When Harry arrived in the Great Hall he breathed a deep sigh. It was wonderful to be back at Hogwarts, to be back home. Oddly enough, however, home now also conjured vague images of a neat room done in various shades of blue. Harry hastily shoved that thought out of his mind. It had come to him one of the nights he had sat up watching the moon in the last week and it made him uneasy. What did it mean, he wondered, at the same time, however, he found himself avoiding finding out.

It was, he supposed, for exactly this sort of thing that Professor Snape had given him the journal just before he had left the Dursley’s house, but he hadn’t started writing in the book yet. He could imagine the humiliation he would suffer if his relatives had found such a manuscript, though an ardent desire not to be “contaminated” usually kept them well away from any of his things. He would start his attempt at writing tonight or tomorrow, he decided. Perhaps just write about what had happened every day or in the last week, just to get used to it. Later on, after he felt more comfortable, if he felt more comfortable, a part of his mind whispered darkly, he could write about the...other stuff, the stuff the journal had been intended for.

As he walked toward the Gryffindor table with Ron and Hermione, just behind Neville and Ginny and Luna who split off a moment later to float over to the Ravenclaw table, Harry swept an idle glance along the Head table. Most of the professors were talking amongst themselves, all but two. Professor Snape was glowering at anything that moved, as per usual for him, and a new professor, someone Harry had never seen before and could therefore only assume was the new DADA professor, was observing the students closely. He was graying, though he didn’t seem that old, and his hair stuck out from his head in several directions; all in all he looked rather like the lion Harry had seen when he went to the zoo with Dudley that one summer.

In a few minutes, the students were settled, or very nearly and Professor Dumbledore gave Professor McGonagall a nod as she stood to fetch the first years. They appeared a few moments later. It was obvious that they had started as a line, but nervousness made them bunch together until the line looked rather clumped and straggly instead of the thing of precision Harry remembered learning at his primary school. Soon enough they were sorted, Gryffindor got nine new first-years, and the Headmaster was standing to invite them all to enjoy the feast that the house-elves had worked so hard at preparing. It was, as always, a marvelous meal, filled with more good things to eat than Harry reckoned even Dudley could manage to ingest, though it might be a near thing.

After the feast Dumbledore stood again and gave them the usual talk, full of admonishments about staying out of the Forbidden Forest and not using magic in the halls or tracking mud into the castle. This year, however, he also said, “I am heartened to see so many new faces this year, especially in light of recent events. I should like you all to remember that we are at our strongest when we work together and respect one another. And now, let me introduce to you your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lyons.”

Professor Lyons, the man Harry had noticed earlier and whom he now saw had eyes rather like Madame Hooch’s, nodded to them all and said, “thank you,” in a low, gravelly voice as they tentatively applauded.

“Thank Merlin he didn’t get up to give a speech,” Seamus noted.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “that alone makes him a better professor than that Umbridge.”

Lavender and Parvati were agreeing when Headmaster Dumbledore said, “And now, before we all head off to bed, let us sing the school song.” For a moment, Harry considered singing to a funeral march in honor of Fred and George, but as it was too late to consult with Ron, he thought he’d better wait until next year. He wasn’t really sure he could pull off something like that anyway; he had nothing like the twins’ reputation, after all. He sang to a jaunty little tune, instead, that he had picked up from his cousin summer before last. The original song had been intended to be a sort of drinking round, but it was a catchy tune and no one noticed in the cacophony of other voices and melodies.

When they had finished, everyone stood and the Great Hall was soon filled with a seething mass of teenage humanity trying to get through the doors. He could hear the voices of several prefects, including his two best friends, calling for first years to follow them and not to get separated as he, too, tried to leave the Hall. A moment later he heard Professor McGonagall, his head of house, calling for him. “Potter,” she said when she caught up with him.

“Professor,” he greeted her.

“I must say that I was pleased with your overall results from the OWLs, but your potions score needs work. No doubt you remember that I told you Professor Snape accepts only the highest scoring students into his NEWTs class.”

“I remember, Professor. I was still planning to take the NEWT, though. Hermione is going to help me study.”

The tartan-wearing witch pursed her lips. “As advanced as Miss Granger is, I’m not sure it would be entirely wise to allow her to teach you advanced potions. Why not talk to Professor Snape about it?”

“If he’s not going to let me in his regular advanced class I doubt he’s going to want to make a special class just for me,” Harry replied.

“True enough,” McGonagall’s lips thinned even further. “When I said I would help you become an Auror I was quite serious Mr. Potter. May I assume you are still interested in following that path?”

“Yes Professor,” he replied surely.

“Very well then. I will talk to Professor Snape.”

“I’m not sure,” Harry began before his professor smoothly interrupted him.

“Not to worry, Potter,” McGonagall said, “it will be taken care of. All I have to do is point out what could happen if you were to run around making Polyjuice, say, without proper supervision. I think that would convince him quite nicely, don’t you?” Her eyes twinkled merrily at him for a moment before she strode off in search of Snape.

Harry made his way to the Gryffindor common room hoping that no one would ask what McGonagall had wanted. He managed to laugh and joke with Ron and Neville despite the fact that he was worried that his head of house had done what she threatened. If either of the boys noticed that his heart wasn’t in the antics they were up to, neither of them mentioned it. He would have thought he had gotten away with it if it were not for the curious little looks Hermione kept shooting him.

On the other hand she had been looking at him that way almost since they got on the train. His friends had, of course, asked him what it had been like, living with Snape, but all he had said was that he didn’t want to talk about it. It didn’t satisfy them, but they didn’t ask again. Perhaps, Hermione reasoned, he was embarrassed. She would wait a bit, and then try again later, when he wasn’t surrounded by everyone.

He knew, when he saw her striding toward him, that unless he did something to defuse the situation, he could only leave the conversation with an entirely unenviable headache. “Severus!” she called from a distance, as though concerned that if she waited any longer he would find some way to slink out of her grasp.

“Minerva,” he replied evenly.

“I want a word with you, Severus,” she said as she drew closer. He was amused to note that she was breathing just slightly too fast, having hurried to catch him, and was now trying very hard to hide it. As he waited a moment for her to catch her breath and begin, which she did almost immediately he said, “Really, Minerva, running through the corridors? What will the children think?”

She glared at him before saying, “Severus, I know Potter didn’t do as well as he should have on his potions OWL, but—“ “Calm down, Minerva,” he said with a brilliantly executed artificial sneer for the subject. “Your Golden Boy has already been admitted to my advanced class.”

“Already admitted?” Her curiosity rapidly turned to suspicion. “What do you mean, he’s already been admitted?” She was so bewildered by his statement she forgot to snarl at him for calling Harry a Golden Boy, he noted.

“I mean, I have been ordered to include him in my class.”

“Severus,” she began sternly, “I sincerely hope you aren’t going to tell me that Albus was ordering you when you and I both know he probably only just asked. Why, I was going to ask you myself,” she said with a small tilt of her head.

He quirked an eyebrow at her before saying, “You are not alone in that endeavor, I assure you.”

“Oh,” she said eyes widening as her mouth thinned. “I see. I didn’t know He—well,” she sounded a trifle flustered and backpedaled. “Well, in that case, Severus, I’ll just let you get back to your work.”

He sneered again as he said, “Thank you, Minerva,” in a faintly mocking tone. She was just preparing to say something when he swept off and left her glaring after him.

Surprisingly enough, or perhaps not so surprisingly, it had been much easier to get the boy enrolled in his class than he had been expecting. He had put himself on his guard and marched firmly up to Albus’s office. The old man had a nasty habit of eliciting more information than Severus wanted to give, and this time he was determined that he would give nothing away. He gave the latest confectionary password to the gargoyle with an absent-minded wondering if he should be brushing his teeth afterwards and allowed the staircase to take him up. He raised his hand to knock on the door before him but heard the old man inviting him to come in before his knuckles had touched the wood. “What can I do for you, Severus?” Albus had greeted him as he entered the office.

“I need to add a student to one of my class rosters,” he had replied.

“Oh?” Albus had asked, eyes twinkling madly. “I think that’s more Minerva’s department than mine, Severus.”

He had scowled a little at the headmaster, “I have been ordered to put Potter in my advanced class. I’m supposed to keep an eye on him, keep him close.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Severus, that is the only reason, I’m sure.”

The white-haired mage had smiled in response to Snape’s deepening scowl. “Very good then, Headmaster. I’ll let you get back to your work.” He had then turned and strode out of the office.

“Good afternoon, Severus,” Albus had called as he left.

When he had reached the relative safety of his own office he sighed with relief. Severus thought that, all in all, he had done quite a good job of ignoring and dodging Albus’s jibes, and he felt some small self-congratulations were in order.

Of course, he snorted, getting the boy enrolled in the class was the easy part, keeping a proper balance of visible hatred and tolerance every day while still maintaining the fragile relationship he had managed to create with Harry, that was the hard part. The most difficult obstacle in that respect would be Draco Malfoy. The boy was devious and too observant for his own good, especially when someone else was getting something. The others would not be nearly as difficult. Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson were too busy trying to pretend they knew what they were doing or asking Malfoy for help. He had thought he might get rid of Malfoy’s two shadows, but as they had applied to the class he had had to let them in, for political reasons. Thank Merlin Longbottom wouldn’t be there this year. Zabini kept his own council, the boy was doing his best to fade into the woodwork and stay neutral. Unfortunately that meant that he was forced to keep himself aloof from his head of house. He would have liked to help the boy, but he could not do that without giving his own position away. In any event he did not expect any trouble from Blaise, which was fortunate, since he suspected Draco would provide more than enough. Then, shaking his head at his own pointless worrying, he had stood and left his office. The students would be arriving that night and he needed to check on the common room and the dormitories.

Draco Malfoy stared up at the canopy of his bed. It was green, but you couldn’t tell that in the dark. The first night back at Hogwarts he always missed watching the moon. He could see it from his bedroom window at home and he often liked to look up at it as he drifted into sleep. He supposed it was something of a morbid fascination, given his aversion to werewolves, to watch it wax and wane each month, but he found himself drawn by its cool, aloof beauty.

He had not, on his father’s orders, antagonized Potter on the train that day. It had been very tempting to walk over and say something, anything, but if word got back to his father, and it would he knew, he was likely to get a very irate letter from home, Malfoys, after all, did not do Howlers, unlike certain other families he could mention. He had gotten some small satisfaction from seeing Potter looking askance at him when they passed on their way to the carriages, but it was rather cold comfort.

It was odd, how his father’s brief stint in Azkaban had changed the family dynamics, he mused, not for the first time. He had not been looking forward to going home at the end of last term, especially after he had gotten hexed by Potter and company on the train. Instead of the dressing down his father would have given him, though, his mother simply reversed the spells and said, “Do be more careful next time, won’t you,” before gesturing for him to take hold of the portkey.

After that they had gotten on quite well, and grew closer than they had been since he was very young. He wasn’t sure if his mother had had more time that summer, or if she just chose to spend more of it with him, but either way he had thoroughly enjoyed getting to know her. She had a dry wit that always made him laugh, and he liked the way she smiled at him, the way a mother should smile, he thought, though he could not remember her doing it often before. Perhaps he simply hadn’t noticed?

It was possible. His father had always been around before, and Draco had idolized him from the moment he could tell the difference between his parents. There had been a distance between them since he had started Hogwarts, it was true, but he had put that down to his failure to best Granger and Potter at school.

Lucius had returned the morning his OWL results had arrived. He had hurried into the breakfast room to show his mother and only after handing them to her did he notice his father standing in the corner of the room. “Good work, Draco, I’m very proud of you,” Narcissa had said. Draco had glowed.

