Curious, that — he'd asked me about my own personal achievements, but Hermione about our parents. A division of topics? Logical enough, though I'd have added a question or two about her own achievements or plans as a witch.
Hermione hesitated for a second before answering, which wasn't surprising — the other students' parents were, one way or another, rather interesting as wizards, with achievements of their own. Even Zabini's mother was known not only for her captivating beauty and seven marriages, each ending in the mysterious death of an exceedingly wealthy chosen one, but also for accomplishments in potion-making and runes. Though, admittedly, the gossips and other "elites" of society talk only about that — magical achievements, much like scientific work in the ordinary world, being a topic of interest to only a small slice of the population.
"Hector's and my parents are dentists."
And silence. That silence brought an involuntary smile to my face. Daphne, apparently deciding this sort of atmosphere might annoy me somewhat, laid her hand over mine, but on looking into my eyes and finding only amusement there, she smiled too. She, having spent some time in their company besides, understood perfectly well what that branch of medicine actually was.
"They fix people's teeth," my little sister explained, feeling the discomfort of the general silence, in which only Belby's spoon clinked against his bowl as he scraped up the last drops of ice cream.
"How fascinating," Slughorn kept the conversation going. "Is dentistry considered a dangerous profession?"
"No," Hermione shook her head, but from the silence she gathered some sort of story was called for. Except there weren't really any stories tied specifically to teeth. Well — almost none.
"It's worth remembering," I spoke up, "that our parents aren't exactly young, and, for instance, our father didn't become a dentist straight away. In his youth he served in the armed forces, took part in resolving conflicts in a number of hotspots around the world. Later he might have gone into the Royal Guard, but decided to pursue professional medical training instead. Mione, you remember that yourself."
"Yes, that's right," she smiled awkwardly. "If I remember correctly, Father wanted to continue his service as a doctor, but ended up joining Médecins Sans Frontières."
"What a full life," Slughorn listened attentively, with what seemed genuine — not feigned — understanding. "And what does that organisation do? Though, going by the name, I have some idea."
"It's an international organisation," Hermione, mounting her steed of "dredge up the facts," felt more confident, "in which doctors — the Muggle equivalent of Healers and mediwizards — go out to all sorts of places around the world to help people. To sites of military conflict, natural disasters, various catastrophes and epidemics. And then he met our mother, retrained as a dentist — a more peaceful, calm and profitable specialty. Together they opened their own private practice."
"So," I picked up the thread, "dentistry isn't a dangerous profession. But he only took it up once he'd started a family. Everything before that was dangerous, very much so."
"That's genuinely admirable, I must say," Slughorn smiled, pleased. "Giving up a life of adventure and travel for the sake of family. So it seems, Mr Granger, your inclination towards healing runs in the family?"
"To some extent, sir."
Hermione nodded at me gratefully, also realising how my remarks had helped her feel steadier. She nodded, and noticed McLaggen pulling various faces meant, in his estimation, to look terribly seductive. She actually flinched. No — if she'd found him remotely appealing, I might not have done anything, but that was decidedly not the case, and besides, he was frankly a rotten little person, at least for the time being. So…
When McLaggen, showing off for Hermione's benefit, decided to lick the tip of his finger, I applied a small amount of influence to make him bite down on that finger very hard indeed, while also making sure his jaw wouldn't simply unclench on its own.
"Mm… ah-h-h…" he leapt up from his seat, covering his mouth with his free hand, his other hand "stuck" inside it.
"Merlin's Beard!" Slughorn was immediately alarmed by the commotion. "My boy, what's happened?"
Howls, whimpers and sobs from McLaggen, along with his attempts to do anything at all about his jaw so it would let go of his hand, the professor's fussing and that of a few of the others — quite the spectacle, really.
Daphne turned to me, watching me with a barely perceptible smirk on her otherwise composed face. I demonstratively held up my hands, visible to everyone, but in Daphne's look one could read, without any trouble at all: "Oh, sure, tell me another one." Hermione's face, meanwhile, showed both concern and the most genuine, predatory glee — a rare sight, I'll be honest.
"I'm sure," Potter looked at each of us in turn, "this is anything but an accident."
Harry made sure any potentially unwelcome listeners were far too preoccupied with McLaggen's misfortune.
"But I must say," he went on, adjusting his round glasses, "he's a right git. I almost feel a bit bad about how pleased I am."
"Harry!" Hermione, sitting next to him, protested, though barely managing to hide her own glee.
"Oh, don't you start…"
"Gentlemen," Slughorn addressed us and the others. "The hour's grown late, and I was in any case about to announce the end of the evening, so… And my, look at the time — nearly eleven. We wouldn't want the other professors catching you wandering the castle after curfew, would we? I'll take Cormac along to the infirmary."
We all filed out of Slughorn's quarters together. Zabini and the twins had no wish to travel in such a mixed company and slipped off quickly towards the dungeons. The Ravenclaw fled too, practically leaving skid marks. So the rest of us walked slowly in our more or less familiar group towards the main tower.
