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[Castling] Chapter 53
🕑 Added 2025-02-13 06:50:09 +0000 UTCLupin showed up three days later, only to resign and leave the castle five days after that. Snape had let slip that he was a werewolf, and soon enough, furious letters from outraged parents flooded in. The students were gutted—everyone liked Lupin, and, to be fair, he was the most reasonable Defense professor we’d ever had. Harry took it especially hard, even though he tried not to show it. I reckon he’d been hoping to talk to Lupin about his dad, his godfather, and their Marauder days.
Hermione had a bit of a moan about it too—mainly that swapping teachers so close to exams was completely unfair—but she quickly moved on. She was neck-deep in revision, and at this point, nothing else existed for her. That didn’t stop her from having a go at me, though, when I casually mentioned that if Snape hadn’t exposed Lupin, I would have.
“He didn’t take his potion, Hermione,” I shot back when she started laying into me. “Outside of school, he can be whatever he wants—a werewolf, a centaur, I don’t care. But he was a teacher, and as it turns out, an irresponsible and dangerous one. He got what was coming to him, and I won’t pretend to feel bad about it just because you don’t like my opinion.”
That was the last we spoke about him. Not that we had time to dwell on it—Snape took over Defense and made sure we barely had a moment to breathe, hammering us with revision.
Surprisingly, he wasn’t half bad at teaching Defense. He focused a lot on practical work, which suited everyone fine, though, as always, his teaching style was harsh and relentless. But, thanks to him, Neville finally got a new wand. Snape spent a whole week going head-to-head with the poor bloke before finally banning him from lessons altogether.
The very next day, Augusta Longbottom stormed into the castle.
For an old lady, she was fast and loud—reminded me a bit of my Auntie Muriel. She marched straight into our lesson, demanding answers. Snape threw us all out of the room, but, naturally, we eavesdropped from the corridor. We heard her hurl accusations and insults at him, and then Snape calmly, methodically, buried her under a mountain of cold, hard facts.
“I am not required to teach students who cannot keep up with the curriculum,” he stated, his voice sharp as a blade. “Your grandson will not pass his exams. Or did you assume that your talentless whelp would be handed grades out of pity, as has clearly been the case before? His wand doesn’t even respond to the simplest spells. I cannot imagine what logic you used when selecting it.”
“How dare you?” she gasped, seething. “That wand belonged to Neville’s father! His father was a hero, you filthy half-blood—”
“I don’t care,” Snape cut in icily. “Your grandson can wear his heroic father’s old underpants if he likes, and you can kneel at the altar of that wand all you want. But I will not allow him back into my lessons until you buy him a functional one. If money is an issue, feel free to ask the Headmaster—there are funds set aside for underprivileged students. If you wanted to raise a gardener, you should have sent him to a Herbology apprenticeship instead of forcing him to suffer through Hogwarts. I have no intention of wasting my time on a lost cause, at least not until you take responsibility and get him proper equipment.”
“You vile little—!” she screeched before storming out of the classroom, nearly knocking us over in the process. “Mark my words, you sniveling little wretch, you’ll be sacked by sundown! Sacked and disgraced!”
But come dinner, Snape sat at the staff table as if nothing had happened, and the next day, he was back in the classroom like clockwork. Clearly, Dumbledore valued his one-man-army professor over the fury of an elderly battle-axe. By Saturday, Neville was proudly showing off his brand-new wand.
The Gryffindors cursed Snape in every way imaginable while celebrating Neville’s good fortune. As for Neville himself? He was thrilled—his new wand actually listened to him, even if he hadn’t suddenly turned into a prodigy overnight. He was already managing a decent Shield Charm and was eager to refine the spells he’d struggled with before. One evening, when it was just the two of us, he admitted something that took me by surprise.
“I’m grateful to Snape,” he confessed, though he still looked like he wanted to spit after saying it. “Even if he is a complete bastard.”
I stared. “You, er… wanna run that by me again, mate?”
