[Living for tomorrow] Chapter 15 - A Deal (I)

Thanks to his use of Time magic, Sirius’ deeds went completely unnoticed. He managed to kill Snape and return to the stadium minutes before the deadline. To completely remove any possibility of suspicion, he waited until he saw his past self arrive in the side alley and use the Time Turner. After that, he rushed to the vendors selling drinks and bought butterbeer, soda, and some snacks too.

From Euphemia’s point of view, less than ten minutes passed from Sirius’ departure before he returned with his arms full of drinks and snacks.

The public at large never even got wind of Snape’s death. The authorities did, but the murder itself did not make it on the news. Not even the Daily Prophet took note of it. The only thing that the Prophet mentioned in passing was the news about Augustus Rookwood’s death. However, due to the secret nature of his occupation (he was an Unspeakable), the Ministry of Magic did not provide the reporters with any details about his death.

Nevertheless, Severus Snape’s death did reach Dumbledore’s ears, albeit quite late after the deed. It was only five days after not receiving an answer to his letters that the old Headmaster paid a visit to Snape's home and saw the yellow tape and the Muggle officers that were guarding the crime scene.

Although Dumbledore did not want to believe that the Potters were related to this case, he did try to ask them about it in a roundabout manner, just in case.

The Potters had an undeniable alibi: the murder happened during the Quidditch match between Puddlemere United and Montrose Magpies. Several reporters had photographed the famous family of the Boy Who Lived, and the pic of Sirius and the Potters happily celebrating the Magpies’ victory had appeared in the newspapers, too.

Unless the Potters had hired a hitman, there was no realistic way for them to have committed the crime. Dumbledore had not even considered the possibility of someone using a Time-Turner due to how closely guarded those artefacts were.

‘Who am I supposed to hire for the DADA teaching position now?’

Severus Snape’s unfortunate death put Dumbledore in trouble because it was August already. Only one month remained before the start of the new school year.

In his mind, he went over all the possible choices, but most of those people had already turned down the position, while others were former, unrepentant Death Eaters, or had no qualifications to teach others whatsoever.

He did not want a repeat of Gilderoy Lockhart ever again.

The old wizard felt like pulling at his beard in frustration. Until fifty years ago, retiring Aurors, famous Hit Wizards, and even Duelling Champions were competing over the position of DADA Professor at Hogwarts; that’s how prestigious and desirable that job used to be. Nowadays, however, being a DADA professor was synonymous with misfortune or even death. People wanted nothing to do with it.

⁂

Whereas Albus Dumbledore lamented the loss of Severus Snape, Euphemia and Fleamont Potter could not be any happier to hear about it.

Not only did the one who caused their son’s death finally get what he deserved, but with Snape dead, they did not have to talk to Matthew and Harry about the possibility of getting homeschooled or transferred to Beauxbatons.

The rest of the summer passed rather uneventfully for the Potters.

Much to both Harry’s and Matthew’s glee, the Weasleys returned from their holiday in Egypt. Though their happiness was for different reasons: Matt was overjoyed that he could finally go out and hang out with his friends, and Harry was finally free of his irksome little brother, able to practise his magic and study in peace.

The Daily Prophet did not have much sensational news to report either. Other than the disappearance of two more House Elves, nothing was worth noting. The Goblins had remained quiet, too.

Days passed, and soon, September came. Once again, it was time for him to leave the comfort of his grandparents’ home and go to Hogwarts for the new school year.

The previous year, Matthew had felt sad when the summer holiday ended, but this year was different. He had been crossing off each day on the calendar for the past month. A full week before the holiday was over, he had already packed his books and other belongings. When the first of September finally arrived, he was the first to wake up, the first to shower, the first to eat, and the first to get dressed. He was jubilant to the point where one would be tempted to think he had just been freed from Azkaban.

⁂

When the family of four Apparated on the 3/4 Platform, they were greeted by a team of four Aurors, among whom was also a pretty, pink-haired young woman. Due to her busy schedule as an Auror, the boys did not often get the chance to meet their cousin.

