Seventeen and a Half Years Later: Patronus (1/3)
Title: Seventeen and a Half Years Later: Patronus (1/3)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows and Previous Chapters ( timeline here)
Characters: Victoire, James Jr, Harry, Neville, Teddy, various OCs
Rating: R for language, nudity, and sexual content
Summary: Victoire gets a bit of a shock
Notes: Since my last chapter, I created a convenient timeline for those who are getting buried beneath my continuity. The link will be placed in the “Spoilers” line from this point on.
I own these characters. The rest belong to JK Rowling.
A Fair Read / Previous Chapters / Patronus (2/3)
“Proper technique and effect of the Inanimatus Conjurus spell.”
“The what?”
Victoire Weasley bent over her textbook. “Inanimatus Conjurus. She gave it to us back in October.”
“You have to be kidding me,” Sarah Harvey said.
“Do we still have the notes for it?” Christine Hogan asked, digging through her bookbag.
“I don’t,” said Sarah, leaning her elbows on the table. “I barely ever take notes. I just usually remember what I was taught in class, then use the books to fill in the blanks on any homework.”
“I think that’s why she’s doing it,” said Victoire, looking up and down the Gryffindor table, where dozens of other students were frenetically re-studying their textbook. “Keep us honest. Make us realize that the O.W.L.s are going to cover more than last week’s work.”
“But it’s the week after holiday!” Sarah moaned. “This is cruel!”
“What’s cruel?” asked the young red-haired boy who sat down to Victoire’s left.
“Allentide,” Victoire said to James Potter. “She’s giving a big quiz to all of her students.”
“While their brains are still rusty,” Christine said. “I agree with Sarah. This is just cruel.”
“Allentide didn’t say anything to us about a quiz,” said James with a teasing smirk as Fabian Weasley sat down beside him. “Guess we must be special.”
“Don’t be so sure, squirt,” came a voice from behind them. Victoire turned around to see her boyfriend, Nathaniel Smith, along with his best friend, Sam Welts. “Hey, lady,” he said quietly, giving Victoire a quick kiss before sitting down on her other side.
“Morning,” Victoire replied.
“Hi,” Christine said airily as Sam sat down beside Nathaniel. Victoire ventured a quick glance up at her and a roll of the eyes before returning to her books. Christine had been mooning over Sam since her second year.
“Hi,” Sam said with a brief smile. He had been returning Christine’s advances just enough to keep her on the hook. Victoire personally thought Christine should, to use her Uncle Ron’s colorful phrase, shit or get off the cauldron, and told Christine as much on many occasions, albeit less gruesomely. Christine agreed that it was the best way to go.
Not that her behavior had changed one bit since their discussions.
“What, you think she’s going to give us a quiz, too?” Fabian asked Nathaniel, leaning across Victoire and James to speak to him.
“She might,” Nathaniel said with a shrug. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”
“But… but she wouldn’t!” James said, suddenly panicked. “I mean… I mean, you all know about the test. Why wouldn’t she tell us?”
“Because you’re first years,” Nathaniel said. “It’s all about getting you prepared for what to expect. Lull you into a false sense of security, then bang!” He smacked his fist into the palm of his right hand. “Quiz!”
“Oh, God,” James said, breathing heavily. “Oh, God. I need to study.”
Victoire gave her boyfriend of two years a sharp look before turning back to young James, who was looking at his empty platter with fear. James was a bit of an odd one to figure out. When he first arrived at Hogwarts, he carried a bit of a swagger as he was called to the Sorting Hat. He knew that the sudden hush that had fallen over the Great Hall that night was because every student in the Hall was silently wishing that he, the first son of the great Harry Potter, would be told to sit at their table.
Ever since then, he carried himself confidently (sometimes a little overconfidently) when it came to his fellow first-years. He had a charisma that would be irritating with most people, but actually helped him get along with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who would otherwise wish for an arrogant Gryffindor to jump off a cliff. And he even handled the Slytherins fairly well, silencing them with wisecracks worthy of Uncle George or Aunt Ginny. No mean feat for anyone, since Slytherins’ opinions of anyone not wearing green and silver varied from dislike to sheer hatred.
