When Harry Met Dawnie
Title: Harry Potter and the Order of the Great Dane
Part: 2/?: When Harry Met Dawnie
Hogwarts gets a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher. Again. Squared.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer through Season 6. Harry Potter through “Goblet of Fire”
Timeline for this installment: Harry’s Fifth Year. Assuming that his fifth year happened in 2002/2003. We all know that Harry’s fifth year supposedly happened in 95/96, but for the sake of this fic, I’m adjusting...
Feedback: If you have something to say, say it. Please.
Archive: Fanfiction.net, and at some point brendanm.com. If you want it, take it. Please let me know.
I don't own this stuff. Joss Whedon and J.K. Rowling do. No cash made, just fun had. I promise I won't break 'em, and I'll put 'em back in the case when I'm done.
This is mostly set up. There’s not much in the way of BtVS in this chapter... except towards the end. I promise there’ll be more later.
Yeah, Yeah... I should be working on Nosebleeds, but I got a bug in my ear and had to at least start this. Once I start a fic, I end it, so never fear. I've gone back to Nosebleeds. Should be an interesting installment.
And now for the fic!
He opened his eyes blearily. “Yes?”
“This came for you down at the information desk.” The clerical runner handed him an envelope.
“Thank you,” he told her as she left the hospital room. He was still more or less bedridden from the events of a few weeks ago. He was slowly getting his strength back, and his injuries were healing.
They were also letting him get up to use the toilet, so long as he took his “Dance Partner” – also known as an IV Pole – in with him. He was not a big fan of catheters, especially when they were being used on him.
He was most pleased with his progress.
Careful not to bend his left elbow too much lest the IV port jab him unnecessarily, Rupert Giles opened the letter. The envelope was made of parchment, which made him rather nervous. He’d not seen any correspondence on parchment since he was seventeen.
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
June 5, 2002
Sunnydale Memorial Hospital
409 Tenth St.
Sunnydale, California 99999
I would like to take this opportunity to offer you a position teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, here at your Alma Mater. It has come to my attention in recent years the sheer volume of hands-on experience you’ve had in this area.
I am not pleased to relay this most disturbing news; Lord Voldemort has returned, and your field of expertise has gained importance.
Salary and all other employment matters may be discussed upon your arrival. Please contact me as soon as possible with your answer so I may make the proper arrangements.
Giles was stunned.
He read the letter again.
He pushed his call button.
A few minutes later, a nurse came in and asked him what he needed.
“May I please have a pen, some paper and an envelope?”
The nurse agreed to track down some and bring them to him.
While she was away, Giles began to compose his response in his head.
When the writing supplies arrived, he hastily scribbled his reply.
June 5, 2002
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I would be delighted to accept the position. If what you say is true, then we are in the hottest of the proverbial water. As I have been living among muggles, I have been operating without news of the wizarding world for quite some time. This bit of information is quite disturbing.
I have a few witches under my care here in California that I believe would benefit from some formal training. The American academies have overlooked them, and one of them is quite powerful.
Perhaps I could bring them along. I will have to discuss this with them, of course.
The Muggle Doctors tell me that I may be here until well into July. As there are many, many arrangements to make, I’ll have one of my charges brew some healing potion, to facilitate my early release.
Until we meet,
Hermione was livid.
She rushed around the room she’d been staying in throwing clothes into her trunk, with Viktor Krum flitting about behind her nervously. She had two wands clutched tightly in her left hand.
“Hermy-own-ninny, vat is wronk?”
“Viktor, I don’t think this is going to work.”
“Your father,” she spat.
“Vhat dit he say to you?”
“It’s not what he said. It’s what he did.”
“Vhat dit he do?”
“He thinks that muggleborn witches are only good for one thing! And it’s NOT playing checkers!”
Krum repeated himself, albeit this time he sounded more concerned. “Vhat dit he do?”
“He tried to get me to... you know. And when I wouldn’t, he...”
“The slimy pillock used the Imperius Curse on me!”
Viktor looked shocked.
“He dit vhat?”
“I threw off the curse, and then disarmed him. He’s gonna have a headache when he wakes up. You may want to see to the gash on the back of his head, too.”
She changed the subject abruptly.
