注册 登录  
 加关注
   显示下一条  |  关闭
温馨提示!由于新浪微博认证机制调整,您的新浪微博帐号绑定已过期,请重新绑定!立即重新绑定新浪微博》  |  关闭

翻翻羊的博客

沉默中前进

 
 
 

日志

 
 

A Stranger in the Promised Land Chapter III (part1)  

2009-07-17 13:22:59|  分类: HP转载 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

  下载LOFTER 我的照片书  |

A Stranger

in the

Promised Land

~~~~ Chapter III ~~~~

Toads and N.E.W.T.s

"God gives man instincts,

And then, I swear, for his own amusement,

He sets the rules in opposition.

It's the goof of all time:

Look, but don't touch,

Touch, but don't taste,

Taste, but don't swallow,

And while you're jumping from one foot to the next,

What's he doing?

Laughing his sick, fucking arse off"!

~ The Devil (Al Pacino) - The Devil's Advocate

As the old toad approached, Harry could see that she hadn't changed a bit. The sound of her heels echoed off the walls as the whole world seemed to shrink around Harry. It almost seemed that the torches were dimming as she passed. She wore a horrid shade of pink, and her hair was done up in a perm. Her wide, toad-like face was pulled into a forced smile and she carried a clipboard under one arm.

What the Hell is she doing here? Harry wondered. Had Riddle seriously not been able to find a better teacher?

As she approached, Harry gritted his teeth. He felt his body tense all over, almost involuntarily. His fists were clenched and he felt a sudden desire to go for his wand. The back of his hand itched, despite her blood-quill never having touched this particular body. The phantom itch was just another sign of the mental trauma she had put him through. Harry felt an overwhelming desire to curse her. It wasn't often that he felt a genuine longing to hurt someone, but this was certainly one of them. Before he had a chance to do anything stupid, the Dark Knight's cold, calculating logic poured back into his mind.

He knew he had to stay calm, keep a low profile, and go about his business of finding a way home. He mustn't give her any sign that he was a threat. The last thing he needed was a string of detentions that would delay his escape. Calm yourself, Harry.

Before Umbridge got close enough to discern his expression, Harry forced himself to relax. His fists unclenched and he wiped the sweat from his palms on his trousers. He needed to appear weaker, so he slouched slightly and let his shoulders droop, and adjusted the glasses he had been wearing since he had returned. They didn't magnify or anything, but gave him the appearance of the old, weak Harry. He shifted his weight between his feet, giving him a nervous shuffle. As Umbridge came to a stop, Harry summoned all his self control, and smiled in the face of a woman who had nearly put the Cruciatus Curse on him. In a small but polite voice he said, "Good evening, Professor Umbridge."

"You know who I am?" she asked, her smile wavering and a frown taking its place. Her voice was as shrill and girly as the last time they had spoken, and the frown contorted her face so that she looked like she was about to belch.

Harry cursed his stupidity, but managed to hide his panic from his face. He needed to be more careful about what he said. Proving too knowledgeable made people suspicious, and the whole idea of this conversation was to keep a low profile. "The other students told me," he recovered quickly. "They explained what a High Inquisitor does."

"Excellent," said Umbridge, her smile returning and her voice becoming needlessly high in that sick manner that Harry knew too well. At least he was off the hook about knowing more than he should. However, her tone told him that she was trying to be nice, which probably meant that she was about to make an offer or a threat. She beamed down at him in her toad-like manner. "That's wonderful, my dear. It saves me having to explain everything. Do you have any questions, Mr Potter?"

Harry resisted the urge to ask 'why don't you throw yourself out of a window'. He paused for a moment, making it look as if he was thinking. He furrowed his brow and stared up at the ceiling for a second. "None that I can think of at the moment, professor," he replied, looking her in the eye again, but then looking away in case she saw the hatred etched into his retina. In truth his mind was spinning with questions. Why was she here? Why did Hogwarts have a High Inquisitor? Could it be that history was in fact repeating itself, as in literally a carbon copy of his world? But that would mean….

"Well," said Umbridge, interrupting his stream of thought. "If you do have any questions, my office door is always open, Harry, I want you to know that." It seemed to be her attempt at sounding caring, though she was about as convincing as Voldemort was cuddly.

"Thank you, professor," said Harry, forcing a smile and a polite tone. Inwardly, he was becoming even more suspicious. Dolores Umbridge was only polite when she wanted something. What was she after? What did he have that she wanted? And what would she do to get it?

"You are most welcome, my child," said Umbridge. My child? Yuck! Some people just shouldn't procreate. Harry was amazed that his false smile didn't slip. "As High Inquisitor, I want you to feel that you can come to me with any problem, any at all."

"Like if I was having trouble with school work?" asked Harry, testing the waters. He had given her just enough rope to hang herself with, for her answer would have to correct him, and specify more precisely what she wanted to know.

"No," said Umbridge, a glimmer of impatience crossing her face. "That is for your subject tutors. I am referring to bigger problems, bigger concerns, possibly within your own common room." It had worked, and Harry was beginning to see where this was going.

"I thought we were supposed to go to our head of house about house problems," said Harry innocently. "That would be Professor McGonagall."

"My dear," said Umbridge, putting an arm around Harry and beginning to walk with him in tow, which Harry was sure was not on. Teachers were not supposed to touch a student, except to save their life, lest they be accused of molestation. Harry, however, kept his mouth shut, despite feeling rather sick that she was anywhere near him.

"In recent weeks, in your absence, I'm afraid to say that Professor McGonagall has become…unreliable, and you must not forget that she is only deputy head, whereas I carry the power of the whole Ministry with me. As such, I am always in a position to help. If you, for example, had suspicions about certain students in your house, whom you thought might be engaging in banned or illegal activities…" So that was it! She wanted a spy in Gryffindor, the slimy toad! She wanted him to report on Katie.

It also told Harry something else - she suspected the Gryffindors of something, and Harry had a fairly good idea what.

"…and you felt morally obliged to inform someone, as you should, I might add, then I would be an ideal person to come to. In the case of certain students, teachers like Professor McGonagall, might show favouritism, or bias, and you might feel threatened by the other students. I want you to know, Mr Potter, that I can guarantee your safety. So if you have the slightest suspicion," she said, coming to the end and so adopting an even higher voice, "I want you to come and see me at once."

"I certainly will, professor, thank you," said Harry, his anger kept in check with icy precision. Umbridge beamed at him - the cat that had got the cream.

"And one more thing, Mr Potter," she said, stopping in her tracks. Harry turned to face her, wondering what she wanted now. "I have spoken to Professor Riddle about your absence. We are both happy for you to resume your place at Hogwarts. Now, he has already outlined what has happened to you, however, I know that he can seem like a very… daunting man. I was wondering if there was anything else you might wish to tell me about it, anything else you remember?"