Unfortunately, being on duty, Tonks couldn’t joke around and have fun with them like she always did. She had to maintain her dignity and not bring shame to her fellow Aurors. Other than the initial greetings, she kept a serious and composed face, and she did not talk much, scanning the surroundings with great attention.

Not long after their arrival, the Potters were approached by reporters as well, their eyes shining at the prospect of a scoop. To their disappointment, the Aurors warned them sternly not to get close. After the assassination attempt on the Potters, they were not taking any chances.

Stifled by the Aurors’ intimidating presence and eager to finally meet up with his friends, Matt was quick to bid his grandparents farewell before dragging his big trunk after him and climbing into the carriage.

But Harry lingered, seemingly unwilling to part with them just yet. There was still some time before the train left. As he started telling them to always be careful of any ploys the Goblins may come up with and contact him immediately through their two-way mirrors should anything happen, Fleamont laughed.

“If only James could have seen you now!” he said, his voice filled with pride. “Look at you! Not knowing when, you’ve turned into a man! A dependable and filial young man. Now you’re the one taking care of us instead of the other way around. You’re making this old man feel happy he’d got to live for this long.”

“Stop joking around, Grandpa. You still got at least 50 years left in you!” Harry said, seemingly amused, but his eyes were serious.

“Ha! If I live long enough to see you giving me a grandson, I will consider my life complete. But, by the looks of it, Matthew might do that long before you do.”

“Gran!” Harry said, his ears reddening with embarrassment.

“Don’t tease the boy like that in public, you!” Euphemia admonished her husband, but she was also giggling.

Harry could only thank Merlin that Sirius hadn’t come to see them off. His godfather would have definitely jumped at the chance to make fun of him.

It was while the old couple was chuckling merrily at Harry’s expense that a sweet voice rang from the side, calling his name:

“Arry!”

Turning around, Harry was surprised to see another family of four standing a few metres away from them, mindful of the Aurors.

“Do you know each other?” his grandfather asked him quietly.

“Ugh, yeah. We’re actually roommates,” Harry said, his voice rather awkward.

Fleamont signalled to the Aurors that it was okay to allow the newcomers to approach them, and they did so.

Jean Delacour could not be considered an unattractive man, but standing next to his wife, it became all too apparent in Harry’s eyes whom Florent had to thank for his ridiculously handsome looks. The French boy’s mother had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

And that seemed to be the thought of many other men nearby, not just Harry’s. Even one of the Aurors who were escorting the Potter family seemed to have forgotten about his duty and was staring at Apolline Delacour open-mouthed, stunned.

After introducing himself and his family to the Potters, Mr Delacour shook Harry’s hand, too, and said jovially:

“I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. My son told me you’ve helped him many times over the past year.”

Mr Delacour’s English was unexpectedly good, his French accent barely noticeable. His wife’s English was not poor, but her accent was much thicker than his.

“Indeed. My son ‘as been talking about you ze ‘ole summer!” Apolline said, offering Harry a smile.

≪Mother! What are you saying??≫ Fleur squawked in French, mortified. ≪Don’t embarrass me in front of everyone now!≫

≪What’s there to be embarrassed about? He’s a handsome young man, and, from what you told us of him, his character seems to be good too. At first glance, I approve of him.≫ Apolline said, grinning teasingly.

≪Don’t say it in front of him!!≫ Fleur pleaded, a hue of pink colouring her pale cheeks when she sneaked a glance at Harry, who seemed to be listening intently to what her father and his grandparents were talking about.

Apolline giggled at her daughter’s adorable reaction.

≪Did you not say he doesn’t know French? He cannot understand us.≫

Harry tried his best not to show any reactions to what they were talking about, focusing his attention on Mr Delacour and his grandparents’ conversation, pretending that he didn’t understand Florent and his mother’s loud chatter in French.

Unbeknownst to the Delacours, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter actually knew French, too, and they exchanged an amused glance when they noticed Harry’s embarrassed expression.

The old couple understood then that, for whatever reason, Harry had not revealed to Florent the fact that he knew French.

