Chapter 8 -- Victorious Snape

Harry could not move a muscle. He lay there beneath the Invisibility

Cloak feeling the blood from his nose flow, hot and wet, over his face,

listening to the voices and footsteps in the corridor beyond. His immediate

thought was that someone would, surely check the compartments before the

train departed again. But at once came the dispiriting realization that even if

somebody looked into the compartment, he would be neither seen nor heard.

His best hope was that somebody else would walk in and step on him.



Harry had never hated Malfoy more than as he lay there, like an absurd

turtle on its back, blood dripping sickeningly into his open mouth. What a

stupid situation to have landed himself in... and now the last few footsteps

were dying away; everyone was shuffling along the dark platform outside;

he could hear the scraping of trunks and loud babble of talk.

Ron and Hermione would think that he had left the train without them.

Once they arrived at Hogwarts and took their places in the Great Hall,

looked up and down the Gryffindor table a few times, and finally realized

that he was not there, he, no doubt, would be halfway back to London.

He tried to make a sound, even a grunt, but it was impossible. Then he

remembered that some wizards, like Dumbledore, could perform spells

without speaking, so he tried to summon his wand, which had fallen out of

his hand, by saying the words "Accio Wand!" over and over again in his

head, but nothing happened.

He thought he could hear the rustling of the trees that surrounded the lake,

and the far-off hoot of an owl, but no hint of a search being made or even

(he despised himself slightly for hoping it) panicked voices wondering

where Harry Potter had gone. A feeling of hopelessness spread through him

as he imagined the convoy of thestral-drawn carriages trundling up to the

school and the muffled yells of laughter issuing from whichever carriage

Malfoy was riding in, where he could be recounting his attack on Harry to

Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson.

The train lurched, causing Harry to roll over onto his side. Now he was

staring at the dusty underside of the seats instead of the ceiling. The floor

began to vibrate as the engine roared into life. The Express was leaving and

nobody knew he was still on it...

Then he felt his Invisibility Cloak fly off him and a voice overhead said,

"Wotcher, Harry."

There was a flash of red light and Harry's body unfroze; he was able to

push himself into a more dignified sitting position, hastily wipe the blood off

his bruised race with the back of his hand, and raise his head to look up at

Tonks, who was holding the Invisibiliiy Cloak she had just pulled away.

We'd better get out of here, quickly," she said, as the train windows

became obscured with steam and they began to move out of the station.

"Come on, we'll jump."

Harry hurried after her into the corridor. She pulled open the train door

and leapt onto the platform, which seemed to be sliding underneath them as

the train gathered momentum. He followed her, staggered a little on landing,

then straightened up in time to see the gleaming scarlet steam engine pick up

speed, round the corner, and disappear from view.

The cold night air was soothing on his throbbing nose. Tonks was looking

at him; he felt angry and embarrassed that he had been discovered in such a

ridiculous position. Silently she handed him back the Invisibility Cloak.

"Who did it?"

"Draco Malfoy," said Harry bitterly. "Thanks for... well..."

"No problem," said Tonks, without smiling. From what Harry could see

in the darkness, she was as mousy-haired and miserable-lookinng as she had

been when he had met her at the Burrow. "I can fix your nose if you stand

still."

Harry did not think much of this idea; he had been intending to visit

Madam Pomfrey, the matron, in whom he had a little more confidence when

it came to Healing Spells, but it seemed rude to say this, so he stayed stock-

still and closed his eyes,

"Episkey" said Tonks.

Harry's nose felt very hot, and then very cold. He raised a hand and felt

gingerly. It seemed to be mended.

"Thanks a lot!"

"You'd better put that cloak back on, and we can walk up to the school,"

said Tonks, still unsmiling. As Harry swung the cloak back over himself, she

waved her wand; an immense silvery four-legged creature erupted from it

and streaked off into the darkness.

''Was that a Patronus?" asked Harry, who had seen Dumbledore send

messages like this.

"Yes, I'm sending word to the castle that I've got you or they'll worry.

Come on, we'd better not dawdle."

They set off toward the lane that led to the school.

"How did you find me?"

"I noticed you hadn't left the train and I knew you had that cloak. I

thought you might be hiding for some reason. When I saw the blinds were

drawn down on that compartment I thought I'd check."

"But what are you doing here, anyway?" Harry asked.

"I'm stationed in Hogsmeade now, to give the school extra protection,"

said Tonks.

"Is it just you who's stationed up here, or -- ?"

"No, Proudfoot, Savage, and Dawlish are here too."

"Dawlish, that Auror Dumbledore attacked last year?"

"That's right."