Again, Harry paused looking thoughtful: after a few seconds he shook his head. "No Professor, I think I told Professor Riddle everything." Umbridge looked faintly disappointed, but nodded, the girly smile never leaving her features.

"Well, like I said, Potter," said Umbridge. "My door is always open. Now, I have to get to the feast - I wouldn't want to be late." Without another word, she turned and trotted off down the corridor. After a few paces she came to a stop. "Oh, and Mister Potter," she called. Harry nodded. "Kindly remove that bandana. We can't have the standards of uniform slipping can we?" She quickly turned and headed back to the Great Hall, leaving a much relieved and yet very concerned Harry standing alone. He sighed deeply, glad that it was over. He had no desire to spend any more time in her company than he had to. Personally, he felt he should have been congratulated on his performance, and even given a Bafta.

Taking a second to calm himself, he made a mental note to move with all haste to get out of this hell-hole of a world. If his suspicions were correct, then that one conversation had just told him exactly what was happening. Binns had told him that Grindelwald was gone forever, yet Umbridge was here as High Inquisitor. She had said she carried the full power of the Ministry, and the clubs were banned. Was it possible that what had happened to Harry a year earlier was now happening here? Could it be that this world was almost a carbon copy of his own, and that he was now to live through another year just like the last one? But that would mean…the Ministry had only become silent once Voldemort had returned. Did this mean that Grindelwald was back?

Calm down, Harry, he told himself. Let's think.

He didn't know for certain that that was what was happening. It could just be that Riddle was such a crap teacher and general bastard that Fudge, being right for once, had elected to keep an eye on him. Harry certainly would in his position. Thinking about what Binns had said about facts, not rumours, Harry elected to find out exactly what was happening tomorrow morning. He didn't plan to get involved, but he wanted to know. If he now had to avoid Umbridge at every move, it would create more trouble. He needed to be able to move freely.

To that end, he also needed a new way to conceal his scar. His glasses made him look like the old Harry they knew, but the scar was an instant give away. If the bandana was banned, and he wasn't allowed anything in addition to his uniform he couldn't cover it with headwear. He couldn't remove it, which meant he had to cover it up. How? Harry continued down to the Hall, his mind racing ahead, thinking of all the little tricks he knew of how to conceal himself. None for them were any good for this. As he neared the stairs, he passed a pair of girls. As he approached, the whispers became faster and more frantic. He was aware that they were both watching him. Harry quickly raised a hand to his forehead, covering the scar. He smiled at them as he passed, ignoring the fact that they were pointing wide eyed at him. He passed a few feet from them, and in the dim light, he recognised Romilda Vane, another Gryffindor who was perhaps the shallowest person he had ever had the misfortune to meet.

All she cared about seemed to be the cult of celebrity and boys. She got up at six o'clock in order to do her make up according to Ginny. She couldn't bear to be seen without it plastered so thickly that she looked like she was plastic. You couldn't even she her skin beneath all the…..that's it!

Make up. It was so simple! He didn't have to use complex excuses, new charms, or bizarre clothing. He just needed to commandeer some make-up, liberate it from the girl, so to speak. He didn't like stealing, but his time frame was very short. Having walked past one, he pulled out his wand, his back obscuring what he was doing. He stopped and bent forward, tapping his nose with his wand. Fred and George had once explained the mechanics of the nosebleed nougart, and so Harry was able to conjure a quick nosebleed for himself. He quickly turned back to approach the girls, able to smell them from fifteen feet away due to the needlessly strong perfume. He pinched his nose to try to reduce the flow, and to block out the overpowering smell of jasmine.

"Excuse me," he said politely. "Do either of you have a tissue? I've got a nosebleed." Romilda's companion paled slightly at the trickle of blood that seeped through Harry's fingers. Romilda quickly began to rummage in her handbag (stylishly small, which looked good apparently, but meant she had to carry all her books by hand - it summed up the girl, appearance over practicality), searching for a tissue. Harry could see that the bag was not full of useful things, but rather umpteen pots of various…makey-upy…things.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that he had no idea which one he needed. He was able to identify lipstick and an eyebrow pencil, but the rest were all the same to him. Which one did he need? He had heard various words in conversation; foundation, concealer, blusher, mascara, but he had no idea which was which or what they did. Concealer was what he wanted - well the name suggested it at least, but given that it was a scientific fact that girls were weird, it might not be. Either way, Harry had made his choice - now, what did concealer look like?

He had no idea, but it didn't matter.

"Ahah!" Romilda produced a tissue from her bag and offered it to Harry. He took it and held it to his nose.

"Thank you," he said, smiling at her. He then adjusted his gaze, looking past Romilda. "Oooo, a mouse,"

"AHHH!" both girls spun around and looked panicking down the corridor, searching for the mystery rodent.

Accio concealer!

A small round disk the size of a pocket watch jumped out of the bag, and into Harry's hand. He thrust it into his pocket and released the spell on his nose. The bleeding subsided as Romilda and her friend turned back to face him.

"Must have been a trick of the light," said Harry. "Sorry. Thanks for the tissue." He turned and headed off at speed towards the hall. Around the corner he ducked behind a suit of armour. There, he opened the 'pocket-watch thing. Inside there was a pale powdery thing, covered in a dry foam sponge'. The inside of the lid was a mirror. Quickly, Harry, copying what he had seen in films though the years, padded the powder onto his forehead. As he watched, the scar disappeared. Harry felt an odd tingling and his scar seemed to vanish. Harry got the impression that this was magical make-up as the powder aligned itself to his skin pigmentation. He regarded himself in the mirror. His scar was gone; his false-glasses were perched on his nose: he looked a far cry from the Dark Knight. It was good enough.

Harry pocketed the make-up and hurried down to the Great Hall to find most people already there. The staff were all there, sitting at the head table, the only one out of her seat was Dolores Umbridge. The benches looked fairly full, and it seemed that almost all of the school was already gathered. Every one of them would want to know what had happened to him. Still, he was used to stares by now. He pushed his fake glasses up his nose, and entered the hall. Harry slipped in and slid onto the end of the bench, next to a seventh year called Lindsay, whom he had hardly spoken to in five years of living in the same Tower.

