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It started out small.
The members of the D.A that were still in Hogwarts would approach Harry in the hallways, asking him to remind them how a certain hex worked or how to say the incantation. They would ask him to read their essays for their DADA classes and tell them whether they were correct or not. They would ask for a few minutes with him so they could maybe practice together until their hexes and jinxes were done in a way that would satisfy Snape.
Harry didn’t think too much of it. He was busy with his lessons with Dumbledore and his new obsession with Malfoy to care about the fact that certain students still came to him for assistance when it came to DADA rather than going to their professor. And really, who would rather go to Snape when they could approach anyone but the Head of Slytherin? Harry figured only Slytherins and desperate students went to the actual DADA professor.
He wouldn’t have gone for him to ask for help if it was his last resort – that’s for sure.
Quidditch took a lot of Harry’s time, too. He found himself thinking of ways to improve his new team all the time if his mind wasn’t stuck on other things (and as long as Hermione didn’t bug him about doing his homework – which was actually piling up so much, he felt bad about ignoring his well-meaning friend). Maybe Harry could have thought about some of those things during practices, but with Ginny nearby, he couldn’t barely concentrate on Quidditch. So… yeah, whenever she wasn’t around, he worked on it twice as hard. Because they had to win. He had to prove he wasn’t just the Chosen One, but also a good Quidditch captain.
Obviously, with all of this it was hard to follow the drips of students approaching him with DADA questions. He didn’t pay it any mind and just assisted however he could, half his mind being with these students and half of it working out something else he needed to do. Sometimes Hermione and Ron actually had to shake him a little for Harry to notice there was someone in front of him, asking him how to repel certain jinxes.
There were around twenty members left from the original D.A group of the previous year. Some graduated, already (or left dramatically on their broomsticks). Some seemed to be reluctant to be associated with the group ever again (Zacharias Smith and Marietta Edgecombe). Whatever the reasons were, Harry didn’t really mind it. The group was in the past. It was only created because they had a terrible teacher and now… well, Snape wasn’t the best teacher, but at least he let them actually practice during class instead of forcing them to read boring chapters in books.
The point was – there were about twenty members left from the D.A and Harry didn’t really pay it any mind, so he barely gave it a second though when a fifth year from Gryffindor came to him with a question about DADA despite not being a part of Dumbledore’s army. Harry just answered the question and went on with his day, not letting his mind dwell on that moment since it didn’t matter much. Maybe he was wrong and this student did use to come to the meetings last year. Maybe Harry had just missed him, somehow.
With all the attention he was getting for being famous as the person who was probably in a prophecy about Voldemort (according to the Daily Prophet, which was for once right), Harry barely registered the extra stares and the quiet murmurs that accompanied his presence. He figured it was just the result of people thinking he was special, for some new reason. If anything, he tried to ignore the attention he was getting, shrinking more into himself and wishing Hermione and Ron could hide him a little better.
Really, there was nothing strange going on, as far as he was concerned. Except for whatever Malfoy was up to, that is.
“My wrist is still sore from trying to flick my hand for two hours.” Ron complained as the trio sat down to the Gryffindor table at the Great Hall. The table wasn’t full because some people already finished with dinner, or maybe they were just late, off doing something else. Harry and his friends only got there now because Hermione wanted to go through the library and return a book she’d taken a while back. “Honestly, Flitwick makes it look so easy, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to fracture my wrist at this rate.”
“Stop being so dramatic, Ron.” Hermione rolled her eyes and loaded her plate with creamed potatoes and a piece of pumpkin pie. Harry and Ron followed suit quickly, though Ron did so while still moaning about his wrist to Hermione’s exasperation and Harry’s amusement. “Honestly, your charm didn’t work because you were pronouncing it wrong. It’s AH-gwah-MEN-tee. Not Ah-GWAH-men-TEE. If you actually listened to Professor Flitwick, you’d have known that by now. There was nothing wrong with your wrist movement. At first.”
Ron gave her a flat look and then pointed his wand at his empty glass. “Aguamenti!” He called, practically stabbing the glass with the tip of his wand. Harry choked on his mouthful of custard as he tried not to laugh and Hermione regarded the glass and Ron, clearly unimpressed. Ron, on his part, just put his wand away again and poured himself a cup of pumpkin juice. “I, for one, hate this charm.”
“Just because you can’t do it right.”
Harry shrugged. “I had a little trouble with it, too.” He reminded them.
Unlike her steeliness when talking to Ron, Hermione turned to smile at Harry patiently. “You moved your hand too stiffly. Try doing it more fluidly. Like so,” She pulled out her own wand, aimed it at her glass and calmly said the charm. Water poured into the glass until it was full and then Hermione stuffed her wand again and drank it.
“Not all of us are naturals like you are.” Harry sighed.
Ron snorted, spraying some pieces of meat onto Harry’s plate. “A natural? Hermione’s not a natural – she’s bloody gifted! I’ve never met anyone who can do all those spells on their first tries!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron! Of course I can’t make it all work on the first try.” Hermione objected, though her face flushed a little as a small, satisfied smile spread over her face before she quickly stuffed her face with food.
Harry and Ron shared a brief look and then went back to eating peacefully. At least until Ron’s eyes strayed for a second away from his plate brimming with everything he could reach only to widen a little in surprise. A moment later Hermione joined him in staring quizzically at something over Harry’s shoulder.
“Er, Harry? There’s someone…” Hermione started and then her voice trailed off.
Turning around in confusion, Harry found himself face to face with a short Gryffindor boy that looked at him sheepishly, holding a piece of parchment in his hands. Harry was pretty sure he’d seen him at the beginning of the year, although Harry would be the first to admit that he was a little busy with the aftermath of facing Malfoy at the time to really pay attention to the students around him. The point was – the kid was probably a First Year.
“H-hello!” The kid squeaked.
Harry blinked at him. “Hey?”
“My name is Huxley. Huxley Ruby.” The kid introduced himself. Harry could feel eyes trained on him from all around as the interaction seemed to draw some attention. Honestly, did people have nothing better to do than gawk at Harry as he spoke to someone from his own house? Come to think of it, Harry was pretty sure this kid came to the try outs of the Quidditch team at the beginning of the year. “I was just wondering if you could help me with something…” He trailed off for a moment, as if thinking about something. “…sir?”