“My gran always compared me to my dad,” Neville sighed. “She even gave me his wand—wanted me to be just like him when I grew up. And I… I never would’ve dared ask her for a new one. So, yeah, I’m glad this happened, even if it was humiliating… When I’m older, and I’ve trained up properly, I’m going to challenge Snape to a duel.” He gave a firm nod, as if sealing a vow to himself.
I got a gift from Black.
We were lounging under our usual tree after exams when, out of nowhere, a screeching bundle of grey feathers dive-bombed straight into Harry’s face. It had a massive letter tied to its leg. Turned out it was from Sirius.
According to the letter, he was doing just fine. He’d shown himself a few times to Muggles in distant parts of the country to throw the Ministry off his trail, and now he was soaking up the sun in France, though he wouldn’t say exactly where for security reasons.
“Don’t want to risk this letter falling into the wrong hands,” he wrote. “This owl isn’t the best postman—seems like she was looking for a job, though, so I took what I could get.
“There’s something I didn’t get a chance to tell you when we met. I was the one who sent you the Firebolt.
"Crookshanks took my order to the owl post in your name. But the gold—I arranged for it to be withdrawn from my personal vault at Gringotts, number 711. Consider it a birthday present from your godfather—thirteen years' worth. I know you already had a decent broom, but my godson deserves the best, and I couldn’t think of anything else to get you.
“If you ever need me, don’t hesitate to write. Your owl will find me. I’ll send another letter soon, once I’ve had some time to rest and recover.
Sirius.”
But it was the P.S. that really got me:
“P.S. I imagine your friend Ron will want to take this owl, considering he no longer has a rat—because of me.”
Curtains closed, job done. Of course, Black would assume the penniless Weasley would be thrilled to adopt some half-useless, out-of-work owl.
Git.
Then again… a useless, knackered rat versus a slightly more functional, knackered owl… maybe not the worst trade in the world.
“That’s brilliant, Ron,” Hermione beamed, completely missing my mood. “Now you have your own owl!”
“And what exactly do I need an owl for, Hermione?” I grumbled. “I send letters home with Percy’s owl, Charlie’s got his, and Harry and I use our notebooks to talk. I call you on the phone. Who else do I even write to?”
“But it’d be rude to turn down a gift,” Harry said hesitantly while the owl, screeching like it had just been hexed, flapped in wild circles over our heads.
“Fine, then I’ll give it to Ginny,” I shrugged. “She can use it to keep in touch with her friends. I don’t have time to look after it—I had more than enough of that with the rat.”
“Speaking of which, Ron…” Hermione started cautiously, but I cut her off.
“I don’t want to talk about the rat, Hermione. I already told Dumbledore—I had no clue Scabbers was an Animagus. It’s not like I ever played with him or stroked him or anything, and the one time I actually tried taking him for a walk, well… we all know how that turned out.”
“But why did he hide with your family?” Harry asked, glancing at Hermione. Clearly, they’d already talked about this behind my back. The realization left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“I don’t know! Alright? Maybe he needed somewhere to lie low until his master came back. The Burrow’s magical, yeah, but it doesn’t have the same protections against Animagi as some of the old family estates. And my parents were close to Dumbledore back in the first war. If Wormtail was a traitor and a Death Eater, maybe he was listening in on conversations, hoping to find a way to track down Voldemort if anyone mentioned him.
“How the hell am I supposed to know what was going through his head? He was just a rat to me. Charlie found him at Hogwarts, patched him up, passed him on to Percy, and then when Percy got his owl, I ended up with him. Not that I was thrilled about it, but what was I meant to do—chuck him out? Or are you actually accusing me of something?” I let out a dry, bitter laugh and scrubbed a hand over my face.
“Of course not, Ron!” Hermione said quickly. “How could you even think that?”
“Well, why else are you two giving each other looks, then?” I shot back. “You think I don’t notice? I’m not an idiot.”
Harry exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just… weird, isn’t it? That no one ever figured out Wormtail was an Animagus all these years? Rats don’t live that long, and none of the adults ever questioned it? That’s all we were wondering.”