He noticed that a fair few eyes had followed him in. There were people pointing, staring, and whispering all around the room. Harry felt himself blush, and let his head sink. There was no need to appear proud. He was saved from anyone working up the courage to ask him what had happened by Riddle rising to his feet. Harry noticed that he did not look once at Katie. His voice was warm and jovial as he addressed the school, something Harry wouldn't have thought possible.

"Welcome back," he began, "and a happy New Year to all. I hope over Christmas you have all indulged in many turkeys, lots of Christmas puddings, and several slices of cake, all of which are guaranteed to give your brain a wonderful supply of fuel for the coming term. Soon, we shall eat, but first, as you know from your arrival, we have a few things to discuss. Firstly, I am delighted to inform you that one of our number, whom it was believed until recently had left us for good, has returned to us. I would like to welcome Harry Potter back to Hogwarts. I know you will all be curious about Mr Potter's recent whereabouts, but I must stress that he has been through a terrifying and horrible ordeal, and it would be most unfair for us all to demand details he would rather not relive. As such, I would ask that you all give Mr Potter time. He will tell you what happened in his own time. "

Harry grimaced inwardly. If only Riddle would take his own advice and stop being a suspicious git.

At the front, Riddle continued, "Now, on to perhaps the most pressing topic: the incident on the train. I would like to start by…"

Hem, hem!

A small girly cough sounded from the direction of Dolores Umbridge. Harry heard a soft groan as the lady in question got to her feet. It seemed from the reaction that she was as popular here as she had been back home. "If I may, Professor Riddle, I would like to make this announcement myself. After all, the Aurors who so quickly responded were from the Ministry, and it was a Ministry team who conducted the investigation. My information may be more up to date than yours, so I think it would be better if I were to do this part."

Riddle stood staring at her for a moment, before his head bowed slightly and he gestured to the school with an arm. "But of course, Professor Umbridge."

The groan rumbled again as Umbridge stepped around the side of the table and adopted her usual poise centre-stage. Harry raised his head, this time determined to listen to every word, as he did not have Hermione to translate Ministry-bollocks into English. Progress for progress' sake and all that - this time he needed to listen himself. He needed to know as much as he could. Knowledge was power.

"The explosion at the station no more than thirty minutes ago was the result of incompetence by station staff. Allow me to explain." She held up a roll of parchment and took a deep breath before continuing. "This is the official report of the Aurors. It says that the recent refurbishment of the station was extensive. Once it was complete, the station staff failed to conduct a complete survey of the tracks. As such, they missed a series of pots of various substances. These were left on the tracks in the path of the Hogwarts Express. As the train arrived, the heat from the steam in the engine ignited these chemicals, causing the explosion. Luckily, the station staff were quick enough to open the doors and to move you all to the carriages."

Hang on, thought Harry. Firstly, the explosion was a good twenty metres from the train and the tracks. Secondly, if it was a problem with the tracks, the train would have been damaged. Then there was the matter of the blame. In one sentence she's accusing the station staff, and then in the next she's praising them? That made no sense. It was a bomb, the smell of carbon and sulphur gave it away. That was no chemical or paint explosion. Harry would have known that even without the presence of a masked kidnapper proficient in the Dark Arts.

In absence of white masks, Harry wasn't going to label this a Death Eater incident, but it was certainly an attack. Whatever it was, it was being covered up. The Ministry seemed to be sticking true to form: they were playing down the threat and covering it up. That, combined with Umbridge being in place, led Harry to one very nasty conclusion: Grindelwald was back and history was repeating itself.

Umbridge continued, "Aurors were on the scene within ten minutes and the situation was under control. Once again, I stress that this was an industrial accident."

"How could the Aurors investigate and file a report in less than half an hour?" asked a Ravenclaw boy loudly.

"Mr Morgan, if you have a question, you will raise your hand," said Umbridge coldly. Morgan did so, but she turned instantly away. Harry felt a flash of anger, remembering when he had been treated with similar negligence.

"I want each of you to know that you are in no danger," said Umbridge in a sickeningly sweet voice. "This was an accident and despite the rumour-mongering of a few students, this was not the work of Dark wizards." She shot a dirty look at Katie.

With that, she sank back into her chair. Riddle once again rose, greeted by a silent hall. Harry doubted half of them had believed that pack of lies. Riddle, it seemed, had nothing more to say, or thought that nothing else was worth saying, for he raised his hands,

"Let us eat," he said, clapping his hands. Instantly the tables were full of food, and the excited buzz of chatter sparked up, including a rather loud, 'Oh, I've been waiting all day for this!' from Ron Weasley's direction. Harry grinned: some things never changed.

Harry ate in silence, not talking to any of those around him, nor listening to their conversations. His mind was miles away, on the Node and how to get it started once again. It was simple in theory, but how exactly did one get ahold of rare books? Umbridge would be checking mail if history really was repeating itself. That meant he couldn't just order one, even if he knew where to order one from. If the Restricted Section didn't have such a book, he would have to look elsewhere, and the only place he knew to start was Knockturn Alley, a prospect he did not relish. He would also have to start befriending Hermione tonight. He would need her help, and an odd request from a friend was better than a random one from a stranger. He made a note to try and speak to her. It was Sunday now, so he would try later, and then if at all possible, sit next to her in a lesson tomorrow. That should get him off to a bright start.

Once the food vanished, Riddle rose to his feet once more. It was the customary spiel about not going into the Forbidden Forest, obeying the Prefects, the extension of the banned-list and such like. When he was done, he signalled for the students to return to their common rooms.

The students began to file out. Harry rose to his feet, keeping an eye on the Headmaster. As he watched, Riddle bent over and whispered in McGonagall's ear. She nodded and then Riddle left through the side door. Harry frowned, but decided that it was none of his business. Hopefully it didn't concern him. He turned and made for the exit, wanting to avoid the stares and to get back to the common room before everyone else, just to avoid the rest of the Gryffindors. As he was about to leave, he heard his name being called. Harry turned to see McGonagall making her way through the lines of students towards him.

"Mr Potter," she said as she neared. "You will accompany me to my office." With that she marched past him and out into the corridor.

