods - and I don't know about you, but I've never had anyone thank me for looking down on them," the classroom door swung open with a thud, and Daphne Greengrass at the front of the queue started the cascade of students pouring into the room - over the new cover of noise, Draco added, "and when the Dark Lord inevitably falls, I'd rather not be holding hands with all the bigots and scum that support him," it took a nudge from Blaise for Pansy to break eye contact with Draco, and head into the classroom.
Ron was immediately outraged when Draco made it clear he intended to sit with Harry for the class, "No! I always sit with Harry!"
"Maybe it will do both of your grades some good for you to sit with Granger then," Draco said mockingly, and Ron paused, trying to figure out if he was being insulted. Hermione huffed impatiently and seated herself on the bench behind Harry and Draco. Unsurprisingly, Ron joined her, a scowl of displeasure fixed on his face.
Harry looked to the front of the class with a shake of his head - who'd have guessed Ron would be reluctant to sit next to his own future wife. Though, it occurred to him with a slight jolt, what if they never did get married this time? No - no, even if it was the only thing from his past life that he was able to recapture, he was determined to make sure Ron and Hermione ended up together. They'd been such a happy family, and even if he had lost his, he was resolute that they would find theirs again.
He realised suddenly, that while he'd been stuck in his own head, he had actually been staring at someone. Two someone's in fact, one in sweeping black robes with a large, hooked nose, towering over the other, who was essentially just a shock of pink amongst the dark dungeon. His brain engaged properly just in time to hear Umbridge say:
"But previously you applied for the role of Defence Against the Dark Arts position?" she said it in her simpering patronising way, a strange smile fixed to her face.
"Yes,"
"But you were unsuccessful?"
"Obviously,"
"Do you think this is going to be more, or less pleasant the second time round?" Draco muttered in his ear, pulling the text book out of his bag.
"Well, I'm hoping to make it more interesting at the very least - we'll see I guess," Draco gave him a questioning glance.
"Silence," the effect of the word, hissed lowly, was instantaneous. The students that had been eyeing Umbridge curiously, snapped immediately to Snape at the front of the class, who appraised them coldly. Harry listened to Snape's lecture about the importance of the examinations at the end of that academic year with only half an ear, distracted somewhat by the furious scratching of Draco's quill next to him. When he was confident Snape wasn't looking in his direction, he peered over to see what Draco was doing, and found him furiously copying the instructions to brew the Draught of Peace from the textbook. Harry jumped at the sudden scraping of stools, as everyone got to their feet to retrieve their required ingredients from the store cupboard.
"Get mine will you," Draco muttered, "while I finish copying these out," bewildered, Harry did as he was bid, trying to shield the amount of ingredients he had grabbed from Snape's view: while he was sure the professor would have had no issue with Draco double dipping on ingredients, he was certain the same grace would not extend to him.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked curiously, taking his seat and dividing the ingredients between them, eyes flicking to the list of ingredients described on the board and ensuring he'd gotten enough for both of them.
"Writing down the instructions, so we're not busy peering at the board all the way over there - and we can tick them off as we go as well. Less likely to make mistakes," Draco grinned smugly, "Good for learning potions off-by-heart too,"
"You learnt potions off-by-heart?"
Draco's grin faded, and he nodded, "I wanted to be a potions master," he said quietly, "But my name was, quite rightly, mud, for many years after the war," he smiled tightly, "Maybe this time will be different,"
"It will be," Harry said firmly.
They looked at each other for a moment, before Draco finally said:
"Come on. Let's get started."
Ten minutes to the end of the class, and a light silver mist was rising above both Draco and Harry's cauldron. Quite frankly, in Harry's opinion, it was a miracle that he hadn't ended up with a flammable grey sludge. It had only been Draco elbowing him to keep him on task that had ensured his success: he'd been distracted by the sight of Umbridge pacing up and down the classroom, peering into the odd cauldron before making a note on her clipboard, and moving away. He'd actually set his own tie on fire, leaning forwards to try and hear her questioning Lavender over the sound of bubbling potions. Draco had not been impressed and had hissed threats under his breath until Harry promised to pay attention.
