Impose

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/31689146.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/M, Gen
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy &
Harry Potter & Ron Weasley & Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy &
Severus Snape, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Marlene
McKinnon
Characters: Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Draco
Malfoy, Ginny Weasley, Peter Pettigrew, Albus Dumbledore, Remus
Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Marlene McKinnon, Severus Snape, Tom
Riddle | Voldemort, Bartemius Crouch Jr., Lucius Malfoy, Alastor "Mad-
Eye" Moody, Other(s), Cho Chang, Luna Lovegood
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sirius Black Raises Harry
Potter, Hogwarts Third Year
Language: English
Series: Part 4 of Innocent Series
Collections: Awesome Reads
Stats: Published: 2021-06-02 Completed: 2021-07-04 Words: 197,875
Chapters: 53/53
 Impose
by MarauderLover7

Summary

It was still called the "Noble and Most Ancient House of Black", though it had been years
since any of the Blacks that approved of that name had lived there. Sirius Black would be a
disappointment to his parents, but Harry Potter - the home's other resident - was a credit to
his. Both were proud of that.

Sequel to "Innocent", "Initiate" and "Identity".

 Brothers and parents

"Pretty, isn't it?" Bill asked, climbing out onto the roof to join Ginny in the warm night. She
shifted over to make room for him, but didn't look away from the sky; above her, thousands
of stars glittered like diamonds over the busy markets below.

"I like it," she said, nodding. "I don't want to leave." And she didn't. Egypt, for all that it had
left her thirsty and sunburnt and with more freckles than ever, was wonderful. There was so
much to see – and Bill knew all the interesting places – and more to the point, there was
nothing here to remind her of Tom. She still heard him and still dreamed of him, but it wasn't
like Hogwarts, where she could imagine him prowling through the halls, or lazily raising his
hand in lessons, or like her bedroom at home, where she'd spent most of the last summer
writing to him.

Tom – pale, and tidy as he was – would be very out of place in the hot, dusty markets, and
probably wouldn't be interested in exploring pyramids with Ginny and the rest of the family,
nor wouldn't have the patience or humour to deal with the language barrier between them and
the locals (Fred and George's impression of Percy and his translation book was uncanny, after
days of perfecting it).

No, Tom wouldn't like it here at all, and that made Ginny feel very safe, and reminded her
that there were places he couldn't reach and – thanks to Harry – wouldn't ever reach.

"Yeah, it's been nice having you all here," Bill said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Busy, and
noisy, but nice. Wish Charlie could have made it, but it's getting harder and harder to pull him
away from his dragons."

"Mum said he's coming to the wedding," Ginny offered.

"That's short term, though, Gin," Bill said. Both of them jumped as Percy shrieked from
inside. A moment later, the twins' cackles drifted through the open window, shortly followed
by the first of Mum's shouts. Ginny and Bill sniggered.

"You think he'll stay there?" Ginny asked, when inside was quiet again.

"Yeah, I reckon he will." They sat in silence for a few minutes, just watching everything go
on around them. Then, Ginny finally tore her eyes off of the sky so that she could look at her
oldest brother.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?" Bill's earring swayed as he turned to look at her.

"Will you stay here, do you think?" Ginny asked.

"Nah," Bill said, eyes on the black outline of one of the pyramids they'd been to the day
before. "Don't get me wrong, I love it, I love what I do, and I've still got a few years ahead of
me here, before I'll be ready for a change, but I'll be home eventually." He paused and then
glanced down at the window he'd climbed up through. "Just don't tell Mum I said that, or I'll
never get her to shut up about me coming home; she's still convinced I'm going to die in a
horrific, thousand year old booby-trap."

"You shouldn't have told her about the boulder then," Ginny said.

"No," Bill agreed, with a wry laugh. "Probably not." He nudged her with his knee. "How are
you doing, anyway?"

Ginny stilled; other than the slightly longer, slightly tighter than usual hug she'd received
from him when she arrived in Egypt, Bill hadn't spoken about her first year at Hogwarts at
all. She'd been very appreciative of that, in fact.

"Fine," she said.

"You know," Bill said, looking up at the stars, "Mum asked me to talk to you-"

"I bet she did," Ginny grumbled. Mum meant well and Ginny appreciated that she was trying
to help, but she just didn't understand, and Ginny didn't think explaining everything to her
would help her understand any better… help anyone understand, for that matter. Sure, other
people had done bad things accidentally, or been friends with someone they shouldn't have,
but she'd had him in her head, and she hadn't realised what he was until it was too late. Then,
she'd fought him and lost, lost again and again, and people had been hurt because she wasn't
strong enough, because she hadn't been able to kick him out. People could feel sorry for her,
certainly, but they couldn't understand.

"-on the first night you were here," Bill continued, as if she hadn't said anything.

"You haven't said anything yet, though," Ginny said.

"Because I knew you'd get cranky." Bill nudged her again, and his arched eyebrow drew a
reluctant smile out of Ginny. "And that you'd probably avoid me for the rest of the trip, so I
waited. And now you're going home tomorrow, so if you start avoiding me now, I'll be a bit
put out about not getting a hug goodbye, but that's probably the worst possible outcome-"

"Genius," she said dryly, but Bill looked so proud of himself she couldn't help her smile.

"So?" Bill asked.

"So what?" Ginny asked, arching an eyebrow. "Mum told you to talk to me, not me to talk to
you."

"Aren't you clever," Bill muttered, rolling his eyes. "So, how've you been?"

"Fine," Ginny said.

"Are you?"

"I told you; I like it here."

"So you're completely fine?" Bill asked. "You don't- I dunno, have nightmares, or feel sick
sometimes, when you think back?" He was still looking at the stars, so Ginny didn't have to
worry about what her face looked like.

"Nope," she said, confident that Bill would believe her; she was sharing a room with Ron
here, and he was too used to Harry flailing and chattering during the night to be disturbed by
Ginny's restless sleep. And, her sound-proofing charms were good these days, so no noise
escaped the room to wake the rest of her family.

"Lucky," he said. "There was this stone tablet I found in a tomb a few months back, and the
ancient witch that made it had obviously done a fair bit of necromancy... This witch's- spirit,
or ghost or- whatever it was, kept showing up in the houses of the people that had touched the
tablet, and trying to get us to resurrect her. She'd talk to us, and give us these bloody awful
visions-" Bill pulled a face. "Xing-Bei resigned, and Gahiji actually tried to dig up her bones
before Nkosi and I stopped her. In the end, we destroyed the tablet and had a priest deal with
her, but some of the stuff she said… she was a right piece of work, I'm telling you."

"Sounds like it," Ginny agreed, keeping her expression open; Bill was watching her closely,
and trying to be sneaky about it. "I'm not scared, if that's what you're worried about," she told
him.

"Seen worse?" Bill asked in a joking tone, but she knew he was genuinely curious.

"Done worse," Ginny said. "Not that I remember any of it."

"Well, if you don't remember any of it, you won't need- never mind."

"Need what?" Ginny asked, curious.

"Nah, doesn't matter," Bill said.

"Bill," Ginny whined.

It was only when he grinned that she realised she'd been tricked. She considered sulking, but
she was too curious; Bill had just pulled something small out of his pocket, and offered it to
her. Ginny turned it over in her hands, interested. It was about the size of her palm, and
looked a bit like the wheel of the muggle bicycle Dad kept in the shed at home; the outside
was a ring of rough, sand-coloured stone, and the inside was a delicate spiderweb of thin
wire. There were three stone beads – the same sandy colour as the outside – sitting on some
of the wires, too, and they had little etchings in them.

"Suoja," Bill said pointing, at one of the tiny beads, "Eihwaz, Unelma… they're runes. I
thought you could keep it under your pillow, or on your bedside table if you're having trouble
getting to sleep, or if you're having bad dreams, but you said you're fine, so…"

He reached out, as if to take it back, and Ginny tucked it into the pocket of her pyjama shorts
before he could. Bill cocked an eyebrow at her, hand still outstretched. Ginny swatted it
away, and edged closer to his side, for a hug.
"Glad you like it," Bill said softly.

"-plenty of time," Padfoot said. Harry trailed behind him, doubtful.

"Andromeda-"

"-will murder us if we're late, I know," Padfoot said, grinning down at Harry. Harry didn't
think it was funny, though; while Tonks handled her impending wedding much the same as
everything else; with a laugh and a swear word and her usual laid-back optimism, her mother
was an entirely different matter. "But this needs to be done, and we need to stop putting it
off… I reckon it's messing with us, kiddo."

Harry had to concede that he might be right; they had tried to destroy the locket in the first
week of Harry's holidays, but, while the fang had pierced the locket, there had been no
indication that it had destroyed the horcrux; both Harry and Padfoot had reached the
conclusion that they might have to open the locket to do any real damage.

While Harry was fairly certain that getting it to open would be easy – thanks to his discovery
of parseltongue during his most recent school year – what actually happened when they did
open the locket was another matter. Last time, Lily and James had appeared, and- well,
having Voldemort's soul pose as his parents, and talk and knowing that he or Padfoot would
potentially have to fight them – or at least blast them out of the way – while the other stabbed
the locket was not something that was easy to reconcile with.

Whether that was why he and Padfoot had been reluctant to give it another shot, or whether
the locket was messing with them was hard to tell, though Padfoot suspected the latter.

Padfoot gingerly unwrapped the basilisk fang Harry had taken from the Chamber as they
entered the drawing room. Harry made to close the door, but Padfoot shook his head.

"I wouldn't. We might need to get out in a hurry; remember last time?"

Harry pushed the door back open, and went to sit on the arm of the couch, wand ready, while
Padfoot retrieved the locket and set it on the table.

There had been no question of whether Harry was allowed to help with this; he'd helped fetch
it when he was much younger, and much less experienced with danger than he was now, and
he was the only one of the two of them to have destroyed a horcrux. Oh, Padfoot might
have liked to object in the hopes of keeping Harry safe, but he hadn't dared. Harry half-smiled
at the thought.

"Ready?" Padfoot asked. Harry nodded, and opened his mouth at Padfoot's gesture.

He took a deep breath, and shut his eyes, just for a moment; the basilisk lingered there, in his
head, long and deadly, much the same as it had back in February, and much the same as in the
dreams he was still having about it now.
"Open," he whispered, and the odd 'huh' noise Padfoot made told Harry he'd used
parseltongue. There was a soft click, and then the sound of gold on wood as the locket
opened. For several seconds, the room was still, and silent but for a very quiet hissing sound
that was coming from the locket. Padfoot hadn't moved to stab it just yet, nor did Harry want
him to.

They waited.

"Harry," a deep voice said, just as a softer one said, "Sirius." Then, as they had last time, Lily
and James Potter appeared from within the locket. Padfoot still hadn't moved, and Harry
realised, a little guiltily, that perhaps he'd wanted to see them just as much as Harry had. They
looked different this time; last time, Lily had been beautiful, and James handsome, and they'd
looked so young and friendly.

This time, there was a sense of weariness about them, and the first streaks of grey had started
to show at James' temples, just as they had at Padfoot's (Moony, of course, had always had
grey hairs, for as long as Harry had known him). Lily had frown lines. Harry wondered if
they looked older because they'd actually aged in the locket, or if they just looked older
because he'd expected them to.

"How's it going?" Padfoot asked casually, but the look in his eyes was the one that tended to
be there when they visited the graveyard at Godric's Hollow; they'd been there a few weeks
back, for Harry's birthday, in fact. He waved with the hand holding the fang, and locket-Lily
eyed it with distaste.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Basilisk fang," Harry answered in a shaky voice.

"Go ahead," James said, though his voice was off; it sounded like Riddle's had, though maybe
a bit older. "If you can; going to kill me again, Padfoot? Kill Lily? Can you really watch us
die?"

"You're not you," Padfoot muttered, but James had struck a chord, and for Harry as well;
Harry had memories of the night his parents had died, and, while he hadn't seen it in anything
resembling perfect detail, the sounds and the flash of green light were more than enough.
Those dreams featured with the Chamber dreams, more often than not.

"Doesn't matter," James said, shrugging. "I look like me, I'll die looking like me, and you'll
know that you did it."

"Peter did it," Padfoot said.

"Yes, I suppose," Lily said. "And how's he doing? Atoning for his crimes, is he?" Padfoot
growled at her, and she threw a mocking smile in his direction.

"Padfoot." Harry'd had enough of them for the time being, and he had a feeling this could
very easily begin to spiral out of control. Padfoot looked at him, eyes clearer than Harry had
expected, and nodded.
"Yes, that's right," James said. "Listen to Harry."

"While you can," Lily sighed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, frowning at her; Padfoot had lowered the fang
again, and was wearing the expression Harry suspected he must use when he was arresting
people.

"Yes, I'd like to know that too," he said curtly. Lily folded her arms.

"It's hardly a secret he's living on borrowed time," James said. "First that business with
Quirrell, then the Chamber… and where were you, Sirius?"

"Not in a position to help him, that's where," Lily said scornfully. Padfoot flinched, just a bit,
and Harry knew he was listening to them now. He'd be able to sort himself out eventually, but
Harry didn't want to see what the locket could do with more time.

"And it's only a matter of time before he stops getting lucky, before he takes on an opponent
that's just a bit faster than he is-"

"Or the other people he's relied on so far get there just a bit late…"

"Procellus," Harry said, flicking his wrist in a circling motion. Air funnelled out of the tip of
his wand, and into a vortex that surrounded the pair of them. James' hand, unable to pass
through, confirmed that they were trapped; Harry hadn't been entirely sure how solid they
were, or if it would work. The wind swallowed their voices, too; he could see them shouting
from within their gusty prison, but couldn't hear them. Lily thumped the whirlwind and Harry
felt the spell falter. She shrieked soundlessly at him, face very ugly now, and starting to mix
into Tom's. "Padfoot, now!" he said.

Padfoot made a pained noise and Harry heard him stumble back. Panicking, Harry turned,
hoping that the locket hadn't hurt him somehow, and James – who, like Lily, was starting to
resemble Tom - took advantage of his distraction to throw himself against Harry's spell. It
shattered. Wind howled through the room, tugging on Harry's hair and upturning the couch. It
knocked Harry back into Padfoot, who caught him with one arm; the other was cradling his
midsection, and Harry's stomach churned with worry and fear.

James and Lily surged forward, and Harry lifted his wand, trying to think of a spell that
would hold them at bay, but then Padfoot's arm was there, pulling him back toward the door.

"What-?" Harry started to ask, but then he saw Kreacher advancing on the locket; he had the
fang in his knobbly little hand, and the other was held out before him, holding a glowing
green shield in place.

Harry saw him mumble something, and thought he might have heard the word 'Regulus' over
the wind and the inhuman howls of the things that had resembled Harry's parents, but now
looked more like Inferi than anything. Then, Kreacher stabbed the locket.
A cloud of black exploded out of it, and Harry saw Kreacher swallowed. He didn't even have
time to shout the elf's name before the cloud was upon them. He fumbled with his wand, but
Padfoot was ready with a shield charm, and Harry felt vague heat, but not much else; what
appeared to be ash billowed at them, but passed harmlessly over the shield and out onto the
landing and stairs.

Then, everything went very still; the ash fell to the floor all at once, and Harry's whirlwind
charm ended, and the drawing room was empty but for Kreacher, and the mangled locket.

Harry hurried forward, with Padfoot – still cradling his stomach - in his wake, and ash
billowed up around them. Kreacher had been knocked off his feet by the blast, and was
covered from head to toe in ash, and had a nasty looking burn on his shoulder, but otherwise
seemed unhurt, if his muttered curses were anything to go by.

Padfoot caught Harry's arm and held him at a distance, where they could watch Kreacher,
who was picking himself up off the floor, fang still in hand. Padfoot's wand stayed up, and
pointed at the elf.

"Done," Kreacher said thickly. "Done, done, oh, yes, it is done."

"Kreacher," Padfoot said, "drop the fang." The fan dropped onto the carpet without a sound,
but ask puffed up around it.

"Padfoot," Harry said, trying to push his godfather's wand down, but Padfoot fended off
Harry's attempts with his elbow. Harry looked at Padfoot, who was rather pale, and at
Kreacher, who appeared to be crying, and decided he must be missing something.

"Explain," Padfoot said curtly.

Kreacher snapped his fingers and Padfoot sucked in a breath, then straightened, fingers
probing his midsection.

"You hurt him?" Harry asked Kreacher.

"Kreacher had orders, Kreacher promised to destroy the locket, but Kreacher hadn't, and
Kreacher thought Master Sirius- that the Dark Lord had won him, so Kreacher-"

"Attacked me and did it yourself," Padfoot said, rubbing a hand over his face. "And I wasn't
faltering."

"Much," Harry said, arching an eyebrow. He'd expected a scowl, but instead Padfoot's
expression grew shadowy.

"Awful as it is, it was-"

"Nice to see them?" Harry asked, swallowing. Padfoot didn't say anything, but he did reach
out and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Right," he said, after several long moments, and turned back to Kreacher, who was dusting
himself off. "You attack me again – even if it is to kill a horcrux – and I'll go back on what I
said and stick your head up on the wall like my cow of a mother did to yours." Harry didn't
think Kreacher saw that as a threat as much as he did an honour, but Kreacher had the sense
to interpret it in the way it was intended, and bowed his head, nodding. "Good." He looked
around at the drawing room – ruined, for the second time since they'd moved in. "We'll deal
with this mess later, we've got to get ready or Andy'll have our heads."

Padfoot picked up the fang and strode out.

"He's not really angry," Harry said to Kreacher. "Just-"

"Kreacher is well accustomed to Master Sirius' moods," Kreacher said, patting Harry's arm.
"Not happy with Kreacher for attacking, not happy with Master Sirius for his falter, no, he
isn't. Not to worry, Master Harry, Kreacher knows, oh, yes." Kreacher shuffled over to the
locket and picked it up. Harry had seen little smirks and smiles on the elf's face before, and
seen him pleased, but he didn't think he'd ever seen him this content; he supposed it must be
nice to finally fulfilled his promise to Regulus after all these years.

"He's happy about that, though," Harry said. "Padfoot, I mean."

"Kreacher knows," Kreacher assured him. There were stomping footsteps on the landing, and
then Padfoot was back.

"Stand still,' he said, "I'll fix the burn on your shoulder." Kreacher stayed very still as Padfoot
dabbed the ointment on, and then patted his hand when it was done. The pair of them shared
a long look, then Padfoot swallowed and looked away, at the same time as Kreacher sniffed
and looked down. "Right," Padfoot said gruffly. "We really need to get ready now."
 The wedding

Remus straightened his dress robes and glanced back over the rows of their wedding guests
to the cottage.

Marlene was there, standing beside where most of the British Aurors had congregated and
looking rather nice in navy robes, and the Aurors Dora had got to know in France were near
them. Across the aisle from her, the Weasleys had settled after the frantic bustle of their
arrival, and all looked particularly freckled after their trip to visit Bill. Draco and Narcissa –
who'd been invited by Andromeda, but who Remus hadn't actually thought would come –
were on Snape's other side, and next to him was McGonagall in sharp green robes. Hagrid, in
the furriest suit Remus thought he'd ever seen, and Madam Maxime had been given two large
sets together at the very back row, and were deep in conversation, and Remus was amused to
see his belligerent, prejudiced Aunt Catherine trying to find a seat as far from them as
possible.

She ended up seated beside Ethan of all people – who Remus had debated at length over
inviting – but in the end had, and had not invited Sarah – who was seated beside
Dumbledore, looking uncertain, but not entirely unhappy with the arrangement. He did,
however, keep shooting nervous glances at Matt as if to reassure himself he was there.

But speaking of not there…

"Where do you think they are?" he asked Matt in a low voice; Andromeda was within
earshot, and, while she'd probably noticed her cousin's absence, Remus wasn't going to risk
it. He wanted Sirius at his shoulder, where he was supposed to be, not dead.

"No clue," Matt said. "Maybe-" But he cut off, and they both looked back at the cottage, ears
perking up at the faint, tell-tale pop of apparation. Sure enough, Harry appeared, leading
Hermione; she, despite being pale and a bit unsteady on her feet, seemed to be asking
questions at her usual rapid rate, and Remus surmised that it must have been her first Side-
Along experience.

Her parents had been invited as well, more as a courtesy than anything, because Remus had
only met them a handful of times – but only Hermione had accepted the invitation, and so
Sirius had offered to collect her.

Harry settled Hermione in a seat beside Ron, and was promptly attacked by Andy with a
bottle of Sleekeazy's and a comb; Remus could hear him protesting, oven over the noisy
babble of their guests.

"Sorry we're a bit late," Sirius said, sidling into place beside Matt. Remus grunted, too
relieved he'd showed up to bother to ask where he'd been, or to chastise him for it.

"Why do you smell like ash?" Matt asked, sniffing at Sirius.

"I shouldn't, I showered," Sirius said. Remus arched an eyebrow, but Sirius just gave him a
look that Remus took to mean 'later'. "Garden looks good too, Moony."

"You're just saying that because you did most of it," Matt said, and Remus grinned. Sirius
looked relieved they'd let the topic drop, and Remus wondered what Sirius could possibly
have been up to that morning that he wasn't willing to talk about in front of Matt. It couldn't
be Auror business because he had the day off, and a significant portion of the Department had
the day off with him (or at least enough of the day that they could make it to the ceremony).

Remus decided to let the matter rest, in favour of a nervous glance at the cottage; Marlene
had headed that way, as had Beth, and Remus suspected that meant Dora was almost ready to
come out. He took a deep breath.

"Not getting cold feet, are you, Moony?" Sirius asked, nudging him.

"No," Remus muttered, and he wasn't, but- well, to be frank, he still couldn't believe Dora
had put up with him long enough that he'd felt ready to propose, or that she'd said yes when
he had, managed to actually spit out the right words and ask. "Just a bit- overwhelmed."

"I think that's normal," Matt said, glancing at Sirius for help.

"Dunno," Sirius said, shrugging. "James was stupidly excited for his wedding, but he was
always a bit mental-" He and Remus shared a grin, and then Remus automatically glanced
over at the two empty chairs in the front row, which would have been theirs. Beside those,
were another two empty chairs, which would have been for his parents. "-late to Frank and
Alice's, so I wouldn't know, and then I reckon the only other weddings I've been to, were
Black family ones."

"Andromeda and Ted?"

"Eloped," Sirius said, shrugging. "Probably why she's been such a terror these last few
months." Matt pulled a face, and all three of them looked up to see Andromeda ushering
Harry into place, before taking her seat in the front row, beside some of Ted's rather
overwhelmed looking muggle relatives.

"Here we go," Matt murmured, as the little old witch they'd arranged to perform the
ceremony sidled up to the podium, and music started from somewhere near the cottage.
Silence fell over those gathered, and Remus' heart was in his throat, and his chest felt like it
was full of particularly restless pixies.

Dora appeared on her father's arm, in the doorway of Remus' cottage, and he was surprised
and relieved that he recognised her (if Andromeda had had her way, he might not have); Dora
was sporting blue curls, a dragon's tooth necklace which had been an early gift from Charlie
Weasley, and a wide grin. Her dress was white and simple, with a longish train at the back,
but a short front, likely so that she wouldn't trip over trying to walk. Remus noticed her eye
her heels with some trepidation before starting up the aisle after Beth and Marlene, and was
surprised she hadn't forgone them in favour of some sturdier footwear; they must have been
her mother's touch.
Remus' nerves faded as he watched his almost-wife, and was pleased to see she looked as
impatient as he felt with the slow pace up the aisle. She stumbled once, predictably – and
those that knew her best chuckled - but Ted seemed to have expected it and steadied her
without even breaking stride. In the seat closest to the aisle, Mad-Eye repositioned himself;
he too, had been ready to catch her, it seemed.

Marlene and Beth went to stand on the opposite side of the podium to Sirius and Matt, and
then, finally, she reached him.

"Wotcher," she said, grinning up at him, as Ted put her hand in Remus'. He grinned back, and
the little old witch started the ceremony.

The last of the sun was just starting to vanish behind the forest that backed onto Moony'
garden, and the little lights Harry had helped Padfoot string up the day before were starting to
glow a gentle gold.

Harry's plate of wedding cake vanished from the table in front of him, and then, in the seat
opposite, Padfoot got to his feet, and tapped gently on the side of his glass with his wand.
Everyone looked up at the chiming sound.

"First off," Padfoot said, "I'd like to thank you, on behalf of Mr and Mrs Lupin-" Harry had to
grin at how odd that sounded. "-for coming this afternoon, and celebrating with them. It's
been a long road, and not – as some of you will know – a particularly easy one." Padfoot was
as at ease talking to dozens of people as he would have been just talking to one or two. "Dora
was the first to work out that she fancied him- sorry, I should clarify; the first of the pair of
them to work it out. The rest of us had been waiting for a good long while already." Laughter
echoed around the garden, and Padfoot grinned, obviously pleased with himself. "And then
Remus took a while longer; bit dense, this one." He ruffled Moony's hair, and Moony swatted
at his hand, scowling playfully.

"But it works." Padfoot turned to smile at Moony and Tonks. "And despite a massive move
which Remus almost mucked up, and despite Dora misunderstanding his proposal and telling
him she wasn't in the mood-" Tonks never failed to blush at this, and now was no exception.
"-they've made it here. Moony's happy – happier than I've ever known him to be, even back
when we were at school." Padfoot grinned, rather evilly. "That said, you probably spend your
time with Dora a little… er… differently than you did with me and James."

Most of the adults laughed at that, and both Moony and Tonks flushed bright red.

"And Remus- he's my best mate… practically my brother, and- well, he's brilliant, and I'm
glad you were able to look past his furry little problem and realise that; even he struggles to
see past it, sometimes... Not that you'll let him get away with that anymore, Dora." Padfoot
smiled, and reached for his glass, then lifted it into the air. "To Remus and Dora," he said, and
Harry and everyone else lifted their glasses too, "and to happiness."

An answering murmur of "to happiness" echoed around the garden, and then, music drifted
out over those seated. Tonks bounded to her feet, and pulled Moony up; while he was making
faces, he really didn't seem to mind, and the pair of them had the first dance on the grass
beneath the twinkling lights. Harry heard Andromeda sigh contentedly from Matt's other side,
and made a face.

Padfoot and Marlene joined Moony and Tonks, as did the Tonkses, and then Moony danced
with Andromeda and Tonks with Ted, and then Harry lost sight of Padfoot, only to see him a
few seconds later, leading an amused looking McGonagall. Harry saw Fred and George waltz
dramatically out onto the grass, hand-in-hand, and saw Draco and his mother, and saw Mr
Weasley dancing with Ginny, and Ron with Mrs Weasley.

Harry was going to head for Hermione – who looked a little uncertain over by Percy and
Charlie – in the hopes that they could both hide from the dancing together, but someone
intercepted him.

"I'm going to keep Hermione company," Harry told Marlene, and tried to slip past her
outstretched hand.

"She's fine," Marlene said, and she was; Hermione had been found by Hagrid, and was
laughing as she followed him to the edge of where the dancers were. "Come on." She
grabbed his hand, and Harry, seeing no way out, dragged his feet all the way to the
dancefloor.

Harry lost track of time for a bit. He knew he'd danced with Marlene, Tonks and Mrs
Weasley, and then was swept up for a bit by Padfoot – who Harry was sure had set out with
the sole purpose of embarrassing him – and then somehow ended up by Hermione who
obviously wanted to dance. Thankfully, she was swept up by a very enthusiastic Fred, while
George left Ginny with Harry in favour of hunting down Percy, who was lingering on the
edge of the dance floor with a girl Harry thought was a Prefect for Ravenclaw.

"Want to dance?" Ginny asked, at the same time as Harry asked if she was hungry. He was
relieved when she trailed after him, to stand by the food table.

"How was Egypt?" he asked her; he figured if he made conversation, she'd stay and talk and
hopefully that would put off anyone else who wanted to dance with him. Ginny smiled in a
way that made Harry think she knew what he was up to.

But, she grabbed a sandwich, and leaned against the table, apparently not minding.

"It was brilliant. I miss Bill now that we're home, though." She smiled and looked past Harry
to the bar. "Charlie's home for a few days, though, which is nice." Harry turned and spied
Charlie speaking with a tall, blonde woman over by the bar.

"Girlfriend?" Harry asked, but couldn't recall Ron ever mentioning that Charlie was seeing
anyone.

"No, I've never seen her before," Ginny said. "I think Charlie came with Tom. They're at the
reserve together." Harry knew the name, though he'd never met Tom himself; Tom, however,
had met Moony, and helped him get Hagrid's dragon away from Hogwarts in Harry's first
year, as a favour to Tonks. It was Hagrid that the man that Harry assumed was Tom was
talking to, and he thought he heard Norbert's name.
"So, how's- everything?" Harry asked, after a moment's hesitation; there'd been something
odd in Ginny's tone when she said 'Tom'. But they were at a wedding, and she'd seemed
happy enough until now and it was probably the last thing she wanted to talk about. Harry
hastily added, "Ready to go back to school, or-"

Ginny arched an eyebrow, and again, Harry thought she'd seen right through him, but she
only said. "I suppose. Are you doing Divination and Care of Magical Creatures like Ron?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "And Arithmancy as well."

"Three?"

"Hermione's doing all four," Harry said, shrugging, though he wasn't sure how; his timetable
would be full with his three extra subjects, so he didn't know where Hermione was going to
find the time, but that was her problem, not his.

"Draco?"

"Magical Creatures, Divination, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy," Draco said, melting out of
the throng of dancers to come and stand beside them. "Hello, Potter, She-Weasley. Not
dancing?"

"Nope," Harry said.

"Probably for the best," Draco drawled. "Knowing you, you'll find some way to injure or
endanger yourself, just when everyone's having a nice time."

"I would not!" Harry protested, pulling a face. "Do I look like I'm in danger?"

"The night's still young," Draco said, smirking. Ginny's eyes flicked between them, but she
hadn't taken a side yet.

"I'm not going to get into trouble tonight," Harry said, and he was sure of that much.

"Then you'll have made it a day without being in mortal danger," Draco said. "Isn't that
exciting?" Harry suddenly remembered what he'd been doing that morning. He wasn't sure
what his face looked like, but it obviously gave him away; Draco's eyes narrowed. "What-
actually, never mind, I think I'd rather not know." Harry grinned at him. "Would you like to
dance, She-Weasley?"

"Yes, if you'd like to," she said, smiling at him. Harry's grin faded.

"Hang on-"

"If you don't want to be on your own, come and dance," Ginny said over her shoulder, as
Draco led her away.

"Traitor!" Harry called after her, and she and Draco laughed.
Harry looked around, trying to find someone he knew that wasn't dancing. Ron, Hermione,
Draco and Ginny were dancing all together, rather than in pairs, and Padfoot and Marlene
were doing a complicated waltz-type thing in the middle of the dance floor. Moony and
Tonks were rocking gently off to one side, Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking with
Mad-Eye Moody, who took a sip from his hip-flask as Harry watched, and Hagrid was deep
in conversation with the biggest woman Harry had ever seen. He wondered briefly if Hagrid
had a wife he hadn't known about, and then shook his head. He was sure he'd have seen her
around if that was the case; a woman her size would not be easy to miss.

Harry spied Andromeda heading his way, and baulked; she was probably coming to drag him
onto the dance floor herself.

Someone, he thought urgently, glancing around, anyone… He couldn't go to the Aurors – who
were deep in conversation – and all of the Weasleys were dancing. Harry's eyes alighted on a
lone figure, and headed over, sure that – unpleasant as this might be – it was surely a better
alternative than dealing with Andromeda.

Snape lowered his drink as Harry approached, looking equally surprised and displeased to see
him.

"Did you need something?" he asked, lifting his drink again. Harry slid onto the stool
opposite, and watched Andromeda change course out of the corner of his eye. Snape seemed
to understand. "Ah," he said. "Very well, Potter, take your sanctuary, but there are conditions-
"

"Do you dance?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely not." If it was term-time, Harry suspected he'd have just lost a large number of
points for Gryffindor, but as it was, he was just relieved that he'd be able to hide here for a
while. Snape snagged another drink off of a nearby tray, and Harry wondered how many he'd
had. "My main condition for your continued sanctuary, is in regards to speaking; that is to
say, there will be none from you. Am I clear?"

Harry didn't particularly want to talk to him either, so he had no issue with that, and he
nodded. He could have sworn Snape's mouth twitched.
 To be a servant

His existence – while markedly better of late than it had been for many months – still mainly
consisted of time spent in a meditative sort of state, somewhere caught between dreaming
and thinking. Once or twice a week, if he saved his strength, he was able to awaken, and
remain awake and alert for a few hours.

The topic of his dreams and thoughts were never quite the same two nights in a row, but did
tend to cycle beyond that; some nights, he was back in the cold, wintry forests of Albania.
Sometimes Quirrell was there, other times he was not. He did not care for Quirrell,
particularly, but the man had been smart and more importantly, malleable. He'd done
everything he was asked and it was a pity he was dead now. Competent help was hard to find.

Other nights, he was in the Chamber of Secrets. It was a place he'd dreamed of frequently for
the past year, but he hadn't known why until Crouch's return. He'd heard all about the
Chamber's opening, and had deduced on top of that, that, given he was the only Heir, the only
way it could have been opened was with his old diary… It made sense, he supposed, that he'd
reached out to his horcrux when it was strong and he was weak. And it had been strong… a
little too strong.

The ring – his first horcrux – had been a test, imperfect. The soul it contained had been barely
a sliver, for he'd not known how best to construct one. The diary though… perhaps it had
been due to his effort to leave the secret of Slytherin's Chamber in there, to give life to the
diary in a way that none of his other horcruxes had, but when he'd created it, it had been with
too much soul… half in fact, but even so, he'd never imagined it to have the life about it that
he'd dreamed of it having… not – he didn't think – that that was an issue anymore.

Harry Potter's face stared up at him, covered in blood and grime and ink, and he pushed the
image away with a soundless snarl. It took effort – it did, after all, require Legillimency – but
it was worth it. The boy's face blurred, faded into a pale smudge, and then it was back in an
older, near identical form. James Potter wore the same panicked-yet-defiant look he'd worn
on the night he'd died, and he allowed the face to remain in his dream, namely because it was
a safe one; there was nothing the man could do to him. After a few moments, the resemblance
to the younger Potter became too much though, and he swept that face aside too.

Or tried to; green light flashed off of the glasses, blinding for a moment, and then became the
green of the basilisk's scales, which blurred past his gaze too quickly for him to focus, until
he'd reached a ruined, once-yellow-now-bloody eye. Then, there was a flash of crimson
feathers, which became crimson hair and her voice spoke to him, begged him to take her
instead.

He tore her image to shreds, but she only wavered for a moment, then the crimson faded to
orange and freckles bloomed and green became brown and little Ginny's face appeared before
him. Then, she was running, running away from him, through the tunnels that led to the
Chamber.
"I won't!" she snapped at him, and then everything was orange and another, shriller voice
repeated those words.

Lord Voldemort opened his eyes to the old, fire-lit study of the Riddle house, and the sound
of voices in the hall.

"No, I won't, we can just Obliviate him-"

"If you won't, I will." The second voice belonged to Crouch. Immediately following his
words, was a flash of green light and a thump – the sound of someone falling onto the dusty
floorboards. "Not so hard, was it?"

"H-he's awake." Silence fell in the hallway outside, and then the door opened and Crouch
stepped in, with Wormtail trailing behind, like always.

"A useful talent, Wormtail," he said softly, and it was; perhaps his breathing changed, or his
heartbeat, or perhaps it was something else, but Wormtail always seemed to know.

"How are you feeling, My Lord?" Crouch came to kneel beside his armchair.

"Much the same. How long?"

"Four days since you were last awake, My Lord."

"And that?" Not strong enough to lift an arm, or nod, Lord Voldemort merely flicked his eyes
in the direction of the corridor.

"Muggle groundskeeper's been snooping around," Crouch said, apparently unconcerned.

"But no longer?"

"No, My Lord."

"And you, Wormtail." Wormtail, who'd been lingering in the doorway, obviously wondering
whether he could slip away, stiffened at being addressed, and then scurried closer. "What
news?" Wormtail's namesake allowed him into places where Crouch couldn't risk going, and
on occasion, he was able to steal a paper or overhear something of importance.

"Nothing much," Wormtail said, wringing his hands. "They've still got Dementors at
Hogwarts, ready for the new term, but we thought that would be the case… Mad-Eye
Moody's taking the Defence position-"

"Shortest retirement I've heard of," Crouch muttered. It was a blow, to be sure; with
Dumbledore and Moody at the school, Potter would be nigh untouchable, and that boded
poorly for the ritual that they'd hoped to use.

"You might have to use someone else-" Wormtail started, and – out of sheer frustration,
mostly that Wormtail was right - Lord Voldemort hissed at him. He fell silent at once, with a
tremor.
"I want him!"

"We'll get him," Crouch said quickly. "Somehow. Lure him out, or lure out the teachers to
make him easier to get to… it's been done before. And we might be able to use the rat to get
into the school, otherwise… there's got to be a secret passageway or something."

"I believe that's your area of expertise?" Wormtail shrank under his gaze.

"I- maybe, if I can remember. You're not in any state to travel, though-"

"I had not forgotten," Lord Voldemort said pointedly. Wormtail seemed to fold into himself,
or perhaps that was Lord Voldemort's vision beginning to fail. His dreams beckoned. "I want
more news of Hogwarts, Wormtail; about Moody, and the passages, and the general security-
"

"I could be gone for w-weeks," Wormtail said nervously.

"And if you ever did anything," Crouch sneered, "then perhaps we'd miss you. My Lord, how
can I serve you?"

"Deal with that." He was too weak to move, but he knew Crouch would understand that he
meant the body in the corridor. "And take me somewhere safe, where we can explore
alternatives," he said. "Rarely does Wormtail bring me good news."

"How will I find you again?" Wormtail asked.

Crouch replied with something, but Lord Voldemort was drifting.

Lucius sat as his desk and stared at the postcard on his desk, entirely torn between being
irritated by it, and curious. The postcard gave a wiggle, as if sensing his displeasure.

A quick glance up at the door of his office confirmed that it was still closed. Narcissa, of
course, knew he was indirectly in contact with his Lord, and Hydrus would never dare
intrude.

Draco, on the other hand, might.

… But, then again, he might not, because he'd given Lucius a wide-berth this summer,
spending it with Severus, or at Potter's house, or out on the Manor grounds, beneath his
favourite tree. Lucius wasn't sure whether Draco was still mad about the conversation they'd
had prior to his petrification – and whether he was being self-righteous and upset on
everyone's behalf, or whether he was upset because he himself had been petrified was a
mystery.

Or, worse; the way Potter had behaved in Dumbledore's office had made Lucius think he
somehow knew about his Lord's diary, and about how Ginny Weasley had managed to get
ahold of it. It was ridiculous, of course – if Potter knew, Lucius would be rotting in Azkaban
– but he just hadn't been able to shake the feeling.
If Potter did know, he might have told Draco… not that Lucius would know that; it wasn't
something that Lucius would be able to speak with his son about. After all, if Draco did
know, he'd made his feelings perfectly clear with his silence (but for the occasional, frosty
'morning, Father', and if he didn't, then Lucius wasn't about to be the one to tell him.

He was glad the Hogwarts term was due to resume tomorrow; Hydrus was brash, but
otherwise growing into a proper young man, but Draco… he'd once bewildered Lucius, but
they'd managed. Now, though, he'd failed to grow out of his odd opinions and blood-traitor
friends, and it seemed he cared little for his family. Lucius was well on the way to giving him
up as a lost cause, though Narcissa still believed that he'd come good… Lucius loved his
wife, but she could be naïve. Draco had been chilly with her as well, which was baffling, as
Draco had always seemed closest to his mother.

The postcard wiggled again, and with a sigh, Lucius turned it over, tapped it once with his
wand, and murmured, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Malfoy. The single word appeared on the back of the postcard, in Pettigrew's hand.

The others have gone abroad again, but I am in Britain, gathering information for our Lord.
Your last tip about the Dementors and Mad-Eye Moody were helpful, and our Lord sends his
appreciation. I need to know more, though. I understand you are still an important figure at
the Ministry. What can you tell me about Mad-Eye Moody? Where does he spend his time?
And what is the state of things at Hogwarts at the moment?

I will be in touch.

Lucius huffed. The first time he'd received such a postcard, he'd had a thousand questions,
and none of them had been answered. They had, after all, had the gall to get him involved –
and he was yet to receive any evidence that either of them were actually with the Dark Lord,
and not merely using the threat of that to manoeuvre Lucius. But ignoring them wasn't a risk
Lucius would take if the Dark Lord was with them, and so he'd stopped asking questions, and
simply written back. Several postcards had come and gone since then. He reached for his
quill.

Luckily for you I will be at the Ministry this afternoon, and may be able to look into Moody.
Understand, though, I do it on my Lord's behalf, and not yours. As for Hogwarts, my sons
return tomorrow, and I expect a letter after the Welcoming Feast. I will pass on anything of
use.

And, for the last time, do not use my name in your messages.

That last was more due to the fact that Lucius was feeling irate that morning and wanted to
rankle Pettigrew than out of fear that his – admittedly slight – role in all of this would be
discovered; Pettigrew had – Lucius would grudgingly admit – done well in creating a secure
method of communication.

Lucius waited for a few moments, but no response came, so Lucius threw the postcard in the
fire and made sure it burned.
"Dobby!" he called, but Dobby was nowhere to be found. Such had been the case for almost a
week now. Lucius had been entertaining the notion that Dobby might have died somewhere,
but Narcissa had seen him before the Lupin wedding, and Hydrus had seen him on several
occasions, and their dinners had always been served on time, to their usual standard. Lunch
and breakfast were another matter entirely. "Dobby, now!" he hissed, but the room remained
silent.

Lucius stalked out of his office and almost bowled Draco over in the hallway.

"Have you seen the elf?" he snapped at his son.

"Not for a while now," Draco said. He had an envelope in one hand, a book in the other. His
expression was neutral – had Hydrus worn it, Lucius would have been impressed, but on
Draco it frustrated him, because it was just one more thing about his son that he didn't
understand. "He doesn't come when I call him anymore, either."

Lucius grunted and went down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. Breakfast, on the
other hand, was not something he had any skill in creating, and so he'd have to go without…
just as he had for three days now.

Lucius' hands clenched around his mug, as he sat alone in the kitchen – a room he'd rarely
had any need to visit in the past – and brooded over the best ways to punish his wayward
servant.

Draco's mouth twitched as soon as Father turned his back and headed down to the kitchen,
but he kept himself in check and continued out to the grounds, to his tree. A paper bag,
containing a steaming egg and bacon roll was waiting for him.
 Unexpected passengers

It was nice, Ron couldn't help but think, to be a third year. They'd been able to find a
compartment with no trouble at all – all the first years were still on the platform with their
families, and all of the second years were in little clusters out in the corridors. Ron and the
rest of them were used to the September 1st routine though, and were comfortably
sequestered inside a compartment, chatting about the holidays.

He lived with Ginny, so he wasn't very interested in what she had to say because he'd been
there for all of it, and he had seen a fair bit of Harry as well; Sirius had been at the Ministry,
trying to track Pettigrew and Crouch down and so Harry had either come to the Burrow or
Ron had visited Grimmauld. Hermione and Malfoy he'd seen once, for Harry's birthday, but
otherwise not at all except for the wedding.

Malfoy wasn't talking much – he was in his usual seat by the window – and not looking, but
Ron was sure he was listening. Hermione was – in typical Hermione fashion – reciting the
contents of all the books she'd read over the summer.

"Hermione," Ron said weakly, "can you not?" Harry looked relieved, but Hermione bit her lip
in a way that Ron recognised as nervous. A second later, he realised why and wanted to kick
himself; of course she'd be nervous about being behind, when she'd spent months of their
second year petrified, along with Malfoy. "I mean," he added, "we already know you're
brilliant without you rubbing it in."

Hermione's expression warmed at once but she didn't say anything else about her books, and
Ron considered it a win. To make things ever better, Malfoy spoke, taking away any chance
Hermione might have had of continuing the conversation. Her attention went to the ugly,
orange furball she'd introduced them to when she arrived on the train.

"Does anyone want to hear about my holidays?"

"Only if you tell me about the post you got," Ginny said, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, there was a long letter from Potter about how much he missed me," Malfoy drawled,
"and an even longer one from Weasley-" Ginny sniggered, while Harry protested and Ron
just rolled his eyes. Malfoy's smirk faded though, replaced by a more thoughtful look. "The
bludger was you?"

"What bludger?" Harry asked.

"The one that arrived at the Manor in the second week of the holidays, and destroyed two
portraits and a very valuable chandelier before my father managed to get it under control,"
Malfoy said, still watching Ginny.

"Where the bloody hell did you get a bludger?" Ron demanded.
"Fred and George helped me," Ginny said, shrugging. "It was second hand, out of the
classifieds in the Prophet because it was old and getting dangerous…"

"Brilliant," Harry said, grinning. Ginny shrugged again.

"Well, if now's the time to confess to what punishments we've dealt to Father, I suppose I
ought to as well," Malfoy said, and let that hang in the air for a bit. Hermione looked
interested and Ginny looked downright thrilled.

"I know this one," Harry said, still grinning.

"You do not," Malfoy said. "I've kept it quiet."

"Dobby didn't," Harry responded, shrugging.

"He can't have told!" Malfoy said, looking put out. "I ordered him not to!"

"He didn't go into specifics," Harry said. Ron got the impression he was having a wonderful
time. "But when he showed up asking for work, it was pretty obvious-"

"Looking for work?!" Malfoy's mouth had fallen open. "But he- I told you he likes you
better-"

"Nah, mate," Ron couldn't help but say. "Harry caught him giving you a sponge bath when
you were petrified-" Draco's face turned a satisfying shade of pink. "-you're definitely his
favourite."

"Just remember I know where you sleep, Weasley," he said loftily. "So, does anyone want to
hear…?"

"Oh, go on," Hermione said, looking amused, "you're obviously dying to tell us about how
you've freed Dobby."

Draco shot her a withering look, and Ginny laughed. Ron savoured the sound; she'd been
laughing more and more lately, but it was still reasonably uncommon. He'd missed it. Harry
seemed to know what he was thinking, and smiled.

Draco launched into a long, very detailed story about how he'd freed his house elf, but kept it
secret; Dobby had shown up every few days, to bring Mrs Malfoy, or Malfoy's git brother a
sandwich or meal, or to do some ironing, but not allowed himself to be more than glimpsed
by Mr Malfoy.

Ron half listened, but mostly looked past Malfoy, out the window, and imagined Mr Malfoy
trying to work the stove, or use a clothes peg. He chuckled to himself, and poked a finger
through the bars of Scabbers' cage, for the rat to sniff.

Hermione's beast of a cat watched with interest, and Ron glared back. The cat didn't seem
intimidated in the least, but nor did he seem to want to come over and harass Scabbers… yet.
Ron would be watching him carefully.
Crookshanks looked away, startled by the rustling of paper caused by Hermione vanishing
behind a copy of the Daily Prophet. Next to her, Ginny pulled out her Quidditch Quarterly
magazine. Ron had given it to her for her birthday – with a few sweets and a copy of
Quidditch Through The Ages – because she'd expressed an interest in Quidditch over the
summer, and in wanting to go flying. Ron couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her on a
broomstick, but she'd always liked coming to Charlie's games and she'd tagged along to the
Cannons game Ron had been given tickets to for his seventh birthday (despite apparently
hating the Cannons), and so it had been an easy present and one that she'd seemed to like.

Harry began to read over her shoulder, and Ron was just wondering whether he should join
them, because he had nothing else to do, when Malfoy plonked a chessboard down on the
seat between them. Ron grinned.

The countryside blurred past as they played, and the sky darkened. Ron had won three games
to Malfoy's one, and was – if things kept going the way they were going – about to lose a
second. But he was saved; the train jerked, and the pieces scattered. Ron's old set swore and
carried on as they rolled across the floor, while Malfoy's carried on loudly about how they
were sure the bloodtraitor had planned this just because he didn't want to lose. The train
slowed, and a wincing Hermione extracted Crookshanks' claws from her leg.

"Are we there?" Ginny asked. "Bit of a rougher stop than usual…"

"We can't be," Hermione said, consulting her watch. "We've got another hour, at least."

"Broken down?" Harry asked, peering out the window. "Can magical trains break down?"
Ron had no idea, and for once, even Hermione didn't seem to have an answer. "Someone's out
there." Malfoy gave up on trying to collect his angry chess pieces and glanced outside.

Several things happened simultaneously; Harry tensed and scooted away from the window,
looking grim, ice raced across the glass and a chill descended on Ron, and Malfoy leaned
away from the window, expression curiously blank.

"Dementors," he said flatly.

Ron's heart sank – he wasn't sure whether it was actually because of the Dementors, or if it
was because he knew they were out there. Hermione looked nervous, and Harry'd gone very
pale, but there was something resolute in his expression. Ron wondered if knowing they were
there would help him cope any better. Ginny was wearing a twisted sort of smile, but her eyes
were distant.

"Dumbledore's going to be furious," she said, and Ron agreed; if he hadn't wanted them on
the grounds, he wasn't going to be happy to learn they'd stopped the train.

"Do you think they'll come aboard?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Malfoy said, watching out the window again. "They're getting on now. I think there
are Aurors with them. Look." Ron leaned past him to squint through the icy window, and saw
the tall, hooded Dementors, but also a pair of shorter, more human looking figures that were
speaking with the trolley witch.
All five of them jumped when the compartment door opened, but it was only a sickly looking
Neville.

"D-do you mind if-" Neville was looking at Harry, who shook his head, but didn't speak.
Neville sat down beside Ron, who reached out with a foot to close the compartment door.
Despite the cold, his palms were sweaty, and he kept looking at Harry, whose eyes were far
away. Ginny was trembling, and had her fist clenched around something small and round.

"You with us, Potter?" Malfoy asked, looking uncertain. He'd still been petrified when Harry
had his last experience with the Dementors, and hadn't seen this before. That said, Ron didn't
think it was any easier to watch this second time around.

"Not really," Harry said in a strained voice, and slumped a bit against the window. Neville
quivered.

"Think of something unhappy, but not too sad that they'll make you fixate on it," Malfoy said.
He was looking at Harry, but seemed to be speaking to the compartment at large. "It helps a
bit."

And perhaps it would have, if they'd had more time, but at that moment, the door slid open
and a dark shape drifted into the doorway. The lamp in the compartment guttered out, and
Neville flinched back into Ron. Ron shivered, and the good mood he'd been in for being with
his friends again and on the way back to school, faded completely. He wasn't sure that it – or
any other good mood – would ever come back again.

The Dementor looked – if it could be called that – around the compartment.

"Just move," Harry croaked. His eyes were shut, and Ron could tell from pained expression,
and the flickering of his eyes beneath his eyelids that he was gone. Ginny squeaked, and
Neville was shaking and breathing rather shallowly.

"They're not in here," Hermione told the Dementor in a small, but firm voice. Next to her,
Crookshanks hissed, and Ron's estimation of the cat climbed ever so slightly. The Dementor
stayed where it was, and drew in an odd, rattling breath.

Harry made an odd choking noise and said in a pained voice, "Your wand… every time, your
wand…"

"Please," Hermione whispered, and Ron thought she, at least, was okay, just shaken, "just
go."

"Shut up," Ginny mumbled, and Hermione shot her a stunned look. Ginny's eyes were closed
though, and Ron wondered if she was conscious or not. Regardless, she was frowning, and
her knuckles were white around the thing in her hand. Neville quivered beside Ron, who
patted him on the shoulder. That only made him jump, though.

Another Dementor appeared behind the second one. Ron wondered if they'd communicate
somehow, and hoped it might be able to get the first one to leave, but it only stayed where it
was. If it had had eyes, Ron would have said it was watching. The compartment seemed to
get colder, and Ron thought he could hear sobbing from somewhere else on the train.

Then, there were brisk footsteps – a nice change from the eerie silence that was Dementors
when they moved – and- well, Ron couldn't say the warmth came rushing back, but it did get
less cold.

The Dementors withdrew, and continued down the train, and a glowing bulldog trotted past
shortly after.

A stern looking Auror strode followed, but gave the compartment nothing more than a
cursory look before continuing down the train, and Hermione's timid, "Excuse me-" went
unnoticed.

Neville sank a little in his chair, looking miserable, but he seemed okay. Ginny had her eyes
open again, but they were on Harry, who was still slumped in his chair. She wouldn't look at
Ron, and he thought that she, like Harry, might not be faring too well. It didn't take a genius
to work out why, and Ron's anger at the events of their last school year simmered in his chest,
getting rid of the last of the cold from the Dementors.

Hermione was looking at both Ginny and Harry, apparently trying to decide which of them to
try to help first, and then, even as Ron watched, looked over at Neville. Ginny, at least, was
awake, so Ron was watching Harry, though he was inclined to leave him, and let him wake in
his own time, like he had the last time he'd been this close to Dementors.

Malfoy had other ideas; he got to his feet, and went to stand by Harry. He gave him a shake –
nothing rough, but nothing that he'd be able to ignore easily either.

"Potter, they're gone. Potter."

Harry stirred, to Ron's relief, and gave the compartment – and its occupants – wary looks as
he straightened himself in his chair.

"Everyone's all right, mostly," Ron said, pre-empting the question, and Harry nodded a little,
and looked up at Malfoy, who was still standing over him. Malfoy released him, patted his
pocket – which jingled with coins – and stepped over everyone's legs to get to the door.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked him.

"Chocolate," Malfoy said, and slipped out with a steely look in his eye. Ron rather pitied the
lady with the trolley.

"I read that chocolate helps," Hermione said, more to the compartment than to Malfoy; he
was gone. Hermione had been petrified when the Dementors arrived at Hogwarts, and must
have taken it upon herself to learn more about them as soon as she had the time. "He must
have done some reading too-"

"He'd know from his family," Neville said. There was something odd, almost bitter in his
voice, that Ron hadn't heard before. It was very different from Neville's usual, nervous tone.
"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

"Well, his aunt and uncle are in Azkaban," Neville said, with disdain. This was news to Ron.
He knew the Malfoy family was rotten, and was sure they had some rotten relatives, but he
didn't know that Malfoy actually had relatives in Azkaban. From the interested expressions
on Ginny and Hermione's faces, that was news to them too.

"Who?" Hermione asked.

"For what?" Ron asked.

"They attacked a pair of Aurors," Harry said. He'd been so quiet, Ron had thought he might
still be a bit out of it. But his voice was hard, and his eyes were open and on Neville, even if
he still wasn't sitting properly upright. Neville shrank a bit in his seat, and Ron thought he
shook his head, but the movement was so small he might have imagined it.

"You knew?" Hermione asked, looking curious.

"His aunt is Tonks' aunt, and Padfoot's cousin," Harry said, sounding tired. "But it's not mine
to share, it's Draco's." Neville shrank a bit more, looking guilty for some reason.

"We're not about to turn our backs on him for his family, Harry," Hermione said patiently, and
Ron felt like she was speaking for him as well, "I was just interested."

The train started to move forward again.

"I know," Harry sighed, settling back into his chair. He really didn't look well, in Ron's
opinion, but somehow he managed to find his feet.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked. "I didn't mean to-"

"I'm not upset, Hermione," Harry said, and even smiled a bit. She relaxed at once. "I was just
going to go out into the corridor to try to get Padfoot through the mirror." Harry swayed a
little, catching himself on the window.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Ron asked. He half stood, but Harry waved him down.

"No, go," Hermione said. "You don't have to stay with Harry, but Ginny and I need to
change." Ginny had been silent since the Dementors arrived. "Sorry, Neville."

"That's okay," he said. "Everyone's probably wondering why I've been gone for so long
anyway." He shuffled past Harry and out the door. Harry ducked out after him, and Ron stood
again, catching Hermione's eye.

Take care of her, he thought, letting his eyes flick quickly to Ginny. Judging from past
experiences, Harry would be the best one to talk to Ginny – if she did need to talk – but
Harry wasn't in any state to be doing that now. Ginny wouldn't want Ron's help, but maybe
she'd talk to Hermione.

Hermione gave a slight nod, and glanced at the door, after Harry. Ron nodded back.
 A welcoming feast

As he clambered out of the carriage and joined the rest of the students heading up the front
steps and into the castle, Harry couldn't help but feel like he'd been hit by the Hogwarts
Express, rather than just been riding it.

The mood was an odd one; students here and there were subdued from the Dementors, and
their friends were quiet too, either out of fear, or out of concern. Others were less subdued.

"Potter!" Harry turned, thinking for a moment, it was Draco that had called him. "Potter!"
Hydrus Malfoy's delighted face appeared beside him; Goyle had just shoved Hermione out of
the way to make room for him, and she, in turn, was trying to stop Ron from hexing Goyle in
retaliation. "I heard you fainted!" Harry hadn't heard him sound this happy since- well, ever,
he didn't think. "Did you faint?"

Harry was too tired to want to deal with this right now, and more to the point, he didn't
know how to deal with it. There was no point denying it, because obviously news had spread,
but it wasn't really something he wanted to talk about.

"Poor Potter." That was Daphne Greengrass, who'd appeared on Harry's other side, flanked –
as usual – by Pansy Parkinson and Nadia Shafiq. Harry wondered where, exactly, his own
friends were, or, why it couldn't have been Blaise that showed up instead.

Harry looked over his shoulder for someone… anyone. He spied Hermione and Ron
apparently trying to put as much space between themselves and Crabbe and Goyle as
possible, while Draco kept the Slytherins at bay. It looked like Harry was on his own.

"And no mummy to kiss you better," Pansy simpered.

"Your halfbreed friend Lupin might lick you if you ask, though," Hydrus said derisively. This
was followed by a shrill sound, and Harry glanced back. Something large and greenish brown
was crawling out of Hydrus' nose; Daphne shrieked, and Pansy edged forward, perhaps
wanting to help Hydrus, but then thought better of it and scuttled backward.

Harry seized his opportunity and slipped back into the throng of students and away from the
Slytherins. Ginny appeared beside him, tucking her wand away.

"Always thought Malfoy was a bit of a bogey," she said darkly, but there was a satisfied glint
in her eye. They both reached the top of the steps and glanced back. "Oh," Ginny said,
"they're attacking him now." Hydrus was, indeed, being attacked by what appeared to be
flapping bogeys. Harry's mood – which had lifted after his talk with Padfoot, only to fall
again after his encounter with the Slytherins - rose again, and he grinned at her.

"One of Fred and George's?" he asked.

"No," she said, and that was all she said. Harry let the matter drop.
Hermione and Ron caught up with them only seconds later, and Draco shortly after that, as
they made their way into the Entrance Hall.

McGonagall was waiting just inside, and Ginny baulked and darted away – doubtless
expecting to be in trouble for hexing Hydrus - but it wasn't her that McGonagall was after.

"A word, please, Miss Granger."

Harry exchanged a baffled look with Ron as Hermione waved them on.

"What do you reckon that's about?" Harry asked. He glanced back, hoping to catch a snippet
of the conversation, but there was too much noise around for him to have any hope.

"She can't be in trouble," Ron said.

"Of course not; it's Granger," Draco said. "She probably pestered McGonagall all holidays,
wanting catch up work to make sure she's ready for this year."

That, Harry had to admit, sounded very much like something Hermione would do. He didn't
have time to ponder it, though; by the time they'd found a seat at the Gryffindor table, she'd
rejoined them.

Harry arched an eyebrow at her.

"She wanted to talk to me about my subjects this year," Hermione said.

"All four of them?" Harry asked, grinning at her.

"Five," Hermione said. "Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Divination
and Muggle Studies."

"Right," Harry said, shaking his head at her. "Muggle Studies." He had a tendency to forget
about Muggle Studies, because he'd never considered it as an elective for himself; living with
the Dursleys had given him a pretty good insight into the muggle world.

"Why are you doing Muggle Studies?" Draco asked. "You're muggleborn."

"I think it'll be fascinating to see muggles from a wizarding point of view," Hermione said
earnestly. "Are you doing it?"

"Couldn't," Draco said. "It clashed with Arithmancy, so I had to choose Divination as a fourth
instead." Hermione opened her mouth, and then shut it again, suddenly very interested in
pouring herself a drink. "How in Merlin's name are you managing five when I couldn't fit the
four I wanted?"

"McGonagall's helping me," Hermione said, not looking at any of them. Her smell was a bit
panicky, even if her expression was calm, and so Harry kicked Draco under the table; he was
showing every sign of continuing to badger her. Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, but let the
matter drop, and his attention was stolen by the procession of first years.
Each of them was clutching a chocolate frog wrapper; they must have been nervous enough
about their Sorting before the Dementors stopped the train, and imagined they'd probably
been in a bit of a state before someone – probably Hagrid or Pomfrey – had seen to giving
them chocolate.

One or two looked in Harry's direction, and tugged on the sleeve of the person next to them.
He kept his eyes fixed ahead, on the staff table. Dumbledore was present in silver robes, and
– like Ginny had predicted on the train – he was less cheery than he might have been, likely
due to the Dementors. Snape was beside him, looking dour as ever, and beside him was Mad-
Eye Moody.

His acceptance of the Defence position had been all over the papers last week, so his
presence wasn't unexpected, but he did look a bit out of place. His eye – the startlingly blue,
magical one – rested on Harry for a brief moment, and then away again.

McGonagall strode up between the tables, stern as ever: "Miss Greengrass, kindly sit with
your own House during the Sorting, I'm certain your sister can do without you for a meal,"
and, "Mr McLaggan, I'd like your hands above the table, if you wouldn't mind; that way I can
be sure they're not on Miss Earl's legs," and "Miss Edgecombe, I'm quite certain that bracelet
doesn't belong to you, so if you'd kindly return it to Miss Lovegood…"

The new first years came to a halt before the podium and stool, and the Great Hall fell silent.
On its stool, the Sorting Hat shifted, and then the seam of its mouth opened.

" At Hogwarts' conception all was well,

But tensions rose,

And then friendships fell,

And so the story goes.

And since that day,

The stigma's grown,

That each House must behave in a particular way,

And these are the traits that are known.

Gryffindors are bold and daring,

Knowledge is a Ravenclaw's desire,

Hufflepuffs are patient, caring,

And Slytherins seek to inspire.

Too quickly though, each House,

Will condemn the others' ways,

And fight and tease and grouse,

And here is what they say,

That Ravenclaws are bossy, aloof,

Those Hufflepuffs are stubborn and loud,

Gryffindors are reckless, uncouth,

And Slytherins too proud.

And perhaps they're not wrong, but listen to me,

Don't wilt in shame,

For dull is what this school would be,

If you were all the same.

You are different; embrace that,

Rather than let it drive you apart,

For I am the school Sorting Hat,

And I want you to have the best start."

Harry clapped along with the rest of the school, even as a clapping Ron leaned over and
muttered, "Not just Ravenclaws that can be bossy, though, is it?" and eyed Hermione. Harry
grinned.

"I think they got uncouth right, though," Draco said archly, giving Ron a pointed look. Ron
scowled at him. "And reckless." Harry pulled a face at him. "Though of course, not all of us
are."

"No, you're bloody perfect, aren't you, Malfoy?" Ron said, rolling his eyes, but he looked
amused. Draco preened. "Wonder why the song's so different this year, though? Usually it
just says all the Houses are great and then puts you in one."

"I imagine they're worried about how people might view a particular House after last year,"
Hermione said tactfully. "What with it supposedly having unleashed its monster and attacked
us all."

"Not their fault Riddle's a git," Harry said.

"But not everyone knows that, Harry," Hermione said patiently.

"Exactly," Ron said sagely. "Best to remind us we're all gits." Ron nodded at the Hat, which
was perched on the head of "Allister, Gordon".

"I don't think that's quite-" Hermione began, but her voice was drowned out by Draco's snort,
and the Sorting Hat, which had just bellowed, "Hufflepuff!"

Harry clapped politely as Gordon Allister went to sit beside Susan Bones, and Brinkley,
Donovan strode up to the stool.

He was Sorted to Slytherin, and on the Sorting went, until the last first year – Vane, Romilda
– was placed in Gryffindor, and Dumbledore rose.

Romilda Vane sat down beside Hermione and ignored her friendly, whispered greeting, in
favour of staring at Harry. Harry resisted the urge to make sure his fringe was down, and
watched Dumbledore instead.

"Welcome," he said, "to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And for those
returning students, welcome home, and I hope you've had a safe and happy break." He
beamed around at them all. "I won't speak for too long – fear not-"

"Thank Merlin," Ron said. His stomach rumbled as if in agreement.

"-however I must apologise, for the events that transpired on the Hogwarts Express this
evening, and any after-effects that you may be suffering." Hydrus hooted over at the Slytherin
table, and Harry kept his attention resolutely on the Headmaster. "Your Prefects – Prefects,
raise your hands-" Down the table a bit, Percy's hand shot into the air. "- have been given
chocolate frogs to give to anyone experiencing any unpleasant after-effects. You may see
them at any time during the meal, or afterward, when you are back in your dormitories,
should you feel you need to."

Harry could have sworn Dumbledore's eyes landed on him for just a moment.

"However," Dumbledore continued, "I myself find that there's nothing like good company
and a hot meal to boost your spirits, so dig in!"

Ron let out a happy groan and dove for the nearest plate, and the Hall was filled with the
sound of hundreds of people doing the same.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" Romilda Vane said, as she spooned peas onto her plate.
Harry sighed quietly, but before he could answer, Draco came to his rescue.

"Is that a question?" he asked. "Because it sounds a lot like you already know the answer, so I
don't know why you've bothered asking at all." Hermione opened her mouth – probably to
tell Draco not to be mean to the first years – but seemed to think better of it, and reached for
the butter instead. "Hmm?"

Harry had never found Draco particularly intimidating, but he knew a lot of other people did.
It seemed Romilda, however, was not one of them.
"And you've just done the same," she answered, not even looking at him. Her eyes were –
unnervingly – still on Harry. "It's nice to meet you," she said, and he could have sworn she
batted her eyelashes. "Even if your friends leave something to be desired." Her dark eyes
went to Draco first, then to Ron, who had a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding. She didn't even
look at Hermione. Her lip curled, and then, suddenly, she was wearing a bright smile. "I'm
Romilda Vane."

She stuck out her hand, and Harry really had no choice but to shake it. As soon as he let go,
she stood, and smiled at him again.

"I'll see you around."

She flounced off, with her plate and goblet in hand, and squeezed between a pair of other
Gryffindor first years, who were laughing at Fred's impersonation of Percy putting his hand
in the air. Harry blinked, bewildered.

"Well, she seems lovely," Hermione said coolly, cutting her roast.

"Only to Potter," Draco said.

"Watch out for that one, mate," Ron said, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth. "I give
her a year and she'll be trying to slip you love potions." Harry hoped not.

"She's got to learn to use a cauldron first," Draco said. "And if she mouths off like that to
Severus, that could take her a very long time."

Harry laughed and looked up at the teachers' table. Snape seemed to sense, in that uncanny
way of his, that he was being talked about, and was ready with a glare as soon as Harry's eyes
landed on him.

Harry had time to wonder, briefly, what had put him in such a foul mood, but then decided he
had other things he'd rather worry about – like the fact that there were only one chicken wing
left and Ron had just started to eye the plate.

He snatched it up - just as Ron reached for it - and grinned, victorious. Ron scowled at him,
and Hermione and Draco exchanged an exasperated look.
 Constant vigilance

"Welcome," Moody said gruffly, "to third year Defence Against the Dark Arts." His wooden
leg clunked on the floor as he limped across the front of the classroom. Everyone was silent,
watching and listening, and Moody seemed pleased by that. "If you only learn one thing from
me this year, let it be: constant vigilance!"

It wasn't shouted, as Harry had heard he was prone to doing – Tonks liked to imitate him, and
often Padfoot joined in – but his voice did sharpen and Hermione twitched. She wasn't the
only one. Ron was grinning, and Draco looked a bit wary.

"Think that's funny, do you?" Moody asked Ron, whose smile faded at once. He shook his
head. "You're sure?" Ron nodded, and Moody made a sort of grumbling sound that Harry
thought meant he was pleased. "Now; names. I'm good with names, better with faces, so
consider yourselves warned." He pulled out a class list, and checked attendance, with his eyes
lingering on a few people; Harry was one, as was Neville, Draco, Hydrus and Blaise. When
that was done, he tossed it back down onto his desk and clapped his maimed hands together.
Hermione jumped again.

"Now, first year you had a decent teacher, as I understand it?"

"If you don't count the fact that he was a filthy halfbreed," Hyrdus said. Harry's hands rolled
into fists, and Lavender piped up in Moony's defence, but Moody was calm.

"There are worse things to be, Malfoy," he said. "Ask your father." Hydrus flushed an ugly
pink colour, and next to Harry, Draco sat very still and stared at his desk. "Now, decent, yes?
Learned some basic principles of defence, a few handy spells, and did a bit on magical
creatures, if I've been correctly informed." The class was silent. "Well?!" Moody barked.

"Yes, sir," Hermione said.

"And last year you had that Lockhart idiot for some of it, and then the D.M.L.E. sent you
Grigham and you did some more spell work?" Again, no one spoke, and Moody looked to
Hermione, who bobbed her head, nervous, and also a little indignant on Lockhart's behalf.
"Chatty lot, aren't you?" He snorted. "Right, well, in the interest of getting you all up to
scratch, we'll be focusing a bit on magical creatures – they're not my specialty, but I still
know more than you lot do – and then we'll be moving onto curses, starting with what they
are and how they work, and then looking at defending against them."

"But what about the ones that can't be defended against?" Hermione asked, her hand shooting
into the air.

"Everything can be defended against," Moody said gruffly. "Not well, necessarily, but it can
be done. Spells that can't be blocked with other spells can be dodged, or you can put a
physical object between yourself and that spell…"
Hermione looked like she wanted to ask more, but stayed quiet. Her quill was racing over her
parchment though, and Moody watched for a moment, apparently amused, before looking
back to the class.

"So; into it. Textbooks can go away, you won't be needing them."

"What about our wands?" Parvati asked.

"Entirely up to you," Moody said, in a tone that suggested that not having her wand would be
a very bad idea. He flicked his own wand, and a large trunk with seven locks on it floated out
from behind his desk and settled with a soft thump on the floor beside him. "Now… some
magical creatures'll attack you; bite you, sting you, burn you, or any combination of those
three. Others don't need physical attacks. You're all familiar with Dementors at this point, I
reckon?"

"Is there a Dementor in there?" Neville asked, inching his chair back. Harry thought the trunk
looked too small to hold a Dementor, and he couldn't feel its presence… but he found himself
leaning back a bit too.

"Not a Dementor, Longbottom," Moody said, with what he probably thought was a reassuring
smile. It looked more like a grimace. "In there's a Boggart." Harry had heard of them before –
he was certain of it – but couldn't remember how, or where. "Five points to anyone that can
tell me about 'em."

Predictably, Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Go ahead, Granger," Moody said wryly; Harry thought he had her worked out already, and
grinned to himself.

"Boggarts are shapeshifters," she said. "They take the form of whatever you fear the most."

"Good," Moody said. Harry suddenly remembered Ginny telling them about Boggarts the
year before; or rather, telling them that Lockhart had accidentally loosed one in her first year
lesson, and of the disaster that had ensued. "And how do we deal with them?"

"A spell?" Millicent Bullstrode said, frowning. Moody nodded.

"And…?"

"Laughter," Hermione said promptly. Moody gave her that same, amused look.

"The spell," he said. "Is 'Riddikulus', and the wand movement's like this…" He flicked his
wand. "As you cast, you've got to think of something funny. Boggarts hate laughter. Anyone
got any questions?" No one did. "Up then; we'll get started." Harry stood, but he was one of
the few who did; everyone else seemed a bit confused. "Up!" Moody barked, and everyone
scrambled to their feet.

He flicked his wand and the desks and chairs skidded over to stack up against the walls,
clearing the classroom floor.
"Line up," he said, and this time, everyone was much quicker to obey. Harry found himself
near the back, trying to see through Hermione's masses of bushy hair to where Blaise was
first in line. "It'll be five points to your House if you successfully beat it. Ready, Zabini?"

"Always, Professor," Blaise drawled.

Moody smirked and opened the trunk with a tap of his wand, and then stepped back so that
Blaise was closest. Out of it – and Harry wasn't entirely sure how, given that the trunk was
only as tall as his waist – stepped a tall, rather stunning olive-skinned woman wearing crisp
grey robes. She was smiling rather poisonously at Blaise, through bright red lips. Seamus let
out a low whistle and Harry heard him say something to Dean, who grinned.

"She was at school," Hermione breathed to Harry. "Remember? The day Blaise left?"

"I think that's his mother," Harry muttered back.

While Blaise didn't look particularly happy to see her, he didn't look frightened, and lifted his
wand without hesitation.

"Riddikulus," he said calmly, and the boggart stepped back, clutching its hair, which was
falling out in patches, and no longer shiny and clean; it was stringy, and greasy, like Snape's.
Warts popped up on her face, her skin took on a pale green hue, and she shrank until she was
squat and hunched, and her robes were frayed and black. A pointy hat appeared on her head.

"Good," Moody said, waving Blaise back. Daphne Greengrass stepped forward, and was
faced with one of her little sisters – Harry wasn't sure which one, though – who she turned
into a clown and marched away from before Moody gave her leave to.

Harry nearly had a heart attack when Tracey Davis' boggart became a basilisk. It was smaller
than the one in the Chamber had been, and its eyes were a dull gold, rather than the bright
yellow Harry had heard about, or the bloody red he'd seen. Hermione made a thoughtful
sound, watching it with interest, and Ron turned around and gaped at him.

"Is that what-?" he asked, and Harry shrugged, nodding. Ron looked back at the enormous
snake and shook his head.

"Rid-di-kulus," Tracey stammered, but nothing happened. She tried again, and then Moody
waved her to the back of the line, where she trembled until Blaise put a hand on her shoulder
and told Daphne to shut up.

Neville was up next, shuffling toward the giant snake with his wand clenched in his fist. The
basilisk vanished, as did the Boggart, until it was nothing more than a hazy cloud. Then, the
screaming started.

"Banshee!" Seamus bellowed, staggering backward into Dean. Harry couldn't see Neville's
whole face, but what he could see was white as a sheet. Both Ron and Hermione looked
taken aback, Draco looked stricken, and Harry felt awful for Neville, who was just standing
there, wand held limply.
"Something funny, Longbottom," Moody said, speaking for the first time since Blaise's turn.
"Come on, lad."

"Riddikulus!" Neville squeaked, once, and then again when nothing happened. The screams
were replaced by an odd assortment of fart and burp sounds, and Neville let out a small,
somewhat hysterical laugh.

"Well done," Moody said quietly. "Very well done, Longbottom. Ten points to Gryffindor."

"Ten!?" Daphne demanded. "That's not-"

"Another word, Greengrass, and you'll lose ten," Moody warned, and she fell silent. Harry
could hear her complaining to the other Slytherins at the back of the line, though, and just
thought it was lucky that Moody obviously couldn't. "Malfoy." Harry reached out to clap
Neville on the shoulder as he passed.

Draco drew his wand and stepped forward, looking wary. The cloudy Boggart took shape,
first as a long, thin sheet of glass, and then, within that glass, as Mr Malfoy. Harry supposed
that didn't really surprise him. Draco studied it, not looking so much afraid as annoyed, and
lifted his wand. The Mr Malfoy in the glass – and was it just glass, or supposed to be a
mirror, Harry wondered, because he couldn't see anyone else in it – lifted a hand and gave a
cool wave. Draco tensed, and actually took a step closer to the Boggart, looking more closely
at his father's image. Harry wondered what he'd seen, and the Boggart obviously wasn't used
to people moving toward it and its form flickered for just a moment.

Draco jabbed his wand at it, mumbling, "Riddikulus," and the sheet of glass became a frame,
and Mr Malfoy a rather badly made wooden puppet that danced along for a few moments.
Moody snorted, but his real eye was bright and Harry almost thought Draco might get an
extra few points, but he didn't.

Then Ron stepped up, and the sheet of glass returned. In it was Ron's reflection - maybe a
few years older – though none of the rest of the class had aged with him. In fact, they weren't
reflected at all. Ron looked more bewildered than afraid, and glanced at Moody, whose face
was impassive. Ron glanced back at the boggart, which shifted suddenly, sprouting legs and
pincers.

Ron let out a yell and scrambled backward, almost knocking Hermione over.

"Riddikulus," she hissed at him, and Ron brought his wand up, stammering the incantation.
The spider's legs vanished, and it fell to the classroom floor, where it rolled around, helpless.

Ron headed to the back of the line, and Hermione made to step forward, but Moody held up a
hand.

"What you just saw then was a boggart that couldn't scare straight away. Not that it made a
mistake-" Harry watched his magical eye swivel to Ron. "-but its form didn't get the reaction
it wanted – fear, so it tried again. I've dealt with a few nasty boggarts in my time, but most of
them just want to be left alone." In front of Harry, Hermione nodded thoughtfully and moved
toward the recovering boggart.
Professor Dumbledore appeared, holding a bit of parchment. Harry stared at Hermione,
bewildered; her greatest fear was Dumbledore? She seemed puzzled too.

"Miss Granger," he said, sounding disappointed. "I've just had your exam results back, and
I'm not sure what's happened… you were such a promising student."

"I- did I fail?" Hermione asked. Despite the fact that she knew it was a Boggart, and therefore
knew it wasn't real, she sounded perilously close to tears.

"Every single one," Dumbledore said with a nod, frowning at his parchment. "Which leaves
me no choice, I'm afraid; it seems we were mistaken in allowing you to attend Hogwarts. The
train will be here for you in the morning." Hermione made a small sound of horror. "Good
day, Miss Granger."

"Riddikulus, Hermione," Ron called from the back of the classroom.

"R-riddikulus," she said, but Dumbledore remained, frowning at her.

"I believe I said good day," he told her. Hermione let out a distressed sound and backed away,
retreating to the back of the line. Several of the Slytherins cackled, but Moody silenced them
by clearing his throat and giving them a pointed look. Harry watched long enough to make
sure that Hermione was in good hands – Ron had put an awkward arm around her, and Draco
was probably giving her some sort of backhanded compliment, as was his way – and then
realised he was at the front of the line. He lifted his wand and stepped forward, determined.

Boggart-Dumbledore watched him, and began to change in a swirl of black.

"Oi!" Moody said, limping toward it, and the newly formed Dementor-Boggart looked to him
instead. It changed before Harry could even try the spell, and landed on the floor as a shrilly
whistling Sneakoscope. Moody flicked his wand and banished it back into the trunk, which
he slammed shut. "Not bad," Moody said to the class. "If you didn't get a turn today, you will
next lesson, but we're out of time for now."

Disappointed, Harry joined his friends and collected his bag. Ron and Draco were quiet, but
not upset – probably just trying to make sense of their Boggarts, Harry thought. Hermione
smelled upset and embarrassed, and – unusually – didn't try to discuss the lesson, and seemed
so keen to get out of the classroom that they were the first out into the halls.

"Do you think he stopped it just because it was me?" Harry asked, as they headed downstairs
to lunch.

"Why would he have?" Hermione asked, at the same time as Draco said, "Probably." The
three of them glanced at Draco.

"Really?" Harry asked. "Why?"

"I don't know, Potter," Draco said in a voice that positively dripped with sarcasm. "Maybe
because you're you and face all sorts of horrendously scary things on a regular basis, so
whatever your greatest fear is, is probably something that would terrify the rest of us mere
mortals. I, for one, rather expected You-Know-Who to show up." He didn't look at Harry as
he said it.

Harry thought that made an awful lot of sense.

"Right," he said. "But it wasn't Voldemort-" Draco stiffened at the name. "-it was just a
Dementor."

"But Professor Moody was moving to stop it before it had fully taken shape," Hermione said.

"Right," Harry said again, calmer now. He'd been thinking perhaps Moody had thought he
wouldn't be able to do it.

"Why wasn't it?" Ron asked. "I mean, I'm glad it wasn't, but-"

"I can't fight Dementors," Harry said, shrugging. At least, not yet; after the disastrous train
ride, he was going to ask Padfoot or Moony to teach him how to defend himself against them.
"Ah well; maybe now he knows it's not going to be Voldemort, he'll let me have another shot.
And you as well, Hermione, I'm sure he'd let you- Hermione?" She'd vanished.

"Where'd she go?" Ron asked. "She was just here, wasn't she?"

"She must have forgotten something, or gone back to talk to Moody," Harry said, frowning. It
was unlike her to have left without saying something, though. And she'd smelled so upset
when they left class… "I'll see you two down there," he heard himself say.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked.

"I'll wait for her," Harry said, shrugging. "Make sure she's all right."

"We'll wait too, then," Ron said.

"No," Draco said. "We won't."

"Why not?" Ron asked.

"Firstly, because I'm starving-" Draco's stomach rumbled loudly, as if to agree. "-and
secondly, because if Granger's feeling inferior, then she's not going to want either of us
around because we both managed the Boggart."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly. Draco grinned at him, and he and Ron left, falling into step with
the other Gryffindors; Neville was quiet, but Seamus and Dean were having a loud debate
about what their Boggarts would be, while Lavender and Parvati scoffed.

Harry had only been waiting for a few seconds, when Hermione appeared out of a corridor
ahead of him, rather than behind like he'd expected. Tucking something into her robes, she
leaned over the banister of the staircase – likely looking for him and the others – and then
straightened, looking confused.

She looked around, spotted him, and jumped. Harry approached her, frowning.
"Harry?!" she asked, looking startled.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked her, concerned.

"Yes," she said. "I'm fine." She didn't smell like she was lying, but Harry had known her long
enough to recognise when she was being evasive. "Where are Ron and Draco?"

"Saving us a seat at lunch," Harry said, watching her carefully.

"But isn't-" Hermione checked her watch, clapped a hand to her forehead and dug around in
her bag for her timetable. "Stupid!" she said.

"Hermione-"

"I've- forgotten something in the classroom," she said. "I'll be back in just a second, I- will
you wait for me?"

"Do you want me to come-"

"No," she said, already hurrying away from him, "just wait there, I'll be back in a moment!"

Baffled, Harry watched her go, and then seconds later, she was back.

This time, she had Hydrus, Crabbe and Goyle behind her, jeering and carrying on, and was
looking more like Harry had expected; downcast, rather than frazzled.

"Potter!" Hydrus said, sounding pleased in a sadistic sort of way. Hermione reached Harry
and the pair of them turned away from the Slytherins. She had angry tears in her eyes, but
now wasn't the time to talk about it. "Are you ignoring me, Potter?"

"Trying to," Harry muttered, and Hermione's mouth twitched.

"I was just telling Granger that she's right," Hydrus continued loudly. "She doesn't belong
here." Harry made to turn, but Hermione grabbed his sleeve. "She can wear robes and carry a
wand like the rest of us, but she's not like us. And she knows it, don't you, Granger? You
know you're a mudblood."

Harry looked at Hermione, incredulous, but she just shook her head tiredly and kept walking.

"Malfoy," Harry said stiffly, "shut up."

"That's probably why you like her, isn't it? She's a mudblood like your mother." Hydrus,
apparently, was determined to make up for failing to get a rise out of Harry after the train,
and Harry's comment only seemed to have encouraged him. Harry doubted he'd be quite as
much of a git if Draco was around. "And Weasley's a loser, like your father-"

Harry clenched his jaw, but Hermione spun on her heel and took a step toward Hydrus. He
leered at her and took another step forward, probably with every intention of continuing to
harass them. Harry didn't think he saw her punch coming.
Hydrus staggered backward with a yowl, clutching his face, and Crabbe and Goyle took an
uncertain step forward. Hermione winced and shook her hand, and Harry couldn't help
himself; he let out a snort of laughter.

Hydrus drew his wand, furious, and, before either Harry or Hermione had their own wands
out, sent a spell in Hermione's direction. It missed – just – but the smell of burning hair filled
the corridor, and Harry doubted it had been anything particularly tame that he'd try to hit her
with. Harry's wand was in his hand instantly, and trained on Hydrus. Crabbe and Goyle had
their wands in hand too, as did Hermione.

"This is how real wizards fight," Hydrus said, lifting his wand again, but more warily now
that Harry and Hermione had theirs out, "with wands, Granger, not hands. You're
filth. Sordem!"

Hermione wasn't quite fast enough to get out of the way, and a large clump of mud burst from
Hydrus' wand and exploded over her robes and cheek.

"Scourgify," Harry said, flicking his wand gently in her direction. The mud came away, with
Hermione making faces at the scrubbing sensation. "Saponum," he added, jabbing his wand
at Hydrus, who was hit, full in the face by a jet of soapy water. He stumbled back,
spluttering, just as he had when Harry used that same charm against him at Lockhart's
duelling club the year before.

Crabbe and Goyle started forward, but Crabbe's arms snapped to his sides under Hermione's
hasty Torpeo! and Goyle fell victim to Harry's Body-Bind.

"Thought you ought to wash your mouth out," Harry told Hydrus, who seemed to have
forgotten all about Hermione, and launched a barrage of spells at Harry.

"Pustula! Aculeum! Tracagnum!"

Harry ducked under the first one, but the second one caught his hand and he winced; it felt
like he was being stabbed with pins, but there were no marks on it. Because of his distraction,
the third spell caught him square in the chest, and took the wind out of him. He doubled over.
Then came another hard blow, this time between his shoulderblades, and Harry grabbed the
wall to keep himself upright. The next one was to his shin.

"Finite!" Hermione said shrilly, and the invisible blows ended. "Obscuro!" A strip of cloth
adhered itself to Hydrus' face, giving Harry time to recover. He straightened, gently pressing
his ribs, which felt bruised but not broken, and lifted his wand.

"Procellus," he said, and a hurricane swept Hydrus up, trapping him in its centre. Crabbe and
Goyle were still lying prone.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked him, chewing on her lip.

"Fine," Harry said, giving Hydrus an unimpressed look over his shoulder. "Let's just leave
them here. One of the teachers can find them."
"Is that so?" a furious voice asked.

Harry turned, heart sinking, to face McGonagall. She was shaking with anger, and ended the
spells on the Slytherins at once. Hydrus stumbled out, swiping the cloth off his face, and
lifted his wand. Then he noticed McGonagall, and faltered.

"Twenty points from each of you for this display of utter childishness!" Hermione – who'd
looked ready to start babbling explanations – just hung her head. Harry said nothing. "You
three," she snapped, glaring at Hydrus, Crabbe and Goyle, "owe your House better than to be
fighting in the corridors about lineage, particularly after last year's events!" Goyle seemed to
shrink a little, but Hydrus just watched her, and Crabbe had a stupid half-grin on his face.
"Go," she said. "And know that I'll be informing Professor Snape." Crabbe's smile slipped.

McGonagall waited until they were out of earshot before rounding on Harry and Hermione.

"I heard enough to know that it was provoked," she said, sounding no less angry than before.
"But that does not excuse your responses. Hitting another student, Miss Granger?" Hermione
seemed to wilt. "Hogwarts does not condone such behaviour, and I'm very much hoping that
our trust in your maturity this year was not unfounded!"

"I just- he said, and I-" For once Hermione seemed lost for words, and if Harry could smell
how distressed she was, he thought McGonagall probably could too. "I'm sorry." McGonagall
nodded stiffly, and Harry could have sworn her eyes softened, but her tone did not.

"I expect better," she said, curtly. "And you, Potter; with you being- well, you, tend to be
noticed, and therefore your actions – be those good or bad – tend to be noticed. Like it or not,
you set an example for the students – and not just the younger ones – and I would hope that
you would endeavour to make that example a positive one." She paused, nostrils flaring.
"Duelling in the corridors is not my idea of a positive example."

"No," Harry muttered. "Probably not."

McGonagall looked between them, and seemed to decide they'd been appropriately chewed
out. With a swish of her robes, she spun on her heel and marched away. His anger at Hydrus
and his adrenaline from their brief fight had faded, and now all Harry felt like doing was
sinking through the floor.

Then Hermione rubbed her hand, frowning, and Harry had to grin.

"Ron's going to be furious," he said.

"He doesn't need to know," she said, shaking her head. "The last thing we need is him seeking
out the Slytherins and losing more points-"

"Not for Malfoy calling you a- you know. I mean that he missed your punch."

"He'll have to make do with the story," she said, rubbing her hand again. "I'm not doing it
again." She looked warily after McGonagall.

"Please?" Harry said, giving her a hopeful sideways look.

Hermione pursed her lips but Harry didn't think it was in a disapproving way; he thought she
was trying not to smile.
 Grim happenings

"My dear... You have- The Grim!"

Trelawney staggered back from their table as if struck, holding Harry's teacup in a shaky
hand.

Lavender and Parvati gasped. Harry tried to see into his cup, but Trelawney held it away from
him.

"That's a death omen, Harry," Parvati said, flipping through her textbook.

Someone snorted, and Harry was surprised to see it had been Hermione. It seemed she was
full of surprises lately.

"Obviously," she said. "And of course it has nothing to do with the fact that Sirius' can turn
into a big black dog-"

"This- This Sirius is a friend of yours?" Trelawney asked. Harry stared at her, certain she was
joking; everyone had heard of Sirius. "Is he well?"

"Far as I know," Harry said, shrugging. He'd spoken to Padfoot just that morning.

"Could he be in danger today?"

"Probably," Harry said; Padfoot was an Auror, so his job wasn't always safe. But Padfoot was
good at what he did, and Harry was sure he'd be fine. He exchanged a look with Ron, who
just shrugged, looking bewildered.

"But it might not mean Harry's godfather," Lavender said, clutching at Trelawney's dangling
sleeve. "If it's a death omen- Harry's always getting into trouble-"

She looked at Harry fearfully, as if concerned he might drop dead then and there. And she
wasn't the only one. Neville was biting his lip, and the Hufflepuffs he was sitting with were
whispering amongst themselves. Harry was sure he heard the words "You Know Who".

"Exactly," Draco said to Lavender, "so I'm not sure why you need a teacup to tell you he's
going to be involved in something dangerous. I mean, it's Potter." Seamus laughed, and the
tension in the room vanished. Draco scowled at his cup, then held it out to Trelawney. "Does
that look more like a bat or an umbrella to you?"

She took his cup, Harry's Grim forgotten.

"A bat," Ron said, craning his neck to see. "Harry got his godfather, and now you've got
yours."

Draco's eyes narrowed, while Harry laughed.

"Or it's a warning," Hermione said in a low voice, as Trelawney went to help Neville clean up
the cup he'd just dropped. "About our old bat of a teacher." She eyed Trelawney and Ron
sniggered.

The rest of the lesson passed without incident – unless Neville breaking another teacup
counted – and they trudged down to Transfiguration. Lavender and Parvati chattered about
the lesson the whole way, apparently thinking there were a lot of merits to the subject of
Divination, and wondering what Trelawney's few offhanded predictions could be referring to.

"I'm not looking forward to October, though," Lavender said, playing nervously with a strand
of her hair. "I don't know what I'm dreading, but if I'm dreading it, it can't be good, can it?"

"It doesn't really matter what you're dreading," Hermione said, adjusting her bag on her
shoulder. "As soon as it happens, you'll think that was what she was talking about and she'll
be right." She rolled her eyes, and Lavender gave her a dirty look. Hermione didn't seem to
care. "I think it's a very woolly subject. Arithmancy was much more interesting."

"Shame you're not in with me and Malfoy," Harry said. If Arithmancy turned out to be a
difficult subject, he'd be wanting Hermione's help.

"How have you had time for Arithmancy?" Draco squawked. "We haven't had a free lesson
yet!"

"I had it yesterday," she said curtly, and marched into McGonagall's classroom before they
could ask any more questions.

Transfiguration was with the Hufflepuffs, and Harry sighed at the sight of Smith, already
arguing with McGonagall about something. Still, perhaps that was a good thing, because she
was distracted enough to not be angry with Harry or Hermione about their corridor duel the
day before. That, or she'd forgotten, but Harry didn't think that was likely.

"Welcome to Transfiguration, third years," she said, when they'd all sat down. "Last year, we
began transfiguration of living things into inanimate things. We will be continuing that this
year, and with luck, you will have progressed far enough by the end of the year to transfigure
inanimate things into living things-"

"Brilliant," Smith said, and not quietly either. "Because turning a teaspoon into a tadpole is
such a useful thing to be able to do. Much more useful than turning a tadpole into a teaspoon,
at least."

"These skills you learn during your schooling are useful, Smith," McGonagall said irritably.
"You may not want a tadpole, but the understanding the theory behind the transfiguration will
aid you should you decide to take on more ambitious projects. Like transformation." She
gave the class a beady look. "Who can tell me the difference between transfiguration and
transformation?"

Predictably, Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Transfiguration refers to the branch of magic that changes anything into another thing.
Transformation comes under this, but is most commonly used when referring to
transfiguration magics that affect something that is – and remains – a living thing."

"Five points to Gryffindor," McGonagall said, nodding. She tapped the board, and the
definitions – almost identical to Hermione's – appeared. "I suggest you write these down."
Twenty something quills plopped into inkwells and then began to scratch over parchment.
"Who can give me some examples of transformative magic? Potter?"

"Werewolves," he said, and she nodded. "And Animagi."

She didn't give him points, but she nodded and said, "Yes, I imagine you're quite familiar
with both of those." Harry shrugged. "An Animagus," McGonagall said to the class, "is a
witch or wizard that can turn into an animal at back again, at will. Each person has a "form"
which, if the proper steps are taken, they will be able to transform into. Animagus
transformations are one of the more difficult aspects of Transfiguration, and require great
skill in the- Do you disagree, Mr Potter?" Harry hastily cleared his expression and shook his
head. "Do share," McGonagall said, in a tone suggesting she wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Just that it's not always Transfiguration," Harry said reluctantly. She quirked an eyebrow at
him. "Sometimes people use the potion method, or-" He hoped he wasn't going to regret
saying this. "-or a mixture of the two."

"An understanding of transformation in still required," she said briskly, and Harry knew she
was wrong – the potion method didn't require any at all, but it was expensive and often took a
lot longer to do – and suspected she knew that and had only said that to keep the lesson on
track. "Particularly to ensure that it is not a complete transformation, as it is with werewolves.
Does anyone know what I mean by complete transformation?" Even Hermione looked
stymied, though Harry suspected he knew.

"Does it have to do with timing?" Susan Bones asked tentatively, her hand half in the air.

"It does not." McGonagall looked around hopefully, and then frowned. "Not even you, Miss
Granger?"

"They're both completely transformed, though," Hermione said, unsure. "A werewolf is as
much a werewolf as an animagus is their animal."

"Wrong," McGonagall said, and Hermione flinched. "Exactly the opposite…" No one
volunteered anything. "Potter?" McGonagall asked, and Harry suspected this was her way of
trying to get back at him for the corridor yesterday.

"Complete transformations mean the brain changes too- or the person's thoughts do or- yeah.
An animagus thinks a bit like their animal but still think more like a human. Werewolves
can't control- well, anything. Unless they've had the Wolfsbane potion," Harry added as an
afterthought.

She stared at him for what felt like a very long time, and eventually bobbed her head.
"Five points to Gryffindor. Now, for those of you that may not have seen an Animagus
transformation, please watch closely…"

"You're late, Wormtail."

"S-Sorry," Wormtail stammered. "I had to be sure it was safe for m-me-"

"Lord Voldemort does not like to be kept waiting." Polkov adjusted his chair so that he was
better able to see the fire.

"N-no, My Lord," Wormtail said, not looking at him. "I'll-"

"Do better next time. Yes." Lord Voldemort sighed softly. "What news?"

"I was able to meet with Crouch yesterday," Wormtail said. "He said it's too risky for him to
contact you directly, but that everything's going w-well for him. Dmitri was right." Polkov
shifted beside his chair, expression smug. Lord Voldemort nodded at him. "It's scheduled for
next year – Hogwarts is going to be involved, so if Crouch can pull the right strings, we
should be able to use it… Either Dumbledore will be away from Hogwarts, or we'll have an
opportunity to get into the school with everyone else."

"Alvays vith ze doubt," Polkov said in his smooth, smug voice. "I am tellink you zhet
Karkaroff vos gettink his ready, but you are not believink until Barty can confirm."

"And wary we must be, Polkov," Lord Voldemort said. Polkov straightened at once, listening.
"You understand how precarious our position is, how careful we must be. I am a great wizard,
but limited by my body-"

"Careful, yes," Polkov said, waving a hand. "But in ze future, perhaps you vill listen to me
better."

Lord Voldemort swallowed a cutting retort – suggestions from his inferiors were not
something he had ever liked receiving. In the fire, Wormtail's expression was sour.

"Any information you can provide me with, Dmitri, will be appreciated. It is in your best
interests to remain useful, after all."

Rather than shrink, as Wormtail would have done, or murmur assurances like Barty, Polkov
curled his lip.

"Am already useful," he said disdainfully. "You vould not do so vell vithout me, I do not
think." Lord Voldemort's fingers itched for his wand, but magic was tiring, and unfortunately,
he needed Polkov until either Wormtail or Barty could return to him. So he gave Polkov a
warning glance which went unheeded, and then spoke to Wormtail.

"And you?"

"Crouch's contact was able to get me in, like he p-promised," Wormtail said. Only his head
was visible in the flames, but Lord Voldemort was certain that he was wringing his hands.
"No one's noticed anything, I don't think, and if they haven't yet, then they shouldn't at all, so
long as I'm c-careful."

"Be careful, then." Wormtail nodded in hasty agreement. "The boy?"

"If you wanted to use the potion, I could get his blood-"

"It must be unwillingly given, Wormtail."

"I w-wouldn't ask him, I'd-"

"No." It was tempting, Lord Voldemort could not deny that, but they were far from ready, and
when they were, he wanted Harry to be there to bleed into the cauldron, to be afraid, to die so
that Lord Voldemort could truly live again, uncontested.

"Well… then, I could arrange for an accident-"

"We need his blood, Wormtail. It needs to be his-"

"Use anozzer person's," Polkov said. "Dead is dead, My Lord. He could not bozzer you any
lonker."

"And I would come back less powerful," Lord Voldemort snapped. "It must be his." And
Harry Potter was his, would die at his hand, as he should have all those years ago. "No, the
boy must live, for now."

"Maybe," Wormtail said. "I've been reading." He gnawed on his lip. "Have you heard of the
Master of Death?"

It was a title that appealed to Lord Voldemort immensely, though Polkov snorted. Lord
Voldemort could see Wormtail's cheeks pinkening, even through the green flames.

"Good to see you are spendink your time vell, Vormtail."

"Tell me," Lord Voldemort said softly, to Wormtail.

"I haf better zhinks to be doink," Polkov said.

"You are familiar with the title?" he asked.

"Of course. Is from a children's story." Lord Voldemort turned to Wormtail, who was giving
Polkov an angry look.

"It is," Wormtail admitted. "The tale of the Three Brothers. Antioch, Cadmus and Ign-"

"Vas Andrei, Makar, Yakov for me," Polkov said unhelpfully.

"Quiet, Dmitri," Lord Voldemort said, irritated. "Continue."

"The brothers that were given objects, by Death," Wormtail said, and then gave him an
expectant look. "No? You must have heard the story growing up, all the wizarding kids-"
"I didn't care for fairytales in my youth," Lord Voldemort said silkily; he did not like being
reminded of his muggle upbringing, nor did he like not knowing something about the
wizarding world – his world – that even the stupidest child would. "And you are not doing
particularly well at making me care now."

"Right, s-sorry," Wormtail mumbled. "Well they were given a wand – a powerful, unbeatable
wand that can only be separated from its master by death – a stone which could bring back
the dead, and a cloak-" Wormtail faltered, but when he spoke again his voice was soft,
wistful. "-a cloak of true invisibility. The story goes that anyone that had all three of these
objects would be the Master of Death."

"Precisely," Polkov said flatly. "Ze story. Zere is not anythink zat suggests zese thinks might
be real, and if your brozers and mine had different names in ze stories zen good luck findink
zhem efen if zhey are real-"

"I've seen the cloak," Wormtail said. "A cloak of true invisibility. It exists, and I have guesses
about where it might be now. And there's a lot of lore about an all-powerful wand. Lots of
books call it the 'Elder Wand'. It seems to have been lost for a few decades, but its ownership
records were well documented before that. I think it c-could be tracked down. I don't know
much about the stone." Wormtail had said all of this very quickly, and paused for breath
before continuing. "And Ignotus, Cadmus and Antioch Peverell were real people. The
Peverell brothers."

"Peverell?" Lord Voldemort murmured, intrigued. "The old wizarding family?"

"I think the Peverell line died out," Wormtail said hesitantly, "but lots of today's families are
descended from them."

"Yes." He knew they were; he himself was descended from the Peverell line. "Read into the
wand," he told Wormtail, who bobbed his head. "And the stone as well, for a description, or a
location or anything that might be of use. You said you've seen the cloak?"

"Not recently," Wormtail said quickly. "Not for years."

"But you know where it is."

"I have guesses." Wormtail's tone was reluctant. Lord Voldemort waited, hoping his
expression would discourage any dithering on Wormtail's part. "I know for certain that
Dumbledore had it this time twelve years ago."

Irritation sizzled through Lord Voldemort, that it simply wasn't fair for Dumbledore to have
somehow got his hands on such an item, particularly now that he wanted – needed – it.

"And now?"

"I t-think he's p-probably passed it on," Wormtail said. Lord Voldemort took note of his
stuttering and braced himself for bad news, though he wasn't sure how Dumbledore
relinquishing this cloak could be a bad thing.
"To who?"

Anger, red and hot and painful surged through Harry as his eyes flew open and he realised
that he was, in fact, Harry Potter. His unsteady, ragged breaths seemed to echo.

Pettigrew's glowing green face swam before him still, obscuring the dark dormitory, and
though both Ron and Neville were snoring, all he could hear was that high, cold voice. He
shuddered and pushed back his covers, grabbing his glasses and bag on his way to the door.
His other hand traced his scar, which was burning in an unpleasantly familiar way.

The common room was dim but not dark, lit by the light of the fire and the faint glow of the
half-moon out the window.

Harry threw himself down on one of the couches and rifled through his bag for his mirror.
His hand was shaking, though he thought that was a fair response; he had his own memories
of Voldemort, and while it was unexpected, this wasn't the first time he'd had pain from his
scar. He'd even had Tom Riddle in his head last year, but he'd never been Voldemort. Had it
been a dream? Or had Harry somehow travelled to wherever he was? And he'd spoken to
Wormtail about things – important things – but the details were slipping away, even now,
though Harry did his best to cling to them.

"Sirius Black," Harry said, and his own sweaty, panicked face vanished into blackness.
"Padfoot?

"Wha- Harry?" He heard Padfoot's sleepy voice before he saw anything, but then a wand lit
up on Padfoot's end, and Harry saw Marlene rolling over before Padfoot's face filled the
mirror, but his eyes were sharp, even if his voice was tired. Harry was so relieved to see him
that he couldn't find his voice for a few moments. "What's happened? Are you hurt?"

"It's Voldemort," Harry said. "I was- we were- I don't know where we were, but-"

"You got away though?" Now Padfoot's voice was sharp, and he moved quickly, as if he'd
stood.

"Got-"

"Where are you?"

"The- the common room-"

"He's at Hogwarts?!"

"What- no, he's not here, he's- I- was with him. Dreaming, maybe, but it didn't feel like a
dream. I was him -" Padfoot went still.

"A dream?"

"I don't know," Harry said, pushing his sweating hair out of his face. Padfoot sat again,
expression less urgent, but still intense. "But I was him Padfoot. I was talking to Wormtail,
and there was this other man, who- I can't remember his name but he was talking about
Crouch getting ready for next year and-" Harry struggled to remember, but the details evaded
him. "Wormtail has three brothers and a wants Dumbledore's cloak and there's a boy potion-"
Padfoot looked bewildered. "It's not making much sense, I know," Harry said, "but, Padfoot, I
think it's important."

"Easy, kiddo," Padfoot said. "I believe you." Not that he'd expected him to, but Harry was
relieved Padfoot hadn't just told him he was a lunatic and to go back to bed. "I mean, it
sounds- odd, but- we'll work it out. So Voldemort was in your head?"

"No, I- think I was in his," Harry said. "And I- was so sure I was him, but I'm here and me
and- I couldn't have moved, could I?"

"You're you," Padfoot said firmly, but he looked troubled. "And I doubt it, not without
waking up Ron and the others, or Splinching yourself, and you woke up in bed, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. It sounded very unlikely he had moved when Padfoot put it like
that. And he had woken up in bed, so he must have dreamed it. "But- What does it mean?"

"I don't know," Padfoot said, mouth turning down. "Nothing good, unless you now happen to
know where either Crouch or Wormtail are?"

"No, I- If they said, I don't remember-"

"Ah, well," Padfoot said. "Can't make it too easy for us, I s'pose."

"What should we do?"

"Nothing tonight," Padfoot said, with a yawn and a wry smile. "In the morning, go to
Dumbledore and see what he thinks of it all. I'd Floo in to be there too, but Fudge's approved
another bloody policy-" He rolled his eyes. "-and Scrimgeour's had to call a meeting for the
D.M.L.E. to go through it all." He yawned again. "Try to go back to sleep, kiddo, and I'll
catch you on the mirror at lunch time to see how you're getting on."

Going back to sleep was the last thing Harry felt like, but he nodded and said goodnight, and
put the mirror aside. The burning in his scar had faded to an ache, but Harry couldn't shake
the fear that he'd close his eyes and wake up as Voldemort again.

There was a half-finished Potions essay in his bag, but that was the second to last thing Harry
felt like doing, so he moved to where he could watch the fire, and took comfort in fact that
the flames were the bright orange rather than green-with-Wormtail.

Ginny came downstairs just ten minutes later, holding her own school bag, and yelped when
Harry peered over the back of his armchair to see who it was.

"Morning," she said quietly, once she'd recovered. Her hair was still messy from sleep and
she looked quite pale. He wondered if she'd had bad dreams tonight too. "Do you mind?" She
gestured at the armchair next to his.
"Go for it," Harry said. She sat and pulled a battered copy of The Standard Book of Spells out
of her bag, and a roll of parchment.

"Everything all right?" she asked him. Harry shrugged. "I ask," she said wryly, digging
through her bag for a quill, "because people that are all right don't tend to be down here this
late - or is it early? – watching the fire."

"You're here," Harry said, frowning at her. She gave him a rather pointed look, and then
straightened – triumphant – holding a quill.

"And I'm obviously who people think of when they think of someone that's all right," she
said, rolling her eyes. Harry grimaced, but Ginny didn't look upset. She opened her book –
straight to the contents, because the first few pages were missing. Harry knew the book well;
Ron's name was still on the inside cover, below Fred's and Percy's (the last two had been
crossed out), but Ginny hadn't put hers in it yet.

"Charms?" Harry asked, so she wouldn't ask anything else.

"I figured I was awake so I might as well do something with the time," she said, sucking on
the end of her quill. "Colin wants help with Defence tonight, so the more I get done now, the
longer I can stay with him."

"How's he going?"

"Keeping up, for the most part," she said. "He did lots of work over the summer, and
McGonagall helped too." All Harry could smell, though, was guilt. It was an awful, sickly
smell, and so strong it made him feel dizzy. "Don't look at me like that." For the first time,
Ginny looked annoyed.

"Like what?" Harry asked, frowning at her.

"Like- that," Ginny said lamely. She blew hair out of her face and turned back to her essay.
She was writing carefully – so she wouldn't smear her ink with her hand as she wrote – but
not slowly, and didn't seem to be checking the textbook as she wrote. It was so different from
Hermione's constant page-turning, Draco's thoughtful consideration before he wrote, or his
and Ron's essay writing, which alternated between being reluctant and frantic, depending on
how late they'd left it.

"Are you smart?" he asked, and Ginny's head snapped up.

"What?" she asked, looking like she wanted to laugh. "What sort of question is that?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "I just wondered." She did laugh then, and he felt his face heat up a bit.
"Just because you're not reading before you write." Unexpectedly, Ginny's smile vanished.
"So you are clever," he said, hesitantly, trying to work out what he'd said.

Ginny swallowed and pulled the sleeves of her too-big, stolen – because it had a large yellow
'P' on it – jumper over her hands.
"Tom is." At first she didn't look at him, but then she did, and it was somehow defiant. When
Harry didn't say anything, she seemed to deflate a bit. "I remember things that he did when he
was here- really here, not just as the diary. Not everything. But sometimes there's a secret
passage, or a spell, or something about a teacher that I just… know. Counter spells are one of
those things, apparently."

"Sounds useful," Harry said, and she stared at him, horrified.

"I don't want anything from him," she said in a low, rather angry voice.

"I didn't particularly want parseltongue," Harry said, "but it came in handy." Ginny opened
her mouth, but didn't say anything. "You might not want what he left you with, but you've got
it, so you might as well use it to help people, rather than hurt them like Riddle. Knowing
about-" He glanced at the title of her essay. "-counter spells mean you'll finish that quicker
and have more time to help Colin tonight. Then maybe you'll stop feeling guilty." Her eyes
narrowed.

"Are you a mind-reader?" she asked, in the same sort of way as when he'd asked if she was
smart. She smelled a little afraid though.

"Only for Voldemort," he said, trying to make it sound like a joke, but he didn't think she
bought it.

"He's why you can't sleep?" she asked.

"I can sleep," Harry said, frowning. "I just- don't want to." Embarrassingly, his voice wavered
on that last bit. Ginny watched him for a moment, and then nodded.

She didn't ask him if he wanted to talk about it like Hermione would have, didn't ask why or
change the topic like Ron would, or stare at him like he was some sort of puzzle the way
Draco would.

Instead, she went back to her essay, with only a faint smile to suggest that she knew exactly
how much he appreciated it.
 The three brothers

"Come in."

Harry pushed open the door of Dumbledore's office and stepped inside. Dumbledore was
wearing a ghastly, Cannons-orange dressing gown and taking a tea tray from a very familiar
looking house-elf.

"Winky is doing much better, Headmaster, sir," the elf was saying. "Dobby is not being sure
why, but she is being cheerier and helpful of late, sir!"

"I'm glad," Dumbledore said, turning curious eyes on Harry.

"Dobby?" Harry asked, incredulous. He looked much happier than when Harry had last seen
him – sponging a petrified Draco – and was wearing a single Gryffindor sock, and a silk
pyjama shirt with D.M. embroidered on the breast pocket.

"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby squealed, moving so excitedly that he almost upended
Dumbledore's teacup.

"You're working at Hogwarts?" Harry was grinning now.

"Oh, yes, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby said. Dumbledore had relieved him of the tea tray so he
was free to wring his hands. "After Harry Potter and Mister Black were not able to be giving
work to Dobby, Dobby is thinking of Hogwarts, and Headmaster Dumbledore is giving
Dobby a job!"

Harry glanced at Dumbledore who was smiling, but his eyes were cautious and fixed on
Harry.

"That's great," Harry said. "Does Draco know?" Dobby looked suddenly rather forlorn and
shook his head. His enormous ears flapped. "Well, you're in the kitchens, right? I could bring
him to see you after dinner, one night, if you'd like-" Dobby's eyes shone.

"Harry Potter is so kind, so good!" For a moment, Harry worried that Dobby might throw
himself at Harry, but he managed to restrain himself and just bounced on the spot. "Oh, yes,
Dobby would be so happy to be seeing Master Draco, if Harry Potter is not too busy to be
bringing him!"

"Nah, I'll find time," Harry said. "I think he'd like to see you too."

"Is Harry Potter knowing where the kitchens is?" Dobby asked eagerly.

"Yeah," Harry said, and then remembered Dumbledore and gave him an apologetic look;
students weren't meant to visit the kitchens. Dumbledore didn't seem to have heard, however;
he was humming as he made his tea and not looking at either of them, though Harry doubted
he was so oblivious. "I mean- er-"
"Thank you for the tea, Dobby," Dumbledore said, and when he looked at Harry, his eyes
were twinkling. "If I could trouble you to return to the kitchens, however; our students will be
seeking breakfast soon."

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore, sir," Dobby said happily. "Dobby will be seeing Harry
Potter soon!" Harry grinned at him as he disappeared with a pop.

"A most unusual elf," Dumbledore remarked with a smile, gesturing for Harry to take a seat.
Dumbledore himself sat down on the other side of the desk. He stirred a lump of sugar into
his tea and took a sip. "How can I help you this morning, Harry?"

"Your gargoyle let me in," Harry said, after a moment. "I didn't even have the password-"

"A measure I put in place following Tom Riddle's… intrusion into your mind last year,"
Dumbledore said, nodding. "Obviously having the password is preferable, but in the event of
more desperate times, I thought it prudent…"

He gave Harry that odd, thoughtful look, as if wondering whether this was a 'desperate time'.

"It's Voldemort," Harry said, and Dumbledore didn't seem surprised; Harry couldn't blame
him, as the pair of them rarely discussed anything else. "I had- I don't know if it was a
dream," Harry said, "or- yeah. But I spoke to Padfoot and he thought I should come and see
you."

"And this dream?" Dumbledore asked, after a moment. "What happened in it?"

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "I was- him- Voldemort." Dumbledore's
eyebrows shot up, and he took a quiet sip of tea. "I was in a room somewhere – I don't know
where. And there was a man with me. His name was- I don't remember his name, but it
wasn't British." Dumbledore nodded and waved a hand for Harry to continue. "Crouch and
Wormtail weren't there-"

"Wormtail is Peter Pettigrew?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry nodded.

"-but I was talking to Wormtail in the fire. He said Crouch is somewhere getting ready for
next year, and Wormtail was somewhere else. He- has three brothers and wants to help with a
boy potion. And- there's something else, but I've forgotten."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "And you say this was a dream?"

"I- I'm not sure," Harry said. "It felt real, but I did wake up in the dormitory…" He watched
Dumbledore for a moment, and frowned. "You don't believe me."

"I believe that it felt real," Dumbledore said after a pause. "As to whether or not it was real…
I couldn't say. We know you have some connection to Voldemort through your scar, but
you've never shared dreams before, as far as I know…"

"Not that I remember," Harry said. Dumbledore nodded.

"Precisely, so why now? And why this? Pettigrew and Crouch have featured in the papers an
inordinate amount of late, and the Dementors likely aren't helping matters for you… The
happenings of this dream are not to be ignored, by any means, Harry, and I do wish to hear if
anything like this occurs again, but-"

"But?" Harry said, flatly.

"It's likely that this dream was nothing more than a manifestation of your theories or fears
regarding Voldemort-" Dumbledore's voice was gentle, which Harry thought made it even
worse; Dumbledore didn't think he was mental, just over-tired and stressed and imagining
things.

"But there were things that they talked about that I don't know," Harry said.

"Like?" Dumbledore asked.

"Like-" Harry squinted, straining to remember. "Crouch. Whatever Crouch was doing for
next year, it involves Hogwarts and-" A name jumped into Harry's head, spoken by the deep,
smooth voice of Voldemort's current servant. "And Karkaroff's getting his ready."

"I beg your pardon?" Dumbledore looked astonished, and Harry wondered if the name meant
something to him.

"Karkaroff," Harry said.

"And what was getting ready?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"I don't know. Karkaroff is getting something ready for next year, though."

"Yes," Dumbledore murmured. "He would be." He stood abruptly, and then began to pace.

"You know Karkaroff?"

"I do."

"So you believe me, now?" Harry asked, and Dumbledore gave a sharp little nod.

"What else?"

"A potion for a boy, or- I'm not sure. But Wormtail's brothers were important. There are three
of them… three brothers?"

"Peter is an only child, and the three brothers he did have no longer consider him to be such,"
Dumbledore said softly.

"He didn't mean them," Harry said, fairly sure of that much. "They're- he just said three
brothers and- the cloak." Oddly, Dumbledore went very still. "Wormtail wants your cloak."

"Three brothers and a cloak," Dumbledore said softly. "You're certain?" Harry nodded.
"Do you know them? Or the cloak?" Dumbledore shook his head, and then drew his wand,
which he twirled between his fingers for a moment, looking troubled.

"I have no cloak in my possession that Peter would feel the need to seek," Dumbledore said.
There was nothing in his voice or scent to suggest he was being evasive, but Harry felt oddly
suspicious all the same.

"So you don't know what he means by it?" Harry asked carefully.

"No," Dumbledore said, but his scent gave him away, even if nothing else about him did. "I'm
afraid not."

Harry nodded slowly, not sure what to think; Dumbledore tended to be reasonably honest
with him, and, while he'd certainly avoided questions or given cryptic answers, Harry had
never caught him lying outright. Harry was saved, however, from either asking or answering
more questions, by the grumble of his stomach.

"I'm keeping you from your breakfast," Dumbledore said, smiling. It was a genuine smile, but
there was something forced about it all the same. "And doubtless your friends will be
wondering where you are."

Actually, Harry had told Ginny to let them know where he was, so they wouldn't worry, but
he found himself nodding.

"Probably," he said, and stood.

"I apologise, too," Dumbledore said, "for not believing you right away. Perhaps I did not
want to believe that your connection with Lord Voldemort ran so deep." He was frowning as
he said that, and Harry's stomach did an odd little flip.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know yet," Dumbledore said, truthfully this time. "I shall give the matter some
thought and get back to you." Harry swallowed and nodded. "And the same is true for what
you've shared with me. If Voldemort is indeed, aware of what is to come next year, then it
may change everything."

"What is happening next year?" Harry asked.

"Nothing that you, or the rest of the students are allowed to know about just yet,"
Dumbledore said, smiling.

"Right," Harry said slowly. "But we'll know eventually."

"I daresay you shall," Dumbledore said, nodding.

"Harry didn't tell me what he was seeing Dumbledore about," She-Weasley told Granger
patiently. Draco didn't think she was lying – not exactly – but he suspected she knew or had
guessed more than Potter might have said.
"Well," Draco said, "I just hope Black's all right."

"What would be wrong with him?" Granger asked, frowning.

"I don't know," Draco said, as they came down the main staircase and into the Entrance Hall.
"But Trelawney seemed to think there might be, remember?"

"You can't tell me you believe her?" Granger asked, while Weasley filled his sister in on the
events of their Divination lesson the day before.

"She asked Potter if he was all right, and now Potter's gone rushing off to Dumbledore before
breakfast," Draco said, shrugging. "Something's up, and I think there's a fair chance that that's
what it was." Granger muttered something that Draco didn't hear properly. "Weasley?"

"Ask him," Weasley said, pointing at the Gryffindor table, where Potter was sitting alone.

"I will," Draco told the three of them, and lengthened his strides. Potter looked tired, and a bit
concerned, but not particularly upset, so Draco thought it was safe to say, "Is Black all right?"

"What? Yeah, he's- what?" Potter gave Draco a bewildered look, and then spotted the other
three. "Morning."

"Draco," Granger told Potter, "thinks Trelawney's prediction about Sirius might have
something to do with you seeing Dumbledore this morning." She somehow managed to
sound both skeptical and concerned.

"Padfoot's fine," Potter said, waving a hand. Granger caught Draco's eye, looking smug.
Potter waited for them to sit down – She-Weasley sat with beside Draco, rather than going off
to sit with Kirke and Higgs – and then looked at Granger. "Do you know anything about three
brothers and a cloak?"

"No," she said, frowning, and shook her head.

"Anyone would think the pair of you were raised by muggles," Draco said fondly, and both
Weasleys snorted. Granger rolled her eyes.

"How so?" Potter asked intently. His breakfast sat, ignored.

"It's a children's story."

"Mum used to read it to us," Weasley added.

"Children's story? Are you sure?" Rather than interested, Potter now sounded bewildered.

"Pretty sure," She-Weasley told him. "It's in the Tales of Beedle the Bard."

"So what did Dumbledore want?" Granger asked, but Potter had stood and climbed over the
bench. "Harry-"
"I'll see you in Potions," he said over his shoulder, and headed for the doors. His half-eaten
breakfast vanished from the table.

"Leave him," Weasley said to Granger, who'd half-risen, as if to follow. She sat back down,
watching Potter's back with a worried expression. "If it's nothing big, he'll tell us later, and if
it is big, then he probably won't want to talk about it here." He gave the fast-filling
Gryffindor table a significant look.

"That was unusually insightful of you, Weasley," Draco said, reaching for the butter. She-
Weasley nudged it closer to him, and he nodded in thanks. "Are you feeling all right?"

Weasley threw a bit of cereal at him, making Granger roll her eyes.

Someone cleared their throat behind Draco, and across from them, Weasley and Granger both
looked surprised. Draco turned to see Astoria Greengrass standing there wearing a gaudy red
tie and Gryffindor robes. Her bowl of cereal was in her hand.

She and Draco had never clashed the way that Draco and Daphne tended to, but nor had they
ever been particularly close or even had much in common. It was Nott, or Zabini that Draco
tended to spend his time with if he couldn't get out of attending a dinner party with the
pureblood children.

It wasn't him that she looked to, whoever; it was She-Weasley.

"May I?" she asked stiffly.

"Sure," She-Weasley said, glancing over at the Slytherin table.

"Vivienne and Luna haven't come down yet," Astoria said, sitting down beside She-Weasley
rather gingerly.

"Oh, so we're second choice," Weasley muttered, and then winced; Draco suspected Granger
must have kicked him under the table.

"It's Astoria, right?" Granger asked. Astoria gave her a wary look and then nodded. "I'm
Hermione Granger."

"Yes, you were Petrified as well," Astoria said. Granger bit her lip and nodded once. Weasley
patted her on the shoulder.

"What happened to your robes?" Draco asked her, eyeing the red tie.

"Daphne happened," Astoria said in a tight voice. She hesitated and then added, sounding
strained, "Figured I might as well look the part-"

"Of a Gryffindor?" Weasley asked.

"Of a bloodtraitor. Apparently." Astoria didn't look up from her breakfast, but Granger pulled
out her wand and muttered a counter-spell. Astoria twitched and then looked down at her
once-again Slytherin robes and tie. "Thanks."
"So what did you do?" Draco asked. Astoria looked up at him, eyes narrowed, and he realised
she probably wouldn't answer. She glanced at Weasley and Granger and then at She-Weasley.
Then, her eyes went to Granger again, and down to her fixed robes.

"Got attacked," Astoria said, in a small voice. She-Weasley went very still. "If Slytherin's
monster had it out for me, they figure there must be something wrong with me." Her voice
wavered ever so slightly, and for a moment, Draco thought she was about to cry. Then, her
tone turned matter of fact, and her composure returned. "After all, the rest of its victims were
muggleborns-" Her eyes flicked pointedly - but not rudely - to Granger, who met her gaze
squarely. "-bloodtraitors-" This time, it was Draco she looked to. "-and halfbreeds."

"Halfbreeds?"

"Flitwick."

"Smith's a pureblood," Draco pointed out.

"He's also a Hufflepuff, and a massive git," she replied, lightly. Her confidence seemed to
falter as she pointed to the milk beside Weasley. "Can- could I-?" Weasley passed it to her,
and she stared at him.

"Thank you," Draco prompted.

"Why?" Astoria said, turning a withering look on him. "You haven't done anything that merits
a thank you." She looked back to Weasley and offered a tiny smile. "Thanks." He'd already
gone back to his breakfast and so didn't do more than nod at her.

"Greengrass," She-Weasley said awkwardly, as Astoria stirred more milk into her bowl. "It
wasn't personal. There were loads of people attacked that night, and you were just- just in the
wrong place at the wrong time."

"Of course," Astoria said. "And you know this because you've got such clear insight into the
mind of Slytherin's monster." She rolled her eyes, but her tone was more amused than
anything. Granger and Weasley had both gone very still, but She-Weasley just smiled in a
wry, pained sort of way, shrugged, and went back to her breakfast.

Draco opened his mouth, but this time, it was him that Granger kicked under the table.
 Headaches and hallows

"Five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, Potter," Severus said irritably. "Take a seat –
beside Miss Bulstrode will do."

Potter shot Bulstrode a wary look, but he didn't look as displeased as Weasley, who was with
Greengrass. Granger – who was over with Davis – was doing her best to stare a hole in the
side of his head, but Potter didn't look at her. Or at any of them, and Draco decided they'd
corner him on the way down to Care of Magical Creatures.

"Sir," Hydrus said for the fourth time, only this time, he was smirking at Potter's lost points,
"are these assigned pairings really necessary-?" Beside him, Finnigan seethed, probably due –
in equal parts – to his assigned partner, and also to Hydrus' continued complaining.

"If you ask again, Mr Malfoy, I will be forced to change your partner." Severus gave him a
look to suggest that he'd like his new partner even less. Draco's money was on Longbottom;
at the moment, Longbottom was sitting with a displeased Pansy. Draco had been paired with
Zabini, and rather thought things could be worse… then again, Severus had a tendency to
play favourites, even if he'd never admit it.

"Today, we will be brewing the Wiggenweld Potion – those of you that paid the slightest
attention to last year will remember we covered its theory." Draco didn't remember, and could
only assume they'd covered it when he was petrified. Still, Potions was one of his best
subjects, so he was sure he'd manage. Severus tapped his wand on the blackboard, and the
instructions appeared. "If you have any questions, ask them." He waited for a single second
and then said, "You may begin, then."

"I'll grab ingredients," Zabini said, and went to do that while Draco sharpened his knife in
preparation.

"Want to swap?" Weasley grumbled as he passed the desk, arms laden. He gave Greengrass –
who was turned around in her chair and talking to Shafiq – a dark look.

"Absolutely not," Draco said, shaking his head.

"I'm flattered," Zabini said, returning with their ingredients. "Off you go, Weasley, I'm sure
she's missing you." Weasley scowled, but left, passing by Granger's desk to gripe before
returning to his partner. Zabini watched, amused. "So," he said, "partner." Draco rolled his
eyes. "Did you want to measure, or stir?" Draco shrugged, but passed Zabini the stirring rod.
"Brave of him," he said after a few moments.