That felt… weird. “Er, sure.” Harry shrugged. He hoped this kid wouldn’t ask for an autograph or anything like that. He would never live such a thing down – especially after Harry’s second year with Lockhart. “What is it?”
Shuffling his feet nervously, the boy hesitated before taking the seat next to Harry. From his peripheral vision, Harry noticed that Ron was still staring at Huxley – seemingly forgetting to eat for a change – and Hermione was tilting her head curiously at the kid that decided to sit with them for dinner, for some unknown reason.
“Richie, Beth and I had Defense Against the Dark Arts today and we’ve been having trouble with this one hex,” The kid started, seemingly gaining confidence from the fact that Harry and his two friends weren’t kicking him away yet. “the one that’s supposed to knock someone back – “
“Flipendo?” Hermione asked.
Huxley glanced at her and nodded eagerly before turning back to the baffled Harry. “See, Professor Snape taught us this a few lessons ago but the three of us just can’t do it no matter what we try and he’s already took so many points from us for failing this jinx.” Now Huxley hesitated again, seemingly getting to the main reason as to his sudden appearance near the trio. Harry hoped he didn’t look intimidating because he didn’t want to freak the kid out, accidentally. “We were hoping… could you maybe help us with it?”
Ron coughed loudly, drawing the eyes of the three others to him. Harry thought he saw Ron trying to hide a smile behind his hand as he tried to calm down from whatever it was that must have slipped down his throat. Hermione patted his back, looking taken aback by Ron’s reaction. Huxley looked like this was some kind of confirmation as to how terrible of an idea it was to turn to Harry because he pushed away from the table at once, his fingers actually tearing the scroll in his hands from how much they were tugging on it.
“Sorry!” The boy squeaked. “I know you have better things to do. We just didn’t want to turn to Professor Snape because he’s so…” Huxley’s eyes trailed over to the staff table. Snape was busy chatting to McGonagall up there to pay any mind to the eyes that were fearfully staring at him. Huxley looked away from the long-haired wizard and shook his head. “Anyway, sorry to bother you, sir.”
“It’s Harry.” Harry noted. Huxley froze a little, as if he didn’t expect Harry to talk to him again. “And it’s fine. I can help you.” He wondered why Huxley turned to him instead of going to someone else – there were tons of older kids in Gryffindor that would have been willing to help the three kids. Maybe it was just because Harry was someone people just recognized?
Ron, who was red in the face but no longer coughing to try and clear his throat, let out a loud, forced and fake cough as he waved his hand in front of Harry’s face. “Uh, no you can’t, mate. We have Quidditch practice this evening, remember?”
Harry hummed thoughtfully. That was true. “Well, when is your next DADA lesson, Huxley?”
“Two days, sir – I mean… H-Harry.”
“So we can work on it tomorrow before dinner. In the common room – would that be alright?”
Huxley sent a look over his shoulder and Harry noticed a Gryffindor girl sitting at the other end of the table, openly staring at Harry and Huxley. She was probably Beth, then. “See, Richie is a Ravenclaw. He can’t enter the Gryffindor common room…”
“Well, just tell him to meet us outside, then. We’ll find an empty classroom to practice.” The kid’s eyes practically shined as he thanked Harry in a stammer and left to join his friend. Harry noted the way Beth’s face lit up at Huxley’s words before he turned back to Ron and Hermione. “That was weird, right?” He asked them.
“You’re the Chosen One, mate.” Ron shrugged and went back to his food. “To him you’re like a God. I bet if you told this dwarf to prank Snape, he would have done it just to obey you.”
Hermione glared at Ron for a second and then turned to Harry. “I don’t know… he’s not the first one to ask for your help when it comes to DADA, Harry.”
“But the others were all in the D.A. It’s different.”
His two friends looked at each other briefly. “They weren’t all in the D.A, Harry.” Hermione said slowly. Harry stared at her. “Haven’t you noticed? Beatrix Fernsby, from seventh year, asked you to check her homework last week on our way to Herbology.”
That’s right – a friend of Katie Bell had approached Harry, asking him to proofread her essay. It was strange, but Harry just went through it during lunch and then gave it to her with a few notes he was barely conscious of making. That was probably his first time talking to her, ever. And it really was a little strange that a girl from the year above him wanted his help…
Shaking his head, Harry just went back to his dinner. It was probably nothing – he had enough to deal with without Gryffindors going out of their way to ask for his help with DADA matters.
Despite the fact that Harry, like everyone else, was having trouble with nonverbal spells, the ones that were easiest for him to learn were the ones he’d learned in DADA. It wasn’t thanks to Snape, of course, but rather just Harry’s natural talent with the subject. Close seconds were the ones from Charms class, but Harry was still nowhere as good as Hermione was with those. Really, the only subject Harry was doing better at than Hermione was DADA, which didn’t surprise his friends – especially after the previous year.
This, however, seemed to draw even more attention to Harry. The D.A kept coming back for tips from him – even the members who were a year older than him, for some reason. And, on top of that, students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff seemed to decide Harry could help them, too, because they sought Harry out now, asking for his help with their DADA studies. Some with the practical part and some with the theory.
It was becoming increasingly weird, to be honest. Harry seemed to constantly run into people who wanted his help and he never had a reason not to comply. Once he showed up late to Transfiguration thanks to a miserable Second Year Hufflepuff girl that was having trouble with a Softening Charm. She said her next lesson was with Snape and that he’d threatened to give her detention if she didn’t get the spell already. So Harry tried to help her until she could do it – even if it was still rather weak.
“Spongify!” The girl – Belle – said, pointing her wand at a desk. Harry approached it and probed it a little. The surface wasn’t quite as soft as it could be, but it was definitely not as solid and stiff as before. “Did it work? Did I do it??” Belle asked anxiously.
Harry smiled at her. “Yeah. That was great!” He congratulated her and the girl practically beamed at him as she bounced up and down in her spot, clearly excited and relieved. “You should probably head out, though – Snape won’t be happy I you show up late to his class even if you do know the jinx.”
Belle nodded enthusiastically and picked up her bag. “Thank you, Professor!” She called over her shoulder as she bounded out of the empty classroom they’d used.
“Oh, I’m not – “ Harry blinked and she was gone. Shaking his head, he lifted his own bag and started heading toward the door. “Never mind.” He made it to Transfiguration two minutes after the bell rang and the look McGonagall gave him made him squirm in his spot.