James was getting along well. Acted like it was all a lark. But Victoire knew better. She saw the uncertainty in his eyes that first night. Saw his mouth mumble “Gryffindor, Gryffindor, please Gryffindor,” just before the Sorting Hat was placed on his head and the sheer joy that creased his face when the scarlet and gold table erupted into cheers. Saw him studying in the library and the Gryffindor common room more than Victoire herself had ever studied. Saw him glance anxiously to the ceiling every morning at breakfast, waiting for a view of Maximillian, and saw him run upstairs to the first years’ dorm in Gryffindor Tower every night, to write a letter that he hoped no one knew he was writing.
In short, James Potter wanted to live up to his name. And, more importantly, he wanted to make Harry and Ginny Potter proud to have him as a son.
“You don’t have to go study,” Victoire said, patting him on the arm. “There’s not going to be a quiz.”
“There might be,” Nathaniel said quietly.
“Nate, stop it,” Victoire said shortly. “But if there is a quiz, you’ll do just fine, James. Allentide’s good with first years, you know that. She warned us, she warned everyone, and there’s no way she wouldn’t warn the first years.”
“You sure?” James asked hopefully.
“I’m positive,” Victoire said, ruffling the boy’s red hair, which caused him to blush and knock her hand away.
“I hate when you do that,” he muttered as Christine and Sarah giggled and Fabian let out a small snort of laughter.
“Why do you think I do it?” Victoire said with a wink.
“Oh, mail call,” said Sam, lifting his chin to the roof of the Great Hall, where dozens of owls swooped down over the students. At least ten landed on the Gryffindor table, one in front of James, who thankfully had yet to put any food on his plate.
“Hello, Max,” said Victoire as James unclasped the letter from Maximillian’s leg. “Want some toast?”
“Another letter from home?” asked Nancy Sprague, who sat down across from James.
“Oh, this?” James asked, suddenly casually off-handed as he found himself in the presence of one of his fellow Gryffindor first-years. One of the prettier ones, Victoire added mentally, putting her hand over her mouth to hide her amused grin. “Oh, yeah, it’s from my Mum. They like to write me. I guess. Not a big. I’ll… I’ll read it later.”
And with what Victoire assumed was a flirtatious smirk toward the young brunette, James tucked it into his book bag, sure to pore over it when he got back to the common room. Maximillian took a bit of toast from Victoire’s fingers before flying up and out of the Great Hall.
“God damn it, Jareth,” Victoire heard from further down the table. “You’re standing on the jam.”
Victoire leaned over to see a large barn owl was indeed standing in the middle of the table, perched on top of the jar. Jack Pearson was waving at him, knife in one hand, dry toast in the other, but the bird stood firm.
“Where’s Lupin?” he asked the other seventh-years. “Shouldn’t he be taking care of his bird?”
“He had an early meeting with Cairill today,” said Gavin Sorter through a large bite of sausage. “Couldn’t make breakfast.”
“Well, aren’t owls supposed to just find whatever window you’re at?”
“Cairill’s in the middle of the castle,” Gavin explained. “Tough for a bird to find you if you don’t have any windows.”
“Bloody hell,” Jack muttered. “I want marmalade!”
“It’s probably from Hermione,” Jennifer Devereau said. “Another one of their moonlight trysts. You mind if I take this from you, Jareth?”
Jareth hooted in protest.
“I promise I’ll give it to Ted as soon as I see him,” Jenn insisted. “And I won’t read it.”
“Wouldn’t want to read their bloody love letters, anyway,” Jack muttered.
Jareth hooted again.
“Give her the letter,” said Edmund Lemming, “And I’ll give you an extra kipper.”
Jareth looked over at Edmund, who had indeed grabbed Devereau’s fork and was holding it along with his own in front of the bird’s eyes, a piece of fish on each one. Jareth hooted again, and reluctantly allowed Jenn to take the letter before plucking up the two pieces of herring and fluttering away.
“Ha, victory is mine!” Jack said, grabbing the jam jar and prying it open.
“Victory’s not yours,” Gavin snorted, giving his girlfriend a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good job, love.”
“Don’t call me love,” Edmund gasped. “Our affair’s supposed to be a secret, you bastard!”
“Thank you, dear,” said Jenn as Gavin tossed a roll at Edmund.
