A week later, in Wednesday’s DADA class Harry was, as usual, recruited into re-enacting scenes from Lockhart’s book. They involved scuffles with several muggles and wizards enamoured of the vampire. After which, he turned to the topic of Renfields. “It’s rather humorous,” he said, as a relieved Harry got to return to his desk. He swept his gaze across the class with a huge smile. “Most of you haven’t heard of the book, but those of you who are muggle-born, and a few of the half-bloods, have heard of a book by Bram Stoker called “Dracula.”
He nodded as Neville, Lavender, Fay, and Parvati, the pure-bloods sat up. “Yes,” he said, “that Dracula.” He smirked a tiny bit. “The muggles know about Dracula, you see. A very enterprising Irish half-blood, Stoker was. He wrote a book about the vampire, wrapping it in superstition. By the time the Ministry discovered he had written it, there were far too many copies around to remove it.” He shook his head.
“Fortunately, the Ministry was able to use confundus on any curious muggles and convince them that there was no solid evidence that the Count in the novel was modelled on the real Dracula of Wallachia. They spread the tale that Stoker only borrowed the name Dracula and mixed his story with scraps of miscellaneous information about Romanian history. They went so far as to ensure that there were no comments about the Count in the author’s working notes. There was some debate about tossing Stoker into Azkaban, but he was too much in the public eye, by them. So, the Ministry fined him heavily, leaving him and his squib wife paupers, by all accounts, to discourage anyone else doing what he did.” He shook his head sadly.
“Anyway,” he continued, “The book became quite popular. One of Stoker’s ‘alterations’ to the Dracula story was distilling the people who are mind-controlled by vampires into a character called Renfield — whom he described as a lunatic. When the Ministry aurors were dealing with the book incident, some of them who had to deal with vampires started referring to those victims as Renfields, and the name has stuck.”
He paused and looked around. “Well,” he finished, “It seems we have run out of time, so that is all for today. Don’t forget, your assignment on Marauding with Monsters is due next Monday. Dismissed.”
^-_-^
It was during breakfast on Thursday that the Headmaster began to tap his cup. The students in the Great Hall quickly settled down and waited curiously, with many whispered comments back and forth.
He stood and smiled genially at them all, at least the ones who weren’t running late to breakfast. “Professor Lockhart would like to say a few words about classes today.” He sat and looked over at the professor expectantly.
The professor, resplendent as always, was in robes of deep plum as he stood behind the Head Table. He grinned broadly as he glanced around the Great Hall at the students. “I am sure you will be overjoyed to hear that I will be holding a special class for my Second-Year students on Saturday.”
The students looked at each other warily. Many of the Second-Year witches looked excited at the prospect. The wizards were a good deal less pleased, as were a few of the witches, such as those in Harry’s circle.
“Never fear,” he continued exuberantly, “although it will be much more exciting, it won’t interfere with the quidditch match, in the slightest.”
A relieved sigh was heard from the wizards in his second-year classes.
“I will be holding an exceptional demonstration on the mind arts for the second years.” He again swept the room with his gaze. “Those of you not in those classes need not fear you will be left out. The class is open to any who might wish to see an incredible display of my wizardly prowess. A level to which you should all aspire; despite the many years of concentrated study it will require.”
He struck a pose with his wand upraised. After a brief pause, as if waiting for the flash of cameras to accompany the enthusiastic applause of the witches, he lowered his arm. “The class will be immediately after breakfast, at nine, and be completed by ten-thirty.” He gave a throaty chuckle. “There will be plenty of time for you to make it to the pitch and secure good seats.”
He took a deep breath and looked proudly at the students. “I suspect most, if not all of you, will benefit from taking advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime demonstration! If you aren’t there, you will forever bemoan not seeing the incomparable Gilderoy Lockhart at work! It will be a lesson for the history books.” He struck a new pose.
Harry tried not to roll his eyes, but he noticed quite a few other boys were unable to resist. Almost an equal number of witches, most not in Gryffindor, sighed dreamily. He suspected nearly all of the audience on Saturday that weren’t second year students would be witches.