"If you cause my potion to explode Potter, you can find yourself someone else to rescue you from Chang," he'd snarled, slapping the end of Harry's tie furiously to put the flames out.
Despite knowing his potion was textbook perfect, Harry still felt a familiar clench of anxiety in his gut when Snape lingered at their station, his black eyes staring intently at each of their cauldrons in turn. There was a moment when Harry was convinced the potions professor was about to pick fault for the sake of it, before he turned away without comment, and Harry let out his held breath. He peered discreetly over his shoulder at Ron and Hermione behind him, and found Hermione's own perfect potion shimmering away, and even Ron had managed something that looked vaguely like the right potion.
"Time is up," Snape said finally, "Fill one flagon with your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it to my desk for testing. Homework is due for Thursday: twelve inches on the properties of moonstone and its use in potion making," strangely, the prospect of homework didn't seem quite as daunting to Harry after a long career dealing with Auror and Department of Mysteries paperwork.
"We still meeting up after dinner?" Draco asked quietly as they waited outside of the classroom for their respective friends to catch up.
"Yeah - straight from dinner?" Draco nodded, "What's the deal with Parkinson and Zabini anyway?"
"Ah, trying to encourage them to be less prickish," Draco admitted, "They both ended up being quite pleasant individuals as adults - I'm trying to speed up that process but, you know, early doors, we'll see," he shrugged, nodding to Pansy when he caught her eye, "See you later," and he peeled away after the Slytherins that were actually talking to him.
"Oh Harry! Maybe Draco was right!" Hermione cried enthusiastically as Ron and her exited the classroom, "You're potion was perfect! And Ron's was really good too!" Ron looked particularly glum at this announcement, as if he'd rather make terrible potions all day every day if it meant he could sit with Harry still.
Over lunch, Harry contemplated the next lesson of the day. He wasn't quite sure how he was meant to implement the 'dominate academically' plan in Divination, even if he was in a significantly advantageous position to predict the future compared to his classmates. Still, he wasn't sure how impressed Professor Trelawney would be if he sat and repeatedly predicted the weather conditions for different Quidditch matches that year, since that was the only thing he could remember reliably and was fairly certain he had no influence over. Still, he wasn't sure how that would assist him in his Divination OWL. Was there even any point in trying? He hadn't passed it the last time round anyway - he could use the time to actually revise for History of Magic, surely? Or something else more productive.
He leant back in his seat, chewing his lasagne and contemplating his choices. He looked around aimlessly, hoping for inspiration, when his eyes landed on McGonagall at the faculty table, a copy of the Daily Prophet folded in her hands. Well. It was worth a shot.
"Back in a minute," Harry muttered to the other two - he didn't think they'd heard him, but they definitely noticed him getting up and approaching the top table.
McGonagall noticed his advance, and she lowered her paper slowly, "Can I help you, Potter?"
"Yes Professor, I'm sorry to bother you, but I wondered if I might talk to you about my timetable?"
She paused, eyes narrowed and appearing to stare into his very soul, before she gave a small 'hmm', and stood, "I don't see why not - come to my office Potter, we still have some time before the end of lunch," Harry followed her quietly, giving an exaggerated thumbs up to Ron and Hermione who were watching in concern as he trailed after their head of house.
Arriving at her office, she gestured to a seat opposite her desk as she seated herself, "A biscuit Potter?" he accepted it gratefully, and nibbled on the end of a Ginger Newt as McGonagall folded her hands together in her lap, "Now, what can I do for you?"
"Well…" Harry started slowly, wishing he'd planned more thoroughly what to say, "I suppose it's Divination," if she was surprised, she didn't show it, simply inclining her head to encourage him to continue, "I guess there's two points Professor. The first, is that there's no way I'm passing that OWL," he said frankly, "I have no prophetic abilities, and I won't pretend that I'm seeing doom and death all over the place to try and pretend that I do. And… and I suppose the second point," he took a deep breath, and bit his lip to try and sell it, "I don't think I can listen to Professor Trelawney predict doom and death for the next year either - not…" he swallowed, and was surprised to find he was holding back actual tears - though perhaps not that surprised; he'd been quick to cry ever since June, "not after everything that has happened," he finished quietly.