“I’m leaving. Don’t follow me. I’ll owl your father’s wand to you when I get back home.”
“Hermy-own-ninny, please do not go!”
“Viktor, it’s obvious that I am not wanted here.” She thought about what she was saying. “Or at least, not as an equal. I realize that YOU like me, but I can’t stay.”
She snapped the trunk closed, hauled it off of the bed, and stormed out of the room.
Krum followed her down the stairs pleading with her. She wasn’t listening.
Granger lit a fire in the entrance hall’s grate and reached into her pocket for her pouch of floo powder. She threw in a handful and stepped in.
“Goodbye, Viktor,” she whispered. “Bulgarian Floo Hub!”
Hermione disappeared in a clap of thunder.
July 20, 2002
Please look into some muggle clothing for the two of us, and a glamour for my hair and beard. We are going to pay a visit to Harry Potter later on today, and I’d like to keep Vernon Dursley’s panic level in a manageable state. I have received four messages and a visit from one of the centaurs this morning; all of the correspondents are extremely worried.
On a totally unrelated topic, have you, Severus, and Filius decided upon which year to place our new arrival?
Meet me in the great hall for lunch and fill me in on your progress.
July 20, 2002
I am doing fine, as is the rest of the staff. Filius is starting to get restless, he’s already begun Drawing up the lesson plans for his student teacher.
I am pleased that your negotiations with the Giants are going so well. Say hello to your mother and Madam Maxine for me.
I spoke with Firenze this morning. He had a bit of a chat with Hedwig last night, and he reported in to me. Apparently, Harry is a bit depressed. Professor McGonagall and I are going to look into the problem.
Harry Potter lay on his bed, staring at the pile of unopened mail that was sitting on his desk, not thinking much of anything at all. He had his pillow in his arms, and he was holding it tight.
“BOY!” The shout reverberated through the house. “VISITORS!”
Harry rolled off of his bed, deposited his pillow at its head. He trudged down the stairs, and was only mildly surprised by who he saw.
Minerva McGonagall was standing there, in a lavender tinted tweed business suit, complete with skirt, panty hose, and high heeled shoes. She wore a string of pearls around her neck and pearl earrings. Her hair was up in a bun.
Albus Dumbledore was standing next to her, in brown tweed, with a closely cropped beard and shoulder length hair. He wore shiny brown shoes. His eyes twinkled over his half-moon glasses.
Uncle Vernon, who had answered the door, cleared his throat.
“Uncle Vernon, this is Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. He’s my headmaster, and she’s my housemistress. Professors, Vernon Dursley.”
Dumbledore offered Dursley his hand. Dursley didn’t offer his in return.
“What’s the little cretin done this time?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Dumbledore replied. “Which is why we’re here.”
Uncle Vernon got redder. “What’s that you’re insinuating?”
The teachers ignored him.
Professor McGonagall spoke up. “Mister Potter, is there somewhere we can go to discuss a matter of importance with you?”
“We can go upstairs, I guess” he told them. “C’mon.”
He led them up to his bedroom. McGonagall sat on the chair at his desk, Dumbledore stood near the door.
Dumbledore spoke first. “Harry, is everything all right?”
“Sure,” he said sullenly.
“We missed you at Ronald’s funeral,” Dumbledore told him gravely.
That snapped him out of it.
“WHAT?! Ron did NOT DIE,” Harry told him, his eyes narrowed.
“How can you be sure, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall asked, “When you haven’t even opened your mail? Accio letters!”
The envelopes flew off of the desk and landed in her hand. She started rifling through them. “Albus, Miss Granger really DID send ten letters!”
“Never misses a trick, that girl,” he replied, a smile on his lips.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Ron hadn’t died.
“You’ve got many, many people worried about you, Harry. Mr. Weasley was going to come over here and collect you,” the Deputy Headmistress announced.
“Really? Which one?”
“Actually,” she responded, “All of them.”
Harry genuinely smiled for the first time in months. The thought of seven redheaded men storming the house Auror-style struck his fancy.
Dumbledore spoke. “Molly has agreed to have you stay at The Burrow for the rest of the summer holidays. You would be perfectly safe, and we all believe that it would do you some good.”
