Once Professor McGonagall moved away to confer with Madam Bones, Harry immediately turned toward the girls.
“Did either of you tell them anything about the bond beyond the fact that it exists?”
Both shook their heads.
“No.”
“No.”
Hermione’s answer came a fraction slower than Daphne’s.
Harry noticed the slight tension in her expression.
Keeping secrets from authority figures still bothered her.
Old habits died hard.
“Good,” he said quietly.
The remainder of the wait stretched on far longer than Harry would have liked.
Most of his attention remained fixed on the two Mind Healers from St.
Mungo’s.
The pair worked in near silence around Dumbledore’s unconscious form, occasionally exchanging brief comments in low voices.
Several times they performed complicated diagnostic spells.
On more than one occasion, one healer would carefully hold open one of Dumbledore’s eyelids while the other cast a sequence of charms directly at his eyes.
The results clearly weren’t encouraging.
Earlier, one of the Mind Healers had questioned Harry personally.
They had asked him to describe exactly what he experienced during the failed Legilimency attempt.
What he felt.
What he saw.
What he remembered.
Harry had answered carefully.
Truthfully enough to avoid suspicion.
Carefully enough to conceal the parts that mattered.
There was no reason for anyone to know he had instinctively seized the probe and torn it apart.
That knowledge would create far more problems than it solved.
Eventually, after a lengthy consultation between the healers and Madam Pomfrey, a decision was reached.
Dumbledore would be transferred to St.
Mungo’s.
The announcement sent a ripple through the room.
Harry remained outwardly calm.
Internally, however, he was surprised.
The situation was clearly more serious than he had realized.
If St.
Mungo’s specialists were taking over, the Headmaster wasn’t recovering anytime soon.
At least that removes one obstacle for a while.
The thought brought a small measure of relief.
When Professor McGonagall finally returned, Harry remembered something that had completely slipped his mind amid the chaos.
“Professor?”
McGonagall looked toward him.
“Yes, Mister Potter?”
“I forgot to mention earlier.”
Harry gestured vaguely.
“Given everything that’s happened today.”
The professor waited patiently.
“I’m withdrawing from Divination.”
One eyebrow immediately rose.
“Oh?”
Harry nodded.
“With the help of these two lovely ladies, I intend to devote the time to Ancient Runes.”
Daphne looked pleased.
Hermione looked even more pleased.
McGonagall blinked.
Then blinked again.
The surprise on her face was almost comical.
“Ancient Runes?”
“That’s the plan.”
For a moment, Harry thought she might question his sanity.
Instead, a faint smile appeared.
“I’m very pleased to hear that, Mister Potter.”
The approval in her voice was unmistakable.
“I’ll notify Professor Trelawney that you’re withdrawing from her class.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
McGonagall inclined her head before returning to her discussion with Madam Bones.
Not long afterward, the interviews concluded.
Madam Bones eventually dismissed everyone.
For now.
Harry had little doubt more questions would follow later.
As they left the Hospital Wing, Hermione and Harry headed toward Care of Magical Creatures.
There was no point attending Herbology anymore.
Daphne, meanwhile, had a free period.
“Be careful,” Hermione said.
The concern in her voice was genuine.
Daphne smiled reassuringly.
“I always am.”
Harry snorted.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
Daphne merely smirked.
Then she headed off toward the dungeons in search of Tracey.
Care of Magical Creatures proved exactly as memorable as Harry remembered.
Unfortunately.
Hagrid had chosen to introduce the class to one of his latest creations.
Blast-Ended Skrewts.
The creatures appeared to be the result of a deranged wizard attempting to cross a lobster with a nightmare.
They were pale.
Slimy.
Misshapen.
And smelled horrifying.
Several Gryffindors who had attended Herbology informed Harry and Hermione that they had spent most of the morning harvesting Bubotuber pus.
Neville kindly promised to share the homework assignment during lunch.
Not that Harry needed the reminder.
He remembered it perfectly.
The future had many advantages.
As the students gathered around the crates, Harry briefly allowed himself to hope.
Ron wasn’t there.
The hope lasted less than a minute.
