Chapter 87: Power and GreedSummary:Murder noodle~
Chapter TextGrindelwald averted his gaze immediately, but the snake had her eyes closed. "This one smells like power and greed, Mistress. Is it safe to keep him around?"
"Safe for me, my dear. Where is the body?"
Regina pointed with her snout to a corner of the room, where a great many bones were piled up. Among them was Umbridge's body, mud-streaked but mostly intact. Grindelwald stalked forward, eyes downcast, and severed the head with a twitch of his fingers; Hazel assumed he had wandlessly cast a Severing Charm.
As he brought it back with him, Hazel noticed two things. The first was that her expression was forever frozen in a look of brain-frying fear; the second was that no blood was dripping from the neck. "Regina, did you suck all the blood from her body?"
"Yes, Mistress. Like all snakes, I can only eat so much at a time, so I was planning to save this one for later."
"Fair enough. Oh, do you have any shed fangs? The Professor was interested in taking one or two."
"For my venom, no doubt." Regina stretched her head out and broke off two of her fangs, letting them clatter to the floor at Grindelwald's feet. "There you are."
"My thanks, mighty one." The old man used his magic to bring the fangs to him, rather than bending over, and placed them in a specially reinforced bag. "Very well, Miss Potter, I'd say our business is concluded."
"True. Thanks again, Regina." She gave the big murder noodle a pat on the snout, then led the way back up to civilization, pausing only so that Grindelwald could retrieve a decent length of shed skin and scales from the moultings.
Back up top, she closed the entrance, ignored Myrtle, and led the way back to McGonagall's office. Grindelwald made no move to hide the severed head of the Umbitch, and several students stared as they passed by. Whatever hope they had of keeping it under wraps was thoroughly dashed by now.
Back in the Headmistress' office, Grindelwald placed the severed, bloodless head on her desk. "No need for identification spells after all, the beast had barely drained the blood from the corpse."
McGonagall cocked an eyebrow at the sight, then shooed it aside and into a bin. "Very well. Severus, collect the item in question and deliver it to the relevant authorities at the Ministry. Do not obfuscate Miss Potter's role in her demise."
"Right away, Headmistress." Snape bowed, then used his wand to levitate the head and place it in a sack. "May I use your fireplace?"
"Certainly." She unlocked it with a flick of her wand, and Snape was shortly carried away by a flash of green fire.
That done, McGonagall summoned a tea service with another flick of her wand. "Sit, both of you. Miss Potter, in light of your gruesome actions I am extending your detention tonight into tomorrow night as well. However, in recognition of various services rendered, both to the school and to society at large, I am awarding two hundred points to Slytherin, and one hundred points to the other three Houses in recognition of the assistance rendered by your classmates. All of you will be considered for Orders of Merlin, as well as other awards and recognitions as appropriate."
"Thank you, Headmistress." A detention was hardly a fitting punishment for first-degree murder, but screw it. She hadn't used any Unforgivable Curses, after all.
McGonagall prepared her tea, sipped it, sighed. "It is truly a shame that such a promising student as yourself has been forced to commit such atrocities, Miss Potter. I strongly entreat you to consider therapy over the summer; violence and murder are not how we mages are meant to comport ourselves."
"I know that, Headmistress." Even Hazel could tell it was a valid concern, of course. She knew that once the Ministry was rebuilt and the last of Fudge's, Umbridge's, and Voldemort's influences were purged, that law and order would come back and she wouldn't get away with killing and violence any longer.
Part of her insisted she get away with it as long as possible. Another part of her mused about leaving England for less lawful areas, like she had bragged to Snape that day in the Ministry infirmary. A quieter part of herself considered therapy, as McGonagall had suggested.
"So… that's it? I killed a woman with my pet snake and I'm getting away with it?"
"It would certainly seem that way, Miss Potter."
Hazel fidgeted under her gaze. "That doesn't seem right. There should… there should be consequences."
McGonagall poured her another cup of tea. "Perhaps when our government is in any shape to prosecute your crimes, they may choose to do so. However, I think it is far more likely that they will acknowledge your role in bringing the war to an end, and brand you a hero. And most societies rather frown upon their heroes being denigrated, even by the law."
The words burst out of her before she could stop them. "No! Professor, I'm not a hero! I'm a killer, a murderer! A child soldier!" She could feel herself spiraling, and wasn't sure how to stop it. "Why isn't anyone punishing me?!"
Behind her, Grindelwald had drawn his wand and was watching closely, but in front of her, McGonagall was calm. "How do you wish to be punished, Miss Potter?"
"I- I don't know! Something!"
"You believe you have committed atrocities? Barbaric acts? Perhaps you wish someone would perform such acts upon you in retaliation?"
She thought of the things she had done, the illegal curses she had cast, the people she had killed. "Yes! Yes, that is exactly what I want! I didn't just kill people or curse people! I enjoyed it! I'll do it again!"
"Yes, you certainly will."
The old lady's cold, clinical agreement gave Hazel pause. "Wha- that's all you have to say?"
"Miss Potter, I am not a judge or a jury, and I am certainly no executioner. I am merely your Headmistress, and what you are asking me to do is beyond anything I am authorized or even expected to perform. I can assign detention, deduct points, strip your badges, even expel you from this institution, but I will not descend to the level you are asking of me."
Hazel blinked, breathing hard, hands twitching. "I…"
Grindelwald put his hand on her shoulder, and she felt an icy chill drench her body, quenching the panic. "Perhaps we have overstayed our welcome for now, Miss Potter."
"Uh, right. I'm s-sorry, Headmistress, for…"
"Apology accepted."
"Right." She shrugged the old warlord's hand off so she could bow, and quickly left the room. Where had that little episode come from? She'd been doing so well up until then. Hadn't she?
The spiral staircase brought her to the floor below, and she made room for Grindelwald, who joined her moments later. His mismatched eyes gleamed slightly. "A very productive morning, was it not?"
"Yes sir. I wish I hadn't fallen apart earlier."
"Think nothing of it. In your shoes, even I would be hard-pressed to maintain my composure at all times."
She turned and cocked an eyebrow up at him, skeptical. "Really, sir? I find that hard to believe, you don't even go to bed with your nightshirt rumpled."
He laughed at that. "I am seven and a half times your age, my dear. I've had a lot of practice keeping it together. At your age I would have fallen apart just as easily."
She had to think that through. "So you're… one hundred and twelve years old?"
"Give or take a few months."
"Wow. Wizardkind really do live a long time if we're not killed early."
"Of course we do. Now, assuming the Headmistress had granted your stated wish, what did you hope to gain from it?"
She had to think about that one. Honestly, she wasn't sure. The whole thing was a blur. "I don't even remember what I said, sir. I think I was just spiraling until you did your freezing thing."
"You were demanding punishment, Miss Potter. I believe Minerva interpreted it as you requesting she use the Cruciatus Curse on you. She was correct to refuse."
Now she remembered. It made her groan from embarrassment. "Ugh, I really said that shit, didn't I?"
"You did. Again, what did you hope to gain?"
"I dunno. I just… I want to face consequences for what I did, sir. Real consequences, not points or detentions or bullshit philosophical mumbo-jumbo."
"That is your conscience, Miss Potter. Why are you only feeling this way now? You have, after all, been killing for a very long time."
She had to think about that. The obvious answer was that she had killed Umbridge in cold blood, but was that really it? She had killed Rabastan Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, and Riddle himself in cold blood too, hadn't she? Granted, she had done Lestrange through Riddle, but she'd killed Umbridge through Regina too. Never mind that she hadn't personally committed the fatal act; she had schemed it and given the order, therefore it was on her.
"I think I feel that way because… because the war is over?"
"Are you asking me?"
"I dunno! Does it make sense that I would feel that way?"