The Gryffindor Housemistress smiled. “Besides, the Quidditch team will be there. They seem to think that Ron will make a suitable replacement for Oliver. Although, I’m not sure they know what they’re talking about... A chaser playing keeper! I’ve never heard such nonsense!”
Harry didn’t need time to think. He was so miserable where he was that he agreed immediately. A little Quidditch would definitely serve to distract him from the thoughts that were bouncing around in his head.
“Professor, I’m sure we can get Ron trained up a bit before tryouts. When can we go?”
“We can leave right away. Where are your school things,” McGonagall asked.
“Uncle Vernon has them locked up in the cupboard under the stairs.”
“Well,” Dumbledore began, “You talk to your aunt and uncle and we’ll pick the lock.”
Hermione had received a letter from Molly Weasley inviting her over to the burrow for the rest of the school holiday. She’d written that Harry had arrived earlier that day, and that the rest of the Quidditch team was swinging by the next day.
She’d written back, telling Molly that she’d be over after supper.
The fire burned high and she was thrown out of the other end.
“I’m all right...”
Pain exploded across her cranium. Her vision closed in. Her knees gave way.
The next thing she heard was, “ENERVATE!”
Hermione came to with a groan. “Whah happen’?”
She opened her eyes. Ron, Harry, and Mrs. Weasley were hovering over her looking frightened.
“You shot out of the fireplace and hit your head on the table,” Harry told her.
“Then you stood up, started to tell us that you were fine, and then wobbled a bit and passed out. It’s a good thing Ron was there to catch you!”
Ron was white as a sheet. “And then we couldn’t wake you up.” He swallowed. “That was bloody scary ‘Mione! How do you feel?”
“Like I got hih in a head wih a table,” she replied thickly. “Do y’ have any aspirin?”
The Weasleys shot each other a look as if they didn’t know what she was talking about.
“It’s a muggle potion used to reduce pain,” Harry told them.
A look of understanding swept over Molly’s face. “Hang on dear, I’ll go get something.” She looked at Ron and Harry. “She’s concussed. Keep her awake.”
Hermione slurred, “Y’know, yurr my boys... ‘specially you...” She pointed at Ron and then passed out.
Ron and Harry panicked. They shook her and yelled her name.
“Hermione! C’mon! Wake up!”
“‘Mione! Wake up luv! Hermione! C’mon!”
Molly looked over from where she and Arthur were shoving ingredients into a bubbling cauldron.
Her eyes opened lazily. “You called me luv.” She grinned.
Ron started to say something when his mother announced, “Get her to sit up! We’re almost done!”
“She’s off her bloody rocker,” Ron declared.
Harry looked at Ron. “You did call her ‘luv’. Have you got anything you’d like to explain?” Harry smiled evilly.
The youngest Weasley son and the only Potter child tried to lift their friend off of the floor and onto a chair. She was heavier than she looked.
“C’mon, ‘Mione, you need to help us out here,” Ron told her, loudly.
“Okay, Ronniekins.” She smiled at him prettily through the pain.
He ignored her.
Harry declared, “I think she’s broken a blood vessel, Ron. She’s acting kind of loopy.”
They got her sitting in one of the chairs, though Ron and Harry had to keep her from sliding out of it.
Mrs. Weasley finally turned around with a glass of acid green liquid and her wand. “Here darling, drink this.” She handed Hermione the tumbler. After she’d finished off the potion, Molly tapped the girl’s head with her wand. “This may itch a bit. Medicor!”
Blue lights radiated along what the boys assumed were the cracks in her skull. They got fainter as the bone knitted itself back together. Hermione started to scratch her head madly as the spell wore on. Finally, the lights were gone, and Hermione’s noggin was back to more or less normal.
Molly went out into the living room to update her sons and daughter.
The teen-aged girl looked at Harry. “How come you didn’t write back?”
“Didn’t read the letters,” he mumbled, suddenly finding his feet very interesting.
He was saved when Arthur Weasley turned around wearing a frilly pink apron.
“We’d better get her upstairs before that analgesic draught kicks in,” he told them. “It’s going to knock her on her arse.”
“No, no,” Hermione disagreed, “I’m fine. Thank you for the potion, by the way.” She finally looked at Arthur and cocked her head to the side. “And what, pray tell, are you WEARING?”