It appeared that being mischievous ran in Potters’ blood because, barely holding in their amusement, Euphemia and Fleamont decided not to bring it up, enjoying the opportunity to hear what people had to say when they thought others couldn't understand them, when they had no filter.

On top of that, watching their serious and studious grandson squirm like he was sitting on needles was entertaining as well.

≪Even so. It’s not polite to talk about someone in a different language when they are in front of us!≫

As if she didn’t hear her daughter’s rebuke, Apolline studied Harry for a few seconds before turning to Fleur with a grin.

≪He’s not as short as you made him out to be. He’s actually taller than you!≫ she remarked.

≪He was way shorter than me three months ago,≫ Fleur muttered, her flushed cheeks turning redder when she sneaked another glance at Harry, and he happened to catch her in the act.

His body had gone through a serious growth spurt that summer. He was more than 10 centimetres taller than he was before the holiday.

“[...] Yes, we’ve decided to open a hotel in Araneshire, a small village on the other side of the Black Lake, very close to Hogwarts,” Mr Delacour talked excitedly with Fleamont.

“We are aiming our services especially at the parents of muggleborn students. Being apart from their children for almost one year is difficult. We’ve experienced that ourselves when we sent our son to Hogwarts. So we want to give parents, especially those who cannot Apparate around easily, a place to stay while they are visiting their children during their Hogsmeade trips.”

“The countryside where Hogwarts is located is fascinating as well. The Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts itself, and Hogsmeade too. It is all so charmant!”

His grandfather appeared to be genuinely interested, and he was asking all sorts of questions about the star rating of the hotel, the services they were going to provide, and the matters concerning the safety of the Muggle parents so they would not get torn to shreds by a passing Dugbog or Thornback. The Wizarding World was not kind to the powerless.

It sounded all very interesting to Harry, too, but with Florent and his mother yapping uncaringly about him, he found it hard to focus.

When Apolline said half-seriously and half-jokingly that she did not want to become a grandmother before Florent finished his studies, Harry almost choked on his spit.

≪Mom, where is Matthew Potter? I’ve waited so long to see him!≫ Florent's younger sister, an adorable little girl with long, silvery-blonde hair and baby blue eyes, asked while pulling on her mother’s long brown coat.

Her question stopped Florent and Apolline from talking about Harry, and the boy let out a breath of relief.

Soon, the Hogwarts Express whistled, and Harry rushed to embrace his grandparents one last time. He also waved at Florent’s parents before turning to the French boy and saying:

“We'd better hurry up.”

“R-Right,” Fleur uncharacteristically stammered. It became apparent that her mother’s teasing had flustered her.

She hugged her parents and her little sister one more time before dragging her large trunk after her towards the nearest carriage. Taking out her wand and muttering the necessary incantation, she cast a Levitation Charm on it, making it fly into the carriage.

Glancing at his grandparents one last time, Harry smiled as he noticed how engrossed they were in their conversation with Florent’s father. He was happy to see that.

Fleamont and Euphemia had tried to hide it from him, but, just like Matthew, being holed up inside their homes, without any activity, had taken its toll on them, too.

They could not wander around without the Auror’s protection, and they felt bad about stretching the DMLE's already-thin numbers for unimportant tasks. In addition, they had also closed their little apothecary, too.

It was way too early, he was aware of that, but he hoped that this business endeavour in Araneshire might just prove to be the thing that would take his grandparents out of their funk.

⁂

The train appeared to be more crowded than the previous year, seemingly having more carriages, and most of the compartments were filled to the brim with students. From a rough glance, it appeared as though there were nearly twice as many first-year students as last year.

There weren’t any empty compartments even in the last carriage of the train. Harry and Fleur ended up joining a compartment with two boys, seemingly in their first year.

Intimidated by the much older Harry and Florent, the two first-years only squeaked out a hello before becoming silent and watching them.

“So, how was your summer?” Harry asked, trying to make some conversation to distract himself from his thoughts.

“It was nice,” was all that Florent said, his face still sporting a flush.

Then, they became silent, too, just like the other two occupants of the compartment.