McGonagall considered him with sad eyes, pausing, before grabbing a biscuit for herself, "What is it I can do for you, Harry?" she repeated gently, and Harry knew in that moment, that if it was within her power, he didn't think there was much she wouldn't do for him.
"I don't know if it would be allowed - but I would really like to drop Divination if it's possible," he admitted, clasping his hands in his lap.
McGonagall steepled her fingers under under her chin, "It is not unheard of for students to drop a weaker elective subject, in favour of academic pursuits better suited to them," she said slowly, "Tell me Potter - what would you do with the extra time available to you if I were to allow you to drop Divination?" somehow, he didn't think McGonagall would accept 'sleep'.
"Study more for my other subjects, I guess. I'm a bit worried I might fail History of Magic, so I'd probably put in extra work for that?"
She nodded but didn't look satisfied with that answer, "I know it's early for careers advice, Potter - but have you considered what career you might pursue in the future?" if he was honest, he had no true answer. He could say Auror again, as a get out of jail free card, but it would be a lie. He'd enjoyed his years with the Aurors, but they weren't something he wanted to repeat. As for becoming an Unspeakable again, he wasn't stupid enough to resume the career that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. But what did that leave? And did it even matter? He was fairly certain there was no future ahead for him anyway.
"What I think," McGonagall said slowly, when it was clear there was no answer forthcoming from him, "is that with a little application, you have the capacity to do a great number of things. Though you may be less academically inclined than Miss Granger, it is my belief that you are no less magically talented - if in ten years' time, someone told me you had become a curse breaker, or an Auror, or had become a professional dualist, or hell," she snorted, "that you were a professional Quidditch player - I'd believe all of it! Normally," she said shrewdly, "I would direct you to the Defence Against the Dark Art's Professor, as that is by far your strongest subject, and suggest you gain further guidance from them. However, I think we can both agree that that would not be advantageous to you in this instance. Instead, perhaps speak to Professor Flitwick? He was most impressed by your blasting charm at the end of last term - as was I. He has not been quiet in his opinion that you would make a fine Charms Master. Now, I am not suggesting you immediately enter into an apprenticeship with him, or anyone else for that matter, but it may be worth taking the opportunity to learn from him. What do you think?"
Harry thought he could probably do without adding demands to his already stretched time, but this was not what he said, "Okay Professor, I'll speak to him after class and see what he thinks,"
She nodded and clapped her hands together, just as the bell rang, "Excellent, it's agreed then. You have permission to drop Divination, provided you use the time wisely. If I find you playing gobstones in the common room when you would otherwise have been in class, I will not be impressed," she said gravely, "Now, of you go,"
"Thank you, Professor."
Harry spent his new free period reclined in his bed, completing Snape's homework and contemplating the Defence class that was looming ahead of him. While he felt mildly confident that he wasn't going to totally lose his cool and get himself a whole week's worth of detention, he knew he'd be kidding himself if he said he'd completely matured past the point of temper tantrums. He'd told Draco that he'd had to have the wall behind Mrs Black's portrait taken down - what he hadn't said, was that that was after blasting it to pieces first after finally having enough of listening to the old bat scream about blood traitors.
With five minutes to go before the start of the new period, Harry stood and stretched, tucking his completed work away, and reorganising his bag. He paused when he picked up his wand, staring at it for a moment. It wouldn't be much use to him, but what was he able to do without it? He hadn't stretched his wordless and wandless magically abilities in a very long time - it was rare that he was both without his wand and unable to speak. He glanced around for something nearby and small, and found a broken quill discarded on Dean's bed. He dropped his wand back on his own bed and began. He narrowed his eyes, turning his focus inward, slipping mental fingertips into the shallow lapping edges of his magical core, and attempting to dredge some of it forth without saying a word. Confident he had a hand on the reins of his magic, he redirected that focus outwards, to the quill in front of him.