Draco eyed him over the top of his beaker.

"Brave of who?"

"Snape. For all these cross-House pairs."

"He's trying to encourage House unity," Draco said. "All the teachers are. Haven't you
noticed?"

"Do I look blind?" Zabini asked, looking amused. He moved his arm so that Draco could add
the first lot of salamander's blood, and then began to stir. Draco checked the heat of the
cauldron with a quick charm. "I still think it's brave." Draco shrugged again.

As far as lessons went, it was fairly uneventful; Longbottom didn't manage to melt anything –
probably because Pansy declared him a fat, useless lump and didn't let him help at all except
to fetch ingredients and read her the instructions – and Severus was quieter than usual; Draco
thought he was probably trying not to provoke any incidents between partners.

… Or maybe there was something bothering him; several times throughout the lesson, Draco
caught Severus staring rather intently at him, but Severus only looked away when Draco
arched an eyebrow.

Draco and Zabini managed to produce what was – in Draco's opinion – a near-perfect potion
to hand up at the end of the lesson. Better than Potter and Bulstrode's, which was almost as
yellow as it was green, and better than Weasley and Greengrass', which was the right colour,
but looked a bit lumpy, in any case.

As soon as Snape dismissed them, Granger and Weasley descended on Potter – who, if his
wry expression was anything to go by – seemed to have been expecting it. Torn, Draco
watched them go, and then approached Severus' desk.

"Mr Malfoy?" he said, without looking up from the class list.

"What was that about?" Draco asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The- staring and-"

"I thought perhaps you weren't feeling well." Frowning, Draco thought about it. "You're a bit
pale." Draco was always pale, but he didn't point that out. "Are you feeling well?" Severus'
dark eyes bored into his.

"A headache," he said, after a few moments. He hadn't really noticed it until then, though.

"No need for Madam Pomfrey though?" Severus was still watching him intently.

"No, it's not that bad," Draco said. "Probably just the fumes."

"Perhaps," Severus said, nodding. "As long as you're well…"

"I'll be fine," Draco said. Severus nodded again and turned back to his class list. Draco took
that as his cue to leave, and headed for the door. He was only halfway there when he paused.
"Sir?"

"Draco?" Severus asked, in the same tone.

"It's- been a while since you've had me arranging bookcases and playing those games." Draco
hadn't seen all that much of Severus over the holidays, and before that he'd been petrified.

"You've outgrown them," Severus said, not looking up from his paperwork. "Well and truly."
Draco tried not to feel too disappointed. "And," Severus continued, "even if you felt that that
were not the case, I am pressed for time as it is."

"Yes, sir," Draco said, still unable to quash his disappointment.

It was oddly like déjà vu for Draco, as he walked into the hospital wing to visit his brother,
only this time it was Hydrus' arm not his leg that was injured. And Zabini was not there, but
Daphne was, and she looked about as impressed to see Draco as she had last time.

"Oh," Hydrus said, not bothering to even sit up in his pillows. "Remembered me, have you?"

Draco rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets. Daphne folded her arms, and
moved her chair closer to Hydrus' bed. Her expression made it very clear he was unwelcome.

"How's your arm?"

"Excruciating," Hydrus said, and Draco believed him. "Madam Pomfrey's tried her best, but
injuries like mine are uncommon-"

"That's because people are generally sensible enough not to loose savage beasts on their third
year class," Daphne said scathingly. Draco had to admit, that when he'd first seen the
Hippogriffs 'savage beast' was exactly what had popped into his head. In fact, he was sure
that he'd whispered something along those lines to Weasley.

But Potter, who could probably find a way to injure himself in a room covered in cushioning
charms, hadn't managed to make a disaster of their lesson. And, nor had anyone else, except
for Hydrus.

"Wrong," Draco told her, in a tone he'd used Severus use on Longbottom in Potions. Her
frown deepened. "It's because people are generally sensible enough not to go directly against
a Professor's instructions and provoke magical creatures."

"You call that oaf a Professor?" Hydrus scoffed. "Please, Draco. And I didn't provoke it-"

"You did," Draco said.

"No, it attacked me," Hydrus said.

"Because you're were an idiot and insulted it," he retorted. Hydrus flushed angrily.

"It attacked him," Daphne said. "It's a savage beast and shouldn't have been allowed near
students."

"Doesn't really matter now, though," Hydrus said, and exchanged a look with Daphne, who-
Draco couldn't quite call it a grin; it was too sinister for that. Hydrus' expression mirrored
hers.

"No," she said. "True."

"Father's going to sort it all out," Hydrus said. "He's already been notified by the school, of
course, but once he reads my letter, I imagine he'll want to get involved. Ideally, he'll speak
with someone and arrange a visit from the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous
Creatures to deal with the beast."

"And the hippogriff as well, if they're already coming out to the school," Daphne added.
Hydrus hooted.

Draco opened his mouth and closed it several times; each thing he wanted to say to them
seemed ruder and angrier than the last, and so he closed his mouth and folded his arms across
his chest, giving them both the most disapproving look he could muster.

He was a bit disappointed – though not surprised – by the lack of response from them, but
they seemed to be feeling the same; Daphne looked particularly let down by the fact that he
wasn't shouting or arguing.

"Hydrus!" that was Pansy, arriving with Crabbe and Goyle in tow, and Draco knew it was
only a matter of time before Madam Pomfrey came to shoo someone away.

He turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Hydrus asked him.

"If I wanted to spend time with Slytherins, I'd have been Sorted there," Draco said, though
not with much venom; while he'd made his peace with his Sorting – and was glad of it – he
knew it was still are sore point for his brother… Not that Hydrus appeared to be listening; he
was rather enjoying Pansy's attention.

"Sure," Daphne all but hissed. "Then why were you with Astoria at breakfast?"

"Oh, she's a Slytherin now?" Draco asked her. "Odd of you to change her tie, if that's the
case…" Daphne didn't flush, but her pale anger was just as impressive, and – Draco couldn't
help but think – just as dangerous. She was silent; obviously, she was trying to think of a
suitable retort. "I'd be careful, if I were you, Greengrass."

Pansy spun, eyes flashing and said, "Draco, don't you dare threaten her-"

"Sirius Black," Draco said, ignoring her. "Andromeda Tonks. Me."

"Blood traitors," Daphne said.

"Exactly," Draco said, and the Slytherins all looked a little surprised, except for Hydrus.

"Draco, you're well- odd, but you're not like Black," he said, looking a bit rattled. "He ran
away, and Mother's idiot sister married that mudblood, but you haven't- wouldn't-"
Draco ignored him, and held Daphne's eyes. "Treat her like one, and she'll become one. Take
it from someone that knows."

He did leave the hospital wing then, fingers curled over the old scar on his palm, and
wondered why he'd even bothered.

"Suppose it shouldn't come as a surprise," Remus said, taking another sip of the firewhiskey
Sirius had brought with him. "When Crouch broke him out, he didn't really have much
choice but to go back to Voldemort… We'd assumed as much."

"There's always a choice," Sirius said curtly. He was sprawled on the couch in Remus and
Dora's little flat. Remus only sighed and tossed back the rest of his own drink. "Besides,
assuming and knowing for sure aren't the same. It's one thing to know he wanted us all dead
and actually managed it with Lily and Prongs, but- well, this time it's not just that he's in over
his head and trying to stay alive. As far as most of the public's concerned, Voldemort's gone.
Peter didn't have to do anything, he could've just hidden, but he's sought him out; this time
he's actively helping him-"

"I know." Remus was taking it hard too, though not quite as hard as he suspected Sirius was.
Sirius, while not friendly with Peter, had spoken with him several times at Azkaban when
he'd been on duty. Sirius finished his drink and scowled at the glass for several long
moments.

"Were we that bad?" Sirius asked.

"What?"

"To Peter. I mean, we teased him, I know that, but- to want us dead, to want Harry dead… I
don't remember being- he always knew he was our friend, didn't he? Do we deserve it, or is it
just-"

"Peter's changed," Remus said. "He's not the boy we went to school with, Padfoot. Could we
have been kinder to him… Probably, but should he want us dead because we were stupid
kids-"

"By 'we' you mean me and James," Sirius said. "You were the smartest of the stupid kids."

Remus managed a weak smile.

"If by smart you mean sensible," he said. Sirius did manage a grin at that, and Remus gave
him a wry smile back. "And, to be fair, you and James terrorised me just as much as you did
Peter and I never joined Voldemort or tried to do you in… The world's not as simple as good
and bad, I don't think, but Peter's not- he isn't good." Remus swallowed the lump in his
throat. "Do you regret it now? How the trial ended?"

"What, do I think I should have bullied Fudge into having him Kissed?" Remus couldn't find
his voice, so he nodded. "Sometimes. Mostly I just- What if I'm the one to find him again?
On the one hand, I'd want to punch him or set him on fire, and on the other hand, I'd- there
are so many things I want to say to him… none of them particularly friendly, but- yeah."
Sirius barked a laugh, but it was sharp and lacked any real humour.

"Hopefully someone else finds him, then."

"Marlene again?" Sirius asked drily. Remus grimaced. "Or better yet; Harry?" He took a swig
straight from the bottle.

"How is Harry?" Remus asked; he didn't think there was much left to say where Peter was
concerned, and talking about it only seemed to be putting Sirius in a bad mood.

"Seems to have decided to believe that he's not Voldemort," Sirius said, sounding almost
amused. He kicked off his shoes and put his feet up, then held the bottle out for Remus to
take. "Spoke to him just before I got here; he's been looking into that story of Beedle's."

"Found much?"

"Nothing we couldn't have guessed; get the three magical objects, become Master of Death.
Same story we all got read as kids, but apparently it's real."

"And Dumbledore said he didn't know?"

"Apparently," Sirius said. "Harry reckons he was lying, and I believe him; the Dumbledores
have been wizards for a while, so his parents must have had a copy lying around the place."

"Unless it wasn't written," Remus said. "He's not young, Dumbledore." Sirius' mouth
twitched.

"No," he admitted. "But he's a teacher. You'd think he'd have come across it once or twice.
He's lying."

"Because you'd believe Harry over him any day," Remus couldn't help but point out.

"'Course I would," Sirius said. "Wouldn't you?"

"Depends," Remus said, and Sirius grunted. Silence hung between them, so Remus topped up
his glass and Sirius', and then sent the bottle to the kitchen, where it would be less tempting.
"But why lie? If this… title really is what Voldemort's after, then why wouldn't Dumbledore
level with him? He always has before."

"Voldemort wanted the Stone and Dumbledore never told Harry."

"But he told you and you told Harry."

"You told me," Sirius said.

"Oh." Remus stared at his drink for a few long moments. "Weird to believe James' old cloak
is the stuff of legends, isn't it?"
"And we used it to sneak food from the kitchens." Sirius shook his head. "Harry's thinking if
sending it home; that way Peter won't be able to get to it, if he somehow gets access to
Hogwarts or Hogsmeade-"

"You're still going to let Harry go to Hogsmeade?" Remus asked. "Sirius, is that a good
idea?"

"There'll be dementors around-"

"Oh, good," Remus said bitingly, "that makes me feel much better about Harry's safety."

"They won't bother the students," Sirius said. "Not after the train and how furious
Dumbledore was."

"Peter could get past them as a rat. He knows Hogsmeade like we do; he'd be in his element."
From the unhappy set of Sirius' mouth, Remus thought he knew it. "Harry will understand,
Sirius."

"He shouldn't have to," Sirius said. "He should be allowed to go and not have to worry about-
well, anything except for if he'll be able to smuggle things past Filch, or if he's going to ask a
girl to go with him, or-"

"I know," Remus said. "But he's Harry."

"Nice to see you've finally left the library," Draco said, as Harry sat down at dinner. Harry
pulled a face at him. "Where's Granger?"

"She was staying up there." Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table. "I see Hydrus is out."

"Taken him long enough," Ron muttered. Harry watched some of the Slytherin girls help
Hydrus load his plate, while he held his obviously bandaged arm against his chest. Ron was
obviously watching too, because he said, "You'd think after three days he'd be completely
fixed."

"Who says he isn't," Draco asked darkly. "I imagine he's doing it to play up to Father, to try to
get Hagrid sacked and the hippogriff destroyed."

Hermione dropped into the seat beside Harry, and slung her book bag down with a heavy
thud.

"I thought you had Muggle Studies to do," Harry said; that was what she'd said when he left
the library ten minutes ago, in any case.

"Finished it," she said.

"Already?" he asked. She shrugged and filled her bowl with soup. "Why didn't you come
down with me, then?"
"Because you're a big boy, Potter," Draco said, "and shouldn't need Granger to walk you to
dinner." Draco was watching Hermione – who looked relieved at the interruption – closely
though; Harry Ron and Draco had all noticed that Hermione was behaving- oddly, and being
rather distant this year. While Harry and Ron were confused, Draco was of the opinion that
she was entitled to space if she wanted it, though Harry suspected he was just as curious as
the rest of them.

"Do you think you'll talk to Dumbledore?" Hermione asked, shortly after.

"He said he didn't know anything about it," Harry said. He knew it was a lie, but if the
Headmaster hadn't admitted to it the last time they spoke, then Harry couldn't imagine that he
would do so now.

"You could tell him what you know," Ron said, but he looked doubtful.

"Maybe," Harry said. "I-"

"Potter, Potter's friends." Wood descended on Harry, waving to the other three as he did so.
"Got the pitch booked for tryouts tomorrow morning at six."

"Tryouts?"

"Yes, tryouts. Slytherin's got Malfoy as Seeker again this year, and Diggory's back for
Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw hasn't picked theirs yet, but the competition's looking good, so-"

"You didn't make me try out last year-"

"This is the year, though," Wood said, clapping him on the back. "We want that cup, we need
the best team, and that means I can't just pick you-" It looked like it was paining him to say
that. "-much as I'd like to, because you're- well, a brilliant player, but-"

"Right," Harry said, amused. "All right, I'll be there at six."

"Fantastic." Wood grinned, squeezed his shoulder, and then descended on Fred and George,
who were a few seats down, with Ginny and Colin.

"Boys," Hermione muttered.

Ron either didn't hear her, or did and spoke just to further exasperate her, saying, "So, want to
go for a fly tonight, then, mate? Make sure you're not going to be too rusty-"

Harry'd agreed happily; he'd been wanting to go flying all week, but with the start of term
and then his dream and then the last few nights spent poring over books about the three
brothers and their particular items, he hadn't had the chance.

He and Ron finished dinner quickly, wrapped dessert in serviettes to eat on their way upstairs
to fetch Harry's broom, and bid the other two goodbye. Draco and Hermione, already deep in
a conversation about Ancient Runes, didn't seem too bothered.

"Ravenclaw's Seeker was a seventh year, right?" Ron asked, as they left the Great Hall.
"I think so," Harry said. "What-"

"Harry." The pair of them looked over at Dumbledore, who'd stepped out of one of the
Entrance Hall's adjacent chambers. "A moment?"

"I'll grab the Nimbus and meet you down at the pitch, if you want," Ron offered.

Harry nodded and approached Dumbledore, who smiled kindly at Ron. Ron waved
awkwardly and headed upstairs.

"Harry, will you walk with me?" Dumbledore led him through a door that Harry'd never used
before, and down a corridor. "I'd hoped to catch you after breakfast but you never came."

"I was in the library," Harry said.

"Busy with study already?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"Not- no, I was- I've been reading about the three brothers," Harry said, watching
Dumbledore's face carefully.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, beaming, and Harry could smell he was being genuine, but
that didn't make him any less wary. They were in a corridor that Harry vaguely recognised
now; he thought it was near Dumbledore's office. "I'd hoped as much. Tell me, was it young
Mr Weasley who set you on the right track, or Mr Malfoy?"

"Both," Harry said, a bit thrown. "You knew," he said, and couldn't help the accusing tone
that slipped into his voice. "Why didn't you just-"

"Tell you?" Harry nodded, and Dumbledore sighed. "I feared that I might further bias you, if I
explained it myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I sought the Hallows myself, once." Dumbledore's voice was barely a whisper, though they
were alone in the corridor. "I feared if I was the one to tell you about them, that you might-
well, begin to want them as I did, and as Tom does."

"You- what?" Harry could only gape at him. Dumbledore smiled, but it was a sad smile.
"But-"

"I wish I could tell you I had a good reason for it," Dumbledore said, "but I fear I simply
wanted the power. Lord Voldemort is not the first wizard to try to conquer death."

"Do you still- want them?" Harry asked, struggling to wrap his head around it.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "And no. I like to think they'd be better in my hands than in
Voldemort's, but…" He smiled at Harry, sadly again. "The Deathly Hallows – a name you've
likely happened across in your research-?" Harry nodded – not, interestingly, from a book,
but rather from an odd second year that was a friend of Ginny's. "-are not innately evil
objects like Horcruxes are, but in the wrong hands could be used for great evil."
"I think they'd be better in your hands than his," Harry said.

"Perhaps now," Dumbledore admitted with a frown. "But not back when I sought them.
Pumpkin Pasty." Harry jumped, realising they'd arrived at Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle
stepped aside and Harry followed the Headmaster upstairs.

"Why couldn't you just give me the book?" There was an old copy of Beedle's book sitting on
Dumbledore's desk, in fact. "Then I could have read it, but instead you-"

"Lied?" Dumbledore watched him for a moment, as if wondering how he'd known. He didn't
ask, however, and Harry was relieved. "My reasons for not simply giving you the book are
simpler; after your dream, and your fears that you had somehow become Voldemort, I
thought you could use a distraction." He smiled, slightly apologetically, but Harry couldn't
smell regret.

"It worked," he admitted, and Dumbledore inclined his head ever so slightly. Harry went over
to Fawkes, who was watching the pair of them from his perch, and stroked his warm feathers.
"So- so if you've looked for them, does that mean you know where they are?"

"You have the cloak," Dumbledore said, and Harry nodded; he'd guessed as much after
speaking to Padfoot. Last Peter would have known, Dumbledore had had the cloak to stop
James from using it to sneak out of Godric's Hollow, hence Peter wanting Dumbledore's
cloak. "The wand-" He hesitated and then pulled his wand out of his sleeve. "The wand, I
have."

Harry wandered back over to the desk to look at it, but it didn't seem like anything
particularly special.

"No wonder Grindelwald lost," Harry said, after a moment "if you've got an unbeatable
wand…"

"When we duelled, the wand was not in my possession," Dumbledore said. He'd gone very
still. "I- took it from him, afterward."

"He had- then how did you-"

"I do not believe he wanted to kill me," Dumbledore said.

"But-"

"Now is not the time for this discussion, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, but firmly, and
Harry took a tentative sniff and was surprised to find that Dumbledore's scent was- well,
about as ruffled as Harry had ever known it to be. Harry sat down in the chair opposite
Dumbledore's.

"The stone?" he asked instead, and the sweet, heady scent of relief washed over him.

Dumbledore opened the front cover of Beedle's book and pulled out a piece of parchment,
which he passed to Harry. Harry unfolded it. On it, was a careful sketch of what seemed to be
a ring. The ring's stone was large and square, and had the triangular symbol that Luna
Lovegood had shown him the day before etched into its face.

"I've seen it," Harry said. Dumbledore looked startled. Harry racked his brains, trying to work
out where. "It was-" Where had he seen it? "I've seen it," he said again, frustrated.

"Then it is not as lost as I had thought," Dumbledore murmured. "Seen it – the real thing? Or
another picture?"

"I- I don't know," Harry said. "Where did you get this?" Harry waved the parchment at him.

"Someone I knew when I was just a few years older than you are now saw it on a visit to the
Ministry, and recognised it for what it was. Unfortunately, the ring's owner was in the
company of Aurors and my- the artist behind that parchment couldn't get close enough to
identify the man." Harry nodded, still thinking hard. "Nor," Dumbledore added thoughtfully,
after a slight pause, "do I think his English would have been good enough at that stage for
him to have learned much anyway. That the ring got away was a source of great frustration
for him… for both of us."

"I think the ring would be the best one," Harry said. "My parents…"

"The ring has always appealed the most to me as well," Dumbledore said quietly. Harry didn't
ask why this time; that was an obviously personal question, and he didn't think Dumbledore
would tell him. "Were it to find its way into Lord Voldemort's hands, it would not be- well,
while we have the other two Hallows, there is nothing to fear, and I do not think the ring's
powers would appeal to Voldemort as much as it does to us… Regardless, it would be best if
all three were in hands on our side."

Harry nodded.

"Peter's knowledge of the cloak cannot be helped," Dumbledore continued, "and I believe he
will try to take it-"

"I was going to send it back home," Harry said. "Wormtail can't find the cloak if he can't find
the house."

"That might be wise," Dumbledore said. "As for the wand… I have placed a great deal of
trust in you, Harry, by telling you where it is. I must ask you not to tell anyone of its location,
or even that you know it is safely away from Voldemort."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and then added hesitantly, "When you say not to tell anyone…"

"That does include Sirius, and Remus, and your friends," Dumbledore said. "Not because I
don't trust them, but because the wand had been lost for centuries before I took it from Gellert
Grindelwald, and I did not allow knowledge of it to surface then either. It is of the utmost
importance that it remains 'lost'."

"Right," Harry said.

"If you cannot keep this from Sirius, or do not wish to be burdened with the responsibility of
doing so, I can remove your memory of the wand-related parts of this conversation."

It was tempting; Harry had never kept anything like this from Padfoot before, but, then, this
wasn't anything that Padfoot needed to know.

"I can," Harry said, swallowing. With what was at stake, Padfoot would absolutely
understand.

Dumbledore inclined his head.

"I imagine Mr Weasley is expecting you about now," he said, with a faint smile. "Thank you
for speaking with me tonight, and give some thought, if you can, Harry, to where you've seen
the stone. I- do not tell me where, necessarily, if you do not wish to – believe me when I say I
will understand – but if it can be secured and away from Tom, then that would be for the
best."

Harry nodded slowly.

Dumbledore sent him on his way with a copy of the sketch, and Harry tucked it safely into
his pocket and headed downstairs to meet Ron, very much looking forward to the chance to
get up in the air and clear his head.
 Quidditch tryouts

A surprising number of people were heading down to the Quidditch pitch at the same time as
Harry the next morning. He spotted Hydrus – arm still in a sling – and Crabbe, Goyle and
Flint the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. Harry also saw Cedric Diggory and a girl who Harry
thought might have been one of Hufflepuff's Chasers, and saw Roger Davies and another boy
from the Ravenclaw team.

Then, there were the other students; Colin Creevey was there with his ever present camera
and waved excitedly at Harry before following Ron, Ginny, Lee Jordan, and Robins – a girl
from Ginny's year – up to the stands. A group of rowdy Gryffindor boys in the year above
Harry booed him as he crossed the grass, and whistled at a blushing Katie Bell.

A group of Hufflepuff girls were pointing and whispering at Wood, and a Ravenclaw boy
walked Alicia Spinnet down before kissing her on the cheek and going to join his friends in
the stands.

Harry was just wondering exactly what they were hoping to see – and wondering if the other
Houses had had as big a turnout to their trials – when someone collided with him.

"Sorry!" a girl's voice said, and Harry reached out to steady her; she wasn't much taller than
he was, but she was slight.

"My fault," he said, "wasn't paying attention."

She offered him a nervous smile, and he thought he vaguely recognised her; she was a
Ravenclaw, very pretty, with dark hair and eyes, and – if he remembered right - a fourth year.

"Nervous about tryouts?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. He shrugged. "You
shouldn't be," she said. "I've seen you fly, you're very good." Harry wasn't sure what to say to
that, and it must have shown on his face, because the girl said, "I'm Cho, by the way."

"Harry," he said, and her mouth twitched. Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I- er- guess you
knew that."

She blushed, but nodded and said, "It's nice to meet you anyway."

"You too," Harry said, fidgeting; she'd just looked him up and down and he wasn't quite sure
what to make of it. She was still smiling, though, so he figured it couldn't be a bad thing. "I
er-"

"Oh, of course," she said, stepping out of his way. "Sorry! I just-" A sheet of her long hair
swung in front of her face, so he couldn't read her expression, and he couldn't get much from
her scent other than that it was sweet and quite pleasant. When she looked up, he could have
sworn she'd tilted her head so that she was looking at him through her eyelashes. "Never
mind." Harry jumped when she reached out to put her hand on his arm, and her mouth
twitched again. "I'll let you go; good luck." She squeezed his arm and then stepped back.
"Thanks," Harry said, a bit distractedly; Wood had just stuck stepped out of the changerooms,
spotted Harry and started to wave madly. "Sorry, I've really got to- I'll- er- see you around."

She beamed at him, and hurried off toward the stands – Harry's stomach did a nervous little
flip when he realised she'd be watching – to where a curly haired girl was waiting. Harry
heard Cho giggle, and the pair of them put their heads together at once and then glanced back
his way.

Harry turned away from them, and started toward the changerooms, sure his face was
probably a bit pink.

"Hurry up," Wood squawked, shooing him inside. He was rather red in the face, and his scent
was annoyed, rather than excited, like Harry might have thought.

Bewildered, Harry scribbled his name on the tryouts list under Seeker and went to stand by
the twins, who were alternating between stretching and glowering at McLaggen – a rather
notorious fourth year. Like Wood, he was rather red in the face.

"Owe you an apology, mate," Fred muttered, as Wood called for anyone that hadn't signed up.

"What?" Harry asked.

"That git." George jerked his thumb in McLaggen's direction. "We were going to put him in
the hospital wing for the day-"

"-nothing serious," Fred added, when Harry raised his eyebrows, "but just enough that he'd
miss this. But bloody Moody and his bloody eye… confiscated our potion, and spells'd land
us in detention and then we might have missed this…"

"Wood would have killed you," Harry said, grinning. George shuddered.

"Anyway, he was planning to go for Keeper and you can imagine how that went down-"

"Pretty brilliant argument," George said.

"The gist from Oliver was that he's Captain and that means he needs to be on the team so
McLaggen can't try out for Keeper, and McLaggen didn't think that was fair, especially if he
turns out to be the better player. Oliver didn't like that much."

"McLaggen didn't like what Oliver had to say though… he didn't put it quite as nicely as Fred
just has…" The twins grinned. "And so Keeper's out, he knows better than to try to take one
of our positions-" George smelled distinctly smug. "-and apparently Chaser doesn't interest
him…"

Both twins gave Harry apologetic looks. Understanding, Harry grimaced and glanced at
McLaggen again, who was filing out onto the pitch with everyone else.

"He's not built like a Seeker, though," Harry said.

"No." Wood stomped over to them. "And I'd really prefer that he doesn't become Seeker, so
beat him, Potter, please."

"Or die trying?" Fred joked, making George and Harry grin. Wood didn't.

"Exactly," he said. "Or I'll kill you myself for losing and then kill myself so I don't have to
deal with having that prick on my team. Angelina can be Captain," he added after a moment,
looking pained.

"So no pressure," Harry said dryly. Wood just patted him – rather roughly – on the back and
gave him a little push toward the door out to the pitch.

"He's quite good," Demelza said, watching a burly fourth year whose name Ginny didn't
know. Wood had everyone attending tryouts flying laps of the pitch. The fourth year was
doing corkscrews and flying backward; obviously Fred and George didn't appreciate it,
though, because they kept bumping into him.

"He looks like a prat," Ron said.

"He is a prat," Lee said, folding his arms. "Hope he doesn't make the team – I'm not sure I
can be a neutral commentator if I have to talk about him."

"No offense," Ron said, "but you're not really a neutral commentator."

"None taken," Lee said grinning.

Wood called everyone down for a moment. He tossed something small and golden up into the
air, and, after a few short words with Harry and McLaggen, gestured for them to take off.
They shot into the air, while Wood started to organise tryouts for the other positions.

Ginny had thought about trying out, but the things she thought she'd be best at were Seeker –
and she could never take that away from Harry, even if she was somehow able to beat him –
or Chaser – but the girls that played Chaser were good on their own merits, but also good as a
team. They'd graduate, or leave the team when they reached N.E.W.T.s, and then there'd be a
place for Ginny.

Only if you're good enough, Tom whispered. Ginny gave a little start, and looked around.
Demelza and Colin were both engrossed in what was happening on the pitch, but Ron gave
her an odd look, and Lee looked like he wanted to laugh. I'm not sure you are.

Because you know so much about Quidditch, Ginny snapped back; she hadn't heard his voice
since the train, and had no patience for it today. Wood had the Beaters knocking bludgers
back and forward, and had the Chasers passing the Quaffle amongst each other.

Perhaps not, Tom murmured, but I know you, Ginny. She snorted aloud; thankfully,
McLaggen had just done an impressive but unnecessary manoeuvre, so no one seemed to
think anything of it. I know your strengths, your weaknesses… I know everything about you…
And I don't think you're good enough to make the team.
I don't really care what you think, Ginny said.

"Have they started?" Seamus Finnigan from Ron's year squeezed past Ginny and went to sit
on the end by Lee. "Bloody alarm didn't go off, Dean only woke me as he was leaving."

Ginny scanned the pitch and eventually found Dean Thomas; he took a pass from Angelina
Johnson and in turn lobbed the Quaffle up to a boy in the year above the twins, who fumbled
it. Wood was watching closely; Ginny was just surprised he didn't have a clipboard and quill
on hand.

He managed to recover, and tossed it to Katie Bell.

"Look out!" Fred bellowed. Demelza's hands flew to her mouth, and Ginny's heart leaped into
her throat; one of the Beater applicants had missed the Bludger, which had gone on toward
the Chasers. Wood was shouting at the people in the air, and urgent chatter had broken out in
the stands, though Ginny thought she heard the Slytherins laughing.

The Chasers all scattered, and Fred, George, and two of the other Beaters went after the
Bludger. A very solid sixth year boy took a hit to the shoulder, and one girl's broom was hit
and sent into a rather dangerous spin.

Fred and another boy managed to get the Bludger back under control, and George and Katie
Bell managed to help the girl; George got a hand on the broom and steadied it for long
enough that Katie could get the girl onto her own broom. The damaged broomstick continued
to spin around and eventually spun into the ground with a nasty cracking sound. It didn't
move after that. Ginny just hoped that it had been one of the old school brooms.

Colin's camera flashed.

The girl hopped off Katie's broom and left the pitch after a few words to Wood, and another,
very white-faced Chaser applicant left shortly after. Wood got into the air after that, and took
his position in front of the hoops while the Chasers took turns trying to get the Quaffle past
him. The Beaters were still knocking the Bludger back and forward – which looked like hard
work, to Ginny, as the Bludger had a mind of its own and kept veering off course, forcing
them to move to intercept it. And the Seekers…

Harry and McLaggen were well above the top of the pitch, and had been for quite some time.
The bigger of the two silhouettes - McLaggen - was flying in slow circles, while Harry was
stationary. Ginny thought the Snitch must be up there somewhere; they were too high up to
be solely keeping watch.

"At this rate, Wood can just choose whoever's left on their broom by the end," Lee said,
wincing as one of the Beaters toppled forward and toward the ground. Ron let out a loud,
relieved breath next to Ginny, as one of the other Beater applicants managed to catch her.
They sank to the ground rather ungracefully, but safely.

Wood, who'd stopped to watch, took a Quaffle to the head, and rounded on the fourth year
who'd thrown it. Ginny couldn't help but laugh, and she wasn't the only one; most of the
stands were laughing, as were Fred and George, and Angelina.
"Ooh, look!" Demelza said, pointing up suddenly. Harry had shot even higher up into the air,
and McLaggen had lurched up after him.

"He's seen it," Ron said, leaning forward in his chair. "That's not a feint."

Ginny watched as Harry did an odd barrel-roll, which McLaggen tried to mimic. Then, Harry
jerked to a rather sudden stop, and turned around. McLaggen shot past him, probably still
after the Snitch.

Harry was too high up for Ginny to be able to hear what he was shouting, but she could see
him waving down at them all, and she had a fair guess why; a third figure had joined them,
up in the grey clouds, and Ginny went cold.

Well, Tom said silkily, it seems Quidditch can be interesting, after all.

Shut up, Ginny snarled.

"What's he doing just sitting there?" Ron muttered, as the Dementor swooped toward Harry.
Harry was facing it now, and very still. "No, no, no-"

Ginny couldn't see any good outcome; even if he wasn't Kissed, Harry was likely to faint – as
he had done around Dementors in the past – and it wouldn't be a simple matter of sinking in
his seat like on the train, or falling onto Ron like she'd heard he'd done last year.

Harry sagged over his broom – Ginny thought he was still conscious, but couldn't be certain –
as a second and third Dementor joined them up there. McLaggen had stopped, finally, but
still seemed to be looking for the Snitch. Ginny was sure he must have noticed what was
going on, but he'd made no move to get closer. Ginny couldn't blame him. He was waving his
arms rather frantically, though Ginny didn't know if it was to try to get the Dementors'
attention, or to try to get help from the rest of the applicants.

"Oh my-" Demelza's hand was like a vice on Ginny's arm, and Ron turned white as Harry's
broom dropped suddenly; it wasn't neat enough to be considered a dive, Ginny didn't think,
but somehow, Harry was still on his broom and putting distance between himself and the
Dementors, which could only be a good thing. McLaggen flew after him, but then veered off.

Wood and the twins were shouting, and trying to position themselves to intercept Harry –
who was showing no signs of slowing or pulling up - while the other applicants tried to keep
the Bludger away from them all. Malfoy and Flint looked shocked but not entirely unhappy
with how things were playing out, and Ron's eyes were darting between the ground and
Harry's broom. He looked like he was going to be sick. Over it all, Tom cackled in Ginny's
head.

Ginny knew it could only have been a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

"I'm just going to lock up."

"Potter, slow down!"

"Not Harry! Please- I'll do anything-"

"Harry!"

"Padfoot – Sirius – I need you to listen to me. I need you to drink."

"Here, Potter!"

"Take Harry and go!"

"Pull up! Harry, stop-!"

"Then, of course, Black went through the Veil- Oh, the Aurors haven't worked it out, yet?"

"Harry!?"

"Run! I'll hold him off!"

"This is my last warning-"

"Not Harry!"

"Harry!"

"You can call me Tom, if you'd like."

The pitch's grass was coming up very, very quickly. Wood and the twins had hands
outstretched – obviously with the intention of catching him or something – but had to scatter
as Harry dropped past them.

Harry yanked on his broom, trying to slow down, but it was a bit late for that. He hit the pitch
hard, but not as hard as he thought he should have. Then, he was rolling – not particularly
neatly, either, he didn't think – and there was more shouting – he couldn't tell whose – and
then everything was dark.

"-or die trying… really, Oliver, when has saying that ever ended well-!"

Harry remembered how to use his eyelids, and opened them with a groan. Nothing was
broken, he didn't think, but he knew he'd have bruises everywhere from his rather ungraceful
landing.

He wasn't wearing his glasses, but as soon as he'd made a noise, his line of sight – which had
mostly been grey – was filled with red.

Something flashed brightly, and Harry flinched, dazed.

"Colin!" someone snapped.

"Harry?" Harry recognised Ron's voice, and turned his head that way.
"Oh, thank Merlin!" Harry was dragged into a sitting position, by someone that was not Ron,
and someone else passed him his glasses. The first thing Harry did was look to the sky; he
could still see the Dementors up there, but they showed no signs of wanting to follow him
down. Even as Harry watched, they drifted away toward the school gates.

The next thing Harry saw was Wood's face. He was very pale. Ron and the twins were beside
him, and Diggory, a sixth year Hufflepuff was there too. Ginny, Seamus, Lee, Colin and a girl
from Ginny's year were hovering just behind, looking worried, and McLaggen and the other
applicants were off to the side. In the stands, Cho and her friends looked horrified, though
Hydrus and Flint were grinning openly. "You with us, Potter?"

"Mmm," Harry said.

"How do you feel?" Diggory asked him.

"Alive," Harry said. He thought about trying to sit up properly, but didn't quite think he'd be
able to manage it; he stayed where he was, propped up against Wood. Ginny's expression
tightened at the word 'alive' – she, if no one else, knew what it meant. He looked away from
her.

"Anything broken? It looked like my Cushioning Charm stopped the worst of it, but it was
still-"

"Your Cushioning Charm?" Wood jostled Harry as he looked up at an anxious Diggory.

"Well, I wasn't about to let him plough right into the ground, was I?" Diggory asked, with the
faintest smile. His eyes were still concerned, though. "Well?"

"Nothing broken," Harry said. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Wood said. "Diggory, I-"

"It's nothing," Diggory said, looking a bit embarrassed now. "It was the decent thing to do."

"It's appreciated," Wood said firmly. A look passed between the two captains.

"What were you thinking?" Ron asked suddenly, and Diggory turned to him surprised. Then
– probably at the same time as Harry himself – realised Ron was talking to Harry. "Why'd
you stick around up there to shout and wave about the Dementors, instead of just getting
away?"

"I wasn't shouting and waving because of them," Harry said, torn between being exhausted
and amused. "I was trying to get Wood's attention." Wood looked down at him in askance,
and Harry mustered the strength to lift his arm up, and offer his captain the small, golden ball
he'd had clenched in his hand.

Katie huffed as McLaggen shoved past her, headed for the changerooms. Harry could hear
confused murmurs from the stands, and people were standing up, trying to see what had
happened. Hydrus and Flint were both leaving, looking decidedly sour.
"Reckon you can stand?" Wood asked him.

"Sure," Harry muttered, though in all honesty, he didn't know if he was up to it; his head was
pounding, and he felt cold and achy. With a bit of help from Wood, Harry was able to get to
his feet and take a few unsteady steps.

"He should go to the Hospital Wing," Wood told Ron, who nodded. Harry didn't care if he
saw Madam Pomfrey or not - he just wanted chocolate and to be warm again – but he was
happy with the offer of getting inside, so he didn't argue. He turned to grab his Nimbus, but
Ginny was already holding it, so he fell into step beside Ron, while the others followed them
up to the castle.

Behind them, Wood was telling the rest of the applicants to get back into the air.
 The Beast

Harry had expected several things upon his arrival at the Hospital Wing; Madam Pomfrey's
exasperated look and chiding questions, the overpoweringly sterile scent, and to be ushered
over to a bed. He did not expect to be greeted by an exhausted looking Hermione, and an
irritable Draco.

"Found us, have you?" Draco asked. He was lying on a bed, with his arm draped over his
eyes – he'd lifted it briefly, when they came in.

"In a sense," Ron said, while Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office to swoop down on
Harry.

"Dementors at Quidditch tryouts," Harry said wearily, before she could even ask. Hermione's
head snapped up, and Draco was peeking out from under his arm again. "I- er-" He looked to
Ron for help.

"Fell?" Ron suggested. "Landed roughly?"

Madam Pomfrey looked furious, but not, Harry didn't think, at any of them. She pointed at
the bed beside Draco's, cast a few diagnostic spells on him, and swept back to her office.

Harry climbed onto the bed, and tucked himself up in the blankets in an effort to get warm, or
at least stop feeling like his bones were made of ice. He was happy to be off his feet, as well;
he was still feeling rather unsteady and drained. Ron flopped down on the end of his bed.

"Well, I'm even gladder I didn't go," Draco mumbled. "Watching Potter plummet out of the
sky wouldn't have done much for my headache, I don't think."

"You're here for a headache?" Harry asked.

"Some of us prefer to seek help when we're sick or injured, rather than just suffering in
silence," Draco said crankily. "That way we're likely to get better."

Harry rolled his eyes and said, "That's not what I meant- I meant- you had a headache the
other day as well, didn't you?"

Draco made a noise of affirmation.

"That was in Potions, though," Hermione said. "Today, we'd barely sat down to breakfast, and
then he was wincing and clutching his head, and-"

"Thank you, Granger," Draco snapped. Hermione frowned at him, but stopped talking.

"Sounds familiar, though, doesn't it," Ron said, nudging Harry. Hermione bit her lip.

"I did actually think that," she said. Her eyes flicked to Harry. "But it can't be; Draco hasn't
got a scar, or-"
"Draco's right here," Draco said, "and doesn't like being talked about." Even with most of his
face covered, Harry could tell he was scowling.

"There's a first," Ron said, sniggering.

"Weasley, I swear to-"

"Has he been this pleasant all morning?" Ron asked Hermione, who shot Draco an amused
look, and nodded. Draco muttered darkly under his breath.

Oddly, Harry found himself fighting a grin; he still felt like he chocolate – and quite a bit of
chocolate at that – but his friends' bickering was doing something to ease the cold the
Dementors had left him with.

"-want me to come up?"

"No, no, it's stupid-"

"Kiddo-"

"I'm fine." Marlene thought Harry sounded tired, and frustrated. "I just- wish it wouldn't. It
was worse this time. It wasn't just- I keep thinking it'll get easier, but-"

"Trust me, I know," Sirius said, tone about as gentle as Marlene had ever heard. She felt as if
she was intruding, but leaving wasn't really ideal; she and Sirius were seated at the Ministry
café, and she still had half a coffee and a whole hash brown left.

"Yeah," Harry said. "But you've got Padfoot now-"

"Then we'll get you one too… a real one, I think, before we start messing around in your
head…" Marlene wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about now. She gestured at
Sirius, asking if he wanted her to go, but he just waved a hand at her. "We'll talk about it later,
I've got to go."

"Okay," Harry said, but she thought he sounded a bit brighter; whatever Sirius was going to
get him seemed to have caught his interest. "Love you, Padfoot."

"Love you too." Sirius set his mirror aside and cut himself a triangle of French toast. "Sorry,
that was a bit rude-"

"But necessary," she said, smiling at him, to show she wasn't bothered by it.

"Thanks," he said. She nodded, and watched him closely. He ate another few mouthfuls
oblivious, before looking up.

"What?" he asked.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Sirius?" she joked. "When has Harry ever had a
say in whether you show up at the school? And why are you sitting here and not demanding
answers of Dumbledore, or storming off to abuse Fudge about the fact that his Dementors are
still overstepping their boundaries-"

"Dumbledore's not going to have any answers that Harry hasn't given me himself," Sirius said
and his tone was grim but calm, cutting himself another piece of toast. Marlene sipped her
coffee. "As for Fudge, I daresay Dumbledore and McGonagall can – and will - chew him out
more thoroughly than I can."

He wasn't wrong – in fact, he was saying exactly what she would have said if he'd tried to do
any of those things.

"You're not worried about the Dementors?"

"Of course I am," he said, frowning. "And like I said to Harry, we'll figure something out.
Thirteen's young to try a Patronus, but I reckon he can manage-"

"That's advanced magic," she said, arching an eyebrow.

"That's never stopped him before," Sirius said, grinning like he had a secret. Marlene decided
she didn't want to know. "He takes after his brilliant, talented godfather, you see."

"And if he can't?" she asked.

"Spoilsport," Sirius muttered. She rolled her eyes, but waited for an answer. "If he can't, then
he'll just have to keep his distance from them. And the fact that he's struggling with that is-
well, a bit comforting-"

"Pardon?"

"If Harry's struggling, Peter definitely would be if he was anywhere near Hogwarts. I- he was
never very well when I saw him in Azkaban."

"Peter can use his Animagus form-"

"I know," Sirius said, not seeming bothered. "But the second he transforms, the Dementors'll
be after him, so I reckon, if he's anywhere near the school, he'll be doing so as Wormtail."

"Which is what I just said," she told him, rolling her eyes.

"A rat's a good way to get information," Sirius admitted. "And sneak around. But Harry's not
stupid, he's on the lookout. And Peter as a person could be wearing any number of faces,
whereas a rat-"

"Is always a rat," Marlene murmured, catching on.

"Exactly." Sirius smiled. "And a rat's not dangerous, not the same way as I could be, as
Padfoot." Personally, Marlene thought that – despite his size - Padfoot was the dopiest, least
intimidating dog she'd ever met. She didn't voice that, though. "And a rat can't use a wand."

"And if Peter's not near the school?"

"Even better," Sirius said.

"What if it's Crouch?"

"I don't know that he'd fare much better against the Dementors," Sirius said, eyes far away.
"My cell was near his."

"Oh," was all Marlene could think to say. She sipped her coffee. Even now, years later,
Marlene was never quite sure what to say or do when Sirius' incarceration came up. There'd
never been any point to asking what it had been like; she'd visited Azkaban, so she knew, and
she also knew that Sirius' ability to ignore Dementors was not something he'd had while he
was imprisoned. It would have been awful for him, though no one would ever know that
because he was so casual about the whole thing, and even joked about it – though only
amongst friends.

"What's that look for?" he asked, nudging her fingers with his.

"Hmm?" Marlene wrapped Sirius' hand in her own.

"You were frowning," he said. She shrugged, and his expression turned thoughtful. "Is it your
assignment?"

"What assignment?" she asked.

"The one Scrimgeour called you and a handful of others into his office about yesterday."
Sirius leaned back in his chair, watching her.

"How did you-?"

"I was with Brown when he got called away, and went to find you, but Blackburn said you
were gone too… and then Brown came back and said a bunch of you had been given an
assignment, and – though I am one – it wouldn't have taken a genius to put things together."

"Maybe," she said, with a reluctant smile. "You're not meant to know about it yet, though."

"Who am I going to tell?" Sirius asked. "Kreacher?"

"You might," she said. Sirius pulled a face at her. They were both quiet for a bit, but Sirius
was fidgeting; he wanted to say something, she was sure of that. Before she could ask what it
was, he spoke:

"So what's the assignment?"

"That's classified," she told him, wincing. Sirius snorted and gave her an expectant look.
"No," she said, "really. I can't say anything about it."

"Could I guess, and you tell me if I'm right?" he asked. Something mischievous gleamed in
his eyes.

"Sirius, it's an Auror assignment," she said flatly. "You'll never guess; it could be anything."
He glanced around, and, though their table was fairly isolated, he lowered his voice to say,
"So you're not going to have to work with an international team?"

Marlene's mouth fell open, before she could even attempt to control her response. Sirius
looked absurdly pleased with himself.

"How-"

"That's classified," he said smugly.

"No," she said, narrowing her eyes. "That's dangerous if you know, because it means we've
got a leak somewhere. How do you know?"

"I can't name-"

"Sirius!" she hissed.

"Dora told me. She's on your team." Sirius skewered the last of his toast and stuffed it into his
mouth.

"No," Marlene said.

"Yeah," Sirius said, in the same tone.

"No," she said again. She hesitated, and then said, "I've got the list, and she's not on this
assignment."

"Well, maybe she's down as Dora Lupin now, and you missed-"

"No, Sirius."

"She has to be," Sirius said, looking bewildered. "There can't be two international scale
assignments running at the same time!"

"What's Dora's assignment?" Marlene couldn't help but ask.

"World Cup," Sirius said in a low voice. She hadn't expected him to answer. But, it did
confirm that her own assignment was different. "Same as you, right?"

"No," Marlene said, for the fourth time. She smiled at him, smug.

"So what's yours?"

"You could guess," she suggested. Sirius glowered at her. "You won't, though. When I heard,
I was-" She shook her head. "You won't guess."

"Tell me then," he countered.

"Not likely. You'd never be able to keep it a secret."

"Would so."
"You've just told me that Dora's joining an international team, and what her assignment is."

"She never said I couldn't," Sirius said. "Besides, it's you; who would you tell?"

"I have a-" She hesitated for just a moment. "-partner." She hoped it didn't sound like a
question.

"Oh?" Sirius said, barking a laugh. "I see." Marlene smiled at him and tossed some coins
down on the table to pay for her breakfast. He scooped them back up and passed them to her,
then threw down some of his own to cover both of them. "Would you say things
are… serious?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Marlene sighed at the pun, but played along, saying, "Very." The pair of them walked out into
the Atrium, toward the lifts. "Coming up?" she asked.

"Nah, got to duck out to Diagon Alley," he said.

"What for?" She expected him to come back with a witty response, about it being classified,
or that she had to guess, but he didn't:

"Chocolate frogs. Reckon Harry might appreciate them." Marlene smiled. "I'll see you later."
He pulled her closer and kissed her – briefly, but soundly – but didn't pull away immediately
afterward; his lips lingered by her ear.

"You know that partner you mentioned?" he murmured. She shivered and nodded. A little old
witch was staring at them, but Marlene didn't really care. Sirius' breath tickled her ear as he
chuckled quietly. "Probably best not to tell him about that kiss."

Marlene kissed his cheek, and stood on her toes to better access his ear. Sirius put a hand on
her hip to steady her, or pull her closer; she wasn't really sure.

"Sirius," she breathed.

"Mmm?"

"You're an idiot."

He peered around the corner, nervous. So far, he'd sent off three spies, and not a single one of
them had returned. Whether they'd simply been scared off, or got distracted, Wormtail didn't
know, but he needed information; his Lord was getting impatient for information, and that
never boded well for anyone.

He checked once more, to ensure his path was clear, and then scurried to his next hiding
place; a tapestry hung on the wall, tassels just brushing the ground. It wasn't perfect, but
Wormtail thought he should be safe there; it was the middle of the day, so the students were
at lunch and there was little chance of him being discovered… still, he hadn't made it this far
by being reckless.
The Fat Lady hung on the wall ahead, dozing in her frame. Wormtail would never get past
her alone; his best chance would be to get into a student's bag, and be carried through. He
was still too far away for that, though.

He spied a suit of armour, and thought that was a good place to go next, and a good place to
wait; he'd be able to get higher up, which would make sneaking into a bag easier. He nodded
to himself, and ventured out…

Only to scurry back as the portrait swung open. Wormtail couldn't hear footsteps, or voices,
or see the shadows of students coming through the hole. All he could hear was a quiet, rather
quick heartbeat.

Wormtail tucked his tail out of sight, and arranged the tassel he was nearest to, so that it
would cover as much of him as possible, just in case. Then, he waited.

The beast appeared.

It was a large, ginger cat, with a bushy tail and ugly, squashed face. It stepped soundlessly out
of the portrait hole, and then sat directly in front of the Fat Lady, who cooed at it. Its tail
swished back and forward.

It didn't lick itself, like Wormtail had seen other cats do, or cough up a hairball, nor did it
wander off in search of food or a game. It merely sat, yellow eyes scanning the hall.

Wormtail knew two things, just then; one, that this was no ordinary cat. Perhaps it was an
Animagus, or perhaps just clever, but it was certainly not to be underestimated. The second
thing he knew, was what must have happened to the rats he'd sent out earlier.

He wanted to turn and run back to safety, but he knew the beast would see him. He'd be able
to transform into Wormtail, and deal with it, but not where the Fat Lady might see.

Waiting was his best – and only – option at this stage.

So, Wormtail waited, and waited, and the cat didn't move, as students came in and out of the
portrait hole. Wormtail watched the school bags with longing, and knew he'd need a new
plan. He spent some time thinking about that, as he waited.

Eventually, when most of the students had gone down to dinner, the beast slinked back into
Gryffindor, on the heels of a girl in Quidditch robes.

Wormtail – a very jittery Wormtail – wasted no time in getting away from the seventh floor,
and felt perfectly justified in looking over his shoulder every few steps, just to be sure he
wasn't followed.
 On the defensive

"You're looking better," Cho said, falling into step beside Harry, as he and his friends walked
to Defence. Cho's friends - Harry recognised the curly haired girl she'd watched tryouts with,
but didn't know any of the others - were a few steps behind them, and out of the corner of his
eye, he saw his own friends drop back as well... Or, Hermione did, and tugged Ron back with
her. Draco was walking slowly anyway; he'd written Mr Malfoy a letter about Buckbeak and
received a reply that morning, which he was reading now.

"You could've said you were Ravenclaw's Seeker," Harry said, ignoring Cho's comment. He'd
been both surprised and a bit annoyed when Wood had pointed out Ravenclaw's new Seeker
the week before, and realised he knew her.

"You might not have been so friendly if you knew we'd be competing." She did that thing
she'd done last week, by the pitch, where she looked at him through her eyelashes. "I've seen
how you are with Malfoy."

"Malfoy's a git," Harry said. Draco glanced up from his letter, expression wry. "And he has
been since before he made the Slytherin team." Cho's lips twitched, but she glanced
backward at Draco and didn't say anything. "Why did you talk to me?" Harry asked,
curiously.

"Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to?" she asked.

"Maybe if you hadn't just been made Seeker," Harry said, trying not to sound rude.
Thankfully, Cho didn't look offended.

"Roger asked me to," she said, cheeks going a pretty shade of pink.

"Why?" Harry asked, frowning.

"I'm- not sure," she said, and Harry didn't think she was being entirely truthful. She smelled a
bit embarrassed, too.

"Right," he said. Wood had asked him about her last week, when he pointed her out; he'd
seen Harry speaking with her before tryouts. When Harry confessed he'd never spoken to her
before that, Wood had suggested that maybe Davies had hoped Cho might distract him. Harry
didn't voice this, though, but from her sudden awkwardness, he now though Wood may have
been onto something.

"So what about today?"

"Oh, no, he didn't ask me about today," she said, cheeks still pink.

"So why-?"
"I actually did just want to talk to you." She didn't look at him as she said it, and Harry was
glad; he wasn't sure what his expression was; either shocked or confused, or awkward, or
maybe all of those. "I just thought- I wanted to say congratulations, and that you flew well."

"Until I fell, anyway," Harry said, giving her a sideways look.

"That was awful," she said quietly. She reached out and gave his arm a squeeze, and Harry
found he didn't mind. "But I think you did well anyway... And Wood obviously does as well,
or you wouldn't have made the team." Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he shrugged.

"Hi, Harry!" Romilda Vane called, as she passed with a gaggle of her friends. She eyed Cho –
and Cho's hand, which was still on Harry - and her expression became markedly less friendly.

Harry sighed and gave her a small wave, and just like that, her expression brightened again.
Cho watched the exchange, apparently amused, and drew to a stop. Harry glanced at her.

"I've- Arithmancy is this way," she said. "So I've got to go... I'll see you around?"

"I- yeah, probably," he said.

"In the air, if nothing else," she said, with a smile. Harry smiled back genuinely, but a bit
uncertain; Cho was different to girls like Hermione and Ginny, and he wasn't quite sure how
to talk to her yet, or why she wanted to talk to him.

She and her friends started up the stairs, giggling. She and her friends did a lot of giggling,
from what Harry had seen.

He slowed to let his friends catch up.

"Who's she?" Ron wanted to know. Hermione's expression was an odd mix of pleased, wary
and thoughtful all at once, but she didn't say anything.

"Ravenclaw's Seeker," Harry said.

"Wow," Ron said, looking after the fourth year girls. Harry just nodded. "So what'd she
want?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said honestly. "I asked her why she didn't tell me she was Seeker the
last time we spoke and she congratulated me on getting back on the Gryffindor team, and that
was it." He shrugged.

"Weird," Ron said, looking as baffled as Harry felt.

"You two are clueless," Hermione sighed. "She likes you, Harry."

"Really?" Harry asked, at the same time as Ron asked, "How do you know?"

"This is the second time she's sought him out to talk," Hermione said. "Obviously she's
interested in spending time with him-"
"That doesn't mean she fancies him, though," Ron said reasonably. "Just that she wants to talk
to him-"

"But she's never spoken to him before now-"

"Neither had you at one point. A friendship's got to start somewhere, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but she wasn't acting like she just wants friendship-"

"She only spoke to me at tryouts because Davies asked her to," Harry muttered, but neither of
them were listening. They continued down the corridor, bickering, and Harry shook his head
– part-fond, part-exasperated – and hung back to wait for Draco, hoping, perhaps, to hear
what Mr Malfoy had had to say.

Thankfully, Draco didn't have anything to say about Cho or what she might want; in fact,
from the way he was frowning, Harry thought he might have missed that conversation
entirely. He massaged his temples.

"Another headache?" Harry asked, concerned.

"No," Draco said. "Thank Merlin. Just-" He offered Harry the letter. "-this."

It was shorter than Harry expected, given how long Draco had been poring over it:

Draco,

Moving as your letter was, I was not swayed, and frankly, am disturbed by your attitude
towards the situation. The hippogriff attacked and maimed your brother, and whether he
played a role in provoking it is irrelevant; it is volatile and dangerous, and continues to
present a danger to you and the rest of the student body while it lives. For this reason I
believe that the best course of action is to have the beast destroyed. Failure to do so places
the students of Hogwarts at risk, and this is not to be condoned, when it can be so simply
avoided.

The groundskeeper's fate is not in my hands; it is a matter for the Board, and for the Ministry.
They will assess his suitability for the position of Professor of Care of Magical Creatures,
though in the face of last week's incident I daresay it will be found lacking.

Regards,

Father

"Stupid," Draco said, when Harry looked up. "He is the Board, because they all listen to him
anyway, so saying Hagrid's fate's got nothing to do with him's just rubbish. And if he's
worried about it attacking students, what's wrong with sending it off to a reserve, or just
setting it loose off the grounds?" From Draco's tone, Harry gathered that these had been
suggestions in his initial letter. "He can't be reasoned with."

"We'll just have to find something, then." Harry wasn't sure when they'd find time, but at
some point they'd surely be able to find something in the library that could help Buckbeak.
Harry doubted last week's lesson was the first time someone had been attacked in Care of
Magical Creatures. "A law, or-"

"Father will have his solicitor on the case," Draco said, shaking his head. "Good luck getting
any legal loopholes past her." Draco read over the letter again and frowned, but this time it
was thoughtful. "Perhaps my 'moving' letter was the wrong approach. If I can't reason with
him with compassion, I'll just have to try something else."

"Like what?" Harry asked, but Draco just frowned some more.

"I'm not sure yet," Draco admitted. "But I'll think of something." Harry didn't doubt him;
there was something in his expression and tone that made him feel almost sorry for Mr
Malfoy.

He was still grinning as they walked into Defence. Moody was already there, sitting at his
desk with his fake leg propped up. Ron and Hermione were sitting together, still arguing but
neither seemed upset. From what Harry could hear, they'd stopped talking about him and
Cho, though he couldn't work out what points they were trying to get across now, or even if
one of them had managed to 'win' before they changed topic:

"-because I am a girl, Ron!"

"Yeah, but-"

"Enough," Moody grumbled, and everyone – Ron and Hermione included – fell silent. He set
his leg on the floor with a thud, and his eyes raked over the room for a moment. Moody
heaved out of his chair and limped up to the blackboard.

"Wands away, today," he said, and Harry wasn't the only one that was a bit disappointed.
They'd had two lessons on Boggarts, right at the beginning, but hadn't had another practical
lesson since; they'd covered giants earlier in the week, but Moody had said they'd be moving
on from that today.

He grabbed up a chunk of chalk and noisily wrote a word across the middle of the board.
When he stepped away, so that the class could see it, unease trickled through Harry.

Werewolves, he'd written.

"Today's topic," Moody said gruffly. "Page 394 of your textbooks, if you're interested." He
clapped his hands together, and several people jumped. "Like the giants, the werewolves have
been known to side with dark wizards in the past, which means knowing a bit about them'll
help you if we're ever in another situation like the one we had with Grindelwald, or with You-
Know-Who."

Harry felt several sets of eyes on him, when Voldemort was mentioned, and kept his own
eyes firmly ahead.

"So," Moody said, "Most of you should know that werewolves are created when they're bitten
by another werewolf – one that's transformed, that is. Never been a case of a human being
bitten by a transformed werewolf that didn't result in the condition passing on." Quills
scratched across parchment. Harry hadn't picked his up at all, and was instead sitting with his
arms folded, watching Moody closely. "We'll start with identifying them; there are five main
signs, that can be used to separate a transformed werewolf from a normal wolf. Anyone know
any?"

Hermione's hand moved slowly into the air, and she glanced at Harry, almost apologetically.

"Granger?"

"I think I read that they have tufted tails," she said.

"Good." Tails, Moody wrote. "Next?" The class was silent. Moody looked expectantly at
Harry.

"Size," he said reluctantly. "Werewolves are a bit bigger than normal wolves."

Size went up on the board as well, and Moody turned.

"No one?" He sighed. He lifted three stubby, slight crooked fingers. "Snout shape," he said.
"Proportionally, it's a bit shorter than that of a normal wolf." He tapped his second finger.
"Pupil shape – the pupils of a werewolf tend to be rounder and more dilated than a normal
wolf's. Lastly, the paws; werewolves have proportionally bigger paws, and longer claws than
a normal wolf, and those claws, will always be the same colour as a human fingernail… but
if you're close enough to see that, you've got more important things to be looking at." He
laughed gruffly. "Can anyone tell me why it is that they're so dangerous?"

The class was silent, but from their uncomfortable expressions, Harry suspected no one
thought that was a question that needed answering. Moody looked to Hermione, who hadn't
volunteered anything.

"Granger?" Her shoulders slumped a bit.

"If they forget to take Wolfsbane," Hermione said, glancing at Harry briefly, "then they can't
control themselves when they're transformed."

"If they forget to take Wolfsbane," Moody mocked, and then snorted loudly. "The average
werewolf doesn't take Wolfsbane." Harry bit his tongue, before he could say anything he'd
regret. "They either can't afford it, can't make it, or don't want to. But, you hinted at the right
answer, and it's to do with control. Werewolves aren't themselves when the moon's up, they're
wild, and they're monsters."

"They're not monsters," Harry said, and Moody's eyes – both of them – came to rest on him.
"They just- have a bit of a problem." Someone – he thought it was Daphne – tittered at the
back of the room.

"And that problem is highly contagious, unless you know how to defend yourself," Moody
said, turning back to the rest of the class. "Anyone know how?"

"Don't be there," Pansy Parkinson said, smirking.

"Good, except You-Know-Who," Moody said flatly, "used to send werewolves after people
that upset him. What would you do if a werewolf showed up on your doorstep, Parkinson? Or
stepped out of your Floo?"

"Leave," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Apparition might be an option," Moody said, "as long as no one's put up wards to keep you
there, and you're old enough to know how, or are with someone that can. Floo's an option, as
long as it's not blocked. But let's assume it is blocked, and that wards are up or you don't have
your wand to Apparate. What then?"

"Why wouldn't she have her wand?" Hydrus asked loudly. "She's a witch, not some stupid
muggle."

"Maybe she put it down somewhere," Moody said. Harry felt vaguely ill; his parents had
done just that before Voldemort arrived at Godric's Hollow, and with the Dementors around,
he'd been regularly reminded. "I've known it to happen. But we'll say she's got it, only can't
Apparate. So what do you do?"

"Run?" Dean suggested. Moody snorted.

"Kill it," Hydrus called, from the back corner. Harry clasped his hands atop his desk, so he
wouldn't be tempted to do something like grab his wand and hex Hydrus. Or punch him. Or
Moody, for even bringing up this topic. Draco shifted uncomfortably. Moody was watching
Hydrus.

"A bit extreme, perhaps-"

"But if it's us or the monster," Daphne said impatiently, "then of course we would." Harry
was both surprised and angry when Moody just nodded.

"How?" The class went very still. Harry couldn't believe that they were so casually discussing
this in the same classroom that Moony had used just two years before. He wondered if his
classmates were thinking the same, and thought if Ron's grimace, and Hermione's hand –
sitting in her lap, rather than waving madly in the air, like usual – were any indication, that
they at least, were. Next to Harry, Draco wasn't writing notes, just staring very hard at his
blank parchment. "Well, Greengrass? Malfoy? How would you do it?"

Neither of them had a suggestion, and Harry wondered if it was because they didn't know, or
because even they thought answering would be crossing a line.

Moody looked almost disappointed.

"Spells," he said. "Werewolves have a slight resistance to some spells while they're
transformed, but nothing like giants with their thick skin…" Quills scratched. "With
werewolves, though, you've got to pick carefully. Anyone got a guess as to why?"

"They've got good hearing," Blaise offered, from over by the window.
"Good," Moody said. "So ideally, you'd be casting non-verbally. Werewolves aren't human
when they're transformed, but they still know a bit – hard to say how much, exactly, but in
the interest of not giving yourself away…" He nodded and went and scrawled Non-Verbal on
the board in his awful handwriting. "Other things they've got, is good reflexes. You cast any
sort of spell like- Stupefy!" Harry was not the only one that jumped as Moody's spell
exploded harmlessly on the wall, but he was the only one that had pulled his wand in
response. "See the jet of light? Don't know about you, but I'd much rather dodge that than
something like a body-bind, or disarmer, which I can't see."

"What about ropes?" Seamus asked. "If ye didn't want to really hurt it, but wanted it away…"

"Could work," Moody said. "As long as your spell was stronger than the werewolf, and it
couldn't chew through them and break free." His magical eye rolled over the class. "Body-
binds work, but tend to wear off quickly. Cutting spells, or any other spells designed to inflict
pain or injury'll work, but don't bank on it getting rid of the thing. Not much can distract a
werewolf once it's hunting."

"What can?" That was Hermione, and Harry was glad she'd asked that, and not something
about killing or hurting werewolves.

"A threat," Moody said. "Or sometimes the howl of another werewolf; they'll think it's a
potential mate, if you're lucky." He looked around at them all, and seemed pleased that most
people were taking notes. Harry hadn't so much as touched his quill, and didn't think it had
gone unnoticed. "So, spells are effective, we've established that. Anyone know what else
might work?"

"A gun?" Dean asked, and most of the purebloods in the room looked at him like he'd grown
another head.

"What's a gun?" Draco muttered to Harry, and he could hear Hermione explaining the same
thing to Ron.

"Muggle weapon. Shoots bullets – bits of metal – at things." Draco looked startled.

"… would work, if you hit it enough times, Thomas, good. But given most of the rest of you
don't even know what one is, I doubt very much you'd have access to one. Potter? Any
suggestions about how you'd defend yourself?"

"Werewolves can't infect other animals," Harry said. "If you were an animagus, then-"

"True, but I was hoping for something that could help the average witch or wizard. Try
again." Harry knew exactly what Moody was asking, but was reluctant to share that
information with the class. It felt like a betrayal of sorts, to be the one to reveal one of the
most dangerous things to a werewolf, when Harry's own 'godmother' was one. "I know you
know, boy," Moody said warningly. Harry glared at him, undaunted despite the unmatching
eyes. But, Moody was going to tell the class anyway, so Harry gained nothing from keeping
the answer to himself.

"Silver," Harry muttered, seething.

"Good. Five points to Gryffindor." Harry scowled. "Silver," Moody continued more loudly.
"Very effective, and gets more effective the closer the wolf is to the full moon. Foolproof way
of identifying a werewolf that's not transformed. Give 'em a sickle, see if it burns."

The class turned, then, into a noisy discussion about how they as third years could make use
of a werewolf's weakness to silver in order to defend themselves, if it came to it. Harry took
no part in it, just sat with his arms folded and didn't write down anything that Moody or his
classmates were suggesting, either.

As such, Harry wasn't entirely surprised, when Moody called for him to stay behind after
class. Scowling, he waved his friends on, and went to stand by Moody's desk.

"Drop the attitude, boy," Moody said.

"How could you talk about werewolves like that, when you know- You were at their
wedding-"

"Lupin's a rare sort," Moody said. "And he handles it better than most, but if you think he's
not just as dangerous as the rest of them on that one night a month, then you're delusional."
Harry's expression remained stony.

"He takes Wolfsbane-"

"So you'd let your friend Weasley run around with Lupin on a full moon, as long as he'd
taken the potion?"

"He'd have his human mind," Harry said, but was a bit uncertain. He'd seen Moony snap and
growl even when he'd transformed back into a human after the full moon, and seen him get
restless when he came across a human scent – usually Harry's or Tonks'. That wasn't
something Moony did normally. He didn't say that to Moody, though.

"You know You-Know-Who's out there, and you know he'll be back eventually, Potter. Now,
Greyback's out of the picture, thank Merlin, but that doesn't mean the rest of his pack won't
pick up where they left off twelve years ago."

"Maybe they wouldn't, if you stopped talking about them like they're monsters," Harry said.
"My whole class is probably terrified of them, now-"

"Good," Moody growled. "And you know why? Because it's my job to teach them how to
defend themselves, and if they're scared, then chances are they listened and maybe even
learned something that could help them out one day. I'm not going to apologise for that, even
if I've hurt your feelings a bit in the process." His voice had turned mocking, and Harry didn't
like it.

"Was that all?" Harry asked stiffly.

Moody was quiet for a long moment, watching Harry with both eyes, and nodded. Harry
turned and left.
 The ring and the rat

It wasn't Moony that Harry had written to, or Padfoot he'd spoken to, regarding his last
Defence lesson; it was Tonks. Her reply arrived on the weekend – so quickly, that Harry
wondered if she was in France at the moment, or perhaps visiting Britain.

Harry!

Good to hear from you! Sounds like an… interesting lesson. It's nice to hear that you were on
Remus' side – I appreciate it, and I'm sure he does too.

As far as Mad-Eye goes, though, I wouldn't worry too much; you've all met Remus, so
you know there are some good ones out there, so he probably felt like he had to make things
sound bad to get you to take things seriously. I also think he's also not likely to see Defence
as an appropriate place to discuss werewolf ethics; he'd see it as a place to discuss defending
yourself, with lethal measures if need be. That, and he's just a bit paranoid and too serious
for his own good!

It might seem like he doesn't care, but I reckon he does – why else would he have kept you
back and tried to justify it all to you, if he didn't care what you thought, or feel a bit guilty
about the lesson?

That's my take on things, anyway, from the way you described it – take it or leave it, but try
not to be too bothered.

Give my love to Hermione and Ron and Draco – and love to you, of course!

Tonks

It comforted Harry, perhaps more than any response from Padfoot or Moony could have, and
he wrote her a quick reply telling her so; she'd like that, he thought.

Hedwig, too, seemed pleased – that she'd have continued work – and nibbled his finger
affectionately before taking off through the ajar window of the Gryffindor common room.

Draco was scowling at his Arithmancy homework, but not making much progress; he'd had a
headache since lunch, and obviously it wasn't getting any better. Ron was eyeing the list of
questions – about calculating the speed of particular spells – with a rather smug expression.
He wasn't taking Arithmancy, and, as far as Harry could tell, was yet to regret that.

Harry knew that he should start Arithmancy as well, but instead reached into his pocket and
pulled out a now-worn piece of parchment. The sketch of the ring hadn't changed at all, but
that hadn't stopped Harry from looking at it whenever he could for the past two weeks.

He'd shown it to Padfoot through the mirror shortly after Dumbledore had given it to him,
and Padfoot – like Harry – had thought it was familiar, but not been able to think where from.
Kreacher hadn't recognised it at all, and they hadn't had the chance to show Moony or Tonks,
but Ron, Hermione and Draco had all seemed to recognise it from somewhere.

Where, though, was what still eluded them.

It was for this reason, that Harry found himself in the library the following Sunday afternoon,
looking for someone that might be able to help him with that.

He tucked the Map into his back pocket as he rounded the last shelf.

"Hello, Harry Potter," Luna Lovegood said, without looking up. Ginny and Colin – who were
at her table - both looked up at her greeting. Ginny looked a bit surprised but mostly curious,
but Colin just beamed and almost upended his inkwell. Ginny moved it to a safer place.

"Hi," Harry said.

"Where are the others?" Ginny asked, as if it was odd to see him alone. After a moment's
thought, Harry supposed it was.

"Ron took Draco to the Hospital Wing-"

"Headaches, still?" Ginny asked, frowning. Harry nodded. He was starting to worry about
Draco; Madam Pomfrey was yet to find a cause, and Pepper-Up and Anti-Ache potions
weren't having much effect. "And Hermione?"

"Doing homework." She'd looked so tired of late, though, that Harry suspected she'd be
asleep atop her books by the time he got back. Harry was worried about her too, but he still
couldn't work out why; other than being tired and occasionally grumpy or stressed, it was
hard to pinpoint anything actually wrong with her.

Harry fished around in his robes for a chocolate frog. Padfoot had sent him an enormous box
the other week, and Harry'd taken to keeping a few on him at any given time. Ron joked that
he was in danger of addiction, but Harry thought that was a small price to pay to keep the
Dementors out of his head. Harry unwrapped his chocolate frog quietly – he was sure Madam
Pince had hearing better than his when it came to food in her library – and took a bite.

"So what are you here for, Harry?" Colin asked brightly.

"Help," Harry said, passing Luna the sketch.

Luna cocked her head as she looked down at the it, but while she looked interested, Harry
could tell from her expression that she didn't know any more than the rest of them did.

Shock and panic clawed at Harry's nose though, and when he turned, he saw a very white
Ginny staring at the parchment. He watched her for a moment, but she didn't look up.

"Do you know what colour the stone is?" Luna asked, tapping the drawing.

"No idea," Harry said, grimacing. He glanced at Ginny again. Colin sneaked a glance at the
picture, and then looked away again, as if afraid to be told off.
"Hmm," Luna said. "Is this the stone of resurrection?"

"That's the theory," Harry said. Ginny had finally looked up at him. Harry opened his mouth
to ask her what she knew, but he thought he had a fair idea, and doubted she'd be willing to
talk about it here.

"I'm afraid I can't help," Luna said, passing back the sketch. If she noticed Harry's distraction,
she didn't comment on it.

Ginny, meanwhile, was methodically packing her things away.

"Where are you going?" Colin asked.

"I'm not feeling well," she said. "I might head back to my dormitory to lie down."

"Did you want me to walk with you?" Colin asked.

"I think she means for Harry to take her," Luna said, patting Colin's arm.

"She does?" Harry asked, looking from Luna to Ginny.

Ginny sighed, swung her bag over her shoulder, and pulled Harry away from the table by his
elbow. Luna waved serenely after them.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, when they were out of the library, and alone in the
corridors.

"Dumbledore," Harry said. Ginny seemed reassured by that. "He thinks it's the resurrection
stone?" He gave her a hopeful look, thinking she might be able to confirm that.

"I don't know about that," she said, after a pause. "But I do know what it is: Tom's."

Harry's heart sank a bit, but he reminded himself that they still had two of the three Hallows;
one, was with Dumbledore, and only he and Dumbledore knew about it. The other was safely
under the Fidelius at Grimmauld Place.

"You're sure?" Ginny only gave him a flat look in return. "Sorry," he muttered. "Do you know
anymore about it than that? Where it is, maybe? What the stone actually looks like?"

"The stone's black the rest of the ring is- gold, maybe?" Ginny frowned, but this time it was a
thoughtful frown, rather than a worried or annoyed one. "It was his uncle's, or that's what he
told me."

Harry felt like an idiot, and knew at once where he'd seen the ring; in the newspaper clipping
of Regulus', the one they'd all pored over last year before they knew about the diary, thinking
it was the key to the Chamber. No wonder they'd all recognised it.

"Anything else?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed in a way that made Harry think he was being insensitive, and for a
moment he wondered if she'd even answer.

"Just that he was always wearing it, when I-" Ginny cleared her throat. "-when I was with
him. He liked it."

"We should tell Dumbledore," Harry said, and Ginny didn't seem surprised, her scent was
hesitant. "It'll be better coming from you, because you've actually seen it…" She was still
awfully pale, and he didn't think she realised it, but her hands were shaking. "If you're up to
it, that is," he backpedalled. "If you want- I dunno, something from the Hospital Wing first,
then we can make a detour-"

"Madam Pomfrey can't give me anything that'll help," she said. "And she'd probably write to
Mum, and then Mum'll worry..." She shrugged awkwardly and then took a step in the
direction of Dumbledore's office. Harry was still considering her. "I'll live, Harry," she said,
in a would-be-impatient voice, but it shook just a bit, giving her away.

Not wanting to upset her more, Harry started walking after her. They hadn't gone very far
when Ginny made a noise suspiciously like a sob, hugged herself. A quick glance revealed
her eyes were still dry, though, and Harry thought that was something; he didn't do well with
crying people.

"Every time I think I'm doing a bit better, he just pops back up, somehow," she said, not
looking at him.

"He can't seem to leave me alone either," Harry told her wryly, and that earned him a shaky
laugh, but her amusement faded quickly.

"I- he's gone, I know he's gone, but he's sort of not and-"

Harry thought this was the most she'd ever said to him about how she felt about Riddle and
her possession. She'd told him other things, of course, like about having some of Riddle's
memories, and now about the ring, but this was different, and he wasn't entirely sure why she
was talking to him about it – and why now – but also wasn't sure quite what he was supposed
to do about it.

"It's been months," she said, after another few seconds of silence. "And everything still seems
to remind me of him. How long is it supposed to take until I'm back to normal?"

Harry didn't have an answer for her, so he silently offered her one of his chocolate frogs
instead. She took it, considered it for a moment, and then grinned; it took effort, he was sure
of that, but he was also sure it was genuine.

"Has anyone ever told you you have a real way with words?" Ginny teased, but she also
smelled a bit embarrassed; more, Harry guessed, by what she'd said, than the chocolate. But,
Harry didn't know how to deal with that either, so he pretended he hadn't noticed.

"Draco," Harry answered, crinkling his nose. "I think that's why he bought me a dictionary
for one of my birthdays."
Thankfully, she laughed, and things went silent for a bit before she spoke again.

"Thanks," she said, and he wasn't sure what for.

"No problem," he said, though he wasn't sure if she was thanking him for the chocolate or for
making her laugh, or something else entirely.

" P-positive, My Lord," Wormtail squeaked. Rage burned through Lord Voldemort, but he
said nothing and waited for Wormtail to continue. Polkov shifted restlessly. "I've finally had
luck with getting a spy into Gryffindor; I managed to convince Scabbers-"

" Vot is this Scabbers?" Polkov interrupted.

" A rat, I daresay?" Lord Voldemort asked, amusement warring with his irritation for just a
moment. Irritation won out.

" Y-yes, the rat that took my place with the Weasley family. He owes me, and he's familiar
with Gryffindor, so I had him check. He knows the Cloak, but hasn't seen it for a few weeks. I
got in this afternoon and had a look around-"

" Zis afternoon?" Polkov asked, giving Lord Voldemort a puzzled look, before lifting his head
to frown at Wormtail's fiery visage. "It is ze mornink, how haff you possibly done anythink zis
afternoon-"

" Morning- What?" Wormtail asked, blinking.

" Dmitri," Lord Voldemort said softly, but firmly, and Polkov fell silent. Wormtail stared at
them, apparently confused; Lord Voldemort supposed spending so much time as a rodent was
to blame. "Continue, Wormtail."

" Yes," Wormtail said, still seeming thrown. "Well." He cleared his throat. "Like I was saying,
I got in and had a look around. I couldn't find it anywhere."

" Could he be keeping it on his person?"

" Possibly," Wormtail said reluctantly. "I had thought of that, but Scabbers said he hasn't
seen it, and I'd have thought he'd put it down to shower and whatnot…"

Lord Voldemort nodded slowly, and angry confusion rippled through him; if the rat knew of
the Cloak then the boy had it – or had had it at one point – but then where was it now? What
had he done with it? Lost it or had it confiscated – he was a schoolboy, after all, and
probably used the thing for foolish night time adventures – or perhaps loaned it to someone?
He let out a frustrated breath; the boy had a remarkably infuriating ability to defy him,
without even trying to.

" Keep watching," he said eventually. "Perhaps it will return to him."

" Yes, My Lord," Wormtail murmured.

" Or perhaps we should be forgetink Vormtail's foolish fairytale solution and be cleffer,"
Polkov said, coming to kneel before Lord Voldemort's chair. Wormtail's expression spasmed
in the green flames. "Ve can still use ze blood you vant… it just does not haff to be his! You
vill be restored, and Wormtail is close enough to the boy zat he could kill him before zhey are
even aware zat he is at risk!"

" I've said no, Dmitri," Lord Voldemort said mildly, but his temper boiled under the surface.
How he wished he could use a wand again, and put Polkov in his place; he'd grown bold, and
it had been bothering Lord Voldemort for quite some time. "Your solution has merit, I won't
deny that, but it needs to be his blood."

" Hers is as good as," Polkov muttered.

" Harry Potter's blood," Lord Voldemort snapped, irritation flaring.

Harry's scar burned and his eyes opened. He was slumped over his desk, the fumes of
Trelawney's class tickling his nose. Ron was on the other side of their shared table, looking
worried. Hermione and Draco were watching him too, looking concerned, but it was
Trelawney, looming over him with those big glasses of hers that he was most aware of.

"I know the signs, my boy," she said, seizing his wrist dramatically. "You've had a vision!"

The details of the vision were fading already; Harry struggled to remember the important
things, but the incense was clouding his thoughts, and the pain in his head was making it hard
to concentrate on anything.

Harry grunted at Trelawney, not really confirming anything.

Polkov. The man's name is Polkov. And there was something about the Cloak and Scabbers…
and whose blood's as good as mine? The rest of the details were gone, but Harry knew
Voldemort had been angry.

"Quickly," Trelawney gasped, giving his arm a little shake. Most of the class was watching
them now. "Before it fades! What lies in your future?"

"The Hospital Wing," Harry said, shaking her loose, and getting to his feet. Trelawney waved
him on, and Harry shoved things into his bag and clambered down the ladder. Behind him, he
could hear the class laughing, and Trelawney trying to settle them.

Harry dug through his bag for his mirror out of habit, but he'd been in a rush that morning,
and left it in the dormitory, along with his Potions book (Snape had taken five points from
Gryffindor for being inadequately prepared, despite the fact that he always wrote instructions
on the board anyway). He sighed and set off down the corridor, but slowed when he heard
footsteps behind him.

"Brilliant," Ron chuckled, jogging to catch up. He was still stuffing his things into his bag as
he walked. Harry gave him a bemused look.

"How'd you get out?"

"Told her I had a funny feeling, like you might need me," he said, looking pleased with
himself. "Hermione's furious, of course; she'd give anything to be out of there, I think." Ron
glanced at Harry. "What happened?"

Harry felt his smile wither.

"Dream," he said shortly.

"You-Know-Who?"

"Voldemort," Harry corrected, and Ron's face twitched. "I need to tell-" He slowed, swearing.

"What?"

"I forgot Dumbledore's not here." Dumbledore had been gone since Sunday night, after Harry
and Ginny told him about the ring. He was going to try to get into Azkaban to speak with
Voldemort's uncle, though security had been so tight there since Wormtail's escape that
Padfoot had been skeptical of him being allowed in. Still, it had been three days and
Dumbledore hadn't returned, so Harry supposed he must be making some progress.

"You weren't going to go to the Hospital Wing?"

Harry shook his head. Ron looked doubtful, but didn't say anything. Deciding that
McGonagall – who might be able to get a message to Dumbledore – was the next best option.
They'd only gone down one floor before Harry stopped again.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Is Scabbers with you?" Ron patted his pocket in apparent confirmation. "Can I see him?"
Ron pulled him out without hesitation, but hid the rat under his hand when Harry pulled out
his wand.

"What-"

"They talked about Scabbers," Harry said, squinting as he tried to remember exactly what
they'd said. Annoyingly, he couldn't. He stared hard at Scabbers, whose pink nose was
twitching through the gap in Ron's fingers. He didn't look or smell any different to Harry, but
that didn't mean anything, necessarily.

"Who did?" Ron paled. "Not you know..." Harry nodded.

"And Wormtail," he said.

"You don't think he is Wormtail?" Ron asked, holding the rat away from him. Scabbers
seemed a bit alarmed by the sudden movement, and wriggled in Ron's hands.

"Dunno," Harry said. "One way to find out." He didn't think anything as simple as
a Finite would work to force an Animagus as practiced as Wormtail out of his form (though it
would if Wormtail thought the spell), and while Harry had heard of the Homorphus Charm,
he didn't have the slightest clue how to use it. "Hold him still?"
Harry took a deep breath and thought Ostendere me omnia.

It was a good thing he was already looking at Scabbers, or he might not have had a chance to
properly register that Scabbers looked much the same as the last time Harry had looked at
him this way (on the train in first year); a small dark absence of magic.

The rest, though, was overwhelming; Ron's magic was still the wire-like spikes of green and
gold, encasing Scabbers. In his pocket, his wand was a bright, fiery yellow and orange, like
Harry imagined Charlie's magic must be.

Hogwarts positively glowed, both enchanting and overwhelming all at once. Grimmauld was
one thing, with its webs of protective enchantments, and odd spots of magic here and there,
but they were all familiar colours to him now; his magic, or Padfoot's or Kreacher's or
Moony's, as well as the occasional bit from a relative of Padfoot's.

St Mungo's had seemed to clean itself constantly, which kept the magic from getting to be too
much, and Diagon Alley was covered in a lot of wards and secrecy spells – especially on the
day Harry and Padfoot had been caught there – and had a lot of magical people around, but in
itself tended not to be inherently magical. Hogwarts, by comparison, had been around for
centuries, saw a lot more magic used within it on a day to day basis, and as such,
seemed alive by comparison.

It was making his eyes water, but Harry couldn't quite look away. Magic of all shades
threaded over the ceiling and through the walls, and dancing around his feet. Black, glittery
magic glittered around a window, and bright green magic framed one of the portraits on the
wall.

Ron's bag, which was second-hand - shone with several different colours of magic; a warm,
and somehow-soft red and brown, gleaming navy and silver that seemed to have the
consistency of sand, and a pale, gentle blue with flecks of swirling gold, that was all that
remained of all the attempts to improve it or repair it over the years.

Unable to take it any longer, Harry let the spell go. His eyes stung, and he could still see the
glow of magic; it seemed to have been burned into his eyelids. He feeling rather
overwhelmed and dizzy, but managed to shake his head at Ron, who stuffed Scabbers back
into his pocket. The corridor swam in front of him.

"Harry?"

Harry turned to Ron, but could barely make out his face thanks to the streaks magic seemed
to have left in in his vision. He blinked a few times, but it didn't help. Harry laughed, both
embarrassed and frustrated, and thought he could feel a headache building.

"I'm all right," Harry said, but decided McGonagall would have to wait; if she saw him this
dazed, she wouldn't take him seriously, and wouldn't listen to a word he said before Madam
Pomfrey had looked him over anyway. That, and Harry thought an Anti-Ache potion and
even a quick nap through lunch might be a good idea, if he was going to have any hope of
making it through his afternoon classes. "Sort of." He couldn't see his face, but knew Ron
wasn't convinced; he could smell it. "But it looks like the Hospital Wing is in my future after
all."
 Aches and pains

"You boys," Granger said to Draco, "if it's not one of you in the Hospital Wing, it's the
other!" For all that her words were exasperated, her tone was concerned, and Wormtail could
smell her worry. She moved – probably adjusting her bag – and he bit back a squeak as a
heavy book pressed into him. The movement also made the scent of Granger's sandwich waft
through the bag. It was mere inches away from him, and he'd had to forgo his own lunch for
the opportunity to hitch a ride. Wormtail sighed.

"Well, Potter's never one to be outdone," Draco said, but his tone was worried too. Wormtail
carefully manoeuvred himself into a more comfortable position; it was not an easy thing to
do, given how full Granger's bag was. "Probably worried I'll take his place as Pomfrey's
favourite and most regular visitor."

"How are your headaches?" Granger undid all of Wormtail's work by adjusting her bag again.
The corner of Unfogging the Future was resting uncomfortably against his side.

"No better, no worse," Draco said. Granger slowed, and Wormtail heard Draco stop entirely.
"Mugwump. Frankly, I'd just like Pomfrey to hurry up and work out a cause, or next time I
won't go to her, I'll use Severus' Floo to take myself off to St Mungo's."

Wormtail winced as he knocked against something hard; while he wouldn't go as far as to call
her clumsy, it seemed Granger was not a particularly graceful person. He'd have the bruises
to prove it tomorrow, he was sure. He heard the Fat Lady's portrait swing shut behind them.

The common room sounded mostly empty; most students would be in the Great Hall for
lunch, with the exception of a cluster of older-sounding students Wormtail could hear on the
far side of the room. They'd probably grabbed lunch to eat up here, just as Granger and Draco
had done. Wormtail sniffed hopefully at Granger's sandwich again, but kept himself under
control.

Then, something hit the side of the bag at a rather alarming speed.

"Crookshanks!" Granger cried, and the bag swung wildly. Wormtail could hear hissing, and
something scratching the bag, and a heartbeat.

The Beast.

His own heart was racing. The bag swung again, and Granger's inkwell knocked him on the
head. Wormtail was beginning to wonder if he was going to make it out of this alive; if the
beast didn't kill him, the contents of Granger's bag just might.

"Get- Crookshanks, no-" Granger was saying, and pressure surrounded the bag; Wormtail
thought she must be holding it in her arms, now.

"Come here, you great, furry monster," Draco said, and must have dragged The Beast away
from Granger, because it meowed pitifully and sounded further away.
"He must want my sandwich," Granger said. Wormtail could hear the frown in her voice. "I
don't know why, though; he had a big breakfast this morning-"

"Eat it, then," Draco said, "and he'll give up." The Beast yowled, but Wormtail – safe up in
Granger's arms – remained undiscovered. An armchair groaned as someone – presumably
Draco – sank into it, but Wormtail couldn't feel Granger moving. Eventually she did, but it
was away from the sounds coming from Draco – breathing, his heartbeat, chewing, the
rustling of parchment. "I thought we were going to do Ancient Runes?"

"Oh, yes," Granger said, "I just need to- bathroom… you know… I'll be back."

"With your bag?" Draco asked. The bag moved; Wormtail assumed she'd shrugged.

Then she was moving, slowing just once with a, "No, Crookshanks, stay here, I'll be back in a
minute." The Beast yowled again, but Wormtail couldn't hear it following them, and breathed
a sigh of relief.

He was rattled around in the bag as Granger ascended what he presumed to be the girl's
staircase. Then, the sound of a door opening, and Wormtail stiffened for a moment, when he
heard a third heartbeat, and quiet sniffling. It seemed one of Granger's dormmates was in the
room, and Wormtail heard her quiet but sharp gasp, and then nothing at all; the girl's
heartbeat was very noisy, but she seemed to be holding her breath.

Granger had obviously noticed the girl as well, because she'd stopped moving, and her scent
was flicking from shocked to worried to- frightened? But she didn't speak to the other girl, or
move toward her, or- well, as far as Wormtail could tell – acknowledge her at all. Admittedly,
he didn't know Granger particularly well, but he thought it was odd behaviour; she'd always
struck him as nosy.

After another second of pause, Granger turned and continued, presumably toward the
bathroom… Yes, it was the bathroom; it smelled distinctly of soap and water, and girly
perfume. And, either Granger was an oddity, or she'd forgotten she was still holding her bag.

He heard the door close, but not lock, and then Granger took a deep breath. The bag remained
still; best he could tell, she was standing in the middle of the bathroom. Oddity was rapidly
becoming the more likely option. Numerology and Grammatica tumbled onto Wormtail as
Granger moved slightly, and knocked the breath out of him. Something metal chinked nearby.

Granger mumbled something that Wormtail didn't hear properly – he was still recovering
from the book's assault – and then the world moved.

His first thought was that she was Apparating, somehow, but only house elves could do that
within Hogwarts, and the feeling wasn't quite the same; it was less squeezing and more-
twisting? Spinning? Something. Until the end, at least, where Wormtail was jerked sharply
into the side of the bag, and Granger sucked in a breath.

Then, the world moved again, only this time, Wormtail knew the feeling; he was falling. He
moved, not caring if Granger saw him, because if he was beneath the books when he landed,
he'd be killed. He didn't quite make it; his head and body were probably a bit rattled and
bruised but otherwise okay, but the book had landed on his tail and one of his back legs. He
feared he had a broken two – maybe two - and his tail was throbbing.

He thought he might have squeaked, but didn't think Granger heard him; it seemed she'd
fallen when the bag did, because it sounded like she was right beside him. She was gasping –
or sobbing, he couldn't be sure – and Wormtail smelled blood, and not just a bit. He
wondered what in Merlin's name she'd been trying to do, to have caused all of this.

It felt like hours that he sat there, weighing his options, though he knew it was probably only
about a minute. Neither option was ideal; he could leave Granger's bag-of-death, and hope
that there would be a fallen towel or jumper he could hide under until Granger left. Then, risk
the stairs and The Beast. Or, he could stay in the bag, and wait for Granger to carry him back
down to the common room, where he'd have a much easier time getting up to Harry's
dormitory to search for the Cloak.

He'd just decided to risk the open bathroom, when Granger – who'd been very still, and quiet
aside from her ragged breathing – moved. Wormtail froze.

He heard her stand, sniff once, and then say, "S-scourgify." The scent of blood faded a bit, but
not entirely. There was some shuffling around – Wormtail wasn't sure exactly what she was
doing, but he'd hazard a guess at erasing evidence of whatever she'd done just before – and
then with another sniff, and a pained noise, Granger's footsteps moved toward the bathroom
door.

It opened, and he heard her going out, heard her footsteps on the dormitory carpet, and
heard that door open. He'd just stuck his nose out of the bag, when he heard her curse, and
saw her shoes rushing toward him.

He ducked back under cover as she yanked the bag up over her shoulder, and then she was
hurrying out again. Thankfully he was atop the books, this time, but her movements still had
him bouncing around and it wasn't particularly comfortable. His tail had gone from
throbbing, to numb, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Granger continued to sniff on her way down the stairs, and said nothing to Draco or The
Beast in the common room – Wormtail couldn't hear them, either, so perhaps they were gone?
She didn't slow at all as she headed for the portrait.

Knowing it was now or never, Wormtail, crawled up the side of her bag, and threw himself
over the edge. He landed on the soft carpet, and didn't waste time in getting under an
armchair and out of sight, despite the protesting from his broken toes. Granger didn't notice;
in fact, he heard one last, quiet sob, and then the portrait snapped shut behind her.

He'd been right in thinking Draco and The Beast had left. There was no one in the common
room at all, actually; even the studying older students had moved on, despite the fact that it
had only been a few minutes. But, Wormtail wasn't going to complain that something today
was working in his favour.

He looked out from under the armchair, but there were no huge, orange paws in sight, and so
he slipped out, and scurried – as quickly as he could with his injured foot – to the boy's
staircase. Scabbers had said a few days ago that he hadn't seen the Cloak for a while, but
Wormtail prayed that just meant Harry hadn't been using it, and that it would still be up there.

He would very much hate for his ordeal with the bag-of-death to have been for nothing.

"It was good of you to think to press a towel to it," Madam Pomfrey said approvingly.
Hermione was feeling quite dizzy and tired, and didn't bother to do anything more than nod.
"You've lost quite enough blood as it is."

Hermione winced as Madam Pomfrey cut the layers of sleeves of her robes, jumper and
school shirt away with a spell. While she wasn't exactly squeamish, she was fairly sure she
had a chunk of her collarbone and shoulder missing and, quite frankly, didn't need to see it.
Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey had given her something for the pain on sight, and so she didn't
need to fully feel it either. She also suspected there'd been something to calm her in it; she'd
been in quite a state when she arrived.

"And you say it was your timeturner that did this?" Hermione looked around to see if anyone
had overheard – mostly out of habit – but the hospital wing was empty. She nodded. Madam
Pomfrey's thin-lipped expression told Hermione exactly what she thought of third years being
given experimental magical devices, but she didn't say anything except, "Because to me, it
looks rather a lot like Splinching- Do you know about Splinching?" She did; Ron had been
the one to explain the phrase 'made it there in one piece' to her after she'd travelled by Side-
Along with Sirius and Harry to the Lupins' wedding.

"Isn't that only from Apparating?" Hermione asked. Madam Pomfrey pressed a cup of thick,
burgundy potion into her hands, and Hermione drank it without question. It didn't taste very
nice – somehow sweet and sourly metallic at once – but it did make her feel a little better.

"Yes, but perhaps it's not exclusive; time-travel is not particularly well researched or
documented yet. Perhaps this is normal."

"It's never done this before," Hermione said, toying with the chain around her neck with her
good hand.

"And you didn't do anything differently?" Hermione shook her head. "Your calculations were
correct?" She nodded. "You didn't try to go back too far? Or go forward? You didn't take
someone with you?"

"No, just my bag," Hermione said. "And that's hardly unusual." Madam Pomfrey offered her
another potion. Hermione took a sip, and nearly spat it out.

"Skele-Gro never tends to be popular," Madam Pomfrey said wryly, "but I assure you, it will
help." Hermione pinched her nose and tried to drink it as quickly as possible, and gratefully
accepted the offered cup of water afterward. A third potion appeared under her nose, and
Hermione sighed. "This one will put you to sleep while I fix this-" Madam Pomfrey waved
her wand at Hermione's shoulder. "-up. Unless you'd rather be awake while I put you back
together?"
"That'll mean I miss Arithmancy," she said, shaking her head.

"Awake or not, you won't be going," Madam Pomfrey told her. "And not to any of your other
lessons either; you'll need rest once I've patched you up."

Hermione had been in the Hospital Wing enough – usually with Harry or Draco – to know
better than to argue.

"As long as you write the Professors a note-" Madam Pomfrey waved a hand, agreeing, and
held out the potion again. "And resting will have to be done in the common room," Hermione
said.

"Resting will be done here," Madam Pomfrey said. "Until at least dinnertime, but possibly
even overnight." If she was honest with herself, it sounded wonderful; she could do a bit of
homework, but she suspected Pomfrey would actually make her rest properly. It would be the
first time she'd have had the chance this whole term. But she couldn't.

"That won't work," Hermione said. Madam Pomfrey just arched an eyebrow. "I'm not
supposed to tell you about the future… but if I'm here, I'll run into myself, and- I can't, they
say people have gone mad-"

"Very well, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said finally. "I'll wake you before within the
hour. But if you want any chance of being able to leave then, you'll take this now." Hermione
drank.

"Thank you," she said. Madam Pomfrey waved her hand again. There was an odd, tugging
sensation in Hermione's shoulder that she tried not to think too much about. Her eyelids were
getting heavy.

"So, dare I ask; is it Malfoy, or Potter I'll be seeing you with this afternoon?"

"They'll both be there." She figured that didn't give away much. Hermione yawned. "And
Ron."

Madam Pomfrey said something else, but Hermione was already asleep.

Draco walked into Potions alone, given that Granger hadn't ever returned from her trip to the
bathroom, and – though he'd been in the common room the entire time and would have seen
her pass him – was surprised not to see her seated there.

Potter and Weasley had made it, though; Potter was blinking a lot, and had sleepy, slightly
unfocused eyes. He'd been napping when he and Granger dropped by the hospital wing at the
end of Divination, so that probably explained it, but he was apparently not sleepy enough to
miss the fact that their fourth member was absent.

"Where's Hermione?" Weasley asked, frowning.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Draco told him, shrugging. "She went upstairs to the loo and
never came back." There'd been no one around to ask to check on her, and so Draco had
attempted to do so himself, only to end up in an embarrassed, dishevelled heap on the
common room floor. Thankfully, there'd been no one to witness it, except for Granger's cat.
"In the end, I had to leave without her."

"She'll probably show up," Weasley said, glancing at the door as if expecting her to walk
right through it. "Knowing Hermione."

Granger never came, though, and Severus made no comment on her absence. Draco shared
uneasy looks with the other two; there had to be something seriously wrong if Granger was
missing a lesson.

"Today," Severus said, tapping his wand to the blackboard, "we will be preparing a Shrinking
Solution. You will be working individually – instructions are on the board, and anything you
do not have in your kits can be found in the cupboard, as usual. Unless you have any
questions, begin, and aim to finish with ten minutes of lesson time to spare; I may decide to
test your work." Draco liked his godfather, but had to admit the smile he gave the class just
then was rather unpleasant. Longbottom made a quiet, miserable sound.

Grabbing a handful of caterpillars and his knife, Draco got to work.

Twenty minutes into the lesson, things were going well; Draco's potion was purple, just as it
should be at this stage, to his left, Weasley and Finnigan were bickering over whether
Weasley's Shrivelfig was ready, and Potter had peeled more of his Shrivelfig than was really
necessary, but still had an appropriately yellow potion. He was currently squinting at his
potions kit, apparently having some trouble with the labelled jars, but Weasley leaned over to
help even as Draco watched, and then Severus swooped in to take points from Potter for his
apparent illiteracy.

Behind him, Longbottom had been forced to forgo Granger's help, given that she wasn't
there, and Thomas seemed to have taken on the job of keeping him from making any
mistakes.

Draco was just pulling out his rat spleens, when it happened. He'd had enough of his
headaches by now to recognise that they usually began with a sharp, stabbing sensation
between his eyes, and today was no different. It came gently – as gently as stabbing could –
at first, just a slight pressure, and then built.

No, Draco thought irritably. Not today. Between Potter's odd episode in Divination, Granger
vanishing, and an evening he planned to spend trying to finish his next letter to Father about
the hippogriff, Draco thought he had more than enough to worry about. The spike – which
was how Draco imagined it - pushed a little harder, and Draco pushed back against it. Just
when he was thinking he couldn't push any longer, it withdrew.

That wasn't particularly comfortable either, but Draco didn't have a headache.

"Well done," Severus said, sweeping past on his way to answer Zabini's question. Draco gave
him a blank look. Had he…? "That's the colour it should be," Severus added, waving a hand
at Draco's simmering cauldron.
Oh. He was an idiot. Draco nodded to acknowledge the praise – which was rare, in Potions,
even for him – and tipped his rat spleens in.

His headache still hadn't reappeared, which Draco thought was nothing short of a miracle.
But what had he done…? How had he made it go away? And if he could make the headaches
go away just by pushing at them, then what in Merlin's name was causing them?

Ron had just settled himself in his favourite armchair in the common room, when Ginny
walked up, with Crookshanks on her heels.

"She's up there," she said; Ron had asked her to check on Hermione, who hadn't shown up at
any point after potions, and had also missed dinner.

"I could have told you that." Harry appeared at the bottom of the boy's staircase, with a
familiar bit of parchment in his hand. In his other hand, was his mirror. "And so are Lavender
and Parvati."

"Parvati wants a shower," Ginny said. "But Hermione's locked herself in the bathroom and
won't come out." Ron exchanged a stricken look with Malfoy and at Harry, but while the
former looked troubled, the latter only frowned.

"You or Hermione didn't go up into our room, at lunch, did you?" Harry asked, looking at
Malfoy, who shook his head. "Huh."

"Why's that?"

"I-" Ron knew Harry well enough to know when he was being evasive, and he was now. "Just
thought you might have, that's all."

"Well, we didn't," Malfoy said. "Neither of us did." Harry didn't seem appeased, but didn't
push the point.

"Did you try to talk to her?" Ron asked.

"You only said to see if she was up there," Ginny said, arching an eyebrow. She was silent for
less than a second before scowling. "Of course I did!" Ginny paused, and then said carefully,
"She said not to worry…"

"But you are," Harry said, looking at her. Ron glanced at his sister, and saw her nod.

Ginny bit her lip, looking guilty. It was an expression Ron knew well. For a younger sister,
she was generally not much for dobbing, but this was the face she wore when she did.

"She sounded- upset. I think she's been crying." Ron looked at Harry, who looked worried.
"Don't tell her I said-"

"Your secret's safe, She-Weasley," Malfoy assured her. He looked to Harry as well. "What
now, then?"
"You could go up," Ginny suggested. The look she gave Ron was innocent, but there was a
wicked gleam in her eye. Harry – the traitor – obviously remembered the occasion she was
talking about, and was grinning as well.

"Shut up, Ginny," Ron muttered. He could feel his ears heating up.

"Yes," Malfoy said, in a similar tone, "let's not." The three of them turned to look at him, and,
oddly, his cheeks were pink.

"Had an experience with the stairs, have you Draco?" Ginny asked, grinning.

"No," Malfoy said.

"Liar," Harry replied. His grin was threatening to split his face in two.

"When?" Ron asked. He thought his tone was a bit more sympathetic; he, after all, had had an
experience with them as well.

Malfoy hesitated; obviously, he was strongly considering not saying anything.

But, eventually he sighed at their expectant looks – Harry and Ginny's smirks, Ron's own
grimace – and said, "Before Potions. When Granger didn't come down…"

Instead of laugh, the three of them sobered at the reminder.

"Do you reckon we could fly up?" Harry asked, cocking his head.

"You couldn't, you're half blind," Ron reminded him, and Harry pulled a face. Madam
Pomfrey had said he should improve gradually until morning, when he'd be fully recovered,
but morning was still hours away. While he was doing a remarkably good job at managing,
putting him on a broom didn't seem like the best idea. "I reckon whoever charmed it has
probably thought of that, though."

"We could send a message with the cat," Malfoy suggested.

"She'd have to open the door to get it, though," Ron said. Malfoy's face fell. Harry, though,
looked stunned. "What?"

"I think," he said, frowning thoughtfully, "I might have an idea."

 Secrets surrendered

They'd moved upstairs, into the 3rd year boys' dormitory. From the sounds of things, Seamus
was in the shower; faint though it was, Ron could hear him singing. Ginny, who'd followed
them up, cast an amused look at the door, before settling herself on Ron's bed. Ron bit his
tongue; she'd never have dared try it at home. He suspected, from the smug look she gave
him, she knew what he was thinking.

Harry came into the room last, knocked his shoulder into the doorframe, grimaced, and then
closed it. He didn't sit down, as Ron had been expecting, though; he flicked his wand,
muttering a spell Ron didn't hear, and then nodded to himself.

"Where's Scabbers?" he asked Ron, who pulled him out of his pocket. Harry muttered
another spell, and the rat shivered and his eyes closed slowly. He nuzzled into Ron's hand
with a sigh. "He's asleep," Harry said unnecessarily. Ron placed the rat on his pillow, and
turned to Harry, who was hovering by his bed. "I- it's best this isn't overheard." He ran a hand
through his hair and glanced between the three of them, before he finally settled on frowning
at his trunk. "I think Hermione's in trouble."

"Really?" Malfoy asked. "Was it that she missed lessons that tipped you off, or-"

"Someone's been up here, and not Seamus or Dean or Neville. That's why I asked before if
Hermione came up. It- I thought she might have been."

"How do you know?" Ginny asked. Ron wanted to know that as well, though he'd learned by
now not to doubt Harry when it came to these sorts of things.

Harry swallowed once, looked down at his hands, and then up at them again. His expression
was... Guilty?

"I can smell it - Hermione's scent, and one that I don't know... I think, though, that it might
belong to Peter Pettigrew."

"Smell it?" Malfoy asked, eyebrows shooting up, but Ron had more important matters on his
mind.

"He's been here?" Ron asked, looking around. Suddenly, Harry's check of the room made a
lot more sense. Both Malfoy and Ginny were frowning.

"He knew I didn't have the Cloak. He said so in my-" Harry hesitated. "-dream, or vision, or
whatever I should call it. We haven't spoken about it in about a week, so if he learned
recently, he'd have had to have a way to confirm it. He can't be at Grimmauld, for obvious
reasons, and the only way he'd know it isn't here is if he'd looked."

It made a horrible sort of sense, in Ron's opinion.

"But how would he get in?" Ginny asked. "Even as a rat, someone would have noticed."
"Rats - or at least one - come in all the time, though," Draco said, glancing in Scabbers'
direction.

"He was with us all day though," Ron said. Harry nodded slowly. "So Pettigrew has to have
found some other way."

"Which is where Hermione comes in," Harry said, mouth turning down.

"You can't think she'd be helping him!" Ron said, aghast. "It's Hermione. It- she-"

"Not willingly," Harry said, and Ron deflated a bit. Still, he didn't like the idea of Pettigrew
near her at all. "Was she behaving normally?"

"Yes," Malfoy said. Harry nodded again, expression a troubled sort of thoughtful. "Worrying
about you, mostly, and then we talked about my headaches." Ron thought he looked troubled
as well, and wondered if he had a headache at the moment. "Then we came into the common
room, I sat down, and she went upstairs."

"There was nothing odd about her at all?"

Malfoy was silent for several long seconds, expression mostly blank, but for a slight frown.
Seamus' singing drifted under the bathroom door.

"Her bag," he said finally. "She took it up with her, even though we were supposed to be
studying down in the common room."

"So she either knew she wasn't coming back down," Ginny mused, "or there was something
in there she didn't want to leave with you."

"I'd have thought she'd be more worried about leaving it near that cat of hers," Malfoy said.
"It was fairly insistent about getting at her bag."

Harry's expression tightened, and Ron guessed his thoughts at once.

"You think Pettigrew was in there?" Harry nodded once, rather stiffly. "But- but if he was,
and she was so careful about keeping her bag with her, then- she must have known, but that
would mean- then she would be helping him." And that made no sense to Ron; Hermione
wouldn't help Pettigrew.

"Not willingly," Harry said again. "Maybe he's threatening her."

"Or she's under a spell," Malfoy suggested.

"The Imperius curse, maybe," Ron murmured, shuddering at the thought. His own experience
with the curse had been unpleasant, and so he knew first-hand how difficult it was to throw
off. Harry looked grim, and Ginny spooked, and he wondered if they were remembering it
too.

"Right," Malfoy said after a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Right, so if that's the
case, then that's- well. So what now, then, Potter? Obviously we need to talk to her, but she's
barricaded herself away-"

"I was getting to that," Harry mumbled. Again, he looked oddly guilty. "I think I might know
a way up to the girl's dorms."

Ginny arched an eyebrow, and Ron and Malfoy exchanged surprised looks.

"Brilliant," Ron said. "How?"

"Well," Harry said, "Crookshanks can get up, and he's not a girl-"

"Very astute of you, Potter," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes, and Harry scowled and fell silent.
Eventually, Malfoy huffed and waved a hand. "Fine. Continue."

"And I don't think Ginny could carry any of us up the stairs without triggering the charm, but
if we're right about Wormtail- er, Pettigrew being in Hermione's bag, then she was able to
carry him up there."

"Oh," Malfoy said, sounding exasperated. "And here I was thinking your solution might be
something difficult." He looked at Ron. "Well, Weasley, if you'd just be so kind as to
transfigure Potter and me into cats, then we'll be on our way to speak with Granger- Oh- hang
on, you can't because we're thirteen, and human to animal transfiguration is stupidly
advanced." He gave Harry a pointed look. "Please tell me this isn't your idea."

"Actually, you're not far off," Harry admitted, looking a bit sheepish. Malfoy groaned, and
flopped back onto his bed.

"Do you reckon Perce'd do it?" Ron asked Ginny. Her lips twitched.

"-though cats weren't what I had in mind, and I think it'll be just me that's able to go-"

"Enlighten us, then, Potter," Malfoy sighed.

"Well-" Harry hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, and glanced once at the bathroom door.
"I- I've sort of picked up a few tricks from Padfoot, over the years. One of them-" He paused
again, frowning. "I'm trying to think of a way to say this that isn't 'I'm an animagus', because
that sounds a bit- but- well, er, that's essentially it."

"You're joking," Ron said, unable to decide if that was brilliant, or mad, or if Harry was
actually joking. Ginny just stared, and Malfoy was upright again, eyes narrowed.

"Nope," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably on his bed.

"'Picked up a few tricks'," Draco snorted. "Only you, Potter." Harry grinned at him. "So you'll
transform into whatever it is that you transform into, and then I suppose it's up to She-
Weasley to smuggle you upstairs?" An odd expression settled on Harry's face, and Ron
guessed he was imagining the scenario. Ginny seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"What do you transform into?" Ginny asked. "Because I don't think I'd have much luck
smuggling a giraffe up-"
"A giraffe?!" Harry spluttered, and Malfoy snorted. Ron chuckled. "Ginny!"

"I suppose that's more suited to Ron, actually," Ginny said, glancing in his direction.

"Hey!" Ron said, kicking her. She laughed, and then gave Harry an expectant look.

"Well?"

"Not a giraffe," Harry muttered, giving Ginny a dirty look. "It's- I'm a wolf."

Ron thought that made an awful lot of sense, what with Sirius being a dog, and Remus being
a werewolf. Malfoy was nodding; he seemed to think so too.

"Can we see?" Ron asked curiously.

"I s'pose," Harry said. He glanced again at the bathroom door, but Ron could still hear
Seamus, and Harry didn't seem worried. He tucked his legs up under him on his bed, and then
paused. "Just- I'm still me, when I'm transformed. Don't Stun me or attack me or anything."
He looked at Malfoy as he said it, and Malfoy looked confused, but nodded.

And then he changed. It happened too quickly for Ron to make much sense of what changed
into what, but next thing, Harry was covered in thick, black fur, had a wet, black nose, and a
tail. He looked younger – more lanky and puppyish – than the pictures of wolves Ron had
seen in their Defence textbook.

He sat down on the bed, and looked around at them all, calm, until Malfoy made a furious
noise and flung a pillow at him.

The-wolf-that-was-Harry caught it in his mouth, and his tail wagged. Another pillow
followed and caught him in the side. He made a funny, grumbling sound, and then shook his
head. There was a wolfy grin, and then he was Harry again, laughing as he lifted his arm to
deflect a third pillow.

"He's seen me transform before," he told Ron and Ginny. "The first time, actually," he added.
"I don't know who was more terrified; them, or me."

"Us," Malfoy said, snatching his pillows back. "Urgh, you've slobbered on it, Potter." Ron
laughed. "At least you had some idea what was going on."

"I wasn't expecting it," Harry said, but Malfoy ignored him.

"I suppose Lupin was in on it too?" he huffed.

"Once he worked out what had happened," Harry said, nodding. "It's just lucky he caught on
as quickly as he did, really." His grin faded. "So." Ron's own smiled faded; Harry's tone
brought things abruptly to the reason Harry had told them this in the first place; Hermione,
and whatever might be happening to her. "Obviously Ginny smuggling me upstairs in a bag
isn't really an option-"
"Should've saved some of that Shrinking Solution from Potions," Ron said. Malfoy nodded
approvingly.

"-and we don't have the Cloak anymore."

"So you want a distraction?" Ginny asked shrewdly. "Right?"

"Right," Harry said.

The plan was a simple one; Ron was to set a dungbomb off under the table that Percy and a
group of other seventh years were studying at. Draco, who'd sat himself down with Fred and
George ten minutes earlier, was to laugh when it went off, and not-so-quietly ask them if they
were behind it.

There was a bang, as the dungbomb exploded, and Harry, who was transformed, and tucked
away behind the couch closest to the girls' stairs. A screech sounded from somewhere over by
the fire. Just as the awful scent began its assault on Harry's nose, there were footsteps behind
him, and tzsahen Ginny was there, nudging him to get moving.

Her part in all of this had been to tell the girls already in the dorms to stay there to avoid the
dungbomb, and it had worked, because the stairs were clear. Harry put a paw on the first step,
then the second, and then grinned wolfishly and trotted up afterward. Down in the common
room, Percy was bellowing at the poor twins.

Ginny opened a door, saying, "In here."

Harry glanced around quickly, and – seeing that it was all clear – changed back into his
human self.

"Are they- you know- decent?" he muttered, keeping his eyes away from the door, just in
case. Ginny poked her head through, nodded, and then ushered him inside and shut the door
again.

Lavender and Parvati were both inside, and turned to him with stunned expressions.
Lavender was wearing a pair of pyjamas decorated with purple butterflies, and Parvati was
still in her school robes, holding a towel.

"I've brought help," Ginny said. Harry waved, rather sheepishly, and then glanced at the door
that he thought must lead to the bathroom.

"You- er- don't mind, do you?" he asked.

"No," Lavender said slowly, after sharing a look with Parvati. "Go ahead." Ginny hung by the
door, ready to signal Ron or Draco from the landing, if anything went wrong up here. If
Wormtail was involved, they couldn't be too careful.

Feeling distinctly out of place, but also resolute, Harry approached the door, and knocked
once, firmly.
"Hermione?" Through the door, a sniff turned into a startled breath. "Open the door."

"Please just leave me alone, Harry," she said. If she was surprised to learn that he'd made it
up into the dormitory, there was nothing to suggest that that was the case in her voice. "I'm
not in the mood for company."

"I'm not going until I know you're all right."

"I'm fine," she said, almost impatiently. Harry might have believed her, if not for the sniffing.
"Just- just go away. I'll talk to you later." Ginny sighed behind him. Harry thought for a
moment. It was Ron that was better at handling her at times like this, and Draco that was
better with words. Unfortunately, neither of them was with him, and so talking her out fell to
him. He tried to channel Moony.

"Hermione," he said. "You bailed on Draco, missed a bunch of lessons, and missed dinner.
We're worried - I'm worried – and I don't want to leave until I know what's upset you."

"It's just been an awful day, Harry," she said. "I'll- I'll see you at breakfast."

"Not good enough," he said. Hermione was silent. "If you won't talk to me, I'll have to get
McGonagall-"

"She knows, anyway," Hermione said. Harry looked at Ginny, flummoxed. "Just go, Harry."
Parvati huffed, and Lavender rolled her eyes.

"Fine," Harry said. "Fine. If you're going to be like that, I'll open the door."

"Er, Harry…" Lavender said, looking uncertain.

"Parvati wants a shower, Ron and Draco and Ginny and I all want to see you, and you're not
going to open it, so-"

"I've locked it," Hermione said through the door. "Magically."

"Then I'll open it," Harry said. "Magically."

"Alohomora won't work-"

"We've tried," Parvati said darkly.

"Who said anything about an unlocking charm?" Ginny asked, from her spot leaning against
the wall. She was grinning.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said.

"We're counting to three," Ginny added. "One. Two…" Harry heard stomping footsteps, a
muttered spell, and then the bathroom door flew open. Hermione glowered at him from the
doorway, noticed he wasn't even holding his wand, and then turned on her heel.

"You're both awful," she said, face scrunching up.

Harry caught her wrist before she could try to lock herself away again. She let out a sob and
next thing, her arms were around his neck. Harry patted her back with one hand, and drew his
wand with the other. Carefully, he angled it at her and murmured "Finite". Just in case.
Crookshanks wound around their legs, meowing; he'd followed her out of the bathroom, and
that made Harry feel a bit better about things; whatever his role in all of this, it didn't seem
likely that Wormtail was here now.

"What on earth have you done to your hair, Hermione?!" Lavender gasped, as Parvati slipped
past and into the unoccupied bathroom. Hermione cried harder against Harry's shoulder.

Lavender was right, though; her hair was quite a bit shorter than it had been that morning,
and uneven. If she'd tried to cut it herself, she'd done a particularly poor job. Ginny was
eyeing it from behind Hermione, and seemed to have reached a similar conclusion; she'd
wrinkled her nose.

"Reckon we can move this to the boy's dorm?" Harry asked. "Ron and Draco will want to see
you too, and I reckon Parvati will want me out before she finishes her shower."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much," Lavender said, "you've got at least an hour."

"Still," Harry muttered.

"How did you even get up here?" Hermione asked, pulling back a little to look at him with
watery eyes. Lavender looked like she was flipping through a copy of Teen Witch, but Harry
was sure she was listening too.

"Magic," Harry said, grinning. He guided Hermione toward Ginny and the door.

"Hang on, hang on," Lavender said, bouncing up, with her magazine in one hand, and wand
in the other. "I've found the page; I can fix your hair, if you'd like?" Hermione reached up to
feel the jagged ends of her hair, and her face fell. She nodded, and Lavender consulted her
magazine, and then murmured a spell. Bits of Hermione's hair fell to the floor, but the end
result was a lot neater than it had been. "Much better," Lavender said approvingly.

Harry, Hermione and Ginny left the third year girls' dorm, and made their way down the
stairs; Harry went first, nudging the top step with his sock, and then slid down the slope that
resulted. There was laughter when he reached the bottom, and skidded a few feet across the
common room carpet; doubtless those watching thought he'd tried and failed to make it
upstairs. Harry let Ron hoist him to his feet, and didn't bother to correct them.

Hermione and Ginny slid down after him, and the five of them headed up to the boys' dorm,
passing a damp-haired Seamus on the way.

"Did you cut your hair, Granger?" Draco asked, wrinkling his nose. She nodded curtly and
settled herself on the end of Harry's bed, all crossed arms, folded legs, and unhappy
expression. Ginny sat beside her, and put an arm around her; Hermione's expression lifted
ever so slightly.
Ron looked like he might say something, but seemed to think better of it, and dropped onto
his own bed. He smelled faintly of dungbombs, and Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Well?" Hermione asked after a moment, looking uncomfortable. "You've dragged me out,
and now you've got nothing to say?"

"To be fair," Ron said, rather hesitantly, "you look like you're in a bit of a state, and none of
us really want our heads bitten off-"

"Ron!" Ginny hissed, but Hermione's mouth twitched. Then, she sighed.

"It's- been an awful day," she said. "And-" Hermione swiped her eyes. "I want to tell you,
even if there's nothing you can do to help, but I can't- " She sniffed. "I can't tell you
anything."

"Nothing?" Harry asked dubiously.

"Can we guess?" Draco asked.

Hermione snorted softly, and waved a hand, in what Harry assumed was permission.

"Wormtail," he said at once. "Or- Pettigrew, rather?" Hermione's mouth fell open in
astonishment, and not, Harry didn't think, for his guessing skills.

"What?" she asked, bewildered. Harry frowned, rather put out; he'd been so sure that
Wormtail was somehow involved. The other three looked equally baffled. "No, it's-" She
sniffed again. "I really can't say."

"Why not?" Ron asked.

"Because I promised not to," Hermione said, not looking at any of them.

"Promised to who?" Draco asked, cocking his head.

"Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall. And they made promises to the
Ministry-"

"The Ministry?" Ginny asked, eyebrows shooting up. Her eyes met Harry's, and he was sure
they were wondering the same thing; what in Merlin's name had Hermione got herself caught
up in, if the Ministry were involved? "Hermione-"

"I can't," Hermione said miserably, and the room fell silent. Ron and Harry shared a look.

"Are you all right, at least?" Draco asked eventually. "You're not in any danger, or-"

"After today, I don't know," she said, wiping her face again. "I t-thought that it was all going
so well, but now, I just- So much will change if I stop, and I don't know that I want that, but I
don't want a repeat of today, because it was so awful- and this isn't making sense, I know, I'm
sorry."
"What happens if you do tell?" Harry asked.

"What?"

"What happens?" Harry repeated. "Will you- I dunno, be expelled, or-"

"I don't know," Hermione said quietly.

"Well if they didn't tell you you would be, then that's a good sign, right?" Ron said. Harry
nodded, and Hermione gave them both exasperated looks.

"And they wouldn't know you'd told, unless we told, and we wouldn't do that," Draco said.

"You wouldn't tell, would you?" Ron asked, looking at Ginny, who bristled.

"I think I managed to keep a fairly big secret last year," she said, rather coolly. Harry winced.

"That was one you should have told," Ron said, and Ginny kicked him in the shin.

"And I'll tell you one in return," Harry said, looking at Hermione. "You asked before how I
got upstairs… That's a pretty big secret."

"Not anymore," Draco muttered, smirking.

"I'm sure it's impressive," Hermione sighed. "But I don't think it's quite as big as mine." She
massaged the bridge of her nose.

"I reckon it might be," Harry said. "I don't know if I'd be expelled, but depending on the way
things played out, Padfoot would lose his job, I'd get a massive fine, and one or both of us
would be shipped off to Azkaban."

"Or back, in his case," Draco said wryly.

"What did you do?" Hermione asked, looking wary. Harry just grinned at her.

"What do you say?" he asked. "Secret for a secret?"

 About time

The three of them stared at the small golden hourglass in Hermione's hand. It sat there
innocently, though how she was supposed to trust it again after that afternoon, she didn't
know.

"Well," Draco said, breaking the silence that had followed Hermione's explanation. "Not at
all what I'd expected, but I suppose that makes an awful lot of sense."

"Makes sense?"

"We're not completely thick," Ron said. "Sometimes you're right behind us and then you're
gone-"

"Like after the boggart," Harry said. Hermione smiled, rather guiltily. It was true she had
been relying an awful lot on the boys being oblivious, but it seemed she hadn't given them
quite enough credit. If it had just been Harry and Ron, she thought she might have been able
to get away with it for a bit longer, but Draco was too observant.

"-and," Ron continued, "you talk about having four lessons before lunch, AND-"

"Yes, all right," Ginny said, grinning. "So Hermione's not as sneaky as she thought. Leave her
alone." Ron subsided with a grumble. "So you said today it went wrong?" She gave the
timeturner a rather distrustful look. Hermione couldn't blame her.

In answer, she pulled down the collar of her school shirt and showed them the angry red
marks that was what remained of her accident. Madam Pomfrey had said she shouldn't have
lasting scars, but it didn't look that way at the moment.

"And your hair," Draco said. Hermione nodded, and reached up rather self-consciously to feel
the significantly shorter ends of her hair. Lavender had done a good job, from what she could
feel, but it still felt strange. Her hair hadn't been this length since she was eight years old.

"It looks like you've been splinched," Harry said, leaning in for a closer look. His eyes were
but unfocused, and she thought he might be having trouble seeing, though she couldn't
imagine why; he was wearing his glasses like normal.

"That's what Madam Pomfrey said, too," Hermione sighed. "But I don't know why, because I
didn't do anything differently-"

"You didn't," Harry said, and looked... Smug? "I reckon I was right," he told the other three,
then turned back to Hermione. "Wormtail was involved."

"Harry-" Hermione began impatiently; she was fairly sure she'd have noticed if Peter
Pettigrew was floating around the place that morning.
"Hermione," Harry said in the same tone. "You splinched because he was with you. Draco
said Crookshanks was interested in your bag – probably because Pettigrew was in it, as
Wormtail."

"He couldn't have been-" Hermione said, frowning.

"Why not?" Ron asked reasonably. Hermione looked to Draco and Ginny, hoping for some
support – Harry's idea was mad – but they were both nodding.

"Because- because I would have noticed! One of us would have noticed-"

"Rats are pretty subtle," Ginny pointed out. "Not like, say, a giraffe or something." She
grinned at Harry, who snorted.

"Giraffes?" Hermione asked, lost.

"It's nothing," Harry said, with a narrow-eyed look in Ginny's direction. "But she's right about
rats being subtle, and we've all been a bit distracted today…"

"That's an understatement," Draco muttered. Hermione thought back, and realised with a start
that Harry's dream in Divination and his resulting visit to the Hospital Wing, and then
Hermione and Draco's visit to the Hospital Wing, had been just that morning. Time travel had
a way of skewing things, though that was hardly surprising; she'd lived this morning twice,
after all.