Hermione leaned toward him discreetly. “Where have you been??” She demanded.
“Helping a Second Year with the Softening Charm.” He replied curtly. Hermione and Ron both stared at him for a moment before McGonagall snapped at them and they both turned back to face their teacher.
Apparently, though, Hermione didn’t find this short exchange satisfactory because the moment McGonagall let them work on turning their feather dusters to ferrets. With the professor’s back turned on them, Hermione leaned toward Harry again. “Another one asked for your help, then?” She asked in a hushed voice.
“I suppose.” Harry murmured as he tried to make the spell work. He thought his feather duster was breathing a little.
“Don’t you think it’s strange, though?” She pressed.
“Hermione, I have better things to worry about.”
Ron poked the feather duster on his desk with his wand. It singed a little but nothing else happened. “You know what I find strange?” He asked dryly. “Hermione’s busy thinking this over instead of listening to McGonagall. That’s a once in a lifetime occurrence, isn’t it?”
The girl huffed, turned to her own feather duster and with one whispered spell turned it into a ferret. The look on Ron’s face was stuck on something between appreciation and annoyance. Harry couldn’t blame him. “Happy, are you?” Hermione drawled out and then turned back to Harry. “But think about it, Harry – even Lavender used to ask me to ask you to help her – oh, grow up, Ron!”
The redhead was looking over at Lavender anxiously. She was sitting a few seats away from them, her back turned on them all, although Harry figured it was mostly to not have to look at Ron and Hermione after her breakup with Ron. Despite the irritation in her voice, Harry thought he noticed a glint of satisfaction on Hermione’s face.
“I’m pretty sure she still needs help with DADA because Snape might be a better teacher than Umbridge, but he’s still so unbelievably biased that he ends up mocking us rather than teaching us.” She lowered her voice a little more. “Even Parvati asked you for help a few times, didn’t she?”
Harry shrugged but Ron turned back to them, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Come to think of it, fours kids I’d run into asked for your help, too, Harry.” He said. “I must have forgotten to pass the message – they always catch me when I’m busy – “
“Sulking after another Quidditch practice?” Hermione mocked. Ron glared at her but didn’t contradict her words. She focused on Harry again. “Harry, do you really see nothing strange about all of these people coming to ask for help with DADA studies? I mean, didn’t Katie Bell come to you two weeks ago, too? And she’s a year older than us!”
He snorted a little. “Not as weird as that Second Year calling me ‘professor’, today.” He said. Ron’s feather duster fell to the floor as his elbow slipped in his surprise, knocking the object off the desk. Hermione’s eyes widened in shock. “What? It was just a slip-up. Come on, it’s no big deal. You know what I’m interested to know – what’s Malfoy up to whenever he goes to – “
“We know, Harry.” Hermione didn’t sound like she appreciated the direction the conversation was headed. “We get that you’re obsessed with Malfoy, alright? But can’t you just agree that something’s off about all these people coming to you for help when they have Snape as a teacher?”
“It’s not like Snape is really that great, though, is he?” Ron said wryly.
Harry nodded. “Umbridge was worse, but Snape is just so unfair, I can barely learn anything in his lessons – he makes Defense Against the Dark Arts seem like the just the Dark Arts.” He said and then tried transfiguring his feather duster again. It just kept on breathing. “Mad-Eye Moody didn’t make it sound as sinister as Snape does. And he was an imposter sent by Voldemort.”
Ron flinched and his wand nearly slipped from his hand. Hermione accidentally stabbed her ferret with her hand.
“Ugh, you’ve said the name, already. Stop acting like it’s a curse.” Harry said a moment before McGonagall came around to their area, eyeing their progress critically. Hermione, of course, got a rare smile from the woman, but Ron and Harry got extra homework. “Great…”
Harry blamed Belle when more and more people he helped with DADA started calling him professor. It was weird at first and he tried to make everyone stop calling him that, but at some point – maybe when Ron overheard it once and laughed so hard he was knocked off his seat – Harry just decided to roll with it and every time someone he was helping called him that after succeeding in achieving whatever they were working on, Harry joked about giving their house extra points.
Since it wasn’t real, a boy in the fourth year from Ravenclaw approached Harry once with a chart of the three houses (no Slytherin ever came to Harry, after all) and the added points they’d gotten from Harry. It was so ridiculous that Harry laughed about it all the way to lunch before telling Ron and Hermione that people were actually keeping count on the points he was giving out thoughtlessly. Maybe because it couldn’t really affect the points the houses got. Or perhaps those people wanted to see which house was doing better.
From that moment on Harry noticed the way the people he was helping kept score on the points he was giving off-handedly. They would do something, get the points from Harry and then scrawl them down on a spare bit of parchment. Then at dinner in the Great Hall Harry would notice kids from the three houses huddled together and writing the added points in hushed voices, drawing quite a bit of stares from the staff table and the Slytherins. The other three houses seemed to know what was going on, though, because they all grinned hopefully.
It was pretty easy to tell which house was ahead every evening, too, because the Great Hall would suddenly fill with happy calls of joy and happiness once the scores were all added together. Harry felt somewhat strange when Gryffindor wasn’t always in the lead of this new challenge, but there was a small proud part of him that whispered to him that it was good because it meant he wasn’t biased like Snape was. He didn’t care which house the students came from as long as their work was good.
Ron was super invested in this new development. Harry found out about this when his friend whined about Harry allowing the other houses to win one evening after the cheers of delight came from the Hufflepuff table. “I mean, come on!” Ron exclaimed, pointing at Harry with a roasted chicken that was clutched in his hand. Hermione tried to look away from it, her nose scrunched up. “It’s your own house! Can’t you give us extra points from time to time? No one would know!”
“Ron, they keep tabs on what the points are for, too.” Hermione chided him.
“Do they?” Harry asked as he munched on a sausage. “They’re taking it pretty seriously. They do realize there’s no prize in the end, right?”
She went to reply when someone hissed from a few seats away to draw their attention. The three turned around to see Dennis Creevy waving his hand at Harry, a wide grin on his mousy face. Next to him, Colin was looking just as happy as his little brother. Harry’s been working with Dennis that morning on the Freezing Spell until they ran out of time – then he suggested Dennis kept on practicing on his own.