“Hey, I gave up two perfectly good pieces of kipper for you!” Edmund continued.
Gavin snorted, and leaned in towards Jenn.
“Sure you don’t want to read it?”
“Oh, bollocks,” Sarah groaned, ignorant of the occurrences further down the row. “There’s no way I’m going to be ready for this quiz.”
“Well, at least we get it out of the way early,” said Sam. “Then we get to the fun stuff.”
“Fun stuff?” asked Victoire. “What fun stuff?”
“Well, Defense, of course,” said Sam.
“What’s so fun about Defense?” asked Christine.
Sam and Nate looked at Christine and Victoire with shock.
“What,” asked Nathaniel. “You don’t remember what day it is?”
Yes, Victoire had forgotten what day it was. She arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom two hours later, her brain still going over the questions she had had difficulty answering during the Transfiguration test. Not as difficult as she expected, of course, but it still made her realize just how much harder she’d have to study between now and her O.W.L.s in just a few months.
The classroom door was locked. A simple piece of parchment hung from it, and was surrounded by a half-dozen Gryffindors from Victoire’s class.
Class is to meet
On the Seventh Floor
In the Barnabas Hallway
DO NOT BE LATE
“What’s this all about?” Chelsea Lemming asked no one in particular.
“Guess we’re having class in a hallway,” Sam said with a shrug as the students left the classroom door, whispering questions and ideas to each other along the way.
When they reached the Barnabas Hallway, so called because its tapestry of Barnabas the Balmy teaching ballet to trolls, the students came to a confused halt.
“Is there a classroom around here?” Christine asked, looking around the otherwise bare walls.
“Where’s Professor Squall?” Chelsea asked.
“Fucking Slytherins,” Theresa Daulby muttered. “Hang a fake sign on the door. We fell for it like a bunch of saps. When I get my hands on them…”
Before Theresa could go into detail about what she planned to do, the students heard brisk, heavy footsteps from the end of the hall. They all turned in unison to see Professor Calamus Squall approach, bearing the same heavy boots, severe crewcut, and ramrod-straight spine that the Gryffindor Head of House carried in Victoire’s first year.
“Professor Squall!” Sarah Harvey said loudly. “Where are we supposed to…?”
Her question trailed off as Squall marched past the students as though they were invisible. As he reached the opposite end of the hallway, a few of the students made to follow him until he swiveled crisply on his heel and marched back towards the group.
This time the students kept their questions to themselves as Squall passed them by, this time stopping ten feet short of the end of the hall. He turned towards the wall, tapped it three times quickly with his knuckles. Paused. Four more times. Paused. Twice more. Turned around and, once again, passed by the students.
“Poor boy’s gone mental,” Nate whispered to Victoire. Victoire, who would have usually elbowed her boyfriend for making comments about a Hogwarts professor who was only a few feet away, couldn’t find any reason to argue with the observation as Squall stopped yet again, and tapped another bit of the wall two more times. And once more.
Suddenly, there was a door in front of them.
“Holy shit,” Aaron Mills breathed. “I thought it was dead.”
“Please enter,” Professor Squall stated in his firm, thin voice as he opened the door. “I trust that everyone is here, as the room will be inaccessible after I close the door.”
Victoire and the other students exchanged wary glances, and then crossed over the threshold and into a large, torchlit room. Many cushions lined the floors; many shelves full of books and odd devices lined the walls. And in the middle of the large room stood…
“Hi, Uncle Harry,” said Victoire with a small wave that earned her a sideways glance from Theresa.
“Hello, Vickie,” Harry Potter said with a warm smile that he tried quickly to push down. “Um, Victoire.”
Victoire grinned at her uncle’s attempt to put on a serious, scholarly face as her classmates streamed into the room. He doesn’t want to show any favoritism, she thought as she sat down beside Christine and Nate on the cushions. That’s good of him.
Sam sat down beside Christine, and Victoire exchanged an amused glance with Nate as their two best friends tried their best to avoid each other’s blushing gazes. Nathaniel Smith felt the same way about the tension as Victoire did: just snog already!
She, along with most of the other students, jumped as the large door boomed shut behind them and the echoing clomp of Professor Squall’s boots accompanied him to the front. He stopped five feet in front of Harry and turned around.