Harry wasn't sure if things had gotten better or worse. He was not being stared at much, but McGonagall didn't look best pleased. Was it to do with what Riddle had told her? What had happened? Was he in trouble? This didn't scare him in the traditional sense - he could flame out if all else failed. However, he needed to be at Hogwarts to have a reasonable chance of finding the information he needed. He needed to be somewhere safe, somewhere he knew. If he had been rumbled, then he would have to run, which would cut him off from the world. He wouldn't know what was happening and wouldn't be able to use Hogwarts' great resources.

Harry fell in step behind her as she marched up the stairs and along the corridor in the direction of her office. As she arrived, the door opened for her and she stepped into the office. It looked similar, but more organised than he had seen it in the Unholy Land. There was not a full-scale overt war on in this world, for no one had acknowledged the Dark Lord's return. As such there was less paperwork as she didn't have Order work scattered around, or rather, her Order work was hidden - else she would be arrested.

Harry entered the room after her and shut the door behind him. Without thinking, he crossed to the sofa, just as he had during the Animagus classes in the Unholy Land. He didn't feel comfortable enough with this McGonagall to kick off his shoes and sprawl out with his feet up as he had done in Rose's world, but he definitely felt the need to sit down.

Harry turned and was about to sit when McGonagall looked up from the desk behind which she had sat down.

"Potter, no!" she snapped. Harry froze in surprise at her unprovoked anger. "Come here!" she added quickly. Harry crossed the office quickly, wondering what he had done wrong.

McGonagall had recovered her composure now and looked as calm as ever. She bent down and opened a drawer in the desk, pulling out a pair of spectacles and placing them on her nose. She then took a new file filled with parchments off one of the shelves behind her desk and opened it in front of her. McGonagall flicked through the numerous sheets of parchment until she found the one she wanted and removed it from the folder.

"Your timetable, Potter," she said, holding it out to him. Ah, so that was what this meeting was about. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't been found out, wasn't in trouble, and didn't need to run. Harry stepped forward and took the sheet. He stared down at it. Charms, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Transfiguration.

Not a bad set of subjects, Harry noted. It also raised the point that he was going to have to attend lessons and work during his time here. That would slow him down considerably, but he couldn't just up and leave. For a start they would start looking for him and secondly, Hogwarts was a mine of information. He needed to be here. It looked like he was in for these lessons, no matter what. Defence he was fine with, though Umbridge wasn't going to teach them much. Transfiguration he was fine with as well as Charms. Herbology was average, but Potions was a bit of a surprise. He was amazed he had managed to pass that at all, let alone be good enough for a NEWT. Harry blamed Snape's teaching, of course. If only I had been taught by the Half-Blood Prince instead of Snape, thought Harry.

He was suddenly aware of McGonagall watching him. She seemed almost to be sizing him up. Harry tensed, suddenly overcome with the feeling that he was being played or manipulated.

"Now, Potter," said McGonagall once she had his attention. "I want to discuss Potions and Transfiguration with you."

"Er…okay," said Harry, stumped by the statement. What was she on about?

"In your OWLs," began McGonagall. "You achieved an Exceeds Expectations in both subjects. However when we consider that the Acceptable to Exceeds Expectations borderline is 65 percent and your marks in Potions and Transfiguration were 68 and 69 respectively, this would suggest that you are liable to struggle, especially having missed over a month of lessons." Ah, thought Harry. The penny drops.

"In Transfiguration, your grades have fluctuated over the last few years; at times they have reached well into Exceeds Expectations, while at other times, they have bordered on a fail. Potter, I am going to be honest with you: unless you can guarantee to work at grade E, I see no place for you in my classes. In addition, you have over a month of work to catch up on, and I am not sure that you can handle that. You will have to catch up in all of your subjects, and that is a lot of extra work. Therefore, in light of this catching up, I think it best we keep you to four NEWTS, not five as is standard. In short, I am giving you the option to drop either Potions or Transfiguration, in order that you concentrate on the remaining four."

Harry nodded. His mind was racing. The initial disappoint he had felt on hearing his results had faded away as he reminded himself that these were not his grades. He was aware that back home, he still had to go through this routine, however these grades did not matter - they were not his. On top of that, he was only doing four NEWTS, which gave him even more time in the week to go about finding a way home. This could be a blessing in disguise. He would most likely be ridiculed by Malfoy, but sod him - Harry wouldn't be around long enough to have to deal with it.

"So, Potter," said McGonagall. "Which would you rather continue with, Potions or Transfiguration?" Harry paused, considering his options. Both would be hard work, even if he put in as little effort as possible, he still needed to submit something for each essay. Lessons just seemed so trivial compared to what he was doing in his spare time, that he didn't really care. He was about to pick one at random but then a thought struck him.

"Professor," said Harry, trying to appear nervous. "Could I take a course that I haven't done before?"

"What have you in mind, Potter?" asked McGonagall, surveying him.

"Well, I was thinking," said Harry. "I might like to try Arithmancy." If he could learn a little about the subject, maybe he could do some of the equations needed to get home by himself.

"I see," said McGonagall. "Potter, not having done the OWL, you cannot take the NEWT, as you simply would not be up to it. Professor Vector might be convinced to take you for an OWL in Arithmancy. You could sit in with fourth years and then fifth years next year. This has been known to happen in the past, but you must bear in mind that it puts strain on the teacher and on you. Again, you have a month to make up. Potter, it is not unheard of, but you still have a lot of catching up to do, and personally, I feel it would be better to concentrate your efforts elsewhere. Also, you would need to see Professor Vector personally, and convince him that you truly are interested and dedicated to his subject."

Harry thought about it. If he was taking an OWL level class, he wouldn't get up to the standard of equations he needed. If they were complex enough for Flamel to make a mistake, it was highly likely that they were above NEWT standard, so chances were that even a NEWT was pointless - on reflection, it had been a stupid idea. Also, he didn't have two years to study; time was against him. For all he knew, his other self was destroying Hogwarts at this very moment and Ron and Hermione could be dead. He shivered at the thought. No, he needed to find a way home as quickly as possible. Hermione or Vector would have to do the equations for him. Harry didn't like the idea of forcing Hermione into doing anything, but if push came to shove, he would have to use force. She is not the real Hermione, he reminded himself. Knowing two Hermiones from two worlds, he knew this was true, but he had to train himself to get out of this mindset. She is not real, he said to himself. She is not real!