Apparently, having missed breakfast, Ron had compensated by devouring half of Hogwarts during morning break.
He came jogging across the lawn, wiping food from his face with his sleeve.
Harry sighed.
Hermione immediately jabbed him in the ribs.
The look she gave him was unmistakable.
Behave.
Harry reluctantly obeyed.
Ron attempted to join Harry and Hermione beside their crate.
Hagrid intercepted him.
A large hand closed around the back of Ron’s robes.
“Nope.”
Before Ron could protest, Hagrid redirected him toward a different group.
Harry nearly laughed.
The Blast-Ended Skrewts were every bit as horrible as he remembered.
Roughly six inches long, they crawled over one another in tangled masses.
No visible heads.
No obvious mouths.
Far too many legs.
Every now and then a burst of sparks erupted from one end.
A loud phut followed.
Then the creature would shoot forward unexpectedly.
The smell was even worse.
Rotting fish seemed the closest comparison.
Though Harry suspected actual rotting fish would object to being associated with them.
Out of loyalty to Hagrid—and only loyalty to Hagrid—Harry and Hermione spent the next hour attempting to feed them handfuls of frog liver.
The effort appeared entirely pointless.
Neither of them could identify where the creatures were supposed to put the food.
The Skrewts certainly offered no clues.
By the end of the lesson, nobody had discovered what they ate.
Or whether they ate at all.
After thoroughly washing their hands, Harry and Hermione immediately headed back toward the castle.
Predictably, Ron chased after them.
“Oi!”
Harry closed his eyes.
“Please tell me he’s talking to someone else.”
“He isn’t,” Hermione replied.
A moment later Ron caught up.
“Well, at least the Skrewts are still small.”
“They’re small now,” Hermione said.
“But once Hagrid figures out how to feed them, they’ll probably grow to six feet long and start terrorizing the school.”
Ron laughed.
“Won’t matter if they cure seasickness or something.”
“You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up.”
Her expression darkened.
“Honestly, I think Malfoy was right about one thing.”
Harry blinked.
That was rare.
“The Skrewts?”
“The Skrewts.”
She nodded firmly.
“The safest thing would be to stamp them out before they decide to stamp out us.”
They entered the castle.
Harry had endured enough.
He turned toward Ron.
“Daphne’s probably sitting with us again at lunch.”
Ron frowned immediately.
“If that’s going to be a problem for you, don’t sit with us.”
“What?”
The response came out as a splutter.
“Mate!”
Harry’s patience evaporated.
“I still reckon she’s done something to you.”
Ron pointed accusingly.
“She’s probably bewitched—”
He never finished.
Harry grabbed the front of Ron’s robes and yanked him forward.
Hard.
The redhead’s eyes widened.
The corridor fell silent.
“Don’t.”
Harry’s voice was dangerously quiet.
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”
Ron stared at him.
Shocked.
Confused.
Maybe even a little frightened.
Harry tightened his grip.
“You cannot bewitch a bond.”
Every word was precise.
Controlled.
Final.
“It exists.”
He leaned slightly closer.
“It is permanent.”
Then he released Ron with a shove.
“We are bonded.”
Ron stumbled backward.
“If you can’t be civil around Daphne, then don’t sit anywhere near us.”
For several seconds, Ron simply stood there with his mouth hanging open.
Harry didn’t wait for a response.
He turned and walked away.
Furious.
Hermione had already reached the Great Hall by the time Harry entered.
Daphne was seated beside her.
A space remained open between them.
Clearly reserved for him.
Harry dropped into the seat with considerably less grace than usual.
Hermione barely looked up.
She already had parchment spread across the table.
A quill scratched rapidly across the page.
The original parchment beside her was clearly written in Neville’s handwriting.
The Herbology assignment.
“How did Ron take it?” she asked casually.
Harry snorted.
“About as well as you’d expect.”
That finally earned a glance.
“He still thinks Daphne somehow bewitched me.”
Harry shook his head.
“Apparently the fact that you’re involved too doesn’t matter.”
Across the table, Neville frowned.
“Problems with Ron again?”