'Accio!' he concentrated on the incantation, repeating it again and again until he could practically feel the unspoken words vibrating on the tip of his tongue. The quill twitched and lazily meandered its way across the bed in his direction, before it toppled off the bed, and came to a stop. Harry sighed - he'd need to practice this. He took up his wand, and repeated the process, and the quill whizzed into his hand immediately. Maybe silent casting would need to be enough.
By a lucky coincidence, he bumped into Ron and Hermione just as they were entering the Defence classroom.
"Harry! Mate, where have you been?" exclaimed Ron, "Have you been with McGonagall this whole time? Trelawney kept looking at your chair and sighing ominously - pretty sure Lavender thinks you're dead now," Lavender, who had been only a few paces behind Ron, did indeed squeak in surprise when she saw Harry alive and well.
"I'll tell you later," Harry assured them, though he thought Hermione may have already guessed judging by the confused mash of disapproval and smug pride on her face - as if she couldn't believe he'd dropped a subject, but was glad he was no longer wasting his time on Divination.
Filing into the classroom, Harry could feel a familiar furious dread clawing its way up from deep in his belly, until it was climbing up his neck and clenching just under his jaw around his throat; Professor Umbridge watched his approach from behind her desk, and though her eyes flicked away frequently to appraise the other arriving students, they always returned to him. He needed to calm down - Draco would kill him if he ended up in detention this quickly.
He took a deep breath as he seated himself, eyes still fixed on Umbridge. In a process that was frustratingly familiar now, he herded his anxiety and anger into one corner of his brain, and built a wall to contain it safely for processing at a later date - he seemed to be living his life an emotional step behind recently, saving everything for a more appropriate time. He almost missed the days of teenage explosions of frustration and anger. At least it was all out in the open, and out of the way then.
Feeling distinctly more centred and calm, Harry moved onto his 'annoy Umbridge as much as possible without being implicated' plan. Eyes fixed on Umbridge, he flexed his fingers into a loose grip around his wand, placing it on his desk and discreetly directing its tip to point at the Professor. He only had moments before someone took the seat in front of him and blocked his direct line of sight, but even he wasn't ballsy enough to jinx the woman while she was looking at him. He waited one breath, two, and then on the third she looked away, offering Parvati a sickly-sweet smile, and he acted.
'Visiolectri!' A dim, brief glowing at the end of his wand was the only indication he had cast anything. His wand tip had dimmed again, and he had reoriented his wand and removed his hand long before Umbridge looked in his direction again, having noticed nothing. Hermione however, was staring at him, and had clearly caught something. He shook his head discreetly before she could ask a question and give him away. The only thing he didn't like about this jinx, was how long it took for its effects to become apparent.
"Well, good afternoon!" Professor Umbridge said sweetly once the last of the class had seated themselves. Harry was the only person who responded 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge' loudly and clearly, and even though it was the response he knew she wanted, the brief fixed quality of her smile told him she was still annoyed at him for it. The whole class parroted a 'Good afternoon' back at her when she prompted them, and her introduction to the fifth years proceeded much as Harry had remembered it. Harry put his wand away with the rest of the class when he was asked to and opened his book to the first chapter when instructed to. Unlike History of Magic, he didn't even try to complete the work set for him. Instead, he watched Hermione determinedly stick her hand into the air and wait patiently to be called upon.
"I've got a question about the course aims," said Hermione politely when she was eventually allowed to speak, but Harry was more focussed on the afternoon sun streaming through the window, hitting Umbridge's right shoulder, and illuminating the dust particles floating whimsically through the air, "There's nothing in there about using defensive spells," they were stirred into little turbulent spirals and twisters with the movement of the class, and these disturbances in the air gradually spread far from their point of origin until, finally, they resolved into the appearance of gently settling snow once more. The beam of light on Umbridge revealed, however, that the dust in her immediate vicinity, was not behaving in quite the same way.
"Using defensive spells? Why, Miss Granger, I can't imagine a scenario in which you would need to use defensive spells," she gave a false titter of amusement, "You surely aren't expecting to be attacked in my classroom?