“It’s the only apron she’s got.” He looked decidedly uncomfortable. He changed the subject and removed the apron. “Let’s see why the fireplace flung you like that. He pulled out his wand. “APERIO!”
A glowing silvery phrase in Latin appeared in the air over the hearth.
“Interesting...” Arthur Weasley stroked his chin. “Finite Incantati.”
The words disappeared.
“What is it?” Ron looked concerned.
“I think I need to discuss this with your brothers,” he told his son. In the meantime, get her upstairs to Ginny’s room. Have her and your mother get Hermione ready for bed.”
Hermione stood and said, “I’m perfectly fi...” She swayed and Harry grabbed her arm. “Perhaps you boys could help me up the stairs?” Ron grabbed her other arm and they guided her out into the living room. Arthur followed.
Ginny and the twins were sitting on the couch, and Percy was sitting in a wooden chair. Molly was flitting about wringing her hands.
“Is she all right,” Ginny inquired.
“She will be,” Harry told them. “Your dad made a pain potion.”
Hermione mumbled, “Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, can you help me get ready for bed?”
“Of course,” the redheads replied. In unison.
As the five of them ascended the stairs, Arthur asked the oldest present son, “Percy, can you leave us alone for a moment, please?
“I don’t see why not,” he said magnanimously. He disapparated with a pop.
“As wonderful as it is that you boys have mastered chain reaction charms, I don’t think that setting up a hurling hex on the fireplace is entirely appropriate.”
The twins shot each other a look, and turned their attention to their father.
“If I might ask, why did you do it?”
Fred spoke up. “We thought that it would help keep Harry safe,” he told his father.
“Yeah, if any Death Eaters came through the floo, they’d be distracted enough for us to take care of them,” George chimed in.
“Well, at least your heart was in the right place. I would punish you, but I think that Hermione will do enough of that when she figures out what happened... and she WILL figure it out. Get to bed; you’ve got Quidditch practice tomorrow.”
They got up and started up the stairs.
“Oh, and boys,” Arthur called after his sons, “Next time use the full body-bind or a stunning spell!”
He checked the wards on the house, and then climbed the stairs to the bedroom he shared with his wife.
“Here you go, dear,” Molly Weasley set a cup of hot cocoa in front of Harry.
The Weasleys were all sitting at the table, as were Harry and Hermione.
They all looked at each other expectantly. They’d all been awakened by Potter screaming in his sleep. Ron had managed to wake him up, but not before Arthur, Molly, and Percy and stormed into the room with wands ready.
“Last night’s nightmare was of the standard, run-of-the-mill sort, in case you were wondering,” Harry announced. “It’s just like after the third task, except there’re six Voldemorts running around trying to kill me.”
Everyone but Arthur looked at Harry like he was from Mars. Mr. Weasley just looked concerned. He’d heard the “Isn’t that just the most preposterous thing you’ve ever heard” version from Fudge, the morning after Bill had apparated into the living room.
Harry noticed the strange looks and said, “Maybe I should start from the beginning.”
He filled them in about the events that occurred during and after the third task at the tri-wizard tournament. When he got to the part where Wormtail killed Cedric, he started choking up.
Mrs. Weasley, who sat next to Harry, began to rub circles on his back. “It’s alright dear, you don’t have to tell us the rest if you don’t want to,” she murmured.
“No,” he sobbed, “I need to tell this.”
He continued his story.
After he was done, they all stared at him in silence. Even the twins had nothing to say.
Hermione was the first to speak. Her eyes were like saucers. “Oh Harry! We had no idea! No wonder Dumbledore ordered us not to ask you about it!”
“I think that Madam Pomfrey would have hit you with the full body bind if you’d tried,” Harry responded with a thin smile and a quick, rueful laugh. “Or maybe a stunner spell.”
“Speaking of old Dumble, do y’ think we need to owl him? You were holding your forehead,” Ron told him.
“No,” he replied, “If I start having nightmares that don’t center around the third task, then maybe.”
Arthur addressed the issue that had gone unspoken. “You know Harry, It’s not your fault. You needn’t blame yourself.”
“But I told him to take the cup with me!”
“You couldn’t have know what would happen, any more than Cedric did,” Mr. Weasley declared. “I happen to know that the Diggorys don’t blame you. Don’t you go blaming yourself for something that was beyond your control.”