Lockhart started to sit, then stopped and stood again. “Ah, yes,” he said as if he had suddenly remembered something. “In compensation for the special class Saturday, classes for the second years are cancelled for today and tomorrow.”
He sat with a flourish as the second years all burst into cheers — or, at least, the boys did. Many of the witches looked disappointed. Harry shook his head and looked across the table at Neville, who had a similar expression at the reaction of the witches. His herd-mates were looking relieved, while Hermione was downright scowling.
That was when he noticed that Elly had turned around and was giving him a steady, meaningful look. He raised his eyebrows at her. She turned her head enough to look at the Head Table from the edges of her eyes, then looked back at him and tilted her head in a slight nod at Lockhart.
Then she turned around completely to look over at the Slytherin table, and craned her neck to look over in the specific direction of Malfoy and his boyfriends. Then she turned her head enough to look at him from the edges of her eyes, and tilted her head at Malfoy.
After that, she returned to eating her breakfast and ignored him.
Hermione, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Belle had not missed Elly’s action, and were frowning heavily, glancing among themselves, Lockhart, and the Dark Trio. How their professor was connected to the Dark Trio, beyond the obvious, was puzzling.
But, considering Elly’s actions, they would find out Saturday. In the meantime, they would need to be especially vigilant.
Everyone was debating what the DADA demonstration on Saturday would entail — and if the non-second-years should attend, in view of what had happened at the Duelling Club demonstration in December.
^·_·^
Tom was not stupid. He stared at the Professor with narrowed eyes. Something was up with Gilderoy. He was planning something . . . something more than just a “demonstration” for the second-year students.
Tom hadn’t missed that the older of the four Hufflepuffs who had stayed over the hols had given Potter a rather obvious alert that something was up with the Professor. He shook his head. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she had climbed up on the table and shouted at the boy.
Clearly, she thought that whatever the Professor was planning had something to do with Potter. What her connection to Potter was, he didn’t know. She never hung out with him, and while they shared a few classes they hadn’t studied together. Or, at least, not that he had noticed. That she was one of the Hufflepuffs who had stayed over the hols was significant, he felt. It might be just a coincidence, but there was that niggling thought that it wasn’t just that.
Was she the one spying on him?
And, if so, why?
Had she somehow picked up on his draining of his host?
Did that have anything to do with the DADA professor and his announcement?
He had learned in the orphanage to pay attention to those feelings that said something wasn’t right, that he needed to pay close attention to his surroundings. They usually portended one of the orphanage’s bullies doing something to him or his few possessions. That had only lasted until he had learned how to focus his meagre magical powers. It had taken a while, but he had taught the bullies that messing with him was not something they could do with impunity. Once he had started Hogwarts, they had quickly learned that payback was a real witch, or wizard in his case.
Maybe he needed to revise his plans? Maybe waiting until summer wasn’t a viable option, anymore?
Or was he panicking for no reason?
No, he was being cautious.
Tonight, he would use the confundus on the fifth through seventh years and have them give him some of their galleons. They would remember it as loaning the funds to each other, with the promise to repay the loans by June first. It wouldn’t be a lot, only a twenty or so galleons, but it would be enough for him to live on for a few months if he did have to do a runner. He could search out some of the places he assumed his “parent” soul-piece would have used as emergency stashes — such as the cave on the coast, the Riddle family cemetery, and a few other places no one should suspect.
That, of course, assumed he wouldn’t be able to pillage his host’s family vault before he completely drained him. Or that someone else — Black — had already done significant pillaging.
He had to admire the wizard’s business acumen, though. He had manoeuvred around and exploited the Death Eaters’ financial Achilles’ heels quite well. He would have to remember some of those tricks to use on his own, when he had gained enough funds. It seemed to be remarkably easy to get others beholden to him by loaning them the funds to live above their means, temporarily, with the promise that they would have higher earnings in the future to pay him back.
^·_·^
Albus was not stupid. Something was up with Gilderoy. He was planning something . . . something more than just a “demonstration” for the second-year students. Unfortunately, except for the Duelling Club and Valentine’s Day fiasco’s, the wizard had been fairly subdued outside of his classes this school year.