“Oh, right. And you don’t find it weird that Black just waltzed out of Azkaban? What, was he the only Animagus criminal in history? And what about Dumbledore? The man claims to know everything that happens at Hogwarts, yet he somehow missed three Animagi running around for years? And who’s to say they were the only ones? What if there were more? What if the school’s protections against Animagi, Dementors, cursed objects, whatever—what if they were removed ages ago so Lupin could study here? Wouldn’t put it past them. And speaking of Lupin, why didn’t he recognize his ‘dear old friend’ on the train, huh? Sat in the same compartment as him the whole way to Hogwarts. Scabbers was literally right there in a cage. And you expect me to have noticed something no one else did? Give me a break.
“My dad’s barely home—he’s busy earning money for the family. And Mum’s got enough on her plate looking after all of us, never mind keeping an eye on a rat.
“So if you’ve got something to say, just say it. Don’t whisper about it behind my back—I don’t deserve that,” I finished, standing up and scooping up the owl.
“Where are you going?” Hermione called after me.
“To give Ginny her new pet,” I muttered. “Wouldn’t want Black to think I’m ungrateful, would I? See you lot later.”
I wasn’t sure if my friends actually suspected me of anything or if they were just overanalyzing the whole thing, but I didn’t like that they were doing it behind my back. Then again, maybe I was partly to blame—I never went along with their blind trust in Lupin, never treated Snape like the spawn of hell, and never saw Dumbledore as some untouchable saint.
I wasn’t really on anyone’s side, was I?
But friendship doesn’t mean nodding along and agreeing with everything, does it? I put up with Hermione’s constant know-it-all attitude without complaint. I accepted Harry’s stubbornness as just a part of who he was. But to them—proper Gryffindors through and through—there was no middle ground. Everything was black and white, good or evil, right or wrong. No room for in-between.
Oh, sod them. As long as they stayed alive, that’s what mattered.
Ginny, at least, was thrilled with the gift. She squealed so loudly I was pretty sure she deafened the poor bird (and everyone within a three-meter radius). She named him Pigwidgeon—Pig for short—and apparently, he took up residence on the foot of her bed. The girls in her dorm adored him, fussing over how “adorable” and “lively” he was. Well, they would, wouldn’t they? The more useless the pet, the more they loved it.
Still, Ginny’s excitement and the pure joy in her eyes lifted my mood. Sod it. Family was what mattered. And besides, I still had Luna.
We made up, in the end. They came to me.
“Ron, you got it all wrong,” Hermione started hurriedly, talking so fast her words blurred together. “We never thought anything like that—we just—well, we were just talking about it.”
Harry nodded. “You seemed down about it, and we could tell you didn’t want to talk, so we figured we’d just… you know, let you be. And what the hell, Ron? Why would you even think we’d suspect you of something? We’re your friends.”
Just like that, the weight on my chest eased.
Maybe they were right. Maybe I had been imagining things, overthinking.
“Ah, you boys,” Hermione sniffled dramatically, then pulled both of us into a crushing hug, knocking our foreheads together. “You’re both such idiots.”
We laughed, rubbed our foreheads, and each got a quick kiss on the cheek before moving on. The subject never came up again.
The train ride home was loud and chaotic—just the way it should be.
Our compartment was packed with our usual lot, plus Hermione, Kellah, and Lavender. The latter two only stopped by briefly to drop off some pastries and juice before deciding to stick around for a few hours.
Harry, while buying some cakes from the trolley, nearly walked straight into Cho Chang. One look at her smile, and that was it—he was gone. Spent the rest of the ride staring dreamily into the distance, completely useless in conversation.
The rest of us, though, were buzzing. We swapped stories about exams, talked about summer plans, and showed off spells we’d learned. Lavender flirted outrageously, and I, being the generous soul that I am, encouraged it. Kellah was practically hunting Dean down. Hermione kept trying (and failing) to read while grumbling about the noise. And Harry? Well, Harry was off in his own little world, completely captivated by a pretty girl’s face.
Shame we all had to split off into different compartments eventually.
Still, we managed to make some plans.
“Cheer up, mate,” I told Harry. “The Quidditch World Cup’s in August—Bagman sorted us tickets. Dad said to invite you and Hermione to come with us and spend the rest of the holidays at the Burrow.”