“Good morning, class,” he said, heels together, hands behind his back.
“Good morning, sir,” the class responded in their usual monotone manner.
“I see you all arrived on time,” Squall said with a small nod. “Excellent. Today is an important lesson, not just for your O.W.L.s but also for your life after Hogwarts. It would be difficult if someone missed out like others have in the past. And it would be even more difficult to explain to our special guest why Gryffindor House would be so ungrateful for his presence.”
Victoire sighed. We’re all here, she thought. Why does Squall have to make us feel guilty for something we didn’t do?
I bet Jack probably overslept for a class one year or something. Uncle Harry probably wouldn’t care, but Squall could never live down that kind of humiliation.
“In case you have forgotten from his previous visits,” said Squall, “I would like to introduce Mr. Harry Potter.”
“Yeah, right,” Victoire heard Sam mutter into Christine’s ear, “Like we wouldn’t recognize the most famous wizard in England.”
“As you may remember,” Squall continued, “In his previous visits Mr. Potter discussed some highlights of his career against the Dark Lord. He also discussed some of the techniques and defensive spells he and the other Champions used in the last Triwizard Tournament in 1994.”
Victoire blushed slightly, closing her eyes in personal embarrassment. That lesson, last year, was particularly interesting, as Harry had taken it upon himself to invite Victoire’s mother to help with the Triwizard discussions. Uncle Harry always did his best to be even-keeled and professional during his visits to Hogwarts. Fleur Weasley, however, finding herself the center of attention so rarely these days, had no such problems with exaggeration.
“Today, however,” Squall said as Victoire banished the mental image of her mother dramatically re-telling of her battle against the vicious Welsh Green, “is going to be a little different. For this lesson, and for his N.E.W.T. level visits, Mr. Potter will be demonstrating and teaching defensive spells he himself taught other Hogwarts students during the Second Rise.
“I expect everyone to be on their best behavior,” he added severely, “and to give Mr. Potter your strict attention. Mr. Potter?”
“Um, thank you, Professor,” Harry said, and walked up to the front of the class as Squall stepped back. Victoire could tell that Uncle Harry was still uncomfortable with the almost-militaristic style of the Defense professor, but he let it roll off his back easily enough when he faced the students.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.” “Good morning, Mr. Potter.” “Morning, Harry!” all greeted Harry Potter in a mangled response. Unlike Professor Squall, Harry gave off different auras to different people. Some were nervous around him. Others thought he should be treated like royalty. Others still felt they had read enough about him in books and newspapers over the years, heard him spoken of on the wireless enough, that they felt they knew him personally.
In other words, how is someone supposed to react to meeting a celebrity?
“Morning,” Victoire said simply. He was Uncle Harry, sure. But she learned long ago that advertising the fact that she was a part of The Family only led to people thinking she had an ego the size of Big Ben. James had done well enough to get past that quickly, but Victoire, who was only a niece to anyone of major importance (sure, her Mum was a Champion, and her Dad survived an attack by Fenrir Greyback, but in the public’s eye Bill and Fleur Weasley weren’t nearly on par with The Big Four), had received more than her share of glares over the years.
“Like your professor said,” Harry continued, “today I’m going to teach you what I believe to be a very advanced, very important spell. But before we begin that, does anyone know where we are?”
One Gryffindor raised their hand.
“Aaron?” Harry said, and Victoire smiled with pride as he pointed to Mills. He remembers names so well, considering he’s only met us twice before, she thought. Susan Dursley had once joked that Harry was in classes with her for five years and still had no idea who she was, so Victoire thought her uncle had improved quite a bit in the twenty years since then.
“It’s the Room of Requirement, isn’t it?” Aaron asked.
“It is,” said Harry as a mumble rippled through the Gryffindors. “Good job.”
“Five points,” said Squall from behind Harry, and Victoire remembered that, as a guest of the school and not a professor, Harry wasn’t allowed to give House points.
“But, sir,” Aaron continued, “I thought the Room didn’t work anymore.”