When his father got the sheet, however, he merely said, “Hmmm. You could have done better. I heard that Granger did better.” Draco could not help but droop a little, though he tried very hard not to show it. A Malfoy did not openly display his emotions, nor did he let others know they had power over him. At that moment, Draco felt that he resented his father, they had been much happier without him, but he immediately buried that thought as deeply within himself as he could, where no one would see it. “You will study more this summer,” Lucius had instructed.

“Yes, father,” Draco intoned in response. When the older man nodded Draco had known he was dismissed. He was still prepared to obey his father, indeed, he felt he had little choice, his father was still they head of the family, and it was faintly worrying to him, the amount of time his father spent at the Dark Lord’s side, but Draco resolved he would go and talk to Professor Snape soon. Perhaps his head of house would have some insight into his father’s latest directions.

The next morning Draco made his way to the Great Hall and sat in his usual seat. He did his best to ignore Potter and Friends, but he was so used to sneering at them that he found himself glancing over occasionally, only to remember and look away as quickly as possible. Thank Merlin none of them seemed to notice.

At that moment, the owls came in, carrying the morning post. It was a welcome distraction, until Draco actually opened the letter his mother’s owl had brought him. It was from his father, and very short, only two words long. ‘Befriend Potter,’ it said, in that familiar, curling script.

Befriend Potter! He had tried that in the past and it hadn’t worked. The two of them had settled into a nice, comfortable, mutual hatred, and he found himself loathe to disturb that. On the other hand, this was his father asking. Draco sighed, and decided he would just have to go see Snape sooner rather than later. Perhaps his professor would have some time free after dinner this afternoon?

Harry had awakened feeling no better about going to Snape’s class than he had the night before. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the man; it was more that he didn’t want his professor to think badly of him. They had just finally gotten things straight between them at the end of the summer, and Harry didn’t want to ruin that.

Just after the post came in McGonagall came around to hand out the sixth years’ schedules personally. “You’ve all been given every class you qualify for, but if you decide you don’t want to take one of them, come see me. I would recommend you go to the first class first, though,” she said, looking sternly at them over the rims of her glasses. “Miss Granger, a word after breakfast, if you would.” Hermione nodded.

When Harry got his schedule, his head of house winked at him. He looked down and sure enough, there it was, Advanced Potions. The first class was that afternoon, and he had lunch and a morning of Advanced Charms to get through first. He couldn’t work out if he was happy for the delay or not.

Advanced Charms was just the sort of class that Hermione called “fascinating.” It was exciting enough, they were allowed to perform new and interesting spells, but they focused more on the theory behind the spells than ever before. Charms was, however, one of the few classes that Harry, Ron, and Hermione still had together as a trio, since Ron hadn’t made it into Potions and Hermione dropped Care of Magical Creatures, so in Harry’s eyes it was marvelous.

Following Flitwick’s class Hermione had Ancient Runes, but Ron and Harry had a break before lunch. Hermione nagged them about doing the Charms homework before she dashed to her next class.

“I’m not doing homework yet,” Ron intimated when she had left, “the first day isn’t even over with!”

“Yeah, but think how impressed she’ll be if you do,” Harry replied.

Ron didn’t reply to that remark, instead he asked, “Are you going to do it?”

“I’m thinking about it. I’ve got Potions this afternoon, and I have no idea what Snape will assign, but I bet it’s long and hard.”

“Tough luck, that. I’m just as happy to be done with Potions, myself.”

“Aurors need Potions,” Harry said with a shrug.

“Well, I think I’ll go and talk to Neville for a bit,” Ron said, spotting the other boy on the other side of the common room. “I’ll be back to start reading before ‘Mione gets here.” Harry smiled and nodded as Ron stood up and walked over to Neville.

After a few minutes, Harry almost wished that Ron had stayed, if only to serve as a distraction. Every time he settled down to read the chapter, his mind wandered to thoughts of Potions class that afternoon. Really, he told himself, it’s ridiculous to be worrying like this. Either he’ll be okay with it, or he won’t, and you can survive either way. A traitorous voice at the back of his mind, however, was whispering that it would really rather not go through a repeat of the estrangement or mutual loathing that had formerly characterized his relationship with his potions master.

Five minutes before the period ended Ron returned from playing Exploding Snap with Neville and a few other students who had a break. He had just found the chapter and managed to read the first page when Hermione came in. “Doing your homework already,” she asked as she walked up. “I’m impressed.”

Harry looked up and smiled at her while Ron said, “Yeah, all this reading is making me hungry though, let’s go get lunch.” Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron hastily shut his book so that she wouldn’t notice that he hadn’t got very far at all.

They headed down to lunch listening to Hermione’s happy chatter about how challenging her Runes class had been and how useful Charms was going to be. “Really, though, I almost envy the two of you,” she said as they approached the Great Hall. “Why, I bet you’ve got your Charms work nearly done by now!” Harry and Ron exchanged a knowing glance as they entered and sat at the Gryffindor table.

Lunch passed happily as the trio talked to a few of their other year mates about what they had done that summer. Harry mostly listened, as he still wasn’t ready to discuss living with Snape, but Hermione kept covering his silence with questions to others and no one seemed to notice. At long last, however, the dreaded hour arrived and Harry and Hermione traipsed down to the dungeons, leaving Ron behind.

As they lined up with the other students they were slightly surprised to find members of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff houses there as well. “It’s because of scheduling,” Ernie Macmillan said authoritatively. “No more splitting us all up, it’s take what fits best now.”

Draco sauntered up and glanced dismissively over everyone not in Slytherin House. “Ugh, Malfoy,” Harry groaned quietly to Hermione.

“Look on the bright side,” she whispered back, “at least there’s no Crabbe or Goyle.” At that moment, however, Hermione was proved wrong as Vincent and Gregory walked up and got in line behind Malfoy. “What,” Hermione hissed angrily, “I thought this was an advanced class, how did they get in?”

“Maybe Snape had to let them in,” Harry murmured soothingly.

“Still,” she spluttered.

Just then the classroom door banged open and Snape stepped out. “Well?” he asked, “Are you all just going to stand there, or will you get in the classroom?”

Harry shivered a little at the quiet menace in his professor’s tone, but pretended that he hadn’t noticed. Meekly the class slunk in and took their seats at the tables. There was a small bit of milling around as pairs who normally sat at the same table adjusted to the new set up, but they were seated and prepared for class within moments. Snape stood by his desk glaring at them all until they were quiet.

“I must say, I am surprised to see some of you here,” Snape began, looking around, though he very carefully did not let his eyes rest on Crabbe or Goyle, or on Harry, though he did look over his head, “and I expect some of you will drop out soon enough. I can only ask that if you are going to drop, please do it as soon as possible and quit wasting my time. This is an advanced class, intended not only for those of you who want to sit the NEWTs, but also for those of you who have a serious interest in potions. All of you, if you are here, have the necessary preliminary knowledge to go far in this field. I expect hard work and a serious effort at learning the new material and improving your skills.”

He gave them a final glare before turning to flick his wand at the board. “If any of you read the first chapter of your text, you will be familiar with this potion. If not, I suggest you work alone and well away from your partner so as not to splatter them when you fail,” he smiled predatorily. No one moved. “Well? What are you waiting for? Begin,” he snapped as the class jumped into action, gathering supplies and heating cauldrons. He stood at the front, observing for a moment, before he began stalking up and down the aisles criticizing their technique.

“Did you read the first chapter,” Hermione asked Harry as they set up their potions and began adding the necessary ingredients. While the base heated and came together they prepared the other ingredients.

“I did,” Harry said. “I think this one was the Anti-inflammatory Infusion.” Hermione gave him a small smile and nodded to show he was right before glancing discreetly at Snape and bending her head back down over the aloe she was chopping.

Although Snape walked past them several times he never actually said anything other than, “Not quite so much bicorn powder, Potter,” which was a relief to Harry and a surprise to everyone else.

The reaction of the class was quite amusing to Severus; he supposed they had all assumed that he would instantly begin berating Harry and using him as a scapegoat as always, and to be honest any other year he might have. Then again, he had never known the boy quite as well as he now did.

One thing did concern him, though, and that was the way Draco kept shooting glances at Potter. It was almost as though the blonde was nervous about something, though what that could be Severus had no idea. He supposed he would have to find the boy soon and have a chat with him.

Malfoy wasn’t a bad kid so much as an arrogant, misguided one with an overgrown sense of entitlement, and Severus had some small hope of keeping him from the Dark Lord. Most of his peers in Slytherin would follow his lead in that regard, and Snape felt that even if they had been as bad as everyone else seemed to think he would have wanted to save his students from making the same mistakes he had made.

Taking another look around the classroom Severus decided he would also have to talk to Harry soon, the boy was refusing to look him in the eye, which was very uncharacteristic behavior for him. He would be glad when this class was over, he thought with a sigh, thank Merlin it was the last of the day for him.

As the end of the period approached Severus announced, “You should all be finished by now. Bottle a sample of your results, label it with your name and your best guess as to what this is, and for some of you I’ve no doubt it will be a guess, and bring them to my desk, then you may clean up.”

Harry was thankful that his potion, while not perfect like Hermione’s, had at least a closer resemblance to the desired result than some of the other students. He snuffed the flame under the cauldron and picked up a flask which he labeled. He was just about to ladle some of the potion into it when Hermione put a hand on his wrist and said, “Wait a minute.” She then murmured an unbreakable charm over the flask and smiled at him.

“Thanks, ‘Mione,” he whispered, then filled the container and capped it. He carried it to the front and placed it well back on the desk, unbreakable charm or not he didn’t fancy having Malfoy knock it on the floor; he thought he recalled something about the bicorn powder precipitating out if it was handled too roughly, and he was fairly certain that if that were the case any sign of precipitate would result in a lower grade, which he had no desire for for a number of reasons.

To his relief Malfoy didn’t say or do anything to his potion or him, and didn’t even seem to acknowledge his presence, despite standing a mere three feet away. Harry would have supposed that the blonde was just trying to get to him by ignoring him if it weren’t for the faint crease between his brows. If anything, it looked to Harry like the other teen was preoccupied with something. Deciding that what ever it was it wasn’t likely to be good, Harry resolved to keep a close watch on the Slytherin, unobtrusively, of course. He still remembered promising Snape that he would try to leave Malfoy alone, and while he had no problems with not approaching him, he had never promised to stop paying attention to his rival.

Harry and Hermione had just finished all of their cleanup and were sitting quietly at their table when the chime indicating the end of class sounded. Not a student moved, however, until Snape said, “Homework, write a two foot essay on the potion you attempted today and its properties. Class dismissed.”

“Only two feet,” Hermione said as they stood up and picked up their bags, “That’s not bad at all.”

“No, not really,” Harry replied absently. They were only half way down the corridor when Harry said, “Oh, Hermione, I forgot my quill, you run ahead to Transfiguration without me, I’ll be right there,” as he turned back toward the dungeon classroom.

“Alright,” she said curiously, “I’ll see you in class.” Harry nodded to show he’d heard as he strode off and Hermione watched after him a moment with her head cocked to the side and a calculating look on her face. She came back to herself a moment later and rushed down the rest of the corridor and up the stairs to McGonagall’s classroom; it wouldn’t do at all for a prefect to be late.

“Sir,” Harry said as he poked his head back in the classroom. Seeing that Snape was seated at his desk Harry walked in, closed the door behind him, and nervously approached the desk.

Hearing the noise Severus looked up and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Mr. Potter, what a surprise.”

“Do you have another class today?” Harry asked.

Severus flicked his wand in a complicated gesture before replying, “No, not this afternoon, why?”

“Just wondering if you had a moment.”

“I do,” Severus looked up at him curiously. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your rather odd behavior in class would it?”

Startled, Harry looked up and met his eyes, “What do you mean, my odd behavior?” he asked.

“I mean you would hardly look me in the face, which is not at all normal for you. You’re going to have to do better than that, especially since I’m going to have to make a few acerbic comments to you now and then.”