"So, what's your verdict on the professor?" Daphne took my arm.
Harry, Hermione and Ginny walked behind us, listening.
"A textbook collector. Gathers connections and acquaintances, though it doesn't seem like he makes much use of them. So — purely a collector."
"That's not exactly nice," Potter said, "inviting someone just because of their parents."
"I don't think that's it," Hermione disagreed.
"You're right, little sister. Since he didn't know much, he decided to invite the ones whose relatives he was sure of. Have a look, take stock, draw conclusions. Trust me — Belby, despite his famous uncle, won't be let anywhere near Slughorn or his little gatherings again, not within cannon-shot. Neville… Where's Neville got to?"
"Here," a voice came from behind, startling more than a few. I'd sensed him there all along, mind.
"He had his eye on Neville too, but it looks like he's decided not to jump to any conclusions just yet."
"Daphne and I were invited because we already have achievements of our own, and significant ones at that. Ginny's got quite successful brothers. Most of them, anyway. No offence."
"As if there's much to offend," the redhead replied.
"And me?"
"You're Harry Potter. That says it all."
Reaching the main tower, we parted ways — I went to see Daphne home, while the others headed off to their own house common rooms. Having said goodbye to Daphne at the entrance to her common room, with a kiss and wishes for sweet dreams, I made my way through the castle's dark corridors towards the infirmary. Smethwyck should have already sorted out the details of my apprenticeship with Madam Pomfrey, which would start the following day, so I could find out the particulars today.
Reaching the infirmary, I walked straight in without hesitation. In the dim light I saw that only two of the many beds were currently occupied, their curtains drawn, the patients evidently asleep. On another bed sat McLaggen, with Madam Pomfrey fussing over him under a floating point of Lumos light.
"Madam Pomfrey," I announced my arrival.
McLaggen spun round sharply at the sound of my voice, looking rather frightened, his bitten finger still in his mouth. Madam Pomfrey, without pausing in her spellwork over the patient, glanced at me.
"Mr Granger. I do hope, at least, that you're quite well?"
"Of course. I only wanted to find out if there was any information…"
"About your apprenticeship, young man — I've already been informed and have settled everything with Healer Smethwyck," Madam Pomfrey finished her spellwork on McLaggen. "The schedule for your apprenticeship has already been drawn up."
"And might I have it now?"
"Of course. Only let me finish treating Mr McLaggen first. A most extraordinary magical mishap. I'll have to use a couple of rather unpleasant potions."
"Mmph?" McLaggen looked plainly bewildered.
"Don't worry. Potions can be administered by means other than the mouth. I'll be back in just a moment."
Madam Pomfrey withdrew towards her office, where various potions, instruments and other paperwork were kept, and I stepped over to McLaggen, sitting on his bed.
"Enjoying the situation?" I smirked, setting a simple eavesdropping barrier without a wand.
The boy glared at me venomously but didn't dare do anything. It was plain on his face he'd absolutely do something stupid later. What's more, he'd clearly worked out exactly who was responsible for his current condition.
With a small effort of will, I made the magic stop McLaggen's breathing, paralysing him at the same time so he couldn't thrash about.
"Believe me," I said, looking into his panic-widened eyes, stoking the fear and panic already spreading rapidly through his mind, "you don't want to do anything foolish where I'm concerned, or my sister, or anyone else in my circle. But you're welcome to take the risk. Not with yourself, no. They say your father holds an important post at the Ministry of Magic. Do you suppose they'd be pleased to keep him in that post, if they learned about certain little escapades of yours? Such as, say, those meetings behind a hidden door on the fourth floor?"
I released the magical hold on the boy, who gasped for breath, now staring at me with unmistakable shock, astonishment and fear.
"Or, for instance, the equally secret meetings on the second floor of number sixteen in Hogsmeade — evidence for which, my foolish Gryffindor friend, there's more than enough."
Even more shock spread across the boy's face.
"Watch yourself, McLaggen. One wrong move and it's all over. Your already poor reputation, your family's and your father's reputation, his job, the money — all of it, gone."
Dropping the anti-eavesdropping charm, I stepped back just as Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, walking briskly towards us with a couple of potion vials and a parchment scroll in hand.
"Here's your schedule, Mr Granger, agreed with Healer Smethwyck," the mediwitch held out the scroll to me. "Have a look and come by tomorrow evening. Now, if you'll allow me to continue treating Mr McLaggen. What a ridiculous magical accident…"
"All the best, Madam Pomfrey. McLaggen."
Leaving the infirmary, I strolled along at a leisurely pace through Hogwarts' dark corridors, my conscience clear and a sense of a job well done. Well, we're growing up, aren't we — threats, blackmail, and other morally unpleasant tools and methods, now firmly in play. Among the dwarves, everything had been more or less simple, clear and logical. By honour, by fairness, and if something didn't suit you, a fist to the face could always settle matters. Among the elves, quite the opposite — intrigue, games, all manner of "cloak and dagger" business, and nothing ever said straight to one's face. Humans… well, we've always been a mix of everything with everything.