He turned back to McGonagall. "Yeah, it was a silly idea," he said with a small smile. "I think Potions would be better." McGonagall raised an eyebrow as he rejected her own subject. Harry blushed slightly and looked downwards, half in genuine embarrassment and half to look more nervous. McGonagall looked at him for a minute before tapping his timetable with her wand. As Harry watched, the boxes with Transfiguration on them disappeared.

Harry folded it over and pocketed it without looking.

"Is there anything else, Professor?" he asked. He wanted to get back up to the tower, mainly to get some sleep.

Was it his imagination, or did McGonagall look a little…uneasy? She shifted slightly, and looked as if she was wrestling with her conscience.

"Yes," she said softly, sighing deeply and removing her glasses. "Pot…Harry, take a seat." Harry took a few steps towards the sofa. "No," she interrupted him, "here". She gestured to an armchair near the desk. Cautiously. Harry sank into the chair, resting his elbows on the armrests and holding his hands cupped together in his lap. He was reminded of the hours spent in here learning to turn his body into that of a Phoenix. Harry pushed the idea aside and focused on McGonagall and his act. He consciously interlocked his fingers and began to move them back and forth, appearing nervous and fidgety. He tried to make himself small, as if he were afraid. He had spent many years making Uncle Vernon think he wasn't worth the trouble of hitting or locking up, trying to fade into the background. He was rather good at appearing small and weak.

McGonagall finished polishing her spectacles and placed them back on her nose before turning to face Harry, her expression now less severe. Harry was fairly sure she was about to ask him where he had been. Even teachers, it seemed, wanted gossip straight from the horse's mouth. He was, however mistaken.

"Harry," she began, still looking awkward. "I want to apologise to you." Well, he certainly hadn't been expecting that!

"Why, professor?" he asked, trying not to show his relief.

"Harry, when I escorted you to St. Mungos last December," she began, "the day of the…fire, I…it was only then that I had a detailed look at your file." Harry said nothing. In all honestly, he had no idea what to say, as he didn't know what was in that file.

Harry had no idea what she was on about and decided it was best to keep quiet. He continued to stare, waiting for her to make the next move.

"I had read your file," explained the professor. "I knew what it contained, but for some reason, one I cannot name myself, or even understand, I never did anything about it." Harry sat motionless, staring at his head of house, She shifted in her chair, sighed and removed her glasses, placing them on the desk. Using both hands, she brushed non-existent stray hairs back up over her head, the palms of her hands pressing her skull. As they arrived at the base of her skull, they began massaging her neck. She looked rather tired and weary.

"Harry," she said at last. "What I am trying to say is that I am sorry." Again, Harry did not move. Partially because he didn't know what to say, partially because McGonagall's apology had taken him by surprise and thirdly because he didn't know what the Harry of this world would do if he were here.

"It was my duty, as your head of house, to look after your wellbeing," said McGonagall speaking slowly. It is clear to see that I failed in that respect." There was a pause and Harry felt obligated to speak. He just knew that he had to keep his answers short. Every lie he told had to then be true from then on, and he risked contradicting himself or showing knowledge he shouldn't have if he talked too much.

"You couldn't have known about the fire," said Harry at last.

"The fire…" echoed McGonagall. "You know it still haunts me, Potter. The heat, the smell. On occasions, I still have nightmares. It is a miracle that you survived. However, my failure goes back long before the fire, long before this year. In fact, I think it goes right back to the time I came to visit you in Little Whinging, do you remember?"

Harry stiffened. He had no idea what had happened. McGonagall had come to Privet Drive? But he wasn't the chosen one. Why would the Order…Oh! Suddenly he understood. She had delivered his first Hogwarts letter.

"You were so young and so scared," said McGonagall, reminiscing. "I knew that your mother and aunt had not gotten on well. When I saw you, dressed in those oversized jumpers, meek as a mouse, constantly glancing at your uncle before answering, I knew what it meant. They had tried to suppress the magic out of you."

Harry nodded, assuming the Dursleys wouldn't have changed.

"Having seen the kind of upbringing you had had," said McGonagall, "having been shouted at by your uncle for bringing what he referred to as 'unnaturalness' to his house, I should have paid you closer attention, Harry. Now it is not my wish to belittle or insult your family in front of you: however, I believe you to be sufficiently emotionally mature to be able to deal with the fact that you had a rather painful upbringing, and at that the view of you taken by Mr and Mrs Dursley was atrocious and cruel."

"What are you trying to say, professor?" asked Harry.

"That I realise now that I made some serious errors of judgement," said McGonagall. "I wish I could take them back, but I can't. I am hoping, Mr Po…Harry, that you will accept my apology and that we can start again."

"How do you mean, professor?" asked Harry, though he had a feeling that he knew where she was leading him.

"I can appreciate that you are in a unique situation," said McGonagall. "After what you have been through, the world must seem a hostile place." Harry raised an eyebrow. Her words were more appropriate, than she could ever know. "If you ever need any help, if you ever need someone to talk to, then my door is open. If you have any worries, concerns, or suspicions about yourself or any of your fellow students, you can come to me."

"Suspicions?" The word echoed in his mind. This was not the first time that evening that he had heard that word. It was not the first time he had been asked if he had any about certain students.

"These are confusing times," said McGonagall, shifting slightly. Harry's semi-professional eye could see that she was uneasy, though she was doing her best to hide it. "It is important to know who we can trust."

"Ah," said Harry, understanding. This was the same talk he had had with Umbridge just an hour ago. Both parties had already tried to recruit him. She was no better than Umbridge.

Harry didn't feel in any way flattered, for they were recruiting him simply as another spy, another person who could see what Katie was doing. He felt rather insulted that he was being used, but realised that that was how it had always been. Dumbledore had used Harry back home, and then tried to again in the Unholy Land. Harry would have felt better if they were recruiting him as a fighter, not a sneak, but he realised that they knew nothing. Either way, it didn't affect him - he was not on the Ministry's side, nor was he on the Order's side. He was on his own side.

"Do you understand what I am trying to say?" asked McGonagall.

"Yes," said Harry. A thought suddenly occurred to him. He could test how close to his own past this world really was. If he was wrong, the worst that could happen would be he would appear mad - his faulty memory could be blamed for that. It was time to test McGonagall. "Progress for progress's sake must be discouraged," said Harry clearly.

McGonagall didn't move, save for her eyebrows narrowing just slightly. She had tried to hide the reaction, but she couldn't. It was clearly not what she had been expecting. Then again, reciting the Umbridge doctrine would be enough to arouse her suspicions. By her reaction, Harry now knew for certain that Umbridge was here for the same reason she had been in his world, and McGonagall and Riddle's Order were indeed working behind the scenes. Harry now had to make the point that he was not on Umbridge's side either.