“Right, of course,” Harry said, nodding a little jerkily. “Um, look,” he said, after he took a deep breath, “I don’t want you to think that I asked McGonagall to bully you into putting me in your class, because I-“

“You were registered for my class before she came to talk to me. You may, of course, drop, if you wish, but I rather thought you wanted to take Potions.”

“Of course I did, but how did I, I mean, I didn’t get the OWL you wanted,” Harry spluttered in confusion.

Snape smirked a little but instead of answering Harry’s question he said, “You’re going to be late to class if you don’t go now, and I certainly will not write you a note.”

“But—“Harry began.

“We’ll talk again soon; I’ll send you an owl to set it up.” Very clearly that was a dismissal and Harry had no desire to be tardy to Transfiguration, so he hiked his bag up higher on his shoulder and walked as quickly as he could out of Snape’s classroom.

As soon as he was out of sight of the doorway he took off running and managed to arrive, breathless and panting, at McGonagall’s classroom just as the chime sounded again. “If you will take your seat, Mr. Potter,” she said, “We were just about to begin.”

“Sorry, professor,” he gasped as he slid into a seat next to Ron, who was sitting right next to Hermione.

McGonagall nodded and closed the door before turning to head back to the front of the classroom. “I thought we’d start off the term with a brief review,” the stern head of house began. “Does anyone have any questions about anything we’ve done previously?” She looked around the room expectantly, and when no one raised their hand she said, “Good, that means we can get started with the rest of this term’s work. If any of you should run into questions, you may feel free to ask me, either in class or during my office hours, I trust you all remember when those are?” she inquired with a small smile. As various nods were seen she turned to the board and tapped it with her wand, bringing up the lesson notes for the day.

It seemed that, like Charms, they were focusing on the hows and whys behind Transfiguration this year, as much as on the practical applications of it. It was, nevertheless, a very interesting class, primarily because they were finally getting to work on human transfiguration, and it passed very quickly. Just before class ended the homework was announce, eighteen inches on the commonalities between transfiguration of similar objects and objects with similar names, to be due the following Monday. Hermione was delighted with how simple it was while Ron was groaning that he couldn’t believe they had assigned that much on the first day and they were arguing about whether or not they should start it that evening while they packed up to leave when Professor McGonagall asked Harry to stay behind a moment after class.

As the bell rang Ron said, “Want us to wait for you?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Harry said, “It’s probably about being late. I’ll meet you in the common room.”

“Alright, if you’re sure, then.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said, giving his friends a little push toward the door before turning and approaching the professor’s desk.

McGonagall looked up and smiled at him. “How was your first potions class?” she asked.

“It was alright,” Harry said. “I wanted to thank you for getting me in,” he continued. He knew Snape had said that he was already registered, but he thought he might be able to get a bit more out of his head of house.

“You are entirely welcome, of course, Potter, but I didn’t do it.”

“What?” Harry said, feigning puzzlement.

“From what I gather, it was the headmaster who asked Severus to include you,” she replied. Actually, she had gotten the impression that it was someone else entirely...but she didn’t think she ought to bring that up at the moment.

“Oh,” Harry said in genuine surprise, “Well, thanks anyway, Professor, I really appreciate it.”

“Certainly,” McGonagall replied, “and if you run into any problems my door is always opened. Though I would appreciate if you did not wait until after curfew,” she smiled again.

Harry laughed, “Sure thing, Professor,” he replied, surprised that she was joking with him. “Was there anything else,” he asked curiously.

“No, that was all, but mind you don’t be late to my class, or I will take points.”

“Right, well, thanks again,” Harry said as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

McGonagall nodded at him and he walked out the door and headed toward Gryffindor tower. When he arrived in the common room he was not surprised to see Ron and Hermione arguing. “Ron, I can’t believe you let me think you had done your Charms work when you’ve barely started,” Hermione was saying in exasperation.

“Well I did start, didn’t I?” Ron answered her, “Besides, I wanted to do it with you,” he continued.

“Why, so I could help you?” Hermione shot back.

Ron flushed a little guiltily but said, “No, of course not! You have twice as much homework as me anyway; I just thought you might like a little company while you do it!”

Hermione looked at him suspiciously for a moment, but then shrugged and said, “Well, I suppose. But if you think I’m just going to give you the answers you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Of course, ‘Mione,” Ron replied soothingly. “I never expected that.”

“We may as well get started then, before dinner,” Harry said as he walked up.

Ron shot him a slightly pained look but then said, “Yeah, I suppose. You never know what they’re likely to give us tomorrow.”

At dinner, Hermione looked over at Harry and asked, “Did you get your quill?”

“Hmm?” Harry said looking up. “I’m sorry Hermione I wasn’t listening,” he apologized.

“I asked if you got your quill back. Professor Snape didn’t give you a hard time, did he?”

“What’s this then?” Ron asked, becoming interested at the mention of his most hated professor.

“Harry forgot his quill in Potions and he went back to get it, that’s why he was almost late to Transfiguration,” Hermione explained.

“Oh, yes, I got my quill back, no, I didn’t get into any trouble over it.”

“Good,” Ron said, “Let’s not give up the house cup yet, hey?”

Hermione rolled her eyes while Harry just nodded. Pensively she glanced at Harry, then up at her potions professor. Something was going on, and she was going to find out what it was.

Draco Malfoy had struggled through the day and fell into his seat at dinner in the Great Hall still trying to give the impression that nothing was wrong. He could only hope he was giving a somewhat credible performance, but he rather doubted it. He had found himself watching Potter in Potions that afternoon. He could scarcely believe that the Gryffindork had gotten into advanced Potions, hadn’t he caught Professor Snape giving Potter remedial potions tutoring last year? He resolved to ask Potter about that at the next opportunity. Right after he talked to Professor Snape to see if he had any insights into what seemed to be his father’s recent and hopefully temporary insanity.

Speaking of the Potions Master he had been much kinder than usual to Potter today. Was something going on between them? Was it somehow related to the fact that Potter had stayed with Snape that summer? He had overheard his father as he was flooing someone in his study one day, apparently his dour professor was trying to teach Potter the Dark Arts. There were so many things wrong with that thought that Draco didn’t even want to contemplate them all. He heaved a sigh.

“Draco,” Pansy looked at him concernedly, “are you all right? You seem a little odd today.”

“I’m fine, Pansy,” he replied haughtily.

“If you say so,” she said with arched brows and disbelieving eyes. He glowered at her as she turned away and then glanced up at the staff table. Professor Snape was just standing up. All he needed to do was wait a bit longer, then make his own excuses and leave. Draco took the opportunity to actually eat some of the dinner he had been playing with before standing up and leaving the Great Hall.

Soon enough he was standing in a pool of torchlight outside the door to his head of house’s office. Tentatively he raised his hand and knocked at the door.

“Enter,” Snape called, looking up from the essay he was marking. He was more than a little surprised to see that the Malfoy heir had come to see him on his own, but covered that surprise by saying smoothly, “Mr. Malfoy, did you want something?”

“I was wondering, sir, whether you had any insight into this,” the boy reached into his pocket and fished out a slightly crumpled looking bit of parchment that bore two words in what was unmistakably Lucius’s handwriting.

He had, of course, heard Molly Weasley’s report, and it tallied with what he had managed to pick up on his own, but he had not been aware that the plan was moving forward with such speed. For a moment, Severus felt exceptionally weary, but he quickly pushed that aside in favor of dealing with the student standing before him. “I may know something, yes,” he replied. “What have you been told?”

“Nothing but this,” the teen responded.

“I see. I believe your father wishes you to make an effort to get to know Potter.”

“I could tell that for myself!” Draco snapped impatiently, “I was wondering if maybe you knew why. Father, well, he’s been very anxious about this lately.” Suddenly the blonde looked very young and confused.

“I am certain, Draco, that more will be explained to you when it is appropriate,” Severus said softly. “In the meantime, I’m afraid I can only urge you to follow your father’s instructions.”

Draco drooped the tiniest bit at this. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He turned toward the door feeling that this interview had been rather less helpful than he could have wished.

Snape looked at him pensively for a moment and spoke before the youth had opened the door, though his hand was on the handle. Perhaps, just perhaps, a real friend was what Draco needed to keep him out of the Dark Lord’s clutches, and if he managed to actually make friends with Harry, it was worth a shot, he decided. “If I might make a few suggestions, Mr. Malfoy,” he said.

Draco turned back with curiosity glinting in his eyes, “Yes, sir?” he asked.

“Tone down your interactions with the Golden Trio, don’t insult Potter’s friends. He is more than a little protective of them.”

“I had noticed that, sir,” the boy offered.

Snape nodded and continued, “Don’t make any overt attempts right away, that will only make him suspicious. Try insinuating yourself into his daily routine somewhere, sit at the next table in the library for instance. When he gets used to that, make a friendly overture, and don’t get upset if he turns you down the first time,” his mouth quirked into his distinctive sneer at the word friendly, as though it were merely a euphemism for something else.

Draco nodded this time, “Right, thank you, sir.” Snape gestured dismissively and Draco left the office. As he headed down to Arx Serpens he felt a little better for the first time since breakfast. Perhaps everything was not as bleak as it seemed. He had plotting to do.

Severus remained in his office until nearly curfew, and then he made his way up to the headmaster’s office. When he arrived at the top of the staircase a familiar voice called out, “Enter.” Albus welcomed him with a smile and his perpetual offer of refreshment. “Tea, Severus? Or perhaps you’d like a lemon drop?”

“No, thank you,” Severus replied, lip curling ever-so-slightly. “I am merely here to tell you that the plan is in motion.”

“Ah, young Draco has been given his marching orders then?”

“Yes, and apparently that’s all he’s been given.”

“Unfortunately that’s hardly surprising. Do you think it will work?”

“You’d know better than I, Albus,” Snape replied, sinking into a chair and rubbing at his eyes.

Dumbledore smiled, “Indulge me, Severus. What do you think?”

“I, I don’t know. It might. Harry, I know, would like a family, and the Dursleys are hardly that,” he sneered with disgust. “If it were anyone but the Malfoys,” he shook his head. “There is quite a history of animosity to be overcome there, and Harry is not nearly as stupid about this as I once thought. Surely he knows that it could not work,” the spy looked up at his friend. “I felt I had to give Draco some advice about how to do it.”

“I shouldn’t worry about that, old friend,” Albus said gently. “After all, it is up to Mr. Malfoy to follow that advice, or not. And anyway it may all work out to the best.”

“I hope so, Albus, I truly do, for both their sakes.” They sat in silence a moment before Severus stood.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Severus,” Dumbledore said, eyes a-twinkle. “Do try not to take too many points from Gryffindor this evening.”

“I can only take them if I catch them,” Severus returned with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “But who knows, I may get lucky.” The headmaster’s laughter followed him down the stairs.

Harry awoke quite early the next morning with the realization that he was not going to be able to get back to sleep. Reaching for his glasses, he decided that now was as good a time as any to start writing in the journal he had been given. Wriggling to the foot of his bed Harry fished around in his trunk for the slender, blue volume and one of Dudley’s ball point pens, which he decided, would be much easier to use in bed than the usual quill and ink.

He opened the book to the first page and tapped the pen against his bottom lip for a moment. What should he write about? Harry made a sudden decision and bent over the book to begin writing.