"We're not going to use magic?" cried on outraged Ron.
"Student's raise a hand in my class if they wish to speak, Mister…?"
"Weasley," Ron's arm was thrust into the air, as well as the arms of several other students. Harry was trying his very best not to listen too closely - he couldn't afford to draw himself into a shouting match with the woman, but a few things leaked through.
"The whole point of a Defensive class, is surely to practice defensive spells?" Hermione said incredulously.
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert Miss Granger?"
"Well, no, but-,"
"Well then, I am afraid you are unqualified to decide the 'whole point' of anything," he tried to refocus: the dust an inch or two away from Professor Umbridge's vivid pink cardigan appeared to vibrate in agitation, creating an almost halo effect around her. This halo effect disguised what was actually happening, as building static in her clothes rapidly attracted the surround particles to her, "Wizards much cleverer, and older than you, have devised our new curriculum," he appraised the furniture that surrounded her, and found that they had also been effected by the jinx, and he could see a light layer of dust already beginning to accumulate on her desk, and on the feather of her quill. It hadn't yet, but in a day or two, Harry was sure her hair would be practically untameable. A few more classes, and he would probably be able to jinx the entire classroom, "You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way," Deans hand shot straight up, "Yes Mister…"
"Dean Thomas," he said impatiently, "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free though!" Dean practically shouted, making Harry jump and knocking him firmly out of his jinx daydream. Seamus next to him also appeared to be seething.
It became apparent pretty quickly, that by not distracting them all with a grand declaration about Voldemort, the rest of the class had quickly worked themselves into near hysteria, worrying about their inevitable failure in June.
"We're going to fail!! Oh Merlin, we're going to fail!!" Lavender gasped, practically hyperventilating.
"I can't fail!! My mother would kill me!" Seamus was gripping his hair tightly in his hands, staring blankly at the desk. The Ravenclaws in the class weren't fairing much better, but they were being somewhat less vocal in their displeasure. However, that may have been because most of them appeared somewhat catatonic - Michael Corner appeared to be in a dead faint on his desk.
"ENOUGH!!" Umbridge suddenly screeched, her eyes wild for a split second, "That is enough!" she continued, quieter but no less furious, pacing up and down the front of the class, "Ten points from Gryffindor," to say that the class settled would have been inaccurate - rather, they all fell silent, but their joint outrage was still very much in the air, "I will not be spoken to like that in my own classroom!" Hermione seethed next to Harry, "You will continue with the work I have set, silently, or I will be seeing you in my office for detention every day for the rest of the week, until you learn to behave in a manner befitting a Hogwarts student!" as if to emphasise her point, she stopped and gripped the back of a vacant chair - but she must have brushed against an exposed nail in the wood, for she suddenly let out a small yelp of pain, as the static electricity that had been building in her clothes, hair, and on her skin, discharged abruptly. Harry suppressed a grin. Giving her hand a subtle shake, she played it off, "Now! Back to chapter one, if you please," she said sharply, moving to seat herself behind her desk once more. Harry had to look down quickly to hide the amused crinkling in the corner of his eyes.
He pretended not to see when she swiped away the dust that had settled atop the books on her desk.
"I can't believe that woman," Hermione practically growled, aggressively scooping a serving of shepherd's pie onto her plate, "How could Dumbledore do this to us?! And in our OWL year! And with what's happening outside of the castle!" Harry flinched back in time to avoid minced lamb in his hair, "Sorry," Harry held up a hand of acceptance, too busy scoffing down his own shepherd's pie.
"Probably his last resort - we've never had good Defence teachers have we. The job's meant to be jinxed," said Ron morosely, adding mashed potatoes to his plate with significantly less gumption than Hermione, "Not sure how anyone's going to pass though, to be honest," Harry speared his carrots and added a bit of mash for efficiency.
"What are you so cheerful about?" Hermione said sharply, rounding on Harry - it was only then he realised that he'd been eating (though inhaling might have been more accurate with the speed he was getting through his plate) his dinner with a small smile on his face; Hermione glanced around and lowered her voice, "And what did you do in her class? I saw your wand glow,"
Harry couldn't suppress his grin now, and his friends both leaned in closer. He put his fork down for a moment.