“Harry! Harry, look!” Dennis called excitedly. “I can do it now, look!” He pointed his wand at the glass of pumpkin juice in front of him and cleared his throat. “Glacius!” He said and with a soft, blue beam of light, the liquid froze in the glass. Dennis picked the cup up, turned it upside down and then beamed at Harry when it didn’t spill. “See? I made it!”
“How much are we behind today?” Ron asked Hermione. “Give him forty-five point, Harry!”
Rolling his eyes, Harry smiled at Dennis. “Good job.” He took the glass from the kid and noticed the liquid still swirling around under the thin layer of glass that had been produced. “Although if you maybe move the wand a little faster it would freeze everything instead of just the surface.” He noted. Dennis nodded enthusiastically at him as he took the glass back to observe it as well. “Hermione, you pick a number.”
“Why not me?” Ron demanded.
“You’re too invested in this.” Hermione said. Then she hummed a little. “I’d say ten points sound fair.”
Harry nodded. “Ten points, then.” He pretended to not see the crestfallen look on Ron’s face or the way Colin Creevy turned to a boy from the seventh year who quickly scrawled down the number of points granted to Dennis.
Instead, he turned to look at the hourglasses with the actual score of the houses’ points. If only Snape actually gave students that weren’t in Slytherin points rather than only taking them away… These kids Harry was entertaining with this new method of granting points really deserved those points for working so hard on improving their skills. But of course Snape would never consider that, would he?
For a moment Harry thought about what the state of the points was the previous year. With Umbridge going out of her way to make everyone miserable while only giving points to Slytherins who could suddenly take and give points without being Prefects… well, Harry was pretty sure Gryffindor would have had minus points by the end of the year. In the end, it didn’t really matter. But at the time it made Harry livid to think about how unfair it was.
Now he wondered what things would have looked like now had his points actually counted for real. He wished he could go to one of the professors and tell them about the successes of the students that worked so well on their spells and hexes behind Snape’s back, but knew that wouldn’t help anyone. Nobody would grant them the points they deserved. It was just a silly, distracting game that Harry decided to roll with for the sake of the students who needed something to focus on other than reading about what Voldemort and the Death Eaters were doing outside the school.
There was a brief pause with all the questions and favors that Harry received after the news about what had transpired between Harry and Malfoy in that bathroom leaked out. People became a little wary of Harry. Some of them openly glared at him. And that was when it was already slightly tense between Harry and the other two houses because of the approaching Quidditch match which now he wasn’t allowed to play in because of his detention with Snape.
It was such a miserable period of time that Harry found himself basically walking down the halls without seeing much other than the disappointment written over the faces of his own housemates. They thought he was betraying them by not playing that last match against Ravenclaw. He couldn’t blame them. And it was all his fault – he should never have used that stupid hex without knowing what it might do! Was he crazy?! Malfoy could have died! And maybe Harry hated the bloke, but he didn’t want to kill him!
And to think his hopes were pinned on that Quidditch game. He figured… well, he hoped that winning the match against all odds would somehow give him the courage needed to ask Ginny out. Maybe Ron would be in a good enough mood to accept it instead of hexing Harry on the spot, too. He was looking forward to winning that match and finally getting some good news.
Which was why the fact that he couldn’t play was even more devastating. He couldn’t believe his luck. Honestly, did he really think his bad luck would allow him this small mercy? He was never going to get Ginny to even look at him after this catastrophe. Everyone practically hated him… He was both the Chosen One and the stupid bloke who couldn’t stay out of trouble long enough to help his own house win the Quidditch Cup.
Nobody but Ron and Hermione stood by his side (well, Ginny was still there but Harry felt too ashamed to really enjoy her presence), and even Ron’s time was limited because he had to go and practice before the match while Harry stayed behind to sulk by himself. The one good thing he was looking for was taken right from under his nose. He wanted to strangle his past self for using that spell of the Half Blood Prince. He wanted to go back in time and fix it so that he didn’t end up in detention. So that Malfoy didn’t get hurt.
A part of him thought Malfoy deserved it, though. Wasn’t he going to use the Cruciatus Curse on Harry only a moment before Harry’s curse hit him? He wasn’t exactly innocent in all of this. It was an Unforgivable Curse for a reason, after all. Harry knew how much it hurt to get hit with that one, too, because he’s suffered through it. Still… he could have defended himself with a different, less lethal curse, could he not?
He was sitting by himself in the common room, doing homework despite his mind constantly wandering back to the fact that Ginny and Ron were out there, practicing with the rest of the team – Harry’s team – for the game that weekend. Hermione was busy talking to Professor Vector about her latest essay in Arithmancy. There were small groups of students from different years around him but they all gave him curious or upset looks before turning back to face each other, not saying anything to him.
And then the portrait of the Fat Lady moved aside and Nigel Wolpart climbed through the hole. A few Three Years waved at him but he just smiled at them before heading toward Harry. Harry had no idea what the kid had to say – he tried to think of a reason as to why Nigel might feel like confronting him head on, but nothing came up. They didn’t interact that much. Well, other than the few times Harry helped Nigel with his own DADA hardships, that is.
“Hey, Harry.”
“What’s up, Nigel.”
The boy pointed at the blocked entrance over his shoulder. “I just ran into Melissa Borne outside. She’s my year – from Ravenclaw.” He explained when Harry stared at him blankly. “She asked if to talk to if you can.”
“Oh.” Harry had no idea what that was about. “Sure. Thanks.”
Nodding, Nigel turned around and joined his mates around the fire. Harry wished he could go back to his third year. Or… well, maybe not his third year, because that was quite eventful, but he wished he could be a careless thirteen-year-old boy again. It was better than what he was now, burdened with too many things that were definitely not normal for sixteen-year-olds.
With a sigh, he closed his book and stashed his scrolls away before climbing out the hole, leaving the common room behind. There, leaning anxiously against a wall with her arms crossed over her chest, was a girl with a round face that slightly resembled a turtle. Harry approached her slowly and the moment she noticed him her eyes grew wide and she straightened up. She didn’t look like she was afraid of him – just awkward.
“Oh, thank Merlin!” She exclaimed in a squeaky voice that Harry would have associated with a First Year. “Harry, I really need your help – and I know Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are really tense right now but the O.W.Ls are more important than the Quidditch game, right? And I – “
“Aren’t you in your third year, though? You don’t need to study for the O.W.Ls, yet.”