I think I was supposed to start this while I was still at the Dursleys’, he wrote, but I can’t help feeling that that would have been a bad idea. I wouldn’t want them to get the idea that I’m anymore messed up than they already think I am. I was more than a little nervous, when Snape pointed out to them that I would be of age to use magic next summer, but they didn’t use it against me, which is good. They didn’t seem any more unhappy about seeing me than usual, actually they mostly ignored me. Aunt Petunia didn’t even make me do the gardening, I think she was more disturbed by the charms Mrs. Weasley cast than she let on, though I did get an earful about that. Mostly I ended up staying in my room. As a nice change, however, the only time I was actually locked in was the night they went out to that fancy dinner party at one of Uncle Vernon’s associate’s house. Uncle Vernon didn’t even yell at me much last week, though I think it took everything in him not to. He kept turning quite purple when he looked at me. I can’t help wondering what Snape said to them. He did tell me to owl if there were problems though, which was, he tapped the parchment with the pen-tip several times, nice, actually. I wouldn’t, but it was nice to know that if I’d needed to I could. It was almost like having Sirius back, if Sirius were snarky and greasy, and if he didn’t need to hide from the ministry. I think I could get used to having Snape around. I certainly did over the summer. That was nice too. I’m back at school now though, which means that Snape has to be mean sometimes in class, to keep from arousing suspicion. Apparently Voldemort has ordered him to make me trust him, but at the same time not to be too nice and make Dumbledore suspicious. It’s a little confusing, and I’m really glad I don’t have to do what Snape does.

Suddenly Harry realized what he had just written. If anyone read this Snape’s position as a spy could be uncovered! Hastily pulling out his wand Harry obliterated the last few lines and spelled the journal to be password protected.

Just as he was finishing up, Ron began stirring and making the little, restless movements that signaled he was waking up. Harry crawled back to the foot of his bed and buried the book in the bottom of his trunk. Then he stood up and stretched. Gathering his things he made his way to the washroom to get ready to start the day. When he came back he was just in time to see Dean Thomas levitating a basin of water over Seamus’s sleeping form. With a wicked grin he upended the bowl, soaking his friend and his bedding. Seamus yelped and leapt out of bed. Unfortunately he got tangled in the sodden blankets and ended up sprawling over the floor. “It wasn’t that funny,” he snarled as everyone laughed.

“Sure it was,” Dean replied snickering, “here, I’ll get your clothes so they don’t get wet. You needed a shower anyway.” He helped his friend pick up his things and grabbed his own toiletries as they headed toward the boys washroom.

When Harry and Ron arrived at the Gryffindor table they found Hermione waiting for them. She was chewing on a piece of buttered toast and happily reading her arithmancy text. “Good morning,” she said to them when she reached the end of the paragraph she was reading.

“Morning, ‘Mione,” they chorused.

“What have you got on your schedule today?” she asked.

“COMC and Herbology in the morning and DADA in the afternoon,” Harry replied.

”Me too,” Ron said carefully around a mouthful of eggs.

“I’ve got arithmancy in the morning, but we’re in DADA together.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said. “Hope this professor is better than Umbridge.”

“Anyone is better than Umbridge,” Ron said feelingly.

“Even Lockhart?” Hermione asked playfully. Ron simply groaned and dropped his forehead to the table where he began beating it as Harry and Hermione laughed.

Very soon Ron and Harry were making their way towards Hagrid’s hut. Given that they were older, Hagrid felt it was time for them to start studying “more innerestin’ creatures,” as he put it. Harry and Ron stifled groans and shared a very expressive look. What Hagrid considered “interesting,” most people considered insanely dangerous. For the first class period Hagrid lectured them on Acromantulas, but he assured them that he would have a live specimen for the next class and they’d get to even better things later in the semester. Ron rushed away from class very fast, nearly leaving Harry behind.

After a hurried lunch the trio made their way to the DADA classroom. “Have you heard anything about the professor?” Harry asked.

“No, not a word,” Hermione answered him, “which is odd really.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Ron said as they took their places in the line forming outside the classroom door.

Soon the door opened and they heard a gravelly voice telling them to come in and take their seats. As the class entered and settled in for a lesson they carefully observed the man before them. He stood before the chalkboard, staring back at them until they fell silent. “My name is Gordon Lyons,” he said. “If you’re in this class then presumably you did well on your OWL, Exceeds Expectations or above, I believe. Is that correct?” There were a few nods and much indistinct mumbling. “I beg your pardon,” Professor Lyons said softly, “I don’t recall asking you to discuss your OWL results amongst yourselves. If you would all, please answer the following question with either ‘yes, sir,’ or ‘no, sir.’ Did any of you get lower than an ‘E’ on you Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL?”

“No, sir,” the class replied, though not in the perfect unison they had been drilled in under Dolores Umbridge.

“Very good,” Lyons said, a hint of pleasure in his gruff voice. “Now we’re going to call roll and then we’ll get started.” When he got to “Longbottom, Neville,” Harry turned round in his seat and grinned at the round-faced Gryffindor, who beamed back at him. To Professor Lyons’s credit, he had almost no reaction to reading the name Potter, Harry; he merely flicked his eyes up to the youth in question and went on smoothly calling the remaining names.

The lesson began with a brief summary of the theory and mechanics of a new blocking spell, and then they spent the rest of the period practicing that spell. The Gryffindors were abuzz as they left the class. “Wow, I haven’t had that much fun in a DADA class since, Lupin, I think!” Ron exclaimed happily as they left.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “I wish the old toad could have seen that class. We studied defensive theory and still managed to do a bit of wandwork.”

“It was a good class,” Harry agreed. “I wonder why Dumbledore couldn’t get him before. Merlin knows I could have done without Umbridge, and I think everyone else could have, too.”

They meandered slowly up to Gryffindor tower where they saw a crowd gathered around the bulletin board in the common room. “What’s going on?” Hermione asked curiosity readily apparent in her voice.

“It’s the announcement for Quidditch try-outs,” Ron replied. “McGonagall said she going to put it up today.”

“Really?” Harry asked, “Who’s captain this year?”

“Erm, I am,” Ron said quietly, turning a brilliant, glowing red. “I reckon I should have told you before now, but,” he trailed off helplessly and glanced up at Harry.

“But, Ron, that’s brilliant!” Harry exclaimed.

“Thanks,” Ron said. “McGonagall wanted you, I think, but she couldn’t get the Ministry to lift the restriction…”

“I figured as much,” Harry said, trying to be off-hand but failing as a hint of bitterness crept into his voice.

“It won’t be the same without you,” Ron said. “I don’t know who we’ll get for seeker, with you out and Ginny trying for chaser.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone,” Harry said. He had expected all this, but to be truthful he had been avoiding thinking about it since the first day he went flying at Snape’s manor. Harry knew he should be grateful that he had even gotten his broomstick back, but the thought of never flying as part of a Quidditch team again was extremely disheartening.

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione said. “Let’s go get a table; we can get started on our homework.”

“Sure,” Harry said, allowing himself to be steered away from the milling, chattering mob. “We can work on DADA,” he said aloud, while we’re all here, he continued mentally. For a moment, Harry felt that he truly hated Dolores Umbridge, but he forced the thought from his mind, occluding it briefly. When they found a table Harry pulled out his books and parchments and did his best to focus on the assignment before him, though he couldn’t help but look over at the bulletin board several times. He was very happy when it was dinner time, and the trio left for the Great Hall.

By the time they got back to the common room Harry had mostly made his peace with the idea of not playing for the house team, predominantly by telling himself that he would go flying very often, and maybe he could talk Ron into going with him sometimes. It was a relief, nevertheless, to sit with his back to the notice board and play a game of chess with Ron. It felt very homey, he thought, to sit across the board from his friend while Hermione sat off to the side a bit, curled up with a book, looking up to watch them every few pages. The sense of satisfaction soon put his mind the rest of the way to rest and Harry didn’t think about Quidditch for the rest of the evening.

He was not as lucky the next day, when the rest of his house found out that he was not playing Quidditch that year. No one seemed to blame him, saying instead that it was all Umbridge’s fault, but that was small comfort. After the first few times that people came up to ask him about the ban Harry began glaring anytime one of his housemates walked up. This was particularly disturbing to those who had been in Hogwarts the previous year and had seen Harry blowing up at his friends.

Finally, after watching a pair of third years squeak and hurry away when Harry glowered at them, Ginny walked over to him. “You realize, of course, that that’s going to do more harm than good,” she said, as she sank down into the chair next to him.

“It’s just that I’m getting really tired of hearing about it,” Harry said defensively.

“I’m sure, but your impersonation of a basilisk isn’t going to improve the situation,” she replied.

“And what is it I should be doing?” he asked her, growing impatience in his voice.

“First of all, calm down. I didn’t take your broom and there’s no need to take my head off. You’re scaring everyone away; they’re convinced you’re going to hex them if they take your spot. Ron’s starting to get really worried that no one’s going to try out.”

“I wouldn’t hex anyone for taking my spot! I wasn’t even thinking about that, I just wanted them to leave me alone!” Harry exclaimed.

“Well that’s what they’re thinking. And the younger years don’t want to do anything to upset Harry Potter. They’re still in awe of you,” she said with a small smirk.

Harry looked sheepish. “So what do I do, Ginny?”

“Well,” she said contemplatively, “You could start by talking to Ron about this somewhere where you can be overheard. Tell him you’re sure he’ll find someone. You might mention that he should look especially in the lower years.”

“Why the lower years?” Harry asked, mystified.

“Because anyone in the upper years would have gotten a chance to try out already. And because you want a variety of ages on your team so that everyone doesn’t leave at once. And because you want someone light as a seeker. And because I think Liza McFarland would make a good seeker but right now she’s too scared of you to try out.”

“Who’s Liza McFarland?” Harry asked.

“One of the second years,” Ginny replied, “Petite, short brown hair, hazel eyes, always sits next to the pale kid with glasses.”

“Oh, right, I remember her now. She kept looking around at everything with really big eyes at her sorting.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Harry, everyone looks around with big eyes at their sorting.”

“Yeah, but I swear hers were bigger than normal. I remember thinking that her eyes must take up half her face or something.”

Ginny just shook her head. “Talk to Ron soon, will you?” she asked as she stood up.

“Sure, I’ll go over to him in a minute,” Harry assured her. “I just want to finish this paragraph for my potions essay.” Ginny smirked and nodded as she left.

Two days later the Gryffindor House Quidditch Team held their tryouts. Liza McFarland was indeed picked for seeker, and two fourth years whose names Harry didn’t remember were picked along with Ginny Weasley as the chasers. Harry watched the tryouts from the top back of the Gryffindor stands, where he could see without being seen. When the team took to the air to do a little casual practice Harry climbed down out of the stands and left the pitch. As he slowly trudged back up to the castle, looking at the ground, he failed to notice the pair of gray eyes set in a pale, narrow face watching him.

-------------------------------------------

Draco Malfoy had been observing Potter for nearly a week, and his first impression was that it was far too easy. It was almost as though Potter didn’t notice when he felt eyes on him. The first day, Draco permitted himself to scorn Saint Potter for this, but by the second day he realized that if he was going to do this he would have to do it right. So, he set about methodically following and watching the boy-who-lived.

Obviously it was impossible to know what went on in the Gryffindor common room, but everywhere Harry went outside of the tower was duly noted. Draco watched him at meals, he watched in classes, he watched Harry watching the Quidditch tryouts, and he tailed him every time he went out for a walk, whether it was a short one or one of the long, rambling wanders Harry took every so often.

Actually, it had been something of a shock to realize that Potter would not be playing Quidditch; Malfoy had felt certain the ban would be lifted, but apparently it hadn’t been. That was good news for the Slytherin House team, and interesting thing to note. Perhaps the boy-who-lived was out of favor with the ministry? It would require careful, further thought. In the meantime, Draco felt certain this could be used to grow closer to Potter. All he had to do was get into a position to use it.

-------------------------------------------------------

Early Saturday morning, Harry woke to a tapping at the window. He had been dreaming of the Quidditch tryouts, and could not at first figure out why the chasers kept tapping his forehead every time they scored. He rubbed at his eyes sleepily as he wondered what the tapping was. Harry yawned as he reached for his glasses to look at the clock. It was five in the morning.