"I have never been a teenage girl, Miss Potter, and it has been a hundred years since I was a teenage boy. I could never tell you what does or doesn't make sense regarding your feelings."
"You're just being pedantic." She gave up and sulked for a while instead, walking in silence next to the smug old warlord.
All the same, it was worth considering. She had killed six people over the course of five years, yet only after the last of those killings did she fall apart. It wasn't because it had been in cold blood, it wasn't because of the end of the war.
Or maybe it was? What had been the very first thing she'd done after waking up in the Ministry infirmary? Fall apart all over Snape as her emotional barriers failed, then bitch and moan at Remus and give Dumbledore a beatdown she hoped he was still sore from. The stress,the pressure of the war had forced her to keep a lid on her feelings, and without that pressure, she was a spiraling mess.
She felt the usual giddy rush at successfully rationalizing and justifying why she felt a certain way, but it was tempered by the realization that there was no easy way to fix it. "I think I figured it out, sir. It wasn't the war itself, but the pressure of the war; I couldn't feel guilt while that noseless freak was out there, so I didn't let myself feel. But I killed Umbridge in cold blood, without the pressure or stress of the war weighing my feelings down, so I felt them all."
"Now that makes sense, Miss Potter. What do you intend to do about it?"
"What can I do about it? The way I see it, I have two options: go to therapy, or deal with it."
"Those are not mutually exclusive, you know."
"Don't be smug."
"That is like telling water not to be wet, Miss Potter."
She very much wanted to flip him off, but they had reached her common room, so she bowed and disappeared inside instead. What a fucking day!
Chapter 88: RecruitmentSummary:Hazel and Kingsley have a chat.
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextFebruary became March. Hazel browbeat Zacharias into not throwing the match against Slytherin, knowing a resounding loss would take the last of the wind out of Crabbe and Goyle's sails. The match itself happened on a breezy, overcast day; the Hufflepuffs were dispirited and listless, a testament as much to Smith's ineffectiveness as a leader and coach as it was to the hopeless odds of winning against Hazel's squad.
Just to rub it in, Hazel got permission from Sinistra and McGonagall to step back from the match and let Aria take her place as captain, leading the Slytherin reserves. The badgers still got one of the worst drubbings on record, and afterwards, Aria was a hero to her shrieking little firstie pals.
Hazel kept it brief as she shook Smith's hand after the match. "I'll expect your entire team on the pitch during our next practice, Smith. Main squad, reserves, trainees, everyone."
Smith looked defeated and tired, but he shook her hand firmly enough. "We'll be there, Potter."
That was a bright spot in an otherwise intolerable sea of mediocrity. Hazel felt like she was in a fugue state, because if she let herself feel, she wasn't sure what she'd feel. There were other bright spots, like Defense classes with Snape; he'd always wanted to teach DADA, and with Voldemort's curse on the position gone, he was free to do so. She thought he looked somewhat healthier too, less tense and stressed out; it was good to have him back, no matter what the other students said.
It was just too bad that Sinistra was still Head of Slytherin; Snape's interim probation stipulated he couldn't have any greater authority over students than a professor would normally have, but if it bothered him, he didn't let it show.
The memorial service for Ron and Neville happened, though Hazel couldn't bring herself to attend. She had seen them die, the memory was still too fresh in her mind to bear reliving. She locked herself in her dorm instead, grateful no one tried to drag her upstairs, and remembered them in her own way; by getting blackout drunk and remembering the good times. Remembering how they had lived, not how they died.
Grindelwald was still teaching Divination, still combining it with military tactics and strategy. Hazel had been the only one to pass the Battle of the Bulge assignment when she determined the German forces were better off not committing to the battle at all, and reserving their strength for a tactical withdrawal back to fortified positions along the Rhine, within range of German railway artillery. The level of mental engagement the class demanded more or less precluded her ability to retreat into her own mind, which was a net positive despite the downsides.
Trelawney was in a funny sort of limbo. No longer required to teach Divination, or to sub in for Defense, she was able to give all her attention to her duties as Head of Ravenclaw. Padma and Anthony reported that the House had never been in better shape, and Hazel looked forward to the end-of-year rematch to decide who won the Quidditch Cup. Slytherin was so far ahead in the House Cup standing that, barring some catastrophe or a sudden show of favoritism from McGonagall, they were all but assured to win the Cup in June.
It was a surprise when Trelawney began sitting in on Ancient Runes lessons. Rumor began swirling that Babbling was considering retirement, and was grooming Trelawney to take over should Grindelwald choose to stay on. No one begrudged Babbling her choice; she'd been teaching Runes since before their grandparents' grandparents had been students.
The other classes… Hazel tried to be fair, she really did. But damn if it wasn't all just drudge work by now! Not even Ismelda's mastery of illusion spells and bloodthirsty storytelling could keep Hazel's attention. She was at the top of the class in Charms and Transfiguration without any real effort, ran on autopilot in Potions, stayed in the back for Care of Magical Creatures, and struggled to stay awake for Astronomy and Arithmancy.
As for Herbology, Sprout took pity on her and usually let her do homework or study the lesson hands-off, unless it was an important one she had to get her hands dirty for. Burbage was the only one who made an effort to keep Hazel engaged, calling on her in class and tracking her progress with cars and motorcycles.
On a whim, Hazel decided to ask McGonagall for permission to stash a dirt bike down at Hagrid's hut so she could ride it around the Valley on weekends or whenever she had to get away from life around the castle. She reckoned if she framed it as a combination of self-care and Muggle Studies prep, she might get away with it.
She waited for an evening when her prefect patrols had her upstairs, and detoured to the Headmistress' office to ask her question. She gave the password and went up the revolving stairs, knocking at the door before heading inside. "Headmistress?"
McGonagall was not alone. Dumbledore and Kingsley were there as well, seated before her desk. Both men rose to their feet immediately upon Hazel walking in.
McGonagall remained seated, of course. "Is it urgent, Miss Potter?"
"Not particularly urgent, Headmistress. But it's nothing very discreet, either."
Kingsley inclined his head. "A few moments will not be the end of the world, Headmistress. Albus would agree that your students always come first."
"Quite so."
"Very well." McGonagall beckoned Hazel forward. "So?"
"Yes ma'am. I came up to ask permission to stash a motorbike down at Hagrid's hut, so I could ride around the Valley on weekends. Or… or when I need to get away from the castle, you know, clear my head."
She could see the older woman mouthing the word 'motorbike' to herself, but only for a moment. "This is for the Muggle project you've been pursuing in Professor Burbage's class, I presume?"
"Not exactly, ma'am, though it would help for that. Like I said, it would only be on the weekends, or if I need time to myself."
McGonagall thought for a moment. "So long as your marks and grades do not suffer, I see no reason not to allow it. That being said, I have received reports from your professors that you've been… withdrawn, during classes."
Hazel saw no point in denying it. "Yes ma'am, I have been. I'm… trying to keep myself in check, you might say."
"Admirable." McGonagall thought a moment more, then nodded. "Very well, I will allow it. On condition that your academic performance does not suffer, as I said. I will not hesitate to revoke this privilege if you abuse it to get out of class too often, or if the centaurs complain about the noise or smoke. Do I make myself clear?"
"Quite clear, Headmistress." Feeling relieved, she stood and bowed. "Thank you very much, that was all I needed. I'll take my leave now."
Kingsley cleared his throat. "Miss Potter, if you would wait below once your patrols are over, I wish to have a private word with you before I depart."
"Certainly." She bowed again and slipped downstairs, to continue patrolling. As usual, the Map made things easy, though no one tried to mess about, much to her disappointment.
When her patrol was up, she returned to the gargoyle, just as Kingsley and Dumbledore were coming down. Dumbledore nodded gravely and strode off at once, but Kingsley lingered. "You are aware that fifth year brings career advice, yes?"