That was very much unlike his desire to be the centre of attention when he was at Hogwarts as a rather average student.
He actually seemed to be somewhat effective in his classes, much more so than Albus had expected. Giving the students a scenario from one of his books, asking what they would do in that situation, then having them practice the spells they mentioned was surprisingly successful at teaching. He was definitely doing better than many of the other professors Hogwarts had had in the DADA position over the last twenty years.
Which was a bit of a relief, as Dumbledore hadn’t had a choice in hiring him — he had been the only one to apply for the position! If he hadn’t come forward, Dumbledore would have had to go to Cornelius, hat in hand, and ask if he would be so kind as to appoint one of the aurors to the position.
The only indication he had that anyone suspected the wizard wasn’t what he purported to be was that some of the witches in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw weren’t as enamoured of the wizard as the other witches in the castle. Especially, lately.
Albus had been hoping that Lockhart would make a fatal mistake and expose himself as the fraud Albus knew he was. The downside to that happening, of course, was that if he left at the end of term it would leave Albus in the same quandry as this year. Maybe Albus could ask a retired auror to take the position? This was Alastor’s last year in the auror’s . . . maybe he would consider the job?
He shook his head, he was going off on a tangent.
Gilderoy had made an error in memory-wiping a friend of Dumbledore’s, one who had already confided his adventure to Albus. He had been a bit disgruntled at the attention that was starting to draw to him. He’d rather continue his researches out of the limelight.
However, now it was the basis of an adventure in one of Gilderoy’s books, with Gilderoy as the hero. Albus’ friend had no recollection of telling Albus of any such incident. Many of the principal participants in the situation now remembered Lockhart as their “saviour,” too.
Albus had researched one of Lockhart’s books on a weekend this past summer. The descriptions of the actual incidents in the book were truthful, if a bit exaggerated. The embellishments could be written off as differences in points of view in those who had witnessed what had happened. Merlin knew, if ten wizards saw duel, their retelling of the duel would sound like ten different duels had taken place.
There had been more than a few discrepancies between what Gilderoy looked like and what those involved remembered about the wizard who had helped them. Differences in hair colour, facial hair, attitude, clothes, and so forth. Nothing that would be proof positive, mind you, but more than enough to cast doubts on him being the wizard that had been there at that time. At least, in Dumbledore’s mind. He was sure no ordinary wizard or witch would take his observations seriously, despite his leadership role and reputation.
Albus had been rather pleased to note that there was a growing sentiment among the students that the DADA Professor was not the great adventurer he claimed to be. Several portraits had told him they had heard students discussing the discrepancies in Lockhart’s books as to when the events recounted had actually happened.
Normally, one expected an adventurer’s books to be released in the order in which they occurred. However, one of Gilderoy’s adventures seems to have happened after the book that came after it! Plus, they had noticed that two of the books seemed to take place at the same time.
But, so far, nothing that might unveil the depth of the wizard’s deception. Very disappointing.
Until now.
What made Albus most suspicious was not the professor’s insistence that the Headmaster be in attendance, but that he also insisted that Madam Bones, Director of Magical Law Enforcement, also be present.
She had already agreed.
His excuse was that he wanted her present as he wished her direct permission in using Susan Bones as one of his subjects.
The question was . . . what was the gilded-fraud planning?
He would make sure that both Filius and Severus were present, and under invisibility cloaks.
^-~-^
The morning passed quickly for Harry with History of Magic after breakfast, and then Charms with the Ravenclaws. Then there was a break, which they dedicated to revising their spells, they needed to be able to cast them quickly and accurately. As they headed for a late start to lunch, Hermione insisted they needed to learn the impediment, impervius, and episkey charms that afternoon.
Then came Double Potions with the Slytherins. The only things of note in the last two weeks had been one or another of the Dark Trio smirking at them and laughing. They hadn’t really done anything that was outright offensive. Still, Harry and the others would have to keep a careful watch on the three Slytherins. Just in case they decided to strike early instead of waiting until Saturday.
After the class, it would be back to practicing their spells.