They trudged up the dark, deserted lane, following the freshly made

carriage tracks. Harry looked sideways at Tonks under his cloak. Last year

she had been inquisitive (to the point of being a little annoying at times), she

had laughed easily, she had made jokes. Now she seemed older and much

more serious and purposeful. Was this all the effect of what had happened at

the Ministry? He reflected uncomfortably that Hermione would have

suggested he say something consoling about Sirius to her, that it hadn't been

her fault at all, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was far from

blaming her for Sirius's death; it was no more her fault than anyone else's

(and much less than his), but he did not like talking about Sirius if he could

avoid it. And so they tramped on through the cold night in silence, Tonks's

long cloak whispering on the ground behind them.

Having always traveled there by carriage, Harry had never before

appreciated just how far Hogwarts was from Hogsmeade Station. With great

relief he finally saw the tall pillars on either side of the gates, each topped

with a winged boar. He was cold, he was hungry and he was quite keen to

leave this new, gloomy Tonks behind. But when he put out a hand to push

open the gates, he found them chained shut.

"Alohomora!" he said confidently, pointing his wand at the padlock, but

nothing happened.

"That won't work on these," said Tonks. "Dumbledore bewitched them

himself."

Harry looked around, I could climb a wall," he suggested.

"No, you couldn't," said Tonks flatly. "Anti-intruder jinxes on all of them.

Security's been tightened a hundredfold this summer."

"Well then," said Harry, starting to feel annoyed at her lack of

helpfulness, "I suppose I'll just have to sleep out here and wait for morning."

"Someone's coming down for you," said Tonks, "Look."

A lantern was bobbing at the distant foot of the castle. Harry was so

pleased to see it he felt he could even endure Filch's wheezy criticisms of his

tardiness and rants about how his timekeeping would improve with the

regular application of thumbscrews. It was not until the glowing yellow light

was ten feet away from them, and had pulled off his Invisibility Cloak so

that he could be seen, that he recognized, with a rush of pure loathing, the

uplit hooked nose and long, black, greasy hair of Severus Snape.

"Well, well, well," sneered Snape, taking out his wand and tapping the

padlock once, so that the chains snaked backward and the gates creaked

open. "Nice of you to turn up, Potter, although you have evidently decided

that the wearing of school robes would detract from your appearance."

"I couldn't change, I didn't have my --" Harry began, but Snape cut across

him.

"There is no need to wait, Nymphadora, Potter is quite -- ah

-- safe in my hands."

"I meant Hagrid to get the message," said Tonks, frowning.

"Hagrid was late for the start-of-term feast, just like Potter here, so I took

it instead. And incidentally," said Snape, standing back to allow Harry to

pass him, "I was interested to see your new Patronus."

He shut the gates in her face with a loud clang and tapped the chains with

his wand again, so that they slithered, clinking, back into place.

"I think you were better off with the old one," said Snape, the malice in

his voice unmistakable. "The new one looks weak."

As Snape swung the lantern about, Harry saw, fleetingly, a look of shock

and anger on Tonks's face. Then she was covered in darkness once more.

"Good night," Harry called to her over his shoulder, as he began the walk

up to the school with Snape. "Thanks for ... everything,"

"See you, Harry."

Snape did not speak for a minute or so. Harry felt as though his body was

generating waves of hatred so powerful that it seemed incredible that Snape

could not feel them burning him. He had loathed Snape from their first

encounter, but Snape had placed himself forever and irrevocably beyond the

possibility of Harry's forgiveness by his attitude toward Sirius. Whatever

Dumbledore said, Harry had had time to think over the summer, and had

concluded that Snape's snide remarks to Sirius about remaining safely

hidden while the rest of the Order of the Phoenix were off fighting

Voldemort had probably been a powerful factor in Sirius rushing off to the

Ministry the night that he had died. Harry clung to this notion, because it

enabled him to blame Snape, which felt satisfying, and also because he knew

that if anyone was not sorry that Sirius was dead, it was the man now

striding next to him in the darkness.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for lateness, I think," said Snape. "And, let

me see, another twenty for your Muggle attire. You know, I don't believe

any House has ever been in negative figures this early in the term: We

haven't even started pudding. You might have set a record, Potter."

The fury and hatred bubbling inside Harry seemed to blaze white-hot, but

he would rather have been immobilized all the way

back to London than tell Snape why he was late.

"I suppose you wanted to make an entrance, did you?" Snape continued.

"And with no flying car available you decided that bursting into the Great

Hall halfway through the feast ought to create a dramatic effect."

Still Harry remained silent, though he thought his chest might explode. He

knew that Snape had come to fetch him for this, for the few minutes when he

could needle and torment Harry without anyone else listening.

They reached the castle steps at last and as the great oaken front doors

swung open into the vast flagged entrance hall, a burst of talk and laughter

and of tinkling plates and glasses greeted them through the doors standing

open into the Great Hail. Harry wondered whether he could slip his

Invisibility Cloak back on, thereby gaining his seat at the long Gryffindor

table (which, inconveniently, was the farthest from the entrance hall)

without being noticed. As though he had read Harry's mind, however, Snape

said, "No cloak. You can walk in so that everyone sees you, which is what

you wanted, I'm sure."