Hazel vaguely recalled something to that effect. "Yes sir, I think so."
"Well, I would urge you to consider Auror training. You and your student militia handled yourselves very well during the Atrium skirmish, despite unavoidable losses. Your own use of unconventional tactics showed adaptability and a willingness to think outside the box, as well."
She wasn't sure what to think of that, so she politely hedged instead. "Sounds like a challenge, sir. But I'm in no state to be considering my future, as you can imagine."
"I understand. Would you at least consider it, Miss Potter? I am not alone in wishing to see potential such as yours honed and put to use, rather than wasted on frivolous pursuits."
"I promise I'll consider it, Auror Shacklebolt." She hoped the sudden icy formality and formal glare would make it clear she was done with this conversation.
"That is all I ask." He bowed over her hand and smiled gently. "Have a pleasant night, Miss Potter."
"You too." She gave him a few minutes head start, then made her own way downstairs.
Down in the common room, she joined her friends by the fire. "I had an interesting chat with Kingsley Shacklebolt just now."
Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Was he trying to recruit you?"
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"He'd be an idiot not to try. You're amazing, and you're the big damn hero of our generation." That was Blaise, ever ready with a snide remark.
"Ass kisser. Also, don't call me that."
Tracey giggled. "It's not kissing ass if it's true~"
Daphne reached over and ran her fingers through Hazel's hair. "We all need a purpose, Hazel, you most of all. With V-Voldemort dead, where's your purpose?"
Hazel knew the answer to that: she didn't have a purpose. And, sure, maybe being an Auror would give her purpose, for a while at least. Or hell, maybe she could drop out just before finishing and leave England in disgrace, taking her fortune and her training overseas?
She shrugged and dragged herself back to the present before her friends could accuse her of spacing out. "I told him I'd consider it, and that was all I could do for now. But listen, I also went to ask McGonagall for permission to keep a motorcycle down by Hagrid's hut for me to sneak off to."
"For your Muggle Studies project?"
"Sure, Draco, but also for when shit gets too heavy for me to handle. You've probably noticed I've been all withdrawn in most of my classes lately."
"Everyone's noticed, you boob." Daphne sounded reproachful. "You're a fucking hero, Hazel, people are gonna notice."
Hazel's eyelid twitched, and she tried very hard not to get mad at Daphne. She grabbed her hand and made her lock eyes. "Daph, if you value our friendship, never call me a hero again. I mean it."
"But-"
"But nothing! I didn't do anything heroic, I killed a dude and got two of my friends killed! I am NOT a hero!"
"O-Okay! Hazel, okay, I get it!"
She was scared, and that made Hazel back off. "Sorry about that. I just… please don't call me a hero."
Daphne hugged her. "You're my hero, I don't care what you say~" Tracey and Pansy piled on, hugging her too, and Hazel couldn't stay mad. Sheer snuggle power improved Hazel's mood, and she pushed the girls off so she could do homework.
Hazel got so absorbed in doing homework that she missed when the others went to bed. She was just putting the finishing touches on a Runes translation when the quiet of the common room suddenly caught up to her; glancing around, she saw it was totally empty, except for one of the older prefects checking all the chairs.
It was Rosier, she thought. Not sure of his first name. He saw her sitting there and scowled. "Even war heroes need their beauty sleep, Potter."
"Yeah yeah." She packed her shit and stood up, stretching and yawning and slouching off to her dorm. Stupid older prefects anyway.
She did her workout, took a shower, and crawled into bed, only to discover Pansy waiting for her. She'd dozed off, of course. Hazel smiled softly, and slid beneath the covers, spooning herself against Pansy's back.
Pansy stirred, but didn't say anything. She just laced her fingers into Hazel's and dozed off again. Hazel nuzzled the back of her neck and did the same. The nightmares were manageable, and she slept the whole night through.
Notes:I haven't been replying to comments lately, and I apologize. I'm still reading them, though, don't worry. Main story is ALMOST finished, I think maybe I just have Hazel fatigue lol
Chapter 89: Randomly SelectedSummary:Hazel is "randomly" chosen for an exam. Actually, a bunch of exams.
Chapter TextHer next Arithmancy class was interesting, at the end when Professor Vector approached her. "Miss Potter, I wish for you to come back here this afternoon after your last class, please. Be sure to eat a heavy lunch."
Hazel wondered if she was in trouble for spacing out during class recently. Or had she gotten a detention and forgotten about it? But she kept her questions to herself. "I'll be here, ma'am."
She spent the rest of the day wondering what Vector wanted, and ate a heavy lunch as requested. It made for a sluggish afternoon, but she dug up her old bottomless thermos and kept herself caffeinated with tar-like coffee until it was time for her meeting.
"Miss Potter, good." Vector stood up as she walked in. Hazel noticed there was only one desk, and it had a thick stack of parchments on it. "Please, take a seat."
Nervously she sat down. "What's this about, Professor?"
Vector looked her right in the eye. "An assessment the Wizarding Examinations Authority wished for me to give to a randomly selected student. It may take several hours, so I hope you brought your own coffee."
Hazel was certain she was lying, but she wasn't sure how she knew, so she had no grounds to call her out on it. "I brought my own coffee, yes."
"Very well. Begin when ready."
There was no heading, Hazel realized when she turned over the first page. It simply went straight into the most difficult Arithmancy problems she'd ever imagined. Spell matrices, Ukrainian notations, questions on how emotional instability of the caster affected a spell and why.
It only got harder from there. There were concepts they had barely covered in class, and essay questions that demanded an understanding of why the Arithmantic laws worked the way they did. Imaginary numerology, or analyzing how it made a difference whether a mage had or didn't have the loyalty of a wand. And the parchment was charmed so she couldn't double-check her previous work either.
It was nearly curfew when she finally pushed the last parchment aside. "Pardon my language, Professor, but that was bullshit." She stood up and stretched, trying to ignore her stomach growling. "That was some straight-up fuckery."
"Ten points from Slytherin." Vector stood up too and gathered the stack of parchment, glancing over the first few pages. "Hm. It will take them a few days to grade this, but I'd say you've got a good chance of passing."
"Okay? What's in it for me?"
Vector cocked an eyebrow. "Is academic success not its own reward, Miss Potter?"
"Sure, once I know if I succeeded or not."
"Hmph. Get to bed, Potter." She dashed off a note to excuse Hazel for being up late.
"Yes, Professor." Hazel accepted the note, bowed and left the classroom, making sure her prefect badge was prominent on her chest. She checked the note; it was terse and to the point:
Please excuse Miss Potter for being out past curfew. She was doing extracurricular work with me.
-Prof Septima Vector
She ran into Filch as she was crossing the entrance hall. He scowled, but evidently still remembered when she was nice to him over break, because he didn't seem sure what to say. She spoke instead. "Is everything alright, sir?"
"Yer out past curfew, Potter, and it ain't yer night fer patrols."
"I was with Professor Vector, sir." She showed him the note, and he grumbled but had to accept it. "Do you need a hand with anything, sir?"
"Nah, bugger off."
"Yes sir." She bowed and went on her way, and had no other issues reaching the kitchens for a late-night snack to make up for missing dinner. Moxy was still awake, but most of the house-elves were asleep in little barrel cottages in one corner of the vast space, which Hazel found adorable.
But she didn't linger long. She ate some shepherd's pie, drank some milk, had some mint ice cream, then patted Moxy on the head and went on to her own common room.
A few days later, Hazel was called up to McGonagall's office again, via another paper tiger. It was the exact same invitation as before, a single sentence inviting her for tea before dinner. "What does she want this time?"
Daphne giggled. "For someone who hardly ever gets detention, you sure do spend a lot of time in the Headmistress' office."
"Sad, but true." Hazel wadded up the note and stuck it in her pocket again. Maybe it was about that weird test she took with Vector?