It would mean leaving off assignments until Sunday, but they were ahead, anyway.
^-_-^
Hedwyg made a surprise delivery at breakfast, Friday morning. Harry took the proffered scroll and offered a rasher of bacon in return. After cooing a bit over his owl, with his own appreciative sounds coming out as he stroked his breast and head, he turned his attention to the mail he had brought.
“Huh,” he said as the herd crowded closer. “It’s from Hagrid. He wants to know if I could stop by after classes today.” He looked up at the others.
“Sure.”
“Don’t see why not.”
“Fine by me.”
“We really should practice more on the shield-spells.”
“Well, we haven’t seen much of him, lately, have we?” said Ginny.
“I could do with a break in shield-spell practice,” said Ron
Neville just shrugged.
Harry nodded and quickly wrote a response of sure they would visit him, re-rolled the scroll, and gave it back to Hedwig. The owl grabbed a banger in one claw and took off.
^·_·^
Harry and company arrived at Hagrid’s hut not too much after their last class. Truthfully, Harry was relieved that they weren’t going to be practicing shield charms the rest of the afternoon. He could put up with an hour or so, but three hours? That was a bit too much. Last night their whole bodies had ached after three hours of practicing after dinner. That had hit their beds well before curfew. He figured that was one reason why Hermione hadn’t been as insistent on practicing as he had expected.
On the outside, everything appeared normal, but when Hagrid let them inside . . . things were different. For one, the inside was bigger — almost twice as large as before. Second, there was a bin just inside the door that was a yard wide, the same in height, and almost as long as he was tall. It was filled with a white substance that he quickly realized was spider silk, specifically, acromantula silk.
To one side of the hut was Hagrid’s enormous bed, table and chairs. The fireplace, with its spit and cauldron holder, was unchanged. However, now, there was an armchair and couch across from the table, against the wall. “Perfesser Flitwick ’elped me wit’ this,” he said proudly, standing with his hands on his hips, in response to their wondering expressions. “ ’e said I should ’ave sometin’ fer guests.”
After serving them tea, this time in cups sized to their hands instead of his, he relaxed into his new armchair. He ran a hand along the arm of the chair, looking down at it and smiling. “Good man, Perfersser Flitwick, he is. I jus’ ask’ ’em to make me hut a bit larger, ter make room fer the bin, yer see, and ’e did all this.”
He looked back at them. “I wanted ter thank yer for yer suggestion, Harry.” He nodded at the bin by the door. “I sent a letter ter tha’ Mr. Rich, nice feller, wit’ a bit o’ silk, and ’e wer mighty interested. Smart man,” he gave them a sly look, “— or should I say pony? — that Mr. Rich.” He glanced at the bin by the door. “I think ’e made a mistake, though. He sent me this bag o’ galleons fer the first bale of silk I sent him.” He reached over and pointed with one hand at a rather large bag stuffed under his bed. “I wanted yer ter check with ’em. See?” he handed a scroll out to Harry, who was sitting closest.
Harry unrolled the scroll and started reading. A moment later, staring at Hagrid, he handed the scroll to Sweetie Belle. Everyone watched as her eyebrows rose. She looked up at him and just stared for a moment, obviously calculating something in her head. “How hard was it to get the silk?” she finally asked, frowning.
Hagrid shrugged, and glanced at his new wand — it was almost as long as a footie bat — leaning by the door. “No’ tha’ hard, a’tall. Aragog were quite innerested in trading it fer food. I promised him a cow fer each bin-full, pressed tight. I bin studyin’ real hard and I almos’ go’ the duplica’ing charm down. I’ll jus’ keep a dead ’ne in stasis an’ make ’nother as I need ’em.” He paused. “It’ll be while ’fore I ’ave the spells right, bu’ tha elves are ’appy to ’elp until then.”
She stared at him a moment. “Then, nothing, essentially?” she said a bit incredulously.