Harry wasn’t so sure, though.
“...and Harry passes the Quaffle to Katie, Katie to Ginny , Ginny to Alicia, Leesh shoots... AND IS DENIED!”
Bill Weasley was commentating, as he didn’t really play much Quidditch. Usually, he’d be out on the pitch with his siblings, but with the presence of actual Quidditch players, he deferred to the experts.
Even if they were just throwing the Quaffle at his baby brother.
And hitting Bludgers at his head.
Besides, there was a certain bushy-haired fifth year that needed the use of his broom.
“...Angie passes to Charlie, Charlie to – WATCH OUT!!!”
Fred had just nailed a Bludger and Ron narrowly dodged it as it sailed past his ear. He swatted the Quaffle away from the ring with his elbow as he righted himself.
“Lucky save by Ron, and Ginny is in possession.”
“Ginny passes to Katie, Katie back to Ginny, and Oh! Nice Shot! Fred’s been hit in the head by Hermione’s Bludger. This is the first time that on of Hermione’s bludgers has actually connected, but there have been some definite near misses. George, I’d run if I were... oops, too late. George has been clobbered in the shoulder with the other bludger, also directed his way, courtesy of Hermione.”
Fred and George were laying on the ground when Arthur came outside to see just how badly the young witch had injured his sons. After a cursory inspection, he decided that the injuries were not serious enough to warrant immediate action.
“Payback’s a banshee, eh boys?”
“What is it, Giles?” Dawn asked, pulling off her headphones.
She leaned forward and looked out the window past Giles, and saw what he was seeing.
“Whoa! Look at all the hotties!”
Through the glass, they watched a bunch of people running around trying to get onto the train before it started rolling down the tracks. There were three carrot-topped boys, and a dark haired one who looked like he hadn’t combed the aforementioned hair that day. There were also five girls, and two adults.
“That’s Arthur Weasley,” Giles announced, pretending he hadn’t heard Dawn. “And there’s Molly!”
“Who are they,” Dawn inquired.
“People I went to school with.” A whistful look played across his features. “My best friend and his... well I suppose she’s his wife, now – judging by all the red-headed children.”
Willow just sat there, head against the glass, looking blankly out the window.
She hadn’t spoken since Xander had talked her down from destroying the world. She was still having problems coping with the level of sensitivity she’d gained when she’d gotten her last power boost.
Not to mention loosing Tara.
She’d withdrawn into herself, and was in essence, a red-headed automaton.
The only time she’d broken her self imposed silence was when she lay in her bed at night and sobbed herself to sleep. Buffy and Xander had taken turns laying there with her; rocking the witch and running their fingers through her red hair until she drifted off.
Needless to say, she’d been forgiven, and everyone was worried about her.
Well, almost everyone.
Dawn was still a bit miffed about what she called “the whole trying to kill me thing”.
She wasn’t really as upset as she let on. Their second night in England, she’d crawled into bed with Willow and sung her to sleep. Giles hadn’t been able to hear the words, but the murmured melody sounded vaguely familiar to him. He couldn’t place it, though.
Giles had taken them by floo from his flat in Bath to Hogsmeade the next day, where they’d walked up to the school. Dumbledore and McGonagall were pleased to meet Dawn and Willow, as were most of the rest of the staff. Snape, of course, was indifferent, at least until more information was available.
After they’d figured out where to place Dawn, they’d turned their attention to the redhead. Willow, it was decided, was too old to be placed in a standard class, but she would be individually instructed. She would be assisting in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes when necessary.
The Hogwarts Express lurched forward and began its journey to the school.
Dawn and Giles sat back down. The professor pulled a book out of his luggage. Summers replaced her headphones. They sat there, Dawn nodding off with music blaring in her ears, Giles engrossed in his novel, and Willow leaned up against the window; her head moved against the glass to the rhythmic swaying of the train.
It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes when the door to their compartment opened. Looking up, Giles saw standing in the doorway a younger version of Arthur Weasley, a boy who looked very familiar but he couldn’t decide why, and a brunette witch with wild curls.
She looked at the to boys she was with, who were both captivated by the two girls already in the cabin.