"…and I might have noticed if he was there," Harry was saying, "but I wasn't actually with
you for most of the day-"

"If he was with me," Hermione said, "then that would explain what happened when I tried to
go back…" She almost hoped he had been with her; if that was the case, then it easily
explained why things had gone so wrong, and made it seem unlikely that such a thing would
ever happen again. She'd been afraid to even use the thing again, and spent the afternoon in
her bathroom, crying, and trying to decide whether to risk it, or whether she'd have to drop
subjects until she was able to get by without the timeturner. "But I don't understand why
you're so certain he was."

"Well, there was my dream," Harry said. "I saw Wormtail telling Voldemort-" Draco and Ron
both twitched at the name, Ginny's expression tightened, and Hermione herself pulled a face.
"-that he knew I didn't have the cloak anymore."

"All right," Hermione said slowly.

"And then when we got back this afternoon, he'd been here." Hermione looked around the
dormitory, wary and skeptical at once. It looked perfectly normal to her. Harry smiled
slightly, and she had the odd impression he could tell what she was thinking. "How?" he
asked. She nodded, and Harry grimaced. "It's to do with my secret." Hermione waited
patiently. "I could smell him," Harry said at last.
"Smell him?" Hermione asked, a little doubtfully. She glanced at the other three, but they
didn't seem to think this was as odd as Hermione did. "Harry?"

"S'pose it's easiest just to show you," Harry said. He looked at Ron. "Make sure she doesn't
freak out, all right?" Ron nodded and shuffled over to sit a bit closer to Hermione, who
looked at him in askance, but didn't move.

"Watch," he said, gesturing at Harry, so Hermione did. Harry bowed over, sprouting fur and
teeth and soft black ears. Hermione was no stranger to the transformation – she'd seen Harry's
godfather do it the first time she ever visited Grimmauld Place – but it was a shock to
see Harry making it. Ron's hand was gentle on her knee, Ginny's on her shoulder. Draco was
watching her face closely.

"Not," Hermione managed after a moment, "at all what I expected." Harry-the-wolf looked
rather nervous. "That's- how on earth did- Harry, that's incredibly advanced magic! How long
have you been able to-" Hermione paused. "Actually never mind that; what I want to know is
why you think you'd go to Azkaban if anyone found out…" A thought occurred to her before
any of the others had said anything, however, and her eyes narrowed. Harry seemed to wilt a
bit under her stare. "You are registered, aren't you?" Harry's face wasn't human, but
Hermione could read the guilt on it anyway. "Harry!"

Harry reared up on his back legs, and then was himself again.

"Told you it was a big secret," he said, rather sheepishly.

"Being an unregistered animagus is illegal, and you should know that, after what happened at
Sirius' trial!" Hermione had read all about the fines he got. She looked to the other three for
help, but none of them looked like they were going to say anything – to him, or to anyone
else. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she would be the one that had to. "Even if you
don't want to, he should know better. He's an Auror-"

"Hermione," Harry said. "I know. He knows. There are reasons, you know." Hermione folded
her arms and arched an eyebrow. Harry sighed. "In the beginning, I had Padfoot teach me
because I thought it'd be cool to be able to go with him and Moony on full moons. I still
haven't actually been allowed to go, but it's still useful.

"But, the second I register, I'll be on the front page of the Prophet, and as soon as that
happens, Voldemort'll know. He'll find out eventually," Harry added, "but the longer it's kept
from him, the longer I have an advantage against Wormtail, and against anyone else that he
sends to snoop around, or sneak up on me. It's already helped me once against him; I told you
how Quirrell tied me up while he tried to work out the mirror. I didn't wriggle out because
they were loose and he was distracted; I got out because I transformed and they weren't tied
to hold a wolf."

Hermione'd known Harry for several years now, and thought this was almost the most she'd
ever heard him say at once. And, he had some fair points.

"Huh," Draco said softly. Hermione had to admit, that that version of events made a lot more
sense than Harry somehow getting free.
"I suppose that makes sense," she said finally, and Harry seemed to relax a bit. "You didn't
really think I'd turn you in, did you?" Harry looked sheepish, but it was Ron that answered.

"You might have," he said. "You know; rules, Ministry-" Hermione elbowed him
halfheartedly, but he just laughed and scooted back out of reach.

"I won't say it didn't cross my mind," Hermione said, "but I won't. I did before anyway, but
after today, I want Wormtail caught, and this ought to help with that." And in Hermione's
mind, that was that; they'd deal with Harry's extra-legal abilities when there was less need to
keep them quiet.

"Mr Malfoy… the younger," he added, when Hydrus looked up as well. Today, finally, the
boy had seen fit to remove the sling he'd been wearing after his hippogriff incident, though he
was still whining about his arm to anyone that cared to listen. "Please remain after the
lesson." Draco finished packing his things into his bag, and approached Severus' desk.
Severus waited until the rest of the third years had left; even Potter, Weasley and Granger
didn't loiter these days, though Severus doubted they'd venture far from the classroom.

"Sir?" Draco asked politely.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Hydrus, as you entered this afternoon,"
Severus said. Draco's expression twitched, in a way that suggested he doubted that, and
Severus ignored him, because he wasn't wrong. "About the situation with your father."

"Oh," Draco said. He looked surprised for one fleeting moment, but then the expression was
gone. "That. What about it?"

"What precisely did you put in your letter to Lucius that makes you think you have the
situation under control?" Severus asked. "Last I heard, your attempts at negotiation on the
hippogriff's behalf were going poorly." Draco had told him so, himself, after all.

"I tried something different," Draco said. "Potter gave me the idea, actually."

"Potter did?" Severus asked, not bothering to keep his skepticism from his voice. "And since
when does Potter know anything about handling your father?"

"He knows more than you'd think," Draco said. Severus wondered if the boy was being
deliberately vague today. "But I don't think he even realises I've taken his tactics on board."

"And what might those tactics be?"

"A secret," Draco said, smiling slightly. Severus wanted dearly to roll his eyes, but didn't.

"Draco," he said patiently. "I cannot help or advise you, if I don't know what you're
planning."

"That's all right," Draco said. "I think I've got him this time, anyway." He pulled a neatly
folded piece of parchment out of his pocket and passed it over the desk.
Draco, it read.

I'll admit your proposal has intrigued me, and am willing to consider it, on the proviso that
you send a letter in reply that contains more detail on your offer than your previous one; I
refuse to agree to anything, without the information required to make an informed decision.

Assuming the additional information you provide is satisfactory, and does not diminish my
interest in your proposed solution, discussion may ensue.

Yours,

Lucius Malfoy

"Good, isn't it?" Draco asked, looking rather smug. Severus read the letter through again, and
then passed it back.

"What in Merlin's name did you offer him?" Severus as, pinching the bridge of his nose; it
was, of course, possible that Lucius was merely humouring his youngest son, but the letter
lacked the condescension that would have indicated that was the case… Lucius, as far as
Severus could tell, was being genuine.

"A secret," Draco said again.

"Up, McKinnon, you're needed," Scrimgeour said brusquely, as he stomped past her cubicle.
"Department of International Cooperation, someone'll be waiting for you." Marlene set her
quill aside and patted her pocket for her wand. Scrimgeour hadn't slowed at all; he was still
headed for his own office. "Take Brown with you."

Marlene didn't ask questions - it seemed to her that Scrimgeour was in a bit of a mood – and
headed to Brown's cubicle. She passed Sirius on the way, and he looked up from his
paperwork with an arched eyebrow, but said nothing.

Brown had heard Scrimgeour say his name, it seemed, though he was yet to move from his
desk; he was watching her expectantly as soon as she entered his line of sight.

"What's up?"

"We're wanted in International Cooperation, apparently," she said. "No idea why," she added,
pre-empting his next question. Brown shrugged and followed her to the lifts.

The fifth level of the Ministry was bustling, as was to be expected; with the World Cup
coming up, and the Triwizard Tournament on the cards for next year, members from the
Department of International Cooperation were very busy. Marlene dodged an absolutely
stunning blonde who was speaking rapidly in Merlin-knew-what language, to her dazed
looking companion.

"Whoa," Brown said, swivelling on the spot to watch her go. Marlene sighed and tugged him
out of the way of a wizard carrying a model of some sort of stadium. An inter-departmental
memo dashed past, clipping Marlene's ear as it went, and somewhere to her left, people were
having a loud discussion about- eggs?

"Ah, Aurors, good." A thin man holding a clipboard swept after them. "Madam Sprottle's
been expecting you; follow me."

They followed him through the chaos that was the fifth floor, to a quieter section, with
offices. The man knocked twice on Sprottle's office door, before leading them inside. He took
a seat beside Sprottle's desk, and Sprottle herself looked up.

She was older than Marlene, but certainly not as old as her predecessor Crouch had been.
Grey streaks mixed with the brown hair at her temples, and she wore smart, horn-rimmed
glasses. Something about her – though there was little similarity in their appearance –
reminded Marlene of Professor McGonagall.

"Names," she said.

"Auror Marlene McKinnon," Marlene replied. "This is Auror Michael Brown."

"Lovely." Sprottle made a note on a bit of parchment and then looked up again. "I'm Damaris
Sprottle – you know that, of course, but we haven't officially met. I'm looking forward to
working with you for the next two years."

"Likewise," Brown said. "To be involved with something like this is- well- brilliant." Sprottle
nodded to acknowledge him, and then waved a hand at the man who'd shown them in.

"This is William Pemberley – my assistant. I understand Scrimgeour gave you a briefing

when you were first given this assignment, but I haven't had the opportunity to do so myself,
and I apologise for the delay." Marlene nodded; she'd first been told about the assignment
back in September, and now, they were nearing the end of October.

"Don't worry about it," Brown said.

"So, to business: as it was when you were first approached, this assignment must remain
confidential. As time passes, and more people become involved, the news will spread but
we're not ready for that yet." Marlene and Brown nodded their understanding, though
Marlene's heart sank a bit; secrecy came with her job, she knew that, but usually there was a
bit of flexibility, and particularly between Aurors, which suited her and Sirius. Sirius
himself did have a bit of flexibility with his involvement in the World Cup (he'd been offered
the assignment just two days after their conversation in the Ministry café) and had shared a
few bits and pieces with her, would be disappointed that she couldn't offer the same.

"Excellent. So, mainly you'll be involved with security. We'll need your help to look at each
of the schools that are to be involved, and work out the benefits of holding the tournament
there, as well as any potential issues. In addition-"

The office door swung open, to admit a portly man in emerald robes. "-finally made contact
with the sanctuary in Romania, and they're happy to help out but- Oh!" He seemed to notice
Marlene and Brown, and shot Sprottle a look.
"This is Elton Giffling," Sprottle said patiently. "He's one of our task designers."

"Hello," Giffling said, blinking at them. "Should I come back later…?"

"That might be best, Elton, thank you," Sprottle said. Mumbling apologies, Giffling left. "My
apologies. Now, where was I…?"
 Matchmaker and mapmaker

Draco was examining a cockroach cluster with a look of mild revulsion. Harry doubted he'd
ever seen one before; it was not something he could imagine ever making its way into the
Malfoy household.

"Where's Hermione got to?" Ron asked, from beside the sugar quills.

"Merlin knows," Draco said. He dropped the cluster back into its barrel, and went to inspect
the shelf of sour snidgets. Harry went in search of Hermione – no small feat, given how many
people were crammed into the shop – and eventually found her over by the display of tooth -
flossing string mints. No doubt she had her parents in mind.

"Almost done?" he asked.

"Almost," she said, glancing past him. "Are you buying anything?" Harry showed her the bag
he'd already purchased – full of chocolate, and sugar quills - and she smiled. "Oh, good," she
said – or half shouted, to be heard over the chatter in the shop. "Could you do me a favour,
then? Check the price of- umm-" She wrinkled her nose. "-blood pops?"

"Blood pops?" he repeated blankly.

"Yes," Hermione said with sudden conviction. "Blood pops. Please?" She gave him a little
push, and shaking his head, Harry went looking. As soon as he reached the display, he
doubted very much that Hermione had any interest in blood pops at all.

"Hello, Harry." Cho, who was right by the shelf holding Hermione's supposed quarry, smiled
at him. Her red-haired friend smiled too, and turned away to look at something else.
"Enjoying Hogsmeade?"

"Er, yeah, I s'pose," he said. She looked nice today, in a snow-speckled beanie and dark green
coat, and for a moment he couldn't think of anything, except that Hermione thought she
fancied him, and what was he supposed to do about that? He glanced back at Hermione and
found her grinning at him. Cho followed his gaze and her face fell.

"Oh," she said. "Did you two come together?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "with Ron and Draco." Cho looked a bit happier at that, though Harry
wasn't sure why. "Did you come with- er-" He waved in Cho's friend's direction.

"Marietta," Cho supplied, smiling. "Yes. So… all ready for tomorrow's match?" Harry's heart
sank a bit at the question.

"Yeah, should be." He ran a hand through his hair, and tried to steer the conversation away
from that a bit. "Don't know if you heard; we're against Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin-"
"Ah, yes," Cho said. "Malfoy's arm." Her tone, and the roll of her eyes was heartening; it
seemed she didn't believe Hydrus was as injured as he pretended to be either. He grinned at
her, mood lifting, and she smiled back, cheeks pink. "Still, should be a good game; I'm
looking forward to it."

"You're coming to watch?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, as if it was a silly question. Harry supposed it was, a bit, "Got to check
out the competition, after all." Her smile was distinctly teasing this time.

"Harry!" Ron appeared at his side, noticed Cho, and waved awkwardly, before turning back
to Harry. "Hey, Chang. Do you reckon Ginny would like chocolate, or a sugar quill more;
Malfoy's been no help at all- Ow!"

"Ron!" The grin was gone from Hermione's face, and she had a sheepish Draco in tow, his
arms piled with string-mints and whatever else he and Hermione were buying. "We're going,"
she said, rather sharply, before Harry could answer Ron's question. "Are you ready?"

"Hang on- you're going?" Harry asked, as Hermione tugged Ron away from Harry and
shooed him and Draco toward the counter, giving the latter a handful of coins as she did so.

"Yes, we're going a bit early to get a table at the Three Broomsticks," she said. Her tone was a
bit softer, so it wasn't him that she was annoyed with, at least. He wondered what Ron had
done to incite her wrath. "It's so crowded in here that we don't want to miss out… You stay,
though, you can meet up with us when you're ready." The look she gave him made Harry
think she'd be cross if he didn't stay, so he didn't have much choice but to nod. She smiled –
Harry thought it looked rather forced – and then slipped off into the crowd.

"Sorry about… erm-" Harry waved a hand at his friends; Hermione had rejoined the other
two, and he could hear her hissing at Ron, even over the noise in the shop.

"It's all right," Cho said, looking a bit overwhelmed. "She's very…" She paused, apparently
looking for words

"She is," Harry agreed, grinning. "You get used to it."

"So... you have plans for lunch, that's what Hermione Granger was saying?"

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling despite himself. "Pad- Sirius and Remus and Tonks and Marlene
are meeting us." He didn't add that they had taken it upon themselves to supervise his
Hogsmeade visit from the Three Broomsticks, though with Wormtail on the loose, Harry
couldn't find it within himself to fault them. That, and he was looking forward to catching up
with them all. He glanced at his watch again.

"Isn't Professor Lupin teaching at Beauxbatons?"

"Yeah-" Harry hesitated, but only briefly; Moony's condition hadn't been a secret since
Padfoot's trial, and if Cho had had him as a teacher, it was unlikely she'd be bothered by the
reminder. "-but the full moon's tonight, and he always gets time off for it, so he decided to
visit."

"That's good of him," Cho said, offering Harry a small smile. "Are they staying for the
match?"

"Padf- Sirius will, yeah," Harry said. "Not sure about the others. Depends when they're
working, and how tonight goes for-" He swallowed the word 'Moony'. "-Remus."

"Oh. Well, lunch should be fun, then."

"Yeah," Harry said. Somehow, though, he got the impression that she was disappointed.

"I should let you go," Cho said. "They're probably waiting."

"Probably," Harry said; according to his watch, it was time to meet up, and if he was late, he
wouldn't put it past Padfoot to come searching for him. "Sorry. Have a good afternoon."

"Thank you." Yes, definitely disappointed, but why?

"It was good talking to you," he added, honestly, and she blushed again. Harry's own face felt
quite warm. "We should- er- do it again."

Cho looked a bit confused, and opened her mouth. Then, she closed it again and smiled,
shaking her head a bit. "That would be nice."

"Brilliant," he said, face still warm. "I'll- er- see you later."

"Bye, Harry. And good luck tomorrow," she added, as he left the shop. He grinned - despite
the odd twisting of his stomach at the reminder of tomorrow - waved at her and headed out
into the gentle sprinkling of snow outside.

It was cold out on the street, compared with the inside of Honeydukes, not that Harry was
bothered by it… at least until the type of cold changed. There was nothing to see, when Harry
glanced over his shoulder, but he picked up his pace a little anyway.

He'd just reached the door of the Three Broomsticks, when a pair of Dementors drifted out of
the alley across the road, and turned his way. Shuddering, Harry pushed the door open and
got inside before they could decide to come after him. That was the last thing he needed.

He walked right into someone.

"Sorry, Dra-" Harry processed the platinum hair and pointy features, but the scent was wrong
and made him pause. "Malfoy."

"Potter." Hydrus wiped his coat where Harry'd touched it. His expression was not dissimilar
to the one Draco had worn when he was looking at the cockroach clusters.

"I don't know why you wear those ugly things if they don't improve your vision," Daphne
Greengrass said, putting her hands up to her eyes to mock his glasses. Crabbe, Goyle and
Pansy guffawed.

"I said sorry," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Hydrus looked past Harry, through the misty
window.

"In a hurry, were we?" he drawled, and Harry knew he'd seen the Dementors. "Shame they're
necessary, but something's got to keep us safe; obviously the Aurors aren't doing anything to
improve matters." His lip curled, and his eyes fell on Padfoot, who was chatting with Madam
Rosmerta, a butterbeer in hand. "In fact, I doubt they're doing much at all."

Harry opened his mouth, unsure if he was ready to say a retort or a hex, but Pansy beat him to
it.

"Although," she said nastily, "if they do want to feel useful, they could run around under you
with a stretcher tomorrow. Might keep you from getting too hurt when the Dementors show
up." Harry went very still, and for a moment, had nothing to say to that. He saw Draco and
Ron stand from a table; they'd noticed what was going on, and were obviously planning to
come and back him up.

"I didn't know you cared, Parkinson," Harry managed, after a moment. "But it's probably best
if I don't get hurt; everyone at school's pretty sick of hearing about 'injuries'." He looked
pointedly at Hydrus' arm, still in its sling, and Hydrus went a funny pink colour.

Daphne bristled, and Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward menacingly. Harry went for his
wand, and so did Pansy, but before anything else could happen, someone cleared their throat
from behind Harry.

"Is there a problem here?" Moony's mild tone brought with it a strong sense of déjà vu, and
Harry couldn't help his grin.

"None of your business, Lupin," Hydrus said, waving the hand that wasn't in a sling at the
others. "Good luck tomorrow, Potter. You'll need it." And with that, they pushed past Harry to
the door. Harry could only watch them go, and hope that Hydrus was wrong.

"Wotcher," Tonks said, bouncing forward to give Harry a hug, but she was frowning after the
Slytherins. "Rude little berk, isn't he?" Despite himself, Harry grinned.

"Dora," Remus said, "I don't think Harry needs any encouragement." But when he stepped
forward to hug Harry, he didn't smell angry or disappointed, just tired – which Harry had
expected, with the moon tonight – and very faintly amused.

"Where are the others?" Tonks asked. "I reckon Grumpy here needs to sit down and eat
something-"

"I'll show you grumpy in a minute," Moony muttered, but allowed Tonks to lead him toward
the table. Ron and Draco had decided to hang back when they saw Moony and Tonks
handling Hydrus, and were greeted enthusiastically by Tonks, as were Hermione and
Marlene, who were already seated and deep in conversation.
"Hello, you lot," Padfoot said, somehow managing to free a hand to ruffle Harry's hair
despite being absolutely laden with butterbeers for everyone. "How are we all?"

"Cold," Marlene said, taking the warm drink from Padfoot with a grimace. "If he didn't look
so much like James, I'd have sworn he was yours," she said, nodding at Harry, who, like
Padfoot was wearing jeans and a jumper, but hadn't bothered with a beanie or scarf or even
gloves despite the cold weather.

"Nature vs. nurture," Padfoot said.

"Oh, it's definitely nurture," Moony said, giving Harry a knowing look; he, unlike Marlene,
knew about Harry's Animagus abilities.

"Well," Marlene said wryly, "teach me your ways, because I can't feel my toes."

"Repeat after me," Padfoot said, and then began to chant obviously made-up-words until
Marlene elbowed him. Ron laughed. Sniggering, Padfoot took a sip of his butterbeer and
turned away from her. "So, anything interesting happen this morning?"

"Wormtail hasn't shown up, if that's what you mean," Harry said, and Padfoot rolled his eyes,
but seemed heartened to hear that anyway. "And we nearly lost Hermione in Scrivenshaft's-"

"She wasn't lost, Potter," Draco said. "Just reluctant to move." He turned back to the adults.
"We had to use the promise of Honeydukes to lure her away from the stationery." Padfoot
chuckled.

"I can't blame you, Hermione," Moony said, from his corner. "I've always found
Scrivenshaft's fascin-"

"Such a teacher," Tonks sighed.

"'Course," Ron said, "when we wanted to take our time in Honeydukes, she was having none
of it. I wanted to get something for Ginny," Ron added.

"And you did," Hermione said.

"But I wanted longer to decide-"

"You didn't need longer; she'll be happy with sugarquills, and we needed to get a table."
Hermione took a prim sip of her butterbeer.

"You could have just taken Malfoy-"

"No, we all needed to go-"

"You didn't make Harry come with us-"

"Harry was busy-"

"So was I!" Ron argued.

Harry caught Draco's eye and pulled a face as Ron and Hermione continued. Padfoot watched
them, apparently bemused, and Marlene was talking to Tonks and Moony about something
Auror-y.

"Do you know her assignment, yet?" Harry asked, tilting his head in Marlene's direction.

"No," Padfoot grumbled. Marlene glanced over, arched an eyebrow at the two of them – not,
Harry didn't think, because she'd overheard, but because they were staring – and then looked
away again.

"And I still can't know yours?" Harry asked.

"Not yet," Padfoot said. "It won't be long before it's announced, though, and once it is…" He
shrugged. "And you know I still have the Wormtail and Crouch case, but last week
Scrimgeour gave it to a few of the other Aurors to look over as well. I'm about to be busy
with this new assignment, and- frankly, fresh eyes can't hurt. We haven't got a lot to work
with." He rubbed a hand over his chin.

"Well, Pettigrew's been at Hogwarts," Draco said.

"Yes," Padfoot said. "But that leaves us with more questions than answers; we don't know if
he's staying there, or if he's just visited a few times."

"I think he's staying," Harry said. He couldn't remember many specifics from his 'dreams', but
they had left him with the sense that Wormtail was at Hogwarts… Or, perhaps Harry was so
used to danger taking up residence at the school that the idea of one of his enemies
commuting was simply too foreign to accept.

"But you've been watching the Map," Padfoot said; Ron had suggested it after Hermione's
time-turner incident, and since then, it was often tucked inside a school book to be glanced at
in lessons or at lunch, or sitting next to homework in their favoured corner of the common
room. "And you said you haven't seen him."

"We haven't," Harry muttered.

"Maybe he's worked out a way to hide from it," Draco suggested.

"You can't trick the Map," Padfoot said. "It's not possible."

"Sirius-" Apparently Marlene and the rest of the table were listening to their conversation
now. "-you made that thing when you were in school. I have no doubt it's advanced magic,
but Peter's a grown man now-"

"-and a Death Eater," Tonks said. "I don't reckon it's farfetched to think he might have
learned-"

"You can't trick the Map," Moony said, voice firm despite its tiredness. He and Sirius shared
a look. "And us less so than anyone. I won't lie and say the Map wasn't a marvellous way for
us to document our knowledge of the castle, but its actual purpose-"
"Was to monitor the castle," Marlene supplied. "Yes, we-"

"No, actually," Padfoot said. "Toward the end of school, when the war was getting bad, sure.
But initially, we made the Map to ensure we wouldn't be caught, be that pulling pranks, or
sneaking out to Moony in the Shack. We tied ourselves to it – in both human form, and
animal form – so that whichever one of us that was holding the Map would always know
where the others were. Whoever had the Map had one of the mirrors – or was with someone
that did – so that they could let the others know if they were going to run into someone."

"But he had access to it," Hermione pointed out. "The day he went looking for Harry's cloak.
He could have tampered-"

"He can't have recognised it," Padfoot said, "else he'd have destroyed it to stop you using it
against him, or taken it so that he could use it against you." Harry nodded; he and Padfoot
had had this conversation already, and Harry, shaken by the thought of the Map in Wormtail's
hands, had kept a close eye on it since; when it wasn't with him, it was with one of his
friends.

"Cheery, this," Tonks said to no one in particular, and Ron laughed. "There's got to be
something else we can talk about…"

Conversation turned fairly quickly to Quidditch after that, and Harry joined, but with less
enthusiasm than he usually would have.

"Cedric Diggory's Captain?" Tonks asked. "Merlin, that makes me feel old; I left before he
was even a first year! She turned to Ron and Draco. "Are Preece and Macavoy still on the
team? They'd be seventh years now…"

"Did you hear - she feels old," Moony sighed to Marlene.

"What?" Marlene asked, feigning deafness. "Speak up – I'm not as young as I used to be…"
She grinned, and Moony smiled back.

"I suppose that makes me bloody ancient, then," Padfoot said. "Given that I'm older than all
of you."

"Not that you'd know it," Moony teased, and let himself be drawn into Hermione and
Marlene's conversation. Taking advantage of everyone's distraction, Harry shifted his chair
closer to Padfoot's.

"Are you going to the Shack tonight?" he murmured. Padfoot looked down at him, amused,
but shook his head.

"It'll be occupied."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said; Dumbledore had told him there were werewolves at the school that
used the Shack now, but he hadn't given the matter much thought of late. "So at the cottage,
then?"
"Like normal," Padfoot agreed, in a low voice. "And before you ask: no. Not," he added,
seeing the look on Harry's face, "because I don't think you're up to it, but because I don't
fancy trying to explain to McGonagall why I'd be taking you out of school on a night
she knows I'll be running around with Moony."

"We could tell her I'm missing Kreacher," Harry said, trying to keep his disappointment from
his voice.

"Nice try. But you haven't got anything on this afternoon, do you?"

"I think Hermione wanted to have a bit more of a look around. She says she's read about a
shop or house or something…"

"But afterward?" Padfoot pressed.

"Nothing much," Harry said. Padfoot nodded, his scent pleased, and Harry began to smile
despite himself. "Why?"

"I've been promising to help you with your Dementor problem for a while," Padfoot said,
shrugging. "We could start practicing this afternoon, if you're still interested."

"I am," Harry said at once. "Will it take long to learn, do you think?" If he could learn it
quickly enough, then he'd feel much better about tomorrow's match.

"Depends," Padfoot said, and his eyes flicked over Harry's face, searching. "It's not the sort of
thing you learn overnight, usually." Harry's hope withered and it must have shown on his
face, because Padfoot frowned. "Are you worried about Dementors as the match?"

"It'll be fine," Harry muttered, not meeting Padfoot's eyes. He'd had plenty of trainings since
the disaster that had been Quidditch tryouts, and the Dementors had left them well enough
alone. But, there'd be lots of happy people at the match, for the Dementors to feed on, and he
wouldn't be able to rely on Diggory to catch him tomorrow – Diggory would be up in the air
with him.

"Yes," Padfoot said, firmly. "It will be."

I hope so, Harry thought.

 Fly or fall

"That was better," Padfoot said, and Harry lowered his wand, doubtful.

"It was," Tonks said; Moony had gone home to rest after lunch, but she'd tagged along,
saying Patronuses sounded like more fun than an afternoon watching her husband nap. "I
definitely saw a bit of silver that time."

"It didn't look anything like yours," Harry said; when they'd started practicing, Padfoot had
shown him his own Patronus. The silvery dog had burst effortlessly from his wand, and
Harry, who'd managed nothing but the faintest wisp of silver after several hours of trying,
was feeling incredibly discouraged.

"Well Patronuses take on different forms," Tonks said helpfully. "So it probably won't look
like Sirius' anyway."

"I doubt it's meant to look like nothing, either," Harry pointed out, flopping onto the nearest
desk. Padfoot came to sit next to him, and bumped their shoulders together. Harry bumped
back.

"You'll get it. Just maybe not today."

But Quidditch is tomorrow, Harry wanted to say. So I need to get it today.

"It took me a few weeks to get mine corporeal," Tonks said. She probably thought it was
reassuring, but it wasn't. "And it was only because I had a Dementor to practice on… makes
it more real, I reckon."

"There are a few around…" Padfoot said, looking through the window at the dark shapes
drifting over the grounds. "But it's probably best not to antagonise them before the match."

"Hang on," Tonks said, scrunching up her face. In a moment, her hair had formed a long,
wispy veil over her face and down over her body, her arms – or what Harry could see of them
– were thin and endied in skeletal hands.

"I can see your feet," Padfoot said critically. Tonks turned sharply.

"Shut up, Sirius," she said. Though she had no visible face, Harry could well imagine Tonk's
expression. "Give it a go now."

"Just don't look at her feet," Padfoot said, and Tonks huffed. Harry slid off the desk, raising
his wand, and focused on his happy memory:

" Under normal circumstances, I'd never ask this; you're – what – eight and a half? And I'm
trying to evade Aurors and the rest of the Ministry, but if you want... another home-"
" Another home?" Harry asked, his voice climbing an octave. "As in, away from the
Dursleys?"

" It's fine if you don't want to," Padfoot said quickly.

" I want to!" Harry half-shouted.

" Really?" Padfoot asked, beaming. Harry nodded emphatically. "Are you sure? I don't know
what state the house is in yet, and it might be dangerous – like I said, there are people after
me-"

" I want to," Harry said, hardly believing what he was hearing. He'd always dreamed that an
unknown relative would come and take him away and now, Padfoot, his dad's best friend, was
offering to do just that.

Smiling faintly, Harry looked up at Tonks… who really was a lot like a Dementor, except for
the feet, and the fact that Harry was this close and still conscious.

"Expecto Patronum," he said firmly. Like last time, a bit of silver came out of his wand, but it
was gone before it reached Tonks.

"Close," Padfoot said, hopping to his feet.

"Thankfully no closer, now that I think about it," Tonks said. "I reckon it'd hurt, being bowled
over by a patronus at such close range." Padfoot chuckled. "Actually… you know what might
work?"

"What?" Harry and Padfoot asked together.

"A boggart!" she said. The black hair that had formed her 'robe' flashed pink, and Harry
wondered if she'd realised. "You said yours was a Dementor, right, Harry?"

"Brilliant," Padfoot said, before she could say anything. "I should have thought of that."

"There'll be one at Remus', I'm sure," Tonks said. "I swear there's one every time we come to
visit."

"We'll have a look-" Padfoot glanced at his Sidekick. "-ah. Now, actually. Moon's due up in
an hour."

Harry's heart sank, but he tried not to let it show on his face as Padfoot and Tonks – looking
like her normal self again – said their goodbyes.

When they were gone, Harry stood alone in the classroom, took a deep breath, and tried
another happy memory – this time it was yesterday's lunch in the Three Broomsticks.

"Expecto Patronum."

"My Lord-"
"I said no, Dmitri!" Lord Voldemort hissed, anger flashing through him.

"It is our best choice," he said, folding his arms. "Vormtail hass lost ze Cloak, and hass no
idea vhere ze rink or vand are, and ze boy is too vell protected for him to get to-"

"Wormtail and I have discussed this," Lord Voldemort said irritably. It was just him and
Polkov, unfortunately; young Crouch was too far undercover to risk contact, and Wormtail
seemed to have decided that delivering no news was better than delivering bad news. Lord
Voldemort's fingers – small and stiff though they were – twitched. How he longed for his
wand.

"I haff no memory of-"

"You weren't there." Polkov's face contorted, and was smooth again a moment later. "You
would do well not to overestimate your role; you are told what you need to be told." Polkov
didn't like that, not at all, and though he loathed the man, loathed that he needed him, need
him he did. "In any case, we are not ready." The words were a truce, of sorts, that Lord
Voldemort hoped would soothe his servant's prickly pride.

"Your pardon, My Lord," Polkov said, voice smooth, expression smug, "but ve are."

Lord Voldemort was surprised into silence, but hid it well. The ingredients required for the
potion were difficult to acquire. Lord Voldemort had tasked Polkov with finding them
primarily because he needed them, but also to keep the other man occupied while Lord
Voldemort rested. He had grown stronger in recent months, through the care of his servants,
but much of his time was still spent resting, dreaming. It would not do to have Polkov get
bored during those times, and decide his time was better spent trying to aid Wormtail or
Crouch directly.

"Already?" he asked, in a thoughtful tone.

"I am not vithout resources, My Lord." More to the point, Polkov was not a wanted man and
not restricted by his best disguise being a rat. Polkov bowed low before the chair Lord
Voldemort rested in, but his voice was smug. "And zis is vhy I urge you to listen. If ve do as I
haff proposed, zhen Crouch can return to us-"

"Ah, so you've tired of your position here?" Lord Voldemort asked. "You think that Crouch is
better suited for-"

"No!" Polkov said at once. "Merely zhat he could be better used, My Lord. Ze current plan is
good, but slow-"

"I am aware-"

"And ze lonker ve delay, ze more likely ve are to be found. Vith my plan, you vould be
restored-"

"It must be him," Lord Voldemort said.

"I agree ze boy must die. But vhy can ve not use her and zhen go after ze boy? Against you
vith a body, he vould not stand a chance-"

"The boy would not stand a chance against me regardless," Lord Voldmort said coldly.
Polkov was silent for a long moment, and it infuriated Lord Voldemort. "If you have an
opinion, Dmitri, share it." Polkov hesitated, and then lowered himself into a bow again, this
one more submissive than the first.

"Forgiff me, My Lord, but in zhis form you are veak, and ze boy- has been lucky before." He
was stiff, likely expecting punishment. Lord Voldemort's fingers twitched again. "Do you not
miss haffink a body?"

Enough. Lord Voldemort had had enough. He did not have a wand, but he had other weapons
at his disposal.

"Look at me," he hissed, and Polkov glanced up, face set. Lord Voldemort did not care to
decipher his expression. He lashed out with a barb of Legillimency, with one intent; the intent
to cause pain. His weapon hit walls – Polkov's weak Occlumency – and stopped. Stopped. It
was outrageous. Lord Voldemort pushed harder. It was uncomfortable for him – he was still
weak – but he would make Polkov learn. None of his other servants had been this insouciant.
They'd known him when he was at full power.

Polkov didn't wince, didn't slump, however. In fact, all Polkov did was stand and step
forward, one hand raised in concern. Lord Voldemort could feel himself slipping away. Weak,
he was weak. Still, he managed to snarl at Polkov as he was swallowed by the darkness of
unconsciousness.

"Potter! Potter, get up – breakfast!"

"Wassgoinon?" Ron mumbled, one bed over.

"Who's there?" Seamus was sitting up. Neville's snores had stopped, so Harry thought it was
a fair bet that he was awake as well.

"Potter!" Wood shook Harry again. "Breakfast! Up!"

"All right," Harry groaned, batting away Wood's third attempt to shake him. "I'm up." He
wasn't really; he was still face down in his pillow, but hopefully Wood understood him. "I'll
be down in a minute."

"Two minutes," Wood warned. "Or I'm sending the twins up." Harry groaned and felt blindly
for his glasses. "I'll see the rest of you in the stands."

"Go away," Draco mumbled. Wood bounded out of the room, red Quidditch robes flapping
behind him.

Harry pushed himself upright and put on his glasses with a yawn. He'd stayed in the
abandoned classroom much longer than he'd intended last night, not getting to bed until
midnight, and he'd barely slept when he did, thanks to dreams full of Voldemort and pain. He
didn't remember much at all, other than that Voldemort's servant wanted to use her – whoever
the girl in question was – for something, and that Voldemort had been hurting. It would have
been a good thing, except, for some odd reason, Harry was hurting too. His arms and legs
ached, and he had a rather awful headache, and a sore throat. Merlin, he hoped he hadn't been
talking.

He dug around for his Quidditch robes, and pulled them on.

"You all right?" Ron asked. He was still lying in bed, but had one eye open and was squinting
up at Harry. Harry shrugged, reaching for his boot. "You were back late."

"I was working on my Patronus," Harry said.

"You get it?"

"No," Harry said, disappointed. He pulled on his other boot. "Guess we'll hope for no
Dementors." Ron mumbled something about crossing his fingers and buried his face in his
pillow again.

Harry pulled his Nimbus 2000 out from under his bed and left the dormitory. He almost
collided with Fred and George on the stairs. Fred had his wand out, and a gleam in his eye
that promised mischief.

"Oh," George said, stuffing something back into his pocket. "You're up." Was it Harry's
imagination, or did he look a bit disappointed?

Down in the Great Hall, Wood loaded a bowl of cereal for Harry, and batted him away from
anything heavier; he had to be light and agile today because Cedric Diggory flew a Nimbus
too, and Harry would need every advantage he could get. Not convinced that hungry and tired
would be a winning combination, Harry snagged a bit of bacon when Wood wasn't looking,
making Katie laugh. Harry grinned at her.

Wood began his pre-game talk early, though in a low voice, and only motivational things
rather than tactics because the Hufflepuff team were eating breakfast at their table. Harry
dozed, and it was only a hesitant hand on his shoulder that brought him back to the present.

"Good luck again," a very pink Cho said, and hurried away with her ever-present red-haired
friend, before Harry could respond. It did not go unnoticed by Fred and George, though, who
grinned identical, evil grins.

"Have you got yourself a girlfriend, Harrykins?" Fred asked.

"Really?!" Angelina asked excitedly. "Who, Harry?!"

"Not now!" Wood said loudly. "Alicia, finish your eggs, we'll head down so we can go over
tactics-"

"Bit of an odd tactic by Gryffindor," Lee said from the commentator's stand. "Not sure if it's
Wood's decision, or a bit of improvisation from Gryffindor's Beaters, or if Potter and Weasley
are just having a chat… not going to say which twin it is, they'll never let me live it down if
I'm wrong…"

"Having a chat," George – who was hovering by Harry – said, grinning. "As if we'd dare defy
our fearless leader." He nodded to Wood, who'd just intercepted the Quaffle before it could go
through the rings.

"Seriously, I'll be fine," Harry said. He was a bit nervous, sure, but he didn't think being
babysat was the solution, nor did he think George was most effective here; he should be
protecting the Chasers, with Fred.

"Just find the Snitch," George said. "You can complain all you want when we've won."

"Cocky, Weasley," Cedric said, with a grin. He was nearby too, but not looking at them; he,
like Harry, was scouring the sky for the Snitch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw George
shrug.

"Ooh!" Lee said. "Gryffindor scores – brilliant work, Bell! That closes the gap a bit, now on
30, to Hufflepuff's 80… Whoa! Close miss with a Bludger by Johnson makes her lose the
intercept! McManus for Hufflepuff's after it again, Quaffle to Preece-"

"That Bludger nearly took Angelina's head off," Harry said to George. "And we're never
going to catch up if the girls are having to dodge the Bludgers rather than focus on the
Quaffle. You should be over there, helping Fred-"

"And you?" George asked. Cedric was still looking for the Snitch, doing a good job at
pretending not to listen. He was only ten feet away, though, so Harry thought he must be able
to.

"Will be fine," Harry said. Padfoot, Marlene and Tonks were in the stands, and Moony too;
he was pale, wrapped in a thick blanket, and winced every time the crowd cheered or Lee was
particularly loud, but he was still there, and Harry appreciated it.

Dumbledore had come to the game too – he was sitting beside a very focused, red-clad
McGonagall – and even more surprisingly, so had Madam Pomfrey. She usually avoided
Quidditch matches – and had never been shy about voicing her disapproval of the sport – but
it seemed she'd made an exception today. Harry had a funny feeling that decision had a lot to
do with the fact that he was playing. "The Dementors haven't shown yet-"

"I wouldn't let him fall if I could help it," Cedric said, looking at them for the first time. He
looked a bit uncomfortable, and George gave him a narrow-eyed look.

"There," Harry said. "See? I'll be fine." And he mostly believed it. Before George could say
anything else, he angled his broom down, and sped toward the ground. George was a good
flier, but Harry was better, and he had a better broom. Hopefully, George would realise he
couldn't keep up, and head for the centre of the pitch, where everyone else was.

George didn't follow, but Cedric did. Harry pulled out of his dive only a few feet from the
ground – the stands seemed to let out a collective breath as he did – a mere seconds later,
Cedric jerked to a stop beside him.

"You were feinting?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I-"

And the stands gasped. Harry looked up to the other players – George was by Fred, talking –
and Angelina had the Quaffle, but none of them held his attention for long; it was Wood that
caught his eye, Wood, who'd taken a bludger to the chest, hit the hoop with a sickly thud
Harry could hear from where he was, and crashed into the stands.

Harry jerked forward on his broom, but Alicia and one of Hufflepuff's Chasers were already
there, sinking toward the ground with Wood held between them. Harry could see Madam
Pomfrey squeezing past Flitwick to get out of the teacher's stands. Madam Hooch's whistle
rang out shrilly, and the Chasers stopped – Angelina and two of Hufflepuff's Chasers hadn't
even realised what was happening.

"That- that looked bad," Cedric said, expression creased. "I hope he's all right."

Harry didn't have anything to say. He'd seen bumps and bruises, and a few falls in matches
and trainings before, but never anything like this – he supposed that was because the bad
accidents had involved him, so he hadn't had to watch. It was awful.

"Harry!" The rest of the team were huddled together in midair. Harry shot toward them, even
as Cedric went to join the Hufflepuffs.

"I can't believe that just happened! The Beaters didn't even hit it his way!" Katie was pale,
and Fred had a comforting arm around her. "Was he okay?"

"I don't know," Alicia said miserably, pulling up beside them. "He was knocked out. Madam
Pomfrey's looking at him now."

"He won't be allowed back up though," Fred said unhappily. "There's no way he didn't break
something with a fall like that."

"Do we have to forfeit then?" Katie asked, aghast.

"No, we don't have to," Angelina said, scowling, "but if we're going to forfeit, now's the time
to do it; losing by fifty points now might not be so bad compared with what's to come." She
was right; with Wood out, there was nothing to stop Hufflepuff from scoring. One of the
Chasers could try to guard the hoops a bit, but then they'd be down a Chaser and Hufflepuff
would end up with the Quaffle anyway. Their only hope was for Harry to catch the Snitch,
and soon, though he hadn't seen it all game.

"Maybe we can't guarantee a win if we play on," Alicia said. "But we can guarantee a loss if
we forfeit." Katie sighed, and both Fred and George looked grim. With Wood absent, they
were all looking to Angelina for direction, and she seemed to know that; Harry could see her
thinking, weighing up their options.
"You're right," she said finally, looking at Alicia. "We'll play. We might lose horribly, but
we'll play." Harry and the rest of the team mustered nervous smiles. Angelina nodded to
herself. "We're flying defensively, ladies. We don't need to score, we just need to keep the
Quaffle away from them so that they can't. You two-" She jabbed a finger at Fred and
George, grimacing. "-if you can get rid of Diggory, do it. They might outscore us, but with
him out, they're not getting that extra hundred and fifty points." She ran a hand through her
braids, and the twins nodded seriously. "Harry?"

"Yeah?" Harry said.

"Get that bloody Snitch."

"How much, Ang?" Wood said again. Harry and the rest of the team had gone straight to the
Hospital Wing after the match to see their fallen Captain. Despite the bruising on his face,
though, and that on his chest (a sure sign of broken ribs) and the fact that his arm was in a
sling, it seemed it was the game's outcome that was hurting him the most.

"By sixty," Angelina sighed. Wood didn't groan like Harry had expected. He just sank a bit in
his bed, shoulders slumped, and Harry decided that was worse. "Should have forfeited, saved
ourselves ten points."

"That's easy to say in hindsight," Katie said quietly, putting a hand on her arm.

"It is," Angelina sighed again. "I- I'm sorry, Oliver-"

"Don't be," he said, hollowly. "I'm sure you all played well. We just got unlucky."

"Well? We played brilliantly," Alicia said fiercely. "We were down by two-hundred and ten,
which- yeah, okay, it's a lot-" Wood and Angelina both cringed. "-but we were already down
by fifty when you fell, and the match went for another three hours, and yeah, they got another
hundred and fifty points in that time, but it could have been a lot worse."

"Still should have forfeited," Angelina said.

"And missed Harry's brilliant catch?" Katie said, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Did
you see it? Took it from right under poor Diggory's nose."

"Not soon enough," Harry muttered.

"He was blocking you," Alicia said comfortingly. And she was right; Cedric hadn't needed to
catch the Snitch to ensure a win for Hufflepuff (though he'd tried), he'd only needed to stop
Harry from getting it, and had, three times, before Harry finally caught it on the fourth.

"Prat," Fred said irritably.

"It's strategy," Wood sighed. "And a good one, because it worked, obviously."

A gloomy mood filled the Hospital Wing.

"Well, look on the bright side," Fred said eventually, with forced cheer.

"We've got the rest of the season to make up for it?" Alicia suggested.

"Well, yeah," Fred said. "But that wasn't what I was going to say."

"Oh?" Angelina asked, folding her arms.

"They let us play on without a Keeper," Fred said. George snorted; obviously, he'd worked
out what his twin was thinking.

"Yeah, that's brilliant, Fred," Katie said, rolling her eyes. "Highlight of the day-"

"No, really," Fred insisted. "Because the alternative was probably McLaggen…"
 A victim

Ginny was still sleepy in a well-rested sort of way – she'd had a whole six hours of sleep the
night before! - as she shuffled down to the Great Hall for breakfast. She mumbled a vague
greeting to Percy as she passed him on the stairs, and was walking down a first floor corridor,
trying to decide whether she felt most like eggs or pancakes this morning, when she heard
laughter.

She glanced around, thinking perhaps Fred and George were up to mischief, but that didn't
seem to be the case.

"Where are your shoes, Loony- I mean, Luna?"

Ginny was suddenly very awake, and looked ahead toward the voice. A group of fourth year
girls – mostly Ravenclaws, but Ginny thought at least one of the others was a Hufflepuff –
were clustered around Luna. Luna was the only one of them facing Ginny, but didn't appear
to have seen her.

"Nargles-" Two of the girls in the group sighed. "-took them, I think," Luna said, not seeming
bothered in the least by her bare feet, despite the fact that it was mid-November and therefore
rather cold. "But they'll turn up eventually, I'm sure. Thank you for worrying."

"People will think you're odd, you know," one of the girls said. She seemed to be the leader; a
Ravenclaw girl, with curly hair nearly as red as Ginny's own. Ginny slowed, watching.

"That's all right," Luna said, unflappable as ever. "We're all a bit odd, sometimes."

"I think you're particularly odd," the red-haired girl said, and not kindly. Ginny frowned.
Luna was odd, but not in a bad way. "A bit of a freak, actually." Ginny stopped entirely.

You should go and join her, Tom's voice whispered. You're a freak as well, after all.

Rather than let his words bother her, Ginny embraced them; it had taken her a while, but she
was slowly seeing the sense in what Harry had said to her, about using what Tom had left her
with to help people. He'd meant memories, but it could be applied to Tom's advice – or her
imaginings of Tom's advice. It wasn't always easy, but today, it was.

You know, I think I might, Ginny told the voice, and smiled to herself when Tom had nothing
else to say. She ducked back around the corner for just a moment, pulling off her shoes and
socks, and stuffing them out of sight behind a suit of armour. The stone floor was freezing on
her bare feet. She took a deep breath and walked back around the corner, to where Luna and
the fourth years were.

"Morning, Luna," she called. The fourth years all spun at once, and Luna peered through
them.
"Hello, Ginny," she said, completely normally, as if she wasn't surrounded. Then, she cocked
her head to one side. "Where are your shoes?"

"I think the nargles must have got them," Ginny said, shrugging.

"Or you're both just mental," the redhaired girl muttered, and then said more loudly, "Aren't
you that girl that everyone thought was behind last year's attacks?"

Ginny froze, then. The girl had obviously said it to unsettle Ginny a bit, but Ginny doubted
she had any idea just how much it did. Ginny struggled to push aside the reminder and the
mess of feelings that went with it, and sort of managed that, but was still no closer to finding
anything to say in response; saying yes wasn't really an option. Tom cackled.

"Oh!" Luna said suddenly. "Ginny, I don't think the nargles have your shoes. Hello, Harry
Potter. Hello, Draco Malfoy."

The red-haired girl and one of the other fourth years made little noises of surprise. Ginny
spun and saw Harry and Draco coming around the corner. Harry waved bemusedly at Luna
with one hand; in the other, were Ginny's shoes. He was looking at the fourth years, though,
and his face turned the slightest bit pink as she watched. That was interesting. Draco nodded
warily at Luna, but then looked at Ginny. His eyes drifted to her bare feet, then to the fourth
years, and then he arched an eyebrow. Ginny tipped her shoulder helplessly.

"I- er- found these," Harry said, offering them to Ginny. He looked confused, and Ginny was
horrendously embarrassed; obviously he and Draco hadn't heard what was happening just
before they arrived, and Ginny wasn't about to tell them about it while the fourth years were
still hanging about. Ginny took her shoes back, and noticed that both the red-haired
ringleader and an Asian girl were frowning at her. Harry seemed to be sneaking looks at one
of them, though Ginny couldn't tell which.

"Do you have mine as well?" Luna asked him hopefully.

"Er no, Luna, sorry," Harry said.

"They're blue, with a buckle, and about this big." Luna held up a foot and wiggled her toes at
Harry, who looked at Ginny, confused, and then at the fourth years again.

"If we see them, we'll bring them to you," Draco said. "Won't we, Potter?"

"Ooh, that would be wonderful," Luna said beaming at the boys.

"No worries," Harry said. "Are you hungry?" he asked Ginny, face still a bit pink, and then
looked to Draco, who rolled his eyes.

"Really, you're the bravest Gryffindor there ever was, Potter," he said, but moved past the
fourth years toward the stairs to the Entrance Hall. Harry started after him, looking relieved.

"Harry! Wait- have you got a minute?" The Asian girl had stepped away from her friends,
face bright pink. Harry hesitated, and then made an odd, waving moment at Draco. Though
the message was clearly not to wait, he had a funny, eagerly-terrified look on his face, as if he
half hoped Draco would insist he come to breakfast now and talk to the girl later.

Draco didn't: "Coming, She-Weasley?"

Ginny didn't need a second offer; she went after Draco, pausing only briefly when she
reached Luna.

"Come on, Luna, I'm starving," she said, as if nothing at all had happened, as if she wasn't
bare foot with her shoes tucked under her arm, as if a bunch of fourteen year old girls hadn't
managed to unsettle her as easily as Tom ever had, as if Harry hadn't had to come to her
rescue again.

"Goodbye," Luna said to the girls, and trailed after Ginny. Ginny glanced over her shoulder
as they reached the staircase down to the Entrance Hall, and saw Harry and the girl talking
rather awkwardly while all of the girl's friends watched on.

"What's all that about?" Ginny asked Draco.

"That," Draco said, obviously amused, "is Cho Chang."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up; she knew the name, of course, because it had been mentioned
several times in the common room. It never failed to fluster Harry, and Ron and Draco took
great pleasure in abusing that knowledge.

"Her?" Ginny asked, frowning. She glanced over her shoulder again, but Harry and Chang
and the other girls were out of sight. "Really? But she's-" Draco arched an eyebrow at her
again, and Ginny swallowed what she'd been about to say; that the one time she'd been able
to get Harry to say anything at all about Cho Chang, he'd said she was pretty and nice,
but nice people shouldn't stand by while their friends picked on people... unless she was nice,
but just a coward. "-never mind." Ginny supposed it was just good that Harry at least had
better taste than to fancy the red-haired girl.

The three of them walked in comfortable silence after that, and, despite Ginny's best efforts to
get Luna to sit with her, Draco, Ron and Hermione (who'd obviously come down earlier and
were already seated), Luna peeled away to sit at the Ravenclaw table with the Greengrass
twins, and third year boy whose name Ginny didn't know.

"You took your time," Hermione said, looking up from her copy of the Daily Prophet as
Ginny and Draco sat. "And why are you holding shoes, Ginny?"

"Harry, you look different than when I last saw you," Ron said, pretending to squint at Ginny,
who poked her tongue out at him.

"Hilarious," Draco sighed, taking a bite from his apple, at the same time as Ginny pulled her
socks over her cold toes and said fondly, "Blame Luna." Hermione grimaced, and Ron
snorted but then leaned back in his seat, apparently looking for Harry.

"He's with Chang," Draco said. Ron's eyebrows shot up.

"Again?"

"She wanted to talk to him," Draco said, shrugging, and then smirked. "You should have seen
Potter's face; he was terrified, wasn't he?" He looked to Ginny, who grinned.

"Oh, he's hopeless," Hermione sighed, turning a page of her paper.

"Can't be too hopeless if she's still talking to him," Ron said.

"He can," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Cho just fancies him enough to not be bothered
by it."

"Then it doesn't matter, does it?" Ron asked. "And how do you know that Cho fancies him so
much, when you've never talked to her?" Hermione huffed and set the paper down. Draco
dragged it away to read, and Hermione didn't even notice; she'd turned to Ron.

"Believe it or not, Ron, I actually-"

Ginny rolled her eyes and set about preparing her breakfast. Not long after, Harry rejoined
them, sliding into the vacant seat beside Ron. Neither Hermione or Ron seemed to notice;
they were both too involved in their bickering, and Draco glanced over the top of his stolen
paper but didn't say anything.

"Morning," Ginny said. "Again."

Harry was too intent on making himself a bacon and egg roll to look at her, but he said,
"Yeah, morning. Did I miss much?" Ginny glanced at the other three, mouth twitching, and
shook her head. They ate – or Ginny ate, while Harry picked at his roll – and his mood,
which had been happy enough (if a little embarrassed) when he first sat, seemed to worsen
with every passing minute.

"Not hungry?" Ginny asked. It was that, of all things, that drew Hermione's attention from
Ron, and when Harry shrugged, Hermione frowned.

"You barely touched dinner last night," she said.

"We can't all have Weasley's appetite," Draco said, without moving from behind his paper.
Ron opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it, and carried on with what he'd
been doing before; loading his plate with scrambled eggs. His smile was equal parts sheepish
and proud.

Hermione looked amused – for a moment at least – but then Harry gave up on his breakfast
altogether, and put his head on his arms, which were folded on the table. Ginny could
just tell Hermione was going to fuss some more and Harry didn't seem in the mood for it, so
she stepped in, teasing:

"Are we keeping you up?"

"Something like that," Harry sighed.

"You haven't been having dreams again, have you, Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"No." Harry scowled at her, but the effect was ruined by the fact that he still hadn't lifted his
head from the table. Ron and Hermione both looked at each other; Hermione seemed to be
trying to silently encourage Ron to ask Harry more, and Ron – because Ginny knew her
brother's facial expressions well – was silently saying he was keeping out of this one.

"Well," Draco said, lowering his paper for the first time, "if you're not going to tell us what's
twisted your wand, so that we can help, Potter, then the least you can do is stop moping about
the place."

Harry turned to scowl at him instead, but Draco wasn't looking; an enormous eagle owl had
swooped out of the air in front of them and landed on the table. It held its foot out
imperiously and launched itself away as soon as Draco had taken the letter.

"I'm not moping," Harry muttered, to no-one in particular.

"No, of course not," Draco said, somehow managing to sound sarcastic despite being entirely
distracted by his letter.

"Who's that from?" Hermione asked.

"Lucius Malfoy," Ron said at once, and Ginny's eyes narrowed at the name. "Did you see that
owl?"

"Yes, it's from Father," Draco said. "He says if what I have to tell him is as interesting as I
believe it to be, the hippogriff should be freed of charges by New Year's Eve." He leaned
back in his seat, looking pleased.

"We should tell Hagrid," Ron said. "As soon as we're done here."

"Can I come?" Ginny asked. "I was going to go this afternoon, but if you're all going now-"

"Don't see why not," Ron said, shrugging.

"I can," Hermione said, and Ginny felt her face fall. "Not you, Ginny, I mean all of us; we
can't just show up unannounced!"

"Sure we can," Ron said. "It's Hagrid. And since it's right after breakfast, he can't try to feed
us…"

Half an hour later, the five of them were making their way across the snowy grounds to
Hagrid's hut. Up ahead, Ron had dumped snow down the back of Draco's jumper, and was
using Hermione as a human shield against Draco's retaliation.

"So?" Ginny said, falling into step beside Harry. He tore his eyes away from the other three
and frowned at her. She just arched an eyebrow.

"Dreams," he muttered after a moment.

"But you told Hermione-"

"I haven't been dreaming exactly," Harry sighed. "It's hard to explain. Before, I would get
conversations, with Voldemort-" Ginny shivered, not wholly from the cold, and Harry rolled
his eyes. "-but now all I get is- well, nothing. No feelings, no people, no words."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" Ginny asked slowly. "I mean, your dreams are useful,
sometimes, but-"

"The nothing is a dream, though," Harry said, and then huffed, frustrated. "I told you it was
hard to explain. It's like- when I'm asleep, everything's dark, and quiet, but it's a dream."

"So when you dream of him, you dream of nothing?" Ginny asked, bewildered.

"But the nothing is still something," Harry said, agitated. "It's not normal, it's not- I know it's
Voldemort, but I- he's found a way to keep me out, or maybe I've done something…"

"No," Ginny said. Harry glanced at her.

"If you wanted to keep him out, you'd have to really try-" Ginny hugged herself. "-but you
think your dreams are too important to do that…"

"They are," Harry said, rather hotly. "They're all we've got at the moment, and if I see the
right thing, we might be able to catch Wormtail and Crouch-"

"I didn't say I disagreed," Ginny said, and Harry shut up. "And if he was keeping you out,
you wouldn't be seeing anything at all-"

"But I'm not," Harry said.

"You said the nothing was something," Ginny reminded him. "No people or words, maybe,
but it's still him. It wouldn't be, if he was keeping you out. It'd just be you."

Harry was silent for several long moments, his eyes on the Quidditch pitch, where Hufflepuff
were practicing for next weekend's match against Ravenclaw's. Finally, he spoke again:

"Well, something's changed," he murmured, then paused again. "Last time- the last dream I
had, the man with him said they were almost ready for their… ritual or whatever. What if
they've done it? What if he's got a body again?"

"Then it's already happened," Ginny said, swallowing. The idea chilled her, and she made no
effort to hide that. "There's not much you can do about that."

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Harry sighed. He stopped suddenly and ducked as
a snowball from Ron sailed overhead. Shaking his head and almost smiling, he bent to scrape
together a snowball.

"Look," Ginny said, slowing to a stop, "I get that- well, if he's got a body again that's- not
good-" Harry looked up at her. "Yeah, yeah," Ginny said, "bit of an understatement, but-
why- are you worried he'll come after you? Or-"
"Something like that," Harry said quietly, and didn't meet her eyes. "I just- maybe it's
inevitable, him getting his body back, but- I… didn't think it'd be so soon."

"If that's the case, then Dumbledore will take care of it all," Ginny said confidently. "He's the
only wizard Tom ever feared, and you're at Hogwarts, where he can watch you. Dumbledore
wouldn't let anything happen to you, Harry."

"You sound like Hermione and Ron," Harry muttered. Ginny wondered, but didn't ask what
Draco had had to say about it all. Or Sirius for that matter.

"Well," Ginny said wryly. "I can't speak for Ron, but Hermione's usually right." Harry huffed
a laugh and scooped together another snowball. Something cold and soft hit Ginny in the
back of the head, and startled a laugh out of Harry. Turning, Ginny spotted Hermione, mouth
open in horror, hand still half-raised; in all likelihood, she'd been aiming for Harry and
missed entirely.

Ginny turned back to Harry, eyes narrowed, mouth twitching, hand extended. He placed a
snowball in it.

And then, finally, she was alone. Dmitri drew his wand and crept closer, a tricky little spell
muffling any sound he might have made. Her back was still to him, as she lingered in the
doorway, watching her husband's car pull away. She had no idea he was there.

This was going to be easy. Too easy. His Lord and Wormtail and Crouch had all worried that
she might be protected, but that was clearly not the case. And if she wasn't perfect, wasn't the
boy, then so be it; after collapsing a week ago, Dmitri's Lord still hadn't woken, and of late
he'd never rested for more than a day or two without waking. He was – impossibly – getting
weaker. Something had to be done.

Dmitri had managed to get a message to Wormtail, but Wormtail was yet to make an
appearance, or offer anything other than his concern. Dmitri had even risked a message to
Crouch, but Crouch was either disinclined to reply, too closely watched to reply, or hadn't got
the message at all.

It was all in Dmitri's hands. If this went badly – though he couldn't see, at this stage, how that
could possibly happen – then all of the blame would fall on him, and his Lord was not
forgiving. If he succeeded, though, the credit was all his. He would have proven himself,
without a doubt, taking the initiative to save his Lord. No longer would Wormtail or Crouch
or even the Dark Lord be able to look at him and doubt his dedication.

She still wasn't looking at him; through the open door, she was watching a little old lady
dodder around in her front garden, with a pair of particularly fluffy cats on her heels. Her
husband's car was halfway down the street now. In a moment, he'd be well beyond his wife's
sight, and she beyond his.

Dmitri lifted his wand with one hand, and pulled a large, glass flask out of his robes with the
other. He inched forward.
Then, she moved, and he saw her eyes flick to the tiny glass bubble that was the door's
peephole. Her mouth fell open. She'd seen his reflection, he could tell at once.

Dmitri barked a curse, even as she moved again, and what should have opened her neck only
caught her upper arm as she bolted out of the house, shrieking. Dmitri took a step forward,
but she was in the driveway now, almost to the street. Curtains were being pulled aside, and
doors were opening, and the old lady next door had looked up from her post.

Swearing, and feeling rather ill because he'd failed and what would his Lord say… Dmitri
shook his head. His Lord didn't need to know, there was no reason for him to know, or
Wormtail or Crouch either. It was just a shame Dmitri couldn't finish the job and kill the
woman, but there was no time, now, and there were witnesses. Short of taking a leaf out of
Wormtail's book and destroying the entire street, there wasn't much he could do, and that
would attract the British Ministry's attention.

Still swearing, Dmitri turned sharply on the spot.

 Out for blood

"… and that concludes our work on magical creatures, particularly those that are considered
dark and dangerous." Moody clapped his hands together loudly. Lavender twitched, but she
was the only one; a sure sign, in Harry's opinion, that the class was well used to Moody's
tendency to make sudden, loud noises. "This side of Christmas, we'll be moving onto curses –
nothing too exciting or practical, I'm afraid, until we've got the theory down."

There was some grumbling; Seamus, Hydrus and Crabbe most noisily.

"Curses are nasty," Moody continued, glaring around at them all. "Make no mistake about
that… even the useful ones. Reductor curse? Dead useful for demolition, or removing
barriers, or even for making distractions, but that same curse used on another person…" He
trailed off significantly. "Or the Full-Body Bind curse, something most of you have known
since first year…?" There were a few sheepish grins; Harry, suspecting this lecture might
have a darker point, was not one of the amused ones. "Yes, yes," Moody said. "Very funny,
hilarious even. Same as the Leg-Locker, or the Sponge-Knees, except once they weren't just a
joke, because once, no one knew the counter-curses." No one was grinning now.

"Cheery note to finish on," Ron mumbled; Moody had good hearing, but Harry's was better,
and Ron had worked out how to use that to his advantage. The only problem was, Harry
couldn't reply in kind. Still, he let his mouth twitch (on the side Moody couldn't see) and
Ron's mouth twitched in return.

"That's what I thought," Moody grunted. "And that's why the theory comes first. You want to
know about this magic, you've got to prove you're worthy of it… and being worthy brings me
to my final point of the day… I've had students from some of the older year levels express
interest in a duelling club, and, once we're through the Christmas break, I'll run a few
sessions as a trial. Probably on weekends, open to anyone - at the beginning. After that, it'll
be by invitation only; if I don't think you're putting in the effort, or if you're caught abusing
anything I teach you, you won't be invited back."

His magical eye flicked from Hydrus, who was grinning widely, to Draco, who was beside
Hermione and scowling at the desk; while Moody clearly disliked Hydrus more, he hadn't
exactly warmed to Draco either. Moody's eye did another loop of the classroom.

"See you all next time," he said, turning to limp back toward his desk. Chatter started at once,
mostly about the duelling club.

"Do you reckon you'll go?" Ron asked Harry as they filed out behind Neville and Hermione.
"I'm going to."

"Yeah, I'll go," Harry said, quite excited by the prospect. He thought he would have been
anyway, but with things as quiet as they were on Voldemort's end, he thought any extra
lessons he could get would be worth it.

"Hermione?" Ron asked. "Malfoy? What about you, Neville?"

"Perhaps," Hermione said. "I'd have to find the time-"

"You'll have better luck than the rest of us," Draco muttered, and all four of them grinned –
Hermione rather sheepishly, but Harry thought she was genuine in her hesitation; she was still
taking all five subjects, and while there was less sneaking around now that they were in on
the secret, it still meant Hermione lived long days, every day. Neville smiled a bit awkwardly,
clearly having no idea what they were talking about. "And maybe, Weasley. To the first few,
at least, but I doubt I'll be invited back."

"I might," Neville said slowly. "But- well, we all know what I'm like. I don't think I'll be
invited back either."

"You never know," Ron said.

"Guess it depends on how many people show up; maybe none of us'll be asked back," Harry
said.

"Or all of us," Ron countered, with a cheery shrug.

"Sure, Weasley," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "What-"

Harry walked into the back of Neville, who squeaked and would have fallen over, if it weren't
for Ron and Draco reaching out to steady him. It took Harry a moment to realise that the
corridor was unusually quiet, and the reason why became clear when Harry spied Professor
Dumbledore, waiting. He greeted a few students - none of the Slytherin girls seemed to know
how to respond when he greeted them all by name, except for Tracey Davis, who smiled and
greeted him back. Dumbledore spoke briefly with Blaise, and then with Lavender, then
Neville, and then turned and locked eyes with Harry.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, as if they'd happened across each other by chance. "Harry. Mr
Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy."

"Morning, sir," Harry said, for all of them. Draco and Hermione both smiled at the
Headmaster, but continued on to get to Ancient Runes with little more than a curious look at
Harry, but Ron stayed where he was; Harry was still practicing his Patronus whenever he
could, and Ron had taken to accompanying him during their free lessons. Harry'd been every
day since that first lesson with Padfoot and Tonks, but was making slow progress on his own
and could only get a weak shield at best.

"I apologise for imposing like this," Dumbledore continued, "but if you would accompany
me, Harry, something has occurred that I must discuss with you. The others will meet us
there."

"Others?" Harry asked, surprised. "Who?" If it was Padfoot, then this was the first Harry was
hearing about it. "Is Padfoot all right? Has something happened to Moony?"

"Both are fine, as are Mrs Lupin, and Ms McKinnon, but I will not say anything further until
we reach my office. My apologies, Mr Weasley, but I will be depriving you of Harry's
company, for what I am sure would have been a most enjoyable free lesson."
"'S all right," Ron muttered. Harry didn't think he was enthused about the idea of spending an
hour alone, but he was obviously reluctant to say so to Dumbledore. "I'll be in the classroom,
otherwise I'll see you at lunch." Dumbledore's expression twitched; clearly he was curious
about the classroom, but he didn't ask, so Harry didn't say anything.

"See you," Harry said, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore said, as Ron set off down the corridor. "Come along, Harry."

Dumbledore asked once, as they walked, how Harry's studies were going, but for the most
part they walked in silence. Harry used the time to try to work out what Dumbledore might
want to talk to him about, but short of someone being injured - and he'd already said Padfoot,
Moony, Tonks and Marlene were fine - nothing came to mind.

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" Harry asked, when they reached Dumbledore's gargoyle.

"Cauldron cake," Dumbledore said, and then looked down at Harry, genuinely surprised. "No,
Harry. At least, not yet." He gestured for Harry to head upstairs. "Tell me, though, have you
had any dreams of late?"

"None," Harry said, stilling. "Why, what's happened?" Dumbledore waved his hand at the
door to his office and it popped open. Then, he gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
Harry didn't sit. "Sir?"

"Please, take a seat, Harry." Harry did, a little reluctantly. Dumbledore went to stroke Fawkes
and then sat as well. "Severus should be here shortly and he will have a better understanding
of the situation than I do."

"Who else is coming?"

"I'm not entirely certain," Dumbledore said, frowning slightly. "Kingsley was short on details
from the Auror's side of things when I spoke with him. Perhaps it will be him, perhaps
another Auror. What I can tell you, is that your Aunt Petunia was attacked two days ago, at
her Surrey home, and it appears at this stage that a witch or wizard was behind it."

Harry gaped at Dumbledore, a thousand questions coming to mind at once. He asked the
most important ones:

"Is she all right? Who did it? Why?" Harry wasn't even sure how to feel about it all;
obviously, he wasn't happy to hear Aunt Petunia had been attacked, but they'd never been
close; if it had been Tonks - who was some sort of sister-aunt-hybrid to Harry these days -
then he'd have been much more worried and upset.

But why? Harry wondered again.

"I am hoping Severus will be able to enlighten us," Dumbledore said, still frowning. He
checked his pocketwatch. "He should be with us shortly."

As if summoned by Dumbledore's words, the fire flared green, and Snape stepped out,
expression as sour as Harry had ever seen it, and with long, white and ginger cat fur all over
his dark robes. Despite everything, Harry hid a smile.

"Headmaster," he drawled. He didn't greet Harry, but his eyes rested on him for just a
moment, and Harry could tell Snape wasn't surprised to see him.

"Severus." Dumbledore gestured to a second chair, but Snape remained standing. "Very
well," Dumbledore murmured. "Now," he said more loudly. "Harry, as you may have guessed
by now, I have been keeping an eye on your relatives, despite the fact that you no longer live
with them… though not as closely as I did back when you were still in their care."

Harry hadn't guessed anything of the kind; he might have, if he'd spared the Dursleys more
than a passing thought since Aunt Petunia had visited him in the Ministry before Padfoot's
trial… but he hadn't. He shook his head, silent.

"No? Your old neighbour, Arabella Figg, was a member of the Order of the Phoenix,"
Dumbledore said, and then paused. "I take it you are familiar-"

Harry nodded impatiently and then said, "Mrs Figg? She's a witch?"

"A squib," Dumbledore said gently.

"Oh," Harry said.

"She witnessed the attack- or rather, witnessed its immediate aftermath, and got into contact
with me once Petunia was safely in the hands of muggle healers. At first, she thought it was
merely a robbery, and only informed me because Petunia was involved, rather than because
she believed it to be suspicious-"

The Floo glowed again, and a tall figure stepped out; a dark-skinned Auror with an earring,
who Harry vaguely remembered him from the Chamber last year.

"Headmaster," he said in a deep voice. "Professor, Mr Potter. I apologise for the delay."

"No apology necessary, Kingsley," Dumbledore said. "I'm grateful you've come at all."
Shacklebolt nodded, and, like Snape, waved away the offer to sit, in favour of standing.

"How much does the boy know?" Shacklebolt asked, looking between Dumbledore and
Snape.

"That Petunia was attacked, and that Arabella reported it to me, despite not initially believing
it to be suspicious," Dumbledore said.

Shacklebolt nodded again, and this time, looked to Harry. "Your aunt's doing well. Muggle
doctors stitched her up rather unsuccessfully, but she's since been moved to St Mungo's and
they've had more luck treating her - cursed injury and all." Shacklebolt's eyes flicked to
Harry's scar for the shortest moment.

"So it was an attack?" Harry asked. "If she's got a cursed-"

"It was certainly an attack," Shacklebolt said gravely. "Muggle police reported no sign of
forced entry - or any point of entry, for that matter - and, when Mr Dursley returned, he was
taken through the house and told the police nothing had been taken. An Auror team was able
to confirm there was magic used in the house at the approximate time she was attacked; a
cutting curse for certain, some sort of stealth charm, and apparition, but we've had no success
tracing it." Shacklebolt looked to Snape. "Did you have any luck with her this afternoon?"

"Some," Severus said, inclining his head. He frowned, apparently concentrating, and then
traced his wand through the air. "This is what Petunia saw of her attacker." The face of a
young man with dark hair, bright blue eyes and a short, pointed beard shimmered into being.
"He is unfamiliar to me."

Harry was vaguely aware of Dumbledore and Shacklebolt shaking their heads as well, but
mostly Harry just stared at the face with mingled surprise and concern.

"That's Polkov," he said. "He-" Harry glanced at Shacklebolt, uncertain, and then at
Dumbledore. Dumbledore nodded encouragingly. "He's one of Voldemort's."

Shacklebolt didn't flinch, and Harry's opinion of the man - which had been positive but fairly
indifferent so far - climbed considerably. Dumbledore and Snape were having some sort of
silent conversation.

"I see," Shacklebolt said. "Do you have any idea, then, why your aunt was targeted?"

Harry shrugged rather helplessly; everyone knew he didn't live with the Dursleys anymore -
there had been a load of articles about it around the time of Padfoot's trial - so the idea of
using Aunt Petunia to get to him didn't make sense… unless she was the one that Polkov and
Voldemort had always talked about, the one that was as good as him…? It made sense, sort
of, since they were related.

"Blood," Harry said. "Maybe. I don't really know why."

"Blood?" Shacklebolt asked, forehead creased. He pulled a scrap of parchment and a slightly
battered quill out of his Auror's robes. "Talk me through it," he said after a moment.

"I-" Harry paused, looking for the right words. "Well, as far as I know, Aunt Petunia hasn't
had anything to do with me or with magic since Pa- Sirius' trial, so-"

"You haven't kept in touch?" Shacklebolt interrupted. Harry shook his head and Shacklebolt
jotted something down. "Sorry, continue."

"Er, right," Harry said. "Well, I was just going to say that I'm really the only thing that
connects her to our world, and we haven't kept in touch, so she hasn't got any information."

"No current information," Shacklebolt murmured, making another note.

"So the only thing that she has, that someone couldn't get from, say, Sirius or Remus, is that
she and I are related."

"Mm," Shacklebolt said, glancing to Dumbledore.

"I had reached the same conclusion, Kingsley," Dumbledore said. "Polkov - and I do believe
Harry has correctly identified him - did not speak with her, nor did he take anything from the
house. If he was close enough to attack her, he'd have been close enough to kill her, had he so
desired."

A chill went through Harry, and in his corner, Snape looked particularly grim.

"What matters now, is whether he was successful. I cannot imagine what Lord Voldemort and
his followers want Petunia Dursley's blood for, but if he has acquired it, then the danger
ought to have passed for her and her family. If not…"

"Indeed." Shacklebolt looked thoughtful. "But how can we possibly know? And even if that
is the case, I'm not certain how much the Auror office can do about it. I trust the boy's word,
but he's the only one with a name for our perpetrator, and the only one who knows him to
have a connection to You Know Who... but with no explanation as to how he knows that."
Shacklebolt arched an eyebrow at Harry, who glanced at Dumbledore. Dumbledore shook his
head.

Shacklebolt noticed the gesture and sighed quietly, giving Dumbledore a curious look.

"How Harry is familiar with Polkov has nothing to do with your investigation," Dumbledore
said. "Should the situation develop, then perhaps we shall reconsider, but for now, he has
given you enough to work with."

Harry expected Shacklebolt to push the point more, but he merely bowed his head.

"I'll defer to your judgement, then, Headmaster," he said calmly. "At least for the time being.
I'll be in touch again, once I've spoken with Mrs Dursley and looked into Mr Polkov."

"Excellent, thank you, Kingsley," Dumbledore said, as Kingsley clambered into the Floo,
nodded a goodbye to Harry and Snape, and was swallowed by green flames.

Harry was - there was no other word for it, really - snarling. Seamus and Dean had long ago
buried their heads under their pillows, and Neville had slept through the whole thing. That
left Ron and Malfoy awake, making vague, worries gestures at each other across the dark
dormitory. Harry flailed in the bed between theirs for the first time in just over two weeks.

Ron and Malfoy had already decided to wake him - at least, Ron had, and was pretty sure
Malfoy's gesturing meant he agreed - since Harry hadn't woken himself like he usually did.

Malfoy was the first to move, rolling to the edge of his bed closest to Harry's. A pale foot
emerged from the covers, and jabbed Harry in the side.

Harry stilled for just a moment, and then let out a hiss.

"Wake up, Potter," Draco hissed back, kicking him again. Seamus sighed from behind his bed
curtains.
Ron rolled his eyes, smothering a yawn as he sat up, slid out of bed, and went to sit beside
Harry.

"Hey, mate," he whispered, shaking Harry's shoulder. "Harry!"

Harry gasped and his eyes flew open. He sat up so quickly he nearly collided with Ron,
who'd thrown himself backward to avoid it. Panting, Harry looked around, to Ron, who was
hovering over him, and to Malfoy, who was watching them both from his bed.

"All right, Potter?" Malfoy whispered.

"Fine," Harry said, sounding distracted. One hand was resting on his scar, now.

They sat in silence for a few long seconds - Ron concerned, Malfoy probably the same, and
Harry trying to make sense of his dream - until Harry shook his head and launched himself at
his trunk at the end of his bed, fumbling for his mirror.

Then, he was out of bed, creeping across the dormitory to the door.

"Reckon he's all right?" Ron asked.

"Is he ever?" Malfoy asked, and Ron could imagine his smile. Ron glanced at his dressing
gown and at the door to the common room, thinking.

"Leave him, Weasley," Draco advised. "Black can handle him, I'm sure, at least until we get
up in-" He checked his watch and mumbled something, sounding annoyed. Ron definitely
heard the word 'Potter'. "-forty minutes."

Ron didn't get back to sleep, but left Harry to it, and when he and Malfoy shuffled downstairs
they found him sitting by the fire, his mirror in his lap, expression- interesting.

Ginny was sitting on a couch nearby, scribbling on a bit of parchment. There were loads of
other people milling about the common room, but she looked too settled to have just got
there.

"Up early?" Ron asked. She shrugged without looking up, and Ron opened his mouth to ask
her more about it, and then changed his mind.

"You all right, mate?" he asked Harry, while Malfoy peered over Ginny's shoulder at
whatever she was writing. Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn't shoo him away, like she
would have if Ron had tried it.

"Yeah, I'm- Sort of." Harry glanced at a group of fourth year boys that were noisily crossing
the common room, and lowered his voice. "He's back. Not back back," Harry amended
quickly, seeing Ron's face, and how still and tense Malfoy had gone. "Just- in my dreams
again, properly. Like before."

Hermione descended the girl's stairs and came over, with a bright smile that faltered when
she joined them. She looked at Harry, frowning, and then to Ron and Malfoy.
"Good morning," she said uncertainly, and then gave Ron a pointed, curious look.

"I had a dream," Harry said, before she could say anything else. Hermione took a deep
breath. "Voldemort's back or awake or whatever." He looked almost pleased about that. Ron
reckoned he was just happy to know what was going on again.

"Did they say anything about the attack on your aunt?" Hermione asked. It wasn't what Ron
had expected her to say, and obviously Harry hadn't either, because he gaped at her before
answering. Hermione smiled slightly, when she didn't think anyone was watching.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah, Polkov messed everything up, Voldemort was so angry-"

"That explains the noises," Malfoy muttered. Ron grinned at him, and then frowned.

"So they might go after her again?"

"I don't know. Voldemort was pretty mad, but, yeah, I guess they might. The Aurors'll
probably set up a guard or something."

Ron exchanged a glance with Hermione. He had known, of course, thanks to newspapers that
went around during Sirius' trial that Harry had muggle relatives, and Malfoy always joked
about Harry having been raised by muggles, but Harry had never spoken of them beyond
that, until a few days ago. Hermione had asked if Harry was going to visit his aunt in St
Mungo's, and there'd been something... odd in his tone when he said probably not, and none
of them had asked much since.

Harry rubbed his scar, frowning slightly.

"I'm sure they'll be all right, Harry," Hermione said bracingly, and Harry made an odd face.
"Now, breakfast?"
 The concept of family

"Ah, Sirius, thank you for coming."

"No worries," Sirius said, settling himself in the seat opposite Dumbledore's. "What's this
about?" He thought Harry was all right - they'd spoken just that morning after his dream - and
wasn't sure what else the Headmaster could want.

"I visited Petunia this afternoon," Dumbledore said.

"Right." Sirius didn't want Petunia dead, or her blood used for whatever awful purpose
Polkov had had in mind, but beyond that, he didn't much care what happened to her. He
hadn't spared her much thought the past few years, mostly because his feelings about the
woman were so complicated, and contradictory.

On the one hand, Sirius would never, for as long as he lived, forget that little bed in that tiny
cupboard under the stairs of Petunia Dursley's home, never not be a bit bothered by the fact
that, the Dursleys had let Harry go with a dirty, starving, supposedly murderous man, with
their only, slightest concern being that Dumbledore's protection wouldn't work anymore.

Yet, Petunia'd been an ally of sorts against Dumbledore and the Ministry, had helped - as he'd
begged her to in the hasty letter he sent her before his arrest… though, admittedly not in the
way he'd intended. In the end, her way had been better, and she'd made arrangements to
ensure he got custody of Harry, all while he sat useless in a holding cell.

"The boy doesn't want to live with us, and frankly, we don't want him anymore than we did
when you first took him," she'd said, when she visited him in the holding cells with Harry's
custody forms. Her scent had been a different story; resentment, fear, shame, all held at bay
by an odd, detached sort of peace. It was the shame that had made Sirius think this might be
her way of apologising, of atoning for Harry's early childhood, and that had prompted him to
thank her, but she'd only told him it wasn't for him, and then called for the Aurors to escort
her out.

But, regardless of whether she'd done it for herself, or for Harry, or for Lily, or simply
because it had been the right thing to do, she had done it, and while it had resulted in Harry
being in the cells when the Dementors attacked, it had allowed the Aurors and other Ministry
staff to watch him with Harry, and to see him as something more than a mass-murderer.
Scrimgeour, certainly, had been convinced by the Dementor attack, and had spoken on Sirius'
behalf during his trial, as a result.

"I'm sure Kingsley has told you they're dropping the case," Dumbledore said, interrupting
Sirius' reverie. "As of tomorrow, Petunia's guards will leave."

"But Harry said they didn't get what they wanted from her, that Polkov failed," Sirius said,
frowning. "There's every chance she'll be targeted again, or Harry's cousin-"
"Harry thought it unlikely," Dumbledore said. "We spoke this morning," he said, smiling at
Sirius. "Lord Voldemort's fury was something to behold, or so he said. He believes Polkov
appropriately cowed."

"Is that a risk you're willing to take, though?" Sirius asked.

"No," Dumbledore said. Silence hung in the office. Dumbledore twiddled his thumbs.
"Petunia is frightened enough to have requested help… or demanded, rather." He smiled
slightly. Sirius could well imagine it. "What she requested was that I re-establish the
protective enchantments put in place when Harry first lived with them. They endured until
Harry left with you… when he no longer considered Petunia's home his home."

"Harry's not likely to consider that place home any more now than he did then," Sirius said,
scowling.

"Precisely. That particular enchantment will not work without that, and I have explained as
much to Petunia. Since then, I have been looking into other options. I did toy with the
Fidelius Charm-"

"That'd be a logistical nightmare," Sirius said.

"I agree." Dumbledore sighed. "Currently, I am exploring another blood-based enchantment,

not dissimilar in function to the original one. And now, we have come to the reason I asked
you here tonight. I would like you to speak with Harry, to see if he would be willing to help."

"Ah." Sirius dreaded it already; not the asking Harry if he would help part, but the discussion
that would have to come before, about Petunia. Harry had changed a lot, grown a lot, since
that night in February when he'd left Privet Drive, but one thing that had not changed was
how tight-lipped he was about his muggle relatives, even to Sirius. "Why me? You're
organising this, so-"

"I do not want Harry to feel pressured into saying yes, as he would if I was the one to ask,"
Dumbledore said, and then sighed. "You've questioned a number of times, what I was
thinking placing Harry with Petunia and her family- loudly, if I recall correctly." His beard
twitched, but his eyes were sad. "I do not know the specifics of what transpired in the years
that Harry lived there; Petunia requested we keep away, and other than Arabella, we did.

"I asked Petunia, when she took the boy in, to raise him as her own, as one of the family, but
it was clear from Harry's reaction when I first re-met him as a boy, that this was not the case,
and made me wonder… Since then, you have said outrightly that he was miserable there, but
Harry and I have had no need to discuss it much - even during your trial - until this past
week."

"He discussed them with you?" Sirius asked, eyebrows shooting up.

"No," Dumbledore said, frowning in a way that Sirius took to mean Harry's silence was the
problem. "Not beyond expressing some worry for his aunt, and to ask whether anyone's
thought to check on his cousin."
"Have they?" Sirius asked.

"I have already assigned someone the task of watching over Dudley Dursley, and he'd die
before he allowed any of Voldemort's supporters to touch the boy." Sirius arched an eyebrow.
"His Vow would ensure it, in fact," Dumbledore murmured. Sirius' mouth fell open. "It is no
easy task to find someone that is comfortable in in the muggle world, can blend easily into
the school environment, and who is a competent protector besides. He will keep an eye on
things until the Christmas holidays, and then we shall reassess."

"Right," Sirius said faintly.

There were a few seconds of silence as Sirius seriously questioned Dumbledore's sanity;
letting Quirrell - a man who'd killed a child and pretended to be that child so that he could get
his hands on something that would resurrect Voldemort, all while harbouring Voldemort
himself - watch over a boy that might be wanted by Voldemort for reasons they didn't yet
know, was madness, regardless of Vows and Quirrell's lack of recent evil behaviour.

"Right," he said again. He shook his head to clear it. "Right. So, this- blood protection
thing…?"

"Ah, yes, we have been sidetracked." Dumbledore chuckled, but sobered quickly. "The
enchantment, like the previous one, requires blood - Harry's, if he chooses to take part - as
well as Petunia's and Dudley's. Vernon is unrelated and as such, will not be protected, but is
also in the least danger. For the enchantment to work at all, however, Petunia and Dudley
must consider Harry family."

"But you said before it was all about Harry thinking of it as home, so surely-"

"Without delving too deeply into the intricacies of blood magic, Harry was entitled to Lily's
protection, and as such, only needed somewhat regular contact with a blood relative to ensure
he received it. Petunia and her son were not who Lily was trying to protect, but as they share
her blood - and therefore Harry's blood - it is straightforward enough to trick the magic into
covering them as well.

"Lily's sacrifice was made for love of her son, and love will extend its protection to
encompass Petunia and Dudley as completely as it does Harry." Sirius thought that was a big
ask and it must have shown on his face. "Affection or respect will provide them
with some protection, however," Dumbledore continued, frowning slightly, " and I think that
may be achievable."

"Then why even bother? Surely there's something that is achievable-"

"Surprisingly few," Dumbledore said, "once we eliminate anything that would risk the Statute
of Secrecy or anything that would cause significant disruption to Petunia and Vernon's life as
it it - that one is their request."

"Why can't you just give Petunia and Dudley Harry's blood, and let them have the protection
directly?" Sirius asked eventually. "Wouldn't that work?"
"It would, for a time, until their bodies filtered Harry's blood out. There are ways around that,
of course, but the spells required are dark, Sirius."

"Right," Sirius said, "so Harry'd have to… what bleed a bit?"

"Bleed, yes, and then stay in close proximity to the other two while the enchantment set. Last
time, that wasn't an issue, since Harry was living with them. This time…"

"He's not," Sirius supplied. "So, what, he'd have to visit?" Dumbledore inclined his head.
"For- a few hours, you said?"

"I would suggest a few days," Dumbledore said. "If he is willing to go ahead with this at all,
he ought to do so properly, and that means giving Petunia and Dudley the chance to grow
fond of him."

"They had seven years," Sirius muttered. Dumbledore gave him a patient look, but Sirius
noticed he did not disagree. "What if Harry says no?" He didn't think it was likely, but it
certainly wasn't impossible.

"If Harry does not wish to get involved, I will still help them myself - I believe I owe Petunia
that much - and do have a potential contingency option, but it will be markedly less effective.
As for the likelihood… I half expect him to," Dumbledore attendance, "given he declined my
offer to visit her in St Mungo's. And that," he said, a little sadly, "is why I believe it so
important that he does get to choose."

Sirius and Dumbledore discussed logistics after that - for about an hour, if Sirius' Sidekick
was anything to go by - and by the end of it, Sirius had a headache and was dreading talking
to Harry, but he and Dumbledore did have a fairly clear idea of how to go about it all if Harry
said yes.

Dumbledore wasn't sure what lesson Harry would be in, but he'd told Sirius that McGonagall
ought to be in her office and that she'd have a copy of Harry's timetable, and sent him on his
way.

Sirius headed downstairs, and considered trying to get Harry through the mirror, but didn't
want to risk it in case he was in Potions. He and Snape had come a long way in recent years,
but not that far.

Sirius knocked on McGonagall's office door, and the voices inside stopped.

"Enter," McGonagall called. Sirius pushed open the door, and stopped; McGonagall, he'd
expected, given it was her office, but Molly Weasley and the other woman - dark skinned,
with frizzy hair, and entirely unfamiliar to him - were a surprise. They were sat around
McGonagall's desk, each holding a teacup.

"A teaparty?" Sirius asked, grinning. "Why wasn't I invited?"

McGonagall's lips thinned in exasperation, but Molly chuckled.

"You've either got to be a Professor, Sirius," she said, "or have children with at least a
hundred detentions behind them." She and the other woman exchanged fond, but frustrated
looks, and Sirius gathered they were here to discuss whatever trouble their kids had caused,
and with detention statistics like that, the twins had to be involved.

"I'll tell Harry to up his game, then," Sirius said.

"Absolutely not," McGonagall said, looking vaguely horrified by the thought. "That boy
causes enough real trouble, without getting involved in mischief to boot!"

"Can't argue with that," Sirius said, grimacing.

"I should think not," McGonagall said. "Now, what did you need, Black? As you can see, Mrs
Weasley, Mrs Jordan and I are in the middle of a meeting."

"Yeah, sorry," Sirius said. "Just want to know where Harry is, so I can catch him at the end of
the lesson…"

McGonagall flicked her wand at her bookcase, and a heavy folder came floating over. She
leafed through it - Sirius recognised Hermione's name, and wondered what in Merlin's name
was going on with her timetable, before decided it must have been printed wrong - and then
Draco's, before McGonagall got to Harry's.

"Divination," she said briskly. "North tower." She shut the folder and sent it back over to the
bookshelf. "Anything else?"

"That's it," Sirius said. "Thanks. See you later, Molly." He waved at the third woman, and
then ducked out.

It had been years since he'd been to the North Tower; he'd always thought Divination was a
waste of time, and had only ever gone there in his own school days for the purpose of filling
out the map. He was just trying to work out which way to try, when he conveniently locked
eyes with Hermione, coming out of what must have been an elective, since there was students
from all four houses surrounding her. He waved her over, and she slipped away from the
Indian girl she was with, and weaved through the students to join him.

"Hello," she said, clearly confused, but smiling. Then she frowned. "Is Harry-?"

"Harry's fine, I'm just here to talk to him about his aunt," he said, and Hermione nodded
seriously.

"That's good," she said. She hesitated for a moment, and then said, "He's barely said anything
to us about it all, and we're a bit worried-"

"Yeah, it's- complicated," Sirius said, running a hand through his hair. "You'll be joining up
with the others, right? Last lesson, and all, so reckon you can help me find the North Tower?
I've got no idea-"

Hermione's scent turned panicky.

"I- can't," she said. "I've got something on, I'm running late already, actually, sorry." She
wasn't lying, but her scent was oddly guilty. "But if you go up those stairs…"

She rattled off a list of directions, and then bid him a hasty goodbye and vanished around a
corner. Sirius watched her go, a bit concerned, and decided he'd talk to Harry about that as
well.

Hermione's directions led him true, and he thought he was about halfway to the North Tower,
when he found Harry, walking with Harry, Ron, Draco… and Hermione. As if that wasn't
strange enough, none of them looked even slightly surprised to see him.

What in Merlin's name…?

"How did you beat me here?" Sirius asked Hermione, but she just smiled nervously and
headed away with Ron and Draco; Harry had waved them on, and came to join Sirius.

"So, Petunia?" Harry asked, grinning like he was in on the best prank in the world. Sirius
opened his mouth and closed it again, silently taking back what he'd said about Harry needing
to up his game in McGonagall's office.

"If I ask how you know that, will you tell me?"

"Nope," Harry said, with a snigger. Beneath the grin, though, anxiety lingered. Sirius could
smell it. "So?"

"Not here," Sirius said, and Harry looked relieved; Sirius wasn't sure if it was relief at finding
somewhere more private to talk, though, or because the conversation was postponed, if only
for a bit. "How were lessons?"

"Neville melted a cauldron this morning in Potions," Harry said, grimacing. "Defence was all
theory about curses, and then Ron and I did our Divination homework in History of Magic."
He grinned, sheepish, but Sirius only laughed. "Divination's still tea leaves, and I'm doomed
and whatnot." He rolled his eyes.

They headed down to the grounds, without speaking much. Sirius was mulling over how best
to approach this whole situation, and Harry didn't seem to mind the silence.

"Lake?" Sirius asked.

"Hmm?" Harry was watching the Ravenclaw team interestedly, as they headed for the pitch.
"Lake? Sure." They set off that way. "Ravenclaw play Hufflepuff tomorrow."

"Are you going to watch?"

"Yeah," Harry said, grinning. "Wood wants me to watch the Ravenclaw Seeker's first game,
try to work out what sort of player she is."

"Wood sounds as mad as James was," Sirius muttered. "Hopefully it's a short game, then, so
you don't get too bored." Harry shrugged, not seeming concerned in the least and Sirius
decided not to question it.
It wasn't snowing, but the ground was frosty, so Sirius cleared a patch with his wand, and
they sat, looking out over the lake. Harry shivered once, and Sirius cast a warming charm
over the both of them. Harry gave him an odd look and a moment later, shivered again,
seemingly without realising it.

It took Sirius just a moment to work out the problem; he, of course, had had his mental
Patronus working since he arrived on the grounds, and after all the patrols in Azkaban, he
barely had to think about keeping it fueled with happy memories, barely noticed that it was
there, and that the Dementors' effects weren't. Sirius flicked his wand, Marlene's face in his
mind, and a silvery Padfoot burst out. Something in Harry's expression eased as he watched
the dog bounce around them.

"So?" Harry asked.

"Petunia's being released tomorrow," Sirius said, tucking his wand away. "And her guards
have been reassigned."

"So she won't be protected?"

"Not by the Aurors," Sirius said, shaking his head. "Dumbledore's going to do what he can,
and I-" He grimaced. "I'm going to speak with Moony, see if we can't let the Dursleys stay in
his cottage until Christmas."

"Right," Harry said. "And Dudley? Dumbledore said he'd do something, but Dudley would
have to stay at his school-"

"Quirrell's protecting him," Sirius said. Harry, surprisingly, just nodded and accepted that
without question.

"And after Christmas?" He fiddled with the strap of his school bag.

"That depends," Sirius said.

"On?"

"On whether you want to get involved." Harry said nothing, but his eyes were big and wary
behind his glasses. "Dumbledore's looking at an enchantment similar to the one that was up at
Privet Drive before I took you." Harry hugged himself, eyes on the lake. "It- well, it needs
blood is one part of it." Harry gave him a sharp look, and then nodded slowly, scent still
wary. "The other part is that Petunia and Dudley have to consider you family."

Harry snorted.

"If you agreed to the blood ward," Sirius said carefully, "you'd have to spend some time with
them, at Privet Drive. If you did, Dumbledore thinks - and I hate to say I agree, but I do - that
I shouldn't go with you. I'd visit, obviously, but if I was there to stay, I'd probably just make
things harder."

Harry was silent for a long time, and Sirius didn't dare interrupt.
"I sent a card," he said finally, frowning.

"A- what?" Sirius turned to look at Harry, who was staring at his shoes.

"To Petunia," Harry said. "It was- it was a pretty awful card, really, it just said 'Get well soon,
from Harry' on a bit of parchment…" He trailed off, looking lost.

"I would have taken you to visit if you'd asked," Sirius said carefully.

"Dumbledore offered," Harry said, shaking his head. "And Auror Shacklebolt."

"Didn't want to?"

"I-er- I think the card said everything I needed to," Harry said. "And she wouldn't have
wanted to see me. If she did, someone would have said so." He grinned weakly, and Sirius
had no clue what to say to that. Harry had dug a small hole in the ground with the tip of his
shoe. "So when's- when do I have to go to Privet Drive? And for how long?"

"You don't have to, kiddo," Sirius said. "That's the point of this conversation; letting it be up
to you."

"But I do have to," Harry said, swallowing, his eyes on the Patronus. "I don't want her to get
hurt again, and- even if I didn't care about that, they- I don't think Voldemort will let Polkov
try again, but they wanted her, and that's a good reason to keep her away from them." Then in
a quieter voice, he added, "And she helped, before your trial."

"She did," Sirius sighed. Harry looked up at him, grim, but expectant. "Christmas - not the
actual day, necessarily, but sometime over the holidays - and I think Dumbledore's suggestion
is for three days."

Harry nodded - mostly to himself, Sirius thought - jaw set in a way that was utterly James.
That didn't last long, though; it was quickly replaced by an uncertain look, and Harry's eyes
flicked over to Sirius.

"You would visit, right?"

"Absolutely," Sirius said, putting an arm around his godson. Harry's answering smile was
good enough to be his next Patronus memory. "Every day, if you want me to. And Moony
and Tonks'll be here this Christmas, so they can tag along if I can prise them away from
Andy."

Harry's eyes were distant and amused; Sirius wondered if they were both thinking the same
thing; how the neat Dursleys would handle clumsy, messy, occasionally vulgar Dora, or how
they would feel about having a werewolf come to visit… they'd only know he was a
werewolf if someone told them, of course, so Sirius absolutely would, and just this once,
Sirius didn't think Remus would mind at all. He'd probably even enjoy it.

"And-" Sirius frowned at two figures running toward them from the castle, waving madly. "Is
that Draco and Ron?"
Harry was on his feet at once, and Sirius drew his wand. Ron reached them first, sweaty and
out of breath, and Draco slightly after, red-faced and dishevelled.

"Pettigrew," Ron panted, thrusting the map at Harry, who caught it and unfolded it. Sirius
looked over his shoulder. Draco was doubled over, gasping. "Common room." Ron clutched
his side. Sirius scanned the map. It didn't help that almost all of Gryffindor were in the
common room before dinner.

"There," Harry said, after a few tense seconds, tapping the seventh floor corridor. Sirius
stared at the name, almost disbelieving. Then he bowed into Padfoot and took off at a sprint.

Finally, Peter was here, and unless he had a broom, he was more or less trapped on the
seventh floor, particularly since they had the map to track him with.

Behind him, the boys had started running - Draco reluctantly, if his grumbling and gasping
was anything to go by -and Padfoot could hear snippets of puffed conversation. He heard
something about running all the way from the library, and Hermione meeting them at the
common room with whichever teachers she could find.

"Wait!" Harry called out suddenly. Padfoot growled - the last thing he wanted to do was wait
when Peter was here - but skidded to a halt. Padfoot was Sirius again in an instant, and took
the map from Harry. "He was right there," Harry said, pointing to a blank spot in the seventh
floor corridor, "and then the map sort of- his dot twitched back and forward, and..."

Peter was gone.

 Severus surprised

Padfoot was beside himself, both because Wormtail had been so close and still escaped, but
also because of the map's apparent failure. He and Moony had spent the afternoon before
November's full moon down by the lake with the map, but not had any more success with it
than Harry had had in his afternoon with Tonks and the boggart-Dementor.

"It's old," Tonks said comfortingly, while Harry watched on, chocolate frog in hand. She was
holding the map, turning it over in her hands. "Maybe it's just playing up a bit?"

Mr Prongs would like to point out that the map is younger than Mrs Lupin, Harry read over
her shoulder, and smiled.

Mr Padfoot thinks Mrs Lupin ought to see a Healer in case she's been 'playing up' due to her
age.

Mr Moony would like Mr Prongs and Mr Padfoot to lay off Mrs Lupin, and assures her the
map is in perfectly good working order.

Mr Wormtail seconds Mr Moony's assurance, and- Padfoot took the map from her and folded
it up.

"See?" he asked. "Everything else about it seems to be working perfectly."

"Why don't you ask them why it's not working, then?" Tonks asked, smelling amused.

"I- er- don't think that would work very well," Moony said. "They weren't helpful when we
asked, and after calling them 'old' you're likely to be insulted."

"You call yourself old all the time," Tonks said, nudging Moony with her elbow."

"I am now," he said ruefully. "But we weren't then." He nodded at the map in Padfoot's hands.
"And I agree with them- us? There's something more to this, than a simple malfunction.
There must be."

Tonks caught Harry's eye and threw her hands up in the air. He wasn't sure who to agree with;
on the one hand, the map had never let him down before now, but on the other, he was the
one that had seen Wormtail's dot wriggle around before vanishing.

But, for all of Padfoot and Moony's insistence, the rest of November blurred past, and most
of December, and they were still yet to work out where Wormtail had vanished to and how,
and - though they'd been keeping an eye on the map whenever possible - he'd yet to reappear.

"Nothing," Hermione whispered, sitting down beside Draco in Divination. She straightened
the collar of her shirt, pushing the timeturner's chain further out of sight, then passed Harry
the map. They'd taken to letting Hermione keep ahold of it - that way, she could watch it in
her lessons, and they could all watch it when she went back in time to join them in theirs.
Harry tucked the map under his copy of Unfogging the Future and looked up at the sound of
beads and rustling shawls.

"I see suffering in your future, Miss Granger," Ron said, leaning over to whisper to
Hermione, in a bad imitation of Trelawney's airy voice. "Approximately an hour of it, starting
now." Hermione laughed, not even bothering to hide it, and Trelawney - just beginning a
spiel on the type of tea leaves they'd be using this lesson - shot her a cross look.

Harry sneaked looks at the map while Trelawney talked, and while Ron collected their tea
set, but found nothing Wormtail related. Dumbledore was pacing in his office, though not for
long; someone called Damaris Sprottle was on his staircase. Fred, George and Lee were in a
fifth floor bathroom with Peeves and Hermione's dot was just a few rooms down from them,
in her Muggle Studies class, despite the fact that she was scowling into her teacup in this very
room.

Ron passed Harry a steaming cup, and they drank in silence. Harry was watching the map
again; he'd found Cho's dot in the greenhouses. He smiled. She'd flown brilliantly in
November's match against Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw's big win meant Gryffindor still had a
chance for the Quidditch Cup.

Ron said something, and Harry glanced up, covering the map again.

"What?"

"I asked if you were ready?" Ron said, gesturing at Harry's cup. Harry drank the last little bit
and swapped his cup for Ron's.

"I don't think it's a unicorn or a broomstick," Hermione hissed at Draco. He was the only one
able to sit next to Hermione in Divination; Harry tended to draw Trelawney's attention, which
never ended well when Hermione was nearby, and Ron liked to tease her by pretending to
take it all seriously. "I think it's a lump of tea leaves-"

Sniggering at Draco's half-amused, half-exasperated expression, Harry and Ron focused on

their own cups.

"You can go first," Ron said. "My cup always seems to have less in it than yours."

"All right," Harry said. "Er, well-" He squinted at the soggy bottom of Ron's cup. "You've got
a few lines by the edge here, so- er-" He paged through his textbook. "-in two months you'll
have some sort of journey… that can't be right, we'll be at school, then." He checked his book
again and shrugged.

"Ah, but who says it's travel," Ron said in a mystical whisper. "It could be a spiritual
journey."

"Right," Harry said, snorting. "Tell me how that goes, then, won't you?" Ron snorted too.
"Then… I think that's a pear- maybe your journey's going to be to the kitchens, then?"

"Probably," Ron said, grinning. "Malfoy'll want to go see his mad elf again at some point."
"I don't know what that is," Harry admitted, pointing to a blob of leaves. "But we'll call that
bit next to it a leaf, so… growth?"

"I'll need a new pair of robes, if that's the case," Ron said, picking at his current robes; they
were from Bill - the only one still taller than him - but from the photo Harry had seen of them
all in Egypt, Ron was well on the way to overtaking him as well. "Mum won't be happy."

"Maybe you shouldn't make that trip to the kitchens then," Harry said, chuckling, and Ron
laughed. "Right, your turn."

"All right…" Ron peered into the cup. "This month… that's lose, but with a line through it,
so… unlose…?"

"Win?" Harry suggested.

"Yeah, sounds right… shame there's no Quidditch until February," Ron said. "Dunno, maybe
you should enter a competition or something… but-" He tilted the cup and held it close to his
face. Trelawney chose then to swoop down on them.

"How are we going over here?" she asked, extending her hand for the cup. Ron passed it
over.

"Are you missing something, my boy?" she asked.

"Er, no," Harry said.

"Because you'll find it," she announced, apparently ignoring him.

"Unlose," Ron was muttering under his breath, shaking his head. "Of course it's find."

"But be warned, it brings with it great danger-"

"Of course it does," Harry sighed. Draco sniggered, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh? But what's this? You- this cup is not all bad, it seems." Trelawney smiled a little
uncertainly at Harry, who thought she smelled disappointed. "A heart," she said loudly.
"Romance!" Harry sank in his chair, mortified, as Ron guffawed. Lavender and Parvati
gasped.

"Hogsmeade's this weekend, Harry," Parvati said excitedly. "Can you tell who it is,
Professor?"

"A girl," Trelawney said. "She goes here, to this school, but her face is unknown to me."
Harry was grateful for that, but his face still felt like it was on fire. Of his friends, only
Hermione looked sympathetic.

"I reckon I know her face," Ron muttered, chortling from beside Harry. Harry elbowed him in
the side, and wasn't even sorry. Chatter raced around the classroom, then - some speculating
about who Harry's date would be, others laughing at Harry's expense, and some (namely
Neville, Seamus and Dean) looked uncomfortable on Harry's behalf.
"You'd have to be blind not to," Draco said in a low voice, and then even more quietly,
"Makes you wonder how she can miss it when she supposedly has three eyes…" Hermione
laughed at that.

"Beware, though!" Harry was not the only one that jumped; the class might have expected
noisy outbursts from Moody, but not from Trelawney. "It will not be a happy romance."

While that was the sort of comment Harry expected from Trelawney, it did put a damper on
his plans to ask Cho if she wanted to spend time together on the upcoming Hogsmeade
weekend.

"And since when have you ever believed any of Trelawney's predictions?" Hermione asked
rather crossly, on the way to Transfiguration. "Ask her, Harry. And if it's an unhappy
romance-" Her voice was a bad imitation of her least favourite Professor's. "-then we'll cross
that bridge when we get to it."

"What if she says no?" Harry asked, suddenly nervous.

"She won't," Hermione said confidently. "I know for a fact that she's hoping you'll ask her
this weekend."

"How?" Draco asked curiously, though without looking up from the map; it was his turn to
watch it.

"I hear things," Hermione said shortly.

"Why don't you ask her, then, if you're so keen on the idea?" Harry grumbled, making Ron
snigger. Hermione gave him a dirty look, lips thin enough to make McGonagall proud. Then
she turned back to Harry, and there was hurt in her scent.

"I don't care if you go to Hogsmeade with Cho or not," Hermione snapped. "The only reason
I've been trying to help is because she obviously fancies you, and you seem to fancy her back
but don't plan to act on it beyond staring at her all the time!"

"That's- I don't stare!" Harry protested. Draco snorted.

"You sort of do," Ron said apologetically.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said, flapping a hand. "She stares back most of the time
anyway. But wouldn't-"

"She does?" Harry asked, buoyed by that.

Hermione sighed.

Legillimens, Severus thought, focusing on Draco's platinum head, currently bent over the
cauldron he was sharing with Potter.
Draco's shoulders stiffened, but he did not stop stirring, nor was Severus able to slip past his
mental defences… yet. Severus pressed a bit harder.

Draco had come a long way since the start of term. He'd progressed from not even realising
he was being 'attacked', to recognising the feel of the intrusion - with Severus being more and
more subtle each time - to learning to block those intrusions. Now, Severus was not just
going to probe at weak spots in his defences, he was going to actually read his mind.

It was a lot easier with eye contact, but Severus was talented enough to not have to worry
about that. And, while he wanted Draco to be successful in blocking him out, he was also
curious about Draco's plans for Lucius over Christmas.

Draco shoved the stirring rod into Potter's hands and shut his eyes, face scrunching up. Potter
put a hand in his arm, looking worried.

Severus pushed harder again and Draco's defences crumbled. Severus saw him sag a little,
saw Potter whispering questions.

Draco's mind swirled around him. Severus' own mind was carefully organised - as were the
minds of all practiced Occlumens - but Draco's was not yet, and thoughts and feelings
jumped around, almost too quickly for Severus to keep track of.

There was frustration for losing, anger (though he did not know Severus was behind it), fear
that the pressure had been greater this time, and a sort of rallying determination- and, sure
enough, Draco pushed after that.

Severus hesitated and then let himself be removed, if only so Draco would know it was
possible. He could feel Draco's defences reassembling themselves. Then, Severus pushed
again.

He felt shock from Draco, then pain. Severus did what he could to ease that, and then went
searching, passing over feelings and memories and thoughts to find what he was looking for,
but careful not to examine others. Legillimency was an intrusive practice, and there was no
way to avoid that, but Severus did not think his godson would want him knowing his every
thought, nor did he particularly want to.

Panic echoed around him, and Severus swept it away from him; it was all too easy to get
caught up in the feelings of a host mind, and rarely did anything good come of it.

Severus saw Lucius' face and waded toward it, sure that Draco's plans would be that way as
well.

Draco's name echoed around him, and Lucius' face vanished, replaced by Potter's. Severus
withdrew a little, enough to glance over his classroom - no one had injured themselves yet,
which was a bonus - and saw Potter was whispering to Draco… hence his sudden presence in
Draco's mind.

Severus resumed his search for Draco's plans, and followed Lucius' face again. Draco's
feelings about his father were complicated to say the least, and swam about as Severus drew
closer. Severus did his best to ignore them, to push them aside. Draco shoved him half-
heartedly - as if not expecting it to work, and it didn't - but mostly trailed alongside, ghosting
over his own memories. He was still panicked, but there was confusion there, and curiosity
there as well.

Severus looked at the nearest memory, an old one, where Lucius was teaching Draco and
Hydrus to fly. Draco watched it with him, rather than making any attempts to interfere, and
the tone of his mind changed to confused nostalgia. That wasn't the sort of response Severus
wanted at all, so he swept that memory away and chose another.

This one was more recent, and Severus didn't listen to the words that were exchanged, but
instead eyed the surroundings within the memory, because he'd been there. Granger had just
been petrified, and Draco and Lucius were arguing outside the Hospital Wing… at any
moment now, Lucius would leave and Severus would arrive-

Draco shoved him, bristling. The shove wasn't enough to get him out, so Draco tried
something different; Draco took the memory, and rather than fight, Severus let him. The
resulting sensation was not a physical one, and not comparable to one. Having every sensory
and emotional aspect of an environment snatched away was a sensation all its own, and
extremely unpleasant. Had it been anyone but Draco, Severus would never have let them get
away with it.

He took a few moments to right himself, taking an odd sort of comfort in the third years'
hushed whispers, and the gentle simmering of cauldrons. Even Longbottom hadn't managed
to ruin the lesson. Severus had paired him with Granger to ensure as much, but with
Longbottom, one could never truly be safe. Severus glanced at the hourglass on his desk.

"You have ten minutes," he said. "I should hope you're almost ready to bottle your efforts."

He left them to their own devices again. He ensured his head was bowed over the papers on
his desk - his excuse for not roaming the classroom today - and then probed in Draco's
direction again.

He found the memories related to Lucius more quickly this time. Draco had made efforts to
move them while he was distracted, but Severus was growing more familiar with his mind.

He chose another memory at random, this one of the Malfoys minus Narcissa eating a
particularly uncomfortable breakfast with Potter and McKinnon. Based on how young the
boys all looked, and the fact that Hydrus and Draco both held similar rats, the memory must
have been set in the week before Black's trial. Draco's consciousness seemed to consider the
memory.

Again, this was not the response Severus wanted, so he picked another one. Draco was not
much older than in the other memory, and he and Lucius were on the stairs in their pyjamas,
discussing a dream Draco had had about monsters in the Manor-

Then, Draco did something unexpected. Severus would have expected a push, or for Draco to
attempt to take the memory away, like before. Instead, Draco attacked him.
It was very, very clumsy Legillimency, and Severus was too well practiced to let Draco's
attempts at probing get anywhere at all, even if he was taken by surprise. Draco- bounced, for
lack of a better word, off of Severus' barrier, but then tried again.

Severus didn't dare reach out to try to read his current thoughts, though he would very much
have liked to; had Draco just tried to push differently and done this by accident, or was it a
deliberate effort? At the very least, he'd worked out his headaches had an identity, and was
making an attempt - for it was little more than an attempt, even if Severus had not been as
well trained as he was - to find out more about it.

Draco tried again - this time, it was more of a prod, the attitude behind it not dissimilar to a
student prodding a particularly interesting potion ingredient; there were always a few
students who behaved as such when they used rat livers for the first time.

Severus withdrew, before Draco could come up with too many questions, or find any
answers. He knew he and Draco would need to speak about all of this at some stage, but he
had not yet decided how to go about it, and had no particular wish to hasten that
conversation; any mention of Narcissa's slow-burning scheme of having Severus teach Draco
was out of the question, but then, what other excuse did he have for forcing Occlumency
lessons on a thirteen year old, without that thirteen year old knowing about it?

He pinched the bridge of his nose, just as the last grain of sand dropped into the base of the
timer on his desk. It vibrated silently against the desk.

"I want your potions on my desk," Severus said, without looking up. "I'll see you all next
week."

One member of each of the lessons' pairs came up to place their potion on the desk, and left
silently. He could hear them all chattering away in the corridor outside, but they knew to be
quiet within his classroom.

After Zabini had passed up the potion he and Nott had made, and left, Draco and Potter
remained. Potter was standing. Draco was still sitting, but looked to be in better shape than
Severus might have expected. Beside him, the cauldron they'd shared still bubbled away.

"I'm certain you know by now you are expected to clean up at the end of a lesson," Severus
said.

"It's not finished," Potter said.

"Oh?" Severus glanced quickly over the flasks on his desk and sure enough, Potter and
Draco's was not among them. "And why not?"

It was a tone that had always managed to annoy James Potter, and it generally had the same
effect on the man's son. Sure enough, Potter's eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth, but
Draco spoke first.

"I've had a headache, sir." His voice was very quiet. "Almost all lesson."
"I see," Severus said. "And that explains you, Draco, but why were you unable to complete
the potion, Mr Potter?" Draco frowned - Severus didn't have to be in his mind to know that
Draco thought he was being unfair. Potter, though, was currently bent over the cauldron and
Severus cleared his throat.

"I wasn't," Potter said, straightening. He scribbled his name and Draco's onto the flask in his
hand. "It was just a bit er… late."

"Late submission is usually an automatic failure." Despite that, Potter moved as if to place
the flask the desk, but Severus intercepted him and held out a hand. Potter stopped, but did
not did not pass it over.

Draco had surprised Severus earlier, in attempting to probe him back. Potter surprised him
now, and while Severus was nowhere near as impressed as with Draco, Potter's surprise was
markedly more effective and more underhanded:

He passed the flask to Draco, and left.

And Draco, knowing exactly what Potter had done, and why, offered Severus the flask,
saying, "Sorry it's late, but I've had one of my headaches." Their potion was a clear, pale blue,
just as it was supposed to be.

"I ought to fail you both." Draco said nothing, just set the flask down on his desk. "Have you
stayed behind for a particular reason, Draco?" Severus had his guesses, of course, with
headaches being top on the list.

"Are you all right, sir?" And with that question, Draco surprised him again.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's not like you to sit at your desk all lesson. Usually you harass Longbottom, or-"

"I was reading." Not strictly a lie, either, he just hadn't been reading anything on paper.
Severus did not deign to respond to Draco's Longbottom accusation, either. He disliked the
boy on principle, but that the boy was utterly incompetent had done nothing to endear him to
Severus over the years.

"I think it's Father," Draco said. Severus arched an eyebrow, a little lost, but unwilling to
admit it. "The headaches," Draco clarified, and Severus stared. "They- today was different, I
could actually feel something in-" He rubbed his temples, frowning. "-here, and I kept…
thinking of him."

"How… odd," Severus said carefully.

"Am I mad?" Draco asked, looking up at Severus with big eyes. "Or- is it possible?"

"I do not think you're mad," Severus said. "Perhaps just stressed, what with Christmas almost
upon us and your plans to confront your father on the hippogriff's behalf. It is natural that he
would be on your mind."
"In it," Draco corrected quietly. Severus said nothing, because what was there to say; if he
mentioned Legillimency, it would not take Draco long to discount Lucius' involvement when
he realised his 'headaches' only ever occurred when Severus was nearby. "Sir, it was in my
head this time!"

"Calm yourself, Draco," Severus said, before Draco could get truly worked up. "In your head
or not, it has not driven you to the hospital wing the way your headaches have in the past.
Perhaps it is Lucius, perhaps not, but fretting about it will get you nowhere, and I cannot help
you with it any more than Madam Pomfrey can, until we know the cause."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" Draco asked. He wore a funny look on his face, though
Severus couldn't read it.

"Be cautious," Severus said. "Watch your father carefully over the holidays, if you truly
believe he's the one behind it." Draco nodded slowly. "And, in the meantime," he added,
knowing he was being unfair, but he needed Draco out before he could ask any
uncomfortable questions, "ensure it does not impact your ability to participate in my
classroom."

Draco rolled his eyes and excused himself.

Severus shut the classroom door behind him and took a deep, fortifying breath. He flicked his
wand to send the Potter and Draco's potion over to where the other potions were, grinding his
teeth together a little as he did so.

Then, he headed for the library, intent on removing each and every book that referenced
Legillimency, before Draco could beat him there.
 A disastrous date

"All by yourself today?" Padfoot asked, pushing off of the wall of the Hog's Head.

"Hermione and Ron are Christmas shopping," Harry said, pulling off his scarf as he followed
Padfoot into the pub.

It was a lot quieter than the Three Broomsticks, and not quite as cheery. A group of seventh
years were huddled at a table in the corner, but otherwise, Harry was the only Hogwarts
student in sight. The pub was far from empty, though; Harry perked up at the sight of a
banshee before realising it wasn't Kiera, spotted four goblins over by the window, and a
group of witches and wizards hunched over parchment that cleared out the moment they
spotted Padfoot.

Padfoot chose a table off to one side and they sat.

'You'll meet them afterward, though, right?" Padfoot asked. "You're not- surely you don't
want to sit here with me all day?"

"Er, yeah, no, I'll- I've got plans." Harry cleared his throat and looked around the pub a bit
more, well aware that Padfoot was staring at him with raised eyebrows. "What?" he muttered.

"You tell me," Padfoot countered. Harry hadn't told him about Cho yet. He hadn't been sure
about the whole thing himself until a few days ago - she'd said yes! - but there just hadn't
been a good way to bring it up.

"Just lunch," Harry said, trying to be casual about it. "At some teashop-"

"Madam Puddifoot's?" Padfoot asked sharply.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, risking a look at his godfather. Padfoot wore a wide grin. Harry hadn't
heard of the place before Cho had mentioned it, and none of his friends had known it. He
wasn't sure what to make of the fact that Padfoot did. "How did-?"

"I take it you didn't choose the place?" Padfoot said.

"No," Harry said, "I said Three Broomsticks but she- Uh, I mean-" He closed his mouth, but
too late; Padfoot's smile had widened.

"What's her name?"

Harry sighed, giving up: "Cho."

"So Cho chose Puddifoot's?" Harry nodded, not liking the glint in Padfoot's eye. "Well, I'm
sure it'll be an-" Padfoot cleared his throat, possibly swallowing a snigger. "-experience."

"Shut up," Harry muttered, and thankfully, Padfoot took pity on him and changed the
direction of the conversation:
"So Ron and Hermione are Christmas shopping… what about Draco?"

"He wanted the library," Harry said. "And speaking of that, I said I'd ask you for him…"

"Ask me what?" Padfoot looked intrigued and a bit concerned.

"You know how he was having those headaches?" Harry asked, lowering his voice. Padfoot
nodded slowly. "Well he had another one - a bad one - in Potions this week, only this time it
was different. He said he thinks Mr Malfoy's in his head, somehow, so we've been trying to
work out how."

"In his head? Like possession?" Padfoot's voice was sharp.

"No, Draco didn't think so. It's only sometimes, and he always remembers it and he doesn't
hear voices when it happens or anything…"

Padfoot was silent for a while.

"The only other thing I can think of that could put someone in someone's head is
Legillimency," Padfoot said slowly. "But you have to be close, and usually need eye contact
as well, so unless Lucius Malfoy's taken to sitting in on Potions lessons…" Padfoot looked
like something had just occurred to him, but he didn't voice it.

"Legillimency." The word was vaguely familiar. "Mind reading," Harry said. "Isn't it?" But
where had he heard it before?

"Mmm." Padfoot was frowning, and Harry could almost hear him thinking, though he wasn't
sure what about.

"What?"

"I'm- not sure," Padfoot said.

"Right," Harry said uncertainly. "Anyway, whether it's Legillimency or something else, Draco
wants to stop it, so I said to look for stuff on Occlumency-" Harry knew Padfoot himself had
used it against the Dementor's Draught, and that Quirrell had used it to keep anyone from
suspecting him while he was Morton, so he figured that was a good start. "-but we haven't
been able to find anything in the library, about mind stuff. I don't know if there isn't any, or if
it's just all been taken out, but even Hermione can't find anything so-"

"Odd." Padfoot was still frowning, and he looked distracted.

"Yeah," Harry said. "But I thought we might have something in a book at home? From when
you did your-" Harry waved a hand at his head and Padfoot nodded. "Obviously Draco can't
use the Manor library, or Mr Malfoy will know-"

"Yeah, that'd be- Yeah, I'll have a look." Padfoot pinched the bridge of his nose, and then his
head snapped up. At first, Harry thought a bear had come into the pub; while not tall, the
person in the doorway wore a bulky, spotted fur coat and fur-lined cap, and had an orange
scarf wrapped tightly over their lower face.
The person saw Padfoot and waved, shuffling over to join them. Padfoot shook his head and
waved back.

"Who-?"

"Mundungus Fletcher," Padfoot said to him, and then more loudly as the figure reached them,
"What are you wearing?"

"Nundu fur." The man patted his coat, voice muffled by his scarf. "Nice, innit?"

"How can you afford Nundu fur coats?" Padfoot asked, eyebrows shooting up. "You've only
been out a week, and from what I've heard you weren't that well off when you went in."

"Investments," Mundungus said, waggling his eyebrows. "They paid off, while I was locked
up." Harry glanced at Padfoot, uncertain.

"Sorry," Padfoot said. "Dung, this is my godson Harry. Harry, this is Dung. He's just been let
out of Azkaban."

"What were you in there for?" Harry asked without thinking. "I mean- sorry, that- I didn't-"

"He's a murderer," Padfoot said cheerily. "Aren't you Dung?"

"Murderer?" Dung asked. "Now hang on, I know I've had my trouble with the Aurors, but-"

"Dung's no more a murderer than I am-"

"Knew I liked you, Sirius," Mundungus said.

"-but he likes to say he is, when it suits him," Padfoot finished.

"Oh!" Mundungus clapped a hand to his forehead. "You mean Greyback. I did that. I did, I
broke into Azkaban, went to his cell-"

"So you are a murderer, or you aren't?" Padfoot asked.

"Er… Ain't. Don't consider it murder if it's a monster-"

"So werewolves are monsters now?" Padfoot asked. "Is that why you never liked Remus
much?"

"I didn't mean that! And I liked him all right, he just never liked me." Mundungus looked at
Harry. "Always very proper, Lupin was. Bit stuffy for my liking." Harry just stared until
Mundungus cleared his throat. Padfoot looked stern, but also somehow amused. "And what is
this, an interrogation? Think you're an Auror or something?" Harry glanced at Padfoot.

"No, I'm not here to interrogate you about that," Padfoot said, mouth twitching. "I do have
something you might be able to help me with, though, if you've still got some of your old
contacts..."
"Can't help you. I've turned over a new leaf," Mundungus said. Padfoot arched an eyebrow.

"New leaf? Nundu fur's a prohibited-"

There was a crash and a shriek and then butterbeer splashed over the three of them. Harry
blinked, Padfoot - who it seemed had borne the brunt of it - spluttered, and Mundungus leapt
to his feet with a cry.

"My coat! Do you have any idea 'ow much this cost?"

The offender was a tiny house elf - smaller than Kreacher or Dobby, and too - dressed in a
lacy, floral embroidered pillowcase. She still scuttled over to Padfoot and started to brush at
his robes to get the butterbeer off, still clutching the drink tray in her other hand.

"Winky is sorry, sirs, so so sorry-!"