Harry was just about to roll over and go back to sleep when the owl at the window caught his eye. Jumping out of bed Harry rushed to let the owl in and was immediately shocked by the blast of cold air that hit him. The nocturnal avian gave him a reproachful look for taking so long as he untied the note from his leg.

“I’m sorry, but still, couldn’t you have waited for breakfast?” Harry whispered to it. The owl gave him a contemptuous look and flew out the still-open window before he could even offer it an owl-treat.

After he shut the window, Harry hurried back to his still mostly-warm bed to open the letter he had received. It was still too dark to read, so Harry pulled his bed-curtains closed and cast lumos. He carefully examined it, but he did not immediately recognize the almost-familiar handwriting addressing the missive to H. Potter, nor did he recognize the seal on the back.

For a moment, Harry hesitated, but then he remembered that he had seen that particular owl once in the school owlery and decided that it couldn’t be too bad, whatever it was. Harry did not realize that he held his breath as he broke the seal until he sighed in relief when nothing bad happened. Quickly he finished opening the letter and began to read.

Harry,

I thought it would be wisest to ensure that you receive this where there was no audience as you seem to receive very little mail regularly. Consequently I have taken the chance that none of the Gryffindors you share a dormitory with are particularly early risers. I have further taken the precaution of sending this with a school owl.

I have a certain amount of free time on Sunday afternoon, and I thought that it might be an ideal time to practice your occlumency. Provided of course, that you can get away from your friends.

Do not reply by owl. If you wish to meet me on Sunday, be at my office at three o’clock sharp. I will meet you there.

S. Snape

Harry smiled when he saw the signature, and he nearly laughed out loud when he realized that the reason he hadn’t recognized the script was because it was in green instead of red. He was certain he could find a way to get away from his friends, although he wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he did. He had learned occlumency over the summer and was regularly able to keep his professor out of his mind. Harry hadn’t even had many bad dreams since then, nothing Voldemort induced at all, and the meditation required eased his guilt-inspired nightmares as well.

At any rate, it would be nice to talk to his professor, whom he still hadn’t thanked properly for letting him into the NEWT class and there was the matter of who had signed him up to be sorted out as well. Having made his decision Harry parted the curtains a little and looked at the clock on his bedside. It was still quite early, and he could manage to snatch a few more hours of sleep before Ron woke.

With a smile and a large yawn, Harry put his glasses on the stand and slipped the letter under the edge of the mattress. A moment later he was snuggled back under the blankets and scant seconds after that he had already slid back into slumber.

Later that day, after breakfast, Harry made no particular objections when Hermione suggested that they work on their homework. Ron put up a bit more of a fight, but was convinced when the female prefect pointed out that the sooner he got it done the less he’d have to worry about after Quidditch practice. Harry was surprised that Ron allowed himself to be persuaded so easily and was so busy staring at his red-headed friend to notice that he was the recipient of several contemplative looks himself. Hermione, for her part, wisely held her tongue and resolved that as long as her two friends were willing to work she would see to it that they got as much done as possible.

Due to this determination they all finished with the majority of their work in time for a late lunch, and the boys left only the final revision of their transfiguration essay until Sunday night. Hermione was determined not to procrastinate and returned to her arithmancy when they reached the common room again, but she put up only token resistance when Ron challenged Harry to a game of wizard’s chess. Three relatively short games later, all of which Harry lost, Hermione had finished. Soon, along with Neville and Ginny, Ron and Harry managed to rope her in to a game of Exploding Snap.

Early Sunday afternoon the Gryffindor common room was filled with small, quiet groups of students sitting with their books spread before them as they caught up on schoolwork. Most people glanced up as the house quidditch team left, but Hermione’s look lingered as Ron, Ginny, and the others walked out. When the portrait had shut behind them she turned to Harry who was sitting beside her. “Feel up to doing a bit of revision for Potions?” she asked.

He glanced around them and said, “Ordinarily I would, but I feel like going for a bit of a walk just now.”

Hermione looked sympathetically at him, “You know, Harry, moping isn’t going to make you feel any better about not playing.”

“I’m not moping!” he protested before continuing in a quieter tone, “I’m going to meet someone.”

“Who?” Hermione questioned, with curiosity evident in her entire bearing as she matched his soft tone.

“Snape.”

Her eyes widened, “Is he continuing your occlumency lessons?” she asked in an excited whisper.

Harry just nodded. He felt a little guilty for misleading his friend, he still hadn’t told anyone what he had done over the summer, though Hermione and the Weasleys knew something was up, but he told himself he’d make it up to her. “So I reckon I’ll just head out for a walk,” he said in a normal voice.

“Well, if you insist,” Hermione said in a stiff voice which was immediately followed by a wink.

With a nod Harry walked up to his dormitory and a few minutes later walked back down the stairs and out the portrait hole. A little way down the hall he slipped into a forgotten alcove. He glanced carefully about to make certain that no one could see him and then headed off to the dungeons and Snape’s office.

Draco waited a few minutes longer before he cautiously approached the alcove Potter had entered. There was no one there. He carefully examined the little space and decided that Potter had indeed managed to slip away from him and there was nothing left but to wait for him to come back. So far as Malfoy could see, either Potter had somehow found a secret passage here, or he had slipped into his invisibility cloak. Either way he was certain he wouldn’t be seeing St. Potter for some time.

With a sigh that was quickly replaced by a smirk Draco headed down to the front doors and from there out to the pitch. If he couldn’t spy on Potter he could at least spy on the Gryffindor quidditch team, and who knew, perhaps he would find scarhead there.

It was with a sense of anticipation, rather than the usual trepidation, that Harry found himself knocking on Snape’s office door. To his surprise, Snape opened the door himself rather than saying ‘Enter’ as he usually did. He looked around the hall just before his office door and then muttered, “Ridiculous student pranks,” to the empty corridor just a little too loudly to be under his breath before returning to his office. Harry smirked as he watched this act but noticed that his professor very deliberately opened the door wide enough for him to slip in unnoticed.

After a few unobtrusive gestures with his wand Severus said, “You can take that thing off now.”

The cloak hood was slipped off Harry’s head and his grinning face came into view. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to get in here without drawing attention to myself; I’m glad you opened the door. Wouldn’t it be just my luck if some Slytherin came wandering along in time to see your office door opening on its own.”

“Would you mind taking that the rest of the way off, it is somewhat disconcerting to see only your floating head,” Snape said gruffly.

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. Severus nodded and gestured for him to take a seat.

Harry complied and asked, “Are we really going to practice occlumency?” he asked.

“I thought it might be a good idea. You have gotten quite good but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t still room for improvement.” Harry’s face drooped just a little as he remembered the last occlumency session he had had in this office. “That does not, however, mean that we can’t talk for a bit first, if you wish,” Snape said, feeling tentative but careful not to let it show.

“Well, I did want to ask you a question. I never got a proper answer last time,” Harry said as he perked up a bit.

“What?” Severus asked.

“How did I get into your class? McGonagall said that Dumbledore told you to do it. I really don’t want you to think I asked him to or anything, I mean, I know you said that you only let people with O’s on the OWL in to your class and I didn’t get an O, and I didn’t, I mean I don’t-“ Harry’s increasingly rapid speech was halted by Snape holding up his hand.

“You seem to be suffering under a misapprehension, Mr. Potter.” Harry stared at him. “Do I seem like the sort of person who would be bullied into anything?” Severus continued with a tilt of his head.

“Well, no,” Harry answered him. “But I didn’t get an O, and I don’t want you to think--”

Snape interrupted him, “If I was not forced to accept you in my class then it follows logically, does it not, that I wanted you there?”

“Er, yes?” Harry was beginning to feel very bewildered.

“Then what is the problem? Do you no longer wish to study potions?”

“Yes,” Harry said hesitantly, “But,” he trailed off. He shook his head and tried to collect himself. “Look, you said last year that only people with O’s got into you NEWT class. I didn’t get an O, but I’m still in your class, and I don’t know why! I didn’t ask anyone to bend the rules for me! It just happened!”

“Ah,” Snape said and leaned back a bit in his chair. “I see.” He regarded Harry closely for a minute before leaning forward. “Admission to advanced classes is left entirely up to the professor’s discretion. A few students, I admit, I allowed to continue for political reasons and not because they necessarily qualify,” his lip curled a bit. “Other students I allowed to continue because of their expressed interest in the course. This doesn’t mean I would necessarily let Longbottom in if he asked, but if I feel that the student is capable of the work then it is my prerogative to choose to allow him or her to attend the class. Do you, or do you not, wish to continue your potions education?”

“I do,” Harry said.

“Very well, then. See that you continue to make an effort or I shall be forced to reconsider my decision.”

“But why did you make this decision in the first place? Did Dumbledore ask you to?”

Snape was quiet for a long moment and Harry began to fear the worst. He had just looked down when his professor opened his mouth. “He did not, although he did not seem surprised by my decision.”

“Then who?” Harry asked confusedly as his head shot up.

Severus smirked and in a very sly tone of voice asked, “Would it shock you very much to know that it was entirely my doing?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “Your? But-but, how?”

Severus felt a pang, “Really, Harry, you must work on composing complete sentences, otherwise you will find that you can only converse with divinations experts, and there aren’t many of those in this world, Sybil Trelawney’s efforts aside.”

“But why did you do it?” Harry asked, sounding chastened.

“I overheard you and Miss Granger talking at Flourish and Blott’s. Your friend is a very talented young witch, but sixth year potions need constant, competent supervision. It is not merely a game for amateurs.”

“Hermione’s not an amateur!” Harry protested.

“But neither is she a potions mistress, not yet anyway.”

Harry subsided at that. “Thank you,” he said.

Severus nodded. “Was there anything else?” he queried, “or shall we move on to occlumency now?”

“That would be fine,” Harry agreed and quickly cleared his mind. It was a little difficult, particularly since he wanted to think about what he had just found out, but promising himself to do so later Harry put his thoughts aside and drew up his mental defenses. It was sometime later that he put back on his father’s cloak and slipped back up to Gryffindor Tower, where Ron and Hermione were waiting for him.

The next day was relatively uneventful save for an encounter with Malfoy just before Potions class. Harry was standing in line waiting for Snape to come when Malfoy sauntered up to him. “Potter,” Malfoy said to get his attention.

Harry turned to see that the blonde was standing alone and that Crabbe and Goyle were standing on the other side of the corridor. “Yes?” Harry said warily, mindful of promising Snape to be less confrontational over the summer.

“What are you doing in this class? Last I heard you were taking remedial potions.”

“That was last year, Malfoy,” Harry said stonily.

“You must have had a very good tutor, then, to enable you to get into this class in so little time.” Draco continued.

“Very good,” Harry confirmed.

“Well, let’s hope it was enough, shall we?” Draco said before walking back to his cronies.

“That was odd,” Hermione whispered to him.

“Very odd,” Harry agreed, “He’s been like that all year.”

“I wonder what he’s up to,” Hermione said suspiciously.

“So do I,” Harry replied.

At that moment Snape swooped down the corridor to let them into the classroom and all chance for conversation was at an end.

Tuesday’s classes passed quickly and it was soon enough time for the Gryffindor Quidditch practice again. This time as the rest of the team was walking out of the common room Ron stopped next to the table where Harry sat with Hermione. “Hey, Harry,” Ron said as his friend looked up from the text before him.

“Yeah?” Harry questioned.

“You want to come to practice? You could give Liza some tips on being seeker and just watch the practice. You know, to see if there’s anything you think we should do differently, or anything…”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be at practice unless you were on the team,” Harry said.

“Yeah, well, it’s never stopped anyone else, has it? Besides, I’ve got permission from McGonagall.”

Harry looked down at the parchments in front of him. “I’d like that, Ron. But not today, I have to finish this Potions essay before tomorrow.”

Ron made a face but said, “I understand. Next time then?”