“Honestly, you two. You’d think the two of you have never seen a girl before,” she hissed at her companions. “D’ you mind,” the witch asked, “All of the rest of the compartments are full.”
“Not at all. Please sit down,” he told them.
They entered and sat on the empty bench across from the other occupants.
“I am Rupert Giles, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” he told them.
The trio winced simultaneously.
The redheaded boy spoke. “It’s just that, since we’ve started Hogwarts, there hasn’t been a Defense teacher that has lasted more than a year.”
“What happened to them?”
“Let’s see...” the young witch began. “Harry killed Quirrell, but to be fair, Quirrell was trying to kill HIM... Lockhart obliviated himself... Lupin resigned... Moody was replaced by a Death Eater who was kissed by a dementor.”
Smiling, he retorted, “I’ll have to see what I can do about sticking around then.” Realizing he was committing a faux pas, he continued, “This is Willow Rosenberg,” he indicated the redhead – who didn’t react in the slightest – sitting next to him, “And the young lady currently drooling on my shoulder is Dawn Summers.” He nudged her. “Dawn, we have company.”
Dawn opened her eyes. “Hi,” she greeted them, as she took her headphones off.
The redheaded boy asked for confirmation, “She’s a Yank?”
“Actually,” the watcher told him, “Both of them are.”
“Brilliant!” he told his dark haired friend.
The Brunette, looking like she was going to throttle the redheaded boy next to her, finally introduced herself. “I’m Hermione Granger.”
“Hermione...” Giles thought for a few seconds. “Shakespeare?”
She nodded. “And these two drooling boys are Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.”
Potter. That’s why the boy looked familiar. His father was probably James Potter.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Ron looked at Hermione and told her, “I wish you wouldn’t keep harping on us about that.”
Harry sneezed. Actually, he said the name “Lockhart” and covered it up with a sneeze.
“Harry does have a point, Hermy-own-ninny,” Ron told her.
“Well, at least I can form coherent thoughts whenever Fleur Delacour enters the room,” she spat back. “And don’t get me started on Cho Chang, Mister Potter.
“Well, at least *I* didn’t sleep with Lockhart’s valentine under my pillow,” Ron countered.
Harry rolled his eyes and directed his attention elsewhere.
As Ron and Hermione went back and forth, Dawn leaned over and asked Giles, “So, how much do you want to bet that Xander and Cordelia over there end up together at some point this year?”
Giles pondered this conundrum, and answered, “I’m not wagering.”
Unbeknownst to everyone in the compartment – save Harry, who was studying the sullen girl carefully – Willow slowly smiled.
McGonagall was waiting for them at the front door.
“Miss Summers, may I have a word?”
“We’ll go in without you,” Giles told her.
McGonagall pulled Dawn aside. “You will be sorted with the first years, and once the sorting hat decides where to place you, you will sit at the appropriate table. The house in which you are placed will be like your family while you are here at Hogwarts. Your triumphs will earn you points, and rule-breaking will subtract points. The house with the most points at the end of the year wins.”
“Check,” Dawn affirmed.
“You will be placed in the fifth year dorms, and will attend your classes with the fifth years. I will be by with a timetable for you tomorrow. Oh... one more thing.”
“Please keep your origins and family situation as secret as possible. It would be very unfortunate if you were kidnapped by Death Eaters for your... special qualities... or those of your sister.”
She whispered back, “My lips are sealed.”
Harry, Ron and Hermione watched as the Deputy Headmistress led the Key up to the front of the room.
“What was that all about,” Ron asked.
“Erin Creevy,” McGonagall announced.
The slight girl made her way to the stool and sat upon it. The Deputy Headmistress placed the sorting hat on her head.
The sorting went on until “Robert Warren”.
Professor McGonagall placed the sorting hat on her head.
“Hmmmmmmm,” it said. “Well, isn’t this interesting.”
“What’s that,” Dawn asked.
“You weren’t always human.”
She made a non-committal noise in agreement.
“I see that you are very intelligent, and fiercely loyal. I also see a bit of a ruthless streak. However, your strongest trait is courage. My, my. Your resume certainly is impressive. I’m thinking that the best place for you will be GRYFFINDOR!”
McGonagall had a smile on her face when she removed the hat.
Dawn shot a look over at the teachers’ table. Giles and Dumbledore were smiling as well.
She sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Harry Potter.
“Hey Guys,” she greeted them.
McGonagall had put the stool and the hat away and had seated herself next to the Headmaster. She struck her goblet with her spoon.
“I’m sure that this will come as a great shock to everyone here, but I have a few start-of-term announcements to make.”
There was laughter.
“Firstly, I would like to announce some staff changes and additions. Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, is Professor Rupert Giles. Professor Giles will have an assistant, Miss Willow Rosenberg.”
There was scattered applause. The Troika and Dawn applauded loudly. Snape, per usual, did not look happy.
“Professor Flintwick will have a student teacher this year. The student teacher will also be filling in for various other faculty members whenever they are indisposed. This is not her first time to Hogwarts, some of you may recall her from last year’s Tri-wizard Tournament. Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Fleur Delacour!”
Every male student in the room applauded.
Every female student in the room – and some of the female professors – glared.
“Replacing our Flying and Quidditch teacher this year is Puddlemere United Reserve Keeper and Hogwarts Alumnus Oliver Wood!”
An explosion of noise burst from the Gryffindor Table.
“Secondly, just so that everyone is clear, the dark forest is still forbidden. Hagrid tells me that there is a colony of giant man-eating spiders living deep within the trees. I very much dislike telling parents about their child’s death. Please ensure that I do not have to undertake that sad task.”
“Thirdly, Professor Wood tells me that Quidditch tryouts will be held this weekend. He also tells me that there are open positions on each of the teams and that the status of the reserve teams are dismal.”
“Fourthly, due to the success of last year’s Yule Ball, we will be having another this year. Once again, we are restricting the attendance to fourth years and above. It will be held on December twenty-first, so anyone who wishes may go home for Christmas, may.”
There was a resonant groan permeating the hall.
Hermione didn’t see what the big deal was. “Oh honestly, it wasn’t that bad.”
“You had a date that didn’t hate you,” Ron told her.
“And whose fault is that,” she retorted.
“I’m going to have to try on my dress robes,” Harry groaned to nobody in particular. “I don’t think they’ll fit.”
Dumbledore continued. “We were unable to book the Weird Sisters again, as they are currently engaged touring Japan. We are still looking into alternate music options.”
“And lastly, what you’ve all been waiting for, our new fifth year is Miss Dawn Summers, from Sunnydale, California. I am sure we will all afford her every kindness.”
“With the power vested in me by the four founders, TUCK IN!”
Mounds of food appeared on the tables.
Everyone dug in.
The next morning, she’d joined her new friends for breakfast.
Dawn Summers was uncomfortable. “Uh... Guys? Why is everybody glaring at us?”
“They’re glaring at me, probably,” Harry told her.
“Because they think that I killed somebody. Or they think that I’m the heir of Slytherin. Or they’re jealous.”
“Speaking of,” Hermione began, “Is it just me, or does Malfoy seem to be strangely quiet?.”
“Draco Malfoy,” Harry announced, pointing at the blonde boy sitting by himself at the end of the Slytherin table. “We have a hate – hate relationship. He hates us and we hate him back. It’s a good arrangement.”
“Usually he and his cohorts in crime have come over to harass us already,” Ron interjected. “Must be feeling a bit under the weather.”
Hermione mused, “I wonder why he’s not sitting with Crabbe and Goyle...”
“Who knows,” Ron responded.
A piece of paper dropped in front of Dawn. She looked up from her cereal and saw McGonagall briskly passing out schedules.
“Hmmmmm... Looks like we’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing this morning,” Hermione announced.
“Uh huh.” Dawn was studying her schedule. “Looks like I’ve got Divination after that. With Potions and Transfiguration after lunch.”
Granger rolled her eyes.
Potter spoke up. “Hermione and the Divination Teacher don’t get along.”
“Join the club. You can be treasurer.”
They reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The door was locked, and the lights were off.
Ron spoke first. “Huh. Wonder if we should go in?”
“I wouldn’t. Badness will ensue.” Dawn announced. “Giles has some pretty hefty wards in place.”
As they waited, Dawn met the other Gryffindor fifth years.
And Pansy Parkinson.
“So this is the American Mudblood,” the Slytherin girl said snidely.
Ron’s eyes narrowed.