"It's all right," Padfoot said, trying to fend her off. "Nothing a quick drying charm won't fix-"

"-ruined it!" Mundungus was wailing, picking at the sides of his coat.

"Sorry, sir, sorry-" She was practically on top of Padfoot now, having conjured a cloth, and
was wiping his face and shoulder.

"Ow, don't pull-" Padfoot picked the elf up and set her down away from him, where she burst
into shrill tears. Padfoot rubbed his head, grimacing, and pulled out his wand. In a moment,
he was dry, and so was Harry, and - Harry assumed - Mundungus, though he was still
carrying on. "Look, it's all fixed," Padfoot said. "Look, I'm dry, there's no need to worry-"

"Winky is b-being so s-sorry, sir-"

"What in Merlin's name is going on over here?" The barman had stormed over to see what the
commotion was about, and looked particularly grumpy. He stopped when he noticed
Mundungus. "You?! I thought I banned you from-"

"No, no," Mundungus said, pulling his hat down, and turning his head away from the barman.
The elf had vanished, but Harry thought that was for the best; she'd been upset enough
without all the shouting. "Definitely not me, sorry, I reckon you're after someone else, but I
ain't it-"

"Oh, for..." Padfoot took a step forward, then stopped and turned to Harry. "Don't stick
around for this, kiddo, I'll see you later." Harry hesitated, but Padfoot looked frazzled enough
without having to worry about him as well, so he headed for the door as Padfoot stepped
toward the other two, Sidekick raised.

It was quiet outside; it had started to snow, so Harry thought people must be hiding in the
shops and pubs. He still had just over an hour before he was due to meet Cho at Madam
Puddifoot's, so he poked through some of the shops for a bit, and then sat on a bench outside
Zonkos's and looked over the map for a bit.
Wormtail's name was nowhere to be seen in the school, though, so Harry gave up and headed
off to Madam Puddifoot's ten minutes early to wait for Cho.

It wasn't a large building, though Harry couldn't actually see inside; the windows were foggy.
There was a Christmas wreath on the door, and quiet chatter drifted out from beneath it.

Cho arrived only a few minutes after Harry, and beamed then blushed when she spotted him.

"Morning," she said. "You're early."

"Er, yeah, I was with Padfoot, and some bloke called Mundungus, and then this house-elf-"
Cho's smile had frozen, and she didn't seem to know whether he was joking or not. "Never
mind. So, er, this is Madam Puddifoot's?"

"Looks like it," Cho said with a little laugh. "I've never been but Marietta comes here with
Riley and she really likes it." Cho smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Shall we go
inside?"

"Sure," Harry said. Cho waited for just a moment, then shook her head slightly and pushed
the door open and headed inside. Harry followed her.

The place smelled good - like coffee and icing sugar - but Harry's favourable opinion of it
stopped there. He knew, instantly, why Padfoot had laughed when Harry mentioned the place.

It was very- sparkly. Silver and pink tinsel hung from the ceiling, and the tables were draped
with lacy, glittery tablecloths that sort of resembled snowflakes, and matching confetti
fluttered through the air, thrown by little golden fairy-things.

"Oh!" Cho said. Harry looked over, grimacing, but hastily smiled when he saw the bright
smile on Cho's face. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"It's something," Harry agreed, unwrapping his scarf. He was going to kill Padfoot for letting
him walk into this, without a proper warning.

The little shop was busy. Everyone there - save for a woman in silvery robes - was a
Hogwarts student. Harry recognised a few people by sight but couldn't have named any of
them except for Percy Weasley. He was the only boy in the shop that didn't keep eyeing the
decorations with a rather forced smile and was instead gesturing enthusiastically as he told
his girlfriend some story or other.

Harry and Cho squeezed into a table at the back, Cho still looking around in wonder.

Harry ordered tea, and Cho got herself a coffee to start, and Madam Puddifoot left them with
menus while she went to wait on one of the other tables.

The cherub whizzed past Harry's ear, startling him, and making Cho giggle. She peeled off
her gloves and swung her hair over one shoulder, smiling at him.

"So…" she said. "Obviously you like Quidditch, but… what else? What's your favourite
subject?"
"Defence," Harry said, shrugging. "Or maybe Transfiguration. What's yours?"

"I really like Arithmancy at the moment," Cho said thoughtfully. "Do you do that?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm not very good at it, though."

"If you need- I wouldn't mind helping you, if-"

"Oh," Harry said, his heart sinking a bit; now she probably thought he was thick. "Yeah,
that'd- thanks."

They lapsed into silence, Cho hiding behind her coffee cup. Harry felt like a particularly
inadequate date; the other couples were all murmuring to each other over their tables - some
of them saying personal things Harry didn't want to hear but did anyway, thanks to his
excellent hearing - others not talking, but sitting in very comfortable silence. Some of them
were holding hands, or had their legs pressed together under the table and Harry wondered if
Cho would expect that from him; she was watching them too.

Rather nervous now, Harry cast his eyes around, looking for something to talk about that
wasn't anything to do with the other couples or the stuffy little teashop, and got a face full of
glitter and confetti for his trouble.

Cho clapped a hand to her mouth, but a giggle slipped out. Harry felt his face heating up, and
was just trying to decide whether to laugh with her, or hex the fairy when Cho spoke again.

"Are you looking forward to Christmas?"

"Sort of," Harry said, shrugging. "It'll be good to get home and see everyone, but I'm
spending a bit of time with my aunt and uncle and cousin and we- don't get on, sometimes."
Harry didn't particularly want to say more about it than that, and Cho didn't seem to know
what to say. "You?"

"I'm staying at school," Cho said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Dad travels a lot, and
Mum's going with him this trip, so…"

"Oh," Harry said. "Sorry-"

"Marietta's staying too," Cho said, shrugging. "And Riley, so it won't be too bad..."

Harry could feel the silence creeping back, and asked the first thing that came to mind:

"When's your birthday?" Cho stared at him, and Harry flushed. "Sorry, stupid-"

"October," she said.

"Oh. So you're-?"

"Fifteen." So she was old for her year, like Hermione.

"Sorry," Harry said again. "That was a-"

"It's sweet," Cho said, smiling at him. Harry wished he could sink into his chair and through
the floor. The fairy tossed more confetti over him, to add insult to injury. This time, Cho just
smiled, amused as Harry shook his head sharply to get the worst of it out. It fluttered into his
teacup and he sighed.

"So you said- who was the Padfoot you were talking about before, when we were outside?"

"Oh, that's what I call Sirius," he said, relieved to have something to talk about. "It's for his
animagus- you know, big black dog."

"I wonder what it'd be like," Cho said.

"Really weird to start with," Harry said wryly, and then hastily added, "Or that's what
Padfoot's always said." Cho hummed her agreement, but didn't say anything, and Harry
couldn't bring himself to ask her anything after his stupid birthday question.

Cho saved him, again, by asking, "He's an Auror, isn't he? That's what it said in the paper a
few months back-"

"Padfoot was in the paper?" Harry asked, bewildered. He read the Prophet - though
admittedly not cover to cover - but couldn't remember seeing anything about Padfoot in there;
he'd been on the Wormtail-Crouch case for almost a year now, and that was all dead-ends
rather than interesting leads. He'd solved a few other, very minor cases on the side, but none
of them had been newsworthy.

"Yes, it was-" Cool air blew over the back of Harry's neck, and he tensed for just a moment,
fearing Dementors. Cho looked at something over his shoulder, but didn't seem afraid.

Standing in the doorway was not a Dementor though, or even another couple. It was Padfoot.

Immediately, Harry felt nervous, unsure whether Padfoot was here because something had
happened, or because he'd decided to embarrass Harry. His second feeling about the whole
impending situation was one of relief; he liked Cho - she was very pretty, and good at
Quidditch - but he wasn't very good at talking to her. If Padfoot had to drag him off to talk, or
needed his help with something, then Harry would be out of the teashop for one, and could
then have time to think about things to talk to Cho about when he next saw her.

Padfoot's eyes sharpened when he spied Harry and Cho - both of them just stared at him - and
he wove through the tables, headed their way.

"Do you need to-?" Cho waved a hand at Padfoot, forehead creasing. Obviously she'd
recognised him, either from the paper or seeing him around the school.

"I don't know," Harry muttered, shooting Padfoot a quizzical look. Padfoot smiled, but there
was something off about it. He still hadn't spoken.

Padfoot conjured a chair as he walked; it appeared between Harry and Cho. Cho shot Harry
an uncertain look and Harry returned it.
Padfoot sat, still smiling strangely, and Harry caught his scent; it was not Padfoot's, but still
vaguely familiar. Last time he'd smelled it, it had been in his dormitory, and in Hermione's
school bag.

Wormtail.

He stiffened and reached for his wand, but 'Padfoot' already had his out and was resting it on
the table, pointing at Cho, who leaned back, eyes wide.

"Don't," he said quietly. Harry lowered his hand. "If you cooperate, no one will be hurt." He
smelled honest, not that Harry trusted him. Cho squeaked. She looked like she might cry.
Harry was struck by the memory of the last time he'd been face to face with this man… even
if his face and the one he wore now were different.

"Drop your wand," Harry said firmly, but quietly.

It didn't work. Last time he'd spoken to Wormtail, Wormtail had been indebted to him and
forced to do as Harry said. It seemed, though, that the debt had been fulfilled, or expired.
Harry swallowed.

"Where's Padfoot?" he asked. And how had Wormtail made himself look like Padfoot? It was
too perfect a likeness to be spells, and Harry was sure someone would have said something if
Wormtail was a metamorphmagus.

"Around," Wormtail answered. "Wand, now, and your mirror. Yours too," he added, looking
at Cho.

"Harry…" Cho said, slowly reaching for her wand. Wormtail snatched it from her. Harry
hesitated, wondering if he was quick enough to get a spell off before Wormtail. Wormtail
gave Harry a pointed look and curled his fingers impatiently.

"I'm impressed how quickly you realised…" He gave Harry a sharp look.

"I know my godfather," Harry said stiffly.

"Apparently. But do you know who I am?" Harry nodded slowly, and Wormtail - with
Padfoot's face - quirked an eyebrow.

"A-" Harry glanced around the teashop. A few people were looking their way, mostly
curious; Harry doubted there'd ever been more than two people at one of these tables before.
"-rat." Wormtail narrowed his eyes and extended the hand that wasn't holding his wand in
Harry's direction.

"Then you know how good I am at blasting charms," Wormtail said softly. Cho's eyes darted
between Harry and Wormtail, her scent frightened. "Cause a scene, or try to attack me, and
I'll give you a demonstration." For a moment, Harry wondered if Wormtail had somehow
read his mind, but then he realised Wormtail would be using Harry's scent as much as Harry
was trying to use Wormtail's. That meant, he'd have a warning the moment Harry decided to
attack him...
Harry passed his wand over slowly. Wormtail tucked it into his robes and held out his hand
for the mirror.

"He'll catch you," Harry said, pulling his mirror out. "Sirius Bl-" Wormtail jabbed his wand at
Harry suddenly, sighing, and Harry's voice stopped working. Wormtail plucked the mirror out
of his hand and set it on the table. "I thought you might try something like that. Finite."

Harry felt something tickle the back of his throat and knew he'd be able to speak again, but
didn't try.

"What does he-" Cho swallowed and looked at Harry, then to Wormtail. "What do you want?"

"I need something," Wormtail said simply.

"You're not getting anything until you let Cho go," Harry said. Cho looked at him with big,
grateful eyes.

"So she can run off to the Aurors?" Wormtail asked incredulously. He shook his head. "No,
she's going to stay until I've got what I came for. I don't want to hurt her, but I will if that's
what it takes to get you to help me." Harry believed him. Cho shrank in her chair. "Clear?"
Harry gave a tight nod. "Good. Now, I need the cloak."

Harry wasn't surprised, but tried to look it, but he didn't both pretending to misunderstand.

"Bad luck," he said. "It's mine." Cho made a quiet noise that might have been a sob as
Wormtail lifted his wand slightly.

"Well, Harry?"

"I haven't got it," Harry said.

"Then you'll take me to it. The three of us will go for a walk, and-"

"It's not at Hogwarts either," Harry interrupted; he thought Wormtail knew that, so there was
no harm in telling him.

"Where is it, then?" Wormtail smelled impatient, but also rather desperate.

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. He almost said he'd given it to Padfoot to hide, but
thought better of it; that might make Wormtail wonder how Harry knew he was after it, and
Harry's dreams were too useful to give away. "I let someone borrow it-"

"Then you'll get it back-"

"Not now, I won't," Harry said frankly. "I'm going to leave it where it is."

"Who has it?" Wormtail pressed.

"The last person that would help you with anything," Harry said.
"Sirius?" Wormtail's voice was almost a groan.

"Good guess," Harry said, rather smugly, but Wormtail didn't say anything; he smelled like he
was thinking hard.

None of them spoke for a few moments; Harry alternated between watching Cho, who didn't
seem to be holding up too well, and Wormtail, who seemed to be considering something.
Harry shifted, uneasy, and then something small and golden caught his eye over Wormtail's
shoulder.

He looked down at the table, watching the fairy approach their table out of the corner of his
eye. It reached into the little basket it carried and Harry held his breath, hoping...

The fairy tossed confetti over the three of them. For the first time today, Harry was expecting
it, but Wormtail wasn't, and neither was Cho.

She gasped, jumping, causing several people to look over, and Wormtail twitched, looking up
at the fairy in annoyed bewilderment. Harry saw his chance and took it, flipping the table
over toward Wormtail. Then, Harry dragged Cho off her chair and behind it - just in case
Wormtail did opt for a blasting curse.

He didn't.

What he did do, was make a furious noise as he struggled with the table in his lap, and then
the room filled with thick, grey fog. Harry couldn't see a thing, but he heard chairs scraping
as people stood, heard one of the girls shrieking, heard someone attempt a Finite - which did
nothing - and, lastly, heard four small paws scrabbling on the floor as Wormtail made his
escape.
 Wormtail and Padfoot

Growling, Harry felt blindly for the smooth glass of his mirror, and found it, but Wormtail
had taken their wands.

"Sirius Black," Harry barked.

"Harry?" Padfoot sounded confused, but the fog was too thick for Harry to see him in the
mirror. Cho twitched at the sound of his voice, but Harry was just relieved he'd answered, and
wasn't hurt or worse. "Is-?"

"Wormtail was here, at Madam Puddifoot's," Harry said urgently. It felt like the corner of the
mirror was chipped, from its fall off the table. "He's just run off-" Something clattered on
Padfoot's end and Harry could hear him moving. He shoved the mirror into his pocket.

"Aperio!" Harry recognised Percy's voice, and heard the windows creak and the door slap
against the wall. "Ventus!" Wind ruffled Harry's hair, and took the fog with it.

As soon as he could see, Harry got to his feet. Percy looked cross and was saying something
about Fred and George, but Harry didn't stick around to listen. Cho was clutching his hand -
it hadn't quite come about the way Harry might have envisaged it - so he took her with him,
outside.

Wormtail hadn't disapparated - Merlin only knew why - and Harry could see him, looking
like himself again, but still wearing the same robes as before as he hurried around the corner
of the teashop. Harry started after him, but something held him back; it was Cho, still
clinging to his hand. Harry could still see the back of Wormtail, trying to run away.

Not this time, Harry thought. This time, Harry was going to stop him.

"Stay here," Harry said, pulling gently out of her grip.

"Where- Harry?!" Cho called, as he took off after Wormtail. "Harry, where are you-?"

Wormtail disappeared around the corner of a building. He was quick as a rat, sure, but as a
human he was short – only Harry's height – and so the Padfoot-sized robes were too big for
him, and, while he was thinner than he'd been at the Padfoot's trial, he was by no means
athletic. Harry was young and fit and gaining on him. Harry skidded around the corner.
Something popped behind him and there was a cry of surprise, but he didn't look back.

He followed Wormtail down a narrow alleyway, one that wound behind the main buildings.
Wormtail knocked over a bin, and Harry skidded on a patch of ice trying to avoid it but he
managed to keep his footing, and kept running.

Up ahead, Wormtail ducked through a doorway. Harry didn't hesitate and plunged after him-
or into him, as it turned out.
A thin, but surprisingly firm arm caught his to stop him from falling, but then didn't let go.
Wortmail's grip was almost painfully tight. With his free hand, Harry reached for his pocket,
for his wand, before remembering he didn't have it with him.

Oops. Suddenly, Harry felt very stupid.

"I'd hoped you'd come after me," Wormtail panted. He held his wand in his other hand and it
was pointed directly at Harry. Though he was breathing heavily, and obviously tired from the
chase, his hand was quite steady. Harry's heart was pounding. "I didn't actually think
you would, but I hoped, and for once, things are playing out the way I want them to…" He
grinned, and Harry could smell triumph on him.

He considered transforming, for just a moment, but even if he got free, they were in a long,
straight, narrow alley and Wormtail still had a wand. If this was going to end as badly as
Harry feared it might, then it would be best to hold off transforming until he thought he had a
better chance.

Instead, Harry aimed a kick at his knee; perhaps Wormtail guessed Harry would try
something like that, or perhaps Harry's scent had given him away, but whatever it was,
Wormtail stepped back, avoiding him, without letting go. Harry tried to yank his arm free, but
Wormtail held him tightly.

"Ah," Wormtail said, shaking his head. "Can't have you acting like that." Harry smelled
sudden decisiveness, and Wormtail jabbed his wand forward. Red light bloomed at the tip
and Harry was so close there wouldn't even be time to react-

The spell hit an invisible barrier a mere inch from Harry's chest and bounced back at
Wormtail who squeaked and ducked.

He and Harry both looked down the alleyway to see Padfoot standing there, wand drawn and
a rather fierce look on his face. His eyes flicked over Harry for the briefest moment and then
he looked at Harry, who nodded to say he was all right.

"Peter," Padfoot said in the coldest voice Harry had ever heard him use. "Let him go. I won't
ask again."

Harry was pulled to his feet rather sharply, and then Wormtail's wand was pressed beneath his
ear. Wormtail himself stood behind Harry, using him as a shield of sorts against anything
Padfoot might think to try. Harry himself didn't try anything; he'd seen before that
Wormtail would use magic against him if he did, and there was no way Padfoot's shield
charm would be fast enough this time.

Hit me, Harry thought at Padfoot, if that's what it takes to get a clear shot at him.

But he could tell that Padfoot wouldn't, it was all over his face, and in the way he was
holding his wand.

"I've missed our little chats, Sirius," Wormtail said, sounding rather breathless.
"Should've stayed where you were, then," Sirius said. "We could still be having them."

Wormtail huffed a laugh and said, "I didn't miss them that much." He shifted a little behind
Harry, and his hand tightened on Harry's arm. "I'll be in touch."

Several things happened at once: First, Wormtail tugged, pulling Harry with him as he tried
to disapparate. Second, Harry realised what has happening and didn't try to pull away like
Wormtail might have expected; instead, Harry grabbed Wormtail's hand, the one holding the
wand, as everything started to squeeze and blur around him and pulled back, trying with
everything he had to keep them where they were, in the alleyway, where Padfoot was.
Thirdly, Padfoot made an odd, choking sound and rushed forward, mouth forming words
Harry couldn't hear, because he was being squeezed and the alley was melting away…

For a moment, Harry knew only blackness, and then vague pain – Wormtail's tight grip, but
perhaps something more as well – and then he landed, hard, on his back on cold ice. He was
no longer holding Wormtail's wand hand, and Wormtail's hand was gone from his arm, which
ached and stung, and there were footsteps moving around his throbbing head.

Harry rolled away from the footsteps, eyes flying open, but it was Padfoot's voice he heard,
not Wormtail's and not – thank Merlin – Voldemort's:

"Levicorpus!" There was a shrill squeak as Wormtail – a rat again - jerked into the air by his
little foot. Padfoot stalked forward, his face set."Petrificus tota-"

Wormtail transformed and his robes flopped down over his head, but he had his wand in hand
and managed to stop the spell. He was bleeding. Wormtail flailed, waving his arms and his
robes fell to the snowy ground in time to deflect another spell of Padfoot's, which left a
scorch mark only inches from Harry's foot. He scooted back, and Padfoot growled, glancing
briefly at Harry before looking back to Wormtail.

"It's over," Padfoot snarled, lifting his wand again.

"We've had this conversation before, Sirius," Wormtail said, training his own wand on
Padfoot, who stilled. Oddly, Wormtail was smiling, though it looked rather strained.

"Peter-" Padfoot began in a growl, and then, quick as anything, Wormtail stabbed his wand at
Padfoot who dove out of the way, toward Harry, shouting something.

Then, the alleyway exploded, and Harry turned away, throwing up an arm to cover his face,
but there turned out to be rather less heat and sound than he might have expected. The reason
for that became clear when stone and ice and wood thudded dully in mid-air, held at bay by
another particularly well-timed shield charm of Padfoot's.

On the other side of it all, protected by a shield charm of his own, or perhaps just untouched
by his own spell, Wormtail cancelled the spell holding him up, twisted in mid-air and was
gone before his feet had touched the ground.

Padfoot swore loudly and moved forward, waving his wand around the area Wormtail had
vanished from. On the other side of the buildings, people were talking in loud, alarmed
voices, and only a few seconds later, Aurors were Apparating in. Harry recognised Robards
but none of the other three. Padfoot went to meet them, talking in a low voice.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, wobbling a bit, and went to Wormtail's discarded robes. His
wand and Cho's were still in its pockets and Harry took them, relieved.

"He had your wand?"

Harry turned to see Padfoot watching him, expression almost impossible to read. Two of the
Aurors jogged past, back toward the teashop, where two Dementors were waiting. Robards
was on his Sidekick to what sounded like Scrimgeour, and the fourth one had disapparated.

"Yeah," Harry said, stepping toward his godfather, and thanking Merlin that he smelled like
himself. "He took-"

"And if he had it," Padfoot continued, ignoring Harry, "then you didn't. So what the hell were
you doing chasing after him?" The worst part was that he didn't sound angry- or, didn't sound
only angry. Mostly, he sounded incredulous, like he couldn't believe Harry had been so
stupid. Harry couldn't either, really. He swallowed.

"I didn't-"

"Think?" Padfoot suggested, and his voice shook. With anger or something else, Harry
couldn't tell; Padfoot's scent was jumping all over the place at the moment. "No, Harry, that's
pretty damn clear."

"I just- he couldn't get away again-" Except he had, and the only good thing to come of it all
was, that while Wormtail had escaped, he hadn't managed to take Harry with him. "I'm sorry-
"

"This has to stop," Padfoot said, slicing a hand through the air. "I keep you informed so that
you at least know what's happening, not so- I don't want you involved-" Padfoot took a deep
breath.

"I don't seek this stuff out," Harry muttered, and the look Padfoot gave him was almost
dangerous. "Well- this-" Harry flapped a hand at the destroyed alleyway, "-I sort of- but I
didn't start it. Wormtail came and found me, he threatened Cho, and-"

"And that's not yours to fix!" Padfoot exploded, throwing his arms up. "That's when you keep
your head down until you can get away, and then leave it to me and the other Aurors, and the
teachers, and-"

"I called you the second I could," Harry snapped. Padfoot made an agitated gesture to
Robards, who waved and disapparated. "But until then, it was mine to fix, because I was the
only one there that had any idea what was going on! Like always!" he added. "Because that's
what they do, they get me on my own so they don't have to deal with you and the Aurors and
the teachers."

"And you let them!"

"I don't have a choice!"

"Yes, Harry," Padfoot said, suddenly sounding very tired. "You do, that's my point."

"Next time I'll leave the stone, then," Harry said curtly. "And Ginny. Those seem like brilliant
choices to me, because I'm more important, right?" Padfoot didn't answer, so Harry ploughed
on. "And who cares if Voldemort's going to get a body back, or the man that murdered my
parents and ruined your life and Moony's, and attacked my friend gets away, if I'm safe! I
should just have let him go!"

They glowered at each other for a few, tense seconds, Harry's chest heaving.

"Yes," Padfoot said eventually. "Today, at least. I was there, I was just behind you-"

"If I hadn't followed him, he wouldn't have stuck around," Harry said heavily, his anger
draining away. "He would have been gone before you even got to Puddifoot's."

"Probably," Padfoot sighed. "But when he- I thought-" Padfoot worked his jaw, and Harry's
guilt was back. He'd been worried when Wormtail tried to disapparate, but he didn't think that
was anything compared to how Padfoot must have felt. After a few long seconds, Padfoot
cleared his throat. "You're bleeding," Padfoot said finally, voice thick. Harry glanced down,
thinking Padfoot was just trying to distract him, but sure enough there was a wet, red patch
spreading over the wool of his jumper sleeve.

"Huh," Harry said, and Padfoot drew his wand and stepped forward to fix it. "Thanks."

There was more Padfoot wanted to say about everything, Harry was sure of it, but Padfoot
only shook his head and pulled Harry into a tight hug.

"D'you think Percy would-" There was an almighty BOOM that made the ground and walls
shake, and Hermione toppled into Ron. A Slytherin girl gasped loudly, someone else
whimpered, and the shopkeeper drew his wand. Ron shared a look with Hermione, tossed the
little desk calendar back onto the table it had come from, and the pair of them ducked out into
the street.

A large cloud of smoke and dust hung in the sky over the main street, and bits of rubble
rained down, bouncing along the cobblestones. People were running around everywhere;
McGonagall had a large group of students huddled around her, and her wand drawn, and
Hagrid was ushering another, smaller group past two Dementors, umbrella in hand. Men and
women in Auror's robes were popping into being everywhere Ron looked.

"No, sir," one said, talking quickly into a small, golden object. "Robards has just said
Pettigrew got away, but he's got-"

"Pettigrew?" Hermione squeaked, and Ron looked at her in shock. "Harry, Ron!"

"He'll be all right," Ron said, even as they hurried up the street, toward the teashop. He drew
his wand, just in case. "The teashop's nowhere near-"
They rounded a corner and Hermione groaned and yanked on his sleeve.

"Ron, look!" Hermione pointed up ahead. There were loads of people outside the teashop.
Ron spotted Percy and his girlfriend, but didn't know many of the others. Ron glanced at
Hermione. "On the bench!"

There were three of them; the first was a tall, brown haired boy, who had his arm around a
girl with red, curly hair. The third, was Cho Chang, who was clutching her friend's hand and
had a tissue in the other. Harry wasn't with them, and Ron's stomach twisted unpleasantly.

"Where's-?" But Hermione had already started forward, headed for the three Ravenclaws- at
least until she was intercepted by a small, dark-haired Auror.

"You're not supposed to be up this way," she said, with wide-eyes. "Students need to get back
to the school… here, let's find you both a carriage-"

"But-"

But protest though they did – that they were looking for their friend, that that was Ron's
brother over there - the Auror was adamant, and so, with ill-grace, Ron and Hermione
allowed her to escort them to McGonagall, who was overseeing the carriages back to
Hogwarts. Two dementors hovered nearby, and Ron gave them an uneasy look.

"Thank you, Prewett," McGonagall said crisply, and the Auror hurried off. Then,
McGonagall seemed to really notice them. Her lips thinned. "Miss Granger, Mr Weasley…
where are the other two?"

"Draco didn't come today, Professor," Hermione said at once, "but we don't know where
Harry…" She trailed off at the look on McGonagall's face. McGonagall ushered them to one
side and waved a group of fifth year Hufflepuff boys into a carriage.

"Please find one of your Prefects when you return to the school," she said to the older boys,
"and get your names marked off a list." The boys nodded and the carriage pulled away.
McGonagall turned back to Ron and Hermione. "Black was here today, as I understand it?"

"Yeah," Ron said, swallowing. "Harry was meant to be meeting him-"

"Thank you, Mr Weasley." McGonagall flicked her wand and something small, silvery and
vaguely feline burst from the tip of it. "Find Black: There's been an incident in Hogsmeade,
and Potter's unaccounted for." The thing streaked off.

Another Auror showed up, this time with McLaggen and two of his mates in tow and
McGonagall had just put them in a carriage when another silvery shape appeared. This one
was bigger, canine, and familiar. Hermione's eyes brightened at the sight of it, so obviously
she'd recognised it too.

"Harry's with me-" The dog spoke with Sirius' voice, and he did not sound happy. "-and there
are a handful of other students here as well, with the Aurors, giving statements. No one's hurt.
We'll get a list of names to you, shortly." The dog flashed away again.
"Well," McGonagall said after a moment. "That's that, then."

"Can we wait for them?" Ron asked. Hermione elbowed him; clearly she thought they'd
pushed their luck enough by being allowed to stay for this long.

"Mr Potter will meet you up at the school, when he is finished with the Aurors," McGonagall
said, though not unkindly. She stood back as a carriage pulled up, and waved them in. "Upon
your return, you two are to find a Prefect-"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said, pulling Ron into the carriage, "we heard you say so before."

"Off with you, then," she said, and turned to the next lot of students.

"We'll need to speak with-" Something small and silver appeared at Padfoot's feet. "Ah. Give
me a moment." He turned and moved a few steps away from Harry.

"-no idea it was Pettigrew," Percy Weasley was telling a pair of Aurors. "I'm just familiar
with the spell he used – two of my brothers are rather poorly behaved – so I did what anyone
else would have done-"

"-there was this crash and then everything went dark-"

"-Potter kid and his girlfriend went running out-"

"-didn't even realise until Potter flipped the table-"

"-wasn't Peter Pettigrew sitting with them, it was Sirius Black-"

"-then Sirius Black – the real one – appeared and went after them both." Harry knew that
voice, and turned that way without really thinking. Cho was speaking to an Auror Harry
didn't know, but her eyes were on him, mouth slightly open. He offered her a smile but she
just stared. His heart – already somewhere in his knees after his argument with Padfoot - sank
a bit, but he didn't move; he had her wand, and doubtless she'd want it back.

"That's it?" the Auror asked. Cho nodded.

"Can I go?" she asked, eyes still on Harry.

"I just wanted to ask…" The Auror read back over her notes. "You said Pettigrew asked about
a cloak? What cloak?"

"I-I don't know." Cho's eyes darted to Harry again, and the Auror turned and spotted him.
There was a pause, and then the Auror nodded.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Chang." She left the two of them alone. Harry rubbed the
back of his neck, not sure what to say. Behind Cho, he could see Padfoot talking to Robards,
a frown on his face.
"I have- here," Harry said, digging Cho's wand out of his pocket. Her mouth fell open and she
took it from him with a shaking hand. He offered her a weak smile and made to back away.

"Wait." Cho dug a bundle of red and gold wool out of her bag – Harry recognised it as his
scarf – and turned it over in her hands. "I can see why you're a Gryffindor," she said shakily.
Harry wasn't sure what to make of her scent. "You were so calm."

"I'm- I sort of have to be," Harry said.

"The table was a good idea," she continued, still looking at the scarf. "I didn't even think of it,
I was so scared…" Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he kept quiet, but it seemed to
have been the right thing to do: She looked up at him, through her eyelashes. "You were so
brave today, Harry."

Again, Harry didn't know what to say, and again, silence seemed to be the best option; Cho
stepped closer – she was almost too close now – and it made Harry nervous but in a good
way. She draped the scarf over his shoulders a little awkwardly, but didn't move back.

Was she going to kiss him, Harry wondered, or should he kiss her? Or was he reading this
entirely wrong, and- Cho tilted her head up and kissed him.

It was quick, but nice, and Harry was sure his face was as red as hers when she pulled back.

Someone cleared their throat, and for a moment Harry feared Padfoot had come up behind
them, but it was Percy, Head Boy badge gleaming on his chest.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, and Cho flushed even brighter, "but they're taking us back up to
the school, now."

"Right," Harry said, flushing, "I should… er-" He looked at Cho, briefly, and then around for
Padfoot. Cho murmured something about Marietta and Riley and slipped away with a shy
smile for Harry.

"-think we can all agree things would have been very different if Potter hadn't been there-"

"Obviously," Sirius snapped, making Austen flinch, "because if Harry hadn't been there,
Wormtail wouldn't have bothered."

"That's not what Austen meant, Black," Robards sighed. "She meant that he handled himself
well. As usual." He quirked an eyebrow, and Sirius remembered he'd been there after Harry's
misadventure in the Chamber of Secrets.

"And that's the problem," Sirius sighed. "He shouldn't have been dragged into all of this-"

"But he was," Robards said, unknowingly echoing Harry's arguments from before… or
perhaps knowingly; he had, after all, been there before when Harry and Sirius argued. He
waved Austen away to gather up the rest of the students.

"We should have been there first," Sirius said.

"But we weren't," Robards pointed out, again echoing Harry. "Not this time. This time
Pettigrew was smarter than us, faster than us, and – probably – luckier than us." The words
obviously grated on Robards as much as they did Sirius – he could smell it - but oddly
enough, he smiled. "Let's just be grateful your boy was even more so."

"Today he was lucky, not smart," Sirius muttered. He'd never forget the way his chest seized
when Pettigrew started to turn on the spot, the way horror had dawned across Harry's face
when he realised what was happening.

"After leaving she shop, perhaps," Scrimgeour agreed. "But before then, he was smart. He
knew it wasn't you, kept his cool and then got Pettigrew out of there before he could injure
anyone."

Sirius grunted. Truth was, after hearing everyone's accounts, Sirius was incredibly proud of
how Harry had handled himself, at least until Harry had had the decidedly foolish idea of
giving chase without a wand. That made him angry, at Harry in part, but also with the
situation, with Wormtail and, with himself.

Robards was right to say they hadn't seen it coming, but Sirius still hadn't been there when
he'd needed to be, hadn't been able to stop Wormtail before he waltzed in, using Sirius as a
scapegoat again – though thankfully this time it had only been his face and not his life, and
everyone knew better.

How Wormtail had managed it was another matter – Polyjuice, perhaps, or something else? –
and Sirius would ask Harry more about it when he could stand to be around his godson
without wanting to strangle him and hug him – and never let go – all at once.

"Stop sulking, Black," Robards said, and Sirius scowled. "It's done now, and we can't change
it, only do better next time." Sirius sighed, conceding the point. "Austen's taking the kids
back, did you want to go with them-"

"I'm coming after Wormtail," Sirius said, shaking his head. Robards looked surprised. "You're
following his apparition traces, right?"

"Wellington and Proudfoot and Proudfoot's trainee are already there- Potter."

"Hey." Harry offered Robards a rather distracted wave and looked to Sirius. "They said you're
taking us back…?" His face was rather flushed. Sirius wondered if it was the cold, but then
discounted that; like him, Harry didn't feel it. He was also wearing a scarf he hadn't had with
him before.

"Austen is," Sirius said. "I'm going after Pettigrew, with Robards." Like Robards, Harry
looked surprised.

"Oh," he said. "Yeah, right." He glanced at Robards who was waiting for Sirius, but had
turned away to give them what little privacy he could. "I- Padfoot, I'm sorry about-"

"Don't be," Sirius said; he could have stopped Wormtail, but it would have been at the cost of
the Shield charm that had saved them both. Sirius didn't regret the choice he'd made, would
make the same one a thousand times over. "It's done and we can't change the way things
played out." He sighed. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, frowning, "see you…"

Sirius strode after Robards, leaving Harry with Austen and the others. It was going to be a
long night.
 Winky the house elf

"Harry!" Hermione, Ron and Draco looked up from the couches in the common room, but
Harry had eyes only for Hermione. "Are you-?"

"I need a favour," Harry said, waving off Ron's questions and ignoring Draco's stare. "Your
timeturner, how far back does it go?"

"What?" Hermione asked, reaching up to toy with the chain. "Harry-"

"Wormtail was there," Harry said.

"Honestly," Draco said, "I leave you lot alone for a morning-"

"But seriously," Ron said, "what happened? Everyone's saying Sirius attacked Cho, and we
were both there when the street exploded-"

"It wasn't Padfoot," Harry said, "it was Wormtail in disguise, and he didn't attack anyone in
the teashop…" He quickly told them what had happened, both in the teashop and then later,
in the alleyway, both with Wormtail, and then his argument with Padfoot.

"Well," Ron said, when Harry was done, and looked at Hermione, "no wonder Sirius' dog
sounded mad when it was talking to McGonagall."

"He's absolutely right though," Hermione said, sounding thoroughly exasperated.

"What were you thinking going after someone like Wormtail without your wand-?"

"I wasn't," Harry said, cutting off Draco who'd clearly been about to say as much. "Well, not
about that, anyway, I just couldn't let him get away, but he did, and that's where I need you,
Hermione."

"I don't like where you're going with this, Harry," she said, frowning.

"Look, Padfoot said we can't change what happened today, and he can't, but we can-"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her bushy head. "No, absolutely not, Harry, I'm sorry-"

"No?" Harry stared at her.

"Hermione, if he went back, he could catch him," Ron said, staring at her.

"But he didn't go back," Hermione said. "Or Wormtail would already be caught."

"Because you've said no," Harry pointed out. "If you say yes-"

"The answer's no, Harry, I'm sorry." Harry looked at her, betrayed.
"What if he went back and did something to help him or Black, though?" Draco asked
thoughtfully. "Wormtail escapes either way, but maybe Black or Potter are better off-"

"Yeah," Harry said, seizing on that idea, "what if-"

"No," Hermione said firmly. "There is no 'what if' because I wouldn't say yes, not for this."

"Not for-?" Harry repeated. "Hermione this is the man that betrayed my parents to Voldemort,
and ruined Padfoot's life! He hurt you-"

"And that's awful, Harry," Hermione said patiently. "I've never said it wasn't, but those things
happened too long ago to be changed-"

"But today didn't," Harry said, trying to get her to understand. "We can change-"

"You can't just go back and change the past every time something bad happens, Harry,"
Hermione said, starting to sound frustrated. Harry was feeling incredibly frustrated with her
too. "And yes, today Wormtail did get away, but it could have been much worse. What if you
go back and change things and someone's hurt, or killed because he panics and lashes out?!"

"That wouldn't happen," Harry said. It would be very like Wormtail to lash out, but Harry
wouldn't corner him in a place where anyone else was at risk. "I'd go and get Padfoot, and
we'd catch him as soon as he left Puddifoot's-"

"Then you'd be seen," Hermione said. "You cannot be seen-"

"Then we'd leave as soon as we had him," Harry said. Ron and Draco were both very quiet.

"And if you messed up, somehow? What if he got away from you, and Sirius was even a
second slower getting to your past self in the alleyway?"

"That wouldn't happen," Harry said again, frustrated.

"You don't know that!" Hermione exclaimed. "And neither do I, which is why you can't!"

"You know what I do know?" Harry asked. "That the longer Wormtail's free, the more likely
it is that someone will get hurt or killed, and if you're not willing to help me now, then you're
as good as helping him!"

Hurt flashed over Hermione's face but was quickly replaced by anger and she leapt to her
feet.

"I am helping you," Hermione snapped. "You might be willing to risk yourself, Harry, but I'm
not, and if Sirius was here, I think he'd say the same!"

Furious, Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione had already turned on her heel
and marched up the girl's dormitory stairs.

"Well that was brilliantly handled, Potter, congratulations," Draco sighed, sinking back into
the couch.
"I suppose you agree with her," Harry grumbled.

"I think you both made good points," Draco said frowning. "But at the end of it all, the
timeturner's hers and she gets to decide who uses it."

"You didn't mean it when you said she was as good as helping him, did you?" Ron asked. He
looked a little shell-shocked.

"Sort of," Harry said, and then huffed, getting to his feet. "Not really, no." He ran a hand
through his hair, agitated. "I'm going to the kitchens." He hadn't had lunch before Wormtail
interrupted, and breakfast had been hours ago, so he was starving.

"I'll come," Draco said, hopping up. "I haven't seen Dobby for a while, and I want to ask him
if he knows anything about Father's mind abilities. Weasley?"

Ron glanced up at the girl's stairs but Hermione was well and truly gone – Harry felt a little
guilty, but only a little because he was still angry with her – and shrugged.

Lots of people were milling about the halls speculating about the explosion in Hogsmeade
but they either didn't see Harry, or hadn't yet heard of his role in it all, so they were able to
get downstairs without any trouble.

Harry tickled the pear and the three of them slipped inside. A hundred little heads turned their
way at once, ears flapping. Then:

"Master Draco and Harry Potter and Master Wheezy!"

Dobby dove forward, beaming, and swept into a low bow before hugging both Draco and
Harry and shaking Ron's offered hand rather enthusiastically. He'd still wore the silk pyjama
shirt embroidered with 'DM' that Draco had freed him with, and Harry had seen the bright
blue tie and football shorts last time, but the violently orange sock to go with his single
Gryffindor sock was new, as was his tea-cosy hat.

"Barmy," Ron muttered, too low for anyone but Harry to hear. He was grinning.

"Dobby," Draco said, smiling. "Have you got a moment to talk?"

"Oh, yes, Master Draco," Dobby said, nodding eagerly. "Dobby is always having time to be
speaking to Master Draco and Harry Potter and Master Wheezy!" He waved a hand and led
them over to a quieter corner of the kitchen, the other elves bowing as they passed, like they
had on other visits. Draco didn't even seem to notice, but Harry wasn't used to it – Kreacher
was hardly a conventional house elf – and Ron looked a little uncomfortable. "Would the
Masters like a cup of tea?"

"That'd be brilliant," Harry said. Three elves rushed over with a laden tea tray at once. "And
something to eat, if you wouldn't mind?" More elves were over within a minute, offering
Harry sandwiches while Dobby served them all tea. "Great," Harry said. "Thanks."

Delighted, the elves bowed and scurried off, but watched from their benches, doubtless
wanting to be ready if Harry or the other two wanted anything else. It was a bit unnerving.
He and Ron ate and chatted while Draco quizzed Dobby on Lucius Malfoy. Ron wanted to
know about what had happened before Wormtail interrupted Harry's date with Cho.

"I can guess the rest," Ron said, and patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. "We -
Hermione and I – saw her crying in Hogsmeade." He smiled, but it was more of a grimace.
"But- I mean, you got her wand back-" Yes, he had, and she'd been impressed and grateful.
Harry felt his face warming up. He'd forgotten all about that during his argument with
Hermione. "-so maybe once she's settled down she won't hate…" Ron leaned back in his
chair suddenly. "What?"

"I don't reckon she hates me," Harry mumbled, still unable to quite believe his luck that she
didn't. And he couldn't decide whether he wanted to tell Ron about it or whether he wanted to
keep it to himself. He'd wanted to tell Padfoot but Padfoot had been with Robards and then
had sent him off with other Aurors. Harry still couldn't decide if he was relieved or
disappointed at that. "She- er- we-"

"You what?" Ron asked, looking curious.

Harry's face felt even warmer now. Kissing girls had been a topic of conversation in their
dormitory several times before – since Seamus kissed Lavender last Hogsmeade trip - but
that had mostly been teasing Seamus and then wondering what it was like. It was a bit
different now that it had happened to him.

"We- er-"

"They kissed," Draco said, glancing their way for just a moment. Ron's eyebrows shot up.
"Didn't you?" Harry nodded sheepishly.

"Ha!" Ron said, triumphantly, and then burst out laughing. Several of the house elves gave
him wary looks and Harry found himself grinning.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to Dobby saying, "But are you sure…?"

"So?" Ron asked, when he'd composed himself. "What was it like?"

"It was- I dunno, good? Nice?" And it had been. Harry hoped he'd get to kiss her again.

"Nice?" Ron snorted. Then he grinned rather slyly. "Not brilliant or bloody great?" Harry
snorted too; that was what Seamus had said about Lavender.

"Shut it," Harry muttered, but Ron kept grinning.

"Winky!" Dobby exclaimed suddenly, and Harry saw a tiny elf sway as it turned their way.
She was wearing a Hogwarts teatowel in a toga-style, and she had a bottle of butterbeer in
each hand (one of those was empty) but it was undoubtedly the elf from the Hog's Head. But
what did that mean? Did it mean anything at all? Maybe elves had to help out in Hogsmeade
on the days students were there…? "Master Draco, this is being Dobby's good friend Winky.
Winky, this is Dobby's Master Draco." The elf sank into a wobbly curtsey. "And Master
Draco's friends Harry Potter and Master Wheezy-"
But Harry doubted Winky had even heard Dobby introduce Ron, because she'd started to wail
as soon as she heard Harry's name, and backed up a few steps, albeit rather unsteadily. House
elves smelled different to people, and it was harder to read their scents, but he'd had a bit of
practice with Kreacher, and he thought she smelled panicked, and a bit afraid.

Was she just naturally highly strung – she'd come across that way in the pub – or was there
more to it? Kreacher had always been a bit of a grouch, and Dobby was ridiculously cheery,
but most of the other house elves he'd met were friendly – occasionally shy – and polite. He'd
never had one that was afraid of him before, and- yes, it was of him. Her eyes hadn't left him
since Dobby said his name…

"Why don't you come and sit with us, Winky?" Harry asked quickly. Draco and Ron were
both giving him odd looks. "Any friend of Dobby's is a friend of ours."

"Yeah," Ron said slowly. Winky appeared to be trying to hide behind her bottle of butterbeer,
and her eyes flicked to the door several times.

"Yes, do sit," Draco said. It was his best Malfoy-voice, but it appeared to have done the trick,
because Winky's shoulders slumped and she staggered forward and crawled onto the bench.

"Have you worked here long, Winky?" Harry asked. She burst into tears. Ron looked rather
taken aback. Draco seemed baffled.

"Winky is coming to Hogwarts just before Dobby, Harry Potter," Dobby said eagerly. "Winky
is looking for work-" Winky looked sadly down at her butterbeer bottle. "-like Dobby is and
Professor Dumbledore is giving her work."

"So a few months ago?" Harry asked, and Dobby nodded, ears flapping.

"Winky is missing her old master," Dobby said, reaching over to pat the other elf on the knee.

"Her Master?" Harry asked, seizing on that. He was paranoid, he was sure of it, but there was
something about all of this... "So she was-"

"P-poor Master!" Winky shrieked, yanking on her ears. "Winky's poor master!" She flung
herself on the floor with a wail that turned into noisy sobs, and kicked her arms and legs
around like Harry had once seen Dudley do.

"Winky's Master is going to prison, Harry Potter," Dobby whispered, watching Winky with
sad eyes. Harry frowned, but his heart started to race and he now very much doubted Winky's
appearance in Hogsmeade had been purely by chance. Padfoot hadn't been injured when she
spilled the butterbeer on him and she hadn't attacked any of them, but there was more to this,
he was sure.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, shuffling over to avoid Winky's flailing. "What for?"

"Dobby isn't knowing, Master Wheezy, sir," Dobby said nervously.

"It's not Dobby's business," Winky said, hiccoughing. "Winky is not prying into Dobby's
business and so Dobby should not be prying into Winky and her poor Masters!"
"Masters?" Harry asked. Winky stopped talking at once and went very still, but the look she
gave him was furious, despite her red face and running nose. Was it possible Winky was
somehow in league with Wormtail? If her Masters were Death Eaters, perhaps they'd put
Wormtail in touch with her- but no, because Winky was working here, now, so Dumbledore
or someone was her Master now… But if Wormtail had stumbled across her by chance, Harry
could see him exchanging information about Winky's old Master or Masters or whatever for
her help.

"Winky is a good elf, Winky isn't sharing her Masters' secrets, no she is not! Not to Dobby,
and not to Harry Potter!"

"Winky will not be rude to Harry Potter!" Dobby squeaked angrily, jumping to his feet. Draco
hid a snort behind one hand.

"Oh, no," Harry said quickly, "Dobby, that's all right-"

"-and," Dobby continued shrilly, "Winky is needing to remember that Professor Dumbledore
is Winky's Master now. He-"

"Quiet, Dobby," Winky said, making a shushing gesture with one hand. The other hand
wrung the Hogwarts-toga she wore. She suddenly looked very afraid, but Dobby ploughed
on:

"-is the one that is giving Winky work after Winky is being freed-" Winky cringed and Harry
frowned. Something clicked into place in his head – only a suspicion – but based on Winky's
reactions he thought it was likely. "-and-"

"Oh!" Harry said, taking a very obvious look at his watch. "I completely forgot I have
Quidditch practice!"

"But it's a-" Harry elbowed Ron as subtly as he could manage. "Oh, yeah, right, Quidditch
practice." He made to stand, looking a bit confused.

"Nah, don't leave because of me," Harry said, and Ron slowly sat down again, looking
bewildered. "Draco still wanted to talk to Dobby."

"Right," Ron said uncertainly. Draco just nodded.

"It was nice to meet you, Winky," Harry said. "Bye, Dobby." And how was he supposed to
get this across to the other two without Winky catching on? "I- er- I'm glad you've got
another friend here, Dobby." He looked at Ron and then at Draco, who, thankfully, were both
looking at him. "You should- er- keep her close." Ron's eyes brightened with understanding –
thank Merlin – and Draco was harder to read but he didn't smell confused. "Save me a seat at
dinner."

"Yeah," Ron said as Harry left. "Hey, Winky, you don't reckon you'd be able to get me
another cup of tea, do you…?"

As soon as he was out of the kitchens, Harry pulled out the mirror.
"Sirius Black," he said, breaking into a jog. The mirror's surface was dark. "Padfoot? Sirius
Black."

"…isn't a bright side. He got away." By the time Sirius and Robards had gone after Peter, he'd
been well and truly gone; he'd apparated within a tiny area a few times to confuse the trace
readers, but they'd still managed to track him to the Leaky Cauldron where he'd Flooed to the
Ministry. There, he could have Flooed out, or left on foot, or had someone waiting for him,
but however he'd escaped, they hadn't been able to find him, even using Padfoot's sensitive
nose.

"There is. At least you got there in time to do something this time," Remus continued,
reaching out to refill Sirius' teacup.

"Ta."

"In the past you've been dead-" They both grimaced at that. "-or not able to get there until it's
all over."

"If I hadn't got there today it would have been all over," Sirius said. "Peter would have
Stunned him and vanished, and Harry'd be dead by now." He swallowed.

"But you did get there," Remus said. "And that's made all the difference. Peter got away and
that's-" Remus took a deep breath and there was a deep, sad anger in his scent. "-unfortunate,
but if you'd tried to stop him instead of- I'm- if- without that Shield charm, Sirius…" His
Shield charm had cost him the chance to catch Peter, but Sirius couldn't find it in himself to
regret that choice at all. He'd make the same one, a thousand times over.

"That's your bright side?" Sirius asked, laughing without humour. "That Harry and I weren't
blasted to bits?"

"Yes," Remus said, absolutely serious. "Of course, Padfoot, you and Harry- I've lost you
twice now and I don't think I've got it in me to handle a third time. And Harry…" He shook
his head. He looked so haunted that Sirius couldn't even find it in himself to tease him. Not
that he felt much like teasing at the moment anyway.

They sipped their tea in rather heavy silence.

"I've- Dora and I have been talking about coming back," Remus said.

"What?" Sirius asked. "But, what about your job-"

"I love my job," Remus said, looking fondly around his neat office. "And I do quite like it
here, but with everything going on at home… And Dora's over there half the time now
anyway with all this World Cup planning-"

"Good thing, too." Sirius had bumped into her at the Ministry and told her what happened
and after hearing it, she'd told him Remus had a free lesson and given him her international
portkey home. Rather guiltily, he realised he wasn't sure how she was going to get home, but
he'd needed to speak to Remus – to fill him in on the Peter situation as well as just to talk -
and hadn't given any of it much thought beyond that.

"Apparently." Remus' mouth twitched. "I- we feel very… disconnected over here. We miss
you, and Harry and Marlene, and Dora misses her parents."

"Well, you can't come back until Christmas," Sirius said with a grimace. "You've loaned your
cottage out, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Remus asked wryly. "Not that that's long; Christmas is next week,
Sirius." Sirius glanced at the planner on Remus' desk, a little surprised. He could have sworn
it was still two weeks off. He shook his head. "But no," Remus continued. "I'll finish the
school year out here, but after that…" There was a knock at the door. Remus glanced at
Sirius, who waved a hand. "Come in."

A very pretty blonde girl in a Beauxbatons uniform poked her head through the door, but the
smile on her face slipped off when she saw Sirius. She glanced at Remus, confused, and said
something hesitant in French. Sirius – who'd learned it as a boy but not practiced since –
caught what might have been an apology.

Remus said something back and the girl smiled, murmured a goodbye, and left.

"She often comes by for tea," Remus said, by way of explanation. He smiled wryly. "She's on
her way to becoming my French version of Matt."

"You mean she's a-"

"Not a werewolf, no." Sirius took that to means she was something else and Remus took a sip
of tea. "Quarter-Veela." Sirius' eyebrows shot up, but he could well believe it. "As you can
imagine it's caused a few problems with her classmates." He suspected that was an
understatement. "Madam Maxime's very fond of her as well."

"Does she breathe fire?" Sirius asked, grinning.

"Sirius!" Remus said, appalled.

"Just asking," Sirius said, putting his hands up. Remus rolled his eyes. They sipped their tea
in companionable silence; mostly, Sirius thought – about Harry, about the visit to Snape he'd
need to make in the near future, about Peter and how he'd got the best of them again and how
he and Crouch and Voldemort were just always several steps in front… He let out a gusty
sigh; a headache was building behind his eyes.

"Thinking about Harry?" Remus asked. Sirius couldn't tell if he was more sympathetic or
amused.

"In part," Sirius muttered. "He just-" He paused as Harry's voice called out of his pocket, then
frowned and took another sip of his tea. The adrenaline of it all had probably worn off by
now, and Harry was doubtless feeling guilty and wanting to apologise again. Remus arched
an eyebrow as Harry called again.
"What if it's important?" he asked, just as Sirius fished it out of his pocket, scowling; the
same thought had just occurred to him.

"Padfoot!" Harry sounded distinctly relieved, and slightly out of breath, but didn't appear to
be injured or even upset.

"What, Harry?" Sirius sounded rather terse, even to his own ears, and the other two seemed to
think so as well; Remus pursed his lips on the other side of his desk, and Harry cringed.
Sirius sighed, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Harry spoke again before he could
voice it.

"I- sorry," Harry said weakly, "I just- I thought you'd want to know… that house elf from the
pub today? Her name's Winky, and she works at Hogwarts." Harry gave him a hopeful look.
It was an interesting coincidence, but – unless Sirius was missing something – nothing more.

"All right," Sirius said slowly. He glanced at Remus, who shrugged. "And?"

"Well," Harry said, scrunching up his nose, "that's- I'm not actually sure." He made a face.
Sirius wasn't sure what his own looked like. Bewildered, or perhaps exasperated. "But I've
just- I've got a feeling about her…" Sirius exchanged another look with Remus, this one
sharper. "I think she's involved, somehow."

"Involved with what?" Sirius asked.

"Wormtail," Harry said. "Maybe."

"Harry," Remus said, and Sirius turned the mirror in his direction, so that he and Harry could
see each other. Harry's made a surprised but pleased sound, and Remus smiled. "I'm not
discounting it as a possibility, but why would a school elf be helping Wormtail?"

Sirius could think of a few reasons, most of which revolved around the elf being hoodwinked
in some way.

"That's the thing," Harry said slowly. "The way she was acting… I'm not sure she is a school
elf."

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked sharply.

"Like maybe she wasn't actually freed before she came here," Harry said, scrunching his face
up. "Like I said, I don't know, it's just a feeling…"

Sirius understood the implications at once; if Winky the elf wasn't at Hogwarts because she'd
been freed, then it was likely she was there on someone's orders… but whose? While lots of
Death Eaters had had house elves, Voldemort had never had his own. Peter hadn't had one
growing up, and if he'd acquired one since Sirius was sure it would have been mentioned in
an Auror file. He supposed Polkov was a possibility, or Crouch-

"Where's Winky now?" Sirius asked. His voice came out strangled. He'd met Winky before
today – almost a year ago – in St Mungo's. He'd barely spoken to her then, despite being in
her company on and off for several days. In fact, all he'd really seen of her then was the back
of her head as she lay, weeping, over Crouch Snr's bed. Sirius jumped to his feet.

"I've got Ron and Draco distracting her," Harry said.

"Good," Sirius said. "I-"

"Where are you?" Remus interrupted and Sirius paused, dreading the answer.

"I'm just about at Dumbledore's office," Harry said. "I figured he's the best one to talk to-"

"Absolutely," Sirius said, relieved. "Harry, I think she's Crouch's elf." Harry's eyebrows shot
up. "Ask Dumbledore, though, he'd know, and see if you can work out whether or not she's
free without tipping her off. I'll be there as soon as I can." He just needed to beg an
international portkey out of someone at the French Ministry first. Harry nodded seriously and
the mirror went blank. "Sorry to rush off, Moony-"

"I was going to have to kick you out anyway," Remus said, waving the apology away. "My
next lesson's in ten minutes."

"I'll let you know how this goes," Sirius said, pulling the office door open.

"I'll be back on Monday anyway," Remus reminded him. "Christmas, remember?"

"Right," Sirius said. "Thanks for…" He gestured vaguely around the office, but Remus
seemed to understand and gave him a little smile.

"Any time."
 To be a godfather

"Thank you for coming in, Amos," Dumbledore said politely, but he smelled troubled.
Crouch's house elf let out a low, miserable sound from Diggory's side; she was wearing an
odd, silver collar that Diggory had brought from his Department, and the attached chain was
held firmly in Diggory's hand.

"Not a problem at all – frankly, it's nice to be out of the office! And not to worry, Headmaster,
Aurors," Diggory said. As an afterthought, he added, "Mr Potter." Harry's expression
twitched, but Sirius doubted anyone else had noticed. "She'll be yours to question just as soon
as we've sorted out the paperwork on our end…" He glanced at Winky and shook his head in
disbelief.

Sirius caught Robards' eye and tilted his head toward Diggory. It wasn't that Sirius had
anything against Diggory - because he didn't – but Diggory wasn't an Auror and Sirius
was not about to let the best lead they'd had on Crouch and Peter out of his sight… but, since
he had more to take care of here at Hogwarts, Robards' sight was the next best thing.

"Actually, Amos," Robards said smoothly, and stood, "I'll tag along, if you don't mind."

"We can handle an elf, Robards," Diggory said, looking amused. Winky moaned, hands
scrabbling at her collar to little avail. Diggory tugged – not roughly, but not gently either – on
the chain. Robards clasped his hands in front of him and waited expectantly. Diggory seemed
to realise Robards wasn't going to take no for an answer, and nodded. Sirius doubted he'd had
much to do with Aurors before. "Well, all right, then. Best be off. I'll take the elf, and then
you can- well- yes." Diggory cleared his throat. "Come along, elf." He tugged her toward the
Floo.

"I'm taking a trainee session at eleven tonight," Robards said, as Diggory and Winky
vanished. "That gives you a few hours to eat and sleep and then you can come and take over
the elf-watch." Sirius nodded gratefully and Robards was gone in a swirl of green flames.

"Will you be joining us for dinner, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked. "It ought to be going for
another hour at least."

"No," Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Harry didn't speak, but his scent
wavered and Sirius wasn't wholly sure how to read it. Harry was staring at the fireplace,
though, and not at him, so reading his expression wasn't an option either. "I've got to speak
with Snape, and after that I'll be going home."

"To Severus?" Dumbledore asked, eyebrows raised. "Is this about Winky-?" Sirius shook his
head. Dumbledore considered him for a moment, and Sirius thought he was going to say
something, but he didn't. Instead, he turned to Harry. "I trust you'll be having dinner, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. It was the first time he'd spoken since Sirius arrived; Dumbledore had
handled most of it.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore rose. "Perhaps you'll accompany me down, then?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said, and glanced quickly at Sirius.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said again. He was smiling, but his eyes were shrewd as they
flicked between Sirius and Harry. "If you'll just give me a moment, I need to discuss a new
password with the gargoyle downstairs… I'll call when I'm ready for you."

He strode out, leaving Harry and Sirius alone in the office. Sirius wasn't quite sure what to
say; he wasn't going to apologise to Harry – yeah, he'd been upset in Hogsmeade, but he
thought that was warranted – and he didn't want to argue with him again, but there was an
awkward undercurrent between him and Harry and Sirius didn't want to leave things like this.

"Thanks for coming," Harry said, speaking first.

"Of course I was going to come," Sirius said, waving a hand. "It's the best lead we've had in
ages." Harry nodded but his expression hadn't eased any. They both glanced at the door, but
Dumbledore hadn't called.

"Padfoot," Harry said hesitantly, and Sirius knew just from his tone where this was going.
"I'm- are you still-"

"Mad?" Sirius asked. Harry bobbed his head and Sirius sighed. "Yeah. Not what you want to
hear, but there's no point pretending otherwise." Harry said nothing, and smelled absolutely
miserable. "You're not in trouble," Sirius said. "I don't want to admit it, but you made some-"
He toyed with the word 'good' and then changed his mind. "-fair points in Hogsmeade today,
when we- er- discussed-" Harry's eyebrows shot up. "-everything, but I think I did as well. I
just- don't think we're done with that discussion." Harry sighed in a very tired way, and Sirius
frowned until he fidgeted.

"I don't think either of us are going to think any differently about it, next time we discuss it,"
Harry mumbled. "I- today, was a trap and I walked right into it and I was- well, lucky more
than anything, but I'm not sorry for going after him. And…" Harry bit his lip. "If we'd caught
him today, I don't think you'd be as mad."

It was on the tip of Sirius' tongue to say that of course he would be, but he couldn't. Harry –
rightly – took his silence as agreement.

"Never simple, is it?" Sirius said finally. That won him a tired, half-smile from Harry. "Like I
said, there's still some discussion to be had. But not now." They'd talk when it was less fresh,
when Sirius had had time to work out how much of his frustration with Harry was really with
Harry, compared with that with himself, and the situation.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," Harry said, looking at him properly for the first time. Sirius
reached out and Harry let himself be pulled into a tight, sideways hug.

"I know. And I- just because I'm a bit annoyed with you doesn't mean I'm not bloody proud,"
he said gruffly. "Everyone was really impressed with what you did in the teashop-" Funnily
enough, Harry flushed at that, though it was just the two of them there. Sirius wondered what
he was thinking about, but didn't ask. "-and just before, with how you handled Winky…"

"Never simple, is it?" Harry muttered.

"No," Sirius agreed, tone wry. He gave Harry's shoulders a squeeze, feeling more at ease than
he had since arriving in Hogsmeade, and Harry's scent seemed to indicate the same.

And then – and really, Sirius couldn't even find it in himself to be surprised, because the man
had always had an uncanny sense of timing – Dumbledore called for Harry up the stairs.

Lavender, Parvati and Padma - who was visiting for the evening - had been sprawled on
Lavender's bed since arriving back from dinner and were chattering away about their
Divination homework. Hermione was curled up on her four-poster, and had been intending to
do some of her own homework – with her study load, she really needed to keep on top of it –
but so far she hadn't managed more than a poorly-written paragraph for History of Magic.
Instead, she'd been crying on and off, and replaying her argument with Harry over and over
in her head, and, instead of calming down the more she though on it, had been getting angrier
and more upset with him for what he'd said, and with the other two for not saying anything at
all.

There was a quiet knock on the dormitory door and Lavender got up to open it, but only a
crack.

"Oh, hi, Ginny," she said. Hermione frowned; she and Ginny were friendly, but she suspected
Ginny had been sent up by one of the boys, rather than Ginny coming of her own accord.
Lavender glanced her way and then back through the door. "What do you need?"

"I wanted to talk to Hermione," Ginny said. Lavender glanced at Hermione again. Ginny
would never have agreed without knowing what about… but whose side was Ginny on? She
bit her lip, not sure if she wanted to find out. Something tapped impatiently on the landing.
Ginny's foot, perhaps. "I know she's in there."

"All right," Hermione said. Her voice came out as more of a croak, but Lavender stepped
aside and Ginny strode in carrying a white bundle. Hermione took a deep breath, ready to
argue with Ginny if she had to; Ginny and Harry were a lot closer than she and Ginny were,
and she was sure Ginny would take his side. Before she could say anything, however, Ginny
startled her by tossing her bundle at Hermione. Hermione tried to catch it, and missed. It
landed on her bed with a soft thump.

"Ron said you didn't come down for dinner."

"I wasn't hungry," Hermione said, but her stomach chose then to rumble and betray her.
Truthfully, she hadn't gone down because she hadn't wanted to see Harry, and she hadn't
wanted to sit alone.

"Right," Ginny said, arching an eyebrow. "Well, Ron thought you might be, so he asked me
to bring you that." Hermione unfolded the bundle – it appeared to be made of napkins – and
found two sandwiches stuffed with roast pork, gravy and roast vegetables. Inside the same
bundle, but wrapped in another napkin to keep the gravy off, were three fruit mince pies.
Hermione swallowed, touched.

"So he's not angry with me?" she asked thickly.

"I don't know about Harry," Ginny said carefully. "He wasn't at dinner either. But Ron and
Draco aren't."

"Why wasn't Harry at dinner?" Hermione asked, before she could help herself.

"Not sure," Ginny said, frowning. She glanced over at Lavender's bed, where the other three
girls were chattering away to each other and not paying them any attention. When she spoke,
though, she'd lowered her voice. "Ron said something about a house elf and not having
Quidditch training, and Dumbledore wasn't at dinner either… Draco's guess was a meeting
about what happened in Hogsmeade."

"Right," Hermione said, picking at one of the sandwiches Ron had sent her. She wondered,
rather uncomfortably, if Harry might have gone to convince the Headmaster to ask her to let
him use the timeturner. "I suppose that makes sense."

"So, is that why you're up here?" Ginny sat hesitantly on the end of Hermione's bed and then
paused, perhaps expecting to be told off. Hermione said nothing and Ginny seemed to relax a
bit. "Hiding, because you think they're angry?"

Embarrassingly, Hermione felt hot tears welling up.

"Harry said I'm as good as helping Wormtail," she said, and her voice wobbled. "He said it'll
be m-my fault if anyone else is h-hurt or- or-" She wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her
jumper.

"Ron said something about that," Ginny admitted, frowning. "You know that's wrong, don't
you?

"I know," Hermione said thickly. "But he still said it, and neither of the other two did
anything to help, just sat there!" And with that, her anger was back. "They haven't
apologised, or even come to talk to me about it, but obviously if they know things about
house elves and Quidditch training, they've been happy enough to talk to Harry!" She wiped
her face again, sniffing.

"Well," Ginny said, rather tentatively, "it's a bit hard for them to talk to you when you've been
hiding up here all afternoon." Hermione shot her a cross look, and but instead of apologising,
Ginny's mouth twitched. "I think, though, that dinner was supposed to be a peace offering."

"It would be, coming from Ron," Hermione sighed, but it was thoughtful of him and she'd be
willing to forgive him after he apologised. "Did Draco say anything?" Ginny smiled, twirling
a strand of hair around her finger.

"That the mince pies are from him."

"What?" Severus called sharply. He'd hoped for a nice, quiet evening with a glass of elf-made
wine and the latest assignments handed up by his O.W.L. students, but it was not to be. He
reached for his leg, which he'd removed when he returned from dinner.

"It's Sirius," his visitor called through his office door. "Have you got a moment?"

"Not for you," Severus grumbled, but flicked his wand at the door anyway. It opened and he
watched Black wander into his office and through the bookcase-door that led to his quarters.

"Evening," Black said. He pulled the bookcase shut and settled himself on the other couch.

"Make it quick," Severus said, returning his attention to George Weasley's poorly researched,
poorly written, yet somehow theoretically-sound proposal for alternative ingredients in a
Calming Drought.

"I saw Harry in Hogsmeade today," Black said.

"And Pettigrew, or so I heard," Severus said, without looking up.

"If you're going to be a git, I won't bother," Black said, but made no move to stand. "And I
reckon you'll want to hear this."

"Then spit it out," Severus replied. He etched a painful E onto Weasley's essay and reached
for the next essay – the Johnson girl's analysis of a case study of Calming Drought addiction.

"Harry asked me for books from our library at home," Black continued. "Books about
Occlumency." Severus kept his expression impassive. "It seems Draco's interested in learning
it to counter his headaches, but can't find anything in the school library." Severus wasn't sure
where Draco had learned of Occlumency, but he was suddenly very glad he'd removed those
books from the library. What he didn't know, was where Black was going with this.

"Hardly surprising," Severus said without looking up. "Occlumency and Legillimency are
notoriously difficult and can have negative impacts on a child's mental development if
practiced incorrectly." He made a note on Johnson's essay. "I daresay any books on the matter
would be safely tucked away in the Restricted Section."

"You think that lot wouldn't have checked there?" Black sounded amused.

"I doubt they'd have got permission," Severus replied curtly. "Which is why Potter's gone
running to you."

"All right, then," Black said, shrugging. "If that's all there is to it…"

"What more would there be?"

"Well," Black said thoughtfully, "Harry didn't think it sounded like possession – and he'd
know – and if it was a mystery ailment you'd be a lot more worried, so it's obviously
Legillimency. Draco seems to think Lucius Malfoy's behind it all-"
"This is ridiculous," Severus said.

"But," Black continued, ignoring him, "anyone that knows the first thing about that knows
you need close proximity or eye contact, so that rules out Lucius Malfoy. Draco's not stupid,
he'll work that out as soon as he gets his hands on a book on the topic, and then he'll start
looking at who else might be responsible…"

"Are you suggesting that I am?" Severus asked, working to sound as insulted as possible.

"No," Black said sarcastically. "Never."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and set Johnson's essay and his quill aside.

"Are these your own conclusions, or Potter's?" he asked.

"Mine," Black said smugly, leaning back into the couch. "It won't take Harry long to put it
together, though, if he hasn't already after our conversation today. He's good at things like
that, and he knows you're a Legillimens already, so…"

Severus' heart sank, and a rather sick feeling settled in his stomach. He still had no idea how
or what to tell Draco. The truth was not a good option at this point, but, as Black seemed to
be hinting, Severus' time was running out, and if he said nothing, as he had so far, and Draco
worked out that Severus was behind it, it would almost certainly turn Draco against him.

"And so why are you here, Black?"

"I wanted to know why," Black said.

"That is not your concern," he said, curling his lip.

"I'm curious," Black said, but his voice was hard now. "You're the one Draco goes to for
advice or help or just comfort- You. Not his parents, or his brother, not an aunt or uncle."
Severus protested, but his heart wasn't in it, because Black was right. "You're the closest thing
that kid has to a parent, you're the adult he trusts more than anyone else, and you're giving
him headaches and messing around in his head while you blame it on his bloody father!
What's in there that he wouldn't tell you if you asked?"

"You don't understand what you're asking," Severus snapped.

"Then explain it to me," Black retorted, tone frosty.

"You?" Severus sneered, furious all of a sudden. He was furious with Narcissa and
Dumbledore, for getting him into this mess with Draco in the first place, with himself for
going along with it and getting so attached to Draco that keeping him happy and close had
become more important than giving him the truth and risking pushing him away, and finally,
with Black, for sticking his nose into Severus' affairs at – as usual - the worst possible time.
"Are you suffering under the delusion that we're friends?" Something in Black's expression
tightened. "That because we've got godsons the same age that we share some sort of bond and
that I should confide in you?" Black opened his mouth, but Severus wasn't finished. "You
have no right to demand answers of me, or question my choices, or try to force your
involvement into matters that absolutely do not concern you."

Black opened his mouth, then closed it again and stood, expression thunderous. He didn't
speak, though, like Severus had expected, just stormed to the bookcase door, yanked it open,
and disappeared through it. A moment later, Severus' office door opened and slammed.

Severus' feeling of vicious triumph lasted less than a second. The following second, ill was a
better word to describe how he felt, because Black for all of his unwelcome prying had been
trying to warn Severus about having limited time, and rather than justifying himself… not
that that was a good option either, because Black absolutely could not know what Severus
and Narcissa had started all those years ago, and what Severus – now alone – was shaping
Draco to be.

But Black would not take kindly to having his efforts thrown in his face, and Severus could
guess what he might do next.

"Black!" he shouted, without much hope and then snatched up his leg. He called for Black
again as he left his quarters and office and made his way out into the dungeon corridors, but
there was no reply; Black was already gone, either home or up to the Gryffindor common
room, depending on what he'd decided to do, but if it was the latter, Severus had no hope of
beating him there.

Swearing at length, Severus stalked back to his quarters and locked himself in, vowing to
finish his marking and go to bed early and deal with whatever happened next in the morning.
His hand shook as he picked up his quill.

Draco,

Harry told me earlier today that you were after books on Occlumency, and were having
trouble finding any. I've sent through three, hopefully they're of some us to you, and there are
more here that you're welcome to when you're done with those, just let me know when you
need them.

If you need help understanding anything you read, I'm only an owl away, or you can get me
through Harry's mirror. Otherwise, Snape is quite practiced in both Occlumency and
Legillimency, so you could try talking to him about it.

Good luck.

Sirius
 Not according to plan

The lift slid open and Barty and three others shifted to make room for Black and Robards.
Attached to the latter, by a dainty silver chain was a quivering house elf, and Barty glanced at
it with nothing more than fleeting curiosity, before reaching past a tiny, grey-haired witch to
jab the button to close the doors. The lift jolted sideways.

Then, he froze, mouth actually falling open in shock and horror, because that wasn't just any
house elf, that was his bloody house elf… and was that a collar around her neck?! He knew
about Wormtail's afternoon adventure in Hogsmeade - that had been all over the Ministry.
They'd agreed early on that neither he or Wormtail should know anything specific about the
other's location or movements in case the other was caught, so today's news had been a rather
unpleasant shock to Barty. But, Wormtail had escaped, by all accounts, and that was what
mattered. There'd been no mention of Winky's involvement.

And yet, here she was, restrained and in the company of Aurors, which couldn't be a good
thing. She hadn't been allowed to know anything that might give them away, and was under
orders not to speak of their plans and her involvement in any of them. The Aurors weren't
even close but if they were somehow able to get information out of Winky, they might find
themselves back in the game, and Barty didn't need that.

Black glanced his way, frowning, and Barty knew he'd smelled something - Wormtail had
that ability, and he'd warned Barty that Black did too. Swearing to himself, Barty stared more
obviously at Winky, until Robards cleared his throat.

"Sorry, I realise I'm staring," he said, "but what is that elf wearing?" There - a perfectly
reasonable reaction. Several of the lift's other occupants murmured curiously.

"It's rather medieval, isn't it?" Robards asked, grimacing down at Winky and her collar, but
he didn't say anything else, and he obviously wasn't too bothered by it, because it was still on.

Barty made a disapproving noise and left it at that, and when the lift announced his floor, he
nodded at the Aurors and stepped out.

He strode calmly down the corridor to his office, locked the door, and then sat down to wait
out his Polyjuice's expiry. When he was himself again, he retrieved three phials from a secret
compartment in his desk drawer.

To the first, he added a hair from his own head. To the second, he added a hair from the third
phial, and drank it, shuddering as it took effect.

Then, he stood, the first phial tucked safely in his robes, and returned to the lift, which was
now, blessedly empty except for a few floating memos, and pressed the button for the
Atrium.
"...try get you before you see this morning's Prophet," Padfoot said. Harry waved Ron and
Draco on and ducked into an alcove out of the way of the Great Hall's doorway.

"I'd reckon it's all about Hogsmeade yesterday, right?" Harry asked, grimacing. Padfoot was
sporting a black eye and a pair of hands - Marlene's, Harry was fairly sure - were dabbing
some sort of ointment onto it. "What happened to-"

"Actually, you've been pushed back to page five," Padfoot said, with a fleeting grin, but he
sobered quickly. "Are you somewhere you can talk without being overheard?"

"Er…" Harry moved further away from the Great Hall and the chatter within it. At first, he
was going to head to another alcove, but thought better of it; instead, he put himself in the
middle of the Entrance Hall, where he was surrounded by open space. No one would be able
to approach him without him seeing them, not even Wormtail as a rat. "Yeah, just talk
quietly."

"Good. Right, so, long story short, someone was Imperiused - probably by Crouch Jnr, but
the bloke didn't see who cursed him - into taking Polyjuice Potion-"

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Potion that makes you look like someone."

"Is that what Wormtail used yesterday to look like you?"

"For- yes, but that's not what I'm talking to you about." Padfoot flapped a hand, and Harry let
him get back to his recount without interrupting. "So this poor bloke - Jessop - looked like
Barty Crouch Jnr - which is why he's our main suspect, since the potion needs hair or a nail
or blood or something - and was ordered to come after Winky." Harry's eyebrows shot up
and, astoundingly, Padfoot sniggered.

"Yeah," Harry said sarcastically, "hilarious."

"It shouldn't have been," Padfoot said, sobering. "Best we can tell, Jessop was picked at
random from the Ministry's atrium, and it could have been awful… except… he's a Squib."
Padfoot's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "He got one good punch in, mostly
because he surprised me, but I Stunned him right after and that was the end of it."

"Thankfully," Marlene said from somewhere in the background. Her hands stopped moving.
"You were lucky, Sirius, and-"

"Yeah," Padfoot said, turning to look over his shoulder, "and it's nice to have luck on our side
for once." He turned back to Harry, grinning.

"So they didn't get her - Winky?"

"Nope," Padfoot said. He winced as Marlene probed his bruised face, and the next time he
spoke, it was in a low voice, one Harry would have struggled to hear if it weren't for his
excellent hearing. "And it won't matter now, if they try again. I spent the night questioning
her, and it took a bit, but we got her talking."
"How?" Harry asked, surprised, but took his cue from Padfoot and kept his voice to a
whisper. "Wouldn't she have had orders to keep quiet?" And even if she didn't, he'd got the
impression yesterday she loved her masters so much she'd never turn against them.

"Scrimgeour's idea actually - we bargained. A reduced sentence for Crouch Snr, and visiting
privileges for Winky as long as she agrees to wear the collar while she's there." Harry nodded
slowly. "And leniency for Crouch Jnr; the Ministry's all for having him and Peter Kissed
upon capture, but Winky's conditions were for Crouch to be spared that and put back in
Azkaban, where she'll be able to visit him."

"Was it worth it?" Harry asked, biting his lip. He glanced around the Entrance Hall. People
were still trickling down the stairs and into breakfast. Hermione came down with Ginny and
Colin, who looked to be deep in conversation. When Hermione looked his way and then
away again, Harry's heart sank. He'd speak with her when he was finished with Padfoot, he
decided. He couldn't say he was sorry for asking her to use her timeturner, and he was still
disappointed that she'd refused to help him, but he also knew he hadn't handled it very well
and that he'd upset her, and he was sorry for that.

"Winky Apparated Peter in just after the start of term," Padfoot said, drawing Harry's
attention back to him. "She took up the job in the kitchens because Crouch wanted her here to
help Peter if he needed it. From what I gathered though, there's no love lost there, especially
after he told her to attack me for my hair yesterday. He's a nasty, sneaky man, apparently, and
she doesn't like that he's working with her master. Unfortunately," Padfoot sighed, "Peter's
either paranoid, or he doesn't like Winky much either; yesterday was the first time they've
had direct contact with each other since she brought him here." Padfoot grimaced, and Harry
was sure his own expression was disappointed.

"So she doesn't know where he's been hiding out?"

"She's got no idea," Padfoot said, grimacing. A chair scraped somewhere behind him; Harry
guessed Marlene had given up on Padfoot's face - which was coated in a pale blue paste - and
sat down. "What we do know is he's somewhere either in the castle - but if that's the case, it
doesn't explain why he's not on the Map - or he's somewhere nearby. We also know that
wherever he is, he's got regular Floo access, since you've seen him talking to Voldemort."

"Right," Harry said slowly.

"So, Robards and I are going to go have a poke around the Shack again. Peter wasn't there
earlier in the year but he might have moved around since then." Padfoot shrugged.
"Dumbledore's had the portraits watching all year, but if they haven't seen him before now, I
doubt they'll be much help. He and Fudge have a meeting this morning to discuss additional
security measures for the school."

"And Crouch?"

"Nothing," Padfoot said. "Last contact they had was when he ordered her to take a Hogwarts
job. She doesn't know where he is, or anything about Voldemort or Polkov."
"So it was a complete waste of time, then?" Harry said, disappointed. "She doesn't know
anything that we couldn't have already guessed."

"The main thing is that Peter's lost an important ally here in the castle," Padfoot said. "Even if
he wasn't using her much before, he now doesn't have the option at all. As for the rest, we've
been able to make what I feel are decent guesses..." Padfoot grinned. "First is that it's unlikely
Peter was the one that saw Winky being taken in for questioning, which means that Crouch or
someone reporting to Crouch saw her at the Ministry. But, unless a spy knew what they were
looking for, they wouldn't have recognised Winky, so we reckon it has to have been Crouch
himself. He's obviously got Polyjuice Potion on hand, since he gave it to Jessop, which
complicates things a bit… Robards is looking into anyone that might have seen Winky at the
Ministry." Padfoot grimaced, and Harry guessed he didn't envy Robards that job.

"The second thing is that Crouch would only have sent someone after Winky for two reasons;
one is that he was genuinely worried about her and didn't want her in Auror custody, the
second is that she knows something, something that we might not have uncovered with our
questioning, or that he didn't know what she might know, which means he's not in contact
with Peter." Padfoot's eyes gleamed.

"Why's that good?" Harry asked, looking around again to make sure no one was going to
overhear Padfoot's answer.

"Because we can try to lure Crouch out with false information. Make him think we're onto
him and wait for him to lash out, or slip up."

"As long as he doesn't end up tricking you back," Marlene said. Harry couldn't see her, but he
imagined she wore a rather ugly look; almost this time last year, she'd been put in St Mungo's
by Crouch and spent weeks recovering, but still escaped lightly. Hemsley - Padfoot's old
Auror partner - had been killed in the same ambush.

"We'll be handling it carefully," Padfoot assured her. His arm disappeared from the mirror's
frame as he reached out to her. "Aside from anything else, we don't want to make any claims
too big that he sees right through them." He returned his attention to Harry. "Which - aside
from the update on all of this - gets us to why I wanted to speak with you. Skeeter was
skulking around last night-" Padfoot was all but growling now. "-so the Prophet's story
is absolute rubbish-"

"And that's putting it kindly." Marlene sounded particularly unimpressed.

"-but tomorrow, we ought to have come up with something to push Crouch's buttons a bit. So:
don't panic if it makes things sound even more dire than they are, or, if what's published
doesn't line up with what you already know. You'll be home for Christmas in a few days
anyway-" Harry's stomach flopped at that reminder. "-but until then, don't correct what's in
the Prophet to anyone where you might be overheard. The last thing we need is Peter getting
wind of what we're up to and ruining it."

"Right," Harry said, nodding.

"Good," Padfoot said. "That's it, really, but I'll need to talk to you again tonight, or first thing
tomorrow morning-"

"More about this?" Harry asked curiously.

"Nah, plans for the station tomorrow, and how you're getting to Privet Drive and all that."

"Oh," Harry said. He wasn't sure exactly how that made him feel, and as such, wasn't sure
what expression had crept onto his face, but whatever it was made Padfoot grimace.

He opened his mouth and closed it again, then said, "I'll let you get into breakfast." Harry
doubted that was what he'd been going to say, but was too relieved to not have to discuss the
Dursleys again just yet, to mind much.

"All right. Bye, Padfoot, bye, Marlene."

"Bye, Harry." The mirror went blank and Harry pocketed it and wandered into the Great Hall,
his thoughts on the Dursleys and his upcoming time with them. Logically, he knew it would
probably be all right. It was just that he hadn't seen any of them for years, and, Petunia's help
before Padfoot's trial notwithstanding, they'd never had a particularly good relationship. He
didn't know what to expect, didn't know how he was supposed to act around them; he was
almost as afraid of them all being perfectly lovely during his stay - because Harry would
have no idea how to handle that from them - as he was of being thrown, wandless, back into
his cupboard the moment Padfoot left.

Harry flopped down onto the seat beside Ron, who took one look at his face, exchanged an
alarmed look with Draco, and started asking questions. Hermione wasn't sitting with them.
She was further down the table, sitting with Ginny and Colin.

"So what happened?" Ron asked, looking ill. "Is he all right?"

"He? Who?" Harry asked, looking away from Hermione.

"Sirius!" Ron said urgently. A group of fourth years that were seated nearby went still. Harry
guessed they were listening in. In fact, quite a few people were staring at him, and not only at
the Gryffindor table. "The paper said he was really badly hurt, that Pettigrew got him-"

"Pettigrew?" Harry asked, baffled. "But Padfoot's- he's all right."

"Oh, good," Ron said, looking relieved.

"I told you Skeeter's unreliable," Draco said, but he too had relaxed when Harry said that
Padfoot was okay. His attention drifted back to his book - one of the ones Padfoot had sent
him last night - which was propped up against the pumpkin juice jug.

Ron muttered something under his breath that even Harry didn't catch, and then slid a copy
of The Prophet over.

"I reckon she's got it out for Sirius, mate," he said grimly. Wormtail and Crouch's wanted
posters scowled at Harry below the title OVERNIGHT ATTACK ON THE MINISTRY!
By Rita Skeeter

Late last night, there was an attack on the D.M.L.E.'s Auror Department which has shaken
the Wizarding World to its core. Though the Auror Department have been close-lipped on the
night's events and who may be behind it, all evidence points to Peter Pettigrew and Barty
Crouch Jnr.

Auror Sirius Black, who was appointed his questionably-deserved position several years ago
in an unorthodox move by several senior D.M.L.E. members, was the target of this bold
attack. As he's yet to be seen since the attack and is therefore to provide the Prophet with a
comment, one can only speculate as to whether this is due to the serious injuries he
reportedly acquired, or due to shame over letting Pettigrew again get the better of him and
escape (for details of Black's failure to apprehend Pettigrew in his bold attack on Hogsmeade
yesterday, see page 5)...

Harry tossed the paper back down on the table, scowling, and had no interest in reading the
rest of it. He stood.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked. "You just got-"

"Hermione," Harry said, jerking his head in her direction. Abruptly, Ron looked wary, and
Draco looked up from his book, smelling worried.

"Because of the article?" Ron asked carefully. Draco was watching him very closely. It
occurred to Harry that they thought he might blame her for what had happened at the
Ministry, and he scowled at them for thinking so poorly of him. A little part of him that
sounded vaguely like Moony pointed out that he sort of deserved it, after the things he'd said
to Hermione yesterday.

"To apologise, actually," Harry said, a little stiffly.

Ron had the grace to look guilty, at least, but Draco only muttered, "Finally."

"Good luck," Ron said, as Harry turned away.

Hermione pushed the paper away, tears pricking her eyes. Ginny - who was sitting beside her
- picked it up and baulked, but began to read, with Colin peering nervously over her shoulder.

"First Hogsmeade and now the Ministry?" he asked.

"Shh," Ginny said, her face slowly turning red as she scanned the article. Hermione prodded
her breakfast, no longer feeling very hungry.

She knew, of course, that it wasn't her fault Pettigrew had broken into the Ministry and
attacked Sirius, knew that giving Harry the timeturner - like he'd asked her to yesterday -
wouldn't have stopped it, but she doubted Harry would see it that way. Sirius had been hurt,
from the sounds of things, possibly so badly hurt that he was in St Mungo's and not even able
to give a comment to The Prophet. Hermione wiped her eyes surreptitiously - or so she
thought - on her sleeve.

Apparently, though, she hadn't been as sneaky as she'd thought, because Ginny passed her a
napkin. A moment later, Ginny relinquished the paper to Colin, who'd been going cross-eyed
trying to read it and he vanished behind it. Ginny said nothing as she returned to her
breakfast, but she was frowning. Did she blame Hermione too?

But Ginny wasn't looking at Hermione, she was looking at Harry, who'd just come into the
Hall, looking particularly glum. Ginny looked less angry now, and more concerned, as Harry
sat down beside Ron. Hermione swallowed thickly.

When she'd walked past Ron and Draco that morning, they'd both looked confused enough
that she knew they'd been expecting her to sit with them, and that had reassured her they
didn't hold any grudge against her, no matter what was happening between her and Harry at
the moment. But, she hadn't been ready to deal with Harry that morning, since he was yet to
apologise, or make a friendly gesture - like Ron and Draco had with dinner last night - so
she'd stayed with Ginny and Colin.

She suspected Ginny had guessed as much, because Ginny usually sat with Hermione and the
boys, or at least near them, but today she'd chosen seats almost halfway up. Hermione was
grateful for it, and she enjoyed spending time with Ginny, but she didn't belong beside her
and Colin. She belonged with her boys.

"Do you think he's all right?" Ginny asked, and Hermione wasn't sure if she meant Harry or
Sirius. Hermione watched as Harry took a copy of the paper from Ron, watched as he
scowled and tossed it aside, watched as he had a rather tense exchange with the other two and
then headed toward her. Hermione shivered. Ginny twitched beside her.

Yes, he absolutely blamed her, and it looked like he was going to make it known - or try to…
And Ron and Draco had collected their things - breakfasts included - and were trailing after
Harry, but not so closely that they'd have to be involved in what was about to happen. Of
course, by staying out of it and not making any effort to stop Harry from saying whatever
angry things he was going to, they were making it fairly clear whose side they were on.

"Go away," Hermione said, as soon as Harry was within earshot. She was just grateful her
voice didn't catch when she said it.

"Hermione," Ginny began, wincing. Hermione frowned at her, then returned her attention to
Harry, who had not gone away.

"I need to talk to you," Harry said, frowning.

"I don't want to talk to you," Hermione said. "I think you did quite enough talking yesterday,
and I'm not really interested in hearing any more about what an awful person I am!" Harry
opened his mouth but no words came out. Then he turned and strode quickly away. Hermione
couldn't believe her luck.
"What did you do that for?" Ron asked her, stepping forward. "He was trying to apologise!"
Hermione snorted, and Ron's ears reddened. Draco was looking between them, frowning, and
Ginny… was quite pale, actually, and leaning on Colin, who was looking delightedly toward
the front of the Hall.

"Brilliant," he said, sliding gently away from Ginny. Her face tightened, and she muttered
something to herself, while Colin dove for his bag. "I've been wanting a photograph of a
Dementor all year, and since the Aurors are there, I'll be able to get one without being
attacked!"

Hermione stared at the front of the Hall, where Professor Moody and a pair of Aurors were
coming through a side door with a pair of Dementors in tow.

Ron gave Hermione a look that was apologetic, exasperated, and pained all at once, and then
ran after Harry.
 A matter of perspective

Even without the map - which Ron hadn't thought to grab from Malfoy - Ron was fairly sure
he knew where Harry would have gone.

He was right; in the abandoned classroom that had once apparently held an enchanted mirror
- and had since been claimed by Ron and Harry for patronus practice - surrounded by
chocolate frog wrappers, sat Harry.

He was conscious, thank Merlin, and frowning up at the black robes they'd draped over a
broken chair to imitate a dementor, wand in his hand. It was a pretty poor dementor, in Ron's
opinion, but today, with the real dementors downstairs dragging everyone's moods down, it
seemed to have a presence it had never had before. Ron glanced warily at it before stepping
fully into the room.

"Hey," Ron said, slinging his bag down.

"Expecto Patronum." Faint silver mist curled out of Harry's wand, and his frown deepened.
Even Ron's patronus attempts were stronger than that; Harry usually managed a fairly decent
shield.

Harry huffed as the mist vanished and tossed his wand aside.

"What are you doing here?"

"Someone had to make sure you didn't faint and fall down a staircase," Ron said, flopping
down onto the floor beside him. Harry scowled, but his mouth twitched.

"I'm fine," he said with a sigh.

"Nah, you're not," Ron said, bumping their shoulders together. None of them were; Harry and
Hermione were obviously both angry with each other and upset that that was the case, Ron
hated that those two were arguing, and then Malfoy - though Ron was the only one who'd
been around to notice - had been off since receiving those books from Sirius the night before.
"But get her away from the dementors and you might have better luck with Hermione."

"If it was the dementors," Harry said. "You and Draco both thought I was going to start
something with her too." Harry didn't look angry with him, either, just sad, which made it
even worse.

"It was definitely the dementors," Ron said. "You didn't see her face, when I left…" He shook
his head. She'd been stricken, and he'd felt awful for leaving her, but she'd had Ginny and
Malfoy, while Harry had been alone, in a castle swarming with dementors. Harry sighed
again. "Just think," Ron tried again, "this time tomorrow, we'll be about to catch the train, and
then there'll be no dementors for a week." He was looking forward to getting home, to Mum's
excellent cooking, and afternoons tinkering in the shed with Dad. Mum had mentioned in her
last letter that there'd be a bit of a surprise for them on Christmas day, and Ron wondered if
that meant Bill or Charlie might be coming down to visit.

The thought did not seem to comfort Harry, though; if anything, he looked grimmer at the
reminder.

"I s'pose," he said, fiddling with the strap of his bag.

"And presents," Ron said hopefully, nudging him.

"Sure, Ron," Harry said, laughing a bit. Ron grinned, pleased to have cheered him a bit.
"Will-" Harry hesitated. "Will you write?" He said it lightly, casually, and didn't even
properly look at Ron while he said it, but then he glanced sideways and gave himself away.

"Sure," Ron said, shrugging, then remembered too late where Harry was going to be for at
least part of the holidays - Harry had mentioned his plans to visit his relatives once, in
passing, and not mentioned it since. He feared he might have been too casual, but Harry only
looked relieved. "I might even be able to talk Dad into coming for a visit. He loves muggles."

"Probably not these muggles," Harry muttered, but he looked grateful for the suggestion, and
he hadn't yet made an effort to change the subject, like he usually did when the muggles came
up.

It was because of that, that Ron felt brave enough to ask, "What are they like, anyway?"

"Dunno. Haven't seen them for years, have I?" Harry glanced sideways at him, and Ron knew
evasion when he saw it, and was prepared to let the matter drop, but then Harry said, "But
when I knew them… Dudley - my cousin - was… a bit like Hydrus, but obviously, without
the magic and- well, a bit thick." A smile ghosted over his face. "Probably not quite as bad,
though." Ron said nothing. "My uncle's pretty much the same, only an adult." An odd
expression settled on Harry's face. "He never liked me much."

"Just like Malfoy, then," Ron said. Harry laughed. "How about your aunt?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "She never liked me much either, and she gave me to Padfoot-"

"She can't be too bad, then," Ron said. Harry laughed again. It was a dry sound.

"-back when he'd just escaped Azkaban and everyone thought he was a mass murderer,"
Harry added. "He wasn't, but…"

"Right," Ron said uncertainly. He found himself wondering what Harry would have been like
if Sirius had never come for him, and he'd been raised by this family that didn't like him
much. Would he be very different? Would he and Ron still be friends? And if they were,
would they still be friends with Hermione and Malfoy as well? "Well, maybe they'll like you
better now? You're doing it for your aunt, so maybe she'll see that and be decent about it."

"Maybe," Harry said uncertainly. "I- it's complicated. It's the right thing to do, and I know I
said I would, but… I don't want to." For a moment, Ron could only marvel at that; for all that
he had a way of getting himself involved with dangerous and unpleasant situations, Harry
rarely complained, rarely voiced doubt, just put his head down and got on with things.

"Say that, then," Ron said eventually. "No one's going to force you-"

"Exactly," Harry sighed. "It'd be so much easier if someone told me I have to. Then I could
just..." He made an odd gesture with his hand.

"All right," Ron said. "You have to."

"At least say it like you mean it," Harry said, snorting.

"Can't," Ron said, unapologetic. They grinned at each other. Ron searched for something else
to say, that might reassure Harry a bit more, but a quick glance showed he didn't seem to need
it, and Ron - who still couldn't find the right words - gave up. Hermione was much better at
this sort of thing. He wondered what she'd have to say about Harry's muggle relatives if she'd
been here to hear what Harry had to say about them.

"S'pose we should head to Potions," Harry said, after a moment.

"Probably," Ron agreed. They didn't have Malfoy with them today, so Snape wouldn't be kind
if they were late. Harry seemed to be thinking the same, and so the pair of them gathered
their things - for Ron, it was just his bag, for Harry it was his wand and his bag - and left the
classroom.

Hermione felt wretched. Part of it was due to the dementors - Colin was edging up to Moody,
camera in hand - but most if it was her own fault. She hated fighting with Harry, and yet,
she'd thrown his attempt to fix things back in his face.

"Aren't you going after them?" Ginny asked, watching Ron disappear around the Great Hall's
doors. Draco had stayed, but he too was looking after Ron.

"Everything all right?" Fred - or perhaps it was George - slid into the seat beside Ginny. The
other twin squeezed in on her other side. Hermione didn't know whether they'd come to
distract Ginny from the dementors - she'd looked better the moment they sat down - or had
seen Harry leave and then Ron, and were being nosy. Ginny flapped a hand at them.

"Well?" she asked Hermione.

"And say what?" Hermione asked shakily.

"Harry knows as well as anyone what the dementors are like, and what they make you feel."
This, from a girl who was still a bit pale and sickly looking, and had just as good an idea as
Harry. "He'll listen."

"And what if he doesn't?"

"Then you tried," Ginny said, "and it'd be his fault for not listening and you can be as angry
as you want." She tried to grin, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, which flicked up to the
dementors again.

"Lover's spat?" Fred asked. Hermione glared at him, though Draco sniggered. Hermione
looked to Draco.

"What She-Weasley said," Draco said, shrugging. "He was coming over to apologise."
Something in Hermione wilted.

"I don't even know where they would have gone," she said. Ron was well and truly out of
sight now, and much faster than Hermione anyway. She's have no chance of catching up with
him, so she'd have to find them alone. But where would they have gone? The kitchens,
perhaps? Harry hadn't eaten yet, and he was sure to be hungry.

Draco pulled a familiar bit of parchment from his bag. Grateful, Hermione took it from him
and, after a moment's hesitation, wrapped two bits of buttered toast in a napkin to give to
Harry as a peace offering. She looked at Draco again.

"Will- are you going to come-"

"You'll have to handle Potter without me," Draco said, though not unkindly. "I need to talk to
Severus before Potions." There was something odd in his voice, and if she didn't have this
mess with Harry to sort out, she would have asked him about it.

"Right," Hermione said. "All right." She took a deep breath and stood, tapping the map with
her wand and the muttered passphrase to reveal it. She left the others there - Ginny laughing
at something Fred and George had said, Draco frowning at Professor Snape - and headed for
Harry's name.

It didn't take her long to reach the corridor outside the classroom they were in. Hermione
tucked the map into her pocket and took a deep breath. A group of passing Hufflepuffs gave
her confused looks.

"...maybe she'll see that and be decent about it." Ron's voice drifted through the ajar door, and
Hermione paused. Were they talking about her?

"Maybe." Harry didn't sound convinced. "I- it's complicated. It's the right thing to do, and I
know I said I would, but… I don't want to." Surely they weren't… but who else could they be
talking about?

Silence, for several long seconds, while Hermione's heart sank, and then Ron spoke again:
"Say that, then. No one's going to force you-" Hermione swallowed, not sure if Ron was
being genuine, or just telling Harry what he wanted to hear. She'd hoped Ron would be a little
more neutral in all of this, but then, he'd always been Harry's best friend, not hers.

"Exactly. It'd be so much easier if someone told me I have to. Then I could just..." Harry
sounded tired, and she thought he had some gall, when he had been the one to start all of this
by asking for the timeturner and getting angry when she refused.
"All right," Ron said. She could hear the grin in his voice, and knew he wasn't taking this
seriously. "You have to."

"At least say it like you mean it," Harry said. Hermione's stomach twisted into a sick knot,
and tears pricked her eyes. She hadn't yet decided whether they were angry tears or sad ones,
and for a moment, she considered bursting in, just so that they knew she'd overheard, and
might have the decency to feel guilty about it.

"Can't." Ron still sounded like he was grinning, and oddly, it was that more than anything
Harry had said that hurt most. She hadn't argued with Ron, or done anything to upset him
(except refusing to listen to Harry that morning), and yet here he was all but telling Harry not
to bother with her. Suddenly, she didn't want to see either of them.

She backed away from the door, almost knocking over a pair of first year Slytherins, in her
haste to get away.

It wasn't like Snape to be late to Potions, but Ron wasn't complaining, because it meant
neither he or Harry would lose points over it; Harry seemed cheerier than before, but the
castle was still cold and the air heavy with the feel of dementors, and Ron didn't think it
would take much to ruin his mood. Malfoy wasn't there, and neither was- wait, no, that was
Hermione with Lavender and Parvati, over in the corner. She turned away as soon as she saw
Ron looking, and Lavender gave him a narrow-eyed glare.

Harry - who'd obviously been looking that way as well - seemed to shrink.

"It was the dementors, hmm?" Harry muttered.

"It was," Ron said, but felt less certain now. Hermione didn't look guilty or sad like she had
when she'd left the Hall, just angry. Had he misread her expression? He didn't think so, but
what could have happened since, to have her acting like that? Harry'd been with him the
whole time, so couldn't have said anything else to upset her, and Malfoy wanted things fixed
as much as Ron did, so he wouldn't have said anything untoward either. Perhaps she was
upset that Ron had gone after Harry, instead of staying with her?

"I'll talk to her," he decided.

"Better you than me," Harry said, giving Hermione another wary look. Ron left Harry in the
company of Neville, Dean and Seamus, who'd just arrived. Neville looked a bit pale, and he
and Harry shared a look of grim understanding. Ron didn't envy them their weakness to the
dementors, and hoped, rather selfishly, that he himself never joined them in it.

Parvati and Lavender actually blocked Hermione, and stared him down rather fiercely. He
was nearly a head taller than either of them, but didn't feel it. Still, he pretended not to notice.

"Hermione," he said uncertainly. She ignored him. "Are you all right?" She made a scornful
noise, and Lavender and Parvati exchanged looks. "Look," Ron tried again, "I talked to Harry
before, and-"
"Yes, I know," Hermione said waspishly. Ron struggled and failed to work out why she
sounded like that about it. Perhaps she'd wanted to talk to him on her own?

"Are you sure you're all right?" Ron asked, quite sure now that she wasn't. Hermione made a
sound like a sob and turned away. Alarmed, Ron looked to Lavender for help. "Are you-
Hermione, what's-"

"Ooh," Parkinson said loudly, pointing to Hermione. "Are you crying, Granger? What's
wrong?"

"She probably looked in a mirror this morning," Greengrass said, and Parkinson and Malfoy
hooted. "I'd cry too if I looked like that."

"There's nothing wrong with how she looks," Ron said angrily, taking a step forward. Despite
having made it quite clear she was on Hermione's side - why there were sides at all, Ron still
wasn't sure - Lavender caught Ron's arm to hold him in place.

"Then you're as blind as Potter," Malfoy said. "Only your family can't afford to buy you
glasses, Weasley." Parvati grabbed Ron's other arm. Dean had Harry's shoulder.

"In." Snape had arrived and flicked his wand to open the classroom door. He barely seemed
to notice the scene unfolding before him as he swept past. Malfoy gave Ron a nasty look as
he shouldered past him, and Ron stuck out a foot. Malfoy almost tripped into the doorframe.
Their Malfoy hurried up behind Snape, his expression vexed. Ron wondered what they'd
been talking about. "You will brew individually today. Instructions are on the board. Get to
work."

Potions was an uncomfortable affair. Draco sat beside Granger, whose eyes were red-rimmed,
and who didn't say a word all lesson. Clearly things had not gone well after she left breakfast,
and Draco wondered if he ought to have gone with her after all; Severus was avoiding him -
or at least, Draco assumed as much from the way he'd excused himself the moment he spied
Draco and rushed off to class - and so the conversation Draco had wanted to have with him
had never happened. He narrowed his eyes at Severus, who had established himself behind
his desk at the very start of the lesson and not moved, even when Longbottom's cauldron
began to boil over. Draco stared at him several times, and, though he was sure Severus was
aware of it, he didn't return it.

Potter sat across the aisle, with hunched shoulders and a focus on his cauldron that Draco had
never seen the like of, though Potter's potion was orange instead of lime-green, so his focus
was clearly not doing him any favours. If he looked up at all during the lesson, Draco never
saw it. Weasley, on the other hand, was constantly looking up and around Potter to try to look
at Granger. Draco intercepted the stare once, and arched an eyebrow to ask what was going
on, but Weasley just shrugged, looking baffled.

When the lesson ended, Granger was first to pass up her potion and first out of the classroom.
Potter wasn't far behind her, but whether he was going after her, or just trying to get away,
Draco didn't know. Poor Weasley glanced at Draco, who waved him on - he would talk to
Severus before the holidays, whether his godfather liked it or not. With a grimace, Weasley
left after the other two.

Draco wove through his classmates to Severus' desk.

"Have you got a moment?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not," Severus said, without looking properly at him. "I have to prepare for my
next class. Have a good Christmas, Mr Malfoy."

"Sorry, Professor," Draco said, "but it's quite important. I got a letter from Black, yesterday."

Severus went very still for a moment. If Draco hadn't been watching for a reaction, he might
not have noticed how Severus stilled; he recovered quickly, and snapped at Hydrus and Pansy
for dawdling. They scurried out.

"I fail to see how that is any concern of mine," Severus said, standing. He clicked his wand,
and the potions from that lesson slotted themselves neatly into a stand.

"He sent me some books," Draco continued. "About Occlumency and Legillimency. He
thought Occlumency might be a good solution to those headaches I've been having."

"Perhaps," Severus said stiffly, turning to look at Draco for the first time. "I still fail to see-"

"He said you're quite well practiced in both arts," Draco said. Severus' expression didn't
change. He didn't say anything for quite a while, and Draco did nothing to help him; he'd
come to several conclusions since Black's letter, and none of them were particularly pleasant.
He kept careful control of his expression.

"I have some, small ability," he said after a pause.

Lie, Draco's head told him helpfully. He remained silent. It was a bit cruel, perhaps, but
Severus had been a bit cruel too, so Draco couldn't find it in himself to feel too bad about it.

"Could you teach me?" Draco asked, when he felt the silence had dragged on for long
enough.

Severus actually choked, and Draco swallowed his satisfaction before it could show on his
face.

"I beg your pardon?" he rasped. Draco - though he was no Legillimens himself - imagined he
could hear Severus' thoughts; did Draco know or suspect that Severus was behind the
headaches? And if he did, then why was he asking for Severus' help? Draco was careful to
keep nothing but a polite smile on his face.

Yes, now that he'd read a bit on Legillimency, Draco was quite certain that it was Severus
behind his headaches. He'd been hurt at first, and angry, and- well, honestly, he still was. But,
Severus had never been afraid to hurt Draco to teach him a lesson - the scar on his palm was
testament to that - and he'd often spent time teaching Draco to do things or playing odd
games with him without explaining himself before. Really, how was this much different?
Late last night - for Draco hadn't slept well - another, more troubling thought had occurred to
him; memory games were, perhaps, innocent enough, and he'd never thought anything was
odd about Severus teaching him truth from lie… until now, when, Occlumency had been
thrown into the mix. What if Severus' strange games weren't games, but lessons?
Occlumency would solve his headaches, Draco was sure of that, but he'd only been getting
headaches because of Severus. Occlumency was used partially for self-discipline and mental
organisation, but its purpose, first and foremost, was to protect against Legillimency. It wasn't
something people learned for fun. It was something people learned when they had something
to hide. So what did Severus want Draco to hide, and who from?

Draco was yet to come up with a good answer for that, but his solution to this issue with
Severus was simple; if Severus was using Legillimency against him, then Draco was certain
it was a teaching method (it had been described as such in one of his books), rather than an
effort to get information from him. And, if Severus thought Draco needed to learn
Occlumency - even if he couldn't say that, or explain why - then yes, it was frustrating, and
confusing, but... until now, Severus had never let him down. Draco had to trust that there was
a good reason for this, even if he couldn't see or know it right now. Trusting Severus so
blindly left Draco feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, and he hoped it didn't backfire on him.

"Black thinks Occlumency might be a good solution to my headaches," Draco repeated

slowly, patiently, and enjoyed the way Severus' expression twitched with impatience. "Since
you have some small ability-" He took care to say the words just as Severus had. "-I thought
you might be able to teach me."

Severus said nothing for a long time.

"Perhaps," Severus said finally. His voice was hoarse, face paler than usual. He looked
almost ill, but there was an odd sort of hope there as well, and Draco was glad he'd made this
decision. "When you return from the Christmas holidays, if you still wish to learn, then we
can-" He cleared his throat. "-yes. It should be possible."

Draco nodded.

"Merry Christmas, sir," he said, and left Severus standing there with that same, odd
expression on his face.
 Meeting Dudley

The moment the portrait hole snapped shut behind Potter and Weasleys One and Two - who'd
seemed rather stressed about a last minute Quidditch practice that would cut into their
packing time - Weasley came and deposited himself in a seat at the table Draco and Granger
were occupying.

Granger glanced up for just a moment, and that was all the acknowledgement Weasley
received from her before she returned to her homework. Draco marked his page and shut his
book. Granger glanced up again, distinctly wary this time.

"Malfoy says you overheard me talking to Harry this morning," Weasley said.

Granger's head whipped around.

"You told?!"

"Of course I did," Draco replied. "You're having enough trouble communicating with each
other without me adding to it."

"I think they communicated just fine," Granger said, rather stiffly. She didn't look at Weasley.

"Apparently not," Weasley said exasperatedly, "because you misunderstood."

"I-" It was obvious Granger wanted to come across as aloof and in control, but to Draco she
looked desperately hopeful. "Really?"

"Really," Weasley said, in the same tone as before. "Malfoy says you thought we were talking
about you."

"You weren't?" Granger's voice was tiny.

"Harry's aunt," Weasley said. "You know - the muggle one he's going to see tomorrow."

"O-oh." Granger's voice was strained. "I- I thought-"

"Yeah, we know what you thought," Weasley said, smiling a bit now. "Honestly, you're
brilliant and all, but well-"

"A bit daft sometimes," Draco finished for him. Granger's lip wobbled, so he hastened to add,
"But most of it was probably the dementors' fault."

Granger burst into tears, but Draco didn't think she was entirely unhappy. From an armchair
by the fire, She-Weasley looked over and arched an eyebrow. Draco waved a hand, and after
a moment, she gave him a tentative thumbs up. Draco returned it and she smiled and turned
back to Creevey.
"I h-hate fighting with y-you," Granger said. Weasley slid his chair closer to hers and patted
her on the shoulder. "I really was coming to talk after breakfast, but t-then I h-heard… And
now I've been so awful all day, not speaking to either of you! Harry must be so-"

"I think he's confused, more than anything," Weasley said, grimacing. "I was, until we-" He
gestured between himself and Draco. "-worked out what had happened."

"I'm s-sorry," Granger said. "I shouldn't have thought you'd say anything like that anyway-"

"It was the dementors," Weasley said, pulling her into a sideways hug. "If it weren't for them,
Harry would have apologised at breakfast and everything would be fine."

"They're awful," Granger said quietly.

"Could be worse," Draco said. "You could be like poor Potter, who falls over every time he's
near one." That startled a laugh out of Granger, who then looked horrified with herself for
being amused by such a thing. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and straightened. Weasley
let his arm fall away.

"He didn't this morning," Weasley said, in a tone that was both defensive and proud at once.
Draco sniggered, and Weasley grinned and shook his head.

They sat in companionable silence for several long minutes; Granger went back to her essay,
but both Draco and Weasley sat silently, not doing anything more than enjoying the lack of
tension. Weasley looked particularly content; he, after all, had borne the brunt of it this
morning, while Draco sorted things out with Severus, and he had been on the receiving end
of Granger's cool indifference all day, whereas Draco had managed to maintain a neutral
stance with both Potter and Granger.

"You know," Draco said eventually, "this is nice."

"What is?" Granger asked warily.

"This. Having a problem that we can fix, just like that-" He snapped his fingers. "- without
the Dark Lord trying to return, or someone ending up in the hospital wing." Granger made a
sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sigh. Weasley just shook his head. "It's a pity
Potter wasn't here to see it; I'm sure he'd be able to learn something."

Granger laughed properly at that, and reached across to pat Draco's arm.

"You can tell him all about it later," she said, smiling. "But not right away; he and I are
overdue for a talk, I think."

"Done?" Harry asked. Ginny hummed and he turned the page. The pair of them were bent
over a copy of Quidditch Quarterly as the train rattled toward King's Cross Station.

Draco and Ron had been playing chess for most of the journey - though neither of them had
moved a piece for about five minutes - and Harry doubted they'd finish the game before the
train arrived. Luna and Colin had been with them until about half an hour ago - they'd needed
to get back to their original compartment, where their trunks were - and Hermione sat with
Crookshanks on her lap and her nose in an enormous book of runes.

She'd been waiting for him after Quidditch practice, with a hug and a rather shy apology.
Harry had apologised too, but it had been late and they'd both needed to pack and sleep, so
they hadn't had a chance to say anything more, either then, or over the rush that had been
breakfast.

Still, she didn't smell angry or upset, just a little nervous, and occasionally guilty, and while
she hadn't spoken much during the ride - because she was reading - that wasn't entirely
unusual for Hermione, so Harry wasn't too worried.

Draco sighed and slid his bishop across two places. Opposite Harry, Ron made a pleased
noise.

"Checkmate," he said. Draco sighed again and his pieces muttered angrily amongst
themselves about bloodtraitors, and bringing shame to the family, but didn't shout like they
once had; They'd mellowed, just a bit over the years, though they'd prattle on loudly about
blood purity and other similar nonsense when Draco won.

The train started to slow. Ginny leaned back in her seat and Harry tucked the magazine away,
heart suddenly pounding. It had been easy to distract himself with the magazine and his
friends for the last few hours, but now they'd arrived and he was minutes aways from Dudley
and only a few hours away from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. He took a deep, steadying
breath.

It was as if he was in a daze as he swung his rucksack over his shoulder, helped Ron get the
trunks off the luggage racks, and shuffled out into the noisy corridor.

"We'll write," Ron said, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders, startling him. "And once
you're home, I'll come 'round, or you can come to the Burrow."

"Thanks," Harry said, swallowing. He glanced through the crowd, but couldn't see Padfoot
yet. "Have a good Christmas." Ginny shooed Ron away so she could give Harry a tight hug.
"And good luck with your dad," he said to Draco, who smirked at him from over Ginny's
shoulder. "Hopefully it works out."

"I'm sure it will," Draco said, smugly. Hydrus bellowed for him from across the platform and
Draco made a face, hugged the girls, and wished them all a happy Christmas before slipping
away to join his family.

"Come on," Ron said, "I can see Sirius with Mum and Dad."

"My parents are this way," Hermione said, pointing in the opposite direction. She hugged
Ginny and Ron and then Harry. "I hope your Christmas is all right," she said quietly. Harry
mustered the best smile he could for her. He wondered if Ron had told her what he'd said
about the Dursleys, and if that was why she'd said what she had.

"Me too," he said.

"I- I'll write too," she said. "While you're with your relatives. If you'd like?" Yes, Ron had
definitely said something; he didn't miss the look that passed between them. He was grateful
for it, though, and sure now, that though their apologies had been brief, that things were okay
between them. The thought buoyed him, though nerves and dread were slowly building, and
forming a heavy, uncomfortable knot in his chest. Still, he managed a genuine, grateful smile,
and then she waved and left.

"Come on," Ginny said, catching his arm and tugging him gently after Ron, who - being the
tallest and therefore the one with the best view - was leading the way toward the rest of the
Weasleys and Padfoot. George was there, talking cheerily with Padfoot, but Fred wasn't with
him; he was just arriving now, bouncing along beside a blushing Percy.

Mrs Weasley gathered Ron and Ginny up the moment she laid eyes on them, and once she'd
released them (they were promptly greeted by Mr Weasley) she hugged Harry as well.

"Oi," Padfoot said good-naturedly, "he's mine."

Mrs Weasley laughed and patted Harry's cheek, then stepped aside so Padfoot could get to
him.

"Stop stressing," he muttered, too low for anyone else to hear as he pulled Harry into a hug.
"You're making me stress."

"Sorry," Harry muttered back. Padfoot gave him one last squeeze, then pulled back, wrinkling
his nose.

They left the Weasleys shortly after - Padfoot had said yesterday that they'd be on a tight
schedule - and made their way through the barrier to the main station. Padfoot dug through
his pockets for a bit of folded parchment. He spent a second or two looking at it, then nodded
to himself and gestured for Harry to follow.

They found themselves on Platform Four, where Padfoot's decidedly muggle attire (jeans, a
tshirt and his leather jacket) suddenly made sense. Boys and girls (though there were less of
them) in maroon blazers - and despite everything, Harry imagined Ron's horror if he were
here to see this and grinned - and either orange trousers or dresses swarmed the platform,
chattering excitedly to their friends and families. Harry felt a bit sorry for them for having to
wear their uniforms on the train home.

Someone bumped into Padfoot, jostling him.

"Sorry," the man said in a reedy voice. He was short, squat and balding, with large spectacles
and a sandy moustache. Harry's nose identified him as Quirrell at once. Quirrell had been
keeping an eye on Dudley since Polkov attacked Petunia, Harry remembered, and he tensed,
guessing that meant his cousin was nearby. In a much lower voice, Quirrell said to Padfoot,
"Large blonde boy, on your left. Do you have it from here?"

"No worries," Padfoot said normally, and clapped Quirrell on the shoulder. He melted into the
crowd in moments. "Right, so…" Harry spotted Dudley at the same moment as Padfoot. It
had been years, but he thought he would have recognised him, even without Quirrell's help.
Dudley was tall. Easily as tall as Ron, and perhaps even taller, but where Ron was lanky,
Dudley was big. Not fat, exactly, like he had been when Harry last saw him, but certainly
heavy. He looked a bit like someone had shaved Uncle Vernon, and stretched him. He
towered over the boy next to him- Piers Polkiss, Harry was surprised to realise. He hadn't
changed a bit; he was still scrawny and looked a bit like a rat. Harry was privately pleased to
note that he was taller than Piers, which had never been the case before.

"Dudley?" Padfoot said, stepping forward. When Dudley turned, he was frowning, and spent
several long seconds looking over Padfoot, then Harry. Harry tried to look calm. Piers
squinted at him.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "You- uh- You're supposed to say-"

"I just bumped into your English teacher," Padfoot said calmly. "Quite literally, in fact."

"Oh," Dudley said. "Good." Harry looked in askance at Padfoot, who muttered something
about a security question. He hefted his trunk with a big, pink hand, and nodded at Piers. "I'm
off, then."

"Good luck, Dud," Piers muttered.

"Yeah," Dudley said. "See you tomorrow, right?"

"Right," Piers said. He gave Harry and Padfoot one last, wary look, then patted Dudley on the
shoulder and wandered off. Dudley edged a bit closer to Harry and Padfoot. Up close, he
smelled as nervous and wary as Harry felt, and it was oddly comforting.

"Hi," Harry said.

"Yeah." Dudley fidgeted. "So- uh- where's the car?"

"I thought we'd take the Knight Bus, actually," Padfoot said. "It's one of our buses - you
know-" He glanced around. "- a special one."

"You own buses?" Dudley asked, looking from Harry to Padfoot. "I thought you were a
criminal." Harry snorted before he could help himself, and Dudley frowned at him, then
looked back to Padfoot, who was staring, open-mouthed. Tentatively, Dudley asked, "Is it
special because you stole it?"

Padfoot snapped his mouth shut, and, looking distinctly amused, said, "No, I don't own it and
no, I didn't steal it, and it's special because- it's special like Harry and I are special."

"Okay," Dudley said finally, looking - and smelling - confused. "So we're taking your bus that
you don't own, home?"

"As long as you're comfortable with that," Padfoot said. "Given that it's- you know-"

"Special?" Dudley asked.

"Exactly," Padfoot said, nodding.

"Okay," Dudley said. "Sure. The bus." Padfoot gave him an approving look and waved at
them to follow. Harry stayed where he was.

"Er, Dudley," he said, "did your mum say anything about me, or us?"

"She said you needed somewhere to stay for a few days, so you'd be staying with us." Dudley
gave Padfoot a considering look. "I thought something'd happened to you, like you were in
prison or something."

"I'm not a criminal," Padfoot sighed.

"She didn't say anything else?" Harry pressed.

"Like what?" Dudley asked, his face turning red.

"Padfoot, I don't think he knows about- er- where I go to school," Harry said.

"You're joking," Padfoot said, looking first at Harry, who grimaced, and then at Dudley, who
was scowling now; clearly he didn't like not understanding what was going on. "Oh, for-"
Padfoot ran a hand through his hair, muttering swear words under his breath. "Right. How in
Merlin's bloody name are we supposed to get to Surrey, then?"

"Merlin's bloody name?" Dudley repeated, bewildered. They ignored him.

"Have you got muggle money?" Harry asked.

"Five," Padfoot said, pulling a crumpled note out of his pocket. Harry shook his head.

"Dudley?"

"What?"

"Have you got any money with you? For a taxi?"

"No," Dudley said. "Mum said you'd have everything sorted." Harry still recognised his tone,
despite the years; it was a gradually loudening one that meant there was an impending
tantrum if things didn't get better soon. "Why can't we catch your stupid bus?"

Harry and Padfoot shared a look. Harry didn't like the thoughtful frown on his godfather's
face.

"You know-"

"Padfoot-"

"-I actually think we will."

"Padfoot-"

"It'll be educational," Padfoot said, with an air of grim finality.

Harry's godfather led them behind the station and down a quiet side street. Dudley dragged
his trunk in silence. Harry seemed to be struggling a bit with his. He was bigger than Dudley
remembered, but still sort of lanky, and clearly not very strong. That was comforting; if it
came to a fist fight, Dudley was sure he'd win.

Dudley had worried a bit, about seeing Harry again. He'd never had a problem with him;
Dudley, after all, had always known he was the favourite, always won when they wrestled,
always had more friends, always been liked better by teachers, always been given more
presents. He'd never lived in a cupboard. He had nothing to resent Harry for.

Harry, though, had plenty to hate them for. He'd been so happy to leave, had gone off to live
with a criminal (the news had said he was dead, but Mum had promised Dudley he wasn't)
and when Dudley had heard they'd be living together again for a few days, he'd worried that
Harry might be angry at Mum and Dad and Dudley. He'd worried Harry might have picked
up some nasty habits from his godfather. Dudley didn't want to be stabbed or shot or
poisoned by his vengeful cousin, even if Mum had said she didn't think Harry wouldn't be
hurting any of them. So far, it seemed she'd be right. Neither Harry or his godfather looked
dangerous - although the godfather was a criminal, so looks were clearly deceiving in his
case - but Dudley was going to be careful just in case.

"This'll do," Harry's godfather said. Harry dropped his trunk, red-faced and panting. "Now,
Dudley, this'll all be quite overwhelming, and I'm sorry for that. If your parents had told you
what they should have told you already, this would have been a much better experience for
you."

"What?" Dudley asked, confused. He looked to Harry - of all people - for help, but Harry just
grimaced at him.

Harry's godfather held out a hand. Beside Dudley, Harry flinched and stepped back, staring
up at something. A moment later, a young man stepped out of mid air. Dudley jumped back
with a cry, hands coming up into a guard at once.

"Who're you?!" he demanded.

"Stan Shunpike," the man said. "Conductor of the Knight Bus." He looked at Harry's
godfather in askance. "'E's not a…?"

"Three, to Privet Drive, Surrey, please," Harry's godfather said firmly, and passed the man
two large, golden coins, as if it was perfectly normal for people to just appear. A quick look
at Harry showed he didn't seem too surprised either, though he did have a quick sideways
look at Dudley. Determined not to look silly until he knew what was going on, Dudley
lowered his hands and tried to look as calm as they did. Harry quirked his lips. "Come on,
Harry, Dudley."

"Blimey," Stan Shunpike said, blinking at Harry's godfather. "You're Sirius Black. You was in
the paper just-"

"Three for Surrey," Harry's godfather said crankily.

"And so- Harry, did you say? Not Harry Potter?" Harry shrank back behind his godfather a
bit, smoothing down his mop of hair.

"Three for-"

"Yeah, I 'eard you," Shunpike sighed. "Three for Surrey. In you hop, then, and find seats. I'll
bring this up!"

"In?" Dudley asked in a small voice.

"We'll explain on board," Harry said, reaching out to hold Dudley's arm. "Just- don't scream,
or anything, all right?"

"I don't scream," Dudley told his cousin, scowling. Harry arched an eyebrow.

"Watch the step," Harry said, guiding Dudley forward.

Despite the warning, Dudley almost tripped over the step, which appeared along with the
door to an enormous purple bus. He didn't scream, but his mouth fell open. Instead of rows of
seats, there were little clusters of chairs and tables, and also beds. The bus was busy, too;
there were a lot of families, all with kids about Dudley's age, and they were pretty normal -
except for one boy playing with a deck of cards that burst into fire as Dudley looked on - but
the adults were a different matter. Some were wearing mismatched clothing - there was a
woman in a dinner-suit jacket and checkered pyjama bottoms, and a man in a long skirt and
football guernsey - but the rest wore odd dresses and some even wore pointy hats. Two owls
hooted from cages in the corner.

"Somewhere quiet," Harry's godfather said, stepping on behind them.

Dudley let Harry lead him onto the second level of the bus, to a cluster of beds.

"Hold on," Harry said. No sooner than Dudley had sat, the entire bus lurched and flew
forward. Dudley thankfully, had listened to Harry, and the bedpost he clung to saved him
from ending up on the floor. Dudley glanced out the window, amazed at how quickly they
were moving through- he winced as they almost hit another bus, and looked away. By the
time he looked back, they were somewhere in the countryside.

He gaped.

"All yours," Harry's godfather said to Harry, and waved a hand at Dudley.

"You can explain," Harry argued. "You've given this speech before."

"That was your aunt's fault too," Harry's godfather sighed.

"What was Mum's fault?" Dudley asked, preparing himself to get angry if they said anything
unfair about her.

"She never told me my mum was a witch," Harry said, answering even though he'd wanted
his godfather to explain everything. Then Dudley's head caught up with his ears, and he
stared. "Which meant I never knew I was a wizard, until I met Padfoot. We do magic. I'm
coming to stay with you because your mum asked me to; you- er... do know she was attacked,
right?"