Harry turned on the spot and marched straight through the open doors:

anything to get away from Snape. The Great Hall with its four long House

tables and its staff table set at the top of the room was decorated as usual

with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow. It was all a

shimmering blur to Harry, however, who walked so fast that he was passing

the Hufflepuff table before people really started to stare, and by the time

they were standing up to get a good look at him, he had spotted Ron and

Hermione, sped along the benches toward them, and forced his way in

between them.

"Where've you -- blimey, what've you done to your face?" said Ron,

goggling at him along with everyone else in the vicinity. I

"Why, what's wrong with it?" said Harry, grabbing a spoon and squinting

at his distorted reflection.

"You're covered in blood!" said Hermione. "Come here --"

She raised her wand, said "Tergeo!" and siphoned off the dried blood.

"Thanks," said Harry, feeling his now clean face. "How's my nose

looking?

"Normal," said Hermoine anxiously. "Why shouldn't it? Harry, what

happened? We've been terrified!"

"I'll tell you later," said Harry curtly. He was very conscious that Ginny,

Neville, Dean, and Seamus were listening in; even Nearly Headless Nick,

the Gryffindor ghost, had come floating along the bench to eavesdrop.

"But --" said Hermione.

"Not now, Hermione," said Harry, in a darkly significant voice. He hoped

very much that they would all assume he had been involved in something

heroic, preferably involving a couple of Death Eaters and a dementor. Of

course, Malfoy would spread the story as wide as he could, but there was

always a chance it wouldn't reach too many Gryffindor ears.

He reached across Ron for a couple of chicken legs and a handful of

chips, but before he could take them they vanished, to be replaced with

puddings.

"You missed the Sorting, anyway," said Hermione, as Ron dived for a

large chocolate gateau.

"Hat say anything interesting?" asked Harry, taking a piece of treacle tart.

"More of the same, really . . . advising us all to unite in the face enemies,

you know."

"Dumbledore mentioned Voldemort at all?"

"Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the the feast

doesn't he? It can't be long now."

"Snape said Hagrid was late for the feast --"

"You've seen Snape? How come?" said Ron between frenzied mouthfuls

of gateau.

"Bumped into him," said Harry evasively.

"Hagrid was only a few minutes late," said Hermione. "Look, he's waving

at you, Harry."

Harry looked up at the staff table and grinned at Hagrid, who was indeed

waving at him. Hagrid had never quite managed to comport himself with the

dignity of Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, the top of

whose head came up to somewhere between Hagrid's elbow and shoulder as

they were sitting side by side, and who was looking disapprovingly at this

enthusiastic greeting. Harry was surprised to see the Divination teacher,

Professor Trelawney, sitting on Hagrid's other side; she rarely left her tower

room, and he had never seen her at the start-of-term feast before. She looked

as odd as ever, glittering with beads and trailing shawls, her eyes magnified

to enormous size by her spectacles. Having always considered her a bit of a

fraud, Harry had been shocked to discover at the end of the previous term

that it had been she who had made the prediction that caused Lord

Voldemort to kill Harry's parents and attack Harry himself. The knowledge

made him even less eager to find himself in her company, thankfully, this

year he would be dropping Divination. Her great beaconlike eyes swiveled

in his direction; he hastily looked away toward the Slytherin table. Draco

Malfoy was miming the shatterering of a nose to raucous laughter and

applause. Harry dropped his gaze to his treacle tart, his insides burning

again. What he would give to fight Malfoy one-on-one...

"So what did Professor Slughorn want?" Hermione asked.

"To know what really happened at the Ministry." said Harry.

"Him and everyone else here," sniffed Hermione. "People were

interrogating us about it on the train, weren't they, Ron?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "All wanting to know if you really are 'the Chosen

One' --"

"There has been much talk on that very subject even amongst the ghosts,"

interrupted Nearly Headless Nick, inclining his barely connected head

toward Harry so that it wobbled dangerously on its ruff. "I am considered

something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I

have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information,

however. 'Harry Potter knows that he can confide in me with complete

confidence,' I told them. 'I would rather die than betray his trust.'"

"That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead," Ron observed.

"Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe," said Nearly

Headless Nick in affronted tones, and he rose into the air and glided back

toward the far end of the Gryffindor table just as Dumbledore got to his feet

at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away

almost instantly.

"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms

opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

"What happened to his hand?" gasped Hermione.

She was not the only one who had noticed. Dumbledore's right hand was

as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to

fetch Harry from the Dursleys. Whispers it the room; Dumbledore,

interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold

sleeve over his injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now ... to our new students,

welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical

education awaits you ..."

"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer,"

Harry whispered to Hermione. "I thought he'd have cured it by now,

though ... or Madam Pomfrey would've done."