Her suspicion was correct. Vector and Sinistra were waiting with the Headmistress as Hazel strolled inside. "Professors?"
McGonagall gestured to the hard-backed seat in front of the desk. "Have a seat, Miss Potter."
Hazel sat. "Is this about that randomly selected assessment Professor Vector gave me the other day?"
"It is, yes." Vector put the graded exam in front of her. "I must confess that I misled you, Potter. That wasn't a random assessment, it was the Arithmancy OWL."
"Oh." It made perfect sense in hindsight; there'd been shit on that exam she had no fucking clue what to do about. "I'm guessing I failed?"
"Not at all, you passed with flying colors."
Hazel took the exam and flipped through it. There was hardly any red ink among all the green. "So what was the point of this?"
"You are one of my most promising students, Miss Potter. But ever since the kerfuffle at the Ministry, you've been… distant. And I was hoping this test would give me grounds to dismiss you from my class, at least until next year. You desperately need more free time, in order to properly decompress."
Hazel hated being told what she needed, but she couldn't deny that Vector had a point. "Why lie about it, then?"
Vector shrugged. "I didn't want to intimidate you, that's all. We wouldn't have seen your true abilities if you'd been performing. That being said, you got an Outstanding on the test, so the Headmistress has authorized your removal from the class."
"I'm guessing I don't have a choice?"
McGonagall summoned a tea set. "No, Miss Potter, you do not. Now, let us have tea."
Hazel fumed in silence while the professors had their tea, though she didn't fume long as her own tea helped her relax. "How many other professors are planning to ambush me with surprise OWLs, then?"
Sinistra cocked an eyebrow. "It wouldn't be a surprise if you knew ahead of time, now would it, Miss Potter?"
"I suppose not." That wasn't a denial, she noted.
When the tea ran out, Hazel excused herself and made a beeline for Hagrid's hut. She wanted to catch up with the big lug, and check on her bike. It was dark and cold, but that didn't bother her. She saw the hut was lit up, so she walked up to it and knocked on the door. Fang howled and Hagrid got up to get the door; she heard his footsteps thudding on the floor until he got there. "Who'zere?"
"Hagrid, it's me, Hazel."
"Arr, c'mon in!" He held the door for her and she slipped by, enduring Fang's licking and whining as she pushed toward the table. "How ya bin, 'Azel?"
"I've been busy, Hagrid. And there's a conspiracy to make me less busy!" She told him all about Vector's little OWL scheme, her summary dismissal from Arithmancy, and her suspicion that other professors were planning a similar intervention too.
"She tricked me into taking the OWL, Hagrid! Three months early! Never mind that I passed, she just wanted an excuse to kick me out of her class!"
"Naw!"
"Yeah! She told me so herself! Her exact words were: I was hoping this test would give me grounds to dismiss you from my class, at least until next year. You desperately need more free time, in order to properly decompress."
Hagrid was busy with the stove, but still paying attention. "Soun's like she 'as yer best int'rests at 'eart?"
"Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't. Look, the point is-"
"Casserole!" Hagrid thumped a big pan of casserole down on the table, and Hazel's stomach growled as the smell filled the air.
"Uh, yeah, sure, the point is casserole."
Hazel ate like a horse; Hagrid's cooking was still improving by leaps and bounds, though she doubted he had used regular beef in this one. Horse meat, maybe? She wasn't sure she wanted to ask. Whatever it was made of, it was damn good, better than the house-elves' cooking in some ways.
After the second helping, her curiosity got the better of her. "Okay, spill. What's the meat in this?"
Hagrid airily waved a hand. "Yeh wouldn' believe me if I tol' yeh."
"Tell me anyway. It wasn't beef, I can tell that much."
Hagrid bothered his beard for a few moments, then sighed and gave up. "Fine. It were troll-bred ox."
"I really hope you mean they were raised by trolls."
Hagrid hesitated a second too long, and Hazel groaned. "Dammit, Hagrid…"
"Oi now, you ate it, didn'cha? I saw yeh, stuffin' yer face 'n carryin' on. 'Sides, they had ter be culled anyways, figured I may as well git some use out of 'em."
Hazel had nothing to say to that. She finished her plate and stood up. "Thanks for dinner, Hagrid, even if the meat was weird. Did my bike end up down here?"
"Yeh, in th' shed aroun' back."
"Thanks." She bowed to Hagrid, gave Fang a pat on the head, and slipped out to check on the bike.
As far as she could tell, it was a BMW R80, scrambler-style with knobby off-road tires and tweaked suspension. Sirius had probably worked on it, she reckoned; it was too late to go for a proper ride, but she could sit on it and enjoy the thrum of the motor for a few moments.
So she did exactly that, straddling the seat, flipping the petcock and kicking the motor to life. It sounded healthy, and she laughed at Fang's howling and carrying on from inside the hut. After a few moments she killed the switch, flipped the petcock back off and left the shed, heading back to the castle.
She was on edge over the next few weeks for more academic trickery, but her teachers were too clever. The Astronomy OWL was presented to the whole class as an unusually detailed star chart to fill in during a double class. Babbling didn't even bother concealing the nature of the test she put before Hazel one dreary Saturday afternoon. Grindelwald, who was still teaching despite violating the terms of his probation, openly scoffed at tests and exams, but made a point of reviewing the methods that would be tested.
Ismelda found an excuse to put Hazel in detention for an afternoon, and had her do the History of Magic OWL that day. Hazel was confident she passed with flying colors, but Ismelda still had to hand the test over to the Wizarding Examinations Authority for formal grading. In Muggle Studies, Hazel had accrued enough extra credit to drop the class entirely, and after proving her skill on a motorbike and presenting months of research to Burbage and some anonymous old witches and wizards, she was made to do exactly that.
By the end of March, Hazel had been forced to drop out of Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies, Astronomy, and History of Magic. No one thought it as scandalous as she did, not even Hermione; the extra free time in her days definitely helped with her remaining course load, but it didn't do anything against the lingering trauma from the war.
Chapter 90: First RideSummary:Hazel goes for a ride outside the grounds, and later has an argument with Hermione.
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextHazel would never forget her first ride in the valley beyond Hogwarts on that old BMW. She'd wanted to ride in the Forbidden Forest, but she knew the centaurs would never allow it. It was a rare sunny weekend, with traces of winter still lurking in the air, in the odd patch of snow or ice. Up until then she had been content to race around the grounds and lawns of Hogwarts, but today she wanted something more.
In place of all the restrictive gear Muggles had to wear, she cast simple protective charms over herself and the bike, and made sure to muffle the noise of the exhaust so she wouldn't be a nuisance. She also had leggings on under her skirt; she could have ridden naked and put warming charms on herself, but she didn't feel like being scandalous, not in public.
The bike kicked to life beneath her with an eagerness that matched her mood. Hagrid waved with one hand and held Fang back with the other; the big hound wanted to go with Hazel, it looked like. She waved back at both of them and took off, confident in the muffling charms to keep the noise bearable.
Rather than heading through the main gates she elected to take one of the many lesser-known paths leading away from Hogwarts. It really was a wonderful day, she thought as the motor revved and chugged between her thighs. The paths were clear, and the denizens of the hamlets and villages gave her a wide berth; even if they didn't recognize the motorcycle (and many of them did), they recognized her. And that was good enough.
The farther she rode from Hogwarts, the freer she felt. She wondered why that was, and answered herself almost in the same breath; Hogwarts had become a chore. She had blood on her hands, and the world wasn't ready to punish her for it yet. Out here, beneath a partly cloudy sky, there was no one to judge her for her sins, nothing to remind her of her vices. Just herself, her wand, and her bike.
Up ahead, she saw a hamlet. Which one was that? Feldcroft? Some sort of drama had happened there, before the turn of the last century. The Sallow family, if she recalled right.