“Well, that’s the popular rumor going around,” said Harry. “But in reality, only one aspect of the Room was damaged beyond repair during the Battle of Hogwarts. The others are still alive and well, as you can see. This particular aspect was used to house the DA during Dolores Umbridge’s term at Hogwarts. And for what I’m teaching today, Professor Squall agreed that it’s the most spacious, solid area in the school, and so is allowing his classes to be held here for fifth through seventh years.”
“Sir?”
“Sarah?”
“Why haven’t we been told that the Room survived?” Sarah Harvey asked. “I mean, it’s not really a secret now that we’re in it, is it?”
“An excellent question,” Squall said, stepping forward. “Since the Battle of Hogwarts, various protective enchantments have been placed on the Room. It can’t be opened without the consent of a professor, or in case of extreme emergency.”
“But why?” asked Sam. “I mean, it’s a bloody useful room still, isn’t it?”
“I agree,” said Harry. “But the Headmaster recognizes that it’s just as dangerous as it is helpful. It housed the DA, it protected students escaping torture during the Carrow tenure. But aspects of the room were also used to aid the Death Eater assault in 1997, and also housed one of Voldemort’s horcruxes for over fifty years before its discovery and destruction.”
“Basically,” Squall continued, “it’s a danger to the school as well as to the public to have a Room like this available to anyone who wants it, especially after its access secrets were released to so many people during the War. It’s no longer simply a Hogwarts legend. It’s a fact, which makes it a liability.”
“But don’t worry,” said Harry with a small smile. “You all know where it is now. Like Professor Squall said, extreme emergency. The spells concealing it are empathically enabled. So if the time comes when it’s truly needed again, it will be there.”
“But, sir,” asked Nathaniel, “if the Room is going to be accessible in an extreme emergency, how will we know how to get in? We were never told its access spells.”
“Something which we may discuss in future classes,” Squall said shortly. “Mr. Potter? Time is ticking.”
“Oh, yes,” said Harry, taking a quick glance at his pocketwatch. “Yes, today I will be teaching you the basics of the Patronus Charm.”
Another excited mumble echoed through the Room. Victoire and Christine looked at each other, and Victoire saw that Christine was wearing the same thrilled grin that she herself was wearing.
“As I said,” Harry continued, “I will be teaching you the basics of this spell. Before a few years ago, this spell was restricted to N.E.W.T.-level seventh years in Defense and Charms. But Professor Squall has agreed with me that the basic technique should be learned sooner rather than later, with its multiple uses to be explained in later courses. Now, I can obviously tell that someone in this room knows the answer,” he said with a grin as the Gryffindors looked up at him anxiously, “so who can tell me about Patronus Charms?”
A few hands were raised.
“Nate?”
“It’s a spiritual familiar,” said Nathaniel Smith. “You used it to fight off the Dementors when you got brought to trial.”
“That’s right,” said Harry with a sigh, and Victoire could tell that, no matter how comfortable he had gotten over the years telling his story, he still found it mildly disconcerting that near strangers could tick off points of his personal history at will. “A Patronus is, for lack of a better description, an anti-Dementor. Like Nate said, it’s a spiritual familiar, created through positive energy to combat the negative energy of Dementors.
“Now, as we all know, Dementors are rarely a problem in England anymore. The armies created by Voldemort during the Second War were hunted down, destroyed, or otherwise disbursed until they ceased to be a threat. Their breeding is illegal, punishable by a life sentence in Azkaban. But that doesn’t mean they won’t come back.
“And, more importantly, the Patronus is useful far above and beyond battling Dementors.”
Harry pulled his wand out of his back pocket and pointed it towards an empty space in the room. “Expecto Patronum!”
The class gasped in awe as a stream of silver vapor emitted from Harry’s wand, forming into a beautiful, gleaming silver stag a few feet away from him.
“Defensively,” he said as the glowing creature clomped soundlessly around him, “the Patronus is your second-best friend on a battlefield, besides your wizard and witch comrades. They’re right useful as a guide in the darkness, and can also be used as tools to communicate over long distances. They are fairly unreliable in that regard, since they grow weaker as they draw further away from their caster. The ability to speak also draws massive energy. As such, a communication from a Patronus can usually be no more than a few words before it dissipates. But they’re fast, they’re accurate, and they’re your best bet if you don’t have time to find an owl. Squall will give you more information on that in your next few years.