"I cast a static electricity jinx," he whispered proudly, "until she figures it out, and casts the counter charm, she's going to generate larger than usual amounts of static electricity. She'll be getting random electric shocks, only little ones, and by tomorrow her hair should be pretty wild too. Her desk is gonna' get really dusty really quickly as well," Ron looked confused, but Hermione leant back looking more than a little impressed. He picked up his fork again and continued his mission to finish his dinner.
"I didn't hear you cast anything though - did you do it silently?" Harry shrugged and nodded, "That's amazing Harry!"
"Hang on, sorry, I don't really understand," said Ron, bursting Harry's bubble just a little bit, "What's that gonna' do though? Her getting little ecelt- electit- elecit," Harry paused to take a gulp of pumpkin juice.
"Electric," Hermione supplied.
"That, yeah - what does it matter if she gets those shocks? Or she gets bad hair? Or a dusty classroom?"
"Oh, it's brilliant really," Hermione enthused, "It's the sort of thing she would probably never attribute to a jinx - or if she did, people would just think she was paranoid. Do you have any other ideas?" she asked eagerly, leaning closer again, and Harry hummed vaguely around his mouthful of dinner, "Why are you eating so quickly?" she added curiously.
"Yeah but, I mean, what's it gonna' achieve?" Ron asked again, "Not gonna' leave cause' she can't keep her classroom clean, is she?"
"Drive her a bit mental?" Harry suggested with his mouth full, "It's a start - anything to make her realise she's not wanted," Ron nodded, but didn't seem totally convinced; Harry swallowed his shepherd's pie, "The best part is, its so low level that normal detection spells can't find it - so in theory, she could be under its effects for years,"
"Where did you go at lunch by the way?" Ron said suddenly, "You said you'd tell us later,"
"Ah, well,"
Ron's eyes practically bulged out of his head when Harry told him he'd ditched divination.
"You WHAT!" More than one student nearby sent them a dirty look at his outraged outburst, "Since when was that even an option?! No Harry, please no," he whined petulantly, "I can't cope in that class by myself! Who am I meant to pair up with?!" Harry winced in sympathy, but said nothing, too busy chasing peas around his plate.
"I think dropping it was an excellent idea Harry," Hermione said firmly, "More time to focus on your other subjects,"
"McGonagall wants me to speak to Flitwick about how I can use my extra time," Harry said, "Not really sure what she has in mind though,"
"You could always use it to practice your nonverbal magic," she suggested, and actually, Harry reflected, that was a pretty good idea, "Definitely end up with an outstanding if you cast all the spells silently,"
"Do you think McGonagall would let me drop it?" Ron said wistfully, leaning his cheek into his palm and gazing longingly up at their head of house on the faculty table.
"You could always ask," Hermione suggested, but Ron sighed and shook his head.
"No point, Mum would kill me if I did," he grumbled, pausing though as he finally noticed that Harry's plate was now practically empty, "You alright mate? Why're you eating so fast?"
"Meeting Draco," Harry admitted, gulping more pumpkin juice.
"Are you?" Hermione eyed him thoughtfully, "Why?" Harry frowned at her as he grabbed some napkins from the centre of the table and used them to enclose a slice of short bread so that he could sequester it in his bag without making a huge mess.
"Am I not allowed to?" he said defensively. Ron snorted, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by Hermione's sharp elbow in his side.
"Of course you can - what are you doing though? Studying together?" she said it with a false casualness, clearly watching his reactions very carefully and, not for the first time, Harry cursed Hermione's intuition.
"Yeah, something like that," he said with a huff, slipping his short bread into his bag, "Look, I'll see you back in the common room, okay? I won't be late,"
Somehow, Hermione's mild, "Okay, Harry," was more irritating than Ron's look of confused outrage (though that could have been because Hermione had elbowed him again).