"Fudge and Riddle can argue over who is in charge until they are blue in the face," said Harry calmly. "You're not the first to try this, Professor, and rest assured that I have given Dolores Umbridge the same answer as I will give you. This is your fight, not ours. Leave the students out of it." With that, Harry turned to leave. He didn't want to show any more knowledge than he had already. Thus far, he hadn't told her anything that he wouldn't have remembered or been told by the other students.

It seemed from McGonagall's responses that history was indeed repeating itself. She hadn't questioned anything he had said, even the name of the Minster. It was Fudge here, not Crouch. This seemed to be a carbon copy of his own world. That meant that the Dark Lord was alive and well - and plotting. Assuming it was a perfect copy, Katie would be having one hell of an awful time, and there was worse to come. Although it was none of his business, Harry decided to quickly try and help her.

Just before he reached the door, he turned back to his Head of House.

"Instead of trying to get other students to spy for you, why doesn't Riddle just talk to her?" asked Harry, before disappearing out into the corridor.

He paused outside and took a deep breath. Riddle and Umbridge were both trying to get the rest of the students to spy on Katie and her friends. The poor girl was being watched from every side, and didn't know who to trust. Riddle was just as guilty of manipulation and underhanded tactics as Umbridge. Then again, so was Dumbledore.

Harry thought back to what it had been like when he had been in Katie's position. He remembered the slander, the dirty looks he had received. He remembered the detentions, the Blood-Quill, the school under the cloak of tyranny. He shivered at the memory. Only it was no longer a memory, was it? It was happening right here, right now, in this very school. The only difference was that he wasn't the target. Yet he still felt pity for Katie. All those people who didn't feel it for him last year; the thought made him angry again. How could they have given up on him like that? They had known him long enough. How could anyone believe that he would make it all up?

Those same stupid cowards who followed the Ministry like lambs to the slaughter were now casting the same hateful eye at Katie. Admittedly, Harry knew more than most - in fact, more than anyone in this universe - but he still failed to see how anyone could think that someone like Katie would make it all up. Poor girl.

And it would only get worse. In a few months, she would head to the Ministry and have her Godfather killed before her eyes. She would use the curse on Bellatrix and from there…well, from there even Harry didn't know what would come next - unless she jumped into another universe…oh, that was too confusing to think about.

Harry stood back upright. Poor Katie. Still, it was the way of things. She needed to go through that. The experience would make her strong and give her the will to fight. Knowing the prophecy, knowing the reason why she was in this situation, she could then move on.

It also showed that Riddle was no better than Dumbledore. Harry sighed. Two great minds and both of them managed to overlook the simplest of emotions. On reflection, Harry realised that certain people had to forego the luxury of being able to feel, so that the masses could have it. People like Dumbledore, Riddle, and Harry himself, as a soldier, needed to be able to switch off his feelings and do some ungodly things in order to preserve the happiness of the masses.

How does God weigh that up? wondered Harry. Some terrible sins done to protect people? Taking a sin upon oneself to spare the innocent? Would He understand? Harry didn't believe that confession purged the soul, in fact he didn't really believe at all. He had grown up in Muggle England, being told that there was a God, but not really believing it. He sat on the fence. However, having seen more of existence than anyone else, he couldn't help but wonder if something had made it all this way, and if that were true and Harry was ultimately to be judged… what would be the verdict? Could he put his hand on his heart and say that of all the evil he had done, all the lives he had taken, that it was all for a good cause?

He shook his head. He had done some god-awful things in his lifetime. He couldn't help but wonder: if he were in Riddle's place or Dumbledore's, would he make the same choice?

"Is he gone?" came a voice from inside the room.

Harry froze. It was a male voice, and one that he had no difficulty in recognising. It was Riddle. The son of a bitch had been in there through that whole conversation! He had been spying on Harry. Harry felt a surge of anger and a deep-rooted desire to go in there and blast Riddle from here to Kingdom-come.

Suddenly Harry realised that if he was asking if Harry had gone, then McGonagall was about to check. He needed to make himself scarce, but this was a conversation he wanted to hear.

Two can play at the spying game, Riddle, Harry thought.

"Gravitae Invertus!" he hissed, swishing his wand as Sirius had taught him in the Unholy Land. His feet left the floor and he felt an odd blend of spinning and falling as the world rotated around him. Harry fell upwards to the ceiling, landing gently amongst the rafters and looking 'up' at the door below him. It was disorientating to stand upright on the ceiling with gravity holding you down, which was in fact up. It was confusing.

He recovered quickly from the disorientation and crouched down in the shadows, twenty feet above the floor. The advantage of castles was that they were on such a scale that the ceilings afforded a lot of shadow to move amongst.

Suddenly McGonagall appeared below him, stepping out into the corridor and looking in each direction. She stared in each direction for a few seconds and then, satisfied that they were alone, she turned back to face the door and Harry saw her nod. Harry's body tensed as he watched Riddle appear from beneath an Invisibility Cloak, which he then folded and hung over his arm. Harry's fists clenched as he watched the deceitful bastard. He felt a strong desire to curse Riddle, but managed to keep his calm. That must have been what he had whispered to McGonagall about at the end of the feast. Sneaky conniving tosser!

The bastard had been hiding somewhere in the room under that cloak…the sofa! That was why McGonagall had stopped him from sitting down on it, not once, but twice. How he had failed to pick up on it? He had nearly sat on Riddle! Harry nearly laughed, but his anger stopped him. How dare Riddle try and spy on Harry! In truth, Harry knew that he had been for some time, but he was so frustrated with himself for not realising that Riddle had been in there that he needed someone to blame.

"What do you think?" McGonagall asked. Riddle looked up at her, pausing for a moment. Although the corridor was gloomy, Harry could see the troubled expression on his face.

"Curious," said Riddle, stepping out into the corridor, his voice hushed. What Harry wouldn't have given for a set of Extendable Ears. "His responses to you bringing up his family were shallow, and he maintained a level of calm I would not have expected from him."

"He's too calm," agreed McGonagall. "All that talk about his mistreatment and he brushed it off like water off a duck's back."