“Sure,” Harry said, “Next time.”

“Right, see you then,” Ron said as he walked off. Harry nodded and looked at Hermione, who gave him a smile, before turning back to his essay.

The next Quidditch practice was on Friday, and Harry got enough homework done before it that he felt he could go with a clear conscience. Ron wanted him to sit where everyone could see him, but Harry insisted on sitting in the back of the stands where he could remain mostly unnoticed. “I’ll see more if they don’t know I’m here,” he said to his friend by way of explanation. Ron agreed and headed over to the changing rooms where the team usually gathered.

Half an hour into the practice, Draco decided to make his move. He had followed Potter as usual and was a little surprised to see him climb into the stands while the weasel went off to practice Quidditch. Professor Snape had said not to make any direct overtures, but after his father had sent him two notes already inquiring as to his progress with the Boy-Who-Lived. His father did not tolerate failure.

Also, given the satisfactorily non-confrontational manner of their last interaction, Draco felt he might be able to manage a short conversation without hexing or being hexed. It was worth a try anyway. After all, Potter was a Gryffindor, wasn’t he? He wouldn’t hex without provocation, right?

With these thoughts in mind Draco Malfoy climbed up the stands to Harry’s seat. “Is this seat taken?” he asked, indicating the seat one away from Harry’s.

“No,” Harry said looking at him suspiciously. “What are you doing here, Malfoy? Are you trying to spy on Gryffindor?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?” Draco asked with a smirk and a tilt of his head.

“No,” Harry said bluntly.

“Ah, well,” Draco shrugged. “Actually, I was wondering why you weren’t out there on your broom,” the blonde continued after a moment.

Harry, who had turned back to the pitch, examined the Slytherin prefect from the corner of his eye, “What do you mean you were wondering? You heard Umbridge last year I’m quite sure.”

“You mean to tell me that they didn’t repeal the ban for famous Harry Potter?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Come to rub it in?” Harry growled.

“No, I’m actually quite surprised.”

“Well, look at it this way, Malfoy; you may actually have a small hope of winning a match this year. Then again, we do have a new seeker…” Harry trailed off with a wicked smirk.

“Oh, I’ll win this year. Malfoys always win,” Draco replied pompously.

“Right, except when they play against Potters. Then they tend to come out looking rather bad, don’t they?” Harry said, a mixture of innocence and condescension.

Draco worked very hard not to snarl at the annoying Gryffindork before him. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said haughtily.

“I’m sure,” Harry replied, eyes laughing.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Draco said, rising. He hated Saint Potter, he truly did.

Harry smirked at him as he walked away, but shook his head in confusion when Malfoy was out of sight. What was going on here?

When at last practice was over Harry congratulated Ron on putting together such a good team. The redhead flushed with pride before asking, “Did you see anything that really needs work?” That launched an in-depth discussion of tactics and player strengths that carried them through dinner, much to Hermione’s exasperation.

Severus discretely watched Harry at dinner that night. He seemed happy, which was a relief as he had been somewhat moody lately. Severus had attributed it to the beginning of the quidditch season and had been considering ways to distract him. It looked like the Weasley boy had come up with a solution. Snape hoped it didn’t distract Harry from his homework.

Speaking of distractions, Severus glanced over at the Slytherin table. Something was troubling Draco again. He seemed happy enough true, but his head of house could see it in the tension of his shoulders and the slight crease between his eyebrows. Perhaps it was time to have another talk with the young man. The only question was when. Saturday was the first Hogsmeade weekend and Sunday he had arranged to meet Harry again. Perhaps the following Monday? Unless, of course, the prefect came to see him before then. It would be disastrous if the Malfoy heir were to run into Potter in his office. Perhaps he should send Draco a note to set up the meeting, that way there would be no dangers. With a small nod to himself Severus turned back to his dinner.

Ron and Harry talked quidditch until they got back up to their dormitory. They had just gotten changed into their pajamas when Ron walked over to Harry’s bed. “Harry, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Harry said in surprise. “Sit down,” he patted the bed next to him.

Ron seated himself and glanced almost furtively around the room. “Are you going into Hogsmeade tomorrow?”

“I’d planned to,” Harry said, “Why?”

Ron was silent and a deep flush crept up his cheeks and tinted his ears. “How, how do you feel about—about,” the redhead fell silent.

“About what?” Harry asked, beginning to be thoroughly confused.

“About Hermione,” Ron finally squeaked out.

“I like her,” Harry said, “She’s a great friend. One of my two best,” he said as he nudged Ron with his elbows. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” Ron said hastily.

“Do you fancy her?” Harry asked.

“What?” Ron asked in shock.

“Do you fancy her?” Harry repeated with a smile.

If possible Ron’s flush deepened. “Maybe,” he muttered.

“Have you considered asking her to Hogsmeade?” Harry said with a grin.

“Actually,” Ron said haltingly, “I was sort of hoping you’d take her.”

“What?” Harry asked in surprise.

“Well, I don’t mean like a date or anything. I just mean, keep an eye on her, keep her from following me.”

“Ron, you’re not making any sense,” Harry said.

“Look, I managed to save up a couple galleons over the summer and I want to get her something really nice for her birthday. I want it to be a surprise, so would you mind making sure she doesn’t follow me or anything?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Harry agreed, “I can do that.”

“Thanks, mate.” Ron said as he stood up.

“You bet,” Harry assured him as his friend crossed to his own bed and pulled the covers down before climbing in.

The next morning came with all the anticipation usually associated with a Hogsmeade visit. For a moment it seemed that the students were too excited to line up properly and would never be allowed to go. At last they were released, however, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched indulgently as the impossibly-young looking third years ran out of the castle and cut capers across the lawn.

It was one of those rare, perfect autumn days that come and make all seem right with the world, and as the sunlight filtered through the brightly colored tree-leaves Harry reflected on how glad he was to have such good friends. It occurred to him that it was truly unfair of him to leave them in the dark about…some things…like the prophecy…and even, perhaps his rather odd new relationship with Snape…but Harry determinedly pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He was going to Hogsmeade with his two best friends in the whole world and he was going to enjoy himself.

Their unity did not last quite as long as he’d hoped, for as soon as they got into the village Hermione began looking to the bookstore in longing while Ron was torn between wanting to go into Zonko’s and drooling over the broomstick displayed in the Quidditch shop’s windows. “Go on, then,” Harry had said to Hermione with a small shove and an internal sigh. He would get to spend time with her this afternoon, he knew, while Ron disappeared on that errand, but it seemed that they spent so little time as a trio these days.

Then too, he considered, if everything worked out the way he thought it might, there might be even less time for a trio in the future. Not that he would begrudge his friends happiness, he told himself firmly. And if it took each other to make them happy, well, so be it.

With that thought in mind Harry had grabbed Ron’s arm and dragged him into Zonko’s where they proceeded to argue about whether it was better to waste money on dung bombs or something more sophisticated, like invisible whoopee cushions. Ron maintained that dung bombs were a classic, while Harry stated that at least whoopee cushions didn’t smell, and as they were invisible they couldn’t get in trouble if Filch decided to inspect their pockets. In the end they bought both and a few other items as well, all in the interest of supporting the grand, Gryffindor tradition of pranking your housemates, your dormmates, and anyone else you could get away with. When they finished in the joke shop they went next door to salivate over the new broomstick until Hermione found them there at lunch time.

The trio walked into the Three Broomsticks at the perfect time and managed to grab one of the much-coveted window tables just as a noisy group of fourth years was leaving. They ordered butterbeers and sandwiches and managed to talk and joke together without, rather miraculously, Harry considered, any arguments breaking out between the red-head and brunette. They saw a great many of their friends, and some of them stopped to chat for a moment or two, but they then continued on, and the Dream Team was left to itself.

It was not to last, however, as Ron stood up the moment he finished eating. “Got to run,” he said as he wiped his mouth and dropped the crinkled napkin on the table.

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked him with a slightly bewildered look on her face.

“I’m supposed to meet someone,” Ron mumbled as he hurried out the door. Hermione gazed after him in perplexity while Harry decided that Ron’s ears had been a lovely shade of red and had probably given him away.

He was proven wrong, however, when his other friend turned to him and said, “Do you know where he was going?”

“He didn’t say,” Harry said noncommittally.

“Yes, I noticed that,” Hermione said in an annoyed voice. “He didn’t tell you who he was meeting?”

“’Mione, you were sitting right there,” Harry said mildly. She glared at him. “He mentioned an errand earlier, but he didn’t say anything about meeting anyone,” Harry said with a sigh. “I don’t know anymore than that.” Hermione frowned but nodded in acceptance.

“Well, don’t let’s just sit here,” Harry said after a moment of watching his companion glowering at their empty bottles, “What do you say we go to Honeyduke’s?”

Hermione came back to herself with a small start. “Yes,” she said, straightening her shoulders, “that sounds like an excellent idea.” Harry smiled at her and a moment later they were moving off down the street to what was arguably the most visited shop in all of Hogsmeade. When they got there they bought and sampled many of the wares, even going so far as buying Fizzing Whizbees and chasing each other like third years while they were levitated.

After that Harry asked Hermione whether she had seen any books she particularly liked in the bookshop and that, of course, necessitated taking him back to show him several of the recently published tomes and a few that she thought would be very interesting to read if not entirely useful. Harry didn’t mind particularly, in fact he had hurried the bookish witch into the store when he thought he caught a glimpse of Ron lurking at the corner of the street. It was not long, however, until Hermione informed him that they ought to be heading back.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Ron?” Harry inquired.

“I’m sure Ronald will find his own way back,” Hermione had replied primly with a sniff that clearly stated that she was not sure of that at all.

“Er, right,” Harry said and followed her back to the castle through the waning afternoon light.

It was not until twenty minutes into dinner that they saw Ron again. He walked in and seated himself near his friends with a very self-satisfied air and a wink at Harry. “Hello!” he said cheerfully. “What’s for dinner, I’m starved!” Hermione gave him a disdainful look and went back to the astronomy text she had propped up against a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Ron looked rather puzzled at her response, but shrugged as he filled his plate and turned to join Seamus’ and Dean’s conversation.

When they got back to the dormitory that night Harry was dying to know what Ron had gotten and asked as soon as he thought the others weren’t listening. Ron turned bright red and said in a funny voice, “You’ll see.” Harry looked at his friend in surprise and shrugged. That night, however, he found himself writing in his journal again.

--------------

Saturday evening Severus paced his quarters as he waited for the appointed hour to come. He had noticed yesterday that Harry and Miss Granger had come in together and couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. He knew the two were close, but he had never imagined that there was any romantic involvement between the two, despite some very interesting rumors that a few of his Slytherins had manufactured.

In fact, he felt certain that any romance must be very new indeed, or he would surely have gotten an inkling of it over the summer. And furthermore hadn’t Potter been mooning over Chang last term?

Severus shook his head. It was none of his business really, but he couldn’t help feeling a little…concern. The boy was still young, and quite a lot of things were expected of him. Not that he didn’t deserve a normal life, of course, but still…Severus shook his head again. It was none of his business, he repeated to himself sternly. He was not Harry’s father, or even godfather. He was not Potter’s mentor, whatever the werewolf had said over the summer. He had no business nosing into the boy’s life that way. Snape sank into a chair with an exasperated sigh. Still, he considered. He didn’t even know if anything were going on. It certainly couldn’t hurt anything to ask, subtly, of course. Just to make certain that everything was alright.

-----------------

Sunday afternoon came and Harry donned his invisibility cloak and journeyed to the dungeons once again. Softly he knocked on the door which was opened an instant later. “Good afternoon,” Snape said after he had closed and warded the door.

“Hello,” Harry said, taking off the cloak.

“Sit down?” Severus offered, gesturing toward a chair.

“Sure, thanks,” Harry replied, taking the seat indicated. “Something wrong?” he asked, forehead creasing slightly.