"It looks as if it's died," said Hermione, with a nauseated expression. "But

there are some injuries you can't cure... old curses...and there are poisons

without antidotes. . . ."

"...and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a

blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard

Wheezes.

"Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their

names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new

Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor

Slughorn"-- Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight,

his big waistcoated belly casting the table into shadow -- "is a former

colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."

"Potions?"

"Potions?"

The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered wheel they had

heard right.

"Potions?" said Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare Harry. "But

you said --"

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising voice so that it

carried over all the muttering, "will be taking the position of Defense

Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"No!" said Harry, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction. He

did not care; he was staring up at the staff table, incensed. How could Snape

be given the Defense Against the Dark Arts job after all this time? Hadn't it

been widely known for years that Dumbledore did not trust him to do it?

"But Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defense

Against the Dark Arts!" said Hermione.

"I thought he was!" said Harry, racking his brains to remember when

Dumbledore had told him this, but now that he came to think of it, he was

unable to recall Dumbledore ever telling him what Slughorn would be

teaching.

Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up his

mention of his name; he merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the

applause from the Slytherin table, yet Harry was sure he could detect a look

of triumph on the features he loathed so much.

"Well, there's one good thing," he said savagely. "Snape'll be gone by the

end of the year."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron.

"That job's jinxed. No ones lasted more than a year... Quirrell actually

died doing it... Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another

death..."

"Harry!" said Hermione, shocked and reproachful.

"He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year," said

Ron reasonably. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term.

Moody didn't."

"Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not the

only ones who had been talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of

conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart's desire.

Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just

imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but

waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before

continuing.

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his

followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."

The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Harry

glanced at Malfoy. Malfoy was not looking at Dumbledore, but making his

fork hover in midair with his wand, as though he found the headmaster's

words unworthy of his attention.

"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation

is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we

remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over

the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must

still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or

member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions

that you teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find

them -- in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of after hours. I

implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or

outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to

conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others'

safety."

Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once

more.

"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could

possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your

lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"

With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches moved back and the

hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their

dormitories. Harry, who was in no hurry at all to leave with the gawping

crowd, nor to get near enough to Malfoy to allow him to retell the story of

the nose-stamping, lagged behind, pretending to retie the lace on his trainer,

allowing most of Gryffindors to draw ahead of him. Hermione had darted

ahead to fulfill her prefect's duty of shepherding the first years, but Ron

remained with Harry.

"What really happened to your nose?" he asked, once they were at the

very back of the throng pressing out of the Hall, and out of earshot of

anyone else.

Harry told him. It was a mark of the strength of their friendship that Ron

did not laugh.

"I saw Malfoy miming something to do with a nose," he said darkly.

"Yeah, well, never mind that," said Harry bitterly. "Listen to what he was

saying before he found out I was there..."

"Harry had expected Ron to be stunned by Malfoys boasts. With what

Harry considered pure pigheadedness, however, Ron was unimpressed.

"Come on, Harry, he was just showing off for Parkinson....

What kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him?"

"How d'you know Voldemort doesn't need someone at Hogwarts? It

wouldn't be the first --"

"I wish yeh'd stop sayin' tha name, Harry," said a reproachful voice

behind them. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Hagtid shaking his head.

"Dumbledore uses that name," said Harry stubbornly

"Yeah, well, tha's Dumbledore, innit?" said Hagrid mysteriously.

"So how come yeh were late, Harry? I was worried."

"Got held up on the train," said Harry. "Why were you late?"

"I was with Grawp," said Hagrid happily. "Los' track o' the time. He's got

a new home up in the mountains now, Dumbledore fixed it -- nice big cave.

He's much happier than he was in the forest. We were havin' a good chat."

"Really?" said Harry, taking care not to catch Ron's eye; the last time he

had met Hagrid's half-brother, a vicious giant with a talent for ripping up

trees by the roots, his vocabulary had comprised five words, two of which he

was unable to pronounce properly.

"Oh yeah, he's really come on," said Hagrid proudly. "Yeh'll be amazed.

I'm thinkin' o' trainin' him up as me assistant."

Ron snorted loudly, but managed to pass it off as a violent sneeze. They

were now standing beside the oak front doors.

"Anyway, I'll see yeh tomorrow, firs' lesson's straight after lunch. Come

early an' yeh can say hello ter Buck -- I mean, Witherwings!"

Raising an arm in cheery farewell, he headed out of the doors into the

darkness.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. Harry could tell that Ron was

experiencing the same sinking feeling as himself.

"You're not taking Care of Magical Creatures, are you?"

Ron shook his head. "And you're not either, are you?"

Harry shook his head too.

"And Hermione," said Ron, "she's not, is she?"

Harry shook his head again. Exactly what Hagrid would say when he

realized his three favorite students had given up his subject, he did not like

to think.