"Yet he seemed to understand, to remember," continued Riddle. "He knew exactly what you meant, it just didn't seem to affect him. He is Harry Potter, but something in his mind, his mentality, has changed a great deal." Harry pondered this. So Riddle accepted that he was who he claimed he was, but was suspicious of his change of character. Must tone down, must tone down, Harry told himself.

"I cannot help but wonder why he wanted to do Arithmancy, either," said McGonagall. "He has no history or interest in the subject." Harry took a deep breath. Surely Riddle wouldn't be able to link that small fact to what he had planning, would he? It was a hell of a jump.

"That, Minerva," said Riddle, "is the least of our worries." Harry let the breath go. Phew. Harry knew that the most important thing was that Riddle must never learn about the Node.

"So what have you found out?" McGonagall asked him. Harry's ear pricked up. This was what he was here for, what he wanted to hear.

Riddle sighed. "I have spent the last two days visiting all the Muggle hospitals in reach of St Mungo's."

Uh-oh. Harry's blood ran cold. He froze and a chill ran up his spine. Christ, what had Riddle found?

"None of them treated any burn victims matching Harry's description in the whole of December," Riddle announced. "There are no records of any comatose teenagers, either." Christ, he had been found out! Riddle knew he was lying! What now? Would Riddle hunt him down? If he did, Harry would have to run. Where would he go, what would he do? Would he end up on the streets?

"Maybe he wasn't burned; his magic might have…" began McGonagall. Yes, maybe McGonagall could talk him out of it.

"It gets worse, Minerva," said Riddle, shaking his head. God, what else had he pieced together? "The Muggle Fire Brigade were never even called to St Mungo's."

Mary, mother of God. Riddle had proof that Harry had lied to him. Was the Node safe? What would Riddle do? Try and capture him? That wasn't a problem, Harry could Flame out in an instant if needs be, but doing so would cut him off from Hogwarts. It would take longer to get back - he would have to steal resources and become a criminal just to get home.

"But that means that the whole story is a lie," said McGonagall, voicing what Harry and Riddle had each been thinking.

"A lie he was able to tell me to my face," said Riddle, bowing his head and massaging his forehead. He suddenly seemed much older and more tired than he was. "I was not looking for a lie, I grant you that, but he was still able to Occlude his mind. This is very concerning, Minerva. We have no idea what has happened to Harry or who taught him Occlumency."

"Is that really important?" asked McGonagall. "Does it matter who taught him?"

"Yes," said Riddle. "Occlumency is not easy and takes much practice. If you were to spend time teaching or learning it, you can be sure that it was for a very good reason. Why was he taught it? Why does he need it, or think that he needs it, unless to be able to lie and hide his thoughts? What is he hiding? Who wants him to hide whatever it is?"

"I see your point," said McGonagall. So did Harry. He couldn't fault Riddle on his logic. He did have a keen mind, when put to a good use. "Perhaps we should get him to teach Miss Bell," suggested McGonagall.

"No, Minerva," said Riddle, looking up sharply. "I think that putting Kathryn and Harry together is probably the most dangerous thing we could possibly do." Harry made a note - Riddle now considered him a danger. He needed to be doubly careful if Riddle was now to be doubly sneaky.

"You think he might be dangerous?" asked McGonagall.

"His response to your suggestion that he report to you about Miss Bell would suggest not," said Riddle, looking thoughtful. "If anything, he seems to be protecting her. He has told two different people that he will not spy, and suggested I allow myself to come close to Miss Bell."

"He did show a remarkable amount of intuition in realising what was happening," said McGonagall. "He knew you were the one watching her. The boy has a keen mind." Harry grimaced, had he really been that obvious? In hindsight yes. He had thought he was doing the right thing, staying neutral and casually mentioning helping Katie, but it seemed he had done the opposite, and become more involved. Harry cursed his own stupidity.

"What worries me," said Riddle, "is his advice for me. He said I should get close to her - the one thing that I am trying my best not to do. Look at the evidence: he knows more than most people should about the situation and he is tempting me to do what Grindelwald wants me to do."

"You believe he is working for You-Know-Who?" asked McGonagall, outraged. Harry felt an equal rush of outrage at the accusation. He was NOT a Death Eater. He also felt a glimmer of gratitude that McGonagall didn't believe that.

"I do not know," said Riddle. "He doesn't seem to be, but someone has taught him these skills. Harry is a walking, talking contradiction. Ignore the fact that he is hiding something and seems to hate me. If you speak to him, he seems generally a nice enough person; polite, courteous, if a little distant, and seems like he was trying to help Kathryn. However, he arrived armed to the teeth, he can block his mind, and his mind is sharper. In his conflict last week with Mr Malfoy, he seemed more assertive, and yet so gentle. Instant aggressive reaction, but then backs down from any form of a fight. I can't profile him, Minerva. I can't say how he will react in any given situation. My only thought is that he bears no ill will towards the students."

"So what do we do about him?"

"At present, nothing," said Riddle. "I do not feel he poses a threat to the students around him, though we must step up our surveillance. Also, we must insure that he and Kathryn are never left alone together. I fear his effect on her would be most negative, and she will need to stay focused."

McGonagall nodded. "I will endeavour to keep an eye on the pair of them. I think Mr Longbottom could be convinced to ensure that Potter and Bell are never left alone. If he were to overhear a conversation, for example." It was Riddle's turn to nod.

"I shall leave it in your capable hands," he said to her. "As for now, Minerva, we should get some sleep. Good night." He bowed slightly.

McGonagall checked her watch and nodded before retreating into her rooms. Riddle waited until the door had closed before turning on his heel and heading off in the direction of his office.

As Riddle disappeared down the corridor, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He was gone.

Harry dropped down to the floor and took a moment to steady himself.

Well, that conversation had certainly been enlightening, and was definitely cause for concern. Riddle knew he had never been to a Muggle hospital. He was suspicious enough to set up a meeting with McGonagall and watch it. He also didn't want Harry anywhere near Katie. He was most likely protecting her from Harry. Still, it didn't matter. Katie didn't really concern Harry. She would have to go through the upcoming events in order to learn from them. That was what she was meant to do. It wasn't his fault or his problem.

Still, Riddle was getting more suspicious, and that wasn't good. Katie was suspicious too, but she hadn't the resources to investigate properly. Riddle was more of a concern. Harry had better step up his attempts to find a way home, and quickly. Riddle was hatching a plan to monitor Harry and Katie, possibly using Neville. Harry would need to keep his ear to the ground in order to avoid these little traps. Now the students were back and it was harder for anyone to monitor him, he should have been free to search, but with Riddle, Umbridge, McGonagall, and Katie all watching him, it wasn't going to be as easy as he had first thought. Still, he did need to make a start. Tomorrow, it was time for a quick visit to Borgin and Burkes.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Katie scuffed her feet as she wandered aimlessly down the endless passages of the East Wing. The sound of her scraping soles echoed off the walls in a rough hiss. The sun had set hours ago and the only light came from the flickering torches. Yet, it didn't matter for she hardly noticed them as she passed, walking onwards with no purpose or destination. Her only objective was time. She wanted to be alone.