She left the bike behind a tree, put some basic alarm charms on it, and went the rest of the way on foot. Feldcroft was a sleepy, sunny place, and the denizens stared at the scars on her head, until they saw her Hogwarts uniform and prefect badge; then they waved in welcome.
Right, she represented the school. Leave the attitude at the door, she told herself.
She didn't do much around the hamlet except wander about and nod hello at a few folks. There was a tiny, rustic pub, and she went in for lunch: a burger, chips and butterbeer. The barkeep was a few years older than she was, so she flirted a little.
"Hey there, I'm Hazel."
The barkeep smiled. "Hello. Flora~"
"The food is great, did you cook it yourself?"
"I sure did." Her smile widened. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."
Hazel smiled back and backed down. "Well, I just wanted to say thanks."
"Of course! Let me know if you want a refill." The woman bustled off, and Hazel finished her meal in peace, getting a refill to go and leaving a healthy tip behind. She wandered around Feldcroft a bit more while sipping her drink, and when she realized she had just nodded to the same old woman twice, she decided it was time to head back. So she drained her drink, tossed it in a bin, and went back for her bike.
The ride back to Hogwarts was as peaceful as the ride down, but she felt tension bleeding back into her limbs. What was the matter with her? She tried to summon up her old excitement for learning magic, but all she got instead was the sight of Voldemort's brains splattered all over the Ministry atrium, the echo of the fatal gunshot. Even her wrists twinged with a phantom ache. That made the tension even worse, naturally.
She brought the bike to a halt before she panicked and crashed, and leaned against a tree to catch her breath. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"
Just a couple more months, she promised herself. A couple more months of study prep, of OWLs, of mundane bullshit. Then, Sirius or no Sirius, she would drop out, finish her education remotely, and wait for the Ministry to fix itself so she could face the music for her actions.
She didn't know why she- no, she knew damn well why. She had broken the law, she had taken lives, performed other crimes. Never mind that she had done so to save England or whatever the fuck; never mind that Dumbledore had manipulated her into doing all those things. The blood was on her hands, and she had to reckon with that.
The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the trees as she reached Hagrid's hut, parked the bike in the shed. Hagrid wasn't around; probably out doing his duties. She made sure the bike was safe to leave, petcock switched off and all, and trudged up to the castle. She couldn't bring herself to move with more enthusiasm.
By the time she reached the steps, she had no energy left at all. Lifting her foot seemed like a monumental task. The weight of her hair was pulling her sideways. She felt like, if she were to fall over, she might never get back up again.
She really, really didn't want to go in there, did she?
Footsteps from behind. Who was it? She couldn't turn around. "Hazel?"
Thank God, it was Hermione. "Hello."
"Why are you just standing there? Are you alright?"
"Why shouldn't I stand here? It's a lovely day."
Hermione moved around, and Hazel saw the worry in her face. "You look terrible. Come on." She took Hazel's hand and dragged her up the stairs; her feet moved on autopilot to follow, for all that she silently wished she might trip. "Have you eaten today?"
Her face felt numb, but she forced the words out anyway. "Yeah, I… I had lunch in, uh… Feldcroft."
"Feldcroft??" Hermione stopped abruptly and spun about, and Hazel walked into her. "Ugh, what is wrong with you today?"
Hazel just shrugged. "Went for a ride on my bike, farther than usual. So what?"
Hermione just groaned and went back to dragging her along. "You need to come see Pomfrey for-"
"No!" Hazel yanked her hand back with a glare. "No, Pomfrey can't help me. I'm… it's all in my head,Hermione!"
"So? You still need help, Hazel! And I'm sick of watching you self-destruct! So is everyone else, even if they don't have the nerve to say anything!"
"I am not self-destructing!"
"Oh really? Then what do you call being forced to drop out of half your classes after they tricked you into taking OWLs early??"
"Wh- hang on, you said you approved of that, that it was a good thing I had to drop so many classes."
"That doesn't mean it isn't self-destructive. You wouldn't have had to if you weren't-"
Hermione abruptly went silent when Hazel jammed her wand beneath her chin, and she finished the statement in a hiss. "-if I hadn't been manipulated into ending a war I never fucking asked for?!"
"That's not what I was about to say, and you know it. Get your wand off me."
"Then what were you about to say?"
"You wouldn't have had to drop so many classes if you weren't burning yourself out so spectacularly!"
Hermione wasn't flinching. Not backing down an inch, not even with the tip of Hazel's wand digging into her chin. She just stood there, glaring steadily up into her toxic green eyes.
…toxic green eyes?? Christ. She had to work on her internal narration.
Someone cleared their throat. Neither of them noticed. Not until an invisible force yanked them apart; Hermione yelped and flailed about, nearly tripping; Hazel spun about, wand already up to attack-
-only to be casually disarmed by a flick of Professor Sinistra's wand. Sinistra herself plucked the wand neatly out of the air. "Is it too much to ask of you two to keep your lovers' quarrels out of the public eye?"
Now Hermione was flustered and shaking. "Professor! How- I-"
"Breathe, Miss Granger, you are not in trouble." That cool gaze flicked to Hazel, who had drawn her other wand out of reflex. "Lower your wand, Potter, before I penalize you for threatening a professor."
"Sorry, Professor." Hazel made herself take a deep breath, and slowly lowered her wand.
"I am not the one you need to apologize to."
"Right. Sorry, Hermione."
"Forget it." Apparently unable to abide further humiliation, Hermione turned on her heel and fled the scene.
Guilt flooded Hazel's body, and all the benefit of her ride was lost. "Goddammit…"
Sinistra handed her wand back, and she accepted it with a muttered thanks. "Take care that you do not alienate your remaining allies, Miss Potter. For now, I will deduct thirty points from Slytherin for this scene."
"Yes, Professor."
"Now run along. You have much to make up for."
"Yes, Professor." She bowed stiffly and went after Hermione.
Ugh, what had she been thinking? Pulling her wand on her best friend? Nothing could excuse that sort of behavior. Hopefully she hadn't ruined everything.
She caught up to her in an empty corridor; she was summoning a small flock of canaries. "Hermione?"
No answer. Just more canaries.
"Hermione, I'm sorry, alright? I overreacted, I know I did, and nothing can excuse what I did."
Still no answer. Hermione wasn't even looking at her, she was just silently conjuring more and more canaries. They flitted around her in circles, cheeping softly.
This was stupid. "Look at me when I'm trying to apolo-"
"Oppugno!" Those canaries were suddenly headed her way in a swarm of yellow chaos!
Hazel reacted without thinking! A silent, wandless Incendio blasted the swarm to ashes, giving her time to draw her wand! "Hermione! What the fuck?!"
"Don't you 'what the fuck' me, Potter! Incarcerous!"
Hazel threw herself to the floor to avoid the heavy black chains, then cast a silent Glacius at the floor beneath Hermione; it was quickly covered in ice, and it caked her legs clear up to her knees, trapping her in place!
But she didn't get a chance to follow up, as the chains twisted around and tried to capture her again! The time it took her to dodge and destroy them gave Hermione a chance to blast herself free of the ice and melt it away!
Suddenly, neither of them could move. Full paralysis.
McGonagall stood at the end of the hall, wand up. "What in Merlin's name is going on here? Miss Granger, explain yourself."
Hermione was released from the paralysis, and she hesitated briefly. "I, um… I startled Hazel and she overreacted, and I was… trying to defend myself…?"
Hazel was glad she was still frozen, or the surprised look on her face would have given away the lie.
As it was, McGonagall simply arched an eyebrow, then shook her head. "You are a terrible liar, Miss Granger. Thirty points from both your houses for unsanctioned dueling. Return to your common rooms."
She released Hazel with a wave of her wand. Hazel bowed and left the hallway, Hermione on her heels.