“Offensively, it can charge, it can blind, it can block. And it can intimidate. Even the most skilled Dark wizard can be thrown off-balance if attacked by a Patronus, even if the damage is minimal.”
“Heard he attacked a couple Slytherins with it in his third year,” Nathaniel whispered to Victoire with a note of admiration. “Wish I could do that.”
“He knew how to do it in his third year?” whispered Christine, overhearing the conversation. “Wow.”
“I did,” Harry said, and the trio sat up straight, unaware that they were being overheard. “I was taught by my Defense professor at the time, Remus Lupin, by training against a boggart that turned into a Dementor whenever it was in my presence. Professor Squall has told me that you’ve all learned about Dementors in previous lessons, so you should know that they have different effects on different people. Their effect on me was particularly strong, always has been, so when the Ministry set them to guard Hogwarts in my third year I was having a difficult time coping. Lupin helped me get past that.”
Victoire felt an odd sensation pass through her. Lupin. Teddy’s father. Who would have imagined, four years later…?
“I taught the DA how to use Patronuses during my fifth year,” Harry continued. “At that time, the DA had everyone from seventh years down to a second year, and each was able to produce a Patronus of some degree of strength by the time we were found out. They weren’t all corporeal, which means that not all of them had a full animal form. Some wizards my age still can’t produce a fully corporeal Patronus. So don’t worry if today feels like a lost cause. Just keep at it and you’ll get it eventually.”
Harry adjusted his glasses, and the silver stag dissipated.
“So, shall we begin?”
“Now, does everyone remember the spell?” Harry Potter asked as he and Squall walked around the circle. Victoire looked at Christine on her right and Sarah on her left. Sarah was biting her lower lip nervously, but Christine’s jaw was set in concentration.
“Yes, sir,” the class said. Harry and Squall had set the Gryffindors in a circle facing outwards for their first attempt. A spell cast improperly, Squall had explained, might do damage if pointed towards another student. Therefore, it was safer for everyone to aim into an empty space until they were comfortable enough in casting the spell and controlling their familiar.
“We did it the same way,” Harry had said quietly to Victoire when she gave him an uncertain look. “Won’t be long until everyone can get comfortable, though. Ron, Hermione, and Cho had theirs contained in no time.”
“Now, raise your wand,” Harry now ordered, “and think about a particularly happy memory. The stronger you can remember, the better chance you’ll get a strong Patronus.”
Victoire thought back… Happy memory, happy memory…
She thought of Christmas holiday. Her mother and father sitting on the couch in the drawing room of Shell Cottage, Bill with a cup of strong tea, sipping it through his still-scarred lips, Fleur wearing the extremely fluffy slippers that Matilda had given her as a Christmas present the year before. Seven-year-old Matilda sitting on the floor by the tree, eagerly tearing open her presents as Victoire tried the camera that she had been given as a gift from her wonderful parents.
“And cast!”
“Expecto Patronum!” Victoire cried out. She thought she saw a few vapors emitting from the tip of her wand, but before they could form she heard a cry of dismay from beside her and a blur shoot across the room.
“Miss Hogan!”
“I’m sorry, Professor,” Christine said anxiously, running across the room, where her wand had flown, now stuck between two books of defensive spells.
“That was unexpected,” said Harry, glancing at Squall with a companionable smile. Squall was himself giving Christine a stern look as she pulled her wand free. Victoire looked around the circle, and saw Theresa Daulby’s wand turned to the inside of the circle, pointed in Christine’s direction.
What? Theresa mouthed, letting loose an inaudible snicker before turning her wand back to the outside. Victoire’s eyes narrowed in anger at the girl. She had hoped that Theresa Daulby would have improved her attitude toward Christine in five years together. However, having Daulby in their House sometimes felt like they were carrying a Slytherin spy among their ranks. And Christine and Theresa’s attitude toward each other hadn’t warmed one bit in the time they had spent sharing a dorm room with Victoire, Sarah, and Chelsea.
Victoire thought about calling out Daulby, telling Harry and Squall what had happened. But as Christine walked back, staring darkly at Theresa, who was now looking over her shoulder at the two girls, Victoire received a short shake of the head from her best friend. Leave it, it said. I’ll handle it how I want to handle it.