“That’s brilliant,” Harry said, perking up a little. “Just… dunno how I’ll survive a whole month at the Dursleys until then. I wrote to Sirius—asked if I could stay with him. I mean, I’ve got the gold, I could’ve paid for a room, wherever he’s holed up. But he said no. Said it’s ‘for my own safety.’ And Dumbledore made me swear I’d stay at Privet Drive for the whole month.”
“You’ve gone all law-abiding on me, Harry,” I smirked. “The Knight Bus hasn’t been outlawed, has it? You could just pop over every day if you wanted. Or we could get your fireplace hooked up to the Floo Network—I’m sure your uncle would be more than happy to agree if you asked nicely. Or Dad could sort you out a Portkey to the Burrow—not cheap, but it’s a solid plan. That way, you’d only have to go back to Privet Drive to sleep. Use your head, mate, it’s there for a reason.”
“Ron, you’re a genius,” Harry grinned, instantly perking up. Hermione looked just as pleased—her family was off to Rome for the summer, and she’d been feeling guilty about leaving Harry behind. Or, well, about coming back and rubbing it in his face.
“Hold on, let me run it by Dad first,” I said, smug with my own brilliance.
As usual, I walked them out to the Muggle side of the station.
Dursley Senior hadn’t changed much since the last time I saw him, though he did look a bit friendlier—if you could call that twitching grimace a smile. At least he had a new car to keep him happy. He let out a disgruntled grunt when he spotted me but still flicked me a quick, interested glance, gave me a curt nod, and got into the car without even yelling at Harry. Progress, I suppose.
Leaving the Dursleys to it, I wandered over to the Grangers, who were just about to get into their own car. Had a quick chat, formally invited Hermione to the Burrow, then waved them off.
That night, we had a proper feast at home. Later, after a couple of glasses of Dad’s plum brandy, he was in a right cheery mood, so I took the opportunity to talk to him about Harry.
I spun it so that Harry was all worked up after everything that had happened that year, dead set on running off to find Black. That, of course, got Dad flustered.
He shut down the Knight Bus idea straight away—too risky drawing attention to the Dursleys’ house, and the bus had a habit of making unscheduled stops. Couldn’t be too careful.
The Floo Network was also a no-go for the same reason.
But the Portkey plan? That one, he liked.
Not that it ended up mattering—Dumbledore got involved.
Dad must’ve mentioned it to him, because the next thing we knew, the old man showed up at Privet Drive himself before Harry could leg it.
I only just managed to warn Harry about the story I’d spun, but he caught on quick.
Put on a full-on performance—shouting, throwing a fit, even throwing in a few threats for good measure. End result? The Hogwarts house-elves now Apparate him straight to the Burrow every morning at nine and back again at nine in the evening. Everyone’s happy.
With Harry’s summer sorted, I promptly disappeared on him—spent three weeks in Brazil with Luna and her dad, chasing after the elusive Blibbering Humdinger.
Not that Harry was fussed. The twins and the rest of my lot kept him busy. He was well-fed, had decent clothes for once, spent his days at the beach or playing Quidditch. A proper summer, not a miserable one stuck at Privet Drive. And with my family involved, boredom wasn’t an option.
Percy, meanwhile, was going full steam ahead with his new job. He’d aced his N.E.W.T.s—straight Outstandings across the board—and even had a shiny nameplate in the Trophy Room as the school’s best Prefect and top student. Mum was glowing with pride.
Dumbledore had even given him a job assisting Binns in teaching History of Magic.
The pay wasn’t great at first—only fifty Galleons instead of the full eighty, with the remaining thirty going toward his Ministry qualification—but that was still a massive win. It meant he didn’t have to take out a high-interest loan from the goblins.
Percy practically worshipped Dumbledore after that, over the moon with how well things had worked out. He spent every waking moment scribbling lesson plans, poring over textbooks, and drafting lectures. His owl barely had a moment’s rest, flying back and forth between Hogwarts and the Ministry’s Education Department.
And I was about ninety percent sure my siblings would murder me when they found out the whole ‘becoming a teacher’ idea had been mine.
Not that I had time to dwell on it—Luna and I were off, trekking through the jungle with a proper research expedition…