Once they had a respectable distance from McGonagall, Hazel stopped. "Why'd you lie to McGonagall?"
Hermione wouldn't meet her eyes. "Because you're my friend and I don't want you to get in trouble."
"Even if I deserve it?"
"Well… let's say I don't want you to get in trouble because of me."
"That's better." Hazel hesitated, feeling awkward. "I really am sorry, you know. I'll try to be better."
"Don't try, just be. And if you pull your wand on me again without cause I'll get it taken away from you. Both of them."
Hazel was certain that wouldn't keep the Elder Wand away from her for long, but she didn't mention that. Nor did she need a wand to use magic, but she didn't mention that either. "Understood."
"Good." They hugged briefly, then went their separate ways.
Notes:The story is finished at 96 chapters. I am very relieved, even though the ending sucks. Hazel fatigue is real.
Chapter 91: Career AdviceSummary:Hazel scandalizes her Head of House.
Chapter TextHazel wanted to spend Spring Break with Sirius, but he was still tearing England apart looking for Wormtail, and Remus was helping him. Which was a shame, Hazel wanted to help with the hunt, and try to talk Sirius into letting her drop out of Hogwarts.
Her next thought was to spend it with Narcissa, but she was busy helping rebuild the Ministry, and she had Draco at her side learning statecraft. Pansy's mum was doing the same with Pansy, and the other girls in her dorm had already left for a French beach; Hazel didn't have time to get a guardian's permission by the time she found out about the trip.
She was thus stuck at Hogwarts, studying with Hermione. It was excruciatingly boring, at least until Hermione bribed her with sex to sit still for a few hours and stuff a few more facts into her oversaturated brain.
Hermione glared at her across the library table. "Will you please sit still? Just because you passed five OWLs early doesn't mean you'll nail the rest."
Hazel glared right back. "I'd rather nail you, and we both know it."
She was about to be outraged, Hazel saw it on her face. Then her expression shifted to something cunning, and Hazel knew she was doomed.
"Hm, nail me, eh? And what've you done to earn it, hm~?"
"Uh…"
"Nothing but sit there whinging about how bored you are. So I'll make you a deal, Hazel Jade Potter: get through this study session with me and you can nail me all you like after dinner."
"...you are evil, Hermione Jean Granger, legitimately evil."
"If it's evil to refuse to let my best friend fail, then let me be evil. Now, quill up~"
"Ugh." Hazel hadn't been particularly horny before, but she was now, and weirdly enough it helped her focus. Or maybe it was just having a goal to look forward to. Either way, the studying went much better after that.
It wasn't as if she had bad study habits, Hazel told herself when Hermione finally called it a day. It was only that she couldn't keep up with Hermione or students like Padma when it came to hitting the books; hers was a far more practical and physical knowledge. She felt like she did better in practical classes like Potions, Defense or Herbology, classes where she could get hands-on, prove her skill in immediate ways.
In any event, they finished studying, had dinner in the weirdly empty Great Hall, then they disappeared up to the Room of Requirement for the second half of their deal. And it was worth the wait.
Of course, Hermione proceeded to use that carrot as a stick against Hazel for the rest of break, and Hazel hated how well it worked against her. For her. Whatever.
From the end of spring break until June was nothing but OWL prep, and Quidditch. Fifth years (and seventh years too, for NEWTs) all over the castle were cramming until all hours of the night, forcing Heads of House to order them to bed.
Some of them dealt with the stress better than others, it had to be said. Hazel had a lot of sex, Hermione spent hours at a time muttering to herself, while Ernie MacMillan marched about, grilling others on their study habits. He cornered Hazel outside Herbology one day. "How many hours a day you been revising, then?"
She shrugged apathetically. "I dunno. Three or four, I guess."
"I'm getting in eight!" He puffed his chest out proudly. "Well, not exactly eight every day, but I do try to-"
The bell rang, and Hazel dashed into the greenhouse before he could drag her in any deeper.
Draco, meanwhile, constantly put on this performance of knowing the examiners, as if they were dear family friends. Hazel overheard him outside Potions: "It's not what you know, it's who you know! Mother has always been close to Madam Marchbanks, calls her Griselda, has her over for tea or dinner all the time-"
Hermione bristled. "Shut up, Draco, the examiners are magically bound to impartiality, which you'd know if you really had Madam Marchbanks over so much!"
The other students laughed, and Draco's ears went pink, but he subsided as Penny waved them all inside for more revision.
At the start of May was career advice week. A notice went up the week before, along with numerous pamphlets, leaflets and notices describing various careers in the wizarding world. The notice read:
CAREER ADVICE
All fifth years will be required to attend a short meeting with their
Head of House during the first week of the Summer term,
in which they will be given the opportunity to discuss their future careers.
Times of individual appointments are listed below.
Pansy was apathetic to the whole thing. Her ambition was still to land a wealthy husband after Hogwarts and never work a day in her life. She turned her nose up at the leaflets and skipped her appointment altogether.
Draco, set to inherit more gold than he could ever spend, nonetheless had aspirations of being a Potions Master. The pamphlet for that career was unusually thick. "Look at all this, you can't just coast by on a solid Potions grade."
Hazel read it over his shoulder. The pamphlet indeed claimed that true Potions Masters (or Mistresses) needed solid foundations in Herbology, Charms, Healing magic, Dark Arts, Magizoology, even Arithmancy. The basics of Divination were also recommended, so as to forecast optimal brewing times and dates, and it noted as well that true Masters of the craft familiarized themselves with the history of Potions and famous Potioneers.
Daphne was absorbed in a bright pink and orange leaflet describing the requirements for being a Muggle Liaison. "OWL in Muggle Studies, obviously. Familiarity with the Statute of Secrecy and other applicable statutes, the ability to cast Obliviate in an emergency… oh, and the most important thing is 'enthusiasm, patience, and a good sense of fun!' Bollocks." She tossed the leaflet back down with a scoff.
Hazel heaved a sigh, toying with the Auror pamphlet. "None of these seem exciting enough." She was reluctant to voice her true aspiration, to simply leave England behind and make her bones as a soldier of fortune. Keep doing what she'd been doing all this time, only for money instead of duty. And maybe she could outrun the ghosts in her past and the blood on her hands.
But how would she articulate such a desire? Snape might understand, but he wasn't her Head of House anymore. Sinistra was too stodgy and scholarly to give credence to something so farfetched. Burbage would possibly get it too, but, again, not her Head of House.
Millicent was engrossed in a pamphlet on training security trolls, a field Hazel had zero interest in. She peeked over Blaise's shoulder instead. "Curse breaking, eh?"
He made a vague noise of assent, and after a minute she wrote him off as a bad job.
Draco finally put his pamphlet aside. "What are yourplans for the future, Potter?"
Hazel shrugged. "I dunno. Haven't decided yet. I'm only 15, aren't I? Maybe I'll play Quidditch professionally."
Pansy snickered. "That's what the Weaslette wants to do with her life."
"So? Doesn't mean I can't do it too."
That settled it. She'd pretend she wanted to fly professionally, at least for now.
When her appointment came, she went to Sinistra's office, knocked, and walked in. She had taken care to clean herself up that morning, to present herself at her best.
"Miss Potter, right on time. Please, sit." Sinistra had a small smile as she waved Hazel forward.
"Thank you, Professor." Hazel sat down and smoothed her skirt. "I think I want to be a professional Quidditch player."
"Ambitious indeed." Sinistra extracted a leaflet from the pile on her desk. "You'll need excellent flying skills and a solid school Quidditch record, both of which you already possess. It is also recommended that players, and especially Captains, learn at least the basics of magical first aid, even if the team has a dedicated Healer; you know better than most that seconds can mean the difference between walking off the pitch and being carried off on a stretcher."
Recalling her brush with Lockhart in second year, Hazel grimaced. "Yes, Professor."