"By a lunatic with a knife," Dudley snarled. He'd wanted to go and visit her in hospital, but
Dad hadn't let him. Dudley'd split a boxing bag at training that night.

"By a lunatic with a wand," Harry's godfather correctly gently. He pulled a long, thin, stick
out of his jacket. Bright red sparks swirled from the tip as he held it out to Dudley… at least
until Dudley touched it, and the sparks stopped. He pulled his hand back. "Harry's agreed to
help with a protection spell, because he shares your mum's blood."

"Magic?" Dudley asked, a little doubtfully.

"Magic," Harry agreed.

Dudley thought about disagreeing - Dad had always said there was no such thing as magic
(though admittedly less after Harry left, and wasn't that interesting, now that Dudley thought
about it) - but he was sitting on a bus that had appeared out of nowhere and moved from
London to the country in less than five seconds.

"Okay," he said.

Harry and his godfather exchanged incredulous looks.

"Okay?" Harry repeated, with a slow, disbelieving grinning.

"I just saw a man step out of midair," Dudley said, shrugging. "Magic's a good explanation."

"Huh," Harry's godfather said.

Dudley took a few more seconds to process things; mainly, that if Harry was coming to
protect Mum, then it was very unlikely he'd be hurting any of them, criminal background or
not. It was a relief.

"Thanks," Dudley found himself saying. Harry stared at him. "We're probably not your
favourite people, but you're still helping Mum, so- yeah. Thanks."

Harry looked more startled than anything, but after a few awkward seconds, he nodded once
and said, "Sure." Then, he smiled hesitantly, shyly, and it occurred to Dudley that he might
have been just as worried to see Dudley as Dudley had been to see him.

Dudley smiled back for just a moment, but he had questions now, important ones.

"So, if magic's real, what about aliens?"

 Return to Privet Drive

The front door of Number Four, Privet Drive was yanked open before Padfoot could even
ring the doorbell, and Moony ushered the three of them inside. Harry preferred it that way -
quick - because it meant he didn't have the time to build it up in his head any more than he
already had.

Behind Moony, Aunt Petunia mumbled something about the neighbours, then made an
excited squeaking sound at the sight of Dudley and hurried forward.

Harry took a deep breath and looked around the hallway. The carpet was new, and the walls
were the same, though one or two of the hanging photographs had been changed to more
recent ones. Two suitcases - probably his aunt and uncle's - rested against the wall. Just past
where the Dursleys were having their happy family reunion, Harry could see his old
cupboard. The trip on the Knight Bus with Dudley had been decent enough, but being here,
back in the house… Harry hesitated just inside the front door.

"Everything went all right, by the looks of things?" Padfoot said to Moony and Dora.

"Well enough," Remus said. "You?"

"All things considered," Padfoot sighed, rubbing his chin. "Dudley didn't know anywhere
near as much as he should have - and by that, I mean he knew nothing - so..."

But Harry didn't hear the rest of whatever Padfoot had to say, because Uncle Vernon had
sidled up - remarkably quietly for a man of his size. A few silver hairs had invaded his thick
moustache, but otherwise, he was exactly as Harry remembered.

"Boy," he said, a little awkwardly. Harry saw Padfoot and Moony both stiffen, and Dora's
eyebrows had drawn together, but the word lacked the distaste it had had the last time Harry
heard it. Merlin, Vernon was actually trying.

"Hello," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Good trip down?" Uncle Vernon asked gruffly.

"Yeah, it was- yeah." Uncle Vernon made a noise of vague approval. "You?" Vernon's eyes
flicked to Moony and Dora, and he nodded once, cautiously. Amused, Harry wondered if his
response would have been the same if Dora was sporting her usual bright hair - and not the
straight, plain brown she currently had - or Moony was wearing his usual teaching robes
instead of a jumper and jeans.

"Well," Petunia said, clearing her throat. She'd released Dudley, and was looking at Padfoot,
Moony and Dora. Harry hadn't seen her look at him even once, just yet. Like Vernon, she
looked just as Harry remembered. "We all have unpacking to do, so if you wouldn't mind…"
Padfoot opened his mouth and Harry simultaneously wanted to grin and cringe, but Moony
stepped on his foot and he closed it again.

"Of course; Dora and I will be on our way," Moony said politely. "It was good to meet you."
He put a warm hand on Harry's shoulder. "We'll see you soon, I'm sure." This was followed
by a politely pointed look toward Harry's aunt and uncle. "See you later tonight, Padfoot."
Harry's head whipped around, hopeful; Padfoot had said both he and Dumbledore thought it
was best if Padfoot kept his distance while Harry settled in, but Harry was all for him staying.

"Staying, are you?" Uncle Vernon mumbled, glancing at Padfoot.

"Dumbledore thought it was best you had someone here to protect you until he arrives to set
everything up," Padfoot said cheerfully.

Aunt Petunia drew herself up, and for a moment, Harry thought she might argue, but then her
eyes slid over to Dudley and she nodded slowly.

"Kreacher made shepherd's pie for - oof - dinner," Dora said, as she tripped over the front
doormat on her way out. "I've put it in the oven to keep warm."

"Keep Padfoot away from the appliances," Moony murmured to Harry, as he followed Dora
outside. Padfoot made a cross huffing noise, but Harry grinned and nodded.

"Well," Padfoot said, closing the door behind them. "Dinner first, or unpacking?"

"What time is he - Dumbledore - due?" Aunt Petunia asked.

"Eight," Padfoot said. Aunt Petunia nodded.

"I'll have some things to discuss with Dudley before he arrives, then." The look she gave
Dudley was decidedly nervous, and Uncle Vernon smelled uncomfortable. "I- we haven't-"

"No, I know you hadn't," Padfoot said wryly. Aunt Petunia went very still, reaching out for
Dudley with one shaky hand, as if to pull him closer. Dudley glanced between the adults.
"Which means I am two for two with the boys-" Padfoot nodded at Harry and then Dudley. "-
now." Aunt Petunia stared. "He took it well," Padfoot added helpfully. Harry winced.

"You-" Petunia stammered. "Dudley... he-?"

"Now see here," Uncle Vernon said sternly, his face taking on the faintest pink tinge. "You
can't just come in here and start telling my son all your wild stories about- about-"

"Magic?" Padfoot said. He smelled entertained, in a grim sort of way. Uncle Vernon twitched
a the word, the same way wizards did at Voldemort's name, and Aunt Petunia pressed her lips
together in a way highly reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "Someone had to tell him-"

"We were going to do it," Aunt Petunia snapped.

"But you didn't-" Padfoot smelled exasperated, and he ignored Aunt Petunia's mumble of
wanting to do it in person, rather than over the phone. "-and I couldn't very well take him on
a magical bus without explaining a bit."

"Magical bus?!" Uncle Vernon demanded. Aunt Petunia's nostrils flared, and she opened her
mouth to say something Harry was sure would be waspish and quite unkind, but Dudley
spoke first.

"It was pretty cool, Dad," Dudley said, shrugging. Harry stared at his cousin, surprised, but
pleased. Padfoot wore the tiniest smile; Harry thought he quite liked Dudley. Aunt Petunia
and Uncle Vernon both froze. Harry could practically see their dislike of magic warring with
their inability to deny Dudley anything (opinions included). "It appeared out of nowhere and
drove so fast- Could we take him, sometime?" Dudley was suddenly looking at Padfoot, then
Harry. "And Mum?"

"Sure," Padfoot said, with a wicked grin.

And though the look Aunt Petunia gave Padfoot was still rather sharp, the fact that he and
Harry had Dudley on their side had diffused the situation more effectively than anything else
- except perhaps magic - could.

"Perhaps another time, popkin," Aunt Petunia said slowly. "Why don't you take your things
upstairs and put them away before dinner? I'll be up in a moment." Dudley hoisted his trunk
with an ease Harry was just a bit jealous of, and started up the staircase. Harry wondered if
she was sending him out of earshot so that she could say more to Padfoot without Dudley
accidentally interfering, but all she did was look down at Harry. "You'll be in the guest
bedroom," she said. Harry glanced at his cupboard again, a little relieved. If Aunt Petunia
noticed, she didn't say anything about it. "It's not quite ready, since we didn't get back much
before you, but you can leave your things up there and I'll sort out the bedding later."

"Yeah, sure." While it had never been forbidden, in the seven years he'd spent here, he'd
never had occasion to set foot upstairs - after all, his cupboard, the bathroom, the kitchen and
the front and back doors were all downstairs - so he wasn't entirely sure where the guest
bedroom was. He was trying to decide whether to ask Aunt Petunia, or whether to just
muddle through alone, when she cleared her throat.

"Upstairs, left, and left again," she said.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

"I stayed there once," Padfoot said, giving Harry a gentle nudge toward the stairs, "back
when Mr and Mrs Evans lived here. I reckon I still remember where it is." He'd lifted Harry's
trunk before Harry could even reach for it, and shooed Harry up the stairs in front of him.
"Dinner in an hour?" he asked Aunt Petunia, who nodded stiffly. "Brilliant. Shout if you need
me." Uncle Vernon mumbled something unintelligible.

Neither Harry or Padfoot spoke again until they were in the guest bedroom with the door
safely shut behind them.

"Well," Padfoot said, flopping down onto the bed, "that could have gone much worse." It
could have, but Harry still wasn't quite sure what to say. He wandered over to the window,
and stared down at Number Four's neat back garden. Dudley was turning out to be a pleasant
surprise, but Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were more or less how Harry had expected;
trying to be civil, but not particularly different than the last time Harry had seen them. What
if they all started to fall back into old habits? Harry knew he already had; not speaking unless
spoken to, not asking questions… The light flickered and Padfoot shifted on the bed behind
him.

"All right, kiddo?" Harry shrugged. "Back to this, are we?" Padfoot sounded amused, but
there was concern in his scent. "You've not spent ten minutes in this house and you're back to
shrugging in response to any personal questions and not making eye contact."

"What am I meant to say?" Harry asked irritably, turning to face his godfather and very
deliberately making eye contact. "That it's good to be back here, and I'm so happy to see
everyone?" He was both relieved and disappointed when Padfoot didn't snap back at him.

"Now you're sounding more like yourself," Padfoot said, grinning at him. Harry scowled.
"Don't forget this is all on your terms - you're doing them the favour; if they're unpleasant and
you decide you don't want to be here-" Harry already didn't want to be here, but he thought
Padfoot knew as much. "-there's nothing to stop you from walking away."

"What if it doesn't work?" Harry asked.

"Worse case scenario, you've got a wand," Padfoot said, grinning. "I'd like to see them try and
stop you… though it'd be better if it didn't come to that."

"Not walking away," Harry said, laughing a bit. Padfoot's looked pleased with himself, and
Harry wondered if he'd 'misunderstood' on purpose, just to cheer Harry up. "I mean the- you
know- the spell. They're meant to like me, or it won't work." That last part came out as a
mumble, but he knew Padfoot had heard.

"And?" Padfoot said. Harry stared at him, a bit helpless. It went without saying, of course,
that the Dursleys had never liked Harry, and that he had never really liked them. Truthfully,
he didn't much care what they thought of him, but he also didn't want this unpleasant
experience to be for nothing. "Harry?"

"Never mind," Harry sighed.

"Harry." Padfoot sounded rather stern.

"It doesn't matter-"

"Harry."

"Fine!" Harry said, a bit more loudly than he'd intended. "I tried when I was little, and it
never worked. I did what I was told, I didn't talk too much, I didn't talk back, I didn't mention
magic, I didn't ask questions, I was nice to Dudley, I did jobs around the house, trying to keep
them happy, and they still never liked me!"
"First off, your uncle's not covered by this spell at all, so frankly, who gives a damn what he
thinks," Padfoot said, flapping a hand. "Second, don't worry about keeping them happy."
Padfoot looked much calmer than Harry thought he had any right to be, considering how
stressed Harry himself was feeling. "Like you said, that never worked, so don't waste time on
it. Look at Dudley, talking to them about how cool he thought the Knight Bus was; they
didn't like it, but they didn't hate him for it, did they?"

"No, but they like him," Harry muttered.

"So do I," Padfoot admitted, rather bemusedly, then sobered. "And they obviously don't like
me at all, but were they rude at any point?"

"No," Harry muttered. "But you're you. They probably think you'd turn them into frogs or
something."

"Could be interesting," Padfoot said thoughtfully, which drew another reluctant smile out of
Harry. "And yeah, part of it could be that, but I reckon most of it is because I'm here, helping
them, when they're perfectly aware I don't have to be. You're in the same position."

"Mmm," Harry said, not entirely convinced.

"You want my advice?" Padfoot said. "Start with Dudley. He's obviously the most reasonable
of the lot, and doesn't seem to mind you too much." Harry grunted. "And once you've won
him over, I reckon that's half the battle won with your aunt and uncle."

"I s'pose," Harry said. He'd already seen that downstairs.

"And Harry?"

"Mmm?"

"It's only three days."

"This is going to be the longest three days of my bloody life," Sirius huffed, throwing himself
down into a seat at the kitchen table, opposite Dora. They'd been waiting for him.

"Tea?" Sirius flicked his wand at the pantry and a bottle of firewhiskey flew out. Remus
summoned three tumblers from the cupboard, and poured them all a glass. "It'll be all right,
Padfoot; we'll visit tomorrow," Remus said bracingly, and slid a glass of firewhiskey over to
him.

"Dumbledore said not until dinner," Sirius huffed.

"Did the spell work?" Dora asked, sipping her drink. "Was it complicated?"

"It's cast, if that's what you mean. Bit of blood from all of them, a few runes, and
Dumbledore wandered in circles around the house half a dozen times, but it won't take unless
they bond." Sirius pulled a face. "I shouldn't have let him do it, he's miserable already, all
quiet and moody and not making eye contact."
"He seemed out of sorts when you arrived," Remus said, taking a large sip of his own drink.
Remus hadn't met Harry until some months after Sirius had adopted him (except for very
briefly, that one day when Harry got lost in the Floo), so he'd never known him as he'd been
initially, and Dora had met him even later still.

"Just a bit," Sirius said tersely. "He got the school elves to pack food into his trunk."

"Doesn't he trust the Dursleys' cooking?" Dora asked warily.

"He doesn't trust them to share." Sirius downed his drink in one, burning mouthful and set it
down on the kitchen table more roughly than he'd intended. Harry hadn't said anything about
the food while he unpacked, and Sirius had pretended not to notice, but knowing what he did,
it was fairly easy to guess his godson's logic. Dora stared at him, aghast. "I'm sure they will -
they did at dinner, but the fact that he even thought he needed to…" He reached for the
firewhiskey, topped up their glasses and took another sip. "This is the same kid that chased
down a Death Eater last weekend, a bloody basilisk last year, and Voldemort himself a
handful of times, but three muggles have him all skittish! What am I supposed to do with
him?!"

"Packing food is a very calculated decision," Remus offered, "rather than rash, like he was
with Peter. That's got to count for something, surely?"

Sirius gave him a withering look. Remus smiled into his drink.

"He'll be all right, Sirius," Dora said, reaching out to pat his hand. "If there's one thing
Harry's good at, it's making the best of rotten situations."

"And if he struggles, for whatever reason, you'll be on the doorstep the moment you hear
about it," Remus added, mouth twitching. "Merlin help Petunia or Vernon if they so much as
open that cupboard under the stairs." Sirius snorted into his firewhiskey, and Remus looked
up at once, eyes sharp but amused.

"Padfoot…" he said exasperatedly. "What've you done?"

"Locked it," Sirius said, taking a quick sip. "They won't be able to open it if Harry's
anywhere within twenty feet of it." Remus shook his head, smiling.

"There," Dora said, tossing back the rest of her firewhiskey, "cupboard's locked, Harry'll be
eating regardless of whether his relatives are feeding him… what's the worst that could
happen?"

"... keep telling you," Harry said exasperatedly, because it must have been the fourth time - at
least! - that he'd said so that afternoon, "we're not criminals."

Dudley gave him a skeptical look and placed a card.

There was a sharp knock on Dudley's door. Harry set his own card down.

"Dudley?" Aunt Petunia said.

"What, Mum?" Dudley said impatiently. He was concentrating hard, if his tongue sticking out
one side of his mouth was any indication. He had soot on his red cheeks and all over his thick
fingers; Dudley was yet to win a game of Exploding Snap, but surprisingly (Harry had been
expecting a tantrum) that hadn't diminished his enthusiasm for it in the slightest.

The door opened a crack, and Aunt Petunia peered in suspiciously.

"There's an awful lot of noise coming from in here," she said. Dudley placed another card and
it exploded with a loud bang. Aunt Petunia shrieked and Dudley let out a delighted whoop. as
cards fluttered down from the ceiling. "I- well, that explains the noise..." She glanced at
Harry, rather warily. "Something of yours, I suppose?" Harry nodded, equally wary. "Well,
it'll have to go away; Piers has just arrived, and he mustn't see-"

"Piers is here?" Dudley said, looking up.

"I asked him to wait downstairs," Aunt Petunia said, leaning out of the way, as a card drifted
past her nose

"Brilliant!" Dudley heaved himself to his feet, and squeezed past Aunt Petunia. Harry heard
him thumping down the stairs a moment later. Harry started collecting the scattered cards
before Piers could come up and ask any questions.

"Are they- safe?" Aunt Petunia asked, pointing at a fallen card with her foot. Harry nodded
and she bent and picked it up rather gingerly and offered it to him. Between the two of them,
they had the floor clear in seconds, and Harry had an innocent looking, if untidy pile of cards
in his hands. "Do you remember Piers?" she asked Harry. "You would have gone to school
together."

"Yeah, I remember," Harry said. "We saw him yesterday, on the platform." Piers had been a
member of Dudley's gang, and - other than Dudley himself - had been Harry's greatest
tormentor. Unlike Dudley, though, Piers had no reason to rethink his attitude toward Harry, so
Harry wasn't overly keen to go and spend any time with him. He could hear them both on the
stairs now, probably heading for the computer in Dudley's second bedroom.

"His father helped me with those papers, for your godfather's trial." Harry wasn't sure
whether he or Aunt Petunia were more surprised to hear those words come out of her mouth;
so far, she'd said very little to him, and what she had said had made no reference to Padfoot's
trial at all.

"Why'd you do it?" The words were out of Harry's mouth before he could take them back.
Aunt Petunia looked rather startled - by the question, or by the fact Harry had asked her
something, or both, Harry wasn't sure.

"I didn't think you'd want to come back here any more than we would have wanted you to,"
Aunt Petunia said, rather defiantly, though she seemed to deflate when Harry didn't challenge
her on it. She was right, after all, but it was oddly heartening to hear that she'd taken the time
to consider his feelings on the matter. "And despite all of that, here we are." She looked a
little uncomfortable. "Were you forced to come and stay?"
"No," Harry sighed. Aunt Petunia looked genuinely surprised, but only for a moment.

"Why, then?" she asked suspiciously.

"It was the right thing to do," he muttered. Her expression spasmed, and he wondered why it
was that that answer bothered her, when she'd clearly been all right with the idea of him as an
unwilling participant in all of this.

They both jumped as the doorbell rang, but relief flooded through Harry less than a second
later. He thought he'd managed fairly well with the Dursleys today, but dealing with them
required a lot of energy and a lot of watching his mouth. Padfoot had said not to worry about
keeping them happy, but old habits died hard. He was very much looking forward to a visit
from his real family, where he could just relax and not have to censor every thought.

"Muuum," Dudley called from next door, over the sound of his computer. "Door!"

"That'll be your godfather, I expect," Aunt Petunia said stiffly, stepping aside to let Harry
past. Her eyes narrowed. "I hope he hasn't come early because he's expecting dinner - he
promised he'd keep his distance."

Harry - already halfway down the stairs - nodded at her in what he hoped was a reassuring
way, and bounded to the front door.

It wasn't Padfoot waiting on the doorstep, however, or even Moony or Dora or Marlene. It
was a large, ruddy faced woman with a suitcase tucked under one arm, and a grumpy looking
bulldog under the other.

They stared at each other for several long seconds, horrified, and then Aunt Marge let out a
loud, shrill cry: "Vernon! Petunia!"
 The trouble with family

"Draco?" Father's voice came through the ajar door of his study.

"Ha," Hydrus said; it was after lunch, and the pair of them were heading back upstairs. Draco
had every intention of shutting himself in his bedroom with his book for the rest of the
afternoon. "Someone's in trouble." Father did sound awfully serious, but Draco just arched an
eyebrow at his brother and poked his head into the study.

Father flicked his wrist; a gesture to come inside. Draco did, closing the door in Hydrus'
smug face.

"Sit," Father said, and Draco did, setting his book down in his lap. Father's eyes flicked over
it. "Unfogging the Future?"

"It's for Divination," Draco said. And it was… or at least, the book's paper cover was. Inside
it, was one of the books Black had sent him, on Occlumency.

"An interesting subject?" Father asked. He'd never taken it, though Mother had.

"I suppose," Draco said, shrugging.

"Far safer than Care of Magical Creatures, as I understand it," Father pressed. Draco
considered Longbottom, who'd cut himself on broken teacups, and burned himself on the tea
more times this term than Draco could count, and of Potter, who - despite not really thinking
Trelawney had any real ability - got rather stressed over her predictions anyway. But, he
knew where Father was trying to steer the conversation, and let him.

"Depends on the student," Draco said. "No one that's followed the Professor's instructions has
had any trouble at all."

"You're still determined to change my mind?" Father asked, looking both annoyed and
amused. Draco stared back, unruffled, until Father waved his hand. "Very well: convince
me." He was doing his best not to look it, but Draco could tell he was curious.

"I already have," Draco drawled. "I promised you information for a favour… the favour
being that you drop your case against Hagrid and the Hippogriff. And here we are."

"I agreed to consider your favour," Father corrected. "If your 'information' is something
foolish or trivial, I won't promise anything."

"It's not," Draco said. "But I don't want you to back out of this just because you might
not like the news I'll give." He gave Father a narrow-eyed look which Father returned. Father
was the first to look away, and Draco hid a smile at that.

"Is it bad news?"

"You'll think so," Draco said, and he was fairly certain of that. Father studied him for a few
long seconds, and Draco stared right back, unbothered. Father was a powerful man, but he
was no Severus - who Draco now knew could read his mind - and Draco had him right where
he wanted him. To think Severus had doubted him.

"Very well," Father sighed. "What is your information?" It wasn't a promise, but Draco
suspected it was the best he was going to get under the circumstances.

"Dobby's free," Draco said.

Not only was it information Father didn't know, and would consider important (and
inconvenient), but, even if Father didn't think so, Draco hoped he would decide his anger
with Draco over the matter was more important than his case against Hagrid.

"Bad news indeed." Father's lips were the only thing that moved when he spoke. "And how
do you know?"

"I freed him," Draco said quietly.

"Did you." It wasn't a question. "And why," Father's voice sharpened on the word, "did you
do such a thing?" Draco shrugged. "You promised information, Draco." Father sat as cold and
stiff as a statue on the other side of his desk, though Draco was sure anger bubbled hot and
dangerous beneath his skin. Father's wand was in his hand, twirling in a rather threatening
manner, its tip coming to rest on Draco every now and then. "Tell me."

"You've got your information," Draco said. Father's expression tightened, and Draco suddenly
felt rather light headed.

Draco. It took Draco a moment to realise Father's mouth hadn't moved, that he'd heard the
word in his head. I was out of place there, in a way that was both like Severus' Legillimency
probes, but also not at all; whatever it was, this didn't hurt at all. Tell me.

However unorthodox this method of communication was, the demand itself was not
unreasonable. Draco had promised information, and if Father was going to demand more
answers of him, Draco would give them. For a moment, he considered a half-truth; that
Dobby was his friend, that Dobby wasn't happy at the Manor, and that that was all there was
to it.

The truth, Draco. The words were a snarl, and Draco winced at how they felt. He certainly
wasn't going to argue with Father while Father was in that mood.

"To punish you," Draco said. His voice sounded rather wooden to his own ears. Father's glare
seemed to demand more than that, as did his presence - whatever it was - in his head. "After
last year… You put everyone at risk with what you did-"

"Are you still harping on about that?!" Father hissed, looking as exasperated as he did
furious. He slashed his wand through the air, and Draco suddenly felt a bit more like himself.
"That I didn't close the school when you told me to?"
"I was talking about the diary," Draco said, and regretted it at once.

Silence fell over the study. Father's anger was suddenly hidden again - but certainly still there
- behind an uncannily smooth expression.

"I beg your pardon?" Even his voice was level. What Draco wouldn't give to have Potter's
animagus nose, or Severus' Legillimency, and know what he was really thinking.

"You heard," Draco said.

"What are you talking about?" Father said. It was an opportunity for Draco to back down.
But Father was already angry, and would continue to be angry even if Draco took it. And he'd
play offended and superior, to boot.

"The diary," Draco said coolly. "Tom Riddle's diary, that you put in Weasley's cauldron the
day we went to Diagon Alley before school." To Father's credit, his expression didn't change
at all - there was no flicker of recognition, no guilt, no anything. That was what gave him
away.

"This is madness, Draco," Father said, shaking his head.

"I know," Draco said, scathingly. "What sort of monster would do that to a little girl and a
school full of children?" The skin around Father's eyes tightened.

"I'll not have you throw these unfounded accusations around," Father said coldly. "If such a
thing were true, I have no doubt the Aurors would have shown up at the Manor with
questions before now. Who's put such ridiculous ideas in your head?"

They'd got wildly off topic, now, and Draco couldn't see a way to steer it back to Dobby and
Hagrid.

"Potter," he said reluctantly.

"That little-"

"That little whatever-you-were-going-to-call-him, is the only reason you're not in Azkaban,"

Draco said, cutting him off. "If he'd said a word to Black or any of the teachers, you would
be."

"And do you know why he hasn't?" Father asked. "Because it's a lie. If they were to
investigate me, there'd be nothing to find." Not a lie, but Draco didn't think that meant
Father's hands were clean. "Potter's clearly set out to tarnish my reputation, and turn you
against me, and clearly he's succeeded."

Draco was surprised to find a part of him still wanted to believe Father, even though the rest
of him knew better, for several reasons; he'd known from Dobby that Father was involved
before Potter said anything. And Potter didn't like Father, but he'd never tried to turn Draco
against him, like Father had tried to turn Draco against Potter. Most importantly, Draco had
not sensed a lie when Potter told him of Father's involvement; Potter was a terrible liar to
anyone that knew him even vaguely well, and Draco was particularly good at noticing lies.
"If you say so," Draco said, as indifferently as he could manage. Father's eyes narrowed and
he took a deep breath. Draco could sense… well, something coming; a reprimand, perhaps, or
a continuation along this tangent of conversation, or even worse - words to end conversation
entirely. None of those were good options, as far as Draco was concerned. Gritting his teeth,
he considered that perhaps he'd been put in Gryffindor for a good reason after all: "Now, back
to my information about Dobby - and I think you'll agree that it is proper, interesting
information - and our deal regarding the hippogriff," he said.

Father blinked, in what Draco was sure was genuine surprise at the attempt to redirect things.
For a moment, Draco thought they'd be able to salvage the situation.

Then, Father's expression contorted, and Draco sighed, standing.

"Clearly you're beyond reasoning at the moment," Draco muttered. "I'll be back la-"

"Get out," Father snarled.

"Marge?!" Petunia had gone very pale at the top of the stairs. "What- you're-" Then, she
recovered herself and said, "What a surprise to see you!" Harry believed her.

Aunt Marge shouldered her way past Harry and into the house. She set Ripper and her
suitcase down; the former growled at Harry and took a defensive sort of position at Marge's
feet.

"Now I know you said you just wanted a quiet Christmas, after your ordeal," Marge boomed,
obviously trying to be placating, "but Christmas is a time for family, and I thought I'd
surprise you all. Give you a hand, too, Petunia, since you're still recovering."

"Thoughtful of you," Petunia said faintly.

"Yes, well," Marge looked pleased to be considered 'thoughtful'. "There's obviously more to
your quiet Christmas than you let on, though, isn't there?" She gave Harry a nasty look, and
Aunt Petunia gave him a pleading one over Marge's shoulder. "Last I heard, you'd run off
with your criminal godfather. Or died." She planted her hands on her hips and Ripper
growled, as if cross Harry wasn't dead. "I suppose he's gone and abandoned you, has he?"

"No," Petunia said falteringly, "no, not quite like that, Marge-"

"It's not your fault, Petunia," Marge said, flapping a hand, "you've always been too generous
where the boy's concerned. I know he's your sister's, but really, you've got to draw the line
somewhere." Petunia didn't seem to know what to say to that. Marge turned back to Harry.
Back when he'd lived with them, the Dursleys had liked to ignore him unless they had no
other options. Marge had always handled Harry very directly, and it seemed nothing had
changed. "Well? I asked you a question, boy."

"Did you?" Harry asked, still too shocked to see her to be angry.
"I asked if your godfather abandoned you." Marge's eyes gleamed. "Can't blame him, really,
not knowing what you're like-"

"Marge," Aunt Petunia said, but Marge didn't seem to hear her.

"He didn't abandon me," Harry said irritably.

"Ha!" Marge said. "Of course not! Then what are you doing back here, taking advantage of
your aunt and my poor brother and nephew for?"

"I'm here because-" Harry swallowed that he was here to help the Dursleys - Marge would
never buy it, and they'd never be able to explain it to her properly anyway. "-er…"

"Because?" Marge looked extremely unimpressed.

"He- the boy's godfather…" Petunia looked as lost as Harry did, but she was trying, which
counted for something; in the past, she'd just left him at Marge's mercy.

Harry tried again: "I'm not with Padfoot because-"

"Some sort of gang name, no doubt," Marge said to Aunt Petunia, knowingly. Well, if he
couldn't convince them Padfoot wasn't a criminal, perhaps it was best to play along.

"-because he's in prison," Harry said.

"Prison," Aunt Petunia said blinking. "Oh, yes, prison!"

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, Petunia, it doesn't reflect badly on you." Marge gave
Harry a look that made it clear she thought it reflected badly on him. "I can see why you
didn't say anything about having him - I'd have talked you out of it, of course."

"Of course," Petunia said, swallowing.

"But there's not much for it now, I'm afraid," Marge said. "I'll do what I can to keep him from
bothering you while you recover and settle back in. To think I almost didn't come this year!"

"Kind of you," Petunia said faintly.

"Starting now: you can take my things upstairs, boy." Marge gestured imperiously at her
suitcase. Harry stared at it but made no move to take it. "Even worse than before," Marge
commented, and then clicked her fingers. "Now!" Harry looked at the suitcase, and then at
Marge.

"I'll be up in the guest room, if you need me," Harry said to Aunt Petunia.

Harry's face appeared in Sirius' mirror as he was halfway out the door and pulling on his
favourite leather jacket.

"Kiddo," he said, surprised. "I'm just on my way to visit-"

"You can't," Harry said, rather sourly. He was in Privet Drive's guest room - Sirius recognised
the wallpaper - and he could hear a woman's loud voice in the background.

"I'd like to see any of them try to stop me," Sirius growled, furious that Petunia would try to
rescind visiting privileges on the first day. Yesterday, it had seemed things were going about
as well as they could have been, even if Harry was on edge and Sirius was reluctant to leave
his godson there. "I'll be there in-"

"Aunt Marge is here," Harry interrupted. The name was one Sirius vaguely recognised; she
was Vernon's sister. Harry had never spoken much about her, but Sirius had surmised there
was no love lost between them.

"And?" Sirius asked.

"And I had to tell her you were in prison, as an excuse for me being here," Harry huffed. "So
if you show up on the doorstep-"

"It'd look bad," Sirius sighed, and then scowled. "Yeah, all right." He stepped back inside and
shut the front door with a sigh. "Maybe-" The Floo chimed, down in the kitchen. "Hang on a
sec," he told Harry. "Hello?"

"Hello, Black," a familiar voice called back. "Is Potter here?"

"Draco's just arrived, looking for you," Sirius told Harry, whose eyebrows shot up.

"Draco's there? What for?" Harry demanded, craning his neck in the mirror to try to see
Draco.

"No idea," Sirius said, heading down into the kitchen. Draco stood by the fireplace, school
trunk in hand, looking peeved.

"Sorry to barge in like this," Draco said, looking sheepish when he spied Sirius.

"Is that Draco?" Harry asked. Draco glanced at the mirror in Sirius' hand, and grimaced.

"I forgot Potter was away," Draco muttered. "I- erm-"

"I'll talk to you later, kiddo," Sirius said.

"Wait, what's he-" Harry said, but Sirius let the mirror go blank.

"Everything all right?" Sirius asked carefully.

"Father was being unreasonable," Draco said. He smelled hot and prickly; irritated. Sirius
wrinkled his nose. "I thought I'd give him some space."

"Does he know you're here?"

"I'm sure he'll work it out," Draco said, scowling. "But if Potter's not here-"
"If you need somewhere to stay, you're welcome here," Sirius said firmly. "It won't be any
trouble." Draco smelled grateful, but also uncertain; staying with adults probably wasn't how
a thirteen year old boy wanted to spend his Christmas holiday, though he was clearly
reluctant to say so. "Or I could ask the Weasleys - they'll be more exciting company than we
will, I reckon?"

"That- maybe- if you wouldn't mind…?"

"Why don't you head up to the library - I'll get Kreacher to bring you a cup of tea, and
something to eat," Sirius said. "And while you do that, I'll Floo Molly?" Draco nodded, and
Sirius called for Kreacher who took one look at the boy in the kitchen and dashed for the
kettle.

"Black?" Draco asked, halfway up the stairs.

"Hmm?"

"Could you- Severus will probably want to know where I am…" Draco bit his lip, and Sirius
swallowed a groan at the thought of dealing with Snape. They'd all but destroyed their
unsteady truce the last time they spoke, and frankly, Sirius couldn't bring himself to mind
much. Sure, Snape was Draco's godfather, but that didn't give him the right to mess around
with the kid's head. And Sirius had been keeping Snape informed of Draco's holiday
movements and letting him visit for years now, had always looked out for Draco, because he
knew exactly how it felt to be a blood traitor.

"I can talk to him as well." And he would, but only because Draco had specifically asked him
to.

"Thank you." Draco disappeared up the stairs. Sighing, Sirius tossed a handful of powder into
the Floo.

"The Burrow," he said, and stuck his head in. His irritation with Snape vanished at the sight
that greeted him: the Weasley's kitchen, empty, but for Ginny, who was balancing
precariously atop a chair, trying to reach something on the highest shelf in the pantry.

"Afternoon," Sirius said, bemused, and she yelped, but managed not to fall. His next question
- about Molly's whereabouts - was quickly made redundant:

"Ginny?!" Ginny hopped off the chair, shoved it back under the kitchen table and kicked the
pantry door shut just as Molly entered the kitchen… or at least Sirius assumed it was Molly;
he couldn't actually see her behind the veritable mountain of laundry she had floating in front
of her. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Sirius is in the fire, Mum," Ginny said. "He just startled me, that's all."

"Wha- Sirius?" The laundry continued on, and Molly tucked her wand away as she turned to
stare at the fire.

"Afternoon, Molly," Sirius said, shooting Ginny an amused look.

"Is everything all right?" she asked. "How's Harry?"

"Harry's managing," Sirius said, "though I'll be happier when he's back under my roof."
Molly gave him a sympathetic look. "Speaking of under my roof, though; I've got an
unexpected visitor." Molly raised her eyebrows. "Draco," Sirius said. Molly's face creased
with concern. "I'm not entirely sure what's happened, but he's looking for a place to stay, and
I thought since Harry's not around, he'd have more fun here than he would at Grimmauld-"

BOOM!

Sirius jumped, reaching for his wand. The Burrow trembled, and the rack of Molly's pots and
pans by the stove rattled. Neither Molly or Ginny even flinched. Ginny squinted up at the
ceiling.

"What-"

Molly gestured for Sirius to wait, and stormed out of the kitchen.

"FRED!" he heard her bellow a moment later. "GEORGE!" A few seconds later, Sirius heard
her stomping up the stairs.

The back door opened, and Fred and George stepped into the kitchen, looking warily into the
house; Sirius didn't blame them for being cautious when Molly sounded like that. Both had
dirt smeared on their faces and underneath their fingernails. Sirius wondered what they'd
been up to. Ginny looked at them, surprised.

"If you've been out there," she said, "what just exploded upstairs?"

"Nothing of ours," one of the twins said.

"Nice change, isn't it?" the other one added, and then noticed Sirius and beamed. "Hullo, Mr
Padfoot. What brings you to our humble fireplace?"

"Harry hasn't gone and got himself into any mischief, has he?" Despite the teasing, the twins
knew exactly where Harry was, and Sirius could hear genuine concern in the question.

"No," Sirius assured them. "Draco on the other hand…" Two identical pairs of eyes
brightened, and then widened, as Molly's footsteps sounded on the stairs again.

"Ginny…?" Both twins descended on their sister, pulling an assortment of slightly crushed
plants and dirty roots out of their pockets.

"Yeah, right," Ginny said, taking a step back.

"Please." It was barely a whisper, since Molly was surely mere seconds away.

"We'll owe you."

"A favour," Ginny said. Sirius could have sworn her eyes darted to the pantry again. She
made a sling with the bottom of her jumper to carry the twins' precious cargo. "A massive
one!" And then she was gone, ducking into the laundry, just as Molly re-entered the kitchen.

"I don't know where-" Molly stopped at the sight of her sons, eyes narrowing as she seemed
to notice the dirt. "Boys!"

"It wasn't us, Mum," one of them said. Sirius thought it was Fred, but couldn't be sure
without smelling him to confirm it.

"We've been outside since lunch," the other said.

"So you didn't leave a cauldron boiling in your room?" Molly asked, rather dangerously. Both
twins baulked. "And that cauldron didn't explode and burn a hole in the floor and melt one of
the legs of your desk?"

"No?" But it was a half-hearted defence, and Sirius doubted Molly was fooled; she jabbed a
finger at the twins, as if daring them to move, then turned back to the fire.

"Sorry about that," she said, eyeing the twins over her shoulder. "Send Draco through
whenever he's ready; I'll have Ron make up the camp bed for him. Will he be here for the rest
of the holidays, the poor dear?"

Severus opened the door, saw who it was and slammed it shut again.

"Snape!" Black said stiffly. "I need to talk to you!" Though it hadn't backfired as Black had
doubtless intended, the fact remained that Black had told Draco about Severus' abilities with
mind magic, and Severus wasn't about to forgive him for it. "Open the bloody door!" Black
pounded on the wood.

Severus ignored him.

 Coming and going

Harry,

How are things going with your aunt, uncle and cousin? Are you all getting on? I hope you
are - it's a big thing you're doing for them, by visiting, and I hope they appreciate it!

I don't suppose you've had a chance to look at the Transfiguration essay just yet, have you?
Do you know what you're going to do yours on yet? I'm torn between two at the moment and
just can't decide!

I really hope things are going well, Harry. I'll write again soon!

Love,

Hermione

Hey, mate,

How're the muggles? Behaving, I hope!

Things are mad here, even though we've only been home for a day: Fred and George nearly
blew up the house with one of their mad potions, and Ginny somehow got her hand on her
wand, even though we're not meant to have them during the holidays. Not sure what she
wanted it for, now that I think of it, but Mum confiscated it straight away and shouted for
almost an hour.

Sorry there's not much to talk about, since we only saw each other yesterday. Hopefully
Hermione writes as well, she's always been good at letters, and I'm sure she'll have lots to
say (even though I bet most of it'll be about homework!)

From,

Ron

P.S. Malfoy's just got here. You might already know, since it was Sirius that brought him over,
but if you didn't, now you do. He said things didn't go that well with his Dad, but that he
thinks Mr Malfoy'll leave Hagrid and Buckbeak alone now. I reckon he'll be out to get all of
them.

The letters had been delivered first thing in the morning by Hedwig and Errol, and Harry read
them as he ate an early breakfast by himself in the Dursley's kitchen. He'd sent both owls on
their way already, not wanting to push the tentative truce he had with his aunt and uncle.
Dinner the night before had been a quiet affair - just Aunt Petunia, Harry and Dudley - since
Uncle Vernon had taken Marge out to dinner. Harry wasn't sure whether it was for her sake or
Harry's that his uncle had done that, but he appreciated it all the same. Harry had been safely
tucked away in the guest room by the time Marge returned, and had been highly amused by
the sounds of her settling into Dudley's second bedroom with rather ill grace.

It seemed, though, that Harry's luck with avoiding his not-aunt had run out; no sooner had he
folded his letters and turned his attention on his cooling toast, did she appear in the doorway,
Ripper at her heels. She let the dog outside.

"Morning," Harry said dully. The good mood brought by his friends' letters faded somewhat.

Marge narrowed her eyes, and then glanced down at Harry's breakfast.

"You're doing breakfast, are you?" she asked, abruptly.

"I'm eating breakfast," Harry replied.

"When you finish, I'll have eggs," she said, and closed the door behind Ripper as he trotted
back inside.

"That's nice," Harry said, snorting. Next thing he knew, Marge was leaning over him, one
thick finger jabbing uncomfortably close to his nose.

"You," she said, "are a rude, ungrateful little brat. I don't know what your criminal godfather
lets you get away with when you're with him-"

"Whatever I want," Harry said, glowering up at her. It wasn't wholly true, but Padfoot was
certainly more concerned with Harry keeping in touch and not doing stupid, risky things, than
things like household chores and bedtime.

"-but when you're here, living off what my brother and his family are so generously sharing
with you, you will be properly grateful, and you will listen when-"

Uncle Vernon chose that moment to walk into the kitchen - dressed in an awful brown
dressing gown - and froze when he saw them.

"Morning," he said, rather warily, eyes darting first to Marge and then to Harry. Harry
suspected he was regretting coming downstairs at all.

"You need to put your foot down with this one, Vernon!" Marge said angrily. "Petunia's being
gentle with him- God knows why! and it's gone to his head. He's a nasty, disrespectful little
leech-"

"I wouldn't cook her breakfast," Harry said dryly.

"Breakfast?" Uncle Vernon repeated, then shook himself. "You- what would you like,
Marge?"
"Eggs," Marge said to Harry, pointedly. Vernon started to dig through the kitchen cupboards
for a frypan, and when he'd found that, fetched the egg carton from the fridge.

Harry watched, amazed. Aunt Petunia cooked, and Harry had watched Dudley prepare
himself a truly monstrous sandwich the day before, but Harry had never seen Uncle Vernon
cook. Apparently, neither had Marge, because she gave Harry one more filthy look before
seating herself opposite Harry to watch, unwillingly interested.

By the time Aunt Petunia and Dudley ventured downstairs, Vernon had amassed a small
mountain of bacon, several eggs - the quality of which had improved as he went - and a pile
of toast, and Harry could smell how pleased with himself he was, even over the smell of all
the food.

"Good morning," Aunt Petunia said, making brief eye-contact with Harry.

"Morning," he said, offering her a small smile.

"She wasn't talking to-"

"Did you sleep well, Marge?" Aunt Petunia interrupted, helping herself to some toast.

"Very well, thank you, Petunia," Marge said briskly, passing Ripper a bit of bacon under the
table. When she spoke next, her tone had changed completely. "And how's my neffy-poo this
morning?" Harry choked on his breakfast.

"Fine," Dudley said, shrugging. "This is good, Dad," he added. Uncle Vernon brushed it off
with a flap of his hand, but Harry thought he had a definite spring in his step when he went to
retrieve milk from the fridge, and Harry ducked his head to hide his smile.

"What are you laughing at?" Marge demanded.

"Nothing," Harry said. Harry's mirror chose that moment to heat in his pocket, and he
twitched, surprised. Marge gave him an odd look, Aunt Petunia a slightly worried one.

Padfoot's muffled voice said something that might have been Harry's name.

Aunt Petunia froze, and Uncle Vernon gestured behind Marge's back to make it stop. Dudley
watched curiously from behind his bacon and egg sandwich. Padfoot started to say something
else - which Harry did his best to cover with a cough - and he hastily patted the mirror,
willing it to shut off. It cooled.

"Bacon, Marge?" Aunt Petunia tried, sounding rather strained but Marge was not distracted
this time.

"As if he wasn't bad enough already, now he's properly deranged… talking to himself! Ha!"
She jerked her head in his direction. "That'll be the godfather's influence, no doubt. He
looked a bit unhinged on the television, if you ask me."

"Unflattering photo," Aunt Petunia muttered. Harry appreciated her weak defence of Padfoot,
but he'd seen the photos. Padfoot had looked unhinged. Marge didn't have any right to say so,
though.

"Could be bad blood, too," Marge said thoughtfully. Aunt Petunia cleared her throat, lips
pursed. "Nothing against your family, of course, Petunia," she added, "but your sister…"
Harry gritted his teeth and took several slow, deep breaths. "...and the father was a good-for-
nothing-"

Harry shoved his chair back as he got to his feet, shoving Ron and Hermione's letters into his
pocket.

"I'll be upstairs," he said stiffly.

"Good riddance," Marge said. "Now, what was I saying…? Ah, yes, bad blood-"

Just as Harry turned to stalk out of the kitchen, there was a loud bark at the door Ripper had
used earlier, and a wet black nose and pair of bright, grey eyes appeared at the window. Aunt
Petunia gasped, and Vernon and Dudley wore identical, bewildered looks. Ripper started to
bark and raced over to growl at the door. Harry didn't even see Marge's expression, because
he was too busy grinning. He crossed the room, nudged Ripper out of the way with his foot -
and got nipped on the ankle by the horrible little dog - so that he could open the door.

Padfoot bounded inside, tail wagging, and bounced up to lick the side of Harry's face. Harry
laughed, pushing him away, and Ripper dashed out of the way of Padfoot's long legs.

"Boy…" Uncle Vernon said uncertainly.

"Sorry," Harry said over his shoulder, though he wasn't really.

"Where'd you get a dog?" Dudley asked, frowning. Padfoot nudged his knee and Dudley
patted him once on the head. Aunt Petunia made a small sound of protest, but swallowed it
when Padfoot trotted back to Harry's side.

"This is... Blackie," Harry said, unable to keep his snigger to himself. Padfoot made a quiet
groaning sound and rolled his eyes. "He lives with us. With me and Padfoot, I mean." Aunt
Petunia still didn't look particularly pleased, but she no longer looked scared, which had to
count for something. If anything, she seemed suspicious. "I- er… I'm not sure what he's doing
here."

"Figures," Marge said. Ripper prowled forward, posture decidedly unfriendly. Padfoot
snapped once in his direction, and the other dog scrambled to hide behind Marge's chair. "It's
an absolute mongrel, and completely unsociable besides-"

"Actually," Harry said, unable to help himself, "he's from the purest bloodline." Padfoot
huffed again, and this time, it was decidedly exasperated.

"Stolen, then, no doubt," Marge said.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Life of crime and all that."
"Does he guard things?" Dudley asked, looking Padfoot over, expression thoughtful. "And
protect you from the police and stuff?" His eyes brightened. "Wait, if he lives with you, does
that mean he's mag-"

Uncle Vernon dropped the frying pan, and Harry thought it was on purpose, so that Marge
wouldn't hear Dudley say the word 'magical'. It clattered noisily on the floor, and Ripper
barked at it.

"Yeah," Harry said, before Dudley could try to ask again. "He's er… pretty special."

"Does he do tricks?"

"Sure," Harry said.

"Wicked." Dudley stared at Padfoot, rather intently, and Harry thought he was expecting
Padfoot to change colour or fly or something. "Can-"

"If you're going to play with the dog, take it down to the park," Uncle Vernon interrupted,
rather desperately. "Big thing like that… don't need it in the house." The look he gave Harry
was panicked, and Harry took pity on his uncle and nodded.

"Yeah, I'll take him for a walk. Want to come, Dudley?"

They'd decided to sit on the swings, and the dog kept bringing Harry sticks to throw.

"You should teach him to be an attack dog," Dudley decided. If he ever got a dog, he'd want
something big and mean looking. Harry's dog looked just right, but he really wasn't scary
enough, in Dudley's opinion. It was a bit disappointing, really. "Then if there were people you
didn't like, you could just set him on them, and let him bite them."

"Maybe," Harry said, looking like he wanted to laugh.

"That's what I'd do," Dudley said. "So is he really magic? What can he do?"

"He's really smart," Harry said, and then grinned. "Sometimes, I reckon he thinks he's a
person." The dog snorted at Harry, almost sounding cross, and Harry laughed. "See?"

"Yeah, but can he do anything cool?" Dudley asked. The dog reared up, and less than a
second later, Harry's godfather was standing in front of them. Dudley blinked, because it was
so unexpected. Harry didn't look surprised at all.

"Cool enough?" Harry's godfather asked, grinning.

"I patted you!" Dudley said, not sure whether he was disgusted or wanted to laugh.

"Of course that's the part you'd have an issue with," Harry's godfather said, shaking his head
and smiling. He didn't seem too bothered by it, so Dudley decided he wouldn't be either. But
if he became a dog again, Dudley wouldn't be patting him. "You just take it all in stride, don't
you, Dudley?"
"I guess," Dudley said, shrugging. Harry's godfather laughed, and then turned to Harry.

"So that was Marge, eh? Seems like a piece of work."

"Hey," Dudley said, frowning. "That's my aunt."

"Sorry," Harry's godfather said at once. "She just- maybe it was just a bad first impression."
Harry snorted.

"Don't," Dudley said, frowning at him.

"She's awful to me, Dudley," Harry said. "You can't really be surprised that I don't like her?"

"Well, no." Dudley scowled. "But-" Mum and Dad and even Dudley had used to be awful to
Harry, and he seemed okay with them. Or maybe he was just pretending, and he didn't
actually like any of them either. Dudley huffed and kicked the bark chips. "Never mind." He
stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm going home."

"What? Why? Do you want me to come with you?" Harry asked.

"No," Dudley said. Harry and his godfather swapped looks.

"Okay," Harry said uncertainly. "I'll see you at the house a bit later then, I s'pose?"

"Bye," Dudley muttered.

"-about Draco."

"What about him?" Severus asked warily. Had Lucius got wind of Severus' intentions to teach
Draco Occlumency? Had Draco perhaps complained to his parents about the headaches? He
doubted it - Draco wasn't overly close with the Malfoys, as far as Severus knew - but it was
possible Poppy had said something to them about his visits to the hospital wing this term.

"He's gone and freed Dobby - that wretched elf we used to have - out of some misguided
notion that I needed to be punished." Lucius was cold in his anger, pale and stern, even in the
green light of the Floo.

"Punished for what?" Severus asked, blankly. Lucius flapped a hand, irritated.

"The attacks last year, or so he claimed." It wasn't a lie, but there was more to it than Lucius
had said; Severus could tell. Severus knew Draco did blame his father for refusing to close
the school, and so held him accountable for the attacks that had followed.

"And news of the elf's fate was his side of the exchange for the hippogriff, I take it?" Severus
asked tiredly, as he put the pieces together. Lucius arched an eyebrow. "Yes, I know about
that," Severus said dismissively.

"Did you know?"

"Not what the news was," Severus replied. if he had, he could have predicted just how badly
information like this would go down with Lucius, and would have advised
Draco very strongly against sharing it.

Lucius nodded stiffly.

"Would you like me to come through and speak with him? Severus asked. "I can, perhaps try
to get him to see reason, to see that you did not deliberately cause the attacks last year."
Though he'd had no luck with that that last time he'd tried.

"You mean he's not already with you?" Lucius asked, looking surprised for the first time
since appearing in the fire.

"Why would he be with me?" Severus asked.

"He's not at the Manor," Lucius said. "I had assumed he would have gone to you, since that's
where he usually goes when he isn't here." It was, as far as Lucius knew, excepting Christmas
last year when Lucius had learned through Hydrus of Draco's stay with the Weasley family.
Each other time, Severus had covered for Draco when he visited his friends.

"I've not seen or heard from him," Severus said, frowning.

"That would explain why you haven't contacted Narcissa or myself," Lucius said, almost
wryly. Severus nodded, distracted. He knew he'd done some damage to his relationship with
Draco this term, but he would have expected to have had a letter at least, or- or an infuriating,
insufferable man sent to his doorstep as as a messenger... Or, perhaps it was even worse than
that, and Black hadn't been sent at all, and, despite everything, had come to speak with him
anyway. And Severus had ignored him… Severus swore under his breath.

"Pardon?" Lucius asked.

"Nothing," Severus said stiffly. "Shall I make enquiries? If he's run away, I doubt any efforts
made by you will be well received."

Severus could tell from Lucius' expression that the man did not care in the slightest how
Draco would receive him - and didn't that bode poorly - but he inclined his head and said, "If
it isn't too much trouble."

"None at all. I'll be in touch once I know more."

Lucius nodded and faded from the fire. Severus leaned back in his chair with a sound that
was half-sigh-half-snarl and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Then, he snatched up a cloak and swept out of his office, braving the cold grounds to reach
the gate. It was beyond tempting to Floo, but doing so unannounced was incredibly rude
unless it was a close friend or family member, and Severus was neither. Black would
probably stab him with a poker.

Severus disapparated just outside the gate, and reappeared on Number Twelve's doorstep. He
took a deep breath and prepared to swallow his pride.
"Sirius didn't say we were expecting anyone, did he?" Remus asked Dora and Marlene, who
both shrugged. "Kreacher?"

"Kreacher doesn't know, oh no," Kreacher muttered, snapping his fingers at the dishes, which
started to scrub themselves in the sink. "Shall Kreacher get the door?"

"No," Remus said, "I'll get it." He made his way upstairs as the doorbell rang again, and
pulled it open as it rang a third time. "Impatient, are-" He blinked, taking in the sight of
Snape, dressed in a thick travelling cloak and looking particularly sour. "Morning," Remus
said.

"I need to speak with Black," Snape said.

"He's not here," Remus said, folding his arms. Snape's expression darkened at the news, but
Remus had little sympathy for the man; Remus was the one who'd had to deal with Sirius
cursing and complaining about how Snape had refused to see him yesterday, and it was
entirely Snape's fault. "Would you like me to tell him you came by?"

"Is Draco here?" Snape asked.

"No," Remus said, and though he knew where Draco was and wasn't feeling quite sorry
enough for Snape to tell him himself, he did feel a bit sorry for him. He held the door open a
bit wider. "Sirius should be home soon, if you'd like to come in and wait?"

Snape nodded curtly, and stepped inside, smelling rather reluctantly grateful.

"Who was at the door?" Dora asked, and then made a strange, almost exasperated noise at the
sight of Snape; she had also been witness to Sirius' terrible, Snape-induced mood, yesterday.

"He's come to talk to Padfoot," Remus told the women, neither of whom looked surprised.

"Tea, Snape?" Marlene asked.

"No," Snape said, settling rather uncomfortably at the table, and then added a belated, "Thank
you."

Marlene shrugged and stood.

"Suit yourself," she said, and then her expression fell "I'm off, unless anyone's feeling
generous enough to send me to St Mungo's…?" She looked around hopefully. "A hex, poison,
I'm not fussy." Dora shook her head, smiling, and Remus sipped at his tea. Snape looked
vaguely concerned. "You're terrible friends." She stalked over to the fireplace and tossed a
handful of Floo powder in.

"Have a good day," Dora teased, as Marlene stepped into the green flames.

"Yes, do say hi to Bertha for us," Remus added, and Marlene made a rude hand gesture in his
direction as she asked for the Ministry of Magic and was swallowed by the Floo. "You
remember Bertha Jorkins from school, don't you?" Remus asked Snape. Snape curled his lip
in response.

Remus glanced at his watch, frowning; Sirius had planned to have a quick word to Harry to
let him know about Draco, and to see how he was faring with Marge Dursley in the house,
and maybe get a covert look at her; they'd all got the impression Harry wasn't fond of the
woman, but aside from that, she was an unknown, and that wasn't sitting well with anyone,
least of all Sirius - who was already stressed about the whole arrangement. Remus hoped
nothing had gone wrong. He checked his watch again.

"Will Black be long?"

"Hopefully not," Remus said.

Snape made a curt sound of acknowledgement.

Sirius paused in the hallway, sniffing.

"Moony? When was Snape here?" he called to the house at large.

"Twenty minutes ago, give or take," Remus called back, from down in the kitchen. Sirius
could hear amusement in his voice. "He's down here, wanting a word."

Sighing, and scrubbing a hand over his chin, Sirius stomped downstairs. Remus, Dora and
Snape sat at the table, none of them speaking, while Kreacher fussed around the kitchen.
Marlene had already left, it seemed.

"Master," Kreacher said, with a shallow bow. "How's the brat?"

"He's all right," Sirius said. Kreacher bobbed his head and carried on with whatever he'd been
doing. Remus and Dora both looked relieved. Sirius turned to look at Snape. "Well?" he
asked abruptly. "What are you doing here?" Dora and Remus exchanged a look; if he had to
guess, they were trying to decide whether they should make an escape before wands were
drawn, or whether they should stay to try to keep things civil.

"I'm looking for my godson," Snape said, reluctantly. "I have reason to believe you might
possess knowledge of his whereabouts."

"Why would you think that?" Sirius asked, with exaggerated surprise. "I certainly haven't
said anything to you about that." He gave Snape a pointed look.

"I believe you may have… attempted to." Snape wouldn't quite meet Sirius' eye when he said
it. "That is why you came by yesterday, isn't it?"

"Dunno," Sirius said loftily. "You'd know though, if you'd bothered to open the bloody door."

They glowered at each other, but Snape's was weak, likely because he knew Sirius was right.
"We're going to Mum's," Dora announced, tugging Remus to his feet, and he didn't object.
"Try not to kill each other while we're out, eh?"

"Poor Kreacher'd have to clean it up," Remus added, with a ghost of a smile. His eyes,
though, when they met Sirius', were probing.

"We'll be fine," Sirius said, waving a hand, replying to Remus' teasing as well as to his
unspoken question. Remus nodded once, not looking completely convinced, but he and Dora
left the kitchen. Several moments later, Sirius heard the front door close.

"Why did you stop by yesterday?" Snape asked stiffly.

"For your delightful company," Sirius retorted, and then let out a frustrated breath. "Draco
Flooed over in the early afternoon, with his trunk. He wasn't sure about staying here while
Harry's away-" Snape looked vaguely curious at that, despite himself, and Sirius gathered he
hadn't been told about the Dursleys returning to Privet Drive. "-so he's gone to the Burrow."

"The Burrow?" Snape echoed flatly.

"Molly and Arthur's place. He's not here - where else would he be?"

"The Weasleys were my next guess," Snape admitted. "Though I'll admit I was hoping to
avoid a visit there; I see enough of the little monsters during the term." Sirius, who was quite
fond of all the Weasley kids - and even more so if Snape didn't like them - gave him a stony
look. It occurred to him too late that Snape was trying to make a joke. "How- how was
Draco?"

"Ask him yourself," Sirius said irritably. "Or dig around in his head for an answer - whatever
you'd prefer."

He was a little disappointed when Snape didn't rise to the bait.

"Perhaps I will," Snape said, silkily, standing. "May I use the Floo?"

"If it'll get you out of here quicker, sure." He knew he was being antagonistic, but after all of
the stress over Harry and the Dursleys, it felt good to have an outlet, and be able to be rude to
someone without worrying about offending them.

Snape's mouth quirked and he took a handful of powder from the pot on the mantel, but didn't
throw it in right away.

"I'm sure Draco appreciates your help yesterday," he said carefully.

"I know he does - he said as much."

"It was… good of you to look out for him."

"Someone's got to," Sirius replied.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be," Snape snapped.

"If you're trying to say thank you, then just spit it out." They glared at each other and Sirius
gave in, waving at Snape to go ahead and say whatever he wanted to say.

"Thank you." Snape eyed Sirius as if expecting another interruption, but Sirius stayed quiet,
surprised to hear the words. "I know- I refuse to explain myself to you, and you had no right
to pry, but I do- care-" The word sounded odd coming from his mouth, and if Snape's
expression was anything to go by, he thought so too. "-about Draco. I may not have made that
clear enough when we last… spoke. I do have his best interests in mind, even if it may not
appear that way."

"Bully for you," Sirius said, but couldn't smell a lie on the other man. And wasn't that
troubling? Because how was violating Draco's mind in his best interests? He'd be giving the
matter some thought, that was for sure.

"I would like to put this behind us," Snape said curtly.

"You mean you've realised I might not keep you informed on Draco if you keep acting like a
complete-"

"You extended a truce for your godson's sake," Snape interrupted. "I wish to do the same." He
extended the hand that wasn't full of Floo powder.

"I don't agree with what you've done to Draco," Sirius said.

"I don't recall asking you to." Snape's tone and expression were unconcerned, and he was still
holding out his hand, but his scent was nervous now. "Not enemies?"

Sirius shook his offered hand with a sigh and said, "Not friends either, according to you."

"You don't want to be my friend anymore than I want to be yours," Snape drawled, releasing
Sirius' hand. He was right about that, at least. Sirius didn't want Snape as a friend, unpleasant
man that he was. But somewhere in the last few years, they'd become something of the sort
anyway, though he hadn't realised it until Snape had said they weren't when they spoke the
week before. He doubted Snape had realised it at all, despite the fact that Sirius was - as far
as he knew, anyway - the closest thing to a friend Snape had had in years, outside of his
colleagues. "Spare me your dramatics." Snape flicked his handful of Floo powder into the
fireplace and stepped in after it. "The Burrow."

"Tea, please, Kreacher," Sirius muttered, feeling a headache coming on, "with firewhiskey."
 A Christmas surprise

"I need to talk to you," Dudley said, and then knocked insistently on the door.

Harry set his quill down, rolled off the bed, and opened the door. Instead of looking annoyed
and uncertain like he had when he'd left the park, Dudley looked determined, and he pushed
past Harry into the room.

"I want you to know I'm trying," Dudley said, "and so's Mum and Dad."

"Okay," Harry said, bewildered.

"And so I think it's only fair that you try too."

"Try- you mean with-" Harry waved his hand at the walls, and the invisible protection.
Dudley nodded. "What- you think I'm not trying?" he asked, annoyed.

"I think you're pretending to like us," Dudley said, folding his arms. "Like with Aunt Marge,
but then when you're away from us, you don't care. But we're actually trying, so you should
try properly too. That Dumble-what's-it bloke said pretending isn't good enough."

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't be here," Harry said. Dudley's expression remained stony. "I don't
like Marge, I won't pretend otherwise, but the rest of you have been-" Harry considered his
cousin for a moment, and then decided to go with honesty. "-better than I would have
thought."

Dudley's expression wavered for a moment, though his scent was so complicated that Harry
couldn't be sure why. It set again. "Prove it," he said.

"Prove- how?" Harry asked, exasperated.

"Dunno," Dudley said stubbornly. "You just have to."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, thinking. Then he turned and strode to his trunk.
He hastily covered the bag of dungbombs Fred and George had given him, and the wet-start
fireworks Padfoot had left with him - just in case, before Dudley could see them and ask
questions. Harry pulled out a brightly coloured package, and tossed it to his cousin. It
bounced off him and landed on the carpet. Dudley bent and picked it up.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Your Christmas present," Harry said. "A bit early, but there's your proof."

"You got me a present?" Harry swallowed his reply, not sure Dudley would appreciate his
sarcasm.

"Yep," Harry said. "And I wouldn't have if I was pretending." Actually, his main reason for
buying the Dursleys presents had been that if they got off to a bad start, he might have been
able to salvage things with gifts. So far, miraculously, it hadn't been necessary.

"So you've got Mum and Dad presents too?" Dudley asked, still staring down at the package
in his hand. Harry nodded, and Dudley slowly nodded back. "That's pretty good proof," he
said slowly, almost shyly. And to Dudley, it probably was. Harry didn't know how things
were now, but back when he'd lived here, his aunt and uncle had showered Dudley with
presents to show him how much they loved him, and Harry had never been given any,
because they didn't like him. Now that Harry thought about it, a present was probably more
convincing to Dudley than a hug, or a friendly conversation over a meal. "Thanks." Harry
didn't know whether he meant for the present or for Harry trying to get on with his family, so
he just nodded. "Can I open it? Or do I have to wait?"

"Up to you," Harry said, shrugging. Dudley grinned and ripped the paper off, frowning a bit
when he uncovered the brown paper bag inside. He peered into it and his smile returned.

"Sweets?!" He shoved a hand in and pulled out a chocolate frog and squinted at it. "What's-"

"They're from a shop near my school," Harry said. "Don't share them with any of your
friends, because some of them are-"

"Magic?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "And- probably best not to have the fizzing whizbees where anyone
might see. They make you float." Dudley's eyes lit up. "Dudley?"

"What?"

"Don't share them, and don't eat them where people might see."

"Okay," Dudley said. He looked a bit too innocent as he said it, and if that hadn't tipped Harry
off, his scent would have.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again with a tiny smile. Dudley left - probably to
sample his present - and Harry flopped back down onto the bed and picked up his quill, only
to be disturbed by another knock, only a few minutes later.

"Yeah?" he called, pushing his essay aside again.

Aunt Petunia poked her head into the room.

"Have you got a moment?" she asked.

"Sure," Harry said warily, sitting up. "What for?"

"You're leaving in the morning," Aunt Petunia said, and Harry didn't need reminding. Though
his stay with the Dursleys hadn't been the disaster he'd half-expected it to be, he was still
looking forward to getting home to his own family. Aunt Petunia came fully into the room
and closed the door, but remained standing. She had an envelope in her hands, and Harry
hoped she hadn't been harassed by any owls looking for him. "Breakfast this morning was-
busy."
"Sorry about Padfoot-"

"Padfoot?" Aunt Petunia's eyes narrowed, and Harry remembered too late he'd called Padfoot
'Blackie'. "Well, that certainly explains it, though that wasn't what I was referring to."

"You mean-" Harry wondered if he was going to put his foot in his mouth. "-Marge?"

Aunt Petunia gave a curt little nod.

"We didn't know she was coming," she said.

"I know." Harry had smelled it on her when Marge arrived.

"She can be difficult," Aunt Petunia said quietly. "I- Vernon and I- she's not been- we
appreciate how you've handled it."

"It's fine," Harry muttered, suddenly a bit uncomfortable. It wasn't fine - Marge was awful -
but it wasn't Aunt Petunia's job to apologise for her.

"-and that you haven't- well-" Aunt Petunia cleared her throat, and seemed possibly more
uncomfortable than Harry. "I know what your- what people like you can do when-" She made
an odd gesture with her hand.

Oh.

"I wouldn't- not on purpose, anyway," Harry said awkwardly, even if he thought a bit of
accidental magic might improve Marge a bit. Would it silence her, he wondered? Or turn her
into something unpleasant, or-

"Yes, well," Aunt Petunia said, clearing her throat again. She offered the envelope to Harry.
"In case I don't have a chance to give it to you tomorrow." Harry took it, curious. It was
heavy, as if there was more than just a letter inside.

Happy Christmas, it said, and thank you.

"Can I open it?" Harry asked, looking up at Aunt Petunia, who had not left the room, and
looked rather nervous. She nodded.

The envelope held three photographs - muggle ones, that didn't move, but Harry liked them
anyway.

The first was on what must have been a young Lily's birthday. She wore a bright green party
hat and was grinning from behind her cake. One of her front teeth was missing. Beside her
was a smiling Petunia - in a pink hat - and two adults, also in party hats were crouched
behind them.

"My- our parents," Petunia said. "Your grandparents."

The second photograph was not of Lily at all; it was of James and Padfoot - only a few years
older than Harry was now - peering into a fridge, while the door was only a fraction ajar. Mr
Evans - Harry recognised him from the first photo - was laughing at whoever was holding the
camera through an adjacent doorway, where James and Padfoot couldn't see him.

"What are they doing?" Harry asked, amused.

"They'd never seen a refrigerator before," Aunt Petunia said. "I think they wanted to know
how it worked. It was all very odd, but Lily must have found it funny enough to take a
photograph." Harry grinned, and Aunt Petunia seemed to relax a bit.

The third photograph was of Lily holding a pink, wrinkly thing that must have been baby
Harry up to the camera. She looked tired, but happy, and baby Harry looked vaguely
concerned, his eyes fixed on something beyond the camera - probably someone doing silly
things to get him to look.

"She sent it just after you were born."

"Thanks," Harry said, looking up at Aunt Petunia, and she nodded.

"I know that your godfather was in prison," Aunt Petunia said uncomfortably, "so I wasn't
sure if he still had any of his old photographs to show you. Lily and I- grew apart, so I don't
have many photographs of her, and that one was the only one I had of your father. I'm sorry
it's not a better one."

"No, it's brilliant," Harry said. "They all are." He slid off the bed. "I have something for you
as well. Sorry there isn't a card."

Aunt Petunia looked stunned, and didn't speak as Harry passed over her present. She
unwrapped it with shaky fingers, and then gave Harry an uncertain look.

"It's a bit magical," Harry said, and Aunt Petunia's knuckles whitened around the bottle of
Mrs Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but she didn't fling it away. "Sorry. But
it's for cleaning. Our house- keeper uses it at home."

"Thank you," Aunt Petunia said slowly. She opened the door, still holding the bottle Harry
had given her. "You- I don't know if you can tell from the photographs, but you have her-
Lily's eyes." Harry smiled at her. "You're- very much like her."

"Is that a good thing?" Harry asked. If anyone else had said so, he'd have taken it as a
compliment at once, but coming from Aunt Petunia, he wasn't so sure.

She made a jerky movement that might have been a nod, and fled.

"...enjoyable, yes, thank you, Colonel, except for-" The door swung open. Ripper lifted his
head off his paws and made an odd grumbling sound. "-one moment." Marge fumbled with
her mobile, trying to work out how to put the silly thing on hold. It was very convenient,
having a mobile, but the thing was bulky and heavy and she hadn't had it long enough to
know how to work it properly. She gave up and just set it on her pillow, hoping Colonel
Fubster wouldn't mind.
Then, she slid out of the narrow bed that she'd been given in Dudley's second bedroom, and
went to peer out the door. The landing was empty. Frowning, she shut the door and climbed
back into bed. Ripper whined and she gave him a reassuring pat.

"Are you there, Colonel?"

"Yes, yes," he replied. "What were you saying earlier?"

"That my stay's been enjoyable," Marge said, "except for Petunia's little beast of a nephew-"
Something thudded against the wall by Marge's suitcase, and Ripper started to bark. "Quiet,
Ripper. The brat's staying here, Colonel - godfather's in prison, apparently."

"Oh my," Colonel Fubster said, sounding concerned. "Hardly a proper role model for a young
man…"

"The boy was rotten before this," Marge assured him. "Vernon and Petunia did all they could
and even that wasn't good enough - he's beyond help. No doubt he'll end up in a cell with his
godfather, and the world will be a better place for it, mark my words. But in the meantime,
he's weaseled his way into my room, and I've had to stay in Dudley's second bedroom. The
bed's would be small for me alone, but I've got Ripper too..." Ripper glanced over at his
name, and then went back to growling at the room.

"Now, Marge, you did arrive at short notice," Colonel Fubster said chidingly.

"And good thing I did!" Marge said. "Someone's got to keep that wretched-" The door swung
open with a click, and Ripper started barking madly. "Quiet," Marge huffed, getting up again.
Again, the hallway was empty, but as she was about to push the door shut, it slammed, rather
violently, in her face.

Startled, Marge yelped and stepped backward, heart racing. Ripper leapt off the bed, snarling
at the door, and then went to sniff the corner he'd been growling at earlier.

"Marge?!" Colonel Fubster called through the mobile. "Is everything all right?!"

"So sorry, Colonel- I just- startled myself, that's all." The door clearly had a faulty hinge.
She'd have words to Vernon about getting it fixed when she went down for breakfast. And
speaking of breakfast… "I should be going, Colonel," she said.

"All right, Marge," he said. "I'll speak to you later. And don't worry about the dogs, they're in
good hands with me."

"Yes, thank you." She ended the call and set the phone down. "Ripper, come away from my
suitcase- Ripper!"

When Harry Flooed into the Burrow's kitchen, the scene that met his eyes was one of utter,
but pleasant chaos. Mrs Weasley had swept him up in a warm hug before he could even say
hello, and Ginny and Draco were both hanging back over her shoulder, clearly wanting to say
hello as well, but willing to wait. Hermione seemed to have survived her first Floo
experience (though not gracefully, as she was currently being helped up and dusted off by a
grinning Ron), Percy seemed to be trying to squeeze past everyone to greet Padfoot, who'd
just come through, carrying a large bag of presents, Fred and George were weaving in and out
of everyone, trying to catch what appeared to be a garden gnome, and Mr Weasley was
watching the whole scene unfold, amused.

"Lovely to see you, dear," Mrs Weasley said, beaming, and went to hug Hermione.

Ginny stepped forward to say something, only to be knocked into by Padfoot, who was trying
to get away from the fireplace so that Marlene could come through.

"Sorry!" Padfoot said, steadying Ginny. "How are you, Ginny? Draco? Snape track you
down, did he?"

"Yesterday," Draco said. "He-"

"Mr Black," Percy said, offering Padfoot his hand, only to have to pull it back as Fred dove
past, arm outstretched, after the gnome. Draco toppled onto Harry trying to get out of the
way.

"-have you here, Hermione, dea- Fred!" Mrs Weasley shook her head crossly. "Sorry, Sirius."

"It's all right, Molly-"

"Wotcher!" Dora said brightly as she toppled out of the Floo and went sprawling. Her hair,
which had been silver and tinsel-like, flashed an amused yellow. "Whoops- thanks, Arthur.
Remus'll be through in a sec..." The gnome ran over her outstretched leg, George close
behind it. "Is that-?"

"Hello, everyone," Moony said, stepping out of the fireplace, and paused to take in the scene
before him.

"Harry, coming your way!" Fred shouted, and Harry bent in time to snag the gnome by the
ankle as it tried to run through his legs. "Nice!"

"Superb catch, old chap!" George panted. "Here, I'll-"

"Right!" Molly said, in a fond but firm voice. "You lot - out!"

"C'mon," Ron said, gesturing out of the kitchen. Harry tossed the wriggling gnome to George
and followed him out. "Mum's been fussing all morning-"

"Did you know we were coming?" Harry asked.

"Not until Sirius popped into the fire and said you were all coming through," Ron said,
flopping onto a couch in the Burrow's sitting room. "Did you?"

"Not until Moony showed up with Hermione," Harry said, taking a seat on the other couch.

"Mum told me last night," Ginny said, smug.

"I've known for a few days," Hermione said, perching on the arm of the battered chair Ginny
had claimed.

"And your parents didn't mind you spending Christmas here?" Draco asked.

"They did a little," Hermione said, frowning, "but it's a bit silly, really, because we saw
Mum's family yesterday and we're having dinner with Dad's side, and I'll be there for that too,
so..." She shook her head. "What about your family? Do they think you're with Professor
Snape?"

"They think he's with Padfoot," Harry said.

"I don't know why," Ginny said thoughtfully. "Snape was here to see you, so he knows where
you are-"

"He wouldn't tell," Draco said at once.

"Obviously," Ron sniggered. Hermione glanced at him, looking puzzled, and then back to
Draco, but before she could say anything, Ron interrupted. "Dad saw the whole thing," Ron
said, with a wide grin, and then turned to Hermione - who was clearly not following the
conversation - to explain. "Mr Malfoy went and pushed Sirius into a wall at the Ministry and
was threatening him about Malfoy-" He jerked his head in Draco's direction. "-only well-
Sirius is an Auror, and attacking Aurors is a bit, well… frowned upon."

"Marlene hexed him," Harry said, unable to keep his mouth from twitching. "All in the name
of protecting her fellow Auror, of course."

"Poor Mr Malfoy," Ginny said, but her eyes were bright and her scent was pleased in a sharp
sort of way. Then she grimaced and looked at Draco. "Sorry."

"I just hope she knocked some sense into him," he said wryly, and then scowled. "Though it's
more likely he's gone home to sulk." Since learning of Mr Malfoy's involvement with diary
last year, Draco's feelings toward him had been a mix of disappointment, frustration and
anger - Harry knew as much from his scent. All of that was still there, but there was a new
distinctly wary scent now, that hadn't been there a few days ago, when term ended. Harry
wondered just what had happened when Draco left the Manor.

"Charming," Hermione said, but she seemed concerned. "Draco, did you run away?"

"I Flooed," Draco said, with a faint smile, but he'd drawn his knees up to his chin and smelled
uncomfortable. Harry didn't think the term 'run away' had occurred to him until now. "There
was actually very little footwork involved-"

"Draco-"

"Can we talk about Potter's difficult family members, not mine?"

"Thanks, Draco," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes, because that comment had diverted
Hermione's full attention onto him, and it was now him getting worried looks, not Draco.
"How was it?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"They weren't actually too bad," Harry said, and then paused. "Well, actually, Marge was
awful, but we're not really family, so-"

"Who's Marge?" Ginny asked, wrinkling her nose.

"I don't remember you mentioning anyone called Marge," Hermione said, frowning.

"'Cause Harry said so much about it," Ron said, giving Harry a teasing nudge with his foot.
Hermione hid a smile, and Harry scowled at them both.

"Marge is Uncle Vernon's sister," Harry said. "And a piece of work, honestly."

"Is that why you smell like dungbombs?" Fred and George were back - Merlin only knew
where the gnome had ended up - and were leaning over the back of Harry's couch. "Didn't
want to ask in front of Mum."

"I can't smell dungbombs," Ginny said. Draco leaned a bit closer to Harry and sniffed, then
shook his head.

"You don't know them like we do," Fred said sagely. "Well, Harry?"

"I gave the Dursleys Christmas presents," Harry said, grinning. "It didn't seem right not to
give Marge something."

"So you gave her a dungbomb?" Hermione asked, as Ron chortled. Hermione didn't seem to
know whether to be amused or disapproving. "Harry, you really shouldn't-"

"Leave it, Hermione," Ginny said, laughing. "If Harry's passing out dungbombs, then she
must have deserved it." Harry grinned at her.

"Surely you didn't just give it to her?" Draco asked, mouth twitching.

"Just about," Harry admitted sheepishly. "I put it in her suitcase."

"Brilliant," George said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Although, I reckon she might guess it
was you, mate, when she comes back and finds it."

"She's-" Ron clutched his sides, gasping for breath. "Mate, she's going to think you took a-"

"I'm sure that wouldn't be her first thought, Ron," Hermione said exasperatedly.

"No," Harry said cheerfully, "it probably would have been. She reckons I'm depraved. Only
she couldn't think that, because she was in the room when I put it there, so she blamed the
dog."

"You walked in and put a dungbomb in her suitcase while she was there," Fred said, "and she
blamed a dog?"
"She didn't see me," Harry said, shrugging.

"Of course not," Hermione said, mouth twitching; she, at least, had remembered the cloak.
Harry thought his father would have wholly approved of it being used for such a purpose;
Padfoot had certainly been all too happy to bring the cloak temporarily out of hiding for him.

Ron and Draco wore similar looks of understanding.

"Brilliant," Ron said.

"She blamed the dog?" George repeated weakly. "How? Is she blind?"

"Deaf?" Fred asked.

"She's both," Ginny said. "Obviously." She grinned at Harry when the twins weren't looking.

"How?" Fred asked.

"Prongs helped me out," Harry said, grinning.

"The Map?" George asked, baffled.

"Potter inherited his father's powers of invisibility," Draco said seriously.

"He did not," Ginny said, and then smiled impishly. "Dumbledore gave him the powers to
him for Christmas."

Harry and Ron sniggered, and Hermione just smiled. Harry had wasn't sure when Ginny had
learned about the cloak, only that she hadn't seemed surprised when they'd mentioned it the
day Harry told them he was an Animagus. His best guess was that Ron had told her about it
at some point after their first year.

"Fine, don't tell us," Fred muttered, narrowing his eyes.

"It's true," Padfoot said. He was leaning in the doorway, looking highly amused by their
conversation.

"To us, your word is law, Mr Padfoot," Fred said, bowing.

"Except," George added, "we know how much you like a laugh, so it's not
always honest law." Padfoot laughed.

"If you don't believe me, ask Moony," he said. The twins exchanged a look, and moved away
from Harry's couch.

"You stay here," George said. "So you don't get him to go along with it with a look or secret
hand gesture."

"I wouldn't dare," Padfoot said gravely, putting his hands up. The twins disappeared into the
kitchen. "Come on, you lot," Padfoot said, grinning. "Food's up."
 Outmatched

Cho had a nice smile, and Harry was rather alarmed when it was suddenly replaced by a look
of horror. Harry became aware of several other things all at once; the first was the sharp,
sudden scent of anticipation that spread through the room, the second was that Hermione and
Draco - who had previously been on either side of him - had stiffened and drawn their wands,
and the third was a jet of yellow light coming toward him.

Harry dropped to the ground - the room gave a collective sigh - and drew his wand, ready to
let off a jinx in return-

"Good reflexes," Moody said, rather grudgingly. "But if you'd been paying attention, you
wouldn't have needed them." Embarrassed, Harry lowered his wand. Hermione lowered hers
as well, and then Draco more slowly. "Who else, who else…?" He lunged, sweeping his
wand into the crowd of students on his other side and a pretty Slytherin Prefect swatted it
away. "Constant vigilance," Moody said approvingly.

It was the second of Moody's duelling club sessions, and it had significantly poorer
attendance than the first, with perhaps only sixty people showing up; Blaise had come, along
with Bulstrode, Davis and Nott, but most of the other third year Slytherins were absent, as
were a significant number of girls that had likely only come to Lockhart's club last year for
Lockhart, and the rest of the absences could probably be attributed equally to how
intimidating Moody was, and the fact that it was seven in the morning on a Saturday.

"Right," Moody said, "you're only going to learn so much from me flinging spells around -
much better you fling them at each other." A murmur ran through the group. "As far as
pairs… I want first years with seventh years, seconds with sixths, third with fifth, and fourth
years against each other."

"First years?" Percy said disappointedly to his Ravenclaw girlfriend, just a touch too loudly.
Moody's head snapped in his direction, and Percy's ears reddened.

"You'll be better," Moody said, and Romilda Vane stomped her foot and whispered to her
gaggle of first year friends. "You'll probably even win. But you ought to also get a reminder
that it's sometimes the simple spells that'll undo you the quickest in a duel." Moody looked
around the room. "Pairs, now, then find a bit of space!"

Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, bumped into Harry on his way over to
Ginny, and Luna was leading Colin toward a pair of wary looking sixth year Slytherins.
Harry headed for Fred and George, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Nice try, Potter," Cedric said, flashing him a grin, "but you and I have a score to settle."
Harry grinned back, and trailed after Cedric to a clear bit of the room. Looking around, he
saw Hermione pair off with Angelina, Ron with George and Draco with Lee. Alicia was with
Susan Bones and Fred was giving Blaise a rather predatory grin. Blaise looked more than a
bit unnerved.
"I want to see Shield Charms and Disarmers, like we practiced last time," Moody barked.
"Offensively, anything goes, except for Unforgivables. And Merlin help any of you that uses
a spell you can't undo yourself." He'd probably use it on them, like he'd done to a Ravenclaw
sixth year the week before. She was noticeably absent this week. "Bow, and off you go. And
don't forget to watch out for stray spells from other pairs, there'll be more than a few going
around!" He cackled.

Harry bit back a laugh at George's elaborate, flourishing bow, which he caught sight of out of
the corner of his eye, and bent into a much simpler one, which Cedric returned.

"Ready?"

"I s'pose," Harry said, eying Cedric's duelling stance and doing his best to mimic it. Cedric
gestured with the hand that wasn't holding his wand for Harry to start. Harry hesitated and
then flicked his wand forward.

"Torpeo," he said, and Cedric twisted out of the way. Harry's spell narrowly missed Higgs,
who'd been the Slytherin Seeker before Hydrus.

"Accio glasses," Cedric said, and Harry wasn't quick enough to catch his glasses as they
slipped off his nose.

Harry's world blurred, and he dodged two of Cedric's stunners before he walked right into a
third, trying to avoid a stray spell.

"Sorry," Cedric said, a little sheepishly, as he hoisted Harry back to his feet, and offered him
his glasses back.

"It's all right," Harry said, rubbing his shoulder, which had been the first to hit the floor. "It
was a good idea - I'm just about blind without them." Sometimes his excellent hearing and
sense of smell was enough to make up for it, but not this time, with the room too full of other
smells and noises for him to have much hope of distinguishing them.

Cedric waited a few seconds, then lifted his wand. Harry did the same. Cedric took a few
steps, head cocked, and Harry pivoted, wand trained on his every movement. Cedric slowed,
just slightly, and tensed, hand flicking up, only Harry was quicker:

"Expelliarmus!" Harry said, and Cedric's wand soared out of his hand. Harry caught it easily,
and tossed it back right away.

"Nice shot, Potter," Cedric said, raising his wand. Harry mirrored him. "Ready? Stupefy!"

"Protego," Harry said, swiping his wand across the air in front of him. Cedric's spell hit his
shield - the force of it made the shield shudder and pushed Harry a few inches back, but it
held - and bounced off, almost hitting a lanky Hufflepuff fourth year.

Cedric's second spell - Harry missed the incantation for it, over all the other spells being
shouted around the room - made his shield crumble, and it was only quick reflexes that got
him out of the way in time. He straightened and flicked his wand at Cedric, casting a
disarmer, a sleeping spell and a tripping jinx in quick succession. Cedric dodged the first,
blocked the second, and sent off a spell volley of his own at Harry, even as the third caught
him and sent him tumbling.

Harry was hit by the first, but it didn't force him backward, or have any other effects as best
he could tell, and it didn't stop him from dodging the next three.

Cedric was back on his feet, wand held before him, circling.

Harry lifted his wand to cast a body-bind, but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out.
He made, what would have been a confused sound, but it never reached his ears. Cedric was
watching him with a wary sort of triumph, and Harry narrowed his eyes, realising the first
spell must have been a Silencing charm.

He kept his wand out in front of him, considering his options; there were only three bits of
magic he could do non-verbally, and those were transforming into his wolf, apparating, and
looking at magic. The first two wouldn't be much help at all, and the third would
work against him, overwhelming him and blinding him for a day or two just as it had the last
time.

Harry let out a silent huff of frustration, and slowly raised his wand and other hand in a
gesture of surrender.

"Right," Sirius said, clasping his hands together as he stood before their group of suspects.
They'd had to surrender their wands and everything else on them at the door, and had each
been subjected to a strong Finite before being allowed in. Behind him, Robards' quill
scratched on his list, taking attendance.

Marlene was there, sitting between Auror Prewett and Bertha Jorkins - who looked equally
delighted to be getting inside information, and sulky that she was a suspect. On Prewett's
other side were Trainee Harris and Trainee Long, both of whom looked terrified. Behind
them was Ludo Bagman, Amos Diggory, Damaris Sprottle and her assistant Pemberley, and
Dumbledore who was sitting calmly beside Scrimgeour and that toad Umbridge.

In chairs on the other side of the room were Pius Thicknesse, Eric the wandchecker, Dirk
Cresswell, Albert Runcorn, Broderick Bode, Rita Skeeter, and Skeeter's photographer Bozo.
There had been some debate about whether Harry, Ron and Draco ought to be called in as
well, but Sirius and Dumbledore had managed to overrule that.

"If you haven't yet worked it out, you're here because you're suspects in our case. Just before
Christmas, we took Crouch Junior's house elf into custody, after linking her with Pettigrew's
Hogsmeade visit. If you read the paper the day after that-" Skeeter made a pleased sound, and
Sirius glowered at her. "-you'll know Crouch got wind of this and tried to spring her - yes, it
was Crouch, not Pettigrew; blame the Prophet for unreliable reporting." Skeeter's expression
soured, and her ever-present photographer scowled. "Thankfully, he was unsuccessful."

"There's no evidence to suggest it was Crouch," Skeeter said.

"The man that came after the elf was Polyjuiced to look like Crouch, not Pettigrew," Robards
said impatiently. "Whoever sent him, therefore, had access to Crouch's hair, which
makes him a much more likely suspect than Pettigrew."

"Hmm," Skeeter said. "So like I said: no evidence."

"That's why you're here," Sirius said. "All of you saw, heard about or interacted with in some
way, myself and or Robards, and or the house elf somewhere between when she was taken
into custody at Hogwarts, and when I was attacked in the Auror department. It might have
been at Hogwarts, or in the atrium, or a lift, or in a corridor or office within the Ministry-"

"So you think one of us is helping Crouch?" Bertha Jorkins asked breathlessly. Sirius couldn't
decide if she sounded scared or excited.

"We think there's a good chance one of you is Crouch, using Polyjuice Potion," Sirius said,
and a murmur raced through the room. The two trainees looked like they might be sick,
Prewett was pursing her lips, and Bagman looked peaky, though Skeeter looked like she'd
received a fantastic - if belated - Christmas gift. Sirius was sure she'd be taking names if they
hadn't confiscated her quill and notepad earlier. "All of you work in positions that would give
Crouch certain advantages when it came to getting certain information, or influencing certain
events, or people-"

"But there has to be a way to prove we're not, right?" Eric the wandchecker asked. "Some
sort of test, or-"

"We've been watching your post," Sirius said offhandedly, and Umbridge and Bode both
made sounds of protest. "And watching records at a few different suppliers." Robards' quill
scratched again, and Sirius hoped he'd provoked a response from someone. "As far as a direct
test, there's one that's foolproof, but unfortunately we couldn't get it at short notice-" They'd
tried several Potions Masters and apothecaries down Diagon Alley, but either they didn't sell
such a thing, or refused to - even for a hefty price. Then they'd tried Moody who they'd
guessed might be the only person paranoid enough to carry a Polyjuice-Reactor strip on his
person. He'd had one, but refused to give it up before it could be replaced, and even if he'd
been willing, duplicates were useless and the test strip would only let them test one suspect
before it became useless. "-which means we're testing you all the old fashioned way."

"Which is what?" Sprottle asked, folding her arms.

"A dose of Polyjuice potion can last anywhere from ten minutes to twelve hours," Robards
said, "depending on the skill of the brewer, and the quality of the ingredients."

"One such ingredient," Sirius said, thinking a silent, grudging 'thank you' to Snape, who'd
been uncharacteristically helpful, likely in an effort to prove he'd meant it when he shook
Sirius' his hand two weeks before. "-is fluxweed, which must be harvested on the full moon.
Its potency decreases as the moon cycles, regardless of whether it's been stored as an
ingredient, or brewed. Since the full moon is two nights away, any fluxweed used in a brew is
near its minimum potency, and that a dose shouldn't last for more than two hours."
Sirius scanned the faces in the room before them, but if they were right, and Crouch was
there, he didn't give himself away.

Robards conjured a large clock and set it down at the front of the room.

"We'll be here for four, just in case." He smiled grimly. "Get comfortable."

Barty sat in his chair, watching Black and Robards converse in low voices at the front of the
room, and made a show of glancing around suspiciously when they looked his way.

They were an hour in, and, since everything had been confiscated upon their arrival, no one
had anything to do. Several people were pacing, several fidgeting in their seats, and others
were still as statues. Even conversation was fairly sparse, since everyone was half-convinced
their neighbour was a Death Eater in disguise.

Barty almost smiled at the thought, stressed though he was, then glanced at Black and caught
himself. He had no particular love for Wormtail, but working with him had helped in one
regard, at least, and that was that Barty had learned a bit about how to control his scent; it
wouldn't do for Barty to slip and give himself away to Black's nose.

And speaking of slip… Barty glanced at the clock at the front of the room and counted
backwards, frowning slightly. He'd shown his hand more than he might have liked when he
Imperiused and Polyjuiced that man to go after Winky, and he'd known the Aurors would
have to be idiots not to deduce he was somewhere in the Ministry, and probably using
Polyjuice. Thankfully, he'd already had his name down to leave take over Christmas and as
such, he'd spent the last few weeks bracing himself for the possibility of an interrogation.

As such, he had not panicked when a pair of Aurors arrived this morning, to take him into
custody as a suspect… he'd been careful, established himself well. They had no proof. He'd
almost laughed when he saw how many others were also suspects… until Black had
explained why they were here.

Then the nerves had set in.

Barty'd toyed with appearance charms and self-transfiguration, but nothing had worked quite
as well as Polyjuice, and so he'd had to stick with it. He supposed he should count his
blessings, that the Aurors had not been able to procure a Polyjuice Reactor strip, but even that
wasn't necessarily going to save him; without another dose in the next hour, he'd be back to
looking like himself, and all his hard work would be for nothing. If they used Veritaserum,
he'd unwillingly spill everything; that Wormtail was at Hogwarts (though thankfully he didn't
know where), where the Dark Lord and Polkov were residing, and the details of all their
careful plans…

But not all was lost. Not yet. Barty took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down
before anyone noticed. There was one option still at his disposal, and Barty was fervently
thankful that option had not been found when he was searched and forced to surrender his
wand on the way in...
One moment Eric the wandchecker was there, the next, he vanished with a flash of blue.
Sirius drew his wand and dashed forward, even as Robards raced out, bellowing for
Shacklebolt and the other Aurors that were on standby outside. Thicknesse scrambled to his
feet, away from the empty chair, and into Pemberley and Dumbledore, who had both been
pacing and frozen when Eric disappeared, and Cresswell who'd been startled into an
unimpressed Runcorn's lap. Scrimgeour and Prewett, who'd both also been pacing (or
limping, in Scrimgeour's case) had both gone for their wands on instinct, before realising they
were unarmed.

"Everyone move- just- against the walls!" Sirius said sharply. The trainees ran to get there.
Marlene caught his eye, stunned, even as she dragged a staring Bertha over to the wall.
"Now!" he told Skeeter, who was smiling in a positively dangerous way, and Umbridge,
who'd stood but not moved beyond that.

Sirius cast a few spells, mind reeling. He and Robards had been confident - though not
certain - that one of their suspects would be Crouch, and though they'd hoped to identify and
catch him today, Sirius hadn't been sure that they would; so far, Crouch and Peter had
managed to stay a few steps ahead. That they'd been right, that they'd had him, only to lose
him to a Portkey- how in Merlin's name had they missed it earlier!? Or had Dawlish or
Brown let it through…?

Still, Crouch was on the run, now, and wouldn't be able to show himself as Eric any time
soon, which was sure to push their plans back a bit… that he'd been posing as Eric was an
honest surprise; behind Marlene, Dumbledore and Scrimgeour, Eric had been one of the
suspects Sirius was least concerned about.

But, then, he hadn't been concerned about Peter all those years ago, and that had ended
terribly.

Sprottle's eyes were sad as she looked at the empty chair: "Who'd have thought Eric could
be…"

"It's not Eric at all, is it?" Diggory said, looking unnerved. "Just Crouch under Polyjuice.
Merlin knows where the real Eric is…" Prewett's mouth turned down, and Dumbledore
bowed his head.

"Trace reader's on her way," Robards announced, bursting back into the room, with
Shacklebolt, Wellington and a wide-eyed trainee behind him.

"Good," Sirius said briskly. "Right, you lot-" He got looks that ranged from wary to grim to
intrigued from the remaining suspects. Former suspects, now that Crouch had fled, he
supposed. "-did anyone see Eric- Crouch do anything odd before he disappeared?" He eyed
Thicknesse and Cresswell, who'd been right beside him.

"Nothing," Thicknesse said.

"Does this mean we're able to leave?" Bole asked mournfully.

"I should think so," Umbridge said, folding her arms, and tapping her foot on the ground.
Prewett curled her lip in the other woman's direction. "Well?" she asked primly, looking right
at Sirius. "Surely we aren't suspects anymore?"

The Trace Reader arrived then, a short, intense looking woman in silver-trimmed robes, and
Sirius directed her to Crouch's chair, with a muttered, "Portkey."

"No," Robards said, rubbing a hand over his chin, "not at the moment. Shacklebolt's got
paperwork for you all to sign before you go - an agreement not to share anything you've seen
here today, because obviously this is an ongoing investigation..." Skeeter's expression could
have curdled milk. "Once you've signed it, see Wellington for your wands and other
belongings." Everyone began to file out, though Marlene, Prewett and Scrimgeour remained.
"And thank Merlin for the confidentiality agreement," Robards sighed, when it was just
Aurors and the Trace Reader left, "I can see Skeeter's headline now; Unarmed suspect
escapes armed Aurors from inside the Ministry."

"It's embarrassing," Scrimgeour snapped. "How did you miss a portkey?!"

"We didn't search them," Sirius said. "That was Dawlish and Brown."

"They'll have to be questioned, to make sure they're not in on it," Prewett said. Sirius nodded,
having reached the same conclusion earlier.

"But right now, we're going after Eric- Crouch- whatever you want to call him," Robards
said. "Black, if you could head upstairs, and put together a team; we know Crouch is slippery,
and he's set traps for use before…" Sirius frowned, thinking of Hemsley, and Marlene's
expression darkened; she'd almost been killed in the same attack.

But, as Sirius was striding to the door, the Trace Reader spoke:

"Don't bother," she said irritably. "Either the portkey's Untraceable, the destination's
Unplottable, or there's other extensive warding or a Fidelius charm involved, because I can't
get a thing."

Barty signed the Aurors' agreement to keep his mouth shut, collected his wand, watch and
keys, and went to join the other freed suspects waiting by the lift.

Eric wasn't entirely sure what had happened - there'd been the blue light of what he'd thought
was a portkey, and he was fairly sure he wasn't in the Ministry anymore, but he wasn't
holding anything, so how could it have been?

Perhaps he was still in the Ministry, but just in the lower levels. It would explain the dim
room, and the musty smell.

He stood shakily, and something cold moved in his shirt.

Bewildered, he untucked it and wriggled a bit, and something pinged as it dropped to the
floor. In the dim light, it appeared to be a small silver button - certainly not from anything he
was wearing. He stared at it, bewildered, and looked around again, but he still had no idea
what was going on.

"Hello?" he called once, but it came out as barely a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried
again, mote loudly: "Hello!" A light flicked on, illuminating stairs through a doorway, and he
could heard footsteps and voices. "Oh, thank Merlin," he said. "I'm afraid I'm lost-"

"Expelliarmus!" The spell knocked him over, and a man came into view, holding a wand.

"Vhere is your wand?" the man asked sharply, after a moment. He regarded Eric with cold
eyes.

"I haven't- the Aurors have it," Eric stammered.

"Aurors?" The man levelled his wand at Eric's chest, and Eric gulped and took a step
backward. "How haff you come here?"

"We were brought in for questioning," Eric said, almost tripping over himself in his haste to
explain. "Lots of us - something about Crouch and his house elf-"

"Crouch?" the man asked, frowning.

"Yes, that Death Eater - been all over the papers, you must have seen-"

"I know Crouch," the man said, flapping an impatient hand.

"Yes, well," Eric said, "I was there, and then- well, now I'm here." He gave the other man a
helpless look. "I don't suppose I could use your Floo?"

The man frowned at him for a few long seconds.

"Come," he said at last.

Eric hurried after him, grateful. The man led him upstairs, down a hallway, and into a large
drawing room, where a fire crackled merrily in the grate. A large window overlooked snow
covered grounds, and Eric wondered where in Merlin's name he'd ended up.

"Dmitri?" a chilling voice said. Eric couldn't see the speaker over the high back of his
armchair.

"Ve haff company," the other man - Dmitri - said, turned and sliced his wand through the air.
Eric toppled to the ground, stiff, before he'd even realised what had happened. Then, he was
sliding forward, frozen legs dragging along the smooth floorboards.

If he'd been able to move, Eric would have recoiled in horror. The- the thing in the chair, was
small like a child, and pale, with a flat, snake-like face and awful red eyes.
They bored into his, and then there was pain in Eric's head, and images were flashing before
his eyes; the Aurors coming to find him at his desk, the uncomfortable, escorted walk
through the Ministry, an irritable Auror searching his robes and taking his wand, Black and
Robards explaining why they were there, the flash of blue light that brought him here-

"My Lord?" Dmitri said, as the pressure faded.

"Kill him," the thing in the chair said faintly, and Eric died.
 Theories and timetables

"Here," Draco growled, shoving his wand into a baffled Ron's hands. "I don't trust myself
with it, right now." He looked furiously at Hydrus, who was talking loudly and proudly with
Crabbe and Goyle about Buckbeak the hipporiff's hearing with the Committee for the
Disposal of Dangerous Creatures; Hagrid had shown Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco the
letter at the beginning of the lesson.

It was clearly retaliation for Draco's behaviour over the holidays, and Draco was not taking it
well. Nor was Hagrid, who was shuffling around, looking at everyone's flobberworms, with
puffy eyes and a uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm for his subject.

Harry, for his part, was sorely tempted to throw his head of lettuce at Hydrus, to see if it
might wipe the smirk off his stupid, pointy face.

"He's not going to get away with this," Hermione said. Her expression was similar to the one
she'd worn the day she punched Hydrus, and Harry secretly hoped for a repeat performance.
"Neither of them are. Hagrid's going to present a strong defence at his hearing, and Buckbeak
will be fine-"

"Hagrid's defence'll be that the hippogriff's a good creature and didn't mean to hurt anyone,"
Ron sighed. "Which is nice and all, but it won't hold up against the Ministry." He offered a
leaf of lettuce to their flobberworm. It made an odd squelching sound, and Ron yanked his
hand back.

"Then we'll help him," Hermione said.

"We'll write his defence," Draco said. "Father will have the entire Committee in his pocket,
so it'll have to be good..."

"I think I've read about a case of hippogriff baiting," Hermione said slowly, but her scent was
calmer now, and determined.

"We can go to the library after Charms," Draco said, nodding. "And the hearing's not until the
end of April, so there's time-"

"We can use our free lessons," Ron said, gesturing between himself and Harry. "Ease up on
Patronuses a bit, maybe…? At least until we've found something to help him." He gave Harry
an uncertain look, and Harry nodded.

"And-"

"Harry Potter!" Padfoot hissed, from Harry's pocket, and the other three paused and stared at
him. "Harry?!"

Harry pulled out his mirror, and glanced around, but no one else seemed to be paying
attention. The nearest other group was Neville, Dean, Seamus and Michael Corner, and they
were all busy laughing at Neville, who'd somehow managed to get flobberworm mucous in
his hair.

"Padfoot?" he asked in a low voice, setting the mirror down on the edge of the crate. Ron,
Hermione and Draco huddled closer, peering into the surface of the mirror. Within it, Padfoot
looked equal parts riled and exhausted. "I'm in a lesson-"

Padfoot ignored him, but kept his voice quiet: "Have you had any dreams?"

"Dreams?" Harry asked blankly. "With- do you mean with Voldemort?" Ron dropped their
lettuce, Hermione twitched, and Draco's expression spasmed. Harry gave them all
exasperated looks. "Padfoot, what's-"

"We had Crouch," Padfoot said agitatedly. Harry felt his eyebrows shoot up, Hermione made
a noise of surprise, and Ron sucked in a breath. "He escaped. Took a portkey to Marlin knows
where, and we can't track it, but I thought maybe you might have… seen something?"

"Nothing," Harry said, and Padfoot was obviously disappointed. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Never mind. It was a long shot," Padfoot said, shaking his head. Harry heard raised voices in
the background, and Padfoot closed his eyes briefly. "I've got to go - I'll explain the rest later.
Let me know if you do hear anything."

Ginny wrote her last line (I should go for help before I go for my wand), packed up her
things, and then carried her roll of parchment to where Sprout sat at the front of the room.
Sprout read over it and nodded.

"Thank you, Weasley," she said briskly, but not unkindly. Ginny supposed she should
consider herself lucky, both that it was Sprout she'd been caught by, and that, Luna was
prepared to speak up in Ginny's defence, even if she rarely did so for herself; Ginny had still
been in trouble, but at least Edgecombe had gone down with her. "Off you run."

Edgecombe glowered at Ginny as she passed, and Ginny ignored her.

It was late enough that the castle was more or less empty; on the lower levels, Ginny saw a
few students laden with books and homework that must have been in the library, and
Hufflepuff's Quidditch team returning from a late practice, but on the upper floors, it was just
the occasional Prefect or teacher that told her to hurry along back to her common room.

"Camelot," Ginny said with a yawn, when she reached the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Indeed," the Fat Lady replied, and swung open so that Ginny could clamber through.

She was descended upon almost immediately by Fred and George, and that earned her the
attention of everyone in the common room. Ginny felt her cheeks heating up.

"Look at her, Fred," George said, slinging one arm over her shoulders and pretending to wipe
away tears with the other. "Our baby sister, all grown up and getting detentions."
"How did you know?" Ginny asked.

"A little birdie told us," Fred said, and then pressed a hand to his heart. "We always knew you
were destined for greatness."

"This isn't a laughing matter!" Percy said angrily, shooing the twins back.

"Disciplinary records aren't any sort of joke, Perce," Fred said, aghast, "they're a very serious
matter!"

"A matter of pride," George said.

"And honour!"

"And-"

'Oh, shut up!" Percy snapped, and then turned to Ginny, lips pursed, and she did her best to
wipe her grin off her face. "Is it true?"

"It was just lines, with Sprout," Ginny said defiantly. Percy looked so disappointed, either at
Ginny's confirmation, or maybe her tone, though. Dad, Bill and Percy were the only ones
who'd ever been able to make her feel guilty with just a look. She found herself trying to
explain: "I hexed a girl that stole Luna's necklace."

"Not nearly as exciting as we'd hoped," Fred said, frowning. "We were picturing dungbombs,
and glitter-"

"-maybe fireworks… I suppose you've got to start somewhere, though-"

"Start- no, this isn't the start," Percy said warningly, "this is the end. Ginny acted up, got
punished for it, and now she's learnt her lesson-" He gave her a stern look, hands on his hips.
"haven't you? Ginny?"

"I should go for help before I go for my wand," Ginny recited. Percy nodded approvingly.

"Now look, Perce," George complained, "you've broken her spirit-"

"No," Percy said, rounding on the twins, "I'm making sure she doesn't end up like you two,
with no respect for the rules-"

"We'll get to her next year, when you're not around," Fred said. He winked at Ginny, who was
torn between wanting to laugh, and wanting to tell him off for winding Percy up; Percy's ears
were Gryffindor-red.

"Ten points from Gryffindor - each! - for setting a bad example to younger students," Percy
snapped. Fred and George made noises of protest, as did several of the students looking on.
"And I'm writing to Mother." Fred and George scowled. "I imagine she'll be incredibly
displeased to hear about all of this. And Ginny, if you don't want her to hear it first from me, I
suggest you write to tell her about your detention."
"You're telling her!?" Ginny's mouth fell open.

Percy ignored her, whirled around and stomped up the boy's staircase.

"Git," Fred muttered, glowering at their brother's back. George nodded.

"I'm going to bed," Ginny said grumpily, and headed toward the girl's staircase, flushing a bit
under the stares from her housemates. The only people not looking at her, or at Fred and
George, were Ron, Harry, Hermione and Draco, who were on the far side of the common
room, and huddled together the way they did when something big had happened.

Ginny frowned and changed direction.

"-can't force it, Harry," Hermione was saying exasperatedly, when Ginny perched on the arm
of the couch they were sharing, and Ginny was rather touched they didn't go quiet, or change
topic when she joined them; it was nice to be included, trusted. "And if you did, I don't know
that it would be a good thing." Her eyes flicked up. "Hello Ginny."

"What's happened?" Ginny asked. She eyed the books on the table. Some were obviously
Hermione's and had been abandoned along with an essay on Electricity when Hermione had
been drawn completely into the conversation. The others were stranger; Magical Creatures
and the Law, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Monstrous Trials, Curious Cases
from the Continent, Beastly Legal Battles, Caught Out in the Courts, and several other heavy
tomes on Wizarding Law. She wondered what in Merlin's name they were up to this time.

"Padfoot almost caught Crouch today," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "They set
a trap, only Crouch had a portkey… and then-"

"-he escaped," Hermione said, rather firmly.

"Yeah," Harry said. "But-"

"Potter," Draco said, in a rather long-suffering tone, that made Ginny think they'd had this
conversation several times already. "Things can be straightforward every now and then, you
know."

"It doesn't make sense," Harry muttered.

"Sirius seemed to think it did," Ron said, nodding at Harry's mirror, which was sitting atop
the nearest stack of books.

"Exactly. Thank you, Ron," Hermione said. "And so did you, Harry, when he told you, so I
don't understand what's changed. Sirius said the man fled. An innocent man wouldn't do
that."

"Padfoot did," Harry mumbled, and Draco groaned.

"Not when he was caught by the Ministry," Hermione replied smartly. Harry gave her a
stubborn look.
"It might not be Crouch," Ron said fairly. "It could just be someone that's involved-"

"Then he probably wouldn't have been under Polyjuice, and had nothing to lose by staying in
the room," Draco said. "The time would have passed, nothing would have changed, and the
Aurors would have let him go. Why are you making this difficult, Potter?"

"I don't know!" Harry said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "But it feels wrong-" He
looked at Ron, who shrugged, at Hermione and Draco who both sighed, and then at Ginny,
who wasn't sure what to think. "-and I'm going to figure out why."

"Not by forcing a dream," Hermione said. "I know they're useful," she added, when Harry
scowled at her, "but what if, somehow, instead of finding your way into his head, he ends up
in yours?"

"You're trying to force one of your dreams?" Ginny asked, troubled. Harry gave her a cagey
look, as if expecting to be told off, but when she said nothing, he nodded.

"He slept all through History of Magic," Hermione said disapprovingly. "And then napped
after Quidditch practice, and he'll be going to bed soon-"

"He's got to sleep eventually," Ron pointed out.

"Yes, but not-"

"So you saw nothing?" Ginny asked, over the top of Ron and Hermione. Harry shook his
head.

"I probably wasn't doing it right," Harry said. "Usually I don't try to have them, usually they
just… happen when he's excited or- or angry…" He trailed off, frowning.

"Potter?" Draco asked, and Ron and Hermione both looked over.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

"The man that vanished isn't Crouch," Harry said, with far, far more certainty than he had
before. "He can't be."

"Yes, but why, Harry?" Hermione sighed, exchanging a look with Draco.

"Because he wasn't angry," Harry said slowly. "Don't you see?"

"No," Draco said, with what was clearly forced patience. "We don't. Care to explain?"

"He wasn't angry," Harry said. "If he was, I'd have had a dream, or at least felt it..." His hand
hovered over his scar.

"Oh," Ginny said, catching on. Harry gave her a faint, strained smile.

"I'm lost," Ron announced.

"It didn't feel right because I didn't feel anything from him; why wouldn't he be angry that his
servant's been found?" Harry asked. Ron nodded slowly, expression thoughtful.

"Because he wasn't caught," Draco said at once. "He'd be a bit annoyed, certainly, but maybe
not angry enough to trigger-"

"Just a bit annoyed," Harry said, almost excitedly, "that Crouch, who's been planted in the
Ministry for months setting up some plan or other, has been identified and forced to flee?
That they'd have lost months and months of planning and work... there'd be no way Crouch
can use that disguise again."

"He'd be furious," Ginny said quietly, remembering how angry Tom had been when she'd
escaped his influence for long enough to tell Percy about the diary the year before; Tom
didn't like it when people tried to ruin his plans.

"Maybe he'd done what he needed to," Hermione said uncertainly, but Ginny thought Harry
had convinced her.

"Maybe," Harry said, "but I reckon Voldemort'd feel pretty happy if he had a body and I
haven't felt that. And I've still got a heartbeat, so they haven't ticked that off the list either."
Ginny wasn't the only one that winced at that.

"Point made, Potter," Draco said, a little uncomfortably. "There's no need to be so morbid."

"It's true, though," Harry said, grimacing.

"Speaking of morbid," Ron said, looking rather ill, "if Harry's right, and Crouch didn't take
the portkey-"

"Then he's still somewhere in the Ministry," Hermione said. "He must have been in that
room, too, and used the portkey as a distraction… he probably was using Polyjuice Potion-"

"Yeah," Ron said, "but- the distraction. The bloke that got sent out with the portkey…"

"He'd be dead," Ginny said. Ron still looked unwell, Hermione's eyes were sad, and Draco's
mouth was set in a thin line. Harry met Ginny's eye and they shared a look of grim
understanding.

"Crouch was using him to set up a false lead for the Aurors," Harry said, wearily. "He
wouldn't have sent him anywhere he'd be able to come back from."

Silence hung over their little group for several long, sad minutes.

"Not that they're not trying their hardest," Ron said, voice a bit shaky, "but it'd be good if the
Aurors or Dumbledore or someone could catch You Know Who and stop all this, eh?"

He'd clearly said it in an attempt to lighten the mood, so Ginny forced a smile and nodded,
and Hermione was nodding too, and Draco snorted in a vaguely amused way.
"It's not that simple," Harry said stiffly. Before any of them could say anything at all, Harry
had snatched up the mirror, and fled up to his dormitory.

Always one bloody step ahead, Sirius thought, tossing his quill down onto the desk in
frustration. Give me idiots any day.

Unfortunately, Voldemort was not an idiot, and nor - as a general rule - were his followers.

Sirius rubbed his eyes and leaned back, thinking. Why had Crouch had the portkey on his
person today? Did he always carry it, or had he somehow known he'd need it today; had
someone tipped him off? The only people who'd known about today's meeting in advance
were Robards, Scrimgeour, Dumbledore, Snape, Marlene, Harry - and therefore Harry's
friends - and Sirius himself. He couldn't imagine any of them helping Crouch willingly, but
what if it had been an accident, something as innocent as being overheard? What if they'd
been coerced?

And then, even pushing that all aside, how had Crouch got the Portkey inside? Confunding
Dawlish and Brown was out, since wands had been the first thing confiscated. So were they
in on it, or had they missed it? Where had it been? Had it been time-activated - but if that was
the case, how had he known when he'd need it? Surely touch-activation could be ruled out -
there'd be too much chance of it accidentally being set off - and a passphrase was out too -
Sirius hadn't heard anything before Crouch vanished, and he had the best hearing of the lot of
them.

And, where had the portkey taken him?

Crouch had a bit of a talent with portkeys, as it turned out; he'd written a particularly complex
essay on potential improvements to the Portus spell - improvements he'd since managed,
apparently, since they hadn't been able to track him - and it would have secured him a
position in the Department of Magical Transportation straight out of Hogwarts, except he'd
gone and got caught up with the Death Eaters instead. And why had Sirius only
learned that today? Had no one thought it was important enough to share that the man they
were after had a gift for portkeys? Or had someone tried to hide it?

"Sirius Black," Harry said, through the mirror on the table. "Padfoot?"

"Harry?" Sirius snatched up the mirror. "Everything all right?"

"Crouch isn't the wand checker," Harry said. Sirius stared at him.

"Did you have a dream?" That was the only thing that could explain how sure Harry sounded.

"No," Harry said. "But listen…"

What he said made a good deal of sense, Sirius had to admit. Voldemort certainly would be
angry if Crouch had been outed, if their plans had been halted or ruined entirely; after all,
Harry had seen it when Polkov failed to get Petunia, so it stood to reason that he would have
seen Crouch's punishment too.
And yet he hadn't.

"Well?" Harry asked, eyes bright, when he'd finished explaining.

"You really think that's right?" Sirius asked.

"Well, yeah," Harry said, seeming a bit put off by Sirius' lack of enthusiasm. "The others all
agree, too." Sirius wasn't at all surprised to hear that this had been a topic of discussion
amongst Harry's friends. One of these days, though, he was going to need to teach them all a
decent anti-eavesdropping charm. "You don't." Harry was frowning.

"No," Sirius said. "It makes sense," he added, "but it's a bit of a reach-"

"It's not him, Padfoot," Harry said, "I know it isn't."

"We're fairly sure it is," Sirius said carefully. "There was all sorts of potential leads in his
apartment-"

"Then he's been set up," Harry said. "Or maybe he was a bit off anyway, but he's not Crouch.
If he was, why wouldn't Voldemort be angry?"

"Maybe he doesn't know yet," Sirius said. "Crouch knows he's messed everything up, and
that he'll be punished, so I doubt he's in a hurry to share the bad news."

"Punished, yeah," Harry said. "But Voldemort doesn't have many followers at the moment.
He can't afford to scare the ones he has got away. He'd be… reasonable." An odd look
crossed Harry's face as he said it. "Crouch would know that."

"There's another reason you wouldn't have felt it, then," Sirius said.

"He'd still be angry," Harry said, clearly frustrated; he ran a hand through his hair and
scowled at Sirius through the mirror. "He just wouldn't act on it as much. It's not him."

"Look, kiddo," Sirius said. "I'll keep it in mind, but-"

"But you still don't believe me," Harry said. "I have dreams where I am Voldemort, I know
how he thinks." Sirius shivered a bit at that, and hoped Harry couldn't see it.

"This isn't Voldemort, though," Sirius said. "This is Crouch."

"I was right last year, about it being Voldemort behind the Chamber," Harry said. "And you
didn't believe me then either."

"If you're right this time," Sirius said, "then you can say 'I told you so' as many times as you
like. I won't stop you." Harry still didn't look particularly happy.

"What did you find?"

"What?"
"At the apartment," Harry said. "Eric's apartment."

Bugger.

"Kiddo…"

There was a loud crash behind Harry, and Sirius' view of him vanished; Sirius guessed he'd
dropped the mirror.

"McGonagall wants everyone downstairs," one of the twins said, before Sirius could ask what
had happened.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Dunno, she's in a mood though."

"Padoot-"

"Yeah, go, kiddo," Sirius said, relieved, and then felt a bit guilty for being relieved, and then
worried, because anything that could put McGonagall in enough of a mood to summon the
whole House couldn't be a good thing. "Let me know if it's anything important."

"Bye, Padfoot."

The mirror went dark, and Sirius flopped back in his chair with a groan, feeling both
exhausted and extremely alert all at once.

Sorry, kiddo, Sirius thought toward the mirror. He didn't think he'd convinced Harry that he
was wrong, but hopefully, he'd at least managed to convince him Sirius didn't believe him.
That way, if Peter somehow managed to get close enough to listen in, he wouldn't hear
anything that made him feel like he needed to warn Voldemort and the others… Maybe we
can be one step ahead this time. Harry would understand why he'd done it, eventually, but
Sirius still felt a bit guilty.

There was a soft knock on the door and Marlene stepped into the room with a tea tray
floating in front of her. He closed the file in front of him, and if Marlene noticed, she didn't
say anything.

"Thanks," he said, accepting a cup from her.

"I thought you might need it," she said. She glanced at the fat file in front of him and a wry
smile tugged at her mouth. "Are you planning to sleep tonight?"

"Haven't decided yet." She put a hand on his knee and squeezed.

"Do you want company? Someone to bounce theories off?"

"No," Sirius said, a little too quickly. Marlene gave him an odd look. "I mean yes, I do want
that, but I can't."
"Why not?" Marlene gave him another funny look.

"Because until I know what I'm dealing with, I'll be playing this one pretty close to my
chest."

"Oh, yes," Marlene said with a laugh. "Can't have you discussing your case with a suspect."
Sirius felt his smile wither, and Marlene's vanished at once. "Sirius?"

"You are," he said uncomfortably. "I don't actually think you'd- but technically-"

"You've got to be joking." Sirius said nothing, and Marlene set her teacup down. "Well," she
said awkwardly. "I'll- see you later." She nodded, almost to herself, and stood. "By the
way…" She pulled up her sleeves to show him her bare forearms, and then stalked out of the
room. Sirius winced.

"Marls, wait," he sighed, pushing back his chair. He caught her on the landing, looking cross.
She glanced down at his hand on her arm, but didn't move. "I don't think you'd ever be
involved in something like this, but I just- accidents happen. Things are overheard. Do you
put up anti-eavesdropping charms every time we talk? I know I don't." Her expression was
still hard, but some of the irritation left her scent, and Sirius thought that was a good sign.

"I'm still leaving," she said, shaking her arm loose of his grip.

"Marl-"

"Relax, Sirius," she said, more gently. "If you want me to keep my distance from this, then I
will, and I'd prefer to sleep than spend my night watching you stare a file I'm not allowed to
know the contents of."

"Fair point," Sirius said. Merlin, but bed sounded good. She offered him a half-smile.

"I'll see you at work."

"Come over for breakfast," Sirius said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her eyes flicked over his
face and after a moment, she nodded. "I'm sorry," he added.

"Don't be," she sighed. "I do understand, even if I don't like it." She cleared her throat. "I'm
sorry for before." She tugged at her sleeves to let him know what she meant. "I haven't told
you much about my current assignment, and you haven't given me grief over it. I owe you the
same."

"It's not the same, though," Sirius said, rubbing her arms. "I'm not a suspect in your
assignment."

"That's a big assumption," Marlene said, arching an eyebrow.

"Please: if I didn't get an international team formed in my honour for escaping Azkaban and
taking Harry, I can't imagine why I'd have one now," Sirius said, amused.

"Sirius Black?" Harry's voice called from the library. "Padfoot?"

Marlene kissed him and stepped back.

"I'll see you for breakfast."

"Do you really think she wouldn't have recognised him though, mate?" Ron asked, as the four
of them headed down to McGonagall's office before breakfast.

"She'd have had thousands of students since then," Draco pointed out. "If you can forget a
name, you can forget a smell, right, Potter?"

"Right," Harry said, nodding. "She might not have even forgotten it, just not realised who it
is. Merlin knows Wormtail's been around enough this year that she's probably come across it
before, and just not known." Thankfully, they all agreed with him. In fact, once the twins had
been ruled as responsible for breaking in to McGonagall's office, Hermione had suggested
Wormtail before Harry could.

"Why does it have to be me?" Hermione mumbled, as they neared the office door.

"Because you're you," Ron said, patting her on the shoulder. "'Professor,'" he said, putting on
a high voice, "'I just had a question about that essay'- Oof!" Harry and Draco sniggered.
"Merlin," Ron said, rubbing the side she'd elbowed, "do you sharpen those?"

Hermione poked her tongue out at him, and strode forward to knock on McGonagall's door.

Harry heard footsteps on the other side and then it was pulled open. Harry sniffed the air as
casually as he could manage - McGonagall was an animagus herself, and sure to notice
otherwise - but couldn't smell Wormtail. McGonagall gave the four of them a beady stare,
and then pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I'd wondered if I'd be seeing you four," McGonagall sighed. "Tell me; do you have
suspicions about who broke into my office, or have you come to investigate for mere
curiosity's sake?" She looked at Harry as she said it, and he grimaced and ran a hand through
his hair.

"Actually, Professor," Hermione said, biting her lip, "I- erm had a question about that essay-"

"Spare me, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, and Hermione blushed. "Well?"

"We were curious," Harry muttered.

"I see." McGonagall gave him a hard stare. "Well, I've already had one break in, so I'll save
us all the trouble; you four of orchestrating a second one to investigate, and me of dealing
with it all." And she stepped back to allow them inside. Draco gave Harry a surprised look as
they went. "Though I assure you," she said, almost crossly, "that the office has been gone
over quite thoroughly by myself, and, when no one in Gryffindor came forward, by Professor
Moody and the Headmaster." Harry nodded absently; he could smell them as soon as he came
in the door, and McGonagall of course.
He had never imagined that she would just let them inside; he had had a much subtler search
in mind, one where he sort of stood in the background while Hermione and the others
distracted McGonagall. He had never intended for her to just watch him - there was too much
of a chance of her figuring him out.

"Do get on with it, Potter." Feeling a bit silly, Harry did.

McGonagall watched with folded arms as he made a slow lap of the room; around the desk
and its comfortable looking chair, to the window, with its view of the grounds and Quidditch
pitch, and finally, to the other side of the room, where a well-stocked bookcase stood. It was
there that Harry caught Wormtail's scent, buried under the other professors' scents, but still
definitely there. He gave his friends a tiny nod.

He turned more fully toward the bookcase, trying his best to pinpoint the scent. Frowning, he
pulled a large folder labelled Timetables off a shelf, and looked askance at McGonagall.

"Yes," she said after a moment, smelling stunned. "It was copied by whoever broke in."
Suddenly she looked stern. "It took us a significant amount of spellwork to find out that that
was the case, however, so exactly how, Potter-"

Harry put the folder back and went to stand with his friends, hoping their scents would cover
his so that McGonagall wouldn't smell the lie:

"A dream," Harry said. Hermione gave him a sharp look. "Last night, I saw Wormtail
showing it to Voldemort."

"Wormtail," McGonagall repeated.

"Pet-"

"I remember the nickname, Potter," she said softly. "We had wondered, but there was no
proof, and-" McGonagall let out an unsteady breath. "Do you know why, Potter?" Harry
shook his head, honest now. "Well." McGonagall cleared her throat. "Was there anything
else?" Harry shook his head, and when McGonagall looked at the other three, they did too.
"Very well. I shall bring Wormtail's involvement to the Headmaster's attention at breakfast,
and he, I, and the rest of the staff, shall handle it. There is no need for you - any of you - to
vanish either unwillingly, or in pursuit of heroics - as you have done in past years, and I will
be extremely displeased if such a thing occurs again this year." Harry felt his face heat up.
Beside him, Ron had red ears, though neither Draco or Hermione looked quite as guilty;
they'd been Petrified when Harry went after Riddle the year before, though they'd both come
along to save the stone in first year, so they weren't completely innocent.

"Bit rough, wasn't she?" Ron said, as they walked into the Great Hall for breakfast a few
minutes later. "Telling us not to get kidnapped or she'll be displeased. Like any of us'd be
thrilled at the prospect!" Harry laughed.

"Please," Draco said, "Potter lives for opportunities like that."

"That isn't funny, Draco" Hermione said, and he pouted at her. "If Wormtail's stealing
timetables, kidnapping could be exactly what he has in mind."

"How?" Harry asked. "He won't be taking anyone as a rat, I don't reckon, and as a human,
he'd stand out." They sat, and Harry filled a bowl with cereal while Ron poured them all
juice. "Not to mention he'd have to be thick to try something in the corridors, where anyone
could see."