Along the way I ran into Malfoy, patrolling the corridors alone.
"Not bored on your own?"
Malfoy spun round almost instantly, wand levelled at me.
"Granger," he exhaled, lowering his wand. "You shouldn't sneak up on people."
"I wasn't sneaking. Didn't even try." Falling into step beside Malfoy, we walked on together through the corridors, eventually emerging into the galleries, lit through tall arched windows by the light of the crescent moon in the sky.
"How was the evening with Slughorn?"
"Middling. He's testing the waters, so to speak. Seeing whether the children of wizards he knows, or his friends' children, are anything special. Worthy of the collection."
"He's got plenty of connections. That's a useful thing to know."
"His connections are middling. Politicians, minor public figures. People who've achieved something, at least."
"Middling?" Malfoy smirked, as we reached the main tower and started down the currently still staircases, under the gazes of the few painted figures not yet asleep in their many portraits.
"Yes. Genuinely interesting, powerful, talented wizards, oddly enough, tend not to be public figures. They don't go around announcing themselves to the world."
"Sounds like you know some, and more than one?"
"Who knows," I shrugged, as we made our way down the stairs.
"You know, it surprises me that Slughorn agreed to teach at Hogwarts."
"Because power is gradually gathering into the Dark Lord's hands, one way or another."
"Exactly. Father says Slughorn is a remarkable coward. Plus, he's one of the few Potions Masters. There are only three in all of England, really."
Then it was all the more interesting that the rare mentions of Dumbledore in the past tense over dinner had provoked such an odd reaction from Slughorn. As though he were trying to hide something. He made a very middling liar, age and all else notwithstanding — must just be the way he is.
"Hm… Squandering resources like that isn't the done thing. From what you're saying, I'd guess the Dark Lord is very keen on bringing Slughorn over to his side. And Slughorn, in turn, is very keen on staying as far from him as possible. In which case that really is odd, to say the least. Slughorn simply must know who our new Headmaster is. As must the Professor of Combat Magic."
We reached the ground level, from which my path led straight on to my common room, while Malfoy had… well, wherever it was he needed to be. Draco, at my last words, turned to me sharply, suspicious.
"I don't know what you mean."
"That's not a phrase you should use when trying to lie. It contrasts too sharply with your expression and your eyes. Don't worry. I don't care, not so long as nothing's being plotted against me. And even in the most theoretically secure spot, set up a shield before saying whatever it is no one's meant to hear. Saying 'auntie,' for instance…"
Malfoy was thoroughly startled, and even considered trying one of the tools of persuasion that simply comes to mind first — threats. But I got there ahead of him:
"Good evening, my still rather green Slytherin friend," and with those words I simply dissolved into the shadows, concealing myself with magic and a couple of effects.
"Mordred…" Malfoy drew his wand. "Homenum Revelio."
Unsurprisingly, he found nothing.
"How does he do that?!" Malfoy shuddered. "Even more frightening than that madwoman…"
I, for my part, had stayed nearby and could clearly sense the approach of a concealed witch, present at the exact moment that phrase was uttered, so I wasn't surprised when Professor Hunt appeared barely a step away from Malfoy. But I didn't stick around to see what happened next — there was a little spider stationed here, and I could quite happily head to my common room, which is exactly what I did.
"Isn't Draco talking about me, by any chance?"
"Oh for…" Draco spun sharply towards the smirking witch. "What are y— what are you doing here?"
"Surely you haven't forgotten it's my turn tonight, catching small-time rule-breaking losers?"
"I hadn't forgotten."
"And who were you talking to?"
"Granger."
"Not the girl, I hope?" The professor's tone turned menacing, though she never stopped smiling, and there was nothing overtly threatening in her movements.
"No, of course not," Draco snorted, playing the part of blood-purity gatekeeper. Well — only partly playing, given he genuinely is one. "Hector. Ran into him near the infirmary and we came down here together. He's a House prefect too, after all."
"And what was it about him that frightened you so?"
"His skills. Knowing everything about everything around him, everyone else's every move. Everything, do you understand?"
"Everything, is it?"
"Everything."
"How curious."
While I listened in, I'd reached my common room, knocked out the correct rhythm on the door and slipped inside. There weren't many people about, given the late hour. Mostly older students, though a couple of third-years were enthusiastically casting something in a hidden corner. At our usual table sat Hannah and Ernie, and it was to them I went, settling into an armchair.
"You look pleased with yourself," Hannah smiled at me. "How did the dinner at Professor Slughorn's go?"
Settling comfortably into my chair, I began recounting the evening, all the while thinking. And what I was thinking was that I didn't have nearly enough information about the events unfolding around us. I don't like the feeling of vague "gathering storm clouds" without knowing the specific reasons behind them. I need to find out as much as possible, and as soon as possible. Ideally this weekend. Perhaps it's even time for the Plague Doctor to make an appearance here and there again. Might even bring the phoenix back from Australia — nothing much for it to do there anyway, what with the parents doing perfectly well.
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