"Beyond that, making it in the league requires connections as well as skill; you can be the best flyer in the world, but it won't matter if no one notices." She paused, and smirked. "In your case, I suspect being noticed will be the simplest part of the process."
Hazel smirked back. "So, who would be best to know?"
"Your old captain, Marcus Flint, has made quite a name for himself, he could vouch for you. And our old Potions Master, Professor Slughorn, is still well-connected all over England, and even beyond, despite his retirement."
Slughorn, Slughorn. Hazel had heard that name before. But this was no time to get lost in her own head. "I'll be sure to reach out over the summer, Professor."
"And it may not be a strict requirement, but knowing the history of the game and how its rules and positions have developed over the years will come in handy more often than you realize."
"I can see that, sure." Quidditch was bound to have a political side, and knowing obscure trivia would give her an edge if she was serious about it. "I suppose I could talk to Madam Hooch about it in more detail?"
"Quite so. These should be of interest to you." Sinistra handed Hazel a stack of pamphlets; one for professional Quidditch, one for Healing, and one for Quidditch historian.
"Thank you, Professor." She accepted them and tucked them away. "Well, if that was everything…" And she made to stand.
"Ah, not quite. Sit back down, Potter." There was a sudden firmness in her voice, and Hazel paused, then sat down again. "That was a little too polished. Why don't you explain your real ambitions?"
Fuck. Hazel dithered for a moment, then sighed. "Promise you won't laugh?"
Sinistra merely cocked an eyebrow, and Hazel grew flustered. "I'm serious! Promise you won't laugh!"
"Fine, Potter. I promise I will not laugh."
"Thank you." She took a deep breath. "In that case, I… I want to be a mercenary. A soldier of fortune."
Sinistra blinked slowly as she processed those words. "And… what makes you think you are suited to such a life?"
Hazel shrugged again. "I mean, it's basically all I know, you know? How to fight, how to kill, how to bleed for causes I don't really believe in."
Sinistra took a deep breath through her nose, and let it out through her mouth. "I… cannot claim to understand what you have been through, Miss Potter. But I will say this: you are not broken, your life is not worth throwing away, and you are not alone. You have friends, allies, teachers, and lovers."
Hazel felt her face flush at the mention of lovers, and wished her professors weren't so well-informed about her life.
"If you wish for more context as to your chosen path, seek out Professor Burbage. She has second-hand accounts of men and women who dedicated their lives to money. Very few walked away to enjoy that money." She was making a visible effort to remain calm, and for a moment, Hazel regretted being honest with her. "Miss Potter, you are one of the most exceptional students Hogwarts has ever taught. You have mastered every spell and subject you put your mind to. You could easily do anything you set your mind to. And of all things, you choose to be a mercenary??"
Hazel looked her dead in the eye. "Yes, Professor, I choose this. It wasn't chosen for me, it wasn't forced onto me like a useless prophecy I had to kill to hear. I've been bent by the choices of others, but I'll break under my own decisions!"
Sinistra blinked again, taken aback by Hazel's conviction. "Well, you certainly are firm in your choice."
"Damn right I am. Besides, how is it any different from what my parents and my godfather did during the war? They fought and bled and killed too, only they were adults."
"Perhaps. But they fought for a cause, Miss Potter. You propose to fight for money."
Hazel shrugged again, and the professor heaved a short sigh. "I urge you once more to undergo therapy over the summer, Miss Potter. For now, I shall write down that we discussed professional Quidditch during our session, and your subsequent confession shall be… set aside, for the moment."
"Whatever you wanna do, Professor." That was probably the best she could hope for, given the circumstances. "So, was that everything?"
"Yes. You are dismissed. And please, Miss Potter. Liveyour life, don't sell it."
"Thank you, Professor." Hazel stood, bowed, and left the office.
Chapter 92: OWLsSummary:Hazel and friends take their OWLs.
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextThe final Quidditch match of the year came and went. Hazel had to take time from revising to captain the match, since Ravenclaw wasn't a soft team like the Hufflepuffs had been. Davies was once again absent, but Cho put up a strong showing. She had drilled her Chasers especially well, and the score got away from the Slytherins early on, but Hazel's people rallied and fought back.
The final tally wasn't the blowout victory Hazel had gotten used to, but it was hard fought and satisfying all the same, and afterward they took the Quidditch Cup to Sinistra's office where it belonged. The party in the dungeons dragged on, Hazel got drunk and got laid, and in the morning she quaffed a hangover potion and rode the buzz of victory for the rest of the weekend. Then it was back to the OWLs grind on Monday.
June came along, and OWLs were upon them at last. Hazel and the other Slytherin fifth-years received a lecture from Sinistra one night, along with schedules and details of how the examinations would go. Sinistra spoke while they copied dates and times. "As you can see, your O.W.L.s are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory exams in the mornings and the practice in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night, at least for those of you who did not adequately fill out your preview star chart back in March.
"Now, I must warn you that the most stringent Anti-Cheating Charms have been applied to your examination papers. Auto-Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembralls, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs, and Self-Correcting Ink. Every year, I am afraid to say, seems to harbor at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority's rules. This year, I can only hope that nobody in Slytherin is among that number. Professor McGonagall has asked the Heads of House to tell their students that cheating will be punished most severely; your performance on these exams reflects on the school as much as yourself. Do take this seriously, class. Your futures are at stake."
Hazel finished copying her schedule and put her hand up. "Professor, when will we get our results?"
"An owl will bring your grades some time in July."
"Thank you, ma'am." That meant once she got through the tests, she wouldn't have to worry about them again until the holidays. And maybe not even then.
The day before the first exam, the examiners arrived. They were a small group of ancient witches and wizards who all seemed to be hard of hearing; Hazel recognized Professor Tofty from her own exams, and Draco pointed at an especially withered witch whom he claimed was Professor Marchbanks. Hazel didn't envy McGonagall having to stoop and be shouted at by them, and moved along quickly.
In the common room that night, Hazel found herself bombarded by questions from her fellows, about how tough the OWLs would be. Draco was especially nervous beneath his poise. "I've heard they make you take Veritaserum if they think you cheated, is it true?"
Hazel shrugged. "How would I know? I didn't cheat."
"But-"
"Look, you heard Sinistra, right? All those anti-cheating measures they've got in place? They won't needVeritaserum, because you'll have twenty different alarms going off over your head right there in the hall."
Pansy, meanwhile, was scribbling last minute notes and muttering about Mudbloods under her breath. Nobody said anything; racism was like background noise in this common room.
Hazel concentrated on her Occlumency that night while doing her workout, and managed to sleep soundly afterward.
The morning of the exams dawned. The Slytherin common room, underwater as it was, had a dismal sort of air to it. Even Hazel wasn't immune, and she quickly skipped out and headed upstairs for breakfast. The rest of the school was carrying on as normal, but the fifth and seventh years all acted like a Sword of Damocles was hanging over their heads.
Hazel shoveled bacon and toast and greens onto her plate and made breakfast sandwiches. "Christ, I'll be glad when this is over."
Pansy glared at her. "Why are you whining, Potter? You already did half of them."
"Sure, but not all at once. Besides, everyone else is so gloomy. It sucks."
After breakfast, everyone else went to class, leaving them to mill around the entrance hall until half past nine, when they were called in, class by class, for their Charms theoretical exam. The four House tables had been removed, and many desks put in their place; Hazel found hers and sat down. When everyone was seated, Professor Snape turned over an enormous hourglass on the staff table, where spare quills, ink, and parchment also waited. "Begin."
Mindful of the patrolling professors and examiners, Hazel bent over her parchment and started writing. Question after question unrolled; she was grateful for years of mental discipline, even if it had fractured slightly of late, for the answers came readily to mind. She got all the questions answered and even managed a good few of the bonus questions before the one-minute warning went out; she packed in a last few facts and figures in the remaining time, then signed off just as the hourglass ran empty.