"Maybe," Hermione said, but she still looked worried. "Oh, this is so awful, and he took the
whole folder, so who knows who he's after."

"Yeah, I wonder," Harry muttered, and Ron gave him a sideways look.

"I hope it's yours he wants, Granger," Draco said, carefully slicing his apple.

"What?" Hermione gasped.

"Oi!" Ron said.

"No, really," Draco said, a slow smile creeping over his face. "Have you seen Granger's
timetable? He'd be occupied trying to work out how to read it until exams, and then we can
have a nice, peaceful rest of the school year."

"You're awful," she muttered, but Harry caught her smiling into her breakfast.
 Mind games

"The Cannons?" Chang asked, lowering her quill to look at Ron. Harry looked over his book
to glance between them. "Really?"

"Yeah," Ron said, feeling a little defensive. "What's wrong with the Cannons?"

"What's wrong with- the Cannons are awful, Weasley," one of Chang's friends - a blonde
Hufflepuff - said.

"Harry and Sirius go for the Cannons too," Ron said. He could feel his ears turning red.
"Don't you?"

"More than anyone else, yeah," Harry said, shrugging. He grinned. "Except for maybe
Gryffindor." The girls all groaned, but then one said that Wood was handsome and next thing
Ron knew, the girls were having a noisy, rather enthusiastic discussion about whether Wood,
Diggory or Davies was better looking.

"Mad, all of them," Ron muttered to Harry, who nodded, looking rather shell-shocked.
"Besides, it's obviously Flint." Harry snorted and Ron grinned. "What, stupid and half-troll
isn't your type?" This time, Harry burst out laughing and he and Ron both got odd looks from
Chang and her friends.

"Definitely not," Harry said, trying to get himself back under control. His eyes flicked to
Chang, who was admittedly about as far from stupid and half troll as it was possible to be.
She and her friends were still giggling over Quidditch boys - the lot of them were now giving
Harry appraising looks. His cheeks were red, and Ron suspected he could hear them.

Chang shushed them halfheartedly and turned to Harry, blushing.

"How's your reading going?" Harry - who Ron was sure had the Map open behind his book
and was watching for Wormtail - angled his book away from her. Chang gave him an odd
look. "Have you found anything interesting?"

"Nothing," Harry said, glancing at Ron, who shook his head; he hadn't found anything to help
Hagrid either.

"And you're- this is for a hippogriff?" Chang asked, a little doubtfully. "The one that attacked
Malfoy?"

"Stupid git," Ron muttered. Harry grinned.

"I- well- not that I like Malfoy," Chang said, a bit awkwardly, "but if it attacked him, then
isn't it- you know, dangerous? So-"

"I should think so!" Chang's curly haired friend said. "And that Hagrid's a bit-" she made a
vaguely distasteful gesture and scrunched up her face. "-too." Ron glared at her.
"I think Hagrid's brilliant," Harry said, rather coolly.

"You're-"

"I've never had him as a teacher," Chang said quickly. "I'm sure he's wonderful." She gave
Harry a smile, and Harry smiled back, then stood. Chang's face fell. "Where are you going?"

"Arithmancy," Harry said. Ron didn't have Arithmancy, but he certainly wouldn't be staying
here without Harry. Not that he thought Chang would want him to.

"But the next lessons aren't for twenty minutes," Chang said.

"I said I'd meet Hermione when she finishes Runes," Harry said, running a hand through his
hair. They had to swap the Map over, so that she could have it in Muggle Studies… which
was happening right now, so really, she already had the Map, except it was there, being
tucked surreptitiously into Harry's bag, and Merlin, time-travel confused Ron.

"Oh," Chang said, in an odd voice. "Well, if you've got to meet Hermione, then sure…"

"Yeah, sorry," Harry said, packing his things away. Ron shut his book with a loud snap, swept
his things into his bag and hopped to his feet. He was all for helping Hagrid, but the books
were boring as anything, and he wasn't entirely comfortable sitting with Chang's friends. Nor,
did he think, was Harry; Chang had all but dragged him over when they walked into the
library, giving Ron no choice but to follow.

"Unbelievable," Chang's friend said - and crossly, Ron thought - and some of the other girls
were murmuring amongst themselves. Then, more loudly the red-haired girl said, "Did you
know it's Valentine's day on Monday, Potter?"

Harry blinked at her, then glanced at Ron, who shrugged. Harry shook his head.

"And that it's a Hogsmeade weekend," Chang's friend said, rather pointedly. "Or have you
already made plans to go with Hermione Granger?"

"Marietta!" Chang said, but the look she turned on Harry was hopeful.

"Oh," Harry said, ruffling his hair again. "Er- I hadn't really-"

"We could get lunch?" Chang said.

"Yeah," Harry said. Ron shifted impatiently and Harry half-glanced in his direction. "I - yeah,
sure." Chang beamed. She and Harry looked at each other and Ron wondered if they were
going to hug or kiss goodbye, but Harry just waved awkwardly and backed up a few steps.
Chang's friend and the Hufflepuff who'd been on Ron's back about the Cannons put their
heads together, whispering.

"See you," Harry said.

"Bye, Harry!" Chang said, and several of her friends echoed her. They didn't say anything to
Ron.
"Hogsmeade" Sirius repeated, massaging his forehead with an ink-spotted hand. He'd
completely forgotten about it. "I'm sorry, I'm up to my neck in reports at the moment, and I
just can't spare the time-"

"It's all right," Harry said. He looked a bit disappointed, but not as disappointed as Sirius had
expected him to be. Still, Sirius wasn't going to question it, not if Harry was prepared to let it
go without making a fuss. Perhaps he realised that - after the disaster that had been the last
Hogsmeade trip - if Sirius was able to go, he'd be keeping Harry firmly in his sight the entire
time, which probably wouldn't be all that much fun anyway.

Not that Harry was going to be much safer in the castle, necessarily; as seemed to be the way
of things, Peter had disappeared entirely again after his burglary of McGonagall's office, and
Merlin only knew where he was, or what he was planning now.

"I saw the paper," Harry said eventually. "Eric was seen in London. Looks like you were
right." He didn't look particularly happy about it. Sirius grunted, not happy either. "Do you
think you're close to finding him?"

"Couldn't say, kiddo," Sirius said, and changed the subject: "When's your next match?"

Harry wasn't fooled - his eyes narrowed, and he was quiet for just long enough that Sirius
thought he'd refuse to go along with it all.

"March," Harry said finally. "Ravenclaw and Slytherin play next weekend though."

"Who do you want to win?"

"Ravenclaw," Harry said, and for just a moment he looked scandalised that Sirius would even
ask such a thing. Then he scrunched his face up, considering. "Except our odds for the Cup
are better if they don't."

"In that case, go Slytherin," Sirius said, but without much enthusiasm, and Ron made a
strangled noise in the background. Harry glanced over his shoulder and laughed at whatever
he saw there.

Sometime later, when Harry said goodnight and let the mirror go dark, and Sirius returned his
attention to the parchment before him:

Dear Aurors,

I've never had to write this sort of thing before, so I'm awfully sorry if I've addressed it
wrong. I think I saw Crouch heading down into Knockturn Alley this morning, in disguise as
Eric Munch and thought you'd like to know. Sorry if I'm wasting your time.

J. Lynch

He tapped it with his wand to change the handwriting, once, twice and then a third time, just
to be sure. Then, he levitated the copy into an envelope he'd prepared earlier, careful not to
touch it. Another tap of his wand - this time on the Ministry-emblem stamp on the envelope -
and it vanished.

The stamps were more expensive than the cost of borrowing a post owl, but they also ensured
immediate delivery. 'J Lynch's' letter would be sitting in a Ministry post sorting basket now,
with a whole lot of other letters - complaints, mostly - and would probably find its way onto
his desk or Robards' in the next day or two.

Sirius leaned back in his chair with a sigh, and rubbed a hand over his face.

It was awful what he was doing, wasting the Aurors' time with false information and leads,
and even more awful that he was dragging poor Eric's name through the papers and the
DMLE, framing and blaming him.

Sirius knew exactly how it felt, to be hunted and called a Death Eater. That Eric was likely
dead and therefore unaware that he was being framed did little to soothe Sirius' conscience.

The only reason he'd kept up the whole charade was because he needed Crouch to think he
was safe, wherever he was hiding. If Crouch knew he was being watched, he'd be careful, and
have all sorts of contingency plans in place. A Crouch that felt safe was a Crouch that was
more likely to slip up, and Sirius would be ready for him when he did.

This, Draco thought, as memories rushed by him - Hydrus throwing a shoe, him licking a
spoon while Dobby baked in the Manor's kitchen, sitting with Potter out by the lake laughing
at some joke or other - was different to what he'd felt before. Severus' Legillimency wasn't so
much the sharp, probing thing it had been previously; instead, it was everywhere at once, and
for all that Draco had had some success in the past in keeping him out, he wasn't even sure
where to start with this.

Severus withdrew and the pressure on Draco's head eased. Gasping, he realised he'd fallen to
the floor of Severus' office, while Severus watched disapprovingly from his the chair behind
his desk. The pensieve, swirling gently atop the desk, cast odd shadows on his face. Draco
hauled himself to his feet and back into his chair.

"You need to clear your mind, Draco," Severus said curtly. "Remove any emotions-"

"I'm trying!" Draco said crankily, and pushed his hair out of his face. "Why's it so different?"

"Different to what?" Severus asked, arching an eyebrow.

"To before," Draco said, "when I was having my headaches." Severus' face went smooth, and
Draco had to make an effort not to roll his eyes; though he was certain they both knew it was
Severus behind Draco's headaches last term, Severus had yet to admit it - and was still going
to lengths to pretend he didn't know - which made learning difficult. "I was able to make-"
He swallowed the word you. "-them stop, I could feel it, just in one spot and block it, but
with this-"
"There are a number of different types of Legillimency, as very few minds operate entirely
the same. Broadly, however, they can be assigned to one of two categories; Legillimency that
requires a wand and a spell, and Legillimency that does not." Severus lifted his wand slowly.
"Today, we are working with the former. Now, clear your mind… Legillimens!"

He could feel Severus in his head, everywhere, digging through thoughts and memories, and
Draco tried to shove him out the way he had in the past, tried not to think of anything, but
then he was four, and Father was pointing out a Mudblood (the first Draco had ever seen),
and Severus had sliced his palm open, and Aunt Bella had his face in her hand, was saying he
had Mother's smile, and Draco had Weasley in checkmate-

Draco was on the floor again.

"I told you to clear your mind," Severus said.

"I heard you," Draco huffed. He wished he'd gone to Hogsmeade with Granger and Weasley,
instead of coming here. "But I must have missed the part where you told me how."

"I have - free yourself of any emotion-"

"How?!" Draco demanded, throwing himself down into his chair. Severus gave him a
warning look, and Draco knew - godson or not - he was about to be in a world of trouble if he
kept speaking to Severus like that. He let out a gusty breath. "How do I 'clear myself of
emotion'?"

Severus looked a little lost.

"You simply… do," he said.

"How did you do it when you learned?"

"The same way I have instructed you to," Severus said, more briskly. "Now, concentrate…
Legillimens!"

With no time to prepare himself, Draco was snatched up by his memories as Severus glanced
over them; he was walking with Dumbledore and talking about red and green, Hydrus had
just broken his nose, a sinister hiss and then yellow eyes reflected off the damp dungeon
walls, and then Granger and She-Weasley were squealing as the twins dumped snow over the
pair of them on Christmas day-

"This isn't working," Draco said, frustrated. He'd managed to stay in his seat this time, at
least.

"No," Severus said, mouth a thin line. "It isn't." He set his wand down on the desk and
watched Draco so intently that Draco half-expected to feel a probe, but he didn't. "I'd
expected you to take to it quickly."

He sounded disappointed, and that stung.

"You're the one meant to be teaching me," Draco said sulkily. Truthfully, he'd thought his
previous exposure to Legillimency, and the books Black had loaned him would give him an
advantage.

"You requested these lessons, Draco," Severus said irritably. "If you no longer wish to
continue them, you can leave."

"Lie," Draco said, folding his arms. If Severus didn't want Draco to know Occlumency, he
would never have started poking at his mind, nor would have he been as quick to agree to
giving Draco lessons in the first place. They stared at each other for several long seconds, and
Severus was the first to look away.

"The Legillimency I am currently using on you, is Legillimency in its simplest form-"

"And I can't even keep you out," Draco muttered, disheartened. Severus gave him a quelling
look.

"-and as such, is the most difficult to defend against." Draco looked up, and the faintest
shadow of a smile flickered across Severus' face. "The spell Legillimens-" Draco flinched a
bit, but Severus was not holding his wand, and nothing happened. "-is designed to provide the
caster with immediate access to a subject's mind. As there is directed magic behind it, it is
almost always successful, but is limited; if the caster has no other ability with Legillimency,
their only hope is that the subject will panic and reveal whatever it is that the caster is
searching for. That is why you must learn to put your emotions aside; with them, come
memories, and with memories come weaknesses, tools for the caster to use against you."

"And if the caster is decent at Legillimency?"

"Then the spell is simply a way in, if they are too weak or too lazy to work their way in
without the spell. Once inside, a talented Legillimens can actively search through thoughts
and memories, and gain access to far deeper parts of the mind. At that level, memories can be
implanted, altered, locked away… I could induce pain, cause hallucinations and
unconsciousness or- Draco?"

"I'm fine," said Draco, who actually felt a bit sick.

"I will not be altering your memories, or causing you pain, Draco," Severus said quietly. "As
you said before, I am here to teach you how to defend yourself against such things."

"So- so if the spell gets you in every time, how do I get you out?" Draco asked.

"If the spell has put me there, not easily," Severus said. "But ask yourself: is it more
important to get me out, or to stop me from accessing anything important once I am in?"

"Apparently the second one," Draco muttered, able to recognise a directed question when one
was presented to him. "And let me guess: I have to clear my mind and put aside my
emotions?"
"Don't take that tone with me, Draco," Severus said, but then his mouth twitched. "But you
are correct, yes."

"Well where do I put my emotions?" Draco asked, and then added snidely, "Or am I just not
supposed to have them?"

"Tone, Draco."

"Can I put them all in the pensieve?" Draco asked suddenly. "Would that-"

"I said clear your mind, not empty it," Severus snapped.

"If you told me how, I'd try!"

Severus took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Harry thought Ginny's pleased expression had more to do with her having the chance to help
Hagrid and mess with Mr Malfoy's plans, than any genuine delight over the book Harry had
given her; it was a dusty thing, thick enough to daunt even Hermione, and older than any sort
of printing press; the text looked to have been handwritten, and none too neatly.

"Didn't you want to go to Hogsmeade today, Harry?" Colin asked, bouncing in the seat beside
Ginny's.

"Padfoot- my godfather said I couldn't," Harry said. It was Valentine's day tomorrow, and
Cho had asked him to Madam Puddifoot's. Harry had been quite relieved to have a good
excuse not to go back to the teashop, though he disappointed he wouldn't be seeing Cho
today.

"Why not?" Colin asked. "Are you in trouble?"

"Harry's always in trouble," Ginny said, grinning. Harry grinned back at her.

"Yes," Luna said, choosing a book off the top of Harry's pile, and flipping it open. "Cho
Chang was very upset you wouldn't be going with her today. I heard her talking in the
common room." Harry's stomach gave a little flop. Luna looked up at Harry and cocked her
head. "It's not just you, though, don't worry."

"What's not just me?" Harry asked.

"Causing her to be upset," Luna said.

"Is it nargles?" Colin asked curiously.

"Well, I was going to say losing to Slytherin in yesterday's match," Luna said, frowning
thoughtfully. "But now that you mention it, Colin, nargles might be involved..." She suddenly
looked at Harry. "If you're worried, you should give her an aubergine. They're a very
apologetic vegetable, don't you think?"
She didn't appear to be joking, nor did he think her question had been a rhetorical one.

"Honestly, I'd never thought about it," Harry said weakly. He glanced at Colin who looked as
if he was seriously considering the matter, and at Ginny, whose expression was hidden behind
a curtain of her long hair, but she smelled amused.

"Aubergines," Luna said, nodding.

"Right," Harry said. "I'll-er- keep it in mind." Luna nodded approvingly and returned her
attention to her book. "Right," Harry said, more to himself than the others this time, and
reached for a book of his own.

There was a soft knock on the wall of Sirius' cubicle and he looked up to see Robards
standing there, a grim expression on his face.

"What?" Sirius asked.

"I've got new information about Crouch." Sirius sort of doubted it, but couldn't say so; it
wasn't Robards' fault that he'd been misinformed. It was Sirius'.

"What information?"

"Not here," Robards said, shaking his head. "Have you got a moment?"

"Sure." Sirius flicked his wand and the files on his desk soared neatly into his filing cabinet,
which locked with a soft click. He stood.

Robards led him down the corridor and into his own office - a proper office, since he was a
senior Auror - and waved Sirius in, his scent a curious mix of nervous, angry and determined.

Sirius glanced at him as he passed, hand dropping to his wand in a way he hoped was casual.

It's Robards, he thought, mentally shaking himself.

Constant vigilance, a voice that sounded like Mad-Eye's murmured back.

Robards followed him in and shut the door.

"Sit," he said.

Sirius did, wary despite himself, but trying his best not to look it.

"So, what's this information?" he asked.

Robards' spell was so quick Sirius barely got his wand up in time to parry it. It hit a shelf on
the wall and sent books crashing to the floor. Sirius scrambled to his feet, slashing his wand
through the air to block Robards' second spell which hit the wall with a sizzle, and dodged
the third, which sounded like it hit the chair behind him.
Wordlessly, Sirius sent a Paralysis Hex and Disarmer, parried what he thought might have
been a Stunner from Robards and lifted his wand-

Something knocked into the backs of his knees and Sirius turned for the barest moment to see
the chair had come to life-

Robards' spell hit him hard in the side and his wand went rolling away as he fell back onto
the chair. Before he could recover and process that his wand was gone and that he should go
after it, thick ropes were on him, strapping him down.

Sirius did the only thing he could:

"HELP! HE-"

"Don't bother. The room's Silenced," Robards said, turning Sirius' chair to face the desk.
Snarling, Sirius tried to bite his hand, but Robards moved it quickly and calmly away. "This
office has been warded, for the purpose of our talk, to prevent you from transforming and
using portkeys, and I've disabled the Floo." Sirius felt a small stab of fear. Robards retrieved
Sirius' wand and set it on the desk, then sat himself and gave Sirius a long, considering look.

Robards still smelled like Robards, and his expressions were the same, but that didn't
necessarily mean anything.

Unsettled by the intensity of the stare, Sirius averted his eyes and made sure Padfoot was
guarding his thoughts. When he was sure his Occlumency was fixed in place, he looked up.

"Crouch, I presume?" Sirius asked.

"I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind."

"And if I do?"

Robards' expression tightened.

 Admissions and accusations

"What was the statue in the Chamber?"

"What?"

"Answer the question!"

"There were a few," Sirius said, baffled. "Snakes, mostly, and a massive one of Slytherin." A
thought struck him - a grim one, but if this was the only way to let someone know, even if
help would never come in time... "And Harry Potter," he added loudly. The mirror in his
pocket warmed ever so slightly. "But he's not a statue."

He heard rustling through the mirror, and coughed loudly to cover the sound of Harry's
sleepy, "Padfoot?"

Robards gave didn't seem at all pleased by Sirius' answer; he was frowning and his mouth
was pressed into a hard, thin line.

"Before your trial, what spell did McKinnon use on you, down in the holding cells?"

Sirius baulked, but Robards' expression was unchanged. Still, very few people knew what
had happened down in the holding cells, so Sirius thought Robards might actually be
Robards. A very, tentative sort of relief stole over him.

"One that could have killed me," he replied, aware that Harry was still listening in; he could
hear the faint sound of him breathing, but at least he'd had the sense to keep quiet.

"Well, you're you, at least," Robards sighed. "Small comfort."

"Look-"

"I don't want to hear anything out of your mouth that isn't an explanation for this," Robards
said, and pulled a small pile of parchment out of his desk drawer. He slid it atop the desk to
where Sirius - who was curious despite himself - could read them.

They were the letters he'd sent, with the false sightings of Eric. Sirius looked up, an eyebrow
raised, but said nothing.

"Amanda Welbedier doesn't exist. And neither does Verona F. Doyle, Percival Abbington or
J. Lynch. And when I undid the handwriting charms on them, they all seem to have been
written by you." Sirius winced; not only because of Robards, but because Harry had gone
utterly silent; Robards wasn't the only one Sirius had been keeping things from.

"I don't-"

"I've worked with you, Black," Robards said, clearly trying to sound curt, but only managing
to sound tired. "I know your hand, and when I got the magical traces on the handwriting
spells checked, they're all yours.

"I was at your trial, and I know you'd do anything for that boy of yours, so I
simply cannot understand why you'd be working with a man that killed your Auror partner
and nearly killed McKinnon, who Imperiused a twelve year old, and who is known to be in
league with the man that betrayed your friends and got you sent to Azkaban for it. But this…
setting false trails, and sending us all around in circle-"

"I'm not helping him," Sirius said. "Not even close."

"Oh, good," Robards said. "I understand completely now, so I'll just send you on your way..."
If his tone hadn't made it clear that that was not going to be the case, the flat look he directed
at Sirius across the desk would have.

Sirius watched Robards back, considering his options. Silently, he willed the mirror's
connection to close, and felt it cool slightly. Doubtless Harry was confused and - if he'd
understood any of what Robards was talking about - probably quite unimpressed with Sirius,
but they'd talk about that when Sirius wasn't tied to a chair. Right now, he needed to sort
things out with Robards.

"I thought this was the best way."

"And what way might that be?" Sirius shook his head, and Robards made a frustrated noise.

"Do you trust me?" Sirius asked.

"I thought I did," Robards said, giving Sirius a thoughtful look. "Can't say I'm as confident in
that as I was, though."

"Fair enough," Sirius said, grimacing. "Look-"

"No," Robards said, "you look. You've obstructed a case." He waved at the stack of letters.
"My case. We think Munch could've had someone on the inside, and you're looking an awful
lot like a suspect at the moment. You either talk to me, or I start investigating. Properly."

"There's nothing to find," Sirius said.

"Then stop wasting my bloody time and start explaining. We're supposed to be on the same
side, here, Black, in case you've forgotten."

And they were; Robards wouldn't be analysing the handwriting on Sirius' letters if he was in
league with Crouch, wouldn't restrain him and question him. Sirius was a bit relieved that he
could have help with this all again, could have someone to trust. It had been his decision to
handle it all alone, and while he couldn't quite regret it, it was exhausting. He glanced up at
Robards, and in amongst the frustration, and anger and embarrassment and suspicion, Sirius
smelled something else; hurt.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"I don't want an apology," Robards said gruffly, "I want an explanation."
"No, you don't," Sirius sighed. "It's all pretty grim." Robards gestured for him to continue. A
wary sort of curiosity was settling on his face, and Sirius figured this room - warded as it had
been to keep him in - was as good a place as any to talk. "Munch isn't Crouch. Or Crouch
isn't Munch- whichever. Munch is probably dead, and Crouch is somewhere in the Ministry,
probably having a good laugh at us all… Unless he's actually Dumbledore, in which case he's
laughing at us from Hogwarts."

Robards didn't question it, just nodded slowly and said, "You didn't want to let on that you
knew. If it wasn't Munch, it could've been anyone. Even me." He flicked his wand and the
ropes around Sirius disappeared. Sirius nodded in thanks and rolled his shoulders, revelling
in the freedom of movement. "I don't suppose you've worked out who it is, or why?"

"No," Sirius muttered. "To both. Voldemort's-" Robards didn't flinch at the name like so many
others did, but he did look uncomfortable. "-got some plan, but your guess is as good as
mine."

"First Shacklebolt, now you," Robards said, shaking his head. Sirius looked up and saw a
wary sort of pity on Robards' face, and it took him a moment to realise why; it was the first
time Sirius had pointed the finger at Voldemort, in all the years they'd been working together.
Oh, he'd alluded to it, certainly, but couldn't recall ever saying it outright as he had just then.
He'd either never had the time, or wouldn't have been able to explain enough to be
convincing without giving Harry's odd dreams away, or mentioning the horcruxes. "I know
they're- Crouch and Pettigrew are both old Death Eaters, but that doesn't mean… You Know
Who's gone."

"I wish," Sirius said. He hesitated for just a moment, and then sighed. "It's all him. It's always
been him. Did you think Quirrell - the mild-mannered Muggle Studies Professor - murdered
an eleven year old so he could infiltrate a school for fun, or that Croaker pushed me through
the Veil because he felt like it-"

"He was working with Quirrell-"

"Who was working with Voldemort," Sirius said.

"Quirrell fled," Robards said after a moment. "If he was in league with You-Know-Who, why
hasn't he surfaced again now, with the other two?"

"Perhaps he's had a change of heart," Sirius said delicately. Robards narrowed his eyes, and
Sirius shook his head. Thankfully, Robards didn't push the point, just pursed his lips and
leaned back in his chair.

"And last year? I suppose he told Crouch to give the Weasley girl the Riddle diary?"

"I don't know," Sirius admitted. "I don't even know if it was Crouch that gave it to her."
Harry'd never had an answer for how she'd got it, and Sirius wasn't a big enough git to ask
Ginny himself. "As for Riddle… Surely you don't think Voldemort's mother named him
Voldemort?" Sirius smiled wryly despite himself.
"Well, when you put it like that," Robards murmured, and his mouth twitched just a bit, but
he sobered quickly. "None of this is in the reports - I know, I've read them." He drummed his
fingers on the desk. "How can you be so sure?"

"Harry," Sirius said. "And that's all I'm giving you on that."

"Well." Robards studied Sirius' face for a long moment, and then inclined his head. Sirius let
out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. "This certainly makes everything a little more
complicated." Robards rubbed his eyes.

"Nothing's changed," Sirius said. "Just… now you know who's behind it all - really behind it.
Assuming you believe me."

"Not completely," Robards said, and Sirius frowned. "You haven't given me any real proof,
you realise. But that boy of yours was there for that business with Quirrell, and was in the
Chamber well before we were, so if he's told you that's what's happening… Well, I'm not
foolish enough to disregard it."

"All right," Sirius said evenly. "So what now?"

"Now," Robards said with a thin smile, "we stop them - whoever they might be."

"Just like that, eh?" Sirius asked, smiling back.

"Probably not," Robards sighed. "But the two of us working together have surely got a better
chance than you did by yourself."

"And if I have real leads, that I can't explain fully?" Sirius asked.

"Then I'll have to trust you," Robards said simply. "Like you're going to have to trust me to
be on your side." Sirius nodded and stood, but Robards' voice stopped him. "I mean it,
Black," he said. "Together. No more feeding me your false bloody leads."

Sirius left the office and stopped by his cubicle only long enough to pack his things away.
Then, he caught the lift down into the Atrium and Flooed home.

The kitchen was dark when Sirius stepped out into it, so he assumed Kreacher had already
gone to bed.

Bed sounded like a wonderful idea, but Sirius had one last thing to do: he pulled out his
mirror and murmured, "Harry Potter."

Harry answered at once; it looked like he was down in the common room, and he had a glint
in his eye that made Sirius think he was tired, but too on-edge to sleep. "Padfoot!?" he said,
looking relieved. For a moment at least; before Sirius could get a word in, his expression had
switched to wary. "What's going on?"

"Misunderstanding with Robards," Sirius said, "but we've sorted it out."

"What was the misunderstanding?" Harry asked. It was an innocent enough question, only
he'd heard enough through the mirror before to know most of the answer. Sirius didn't miss
the way his eyes flashed.

Sirius told him. Told him that he had believed Harry about Eric, but hadn't known who to
trust, and had worried about Wormtail or Crouch eavesdropping on those he did trust, and he
told Harry about the letters and Robards' interrogation.

"Someone could be eavesdropping right now," Harry pointed out, rather stiffly.

"I know," Sirius sighed. "But you'd heard most of it, and I couldn't leave you not knowing the
rest-" Harry's jaw had set, and Sirius winced. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Harry said, but it was obviously not.

"Really?" Sirius asked doubtfully.

"No, not really" Harry said angrily. "You could have told me you were worried about
eavesdroppers, but you didn't, you lied!"

"I know." Sirius didn't argue, because Harry was right. Harry scowled at him through the
mirror. "Spit it out," Sirius said, attempting a smile. "Whatever you have to say, I've probably
brought it on myself."

"You were angry with me for going after Wormtail on my own," Harry said, "only now
you've done the same with Crouch."

"Now hang on, that's a bit different," Sirius said, frowning. "I haven't run, wandless after
Crouch-"

"Robards had you Disarmed and tied to a chair," Harry pointed out, jaw still set. "If he'd been
Crouch-"

"I wouldn't be talking to you right now," Sirius said.

"Or what if he'd killed you? Or taken you to Vol-"

"Harry, it wasn't Crouch," Sirius said.

"But it could have been!"

"Yes, it could," Sirius said as patiently as he could. Harry had just been worried, he told
himself, and now that worry was manifesting as anger. "That's a risk of the job."

"When I take risks-"

"I'm an Auror," Sirius said irritably. "You're thirteen. I'd say it's a bit more reasonable for me
to take risks than you."

Harry's jaw twitched, which told Sirius just what he thought of that.
"Right," he said angrily, "you're the Auror, so I s'pose I'll let you work out what Voldemort's
up to. I'm only thirteen, right? What would I know?"

"Harry-"

"I only do it because I have to, when there's no one else to help," Harry said. "You could have
had help, could have told people what was going on and you didn't!"

"You're upset because I didn't tell you," Sirius said gently. "Not because I didn't tell anyone
else. And I'm sorry. I know you tell me everything-"

"I don't, actually," Harry said, chin coming up.

"Don't you?" Sirius asked, amused.

"No," Harry said, and Sirius' amusement faded.

"What haven't you told me?" he asked, a little concerned. Harry said nothing, but his
expression was defiant.

"Right," Sirius said. "Right. Great. Look, we're both tired and a bit- on edge-" Harry snorted.
"-so I'm calling it a night. We're both going to sleep and calm down, and then I'll talk to you
tomorrow, all right?"

"Sure," Harry said, seeming to deflate a little.

Harry jerked upright and looked around.

Ginny looked up from a nearby armchair, her head cocked to the side. Scowling, Harry
flopped back down, rubbing his face, which he was sure had an indent in it from lying on his
glasses. He didn't remember falling asleep, but his wand and mirror were still on the coffee
table, so he supposed he must have.

"Morning," he muttered, glancing at the common room window. It was still dark out. "Is it
morning?"

"Near enough," Ginny said, shrugging, and turned the page of her book. "But not near
enough that you couldn't go back upstairs if you wanted to."

Harry did want to, but he had a suspicion he'd end up lying awake, glaring at the hangings of
his four poster if he did. The common room ceiling got his glare instead. There was a
splotchy purple stain up there that he'd never noticed before. Merlin only knew what had
caused it.

He slid his legs over and sat up with a yawn, but didn't move beyond that. Ginny didn't say
anything, just glanced at him and settled back behind her book.

Harry wasn't sure whether he was relieved she wasn't asking questions, or annoyed; he'd
calmed a little overnight, but was still far from happy with Padfoot and wanted to talk about
it all to someone that wasn't Padfoot.

Moony would have been his first choice, except he was in France… although Dora might not
be; she'd been spending more and more time in Britain as part of an international Auror team.
And she'd given him advice before, after Mad-Eye's lesson on werewolves. And, she was an
Auror, so she might be able to teach him about Silencing Charms, so Padfoot could stop
using eavesdroppers as an excuse not to tell him things.

Harry pushed himself off the couch and shuffled over to the fireplace, figuring it was worth a
shot.

He took a pinch of Floo Powder from the pot on the mantel and glanced over at Ginny.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked.

"No," she said, giving him a curious look. "Who do you need to talk to?"

"Dora," Harry said. Ginny's eyes brightened. "Maybe. If she's there." Harry tossed the
powder into the dying fire and it flared green. "Remus Lupin's cottage, Hurtwood Forest," he
said, and stuck his head into the flames.

They whooshed around his head and tongues of emerald fire tickled his nose and ears, and
then everything stilled and he was looking into the dark sitting room of Moony's cottage.

"Hello?" he called. "Dora?" The cottage was silent. "Dora?" He heard something in the
corridor, and a shadow moved a before the lights flickered on.

Dora stared at him from the doorway, wearing an oversized tshirt that Harry thought he'd
seen Moony in last summer.

"Harry?" she asked nonplussed, hair going from a pale, sleepy blue to a nervous green.
"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong- just Padfoot being..." Maybe this hadn't been the best idea, he thought,
struggling to find the right words. "He- I just wanted to-"

"Sounds like you need a chat," she said, and Harry nodded, relieved. She smiled and glanced
down. "One sec." And she disappeared back down the hallway.

"Wait, where-"

"Hang on!" she called back, and so Harry did. She was back a few seconds later, wearing
pyjama bottoms and had put an old jumper on over her borrowed tshirt. "Now," she yawned,
flopping down onto the floor in front of the fireplace, "what's happened?"

"Thanks for-"

"Don't thank me yet," she said, "I might be completely unhelpful." That coaxed a grin out of
Harry, and it lingered, even as he explained what had happened that night.
By the time he'd finished talking, Dora's smile had faded, but she looked troubled rather than
angry. Harry, who was feeling angry now that he'd brought everything back up, frowned at
her.

"Don't look at me like that," she said. "I- keeping you out of it isn't the best way to handle
things-"

"Exactly!" Harry said.

"But," Dora said, giving Harry a playfully stern look, "I'm sure Sirius thought he was doing
what was best."

"He changed his mind pretty quick once Robards figured him out," Harry muttered. "And if I
hadn't heard them through the mirror, he probably wouldn't have told me at all!"

"But you did hear him, so he did tell you," Dora said, shrugging. "And he probably wasn't
even meant to - there are some fairly strict confidentiality laws in place." She didn't look
disapproving, at least.

"He has to tell me," Harry said, shaking his head. "I'm just as involved as he is."

"Harry," Dora said, voice suddenly gentle, "has it ever occurred to you that Sirius might not
want you involved?"

"It's not that simple," Harry mumbled, thinking of the Prophecy. Dora clearly didn't know, or
if she did, clearly believed it was something that could be put off until he was older.

"It is," Dora said. "Sirius is an Auror, and he's trained for this sort of thing. You're still at
Hogwarts." She gave him a wry grin. "I'd have killed anyone that said that sort of thing
to me when I was at school, but… well, it's true. Sirius'd do a bit better than you would
against a Death Eater, I think, and-"

"It's not Death Eaters I'm worried about," Harry muttered. "What if Crouch had worked out
what he was up to, and sent him off somewhere?"

"How would he send him off?" Dora asked, looking baffled.

"Portkey," Harry said at once. "He's already used one on Eric, and that either went to
Voldemort or Wormtail."

"Sirius is more than a match for Wormtail," Dora said. "From what I've heard about that day
in Hogsmeade, he would've had him if-" She pulled a face and her hair flashed pink for just a
moment.

"If I wasn't in the way," Harry said.

"You weren't in the way," Dora said firmly. "Sirius just cared more about protecting you than
he did about bringing down Wormtail."
"And if I hadn't been there, he probably would have had him," Harry said. "It's fine; it's true.
And I told you, it's not Death Eaters that are the problem, it's-"

"Voldemort," she said quietly. Harry nodded stiffly. "He'd probably put up a bit more of a
fight than Wormtail, I'll give you that." She flashed him a grin, but Harry didn't feel up to
returning it, and it faded. "I know you've been up against him before, and done - well,
brilliantly, all things considered - but again, Harry, Sirius is an Auror, and, well, he's trained
for this sort of thing. You're not."

But that was just it, Harry thought miserably. Trained or not, Harry would do far better
against Voldemort than Padfoot could ever hope to. The prophecy would see to that, he was
sure, and even if there was no prophecy, Voldemort was had previously been inclined to stop
and talk to Harry, giving Harry precious time to think. Padfoot would get no such luxury.

"I get it," Dora continued, "where you're coming from. But I- it's hard not to see it from his
side too, you know? We all want you safe." Harry said nothing, and Dora looked at his face
and laughed ruefully. "I warned you I'd probably not be very helpful," she said. "How about
this: Sirius has done an awful, awful thing, by keeping this all from you, and I'm very angry.
And so's Remus - or he will be, when I tell him. We'll both be having words with Sirius."
Dora gave Harry a hopeful look. "Better?"

"Not really," Harry said, but managed a smile for her this time.

"Bugger," Dora said, and they both laughed, but then there was a tap on the window. "I've got
to get that- Whoops," Dora said, stumbling over the edge of the rug as she stood. Harry was
expecting an owl, but when Dora opened the kitchen window, it was a fat grey pigeon that
soared in. "Wotcher," Dora said brightly.

The pigeon landed on the back of a chair, nibbled on a bit of bread clutched in its scaled foot,
and a woman appeared.

"Morning," she said cheerfully, and then glanced at Harry. "So you're why I couldn't Floo
through."

"Sorry," he said.

"Nah," the woman said. She spoke with a faint accent - Australian, maybe - and Harry
thought he'd seen her a few times in Moony and Dora's building in France, and at their
wedding, but he didn't know her name. He assumed she was now on the same international
team as Dora. "'S'all good. Gave me an excuse to have a morning fly-"

"You could've Apparated," Dora said. She shot Harry an apologetic look and he gestured that
he could go, but she shook her head and held up a hand.

"I wasn't in that much of a hurry," the woman said, looking amused, and then pulled a face.
"It's Bagman again."

"Of course it is," Dora muttered, hair turning an irritated orange colour. "Did he say what he
wants?"
"Does he ever?" But the other woman glanced Harry's way again, and he wasn't sure that was
entirely true; she just couldn't or wouldn't talk about it in front of him.

"Right. Does Phil know?"

"When I spoke to Dave Turner, it sounded like he was going to tell him, but I said we'd grab
Black and Wellington-"

"S'pose I should get dressed, then."

"I wouldn't bother. I slept in this," the other woman said, shrugging, as she pulled at her
hooded jumper. Dora laughed, and came to kneel by the fire again.

"Sorry, Harry," she said.

"It's fine," he said. He glanced at the window, and the lightening sky outside. His stomach
rumbled - an odd feeling, since it was still connected to him and yet all the way at Hogwarts.
"I should probably have breakfast soon-"

"Breakfast," Dora said, enviously. "Have something for me, won't you?"

"I've got breadcrusts," the other woman offered, patting her pocket. "If you don't mind being
a pigeon..."

"I'll pass," Dora laughed. "Sorry I wasn't much help," she said to Harry. "Sounds like I'll be
seeing Sirius this morning, though, so I can have a word with him if you want-"

"It's fine," Harry said again. "I'll see you later."

"All right," Dora said uncertainly. "Well, I'll talk to you soon. And I'll see you at Easter, if not
before, eh?"

"We're playing Ravenclaw in March," Harry said.

"Brilliant," Dora said. "Owl me the date, and I'll try to make sure I'm in the country." Harry
grinned at her, said another goodbye and pulled his head out of the fire.

"Feel any better?" Ginny asked.

"A little," Harry said. Dora hadn't been the sympathetic ear he'd hoped for her to be, but
talking to her seemed to have helped anyway.

There were a few more people in the common room now, and a sixth year girl shooed Harry
away from the Floo so she could use it.

"She's been waiting pretty much the whole time you were talking," Ginny told him. She
closed her book, tucked it into the bag at her feet, and stretched, then stood. "Are you
hungry?"

His stomach rumbled in response.

Ten minutes later, after Harry had changed and told a barely stirring Ron that he'd meet them
at breakfast (Draco had already sealed himself in the bathroom), he and Ginny were halfway
to the Great Hall when Harry realised something: Silencing Charms.

"What about them?" Ginny asked warily, and Harry realised he'd spoken allowed.

"I forgot to ask Dora about them," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "I don't
suppose you know anything about them?" He glanced at Ginny without much hope, and
noticed she looked uncomfortable. "Do you?"

"A bit," she said.

"How?" A thought occurred to him and he grimaced. "Did- er-Tom-"

"No, he didn't." There was a long pause, and then she said, "I learned them on my own."

"Really?" Harry asked. "When? Why?" Ginny didn't answer, and if her scent was anything to
go by, he didn't think she was going to. "Sorry," he said hastily. "Do you think you could
teach me?"

"Dreams?" she asked, shooting him a sympathetic, sideways look. "Is that why you were
downstairs?"

"Dreams?" Harry repeated blankly. They were almost to the Great Hall now. He could hear
the soft murmurs of those that were even earlier to breakfast than they were. "No, Padfoot
and I were talking- well, arguing, really-" Ginny's eyebrows shot up. "-but he mentioned he's
been worried about eavesdroppers here at Hogwarts, so I thought if I learned a spell..."

"I don't know how good mine will be for that," Ginny said after a moment. "It's good for
sealed places, like rooms, or er- curtains around a four-poster..."

"Dreams," Harry murmured. She nodded stiffly. "So your dorm mates don't hear?"

"They like me much better these days."

"I reckon Ron and Draco would like me better if I shut up at night," Harry mused, and Ginny
laughed.

"They'd probably worry that you were so quiet," she pointed out. "Think you'd suffocated or
something." They grinned at each other. "I can teach you though, if you think it'll help with
your eavesdropping problem."

"Brilliant. I have Quidditch after dinner, but after that-" He pushed open the door to the Great
Hall when someone cleared their throat behind him. He spun to see Cho - looking a little
windswept in her Quidditch robes - and her curly haired friend. "Hey," Harry said, smiling.
Cho was smiling too, but he remembered what Luna had said about her being upset with him,
and felt his smile wither. He eyed her uniform again, figuring she'd just come from practice,
and he went to ask, but it came out all wrong: "Are you Quidditch?"
Ginny snorted a laugh and Harry felt his cheeks heat up. Cho frowned, and her friend folded
her arms.

"See you later, Harry," Ginny said, and slipped into the Hall. Cho's friend went too, with a
warning look at Harry.

"Am I Quidditch?" Cho asked weakly, when they were gone.

"I meant to say have you just had Quidditch?" Harry said, face flaming.

"Oh. Well, yes." She gestured unnecessarily at her robes, and then looked back up at him,
somewhat expectantly. Harry looked around for something to say. He could see Ginny,
joining Luna at the Ravenclaw table, and Cho's friend - also at the Ravenclaw table - but
she'd sat as far from Ginny and Luna as possible.

"Luna thought I should give you an aubergine," Harry heard himself say.

"What?" Cho asked, looking at him like he'd gone mad. Harry wished he hadn't said anything
at all.

"They're an apologetic vegetable, apparently," he said, running a hand through his hair. "And
I'm- you know, sorry I couldn't go yesterday."

"Oh," Cho said faintly. She smelled disappointed, though, and he wasn't sure why. "It's- I
went with Marietta and Riley, so it wasn't too bad. Did you- what did you do instead?"

"Library," Harry said. "That's when Luna told me about…"

"Aubergines, yes." But there was a frown on Cho's pretty face now. "So you went to the
library with Loony Lovegood on the Hogsmeade Valentine's Day?"

"Luna," Harry corrected quietly. "And Ginny and Colin. Yeah." But Cho's expression hadn't
changed. "Why?"

"On Hogsmeade's Valentine's Day," Cho prompted, looking miserable.

"She's- Luna wasn't my Valentine," Harry said, catching on. "Besides, today's actual
Valentine's Day-" At least he thought someone had said it was today. "-and I'm with you right
now, so-"

"Oh, so you did remember?" Cho asked, looking quite upset. Harry pulled her away from the
doors; people were starting to stare, both from within the Hall, and from outside it as they
came down to breakfast. "I suppose that's why you and Ginny Weasley came down alone this
morning, too?"

"Me and- Ginny?" Harry asked, baffled.

"She's not as nice as you think," Cho said, face an angry pink. "She got Marietta a detention,
you know. Her first one ever." As Marietta had insulted Hagrid the last time he saw her -
except for today - Harry couldn't find it in himself to care much. Nor could he work out why
Cho was upset - and she was upset, he could smell it - with him because her friend had been
given a detention.

"Look," Harry said, summoning his courage to reach out and put a hand on Cho's arm, and
was relieved when she didn't pull away, "I'm not- I don't know what Marietta and Ginny have
to do with me. I'm sorry I forgot about today." Cho made a sound somewhere between a huff
and a sniff. "Happy Valentine's Day?" Harry tried.

"Happy Valentine's Day?" Cho repeated thickly. "That's it? You forgot, and now all you can
say is a really pathetic 'Happy Valentine's Day'?" She looked so disappointed Harry thought
she might cry.

"Cho-"

"Riley got Marietta flowers, and a pair of earrings-"

But before she could continue, Harry's friends appeared. He didn't think he'd ever been so
pleased to see them, and that was saying something.

"Hey, Chang," Ron said, appearing behind Cho ("Ron, no," Hermione moaned, hurrying
forward.) "Have you eaten already, Harry?"

"Not yet," Harry said. Hermione tugged Ron away from them and toward Draco and the
doors. Harry locked eyes with Ron, begging him non-verbally to make an excuse so that
Harry could go with them.

"Sorry," Hermione was saying, but directed it more at Cho than Harry. "We'll just be in here,
Harry, when you're-"

"It's fine," Cho said. "I think we were done talking anyway." Harry tried not to look too
relieved. "And I'm sure Harry'd much rather be with you than me, right, Harry?" Cho's tone
was cool. Harry stared at her, uncertain. With the way she'd been acting this morning,
he would much rather be with his friends, but there was something about the way she'd said
it...

"Oh," Hermione said, "no, Cho, he'd much rather be-"

"It's fine," Cho said. "I've got other things to do, anyway." And she spun on her heel and
marched toward the stairs. Marietta dashed out of the Great Hall, holding a stack of toast and
an orange, giving Harry a nasty look as she passed.

"Go after her, Harry," Hermione urged.

"Why?" Harry asked, pushing the doors of the Great Hall open. His mood, which had been
improving since his talk with Tonks, had soured again. "So I can listen to her insult you as
well? She's already had a go at Luna and Ginny this morning, and told me I'm not as good as
Riley-"

"What'd she say about Ginny?" Ron asked, ears turning red.
"Something about her not being very nice, and getting Cho's friend a detention-"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, while Draco poured them all juice. "She's jealous. You didn't go
to Hogsmeade with her yesterday, and spent it with Ginny and Luna instead-"

"And Colin," Harry said.

Hermione threw her hands up in the air.

 March's match

Cho didn't speak to Harry again until the match in March, but they'd made uncomfortable
eye-contact several times, and Marietta had growled at him once:

"Good luck," Cho said in a chilly voice, and then she was gone again, sweeping past Harry to
join Davies and the rest of her teammates in Ravenclaw's side of the changeroom.

Harry watched her go with no small feeling of trepidation; Wood said Ravenclaw had been
training hard in the lead-up to this game, and while Harry's Nimbus was a bit faster than her
Comet, Cho was smaller than he was, and probably going to have an advantage because of it.

Harry wiped his palms on his trousers, unable to remember being quite this nervous about a
game before; if they won this, they'd still be in the running for the Cup, and it was Wood's
last year - and therefore last chance - to get it. Last year couldn't be helped with the Chamber
and all, but they'd lost the Cup in Harry's first year because Harry has put himself in the
Hospital Wing in his efforts to save the Stone. He didn't want to let Wood down this year too.

"There he is," Fred said, when Harry came in, and the girls called greetings. Wood was silent,
already changed, and bent over a blackboard of game-plays. Harry doubted Wood had even
noticed him come in.

"How are you feeling?" George asked, coming up behind Harry to squeeze his shoulders.

"Nervous," Harry admitted. Angelina and Alicia gave him pitying looks, and Katie patted his
knee as she wandered past to fetch a hairbrush.

"Will she be upset if we win?" Angelina asked. Harry didn't pretend to misunderstand.

"Maybe," he said, tightening the laces on his boots. "She's already upset with me, though, so I
don't know that there's much to lose."

"But a whole lot to gain," George said thoughtfully, "if you threw the game in a grand gesture
of apology..."

"Why would I-"

"Who's throwing the game?!" Wood asked, aghast.

"No one's throwing the game," Harry said, shooting George an annoyed look.

"That's the spirit," George said, beaming and ruffling Harry's hair.

"Snitches before witches," Fred added, grinning. "Isn't that right, Harry?" Harry threw a
glove at him.

"Stop it, Fred," Katie said. "Cho's really nice. We sit together in Charms, and she's been upset
lately-"
"She started it," Harry muttered.

"You're such a boy," Katie said, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling slightly, and Harry
thought she might agree with him.

There was a loud whoop from Ravenclaw's changeroom.

"Right," Wood said, abandoning his blackboard to come and join them. "It's time. We all
know what this game's worth; we need to win it if we're going to stay in with a chance for the
Cup. We're the best team Gryffindor's had in years, so let's go out there and play like it!"
Fred, George and Alicia cheered. "Angelina, Alicia, Katie, last practice was some of the best
passing I've seen from you three, and I want to see that today. Harry… Quidditch isn't a
gentleman's game. Knock Chang off her broom if that's what it takes-"

"If he won't, we can," Fred said, gesturing between him and George. Wood nodded grimly.

"Stop it, you lot!" Alicia said. "I want to win as much as any of you do, but it's a game." She
grimaced at Harry. "I think Harry might think his girlfriend's-" Harry wasn't sure that Cho
even was his girlfriend. "-a bit more important than winning."

The rest of the team turned to look at him.

"Alicia's right," Harry said after a moment, grinning. "It is just a game... So hopefully Cho'll
get over it when we win."

"Ooh," Angelina said laughing, "you're going to be in so much trouble with her."

"Not sure if Potter's after the Snitch or Chang's skirt…"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall screeched, but most of the stands laughed. Harry was mortified,
and wished he could fly off in the other direction to prove he was not chasing Cho's skirt -
she was in robes and trousers - but he was fairly sure she'd seen the Snitch and so flying away
could well lose them the game.

"Come on, come on!" he muttered to his broom; he was about level with Cho's knee when the
snitch dipped down and doubled back toward him. Cho flung out a hand, and the Snitch was
under Harry where he couldn't reach it, so he did the only thing he could do, something
Cedric had done to him at the last, disastrous game; he stopped.

Cho squealed as they collided, and he reached a hand out to steady her if she needed it, but
she didn't. A few, long strands of hair had escaped her plait, and she pushed them out of her
face. Harry'd accomplished what he needed to, though; the snitch was gone.

Harry rubbed his side, grimacing, and Cho rolled her shoulder around, apparently testing it.

"Ow," she said.

"Sorry," he said, a little guiltily. "Are you all right?"

"I- I don't know," she said, scrunching her face up.

"Can you move your fingers?" Harry asked, drifting a little closer to her.

"It hurts," she mumbled.

"It was the skirt, everyone!" Lee said cheerily. Harry thought he could hear Padfoot's barking
laugh through the megaphone; they'd hadn't resolved their conversation in February, as much
as tried to move past it, so things were still a bit tense, but Harry was glad he'd come today…
even if it was just to laugh at Harry. His face felt like it was on fire. Cho was pink too, but
still looked like she was hurting.

"Do you want me to signal Hooch?" Harry asked, feeling very guilty now.

"I- I don't know. Where is she?" Cho asked, looking past him. Harry spun around, looking,
and eventually spotted Hooch circling below the Chasers, who were down at Ravenclaw's
end of the pitch.

"There. She's-" There was a whoosh as Cho darted up and off across the pitch, and Harry
blinked before realising she'd tricked him. Annoyed, he started after her, not sure if she was
after the snitch again, or if she was just putting distance between them.

A soft whistle was all the warning Harry had to swerve; a bludger raced past, then Fred
dropped out of nowhere to intercept it and send it spinning towards a Ravenclaw Chaser.

"Watch yourself!" he called, and Harry nodded, turning to find Cho again, but spotted
something better instead; the snitch. It was up in the middle of the pitch, weaving in and out
of the Chasers. Harry didn't think it could have chosen a worse spot, but he yanked his broom
up and headed for it anyway.

Katie squeaked and spiralled out of his way, and one of Ravenclaw's Chasers flew through
his path to try to wrest the Quaffle from Angelina, and then the Quaffle soared past Harry -
barely missing his head - to be claimed by Alicia who rolled to miss a bludger and then Harry
was free and reaching for the snitch-

Thwack!

Cho had blocked him, just as he'd blocked her, though this time, it was just their brooms and
knees that hit. The snitch was gone.

Cho was still holding her arm close to her body, so Harry didn't think she'd been faking
before - just playing it up - but it obviously couldn't have been too bad if she was prepared to
block him. He arched an eyebrow and she gave him a brittle smile.

Harry turned and sped away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cho hesitate, then fly after
him.

It was only now that she was tailing him that Harry appreciated what a good flier she was,
because he wasn't able to shake her, even with some tricky twists and sudden stops. He pulled
up to catch his breath at one point, and Cho did the same.
"Nice- try," she panted. She rolled her shoulder again, wincing, but her eyes were sharp and
scanning the pitch.

"How's your shoulder?" Harry asked without looking at her; he too was looking for the
snitch.

"Sore," she admitted.

"OOH!" Lee cried, and the stand cried with him. "Spinnet's takes a nasty bludger right to the
head-" Harry looked up, aghast. "-would have fallen off her broom, but Johnson's there to
steady her- Not sure if she's conscious- Is she conscious?" Alicia flapped a hand - the other
was cradling her nose. "She's waving, folks, she must be! They make 'em tough in
Gryffindor- Ah- Burrow's taken the Quaffle off Bell, bad luck there, Burrow's passed it off to
Davies-"

Over near the teacher's stand, gold caught Harry's eye, and he didn't stop to think. He pulled
his broom back toward him, flipping around until he was facing the ground, and then dove;
the snitch was fluttering above just above the grass, like a fat golden bee.

Harry pulled up at the last moment, boots skimming the pitch and sped forward. Cho was
keeping pace, but she was several feet above him. A bludger whistled past, thankfully
missing, because Harry hadn't heard it coming or moved to avoid it. It hit the teacher's stand,
which shuddered, and there were some exclamations of surprise from above them, and a loud
whining noise; Lee had dropped his megaphone.

The snitch seemed to have decided to follow the bludger and was headed for the teacher's
stand too. Cho yelped and rolled to avoid the bludger, which had just zoomed out of the
stands. None of the beaters seemed to want to interfere, when both Harry and Cho were so
close to the snitch.

And they were close; just feet from it, which was just feet from the stands and Cho'd done the
clever thing, because when it got to the stand, it would surely go up and she was right there
waiting for it…

Close as he was to the stands, Harry really ought to be slowing down, or at least starting to
pull up or to the side. But he couldn't do any of those things, not if he wanted the snitch, so he
kept up his speed, and thrust out his arm, reaching-

His fingers closed around the cold metal, and Harry felt the quickest flash of victory, then
winced, bracing for his inevitable collision. He had just enough time to twist the tail of his
broom around so that he would hit sideways and not front on-

He hit hard, his right knee, hip, elbow and shoulder taking the worst of it, but momentum
carried his head and foot forward and then he hit them too, and then Cho was gasping, Lee
was yelling something, and Madam Hooch's whistle was loud and shrill and Harry was
falling two or so feet onto the soft grass.

He landed on his other side, with the air knocked out of him, and Slytherin's part of the stands
was laughing, and Padfoot's worried face had appeared over the edge of the teacher's and
parent's stand Harry had just crashed into. Feet appeared by his head, and Harry pushed
himself upright, dazed. George crouched down beside him. He was saying something that
Harry couldn't hear properly over the ringing in his ears, but his expression was somewhere
between worried and wanting to laugh. He said something else, and Harry shook his head,
winced, and then pointed at his ear.

Seeming to understand, George held his hand out. Harry dropped the snitch into it, and
George straightened, grinning, holding the snitch up for the other players to see.

"I told you!" he shouted, or at least that's what Harry thought it looked like he was saying.

Madness followed; the team descended on Harry and George - presumably screaming, but
Harry couldn't actually hear them. Fred was ruffling his hair and Wood was pulling him
straight from the ground and into a painfully tight hug. Harry thought he might have been
crying.

Cho was crying too, but less happily; Davies had an arm around her, and Madam Pomfrey
seemed to be checking her shoulder. Then, red robes were blocking Harry's view, and Katie
and Angelina both kissed him on the cheeks and Alicia clapped him on the shoulder but
didn't get any closer; she was covered in blood and still clutching her nose, but beaming all
the same. Wood appeared again and kissed Harry on the top of the head, and then he was on
Fred and George's shoulders and his friends were running out of the stands to join them, and
they were in second for the Cup, and, though he was sore all over and beginning to suspect he
had a concussion, Harry had a new memory for the next time he tried to cast a Patronus.

Lord Voldemort was not impressed. Polkov - still not forgiven for his disobedience with the
Potter boy's aunt - was not the cause this time.

"How good of you to make contact, Wormtail." Crouch was rarely in contact and even less so
since the incident with the wandmaker; the Aurors had been convinced, Crouch was sure, but
it didn't hurt to be careful. Wormtail had no such excuse, but there'd been no word from him
since January.

"F-forgive me, My Lord," Wormtail said. It was only his head that Lord Voldemort could see
in the fireplace, but he was sure Wormtail was wringing his hands. "I just- there hasn't been
much to report, and I've h-had to b-be careful. They k-knew it was me that took the timetables
in January. H-Ha-Harry knew, somehow."

"How?" Lord Voldemort asked sharply.

"I d-don't know." It was not the right answer, and Wormtail knew it; he cringed, and then his
hands did appear in the fire, pressed to his mouth in a fearful sort of way.

Lord Voldemort was well aware of the boy's annoying tendency to know things he shouldn't.
For one, the cloak had been conveniently passed to Sirius Black before Wormtail could even
ask for it in Hogsmeade, and in January Wormtail had admitted his last spy had been
discovered, or that the children were at least suspicious, because the rat rarely spent any time
with them at all now.
Perhaps Harry Potter had Seer's blood...

After a moment of contemplation, Lord Voldemort discarded the thought. If that were the
case, Wormtail's hiding place within the school would have been discovered long ago, and
Crouch's wandmaker ruse would never have worked.

So how, then? he wondered. And if Lord Voldemort could discover the source of the boy's
information - or luck - was there a way to use it against him?

"I only heard some of the teachers saying that he d-did," Wormtail said, clearly feeling the
need to fill the silence. "I-I can try to f-find out, but-"

"I think you ought to fohcus on ze task you already haff," Polkov said folding his arms.

"I wasn't talking to y-you-"

"I agree with Dimitri," Lord Voldemort said, and Wormtail snapped his mouth shut. "It's
taking long enough as it is. I expected things to move quickly, once you had the timetables-"

"They're always in a group," Wormtail mumbled. "It's- there hasn't been a chance-"

"So you're wasting your time," Lord Voldemort said coldly. "You've been at Hogwarts for
seven months and have nothing to show for it-"

"I have a plan!" Wormtail squeaked. Polkov rolled his eyes. "One that'll get you the
cloak and the b-boy, if you're p-patient."

"How ambitious of you, Wormtail," Lord Voldemort said, but he was intrigued. Wormtail
hadn't said it just to soothe him, he'd said it with conviction. "And just how is it that you
intend to accomplish this?"

"W-well," Wormtail said, "I'll have to wait until-"

"Morning, Potter."

Harry jerked awake, with a frustrated "No!" as the dream slipped away from him.

"Yes," Madam Pomfrey said firmly. "It's time for your final dose." Harry squinted up at her.
Compared with the dim, Floo-lit room he'd just been in, as Voldemort, the hospital wing -
coloured a warm gold from the rising sun through the window - was uncomfortably bright.
Madam Pomfrey waggled a bottle at him, and Harry took it, supremely unimpressed by her
timing. Another five minutes of sleep, and he'd have heard Wormtail's plan. "Don't look at me
like that. If you wanted a sleep-in, you shouldn't have given yourself a concussion." She
nodded at the bottle in his hand. "Drink." Harry did, and sat patiently while she cast her
diagnostic charms. "How's the rest of you feeling?"

"A bit sore."

"Serves you right for flying into a Quidditch stand," she told him, but not unkindly; there was
something almost fond in her scent.
"But we won," Harry said, grinning at her.

She pressed her lips together, apparently unimpressed, and gestured for him to tilt his head
back. She lit the tip of her wand and held it close to his face, apparently checking for
something in his eyes. She nodded approvingly.

"Bruises and no sense of self preservation," she said, "but otherwise there's nothing wrong
with you."

"So I can go?" Harry asked, unable to believe his luck; a look at his watch said it was just
before seven, so he might still be able to make it to Moody's duelling club.

"If you'd rather that than an extra hour's sleep," she said. Harry pushed back the covers by
way of reply, and Madam Pomfrey retreated from the bed, and pulled the curtains shut behind
her, to give Harry privacy while he changed, but didn't leave: "I want you right back here if
you find yourself getting dizzy or nauseous, or sensitive to light-"

"I will," Harry said, admiring the large, green and purple bruise on his knee before he pulled
on the jeans Ron had brought down for him the night before; thrilled as he was by their win,
he hadn't fancied the idea of roaming the castle in his Quidditch robes.

"And no flying, or Quidditch today," she added, when Harry emerged from behind the
curtains, tugging his Gryffindor jumper over his head.

"All right," Harry said. "But I can go to practice tomorrow, right?"

"Only if you're feeling up to it. And if you feel dizzy-"

"You want me back here," Harry said dutifully.

She gave him a narrow-eyed look, then sighed and said, "Off with you, then."

He was a little late to the duelling club; rather than milling around and speculating about
what that morning's session would be about, everyone was silent and listening raptly as
Moody talked.

"... of one-on-one lately, but most times, you won't be on your own. You'll have a friend or
friends, and, chances are, so will whoever you're up against."

The door creaked slightly as Harry let himself into the room. Cho glanced his way and then
away again, and her friend gave him an angry look and put herself between them. Unwilling
to cross the entire room to get to Ron, Hermione and Draco, Harry shuffled forward to stand
by Blaise.

"Potter." Blaise spoke very quietly, and didn't look away from Moody as he did so. "How's
the head? Looked pretty nasty."

"Felt pretty nasty once the adrenaline wore off," Harry murmured back. Blaise's mouth
twitched. "All good now, though." Blaise inclined his head ever so slightly. On his other side,
Hydrus caught Harry's eye, pointed at Cho, and mimed crying. Harry scowled and looked
away again.

"So, group fighting. We'll do it in rounds, so we don't all kill each other with stray spells.
Groups of four, any House, any age. Get moving!"

Harry left Blaise to find his friends. They clearly hadn't noticed him arrive, because they
were in the process of trying to find a fourth teammate:

"...swear Ginny was just-"

"No, look, she's with Luna and Colin… How about Neville, he hasn't got a group-"

"And why do you think that is, Granger?"

"Don't be horrible, Draco, he did really well last week-"

"Too late, anyway," Ron said, "The Hufflepuffs have grabbed him-"

"Oh no," Hermione said.

"S'pose you'll have to make do with me," Harry said. Hermione jumped and he grinned.

"Harry!" she said, looking pleased.

"How are you feeling? You missed a wicked party in the common room," Ron told him.

"I think his health's more important, Ron!"

"No lasting damage, then?" Draco asked.

"Nah, I'm fine," Harry said.

"Well enough to duel?" Hermione asked.

"Madam Pomfrey didn't say I couldn't," Harry said, shrugging. He was sure if she'd known he
was coming here, she'd have forbidden it, but she hadn't. He half-expected a protest from
Hermione anyway, but all she did was nod briskly.

"Good. Now, how are we going to stand - I've read a few books about duelling in groups, and
they all say it's best to..."
 An unexpected development

Hi Harry,

I hope this got to you. Mr Quentin said it would. If you write back, send it to him at
Smeltings. Piers is cool but Anthony would freak out if there was a bird in our room and
probably tell a teacher.

How's school? Probably more interesting than mine, all we seem to do it maths and science
and more maths and homework. Except for boxing, that's good - I won a competition last
weekend! I broke one guy's nose and knocked another guy out with one punch! He was pretty
small though, so it was kind of easy. My coach thinks I'll be able to go up a weight class next
term. Dad's really excited. How's your broomstick game?

Oh yeah, it's Piers' birthday in next week (April 15th) and he really liked all the sweets you
got me for Christmas. Can you send me some so I can give them to him - that's what the five
pounds is for.

Anyway, have a good Easter. If your godfather gets arrested between now and then and you
don't want to stay at school you could probably come and stay with me and Mum and Dad
because I'll be home from school for a week.

From Dudley.

PS. Can you turn people into toads yet? I think I asked at Christmas and you said you
couldn't, but if you can now, that would be so cool!

PPS. Don't forget Piers' sweets!

Finally, Severus looked up from the pensieve. He'd been standing over it, feeding it memories
and thoughts for almost 20 minutes. Draco couldn't blame him for having things he didn't
want Draco to accidentally see, but he hadn't realised there would be so many things Severus
would feel the need to keep private.

Severus seated himself at his desk again, and set his wand down.

"Whenever you're ready," he said.

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to worry aloud that he might hurt his godfather, but he
changed his mind at the last moment; he didn't want to hurt Severus, but if he did… well,
Severus had given him enough headaches this school year that he probably deserved one in
return.

"Legillimens," Draco said, lifting his wand.

It was one of the strangest things he'd ever experienced; there was a rushing sensation, like he
was suddenly moving very quickly, and then, all of a sudden, he was standing in the dungeon
outside-

But the he wriggled a bit and could still feel the chair beneath him, and when he looked away
from the dungeon, Severus' office was before him again, and Severus himself was staring at
him from across the desk.

Draco listened for a moment - mentally - but could only hear himself.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Separating the mental from the physical takes some getting used to," Severus said. "Try
again."

"Legillimens!"

He was in the dungeon corridor again- but how? He hadn't moved, surely - he hadn't last time
- so…

He pushed open the office door on his left, and stepped into the empty room; Draco wasn't
surprised to see that he wasn't in the seat before the desk, but he was surprised that Severus
wasn't sitting there.

But where could he have gone-

The pensieve wasn't on the desk, and nor was the usual neat stack of parchment.

Draco strained his ears and could still hear Severus' quiet breathing. It was almost like he had
an invisibility cloak, but that couldn't be right- and then he could feel the seat beneath him
again and the office blurred a bit and then Severus was there again, sitting before him.

"Was I in your head?" Draco asked, curious. Severus inclined his head. "It's- so it's the office?
Your head has an office? Why didn't I see any feelings or memories?"

"You wouldn't see anything that I didn't allow you to," Severus said, and then smiled slightly.
"You also didn't look in the right places."

"Can I try again?" Draco asked. Severus gestured for him to go ahead. "Legillimens!"

Draco was back in the hallway, and disconcerting as it was, he wasted no time in re-entering
the office.

Once inside, he looked around, then walked to the nearest wall; perhaps Severus'
Occlumency was the blank brick wall, and Draco just had to get through it. He knew he
wouldn't be able to unless Severus let him, but Severus had let Draco in so he could learn, so
he thought he probably would.

He pressed his palm against the wall, and it was as hard and cold as he expected it to be. He
pushed, and it didn't move, not even when he put his whole weight against it. He kicked it as
a final check, and in the air around him felt annoyed discomfort, and something akin to a
warning.

Sorry, he said- or thought, and hastily stepped back. He looked around again. The desk was
bare, and he wasn't generally allowed in Severus' quarters during the school term, so he
crossed the room to the shelves instead.

Draco was very familiar with their contents; not only was he in here regularly, but Severus
had used to make him organise them. These shelves were much emptier, though, than the
ones in Severus' actual office.

Draco reached for a jar with what looked like mandrake root in it. As soon as his fingers
touched it, though, a memory flashed before his eyes; suddenly he was in one of the potions
classrooms, and he could smell something cloying, and Potter and Weasley were there asking
if something was ready yet. The rest of the class was filing out, and Draco couldn't see
himself or Granger, and - after a moment - realised this memory was from last year, when
he's been lying petrified in the hospital wing.

He set the jar down and reached for an odd, twitching branch, and then he was stepping into
an earthy tunnel at the base of a large tree and he was excited, and finally going to have
proof, and he was so close, but then there were running footsteps behind him and-

Draco was evicted gently but firmly, and found himself sitting in his seat in Severus' office
again.

"Sorry," Draco said. Severus shook his head.

"The only thing you have to apologise for is kicking me in the head," Severus said curtly.

"Sorry," Draco said again. Severus considered him, then nodded.

"So, you wanted to see Occlumency at work, and now you have... I do hope you've managed
to learn something?"

"There weren't just thoughts and memories floating around like in my head," Draco said after
a moment. "Everything had a place. Except I still don't know what you mean when you say I
have to clear my mind. Even yours isn't clear, it's a dungeon-"

"It had to be clear to become a dungeon, though," Severus said. "When I was learning, I
would envisage a blank wall - plain, grey stone, like the ones in here and outside-" He
gestured with a hand. "-and over time I added to it."

"I thought you meant clear- like- like it would need to be empty."

"Unless you've been Kissed, that isn't possible," Severus said.

"You might have said so!" Draco said irritably. "Or just told me I had to think of a wall until I
made a dungeon! I could have built it by now!"
"A wall may not be what comes to mind when your mind is clear," Severus said. "And if it is
not, then yours is unlikely to be a dungeon. Black uses Azkaban - or did, the last time I
attempted to look into his mind. You will use something that makes sense to you. It may not
even be a structure, though structures are generally easier."

Draco nodded slowly.

"And thoughts and memories?" he asked. "Is it best to put them somewhere inside the
building or- or room, or-"

"Mine are integrated, as you saw," Severus said. "Personally, I find it makes sense. I've seen
minds where the mindscape was a mere distraction, however, and the person's thoughts and
memories lay behind it. I've known it to be effective, but it's far too disorganised for my own
use." There was a pause. "Now, questions, or do you have enough to be getting on with?"

"No and yes," Draco said, and Severus nodded and half-rose. "Is that it?" Draco asked,
disappointed.

"For today," Severus said, looking faintly amused. Then his expression soured. "I have
Hogsmeade duty, beginning at three."

"When can we have another lesson?" Draco pressed.

"Let me know when you think you've had some success clearing your mind," Severus said,
tracing a gentle circle over the pensieve with his wand, "and we'll arrange something.
Perhaps during the Easter holidays-" He paused and studied Draco. "Where will you be
spending them?"

"With Potter or Weasley," Draco said. "They've both offered. I just- I'm worried Father will
go after Black again, but I don't want him to go after Mr Weasley either-"

"You could tell him you're staying here."

"No," Draco said curtly. "No, I'll be making it quite clear that I'm not going to the Manor."

Hey Dudley,

Yeah, the letter made it to me - hopefully this one gets back you.

My school's kind of the same, only it's not Maths it's Arithmancy, and it's not Science it's
Potions (which is probably worse). I have loads of homework too, though not as much as one
of my friends - she's taking every subject.

Well done with boxing. Quidditch (the broomstick game) is good. My team won a few weeks
back, and if we win the game after Easter, we'll take home the Cup this year.

I've sent a box of sweets for Piers, but please don't show any of your other friends, or I'll get
in trouble with the Ministry, and won't be able to send any more sweets.
Thanks for the offer, but Padfoot's fine and not going to prison any time soon. You have a
good Easter too.

No, I can't do toads yet, but I've been getting good at shield charms at duelling club, so
hopefully no one will be turning me into a toad any time soon.

Harry

Divination on a Monday was asking a bit much, Harry thought, squinting into the crystal ball
he and Ron were sharing.

"... such a waste of time," Hermione was saying to Draco. "I can't see a thing." She leaned
over toward Ron and Harry's table. "Can you see anything?"

"Nothing," Harry said. "Mist, maybe. Or whatever it is that's inside these things. Ron?"

"I can see something… Maybe a snitch-?" Ron pulled a funny face, clearly trying to
concentrate. "Hey, maybe that means you'll win against Slytherin after the holidays."

Draco leaned over, clearly curious, but Hermione frowned. Ron grinned at her.

"You made that up," she said, sounding outraged.

"Did not," Ron said. "Look, it's right there." Hermione scowled but shuffled her stool closer
to have a look. Ron winked at Harry when she wasn't looking, and Harry had to bite back a
laugh. Draco glanced between them, mouth twitching.

"You've seen something!" Professor Trelawney said, swooping in. Hermione huffed and slid
back. "What is it?"

"Shouldn't you already know?" Hermione asked. Parvati and Lavender made angry noises,
and Professor Trelawney gave her an irritated look before turning back to the crystal ball.

"Oh, yes," she breathed, leaning forward until her nose was almost pressed against the glass.
"Yes - a vision dwells within…" She gasped and stumbled away from the table, then spun and
pointed a knobbly, ring-covered finger at Harry. "It's a broomstick - a broken one. Tragedy! I
see tragedy in your future, and it will be related to Quidditch!"

"Maybe she means what's happened with you and Cho after the last game, Harry," Parvati
said. Harry turned and scowled at her.

"A romance?" Professor Trelawney asked, and then shook her head before anyone could
answer (Harry certainly wasn't about to offer her any information about him and Cho). "No.
Not a tragic romance… family. A tragedy in the family. Does anyone in your family play
Quidditch?"

"My dad did," Harry said, rather bitingly, thoroughly fed up with her predictions of doom -
all of which seemed to involve him and those he cared about. Ron and Draco wore near-
identical grimaces, and Hermione looked torn between wanting to laugh and being horrified.
"No, not your father…" She bent over the crystal ball again, and sighed. "It's gone now. Ah,
but the Eye is fickle-"

"Convenient, more like," Hermione scoffed.

"Say what you will," Professor Trelawney said, with dignity. "Blind as you are, I wouldn't
expect you to understand…"

"Blind?!" Hermione asked.

"You cannot See," Professor Trelawney said airily. "Never in all my years teaching, have I
met someone with a mind as hopelessly mundane-"

The class - Harry among them - stared in stunned silence between Hermione and Trelawney
for a few moments, and then Hermione sucked in an angry breath and shot to her feet,
snatching up her bag as she went.

"Well," she said, red-faced, "I'll stop wasting both of our time then." And then she stalked
over to the trapdoor, yanked it open, and disappeared down the ladder.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, looking slightly awed.

He'd heard the third year Divination class leave - all those footsteps on the ladder would have
been impossible to miss, even if he didn't have such sensitive hearing - and he'd heard their
voices; Harry's voice - while admittedly more serious - was so like James' at the same age,
and Wormtail had spent years listening to Ron's voice while he belonged to Percy, and to
Draco's while he belonged to Hydrus. The Granger girl's voice was less familiar to him, but
he thought he'd heard her too.

Five minutes later, he was less certain; he'd been studying her timetable for weeks, and still
wasn't entirely sure how it worked, but meticulous observation from behind banners and
torch brackets, and from within suits of armour had taught him she always split from the
other three after Divination on Thursday mornings, and walked alone down the corridor he
was waiting in, to the girl's bathroom.

There was something decidedly odd about Granger and whatever it was she got up to in the
bathroom; Wormtail hadn't forgotten how she'd splinched him last year, doing whatever it
was that she did. Clearly whatever it was was working for her now, though, because she
never came out of the bathroom after going in. It had taken him several weeks of Thursday
mornings to work that out; last week, he'd even ventured - rather nervously, because not
being supposed to go into girl's bathrooms was not a concept that wore off with age - into the
bathroom, and found it empty.

This week, he'd been intending to follow her in and watch where she went...

Only after another five minutes, Granger still hadn't arrived, and Wormtail - who'd watched
her enough to know that she was not usually one to run late or break routine - decided she
probably wasn't going to.
...But why?

Was it just a once-off, that she wasn't where she was supposed to be? Was she ill today,
perhaps? He'd had trouble crossing the castle that morning - the Beast really was the bane of
his existence, and seemed to have learned his movements - so he hadn't been there to watch
the class arrive.

Had Granger skived off to finish a bit of homework, or meet up with a secret boyfriend? He
didn't think either of those things were very Granger-ish, but he supposed it could be
possible. Or perhaps she'd skipped Divination to go to one of the other two classes her
timetable claimed she had on at the same time. But why today? If it was a once-off, she
would surely be back next Thursday morning - or rather the Thursday after, since the Easter
holidays were about to start - but he wouldn't know for sure until then.

And then, there was the other option; that it wasn't a once-off. What if she - or more likely
Harry or the Beast - had somehow got wind of what he was up to, and changed her habits, to
use a different bathroom?

He wouldn't know that until the Thursday after the Thursday after next.

Immensely frustrated, Wormtail climbed down from his hiding place and could be certain of
only one thing; that the Dark Lord would not be pleased by this unexpected delay.

Dora stepped - or stumbled - out of the Floo and Sirius caught her with a laugh and hugged
her. The flames flickered and went from green to orange, and he glanced askance at her.

"Moony not with you?"

"Ah, no," she said, in a rather strained voice. Her hair had gone an odd shade of green, and
she was looking rather pale. "He'll get a Portkey tomorrow night." She sat down at
Grimmauld's kitchen table and indicated that he should do the same. There was something
strange in her scent that he couldn't quite place, and Dora was chewing her lip. "I need your
help with something."

"Everything all right?" Sirius asked warily, and sat down opposite her.

"Fine. Better than, actually, everything's brilliant. Fine." She said this all very fast, and by the
end of it, she looked like she might cry.

"Dora-?"

"I'm pregnant, Sirius," she said in a small voice.

"Oh," Sirius said, blinking. The first thing that popped into his head was delight, but it was
gone and replaced by horror before he could even smile. "Oh no." He had a brief moment of
panic, that he might have read the situation - or at least Dora's take on it - wrong, but she
didn't look offended or upset, just offered him a weak smile that told him they were on the
exact same page. "When did you-?"
"Yesterday," Dora said, chewing her lip. "I'm five weeks." Her hand moved, as if to hold her
stomach - which was still innocently flat under her tshirt - but she caught herself and clutched
at one side of her face instead. "What am I supposed to do?!"

"Well, how do you feel about-" Sirius nodded at her stomach. "-it?"

"I have no idea," she said, giving him a shaky smile. "I- I mean I'm only twenty two and-
well, I love my job. I didn't put three - or four, if you count France - years of training in, just
to work for a year and then retire and be a mum! And- well, obviously I wasn't expecting-"
She gestured to herself. "-this- definitely not this soon, and maybe not ever, but-" This time
she did press a hand to her stomach and her hair went a soft yellow, but the look she gave him
was equal parts scared and helpless. "Remus isn't going to take it well, I know he isn't-"

"No," Sirius agreed grimly. Remus loved children, but was terrified of having his own.
Always had been. He was mostly scared of passing on his lycanthropy, but there were other
fears too; he was scared of injuring any kids he might have because of what he was, scared of
what people might say to any kid that had him as a parent, and scared that any kid of his
would be scared of him, or hate him for what he was. "Not at all." She didn't look at all
surprised, just miserable. "I can tell him, if you think that'll-"

"No," Dora said, but looked grateful all the same. "No, I want to- I just need to find a way to
do it where he doesn't panic, or get angry, or- or divorce me, or-"

"He's not going to divorce you," Sirius said, reaching across the table to take her hand. "He's
mad about you."

"He's going to go mad when he hears-"

"I'll be there, then," Sirius said. "When you tell him. And when he storms off - which he
probably will - I'll go with him and try to get him to-" The words see sense died on Sirius'
tongue, because Remus wouldn't be wrong to have reservations. "-I'll talk him around."

Or try, he added silently.

"Hello!?" Remus called, stepping into Number Twelve. He set his case down inside the door,
and tucked the bottle-cap that had been his Portkey into the pockets of his robes.

"Down here!" Sirius called from the kitchen.

He and Dora were sitting at the kitchen table when Remus got down there, and Kreacher was
at the stove making dinner, but Harry - and Harry's friends, who were usually around
whenever Harry was - were conspicuously absent.

He crossed to room to where Dora sat. She wasn't looking at him, but she reached for his
hand, and when he kissed her she offered him a strange smile. Sirius was watching them
both, troubled.
Feeling a bit disconcerted by that, and the fact that neither of them had made any real attempt
at conversation, Remus spoke:

"Where's Harry?"

"He went straight to the Burrow," Sirius said. "He's staying there tonight."

"Oh," Remus said, a bit confused; it wasn't unusual for Harry to spend time there, but it was
unusual for him to do so on the first night of the holidays. "Are things- he's not still upset
with you about-"

"Nah," Sirius said. "I mean- he probably is, but that's not..." He shook his head, glanced at
Dora, and then set about fiddling with a corner of The Evening Prophet.

Remus glanced between his wife and best mate and wondered what exactly was going on.
Dora's hand tightened on his.

"This is going to ruin dinner, Kreacher," she said a little unsteadily, "but I'm going to go mad
if I have to sit here and not say anything."

"Why are you ruining dinner?" Remus asked, not following.

"I'm pregnant."

"You're what?" Remus asked. A slow, disbelieving smile crept across his face. "Dora?" She
gave him a nervous smile, and Sirius shifted but Remus was too busy beaming at his wife to
care much about what he was doing.

She was going to have a baby. His baby. She was going to have his-

And then it sank in, and he didn't look at her, but at Sirius; distantly, it occurred to Remus that
Sirius didn't seem surprised by the news, but that didn't really matter; the more important
thing was that he understood. Remus knew he did, from the rather grim look on his face.

"I-" Remus heard himself say, and then he was tugging his hand free of Dora's and stumbling
toward the stairs. "I- I'm sorry, I just need to-"

"Go," Dora said, and he thought she might understand more than he'd thought. "I'll be at
Mum and Dad's tonight, if-"

He opened his mouth to tell her not to be silly, that there was no need to go to her parents'
house, but then he reconsidered. He moved, woodenly back across the kitchen and pressed a
kiss to her cheek.

"I'm sorry," he said, then glanced fleetingly at her belly, and fled.
 Dangerous children

"About time," Remus said, jumping to his feet as Sirius pushed the door open. Matt, who'd
showed him in, gave the pair of them a look and excused himself; Sirius' arrival had
interrupted his card game with some of the camp's younger occupants.

"If you wanted me here sooner, you shouldn't have made yourself so hard to find," Sirius
said. He was exasperated, but mostly worried. He gestured around the room - untouched,
Sirius guessed since just after Greyback's death, which was the last time Remus had spent
any real time here. A yellowing Prophet article about Sirius' impending trial sat on the dusty
bed. "I mean here - really?"

"I thought I was due a reminder of what I am," Remus said quietly. "I seem to have forgotten,
even with the monthly reminders."

"You haven't forgotten anything," Sirius said firmly. "You're Remus. You're Moony-"

"Exactly," Remus said tiredly, sinking down onto the bed. Dust puffed up around them and
they both sneezed. "Moony." Sirius sat on the desk's rickety chair and watched, not sure what
to say. In all honesty, he'd expected to be told to go away, not that Remus would be relieved
to see him, and he'd expected panic and hysteria not this… whatever this was. "She's keeping
it, isn't she? She wouldn't have told me otherwise."

"That's probably a question for her," Sirius pointed out.

"I can't- after what I've done to her-"

"You mean running off?" Sirius said, though both he and Dora had expected it.

"No, I mean-" Remus gestured wildly. "-impregnating her!"

"It takes two, you know," Sirius said dryly. "Besides, she's your wife. She knows what you
are, and she still chose-"

"Exactly," Remus said. "She chose. This child isn't going to get anything resembling a choice
about- about having me for a father, or- or about being human-"

"It might not be a werewolf," Sirius interrupted, with a certainty he didn't wholly feel. "I can't
say I know much about all of this, but I know a bit about werewolves and the only way to
transfer the disease that I know of is by biting someone while you're transformed. You
haven't bitten the baby-"

"Yet!"

"Please," Sirius snorted. "Have you bitten Harry?"

"No, of course not-"

"Any of your students?"

"No-"

"Me? Did you ever bite Prongs or-"

"Padfoot-"

"Dora?" Remus snarled at him. "Exactly. So why would you bite a baby?" Remus gave him a
stony look. "You're a werewolf, yes, but you're a far cry from Greyback."

"Not as far as you'd think," Remus said, sounding pained.

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked, a little warily.

"My kind don't usually breed," Remus said brokenly. "Greyback, though… All of us here
were his sons and his daughters, or so he said. You can imagine how much a proper son or
daughter appealed to him."

"He had a kid?"

"No," Remus said, voice bleak. "He tried, here, with some of the females, but when they
transformed on the full moon, the babies never survived. Then, he tried with a muggle
woman - a human - and things went swimmingly… until the full moon about halfway
through her pregnancy, when she died. Internal bleeding," Remus added tightly, "because the-
the thing inside her started to..."

Sirius stared.

"And maybe that was rare," Remus continued. "Maybe it's only one in a hundred, or one in a
thousand that are like that, maybe if Greyback had tried again with another woman the baby
would have been normal and everything would have been fine, or maybe it still would have
been a werewolf but it might not have killed her, but he didn't try again, so I have no idea."

Remus swiped a hand across his cheek. He was crying, Sirius realised. Sirius felt a bit like
crying himself. This chat hadn't gone at all the way he'd envisaged it; he was thought he
agreed with Remus' concerns far more than Remus had been convinced by Sirius' own
points… whatever those were. He couldn't really remember.

"And- this is my baby, monster or not, and I never imagined it would even be an option, but-
Dora's not someone I want to test this on - she's my wife, Padfoot, and if it's… like me, it this
goes wrong- How am I supposed to just watch as it grows inside her, not knowing if it's going
to kill her or not?! I'll go insane- There was no warning with Greyback's partner, she just- and
if it happened, I wouldn't even be there to help her or take her to St Mungo's because I'll be
running around outside with-with fangs and a tail, and I- she's-"

"Does Dora know?" Sirius asked weakly. "About Greyback's-"

"There was never any need to- children were never- we'd never considered-"
"You've got to tell her," Sirius said.

"Yes, I'm aware," Remus snapped, but made no attempt to move just then. Instead, he buried
his head in his hands. Sirius reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

"Ah, good," Mrs Weasley said, poking her head into Ron's room. "All settled, then?"

"Yes, thank you," Draco said.

"Such good manners," she said, beaming at him. "My boys - and Ginny for that matter -
could all do with some lessons from you." Harry and Ron exchanged amused looks.

"Mrs Weasley," Harry said, rolling onto his side to better look at her. "Did Padfoot say
anything to you about why he needed me to stay here tonight?"

"Just that something had come up, dear," she said. "I wouldn't worry too much."

"Right," Harry said, frowning.

"You'll see him in the morning," she added, smiling at him. Harry did his best to smile back.

There was a muffled thump from downstairs and an odd spluttering sound. Mrs Weasley's
smile faded a bit, and she bade them goodnight and hurried out.

Harry heard her on the stairs, and then, "Fred! George! Oh my- George!"

"It's fine, Mum," one of the twins said. "No, don't- let me-"

There was an odd spluttering sound, and then a door opened.

"What-" Ginny began sleepily and then burst out laughing.

"Ginny, out!"

"Mum, put your wand down, you'll make it worse-"

"Is- is that your tongue?!" More laughter from Ginny. "Turn this way, I want to see-"

"Bed, Ginny, now! George, stop moving," Mrs Weasley said anxiously, "and let me look at-"

Ron threw a trainer at the door and it clicked shut, muffling the noise downstairs, though
Harry was sure he could still listen in if he'd wanted to. Tonight, though, he had other things
on his mind.

"You all right, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Mmm," Harry said.

Draco let out a noisy sigh from the camp bed beside Harry's. Harry heard him roll over.
"What's the problem, Potter," he said. "And- actually, more to the point, what mad plan have
you come up with to 'fix' it?"

"I said 'mmm'," Harry protested.

"Yeah, and we know you, mate," Ron said, sounding like he was about to laugh.

Harry sighed and gave in: "Just trying to figure out what might have come up at home."
Harry frowned up at the ceiling. "Padfoot didn't answer when I tried his mirror after dinner,
and all he said yesterday was that I had to come here."

"You could Floo and ask," Ron suggested. "Mum wouldn't mind."

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of Potter not going home?" Draco mused.

"Yeah, a bit," Harry sighed. He reached for his mirror and muttered Padfoot's name. After a
few moments, Padfoot hadn't said anything, so Harry gave up and tossed it aside. He sat up
and pushed his covers back.

"Floo powder's on the mantel," Ron said.

"Thanks. Are you sure your mum won't mind-"

"Nah, it's fine," Ron said. Harry grabbed his wand on his way out of the room.

The Burrow was quiet, despite the commotion that had been going on just a minute or so ago.
Percy's door was firmly closed - which was pretty normal - as was Ginny's. Fred and
George's door was closed at well, but there was light shining out from under it and he could
hear the twins arguing with Mrs Weasley inside. Harry crept past, not wanting to disturb
them.

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," he said, when he'd found powder and settled himself in
front of the fireplace. He stuck his head into the flames, and some dizziness and a mouthful
of ash later, Harry was looking into the dark, quiet kitchen.

"Hello?" he called. "Padfoot?" No answer. "Kreacher? Hello?" The lights in the kitchen
flickered on a moment before a bleary-eyed Kreacher appeared.

"Brat," he said fondly. Harry grinned at him, and Kreacher shuffled forward. "Young master
ought to be in bed, Kreacher thinks, oh yes."

"Where's Padfoot?" Harry asked.

"Master Sirius has gone to visit Mistress Andy," Kreacher said. "Lots to talk about, Master
said, yes he did."

"At ten o'clock?" Harry said, baffled. He leaned further forward, pushing off the balls of his
feet and tumbled ungracefully out into Number Twelve's kitchen. Kreacher came to brush
soot out of his hair and off his pyjamas. "What's going on?" Harry asked.
"Miss Dora's having a baby," Kreacher said.

"A baby?" Harry repeated. He was torn between being annoyed - no one told him anything -
and delighted, and the latter won out. He grinned. "That's brilliant!"

"Young master and Kreacher are the only ones that think so," Kreacher said, scowling.
"Master's been in one of his moods, and Miss Dora's been crying, oh yes, and Mister Remus
ran away, Kreacher saw him."

"Ran away?" Harry said, suddenly feeling cold. "Why would he do that? Where'd he go?"

"Kreacher doesn't know what it's called, no he doesn't," Kreacher said. "Kreacher is just
taking Mister Remus his dinner when Master tells him to, oh yes. Kreacher doesn't think it's a
very nice place to stay though, young master." Kreacher's ears flapped as he shook his head.

Harry hesitated, torn again; this time, between wanting to go to talk to Padfoot, and wanting
to talk to Moony. In the end, Andromeda decided it; a baby was sure to be a bigger deal in
her mind than the wedding had been, and Harry wasn't sure he was prepared to face her.

"Can you take me to Moony?" Harry asked. Kreacher cocked his head. "Please?"

Kreacher offered Harry his wrinkly hand.

Pop!

"Thanks."

Pop!

"Lumos," Remus said, raising his wand in the direction of the voice. "Harry?"

"Hi," Harry said, blinking in the light. He ran a hand through his hair.

"What are you- you shouldn't be here!" Remus said, giving the door a panicky look. Then he
remembered that Harry was an animagus and settled a little.

Even so… He cast a silent locking charm on the door, and a second one to silence the room.

"Where are we?" Harry asked curiously, glancing around Remus' barren room.

"Greyback's- or- well, what was Greyback's camp," Remus said. Harry frowned at the room,
and then at Remus. "I thought you were staying at Ron's-"

"I am," Harry said. "I just- left for a bit."

"Does Padfoot know you're here?"

"He would if he'd answered his mirror," Harry muttered. That was a no, then. "Kreacher said
you'd run away." His jaw was set in the same way James' always used to, and Remus had to
look away for a moment. Merlin, what he wouldn't give to talk to James right now, to get his
opinion on all of this. Suddenly, his throat felt uncomfortably tight.

"It's not quite as simple as that," Remus sighed.

"Kreacher said Dora's having a baby," Harry said.

"What else has Kreacher said?" Remus asked tiredly.

"That's pretty much it. And it's still more than any of the rest of you bothered to tell me,"
Harry added. He gave Remus a curious look. "Is it true?"

"Yes," Remus sighed, and Harry's expression brightened.

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl? Or what you'll call it?" Remus felt a stir of excitement at
the questions, and then remembered himself.

"Right now, Harry, those are the least of my concerns," Remus said. Harry's eyes narrowed,
as if Remus had just confirmed something, but he didn't voice whatever it was. "Why are you
here, Harry?"

"Kreacher said you'd run away," Harry said again.

"Clearly," Remus said, "I didn't do a good enough job, because Sirius, Kreacher and now you
have all been able to find me." He offered Harry a faint smile to show he didn't mean it;
he'd wanted to be found by Sirius, so that he'd have someone to talk to, and he'd been grateful
when Kreacher brought him dinner. Harry, admittedly, was unexpected. He didn't return the
smile. "I haven't run away," Remus added. "I just- needed a bit of space."

"Why?"

"Because I have a lot to think about," Remus said.

"Like what?"

"My kind don't usually breed," Remus said, much more calmly than when he'd said the same
thing to Sirius a few hours ago. "There's- well, quite a lot that could go wrong-"

"So why are you here?" Harry asked. "I mean, if something's going to go wrong, shouldn't
you be with Dora?"

"Dora will be perfectly fine with her parents and Sirius until I get back to her," Remus said,
with forced calm.

"When's that?" Harry asked.

"I don't know yet."

"But you will go back to her, right?" Harry asked.

"I- yes, probably," Remus said. "Things will be different, and I might not be around as much,
but-"

"What do you mean?"

"It's late, Harry," Remus said firmly, "and Molly would be beside herself if she knew where
you were. Sirius too."

"Why won't you be around much?" Harry asked. "I thought you and Dora were moving back
here-"

"She will be. I'm- reconsidering."

"Because of the baby?" Harry asked.

"Harry-"

"Do you not want it?"

"Harry!" Harry looked startled, and Remus couldn't blame him; he couldn't remember the last
time he'd so much as raised his voice at him. "I appreciate that you're trying to help," Remus
said, with forced patience, "but this is all a lot more complicated than you understand-"

"Explain then," Harry said uncertainly, coming to sit on the end of Remus' bed. "I don't- why
don't you want the baby?"

"I do, Harry," Remus said quietly. "More than anything. Do you- do you remember the night
Padfoot told you about the prophecy?" Harry gave him a flat look. "When you ran off, we
found you in an abandoned classroom, with an old mirror. I- when I looked into it, I saw us -
you, me, Dora, Sirius, your parents-" Peter, he added silently, miserably, angrily. "-and a
child. My child. I want that more than anything in the world."

"So what's the problem?" Harry asked in a small voice.

"I am," Remus said. "You and Dora and Sirius are far from normal when it comes to your…
attitudes toward me. When people hear that Dora's carrying my child… It was bad enough
that she married me. And the child… if it's normal, it'll be an outcast for having me as a
father, and if it's like me…" He shook his head. "This, of course, is assuming both it and Dora
survive."

Oddly, Harry looked thoughtful.

"I don't think it's quite that bad," Harry said. "I mean, when I came to live with Padfoot,
people didn't like him much either. They kept trying to tell me he was evil and a monster and
that he wanted to hurt me. Even you did, at the start. And they were wrong. Just like they'd be
wrong if they said anything horrible about you."

"That's very kind of you to say, Harry," Remus said, turning away so that Harry wouldn't see
him wipe his eyes. "Even if they wouldn't be entirely wrong; I am what they say I am."
"And if it's a werewolf," Harry continued, "then you're the best person to learn from. You'd
know exactly how it all feels and I'd look after it on full moons, like Padfoot looks after you
and-"

"I wouldn't wish my condition on anyone," Remus said, shaking his head. "Let alone a child-
my child. It would hate me for it- I would hate me for it."

There was silent for a few long moments. Remus was uncomfortably aware of Harry's
scrutiny, and that his scent was doing all sorts of strange things; first it was frustrated, then it
was sad, then, finally, it was a strange mix between angry and disappointed.

"You're scared."

"Haven't I just said that?" Remus asked, with a hoarse laugh.

"Why didn't Padfoot talk you into coming home?" Harry asked, frowning. "You said he was
here."

"Because Padfoot agrees with me, for the most part," Remus said.

"What- why?"

"For the reasons I've already given you," Remus said. "If it's not like me it'l be an outcast, if it
is, it could well kill Dora before it's born, and if doesn't, then it's got a life of this-" Remus
gestured around the camp. "-of pain, and suffering - ahead of it." Harry was still frowning. "I
don't expect you to understand - you're years off having kids, if you choose to. Your parents
would have understood though, like Sirius does. Or James would have." He thought Lily
would, but couldn't be entirely certain.

"I don't think he would have," Harry said slowly. "I reckon he'd be pretty angry, actually. My
dad went into hiding with me and Mum - do you think he wasn't scared? Except he didn't
leave until he had to, until he died and even that was trying to give me and Mum a chance."

"And if I decide to leave - which I haven't yet," Remus added, swallowing, because the
thought hurt, and wasn't that selfish of him, "it will be because it will be the best thing to do
for Dora and the baby. To give them a chance, so to speak-"

"No," Harry said, getting to his feet and rounding on Remus, "you-"

"Your parents were normal, Harry!" Remus cried. "They didn't- ruin your life before it even
started. They didn't-"

"No?" Harry asked in a deadly quiet voice.

"No," Remus repeated, a little unnerved. "They-"

"Born to those who have thrice defied him?" Harry said in that same, awful voice. "Born as
the seventh month dies? The prophecy was made before I was born, and they must have
known that it might be me."
"Harry," Remus said, aware they were in dangerous territory here, "that's completely
different-"

"Is is?" Harry asked. "Your kid might kill Dora- I did kill my mum, or at least was the reason
she died. You're worried people will watch your kid because of you - I know what it's like to
have people pointing and staring at me in public because of who my parents are, and- and
maybe it's not as regular as the full moon, but I'm always getting hurt because of who I am."
Somehow, barefoot and in the pyjamas he'd very nearly outgrown, Harry was formidable.
"The only way it's different that I can see, is that my parents both chose me, and each other,
and you're not doing the same for Dora and your kid-"

There was a bang and Harry staggered backward rubbing his shoulder. Remus looked down
at his wand, angry and a bit startled - he hadn't realised he was holding it. He tossed it down
onto the bed, horrified, and when he looked up again, it was to see Harry twist on the spot
and vanish.

Harry popped into view on the Weasley's lumpy lawn, startling the chickens in their coop.
The Burrow was dark and quiet. If anyone had noticed his absence, Ron and Draco must have
covered for him convincingly enough that no one was particularly worried.

Though he was nowhere near tired enough to go back to bed, Harry went around the side of
the house, and was just pulling open the kitchen door when something small ran, grunting,
past his bare feet.

Harry pulled the door closed again, and dove for the gnome.

He wasn't angry with Moony for hexing him, because it had clearly been an accident, and it
didn't hurt at all now. No, Harry thought, as he watched the gnome soar over the back fence,
he was angry and disappointed that Moony had run away from his wife and unborn child, and
angry that Padfoot had let him. Harry seized another gnome, which had poked its sleepy head
out from under one of Mrs Weasley's shrubs. He was even a bit angry that Dora had let him-

The kitchen door creaked open and and Harry spun, to see Percy in striped pyjama trousers
and a yellow jumper with a P on it that Harry was sure Ginny had stolen and worn before.

"I saw you through the window," Percy said. "Are you all right?" He seemed to notice the
gnome Harry was holding (it was trying to bite his knee).

"Just couldn't sleep," Harry said. The gnome finally managed to bite him and Harry swore,
and dropped it. It scrambled away from him. He lunged for it and missed, but Percy scooped
it up and offered it to him. "Thanks," Harry said, and spun, flinging it over the fence to join
the other one. Percy watched, picking a loose string from the sleeve of his dressing gown.
"I'm fine, Perce," Harry said, and then because he wasn't sure that he wanted company at all,
let alone Percy's company, added, "We're not at Hogwarts, you don't have to play Head Boy."

"I suppose you don't want me to fix your eyebrows, then."

"My…" Harry reached up and felt only smooth skin where his eyebrows ought to be. He
muttered a swear word; it had been a while since he last Apparated, and he must have
Splinched himself. "Yeah, all right." Percy pulled his wand from his dressing gown and
flicked it at Harry, whose face suddenly felt very itchy. "Thanks." Percy nodded.

"Would you like a hot chocolate?" he asked, surprising Harry. "It might help you sleep."
Harry eyed a third gnome, and then sighed, realising Percy wasn't going to take the hint and
leave him alone.

"Fine. Thanks."

He followed him into the kitchen, sitting at the table while Percy fussed around the stove.
Harry sat in silence, not really sure what to say; he'd never been close with Percy. Honestly,
he'd always been under the impression that Percy didn't like him all that much, and thought
he was a bad influence on Ron and Ginny.

"Is it Pettigrew?" Percy asked.

"What?" Harry asked, stunned.

"Keeping you up," Percy said impatiently.

"Nah. There's just some… stuff… at home." Harry shrugged, and then surprised himself by
saying, "Moony and Dora are having a baby."

"Oh." Percy turned to look at him, expression sympathetic. "It's not as bad as it seems, you
know," he said.

"It shouldn't be," Harry muttered, wondering how he could have possibly guessed, "but
somehow it is."

"It's really not," Percy said. "Take it from someone with siblings. When my parents told me
about Fred and George, I was extremely unhappy. I liked being the youngest, you see. But
now I couldn't imagine life without them, or Ron or Ginny."

Harry realised Percy thought he was somehow jealous of the baby, and opened his mouth to
tell him that was as far from the truth as was possible, but then he realised he was more
interested in what Percy had just said.

"I thought you were still unhappy with Fred and George," Harry said bluntly.

"They're uniquely frustrating, in a way that only I seem to appreciate," Percy said, but he was
smiling. He pushed his glasses up. "And growing up a bit wouldn't hurt them, but- well, I'd
rather have them the way they are than not at all. Nearly losing Ginny last year put things in
perspective," he added briskly. "Family- it's- well, it's very important."

There was a gentle tap on Dora's window. She ignored it and wiped her face. Tap. Tap, tap.
Annoyed, she rolled over, wondering why someone had owled her at this hour, but it wasn't
an owl at all.

It was Remus.

It felt like it had been days since he arrived at Grimmauld Place and she'd told him about the
baby, but it had only been a few hours. It had been less than an hour since a miserable Sirius
was here, telling her without properly looking at her that he'd been to see Remus and that
things were complicated. He'd gone to speak to her mum and, realising that Remus wouldn't
be home tonight, Dora hadn't had the energy to join them.

But here he was… unless she was dreaming, which was always a possibility.

He's seen her move, because this time when he tapped, he was looking right at her. Dora slid
out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown and padded over to the window. He gestured, a little
uncertainly, for her to open it.

Nervous, she did; had he come to talk things out, or had he come to tell her he was leaving?

"We have a front door, you know," she said.

"I didn't want to wake your parents," he said. "Can I come in?" She stepped back so that he
could clamber through, and folded her arms, not sure whether she should speak, or whether
she should wait for him to say something first.

To begin with, he didn't say anything; he wrapped her in a hug, and Dora, who'd thought she
ought to be out of tears after all the crying she'd done lately, felt more prickling her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and she could feel his lips in her hair, on her cheek, and then
finally on hers. It was a desperate sort of kiss, and she returned it in kind, aware it could be
their last, and hoping with everything that it wasn't. "I'm sorry," Remus said, pulling back. He
rested his forehead against hers, and one of his hands was on her cheek, wiping away the
tears there. "I'm so sorry." He kissed her again, gently.

"If you're apologising for running off, don't," she said. "I- I was shocked when I found out,
and I've always wanted… I know it's different for you, and you're back a lot sooner that I
thought, so..." She took a deep breath. "But if you're apologising because you're going to run
off again, then-" Her voice wobbled, and he wiped her cheek again.

"I'm not running off again," he said hoarsely, and her arms tightened around him of their own
accord. "I'm staying. Merlin help me, but I am." This time, she kissed him.

"I'm sorry too," she said, wrapping her hand around his. "I didn't- we hadn't planned for a
baby, hadn't even talked about it..."

"No," Remus said, voice wry and much more like his normal self, "but you didn't get
pregnant on your own." She gave a watery chuckle, then squeezed him more tightly. "I- I'm
terrified, Dora," he said in a voice that was little more than a whisper, "and I won't pretend
otherwise, and there's still a lot to work out, but- I want this. You." His hand dropped to her
hip, and his thumb brushed across her dressing gown covered stomach. "This."

She flung her arms around her neck, and his arms were strong and warm around her back.
They stayed there, in the middle of her childhood bedroom, for a very long time.
 Home for Easter

Harry flooed into Grimmauld's kitchen on the second day of the holidays. Kreacher - who'd
been decidedly standoffish to Sirius that morning - shoved a plate of toast at him and went to
greet Harry, beaming.

"Where's Draco?" Sirius asked, pulling Harry into a hug. "I'd sort of expected him to be with
you-"

"I thought I'd make sure we were allowed," Harry said. He returned the hug, but it was a little
stiff.

"Of course you're allowed, I said you could come back this morning, didn't I?" Sirius pulled
back and held Harry at an arm's length. He had shadows under his eyes, like he hadn't slept
well. "Everything all right?" Harry shrugged, and Sirius felt a stab of unease. "Did you have a
dream? Is-"

"No," Harry said.

"Toast?" Kreacher interrupted, tugging on Harry's sleeve. "Eggs? Young master can have
bacon if he would like, Kreacher will-"

"It's fine, Kreacher," Harry said, but not unkindly. Kreacher patted Harry's elbow, then turned
and glared at Sirius, as if Harry refusing breakfast was his fault; he ought to blame Molly
Weasley, who'd likely stuffed Harry full of food before allowing him through the Floo. "Is
anyone else here?"

"Not right now, no…" Harry frowned. "Dora's due around for lunch, though, and Andy might
come with her."

"And Moony?"

"Ah," Sirius said. "Probably not. He's- I'll let Dora explain, but they're having some trouble at
the moment..." Harry scowled, but didn't say anything. Sirius gave him an odd look. "You
sure you're all right, kiddo?" Harry was quiet for a long time, and wouldn't look at him. His
scent was angry, hurt, confused and several other things Sirius couldn't place. "Harry-"

Hedwig swooped downstairs and into the kitchen, alighting on the table. Sirius cast one more
look at his surly looking godson, and went to retrieve the note she was carrying. He hadn't
even realised Hedwig had gone out, but then, owls were funny about knowing when they
were needed.

Sirius, it said in Remus' handwriting.

Dora and I were hoping to come around for lunch. Can you make sure Harry's all right with
that - I imagine he's rather angry with me. Tell him he was right, if that helps, and that I'd
like the chance to tell him so in person.
Remus.

Sirius re-read the message, not entirely sure what to make of it. If they were making lunch
plans, it sounded like Remus had spoken with Dora - if not seen her - but when? It was barely
eight now, and he was sure nothing had happened last night, since he'd been at the Tonkses
until quite late. He read the letter again and shook his head.

"Are you angry with Remus?" he asked, turning to Harry. Perhaps that had something to do
with Harry's mood this morning, but why would Harry be angry with Remus? They hadn't
seen each other for weeks, and one of them would surely have mentioned it if they were
fighting through letters.

"Depends," Harry said unhelpfully.

"He and Dora want to come to lunch," Sirius said, squinting at the note as if there might be
answers written between the lines. Kreacher made a pleased noise, and went to pat Harry's
arm. "And he said to tell you you were right." Harry seemed to understand perfectly, and, for
the first time that morning, he smiled.

"Then no, I'm not angry with him anymore," Harry said.

"Right," Sirius said, rubbing his temples. "Kreacher, could you go and let them know they're
fine to come around whenever?" Kreacher popped away. "Care to fill me in?"

"Not really," Harry said shortly. Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Why should I?" Harry folded his
arms and then added rather petulantly, "You never fill me in, anymore." Sirius pinched the
bridge of his nose.

"If this is about the wand checker-"

"No, actually, this is about the baby," Harry said. Sirius stared at him.

"You- who told-?"

"Kreacher," Harry said, "because apparently no one else was going to."

"That wasn't Kreacher's news to share," Sirius said. "Dora'll be put out that he's stolen her
announcement." He rubbed his chin. "And she was going to tell you, Harry, we just- you
know what Moony's like. She didn't want to tell everyone until she knew he was all right with
it-"

"She told you," Harry muttered.

"Yeah, but I'm a bit different," Sirius said. He eyed Harry, who still looked rather unhappy,
but wasn't shouting or cutting him off. He supposed that counted for something. "Moony was
never going to take it well, and I'm the best at… well, helping to talk him through it."

"Not this time," Harry muttered. "He was saying how terrible the baby's going to be, because
it might be like him, or hurt Dora, and that he was thinking of staying away and he said you
agreed." Harry's stare was accusatory.
"I- It's complicated, Harry," Sirius said tiredly. Harry's jaw set, but he stayed quiet. "When
did this all happen - you talking to Moony, I mean?"

"Last night. Kreacher took me to see him."

"At the camp?" Sirius asked stiffly. Harry nodded warily and Sirius forced himself to breathe,
and think before he got angry; last night hadn't been a full moon. Even if it had been, Harry
could transform. Remus had been there. Kreacher had taken Harry. Harry was here and
clearly in one piece, so nothing had gone wrong. Sirius let out a slow breath. "Okay," he said,
then struggled with himself for a few moments. "Did it occur to you to tell me you were
going?"

"You didn't answer your mirror."

"And you couldn't have waited until I did?"

"I was going after Moony, not Wormtail," Harry said irritably. "I had my wand-"

"Well, it's an improvement on December, I suppose," Sirius sighed. Harry flushed. "I just-
you do know that you're not responsible for fixing everything, right?" Something odd
flickered over Harry's face, but was gone again almost as quickly as it had appeared. Then, he
was scowling.

"Right, I forgot: I'm supposed to leave everything to the adults."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Sirius asked tiredly.

"Yes, actually!" Harry said. "If I'd left Moony to you, or Dora, he'd still be at the camp!"

"I didn't- I'm talking generally," Sirius said, frustrated. "Last night- maybe there wasn't any
danger-"

"There wasn't!"

"-but it's the principle of it all; something goes wrong, and you go running off to fix it - every
time!"

"Someone has to!" Harry snapped.

"But that someone doesn't always have to be you," Sirius cried. "That's what I'm saying!"
Harry looked murderous, and Sirius took a deep breath; this was not the cheerful morning of
catching up he'd envisaged. "If you'd let me-"

"I tried! You weren't here!" Harry glowered up at him, chest heaving. "I'm not going to
apologise - Moony's my family as much as he's yours-"

"I don't just mean-"

"So Voldemort and Wormtail?" Sirius opened his mouth but Harry cut him off, likely able to
smell that he'd been about to agree. "Yeah, they've never done anything to me, you're right, it
doesn't make any sense at all for me to want to stop them. I should just-"

"Hello?" Dora called from upstairs. "Sirius? Harry?"

"Down here," Sirius said tersely, eyes still on Harry. It seemed Remus and Dora had taken
Kreacher's 'whenever' to heart.

Dora was first down the stairs, and apparently oblivious to the argument that her and Remus'
arrival had interrupted, because she was all smiles. Sirius offered her what felt like a rather
stiff smile, but she bypassed him and went and threw herself on Harry, who stumbled back
but managed to catch her- and when had Harry outgrown her, Sirius wondered.

"Thank you," he heard Dora whisper, and Harry's scent changed from furious to embarrassed
and he patted her on the back.

Remus came down the stairs more slowly, nostrils flaring, and gave Sirius a concerned look -
no doubt he could smell the tension in the room.

"It's not you," Sirius muttered, and Remus looked a bit relieved, but still nervous, though
something in his scent warmed when he looked at Harry and Dora.

Dora finally released Harry and came to kiss Sirius on the cheek, and he hugged her a bit
distractedly; neither Remus or Harry had moved any closer to each other, and were having an
awkward stare-off across the kitchen. What exactly had been said last night, to make them
look this way, he wondered; Harry's jaw was set, and he looked somehow apologetic and
defiant all at once, while Remus mostly looked nervous.

"Kreacher said you were all right with me coming around," Remus said, speaking first.

"Your letter said you were coming with Dora," Harry replied.

"I'll be leaving with her, too," Remus said, half-looking in Dora's direction. She beamed.
Harry glanced between them and nodded. "I- is your shoulder all right?" Sirius stiffened,
shooting Harry an incredulous look that he ignored.

"Yeah, it's fine."

"I'm glad," Remus said. Silence hung for a few moments, then:

"I didn't mean to upset you," Harry blurted.

"Well, whether you meant to or not, I rather think it's done me some good," Remus said, and
then Harry's mouth quirked up and both of them seemed to relax.

"What did he say?" Sirius murmured to Dora. She shrugged helplessly, but he didn't think she
actually minded not knowing; what mattered to her, no doubt, was that Remus had come
home. And willingly, Sirius thought, looking over at Remus and Harry, who were hugging
now. Whatever Harry'd said last night had apparently been the right thing to say. Sirius felt
something like guilt twist in his chest.
Kreacher swept in just then, offering tea, and while Remus and Dora were occupied with
him, Harry headed for the Floo and Sirius moved to intercept him.

"I'm going to get Draco and my trunk," Harry said, with a challenge in his eyes. "Unless
you'd prefer I left it to you or one of the other adults."

"I was coming over to say you did well with Moony," Sirius said, arching an eyebrow, "but if
you'd rather keep arguing..."

"No," Harry said, deflating. "I don't like arguing with you."

"I don't like arguing with you either," Sirius sighed. He slung an arm over Harry's shoulder
and pulled him into a sideways hug. Harry came willingly, snaking an arm around Sirius'
back.

Then, he pulled away, flashed Sirius a tentative smile, and vanished into the Floo.

Sirius ran a hand over his face, sighing; he'd diffused the argument for today, which was all
well and good, but it was the same argument they'd been having on and off since December,
and they were still no closer to resolving it.

One day, they wouldn't be able to push it aside, and agree to disagree until it came up again.
Sirius wasn't sure what was worse; that they would have to find some sort of compromise -
one that he doubted either of them would he completely happy with - or that this matter
would sit and fester between them until they did.

Despite the rocky start to the holidays, though, the rest of the week was fairly uneventful.
Sirius had to work much more than he would have hoped, and would have been incredibly
put out about it, except everyone else was just as busy as he was.

Dora had to work as much as he did - the World Cup was drawing ever closer and they were
both involved in working out the security - and she also had visits with her parents to keep
her occupied. Marlene also had to work. Sirius still didn't know anything about her
assignment other than that it was something international, and that it required Marlene to
work quite closely with Bertha Jorkins. Remus had a bit of marking to do, saw Matt a few
times, but otherwise hung around at Grimmauld keeping an eye on the boys - when they were
there - getting himself roped into giving Patronus lessons and joining their games of chess
and Exploding Snap, and - when they weren't - using the time alone to try to wrap his head
the rest of the way around his impending fatherhood.

Harry and Draco were in and out a fair bit too; on the third morning of the holidays, one of
the Weasley twins and a burly Scottish boy Flooed over during breakfast to drag Harry off to
a Quidditch practice at the Burrow. He left right after breakfast and returned well after dinner,
looking windswept, sunburned, and utterly exhausted. Draco - who'd gone to the Burrow with
Harry - had been collected by Snape at some point during the day and returned to Grimmauld
later still, looking just as worn out. Sirius suspected they'd been practicing Occlumency, but
didn't ask.
And, as was always the way, it seemed Sirius had finally adjusted to having Remus and Dora
and Harry (and his friends) living under his roof again, only for the holidays to be over;
tomorrow, they'd all be going back to France and school.

"It's nice we got one afternoon all together, though," Marlene observed, and all together was
right; not only were all four of the adults there, but all of the kids (which included Ron,
Ginny and Hermione) and Kreacher were too.

"In body, if not in mind," Remus said, with a faint smile; Dora was fast asleep, and using his
leg as a pillow. He, in turn, looked to be using her shoulder to balance his marking on.
"Although- where have Harry and Ginny gone?"

"Off to practice their Silencing Charms," Draco said, nodding up at the ceiling. Sirius stared
at him, alarmed, not sure if he was making a joke or not; with Draco, it was often rather hard
to tell.

"Oh?" Marlene asked, surprised, and then, more slyly: "Is that what they're calling it these
days?" Remus snorted. Draco and Ron exchanged baffled looks.

"Practicing their Silencing Charms?" Sirius repeated faintly, looking at the other two for help,
but Hermione hadn't looked up from the book she and Draco were sharing, and Ron just
shrugged which was no help at all.

"They'd never be able to at home," Ron said. "Mum would throw a fit."

"Bloody hell." Sirius shut the case file he'd been looking over, and stood, his desire to not be
murdered by Molly Weasley winning out over things like Harry's entitlement to privacy.
Remus and Marlene were both laughing at him, and Sirius made a rude gesture at the pair of
them that had Hermione and Draco looking scandalized and Ron looking impressed. He
stomped out.

Harry's bedroom door was closed, and Sirius couldn't hear a thing. Wishing he'd thought to
sent Kreacher, Sirius rapped on the door.

"Harry? Ginny?" Nothing. Sirius pulled a face. "I'm coming in." Still nothing. Sirius twisted
the doorknob and let himself in.

He felt unreasonably relieved by the sight that met his eyes; Ginny was lying on her stomach
on Harry's bed with an enormous book open in front of her, and Harry was on the floor,
leaning against the desk, with his wand in his hand. Both of them were giving him curious,
rather expectant looks.

"Hello," Sirius said lamely. Harry arched an eyebrow. "Having fun?"

Ginny opened her mouth, and Harry threw a sock at her. He turned to Sirius and nodded
emphatically. Ginny rolled her eyes and nodded too.

"How's- er-" It occurred to Sirius then, that Draco might not have been using a euphemism,
and might have been completely genuine. "-practicing your Silencing Charms?" Harry
scowled. Ginny glanced at him and laughed… but didn't make a sound. A slow smile spread
across Sirius' face. "A bit too successful?" he asked, amused. "Finite."

"A bit too successful, yeah," Harry admitted sheepishly. Ginny snorted. "Did you need
something?"

"Oh," Sirius said, "er, no, just didn't know what you were up to, so I thought I'd check."

"But you just asked us how Silencing Charms were going," Harry said, giving him an odd
look.

"Yes," Sirius said. "I did." Harry stared at him. Ginny's eyes flicked between Sirius and
Harry. Sirius turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Is he all right?" he heard Ginny ask Harry.

"Dunno," Harry said, with a confused sort of laugh. A slight pause and a shuffling sound.
"Here, cross that one out, or we'll end up mute again. What does the next..."

Shaking his head, Sirius went to rejoin the others in the library, and walked in in time for
Draco to have a revelation:

"Lupin," he said suddenly. "You're a magical creature-"

"Draco!" Hermione said.

"Don't get your wand in a knot, Granger," Draco said. "He is." He gave Remus an expectant
look.

"I am, yes," Remus said. Draco looked at Hermione, apparently triumphant.

"How would you go about putting forward a strong defence against the Committee for the
Disposal of Dangerous Creatures?"

"I beg your pardon?" Remus asked, blinking.

"We're trying to save a hippogriff," Draco said, snatching up a bit of parchment and going to
perch on the arm of Remus' couch. Hermione made a fond but exasperated noise and reached
out to take a bit of chocolate from the fractured remains of Ron's easter egg.

"You survived, I see," Marlene said, as Sirius sat down.

"They were practicing Silencing Charms," Sirius told her, shaking his head, and feeling very
silly for thinking otherwise; Harry was thirteen, for Merlin's sake, and Ginny was even
younger.

"Why?" she asked, bemused.

"No idea," Sirius said, and then turned at the word 'scar' out of habit, but it wasn't Harry that
Ron seemed to be talking about.
"...scar looks loads better."

"I know," Hermione said, holding a hand against her neck. "Although not good enough; my
parents noticed it yesterday-"

"They didn't at Christmas?" Ron asked.

"I wore scarves and big jumpers," she said, biting her lip. "But I've sort of got used to it, now,
and I just… forgot. I don't think I've ever seen my Dad so upset, and Mum wanted to know
where I got it..."

"What did you tell them?" Ron asked.

"I couldn't tell them about my-" Sirius could have sworn Hermione's eyes slid in his
direction. "-busy timetable-" Ron frowned, glanced in Sirius and Marlene's direction, and
then away again, then nodded as if in understanding. "-so I just said I'd had an accident, and
then of course, they brought up how I was petrified last year, and-"

There was a sharp bang upstairs that shook the chandelier; to Sirius' practiced ear, it sounded
like fireworks. Ron looked only vaguely interested - Sirius supposed living with the twins
would do that to a person - Hermione had twitched and was now biting her lip, and Draco
rolled his eyes. Sirius caught Remus' eye and arched an eyebrow: What do you
reckon? Remus shrugged.

Sirius listened for a moment longer, but there were no shrieks of pain, no footsteps on the
stairs, no cries for help. They were probably fine-

Then, there was a bang, like a door bursting open, following by Kreacher's loud croak:
"Fireworks inside the house of Black?!"

"You heard that?" came Harry's voice, faint but dismayed.

"Kreacher heard, yes, he did, Kreacher thinks the neighbours heard, too-"

"In fairness one of the neighbours is downstairs, so-"

"Fireworks!" Kreacher said shrilly. Sirius sighed - equal parts fond and exasperated - and
stood again, headed back out onto the landing. "Kreacher would ask what Master is thinking,
but Kreacher knows Master isn't, that the young Master is too much like Master Sirius-"

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Kreacher," Sirius said, making his way upstairs to join
them on the landing outside Harry's room; Harry was standing in the doorway, looking far too
amused to be contrite, and Ginny stood just behind him, more curious than anything;
Kreacher, hands on his bony hips, and face scrunched up, probably had nothing on Molly
Weasley. "Besides," he added, glancing at his godson, "if Harry's done anything to his room,
he knows he'll have to fix it-"

"I didn't," Harry protested, "It was one of the wet-start ones, and I had a Shield Charm up."
"Sensible," Sirius said approvingly. Harry and Ginny grinned. Kreacher made an odd,
strangled sound. "Untwist your teatowel, Kreacher, it was just a firework-"

Kreacher's eye twitched, and then he went off, rather like a firework himself - loudly, though
admittedly with with less light and smoke, and more flapping arms.
 Win and lose

"Did you hear Chang asked me to catch the Snitch for her today- no, of course you wouldn't
have - you're still not speaking, are you?" Harry ignored Hydrus, eyes on the red and green of
the Chasers. "She's still upset about March, I think."

"Is she?" Harry asked, not particularly bothered by that. Hydrus looking fleetingly
disappointed.

"I told her I would," Hydrus said, eyes gleaming. "Catch the snitch, that is."

"Do you know how?" Harry asked, glancing his way for just a moment. "It's just that I've
never seen you do it-"

"I have," Hydrus said, flushing with anger. "You're just blind, Potter, even with those
monstrous glasses."

"Huh," Harry said thoughtfully. "So how embarrassing do you reckon it's going to be for you
to lose the snitch to someone that can't see…?"

"Gryffindor scores!" Lee called, as if on cue, and Hydrus turned a furious look on Harry.

Harry ignored him and guided his broom up higher, hoping for a better view of the pitch.
Given Harry's luck, it was no surprise that Hydrus followed.

"Running away, Potter?"

"Trying to," Harry muttered, eyes on the game.

"You won't have much luck. My 2001 is a far faster model."

It was; Wood had talked for a good ten minutes about the Slytherin team's brooms in the
changerooms that morning. Harry wasn't about to say so, however.

"That's nice," Harry said instead. He soared a few feet higher - well above the stands now -
and was annoyed but unsurprised that he still had Hydrus on his tail.

"Is it smart of you to fly this high when the dementors are around, Potter?" Hydrus asked,
zipping around to Harry's other side. He mimed fainting. Harry rolled his eyes and resumed
his search for the snitch.

Hydrus moved slowly forward, almost as if he was circling Harry, and made an odd waving
gesture.

"Harry!"

George's yell and the faint whistling of a bludger was all the warning Harry needed; he rolled
sideways and out of the way, and the bludger careened past, harmless. Hydrus looked rather
put out, and, when Harry had righted himself and turned to see where the bludger had come
from, he noticed both of Slytherin's beaters did too.

"Nice try," Harry said to Hydrus, who scowled; clearly, he'd been trying to distract Harry, to
get him to turn his back on the beaters, so that they could try to knock him off; it'd been two
hours, and neither of them had seen the snitch (though Harry had mistaken a gold-skinned
Dora for it at one point). Harry supposed Hydrus was feeling nervous.

"Yes, I thought so," Hydrus sneered. "If it wasn't for-"

The barest flash of gold caught Harry's eye directly below them, and it wasn't Dora in the
stands this time.

Finally.

Not waiting around to hear the rest of what Hydrus had to say, he tipped his broom forward
and dropped. There was a startled yelp from above him - likely Hydrus realising Harry wasn't
just trying to get away from him - but Harry didn't much care. He was in his element.

"This is it!" Lee yelled. "Potter's seen the snitch, and Malfoy's after him… THIS IS IT!"

Flint appeared below Harry, apparently intending to block him when he got close enough.

Harry, sure Hydrus was behind him, couldn't afford to change paths, so he did the only thing
he could; bent lower over his broom, and sped up. Flint curled his lip, the snitch fluttering
innocently beneath him.

Harry gritted his teeth. If Flint didn't move, this was going to hurt.

A lot.