Melissa waved her hand dismissively like she was trying to shoo an irritating fly. “It’s not me – it’s my sister. Fren.” She added the name in a timid voice. Harry knew why – that was one of the members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Melissa kept on talking quickly, though. “I know you want Gryffindor to beat Ravenclaw in the match, but can you please help her study, still? I can tell she’s desperate if she sent me here to ask for your help. She would never have thought of doing something like this with the rivalry this intense and – “
Harry squirmed a little uncomfortably. “Why didn’t she come here, then?”
“Well, she would… but with how much Gryffindors want us to lose, she assumed they might attack her on sight, especially if she was lurking outside your common room.” She sounded sincere enough. And Harry knew O.W.Ls weren’t a joke, either. “Please, she already has so much pressure to deal with and now she can’t perform those hexes from Defense Against the Dark Arts and she could really use the help…”
A nasty part of Harry wanted to turn Melissa down. He was already going to miss the game – why should he care what happened to one of the players his team would have to face? But another part knew he should help. Despite the glares and the hisses and the hatred directed toward Harry, he realized that this was serious if a player of the opposing team was willing to ask for his help.
“Isn’t there anyone from your house that can help?” He asked.
Melissa scrunched up her nose. “Not really. They’ve tried, but they didn’t seem to manage to help Fren.” She tilted her head to the side, an innocent look on her face that Harry thought was actually honest and not staged. “Besides, aren’t you the professor?”
“Snape is the professor of DADA.” Harry said bitterly.
The girl shook her head. “Officially, maybe. But so far everyone in the common room’s been saying you’re the reason they might pass this year.” She smirked a little as she puffed up her chest. “And we are still in the lead. We have sixty-five points more than the other two houses.”
“You still keep count?”
“The score is pinned to the notice board, of course.” She said in a tone that suggested Harry should have known that despite never having been inside Ravenclaw’s common room. “We’re all hoping to keep it that way, too. It would be nice to win.”
“There’s no prize.” Harry noted.
Melissa shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, really. It’s the idea of winning.” Then she bounced up and down on her toes. “So will you please come and help my sister? I don’t want her to have a complete mental breakdown. Especially right before the game. I guess that’s going to convince you to want to help, but it would be fair if she wasn’t a ball of nerves during the game, right? It’s more interesting when the players aren’t bothered by anything.”
Harry really didn’t care whether or not one of Cho’s players was anxious during the game as long as Gryffindor won. But he wasn’t going to tell that to Melissa. “Sure.” He wondered how long he had before dinner. Before he saw Ron’s flustered, anxious face and Ginny’s furrowed and concerned frowned. “You go get your sister – I’m gonna ask McGonagall if we can use her classroom. It should be empty by now.”
And she was off, running to go fetch her older sister. Harry decided he wouldn’t tell anyone about this. He didn’t feel like dealing with Gryffindors who knew that he was both not going to play for them… and willing to help one of the Ravenclaw team member’s out during such a dire time. Maybe Hermione would be okay with hearing about this because she wasn’t as obsessed with Quidditch as the others were, but Ron and Ginny will resent him for it, for sure.
Harry had no idea what Fren Borne had told people, but suddenly he was flooded with more requests to help out his fellow students once more despite the looming match that was getting closer and closer, making everyone more hostile and tense. It was like people forgot about Harry’s accident with Malfoy as they practically begged for his help. The rivalry was even forgotten for a short moment every evening when the students gathered around to see which house got more points each day.
Ron wasn’t too pleased to hear that Harry was helping Ravenclaws, too, but he seemed very content when the house in the lead of this improvised competition was Gryffindor. It was like the students in Harry’s house decided that allowing Ravenclaw to win both the Quidditch Cup and the fake House Cup was just too outrageous and they worked extra hard with him to beat the other house at least in one of the two.
Apparently, the strange atmosphere wasn’t lost on the adults in the Great Hall because they kept glancing owlishly at the students from the staff table. Snape eyed his own house with disdain, like he wanted to know why they weren’t a part of whatever it was that was happening in Hogwarts and McGonagall kept giving Harry looks whenever a student approached him, asking for advice or handing him a piece of parchment with answers to questions from DADA or essays they had to hand out soon that they wanted to make sure were good enough.
Of course, nothing they did would ever be good enough if they weren’t from Slytherin house and they all knew it. Harry felt resentment toward the dark-haired professor that always looked down upon the students of the other houses. McGonagall was fair. Flitwick was fair. Sprout was fair. Why couldn’t Snape be, too?! Why was no one doing anything about it??
“Harry, look!”
“No, look at this!”
“No, no! Mine! Look at mine, first!”
Harry, who was busy staring at Ginny without even being aware of it, blinked furiously and turned around to see three students running toward him with scrolls clutched in their hands. He was pretty sure that each of them was from a different house and that they were all Second Year students. Their voices caught the attention of a lot of the other people in the Hall and the eyes of Professor McGonagall bored into Harry as she observed the scene.
“Shh, keep your voice down.” Harry whispered quickly, too aware of the looks they were getting. Then he eyed the parchments they were holding. “What’s this?”
“Remember how you helped us a little with the Disarming Charm?” The boy from Gryffindor asked.
“Last week, Harry, right after our last class.” Added a girl from Hufflepuff.
The Gryffindor boy spoke up before the girl could continue, not paying much attention to the Ravenclaw boy that was a step behind the other two. “Well, we looked it up afterward to try and understand more. Professor Snape told us to write why it was such an important charm and how it could go wrong. He didn’t think it was good enough, though – what we wrote.”
Finally, the Ravenclaw elbowed his two friends and held out his own parchment. “But he’s got this prejudice against all the houses other than his own, so we figured we need someone neutral to look over it.” He widened his eyes a little. “Would you check those?”
“Er…”
“And remember that mines is better than theirs.” The Gryffindor kid said. “I even managed to disarm Caleb Roxen once when he tried to hex a First Year.”
“You didn’t disarm him – you made his wand jerk a little.” The Hufflepuff objected.
Waving his hand dismissively, the Gryffindor shook his head. “Same thing, really. He couldn’t finish the hex before Professor Flitwick got there so it doesn’t really matter.” He practically shoved his own parchment into Harry’s hands. “Check it out – it’s definitely better than theirs! Milly can’t even disarm someone when their hold on the wand is loose.”