"Kill the spare!"

Those three words echoed through her mind. He had killed Cormac just for being there. And then, a few hours ago, someone - and she had a fair idea who - had detonated a bomb at the station in Hogsmeade. Then Umbridge had hinted that Katie had made it all up at the feast. Inside, Katie was a turmoil of emotion.

So it had finally begun. He had been back for over six months. The utter silence of the first term had been a nightmare. She had endured the slander, the insults, and the hostile gazes for four months. Now that there had been an attack, albeit a rather small one, now perhaps someone would believe her. That was a rather selfish point of view, but she couldn't help feeling that way.

Another strong pang she felt was guilt. Luckily no one had died, but it was close enough. An attack on Hogwarts, on her friends, was a strong message. Grindelwald was back and he was starting his campaign against Hogwarts. It was odd that he had been quiet so long, but then again, if the Ministry was ignoring him, he was probably taking the time to quietly build an army. She guessed that this attack meant he was now ready. War was imminent. Katie was scared - not that she would admit it to anyone. How many would die before it was over? How many more Cormacs would there be? How many more of her friends would be made to suffer?

OOF!

Her foot hit something warm and soft. She stumbled forwards, pressing her hands against the wall to try and steady herself. She managed to regain her balance and, having righted herself, stared down into a pair of heavily magnified eyes.

"Washhhh where you'rrrre….hic….gowwwing!" said an indignant voice from the gloom at her feet.

"Professor Trelawney?" said Katie, kneeling down next to her. By the light of the burning torches, she could see the professor slumped against the wall, her shawls falling down over her shoulders, her glasses crooked and her hair a mess. Katie didn't need to see the empty bottle of sherry by her side, as the smell of her breath was enough to alert anyone within half a mile to the fact that she was drunk.

"Are you alright?" asked Katie, not knowing what else to say. The last time she had seen Trelawney, Umbridge had been trying to evict her. Riddle had taken pity on her, though, and she had been allowed to stay. Part of Katie thought that it would be better for her to have gone, but she did pity the so-called Seer. Riddle too seemed to pity her. Although Katie recalled him mentioning that he didn't overly value Divination, and thought that she had made only two correct prophecies in her life, he had still taken pity on her and allowed her to stay in the castle.

Katie hadn't heard a peep from her ever since, until she had literally stumbled across her having passed out in a corridor. Katie grimaced. It shouldn't really be her job to get her back to her rooms, wherever they were. She wasn't even a prefect, but she also knew that she couldn't just leave her alone. Trelawney might wander off again in her drunken state, and there were many things in the castle that could potentially be dangerous in her state, the most prominent of which was Peeves.

"Come on, Professor," said Katie, taking the professor by the hand and pulling the empty bottle free from her grip and slipping it into her own pocket. She hoisted the professor to her feet. As Katie released her, she fell back against the wall for support, though she managed to remain standing. She looked around the corridor, as if having awoken from a daze.

"I'm late for me lesson," she announced, pointing at the setting sun. Lessons hadn't restarted yet, and even if they were running, Trelawney was, in fact, about five hours late, but that didn't seem to bother her. She pushed off the wall, and managed to stagger a few steps in the wrong direction. Katie managed not to laugh and grabbed the Professor by the arm.

"Come on," she said gently, pulling the professor around to face her.

Suddenly Trelawney's head snapped up to face her. With an unheard-of burst of strength, Trelawney grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her back against the wall, any sign of dizziness or incoherency gone. Katie cried out in surprise as Trelawney brutally forced her against the wall, her face inches from Katie's.

When she spoke, the voice was not her own. It was a voice that Katie had heard but once before.

"He shall come to you on swift wings, a stranger from an unholy land," she rasped, her voice croaky, deep and vacant, "and disaster shall follow in his wake. My last shall be re-written, your future re-cast. But beware your guardians; each will tempt you into their own darkness…choose wisely, Chosen One….Your fate and the Knight's are now entwined. He is not as strong as he appears. His life now hangs in the balance, but it is you who must choose for him, and with your choice, he may forever be lost to this world…choose wisely, Chosen One, choose wisely."

With that, her eyes rolled upwards into her head and her body went limp, slumping to the floor in a pile. Katie was too shocked to move. She stood shaking for nearly half a minute before coming to her senses, the words playing over in her mind.

That was the same voice she used when she predicted….oh my GOD!

It was a real prophecy, just like the one she had made all those years ago! She struggled to remember all that had been said. A stranger was coming, who would tempt her - no, her guardians would tempt her. Her fate was entwined with the night and someone's life was hanging in the balance. She had to protect whoever it was. Katie's head was spinning.

She stepped away from the wall, her mind racing. Katie turned to head back to the common room when her foot came into contact with something warm and soft. She looked down.

Of course! Trelawney. In light of the prophecy, she had completely forgotten what she was doing here and with whom. Not bothering with manners any more, she pulled her wand out of her pocket and muttered the Levitation charm. She had no idea where Trelawney was staying, so the Hospital Wing seemed to be the best choice. Madam Pomfrey could give her some potion and she would be as right as rain.

Katie came out of the passage onto the East staircases.

"BELL!" she turned to see Professor Sinistra coming towards her, darting up the stairs. "What has happened here?"

"I found her drunk, professor," said Katie, holding out the bottle she had confiscated.

"Ah, yes," said Sinistra, taking the bottle. "She was always fond of a drop of sherry."

"She's had a little more than a drop," said Katie, looking down at the unconscious professor.

"Hmmm," said Sinistra. "Very well, Miss Bell, return to your common room. I shall see to it that Professor Trelawney gets to the Hospital Wing."

Katie didn't need telling twice and turned on her heel, heading back to the common room. She needed to write this down.

~~~~ + ~~~~

 

  评论这张
 
阅读(462)| 评论(0)
推荐 转载

历史上的今天

评论

<#--最新日志,群博日志--> <#--推荐日志--> <#--引用记录--> <#--博主推荐--> <#--随机阅读--> <#--首页推荐--> <#--历史上的今天--> <#--被推荐日志--> <#--上一篇,下一篇--> <#-- 热度 --> <#-- 网易新闻广告 --> <#--右边模块结构--> <#--评论模块结构--> <#--引用模块结构--> <#--博主发起的投票-->
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

页脚

网易公司版权所有 ©1997-2017