The awkwardness was palpable.

After saving Florent in February from the Love Potion poisoning, the two of them became very close; much closer than ever before. However, in the present, they were acting as though it was their first time meeting each other once more. Fleur's conversation with her mother had greatly embarrassed the two teens.

After Harry did not reply to the letter she sent him that summer, Fleur had been planning on giving him a piece of her mind. But now that she was standing face-to-face with him, it was as if she had become tongue-tied.

Her mother’s teasing was still at the front of her mind, and the fact that Harry seemed to have grown more than 10 centimetres over the summer had flustered her. He was actually taller than her now; his face had become thinner, his jawline sharper, and the Hogwarts uniform looked especially good on his now taller frame.

Fleur could hear her own heart pounding in her chest, and she found herself unable to look at his face. Those green eyes of his seemed more vivid and expressive than she remembered. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to look away.

As for Harry, his predicament was even worse than hers.

He had heard and understood everything that Florent and his mother had been talking about. The French boy’s uncharacteristic shyness was unsettling him.

‘And why was he using feminine pronouns when talking about himself?’ he asked himself.

Unlike in English, some pronouns in French had different forms depending on the gender.

‘And what was that about her becoming a grandma? It’s not like men can get pregnant!’

He felt like he was on the cusp of making an important discovery, but something was missing from the equation.

‘Maybe she was talking about Florent and other girls? Maybe it wasn’t about me and him.’

He reckoned he must have heard wrong. Or maybe his French had become rusty. It was not like he had many chances of talking in French with others. Other than the times he and his grandparents visited France’s Mediterranean coast, he did not have the chance to practise his French.

But then, a wild thought came to his mind.

‘What if . . .’

Looking at Florent, he studied his appearance intently. The French boy appeared not to have changed much, if at all, over the summer. His short, silvery blonde hair was still stylish, his shoulders still narrow, and his looks just as androgynous as before. He had not got any manlier, not one bit.

Unnerved by Harry’s intense gaze, Fleur felt herself break into sweat.

Why was he looking at her so intently? Did he, perhaps, discover something? And why was Harry letting his eyes roam over her body like that??

A mixture of nervousness and embarrassment washed over her. Her hands turned clammy, her face flushed like she had a fever, and, before she could stop herself, she blurted out:

≪Stop staring like that, it’s embarrassing!≫

“Huh?!” he gasped.

Fleur also squawked.

“What did you say?” he quickly followed up.

Fleur’s facial expression was a sight to behold. For a tiny moment there, she had feared that-

‘Non, non, non!’

She did not want to even consider that possibility! If Harry actually understood French and if he had heard what she and her mother had been talking about him, then. . . then there was no other choice for her than to open the compartment’s window and throw herself right out!

That was very much preferable to dying from shame!

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice quivering.

However, no matter how much she was telling herself to stop thinking about it, the worry that Harry might actually know French kept gnawing at her.

‘This is killing me!’ she thought, screaming internally.

‘No, I have to make sure! I can’t ignore it!’

Her mind went into overdrive. If she just asked him if he knew French, he would obviously try to deny it, likely not wanting to reveal that he had heard her conversation with her mother. Just the thought of it made Fleur flush red anew.

No, she had to surprise him. She had to say something in French. Something that would startle him or provoke a visible reaction if he were to understand her words.

Making up her mind, she glanced up at him, her face a lovely shade of red. Heart hammering in her chest, she whispered:

≪I love your green eyes.≫

It took one second for Harry to react. But that one second made her feel as if time had stopped. It was just one second, but for Fleur, it felt like an eternity.

Time started flowing again when Harry tilted his head at her slightly, saying in a confused tone:

“Did you say something?”

His reaction appeared so genuine and unbothered that the relief that came over Fleur almost made her dizzy.

“Ah, don’t mind me. I am just talking to myself,” she said weakly, the release of tension having left her drained.

Feeling like she might actually die of embarrassment if things kept on like that, she said:

“The Portkey travel from France left me very tired. I will try to sleep for a few ‘ours. I ‘ope you don’t mind.”