"Move!" Hydrus yelled, from a lot closer behind him that Harry had expected. Flint seemed
to deliberate; he didn't want to block Hydrus, after all-

"Derrick's going for Potter-" A green-robed figure flew at Harry from the left. He did a sharp
corkscrew to avoid him, eyes on the snitch. "-Yes, Potter! Fantastic flying-" Harry blocked
Lee out; he was almost there...

"Don't move!" Hydrus screamed. "Stop him!" Flint hadn't moved, wasn't going to, they were
going to collide-

But then, a mere second before Harry was about to plow into him, something flickered in his
eyes - fear, perhaps, or the realisation that Harry wasn't going to change course - and he
twisted to the side. Harry shot past him, reached out...

"HA!" Lee cried from the stands. "How's that for Gryffindor nerve, Flint, he's half your size-"
Something that looked strangely like a beater's bat soared past Harry's shoulder, but he didn't
care much, because his fingers touched cold metal and then his hand had closed on the snitch.
Hydrus let out a shriek. Harry pulled up out of his dive and spiralled lazily upwards, a wide
grin on his face, hand in the air to show off the snitch in his hand.

"YES!" Lee shouted, as Madam Hooch's whistle blew. There was a half-second of silence,
and then the stands erupted. "YES, YES, YES-" An odd sound came through the
megaphone… it sounded like… but surely... was McGonagall... crying?

Harry turned to look at the stands, but Fred sped into his line of sight, tossing his bat away so
that he had both arms free to drag Harry into a hug.

"BRILLIANT!" he bellowed in Harry's ear, and then George thudded into Harry's other side,
beaming madly.

"POTTER!" Wood barreled into them, and managed to prise Fred and George off Harry so
that he could give him a bone-crushing hug of his own. Angelina collided with Harry's back a
second later and flung her arms around the both of them.

Somehow - with a lot of shouting and laughing and crying (mostly Wood and Katie) and
knocking of brooms - they made it to the ground, and what felt like the entirety of Gryffindor
descended on them.

Ron was there first, with GRYFFINDOR painted across his forehead, and a gold lion on his
cheek - courtesy of Dean, no doubt - and half-tackled him as soon as there was room to do so.
Colin's camera flashed, and Harry didn't even mind. He got hugs from a beaming Ginny and
squealing Hermione who both had red and gold ribbons braided into their hair and stars on
their cheeks, and he got a pat on the back from Draco, who'd worn a Gryffindor scarf for the
occasion.

"Well done, Harry, yeh did it!" Hagrid said. He was crying almost as hard as Wood, who'd
been dragged off the shoulder of a deliriously happy Percy by two boys that could only be his
brothers.

"Thanks, Hagr- Ah!"

Padfoot and Moony had arrived, hoisting him up onto their shoulders, and were grinning up
at him with red and gold faces.

"Excellent flying, Harry!" Moony said.

"Sorry we took so long getting down here," Padfoot shouted over the noise. "I had to rub it
into Lucius Malfoy first…" Marlene, who was holding a large Gryffindor flag, laughed.

"Wicked job, Harry!" Dora, with her gold skin and red hair, and reached up to squeeze his
hand.

Eventually the mad, triumphant confusion settled (though only slightly), and Harry and the
rest of the team were borne over to the stands where Dumbledore was waiting with the Cup.

Harry barely heard Dumbledore's short speech, distracted as he was by McGonagall's loud
sobbing, and the sight of Padfoot trying to wrestle a Gryffindor scarf onto a rather alarmed
looking Snape. He didn't manage to - he wrapped it around McGonagall's neck instead - and
then moved to stand by Mr and Mrs Weasley and the rest of the Gryffindor parents.

Harry looked back at Snape, amazed by his tolerance of the whole thing. Harry saw him nod
at Draco, who smiled, and for a moment Snape looked satisfied; then, he seemed to realise it,
and with a horrified look on his face, stalked away to join the Slytherin team. Bole had
thrown his beater's bat at the very end of the game, in a last-ditch attempt to stop Harry from
getting the snitch, and missed; Harry grinned at the red welt on Hydrus' cheek.

Wood disentangled himself from his brothers and managed to stop crying for long enough to
accept the Cup from Dumbledore:

"This is brilliant- I'm so proud of all of you today, team, it's been an absolute honour to be
your captain-" Wood stared down at the shiny Cup in his hands. "This- it's all I've ever
wanted since joining the team- and finally we've done it, and in my last year to boot- you
don't know what this means to me..." Wood's voice wobbled, and McGonagall squeezed his
shoulder. Fred and George tackled them both, cheering.

Though Harry's good mood from their Quidditch win saw him through most of May, it
eventually faded in the face of exams and everything else, and the same was true for the rest
of the team; Oliver had swapped game plans for textbooks, Katie had a nervous breakdown
over her Potions notes at the breakfast table, and for the first time since Harry had known
them, Fred and George had put their heads down to study for their O.W.L.s. He thought Percy
would have been delighted by the twins' newfound dedication to their studies, except he was
too busy preparing for his N.E.W.T.s to notice.

"Weird, isn't it," Ginny said to Harry; it was the Monday before exams and she'd joined them
in the library after dinner to help him and Ron prepare for Buckbeak's appeal, but was
currently watching George snatch a Herbology book from Angelina to check an answer.

"If they're studying, they're not cornering me with stolen Gryffindor banners and sticking
charms, so-" Harry yawned. "-there's that, at least." Last time, McGonagall had even docked
points when she saw him ("Don't argue with me, Potter, the points aren't because I think
you've chosen to wear it, but because after seven others, you really ought to know how to get
them off."). "But yeah, it's weird."

"I even saw them tell off Romilda Vane and her friends this morning," Ginny said. "They
were making too much noise, apparently."

"Bet she'd be quiet if Harry told her to," Ron said slyly.

"Probably," Ginny sniggered. "But Fred and George threatened them with dungbombs in their
dorms and that worked pretty well too…" Harry snorted, but figured the twins must be
stressed if they weren't tolerating noise.

Even more stressed than them, though, was Hermione:

"It's funny," Ron muttered to Harry late on the Wednesday before exams, as they studied in
the common room, "because she should really be the calmest." Harry glanced over at
Hermione, who was looking rather manic as she flicked through the pages of an enormous
textbook with one hand, and fended off Crookshanks - who'd taken a liking to the shiny
timeturner around Hermione's neck after Christmas - with the other. "She's got more time
than any of us."

"I haven't used it since lessons ended, actually," she said, and Ron twitched perhaps not
realising that she'd been able to hear him. "So I don't have more time than you, because I'm
trying to prepare for more exams than you are in the same amount of time, and I'm helping
Hagrid prepare for Buckbeak's trial, and I'm supposed to be writing a reflection for the
Ministry on- ack! Crookshanks!" Crookshanks had managed to get a loop of timeturner chain
into his mouth and tried to run off with it, half-strangling Hermione in the process.

"We're all helping Hagrid," Ron said fairly, scooping Crookshanks up and away from
Hermione, who was rubbing her neck. He struggled for a bit, until Harry dragged a quill
across the table, distracting him with a new game. Ron let him go and he pounced on Harry's
hand.

"I'm still very busy, Ron!" she huffed.

"Why don't you use it to study for your extra subject, then?" Ron asked.

"Because that's not what it's for-"

"It's for your extra subject," Ron said. "That includes exams."

"I-"

"Either shut up," Draco snapped, head bent over a book and hands tugging at his hair, "or
take this conversation elsewhere."

Ron put his hands up in surrender, but caught Harry's eye when neither Hermione or Draco
were looking, and mouthed, "Mental." Harry laughed.

"Shh!"

Draco, if possible, was even more stressed than Hermione. Like the rest of them, he had
revision for exams and was helping Hagrid, but he also had his meetings with Snape. Draco
claimed they were working on a cure for his headaches, and refused to elaborate; Harry only
knew whatever it was had Draco and Snape's names sitting still on the Map for hours at a
time, and that the cure mustn't be working all that well, because Draco always came back
with headaches.

All things considered, it was hardly surprising that, when Hermione caved over the weekend
and started to use her timeturner again to study for her extra subject ("I'm only using it for
Arithmancy, though," she'd said as if she needed to justify it, "and only for an hour and a half,
because that's how long I've spent on everything else today."), that Draco went back in time
with her.
Harry had no idea how he'd talked her into it, and didn't dare ask, as they were both so
stressed and irritable these days, it was sure to lead to an argument. He was a bit annoyed that
Hermione would let Draco use it to prepare for Buckbeak's appeal, but hadn't let Harry use it
to catch Wormtail in December, but Hagrid had been a nervous wreck for weeks and this
would help him, so Harry couldn't bring himself to hold a proper grudge.

And, as Ron pointed out, Hermione was so cautious about not being seen by their future
selves, that there was usually time for a quick, judgement-free game of chess or Exploding
Snap before she and Draco got back.

Sirius was floating. There were noises around him, voices and footsteps, perhaps, but they
were muffled, echoey sort of sounds and he couldn't make any sense of them.

"-vate. Black?" Now he was lying on something hard, and there was a hand at his shoulder.
"Black, can you hear me?"

He grunted and forced his eyes open, blinking until things came into focus.

He appeared to be lying on the floor of the D.M.L.E.. Auror Prewett was crouched over him,
looking rather sickly.

"You fainted," she said, forehead furrowed, before he could say anything.

"He's awake!" someone shouted.

"Yes, thank you, Jorkins," Prewett said, rolling her eyes. "Brown's gone to get McKinnon to
take you home."

"Marlene?" Sirius mumbled, pressing a hand to his head.

"Jorkins, can you help me get him up?" Prewett slid an arm under Sirius' and started to lift
him. Jorkins bent to help, and together, they managed to get him into a chair from an empty
cubicle. "Does anything hurt?"

"Just my head," Sirius said. And even then it wasn't sore, exactly, just… foggy. What had
happened? He wished his audience would clear off too; along with Prewett and Bertha,
Perkins and a trainee were hovering nearby.

"You didn't hit it," Prewett said, chewing her lip, "You slumped over onto Malfoy, and I think
he was so surprised he actually caught you, and then I came to help..."

"We were in the lift," Sirius said, remembering.

"Yes," Prewett said, looking relieved. "We were in the lift. Do you remember?" Sirius nodded
slowly.

Marlene came around the corner with Robards and Brown, frowning, and paused at the sight
of everyone gathered. She glanced at Sirius, taking in his chair in the middle of the corridor.
"You fainted?"

"So I hear," Sirius said, rather sheepishly. His head was starting to clear, and he felt more
embarrassed now than confused, though he wondered why he'd fainted. He'd never done so
before, not without a good reason.

"Did you want to go home?"

"I knew it!" Bertha said giddily. "I knew it: you're together!"

"Are we?" Marlene asked, giving the other woman a bland look.

"Why else would you be taking him home?" Bertha asked smugly.

"Perhaps because we're neighbours, and I know where he lives," Marlene replied tartly, and
turned back to Sirius. "So, do-"

"I think he should go," Robards interrupted. "McKinnon, if you'd go and grab his things.
Black, let's get you a leave form - my office is closest." Marlene's eyebrows twitched into a
faint frown, but Sirius nodded slightly.

"All right," she said. "See you in a minute."

Robards helped Sirius up, thanked Prewett and Brown, and then guided him down the
corridor and into his office.

"Well?" he asked, when they were safely inside and the door was closed. "What happened?"

"I fainted," Sirius said, shrugging.

"Finite," Robards said. Sirius waited patiently. "Have you eaten today?"

"Yeah," Sirius said. "I was just coming back from lunch with Dora… "

"And you fainted?"

"Apparently," Sirius said helplessly. "What- you think I was attacked? I'm fine-"

"McKinnon's spell, when she went to visit you in the cells," Robards said abruptly. "What
was it?"

"You need a new question," Sirius said wryly. "You asked that last time."

"But only you would know that," Robards said, nodding. He sighed, and dropped into his
chair. "Perhaps you did faint… Just… Prewett, Jorkins, Harris, and Brown are all on our list."

"Huh," Sirius said, because that hadn't occurred to him yet. "But- there were others too, in the
lift-"

"Who?"
"Fudge," Sirius said, thinking back. "Malfoy. Some bloke from Magical Creatures, and a little
witch from Magical Maintenance…" Robards looked thoughtful. "Surely it's just a
coincidence. And if it's not… what was the point? If they were close enough to put me to
sleep, they could just as easily have killed me, or made sure I was out for longer, but it can't
have been for more than a minute, and I'm fine…" He drew his wand, which was in his
pocket, right where it should be. "I'm not even disarmed." He pulled out his Sidekick and
pouch of gold. "Not robbed. Not-" He patted his other pocket and stilled.

"What?" Robards asked. Sirius patted every pocket on his person, before finally looking up,
empty handed and uncertain.

"I had it this morning," he said, more to himself than to Robards. "I brought it to work - I'm
sure I did; I always do…"

"Had what?'

"My mirror."
 Cat and rat

Mrrow! Crookshanks said plaintively, looking first at Hermione, then up at the Fat Lady's
portrait.

"Got yourself closed out, have you?" Hermione asked, and Crookshanks mewled again.
"Butterwort."

"Indeed," the Fat Lady said, swinging open. Crookshanks dashed inside. "Exam go well,
dear? Which one was it - I can't keep up with all of you!"

"Muggle Studies," Hermione said. "And yes, I think so, though I won't know for sure until-
Oh!" A very familiar rat had come scurrying out of the portrait hole with Crookshanks after
it; not many people in Gryffindor had rats, and Scabbers was the only one missing a toe.
"Crookshanks, no!"

Crookshanks aborted his chase when he drew level with her feet, however, and wound around
her ankles, purring. Scabbers dodged her lunging grab with ease and disappeared around the
corner at the end of the corridor.

Mrrow.

"You're a terror," she told Crookshanks, sighing, and set off after Scabbers. Though Ron had
become slightly less attached to his rat since learning he might have been passing information
to Wormtail, she still thought he'd be rather upset with Hermione if he was lost because of
Crookshanks. "No," she said, as Crookshanks made to follow. "You'll scare him."
Crookshanks's tail flicked, but he stayed where he was.

She rounded the corner, hoping Scabbers hadn't gone too far, and blinked; rather than hiding
behind a suit of armour, or a low-hanging tapestry, Scabbers had stopped in the middle of the
corridor.

Perhaps he was simply too stressed to think straight - she could see his sides heaving from
where she was - but he didn't move at all as she approached, which wasn't very frightened
behaviour in her opinion.

Hermione stopped and drew her wand, suddenly uncertain. Scabbers just watched her.

"Petrificus totalus," she said swiftly, and the rat froze. She glanced around, rather nervously,
but she was alone.

The rat was definitely missing a finger, which meant it had to be Scabbers… unless Wormtail
had cut one off to disguise himself. He'd done just that to frame Sirius, after all...

"Homorphum," she said; she'd learned the charm almost immediately after the incident with
Wormtail and her timeturner, but not yet used it. In hindsight, she should have asked Harry
whether she could practice on him to be sure she had it right... Blue light streaked out of her
wand, wrapping around the rat, and-

Nothing.

Shaking her head at herself for being so silly and paranoid - and rather glad that none of the
boys were there to see and tease her - Hermione tucked her wand away and bent to pick
Scabbers up.

Somewhere behind her, Crookshanks made a truly awful noise, and Hermione spun… right
into a jet of red light.

"Ah," Draco said, as he came climbed down the ladder and saw his father, the Minister, an
old, hunchbacked wizard, and a tall man holding an axe waiting with his brother, Potter,
Weasley, and Patil. Patil looked unnerved but Potter was staring angry holes in the side of
Father's head, and Weasley was alternating between glowering at Hydrus and shooting
awkward looks at the Minister. "I thought I saw something unpleasant in my future."

"Now, now, Draco," Father said coldly, "there's no need to be rude."

"Parvati Patil," Trelawney called from up the ladder, and Patil clambered up with a last,
curious look at Draco and the Minister.

"What's that for?" Draco asked, nodding at the axe.

"You weren't far off when you said unpleasant," Fudge sighed, "There's a mad hippogriff
about the place. McNair has come as an executioner-"

"Executioner?" Weasley blurted. Draco shot an angry look in Father's direction and got a
faint smile in return. "But the appeal's not supposed to be until later!"

"Four o'clock," Fudge said. "We're on our way down now, as a matter of fact, that's why
we're..."

"Then who says you need an executioner?" Weasley asked. "Buckbeak could still get off-"

"I'm afraid it doesn't look likely," Fudge said kindly. Weasley's ears turned red.

"I thought the Ministry might have revised their guilty until proven innocent policy after
Sirius' trial," Potter said with a polite yet pointed look at Fudge. Draco was impressed.
Weasley looked torn between wanting to laugh and gape. Hydrus was outright staring.

"The Ministry- Our policies are-" Fudge cut off, face growing red - with either anger or
embarrassment, Draco couldn't be certain which. "Those were extenuating circumstances,
and all evidence at the time was pointing toward a guilty verdict-"

"The hippogriff is a danger, Mr Potter," Father said smoothly. ("Yes!" Fudge said, looking
relieved.) "No one regrets what must happen here today more than I do, but as one of the
school's governors I must prioritise the safety of the students. I hope you understand."
"Yeah," Potter said, undaunted by the icy look he was receiving. "I got a pretty good idea
where student safety is on your priority list last year." His voice was light, but his eyes were
hard, and Draco watched, amazed, as Father looked away.

"Exactly," Fudge said, oblivious, and Potter snorted quietly. "Now, we really must be going…
Lucius..." The other two wizards followed after Fudge, and Father turned to Draco.

"Is your exam finished?"

"Yes."

"Good. Shall we?" Weasley twitched, and Potter's eyebrows shot up. Draco too, was
surprised, but didn't dare show that that was the case.

"Shall we what?" he asked. Father tsked.

"I'd assumed, given the level of your involvement so far, that you would want to be present
for the appeal." The and execution was not spoken, but Draco heard it as clearly as if it had
been. Clearly, Father expected things to go his way, and wanted the opportunity to gloat.
"That's why we're holding it so late in the afternoon."

"Actually, I'd intended to go down with my friends," Draco said coolly.

"You will come down with me," Father said, "and stand with the adults, pretending - as you
have all along - that you are one of them, and we will put an end to this ridiculous business."

"All right," Draco said finally, unable to think of a way to refuse without seeming childish.
"I'll see you down there," he said to Potter and Weasley, and then started down the corridor.

"Come along, Hydrus," Father said curtly, and Hydrus hurried after them.

They walked in silence for most of the way; Draco had nothing to say to either his father or
his brother, and apparently, neither of them had anything to say to him.

"Let me know how it goes, Father," Hydrus said, when they reached the Entrance Hall.

"Do you have more pressing matters to attend to?" Father asked silkily. Hydrus blinked,
apparently thrown.

"Am I supposed to be coming along?" Father just watched him, and Draco did too. Hydrus'
eyes widened slightly, and Draco was suddenly sure he had not expected to be invited, nor
was he particularly pleased that he had been. "Why?" His voice was almost shrill. "It's
Draco's stupid monster, not mine."

"It is the monster that maimed you," Father said, arching an eyebrow.

"So?" Hydrus' voice wobbled a bit. Father's expression softened ever so slightly. "Doesn't
mean I should have to watch someone hack its head off. Draco's the one being punished, not-
"
"This afternoon isn't about the hippogriff," Father said.

"Yes, it is," Hydrus said, but Draco thought Father had the right of it. "It's all either of you
have talked about for-"

"No," Father said. "This afternoon is a lesson in what can be achieved when one puts their
mind, influence, and resources toward achieving an outcome, a lesson in power. And," he
said, looking at Draco, all traces of softness gone, "for you, it shall be a lesson in what
happens to those that think they can cross that power."

Harry was the only one left once Ron's name was called; he sat down against the wall and
pulled the Map out, watching names wander across it to kill the time. Out of habit he looked
for Wormtail, but he was nowhere to be seen - as usual. He could see the Malfoys down at
Hagrid's hut, though, with Cornelius Fudge, Walden Macnair, Oswyn Leeche and Albus
Dumbledore, see Percy and Oliver, and Neville and Dean in the common room, but not
Hermione. Harry figured she was still in her exam, but couldn't find where that was before
Ron's shoes appeared on the ladder.

"How'd you go?" Harry asked, folding the Map up.

"It was all dark so I said something about suffering and despair and she lapped it right up,
morbid old bat…" He grinned and nodded at the Map. "Hermione done yet?"

"Dunno," Harry said, passing him the Map. "Couldn't find her."

"Harry Potter," Trelawney called.

"I'll get her," Ron said, already scanning the Map. "And meet you in the common room?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He didn't think Draco should have to spend any more time with Mr
Malfoy than was necessary. Ron set off down the corridor and Harry turned and climbed up
the ladder into the warm, fragrant Divination tower.

"Sit, my dear," Trelwaney said mistily, gesturing to a spindly chair opposite hers. "Gaze into
the Orb, search its depths…"

Choking a bit on the overpoweringly sickly incense in the air, Harry did as he was told.
Bright, white fog swirled within the crystal ball, but, try as he might, Harry couldn't see
anything else.

"What do you see?" Trelawney whispered, some time later.

"Nothing," Harry said flatly. She dropped her mystic facade for a moment and quirked an
eyebrow at him; the only other person he seen her do that to was Hermione. "Er… It's all too
clouded- the future I mean."

"Go on," she said, a little suspiciously.

"I just- er- there's too much possibility for- er- change. So I can't see anything clearly."
"I, too, have felt the stirrings of change," she declared, scribbling something down on her bit
of parchment. "Focus, now, dear boy, perhaps you cannot see an outcome yet, but you might
be able to see the trigger..."

"I can see a person," Harry said, inventing wildly; his crystal ball remained as foggy as ever.
"A person- A man, I think."

"His face," she breathed. "Can you see his face?"

"No," Harry said. "It's- er- hidden. Shadowed," he added, rater inanely. Trewlaney's quill
scratched frantically.

"Anything else?"

"No," Harry said. "Oh. He's- er- gone."

"Ah, but the Eye is fickle," Trelawney sighed. There were a few seconds of silence. "I think
we ought to leave it there, dear, thank you," she said, perhaps realising Harry wasn't going to
'see' anything else.

"Great," Harry said, eager to get out of the sweltering room. He stood and hurried back down
the ladder, before she could change his mind and call him back.

Harry headed off toward the common room, feeling a bit like he was floating - it had as much
to do with now being finished with exams, as it probably did with the Divination tower's
heady fragrance. He rounded a corner and started down the long spiralling stairs, only to
collide with someone half-way down.

"Harry! Thank Merlin."

"Padfoot?" Harry said baffled, as he was swept into a tight hug. Padfoot smelled a bit on
edge, but not panicked or upset or angry, and Harry took some comfort from that. "What are
you doing here?"

"My mirror's been taken," Padfoot said, releasing him. Harry's eyebrows shot up, and unease
coiled in his stomach.

"By who?"

"No idea," Padfoot said, expression tight. "I was going to ask if you'd heard anything."

"No," Harry said. He pulled his own mirror out of his pocket and glanced at Padfoot, who
nodded slightly. "Sirius Black." They both stared into the mirror's dark depths, but no faces or
sounds presented themselves. Harry let it fade, until it was just his face and Padfoot's staring
back at him.

"Figures," Padfoot muttered, running a hand over his face.

"Where was it taken?" Harry asked.

"Ministry."

"So… Crouch?"

"Could've been," Padfoot sighed. "Could have been Peter, or Polkov, or someone we haven't
dealt with yet. Maybe it's some combination of them." He looked at Harry, and Harry knew
he was going to ask about any dreams before he did; he shook his head, and Padfoot sighed.
"Why would they want the mirror?"

"You don't know?"

"I have theories," Padfoot said darkly. "I'd like to hear yours, though."

"Well," Harry said, as they stepped off the staircase, "I'd say they want to talk to me." Padfoot
gave him a sideways look. "Or," Harry said, "they want to stop us from talking… except
you're here and they must have known you would be as soon as you realised your mirror was
gone… So it can't be that, or they'd have stopped you." He looked up at Padfoot. "Right?"

"Right," Padfoot agreed, mouth turning down. "Well, we're on the same page there, at least."

"So you didn't see who took it?"

"No." Padfoot barked a laugh and it wasn't a happy sound. "I slept right through it. Thought
I'd fainted until I talked to Robards and realised what'd been taken."

"But they didn't hurt you?" Harry asked, frowning.

"No."

"Well," Harry said, relieved, but mostly confused. "That's something, right?"

"Hardly." Padfoot rubbed a hand over his face again. "It makes me think I've got some sort
of… role... to play in whatever's going to happen. And if it's not that, the other possible
reason's no better."

"What is it?" Harry asked, swallowing.

"That they left me alone because I don't matter," Padfoot said. His voice was quiet, scared.
"That they're so sure of this plan - whatever it is - that they don't think anything I could do
will change the outcome."

"You're right," Harry said at last, when he thought he'd be able to speak without his voice
wobbling. "That reason's not any better." He glanced up at Padfoot again, deciding he didn't
like this whole knowing beforehand business; he'd take fighting and adrenaline over waiting
on edge, any day.

"I'm of half a mind to drag you straight home," Padfoot said, with a faint, worried smile. "But
what if that's what they'd expect, and we play right into their hands? Or what if they know I'll
think that, and think I'll leave you here because that's not what they'd expect?"
"What if it doesn't matter either way?" Harry asked. Padfoot gave him a pained look. "Sorry."

"Don't be; you might be right." They walked in silence for a few long moments.

"So what do we do?"

"What can we do?" Padfoot asked. "We wait."

Strangely - though he'd spent the entire walk back from the North tower looking - Ron hadn't
been able to find Hermione's name anywhere on the Map. He'd checked the common room,
her dormitory, and the library, then other places she might go, like Hagrid's, or Ginny's dorm,
but she wasn't there either, and he couldn't see her in any of the corridors.

"How'd you go?" the Fat Lady asked. Ron grunted, not looking up from the Map..

"Butterwo-"

Something brushed against Ron's ankle, startling him. He looked down and swore.

Mrroww. He'd never heard Crookshanks made such a pitiful noise before, but Ron couldn't
blame him; his orange fur was red and matted with blood. He was limping - no surprises
there, either, Ron thought, because there was a nasty gash on his back leg - and one of his
ears was barely attached.

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" Ron asked, crouching down. Crookshanks made a
grumbling noise. "Here," Ron said, reaching for him. "We'll take you with us when we go to
see Hagrid." But Crookshanks wriggled out of his grip - not that Ron tried very hard to hold
him, because he didn't want to hurt him more - and limped off down the corridor. "No, you
lunatic," Ron said, clicking his fingers. "Here."

Mrrow, Crookshanks said, urgently, and turned to look at Ron. Ron took a few uncertain
steps after him, and Crookshanks made an approving noise - could cats even make approving
noises? - and limped on slowly.

Ron followed.

Crookshanks led him around the corner, past a patch of smeared blood and fur, and then
continued down the corridor, but Ron slowed and drew his wand.

He'd never had cause to come this way before for lessons, but he'd come with Harry, because
this corridor was the one that Wormtail had been in when he disappeared off the Map. He and
Harry had come to check behind the tapestry of the ballet-dancing trolls, tug at torch-
brackets, press at the walls, and step on every stone floor-tile to try to reveal a hidden door or
passageway, but to no avail. Harry had even given Parseltongue a go.

But perhaps there was something here, if Crookshanks was interested.

Mrrow, he said, as if agreeing, and flicked his tail impatiently.

"Why me?" Ron asked Crookshanks gamely, pulling out the Map to check that Wormtail
wasn't going to sneak up on him. "Harry's loads better at this stuff than I am."

Mrrow.

"Or Hermione," Ron said. He was completely alone in the corridor, and tucked the Map away
again, figuring it'd be best to watch the walls than the Map; they already knew Wormtail's
hiding place didn't show up on it. "She's better at spells and things, though I s'pose she'd have
kittens if she saw you all bloody, and Malfoy'd probably just drag you off to Snape for
healing, so I can't really blame you for coming to me." Crookshanks blinked. Ron stepped
into place beside him. "So," he said. "What are you trying to show me?"

Mrrow. Crookshanks stood again, rather stiffly, and limped back the other way. Ron shrugged
and followed.

"Well?" Crookshanks seemed to change his mind and turned again. Ron turned as well.
"Where are we-"

A door appeared on the wall beside them.

"Oh," Ron said stupidly. "Yeah, that's- right." Harry. He needed Harry. And Hermione, and
maybe Fred and George and a teacher or two. He took a long look at the door, memorising
where it was, and what it looked like. He started to step away, and it began to fade.

No, no, no- He slid back into place and the door appeared. He looked down at Crookshanks,
who'd curled up on the ground rather awkwardly, his breathing laboured.

"You all right?" Ron asked, crouching, with a wary look at the door. It stayed where it was.

Mrr, Crookshanks said, rather faintly. Ron tried to edge away from the door again, and again,
it began to fade. He hurriedly moved back into the right place. He couldn't shout for help;
someone in Gryffindor was sure to hear him, but it was also possible that Wormtail would,
and then he'd know he'd been found. But perhaps...

Tightening his grip on his wand, he reached for the doorknob. He turned it slowly, and eased
the door gently open - only an inch or so - hoping all the while that Wormtail either wasn't
inside or wouldn't notice.

He mustn't have, because Ron couldn't hear anything, and no hexes came flying out.
Satisfied, Ron shuffled back a tiny bit, and the door remained visible and ajar.

Brilliant. Now he'd be able to find it when he came back with Harry and Hermione.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, he backed up a bit further, and scooped Crookshanks
carefully up.

"Good find, mate," he said to the cat, whispering, just in case Wormtail was inside, and
asleep or something. Crookshanks wriggled weakly. "Now-"
"Where's Crookshanks?!" Her voice was faint, as if she was a long way away, but it was
undoubtedly Hermione. Ron froze, looking down at the cat in question. He stayed very still,
listening, wishing he had Harry's hearing, and then heard the low murmur of another voice,
this one less distinct, and an echoey sound that might have been a sob.

"Sorry," Ron said, putting Crookshanks back down, "but if she's in there, that changes things
a bit." Even if the door seemed to be staying open and visible, there was no way Ron would
risk it closing while he went and got help, not if it meant she might be trapped in there.

He gripped his wand and peered through the crack in the door. The room was dimly lit... if it
could even be called a room, because it was big enough that Ron thought it'd fit a Quidditch
pitch inside it, or maybe even two. The ceiling was high, and the room itself was filled with
more... stuff than Ron had ever seen in his life, stacked into precariously balanced piles.

He could see a battered picnic set, a pile of faded yellow cushions, some sort of large, metal
cage, a mobile made of what looked like pixie skeletons, a dented cauldron, a single glowing
shoe that rested atop a strange, spiky desk, and all sorts of other things, but not Hermione or
Wormtail.

He eased the door open, grateful it didn't creak, and slipped into the room. He eased the door
shut behind him, but didn't close it. He felt it would be easy to get lost in a place like this, so
the cracks of light from the hallway would help, but he also half-hoped someone would
stumble across it and go for help. It would also help him and Hermione make a quick escape
when the time came.

"Don't touch- That's mine!" Ron turned toward Hermione's voice.

"It was." It was a man speaking, with a shrill voice. Wormtail. Ron's fingers clenched around
his wand. "What does it do? It's obviously magical…"

Ron crept further forward. He was close enough to hear the noisy crackling of a fire - did that
mean Wormtail could hear him? He hoped not. A shadow moved and he ducked low behind a
large, lumpy umbrella stand.

He counted to ten, holding his breath, and when he was still unnoticed, peered cautiously
over the top of his hiding place.

Wormtail's hideout was an odd, two-walled room with scratched walls, a boarded window -
despite the fact that they were inside - and a fireplace. Hermione was sitting on the ground,
arms pinned against her side by ropes and face tear-streaked, but expression fierce. Wormtail
was perched on the end of an ancient looking four-poster, running something golden through
his fingers. Ron lifted his wand, wondering if he'd be able to Stun Wormtail before he could
react, but thought better of it for two reasons; firstly, if he missed, Wormtail would know he
was there and might hurt Hermione to get Ron to reveal himself, and secondly, he'd just
realised what Wormtail was holding:

It was the timeturner.

 Act and react

Ron barely swallowed a groan. It significantly complicated things that the timeturner wasn't
in its usual spot around Hermione's neck; while Wormtail thankfully didn't seem to know
what it was, there was no way they could leave it in his hands. If he missed with a Stunner,
Wormtail might run off with it.

"I'll work it out, you know," Wormtail said, looking over at Hermione. He lifted the chain to
study the little hourglass. "Or you could save me the trouble and tell me. It is some sort of
clock? An alarm?"

"Bring it here and I'll show you," Hermione said stiffly. Ron felt his eyebrows shoot up.

"Sure you will," Wormtail snorted.

"I will," Hermione said irritably. "If only because I don't want you damaging it trying to work
out what it does."

Wormtail stood, but then hesitated: "Is it dangerous?"

"I was just wearing it around my neck," Hermione said. "What do you think?" Wormtail
inched closer to her, and Ron prayed she knew what she was doing.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Give it here," she said.

"No!" Wormtail said. "Not until I know what it is."

"How am I supposed to show you how it works if I can't see it?" Hermione snapped.
Wormtail gave her a mistrustful look. "Put it on the floor, then." After a moment, Wormtail
crouched and set it on the floor. "I still can't see it, it's too far away."

Wormtail looked at her hands, as if making sure they were still bound, and then shuffled
forward.

"This is as close as I'm coming," he said. "Now, show me what-"

Hermione lashed out with her foot. It caught Wormtail in the shoulder - pity it wasn't his face,
really - and then she brought it down hard on the timeturner, which crunched and shattered,
releasing a wisp of pale blue magic.

"Stupefy!" Ron cried, leaping out of his hiding place, figuring this would be the best
opportunity he'd ever get. Wormtail rolled out of the way of the spell, behind the bed.
Hermione's mouth fell open.

"Ron?"
"Diffindo." Her ropes fell away. Red light streaked past Ron's ear and scorched the wall.
Hermione scrambled to her feet, and Wormtail turned his wand on her.

"Protego!" Ron said, jumping in front of Hermione at the last moment, and the second
Stunner bounced back at Wormtail, but he batted it away. It shattered an ugly teapot on the
nearest pile. "Stupefy!" Wormtail turned into a rat to avoid it, scurried under the bed, and then
popped up as a human on the other side. "Protego!" Ron said again. Wormtail's yellow spell
thudded against his shield, knocking him back a few steps. "Incendio!"

The bed caught fire and Wormtail yelped. Hermione yanked Ron down the nearest aisle -
unfortunately opposite the one he'd come in through, but cover was cover - and Ron figured
anywhere away from Wormtail was a good start. He pulled her to the left, down a narrow
path between two battered looking bookcases, left again, around a towering pile of hats, right,
past a black-keyed piano, left again- and then skidded to a stop in front of a painting of a dog
in a tiara.

It was a dead end.

The dog yipped and they wheeled around, racing down another aisle.

"We have to get back to the door," Ron said, tugging Hermione to the right. A spell ruffled
Ron's hair as it passed and hit a suit of armour, which wobbled and fell with a clatter.
Hermione pushed him down another aisle, and kicked a stack of chairs over, clearly hoping it
would slow Wormtail down.

The chairs exploded, knocking them both backward. Ron landed on a dusty pile of rolled
rugs. Splinters of wood and bits of broken glass rained down on him, stinging his face,
tinkling on the floor, and it was so dusty he could barely see. Hermione was no longer next to
him but he thought he could hear her moving-

His wand went flying out of his hand and rolled away. Wormtail strode into view, wand
trained on Ron and he tensed, ready to throw himself out of the way of whatever spell came
next, when Hermione appeared behind Wormtail, swinging an enormous book. It must have
hit him, too, because he heard a thud, but Ron didn't see it because he was too busy diving for
Wormtail's legs.

The pair of them toppled to the floor, Ron doing his best to wrest the wand from Wormtail's
hand, or at the very least keep him from being able to use it. He thought he was doing pretty
well, too; Wormtail was an adult but not particularly tall or strong, while Ron was tall and
had grown up wrestling with his brothers (except for Percy) and Ginny. He pinned Wormtail's
neck with his forearm and shifted, prising open his fingers-

Something hard hit him in the side of the head - it looked like a candlestick - and he fell back,
dazed and then there was an arm around his neck and a wand-tip against his cheek.

"Drop it!" Wormtail said shrilly, breathing hard. "Now!"

"I haven't got-" Ron started to protest but Wormtail's grip on him tightened.
"Now!" Wormtail said, and Ron twisted his head a bit to see Hermione, who'd found Ron's
wand. It had clearly been pointed at Wormtail, but she was lowering it even now, her eyes on
Ron.

"No, don't!" Ron said. "Run-" He choked as Wormtail tightened his grip.

"I only need one h-hostage!" Eyes still on him, Hermione let Ron's wand clatter to the floor.
"Stupefy!" Wormtail said, and Hermione dropped gracelessly to the ground. Ron saw red, and
then he actually saw red as a Stunner hit him as well.

"Are you staying?"

"No," Padfoot said, as if it pained him to say so.

"But-"

"I can't help here," Padfoot said. "Not until something's happened. I'm going back to the
Ministry for a bit, to see if Robards has found anything while I've been here. Then, assuming
everything's still all right, I'm going to Floo to Moony's - it's the full tonight. I'll tell him
about the mirror, warn him that I might have to take off suddenly, but I'll stay with him, if I
can."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Okay."

"Dora's at Grimmauld already, in the kitchen by the Floo, and she will be all night.
If anything happens, you get in touch with her, and she'll get me. McGonagall knows to be on
the look-out," Padfoot continued. "I told her when I Flooed in, and I sent Snape and Mad-Eye
patronus messages. Dumbledore's down at Hagrid's, but someone'll fill him in as soon as he's
free."

"Right," Harry said hoarsely. Padfoot pulled back a tapestry and took them through a short-
cut to the sixth floor. "Padfoot, what if it's not here - what if it's on your end? What if they
want to talk to me because something's going to happen to you?"

"I'm going to have my Sidekick open all night," Padfoot said grimly. "Marls'll be at hers,
listening, and Robards'll be at his, listening as well. If something happens, one or both of
them will know about it." Harry nodded uncertainly. "You're going to stay in your common
room-"

"Buckbeak's appeal happening now, though," Harry said. "Draco's already gone, so I was
going to head down with Ron and Hermione-"

"Absolutely not," Padfoot said, and Harry couldn't really fault him for saying that, even if he
didn't like it. "I'm sorry, but I'm sure Hagrid'll understand." He held Harry's gaze until Harry
nodded. "So: common room," Padfoot said warningly, as they reached the Fat Lady. "Wand
on you all night, even in bed-"
"I don't reckon I'll be sleeping," Harry muttered, and Padfoot gave him a pitying look but
kept talking.

"-don't trust anything you see or hear in your mirror until you've had it verified. Don't go
rushing off. Talk to Dora or one of the teachers if anything happens, and for Merlin's sake,
keep your wits about you."

"Okay," Harry said.

"Okay," Padfoot repeated, looking rather pale. He pulled Harry into a tight hug. "Stay safe,
all right? Promise me." Harry nodded against his shoulder. Padfoot gave him a final squeeze,
then pulled back.

"Butterwort," Harry said numbly, and headed inside. Most of Gryffindor seemed to be in
there, chatting and playing games to celebrate the end of exams. Fred and George were
clinking together butterbeer bottles in the corner, looking much cheerier than they had of late.
What was Crouch - or whoever had taken the mirror - planning?

"Harry!" Seamus called, waving him over to where he, Dean, and Lavender were building a
tower of Exploding Snap cards. Neville was missing an eyebrow, and Parvati smelled like
burned hair, and both of them were sitting a safe distance away from the cards. Was it Harry
or Padfoot that was in trouble - or was going to be? "How'd you go?"

"Not well, obviously," Lavender hissed; Harry didn't think he was meant to be able to hear
her. "Look at his face." Harry wondered what he looked like.

"The exam was-" Harry couldn't really remember how he'd gone, couldn't think about
anything much except mirrors and Padfoot and Death Eaters. His mirror felt like it weighed a
tonne, and he kept waiting for it to burn, for a deep voice to call his name and give him
terrible news… "-fine. I'm just- not feeling well."

"Did you See something?" Parvati asked in a hushed voice.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?" he asked.

"Not sure," Dean said. "Upstairs, maybe." He nodded at the stairs.

"Thanks," Harry said, relieved. He stumbled away, leaving the others whispering behind him.

"You okay?" All except Neville, it seemed, who'd jogged to catch up with him. "Is it- Are the
Dementors bothering you? I have a chocolate frog, if-"

"No, Neville, but thanks," Harry said, making an attempt to smile. It felt rather weak, but
Neville smiled back, if a little uncertainly. He didn't leave, though, and instead trailed upstairs
behind Harry.

Pull yourself together, Harry told himself. You've dealt with worse. Nothing's happened yet-

But it's going to, a quiet voice said, and he knew it was right, could feel it.
So's the Prophecy, another voice argued. And you don't fall apart over that. It sounded a bit
like Ginny (though she, of course, had no idea about the Prophecy).

True, the quiet voice murmured, and Harry felt marginally better. Still nervous as anything,
still worried, but better.

Neville was watching him.

"I'm all right," Harry said, and felt like his attempted smile was better this time. He pushed
open the door to their dormitory. It was empty. "Are you sure they were up here?" he asked
over his shoulder.

"I haven't seen them," Neville said. "Dean only said they might be- Harry?" Harry brushed
past him on his way back downstairs, taking them two at a time. A suspicion danced just out
of reach, un-named but unsettling. "Harry?"

Harry turned to the nearest person, who just happened to be Katie: "Have you seen Ron and
Hermione?"

"No," she said. "Not-"

"Ginny!?" Harry left Katie standing there, his attention now wholly on Ginny; she'd just
come through the portrait hole, covered in blood.

"I know," she said, when Harry reached her. "I look a fright, but it's not mine." He stared at
her. "Crookshanks has hurt himself - I found him after my Charms exam, and I couldn't find
Hermione or any of you lot, so I took him to the Hospital Wing-"

"Crookshanks?" Harry asked hoarsely. He barely recognised his own voice. His suspicion
sharpened into certainty, and twisted in his chest.

"He'll be all right, I think," Ginny said quickly. "Madam Pomfrey wasn't very happy I'd taken
him there, but I know Hagrid's busy with the appeal this afternoon, so I couldn't..." Ginny
was still talking, but Harry couldn't hear her.

Here. Harry patted his pockets, checking for his wand and mirror. Whatever it is, it's
happening here.

"Harry?" Ginny had clearly picked up on his mood, because she looked unsettled. "Has...
something happened?" Had it? Or was it happening now? More to the point, what had
happened-

He glanced at the fireplace and then at the portrait hole, and made his decision.

"I have to go," he said, stepping around Ginny. She caught his arm.

"Where are the others?" He shook his head and shook her off. "Harry-"

But he was already running.

He reached McGonagall's office in just a few minutes - quicker than he'd thought was
possible - and didn't even stop to knock, just flung the door open. It thudded against the wall
and several books toppled off her bookshelf.

"What is the meaning of-" She seemed to recognise him, and cut off. Then, she half-rose, and
her entire demeanour changed. "Potter?"

"It-"

Hurried footsteps sounded behind Harry, and he turned to see a red-faced, rather dishevelled-
looking Ginny. She skidded to a stop beside Harry, breathing hard, and McGonagall let out a
cry:

"My goodness- Weasley!"

"Not- mine," Ginny puffed, waving McGonagall away. "It's Crookshanks'-"

"Hermione's cat's been attacked," Harry said. Ginny nodded, still trying to catch her breath,
and McGonagall flicked her wand. The blood on Ginny's hands and shirt vanished. "And
Hermione and Ron aren't in the common room." Not that he'd asked very many people, but
somehow, he knew. "Whatever's going to happen- whatever they need the mirror for - it's
going to be here."

"Mirror?" Ginny asked. Both Harry and McGonagall ignored her.

"Have you been contacted, Potter?"

"No, bu-" Harry's mirror warmed slightly, and Wormtail called his name. McGonagall put a
finger to her lips, and Ginny nodded, wide-eyed.

Harry stepped out of the office, feeling more calm than he had a few moments ago; now, at
least, he'd be able to do something. He made sure he was standing in front of a plain, stone
wall, and then pulled out his mirror.

Wormtail's face swam within it. He was sweaty, had a bruise blooming on his cheek, and a
thin line of blood trickling down the side of his face, from a cut on his temple.

Good, Harry thought savagely.

"Hi, Padfoot," Harry said darkly. "You don't look like yourself - did someone hit you with an
ugly hex?" There was a muffled but familiar laugh in the background - Ron, Harry thought,
his heart clenching - and irritation flickered over Wormtail's face.

"It's going to be a long afternoon if you carry on that way, Harry."

"Then let's speed it up." Wormtail shifted, and Harry saw a gouged wall and boarded window
behind him. Harry did his best not to let his realisation show, but moved so that he could see
into McGonagall's office, and mimed writing something. "I know you've got Ron and
Hermione there with you, so how about you tell me what I'm supposed to do to get them
back."
"Nothing gets past you, does it?" Wormtail muttered.

McGonagall placed a quill and bit of parchment on the floor, and Harry crouched and
wrote SHRIEKING SHACK, then backed out of the office again. A moment later, three silver
cats patronus cats and one real McGonagall-cat dashed past his feet.

"Well?" Harry asked. "What do you want?"

"Same thing I wanted in December," Wormtail said. "The cloak."

"And like I said in December," Harry replied, "I don't have it. Padfoot's the only one that
knows where it is, and he'd never-"

"-give it to me," Wormtail said wryly. "Yes, I know. But he'll give it to you, if you ask, and
you're going to; as you've already pointed out, I have Ron and Hermione."

"And let me guess," Harry said, giving him a stony look, "I'm not allowed to tell Padfoot why
I want it?"

"Tell Sirius whatever you'd like," Wormtail said, waving a hand. "Just get it. We'll talk again
once you have."

His face disappeared and Harry let out a growl and stalked back into McGonagall's office,
where Ginny was waiting.

"All right?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said. "Brilliant." Ginny snorted. Harry went to poke around the fireplace;
he found Floo powder in a small box on the mantel and tossed some into the grate.

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," he said, and Ginny, who looked like she'd been about
to say something, withdrew to sit down in McGonagall's chair. Harry kneeled down and stuck
his head into the green flames, holding his breath so he wouldn't choke on soot as his head
was whisked through the Floo.

Dora was in the kitchen, as Padfoot had said she would be. She slopped tea on herself in her
haste to get to her feet, but didn't even comment on it, just flicked her wand to vanish the
mess and came to kneel by the fireplace. He didn't think he'd ever seen Dora in proper Auror-
mode before, and, while she wasn't as grim and no-nonsense as Padfoot could get, there was
a certain intensity about her. She certainly wasn't her normal, cheery self; her hair was a dark,
very serious brown that made her look like Andy.

"Get Padfoot," Harry said, "tell him to bring the cloak. Wormtail has Ron and Hermione."
Dora's eyes closed briefly, and she nodded. "McGonagall's office."

Harry pulled himself out of the fireplace - she'd probably need it, or Padfoot would. Ginny
was watching him from McGonagall's chair.

"You should go back to the common room."

"We're supposed to stay here," she said, offering him the parchment he'd written on earlier.
McGonagall had added her own note to it:

If you leave this office before I return, consider yourselves expelled.

Harry snorted.

"And if you ignore her," Ginny said, eyeing Harry as if trying to work out if he would or not,
"I think there's some sort of rule about you needing a Weasley with you when you run off into
danger."

Harry snorted again, and threw himself down in the chair opposite hers, only to leap to his
feet when Padfoot burst out of the fireplace a few seconds later. He had the cloak - messily
folded - in one hand, and his wand in the other, and such a fierce look on his face that Harry
doubted he'd need either. It was nice, in an awful sort of way, to have him there; it wasn't
often they had the chance to deal with these sorts of things together.

"Peterl has Ron and Hermione?"

"He's in the shack. McGonagall's gone to get him." It would be nice if things resolved that
easily, but somehow Harry doubted they would. Padfoot put a hand on his shoulder and
squeezed.

"Just Peter? Or are the others with him?"

"I think he's alone at the moment," Harry said. Surely if Crouch or Polkov were with him,
they'd have healed his face before he spoke to Harry through the mirror.

The fire flared green again and Dora tumbled out.

"Just told Marlene," she said. "She's going to let Remus know you're not coming, then go to
Robards' and wait until we know more." She glanced at Ginny, still sitting in McGonagall's
chair and arched an eyebrow. "Evening, Professor."

"Mrs Lupin," Ginny said, sounding uncannily like McGonagall. Dora laughed, and Harry
managed a weak smile, but Padfoot looked unimpressed.

"Dora…"

"Sirius," she said in a similar tone. Padfoot opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "If you're
going to say anything except thanks for coming, I don't want to hear it. I'm an Auror- and a
better trained one than you, I might add, thanks to my time in France."

"Dora, please," he said, eyes on her stomach.

The baby, Harry thought, looking at Dora with dread. She leaned against McGonagall's desk,
with her arms folded and her wand in her hand.

"That's not a thank you," she pointed out, scowling.

"No, it's not," Padfoot said. "It's a please go home. You haven't lost family to Peter yet." He
looked at her stomach again. "Let's keep it that way."

Her eyes went to Harry, and then to Padfoot, pointedly, and she said, "I intend to."

"Dora-"

"You're not family?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

There was a tense silence in the office for a few moments, then Padfoot swore. Dora had
won; Harry could tell from his scent.

"Right," he said sounding very put-upon, looking at Dora, then Harry, and then Ginny for
good measure. "Right, fine. Stay. But no one leaves this office without my permission. Are
we clear?" He looked around again, as if daring anyone to argue.

Harry sat back down and Dora adjusted so that she was properly perched on the desk. Ginny
stayed where she was, albeit wider-eyed than before.

"Good," Padfoot sighed, and leaned against the wall to wait.

 School under lockdown

To start with, Draco hadn't thought much of his friends' tardiness. Granger was prompt by
nature, but neither of the other two were; Weasley was too laid-back to get worked up over
things like the time, and Potter had the most incredible ability to get side-tracked. Between
mirror-calls with Black, Wood and the Quidditch team, Creevey and his camera and his
questions, strange conversations with Lovegood or Zabini, and Potter's own - occasionally
dangerous - curiosity, it was frankly astounding that he ever made it anywhere.

Besides, when Draco, his father and his brother made it down to Hagrid's hut, Dumbledore
was already present, and more than capable of entertaining Draco. Aside from a few strange
conversations with him in first year, Draco had never had much to do with the Headmaster,
but he had a fair bit of admiration for the man after only a few short minutes; anyone that
could handle Father and Fudge so easily with nothing more than polite questions and vague
smiles, was wholly deserving of it.

But, when a flushed and dishevelled McGonagall had interrupted about halfway through
Buckbeak's defence and taken Dumbledore away with her, the other three were still yet to
arrive.

It had been almost an hour since then, and Draco was now certain they weren't coming.
Involved as they had been in the research, and fond as they were of Hagrid, whatever had
kept them from coming down must have been significant, though Draco couldn't imagine
what it might be:

Perhaps Granger had failed her exam and was inconsolable… but how difficult could muggle
studies be for a muggleborn? Or perhaps Weasley One or Two had injured themselves with
some experiment or prank and Weasley was keeping vigil in the Hospital Wing. Or, perhaps
Potter had stumbled across some sort of dark scheme that needed thwarting before dinner and
had decided he'd be the one to do it.

But none of those things would explain why all three of them were absent; if one of them was
occupied, surely the other two would still have come down.

But perhaps it's better this way, Draco thought, miserably, looking at Hagrid, who'd run out
of tears while they were waiting, and was sitting, quiet and puffed-eyed, with a soaked
yellow and blue floral handkerchief dangling from one hand.

"I really think we ought to wait for the Headmaster to return before we- go through with it…"
Fudge said, turning his bowler hat over in his hands. "He was quite adamant about being
present."

Hydrus, who'd deigned to touch the chair he was sitting on but absolutely nothing else the
entire time they'd been there, twitched out of the way as Fang moved; the big dog abandoned
his spot pressed against Draco and padded over to rest his head on Hagrid's leg.
"If he wanted to be present, he oughtn't have gone running off," Father said. "I say we get on
with things." Draco kept his expression cool but blank, refusing to give Father any
satisfaction at all.

"Well… yes, perhaps…" Fudge said. "If everyone else is in favour?" Old Mr Leeche said
nothing; he'd nodded off about twenty minutes ago, but Draco didn't think anyone else had
noticed. Macnair was also silent. He didn't even turn away from the window - he'd been
watching Buckbeak since the decision was made - but he did reach out to caress the blade of
his axe. Hagrid blew his nose loudly.

Draco swallowed and looked away.

"Well," Fudge said, clearly feeling underwhelmed by the response. He glanced at Father. "No
point in dragging out the unpleasantness… sure Dumbledore will understand…" Father
nodded and Fudge cleared his throat. "All right. The official notice of execution - you'll have
to sign as a witness, Hagrid, and you, Macnair, so listen in…"

Macnair turned away from the window.

"It is the decision," Fudge said, "of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures
that the hippogriff Buckbeak…" Father glanced Draco's way again, clearly looking for a
response. Draco gave him nothing, kept his face smooth, though his insides were tangled. "...
shall be executed on..."

Hagrid let out a loud, choked sob, and the tangles in Draco's chest writhed like snakes. He
felt his mask slip.

"Please don't do this, Father," he said. "Please."

"The Committee made the decision," Father said, arching an eyebrow, "not me."

Lie, Draco's mind supplied.

"Please," Draco said again.

But, though he got the impression Father was pleased Draco was begging, he could tell they
were well past the point where it would do him any good.

Fudge had finished reading, and Hagrid was trying to sign the parchment; his hand was
shaking so badly he snapped three quills before he managed it.

"Macnair."

Macnair drifted away from the window and scribbled on the parchment, a dark, eager glint in
his eye.

"I'm sorry," Draco said to Hagrid. "I thought…"

"Yeh did what yeh could," Hagrid said tearfully, thumping Draco on the shoulder. "'S'not your
fault…"
But if I hadn't told Father about freeing Dobby, he wouldn't have been as angry-

Draco stood so quickly he knocked over his chair, which was saying something because
Hagrid's furniture was very large and heavy.

"Draco…" Father said warningly.

"Loo," Draco choked and scrambled into Hagrid' bathroom. He shut the heavy door behind
him. He'd been in the bathroom exactly once before, back in first year, and been rather
horrified by how primitive it was. It hadn't improved at all in the past two years; there was a
trough of water with a bucket, which Draco presumed was used to flush the enormous toilet,
and nothing else. Despite that, the room would serve his purposes: "Dobby!" he hissed,
crossing his fingers.

"This is ridiculous," Father said, and Draco heard him stand. "Draco, come out at once-"

"Leave the lad be, Malfoy," Hagrid said, sniffing.

Dobby appeared with a quiet pop, and Draco dove forward to clamp a hand over his his
mouth before he could say anything. They were both still - Dobby's eyes enormous and
confused - for a few seconds, but no one in the hut's other room seemed to have heard
anything:

"You're in my way," Father said curtly. Dobby let out a muffled squeak at the sound of
Father's voice.

"I meant ter be," Hagrid replied, his voice closer than Father's. "'S'my house, and if Draco
wants ter use the loo, he ruddy well can!"

Draco pressed a finger to his lips and released Dobby, who watched the door, trembling.

"There's a hippogriff outside," Draco breathed. "A big horse- thing. I need you to get it away
from here - now. Please. They're going to kill it otherwise." Dobby looked rather startled.
"Please. I need you to help."

Slowly, nervously, Dobby nodded.

"Thank you," Draco said. "Now go - and don't let anyone see you!" He vanished without a
sound.

Draco's heart was pounding. He'd have liked to splash water on his face to calm himself, but
didn't trust the trough to be clean; likely as not, Hagrid had filled it from the lake, or some
swamp in the forest.

He took a few deep breaths, clearing his expression out of habit before realising it might be
best not to. If he looked too calm, Father might be suspicious.

Draco pulled the door open, and stepped out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth on his sleeve
for effect.
Hagrid, who seemed to have planted himself in front of the door, shuffled out of the way.

"You look awful," Hydrus told him.

"Yeh all right?"

Draco nodded at Hagrid, glancing quickly at Father and then away again, as if embarrassed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Father curl his lip in distaste.

"Lucius," Fudge said, "if the boy's ill, perhaps he ought to stay inside-"

Hydrus' eyes brightened, and Draco was sure he was about to declare that he too was feeling
ill, but Father spoke first.

"He's fine," Father said, daring Draco with his eyes to disagree. It was beyond tempting to
disagree for the sake of it, but if Dobby was able to pull this off he wanted to go along and
see Father's face. Draco said nothing. "Shall we?"

Draco looked at Macnair, who had his axe in hand and was over by the door, doing a poor job
at concealing his impatience. Then he looked out the window at Buckbeak, still sitting in
Hagrid's garden.

He's still there…

Fudge woke Leeche and helped him over to the door. Hagrid was crying again and Hydrus
looked like he might be sick.

Draco was feeling genuinely ill himself now; it was an awfully big ask of poor Dobby to find
a way to move the hippogriff. What if he didn't manage it? Dobby wasn't very tall or very
strong, and Buckbeak was both of those things. What if Buckbeak attacked Dobby, like he
had Hydrus? Or, what if Dobby was seen? Father would know Draco had arranged for him to
be there, and he was sure to tell the Minister. What if Dobby and Draco went to Azkaban?

"Come, Draco," Father said, gesturing for him.

"Come, Draco," Hydrus mimicked, speaking under his breath, voice bitter. Fudge glanced at
him, bewildered. Father clearly hadn't heard; he grasped Draco's shoulder, fingers digging in
when Draco tried to shrug him off, and steered him toward the door.

Draco felt like his heart was in his throat as they stepped outside. The sun was just starting to
lower, and it was an unusually chilly evening, and Draco almost couldn't bear to look,
because if Buckbeak was still there, like he had been a minute ago, then Dobby had failed,
had-

"Oh dear," Fudge said. Father's hand spasmed on Draco's shoulder. Draco's heart leapt and he
looked up at the empty garden.

"Where is it?" Leeche asked, looking to Macnair. Macnair swung his axe at Hagrid's
scarecrow with a loud thud, and straw went everywhere.
"I saw it, just now, thought the window," Fudge said. Hydrus looked around, nodding, and
Draco thought he seemed a little relieved. Hagrid let out a wail of happiness and began to
sob.

"Gone," he blubbered. "Gone, he's gone! He's gone an' pulled himself free!"

Father turned on Draco, hand tightening.

"Convenient, isn't it," he hissed, "that your housemates never arrived. They've stolen it-"

"Father," Draco said, pressing a hand to his chest in surprise, "you heard what the hippogriff
did to Hydrus. How could anyone have got close enough to such a dangerous creature, to take
it?"

"Where is it?"

"Apparently not here."

Father moved like he was going for his wand, but Fudge's cry of surprise stopped him:

"What on Earth…!?" Four figures on broomsticks came pelting over the top of the forest; one
of the figures veered off toward the school gate, two sped past on the way to the castle, and
the fourth came directly toward them. "Dumbledore!?" Fudge cried, and it was indeed the
Headmaster.

His purple hat was lopsided and his beard had been swept back over one shoulder. It would
have been funny, except for the grave look on his face.

"Flying?!" Fudge demanded. "You ran off in such a hurry to go flying?!"

"Two students are missing," Dumbledore said.

"Draco's friends, no doubt," Father said. "Fear not, Dumbledore; they'll show up shortly -
stolen hippogriff and all." He gave Draco a sharp look.

"Do you mean to tell me Peter Pettigrew has taken Buckbeak as well?!" Dumbledore gave
Father an incredulous look. Father turned a funny shade of pink and started to splutter. "That
is most troubling news indeed." Draco saw the briefest flicker of amusement in the
Headmaster's eyes, but it was gone quickly.

Then Draco realised what the Headmaster had said.

"Pettigrew?!" he and Fudge said in unison.

"He's taken students?" Fudge asked, wringing his hands. "Have the Aurors-"

"They are aware of the situation," Dumbledore said gravely.

"Potter," Draco said numbly. "It's Potter, isn't it." It was always Potter.
"No' Harry!" Hagrid said, aghast.

"For once, it is not," Dumbledore said, quietly. Draco sagged, relieved. "Mr Potter is quite
safe, in Professor McGonagall's office."

"And the others?" Draco asked. It was hard to tell through his beard, but Draco thought the
Headmaster's mouth might have turned down.

"I suggest you all head inside." Dumbledore said, nodding at Hagrid's hut. "Alastor has gone
to retrieve the Dementors from the gates, and they will soon be patrolling the grounds with
instructions to detain anyone and everyone they come across."

"I think I'd prefer to leave entirely," Father said.

"I'm afraid no one will be leaving until the missing students are found," Dumbledore said.
"The school is under lockdown."

As if on cue, McGonagall's voice echoed loudly over the grounds, announcing the lockdown,
and ordering students back to their Houses immediately. Draco shared a look with Hydrus,
who looked pale and uncertain.

"I'll wait at the castle," Father said.

"Of course," Dumbledore said politely. "I'm certain we can find an empty classroom for you
to wait in-"

"Empty classroom?" Father sneered. "I'm a member of the Board of Governors-"

"Oh, I'd leave someone with you, of course, so you weren't unprotected."

"Severus, perhaps?" Father said.

"No, not Severus, he's merely our Potions Master," Dumbledore said. The twinkle was back
in his eye. "Alastor, I think. As an ex-Auror, he'd be more than up to the task of ensuring your
safety." He nodded to himself.

"That won't be necessary," Father said stiffly.

"It's no trouble," Dumbledore assured him. "After all, we dare not risk the safety of one of the
members of the Board of Governors…" Father seemed to have nothing to say to that, but his
jaw was very tight. "Hagrid, I trust you are able to see to the protection of the younger Mr
Malfoys, the Minister, and his guests?"

"O'course, sir," Hagrid said, straightening. "They'll be safe with me."

"Wonderful," Dumbledore said. "In you go, then. Come along, Lucius." He swung a leg over
his broomstick. "I'm afraid I only have the one broomstick, but time is of the essence…"
"...no sign of them - or anyone - recently," McGonagall said tiredly. She'd chased Ginny out
of her chair as soon as she arrived back, and reclaimed it for herself. She looked like she
needed it.

"But I saw-"

"I am quite certain, Mr Potter," she said. "The Shack is empty."

There were footsteps outside, and Harry, Padfoot and McGonagall looked up a few moments
before Ginny and Dora did.

Cedric Diggory and another Hufflepuff boy appeared in the corridor outside, both laden with
library books, pausing when they caught a look into the office; the door was open, as
McGonagall had likely assumed the only interruptions would be from teachers. Cedric's eyes
landed on Harry, curious. McGonagall sighed, and half-rose, but there were more footsteps
outside, then Snape's voice:

"Twenty points from Hufflepuff, Diggory, and twenty from you too, Stebbins." Both boys
twitched, looking further down the corridor.

"Forty points? For what?!" Stebbins asked.

"For reaching fifth year and not understanding the meaning of the word immediately," Snape
said, stepping into view.

"That's not fai-"

But Cedric grabbed the other boy's arm, pulled him past Snape and off down the corridor,
shooting a last, concerned look into McGonagall's office as he went.

Snape strode in a moment later, eyes flicking over the office's occupants before landing on
McGonagall.

She was pursing her lips, but didn't say anything except, "The Floo, Severus?"

"Shut off," he said curtly. She nodded. Snape hesitated, looking down, then at Ginny almost
guiltily, before his eyes fell on Harry and stayed there.

"Granger and Weasley are with Pettigrew-" A dark, rather fierce loathing flared in Snape's
scent when he mentioned Wormtail, but there was little suggestion of it in his expression. "-
but… what of Draco?"

"With Hagrid." Dumbledore strode into the crowded office. He took in the sight of Padfoot,
Dora and the two professors calmly, smiled kindly at Ginny, and then his eyes met Harry's,
searching. Harry didn't realise he'd been worrying about Draco until he felt something in him
settle at Dumbledore's words. In fact, Dumbledore's presence as a whole was very settling; as
with Padfoot, Harry was incredibly grateful to have the Headmaster there.

"And Lucius and the Minister?" McGonagall asked, pursing her lips again.
"Both decided to stay with Hagrid, and are no doubt enjoying a rock cake, or a stoat
sandwich," Dumbledore said, and his beard twitched. Padfoot grinned. "Now-" And
Dumbledore was abruptly serious again. "-the Floo?"

"Closed," Snape said. Dumbledore nodded.

"I myself have extended the school's protective enchantments," Dumbledore said, "to
incorporate a good portion of the forest, the road to Hogsmeade, Honeydukes, the
Honeydukes passage, and the Shrieking Shack. Minerva?"

"Filius and Pomona are overseeing the return of the students to their common rooms," she
said crisply. "Percy Weasley has the Gryffindors in hand - or as much in hand as they can
be..." Ginny grinned. "I have informed him of your whereabouts Potter, Weasley." She gave
them stern looks.

"Farley and Wilkes will oversee the Slytherins," Snape said.

"Very good." Dumbledore looked to Padfoot. "Can you think of any other precautions,
Sirius?"

"I forgot I'd already told you about Honeydukes," Padfoot mused, looking at Dumbledore.
McGonagall and Snape shared a look, McGonagall with raised eyebrows, and Snape with the
slightest furrow of his brow.

"Honeydukes?"

"After Peter escaped Azkaban, Sirius informed me of a number of ways that he might try to
gain access to the school. One of these was through a secret passage on the third floor that
comes out in the Honeydukes cellar."

"On the third- where?" McGonagall asked.

"The statue of the one-eyed witch," Harry said impatiently. They didn't have time for this, not
when Ron and Hermione were with Wormtail. McGonagall gave him a sharp look, Snape a
sour one, and Dumbledore and Dora amused ones, before Padfoot saved him:

"When we were at school, we found it, and the spell that opens it."

"How?" she asked faintly, dragging her eyes off Harry to look at Padfoot. "One would think
the four of you had nothing better to do as students than to maraud about inspecting the
masonry!" Padfoot opened his mouth, but McGonagall rounded on Dumbledore before he
could say anything. "And you, Albus, really should have said something about this secret
passageway before now!"

"I arranged protections as soon as I learned of it," Dumbledore assured her. "I have set the
portraits in that corridor to watch it, and placed an age line besides. No one of age is able to
pass in or out - as a human, or an animal."

"Have you accounted for dog years?" Padfoot asked thoughtfully. "Or rat years, or whiche-"
"Padfoot!" Harry said. Interrupting the teachers was one thing, but Padfoot was fair game,
where Harry was concerned.

"It is secure," Dumbledore said.

McGonagall's lips were as thin as Harry had ever seen them, but her expression softened
when she looked at Harry:

"In that case," she said, "we have far more pressing matters to attend to."

"Portkeys," Padfoot said, pointing at Dumbledore. Dora glanced at him. "Crouch is good with
portkeys. If he's involved, or if he's given something to Wormtail, it might be able to get
through the school's wards. Remember the Ministry?" Dumbledore stroked his beard,
frowning. "I've been doing a fair bit of research into it - mainly an old essay of Crouch's, and
some long sessions with the Hit Wizards."

"You'd be able to keep one of his portkeys in?" Dumbledore asked.

"I think so," Padfoot said, but not with much certainty.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, gesturing to him. "Come with-"

Harry twitched as his mirror burned, and everyone turned to look at him.

"Harry Potter," Wormtail called. Padfoot snarled as Harry pulled his mirror out and put his
hand out. "Harry?" Harry passed Padfoot the mirror. He stepped away from Dora, obviously
not wanting Wormtail to know she was there, and gestured behind the mirror for everyone to
be quiet. Then, he must have activated the mirror, because Wormtail spoke to him: "Hello,
Sirius," he sighed, sounding rather unsurprised to see him, "is Harry there?"

"If you come forward now, Peter," Padfoot said curtly, ignoring his question, "you might still
have half a chance. Where are you, and where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Where's Harry?" Wormtail repeated.

"He's here, and listening, but you're-"

"Harry," Wormtail called, "can you take the mirror from Sirius, please? I'd like to talk to
you."

"You're going to be dealing with me," Padfoot said. "Not Harry-"

There was a hoarse yell of pain from within the mirror.

"Ron," Ginny mouthed, but Harry didn't need her to say it; he'd recognised the voice. On her
face, Harry could see the same worried fury Harry himself was feeling. McGonagall had
clearly recognised it too; she had a hand to her mouth, and looked very old.

"Put Harry on," Wormtail said into the silent office.

"Peter-"

But Harry went to stand beside Padfoot, who gave him a half disapproving, half worried
look. Harry clenched his jaw, and Padfoot held the mirror back a bit so they could both see
into it. Wormtail sat in the same place as before, in front of the gouged wall that Harry was so
certain was part of the Shrieking Shack.

"I can see you've managed to locate Sirius," Wormtail said, "but did he bring the cloak?"

"We have it," Harry said, glancing over at Moody, who'd just limped into the office.

"Show me," Wormtail said, eyes brightening.

Harry held out a hand, and Ginny moved toward the cloak on the desk, only to be barred
from it by Moody's scarred arm. Moody offered him a shimmering bundle. Harry moved to
take it, a bit confused; it looked like his cloak, but wasn't. It was a bit smaller, a bit thinner,
and the shimmer was slightly different, as were the patterns in the fabric. It looked like
someone had tried to copy his cloak, and he was just cocking his head at Moody when
understanding dawned.

"Here," Harry said, stepping back into sight of the mirror. He passed the cloak over his hands,
so that Wormtail would be able to see them disappearing and reappearing. Dumbledore,
McGonagall, and Moody slipped out of the office, and Harry could hear them murmuring
indistinctly in the corridor.

"Hold it up closer," he said. Harry was relieved Wormtail wasn't close enough to smell the
deception; all he had to look at were their expressions and it was easy to keep his expression
clear of anything but anger. Wormtail chewed his lip, looking between Harry, Padfoot and the
cloak. "This all seems too easy." Padfoot swore at him.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked. Wormtail gave him a look that was almost
fond, and seemed to relax.

"I'll show you," he said. "Just you, though." He gave Padfoot a stern look. "Bring the cloak,
and meet me in the fourth floor corridor. There's a large vase about halfway along - I'll be
waiting for-"

"Harry's not going anywhere near you," Padfoot said irritably. "I'll come, unarmed-"

"I won't be there, if it's you," Wormtail said, "or any of the other staff or students."

"Peter-"

"Don't be difficult, Sirius," Wormtail said, clicking his tongue. "Ron and Hermione won't
thank you for it." He looked at Harry. "I'll see you when you get there."

The mirror went black.

 An end to negotiations

"You're not going," Padfoot said, considering Harry's extended hand for a moment before he
set the mirror into it.

"Obviously," McGonagall snapped, giving Harry a look that dared him to protest. Harry
almost did anyway; he was in no hurry to walk into what was obviously a trap, but he wasn't
about to leave Ron and Hermione with Wormtail either. For them, he'd go - what other option
was there? "The question is, who do we send?"

"Not Harry," Padfoot said firmly.

"No one is suggesting we send Harry," Dumbledore said calmly, and Padfoot seemed to relax.

"Harry is," Harry muttered. As one, the teachers, Dora and Padfoot all turned to stare - and in
Padfoot and McGonagall's case, glare - at him. "What other options are there?"

"I'll go," Ginny said, into the tense silence. "Wormtail doesn't want an Auror or a teacher, but
Harry can't go, because he's Harry." Harry scowled, and Ginny noticed. "Ron's my brother,"
she told him, her chin coming up. "I have as much right to rescue him as you do."

"He said he wouldn't be there if any other staff or students came," Harry said, and Ginny's
eyebrows creased, but before either of them could say any more, McGonagall spoke first,
tone furious:

"Neither of you will be doing any rescuing!"

"Gryffindors," both Snape and Moody muttered.

"I don't want to go," Harry said, and Padfoot snorted. "But we can't-" If anyone noticed his
voice breaking on the last word, no one said anything about it. "-leave Hermione and Ron-"

"Harry," Padfoot said, not unkindly, "shut up. I don't suppose you have any Polyjuice Potion
around the place?" Padfoot glanced around the office. Hope flared in Harry's chest, and then
wilted a bit; if there was Polyjuice, he wouldn't have to go, but someone would. Would it be
Padfoot, Dora? One of the teachers? Snape shook his head, as did Moody.

"No Polyjuice," Dora said, grinning, "but I can do one better…" And her face began to
change into Harry's. She shot up an inch or two, her hair grew untidy, and Harry watched in
rather morbid fascination as a familiar scar split her forehead. Moody nodded in approval.
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I just need the glasses and your uniform - for the
scent."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. Dora planted her hands on her hips in a way that Harry
didn't think he'd ever done in his life. "The baby, Dora…" Padfoot, who'd looked relieved for
half a second, looked stricken at the reminder.
"The baby and I will be fine," she said, with a bit too much confidence for it to be genuine.
"We'll take Mad-Eye's cloak, make the swap, and this'll all be over by dinner. Besides, I don't
hear anyone with any better ideas."

"He won't let you make the swap, though," Harry said. "It's a trap, it must be, otherwise why
would he ask for me, if not to talk or- or-?"

"Because - and no offence, Potter - you're the only one here he's got a chance of beating,"
Moody said.

"In a fair fight," Padfoot muttered, "but it won't be fair, this is Wormtail."

"All the more reason, then," McGonagall said.

"Not necessarily," Snape said. "Potter has a habit of being notoriously lucky in extenuating
circumstances-"

"We're not relying on luck," Padfoot snapped, and Snape - surprisingly - made a placating
gesture.

"The only thing we are doing," Dora said, "is wasting time."

Harry and Padfoot gave in with rather ill grace; Padfoot transfigured a bit of string into a pair
of glasses that were identical to Harry's - except Dora could actually see through them - and a
house elf was summoned with a fresh set of robes. Harry and Dora went to the nearest
bathroom to change - Harry into the new set, Dora into the ones Harry had been wearing, in
the hopes that Harry's scent would add to the effectiveness of her disguise. There wasn't
much she could do about the slight bulge of her belly, but the school robes did a decent job of
hiding it.

When they arrived back, McGonagall had left to take Ginny back to the Gryffindor common
room, Moody was in the corridor, talking to what sounded like Marlene and Robards through
his Sidekick, and Dumbledore and Padfoot were on their feet while Snape loomed in the
corner by the bookshelf.

"Nymphadora-" Dora twitched but didn't protest. "-will need your wand, Harry," Dumbledore
said gravely. It made sense, of course - the less reason Wormtail had to question Dora-as-
Harry, the better, but Harry still felt oddly bereft as he passed it over.

Dora gave it an experimental flick, and a quill on McGonagall's desk turned into a long,
green leaf. She nodded.

"How do I look?"

Padfoot studied her critically, glanced at Harry, then back at Dora, then ruffled her hair to
mess it up further, and told her to scowl more. Harry scowled, then realised he was only
furthering Padfoot's point and stopped. Padfoot sniffed her twice, then had Harry pat her hair
and arms and face to try to get as much of his scent onto her as possible.
"I can still tell them apart," Padfoot said, when Harry was done. "But I doubt many other
people could." He hung Moody's cloak over her arm. "Mirror?" he asked, looking at Harry.
Harry passed that over to Dora as well. "Do you have your Sidekick?" She patted her pocket,
nodding. "And you know where you're going?"

"I'm not that old," she said, rolling her eyes.

"All right," Padfoot said, reluctantly. "We'll walk with you for some of the way, then we've
got to go to Dumbledore's office to set up the portkey wards." He must have seen the look on
Harry's face. "It shouldn't take long," he said. "You'll wait here with Snape." Snape's
expression was stiff.

Padfoot held out something long and thin out to Harry, as Dora and Dumbledore stepped out
into the corridor.

Harry recognised his dad's old wand. Snape seemed to as well, because his lip curled but he
kept any opinions he might have had to himself.

"I grabbed it with the cloak," Padfoot said, looking grimly amused, "figuring one of us would
end up without a wand. Can't say I'm thrilled to be right..."

Harry curled his fingers around it, feeling far better now about having given his wand up to
Dora.

Then Padfoot squeezed his shoulder and left, and Harry sat down under Snape's watchful eye
to wait and hope.

"-do hope Harry and Severus have kept civil tongues," Dumbledore said, as they returned to
McGonagall's office at a brisk pace.

"I don't care if they have or haven't," Sirius said, "as long as Harry's still there when we get
back." He didn't actually think Harry would try to go off alone - if nothing else, he'd be
putting Dora at risk - but then again, it was Harry. Still, Snape wouldn't hesitate to hex him if
he did try to go off, and he wasn't likely to be gentle about it.

Sure enough, as soon as they were within what must have been earshot, Harry stepped out
into the corridor, and Sirius heard a chair scrape and Snape say, "Potter, sit d-"

But Harry's shoulders sagged ever so slightly at the sight of them - Sirius thought it was both
relief and disappointment - and a moment later, Snape stepped out and noticed them as well.
He stalked back into the office, but Harry waited. He was nervous, Sirius could smell it.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"The wards have been adjusted," Dumbledore said.

"Where are the others?" Sirius asked.

"Moody's-"
"Professor Moody, Harry," Dumbledore said gently.

"Right," Harry said. "Sorry. He's gone to see if he can follow Dora through the walls." Harry
gestured toward his eye. "And M- Professor-" Harry glanced at Dumbledore, whose beard
twitched. "-McGonagall's still taking Ginny, I think."

Sirius' ears pricked at the sound of footsteps at the same time as Harry spun to look down the
corridor.

Thunk, went Mad Eye's leg, then just a normal footstep, then thunk again. Lighter footsteps
wove in and out, and then Dora and Mad Eye came around the corner together. There was no
one else with them. Dora's furious, worried expression was wholly hers, though she still
looked like Harry.

"He knew I wasn't Harry without even coming to meet me," she said, digging Harry's wand
and mirror out of her borrowed robes, and passing them over to him.

"What?" Sirius asked, as they stepped back into the office. Dora tossed Mad-Eye's cloak
down onto the desk beside Harry's. "How-"

"The portraits?" Dumbledore asked, concerned.

"The Map," she said, rubbing a hand over her face.

"What?!" Sirius hissed.

"Map?" Snape asked cautiously. Sirius and Harry exchanged a look.

"Ron had it," Harry said grimly, then looked to Dumbledore. "Sir, if he's searched Ron, then
he's probably searched Hermione. If he's found her-" Harry's eyes slid over Dora and Sirius,
who arched an eyebrow at his godson. "-necklace…"

"A troubling thought indeed," Dumbledore murmured.

"What necklace?" Sirius demanded, at the same time as Mad-Eye said, "I thought the
students weren't meant to know about that."

"Potter's rather good at knowing things he shouldn't," Snape drawled, and Harry fidgeted
guiltily under the scrutiny of Mad-Eye's magical eye. Sirius looked at Dora, who just
shrugged to say she didn't know either.

"Naturally," Dumbledore said, giving Harry an almost fond look. "Nymphadora, can we
assume you spoke with Pettigrew?"

"He wants to speak to Harry again - the real Harry," she added, a little sourly, and nodded at
the mirror in Harry's hands.

"He knew you weren't you through the mirror?" Sirius asked.
She nodded unhappily and said, "Dunno if he recognised where I was and matched it to the
Map, or if it was the way I spoke, but he knew." Sirius gritted his teeth.

"Sirius Black," Harry said into the mirror, and Sirius reached for it, but Harry twisted out of
reach, allowing Sirius to see into it, but not touch it. Sirius caught Harry's eye in the mirror a
moment before it wavered and Peter appeared.

He squinted at Harry, then scowled.

"Did I misspeak?" he asked, voice almost shrill with irritation. "I thought I was quite clear
earlier, when I said to send Harry-"

"You said not to send any of the other students, or the staff," Sirius said crisply. "Dora's
neither." Peter opened his mouth, closed it, then gave Sirius an ugly look.

"I said before, Sirius, that if you were difficult, Ron and Hermione wouldn't thank you for it."
Peter swallowed, seemed to gird himself, then turned to look at something Sirius couldn't see.
"Sorry, Hermione," he said, almost regretfully, "but Sirius has been playing games, even
though I told him n-not to." He jabbed his wand, and Harry's fingers went white on the
mirror's edges.

Sirius tensed, waiting for Hermione's scream, but it never came. Peter twisted his wand, but
still there was silence.

After a few seconds Peter lowered his wand. Sirius could hear the faint sounds of someone
breathing heavily and shakily through their nose.

"Doesn't want to scream, apparently," Peter said, frowning out of the mirror. "What about
you, Ron?"

"Oh uh orsell," Ron replied, sounding like he'd been gagged or Tongue-Tied. Peter's
expression spasmed, and he stabbed his wand forward. Ron grunted once, but otherwise was
quiet.

"Don't-!" Harry said forcefully. Peter lowered his wand again, and this time it was Ron's
breathing Sirius could hear.

"Are you going to listen?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said mulishly. Sirius gave a curt nod.

"And do as I tell you?" Peter said.

"Yes," Harry said darkly.

"Harry," Sirius said under his breath, warningly. Harry said nothing.

"Sirius," Peter said in the same tone, then, looked expectantly at Harry.
"Yes," Harry said again, impatiently. Peter studied Harry for a moment, then turned to look at
Sirius.

"Hmm," Peter said doubtfully. "We'll go step-by-step, just in case." Sirius bared his teeth.
"Harry, have Dumbledore, Moody, Snape, Lupin and Sirius stand against a wall, would you?"
They started to move towards McGonagall's bookshelf. "And McGonagall when she gets
there - she's just around the corner." Sirius glared at Peter, unmoving. He sighed and flicked
his wand. There was a yelp.

"Padfoot," Harry said sharply, looking about ready to drag Sirius over to the wall by his dog-
tags. Swallowing, Sirius moved to join the others. As Peter had predicted, McGonagall
arrived a few seconds later, and went to Dumbledore when he gestured for her, eyes on Harry
and the mirror.

"Good," Peter said approvingly. "Now, Harry, put the mirror up somewhere that'll let them all
see me." Harry looked over at them, worried.

"On the mantel should be fine, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, and Harry went to place it
there. Dumbledore's fingers moved ever so slightly, and Harry's cloak slid soundlessly off the
desk and out of sight. Peter didn't notice, just surveyed them all smugly from the mantel.

"Wands out," he said, "all of you." Slowly, Sirius drew his wand, thinking all the while that it
was a pity he couldn't cast spells through the mirror. "Good," Peter said again. "Give them to
Harry." Snape's sparked irritably and Mad-Eye's tried to wriggle out of his grip, but Harry
held them tightly. "Harry, fan them out so I can see and count them all." Peter was quiet for a
moment as Harry did what he was told. "Without turning away from me or lowering them,
place them on the corner of the desk- no the other corner, the one I can see. Good. Pick up the
cloak and step away." Harry did, and Sirius was even more relieved Dumbledore had thought
to hide Harry's cloak. "See," Peter said, "how easy it is when everyone follows the
instructions."

"What's next?" Sirius asked tersely.

"Nothing for you," Peter said, shrugging. "Harry, though, is going to go the the vase on the
fourth floor, with the cloak, and meet me." He looked to Harry, whose jaw set. "Come on,
Harry." Harry looked at the door. Sirius looked at the wands on the table - Harry's amongst
them - and felt sick.

Sirius had barely taken a step away from the wall when Hermione let out one of the most
awful screams Sirius had ever heard. McGonagall yanked him back into place by the collar of
his robes, like a naughty child. The screaming stopped. Peter looked exasperated and Sirius'
insides twisted with anger and guilt.

"Give us a minute," Sirius said to Peter, eyes flicking to Harry.

"No," Peter said.

"Peter-"
"We're not negotiating, Sirius," Peter said firmly.

"Padfoot..."

"No," Sirius said, not sure whether he was talking to Harry or Peter. "No-"

"Shut up, Sirius," Peter said. "This is well and truly out of your hands, and if you move or
speak again, I'm going to make Ron and Hermione bleed, not just scream." McGonagall
gripped Sirius' arm. Peter turned to Harry. "Harry, I'm not going to ask again. If you're not
going to come - and I can't force you to - then I'm leaving." Harry's eyebrows raised, and
Sirius saw a wary sort of hope on his face. "Oh, no," Peter said, "no, Harry, that's not a good
thing. I wouldn't leave with them still alive. They know where I'm h-hiding, you see, and I
might want to use this place again. And yes, there's always Obliviation, I suppose, but that's
hardly going to impress upon you the importance of listening to me…"

"And you'll let them go?" Harry said, sounding very young. "If I come to meet you, will you
let them go, alive?"

"Yes," Peter said, looking relieved. "I promise."

"Right," Harry said. Sirius saw the moment he made the decision; it was a trap - it had to be,
and Harry had said he knew that - but it had still been obvious all along that Harry was
prepared to go for his friends, if that was what it took, but Sirius saw in his eyes the moment
he decided to go.

"Potter," Snape said stiffly. Harry looked at him, jerked, and took a step backward, wincing,
then went abruptly still. "Good luck." Harry twitched again and nodded.

"Off you go, then, Harry," Peter said. Harry swallowed and strode to the door. Sirius almost
didn't think he was going to look back, but he did.

This was more or less what he'd envisaged every time they argued about Harry rushing off
into danger… except it wasn't. There was no eagerness, no recklessness there. He looked at
Sirius, eyes worried and angry and tired and old, and Sirius thought he finally understood.

There was a chance for Ron and Hermione if he went, and none at all if he didn't. Harry
wasn't the most qualified or experienced person available, but he was the only one
that could go, so how could he not?

Sirius would have for Harry or Remus or - years ago, when it was still an option - James, and
with worse odds. Not that Harry's odds were particularly good, wandless and alone as he was.

It's okay, he wanted to say - not permission, but understanding - or Be careful, or I love you,
kiddo, but he said none of those things, because Peter would have hurt Ron or Hermione if he
tried to. Instead he held Harry's eyes, and hoped Harry could smell those things on him. He
must have, because he seemed to relax.

Then, in the doorway of the office and out of the mirror's view, Harry pulled James' wand out
of his pocket, gave them all a shadow of a smile, and left.
Harry had barely stopped - right beside the vase on the fourth floor - when a small, plain door
appeared on the wall. Harry looked around the corridor.

He couldn't see, hear or smell anything, and with his mirror back in McGonagall's office,
Harry had no way to get in touch with Wormtail and ask what he was supposed to do next;
his best guess was the door, but Hogwarts being Hogwarts he couldn't be certain. It wasn't
unusual for doors to appear in random places.

Still, Wormtail had the Map and was surely watching him. Harry was certain this door wasn't
on the Map, though, and wherever Wormtail was hiding wasn't either, so it was probably a
good start.

Harry knocked once on the door, then, when his knock went unanswered, reached for the
handle and pulled it open.

A dark, narrow stairway greeted him, and at the very top of it - which was a long, long way
up, probably two or three levels of the castle higher - Harry could see flickering orange light.

"Harry!" Wormtail's silhouette appeared at the very top of the staircase. "Shut the door and
come up, won't you?"

He disappeared again, and Harry had no way of knowing if he'd gone to sit down and wait, or
if he was lurking just out of sight ready to Stun and grab Harry when he made it upstairs.

Harry searched his pockets for a quill or something, but all he had was James' wand;
everything else was in the robes and trousers he'd loaned to Dora.

Harry shrugged off his robe instead. He arranged it hastily so that the sleeves were pointing
to the wall where the door had appeared, darting glances up the stairs the whole while.

Then, Harry slipped inside and pulled the door shut. The passage went dark, but for the light
coming from the door upstairs.

Harry eyed the cloak in his arms, then the stairs. He couldn't see Wormtail, but that didn't
mean Wormtail wasn't crouched behind the doorway, listening, and ready to hex him, or try
to get his blood, or portkey him straight to Voldemort as soon as Harry stepped into the room.

He considered pulling the cloak on and trying to sneak up the stairs, but discarded the idea as
soon as he stepped onto the first one; they were not stone as he'd first thought, but a pale grey
wood that creaked beneath his shoes.

Harry wondered if Wormtail had somehow made them that way, or if it was just an
unfortunate coincidence. Either way, it didn't leave him with many options; he eased his
father's wand out of his pocket and held it ready, hidden by the bundles of Moody's cloak.

Bizarrely, Harry was reminded of his first night at Hogwarts waiting to be Sorted; Ron had
said something about a painful test (a lie told to him by Fred or George) and Harry had made
a mental list of the useful spells he knew.
Now, the better part of three years later, he was doing the same. He knew a few good ones
these days; Stunners and Disarmers, for one, and he had a decent Shield Charm as well, but
those weren't what kept coming to mind:

For enemies, the page Snape had shown him had said, and what was Wormtail if not an
enemy? And yet… what if the spell killed Wormtail? There really was no knowing with
Snape, even if Padfoot, Draco, and Dumbledore all seemed to trust him.

He was almost to the top now. Wormtail would almost certainly be able to hear him, but what
Wormtail obviously didn't realise was that he and Harry were evenly matched in that regard;
he could hear Wormtail's careful breathing, and smell him too - a mix of sweat and
anticipation - just behind the doorway, waiting.

Harry tightened his grip on James' wand - still hidden beneath the cloak - took a deep breath
and walked up the last few steps.
 The trade

Wormtail was on him as soon as he stepped through the doorway.

There was a shriek and a muffled shout from somewhere behind Wormtail, but Harry couldn't
afford to look that way, not when Wormtail's long fingernails were digging into his arm, and
he was lazily lifting his wand...

"Relashio!" There was a flash and a squeak and Wormtail let go. Harry raised James' wand at
Wormtail, who had his own wand pointed at Harry. He was panting, though he hadn't done
anything Harry would call strenuous. Perhaps, in his own strange way, he was as nervous as
Harry.

They stared - well, Harry glared - at each other for a moment. Wormtail moved slightly, and
Harry moved in response, keeping him on the opposite side of an imaginary circle.

For enemies… The spell was on the tip of Harry's tongue, but he swallowed it, and adjusted
the cloak in his spare hand. Wormtail's eyes darted to it, then to Harry's face.

"Hand it over, then," Wormtail said.

"Ron and Hermione first," Harry replied. He finally allowed himself to look over Wormtail's
shoulder to where Ron and Hermione sat. They were bound together on the floor between a
battered four-poster and a crackling fireplace, beside a mess of broken glass, sand and gold
that Harry took a moment to recognise as the timeturner.

Ron had a swollen, bloody lump on the side of his head and the beginnings of a black eye.
He and Hermione had little cuts on their faces, and dust and splinters in their hair. Hermione
didn't have any nasty injuries like Ron seemed to, but she was trembling and seemed quite
unable to stop. She smelled of pain. No injuries Harry could see, then, he thought, his mouth
tightening.

Wormtail flicked a spell his way, just a Stunner and not a particularly quick or strong one,
testing.

"Protego." But that was all he did; if he retaliated, it was sure to become a duel, and Harry
wasn't certain he'd win. Wormtail's spell bounced off Harry's shield and hit a large trophy,
sitting on a dusty armchair. The whole room - and it was a truly enormous room - was filled
with all sorts of stuff just like that, piles of it. Harry, who liked to think he knew Hogwarts
fairly well, had never seen anything like it.

"What is this place?" he asked, eyeing a statue of a lion. Its face had been melted by
something a long time ago. Opposite it was the wall Wormtail had been in front of, the one
that Harry had been so sure had been in the Shrieking Shack. Which meant… yes; Padfoot's
mirror sat on the bed - blank and empty - with the Map.

Wormtail moved - Harry's eyes snapped back to him - but it was only to shrug:
"My home," Wormtail said. "For the past year, anyway." He cleared his throat. "Now," he
said, "the cloak."

"Ron and Hermione."

"I'm not turning my back on you while you've got a wand," Wormtail said.

"I'm not giving up my wand while you've got yours," Harry replied.

"Don't you trust me, Harry?"

"No," Harry said, "not really."

Rather than get angry or try to convince him otherwise, Wormtail gave him that same, nearly
fond look as he had through the mirror.

"How about we both put them down then," Wormtail suggested. Harry frowned. "I'll do it, I
promise," he said. Harry couldn't smell a lie, but still… "Believe it or not," Wormtail said, "I
want this over just as much as you do." Harry frowned - again, no lie in Wormtail's scent.

"Oh! Alee, oh!" Hermione said.

"E ahs anassah onh!" Ron said. "Ohn oo i!"

It was obvious they were protesting, telling him not to, but what choice was there; he and
Wormtail couldn't stand there all night with their wands pointed at each other. Wormtail
would get impatient, and hurt Ron and Hermione, or set about trying to incapacitate Harry.
Wandless - if they were both wandless - Harry thought he'd stand a better chance.

"You'll put it down," Harry said. "And leave it there?"

"I solemnly swear," Wormtail said. Harry eyed him for a moment, considering. He thought he
might be faster than Wormtail, if it came to it; able to get his wand up and a spell off before
Wormtail could...

"Am I supposed to swear the same thing?" Harry asked.

"No," Wormtail said. "I trust you." Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that. "On three?"

"Ohn oo it!" Ron said. Hermione just shook her head, urgently.

"One," Wormtail said, bending slightly. He kept his wand trained on Harry, but it was lower
now, pointing at Harry's knees rather than his chest. Slowly, Harry mimicked him. "Two." He
was crouched now, wand touching the floor, though his hand was still on it. "Three." He
released it, hand hovering just above it in case Harry didn't do the same. Harry released his as
well.

They stared at each other, Wormtail looking distinctly relieved as he slowly straightened.

Harry, surprised Wormtail had kept his promise, straightened as well.

"Well," Wormtail said. "That was easier than I'd hoped. Cloak?"

"Ron and Hermione," Harry said warily. Wormtail sighed and rolled his eyes, but took a slow
step - likely so as to not startle Harry - toward Ron and Hermione.

"Ron or Hermione," Wormtail said.

"What?" Harry's voice was hard, flat; he hardly recognised it.

"One cloak," Wormtail said. "For one f-friend." He stood in front of Ron and Hermione,
glancing at Harry over his shoulder.

"But-"

"Choose," Wormtail said. Ron and Hermione were silent, sharing looks with each other, then
Harry. Hermione looked horrified, and afraid, Ron looked grim. He caught Harry's eye and
tilted his head ever so slightly in Hermione's direction. His scent was resolute.

"They're nothing to you," Harry said, looking back to Wormtail. "I know you don't think one
of them is worth as much as this." He hefted Moody's cloak. "Two people's nothing, for a
rare, magical-"

"Ah, but Harry," Wormtail said, "to you, each of them is priceless." Harry's throat felt tight.
"You'd give up the cloak in a heartbeat to save one of them. And you will. You'll just have to
give me something else for the other one."

There was a moment of silence as Harry thought, desperate. He didn't have anything that
Wormtail wanted, other than the cloak, hadn't been allowed to bring anything else...

"Blood," Harry said suddenly, louder than he'd meant to. "My blood. That's why Polkov went
after Aunt Petunia, isn't it?" Wormtail twitched, giving him a look of disbelief. "Here, then."
Harry held up his arms. Wormtail's expression grew thoughtful, then changed to glee, and
then froze, souring.

"No."

"But-"

"No," Wormtail snapped. "That's not how it works."

"I'm offering it to-"

"No!" Wormtail said shrilly, then, more calmly, said, "I'm afraid that won't be good enough."

"What else is there, then?" Harry demanded.

"Alee, oh," Hermione said.

"Perhaps," Wormtail said after a pause, "one of my prisoners for a new one - that's a fair
trade, don't you think?"
Harry had come, knowing Wormtail might try to capture him for Voldemort, knowing he was
trading his safety for that of Ron and Hermione, but it hadn't occurred to him that it would be
such a literal trade.

"Was this the plan all along?" Harry asked.

"Since Ron showed up," Wormtail said, shrugging. He studied Harry's face. "It's not a trap,"
he said, and Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Well, not beyond the obvious. You've been
cooperative, all things considered, and I'll reward that with fairness; you and the cloak for
your friends. No secret conditions, no ands or ifs or buts. Just a simple trade."

"Ohn oo air," Ron said, glowering at him. Harry looked away.

"And if I don't agree?"

"Harry," Wormtail sighed, "the fact that you're here at all means you'll agree." Harry's jaw set.
His eyes dropped to his father's wand for the briefest moment. Wormtail noticed. "I
wouldn't," Wormtail said, frowning. "Things'll get ugly if you try."

"Ugly how?" Harry asked stiffly.

"I'd stop you," Wormtail said flatly. "Take your wand, restrain you, take the cloak… Then
there are a few options: I could kill your friends and take you, or I could t-torture them until
you beg to trade yourself for them… I wouldn't let you trade yourself for both, of course;
you'd still only be worth one, and then you'd have to choose-" Harry lunged for James' wand
but before he could even touch it, something hit him hard in the chest and knocked him
backward. Hermione screamed.

Harry coughed, rubbing his chest, and looked at Wormtail, who hadn't moved but to tuck his
wand - a second wand, because his was still on the floor opposite James' - back into his
sleeve. Ron's wand, Harry realised. Ron had too - he looked like he might be sick.

"Last chance," Wormtail said, "to make the trade willingly."

"Why do you care if it's willing or not?" Harry asked, getting to his feet. "You've got a wand,
why not just Stun me and do what you want?" He put his back to the wall- and when had the
doorway he'd entered through disappeared? Unnerved, he looked back at Wormtail.

"Because," Wormtail said, shrilly, "I'd much prefer to get through this without having to k-kill
anyone! But I will if I have to! And I'll have to if you don't make the trade willingly."

"And me?" Harry asked, but he knew already what he would do. "I'll die, if I go with you."

"Yes," Wormtail said stiffly, and didn't look at him. "That can't be avoided, though."

"I suppose the deaths of two Potters are already at your feet," Harry said darkly. "What's one
more, right?"

"We're not having this conversation, Harry!" Wormtail said. He tipped his head in Ron and
Hermione's direction. "Last chance - will you trade willingly?"
"Of course I will," Harry snapped.

Ron and Hermione shook their heads frantically, trying to shout protests through whichever
spell Wormtail had gagged them with. Hermione was crying.

Wormtail came over and Harry held out the cloak with a stiff arm.

"Thank you. Incarcerous." Harry didn't even struggle against the ropes as they wound around
him. Wormtail helped lower him to the floor, rather than let him fall, then went to collect his
wand and James'.

BANG!

James' wand let out a flash of light and Wormtail yelped and dropped it, shaking his hand as
if burned. He gave Harry an angry look, then nudged the wand with his foot. It shot golden
sparks out of its tip, almost warningly. Wormtail didn't try to pick it up again.

He walked to the bed, where he placed Ron's wand and Hermione's - which he pulled out of
his other sleeve - beside Harry's mirror. The Map he glanced at, then folded and tucked into a
rucksack, along with the cloak.

"That's mine," Harry said.

"I disagree - it's got my name on it." Wormtail picked up Padfoot's mirror and showed it to
Ron and Hermione. "When we're gone," he said, "you'll be able to get yourselves free with
something in here, or at least get over to the bed to the mirror. Then you can tell Sirius and
the others to come and find you." He flicked his wand at each of them.

"Harry," Hermione said tearfully, "no..." Ron said nothing, but his scent was miserable and
angry and scared and- Harry choked on it and looked away.

"It'll be fine," Harry said, as confidently as he could. As soon as they were away from Ron
and Hermione, he'd figure something out. If he tried anything now, Wormtail would only use
them as leverage.

The ropes were easy - he'd transform, just has he had at the end of his first year, to get away
from Morton. He'd be without a wand, but the portraits could tell the teachers where he was.
If they weren't already looking for him, they would be as soon as they spoke to Ron and
Hermione.

Wormtail slung his rucksack over his back and came to help him up and over to the fireplace.
Harry felt ill.

"The Floo?!" he asked, as Wormtail pulled a bag of Floo powder from a pocket in his
rucksack. Harry should have seen this coming; he'd dreamed, all year, of Wormtail speaking
with Voldemort through the Floo, and it was a quick, direct way out of Hogwarts. The look
Wormtail gave him was almost sympathetic.

Harry twisted, looking back at Ron and Hermione, panicking, and saw the horror reflected on
their own faces. He almost spoke - there were so many things he wanted to say to them, and
things he wanted to tell them to tell Padfoot and Moony and Dora and Draco and Ginny, just
in case - but he thought he'd lose his nerve if he did, so he said nothing, forced himself to turn
back around and think.

Harry had been lost in the Floo before - he'd stuttered, and wound up in the Leaky Cauldron
rather than Grimmauld's library. Maybe if Wormtail stuttered- but no, he must have said
Voldemort's Floo address hundreds of times this year, so he wasn't likely to get it wrong…
Maybe he could wriggle - Padfoot had always told him not to because he might fall out…
Surely that was worth a try...

Wormtail scooped a handful of powder into the fire.

If nothing else, Harry thought wildly, Ron and Hermione will hear the Floo address and can
tell Padfoot where Wormtail's taking me. He might be able to round up the Aurors in time...

The fire flared green, then sputtered and went out. Harry stared at it.

"Incendio," Wormtail said, and it flared back to life. Harry braced himself again as Wormtail
tried another handful of Floo powder.

Again, the flames flickered green and died.

"Have they shut off the Floo?" Wormtail asked incredulously, turning to Harry.

They had. Of course they had, hadn't Snape said so back in McGonagall's office; first to
McGonagall, then to Dumbledore? Harry felt almost drunk on relief, and the heady scent of
Wormtail's dismay.

Peter looked up at the ceiling.

I need the Floo to open so I can use it, he told the Room, firmly.

Then he re-lit the fire, and tried again, but with no more luck than before.

"No!" He kicked the fireplace once, twice, and put a hand over his face, unable to believe his
terrible luck. He'd been using this fireplace all year, and never had any issues with the Floo
connection.

A precaution, he told himself. It had to be; surely if Dumbledore and Sirius had known he
was using a Hogwarts fireplace, they'd have sealed it before now. There was no way they
could know. Even his Lord hadn't known there was a fireplace in the Room. In fact, there was
a lot his Lord hadn't known about the Room and how to use it that Peter had discovered in his
time here. They're just being careful.

"Well," Peter said, getting himself back under control, "it's a bit inconvenient, but not the end
of the world. We'll just have to walk." He should have had Crouch make him a Portkey and
send it via Malfoy along with Sirius' mirror. He hadn't even considered the possibility of
them shutting down the Floo. It was a horrible, gaping flaw in his careful plan - hindsight
was always good at revealing flaws.
Still, Peter was nothing if not adaptable. The Map had shown that Sirius, Remus' wife and the
teachers were still in McGonagall's office, though they'd probably reclaimed their wands the
moment Peter closed the mirror connection. They wouldn't dare move until they heard from
one of the kids - Peter's threats had been nasty enough that not even Sirius would risk it.

And on that note… he jabbed his wand - first at Hermione, then at Ron - and they slumped
against each other, unconscious. That would buy them some time. Harry turned to look at
Peter with a snarl.

"Relax, Harry," Peter said, seizing the ropes and forcing him back to the floor in front of the
fireplace,"they're just Stunned so they don't know how we've left." Harry's jaw set, but he
didn't say anything. We need a way… Which way would they go? There were a few ways in
and out of the castle - the Honeydukes passage and the tunnel under Whomping Willow were
the obvious ones - but Peter didn't know any that Sirius didn't also know. If they'd thought to
shut off the Floo, then surely they'd have all sorts of nasty surprises waiting for him if he
tried…

No, they'd have to go across the grounds and cut rough the forest to the road. There was more
space there, too, less chance of a spell rebounding off a wall, or him getting cornered.

We need a way down to the grounds, he told the Room, and a doorway appeared beside the
fireplace.

Peter considered how best to go about things. The easiest thing to do would be to transfigure
Harry into something small and stuff him into a pocket. Peter was particularly good at
making rats. But, if Harry somehow managed to slip away from him, Peter would have no
hope of finding him again. He could turn him into a rat and then Stun him, he supposed, or
just turn him into something inanimate like a pebble, but then Peter wouldn't have any
leverage if Sirius or one of the Hogwarts staff caught up with him…

Harry shifted, apparently uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

He could Stun him and have him hover alongside as Peter walked, but then Peter's wand
would be occupied… There was the Imperius curse, but what if Harry threw it off long
enough to attack Peter or shout for help...? It was unlikely, but Peter had long ago learned not
to underestimate Harry, or his luck.

No, there was only one way Peter could ensure Harry's continued cooperation.

He flicked his wand at Ron and Hermione and the ropes fell off them. Harry gave him a wary
look.

"I've had a bit of a change of heart," he said in response.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I'm rescinding my offer of a trade," Peter said. "For now, anyway." He squatted beside
Hermione and Ron, considering. Even unconscious, Hermione was still quivering from her
earlier exposure to Peter's Cruciatus. Ron had a concussion - or he ought to… Ron or
Hermione, Ron or Hermione… Peter moved his wand in a slow circle, and a metal bracelet of
sorts formed around Hermione's wrist. A chain grew out of it, under the gentle guidance of
Peter's wand, and he took hold of it. Then, he traced his wand over the bracelet and spikes
grew out of it, sharp as razors, resting just against the delicate skin of her wrist.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded.

"Rennervate." Hermione's eyes fluttered open, then panic raced through her - Peter could
smell it. She squirmed away from Peter, then stopped with a hiss and looked down at her
wrist. Blood ran down her arm, and she made a horrified sound, but stayed very still.
"Consider this your first and only warning," Peter said. He clucked his tongue and healed her.

"You said if I made the trade," Harry said angrily, "there'd be no secret conditions, or, or-"

"That was before," Peter snapped.

"Harry-"

"Silencio," Peter sighed, and Hermione scowled at him. "Now, as long as she cooperates,
she'll be fine. If not…" He shook the chain - very gently - and Hermione's eyes went wide.
"Now," he said, looking down at her "work out how to stand without slicing yourself open,
and we'll be off." She didn't move. "If I have to pull you up, it's not going to end well for
you," Peter said. "I'll leave you here to bleed out with what's left of your hand, and then I'll
see if Ron's more cooperative." Hermione's eyes darted to Ron.

Then, slowly, holding the chain and bracelet against her wrist with her other hand, Hermione
stood. She was unsteady on her feet, but stayed upright, and if looks could kill...

He made a show of wrapping the chain around his hand - careful not to actually pull it - and
tipped his head toward the doorway. She shuffled forward, still holding her end of the chain
and the bracelet.

"Diffindo," Peter said, and Harry's ropes fell away from him. "Hermione and I are going now-
"

"Where?" Harry asked, getting to his feet.

"That's a surprise," Peter said, keeping his wand on Harry. "You're welcome to come with us
and find out, though - there'll be another chance to trade, if you do."

"Don't," Hermione said furiously, miserably, helplessly, staring Harry down. Her scent was
terrified. "Stay with Ron, then go and find Sirius…" Peter didn't tell her to be quiet, because
there was no need to; Harry's eyes were on the doorway, and though Peter was no
Legillimens, his thoughts were obvious; he had no way of knowing where the doorway
would lead, which meant there was a risk of losing Peter and Hermione. Peter had a feeling
Harry would be only too glad to let him disappear - Sirius never would, but Harry wasn't
Sirius - but Hermione was another matter.
"Let's go, then," Harry said, predictably. And, for all of her protesting, Hermione smelled
relieved and guilty. Harry's eyes were soft when he looked at her, as if he knew how she was
feeling, but when he looked to Peter his chin came up in a way that was so very reminiscent
of James.

Peter made another show of adjusting Hermione's chain around his hand.

"Just in case you get any ideas about pushing me down the stairs."

And so they went; Peter first, leading Hermione, who hobbled after him clutching her end of
the chain. Harry was silent, and Peter could smell rebellion. Doubtless he was eyeing the
wands or his mirror and wondering if he had time to get to any of them without Peter
noticing.

Close behind us, he told the room, without looking back. Stone groaned and Harry sucked in
a breath, then Peter heard him scramble through after them.

The tunnel went dark for the briefest moment. Hermione made a despairing noise and gripped
her chain, edging closer to Peter. Harry's scent was sharp with worry.

"Lumos." The tip of Peter's wand glowed, letting out just enough light to show the next two
steps. "Shall we?"
 All fall down

Ron awoke groggy and confused for the second time in as many hours. His head stung and
pounded, and it took him a moment to remember why, and to remember where he was.

It didn't take long, and then he sat sharply upright and somehow the ropes were off and where
was Hermione, and Harry and Wormtail were gone too, and-

Ron swayed, clutching his temple with one hand and the ground with the other to steady
himself. The dizziness passed, sort of. He felt much worse than he had before, his head foggy
and his thoughts slow, and he wondered if he'd hit his head again when Wormtail stunned
him. He rubbed his nose, which was dripping clear fluid, and hoped he wasn't catching the flu
on top of everything else.

He looked down beside him and- no, still no Hermione.

"Hermione?" he called hoarsely.

She did not reply; the only noise was the faint echo of his voice. Ron rubbed his ear. It was
wet too, like his nose. Strange.

"Hermione?" Nothing. "Harry?" Ron tried, without much hope. No reply from him either.

He must have gone with Wormtail, like he'd promised, then. The thought made Ron's
stomach tie itself in painful knots. His head spun and he retched. When the dizziness refused
to pass, Ron did his best to force it aside.

Hermione, he thought, gritting his teeth. Where was she? Had she woken up first and gone to
get help? Ron looked around the room, half-expecting to see Hermione dash out from behind
a pile of old furniture with Sirius and the teachers.

She didn't.

It was just Ron.

Ron's pushed himself to his feet, but then his head throbbed again and he was vaguely aware
of falling. He knocked his knee painfully on the bed on the way down, and it took him a few
moments to feel up to the challenge of getting up again. Even then, he didn't stand; he clawed
his way awkwardly onto the bed, wincing.

There were wands on the bed, and a mirror. Ron frowned at them, then wiped his dripping
nose again.

Hermione mustn't have gone for help. If she had, she would have taken her wand. Ron picked
it up, and his which was next to it, and put them in his pocket.

Then he picked up the mirror.

"Sirius Black," he said. The mirror didn't do anything. "Sirius Black," Ron said, more
insistently.

Nothing.

He gave the mirror a shake, and when it stayed empty, frowned, feeling sick and useless and
confused, because the mirror always worked, and Ron needed to tell someone to help Harry,
and Hermione - wherever she was - and maybe to help him as well; his head felt like it was
going to split open and was probably only going to get worse the longer he waited.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth and maneuvered himself upright. He shuddered as
nausea seized him, knuckles white around the bedpost.

"Sirius Black," Sirius' voice said, and Ron snatched at the mirror. "Sirius."

"Sirius," Ron gasped, tongue thick and heavy and uncooperative. "Sirius, they've gone, you
have to help-"

"Ron?!"

"Oh my-!" Ron was pretty sure that was McGonagall- yes, that was her, crowding into the
mirror's frame besides Sirius. She looked at him and put a hand to her mouth. "Weasley,
what's happened to you?!"

"m fine," Ron said, and knew it was a blatant lie.

"Ron, where's Harry?" Sirius asked urgently. There was a flash of silver and something about
a poppy from McGonagall.

"Gone," Ron said. "With Wormtail." The sick feeling was back. "And I can't find Hermione."
The sick feeling increased, and Ron had to take a few deep breaths to be sure he wouldn't
actually be sick. It was a near thing but he managed it.

More of the teachers were in the mirror now; Ron could see one of Snape's black eyes and his
long nose, and Dumbledore was looking over McGonagall's shoulder, and Dora over Sirius',
and a hand holding what looked like Moody's magical eye was beside Dora's ear. Ron
wondered if Moody could see through it when it wasn't in his head. He must be able to,
otherwise he wouldn't have bothered.

"...Ron?" Ron rubbed his eyes, then his nose and looked back at Sirius. "Where did Peter take
Harry?"

"I don't know," Ron said. "They wanted the Floo- well, Harry didn't, but that's what Wormtail
wanted, only it didn't work. Then- then I don't know what happened, but you have to help-"

Conversation exploded on the other end of the mirror and Ron did his best to follow it:

"...clever enough to have realised we'd have protected the passages..." Sirius' voice, sounding
further and further away. "...must be heading for the grounds. We need to get-"
"Albus." That was McGonagall's frightened voice. "If Granger's with them, where they are
may be less of an issue than when."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sirius, impatient. Ron caught a glimpse of Snape's face,
pale and worried, then the mirror was filled with the Headmaster.

"Ron." Dumbledore's voice, grave as Ron had ever known it. "Where is Miss Granger's time-
turner?"

"Her what?!" Sirius again, snarling this time.

"She broke it," Ron said, "rather than let Wormtail work it out."

Relieved sounds from the teachers.

"If that is the case, I agree with Sirius," Dumbledore said. "Peter is likely to attempt to leave
via the grounds-"

A strange sound, like claws on stone; Ron couldn't see much but the rich blue of
Dumbledore's robes and the white of his beard.

"Siriu- never mind." A sigh from Dora.

"Gryffindors." Snape.

"Do you think Hermione's with them?" Dora again. "If she's not with Ron, she must be, but
why…?"

"Leverage." Moody's growling voice. A soft sound from McGonagall.

Ron's mind fogged over and, try though he did to cling to the adults' voices, he lost track of
the conversation, lost track of everything except his dizziness and his pain, and the terrified
realisation that he was not even close to all right.

When he came back to himself, the mirror had slipped out of his hand and was lying beside
him on the bed. He didn't feel up to moving to pick it up, but he could still hear them; Moody
was talking:

"...broomsticks to Hogsmeade and cut them off there. Nymphadora?"

"Of course. But what about Sirius-?"

"Severus and I will go after him..."

"...Weasley?"

"Minerva will see to him. Come, Severus."

Footsteps through the mirror, doors opening and closing. Ron's ear felt sticky. Another door
opening.
"Oh, Poppy, thank goodness…" Faint conversation that Ron only caught snatches of, but
didn't mind. If they'd wanted him to hear it they would have told him. "...not well…" More
murmuring.

"...visible injuries?"

"See for yourself: Weasley?"

Ron reached for the mirror, pulling it into a position where he'd be able to see into it.
Everyone from before had gone except for McGonagall, but she'd been joined by Madam
Pomfrey.

"Merlin, Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said. "Did he club you with a beater's bat?"

"Candlestick," Ron said thickly. Madam Pomfrey did not look impressed.

"Are you able to walk?"

No, Ron thought.

"Maybe," he said. "But not quickly."

"Do you know where you are, Weasley?" McGonagall asked.

"Not really," Ron said. "I thought it was on the seventh floor, but Harry came in from the
fourth. I think- I think it's wherever Wormtail wanted it to be, but I don't know where that is
now." He pressed a hand to his head, trying to stop the spinning by holding it in place. It
didn't help. Ron took several deep breaths.

"... walking a try, then," Madam Pomfrey was saying. "Very, very carefully. Or crawling, if
that feels like a better option to you. Just until you're somewhere you recognise, and then we
can come to you."

"All right," Ron said, feeling sickened by even the thought of moving. But what choice did he
have? He willed the mirror empty so that he could concentrate.

He slid off the bed, clutching at the post to stay upright and took a few shaky steps, but didn't
let go, sure that his balance would fail him if he did. He held the mirror in a white-knuckled
grip in his other hand.

He stared out at the piles of things and tried to remember what way he'd come in. He
recognised the umbrella stand he'd hidden behind to watch Hermione and Wormtail but didn't
remember the way back to the door or know if it was even there anymore.

The door Harry had come in through was gone, and Wormtail had probably done the same for
the one Ron had used.

What if he'd got rid of all the doors? How would Ron get out? How would anyone find him?
Wormtail had made Harry's door appear and then disappear. If that was something they taught
at Hogwarts, Ron was yet to learn it, so what was he supposed to do?
"I don't know what to do," Ron said, swallowing bile. He looked down into the mirror,
forgetting for a moment that McGonagall and Pomfrey were gone and would be no help to
him. His own bloodied reflection stared back at him and Ron hurriedly looked away. He
looked a bit like the picture of an inferius he'd seen in one of Charlie's old textbooks, all pale
and bloody and bruised.

Think, he told himself. Then, though he had no idea how to go about finding or making one,
he thought, A door. That was the first thing. Once he found one, he could work out how to get
to it, then work out where it had lead him, then get McGonagall back into the mirror and tell
her where he was. I need a door.

And one appeared, on the damaged wall beside the bed.

Ron stared at it for what felt like ages, struggling, through the haze of his pain and dizziness
to make sense of it all. Then he looked around so quickly the world spun, to make sure
Wormtail hadn't returned to make it.

If he had, Ron couldn't see or hear him. Ron's hands tightened on the bedpost to keep himself
upright, then he turned back - much more slowly - to the door.

Using the bed for balance, he shuffled forward and pulled the door open. It went nowhere;
smooth stone greeted him, solid to touch and utterly unremarkable. Ron closed it and opened
it again, unsurprised but still disappointed when he saw nothing had changed.

He closed it again, and sank down onto the bed, thinking. The door didn't vanish like the one
in the seventh floor corridor had, so there was that at least.

But why had it appeared at all? Wormtail wasn't around, so had it made itself, or, had Ron
made it?

Ron wasn't sure how he might have made it... but the door in the seventh floor corridor had
appeared for him too, hadn't it. He hadn't even been trying to get a door then, either, just
wanting to know what Crookshanks was trying to show him...

So maybe the room does what you want, Ron thought. Maybe it wasn't complicated spells or
a special skill of Wormtail's that had let him control the room.

Maybe he'd just asked.

And Ron, when he'd asked for a door, hadn't asked for anything but a door. Maybe that was
why it didn't go anywhere.

"I need a door to McGonagall," he said, eyeing the door. Then, he eased himself back into a
standing position and reached for the handle.

The wall was gone, replaced by a long, dimly lit staircase, and Ron felt an exhausted smile
creep onto his face.

A moment later the smile was gone, though the exhaustion remained; there was no way he'd
be able to manage even two or three stairs, let alone a flight of them that looked like it could
go down as far as the Great Hall. The very thought had him sagging back down onto the bed,
and too quickly. His head spun and bitter nausea rose in his throat.

It passed and he wiped his eyes and nose and took a few gasping breaths to try to settle his
stomach.

"No stairs," he told the room. "I need a way down to McGonagall that doesn't involve stairs."

Stone grated against stone and Ron knew, even without looking that it had worked.

Gingerly, he made his way forward.

"Keep up," Wormtail hissed.

Think happy thoughts, Harry reminded himself, scanning the dark grounds for dementors. He
could feel their presence in the chilly air and in the grim tone of his thoughts, so they had to
be around, but - despite his best attempts - none had come close enough to be seen in
Wormtail's circle of wandlight. None had come close enough to help. Happy thoughts.

He pictured his friends rushing down to him after he'd won the Quidditch Cup; Ron's bright
grin on his painted face, Hermione-

Hermione beside him, sniffling and quiet, and smelling faintly of blood, where Wormtail's
bracelet had pricked her.

Harry looked away from her and thought of Ginny. Ginny, bright eyed with Gryffindor
ribbons in her hair, Ginny who was safely in the common room or her dormitory and not
caught up in this with the rest of them. Draco, also safe, with Hagrid, and his brother and Mr
Malfoy, Mr Malfoy who'd given Ginny the diary and unleashed Tom Riddle on the school,
Tom Riddle who'd grown up to call himself Voldemort and whose mark Wormtail carried on
his arm…

Harry gritted his teeth and thought of Wormtail going back to Azkaban, of Padfoot putting
him there. He thought of Padfoot laughing, of Padfoot chasing birds and cats in the park
opposite Grimmauld, and wondered if Padfoot would do those things ever again if things
didn't improve tonight and Harry died-

Harry thrust that thought away, his chest hollow and aching and cold, and he thought he
could hear the faint rattling of a dementor now.

A nervous excitement kindled in him for a few moments, then drained away; if Wormtail was
forced to transform and flee the dementors, that would leave Harry and Hermione wandless
and at their mercy. Harry could transform, but that wasn't an option for Hermione, and-

"Faster," Wormtail said, and there was panic in his voice and scent. The dementors were
definitely closer, and there was more than one. Harry could see their silhouettes all around
them, black against the dark trees of the forest, and black against the inky sky, obscuring the
stars.
Wormtail tugged on Hermione's chain. Hermione moved forward gripping the bracelet
around her wrist so it wouldn't hurt her as badly, then stumbled on something on the dark
ground and pitched forward.

Harry caught her - one hand on her forearm keeping her braceleted wrist at a safe height, the
other around her shoulders and under her other arm - and held her upright. She was limp in
his grip and trembling, either from the cold or the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse, her
breaths short and sharp, like she was in pain. Her arm was icy in his.

"Stop," Harry said. It wasn't loud, but Wormtail heard and turned, the chain between him and
Hermione glinting in the wandlight. Wormtail looked at her and baulked.

He stuffed the Map into a side pocket of his bag, then flicked his wand and Hermione's chain
and bracelet disappeared. Harry's breath misted in front of his face, and he could hear the
usual voices - his parents, Padfoot in the cave, Riddle in his head - faint in his ears.

"Nox." Darkness. "Expecto Patronum." Shapeless silver bloomed out of Wormtail's wand and
snaked around them. It wasn't a strong Patronus, but the dementors slowed, cautious, and
Harry's mind cleared a little. "We n-need to go." Then Wormtail was scurrying over to get his
arm under Hermione's other side. Harry's surprise must have shown on his face or in his
scent, because Wormtail muttered, "You'd never agree to leave her and we don't have t-time
to argue." He flicked his wand and the silver mist of his patronus curled around them again.

Hermione let out a muffled shriek, and Harry would have bet anything she was reliving her
torture from earlier. He shot Wormtail a look that was supposed to be furious, but felt some of
his fury melt at the sight of Wormtail's pale face under Hermione's arm, helping, and it
wound up looking more like disapproval.

They hurried on, as quickly as they could with Hermione's dead weight between them.

Wormtail's patronus did a little to soften the effects of the dementors, but over all, Harry
attributed his consciousness to sheer force of will; if he fainted now, Hermione would be
Kissed, and Harry would be Kissed or dragged unconscious to Voldemort and killed. He had
to stay awake. It was not a happy thought, but it was a sustaining one, and Harry clung to it.

Stay awake, stay awake…

Harry was almost numb with cold - as much on the inside as the outside - by the time they
made it to the school gate. Wormtail's patronus flared brightly - obviously fueled by his relief
- and the dementors trailing along behind them stopped. One tried to brush the mist aside
with a scabby grey hand, but Wormtail hissed and jabbed his wand forward and the dementor
jerked away.

The gate loomed above them, unguarded but closed, but Wormtail didn't even hesitate, just
turned into the forest. They walked for another minute along the wall, and then, abruptly, the
wall ended. Wormtail stepped through the place where the next section would have been,
then turned, swishing his wand in a circle.
The patronus brightened and cast shadows on the thick trees and the dark shapes of
dementors between them, then disappeared.

Harry made a horrified noise without meaning to, and Wormtail muttered something too low
and too fast for him to hear and the cold rushed in - Lily, it's him, take Harry and go - and
Hermione twisted and was torn from his grip-

"Expecto Patronum," Wormtail gasped, and the mist spilled back out and Harry's mind
cleared again. The cold stayed deep in his bones.

"What did you do to-?" Before Harry could finish speaking, Wormtail held up something
small and brown and furry. A rat. It - she - started to stir in his hand.

"What-?"

"I assume you're still willing to t-trade for her," Wormtail said, flicking his patronus out
toward an advancing dementor. "And I assume you want her to survive being left behind."

And Harry understood. Wormtail tossed Hermione-the-rat to one side. She bounced twice,
squeaking, and then scuttled very ungracefully into the forest's undergrowth.

Please be all right, was all he had time to think, and then Wormtail seized Harry's wrist and
did a funny half-spin.

Dumbledore had extended the school's anti-apparition wards; Harry remembered that, though
he'd forgotten about the Floo when they were in Wormtail's strange room. As such, he didn't
even try to resist, and wasn't surprised when they remained exactly where they were.

Wormtail glanced at Harry and seemed to realise what had happened. Then, he made a sound
that was half-shriek half-sob.

His patronus faltered and was swept aside by an advancing dementor. Wormtail's hand
tightened clawlike on Harry's wrist and started to tug him backward.

Harry wrenched his arm free and moved the other way, deeper into the forest. Or that was the
plan; he made it all of two steps before a skeletal hand grasped his shirt, fingers curling into
the fabric, and Harry stumbled back, turning his face down and away from the dementor's,
and T-to the Dark Lord… I know I will be dead-

"No!" Wormtail's patronus flickered weakly and inserted itself in the space between Harry
and the dementor. For a moment, it did nothing and Harry was going to have to transform,
even if it meant Wormtail would know about his wolf; it was going to be that, or faint and be
Kissed.

Then, Wormtail let out a strained sound and the patronus brightened.

Not much, but enough; the dementor recoiled, releasing him, and then Harry was being
dragged by the back of his shirt, by Wormtail. Wormtail gave him a push toward the edge of
the forest and Harry stumbled into a run.
All he had to do was put enough distance between himself and Wormtail and he'd be able to
transform and this would all be over. Hope flared in him for just a moment before it was
sucked away by the dementors.

But, even without the dementors, it would have been a short-lived hope; whatever advantages
in speed and fitness that Harry had over Wormtail were lost to the dim forest, and the roots
and stumps and branches and bushes and rocks that covered the ground.

There was just enough moonlight filtering through to stop him running headlong into a tree,
but Wormtail had the faint light of his patronus to see by and did a much better job of keeping
up than Harry had hoped.