“Except me time, and tha’s jus’ an evenin’s stroll.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, over the summer, Rarity told me about the demand for acromantula silk, what she pays for it, and what it sells for.” She shrugged as she handed the scroll to Hermione, who had been trying to lean over Ginny and Apple Bloom to read it. “So, eight hundred galleons for a bale sounds fair.” *
Ginny and Ron choked and stared at Hagrid in shock. Hagrid had just made almost six years of their dad’s old salary, and three years of his new one. For, as he put it, “An evening stroll.”
Neville merely looked surprised.
Hagrid looked at the bag, eyes big. “Really?”
She nodded slowly. “I suggest you get to Gringotts and set up a vault. That way you won’t end up with sacks of galleons stuffed under your bed.”
The others all slowly nodded their agreement.
“Huh,” he said, thinking. “Guess I’ll ‘ave ter go do tha’ tomorrow mornin’.” He shook his head.
Scootaloo got a sly look in her eyes, and smirked. “I think, once the witches hear how much you’re earning, you’ll find more than a few dropping by to say hello!”
Hagrid blushed. “Now, dunna you start tha’!”
“I won’t be starting anything,” she quickly retorted.
He shook his head, “It dun matter. No witch’ll give me a second look.”
The three fillies giggled. “I think,” Sweetie Belle said, “You should get my sister to make you a new wardrobe. What you’ve got is good for a groundskeeper on a small income, but now you can afford things that fit better and look nicer! My sister told me that a proper acromantula coat would easily be warmer and more rugged than what you’ve currently got. You can trade her some the raw silk for her to use as thread, in exchange.”
“Aw, I dun need a new wardrobe,” he said, looking slightly panicked. “Wha’ I got is jus’ fine.”
“Nonsense,” declared Hermione, as the other girls all nodded. “My father says, ‘Clothes make the man,’ and your clothes currently declare you to be a rough wizard who lives in a forest. You need clothes that say you’re a wizard of means, and you live in the forest because you like it, not because you haven’t a choice.” She nodded again.
“Besides, the new wardrobe isn’t really for you.”
He frowned at her. “I dunno ‘bout tha’.” He said slowly.
Sweetie Belle shrugged. “As soon as word gets out that you’re making this much money, if you don’t upgrade your wardrobe people will think you’re not very smart. You might not think it important,” she said, “but my sister says, “Just a minor change in attire can make a tremendous change in how others perceive you.’ Especially if you give most of what you make to Hogwarts.” She gave him a sly smile. “On the other hoof, if you dress like a gentleman, they’ll think you quite shrewd. I know that in the Equestria all the ponies look up to other ponies who dress well.
“You telling everyone that you’re investing in the witchery world’s future, and paying the school back for all that they’ve done for you in the past will reinforce that image.” She paused, then added, “Who knows, if you get enough attention, we might see more half-giants deciding to go to Hogwarts. That would be a good thing, right?”
Hagrid leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard in a manner that they all recognized as an imitation of the Headmaster.
“That’s right,” Hermione chimed in. “You aren’t spending the galleons on yourself for no purpose, you’re showing everyone that a half-giant can be as successful in wizarding society as anyone else! You’ll be an inspiration to all of the other half-breeds. Just as everyone looks up to Professor Flitwick.” She paused, then added, “Figuratively, that is, not literally.” She gave him a steady look. “It’s not for you, it’s for the ones who would toss their Hogwarts letters because they think someone like them could never do it.”
By the time they left, the girls had convinced Hagrid that it was his duty as a newly-rich half-giant to show-off that wealth, to inspire others to strive for equal success. To show that, even though he had had a rough row to hoe, he had come out on top, and so could they. There was hope.
They had a promise from him that he would contact Rarity for a fitting.
As they were headed back to the castle, Harry couldn’t help but overhear the girls conspiring to order several books on how to attract the notice of witches, in a good way. By the time dinner was over, the girls had an action plan. They would read the books, add comments and asides to the margins, and even possibly insert a few extra pages. They would, in essence, tailor the books to suit Hagrid’s unique situation. Myrtle was going to be drafted for her opinions, too. Fifty years of observing the older teenagers ought to have a few insights they would miss.
They also planned to alert Rosemerta, at the Three Broomsticks, about Hagrid’s new social status. They hoped she might know a few . . . open-minded . . . witches who might be willing to meet Hagrid.