Harry arrived at the Room of Requirement first. Slipping his bag from his shoulder and leaning it up against the wall, Harry began to pace back and forth in front of Barnabas the Barmy, his eyes half closed as he focussed on the image of the room he and Draco had spent so much time in together at the beginning of this whole mess. On his third pass, he heard a familiar creek, and opening his eyes confirmed that the room had materialised.
Entering, Harry could immediately hear the grainy piano music he had once found a despairing Draco listening to by himself. It was the same song, he was sure, and one he had heard outside of the Room but would never have been able to name. He frowned, and went to investigate, but paused, realising that the room hadn't formed quite the way it had before. While he could see the replica of his kitchen, and an archway that led to Draco's study beyond it, the reproduction of Crocker's office had changed. In fact, the only thing that remained of it, was the silver filing cabinet containing the basilisk fangs, and the blackboard they had written on. Otherwise, the desk and chairs had disappeared entirely, and the walls appeared to be fading into a more sterile grey colour. How strange - he supposed it wasn't important though; maybe the room had just interpreted this office as now being less crucial to meet their needs.
He bypassed the kitchen, pausing only to stroke a finger down the nose of Hector's replica, and headed to Draco's study, and the gramophone behind his enormous mahogany desk. He hesitated, feeling suddenly like he was invading Draco's space somehow, though technically the notion was ludicrous - this wasn't real after all. He pushed himself forward, eyeing the spinning record curiously as he approached. He couldn't help but wonder why the room had decided to play music when it never had before. Unless of course, the last time there had been music it wasn't because Draco had turned the gramophone on. He peered curiously at the small storage unit flush against the back wall that contained at least twenty small records - it was easy to figure out which one was playing however, as its empty sleeve was half hanging out. He pulled it out and read what was written on the front, 'Gymnopedie: No 1. by Erik Satie. Performed by Astoria Malfoy'.
Harry froze, the empty sleeve held precariously in his finger tips, as he realised he was listening to a performance from another life. Carefully, he put the record sleeve back, and peaked gingerly at the other records in the storage unit. There were a series of song names Harry didn't recognise at all, but all were followed with the words, 'Performed by Astoria Malfoy'. It felt almost torturous, and he wondered, not for the first time, if the Room had some kind of intuition as to what they needed, beyond what they asked for. And if it did, was it the Room who thought Draco needed this, or was it Draco asking for a reminder of his wife. Though, Harry supposed, he hadn't asked for Hector.
He jumped at the familiar sound of the Room's door clicking open, and he quickly back tracked through the kitchen to find Draco, who was looking around the bare office with interest. He scowled as soon as he saw Harry.
"That bloody Umbridge woman," he spat, "has been questioning me in the corridor for the last fifteen minutes!"
Harry frowned in concern, "What? Why?"
Draco threw up his arms, "Who knows!" he dumped his bag in the middle of the floor in frustration, "Kept asking me about my father, and my family, and if I regretted becoming disowned, and whether or not we," here, he wagged his finger rapidly between them, "were friends, and how long we had been, and what was I doing walking around the corridors, and did I like being a prefect, and on, and on, and on! Then she took five points from Slytherin because my tie was crooked," he scowled, ripping the aforementioned tie from around his neck and letting it fall to the floor, "I've got a funny feeling that I'm the one who's going to end up with all the detentions," he said darkly.
"Why's she harassing you like that? D'you think your dad put her up to it?"
Draco shook his head with a heavy sigh, "No," he said reluctantly, "I'm pretty sure she's just one of those old school witches who enjoys ostracising people who don't conform," he suddenly seemed to lose all his frustration, slumping slightly, and then approaching his bag in the middle of the room and searching through it, "How was your afternoon with her?"
"Great!" Draco looked up in surprise at his enthusiastic response, "I may have cast a static electricity hex on her,"
Draco rolled his eyes, but a reluctant smile spread across his face, "So that's how you want to play it? Cruel and unusual? Okay, I can get behind that - aha!" he'd finally found what he was looking for - a familiar pair of balled up black socks, "Did she catch you?" he added, standing up straight.
"Nope," Harry said with a proud pop, "Non-verbal, when she wasn't looking,"
Draco grinned almost reluctantly, as if Harry's good humour was infectious, "I think you might be starting to enjoy being a teenager again," he teased.