“We won’t make noise, don’t worry!” the two first-year boys said nervously, reminding Harry and Fleur of their existence.

“Um, sure, go ahead,” Harry also said before standing up to leave. “I’ll go search for Simon and the girls in the meantime.”

The moment he got out of the compartment and slid the door shut behind him, Harry had to put his hand on the wall and lean against it for support for a few seconds.

‘Holy shit.’

He was shocked himself that he had had the presence of mind not to give himself away when Florent said in French that he loved his eyes.

‘What the hell was he playing at?!’

⁂

Thankfully, Harry was spared from further awkward interactions with Fleur after he found their group of friends. Simon, Elora, Elspeth, and little Luna had saved a spot for them in their compartment.

A few hours later, the group of friends was having a great time as they caugh up with each other, talking about they did during the summer. Harry did not have many interesting things to say about his summer but others were different. The motormouth, Elspeth, quickly become the centre of attention.

They spent the rest of the ride also talking about their OWL results, about Simon’s upcoming NEWT exams, and about their future career paths.

“I didn’t get any Os,” Elspeth said enviously when she heard that Harry got four of them. “But I did get Es in Charms and Transfiguration. . . thank Merlin I scraped an A in Potions. I honestly thought I was going to fail it.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where you get 7 OWLs,” Simon told Harry. “If I didn’t know you’re even better than I am at nonverbal casting, I’d be tempted to think your grandfather bribed the examiners.”

“No amount of money could bribe those old fellows," Harry said, chuckling. “It’s all about being organised and knowing what you want. I didn’t even bother trying to study for History, Astronomy, or Care. I failed History and Astronomy, and somehow passed Care, but all my effort was poured into Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and DADA. I’ve always been good at Potions because Grandma has, well, she used to have an apothecary, and I liked helping her around. As for the other three, they’re vital for fighting and duelling.”

“You’re so full of shit, Harry,” Elspeth said in annoyance. “What we learn in class is useless; stop trying to sound important. As if knowing how to make teacups dance tangi or turn a white rabbit into a pair of red slippers would do you any good in a fight! Just admit you’re a nerd and that you had us fooled all this time!”

“Animating teacups won’t help me in a fight, that's true. But what if I did this?”

Suddenly, with a swish of Harry’s wand, the cloak hanging from a hook next to the door (it was Elora’s) came to life and flew at Elspeth.

“W-What are you doing?” the redhead shouted and yelped in a panic, instinctively going for her wand, but the animated cloak overpowered her physical strength and tied her wrists together above her head, pinning her to the wall.

Elora, the glasses-wearing red-haired girl, froze, making herself tiny in her seat; Fleur was stunned in disbelief; Luna dropped her newspaper, watching the scene, mouth agape; and Simon shot up from his seat, wand in hand, not knowing, however, what he was supposed to do.

None of them said a word, but, inwardly, they were all reminded of the fact that Harry had single-handedly killed half a dozen goblins last spring.

Noticing the strange mood that had been instilled in the compartment, Harry quickly cancelled the Animation Charm and levitated the cloak away from Elspeth, who was gawking at him now with wide, scared eyes.

“Being able to animate teacups precisely enough to make them dance tango means you’d also be skilled enough to animate various objects to help you in a fight, like I did with the cloak now,” Harry explained, hoping to dispel the uncomfortable situation he had accidentally created.

“As for Transfiguring rabbits into slippers and back,” he continued, “that skill can also translate into something like this.”

He waved his wand again, and the levitating cloak turned and twisted, quickly transforming into a living, hissing, dangerous-looking cobra.

“Imagine if I were to Transfigure someone's muffler into a snake and order it to bite their throat. The enemy would die before even knowing what happened," Harry told them, unknowingly making them even more scared than they were already.

He quickly cancelled the Transfiguration and turned the snake back into a cloak before hanging it on the hook next to the compartment door.

“Whoa!” Simon said, his voice sounding rough from the scare he had gotten, but also filled with admiration.