“Not true!” The girl argued hotly.
Next to Harry, Ginny sniggered and tried to cover it with a few coughs, her hand held over her mouth. The kids didn’t seem to notice her, anyway. They were too busy arguing between themselves and Harry could see Professor McGonagall getting up from the staff table to get to them.
Eyes widening despite the fact that he wasn’t doing anything wrong, Harry snatched the scrolls from the other two and then shooed them away hastily. “Alright, I’ll read those, okay? Just go.” He couldn’t believe he was giving himself even more homework by doing such a thing. So far he could just leaf through other people’s homework. He never paid it too much attention. Now… now he was agreeing to basically oversee what those kids have done to tell them whether or not it was good. “I’ll get back to you later. Later.” He stressed when the kids looked reluctant to leave.
“Thank you, Professor!”
And then they were finally off to bicker between themselves far enough away from Harry, his friends and the approaching McGonagall.
“Thank you, Professor!” Ginny mocked their squeaky voices, making Harry groan and slam his head against the table. The Weasley next to him laughed while Hermione picked up the parchments curiously and Ron went back to eating, his eyes trained on Hermione with a look of utter horror. “You looked like you wanted to crawl under the table, Harry.” Ginny laughed.
The sound made Harry’s insides flip over and he fought hard to keep his face from flushing. He couldn’t let Ron see him acting weird around Ginny. He… he couldn’t. He couldn’t hold her hand or press himself against her side or kiss her… And now that he couldn’t win the Quidditch Cup it was even less likely to ever be a possibility.
“Mr. Potter!”
Harry cringed at McGonagall sharp voice but turned toward her, nonetheless. “Yes, Professor?”
Her lips were thin as she stopped right next to where he was sitting. A few students from other tables were glancing at Harry and his Head of House curiously. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not a Prefect, are you?”
“Er… no?”
“And you didn’t ask your friends to give other students extra points lately, have you?” She asked in the same harsh voice.
Hermione looked up at McGonagall with a scandalized look on her face while Ron just fought hard to swallow an extremely large bite he took from his food. Harry wasn’t even sure what was in his mouth. “No. Why? Is anything wrong?” He was a little wary still, remembering McGonagall’s shrill voice as she berated him for what had happened with Malfoy. It was a moment Harry would forever he remember and he felt like it was both justified and a little over the top. Especially when Malfoy was alive and well.
For a moment McGonagall just appraised him, and then she heaved a little and shook her head. “Well, something weird is going on with the point of the houses this year and I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. It looks like students are getting extra points for DADA work, but Professor Snape has no idea what all this is about.”
Harry didn’t need to ask why the woman suspected him o be the culprit. Strange things kept happening to him, after all, and after last year – when he started an illegal club to help students learn DADA behind Umbridge’s back – he was probably one of the number one suspects. But it couldn’t be him, he figured. Because no matter how much he was joking around – he didn’t have the authority to give and take points from other students.
“Professor, even I did joke about it – I can’t actually change the number of points a house has. I don’t have that power, remember?” He reminded her slowly. “You just said so yourself – I’m not a Prefect.”
She still stared at him like she thought it might be him. “If Hogwarts decided to grant someone the ability to give, they wouldn’t have to be a Prefect or a professor.” She said slowly. Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Clearly reading the question on his face, McGonagall nodded slowly. “It has happened once or twice before – the castle thought someone should have this privilege and there was little the Headmaster or the teachers could do. But it was always reasonable. And it never happened to a student.”
Ginny’s eyes were trained on Harry – he didn’t need to look at her to know that. He bet Ron and Hermione were staring at him as well. “Well, I am a student.” He said eventually.
“Mr. Potter, have you or have you not given students points?”
His throat went dry. “It was only a joke…” When McGonagall’s nostrils flared, he quickly added, “I mean, they all deserved it, of course, but it wasn’t serious. It just seemed to encourage them.”
“That’s true, Professor.” Hermione chimed in. “Harry was rolling around with this joke someone must have started at some point so whenever someone managed to finally cast a successful spell or wrote a decent essay, they got points for it – like we do in class. They all keep score of it, too. You can see it if you’d like.”
“We’re in the lead.” Ron said and then winced – Ginny glared at him and Harry suspected the girl had kicked him under the table. “OUCH! What? It’s true! And it was bloody hard, too, with how decent Harry is.”
“The point is,” Hermione sent Ron a reproachful look and then turned back to Professor McGonagall. “It was just a game. And a fair one, at that. Ron’s right about that part – those points were earned by the hard work of everyone involved.” She stated firmly. Harry didn’t know whether to thank them or scream at hem that this wasn’t helpful. If Hogwarts itself decided to mess with him by turning this running joke into something that made McGonagall upset with him, he wasn’t sure telling her more about it would actually help his case. Wasn’t he already in trouble after the Malfoy debacle?
Professor McGonagall’s eyebrows shot up as she listened to this. Her eyes danced between Ginny, Hermione and Ron before they settled back on Harry, a strange gleam in them. “Come to my office in an hour, Mr. Potter.”
And with those words, she left.
The four of them stared after her as she got back to the staff table and then Ron looked Harry in the eye. “Wouldn’t wanna be you right now, mate.”
“Biscuit?”
“Er…” Harry eyed the plate McGonagall was pointing at and felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Last year she’d offered him a biscuit, too, after he got himself a detention from Umbridge for the first time. Was he in trouble now, too? He didn’t mean to do anything wrong this time. Still, he hardly ever tried to make things escalate – that was just his horrible luck. “No, thanks.”
She was sitting behind her desk, facing him with this intense look on her face, like she was trying to figure him out without hearing what he actually had to say. Like she wanted to know everything about him just like that. He kind of wished she could just open his mind and pull out whatever information she needed because that would be easier than explaining things to her when he barely understood what was going on himself.
As he sat there and waited to hear what she had to say, Harry couldn’t help but think back to those horrid minutes of McGonagall yelling at him about what he’d done to Malfoy. Back then he was too depressed to really react to it that much. Now… now that memory made him fear for his life. He never meant to hurt Malfoy that badly. He would have told Professor McGonagall that… had she given him five seconds to try and explain himself. And gather his own thoughts, because back then he could barely string two thoughts together enough to make others understand what the heck was wrong.