“Please keep your wand properly controlled, Miss Hogan,” Squall said severely, “or I will start to deduct House points.”
Victoire chanced another look back at Theresa. No way she’d do it again, she thought. Not if it’s going to cost us points.
Not that that’s ever stopped her in the past…
“It’s fine, Professor,” Harry assured. “It can happen to the best of us. You all should have seen what your Herbology professor went through before he got some of his spells down.”
A few chuckles broke out among the class. Victoire loved Professor Longbottom as much as anyone, and had a hard time thinking that he used to be a dud when it came to wandwork.
“Don’t tell him I said that, though,” said Harry with a wink. “He’s loads better now.”
More laughter, this time with a softer, more reverent edge. They all knew about Neville, Ginny, and Luna’s war against Snape and the Carrows during the Fall of the Ministry. They also knew about Neville’s encounter with Voldemort and his battle with Nagini. If anyone didn’t believe that Professor Longbottom was one of the best wizards out there after hearing those stories, they needed to get their head examined.
“So let’s try it again,” Harry said. “Good job to all of you, lots of strong Patronuses for your first time. Now, if you liked what you had, keep it. If you can think of a better memory, go for it.”
Victoire thought hard. Maybe she could come up with something better than Christmas. After all, they had one of those every year.
She thought back to her first week at Hogwarts. Going to Hagrid’s hut with Teddy for the first time. Meeting Buckbeak, still her favorite of all of Hagrid’s creatures. Feeling that click inside her, knowing that she would love nothing more than to study and care for magical creatures for the rest of her life.
“And now!”
“Expecto Patronum!”
Silver mist. And gold. Quite a bit of both, actually, mixed in with the others in her circle. She thought she could see a form through it. Maybe…
And it was gone.
“Damn,” she muttered, lowering her wand. “Thought I had it.”
“You almost did, Vickie,” said Harry. “You, too, Chelsea. Good job.”
“Thanks, Mr. Potter,” said Chelsea Lemming, blushing slightly at Harry’s compliment. Chelsea’s eyes lingered on Harry as he walked away, and Victoire desperately hoped that Lemming wasn’t crushing on her uncle.
Ew.
“How are we doing for time, Professor?” Harry asked.
“Five minutes left, Mr. Potter,” said Squall, glancing at his watch.
“Time for one more, then,” said Harry. “Is everyone ready to give it one last go?”
“Yes, sir!” the class said at once.
“Excellent,” said Harry. “Now, it’s your last chance for a while. So make sure you think of something really good.”
Victoire thought hard. Something better than Buckbeak. Something that would really get the Patronus flowing…
She took a glance over at Nathaniel, to see that he was looking back at her, his eyebrows flicking up and down and a flirtatious grin on his face.
Oh, why not? Victoire thought. It’s not like anyone’s Legilimencing me. Let’s get risqué.
She closed her eyes, and let the thoughts roll over her.
Night before holiday. She and Nathaniel sneak into an empty classroom, to say one last goodbye to each other before the Smiths visit Germany for two weeks.
The door closes behind them. Their lips meet.
“And cast!”
“Expecto Patronum!”
Tongues twist. She feels his warmth against her cheek as he exhales and inhales through his nose, breath increasing with his arousal. A hand slides along her side, beneath her blouse, bare skin on bare skin.
“Everyone concentrate,” she hears Harry faintly in the background. “Focus on the memory.”
She pushes him into a chair, straddling him. Her blouse and jeans feel tight. She wishes he could take them off of her. She feels his hand slide up her chest. Tastes the treacle tart from dinner on his breath. Runs her hands through blue hair. Feels his hand slide behind her, fingers unhooking the clasp of her bra as she unbuttons his shirt.
She heard a loud squawk outside of her mind. A few gasps from her classmates. She dared to open her eyes.
Standing before her is a Patronus larger than even Harry’s. A silver-gold glow that matched its eyes. Giant wings flapping.
The hippogriff bows to her.
“Wow,” she hears Harry breathe from beside Professor Squall. The rest of the room is quiet. Victoire Weasley grins broadly, and bows to her Patronus.
Wait…
Blue hair?
A Fair Read / Previous Chapters / Patronus (2/3)