“Is that ‘ow you defeated the Goblins 'alf a year ago?” Fleur also asked in awe.

“Err, the Aurors told me not to talk about that incident,” Harry lied.

It was one thing for the Daily Prophet to claim that he had used the Killing Curse to kill the Goblins because most people, or at least those with a modicum of critical thinking, would take the news in the Daily Prophet with a grain of salt, not believing everything they read.

It would be an entirely different matter, however, if he were to say the same with his own mouth.

“I’m sorry, Elspeth, did I scare you?” Harry apologised.

The redhead let out a shaky laugh.

“I panicked a little when you bound my wrists, but it’s all good. You did drive your point across.”

“What would you do in that situation?” Simon asked. “I mean, how was Lizzie supposed to react to the cloak attacking her out of nowhere?”

“A Shielding Charm would have sufficed if she only wanted to protect herself,” Harry said. “But it’s important to always have your wand close. Nonverbal casting is an advantage too because it’s faster, and the enemy will have a harder time guessing the spell you’re about to cast.”

“The way you’re speaking implies you could do other things instead of casting a Shielding Charm,” Florent noted, making Harry turn his attention to him. “What else would you 'ave done?”

Harry smiled, visibly happy to talk about a subject that he was passionate about.

“The Shielding Charm isn’t a bad choice per se, but it limits your options and makes you a stationary target since you’ll have to hold the charm. But while you do that, the cloak will keep attacking you, and the enemy is also free to cast another spell at you since he doesn’t need to remote control the cloak; once the Animation Charm is cast on it, the cloak will continue attacking until it's destroyed or the magic of the spell dissipates.”

“Personally, I would’ve cast a Knockback Jinx on the cloak to blow it back and chained a second spell right away, a Severing Charm, throwing it at my enemy, likely catching him by surprise. These two spells have similar wand movements, so I could cast them both in less than a second. I would be defending and attacking simultaneously.”

“. . . Mate, why can’t you be our DADA teacher?” Simon said, with no hint of joking in his voice.

Simon had had 7 DADA teachers until then, and none of them had ever taught him how to duel like that. Dumbledore did teach the DADA class the previous year after Gilderoy Lockhart was arrested, but the Headmaster had been more focused on teaching the students the knowledge that the previous DADA professors had failed to impart.

But, most importantly, they all believed that Dumbledore was not going to teach them again this year. Surely, he must have hired a new teacher. Simons’ expectations towards new DADA professors could not be any lower.

Harry laughed and changed the subject abruptly because he had no desire to waste his time teaching other kids.

“What about you, Elora? You haven’t said anything about your OWLs so far. Got something to hide?”

Lizzie giggled at her. The two redheads were best friends; they never missed a chance to poke some fun at each other.

“Tell him, Elora. It’ll come out eventually anyway. Haha!”

Elora pushed her glasses up her nose and glared at Elspeth before muttering:

“I didn’t do great.”

“What was the problem?” Harry asked, curious.

“It was the practical exams. I barely got an A in DADA,” Elora said, embarrassed. “The written exam saved me.”

She wrenched her fingers, distressed. “I’m just not good in tense moments. Whenever something happens, I freeze, and it’s like my mind goes blank. It was the same in Transfiguration. I got an A there, too. My parents weren’t happy. . . Thankfully, I did well in other subjects. I got lots of Es, and I didn't fail any OWLs.”

To say that Harry was surprised by her admission would be a lie. He had known Elora for five years now; he had long since noticed that fact about her. The girl always froze like a deer in the headlights whenever a conflict or any other tense situation arose in front of her.

⁂

The Welcoming Feast passed without any unusual incidents taking place, and so did the first evening at Hogwarts, too.

If there was one thing of note, it was that Albus Dumbledore informed them that he would continue teaching the DADA class that year as well. The entire school was energised by his words, even the Slytherins, who were not his biggest fans, to put it lightly. The old headmaster was a legendary wizard, and his talent and skill as a teacher were undeniable after the previous semester.

Once the Welcoming Feast ended, the students headed directly to their dorms. Having gorged themselves with delicious food and being dead tired from the long train ride, Harry and Fleur fell asleep as soon as they hit the bed.