Snape was back up front, glaring at them all. "Sign your exams." A final scratch of quills, and a sweep of Snape's wand rolled up all the parchments and brought them flying to the staff table. "Dismissed."
Back in the entrance hall, everyone heaved a sigh of relief. Some bemoaned how hard it had been, while others whined that it had been too easy. Hazel found herself with the latter group, among them Hermione, Hannah, and Padma. "Well, girls? How did we do?"
Hermione was somehow both nervous and relaxed at once. "I think I did alright, but I ran out of time trying to answer all the extra credit questions."
Padma smirked. "I just remembered everything you taught us, Hazel, and I did just fine." Hannah nodded in agreement.
Hermione gave them both a half-hearted glare. "Suck ups. Hazel left all the hard work to me, and you know it."
Hazel laughed and hugged her. "She's half-right, give Hermione her credit."
After lunch was the practical exam, where the students were called in alphabetically in groups of four. Hazel was called in alongside Padma, Parvati, and Pansy, and sat with Professor Tofty to demonstrate the spells she had learned up to that point. It was Charms, and she was certain she earned an Outstanding if the expression on the old man's face was any indication.
Transfiguration was next day. Hazel thought she got a few incantations mixed up on the written exam, but was confident she had aced the practical; that moron Goyle turned his gerbil into a huge army of bright red ants that caused boils not unlike bubotuber pus when they bit, so the exam was delayed for twenty minutes while the little buggers were stamped out.
Hazel half-expected to overhear Hermione dissecting her exam performance again, but instead she seemed downcast. She went to check on her. "Is everything alright, Hermione? You don't seem yourself."
Hermione sighed. "No, I'm fine, really."
"Liar. I thought you'd be wittering at top speed about how awfully you did on the OWL just now, and instead you're just standing here all melancholy."
That earned her a glare, and she smiled to soften the blow. Hermione sighed again and looked away. "I almost did, but… but then I thought about what Ron might say if he was here, and…"
"Oh, I know exactly what he'd say." Hazel pitched her voice lower to mimic Ron's. "'Hermione, we've been through this before! We're not going through every exam afterward, it's bad enough doing them once!"
Hermione giggled in spite of herself, and Seamus glanced around so fast his neck cricked out loud. "Oh, Potter, s'you."
"Sorry, Finnigan, did I startle you?"
The lad went red, and fished about for an excuse to flee. "Uh, sorta… Oi, Dean! Reckon ya passed?"
Hazel smirked, and Hermione giggled again. "That was a terrible impression, by the way."
"I wasn't trying too hard. Chin up, some dinner will sort us all out."
"Yeah, you're right."
Herbology went alright on Wednesday. Hazel barely avoided getting bitten by a Fanged Geranium, and she smiled to herself at the thought of how Neville would have shown them all up. Thursday was Defense, and she was confident she had nailed another Outstanding; the written portion was easy as piss, and she barely struggled in the practical, her wand singing in her hand as she performed spell after spell.
Old Tofty was visibly impressed. "Bravo, Potter, bravo! Very well done indeed!"
She smirked back at him and put her wand away. "Thank you, sir. If that's everything?"
"Ah, well, if you wouldn't mind demonstrating your Patronus Charm for us? For extra credit, you understand."
"I'd be happy to." She raised the Elder Wand this time, and thought of how she had felt with her parents' arms around her. "Expecto Patronum!"
The Great Hall was filled with a blinding flash of light, and her basilisk Patronus filled the whole ceiling, bigger and brighter than ever. It hissed silently at everyone before diving to the window, where it dissolved into silver mist. Tofty clapped his veiny hands, and so did most everyone else. "Bravo again!"
Hazel left the hall feeling extremely smug.
Since she had aced a few exams early, she got Friday off and the weekend too, and enjoyed a few days without any studying or revision at all. She rode her bike around the valley, swam in the Lake, and loafed in the sunlight like a bum; she always had some girl or other nearby to make sure she didn't spiral into despair, though with the sun beating down it was hard to feel sad anyway.
The rest of the exams next week went alright, she thought. Potions was in the bag, though she struggled slightly on Polyjuice Potion during the written part, but she felt she did great on the practical part. Care of Magical Creatures also went okay, though the creatures they tested on were boring things like knarls, kneazles, fire crabs, bowtruckles and sick unicorns; Hazel got extra credit when she peacefully subdued an angry male unicorn when it thought its mates were at risk.
The day of the Astronomy exam, which Hazel was exempt from, Tofty approached her. "My dear, you have done so well so far. Would you care to observe the Muggle Studies OWLs with us?"
"Oh, yeah, with everyone demonstrating their Muggle transportation research?"
"Precisely!"
"Sure, beats sitting around."
Thus, she found herself on the front lawn while other fifth-years demonstrated driving, riding, or flying. There was a small selection of cars, pickups, and motorbikes, all charmed to operate inside the wards, and a nimble helicopter overseen by a stern-faced Auror. Since the examiners were out of their depth, they had to rely on Sirius and Professor Burbage to manage the chaos and take notes on each student's performance.
During a lull, Hazel sidled up to her godfather. "Found Wormtail yet?"
He smirked down at her. "Just last night, in fact. But he refused to surrender when we finally cornered him, and after wounding several Aurors I had no choice but to use lethal force. Lesser spells weren't working!"
"Fancy that!" She felt nothing at the news of the coward's death, and went back to watching the others.
The Divination practical was the only one she wasn't immediately confident of passing. The crystal ball was vague, though she swore she could see the shapes of men in the depths of the fog. The tea leaves were a total bunk, so she made something up about Professor Marchbanks (who was examining her) meeting a handsome stranger on her way home that weekend, and thought she detected a faint flush of pink in the old woman's cheeks. And while she very nearly got her life and head lines mixed up, she corrected herself before saying anything fatal.
Grindelwald and Trelawney were observing from the sidelines, and when Hazel was dismissed, she walked up to them. "I'm afraid I won't get top marks in this exam, sir."
Trelawney shrugged. "Fret not, Miss Potter. I have made it quite clear that Divination cares not for such trifles as tests and marks."
Grindelwald chuckled. "Indeed, indeed."
It didn't sink in until dinner that she was done with OWLs. She was both thrilled and dismayed; thrilled that she could pass on tests until next year (assuming she stayed on at school), and dismayed that another source of stress to keep her emotions bottled up was now gone.
On Friday, she finally decided to view Snape's memories, which she still had in her trunk. She did it first thing after breakfast, stashing the vial in her pocket so she wouldn't have to go all the way back down to the dungeons after eating.
Daphne nudged her. "Everything alright, Hazel?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I just… there's something I have to do after breakfast today and I'm not exactly looking forward to it."
Daphne grinned. "Another meeting with the Headmistress?"
"Something like that." As good an excuse as any, she'd be heading that way anyway.
After eating she went upstairs, gave the password to the stone gargoyle, and let the stone spiral carry her the rest of the way up. McGonagall was just finishing her own meal, a large stack of paperwork in front of her. She glanced up with her usual acerbity. "Potter."
"Headmistress. I won't take your time, I came to use the Pensieve again."
"Very well." The old woman flicked her wand, unlocking the Pensieve's cabinet and the door to the side chamber at once. "Tidy up after yourself when you're through."
"Yes ma'am." She carefully collected the stone basin, then carried it into the chamber, which was the same as before: small and plain and windowless and containing nothing but a desk, a stiff wooden chair, and an air of academic desperation.
No more wasting time. She set the basin on the desk, closed and locked the door, conjured a padded chair, and sat down. Then she poured the memories into the basin and plunged her head into it.
Notes:This chapter was not beta read. Any mistakes are mine alone.