“Explain.” McGonagall demanded after a few moments.
Harry blinked at her. “Er… explain what, Professor?”
Her lips somehow managed to thin even more. “This game – this joke – you and your friends have been playing with the other houses.”
“Well, I don’t really completely understand it myself.” Harry started slowly, uncertainly. When Professor McGonagall just kept on looking at him expectantly, he sighed and gave in. “It’s not exactly a game, I suppose. It just started with the ones from that, er, club from last year – “
“You mean that rebellious group you led behind Umbridge’s back, Mr. Potter?” There was a note of pride in her voice.
Harry gulped. “Yeah that – well, whoever’s left… they started asking for help from time to time and, I mean, it’s not forbidden this year – to train together – so there wasn’t really a reason to say no. And then… I’m not sure when or why but more people started seeking me out and I didn’t really have a reason not to help them whenever I could so I did. But it’s not against any school rule, right?” He asked. “That was just Umbridge’s way of making sure Professor Dumbledore didn’t build an army against the Ministry?”
“And we both know how well that worked for her.” McGonagall said and Harry saw her lips twitching. He squirmed in his seat, feeling slightly ashamed of his plan ending with Dumbledore being chased out of Hogwarts. That was definitely not something Harry had wanted to cause, yet it still ended up that way. “Please, continue.”
“Oh, right. I guess some of the younger kids got confused because a few of them called me ‘professor’ and I tried to make them stop but it got out and suddenly the others did it, too, though they were obviously joking. And… I don’t know… it made them really happy when they heard they got extra points for doing something right, so I went with it. It’s not real, of course. I mean, they keep score – I’m not sure why – and Ron is really into this, but it just encourages them. And they know it’s not real, so what’s the harm in it, right?”
He winced a little when McGonagall just kept on staring at him.
“You can’t really believe those points were considered like the ones you give, Professor.” He said anxiously. “I can’t give or take points. And I’m sure Hermione and Ron didn’t go behind my back to make it real. Hermione would never do such a thing and Ron… well, he would probably only add the ones for the Gryffindors.”
“No. I don’t think Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger are behind this, either.” Professor McGonagall said at long last. “Like I said before – Hogwarts may grant this ability to people it sees fit. As strange as it might seem, the castle obviously thought your reasons were justified.”
“Er…”
The woman straightened up and glanced at him with a severe expression. “Why don’t these student go to Professor Snape for the extra assistance if there are so many who need it?”
Harry frowned. “I wouldn’t go to Snape for help if you paid me.” He said bluntly.
McGonagall did not look amused. “Professor Snape, Potter.” She chided him but didn’t really wait for his response. “And I’m certain not everyone feels this strongly about asking for help from their own professor. I am not blind,” She said sternly. “I know the two of you get alone rather poorly.” Thankfully, she chose to ignore Harry’s snort. “But not everyone in school has this kind of problem with Professor Snape, I’m sure.”
“You’re gonna have to ask them about it, Professor.” Harry said politely, though he was pretty sure she was wrong. He wasn’t going to commit suicide and actually say this out loud, though. Harry already knew that for some reason all the teachers in Hogwarts trusted Snape and respected him – he wouldn’t be able to convince McGonagall to see his side of it now after six years of no success. There was no point in even trying.
“Very well. I shall have a little chat with some of the other students who seem to struggle, too.” Professor McGonagall said evenly.
“I don’t think they struggle, really.” Harry said hesitantly. When he received a quizzical but stern look in return, he turned slightly rigid. “I suppose… different attitudes get people to react differently. And sometimes… sometimes Professor Snape’s methods and his way of running his class just make it harder for certain types of people to achieve their full potential.” He pursed his lips, worried he might have crossed a line.
McGonagall just looked at him thoughtfully for a few moments, like she was trying to understand what he wasn’t saying. “But those people manage to do the things they struggle with when they come to you?”
Harry felt like that was a trick question. “Looks like it?”
“Did you ever give someone points with no reason behind it?”
“No! They always succeed in doing whatever it is they were having trouble with, Professor.”
McGonagall pointed at the plate on her desk again. “Are you quite certain you don’t want a biscuit, Potter?”
“Yeah.”
She regarded him for a few more seconds and then, finally, dismissed him. Harry practically ran out of her office, feeling grateful for not getting into any more trouble. At least, he figured he was safe when she didn’t admonish him for anything, this time around. He hoped she wouldn’t search for him the next day with a few choice words and more detention for… corrupting the school system or something else he wasn’t really trying to do.
According to Hermione, she handed McGonagall the list of all the points Harry had given to students, so Harry expected to see those points being reduced from the hourglasses in the Great Hall the next morning. But they were unchanged.
And then came the day of his first detention with Snape and the Quidditch match and still the hourglass remained as they were. The next day, as Harry went down to breakfast with Ginny’s hand in his (he wasn’t sure he wasn’t still dreaming, though), Harry noticed the hourglass were still exactly as they were before. Well, with a few points added or reduced here and there.
When McGonagall approached the Gryffindor table that morning, Harry expected her to say something about all of this mess, but she only gave Hermione the list back and then left the Hall while chatting with Professor Flitwick. It was baffling, but Harry was content to just enjoy hanging out with his two friends and his girlfriend – Ginny was his girlfriend now!
Word about McGonagall knowing about the points from Harry or about the fact that those points were actually added to the actual points of each house must have gotten out because whenever dinner came around and the representatives of each of the three houses got together to see which house was in the lead, they looked at the hourglasses in the Great Hall rather than at the written scores they had. They still took note of every point Harry was giving, but they seemed to realize this was actually meaningful now.
He tried not giving point again, thinking it was wrong. Ron kept on telling him to abuse this new power. Hermione told Harry that while he shouldn’t listen to Ron (“Why not?! I have smart ideas, too!”), Harry could still give out points like before so long as it was fair – especially if no one was going to tell him to stop. Apparently, she saw McGonagall’s lack of protest as affirmation that it was okay for Harry to give out points.
The thing was, no matter what his resolve was, when Harry looked at the joy written clearly on the faces of the people who came to him for help and actually flourished under his instructions… well, he felt like they deserved it. And if Snape wasn’t going to be fair and give them all the points they deserved, then Harry would do it instead.