^-_-^
The first thing Harry noticed when he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast was that Susan Bone’s aunt was seated with her. Director Amelia Bones was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That she was here was a surprise. Parents rarely were present for any of the meals. He was curious, but not that curious. He settled into place at the table and started adding food to his own plate.
Neville’s gasp at the breakfast table drew Harry’s attention. They were mostly finished, and the owl parliament had arrived only moments before. Neville had just opened his daily subscription to The Daily Prophet. “Oh, wow,” he said, eyes wide in surprise at what he was reading. There were several other gasps from across the hall, as other subscribers, usually the more astute students, opened their copies.
“Oh, wow,” was a phrase he repeated a couple of times — in between stares at Harry and the article. Others were staring at Harry, too. Finally, he said, “Harry, is this true?” and turned the paper around so he could see the headline.
“The Boy Who Lived is The Boy Who Left!” it blared across the top of the page in two lines. Harry dropped his head down. He felt like pounding it on the table, but his breakfast was in the way.
Already, he could feel the hostile stares coming his way.
Grabbing the newsparchment, he began skimming the article. It was, surprisingly, rather accurate. The author, Rita Skeeter, whom he had met the previous year, pointed out that he had a dual-citizenship in Equestria and England. That was, she conceded, entirely legal. However, she also mentioned that he had been adopted by Princess Twilight, a member of the royal family in the Equestrian Princessdom. Which meant he was also a member of the Royal family, Prince Harry Sparkle, as everypony over there called him. “Notice,” she said in the article, “that the Equestrians do not call Harry by his parents’ name, Potter.”
Amazing, Harry couldn’t help but think, she was one reporter who didn’t once refer to them as Atlanteans!
She was not shy about supplying numerous quotes from Ponyville residents about the many ways that Harry preferred Equestria to England. Including that there, it was legal to have more than one wife.
The students at Hogwarts, of course, knew how the three fillies and two witches were always with him. They had heard rumours from the pony firsties that polygamy was allowed. But it had a different impact to read in the news that that bit of rumour was actually true!
She further explained that he had been telling ponies since the summer before his first year that he was only attending Hogwarts because the Royal sisters had requested he do so. A request he read as a command. She even had one source who came right out and said that Harry would have stayed in Equestria, if given the choice.
Then she delved into the reasons why he preferred Equestria over England — the Dursleys. She didn’t go into many details, fortunately. But the ones she included were bad enough, in Harry’s opinion. Regrettably, from his point of view, she promised a more complete recital of his difficulties with the family in future editions of the newparchment. She heavily implied that it was magic, itself, fed up with their treatment of the Saviour of Wizarding World, that had finally provided him an escape to Equestria.
Then she went into some of Harry’s and the CMC’s adventures in and around Ponyville. She quite bluntly said that the two books about Harry’s adventures in Equestria were, for the most part and with little exaggeration, the complete truth. She had heard the stories in Equestria before discovering the books in England. She named them both, and the author, and pointed out that the fillies were more than happy to sign them, if asked.
She ended by asking, given the few details she had provided so far, would any of them have been eager to return to England?
That wasn’t all, though. There were other, shorter articles inside asking questions and delving into tangential matters. One such was the Potter Wizengamot seat. There was the very legitimate question of whether Harry, as a foreign prince, could actually hold the seat. And, if so, should something be done about it? Plus, given his disillusionment with wizarding England, could they really leave it undecided? If they did take the seat away from House Potter, weren’t they justifying his disdain and indifference to them?
Then there was his adoption by the Equestrian Royalty. Was it even legal? Should they say that Equestria had no right to interfere in the custody of Harry Potter? Was Sirius Black, as the legitimate guardian of the boy, according to the Potter will, going to acknowledge this usurpation of his obligations? What would be Harry’s reaction if they tried to claim his adoption was illegal? Wouldn’t that, too, justify his disdain and indifference to them?
Harry shrunk down a bit further. Once more, he was under constant scrutiny. He had a feeling Lockhart’s upcoming class, and the rest of the day — no, week — were not going to be much fun for him.
^-~-^