Empty Spaces

Chapter 10

- Harry -

He didn't really know how or why, but Potions quickly became Harry's favorite class, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just because Holmberg was admittedly quite handsome or had a calm, soothing voice. It was more that, for two hours, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Harry left everything outside the door– his guilt, his shame, his anger, his confusion, all of it. For two hours, he felt free to be someone else, anyone other than Harry Potter. Holmberg ran a tight ship, rivaling and perhaps even surpassing McGonagall, which Harry strangely appreciated. Potion-making, Holmberg told them, requires teamwork at times and solitary work at others, something he was adamant about enforcing throughout class. "How can you expect to produce your best work when you are chit-chatting with your friend about something else?" he would ask them, "It's not that these things are unimportant. But there is a time and a place. You can talk during the break, which is only 5 minutes away. These things will all still be there in 5 minutes. Focus, please. Make the choice to deliver your best, and the best will come."

Make the choice. It was things like this that really spoke to Harry. Snape and Slughorn– especially Slughorn– had always acted like Potion-making was a mysterious talent of sorts: Either you were naturally good at it, or you naturally weren't. But Holmberg's message was entirely different. It wasn't about being "good" or "not good," and it wasn't about working "hard enough." It was about making choices for yourself, little choices, that determined your success. It wasn't a question of working "harder," but all about working smarter.

"Herr Potter, did you read the entire page thoroughly before commencing this potion? Ah, you see," he continued upon seeing Harry's noncommittal "er..." of a response, "if the answer is anything other than a solid 'yes, Professor,' then you and I both know what the answer really is. But it is fine, for now you can start again from the beginning, properly this time, and fix your mistake. Go ahead, it's alright Herr Potter, for now you've learned."

Now you've learned.

Mistakes were welcome in Holmberg's class, but under strict conditions– Now you've learned , was always his response and expectation. And Harry was learning quickly just how much he didn't know. Snape and Slughorn had both been master potion-makers, but for some reason, there were just so many details that they had never bothered breaking down in class before.

"Herr Potter, please explain to me your technique for holding the knife this way and why."

"Er– I've– just always done it this way? I've got to cut the beans...?"

"No, Herr Potter, for this task: finger here, thumb here, blade this way– you see? Much better. Never let me see you holding your knife like that again for this, doesn't work. And now you know. You see? Look at those beans. Excellent work now."

"He really knows his stuff," Hermione gushed during a well-deserved break in the middle of class. They'd spent thirty grueling minutes getting their antidotes to the stage where it needed to rest, and Holmberg was having them talk and relax during this part. "Harry, your antidote is really excellent. How did you get it to that color?"

Harry explained Holmberg's knife technique.

"Wow, I never would have thought that was the sort of thing that mattered," Hermione mused, impressed. "He told me the other day that I've been holding my spoon incorrectly this whole time for counter-clockwise stirring, and it made all the difference in the world..."

Harry nodded his agreement before turning over towards Ron.

"How's Quidditch practice going?" Ron was doing well enough in Potions, too, but he didn't quite share Harry and Hermione's enthusiasm for Holmberg.

"If you thought Johnson was tough, Ginny's even worse," Ron groaned. "She's got us up at the crack of dawn every damn day..."

"Of course she does," Harry laughed, shaking his head at the mental image and secretly glad he'd opted out of Quidditch this year, "When's the next match again?"

"Tonight," Ron replied, "Against Slytherin."

"Malfoy playing this year?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too interested and ignoring the side-eye coming from Hermione.

"Not that I know of," Ron shook his head, "They've got a new Seeker, some kid."

Harry glanced over at Malfoy across the room, buried in a book. His face was tired and he was somehow managing to look even paler than usual.

"I wonder how he's doing..." Harry said, more to himself than anything else.

"Just get up and go ask," Hermione said, making it sound as if this were something easy. Fortunately– or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it– Harry was saved by Holmberg announcing break time was over and they needed to get back to their work. Class ended with Harry once again feeling surprisingly good about his potion; Hermione left for Arithmancy while Harry and Ron headed down to the greenhouses.

"How's she doing?" Ron asked, glancing over at Hermione's retreating figure. "Is she okay? Happy?"

"I think as happy as she can be," Harry answered honestly. "Is anyone, though?"

"I know what you mean," Ron said. "Well... if she ever asks or mentions it... Can you tell her I just want her to be happy? I don't know how much she wants to still be friends or not, sometimes I think she does and sometimes I think she doesn't..."

"You can tell her yourself, you know," Harry pointed out. "She's not mad at you or anything. But, yea, I can tell her if she asks. You know Hermione, though, she mostly just likes to talk about school. She's got a weekend job at Honeydukes, too, so I honestly don't see her all that much outside of classes."

Ron gave a small smile, nodding and processing this.

"Thanks for taking care of her, mate," he said at last. "She puts on a brave face, but she's had it just as bad as the rest of us."

"I'm not really doing anything," Harry pointed out, "She takes care of herself. She always has."

"Yea, I know," Ron said, smiling again. "Which is why I'm glad she has you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He'd always assumed rooming with Hermione would be a sensitive subject with Ron.

"Yea, Ginny and I got to have a good chat the other day," Ron explained vaguely, opening the greenhouse doors. "Can't believe I didn't realize before... anyway. What are you doing after Herbology? Any chance you could give me some pointers on getting my Patronus to do the talking thing...?"

Just say yes. You can do it. It's not that hard.

"Er– sure. Yea... Yea, I can help with that."

"Thanks, mate."

They settled at their table in Greenhouse 2 with Neville and Ginny. It was almost like old times, except that it wasn't. The grief hung around them, between the laughter and the smiles and the casual conversation, it floated in the empty spaces and sank its teeth into their hearts when they least expected it. They were lost. But they were lost together, which Harry supposed had to somehow count for something.