Harry veered toward the pale line of the road, thinking he'd be able to see better and outpace
Wormtail on flat ground. He got a face full of spiderweb, stumbled, then scrambled over a
mossy collection of boulders-

Then, of course, Black went through the Veil- Oh, haven't the Aurors worked it out yet?

He skidded to a stop-

Ginny will be waiting for you, though, if you believe in that sort of thing. She's starting to slip
away.

-and a dementor drifted out from behind a large oak.

And just wait, any second Malfoy's going to get back and tease us both for worrying.

Harry staggered back-

Miss Granger was in the library - that's her bag there.

-vision going dark.

Not Harry! Please- I'll do anything!

A flash of green. Harry reached out and found a branch, trying to steady himself-

Lily, take Harry and go!

-and then the world was silvery blue and Wormtail had caught up. He grabbed Harry's wrist
again.

This time, Harry did try to struggle free but, weak and cold and disoriented as he was,
couldn't.

It was just luck - or Dumbledore's clever planning - that stopped it from mattering; Wormtail
half-spun, but the wards were clearly here too, and just as strong as they had been at the gate.

The noise Wormtail made was definitely a sob this time, and his patronus flickered feebly
and faded.
"Expecto patro-patron-" Mist, barely brighter than Harry's breath in the cold air, and even
less short lived. Wormtail staggered into the trees, dragging Harry with him. "Expec- ecto-"

And Harry shook free and dove at him. He wasn't sure why he hadn't tried it the moment
Wormtail let Hermione go, but it just hadn't occurred to him before that moment.

And, clearly, it hadn't occurred to Wormtail either, because shock was the only thing that
registered on his shadowed face, and then they were both toppling to the ground.

Harry couldn't have said what he was trying to accomplish; Wormtail's wand was a good
option, as was the rucksack, which held Moody's cloak within it and had the Map sticking out
of the back pocket. Even getting Wormtail to panic enough to transform would be-

There was a bang and Harry was tumbling away from him.

"You'll kill us b-both!" Wormtail shrieked, and he was right and Harry was filled with ice and
the rattling was all around them now- "Expecto patro- No!" Harry saw a dementor reach for
Wormtail, batting away the struggling patronus like it was nothing.

Then a dementor was leaning over him, blocking his view, and he wanted to transform but he
was only nine and he didn't know how, and Padfoot had been left behind and Kreacher
wouldn't take him back to the cave to get him and everything hurt and Mrs Black's portrait
was screaming:

Not Harry! Please-

A thud beside him, weak movement.

"... nothing personal, I swear, just survival… he would have killed me!" A gasp, shrill and
panicked. "... nothing personal, just survival, and it's too late to be sorry in any case!"

The last word was screamed and then Harry couldn't hear anything over Padfoot, who
shouted something at Kreacher and the world exploded into light-

But not fire, like Harry remembered.

This light was a silvery blue so bright it was almost white and it wasn't an explosion; it was a
dog, huge and bearlike.

Padfoot.

It lunged at the dementors surrounding them and they scattered, Padfoot chasing them like
cats or pigeons in the park, glowing teeth snapping at their black robes.

Warmth came rushing back so rapidly it almost burned. If his bones had been ice before, then
now they'd melted and had about as much strength in them as his arm had after Lockhart's
attempt to heal it last year.

Beside Harry, a gasping Wormtail scrambled upright, pulling the rucksack off his back and
then dragged Moody's cloak out. He folded it into a messy bundle and bent to stuff it into the
waistband of his trousers.

It was a move that saved his neck, quite literally; a spell tore through the place where he'd
just been and hit the tree behind Harry with enough force to set it quivering. There was a
deep gash left in the bark, oozing sap.

Wormtail vanished - for a moment Harry thought he'd managed to Apparate - but then he saw
the bald tail disappearing under a nearby log.

The log went soaring into the air and Harry saw a smudge of movement.

"Harry!" Padfoot, bursting from the trees. "Get back to the castle!" He didn't even slow, just
doubled over mid-stride and continued past as a streak of black fur and white teeth.

And then Harry was alone in the dark forest.

 High stakes

The dementors had retreated but weren't gone; if Harry strained his ears, he could still hear
them. And, with the patronus gone and Padfoot and Wormtail both transformed, Harry's
human emotions were sure to draw them back in.

That's easily fixed, though. And he transformed, without hesitation this time, since there was
no one around to see him do it except the dementors, and they didn't have eyes.

The world tilted around him and his first thought was that he'd grown because his paws -
while still huge - weren't as disproportionately so as they had been the last time he
transformed. He stretched, enjoying the rough feeling of the dirt and leaves and stones
against his claws, and the scent of the forest, richer even than it had been for his human nose,
though tainted with the cold, dead smell of dementors.

Harry bared his teeth, eyeing the shadows between the trees, and then settled. They'd never
be able to keep up with him if he ran, and if they somehow did, he'd tear them apart.

Padfoot's instructions to get back to the castle hung heavy on him, an order from an older
member of the pack. The boy in him didn't protest as much as he'd expected either; the last
time he'd gone after the rat without a wand, he'd nearly ruined everything.

Padfoot could handle it.

Still, it was with some reluctance that Harry turned in the direction of his own scent. The
reluctance faded at the prospect of being useful; Hermione was probably on her way back to
the castle as well now, but it could take her all night as a rat. It would be much faster if she
could perch on his shoulder, or if he transformed back and carried her.

Rucksack, the human part of him thought. Harry eyed it and trotted over-

A yelp, both familiar and foreign. Familiar because it was Padfoot, and he'd know the sound
of Padfoot anywhere, but foreign because it wasn't his usual playful or indignant yelp. This
one was startled, pained, bad.

Dirt and leaves skittered as Harry wheeled around, picking up Padfoot's scent with ease, and
then he was running so fast he could have been flying. Twigs and low branches snagged at
his coat but couldn't hurt him through the thick fur, and even if they could have, Harry didn't
think he would have slowed.

He could hear the buzzing of spells now, ragged breathing, and the rattling of dementors
drawing in. Harry's hackles rose and he could see the occasional light of a spell now too, and
smell blood.

He slowed, quieting his steps.

Padfoot was human again, standing in a clearing slightly hunched, with his back to Harry. On
the other side of it, barely visible in the treeline, was a half-circle of dementors. Though there
were no patronuses about, they were clearly still wary, spread around the edge of the clearing
but making no attempt to enter it.

Wormtail was nowhere to be seen, and Harry almost started forward into the clearing but
Padfoot was standing still and silent, listening and Harry hesitated, listening too, then- yes,
there it was:

A twig snapping, and then movement in the middle of the clearing, leaves stirring like they
were under invisible feet.

Lots of feet, if the movement of the leaves was anything to go by. But that didn't make sense,
because there could only be one of Wormtail...

Padfoot flicked his wand and a branch lashed out, curling as if to strangle, but seemed to find
only empty space.

A spell whizzed out of a place some ten feet to the left of that - Harry saw the pale flash of a
hand disappearing back into the folds of an invisibility cloak.

Padfoot swatted the spell away with ease and it hit a tree and exploded into flames. Harry's
ears flattened against his head and he scooted away from it, the wolf in him panicking-

Harry focused on being human again and transformed ungracefully, the panic fading with his
fur and tail. He stayed where he was, crouched out of sight, desperate to help, and desperate
to stay out of the way and not be a distraction for Padfoot like he had been in Hogsmeade.

If Padfoot had heard or noticed him, he gave no indication, already pointing his wand at the
place where Wormtail's hand had been:

"Tracagnum!" The spell soared through the clearing, harmless. A growl of frustration.
"Finite." The leaves in the centre of the clearing settled. Then they began to move again, but
only in one place. "Gelius!"

The leaves stopped and the spell flashed as it made contact with the cloak, but Wormtail
made no sound and didn't move. Padfoot was very still. Harry held his breath.

The leaves started to move again, almost like bubbles atop a cauldron and Padfoot raised his
wand, hesitating. Something burst out of the ground a few inches from Padfoot and he
blasted it - a root - before it got any closer.

With Padfoot side on to Harry, rather than facing away from him, Harry thought he could see
what had made him yelp; his side was dark and wet with blood, and the white of a rib was
peeking through a tear in his shirt.

"Never thought I'd see the day where you picked me over a Potter." Wormtail's voice drifted
through the clearing, oddly echoey and impossible to pin to any one spot. "Poor Harry's
probably stumbling around the forest, lost… or maybe not stumbling at all. The dementors
seemed to like him as much as me..."

"Harry can handle himself," Padfoot said calmly.

"He hasn't got a wand."

"I didn't know you cared."

A pause, and silence except for the crackling of the burning tree.

"I wouldn't wish the dementors on anyone." The leaves had stilled again, for the most part.
Only a few moved, and even then only just, marking Wormtail's cautious movement toward
the edge of the clearing. Padfoot made a scornful noise. "I wouldn't," Wormtail said, voice
still echoing. "If things had gone my way, you'd have been killed, not imprisoned."

"How thoughtful." Padfoot curled his lip.

"More thoughtful than you!" Wormtail said. "You knew what Azkaban was like and you still
s-sent me there-"

"A mistake," Padfoot said. "One I won't be making again." His head followed the gentle
stirring of leaves, and Harry saw his fingers tighten around his wand, saw his arm tense,
ready-

"This is it then?"

"Unless you've had a sudden change of heart." The leaves went still. Padfoot's wand
twitched, but he didn't cast anything.

"It's too late for that." Little more than a whisper.

"Then yes," Padfoot said. "This is it."

And his wand jerked up, and though he didn't speak the spell aloud, Harry would have known
that shade of green anywhere.

It tore through the clearing, almost too fast to watch, to the place where the leaves had gone
still.

At the same time, Wormtail's own spell - also silent - burst forward from a place nowhere
near where Harry or Padfoot had been looking, a bright streak of purple fire.

Padfoot's killing curse thudded into a tree and Wormtail's spell hit Padfoot in the shoulder.

The tree's leaves curled in on themselves, brown and dry and dead, and Padfoot made a
strange sound and crumpled.

"NO!" Harry burst from his hiding place and scrambled to Padfoot's side. "Padfoot!"
Wormtail said something about Harry at the castle and not being surprised but Harry barely
heard him; the only sound he cared for at all, was that of Padfoot's heart.

It was still beating.

"... come quietly, or be difficult?" A shimmer and movement; Wormtail had taken the cloak
off and was standing a few yards away. He'd reconjured his patronus and it drifted around
him, still shapeless, and not going to do much against the dementors, who'd started forward
again when Padfoot collapsed.

Harry found Padfoot's wand, still held loosely in his hand, and tugged it free.

"Harry, don't make me-"

"Sectumpsempra!" Harry snarled, and Wormtail howled, patronus vanishing. Harry's aim was
off - that was the price of the speed with which he'd cast - and hit Wormtail's hand instead of
his chest. Blood splattered and Wormtail clutched his hand, and part of it seemed to fall
away-

Did fall away, and landed with a soft thump that had bile rising in Harry's throat.

"I didn't-" he heard himself begin, and then Wormtail, pale and bleeding, jabbed his wand
forward:

"Imperio!"

And Harry's sick feeling faded, as did his worry for Padfoot and his unease about the
approaching dementors. He felt light, warm, and oddly peaceful.

He felt wrong, but unable to be concerned about it.

Leave him. Wormtail's voice, but Harry didn't see him move his mouth. We're going. Harry
bumped Padfoot as he began to stand.

Hang on. Why would I leave Padfoot? He's hurt, I can't just-

Harry, leave him! Wormtail's voice, more insistent this time. Quickly, before the dementors
get any closer.

The dementors will get Padfoot, though. He'd never leave me...

Harry, now!

But Padfoot-

Harry, here!

"No!" His shout echoed through the clearing and took the strange peacefulness with it. The
cold came rushing back, and all his worry and fear and exhaustion. He sank back to the
ground on his knees.
Lily, take Harry and go-

"Harry!" Wormtail, half-hysterical. "I let Hermione go-"

No. No, James. No, no, no, no-

"-you agreed!"

Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!

"Harry, now!"

Harry pressed closer to Padfoot, but he didn't think Padfoot's mental patronus was working
anymore, not when Padfoot was like this. He lifted the wand, other hand finding Padfoot's
hand.

It was still warm. He was still alive.

"Expecto-" His mouth was dry, tongue heavy. "-Expecto patronum." Mist, weaker even than
Wormtail's attempts at a patronus. Harry gritted his teeth. "Expecto patronum!"

And a large shape appeared, long-legged and canine.

Harry was so startled by it and so exhausted that it took him a moment to realise it had come
to them from the side, not from the wand in his hand; that, disappointingly, had only released
another pathetic trickle of mist.

He stared at it - a wolf, he realised - and, though he'd never properly seen this wolf before, he
thought he recognised it.

Moony.

Though Moony was bigger than Padfoot had been, he seemed smaller, perhaps because he
wasn't as bright.

"M-Moony?" Wormtail sounded unnerved, glancing first to a gap in the tree tops at the full
moon, and then to the faint sound of movement in the trees. His mangled hand twitched.

"Don't scare them off completely, Nymphadora, they can help us with Pettigrew!"

"Sorry for trying to protect Harry and Sirius," came the familiar, sarcastic reply, but Moony
gave Harry a look that was almost apologetic, and vanished.

Two figures crashed through the trees on brooms - Dora and Moody - and with a last look at
Harry, Wormtail disappeared under the cloak again. "Can't hide from me under there!"
Moody cackled, flung his broomstick away, and flicked his wand. The ground shook and the
cloak shimmered as Wormtail was blasted off his feet.

He landed in a heap, visible again, and barely got his wand up in time to block Moody's next
spell.
Then he bowed, beginning to shrink and grow fur, but Dora's spell was faster and he
shuddered and popped back to his normal size.

"Don't just stand there!" Moody bellowed, looking at the dementors. They seemed reluctant
to move into range of the spellfire, though, and more content to simply wait.

Harry turned back to Padfoot.

"Rennervate," he murmured, and when that did nothing, sat back, at a loss.

"Torpeo! Bugger! Pulm-" Dora's spell cut off with a gasp that had Harry spinning to look at
her, and at the spell that was only inches from her face-

"Protego!" Moody snapped. Then: "Incarcer- Protego! Constant vigilance, Nymphador-"

"Protego!"

A flash as the deflected spell hit the burning tree. Sparks rained down on Harry, and there
was a crack and then a branch was falling-

"Ventus!" he said desperately, and the branch whizzed away, crashing into another tree which
began to smoulder. Harry couldn't find it in himself to care; better a tree than Padfoot.

"Confringo!"

"Protego!" Harry shouted, but Wormtail hadn't been trying to get him or Padfoot.

Thankfully, Moody or Dora - he wasn't sure which - had got their own shield charm up in
time. But Wormtail didn't use the resulting explosion as a distraction and try to flee as he had
in the past.

"I'm not going back to Azkaban! Confringo!" Another explosion, this one sending splinters
and hot dirt flying. "Confringo!" A blast of hot air against Harry's face. Harry couldn't see
Dora or Moody through the fire, couldn't hear them- "Confri-"

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry's spell missed - Wormtail twisted aside to avoid it - but it stopped him from casting that
final blasting curse. Wormtail turned to look at Harry, the burning of the forest reflected in his
eyes, eyes which weren't quite sane anymore.

"Confringo!"

This one was aimed at Harry.

"Protego!" he shouted, throwing himself over Padfoot and hoping…

The spell hit Harry's shield and exploded with massive force and roaring, fiery heat. Harry
was knocked backward, uncomfortably hot but not burning, stunned but not dead.
Wormtail shouted something and Harry scrambled forward again, another shield charm on his
lips, but Wormtail was facing Moody and Dora. Moody was burned and kneeling - his fake
leg crumbling into ash - wand in one hand and the other flung wide as if to shield Dora, who
looked furious but unhurt.

The little fires burning around their feet were writhing, and pooling together in a way Harry
had never seen the like of. The fire grew and-

"Harry, run!" Dora didn't look angry anymore; she looked terrified. Even Moody, who
usually looked grimly unflappable looked frightened.

The fire shivered and became a great cat, with a mane of fire and a flickering tail. It prowled
forward, leaving smaller fires everywhere its paws touched. Harry could feel the heat coming
off it, even from where he was.

Moody was drawing runes in the scorched dirt with his wand, and Dora was moving her
wand in a complicated way - whatever she was doing was making the air around the beast
steam and sizzle - but it didn't seem to be doing much good.

"Aguamenti!" Harry's jet of water evaporated almost as soon as it left the tip of Padfoot's
wand. "What is it?!"

"Fiendfyre!" Dora shouted back, face scrunched up in concentration. "Harry, go!"

The fiery thing reared and Harry realised just how much Dora and Moody had been doing to
contain it up until then. It shook like a wet dog, fire spraying from the tips of its mane, and
then vanished beneath a layer of earth.

The layer reddened and cracked- and another layer patched over it, then another.

Wormtail was almost to the far edge of the clearing now, the dementors nowhere to be seen.
Harry half-rose to go after him but then there was a bang and clumps of melted, burning dirt
exploded away from the fiendfyre, with almost as much force as Wormtail's blasting curses.

The thing shook itself again and surged forward, like some sort of patronus gone wrong -
burning instead of glowing, red-hot instead of silvery, angry and dangerous instead of
protective - and Harry thought of Dora and of his soon-to-be-godsibling and cast the only
thing he could think of:

"Expecto Patronum!"

It wasn't mist this time, or even a shield.

This time it was-

"Prongs?" The faint croak came from below Harry, from Padfoot, whose face was pale and
pained. Wormtail made a truly terrified sound and fled into the trees.

Prongs, seeming to know what was expected of him, lowered his head and charged into the
side of the monstrous cat.
He wasn't completely ineffective; while he disappeared with a bright flash when he hit the
cat, Prongs did manage to push it enough to make it- stumble was too strong a word, but it
did take a step that it perhaps hadn't meant to.

And then it paused, though not for long; the pause didn't buy them any real time, or give
Harry a chance to come up with some other way to try to handle it, or for Moody or Dora or
even the wandless-and-feebly-stirring-Padfoot to do anything.

In fact, the only thing the pause did do was give Harry a fleeting moment to realise things
were about to take a turn for the worst.

The fiendfyre leapt forward again, back on its original course toward Moody and Dora.

They conjured a wall of water but the wall steamed and hissed, evaporating away slightly
faster than Moody and Dora were able to replace it.

Each time the cat tried to breach it, drops of boiling water showered down on them; Moody
snarled when it happened, Dora let out a pained sound. It was only Harry's excellent hearing
that allowed him to hear them over the constant roaring crackle of the fiendfyre.

"Padfoot," Harry said, squeezing Padfoot's shoulder, "how do we beat it?"

"Prongs," Padfoot said weakly, expression contorting. "No, no you can't, I can't have- Harry-
Is Harry all right? Prongs." His fingers clutched at Harry's robes.

"I'm fine," Harry said, pushing him back down. "But I won't be if we can't do something to
stop-" Dora let out a muffled cry and Harry looked up to see they'd given up on the wall and
had instead conjured a watery dome around the two of them. It was not a very large one - the
pair of them were crouched in it and still their heads almost touched the top. "Padfoot, please,
what do we do?" The cat leapt onto it, and the dome sagged a little, steaming. Moody
flinched. "Padfoot?!"

Another enormous burning shape shot past Harry, this one a serpent. It crashed into
Wormtail's cat, wrapping around it, strangling it.

Moody and Dora's dome - now under double the strain - sizzled and almost broke, then
suddenly sprang up, larger than before, and still wavering in the intense heat, but stronger;
somehow, Harry thought it might actually hold.

The fiendfyre - now looking like neither a cat or a snake, but like a phoenix - spread wings of
fire, then seemed to collapse in on itself and, with a whoosh like a thousand candles being
extinguished, vanished. The burning trees went out too.

The clearing went dark and still and quiet and cold - though, thankfully not the sort of cold
Harry associated with dementors.

Then, there was a splash and a squeal and a spluttering laugh from over by Dora and Moody,
and the sounds of movement in the trees behind Harry.
He turned, lifting Padfoot's wand, but - though his eyes hadn't adjusted well enough to make
out faces - he recognised the sound of Snape's limp, and the beard next to him - white against
dark shapes - was so impressive it could only be Dumbledore's.

Harry let his wand drop to his side, feeling numb with relief.

"Dumbledore," he said, squeezing Padfoot's arm again, but he was unconscious again.

"... can't see a bloody thing." Dora muttered something and a glowing ball of yellow light
shot from her wand, then exploded into other, smaller balls which hung in the air above
everyone's heads. "Much better." She was soaking wet, which was probably a relief for her;
her face was red and burnt and bleeding, her clothes blackened. She got to her feet, one hand
pressed to her stomach. "Pretty perfect timing you've got, Dumbledore."

"Wouldn't have wanted to be here any later," Moody groaned. "Diffindo." What remained of
his wooden leg crumbled away. "Accio log."

Snape sat down heavily on a mossy root while Dumbledore came to join Harry, who was
standing uselessly by Padfoot.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, crouching slightly to look at him. "Are you all right?" Harry
nodded jerkily, not sure if he was being honest or not; he felt dead on his feet and emotionally
worn out, but he wasn't hurt. "Where is Miss Granger?"

"Wormtail left her in the forest, by the gate."

"The dementors-"

"Won't bother her," Harry said.

"You're certain?"

"Positive. She's a-"

Padfoot stopped breathing.

Harry noticed first, dropping to his knees beside him, and Dumbledore - if he didn't
realise exactly what was wrong - realised that something was wrong and knelt as well.

"Wormtail hit him with something. A spell," Harry said. "It was purple- like purple fire."

"Purple fire? Severus?"

"Dolohov's old favourite," Snape eased himself to his feet and came to join them. He smelled
exhausted and exhilarated all at once. Harry clenched his jaw but said nothing as Snape drew
his wand and knelt over Padfoot. A moment later he took a shallow breath, and Harry knelt
back, relaxing. Snape waved his wand and Harry shuffled back, then stood to get out of his
way.
"Not one I realised Pettigrew knew." Moody limped over on a newly transfigured leg. "He's
learned a few new things, actually."

"He spent months with Crouch and Voldemort before coming to Hogwarts," Dumbledore
said.

"And he's had a lot of free time since, to practice," Harry said.

"Mmm." Both of Moody's eyes slid over the blackened clearing, and then he limped off
again, doing what looked to be a perimeter check.

Constant vigilance, Harry thought, and had the absurd desire to laugh.

"It's a pity he's got away, but then again, good riddance." Harry twitched as a warm arm
wrapped around him, then relaxed as he recognised Dora's scent. "Are you cold?" she asked.

"No," Harry said, turning to frown down at her. She'd regrown or covered the burned parts of
her face and hair, and, other than her ruined robes - Harry's robes - looked to be in good
shape. "Why?"

"You're shaking."

He was.

"I'm fine." Again, Harry wasn't sure if it was the truth or not. Dora didn't seem to believe him,
because she bundled him into a hug. Harry would have shrugged her off, but there was
something in her scent that made him think - underneath it all - she wasn't quite as calm as
she looked, and that the hug was for her more than it was for him, and so, he bore it. Her chin
rested on Harry's shoulder, and together, they watched Dumbledore and Snape work over
Padfoot. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Eventually," Snape said, without looking up. "He'll need some time with Poppy or at St
Mungo's, but I've done enough to ensure he won't die before then."

"Pettigrew's long gone. Or, most of him is..." Moody was back, with a bloody lump floating
in the air before him. Two fingers, and part of a palm.

Snape looked at Harry then, eyes dark and expression unreadable, and Harry felt betrayal and
anger and horror and shame burn in his stomach, then his throat, and struggled free of Dora
to go and throw up in the nearest bush.

"Mad-Eye, honestly!" Dora said angrily, and then she was beside Harry. He tried to fend her
off but she stayed put and he couldn't muster the energy to keep trying. "Let's get you and
Sirius back up to the school, eh?" she said, rubbing Harry's back. He nodded, exhausted, and
straightened, taking a few shaky steps. Dora hovered beside him, arms slightly up, as if she
expected him to fall and need catching.

"... Severus can go with Mrs Lupin, Harry and Sirius," Dumbledore murmured. He and Snape
were standing again, and had Padfoot on a conjured stretcher between them. Moody had done
something with the bit of Wormtail's hand - no longer was it floating before him. "Alastor, if
you'll accompany me - your eye may be of use in finding Miss Granger if she has not already
made her way back..."

"She's a rat," Harry said, and the three men turned to look at him, surprised. Harry realised he
shouldn't have been able to hear them. Still, it was too late to pretend otherwise. "Wormtail
transfigured her so the Dementors wouldn't get her when we separated."

"I see," Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard. "That's strangely considerate of him, all
things considered-"

"The dementors won't get her, but neither will we," Moody pointed out. "You're mad if you
think we'll be able to find a single rat in all of this, let alone the right one. And if she's not
thinking like herself, she'll hide as soon as she hears us coming." Dumbledore's mouth turned
down.

"I can find her," Harry said. All four adults turned to look at him again. "I know where we
were when Wormtail let her loose, and she's not as likely to hide from me."

"Harry," Dora said gently, "she's a rat in a forest. Even if she's not deliberately hiding, she's
not going to be easy to find…" She turned to the others. "I don't suppose we can wake Sirius
and have him help…?"

"I wouldn't," Snape said. "We're not without options, though, where animagi are concerned."
Harry tried to keep his panic off his face; surely Snape couldn't know. He couldn't. Harry'd
never done anything to give himself away, and Draco wouldn't have told him- "Professor
McGonagall will gladly assist."

"She'll take ages to get down here, though," Harry said. He looked at Dumbledore. "I can find
her, sir, I'm sure of it, and then I'll meet you back at the castle-"

"Sending you alone into the forest at night is quite possibly the worst idea I've ever heard,"
Snape said. "Headmaster, surely you can't think-"

"Harry," Dumbledore said in a kind tone that Harry knew he would use to break
disappointing news, "after the night you've had, I don't believe you're in any state to be going
off into the forest alone."

"Hermione's probably in even less of a state," Harry said, jaw setting. "And we're just
wasting time-"

"That, at least, I'll agree with; Black needs to be seen by Poppy," Snape said. He glanced at
Dumbledore, then down at the stretcher. "Soon."

"Go," Dumbledore said, and Snape started off into the trees with Padfoot floating along
beside him, in the direction Harry thought the road must be.

"Nymphadora," Moody said gruffly, nodding after Snape.

"You're retired, Mad-Eye, you can't order me around-"

"Watch me," he growled, and his magical eye dropped to her stomach. His other eye was
fixed on her face, and the two of them had some sort of staring contest before Dora gave in;
Harry smelled a fond sort of exasperation on her, but also relief as well. She went after
Snape.

"Harry, I really do think you ought to accompany them as well; you have done more than
enough tonight, and if Sirius wakes and you're not with him, he'll-"

"He'll cope," Harry said. Dumbledore sighed.

"You will not be dissuaded?"

"No."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, sighing again. "Alastor, Harry and I will meet you at the
castle."

"You're coming with me?" Harry asked, as Moody gave them both a narrow-eyed look, then
limped off.

"Someone will need to transfigure Miss Granger back once we find her." When Harry opened
his mouth, Dumbledore merely arched an eyebrow. "She is also my student, and it is my
responsibility to ensure her safety. The safety of all of my students, in fact." And Harry knew
then that Dumbledore would not be moved on the matter. He nodded reluctantly. "I'm afraid I
have done a poor job tonight, so far."

Dumbledore said it lightly, but his expression was shadowed, and his eyes were grave. Harry
looked around the smouldering clearing and knew he'd be lying if he disagreed. He did not,
however, hold what had happened against Dumbledore, any more than he held it against
Padfoot, or Ron, or Hermione.

"I think the problem is that Wormtail did a good job," Harry said.

"We have more important things to do than worry about my feelings, Harry," Dumbledore
said gently. He raised a hand at the clearing. "Lead the way."

And Harry did, following his scent and Wormtail's and Padfoot's back through the trees to
where Wormtail had taken off his rucksack. It sat, undisturbed, beside a tree still oozing from
the cut Padfoot's spell had put in it.

Dumbledore looked at it and then at Harry, arching an eyebrow. Harry bent over the rucksack
and pulled the map from its pocket, then offered the bag to Dumbledore.

"This was Wormtail's?" Harry nodded, unfolding the forest part of the map, but Hermione
wasn't on it. He tucked it into his pocket with a sigh, then walked a few steps until he found
Wormtail's scent again.

"This way."
It was a bit trickier tracking things as a human than it would have been to do so as a wolf,
because of how much further from the ground he was, but the scents were recent ones and
human, which made them stand out even more in the forest.

"Impressive," Dumbledore murmured, when, after several minutes of walking in silence, they
were within sight of the the wall where Wormtail had transfigured Hermione. Uncomfortable,
Harry did his best to ignore the comment, sure that responding to it would only lead to
questions. Dumbledore continued, undeterred: "We shall of course, attribute it to your youth,
and your memory, which has not yet been tainted by age." There was amusement in his scent,
and when Harry turned to look at him, his beard twitched.

"That- yeah. That sounds like a good thing to attribute it to," Harry said, relieved. "Thanks."

"For what, dear boy?" Dumbledore asked, giving him a faint smile.

Harry smiled back and then returned his attention to the scents around them. He found
Hermione's scent layered over and under his own scent and Wormtail's, and then, it simply
vanished.

Harry had a brief moment of panic before he remembered that Wormtail had thrown her after
he transfigured her, rather than set her immediately down, and was able to pick her trace up
again a few feet away.

She hadn't gone far- or at least, not by human standards; what took Harry and Dumbledore a
minute or two to walk had probably taken her twice that as a rat, or at the very least, been far
more tiring.

Harry gestured for Dumbledore to stop walking.

"Hermione?" he whispered. Something small moved nearby. "Lumos." Harry crouched down
and held his wand out. There, under the rotting roots of a tree stump and only visible because
he had heard her and knew exactly where to look, was a particularly furry brown rat, with
large front teeth. She was quivering, pressed against the far side of her hiding place.

Harry put Padfoot's wand between his teeth and reached in.

She bit him and he swore around the wand before remembering Dumbledore was behind him.

"Sorry," he muttered over his shoulder, and then, wincing as her sharp little claws scrabbled
against his hand, managed to get Hermione-rat around the middle and pull her out.

She bit him again, squeaking madly.

"Ow-" Harry took Padfoot's wand out of his mouth. "Stop it." She did, shrinking back as if in
apology.

"On the ground, if you would, Harry," Dumbledore said. Dubious - because she was sure to
bolt and Harry wasn't sure how quick Dumbledore's casting was likely to be - Harry did as he
was told. He needn't have worried; as soon as he released her there was a flash of blue light
and Hermione reappeared as herself, hunched over on the ground.
She was still shaking, and went to speak but squeaked instead. She clapped a hand to her
mouth, eyes filling with tears.

"Nox." He tucked the wand away. "You're all right, Hermione," Harry said, going to crouch
beside her. He remembered how sore he'd been after the first time he transformed, and how
shaken. "You're all right." Her lip was wobbling. "Yeah?"

"No!" She faltered, as if surprised to hear her voice rather than a rat's. "I- I'm sore and- and I
was so s-scared and I'm s-so angry with you right now-"

"Angry?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Yes, Harry, a-angry!" She was actually crying now. Harry glanced back at Dumbledore for
help, but he'd moved back, probably not wanting to overwhelm Hermione. "What if Wormtail
h-had-"

"Wormtail's gone." Or most of him was. Harry felt ill again at the thought of Wormtail's
mangled hand. "Everything's fine-"

"You didn't know it would when you t-traded, t-though." Hermione hiccoughed, her scent
miserable. "W-what if you h-had g-gone with him?! You'd be- you'd be-"

There was nothing he could say to that because - as usual - Hermione was right. He shuffled
closer to pat her on the back, and, while she clearly was mad with him, she couldn't have
been too mad because she let him.

"How's Ron?" she asked thickly, when she'd got herself back under control.

"I-" Harry hadn't had time to worry about Ron since leaving Wormtail's room. He felt
immediately guilty.

"Mr Weasley found his way to Professor McGonagall's office about ten minutes before
Severus and I reached you, Harry," Dumbledore said, and Harry relaxed a little. "He's resting
in the Hospital Wing now, and the pair of you-" Dumbledore flicked his wand and a stretcher
appeared beneath Hermione. "-will be joining him, I think."

Hermione wiped her eyes and gave him a grateful nod, then readjusted herself on the
stretcher with a wince.

Harry almost protested. He wanted to go and see Ron and Padfoot, and make sure that
Hermione was all right, of course, but he could tell from Dumbledore's tone and scent that he
intended for Harry to be a patient, rather than a visitor.

Then, he reconsidered; if he himself was a patient, then he wouldn't have to argue with
Madam Pomfrey about being allowed to see the others. He would also be able to sleep
without having to walk all the way up to Gryffindor tower...

"All right," Harry mumbled.

"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said, sounding amused. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded, stood, and staggered a little to regain his balance.

Stopping for a few minutes had been a bad idea, it seemed; it had given a chance for the
night's events to catch up with him. Weariness had crept into his very bones, and he was
starving, and his finger hurt where Hermione had bitten him, and his face stung - perhaps a
burn? He was also still shaking, and wasn't sure if he had been the whole time, or if he'd just
started again.

He swayed, then shook himself. How long had he had a headache?

An empty stretcher nudged his side.

"'m fine," Harry said, shaking his head at Dumbledore.

"Humour an old man, Harry," Dumbledore said. Harry couldn't find the energy to argue, so
he clambered on and lay down. On the second stretcher, Hermione had either gone to sleep,
or was pretending she had.

"Do you need help finding the way back?"

"I'll let you know if I do, thank you." Dumbledore sounded amused again.

Vaguely, Harry was aware Dumbledore was humouring him now, but before he could call the
Headmaster on it, he was fast asleep.
 The patients

Thud! Harry stirred.

"Wha- Sirius!"

Harry forced his eyes open and looked around, groggy and confused. Gradually, he registered
that he was on a bed, and recognised the clean smell of the hospital wing. Hermione was in a
bed to his right, and Ron to the right of her, both fast asleep. And Padfoot was-

"What's- where am- Marlene?" That was Padfoot, sounding confused and scared. But he was
awake, and that was enough to send relief coursing through Harry.

"Hospital wing." Harry recognised Marlene's whisper, coming from a curtained off bed
further down. "Peter got you with a curse, but everything's all right."

"But I was- Prongs-"

"Sirius-"

"Harry." Padfoot's voice was desperate. "Marl, where's-"

"He's sleeping," she said. "And he's fine, just exhausted."

"I need to see him-"

"No, it's four in the morning!"

"I need to- Marl, stop!"

"No - get back into bed before you wake-"

Madam Pomfrey's office door flew open, and should have crashed loudly against the wall,
but didn't. It was silent, as was she as she stalked across the room, ghost-like her pale
dressing gown, and disappeared behind the curtain.

"Auror Black! You are in no condition to be out of bed. Ms McKinnon, please-"

"Please, I need to see Harry- Marl!" Harry heard bed springs groan and imagined Padfoot had
been forced back down onto the bed. Harry reached for his glasses, shoved them on, then
threw his covers back and slid out of bed.

"Potter is perfectly all right," Madam Pomfrey whispered, "and-"

Bang! went the Hospital Wing's door. Harry snatched up Padfoot's wand, which was sitting
on his bedside table, and Marlene burst out of the curtains around Padfoot's bed, holding her
own wand, expression fierce.
Moony staggered in looking half-dead; his hair was a mess and he was bleeding from his
arms, his left cheek and somewhere beneath the ratty tshirt he was wearing. For a moment,
Harry worried he'd been attacked. Then he looked out the window at the setting moon and
caught Remus' scent; it was more man than wolf, but more wolf than Harry had ever known.

Ron snorted in his sleep and rolled over. Hermione didn't stir at all.

Harry, Marlene and Moony stared at each other. Marlene lowered her wand, exasperated, and
took a step toward Moony, who growled quietly at her. She backed up again, looking
affronted.

Harry tried his luck, and Moony looked him over with eyes that were human, but still a little
feral. Harry stopped a few feet back and Moony's nostrils flared. Then his arms darted out
and he pulled Harry into a rough hug.

"Harry," he said hoarsely, then sniffed him, then held him at an arm's length and looked him
over.

"I'm all right," Harry muttered.

"You smell like Wormtail." Moony growled the name.

"Oh, for-!" Madam Pomfrey poked her head out of the curtain and the rest of her body
followed. "What are you doing up?" she hissed at Harry. "And what are you-" She jabbed a
finger at Moony, rather bravely in Harry's opinion. "-doing here at all?!"

"What's-" Padfoot's faint voice drifted out through the parted curtains.

"Padfoot?!" Moony's head snapped up.

"You can deal with him, since you're awake," she told Harry, jerking her head in the direction
of Padfoot's voice. "Make sure he stays in bed." Harry gently pulled away from Moony, and
started over toward Padfoot. Moony made a soft noise of protest that was almost a whine.

Then, far more boldly than probably anyone but Padfoot would have dared, Madam Pomfrey
walked right up to Moony and steered him to an empty bed.

Harry left them to it, and went to join Marlene, who gave him a sideways hug and kissed his
head, then led him into Padfoot's little section of the hospital wing.

Padfoot was wearing a slightly-too-small pair of hospital pyjamas, and attempting to stand
using the bedside table. His shaky legs gave way when he saw Harry, and Harry rushed
forward to catch him. Marlene caught his other side, and together, the two of them put him
back onto the bed.

"Stay," Marlene said, but Harry didn't think he was going to moving any time soon. Or letting
Harry move, for that matter; but he'd wrapped an arm around him, and injured or cursed or
whatever it was that was wrong with him, it wasn't a strong grip, but he wasn't letting go. He
was warmer than usual, feverish.
"Padfoot-"

"I'm sorry," Padfoot said, clutching at him. "I'm so sorry."

"What?" Harry asked, blinking.

"Halloween, I did it again, I left you all alone so that I could go after Peter, and he got me, he
tricked me, and I was- I was back in Azkaban - in my head, I think, but I didn't know it then -
and there were dementors everywhere, and then- I saw- I saw- I thought I'd died-"

Harry twisted to look at Marlene who looked just as shocked and worried as he did. She
gestured out of the curtains again and left, and Harry heard her whispering for Madam
Pomfrey.

"Padfoot," Harry said. "You're not dead, you're not in Azkaban. You're fine." Only he wasn't
fine. He smelled panicky and jittery and his eyes were wild and he was breathing like he'd
been racing through the forest, not lying in a bed. Harry had never known him to be like this.

"... wasn't just worried about Potter?" he heard Madam Pomfrey ask.

"Sorry, Harry, so sorry…"

"I'm fine," Harry tried.

"No," Marlene said, "this is something… else."

Madam Pomfrey sighed, but not in a way that made Harry think she was surprised to hear
that. She stepped in a moment later with Marlene on her heels, expression grim.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked.

"After-effect of the curse. Severus said it was possible, but not likely." She pursed her lips.

"Can you do anything for him?" Marlene asked. Padfoot had dropped back into his pillows,
muttering, and Harry carefully detached himself.

"Yes, but it'll need brewing." Madam Pomfrey rubbed her eyes. "In the meantime, it might be
kinder to knock him out with a sleeping potion."

"Is it- will the effects be permanent?"

"No." Madam Pomfrey reached out to squeeze Marlene's arm. "A week at most, and it won't
be constant, just… every now and then..." She flicked her wand and a small bottle of pale
purple potion came shooting through the curtains and into her outstretched hand. "Back to
bed with you, Potter. Now," she added, rather sternly, when Harry didn't move. "You can see
Black again in the morning."

"It is morning-"

"Hardly," Madam Pomfrey said, disapprovingly.

"I won't be able to sleep again," Harry tried, eyes on Padfoot.

"Then I'll bring you a sleeping potion as well." Madam Pomfrey held Harry's eyes for a long
moment, and then he pulled a face, giving in; if she dosed him up, he'd be asleep until
midday, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"No," he said. "I'll try to sleep."

"I thought so." She waved a hand at the curtains again, and Harry looked to Marlene - hoping
she might say something on his behalf - but her eyes were on Padfoot and so Harry had no
choice but to slink back to his own bed.

And, to his credit, he did did try to sleep. But, between worrying about Padfoot, and thinking
about Wormtail's hand, and thinking about where Wormtail had gone and wondering if
Hermione and Ron were going to be angry with him when they woke, he didn't have any
luck; he was still awake ten minutes later, when Madam Pomfrey returned to her office, was
still awake at five, when she re-emerged briefly to help a pair of Hufflepuffs into beds near
Moony's, at five-thirty, when Marlene left to go to work, and just after six, when Madam
Pomfrey emerged again - dressed this time - to leave the Hospital Wing.

Harry was out of bed before the heavy door had closed behind her.

She, in turn, was looking back in before he'd even taken a step, wand in hand.

"It's morning," Harry said. "I just want to sit with Padfoot. I won't wake him-"

"He'll be waking up soon anyway," she said, stepping back into the Hospital Wing. "I only
gave him a partial dose, because I want him awake when I return with Severus."

"I'll keep him company, then," Harry said. "Please?"

"You father was a pest after full moons too," she sighed. "Though it wasn't usually Black he
wanted to see." They both glanced at Moony, who was pale and breathing deeply in his bed.
"You're not to wake any of the others," Madam Pomfrey said after a moment.

"I won't," Harry said.

"And if they do wake, I don't want any of them leaving until I'm back."

"I'll let them know," Harry said.

"And try to keep Black calm, if you can." She gave him a stern look, then turned and swept
out. Harry hurried over to Padfoot's area, slipped through the curtains, and then made sure
they were secure behind him; that would deter anyone from coming over, hopefully.

Padfoot's sleep was the still sort Harry associated with Sleeping Potions, but it couldn't have
been Dreamless Sleep, because there was a crease between his eyebrows, and his mouth was
turned down slightly.
Harry cast another look at the curtains, and listened for a moment, but no one was stirring in
the main wing. He transformed, nose twitching at the awful people-clean-potions smell, and
jumped up onto Padfoot's bed; seeing Harry as a person had distressed him and set him to
apologising; having Padfoot as a dog on his bed always comforted Harry, so maybe the same
would be true for Padfoot.

He wriggled up the bed, nosing Padfoot's hand until he was part-way under his arm. Padfoot's
fingers curled into his fur, and Harry pressed his nose to Padfoot's cheek, then put his head
down on his godfather's chest, eyes shut, but ears on alert for any noise out in the main
Hospital Wing.

He almost dozed several times, but the fear that Madam Pomfrey could come back and find
him as a wolf was enough to keep him awake. Then, as the sleeping potion wore off, Padfoot
grew more restless and Harry was too anxious waiting for him to wake up to even think about
sleep.

"Oh, Merlin," Padfoot groaned, moving, and Harry lifted his head. Padfoot was trying to edge
away from him, and Harry, worried that he might fall out of bed, shuffled toward Padfoot's
feet. Padfoot went very still, watching him. Harry smiled as best he could, and wagged his
tail. Padfoot squeezed his eyes shut, then peeked out through one. He swore, opening both
eyes again. "This is a dream, right?" Harry whined, not sure if he ought to transform or not;
this was not the reaction he'd expected. "There can't be two of me." He squeezed his eyes
shut again, then opened them. His scent turned panicky, fearful. "No, no-" The hospital wing
door creaked and Padfoot jumped. "No, no, no…"

Harry tumbled off the bed and out of his wolf form as brisk footsteps and quick but slightly
less even footsteps crossed the hospital wing.

Harry scrambled to his feet, and Padfoot slumped back into his pillows.

"You're not me, you're you," he said, smelling relieved and embarrassed. "I thought-" But
before Padfoot could explain himself further, the curtains were yanked open and Madam
Pomfrey stepped in with Snape in tow. Snape's eyes drifted over Harry, then landed on
Padfoot.

"Black," Madam Pomfrey said cautiously. "How are you feeling?"

"I... don't know," Padfoot said slowly, dragging his eyes off of Harry. He shifted on the bed,
then winced and lay back down. "How long have I been here?"

"Ten hours," Snape said, "give or take. Pettigrew escaped, before you ask." Padfoot rubbed a
hand over his face, unhappy but unsurprised.

"What happened?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Snape held up a hand. Madam Pomfrey seemed
content to let Snape handle things too; she stood quietly beside Harry.

"What do you remember?" Snape asked.

"Dying," Padfoot said, smelling jittery. Harry couldn't help his stricken expression. "But
obviously that's not right, so I doubt the rest of it is either."

"Dying?" Snape asked, arching an eyebrow. Padfoot glanced at Harry and then away again,
scent complicated. "I must say," Snape said, "that's dramatic even for you, Black." Harry
started to bristle on Padfoot's behalf, but Padfoot smelled grateful and Snape didn't smell
nasty.

"So what did happen?" Padfoot asked, and then frowned. "And stop looking at me like that,
kiddo. I'm all right." There was an uncomfortable pause, where Padfoot looked between the
three of them. "Aren't I?"

Hermione poked her head out of her covers and looked around, blinking up at the unfamiliar
ceiling before she recognised it as belonging to the Hospital Wing. She sank back into her
pillows.

"Morning," said a familiar voice. Hermione twitched and turned to see Draco sitting in a
chair beside her bed. The bed behind him was screened off by curtains. There was another
screened off bed on the other side of the Hospital Wing, and, since she couldn't see them
anywhere, she had a terrible feeling they held Ron and Harry. "You'll be pleased to know the
hippogriff survived," Draco said. "No thanks to any of you lot." Hermione's hands flew to her
mouth.

"Oh, Draco, I-"

"I'm teasing, Granger, relax." Draco's eyes softened, and it was only then she noticed how
exhausted he looked. "I think you've got a good excuse." His eyes flicked over her. "How are
you feeling?"

"I'm- okay, I think," she said, and meant it. She wasn't as sore as she had been, and she wasn't
shaking any more. "Have you seen Harry and Ron?" Harry had seemed all right when he and
Dumbledore came and found her the night before, but Ron had been left behind, unconscious
in Wormtail's room, and he'd been hurt. "Is Ron-?"

"I'm here." There was a rustle and Ron poked his head through the curtains around the bed
behind Draco. He disappeared for a second and then pulled the curtain back and stepped out,
tugging a worn t-shirt down. His hospital pyjamas sat in a scrunched pile on the bed.

He looked well enough; there was no sign of his head injury, and he had much better colour
in his face than he had last night.

Hermione found herself lost for words; he'd tried to help her, been hurt and tortured alongside
her, had watched just as helplessly when Harry came for them… what was she supposed to
say to him? Sorry? Thank you? Something else?

"Where's Harry?" she asked instead.

"Haven't seen him yet," Ron said. There was something off in his voice, something troubled,
and Hermione wondered if he was as angry with Harry as she was.

"Over there." Draco nodded at the curtained off area. "Typical Potter - he's been back and
forward between Black and you two all morning, trying to work out who he should be
helping." Yes, something was bothering Ron - Hermione could tell. "I'm surprised he hasn't
heard you and come out."

"What's wrong with Sirius?" Hermione asked, worried.

"Cursed," Draco said. "Wormtail got him with something. Potter didn't do a very good job of
explaining what's wrong with him at the moment, but he's supposed to make a full recovery-"

Hermione heard her name, and then Harry was slipping out of the curtains around Sirius' bed.
He paused, staring at them, and was smiling, but looked nervous - and so he should,
Hermione thought, but was relieved he seemed to be okay. Ron was just staring at him.
Harry's smile faded and he stayed by the curtains. Remus stepped out as well and smiled
tiredly at Hermione, and then Madam Pomfrey pushed past the pair of them, bustling over.

She gave Hermione and Ron a quick check-over, then declared them well enough to go back
to the common room with Draco as soon as they felt ready for it.

"We should probably go soon," Ron said. "Fred and George were here last night with Mum
and Dad, but they haven't been this morning yet, so it's only a matter of time… Ginny too."
Hermione glanced at Madam Pomfrey, who looked quite frazzled as it was, and thought it
would be best not to subject her to the Weasley twins. She nodded.

"I'll just change." She shooed the boys away so she could curtain off her bed, and changed
quickly into the clothes on her bedside table. Harry had come over while she was curtained
away, and was standing with Ron and Draco, looking more awkward than Hermione had ever
known him to.

"A-" But whatever Harry had been going to say was lost when the Hospital Wing doors
swung open and Dumbledore strode in, with Dora on his heels.

"Apologies, Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore said, when Madam Pomfrey burst out of Sirius'
curtains again, "but Mrs Lupin seems to have misplaced her husband, and I thought he might
be here." Madam Pomfrey stalked back into the curtains and Remus stumbled out a second
later.

"Dora?" Remus asked. "Where have you been?"

"Waiting for you to come in after the moon," she said, sounding exasperated, "at home. How
long have you been here?!" She flung her arms around him, and Remus patted her back,
looking guilty.

"I'm relieved to see you all up and about," Dumbledore said, smiling as he came to join the
four of them. "How is Sirius, Harry?"
"Not great," Harry said. He looked tired, and troubled, and Hermione felt some of her anger
fade. "When he woke up before he was all right, but he's not well again now. Snape's trying
to put together something that'll help."

"Can you trust him to Severus and Madam Pomfrey's care for an hour or so? I didn't have a
chance to speak with you last night, after everything." His tone was gentle, but Hermione
didn't think it was a question. Harry didn't seem to think so either; he glanced in Sirius'
direction, then nodded, mumbled a goodbye, and followed the Headmaster out.

"I'd have thought he'd want to question us too," Hermione said, frowning after them.

"I talked to McGonagall and Moody about everything last night," Ron said, expression
distant. "Between that and whatever Harry's got to say, plus whatever Dumbledore was there
for, I reckon they'd have a fair idea what happened."

"I think Dumbledore's probably got a good idea already," Draco said, expression shrewd. "I
think it's more likely he's making sure Potter's all right, since Black isn't in any shape to do
it." A little more of Hermione's anger trickled away. "I, on the other hand, haven't been able
to get the full story from anyone, just bits and pieces, and I think I've been quite patient." He
gave Hermione an expectant look, and then turned the same one on Ron.

"Yes, all right," Hermione said, feeling the corners of her mouth curl up, despite herself. Her
smile faded a moment later. "I've got to talk to Professor McGonagall first, but after that, I'll
meet you in the common room?"

"Steady on, Granger," Draco said, "you were kidnapped last night. You can't just go
wandering off alone-"

"Harry said last night that Wormtail's gone," Hermione said. "I think I'll be quite safe."

"We'll come, just in case-"

"No, I'll be-" Hermione began, but Draco spoke over the top of her:

"Won't we, Weasley?"

"You should," Ron said, nodding. "I need…" He paused, then mumbled something about
resting and the common room that Hermione didn't think Draco bought any more than she
herself did.

"Are you all right, Ron?' she asked, putting a hand on his arm.

"Yeah, I just… Yeah." Hermione glanced at Draco, who was pursing his lips.

"Convincing, Weasley," Draco sighed. He pointed at Hermione. "Straight to McGonagall,

then come and find us. Let's go, Weasley."

"I thought you were going with Hermione," Ron said warily.
"I've decided you look like you need the company. And possibly someone to make sure you
don't pass out and fall off a moving staircase."

"I'm not going to pass out," Ron grumbled.

"Good," Draco said. "You can prove it on our walk back." Ron turned a slightly pleading look
on Hermione, but strange as his mood was, she thought he ought to have company. She also
thought her conversation with Professor McGonagall would go much more smoothly if she
didn't have an audience.

The three of them parted ways - Hermione heading downstairs, and the boys heading
upstairs.

Though there were no lessons on, there didn't seem to be many people walking the corridors,
but early as it was, Hermione wasn't surprised; most people would still be at breakfast or in
bed.

Professor McGonagall, thankfully, was not one of them.

She opened the door before Hermione could even knock - she must have heard her
approaching.

"Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall favoured her with a smile.

"Can I-?" Hermione gestured inside, and Professor McGonagall pulled the door wider to
allow her in.

"How are you feeling after last night's-" Professor McGonagall's lips thinned. "-ordeal?"

"I'm fine, now," Hermione said. Professor McGonagall acknowledged that with a nod, and
then gestured to her.

"And what can I do for you this morning, Granger?"

"Ron said he spoke to you last night, about… everything."

"He did."

"Did he tell you about my-" Hermione's hand brushed at her neck, feeling for the chain that
was no longer there. "-timeturner?"

"Weasley mentioned it, yes." Her expression gave nothing away at all, and that did nothing to
ease Hermione's guilt.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I know they're valuable, and that you had to speak to the Ministry
on my behalf for them to even let me use one, and that I promised I'd take good care of it, but
I was so worried Wormtail might-"

"Calm yourself, Granger. I think it was a wise decision on your part, and I'm sure the
Ministry will agree."-" Professor McGonagall gave her a wry smile, and then frowned. "What
I am concerned about is that Weasley seemed to know what it was, and Potter apparently did,
and given that, I daresay Mr Malfoy does as well." Hermione nodded, guilty, and unable to
meet the professor's eyes. She didn't mention that Ginny also knew, or that Draco was not
only aware of it, but had used it with her. "How long?" Hermione glanced up, uncertain.
"How long have they been aware of it?"

"Since- since I had the accident with it," Hermione said, putting a hand to her neck.

"October?" Professor McGonagall asked flatly. Hermione nodded and waited for Professor
McGonagall to dock points, or give her a thorough telling off, but all she did was sigh. "I'm
surprised, but I really don't think I ought to be." She massaged the bridge of her nose and
then looked up. "And it won't matter over the school holidays, but once you return for your
fourth year-"

"Actually," Hermione said, "since I've already dropped Divination, I thought if I dropped
Muggle Studies, I'll be able to get by without another one."

Professor McGonagall studied her face for a moment, then nodded:

"Very well, Granger. I'll remove it from your timetable."

"Thank you."

Silence fell over the office. It wasn't an uncomfortable one, but McGonagall seemed to be
waiting for something, and Hermione was struggling to find the words for what she needed to
say.

"Did you wish to talk about anything else, Granger?"

"Yes, I- What do my parents know about what happened last night? I know Mr and Mrs
Weasley were told, because Ron said they were here-"

"A generic owl was sent to parents last night when the school was placed on lockdown,"
Professor McGonagall said. "Molly Weasley wrote a letter in return, asking after her children
- she rightly suspected one of them might be involved - and when the lockdown was lifted, I
contacted her by Floo and she and Arthur came to see Weasley in the Hospital Wing.

"Your own parents are not as well informed, at this stage, I apologise; they're not connected
to the Floo network, and though the Headmaster had you back at the school by nine, I fear it
was a late night for the rest of us, trying to put together everything that had happened, and
secure the school." McGonagall shifted, almost guiltily. "They're first on my priority list this
morning, though, I assure you." She waved a hand at a half written letter on her desk.
Hermione could see the words Dear Dr and Dr Granger…

"Is it possible for you to… not send it?"

"No," Professor McGonagall said, eyes sharp and nostrils flaring. "That will not be possible."

"Please?"
"You are fourteen, Miss Granger-"

"Actually, I'm fifteen, probably almost sixteen," Hermione said. "I've lived a long year,
remember?"

"Be that as it may," Professor McGonagall said after a moment, "you are still underage, and
as such, I have an obligation to inform your parents of anything that majorly compromises
your welfare."

"I'm fine-"

"You were abducted, tortured, and unwillingly transformed," Professor McGonagall said
curtly. "Regardless of how well you seem to have recovered, I do believe those things
constitute a major compromise."

Hermione wanted to argue that it hadn't been that bad. It was almost true; she'd been Stunned
and unconscious for her entire abduction and not hurt until Ron arrived and they tried to get
free. Then, she'd had him for company and support, and that had made the situation much
more bearable than it might otherwise have been. But the torture… those agonising few
seconds under Wormtail's wand had lasted a lifetime. It was her new worst memory, literally;
she'd relived it when they encountered the dementors on the grounds.

"They'll worry though-"

"As they ought to."

"But after October…" Hermione's hand brushed the scar on her neck. "They'll never let me
come back - they'll say it's not safe-"

"Your time at Hogwarts has been anything but safe, Granger," Professor McGonagall said
quietly. "And with the company you keep, I fear - try though I and the rest of the staff will to
ensure otherwise - the rest of your time here may be just as dangerous."

"You mean Harry," Hermione said, frowning.

"Have a biscuit, Granger." Professor McGonagall said after a short pause. She offered
Hermione a tartan tin, and Hermione - suddenly realising she hadn't had breakfast - took one.
"I am as fond of Potter as I am of any of you. He is my student, and I take my responsibility
to keep him safe-" Her expression spasmed at that. "-and happy seriously. But Potter has a
way of attracting danger to himself and the people around him, and you Granger, are one of
the people around him." Hermione had never thought of Professor McGonagall as old, but
she looked it now.

"Are you-" Hermione was sure she must have misunderstood. "-telling me he's too dangerous
to be friends with?" Her voice shook - just barely - with anger, but otherwise, she managed to
keep it level. Polite.

"No, Granger," Professor McGonagall sighed. "Just ensuring you understand what you've got
yourself into."
"I do," Hermione said, mollified. "I have for years."

"But do your parents?"

"They wouldn't understand." Hermione looked down at the untouched biscuit in her hands.

"Perhaps not," Professor McGonagall conceded. "But they still have a right to know."

"But knowing might mean- they'll want me to leave and go to a muggle school."

"I doubt, Granger, that any muggle school could contain you if you did not wish it to."
Professor McGonagall's tone was wry. "Not that I imagine it would ever come to that; you are
one of the more promising students we've had in recent years, and I do not think I would be
alone in protesting if I got word that you were going to be pulled out of Hogwarts."

And, though she hadn't managed to talk McGonagall out of sending the letter, Hermione felt
heartened all the same.
 Questions and confessions

"Weasley?" Draco pushed the door open and looked around the dormitory. Longbottom was
making a token effort to pack, while Finnigan and Thomas sat on Thomas' bed, their heads
bent together over a magazine.

"He's not in here," Longbottom said. He had a sock in his hand, and was looking around
without hope for the other one. After a moment he sighed and set it down and picked up a
pair of shoes instead. "He said something about needing fresh air."

Draco frowned and withdrew. He hadn't seen Weasley in the common room, but then, he
hadn't been watching for him - Weasley had said he needed to lie down - and the rest of the
Weasleys - including Head Boy Weasley, surprisingly enough - had been distracting Draco
with questions the entire time, about Granger and Potter and Black.

Thankfully, Weasley hadn't been lying to Longbottom; Draco made his way downstairs and
out of the castle in time to see a red-headed figure in a faded t-shirt crossing the grounds. He
caught up with him over by the Quidditch pitch.

"What are you doing out here?" Draco asked.

"Needed some fresh air," Weasley said, shrugging. There was something off about him - had
been since he woke - and it had grown worse since leaving the Hospital Wing.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Weasley said, but he didn't look at Draco when he said it.

"Hippogriff dung," Draco said, trailing Weasley as he headed up into the stands. They sat in
the very back row of the Gryffindor section. Weasley turned and leaned his elbows on the
back of the stands, looking out over the grounds and castle. Draco settled beside him, back
propped against the stands, and looked out over the pitch. "Weasley?"

"I'm fine," Weasley said. "I just need time to think about some stuff, that's all."

"What stuff?" Draco asked.

"Everything."

"That's unhelpful."

"Go inside then." Draco kicked gently at Weasley's foot. Weasley moved it out of reach, but
otherwise didn't respond.

"I'm a good listener," Draco tried, "if you'd like to think aloud."

"I'd like to think alone," Weasley muttered, half-glancing at him.

"Pity," Draco said. Weasley sighed at that, seeming more resigned than angry, and looked
back out over the grounds. "Is it Potter?"

Weasley's head snapped around again.

"Why would you say that?" His voice was defensive… too defensive. Draco hid a smirk, but
kept his eyes on the pitch.

"It's always Potter."

"Not always," Weasley muttered.

"Usually."

The word hung in the silence between them, and beside Draco Weasley sighed and rested his
chin on his arms.

"He saved me."

"That's what Potter does," Draco said.

"This time was different," Weasley said. And the events of the night before came tumbling
out; how Potter had come and found Weasley and Granger in Wormtail's room, how he'd tried
to free them but been tricked into surrendering his wand, how Wormtail had forced him to
trade for them - one for the cloak, and then, one for himself. Draco could imagine it all too
clearly, and he felt a sudden chill, though the day was warm and sunny.

"I'm- the cloak's really rare," Weasley said, "and Harry's- well, Harry. I'm- not not worth as
much as either of them, but he still- I mean, there are six other Weasley kids, and they're all
cleverer than me or funnier than me, or just- better. I mean, Hermione I can understand; she's
Hermione. She's brilliant. But I'm just… me. And he didn't just risk himself for us, he
actually traded." Weasley wasn't quite crying, but his eyes looked wet. Draco pretended not
to notice. "He looked at me and thought I was worth more than an invisibility cloak, worth
more than him. And with the way everything worked out, I'm glad he did, but I just- I don't
think I'm worth it."

"Potter clearly does," Draco said quietly.

"But I'm not." Weasley cleared his throat. "I tried to help Hermione, get her out of there, and I
couldn't. I just made everything worse. If I hadn't been there at all, Wormtail would have just
traded Hermione for the cloak and everything would have been fine."

"Not necessarily-"

"It would have," Weasley said with certainty. "Wormtail said so."

"Well, if Granger hadn't got herself caught in the first place, you wouldn't have been there at
all." Not that Draco blamed Granger, he just thought Weasley needed things put into
perspective.
"It's different."

"How?"

"Usually she's better. Like last year, when she worked out that it was the basilisk. Or first
year, when she helped Harry get through the rest of the rooms to the Stone."

"You came after the Stone, and helped with McGonagall's chess set," Draco pointed out,
twisting a little to better look at him. "And you went down into the Chamber with Potter last
year."

"Yeah," Weasley said darkly, "Imperiused."

"There's no reasoning with you, is there?" Draco asked.

"You're not here to reason with me, you're here to listen to me think aloud," Weasley said.
There was silence for a bit. "I'm just- he's my best mate. I should be helping him, but all I
ever seem to do is get in the way and need his help."

"I think Potter would disagree."

"I know he would," Weasley said, with a faint smile. Draco hadn't expected it at all, and it
took him by surprise. "And I- I know he doesn't think I'm useless, or he wouldn't have traded,
or- maybe he would have; it's Harry." He laughed a little, surprising Draco again. "I just- it's a
lot to take in, you know, that someone thinks you're worth that much, especially when you
don't."

"I'd say your opinion of self-worth needs upping," Draco said, after a moment of struggling
to find something to say.

"Yeah," Weasley said, eyes distant. "That was what I was thinking too."

"I know it's easier said than done," Draco said, "but-"

"No," Weasley said. "I don't think it is, actually." Draco turned to look at him, curious. Since
using Legillimency on Severus in his Occlumency lessons, Draco had often wondered what
other minds might look like, had wondered how other people thought. Granger's mind, for
instance, was bound to be fascinating because of her intellect and memory and he imagined it
would be logical, and neatly organised. Potter's mind interested him because he couldn't
imagine it at all; Potter thought so differently to the rest of them, jumping to conclusions -
and often correct ones at that. He occasionally struggled to express himself with his words,
but his mind was not likely to suffer from the same difficulties. It would be enlightening.

Weasley on the other hand, usually said what he thought and meant what he said. Draco
imagined his mind would be similar, and therefore, was less interested in seeing it, because
he already knew what was in there. And that was still the case, but now, he wondered how
Weasley's mind worked. Not what he thought, but how, and why. Weasley would probably
tell him if he asked, but to actually see it...
"My problem's that I think I'm a bit useless, right?" Weasley said, either oblivious to Draco's
musing or unfazed by it. "So I reckon all I've got to do is find a way to not be." They were
both silent again for a few moments.

"Is this really why you needed fresh air?" Draco asked tentatively. "Because you sound like
you've got everything worked out-"

"I still don't know how to not be useless," Weasley said, but he looked distant again. Then:
"D'you reckon Harry's mad with me? About last night?"

"And here I was admiring how sensible and straightforward you've been," Draco said,
amused. "I think if anything, Potter's blaming himself, and worrying that you will too."
Weasley sighed, apparently conceding Draco's point, but he still looked troubled. "What?"
Weasley shook his head. "Weasley?"

"What do you think You-Know-Who wants with Harry?"

"Where in Merlin's name did that come from?" Draco asked, staring. Weasley just shrugged,
and didn't say anything else. Draco pondered the question - for all of about a second; it didn't
take long to find an answer. "Well, Weasley," he said slowly, and a bit sarcastically, "I
imagine, given the snitch incident in first year, and the countless other attempts since, that he
rather wants Potter dead."

"Why?"

"What- what do you mean why? Potter killed or destroyed him, or whatever it was that Potter
did when he got his scar, and he's beaten him several times since then. He's walking evidence
of the Dark Lord's failure."

"Yeah," Weasley said quietly, distant again. "And Harry?"

"What about him?" Draco asked exasperated. Weasley shifted then, turning around so that,
like Draco, he was sitting with his back to the back of the stands, and looking out over the
pitch.

"What does Harry want with You-Know-Who?"

"Nothing at all, I don't think," Draco said wryly. "But failing that, he probably wants him in
Azkaban or dead. The Dark Lord killed his parents, remember? And we've just established
that he wants Potter dead too."

"Yeah," Weasley murmured. "But why's Harry always the one that deals with him? Why not
Dumbledore, or Sirius or someone?"

"Because Potter's the one that's always there," Draco said.

"He wasn't when we went down the trapdoor," Weasley said. "All four of us were there-"

"Until I got bludgeoned by a giant chess piece, and there wasn't enough potion for Granger."
"Yeah," Weasley said, "but even before that… we made Harry the king, remember? Because
we knew he had to be the last one standing."

"So?" Draco asked.

"So why'd we do it? Hermione knows the most spells, and you, me and Harry know less, but
about the same as each other." Draco wondered if Weasley saw the discrepancy between that,
and saying he was useless, but didn't voice it. "Harry's maybe a bit better at duelling, and he's
an animagus, but we didn't know that then. If it'd been you or Hermione that had to face him,
I'd have been terrified, you know? I mean, I was worried for Harry, obviously, but it was
different. Like- like if anyone had a chance, it was going to be him."

"He's Potter. He's got a pretty good record, where the Dark Lord's concerned," Draco said,
though he agreed. "But why- last night you dealt with Wormtail, didn't you? Unless the Dark
Lord was there, and you've all neglected to mention it." He narrowed his eyes, and Weasley
flashed him a tired smile.

"Nah, it was just Wormtail, but the way he talked… the way Harry talked... It's got me
thinking about it all."

"I don't know that you should be doing much thinking so soon after being concussed," Draco
said. Weasley snorted, but his expression was still troubled. "Why don't we see if Granger's
done with McGonagall?" Draco tried, hoping to take Weasley's mind off his grim imaginings.
"If she gets out and we're gone, she'll probably worry-"

"Yeah," Weasley said slowly. "Yeah, we'll find Hermione." He got to his feet. "Maybe she'll
know what to think about all of this."

"That wasn't quite what I-" But Weasley was already clambering over the seats to the stairs,
and Draco had little choice but to hurry after him.

"... how do you beat Fiendfyre?" Harry asked. "Moody and Dora were both really struggling
against it. I tried a patronus-"

"A patronus?" Dumbledore asked, beard twitching. "A novel idea indeed, though I suppose I
can see your line of thinking; both spells take the form of an animal, after all."

"It didn't work," Harry said, a little pointlessly; if it had, there wouldn't have been any
Fiendfyre left when Dumbledore arrived.

"No, I imagine not. Fiendfyre, Harry, is one of the darker and more destructive magics. While
it originates from a caster, and can be controlled by a caster, it draws its power from its
environment. It's one of the reasons it is so dangerous, because an unskilled witch or wizard
can unleash just as much damage as a practiced caster - often more, if it gets away from
them, as Fiendfyre is wont to do.

"A patronus-" He smiled kindly at Harry. "-for all that it is a strong, defensive spell, draws its
power from the caster alone. Not even the most powerful, corporeal patronus would stand a
chance. There are only three things that can temper Fiendfyre - to my knowledge, anyway.
The first, obviously, is that the caster draws it back. The second, as Severus did last night, is
to summon more Fiendfyre, and fight fire with fire, so to speak-"

"That was Snape?!" Harry asked, astonished. "I thought- because it was a phoenix-"

"Professor Snape has a... talent for such magic," Dumbledore said.

I'll bet he does, Harry thought, rather darkly. After all, the spell he'd given Harry had taken
off half of Wormtail's hand, and that was only because Harry had missed. If he'd hit him in
the chest, neck or head, Wormtail would probably have died.

"He was far better suited to handling the Fiendfyre than I would have been. Handily, I'm far
better with charms and transfiguration than Severus, and was able to keep Alastor and
Nymphadora from being vaporised, and yourself and Sirius from being rather badly burned."
He gave Harry a faint smile.

"Oh," Harry said. "Er… thanks."

"You are most welcome," Dumbledore said.

"So… what's the third way?"

"Phoenix fire. Though that was of little use to us last night." Dumbledore waved a hand at
Fawkes, who chirped from his perch; he was perhaps a week past burning, only half-
feathered, and awkward. Dumbledore smiled fondly at him, and Fawkes trilled.

One of Dumbledore's many trinkets chimed, and he and Harry both turned to look at the
postcard sitting innocently on a side table, covered in an Unveiling Unction. They'd found it
earlier, in Wormtail's rucksack, along with clothes, a copy of The Tales of Beedle the
Bard, several books on curses and advanced spellcasting, Hermione's timetable, the Hogwarts
exam timetable, and a bag of Floo powder. While those things all had fairly obvious uses,
however, the postcard - blank, but for the picture of the London Eye on it - did not.

It was swirling with magic, according to Dumbledore; Harry hadn't been silly enough to
check for himself, after his attempts to look at magic within Hogwarts earlier in the year.
Dumbledore had been able to detect a Protean Charm, and Wormtail's magic but little else.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore brought the postcard back over and cleared it of the
Unveiler. He traced his wand over it several more times, then shook his head and slid it
across the desk to Harry.

"Perhaps you'll have better luck with it."

"Me?" Harry asked. "Why-"

"Because I have learned not to underestimate you, Harry," Dumbledore said, with a gentle
smile.
"I'll show it to Moony and Padfoot when they're feeling better," Harry said, not sure how to
respond to that.

"An excellent idea." Dumbledore studied him for a moment. "Is there anything else you wish
to discuss, after last night?"

"No, sir," Harry said. Dumbledore had asked for an hour of his time in the hospital wing, and
Harry'd now been in his office, talking, for nearly three. Not that Harry begrudged him for it;
it had been a good chance to talk about everything. Dumbledore had seemed both interested
and troubled by Wormtail's refusal to take Harry's blood, and had promised he'd look into it.
He'd also been fascinated by Wormtail's apparent power over the room.

The only things they hadn't spoken about (thankfully) were how Harry had been able to find
Hermione in the forest, and, Wormtail's hand. Not that Dumbledore knew that was anything
to do with Harry, and Harry didn't think he'd be able to handle the disappointment in
Dumbledore's eyes if he told him, or, worse, reassurance that he'd done the right thing.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, and Harry wasn't sure if he'd believed him or not. "I'll not
keep you from Sirius and your friends any longer."

Harry's stomach twisted at the mention of his friends; they'd been captured and tortured
because of him, and in Hermione's case, transformed. She'd been angry with him last night,
and Ron had smelled broody that morning in the Hospital Wing, so he was probably upset
with him too.

"I'll let you know if I work this out," Harry said, snatching up the postcard as he all but fled
the office.

Harry headed for the Hospital Wing, not sure he was ready to face his friends and the
common room just yet. Ginny had different ideas; she was sitting on the stone railing outside
the Hospital Wing, looking out over the moving staircases below, but she turned when she
heard him coming.

"There you are," she said. "I've been waiting for ages."

"Sorry," Harry said reflexively. "I was talking with Dumbledore-"

"The others said you left with him when they were discharged."

"It was a long talk," Harry said. He glanced past her and through the doors. Padfoot's bed was
still curtained off, but there were no voices coming from within; Madam Pomfrey was out in
the main wing, talking to one of the Hufflepuffs that had come in early that morning.

"How's Sirius?" Ginny asked, following his eyes.

"Not great," Harry said. "But he's meant to get better."

"That's good." Ginny stood, and took a few steps past him. "Coming?"
"Where?" Harry asked, not moving. Ginny's eyes swept over his face, and she frowned a
little. She didn't smell angry or upset with him, at least, but that didn't mean the others
weren't.

"Common room. We want to talk to you."

"Who's we?" Harry asked, mood sinking.

"Who do you think?" Ginny asked, rolling her eyes. She frowned again, and her scent grew
concerned this time. "What's that face for?"

"Nothing," Harry said, unsure what face he'd pulled, but doing his best to get rid of it. "What-
what do they want to talk about?"

"You'll find out when we get there. If you come, that is," she added, after a moment's
consideration.

"S'pose I should," Harry muttered, with one last look into the Hospital Wing; Padfoot was
either sleeping, or awake, but calm. He wouldn't miss Harry just yet.

"What's got your wand in a twist?"

"Nothing," Harry said shortly. Ginny gave him an unimpressed look.

"That doesn't sound like nothing."

"Maybe I had an eventful night, then," Harry said irritably. "Is that a better answer?" The
look Ginny gave him was so Mrs-Weasleyish that Harry cringed. "Sorry." She smelled a little
smug, though there was none of it on her face. Harry pulled a face at her, though, to let her
know he knew.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, ignoring that.

"I think there'll be plenty of talking soon," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Yes, but that's different to whatever's bothering you." Ginny glanced up at him.

"I doubt that."

"How can you doubt that? You don't even know what we want to talk about." Ginny tossed
her hair over her shoulder and slowed, putting a hand on her hip.

"I've got a few ideas," Harry muttered.

"Go on, then," Ginny said. She'd stopped now, and folded her arms, eyebrows raised.

"I imagine," Harry said tersely, "that it's got something to do with last night and the fact that
Ron and Hermione were captured and tortured because of me." Her expression froze for just
a moment, but then she lifted her chin:
"So I suppose you think I'm taking you to the common room so that the four of us can shout
at you and tell you what an awful person you are?"

It was silent in the corridor for a few moments.

"It sounds stupid when you put it like that," Harry muttered.

"That's because it is stupid," Ginny said. "And insulting too, that you think I'd lead you into
that sort of situation, or that you think the others would do something like that." She started
walking again, but Harry didn't.

"He tortured them, Ginny," Harry said, voice hoarse.

"Yes, I heard you the first time." Her expression was grim, hard, and angry, but not horrified.
A little belatedly, Harry remembered who he was talking to. "They're okay now, though,
physically. Mental stuff takes longer, but they'll recover."

"It's what Hermione sees when dementors are around now," Harry said. "And that's- I didn't
do it, I know that, but it's because of me. I let Padfoot and the others try to work out how to
trick him, instead of just going in the first place like he wanted..."

"That night last year, when Percy and Hermione and all those others were attacked was
because I tried to go against Tom, by telling Percy about the diary."

"That's different."

"No it isn't. Tell me it wasn't my fault as much as you want, but I still feel like it is, and I
reckon the same's true for you about last night." She offered him something that was half-
grimace, half-smile. "The only thing that helps - for me, anyway, and I didn't even think
about it until after you and Hermione fought about the timeturner - is thinking that if you'd
done it differently, everything might have turned out much worse."

"That's cheery," Harry said.

"Isn't it?" Ginny snorted. "But I think it's right; maybe if you had gone earlier they wouldn't
have been tortured, but maybe one of you would have been Kissed instead, or maybe the
adults might not have got there in time, and Wormtail would have got away with you."

"Or maybe everything would have turned out the same, except they'd be better off."

"Maybe," Ginny said.

"I hurt Wormtail." Harry wasn't sure what had prompted him to say it; he'd not intended to
tell anyone at all, not even Padfoot.

"Good," Ginny said.

"I cut off half his hand," Harry said. Ginny looked him up and down, seeming more surprised
than anything.
"How?"

"A spell. Snape- he put it in my head, when I was leaving. I didn't know what it did. He only
told me it was for enemies. If I'd got Wormtail anywhere else, he might have died-"

"What did you think a spell for enemies was going to do?" Ginny asked, as if he was daft.
"Stun him?"

"I- I don't know." Should he have known Snape's spell would be that bad? "But I just didn't
realise it was going to-"

"Wormtail's taken a lot more away from you than a hand," Ginny pointed out.

"He deserved it," Harry said. "He did, and I know he did, but I just- I did that to him."

"Would you still have used it if you knew what it did?"

"I don't know," Harry said, but he thought of Padfoot crumpling to the ground, of Wormtail
telling him not to be difficult. "Yes." Ginny watched him, silent. "But then it would have been
my choice, not Snape's." It had been a shock to see Wormtail's hand cut away, to see all the
blood, and then to see Moody's grim delight when he retrieved it, but the worst part about it
all was that Harry'd been used. He'd never liked Snape all that much, but he'd trusted him,
and in return Snape had given him the incantation for a dangerous curse and sent him
Wormtail's way. "There's a difference."

Ginny nodded and he knew she understood; she of all people knew what it was like to be
unwittingly used to hurt someone.

"You could tell Draco," she suggested, after a minute's walking in silence. "He'd give Snape a
talking to, I'm sure."

"Like Snape'd care," Harry snorted. She didn't say anything, but he could tell from her
expression that she agreed.

"Sirius?" Ginny was almost grinning. "I reckon he'd make Snape care-"

"He'd be disappointed I didn't kill him," Harry said. "He-" He remembered the green light
bursting from Padfoot's wand, and shook his head.

"Well, then," Ginny said, thoughtfully, and he was grateful she didn't press him this time, "I
suppose we'll have to deal with Snape ourselves." Harry glanced down at her. Other than the
red hair and freckles, he'd never seen a huge resemblance between her and the twins, but he
saw it now. "I got a bludger out of the classifieds for Mr Malfoy last summer. We could see if
there are any around at the moment, and try to sneak it into Snape's office..." Harry felt a
reluctant smile tugging at the side of his mouth. "Two bludgers?" She grinned at him. "And
maybe some fireworks."

"Definitely fireworks." He'd never do it; if Snape didn't kill him, Draco would, but it was fun
to imagine, and after conversations to negotiate his friends' lives, and about Padfoot's curse,
and the dangers of fiendfyre, talking about stupid things like pranking a teacher was oddly
freeing.

Harry gave in and smiled, and felt better.

 Cursed

They'd claimed the boy's dormitory - Neville, Dean and Seamus had taken one look at the
three of them and said something about going for a walk.

Ron and Draco sat on their respective beds, and Hermione had claimed Harry's. Ginny ought
to be back soon, hopefully with Harry in tow. That Harry hadn't come and found them yet
probably meant he was in a mood; Ron figured it was about fifty-fifty as to whether he
needed to be made to see sense, or needed comfort and reassurance. Hermione was good at
the latter, Malfoy good at the former, and Ron knew he could be good at either, but only if
Harry was open to it. If he'd decided to be difficult - as avoiding them for the last three hours
seemed to indicate - then Ron would be useless.

Ginny, on the other hand, would be able to knock sense into him or comfort him, and was
forceful enough - Ron swore she'd had lessons from Mum - to make sure he listened.

That was the theory, anyway. In practice she'd been gone for nearly an hour, so-

As if summoned by Ron thinking of them, the door swung open and Harry and Ginny walked
in, laughing. Ron straightened, nervous, and Malfoy and Hermione did the same.

Harry's mirth faded - he could smell them - and Ron suspected he would have stopped In the
doorway if Ginny hadn't given him a gentle push further in.

"Hi," Harry said. "I-" Malfoy had been right; Harry's expression twisted, and Ron knew
Harry was blaming himself for last night.

"It's not your fault, Harry," Hermione said, beating Ron to it. "And yes, I'm mad, but I'm
not really mad."

"I'm not mad at all," Ron said.

Harry looked both tense - like he wanted to argue - and relieved.

"Told you," Ginny muttered, but not particularly quietly.

"Take a seat, Potter," Malfoy said, expression unreadable. Ron thought that, combined with
the words themselves was a bad way to go about things, and sure enough Harry baulked,
glancing uncertainly at Ginny.

"We have something we want to talk to you about, Harry," Hermione said, patting the bed
beside her. Her tone was all wrong, too; like she was trying to not to scare him. Ron hadn't
ever thought of Harry as very wolfish, but watching him now he thought he understood it.

"What about?" Harry asked carefully.

Hermione and Malfoy both looked at Ron. Harry did too.

"V-voldemort," Ron said. It was a struggle to say it - it made his mouth feel dry, and his
tongue feel heavy and all of him feel wrong - but he managed it and he knew it would be
important to Harry that he had.

Malfoy made an odd huffing sound, and Hermione sucked in a breath. Harry's eyebrows shot
up.

"All right," he said, and looked confused, but calm. "What- what about him?"

"What does he want with you?" Ron asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Harry said, frowning. "Maybe my blood, maybe me dead." He came
forward and flopped down onto the end of his bed, making Hermione bounce. Ginny stayed
by the door, perhaps intending to block in if Harry tried to leave "Nothing good, though."

"But why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?" Harry's expression had tightened, though, and Ron knew he
wasn't the only one to have noticed; Malfoy's eyes had narrowed, and Hermione was biting
her lip in a thoughtful sort of way. "He just does. Always has."

"Since starting school I can understand," Ron said. "But why'd he go after you the first time,
when you were a baby? You hadn't done anything then-"

"My parents were in the Order," Harry said stiffly. Ron felt like a complete git for making
him talk about his parents, but he had to know… "They'd been fighting him, and the Death
Eaters." His expression twisted slightly. "Defied him a few times. I suppose that made me
interesting to him." Harry set his jaw. "Any other questions about my dead parents, or are you
done?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and she looked horrified and guilty. Ron felt even worse. Malfoy -
as usual - was hard to read.

"I'm not trying to be a git," Ron said, rather helplessly. "I just- I'm trying to understand."

"Voldemort's-" And though Ron had just said the name himself, he still twitched. "-a
murderous lunatic, and he's after me," Harry said. "That's all there is to it."

"Lie," Malfoy said quietly.

Harry looked over and scowled at him, then said, "Go on, then, if you're the expert."

"We're not experts," Ron said, because Malfoy had narrowed his eyes again, and looked set to
say something rude and unhelpful. "That's why we're asking-"

"And I'm telling you, there's not much to it." Ron didn't believe him.

"There is, though," he said. Harry eyed him, suddenly wary. "You-Kn- V-voldemort wants
you dead, right? He poisoned you with the snitch, and he tried again when he went after the
stone, and he tried in the Chamber of Secrets-" Ron hadn't been there, but he'd been in the
hospital wing afterwards both times, and in the Chamber he'd been there while Harry and
Riddle talked. "But he- you know, he-" Ron struggled to explain his reasoning. "It's- it's like
chess."

"Chess?" Harry repeated, looking baffled. Hermione, Ginny and Malfoy didn't look like they
understood either.

"Yeah," Ron said, "chess. You're- you're the Queen, the one the other side really wants off the
board, right?"

"Sure," Harry said skeptically.

"And V-voldemort's the King on the other side - important, but not very mobile." Harry
laughed at that, but he was the only one; Malfoy and Hermione wore scandalised expressions.
Ginny looked grim.

"Yeah, all right," Harry said, shaking his head, amused. "He's the King. What's your point?"

"If he wants you off the board, he has a whole heap of other pieces he could use. Pawns and
knights and rooks and the rest. So why's he determined to take you himself? It makes no
sense!"

"I guess he's holding a grudge," Harry said. He didn't look amused any more. "But it's not
like others haven't tried-"

"They haven't," Ron said. "Not really. And you know why - it's not some secret, evil plan.
You're in on it too."

"What? I'm- you think-?" Harry laughed, but it was an offended sort of laugh.

"That came out wrong," Ron said hastily. "I just meant-" He didn't think he could explain this
with chess. "With Wormtail last night. He could have killed you - you were wandless - but
you both knew he wouldn't. You both knew he'd try to take you for- for-" Ron braced himself.
"-Voldemort."

Harry said nothing.

"So if V- if he wants you dead, he wants to do it himself. And you know that, you
were sure of it, and so was Wormtail. How? Why?"

"Dunno," Harry muttered.

"Lie," Malfoy said. Harry shot him another look, but said nothing more. He looked
uncomfortable now, and Ron traded looks with the others.

"Harry…?" Hermione said carefully. She sounded a little afraid, and Ron was too, now that
he knew there was something more to all of this:

"But if there is, he's kept it from us," Hermione had said, biting her lip, when Ron ran the
idea of this conversation past her earlier.
"He's probably got a good reason," Malfoy had said. "It's Potter, he's not one to keep secrets
lightly…"

"No, but that's my point," Hermione had said. "If it's something he thinks he can't tell us, or
trust us with, it must be huge. We know he has dreams about You-Know-Who, and we even
know about his wolf. What could be a bigger secret than that?"

Neither Ron or Malfoy had had an answer for her.

Now, Ron watched Harry fidget on the end of his bed and wondered if he was going to give
them one. After several long seconds, Harry drew his wand.

"Mutusmuros," he said quietly, drawing a small circle in the air before him. It glowed a pale
purple, then expanded out - passing harmlessly through Ron and the others, and the furniture.
When it reached the walls, it stopped. The walls glittered for a moment, and then went back
to looking normal.

"A silencing charm?" Hermione asked, exchanging another tentative glance with Ron, then
with Malfoy. Harry nodded, tossing his wand down. He looked exhausted all of a sudden.

"I- I really don't know how to tell you," he said.

"You must have thought about telling us," Hermione said reasonably. "Just say what you said
in your head when you thought about it."

"That usually ends with you all telling me I'm too dangerous to be around, and clearing off,"
Harry said. He laughed once, but it was bleak and without humour.

"No one's clearing off," Ron said. Hermione nodded.

"I don't want you to," Harry said. His voice was small, uncertain in a way that Ron wasn't
used to hearing. It reminded him that - other than Ginny - Harry was the youngest of all of
them.

"Then we won't," Hermione said confidently.

"She's right," Ron said. "I think you're sort of stuck with us, mate."

"What they said," Malfoy said. "So stop with the dramatics and get on with it."

"All right," Harry said. He took a deep breath - Ron could see him summoning his courage -
and then, rather quickly, said, "Fine: it- it wasn't my parents he was after on Halloween.
There- there was a prophecy made-" Hermione made an interesting face at that. "-that made it
so- it was me he was after. It's always been me, and it's going to keep being me-"

"Not a body?" Ginny asked.

"A body first," Harry conceded, nodding at her. "Then- then me."
"Why don't they hide you, then, if he's going to keep trying?" Malfoy asked, looking pale.
"Send you off to Australia, or Japan or somewhere until the Dark Lord's gone… Properly
gone, I mean. Even if you had to wait for him to die of old age, you're young. You'd be back
by the time you were thirt-"

"He can't die of old age," Harry said. Hermione, ever curious, opened her mouth at that.
Harry glanced at her, and gave a shadow of a smile. "One thing at a time, Hermione." She
shut it again, and Harry took a deep breath. "Age can't kill him."

"Dumbledore probably could," Ron said. "He's getting on a bit and he's never struck me as a
killer, really, but he beat Grindelwald-"

"He can't, Ron."

"He can't be un-killable," Hermione said, sounding affronted by the idea that You-Know-
Who couldn't die. "There's got to be something-"

"There is," Harry said.

"Well, good," Hermione said. "What-"

"Me."

The dormitory was silent.

"How- how do you know?" Hermione asked eventually.

"The prophecy said so," Harry said tiredly.

"The prophecy said so," Hermione repeated, eyes narrowing a little. "And how precisely, did
the prophecy say so?"

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches," Harry said, "born to those
that have thrice defied him… born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark
him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at
the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."

Ron couldn't help it; he glanced at Harry's scar, half-visible through his messy fringe.

"So that's why he wants you for himself," Malfoy said. "Because he's the only one that can
kill you."

"What- no," Harry said. "He hasn't even heard that part… it's- it's a pride thing, I think."

"He hasn't…?" Malfoy shook his head. "Never mind. My point is that if you take that to
mean you're the only one that can kill him, the same's true for him and you."

Harry stared at him.

"Not necessarily," Hermione said. "At his hand could mean on his orders, which would mean
a Death Eater could do it." She was wearing her thinking-frown; Ron wished he knew what
she was thinking. "And there might be a thousand other ways to interpret it all that none of us
are seeing - Divination's notorious for being entirely about interpretation rather than
definites." And she was, somehow, a little skeptical; Ron knew her well enough to know that
much. For once, though, he didn't think Hermione was right.

"What's the power the Dark Lord knows not?" Ginny asked. She'd left her place by the door
and come to sit on the end of Ron's bed.

"No idea," Harry said. "I don't think he knows about my wolf yet, so it might be that, but it
might not be. It could be anything." He glanced around at them all, a little nervously. "You-
none of you have cleared off."

"Would you leave if it was one of us?" Ginny asked.

"Of course you wouldn't," Hermione said briskly, before Harry could answer. "And I told
Professor McGonagall earlier that I'm your friend - danger or not. I'm not about go back on
that because some seer's made a woolly prediction about your future."

"I'm just relieved to know it's been a prophecy driving your heroics all this time, and not
insanity."

"Dunno about it being insanity," Ron said, glancing at Malfoy, amused, "but you going up
against Voldemort's nothing new, mate. If we were going to run off, we would have years
ago."

"I- I appreciate it," Harry said, "I really do - I don't think you'll ever know how much-"

"Here comes the 'but'," Ron said, glancing at Malfoy, who smirked. Hermione sighed.

"-but this- this isn't going to get any better," Harry said helplessly. "It's going to get worse.
There might be another war, like there was when he had a body, and if you're with me you'll
be right in the middle of it. It's- it won't be safe-"

"We're mudbloods and bloodtraitors, Harry," Hermione said, gesturing to herself, and then
Ginny, Ron, and Malfoy. "If there's a war, we're not going to be safe anyway, and I'd much
rather fight than be a victim."

"And if we're fighting," Ron said, "we might as well do it properly - from the middle. We're
with you, mate." His resolve to not be useless, to not need saving, strengthened, and he
grinned at Harry.

"If there's a war, I'll end up in the middle of it regardless," Malfoy said quietly. "I'd much
rather be in the middle on your side."

"But your family," Harry said. Ron felt a guilty surge of gratitude for his family being decent.
"Draco-"
"I'd rather not fight them directly," Malfoy said. "But I won't fight for a side I don't agree
with, and if that puts me on the side opposite theirs, so be it. I'm used to being different from
them." He gestured, smiling slightly, at the Gryffindor banner hanging on the wall.

"I- you're-" Harry didn't seem to have the words to express what he was feeling, but Ron
understood; they weren't trading their life for his, like he had for Ron, but they were - with
full understanding of the dangers involved - throwing their lot in with him. Harry was
probably feeling as overwhelmed as Ron had been all day. Hermione reached out and
squeezed his hand. "Right," Harry managed, and Ron saw him squeeze her hand back. "If-
while we're here having difficult conversations, we might as well have all of them." He
tugged his hand free of Hermione's and ran a hand through his hair. "Have any of you heard
of horcruxes?"

Sirius spent a grand total of three days in the hospital wing under Pomfrey's supervision
before getting claustrophobic and declaring he was well enough to go home.

"Mr Black, are you sure…?" the matron asked, watching him tug his robes on over a tshirt
and jeans.

"Positive," Sirius said. "Kreacher'll take care of me, and Harry's due home tomorrow, and
Moony and Dora are back from France for the holidays on the weekend-"

"It's not you being in your home that I'm worried about, it's getting you there. The Floo's out
of the question - an episode in there and you'll miss your grate and end up Merlin only knows
where."

"Kreacher can Side-Along-"

"Absolutely not," she said. The Hospital Wing doors groaned open and Snape strode in with a
rack of phials of all different sizes and with all different coloured potions inside them; today's
doses of the various things he was taking to help him fight off the after effects of the curse.
Sirius inclined his head to acknowledge him, but Pomfrey was too busy frowning at Sirius:
"If your mind wanders you'll Splinch yourself, and your elf."

Sirius wanted to argue that it wouldn't happen, that Apparition was so quick it wouldn't be an
issue, but his episodes came on without warning, and if one did start in the second they were
being squeezed between Hogwarts and Number Twelve, Sirius couldn't trust himself not to
panic.

"Portkey then. I'll get someone to walk me to the gates. Harry, or Hagrid, or someone."

"And to portkey with you," she said, "just in case."

"Harry, then. And he can Floo back into Dumbledore's office-"

"That's an enormous responsibility for the boy-"

"As his godfather, that's my call, I think-"

"I can accompany Black," Snape said.

"Perfect," Sirius said, then blinked. "Hang on- you're going to help me back to Grimmauld?"
Snape glanced at him, expression unreadable. Madam Pomfrey looked as bewildered as
Sirius. "But-"

"Lessons are over, so I have no pressing commitments," Snape said. "Take my offer or leave
it, it's of little concern to me."

"No," Sirius said with a hasty glance at Pomfrey, who looked set to start arguing again, "if
you're willing, let's go."

Snape, at least, wasn't likely to treat him like he was delicate, so Sirius might finally get to
hear what had happened after he'd been cursed. Madam Pomfrey had forbidden anyone from
talking to him about it so far, worried that it would fuel his curse-induced hallucinations and
paranoia. He hadn't even been able to get anything out of Harry, who'd shaken his head and
mumbled about Healer's orders every time Sirius asked.

Snape waited patiently - rack of potions tucked under his arm - while Sirius pulled on his
boots.

"Can you let Harry know I've gone home - he can get me by mirror if he needs me." He'd be
back soon, in all likelihood. Madam Pomfrey gave a short nod, and disappeared into her
office.

Snape didn't speak for most of the walk through the castle, which Sirius was grateful for;
while he felt well enough to be out of bed, being well enough to tackle flights of moving
stairs was another matter entirely.

He was out of breath and a little dizzy by the time they made it down to the grounds. His
chest hurt, and his stomach-ache was back, but he didn't press a hand to it, lest he give
himself away. Snape's eyes flickered over him.

"I'm fine," Sirius said. "Just been in a bed for too long."

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to," Sirius said. He straightened, wincing but unable to help that, and started
off across the grounds. Snape fell into step beside him. "So what happened?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"After I was cursed."

"Ah." They walked in silence for a moment longer. "What makes you think I know the
details?" Sirius gave him a flat stare and Snape smirked, but then his eyes grew distant, and
his scent was… guilty? "I have a question for you first."

"Sure."
"Was it you that took off half of Pettigrew's hand?"

"Took off- what?" Sirius blinked. "No, it wasn't." He thought of Peter and bared his teeth. "I
wish it had been. Why?" Snape's only response was a sour look. "Snape?"

"If it wasn't you, then it was Potter, which puts me in the uncomfortable position of-"

"It can't have been Harry," Sirius said, cutting him off. "When I caught up with them, Peter
wasn't bleeding - I'd have smelled it. And Harry went back to the castle after I got there..."
Snape snorted. Sirius gave him a wary look. "Didn't he?"

"What do you think?"

"He didn't have a wand," Sirius said; Peter wouldn't have left Harry armed for their walk
across the grounds.

"Would that matter?"

"Yes," Sirius said, and was fairly sure of that. After that day in Hogsmeade, Harry would
have known better than to follow and make himself a liability.

"Even if he thought you were hurt?" Snape asked silkily. Sirius mumbled a few choice swear-
words.

"He heard me get cursed, then?"

"He was there well before that," Snape said dryly. "Or so he told the Headmaster."

"Of course he was," Sirius muttered. That would mean Harry'd seen him use the killing curse,
and Sirius wasn't sure how he felt about that; would Harry be disappointed Sirius had
missed? Or would he think Sirius was a monster, a would-be-murderer? How would he have
felt to see Sirius use the curse that had killed Lily and James and left Harry scarred? Sirius
felt suddenly ill, and dizzy, his head blurry with an awful sort of panic…

What would Harry think? What would Lily think? What would James think? Would he have
understood, or would he be disgusted that Sirius had been prepared to see another Marauder
fall to the killing curse?

"Black?" Snape's voice was coming from a long way away, and sounded almost concerned. "I
think we should go back to the hospital wing…"

"No," Sirius heard himself say hoarsely. "No, no, sorry, I just- dizzy spell. I'm fine." He
glanced up at Snape- up, because he was sitting on the ground, hugging his knees. Sirius
untangled himself and stood, Snape hovering over him, looking unconvinced. "So- so Harry
saw me fall-" The panic was still prickling at him, but he pushed it away as best he could and
continued toward the gates. Yesterday, he'd tried to use his mental patronus to deal with the
curse, but hadn't had any luck. Padfoot could deal with dementors and a legillimency attempt,
but not curses. "-and came and- what, grabbed my wand?" Snape's mouth thinned. "And- and
then he cursed off Peter's hand?" It sounded ridiculous, like something right out of his
hallucinations.
"Perhaps," Snape said after a moment, rather grudgingly. "Or perhaps that came later. Potter
didn't admit to it when he spoke with the Headmaster. Everyone's under the impression that
you did it."

"Except you," Sirius said, frowning at Snape. "So why's that?"

"When you told Draco that I was an Occlumens," Snape said uncomfortably, "you did it to
help him, did you not? Even though you knew it would likely be against my wishes..."

"What did you do?" Sirius eyed him.

"When Potter left to answer Pettigrew's summons, I gave him a spell," Snape said, not
looking at him. "Sectumsempra. It's a cutting curse. Fairly dark, not intent based, and, most
importantly, very effective."

"For Harry to use if he had to defend himself, or because you hoped he'd mangle Peter with
it?"

"Why not both?"

"Fair enough," Sirius said, sighing. "And you said Harry hasn't said anything about it?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Great," Sirius muttered. That was sure to be indicative of a moral dilemma on Harry's part;
either he'd been pleased to have hurt Peter, or he was horrified. Either way, he was probably
convinced he was a bad person. And, if he'd seen Sirius use the killing curse, he was probably
sure Sirius was one too. But then, Harry'd been visiting him whenever Madam Pomfrey
allowed, so what did that mean? "I'll… talk to him." Sirius didn't think he was in a state to do
a very good job of it, but he'd have to. Snape inclined his head, and Sirius got the impression
he was relieved or satisfied, or… something. "What… what else happened?"

"Pettigrew Imperiused the boy-" Sirius' chest seized. "-and he threw it off - couldn't bring
himself to leave you, or so he told the Headmaster. Then, as I understand it, Moody and
Lupin arrived, Pettigrew blew up everything in sight and conjured fiendfyre. The Headmaster
and I arrived in time to stop it, but Pettigrew had already fled. I returned you to the castle,
and Potter and the Headmaster retrieved Granger and I'm sure you can put together the rest."

"Fiendfyre?" Sirius asked weakly.

"Pettigrew's learned some new tricks," Snape said.

"And Harry was there, for all of that - the fiendfyre and explosions, and...?"

"If it's any consolation, he was less involved in any duelling and more involved with
shielding you from anything untoward."

"That doesn't make me feel any better about it at all," Sirius said. Snape shrugged, eyes heavy
on Sirius.
They didn't speak again until they reached the gates, but Sirius could feel him staring and
didn't like the feel of it. They were a long way from the school, now, probably little more
than specks of darkness to anyone watching from the castle. Pomfrey was the only one that
knew they'd gone, and if anything happened to Sirius, Snape could just lie and say he'd run
off, or decided to go alone. He could disappear out here and no one would ever know.

Dumbledore trusts him, Sirius told himself. Snape drew his wand with purpose and Sirius
dove to the side, drawing his own. His patronus is a doe, he's good with Draco-

"Expelliarmus!" Snape snapped, and Sirius' wand flew out of his hand before he could decide
whether to use it or not. Snape's hand went to his pocket again and Sirius flinched into
Padfoot, but Snape only pulled out a bent quill and tapped it with his wand. "Portus."

Sirius transformed. Embarrassingly, he was trembling, but Snape said nothing as he picked
himself up off the ground. He passed Sirius' wand back with a warning glance. Sirius
pocketed it.

"Are you well enough to travel?"

"I'll be fine," Sirius said. Snape studied him for a moment, and tucked the phial rack more
securely under his arm. Then, he offered him the other end of the quill. Sirius reached out and
took it, and Snape reached out and caught hold of Sirius' forearm.

"Just in case," he said, and Sirius nodded. He could hear dementors rattling, and see dark
shapes in the trees beside the gates, and hear Wormtail's shrill, breathy voice.

Sirius was just lucid enough to know he was in the beginning stages of an episode. He
glanced at Snape.

"How long-"

"About a minute," Snape said, and Sirius started to nod again, then smelled the lie and turned,
but Snape's face was suddenly covered by a flash of blue and Sirius was being yanked away.

They landed just inside the doorway at Grimmauld, and Snape's grip on Sirius' arm was the
only thing that kept him upright.

"Bloody liar," Sirius snarled, yanking himself free.

"I didn't think you ought to have any time to build it up in your head," Snape said curtly.
Sirius' snarl was wordless this time, and he took two steps, only to throw himself backward as
something exploded in front of him.

"Master?" The explosion twisted and became a burning mass, twisting the way fiendfyre did,
but shapeless. So Pomfrey had been right; hearing Snape talk about the night he was
cursed did affect his episodes.

"Kreacher?" Sirius asked warily, trying - to no avail - to make out the elf through the flames.

"Master isn't looking well, oh no, Kreacher will take-"

"I'm fine," Sirius said, well aware that he wasn't. "I'm going to rest, so if you can see Snape-"
He glanced at where Snape had been, but it was his father staring at him with disapproving
eyes. Sirius backed away towards the stairs. "-to the Floo..."

"I'll leave these with the elf," Sirius' father said with Snape's voice, and hefted the rack of
phials. "That'll see you through the rest of today and the night, and I'll send tomorrow's lot
through the Floo in the morning."

"Great," Sirius said. "Thanks. Bye." He scrambled up the stairs.

His mother was waiting for him on the first floor landing. Sirius cringed and skirted her.

The second floor landing seemed clear at first, until Regulus wandered out of the library.
Sirius froze, staring at him, and then hundreds of rotting, dripping hands pushed through the
carpet and caught Regulus' legs. They dragged him, screaming through the floor.

"Not real," Sirius muttered to himself, but did his best to pick his way around the hands
anyway. A proper inferius burst from the stairs between the third floor and the fourth, and
Sirius decided he didn't need to sleep in his own bed - it was his house, and he was entitled to
any of the beds in it.

He barricaded himself in the bedroom opposite Moony and Dora's, and the inferius screeched
at him through the door. Sirius shuddered, and then a different sort of screech came
from inside the room with him. Sirius turned around and saw his mind had conjured - of all
things - a hippogriff.

Sirius stared at it for a few moments and it stared back, rather haughtily.

"Not real," he muttered, but didn't approach the bed. The room smelled oddly animal-like,
which was unusual for his hallucinations; usually there was sound and images, but there
hadn't been scent before. The hippogriff clicked its beak at him, and Sirius cocked his head at
the familiar gesture. "Hedwig?"

The door opened then and Sirius yelped and scrabbled toward the bed. The hippogriff
panicked too - which made sense, since it was part of Sirius' mind - and flapped its wings as
Snape and Kreacher strode in, looking, thankfully, like themselves, though Sirius wasn't sure
he'd ever seen Snape show so much emotion - disbelief - before.

Before Sirius could ask why, the hippogriff's flapping wing clipped his shoulder, and with
considerable force.

Not Hedwig.

Kreacher scurried forward with his hands up in a deferential sort of way, and Snape edged
close enough to drag Sirius back, eyes on-

Surely not...

"You can see it too?" Sirius asked. Snape nodded once, nostrils flaring. "The hippogriff?"
"Yes, Black," he said tersely.

"There's a hippogriff." Sirius tried not to sound hysterical, but didn't do a very good job of it.
It should have been funny. He should have been laughing, but instead he was choking on
panic. "Kreacher, why's there a hippogriff-"

"Should have left you in the hospital wing," Snape muttered. "Dormio."

And everything went black.

 The postcard

"Hermione." Her name was followed by a firm knock on the door, and not a darling or
a dear. She knew immediately what it was about, had been expecting this conversation since
she stepped off the train, but only Dad had come to pick her up, so it made sense that they'd
waited until Mum finished up at work and come home.

"Yes?"

The door opened and her parents came in.

"We'd like to talk to you," Mum said. She had a bit of parchment in her hand and it looked
wrong; Mum held clipboards and patient information forms and x-rays not bits of parchment.
Hermione caught a glimpse of green ink - the sort Professor McGonagall favoured - and
nodded.

"I suppose this is about what happened at the end of term," she said, sitting down on her bed
with her hands in her lap. Her parents exchanged looks, perhaps having expected her to try to
make excuses or avoid the topic, like she had with the scar on her neck. Then, Dad entered
and sat himself at the chair at her desk, and Mum leaned against the wooden top of it. She
was still wearing her scrub top, and smelled sterile like the dental practice, and also vaguely
of mint. Crookshanks, who'd been skulking around atop Hermione's bookcase, jumped down
and then up into Hermione's lap. He settled there, turning his squashed face on Mum and
Dad.

"Yes," Mum said. "This- yes, this certainly is about that. Darling, it says you were abducted
and-and tortured."

"Yes," Hermione said. She'd had days to consider how to handle this conversation, and only
hoped she'd chosen the right way.

"Hermione…" Dad shook his head, looking ill.

"I won't pretend it wasn't awful," she said. "It was. But I'm quite all right now."

"Hermione, the fact that it's happened at all… your father and I have been talking, and- Every
year so far, there's been something. Last year it was a coma! This year, there was your neck-"
She gestured to the scar, hidden under the collar of Hermione's strategically chosen shirt. "-
and now this! We know you seem to enjoy it there, but we have some serious concerns about
that school, and its ability to keep you safe-"

"People get hurt every day," Hermione said. "I wouldn't necessarily be any safer at a muggle-
normal school. I could fall down the stairs, or catch something nasty from a classmate, or get
injured in a sports game."

"Darling," Mum said, "you've never had an interest in playing sport."

"And all those things you've listed would be accidents, Hermione," Dad said. "So far, none of
what you've gone through has been; unlucky, perhaps, but not accidental. The magical
world… it's dangerous."

"It's no more dangerous than anywhere else," Hermione said firmly. "After my abduction, the
school's healer was able to fix me up much more quickly than any mug- normal doctor would
have been able to."

"We'd like you to consider continuing your education elsewhere," Mum said.

"Well," Hermione said, deliberately misinterpreting her statement, "I suppose if Hogwarts is
out, then the next closest would be Beauxbatons - they're in France. Otherwise there's
Durmstrang, but I've heard their curriculum puts too much focus on Transfiguration and the
Dark Arts, and not enough on Charms, and that they're very selective about which branches
of History and Potions and Herbology they teach..."

"Somewhere non-magical, Hermione," Dad said. "Your mother and I have requested
enrollment information from schools we think would be appropriate and they'll be posting
things out for you to have a look at."

"I'm not leaving the magical world," Hermione said.

"We're not asking you- well, we are, but not this very moment. What we're asking is that you
consider your options and make an educated decision on where the best place for you is.
Consider it a holiday homework assignment."

"I have holiday assignments already."

"We'd like you to do this one too, please, Hermione."

"All right," Hermione sighed.

"Thank you," Dad said. "The other thing we'd like to talk to you about is whether you've
spoken to anyone after... what happened. Your mother and I are always here for you, of
course, but we're dentists, not therapists…"

"I've spoken to my friends," Hermione said.

"That's… good, I suppose, that you feel you can go to them, but they're not qualified either."

"Ron was taken too. He understands perfectly."

"Are Ron's parents having him speak to anyone?" Were they? They'd arranged a mind healer
for Ginny after Hermione's second year, but would they get another one for Ron? Hermione
didn't know. Ron hadn't mentioned anything, but it probably wasn't the sort of thing Ron
would bring up.

"I'm not sure."

"I think we'd both feel better if you did speak to someone," Dad said. "Even if you don't feel
like you need it."

"Okay," Hermione said. She'd dreamed of being tortured and being a rat each night since it
had happened, so perhaps talking to someone would help. "But it'll have to be someone
magical," she said. "It'd be too hard to censor it for a muggle therapist."

"Hermione, you could tell them whatever you needed to," Mum said. "They're bound by
client confidentiality-"

"It'd be breaking the statute of secrecy," Hermione said. "And even if I was prepared to do
that, they wouldn't believe me. They'd think I was mad."

"All right," Dad said. "More research for you, finding someone from your world that you
think would be the right person for that job. Just don't organise anything until your mother
and I have had a chance to meet them. Deal?"

"Sure, Dad," she said.

Dad smiled, a little sadly, and leaned forward to run his fingers gently through her hair and
cup her face. He kissed her on the forehead, and Mum did the same, and then the pair of them
left the room.

Hermione gathered Crookshanks up, and looked around the lavender walls of her childhood
bedroom, at the still photographs and the maths and science textbooks on her bookshelf, and
felt very alone.

"Harry." If Dumbledore was surprised by his presence in the fireplace, he didn't show it. "Is
everything all right, dear boy?"

"I worked out the postcard," Harry said. "Can I come through?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said, backing away from the fireplace to give him room. Harry
pulled his head out of the fireplace.

"If anyone asks, I'm at Hogwarts," he said to Kreacher, who was supervising the dishes by the
sink. Padfoot wasn't likely to notice Harry was missing at all; he'd been bedridden for the past
few days, still struggling against the curse. If he did get up, it was entirely possible his
hallucinations would make him think Harry was there anyway. Moony, on the other hand,
might wonder. Harry grabbed another handful of Floo powder. "Dumbledore's office."

"Scone?" Dumbledore asked, eyes twinkling.

"Sure." Harry took one, though he was still fairly full from breakfast. He slid the postcard
across the desk, and watched Dumbledore's eyes flick over it.

"Is it meant to be blank?"

Harry drew his wand, grimacing a little.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he murmured, and tapped the postcard. Writing
bled out of it, covering the backside:

I need Black's mirror, it said in a round scrawl that Harry knew must be Wormtail's. The Dark
Lord knows you know your way around the Ministry, so you'll be able to find a way to get it,
and bring it to me at the school. Be in the Entrance Hall at three o'clock tomorrow, and look
for my signal.

Below that, written in a far more elegant hand, was a single word:

Understood.

"Wormtail and his accomplice - whoever that may be - have been using this to communicate,"
Dumbledore murmured. "May I?" He gestured to the postcard and - at Harry's nod - lifted it
up to examine it. "And it can be hidden again?"

"Mischief managed." Harry tapped the postcard again.

Dumbledore turned it over a few times, then said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
He glanced at Harry. "This is not Tom's style..."

"No," Harry said. "It's Wormtail's. They used the same spell when they were at school."

"Ingenious," Dumbledore said softly.

"Do you recognise the second person's handwriting?" Harry asked.

"This particular style of calligraphy was popular with purebloods through the sixties and
seventies." Harry goggled at him. "Unfortunately, that does very little to narrow it down,
since a great deal of Voldemort's supporters were purebloods that learned to write during that
time period." Harry tried not to let his disappointment show, but Dumbledore must have seen
it. "Thankfully, though, dear boy, we need not depend on handwriting alone."

Dumbledore reached for a quill, and, after several long moments spent studying the postcard,
he tapped the postcard, then his quill, and began to write. Harry craned his neck for a better
look.

The Dark Lord has requested you meet me, urgently, Dumbledore had written, in a flawless
reproduction of Wormtail's hand. Be at Fortescue's at Diagon Alley at two o'clock and wear
something with pockets - I won't be coming as a human.

"Do you think that'll work?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps not. If Wormtail's accomplice comes, they're bound to
be looking for a rat, and constantly patting their pockets, which ought to give them away. If
they do not show up, Florean has recently released a new rum and raisin flavour that I've
been hoping to sample, so the afternoon will not be a complete loss." He winked at Harry.

"Can I come?" he asked. "Two pairs of eyes are better than one-"
"Useful as your eyes might be, Harry, it would be best if you didn't," Dumbledore said gently.
"If it came to a duel, it would be less than ideal for you to be seen performing public
underage magic in the company of your teacher. I will, however, invite Alastor along - with
him, I've found one eye is better than two pairs."

"Where's your brother?" Lucius asked. Draco glanced down at him from his perch in the
branches of the tree that grew in the courtyard. He looked lazily comfortable, expression as
haughty as that of a king on his throne, and - somehow - proper, despite the fact that it was a
childish place to sit and he should have outgrown it long ago.

"Out," Draco said. He turned the page of his book.

"Out?" Lucius repeated. "Out where?"

"Crabbe's maybe, or visiting the Greengrasses."

Lucius checked his pocket watch, ground his teeth, and glanced back up at his younger son.

"Come down from there."

"Why?"

"I'm taking you to get an icecream."

"An icecream?" For the first time, Draco's mask flickered, and Lucius couldn't help but feel
smug about that; it was getting harder and harder to get Draco to react to anything. He
savoured the look of confusion on his son's face. "But… we've just had lunch."

"Down, Draco." Draco narrowed his eyes but closed his book with a snap, tucked it under his
arm, and dropped down to join Lucius.

"Icecream?"

"It's been a while since you and I spent any time together." He hoped that might appeal to his
son's Gryffindor side, but Draco's look was cool and dubious and utterly Slytherin.

"We had a nice walk together earlier in the week," Draco said. "You know, when you came to
meet me after my Divination exam and take me down to Hagrid's hut to watch an execution."

"There was no execution," Lucius said stiffly. The only response Draco gave was to curl his
lips up ever so slightly. "And before that… I can hardly remember the last time the pair of us-
"

"I can," Draco said. "Don't you remember the time we spoke about Dobby and the hippogriff
in your office-"

"We're going to be late," Lucius snapped.

"Late for impromptu icecream?" Draco asked.

"Yes!" Lucius' tone would have sent Hydrus scuttling into the Manor. Draco arched an
eyebrow and stalked inside. Lucius stalked after him.

"Lucius." Narcissa paused on the stairs, noticing Draco. "An owl's just arrived for you."

"Leave the letter on my desk, and I'll read it when I return," he said. "Draco and I are going
out."

"We're getting icecream, apparently," Draco muttered. Lucius shot his son a look. Narcissa
glanced between them and Lucius finally noticed what was in her hand; not an envelope, or
even a roll of parchment. It was a postcard. Lucius stilled.

"Wait for me in the drawing room," Lucius said, waving Draco away. Remarkably, he didn't
question it. As soon as he was out of sight and earshot, Lucius reached for the postcard.
"What now?" he hissed. Narcissa passed it over, but remained where she was, watching. "I
solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Lucius whispered, with a glance at the corner
Draco had disappeared around.

My last postcard didn't make it out of Hogwarts so I've had to make a new pair. This is yours.

Be by your Floo at midnight. Our Lord wishes to have a discussion.

Lucius read it, re-read it, and then swallowed and read it again a third time, just to be sure he
hadn't missed anything.

He suddenly felt as if he had ice in his veins; if Pettigrew's last postcard had been left at
Hogwarts, then it hadn't been him that had written to Lucius that morning. That meant
someone had found it, worked out how to use it, and, in all likelihood, written the message to
trick Lucius into revealing himself as the other postcard's owner, and, therefore, Pettigrew's
accomplice. Was it an Auror, or perhaps Dumbledore? He supposed the who mattered less
than the fact that he'd been mere moments away from playing right into their hands.

Pettigrew's flight from Hogwarts had been almost a week ago now. He ought to have alerted
Lucius well before now to the fact that the postcard had been compromised.

And then, there was the message's ominous second half. For a year now, Pettigrew had been
communicating with Lucius through these postcards, supposedly on the Dark Lord's behalf.
He'd received no evidence that that was the case, but had little choice but to go along with it;
if the Dark Lord asked for Lucius' aid and did not receive it… Lucius shuddered to think
about it.

And, if Pettigrew was lying and using the threat of the Dark Lord to ensure his cooperation,
then he was both more brave and foolish than Lucius had ever given him credit for, and not
likely to live for more than a few hours once the Dark Lord learned of it.

But this… the way Pettigrew had worded it made it sound as if Lucius would be speaking
with the Dark Lord himself to discuss… well, Lucius didn't have the first clue what his Lord
might wish to discuss with him, but the very thought of it made him nervous. Had he
displeased his Lord somehow? Or did he have another favour to ask, one that Lucius would
turn it down if it came from Pettigrew?

"Lucius?" Narcissa asked softly.

"I'll be in my study," he said, turning on his heel.

"What about your outing with Draco?"

"No."

"Lucius…"

"No. I'll see you both at dinner."

He heard Narcissa sigh. It was a frustrated sound, but he could hear the worry in it as well.
Then, he heard the soft rustle of her robes as she swept after Draco.

"Wh- Harry!" Dora turned away from the kitchen cupboards and smiled at him.

"Kreacher said you were all here," he said. He could hear Moony and Padfoot's voices
drifting in through the open door of Moony's cottage.

"Figured Sirius might like a change of scene," Dora said, glancing toward the door.
"Grimmauld seems like it's a bad place for him at the moment." Harry nodded. "Tea?"

"No, thanks," Harry said; he'd had tea and scones with Dumbledore before he left. Dora
shrugged and turned back to the cupboard. Harry left her to it.

Moony and Padfoot were lying in the thick grass at the bottom of Moony's garden, apparently
enjoying the sunshine.

"-looks like a duck," Moony said, waving a hand at the sky.

"If we're playing a game of who can see the strangest things in the clouds, you'll lose,"
Padfoot muttered, sounding amused. Harry drew to a stop at that, no longer sure if he ought
to approach them. Of everyone, Padfoot seemed to find Harry hardest to deal with when he
was having one of his episodes. Lately, Padfoot had seemed more aware of when he was
having them - able to tell when he was hallucinating instead of allowing himself to get caught
up in the visuals - but if he got too overwhelmed he'd have a panic attack and have to be
stunned or put to sleep for a bit to recover.

"You're…"

"Yeah," Padfoot said. "Nothing scary, just…" He was quiet, looking up at the clouds, and
then shook his head and turned to glance at Moony. "Bloody hell; you look fifteen." He
rubbed eyes and shook his head again, laughing a little.

"Is it bothering you?" Moony made to sit up, tone wary.

"No," Padfoot said. "It's fine, just… odd. You've even got a little Prefect's badge on-" He
gestured to Moony's chest. "-but your clothes haven't changed..." He propped himself up on
his elbows and glanced around, eyes landing on Harry, frozen in the middle of the garden.
Padfoot smiled but his eyes were sad. "Sure enough…" he muttered.

"What?" Moony hadn't turned around.

"I was just thinking that having you look fifteen makes me feel like the others should be here
too..." Padfoot was still watching Harry. Moony glanced over his shoulder, saw Harry, then
looked at Padfoot, expression gentle.

"I suppose you're seeing James?"

"How'd you know?" Padfoot murmured.

"The look on your face, for one," Moony said. "I doubt you'd look that way for Peter. But for
two, mistaking Harry for James happens to everyone, even those of us that aren't cursed." He
flashed Harry a quick, rather wry grin. Harry smiled back, a little uncertain, and eyed Padfoot
who'd gone quiet.

"If I'm too much, I can go back..."

Moony grimaced and said, "That might be bes-"

"No," Padfoot said. "Don't be silly, it's fine." He patted the grass beside him. Harry glanced at
Moony. He shrugged, so Harry went and sat down. Padfoot must have smelled his uncertainty
because he reached out and tugged Harry into a sideways hug. "See?" he said. "All fine."

Harry studied his face. His eyes seemed mostly clear, but there was a tightness around them,
and Harry wasn't able to conjure anything more genuine than a half-hearted smile:

"Sure, Padfoot."

Padfoot poked him in the side. Harry grinned and made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle
away, but didn't actually bother to move more than a few inches.

"Castle," Moony said, pointing at the clouds.

"Isn't that the same one you said was a duck?"

"No," Moony said with dignity. "The duck's over there." He pointed at another cloud. Harry
squinted at at it for a moment, then gave up, catching Padfoot's eye.

"Green again," Padfoot murmured, then snorted. "Moony, you've aged."

"Gracefully, I hope," Moony said, sounding amused. He glanced at Padfoot. "It's passed,
then?"

"Looks like," Padfoot said. The tightness around his eyes was gone.
"Excellent," Moony said, sitting up and rubbing his neck. "Then I can stop trying to get you
to use cloud watching as a safe outlet for your hallucinations." He winked at Harry, who
laughed. Padfoot smelled a bit off, and Moony seemed to notice at the same time as Harry.
"Padfoot?"

"Just- I mean, hallucinating's never a good thing, and it's nice to see you properly again-" He
nodded at Harry. "-but… it was nice to see him." He gave them both a shaky smile.

"Hallucinations also shouldn't be something to be jealous of," Moony murmured, "but I'd
make an exception, just this once." The smile he gave Harry was gentle, apologetic.

"It's fine," Harry said, and meant it. He, after all, had looked forward to opening the locket
again last summer for just that reason - a chance to see his parents, even if it was only for a
few moments. Photographs and stories - while generally much happier - and dreams -
generally awful - just weren't the same.

Silence - not a sad one, but certainly a nostalgic one on Moony and Padfoot's parts - followed
that. Harry stayed quiet too, at least until a thought occurred to him.

"I can't do much about Dad, other than looking like him," he said slowly, and the other two
both turned to face him, "and the same's true for Mum, except for the eyes." Harry pulled his
wand out, rolling it between his fingers. "But I can give you Prongs." Moony's eyes
brightened with understanding; Harry was sure he'd have heard through Dora.

"Harry," Padfoot said, sounding a bit confused, "you're a wolf."

"Yeah," Harry said. "But look." He lifted his wand, and hesitated; patronuses were impressive
magic, and powerful. Silly as it was, it took him a moment to make his peace with his choice
to cast it sitting down - it seemed like the sort of spell one should cast standing up. But he
was comfortable between Padfoot and Moony, so he put his efforts into finding a happy
memory instead.

Oddly, though, it wasn't a memory that sprung to mind, but rather, a thought - a three
thoughts, actually; the first was that he knew how much this would mean to both Padfoot and
Moony, and the knowledge that he could do that for them left a warm feeling in his chest.
The second was that he'd been trying to cast a proper patronus for months and he was excited
to show it off to the pair of them. The third was he hadn't had the chance to cast a patronus
again since that night in the forest, and he also wanted to see Prongs again.

"Expecto patronum," Harry murmured, and Prongs burst forward, enormous and silvery. He
did two small circles of the bottom of the garden, and then settled enough to trot forward,
head held high and proud.

The effort of maintaining it was far harder than Harry had thought, and Prongs faded a little,
but all it took was a glance at Padfoot's expression - equal parts shocked and awed - and
Moony's - fond, and a little nostalgic - to set him glowing brightly again.

"It's him," Padfoot said, leaning forward. Harry tried to encourage Prongs to move closer, but
couldn't manage it. "It's not just any stag, it's actually… look at the markings around the eyes,
Moony-"

"And the scar on his neck," Moony murmured. He reached out and gave Harry's shoulder a
squeeze. Harry turned to him, smiling and distracted, and Prongs faded.

"Sorr-" Harry began.

"It's brilliant," Padfoot said, slinging an arm over his shoulders and smiling the first true
smile Harry'd seen since he was cursed.

"The doubts I have had about your loyalty since my… fall, have been allayed in the past year,
Lucius by your service to Wormtail… Mostly."

"My loyalty has never faltered, my Lord." Lucius knelt before the fireplace, his head bowed
so low that the ends of his hair touched the stone floor. "I have remained loyal-"

"Have you?" The Dark Lord's voice was soft, dangerous. "You didn't renounce me, then, after
I fell?"

"I- I did, my Lord," Lucius forced the words out, speaking to the stones before the fireplace
rather than the small, snake-like face in the green flames. "But I knew when you returned I
would be better placed to serve you if I was free than if I were locked in Azkaban with the
others-"

"A pretty lie, Lucius."

"I would not lie to you, my Lord."

"Then you didn't renounce me to save yourself the discomfort of a cell in Azkaban?"

"I kept my freedom so that I could be of use to you," Lucius said. "That I was able to wait for
the opportunity to do so from the comfort of my Manor and not a cell is a fortunate side-
effect."

"Silver tongued as ever, I see." There was the faintest hint of amusement in the Dark Lord's
tone, and Lucius let out a tiny, silent breath of relief. He dared to look up, and met the Dark
Lord's slitted eyes. "But I confess myself concerned that you've been merely waiting for all
these years… Did you ever look for me, Lucius? Did you ever try to find me?"

"I searched," Lucius said, "and found nothing. If I had heard even a whisper-"

"There were whispers. I have been found, after all." The Dark Lord's eyes drifted to the
outline of the hand holding him in place in the Floo.

"I should have tried harder, my Lord," Lucius murmured. "I have disappointed you."

"Yes." Any relief Lucius had felt earlier vanished. "You have. And even more
disappointingly, you are not the only one that has - you are one of many." Lucius felt ill. "But,
you are also one of very few that have aided me of late-" Lucius held his breath. "-and for
that, I might be persuaded to be more... forgiving…"

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius said immediately. "Thank you. I shall never give you cause to doubt
my loyalty again-"

"That would be wise." His voice was so soft it was almost a hiss. "I do hope that I can trust
you, Lucius. That you're not just putting together pretty words in an attempt to appease
me…"

"Never, my Lord."

"Prove it." Lucius was stymied for a moment, then, quickly pulled back his sleeve and
showed the faded mark to the fireplace.

"I still bear your mark after all these years-"

"Admirable," the Dark Lord said, tone almost wry, "but I had a more… demonstrative proof
in mind."
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