Harry grinned. "He'll just say no. Well, either that or he'd revise it as asked but then just go ahead and teach what he always has."
"Unless the Ministry sees fit to place another equivalent of Dolores Umbridge here again."
Which reminded Harry. "Have you thought about another Defence teacher for next year, then? Why don't you line someone up early so the Ministry can't sneak another Umbridge in?"
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "As it happens, I do have someone in mind. I'll make a point of owling her as soon as possible, now that Professor Aran's departure is official."
Her. Harry knew it was wrong of him. He knew Hermione would have a fit if she could read his mind. But still, the only witch they'd had teaching them Defence in all these years had been Umbridge. Harry couldn't help but be leery, after that. "Um . . . is she competent? No offence, sir, but you really have had a knack of . . . yeah."
The old man's eyes weren't twinkling any longer. "The position's cursed, as I'm sure you've reasoned out for yourself. And Harry, if students can deduce that much, don't you think that the wizarding community must be aware of it, as well? It's unusual for the very best teachers to want to take a position that has no hope of lasting."
Harry sighed. "So she's not competent."
"Oh, indeed I believe she is," said Dumbledore in a soft voice. "That other was said by way of apology, Harry. I have tried to do my best for you. If I haven't always succeeded . . ." Shaking his head, Dumbledore resumed in a stronger voice. "At any rate, you'll like Maura Morrighan very much, I expect. She's a shepherdess--"
"A shepherdess!"
"Well, of a sort. She has a connection to magical creatures that's truly astounding. In fact, she's been seeing to Buckbeak's welfare this past year. When Sirius died I sent Buckbeak to live with her herd of hippogriffs in Ireland."
"Oh." Something began niggling at the edge of Harry's consciousness. A story . . . something he'd once heard . . . "Oh. I think Severus told me a story about a herd of hippogriffs once. In Ireland, yeah. The name even rings a bell, I think. Well, maybe."
"Oh, Severus knows of Maura, definitely. Her empathy for magical creatures means that she's quite good at obtaining rather unusual potions ingredients."
"So why doesn't she mind the position being cursed? And what makes you think she knows enough Defence to teach it?"
"I think that's quite enough information for now," said Dumbledore briskly. "I still have several more flavours to sample, and so, I'm sure, do you."
Harry would rather have got his questions answered, but he could tell that wasn't going to happen.
But at least he'd found out some things. He'd ask his father about this Maura Morrighan. A shepherdess. Was Remus going to be the only decent Defence professor Hogwarts ever saw? More than ever, Harry wished his father could take the position.
When Harry got back to his table, he found Ron groaning a little, his hands clutched over his midsection. "Too much ice cream," he said blearily as he looked up at Harry. "Too many strange flavours."
Hermione heard that as she came up holding two small cups of lemon-lime gelato. "I told you to take just a tiny taste of each flavour, Ron. It's no wonder you have stomach-ache, the way you were gobbling down pints at every table!"
"Hermione, that hardly helps," drawled Draco from behind her.
Ron groaned again as if in agreement.
"Try ours, Harry," said Hermione, pursing her lips a little.
Lemon-lime gelato turned out to be really, really good. Just the right mix of tart and sweet. Later, when the class voted, it won the prize for tastiest concoction. The winner for creativity, however, was Dean and Neville's Jelly Slug Jiggle. Harry thought it was kind of disgusting to actually eat; the slugs felt like they kept crawling around in his stomach long after he'd swallowed. Putting chocolate cookie dust all over the top of the ice cream to imitate dirt, though, that bit was clever.
Even if Harry could have done without the chunks of liquorice pretending to be rocks.
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On Wednesday afternoon, Ron and Hermione walked Harry down to the dungeons so that he could go to the statue dedication with his father and brother. Harry was a little bit startled when he walked through the door. Draco was standing in the living room, fussing with his collar, wearing new dress robes. Or at least dress robes Harry didn't think he'd seen before.
"Pleasures of ready access to Galleons," said Draco lightly.
"But when did you go off shopping?"
Draco's smile took the sting out of his words. "Owl order, Harry. We really must get you thinking like a wizard."
"But . . ." Harry took a minute to think of how to word it. "Are you sure those are, um, appropriate? I mean, they're a bit plainer than those fur-edged robes you used to have but--"
Snape's voice cut him off. "Do you want to change or go as you are, Harry?"
Harry turned to see his father dressed rather formally as well. Not in dress robes, true, but the man was wearing his very best teaching robes. They looked freshly pressed.
He was already in two minds about going at all. Nice as it would be to see Remus, seeing him looking like Lucius again didn't sound so great. Just thinking about it made him feel like he needed a needle. And now to be expected to dress up for the occasion?
"Won't that seem a bit odd?" Harry cleared his throat. "Me, acting like Lucius Malfoy coming around is a cause for celebration?"
"Then go as you are," said Snape calmly.
Harry was starting to feel worse by the second. "I . . . er, I think I'd better not go at all, actually."
"You aren't staying here alone during the ceremony," returned Snape. "I think I know what you'll be tempted to do."
Was he that transparent? "I don't care if it's really Remus. It's sick, that's what it is, that man being honoured with a statue on Hogwarts grounds, like he's as important as the Founders! It's a farce! He killed a student, or as good as, and that's not even counting him wanting his own son dead!"
"It's entirely sickening," agreed his father. "I would never countenance it were it not for the need to persuade the house elves that what Gibby saw was a statue of Lucius rather than the man himself turned to stone. We can't have rumours of Lucius' death bandied about."
Harry abruptly sat down on the couch, his stomach twisting itself into knots. "I know, but the idea of going to school here next year, with that thing out there on the grounds . . ."
"It's . . . yeah," said Draco, moving to stand at Harry's side. "I know. Not so long ago, I'd have been so proud to have a statue of Lucius standing out there. Not now, though."
"You won't ever see it unless you make an effort to." Snape's gaze encompassed both his sons. "Either of you."
Harry blearily looked up. "Where's it going then?"
Snape extended him a hand up. "Come and see."
"Oh, all right." Harry groaned as he stood up. "I'll just go use the loo--"
"Wear your dress robes, too," called Draco after him. "We must keep up appearances for the wizarding public, you know."
Just what Harry needed. The press would be there, that was what Draco meant. Probably Skeeter wouldn't have the nerve to come around, especially not with Snape dropping dire hints about her come-uppance, but still . . .
Sighing, Harry flattened his hair down with a little water and then started hunting in his trunk. His dress robes were a folded, wadded mass at the bottom. Sighing, Harry shoved them back down, his hands brushing against his invisibility cloak.
All at once, his arms began itching so badly that he could hardly stand it. Snape had just refused to leave him alone, but the cloak could give him time to himself, couldn't it? All he had to do was slip it into a pocket, and then whenever he needed a couple of quick jabs with the needle, he could step behind a tree or a wall and vanish--