"Says the man who's practically revelling at the opportunity to 'dominate academically'," Harry said with a scoff, making quotation marks with his fingers.
"You've got me there – I figured we've got to find a silver lining in all this somewhere," he gestured helplessly to the room at large, and their previous levity vanished, and suddenly all that remained was Draco, Harry, and the ghosts that haunted them. The sound of Draco's vanished wife playing piano floated through to them from the study, and Harry realised abruptly that, though they had chosen different methods - Draco by doing well in school, and Harry by tormenting Umbridge - they were trying to achieve the same thing: control.
"I have to say though, Potter," Draco said, breaking their silence as he unwound his socks from around Slytherin's locket, "That I'm glad it's you I've found myself bound to, in this shitty situation," he offered Harry a small sad smile, and for the briefest of seconds something fluttered in Harry's gut, and the piano music in the room seemed louder.
"Yeah," his mouth suddenly felt dry, "Me too," for a moment, it felt like their eyes were locked on one another, green on grey, grief entwined with the promise of a better future hanging in the air between them. But then, that moment was over, and Draco was considering the locket as it twirled on its chain.
"Come on then, better lock this away," apparently having been waiting for such a declaration, the filing cabinet in the corner sprang open. Draco unceremoniously dropped the locket inside with a crash that sounded deeper and more cavernous than could have been produced by the cabinet in front of them. There was a beat, and then the cabinet slammed itself shut, and sealed with a streak off white light around its edges.
"What next?" Harry mused, "Getting the cup?"
Draco's smile seemed almost pained, "Surviving school is next, I think - won't have the cup till December at the earliest," he said regretfully.
Harry could only hmm back at him, the idea of the next four months looming ahead of him making him feel vaguely ill, and distinctly lacking in control, "I think," he said slowly, "I might go crazy,"
Draco snorted, "You and me both."
Having returned to the Gryffindor common room and gotten himself ready for bed, Harry was sat in his four-poster bed contemplating the dittany extract, and the ointment that Snape had provided him with - in particular, the dittany, remembering how much it had burned on application, and the awkward angle Harry had had to tilt his head at for Snape to administer it. He was not particularly confident he'd be able to do it on his own, but he had to at least try he guessed.
He conjured a mirror with a flick of his wand and set it hovering in the air in front of his face, and for the first time that day (as he was now in the habit of avoiding his own reflection), he caught a glimpse of the red and angry scar. It looked no different, but he'd long stopped thinking it might. With a long-suffering sigh, Harry tried his best to angle his head and body in such a way that the dittany would not immediately run down his front into his pyjama top. Holding the pipette above his neck, he winced in anticipation and held his breath, before quickly administering three drops. It burnt just as he had expected to, though thankfully not for long. What he hadn't been expecting, was for the dittany to be drawn into the wound like iron filings being drawn to a magnet, and he needn't have worried about any dribbling down his front, as even the final drop that had fallen just behind his shoulder ended up being drawn towards its intended target.
With the worst over, Harry smeared a generous amount of the ointment on his neck, but then was at a loss. He needed to bind his neck, but he'd never used that incantation before. He considered his forearm for a moment and had been about to speak the incantation when Snape's words came back to him, 'I recommend you practice on an inanimate object in the first instance.' Perhaps not his arm.
He glanced around for something more suitable, and settled on his pillow. He positioned the pillow in front of him, and raised his wand in preparation:
"Fascia!"
Suddenly, there was an enormous explosion of goose feathers from the top end of the pillow, as bandages shot out of the end of Harry's wand and tied themselves tightly across the middle of the pillow, pulling taught like they were trying to throttle it to death. Harry gaped at the feathers that now covered both himself and his bed, as well the surrounding floor, and Snape's warning suddenly didn't seem severe enough. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, and Harry was immediately gone - collapsed back on his feather covered bed and laughing uncontrollably to himself, both at the thick layer of feathers that covered him, and the shocked look on his face.
It would be ten minutes before he composed himself enough to reattempt the spell.