“No.” Severus said sitting down on the other side of the desk. “Why? Guilty conscience?” he asked with a smirk.

“It’s a bit early in the year for that,” Harry replied with a grin.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve got other things on your mind just now.”

“I suppose,” Harry shrugged.

“I understand you went to Hogsmeade with Miss Granger yesterday,” Snape asked. Internally he wanted to smack himself. What happened to finesse and subtlety?

“No, I mean, I was there and she was there, but we didn’t go together,” Harry said. “We’re just friends.”

“I see,” Severus said.

“Really,” Harry hastened to reassure him, mistaking his tone for disbelief. “I just ended up alone with her coming back because Ron wanted to buy her a birthday present without her knowing it.”

“I see,” Severus said again. He was very confused by the vague sense of relief he felt and decided, for the sake of his own sanity, to forget the topic completely and move on to things he could understand, like intrigue. “I notice you haven’t gotten into many altercations with Mr. Malfoy recently,” he remarked. For a moment he had considered not asking at all, it would be safer not to bring up this particular topic of conversation, but Severus told himself that he needed to know for the meeting he had planned with the Malfoy heir the next day.

“No, the Ferret has been acting very odd lately,” Harry said pensively. Snape scowled at that remark. “Well, he has,” Harry cried defensively. “He hasn’t taunted me or anything.”

“Is that so?” Severus asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “We even had a nearly civil conversation the other day. Is something going on?”

For a long moment, Severus was caught in a quandary. If he told the truth, his position as a spy could be revealed to Voldemort and he could be condemning Draco to a life of darkness, not to mention he would be directly disobeying the headmaster’s direct order.

So he lied.

He was surprised to find that he felt a twinge of guilt for it, but he looked directly into Harry’s eyes and said, “Nothing of consequence.”

Harry did not look entirely satisfied with this answer, but accepted it. “Alright then,” he said. “Shall we get on with the occlumency practice, then?” he asked.

Severus nodded and raising his wand a little said, “Legilimens.”

Monday morning came all too soon in most students’ opinions. Ron was, rather unusually, late to breakfast that morning. Hermione didn’t ask when Harry sat down next to her, which the young wizard noted with a frown. He frowned even more when he noticed that his friend was eavesdropping on the conversation that Lavender and Parvati were having. It seemed they had seen Ron in Hogsmeade yesterday going into Clancy’s Fancies and coming out with a bag. Speculation was running rampant.

Harry jostled Hermione with his elbow when he noticed that she was beginning to crinkle the pages of the book she held. She looked at him in surprise and then flushed when he indicated the tome with a flick of his head. “You alright?” he asked softly.

“Fine,” she reassured him in a voice that belied her statement. “I’m just fine, Harry.” Harry frowned again, but decided not to push the issue. After all, his conscience prodded at him, he had no room to talk on that subject.

That evening, after dinner, a young man once again stood in the pool of light in front of Snape’s office door. This time, however, the student was blonde and completely visible. He straightened his shoulders almost imperceptibly and lifted his chin a little before rapping firmly on the door. “Enter,” a voice called from inside.

Draco pushed open the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. “You summoned me, Professor?” the young Slytherin asked with raised brow and precisely tilted head.

“I thought I would inquire about your progress,” Severus replied gesturing invitingly at the chair before his desk.

“Ah,” there was just a touch of bitterness in the youth’s voice as he seated himself. “I have been following him. I talked to him on Friday. We were civil.”

“That is good news,” Severus said, watching the young man before him closely. “A satisfactory base for further contact has been laid then?”

“I think so,” Draco replied. Severus raised an eyebrow. “He is not playing Quidditch this year. I thought that might provide a suitable opening for conversation if nothing else.”

“Most likely,” Snape said and leaned back a little. “How are you adjusting to this new year, Draco?”

“Well enough,” the blonde replied, blinking a little at the sudden change of subject.

“Not having trouble in any of your classes, I hope?”

“No,” Draco replied a little haughtily.

“Good. You may feel free to come to me should anything develop.”

“Thank you, sir,” Draco said as he rose, knowing he had been dismissed. Severus nodded as his student left.

-------------

Classes passed and homework was done. The tension between Ron and Hermione grew, which saddened Harry and puzzled Ron. Finally, Hermione’s birthday arrived. At lunch a cupcake appeared in front of Hermione’s plate, courtesy of Dobby. Hermione smiled and received the congratulations of most of the house graciously. She was most surprised when Draco ambled over to the trio as they were leaving the Great Hall.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron asked as soon as he saw the blonde.

“I just wanted to wish Granger there a happy birthday,” Malfoy said coolly.

“Thank you, Draco,” Hermione said primly. The Slytherin prefect nodded and walked off while the Gryffindors exchanged worried and suspicious glances.

Much later that evening when the common room had mostly cleared out Harry was casting meaningful glances at Ron. Hermione noticed them and was growing more and more agitated though she was struggling to suppress it. Finally Ron stood up and said, “Be right back,” as he dashed up the stairs. He returned a few moments later and stood next to Hermione’s chair.

“What?” she snapped, looking up.

“I got you something,” Ron said, flushing darkly.

“Oh,” Hermione said, looking faintly embarrassed.

With a slightly flustered look Ron thrust a smallish package into her hands. “Thank you,” Hermione whispered as she unwrapped it neatly. Her breath caught a little when she saw the cream box with gold lettering that said Clancy’s Fancies. She opened it and gasped. Inside was a small, golden, heart-shaped locket with ‘to HG from RW’ inscribed delicately on the back.

“I hope you like it,” Ron said gruffly.

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione exclaimed. “I love it!” Standing quickly she set the box on the table and threw her arms around the tall red-head. “Thank you so much!” she repeated.

“You’re welcome,” he said as he released her, turning an even deeper shade of red. “I had to pick it up when we were in Hogsmeade,” he said, “that’s why I left that afternoon.”

“Oh,” Hermione said.

“I was sort of hoping,” he paused uncertainly for a minute, “hoping that you wouldn’t mind going into the village with me next Hogsmeade weekend.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, eyes shining, “I’d like that very much indeed.”

“Good,” Ron smiled back at her.

The rest of the week passed quickly and without much to disturb the routine that was settling on the inhabitants of the castle. They went to classes and practices as usual and did their homework in the evenings. On Friday Harry once again trekked down to the Quidditch pitch with Ron and hid himself in the back of the stands, and he was once again joined by Draco Malfoy, who remained mostly silent. On Sunday Harry snuck into the dungeons and practiced occlumency with Snape.On Monday Harry and Ron went to the Great Hall for breakfast with the expectation that everything would be much the same as usual, but found to their surprise that Hermione, usually among the first to arrive, was not at breakfast yet. She came in with barely half an hour to spare red-nosed and glassy-eyed. She was quite pale and had dark half-circles under her eyes. “Hermione!” Ron exclaimed when he saw her, “You look terrible!”

“Gee, thanks, Ron,” she said sharply.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked her in concern. “Should you go see Madame Pomfrey?”

“I’ll be alright,” she replied, “I don’t want to miss class.”

“Hermione,” Ron said in exasperation, “there are more important things than class. Like your health. You’re going up to the infirmary whether you like it or not.” He stood up and walked round to stand behind her chair.

“No, really,” Hermione protested, “I’m fine!”

“Come on, ‘Mione,” Harry said, standing himself. “You are going to see Madame Pomfrey, even if we have to mobilicorpus you there!” With a sigh she got up and allowed them to chivvy her off to the hospital wing.

When she got there the matron clucked her tongue in remonstrance. “If you’d come to me as soon as you started feeling unwell I could have given you some Pepper-Up potion to take care of it. Now there’s nothing for it but to get some rest,” she said as she shoved Hermione into a bed. “Now don’t worry dear, I’ll send a note round to your professors,” she reassured the protesting witch.

“I’ll take it, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry volunteered. “I’m in most of her classes anyway,” he continued.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” the mediwitch replied as she wrote out the note and handed it to him. Briskly she ordered them to clear out and let her work, though they were to come back if they started feeling ill themselves. As they left they saw the nurse rummaging in one of her cupboards as she withdrew several vials of different-colored potions.

The two boys hurried to Charms where Professor Flitwick charmed the lecture notes and homework assignment on to a scroll which he presented to Harry after class. Hit with a sudden idea, he asked the tiny professor to show him how to charm a quill to record notes in class. Fifteen minutes later he and Ron were walking back to Gryffindor tower. “Honestly, Harry,” Ron said, “you’re getting to be just as bad as Hermione! Doing your homework all the time, and what’s with this new charm?”

“Hey,” Harry said, punching his friend lightly on the arm, “I’m not that bad. Besides, the quill charm is purely for my own protection.” He laughed when he saw the disbelieving look on his friend’s face. “No, really,” he said, “I don’t fancy trying to repeat all the lectures for her word for word.”

“No, I guess not,” Ron agreed, “especially Snape’s and McGonagall’s. Hey, speaking of the greasy git, you think you could get Madame Pomfrey to get you out of it?”

“I think she’d see through that, Ron,” Harry said, frowning at his friend’s description of the professor.

“Yeah, you’re right,” the gangly youth sighed.

Later that afternoon Harry descended to the dungeons, which were cooling rapidly with the progression of autumn, and sat in his usual seat. Soon afterward Professor Snape swept in and surveyed the class from the front of the room.

“Where is Miss Granger?” he asked Harry with deceptive softness. “Perhaps she thought that she could afford to be exempt from today’s class?” he inquired, fixing his student with a penetrating gaze that could have been called a glare.

“No, sir,” Harry protested. “Hermione’s in hospital wing. I’ve got a note for her from Madame Pomfrey,” he continued, proffering a folded and slightly wrinkled piece of parchment which he fished out of his pocket.

Snape took the note and, with a faint sneer, perused it rapidly before saying, “Very well, Mr. Potter; you will work with Mr. Malfoy today. I suggest you move your things quickly, I do not wish to delay the class any further.”

Harry frowned but nodded, complying swiftly and silently. Truthfully he’d been hoping to avoid the blonde prefect a little longer. His recent…polite behavior was disconcerting to say the least. He couldn’t help wondering what the Slytherin wanted. He’d even refrained from baiting Ron, though he’d certainly had the opportunity. He had even complimented Hermione on her locket, for Merlin’s sake! Perhaps, Harry mused, Snape had had a word with him, too? Or was something more devious afoot?

Harry nodded uneasily to the welcoming gesture Malfoy offered him when he had reached the new table. Within moments Snape launched into full lecture-mode and Harry hardly had time to do anything but charm the quill for Hermione and struggle to take good notes of his own.

When the practical application bit of the lesson arrived, Draco sent Harry off for the supplies, which garnered him a resentful glare. He took the moment to reflect on Potter’s non-confrontational behavior. He wasn’t sure what had engendered a change in his opponent’s behavior, but whatever it was, he was grateful for it. This whole business would have been made immeasurably harder if Potter were still pulling his wand every time he walked up.

The unlikely pair worked smoothly together, particularly as both seemed determined not to let the other get him a bad grade. Severus was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly the period went. When the end came and the class was cleaning up both students presented him with samples of nearly-perfect potions.

The two were packing up their personal supplies when Draco spoke. “You know, Potter, I’ve been thinking.”

Biting back a retort about how he hoped that hadn’t been too difficult for the blonde, Harry contented himself with saying, “Oh?”

Malfoy’s eyes flicked up to him momentarily before returning to his kit. “Yes. I don’t think I’ve seen you on a broom since last year.” Harry was silent. Draco glanced at him again. He took a deep breath and continued, “You must miss it.”

“Miss what?” Harry said, shooting for an off-hand tone and failing.

“Flying. Especially with others.”

“A little,” Harry admitted after a moment’s consideration.