Hermione stood there with her fists balled.
Judging by her companions’ expressions, Dawn knew whatever she’d been called wasn’t a good thing. “What did you call me?”
“You heard me.”
Just then, the deadbolt thunked, and the door popped open.
Seamus Finnigan asked, “Should we?”
Neville Longbottom replied, “I dunno... Dawn said that he had wards on the classroom...”
“Those only protect the room as long as the door is locked. I think we can go in.”
Potter spoke up. “Seeing as I can’t seem to die, I’ll go first.”
Granger didn’t think that was such a hot idea. “Harry...”
“I’ll go in with him,” Dawn announced.
“And ‘Mione and I will go with you, too.”
With that, the four students entered the darkened room. Their classmates squeezed in the opening to watch.
It was pitch black, save for the little sliver of light that pierced its way into the dark from the open door. It glinted off of something’s eyes; That something was seated on Giles’ desk.
A smooth, confident, sneering male voice answered. “Sorry kiddo, they’re not here.”
“Lumos!” Hermione’s wand lit up.
“Angel! What –” She caught the evil looking smirk on the vampire’s face.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
“Angelus,” she spat. “How’d *YOU* get out?”
Harry and Ron drew their wands, ready to defend themselves and the girls, if necessary.
Well, Dawnie, It’s a long, sad story. I see that you’ve brought me some snacks.” Angelus stood up and started stalking towards the teens.
Dawn put her hand out. “Kali, Hera, Kronos, Tonic, Air like nectar, thick as onyx...”
“I can eat them in between chapters.”
“...Cassiel by your second star, Hold mine victim as in tar!”
The air around the vampire shimmered as he pushed against Dawn’s spell. As he slowly drew closer, Summers levitated a crossbow from Giles’ weapons trunk and drew it to her.
He grinned and mocked her. “Ooh! Scary!”
She loosed a bolt into Angelus’ heart. He exploded into dust.
The windows reappeared and the lights came up. The ash that remained vanished.
Ron was gaping.
Hermione’s eyes were the size of saucers.
Harry was pale.
Giles and Willow were coming down the stairs from the balcony. “Dawn,” he said, “Are you quite all right?”
Dawn wiped her nose. Her thumb came away covered with blood. “I’ll be okay.”
Giles gave her his handkerchief.
Willow gave her two Ibuprofen which she promptly swallowed. The redhead put the cap back on the bottle, and slipped it into her robes.
The Watcher waved the rest of the class in. They gave the troika and Dawn a wide berth.
“Duth mudblood mead what I tink it meadth?” Dawn asked through the cloth she was holding to her nose.
“Probably,” Harry told her.
“It’s a really nasty way of insulting a muggleborn witch or wizard,” Hermione responded.
Ron finally said stupidly, “You’re a wandless witch!”
“Doe big. Juth tho we’re clear, I’m not a very thkilled wandleth witch. Thee? Bluddy dothe.”
“You were bloody brilliant, though,” Potter told her.
The Watcher clapped twice. “Settle down, class! I am Professor Giles, and this is my assistant, Professor Rosenberg. Just so everyone is clear, there will be no use of certain... words in my classroom. That will be twenty points from Slytherin, Miss...”
Pansy glared at the new professor, with a rebellious look on her face.
His head snapped up and he stared at Willow for a few seconds... and then said, “Ah, yes. Congratulations, Miss Parkinson. I’ll be sure to inform Professor Snape.”
He turned towards the rest of the class.
“I’ve been looking through the notes that have been left behind by your other Defence teachers, and it seems that you have a good basis in the lesser demons, like Grindylows and Kappas. You also have some experience with a werewolf. But other than Professor Lupin, you haven’t had much in the way of education in the greater demons, like vampires, and the like. You also don’t have much in the way of hand-to-hand combat training. We’ll be covering this, and then we’ll move on to curses and hexes.”
An alabaster hand went up.
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”
“Do we really know how to fight like muggles?”
“There will be times when you will be without your wand, or possibly unable to curse an assailant. The “muggle fighting” will increase your chances of survival a great deal.
“Oh great,” Pansy said, under her breath, “Our new professor is a goddamned muggle lover.”
“Miss Parkinson: Fifty.”
To Be Continued.
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