Of course, there was a downside to all of this – the students found out about this almost immediately. And Snape was clearly aware of the situation, too, because the nasty, hateful look he sent toward Harry the next time he had DADA… well, it nearly made Harry want to turn tail and bolt out of the room to avoid getting jinxed on the spot.
Unfortunately, he didn’t surrender to this urge and instead ended up losing fifty points in one lesson because according to Snape his last essay on the Unforgivable Curses was abysmal. The next lesson he had with Snape, Harry ended up losing thirty more points because he didn’t let Ron’s hex hit him square in the chest – which was absolutely ridiculous and made more than only Harry and Ron protest. In the end, Gryffindor ended up with twenty points reduced for each person that had tried to stand up to Harry.
“He took twenty-five points because I used a spell from our second year rather than the ones he’d taught us this year.” Ginny complained to Harry as they walked around the grounds hand in hand.
Ron and Hermione stayed behind, looking just as upset as Harry and Ginny but willing to let the new couple have some time alone. Which for Ron was probably extremely difficult with Ginny being his little sister, but Hermione dragged him into a game of chess, willing to lose to assist Harry and Ginny.
“I bet if he was still teaching potions, he would have ended up declaring my potion was too bad and cleaned it without a second thought.” Harry said. “It certainly wouldn’t be his first time doing so.”
Ginny glanced at him. “Why does he hate you so much?”
Harry shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t like it when his house is the only one that won’t get extra points?”
She huffed. “I meant in general, not just now.” She pressed. Harry’s jaw snapped shut. “I mean, we all know he hates Gryffindors, but he actually has something specifically against you, Harry. According to Ron, it’s been going on since the moment you two set foot in the same dungeon.”
His lips twitched. “He did single me from the very first lesson I had with him.” He confessed. Ginny looked at him expectantly. Harry couldn’t believe she had no idea about Snape and Harry’s dad’s history. “In my first year Dumbledore told me Snape hated my dad because he’d saved Snape’s life when they were in school together. I guess he was trying to spare my feelings because the full story was that Sirius…” Harry tried to ignore the way his chest twisted at the name. Ginny’s hand squeezed his. “Er – Sirius put Snape in danger by getting him close to Lupin on a full night. My dad just jumped in and saved Snape before he could get killed by a werewolf.
“The truth is, my dad and Sirius bullied Snape when they were all in school together. They actually seemed to despise him. And I know Lupin and Sirius told me that Snape gave as much as he got and that they were just young and stupid so it wasn’t anything I should worry about, but I can kinda see where Snape is coming from – I look just like my dad. Whenever Snape sees me, I bet he sees the person who used to make his life hell for seven years.”
“So your dad and Snape had the same relationship you have with Malfoy.” Ginny said and Harry huffed at her words but didn’t object. “Even if it’s true, this shouldn’t make it okay for him to get back at your father through you, Harry.”
He turned to look at her and saw her eyes blazing with anger at Snape. The man no adult seemed to pull away from Harry despite knowing that Snape basically loathed Harry as much as he detested his dad. Harry wondered how good someone like Snape could feel while punishing a kid that had nothing to do with his past only because this kid looked like the person who was behind a lot of humiliation and bad memories.
How could people like Lupin or McGonagall see that whenever Snape’s eyes landed on Harry, they didn’t see Harry Potter, but rather James Potter? How could they turn a blind eye to everything Harry was going through during those torturous lessons with the man who seemed to have gained so much respect and trust from people like Dumbledore? How could they tell him, without batting an eye, that despite Snape being an ex-Death Eater, he was now one-hundred percent on their side and wouldn’t betray them??
No, of course the only people who seemed to understand Harry and what he was going through were the people around his own age that had to sit through Snape’s lessons, too. Like Fred and George. Or Ginny. Or Ron and Hermione. And they understood it because their either saw the abysmal treatment firsthand, or because they received about the same treatment from the greasy-haired git as Harry did – or as close as it could get.
“You know what you need to do?” Ginny leaned a little closer to him and suddenly Harry realized they were no longer walking side by side, but instead standing facing each other. His skin tingled as he stared into her brown eyes, thinking he might just drown in them if he let himself. “Give your ‘students’ more points for each thing they do. Drive him mad with it.” She smirked.
“I don’t know… I don’t want to act like him and do something out of spite.” His hands looped around her waist and Ginny willingly came closer, grin widening as the sun began to sat behind her. The red sky combined with her red hair gave him the illusion that she was on fire. It was the most magnificent sight in the world, in his opinion.
Ginny shrugged. “You can give me five points for every kiss I give you. So it’s not too biased.”
“How is that not biased?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she just leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Harry’s mind went numb as the world fell away for a few precious moments. His worries about Snape and Malfoy and the horcruxes were all gone. They didn’t matter. What did matter was that Harry was outside with the girl he’s been dreaming of dating since the beginning of the year, and she was kissing him because that was a thing they did now that they weren’t only Ron’s little sister and best friend.
When she pulled back with a content smile, Harry stared at her and felt a pang in his chest. It wasn’t sad and it wasn’t happy. It was somewhere in the middle – sort of bittersweet. Because here they were again – a boy with messy, black hair, wobbly knees and a knack for getting into trouble. A redhead girl with a sharp mind and a passionate temper.
The only difference was that their eyes seemed to have switched – while Harry’s dad’s eyes were brown and his mom’s green, Ginny and Harry were exactly the opposite. He wondered whether this would switch again if they had kids – jet black hair and brown eyes or redhead with green eyes?
“You can always just take points from Malfoy.” Ginny noted.
Harry blinked and then furrowed his eyebrows. “I’ve never even tried taking points before.”
“That’s just because all of your ‘students’ respect you too much to give you a hard time, Professor.” She teased and then started tugging him back toward the castle by the hand. “Come on – let’s go see if you can reduce points, too. I bet we can find Malfoy tormenting some First Year.”
That sounded like a good, solid plan. Plus, Harry assumed that was Ginny’s way of getting out of revising before her O.W.Ls. And really, who was he to try and prevent her from not paying her full attention to their studies? What Hermione didn’t know couldn’t hurt her…
“Hi, Harry! Can you help me with the Reductor Curse?” Colin Creevy waved at him erratically to try and draw his attention.
Well, they could always find Malfoy after helping Colin.