Dreams Are Falling Short

“You don’t know what it’s like! You – any of you – you’ve never had to face him, have you? You think it’s just memorising a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you’re in class or something? The whole time you’re sure you know there’s nothing between you and dying except your own – your own brain or guts or whatever – like you can think straight when you know you’re about a nanosecond form being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die – they’ve never taught us that in their classes, what it’s like to deal with things like that – and you three sit there acting like I’m a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up – you just don’t get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn’t needed me –“

“We weren’t saying anything like that, mate,” said Ron, looking aghast. “We weren’t having a go at Diggory, we didn’t – you’ve got the wrong end of the – “

He looked helplessly at Hermione, whose face was stricken.

“Harry,” she said timidly, “don’t you see? This ... this is exactly why we need you... we need to know what it’s r-really like... facing him... facing V-Voldemort.”

It was the first time she had ever said Voldemort’s name, and I think that’s what calmed Harry. Still breathing hard, he sank back into his chair.

“Well... think about it,” I said quietly. “Please?”

Harry nodded and Hermione stood up.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” she said, in a voice that was clearly as natural as she could make it. “Erm... night.”

-

Hermione made no mention of Harry giving Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons for two whole weeks after her original suggestion. Ron had had four more Quidditch practices and not been shouted at during the last two; and all four of us had managed to Vanish our mice in Transfiguration (Hermione and I had actually progressed to Vanishing kittens), before the subject was broached again, on a wild, blustery evening at the end of September, when the four of us were sitting in the library, looking up potion ingredients for Snape.

“I was wondering,” Hermione said suddenly, “whether you’d thought any more about DEFENCE Against the Dark Arts, Harry.”

“’Course I have,” said Harry grumpily, “can’t forget it, can we, with that hag teaching us –“

“I meant the idea Ron, Corey and I had –“ Ron cast her an alarmed, threatening kind of look. She frowned at him. “- Oh, all right, the idea I had, then – about you teaching us.”

Harry did not answer at once.

“Well,” he said slowly, “yeah, I – I’ve thought about it a bit.”

“And?” said Hermione eagerly.

“I dunno,” said Harry, playing for time probably. He looked up at Ron.

“I thought it was a good idea from the start,” said Ron, who seemed keener to join in this conversation now that he was sure Harry was not going to start shouting again.

“Oh stop lying, you twat,” I said.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Harry,” I said gently, “but all the same, there’s no point pretending that you’re not good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, because you are. You were the only person last year who could throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can’t.”

“Viktor always said –“

Ron looked at Hermione so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, “Yeah? What did Vicky say?”

“Ho ho,” said Hermione in a bored voice. “He said Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn’t , and he was in the final year at Durmstrang.”

Ron was looking at Hermione suspiciously.

“You’re not still in contact with him, are you?”

“So what if I am?” said Hermione coolly, though her face was a little pink. “I can have a pen-pal if I – “

“He didn’t only want to be your pen-pal,” said Ron accusingly.

Hermione shook her head exasperatedly and, ignoring Ron, who was continuing to watch her, said to Harry, “Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?”

“Just you, Corey and Ron, yeah?”

“Well,” said Hermione, looking a mite anxious again. “Well... now, don’t fly off the handle again, Harry, please... but I really though you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we’re talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort. Oh, don’t be pathetic, Ron. It doesn’t seem fair if we don’t offer the chance to other people.”

Harry considered this for a moment, then said, “Yeah, but I doubt anyone expect you three would want to be taught by me. I’m a nutter, remember?”

“Well, I think you might be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what you’ve got to say,” I said seriously. “Look,” I said, leaning towards him – Ron, who was still watching Hermione with a frown on his face, and Hermione herself, leaned in forwards to listen too – “you know the first weekend in October’s a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who’s interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?”

“Why do we have to do it outside the school?” said Ron.

“Because,” I said, returning to the diagram of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage I was copying, “I don’t think Umbridge would be very happy if she found out what we were up to.”

-

We walked down the main street past Zonko’s Wizarding Joke Shop, where I wasn’t surprised to see Fred, George and Lee Jordan, past the post office, from which owls issued at regular intervals and turned up a side-street at the top of which stood a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture on it of a wild boar’s severed head, leaking blood on to the white cloth around it. All four of us hesitated outside the door.

“Well, come on,” said Hermione, slightly nervously. I led the way inside.