The following day, after having their breakfast, all the sixth years went to the office of their respective Head of the House and stood in a line, waiting for them to receive their schedule.

Considering that after the fifth year, students were free to drop any classes they did not want anymore, and that some professors only accepted students with certain results, sixth-year students would all receive different schedules, tailored to their own choices.

“Potter Harry,” Professor Flitwick called out.

Finally, it was his turn to receive his schedule.

“Seven OWLs, of which four were Outstanding. Most impressive, Mr Potter,” Flitwick said, smiling under his large bushy moustache.

“Thank you, professor.”

“So, have you given any thought to your future career? Which classes are you planning on attending for your NEWTs?”

“I’m going to drop Astronomy, History, and Care for Magical Creatures,” Harry answered. “I am thinking of giving up on Ancient Runes, too, but that would depend on what the new professor says. I mean the Alchemy professor. I’d like to apply for the Alchemy class.”

Flitwick’s eyebrows rose into his hairline.

“Alchemy?? Hm. . . it will be difficult.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “I got the maximum grades in the main subjects needed for Alchemy.”

The tiny professor waved his hands as if to dispel his misunderstanding.

“No, no, your grades are more than fine. They’re excellent. The problem is that there can’t be a class for just one student. There needs to be at least 10 applicants for Hogwarts to offer an Alchemy class.”

“. . .Oh.”

His disappointed face was so expressive that Flitwick felt bad for him. He added:

“I will speak with the Headmaster on your behalf. It would be a shame for a student as brilliant as you to be denied this opportunity.”

“Would you do that for me, sir?” the boy asked in surprise.

He had thought that the tiny professor never liked him all that much. Not that Harry blamed Flitwick, considering how many times he had gotten himself in trouble over the years for beating up those who tried to bully Matt.

Flitwick smiled.

“It is my duty as the Head of the House to support you. That being said, temper your expectations. I cannot guarantee you anything.”

Harry understood but nodded gratefully.

“Thank you, professor."

“Now, assuming that the Alchemy class won’t become available, will you still continue with your desired classes?”

He nodded.

“Yes. If I can attend the Alchemy class, I will let the professor decide if I should continue studying Ancient Runes. But if the Alchemy class isn’t available, well, I guess I’ll keep going to Runes for NEWTs too.”

⁂

It was the first actual day of school. The double Herbology class passed at a snail's pace as they had to physically fight against the Venomous Tentacula plants that were trying to strangle them. It was not just once or twice that Harry wondered during those two hours if it would be such a bad idea to drop out of Herbology, too. Only the knowledge that Herbology was needed for Alchemy was preventing him from quitting.

Eventually, the painful class came to an end, and the students headed to their dorms to take a shower or to the Hospital Wing for Madam Pomfrey to heal those who had been scratched, bruised, and poisoned by the violent plant.

Starting with the sixth year, some classes were shared between all four Houses, depending on the number of students who had applied for them. Herbology did not seem as popular that year, and it took only two hours for Harry to understand perfectly why.

With that said, it was a rather touching scene to watch students belonging to four different houses forget all about their rivalry as they dragged their tired and wounded bodies towards the infirmary.

Now, it was noon, and Harry was among the first students to arrive for lunch in the Great Hall.

After the intense physical effort during the Herbology class, he devoured his lunch like a man starved, stuffing his face with mashed potatoes and sausages. He felt like he could eat a whole cow.

It took half an hour for him to satiate his hunger, but when he stood up to leave, a small paper swan flew from the professors towards the Ravenclaw table and landed in front of him.

The paper swan unfurled itself, revealing the lines of neat, small, and elegant writing inside.

Dear Harry,

I have been informed of your desire to attend the Alchemy class. Unfortunately, as Professor Flitwick may have already told you, the current situation is not exactly favourable. So far, you are the only student who has applied for it.

However, there may yet be a solution. Should you be interested in hearing more about it, you may come to my office today at 4 pm sharp.

PS: I love acid pops.