“Why don’t you fly with me?” Draco suggested.

“What?” Harry asked, certain he had misheard.

“Just a friendly game of Seeker’s Quidditch, nothing big.”

“And just why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy sniffed, “I just thought you might enjoy an opportunity to be in the air again.”

Harry looked at him with narrowed eyes. He was tempted, he admitted. “What’s in it for you?” he asked.

“The chance to play against a talented opponent,” Draco said smoothly.

“I’ll think about it,” Harry said, shouldering his bag and walking away.

Draco let out a small sigh. That had actually gone rather better than he’d been expecting. Perhaps this task wasn’t as impossible as he’d thought.

Harry was hunched over his journal once again, scribbling furiously. He had woken early from a strange dream. His occlumency got rid of external visions, and it had gone a long way toward alleviating most of his nightmares as well, but it did not stop him dreaming, and every once in a while he had one that he felt he needed to write down.

It surprised him, how much he had come to enjoy the journal in the few weeks he had had it, but it seemed that Snape and Dumbledore were right; it really was easier when he had a way to talk about some of the things he worried about without actually having to confide in someone.

He had even looked up a few extra charms to protect the slim volume, and now you not only had to speak the password to open the book, you had to know another to read any of it. As soon as he had finished with an entry the ink was absorbed into the pages and replaced with what appeared to be notes from History of Magic. The absorption part had been a little disturbing to Harry at first, but he decided that it was worth it to know that his secrets were safe. Especially the secrets that weren’t just his.

Having reached the end of the page and a sentence, Harry stopped to reflect on the dream. It had been quite odd. He was standing before the veil in the Department of Mysteries. At first he had felt pain and resignation as he waited for Sirius to step from behind it. A moment later he saw the form of his godfather once again. Harry braced himself, waiting for the accusations that he was certain would come at any moment. Instead, dream-Sirius had merely stood there looking at him for a very long time.

At last, however, he spoke. “Are you happy now, Harry?” Sirius asked. “Are you happy with Severus?” Harry just stared at him. “Are you happy?” Sirius repeated himself just before Harry had awakened with a jerk.

Was he happy? Certainly it was nice to know that he had someone to go to with problems. He liked talking to his professor on Sundays. He was attached to the man, he knew. But an alarming, new idea rose in his mind.

By being friendly with Snape, was he somehow betraying his godfather’s memory? Sirius had despised Snape, he knew. Should he really be getting this close to someone the only parent he had ever known had hated? Harry shook his head. He was so confused.

Harry sighed and looked up at the closed bed curtains. After a few minutes contemplation he decided to owl Remus. Remus had been his godfather’s best friend; surely he would be able to point Harry in the right direction.

Making a mental note to write to his former professor later, Harry turned back to his journal and began writing about the other thing that was bothering him: Malfoy. Considering that they had nearly hexed each other in the Entrance Hall at the end of last year, the blonde’s current behavior was nearly unbelievable, which brought him to his current dilemma.

Draco Malfoy was acting civil.

Draco Malfoy was not insulting Harry’s friends.

Draco Malfoy had invited Harry to go flying.

Harry really wanted to go flying.

He hadn’t been since he’d got back to school and he missed it. Ron was making an effort to make him feel included and valuable to the Quidditch team, but he wasn’t really a member and it was not the same. It struck Harry as being very odd that his enemy presented him with the opportunity he wanted when his best friend did not.

So, was he going to go flying with the ferret or not? He knew that his friends would say no, but the temptation of getting on his broom for a little friendly competition was almost unbearable. What could it hurt, really? It wasn’t against any rules, and if a teacher asked he could always say that he was trying to forward interhouse relations. Besides, if he went along with this little scheme he just might be able to figure out why Malfoy was acting the way he was.

-----

That Friday, Hermione went back to attending classes, including Potions. This was both a good thing and a bad thing in Harry’s opinion. He was, naturally, relieved to see that his friend was feeling better. It did, however, present him with the problem of how to let Malfoy know that accepted his invitation without Hermione finding out. In the end he hadn’t much choice in the matter.

At the end of class, while everyone was bottling their potion and putting away their materials Draco stopped by his table. “Have you given any thought to the question I asked you on Monday?”

“I have,” Harry said, glancing at Hermione out of the corner of his eye.

“And?” Malfoy inquired.

“When did you have in mind?”

“Perhaps tomorrow?” the blonde suggested.

“When?”

“When do you have time?”

“How about in the morning?”

“Could you be a little more specific, Potter? Morning lasts a long time,” Draco said dryly.

“Hufflepuff has practice after breakfast, so how about before?”

“It’s a deal,” the Slytherin said. “I’ll meet you on the pitch.”

“See you there,” Harry agreed as the other nodded and walked off.

Hermione had been discreetly watching the exchange and asked softly, “What was all that about?”

Harry sighed. “Malfoy asked me to go flying with him.”

“And you’re going?” Hermione asked, eyes widening.

“Yeah,” Harry said defensively.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“I doubt he’s going to kidnap me right off the grounds or anything,” Harry snapped.

Hermione shrugged.

“He keeps talking to me. Maybe if I go I can figure out what he wants,” Harry said in a reasonable voice.

“Maybe,” Hermione said. Clearly she was not convinced but saw little point in arguing with him.

“Look, if anything bad happens, I’ll come straight back to the castle. Besides, you’ll know where I am, if I’m not back by breakfast you can sound the alarm,” he said coaxingly.

“I suppose,” she said, sounding a bit more reassured.

“Thanks,” Harry smiled at her.

She gave him a half-smile in return and said teasingly, “How much of this is because you can’t resist a mystery and how much is because you miss being on the team?”

“Why, ‘Mione, what ever do you mean?” he laughed.

She swiped at his arm and left to carry her un-used shrivel-fig skins to the receptacle. As she did, Harry let out a small sigh of relief. That hadn’t been so bad, now all he had to worry about was what would happen when Ron found out.

-----

That night Malfoy lay in bed, staring up through the dark at the canopy. He should be asleep, he knew. Had to get up early to go flying with Potter. He had more or less expected that the Golden Boy would pick a time when not many were out, wouldn’t want to be seen consorting with the enemy, after all, but he had been surprised when he found out that St. Potter hadn’t discussed it with his friends, or at least not with Granger. That was interesting.

Was there more distance between the Golden Trio than he had known? Was Potter feeling abandoned now that Granger and the Weasel were a couple? If so, he could exploit that.

Suddenly Draco let out an explosive sigh and rolled over. Plotting was fun, but it didn’t make up for the fact that he didn’t want to do this.

He hated Potter.

He hated that his father paid more attention to the Annoyance-Who-Lived than his own son. Why, even Professor Snape, who could formerly be counted on to make the prat miserable, seemed to be going easy on Scarhead these days.

What had happened to the way it used to be? Before Hogwarts, when his father had praised him and told him that he was the best of the best? What happened to all the attention he used to get? And why did Potter, scarred, stupid, perfect Potter, get to be famous and the center of everything? It just wasn’t fair.

-----

The next morning Harry got up, dressed warmly, and, grabbing his broom, snuck out to the Quidditch pitch. The halls of Hogwarts were empty and quiet and it made his normally-silent footsteps echo strangely. He was relieved when he got outside without running into anyone.

When he arrived at the pitch Harry looked around. Malfoy stepped out of the shadow of the stands with a funny look on his face, but he had a neutral expression when he reached Harry. “Good morning,” the blonde greeted him.

“Morning,” Harry replied. “Have you got the snitch?”

“Right here,” Malfoy said, producing the tiny golden ball from a pocket.

“How’d you get it?” Harry asked.

“I have my ways,” Draco smirked.

“I’m sure,” Harry said dryly. “You didn’t try to fix it, did you?”

“Of course not,” Draco said haughtily. “Malfoys don’t need to cheat to win.”

“But it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

The prefect glared at him. “I didn’t do anything but nick it,” he growled.

“Right then,” Harry said, mounting his broom.

Draco released the snitch and straddled his broomstick. “On the count of three, then,” he suggested. Harry nodded.

They counted in unison, “One, two, three!”

In a flash they were off, swooping and circling, climbing and diving as they hunted for the golden snitch. Harry found it first nearly every time, much to Draco’s annoyance.

As breakfast approached Harry signaled that he was landing and descended toward the grass of the pitch. A moment later Malfoy joined him. “Same time next week?” he asked in a would-be casual voice.

“I’ll be here,” Harry said as he turned and hurried to Gryffindor tower. He needed a shower before breakfast.

By the time Harry got out of the shower Ron was up and the two made their way to breakfast. Hermione didn’t say anything other than ‘good morning,’ but she gave Harry a sharp, assessing look. He smiled at her and sat down, heaping food on his plate and listening to Dean chat about his football team’s last win.

-----

Sunday morning Harry wrote Remus’s letter.

Dear Remus, he began,

How are you? I hope everything’s going alright for you.

I had a weird dream the other night, don’t worry, not that kind of dream. It was about Snuffles. He kept asking me if I was happy. Do you think he’d want me to be? I mean, would he mind if I was now? Even though they didn’t get along?

Please write back soon,

Harry

He wasn’t entirely pleased with it, but he couldn’t figure out any way to say Snape without implicating him should the letter be intercepted, so he hoped that the werewolf would know what he meant.

-----

That afternoon Draco followed Potter up to the Owlery. Once he saw realized the destination he conjured a bit of parchment and rolled it up as a cover in case Potter should see him. He had toned down the following a bit, but he felt that he couldn’t afford to let his surveillance lapse totally. It was just his luck that on the way he ran into Pansy, who wanted to know where he was going and why and why he had been so scarce around the common room lately. She had missed him, she proclaimed in a whiny voice, wrapping herself around his arm and peering artfully up at him through artificially lengthened and blackened lashes.

Harry remained oblivious to his shadow and passed the note to Remus on to Hedwig, sending her off with an admonishment that she be extra careful. After that he once again slipped into an unused alcove and donned his cloak before making his way nervously to the dungeons.

He tapped softly at Snape’s office door and hurried inside as soon as it was opened. Harry took his cloak off and bunched it in his hands, not looking up even when Snape tried to catch his eye. “Harry,” his professor asked when they had seated themselves, “has something happened?”

“No, not really,” Harry said fidgeting in his chair and plucking slightly at the fabric he held in his hands.

“Are you certain?” Severus pressed him. Harry nodded. “I understand Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley have reached an understanding,” Snape probed.

“Yeah,” Harry said nodding jerkily.

“I saw you speaking with Draco Malfoy in class,” Snape commented in an off-hand tone.

“Mmhmm,” Harry murmured.

“What is bothering you?” Severus said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

“Nothing,” Harry repeated a trifle too quickly.

Severus examined him closely through narrowed eyes before saying, “Shall we move on to practice then?” Harry nodded and took several deep breaths, which he had not needed to do in the last session.

At last their time was up and Harry practically bolted out of the dungeon office. Severus was growing quite concerned. His student was acting exceptionally oddly. He insisted that nothing had happened, but somehow the dark wizard could not believe this.

Something was making Harry skittish around him. Was it possible that the youth had somehow found out about his deception? It was unlikely, and yet what else could cause this sudden alteration in behavior?

It stung a little that Harry would not confide in him, but Severus attempted to shrug it off, after all, hadn’t he also refused to tell Harry the truth? Besides, if things were not quite as smooth as they had been, at least it allowed Harry to practice his so-important occlumency skills under more trying circumstances.

Remus Lupin looked up from the Daily Prophet and cup of tea that had engrossed him when he became aware of a tapping at the window next to him. He turned toward the sound curiously and hastened to the window in pleased surprise when he saw Harry’s snowy owl, Hedwig, hovering outside it. “Hello there,” he said cheerfully as the bird alighted on the back of his chair and held out its leg. Eagerly he opened the letter and reseated himself.

As he read Harry’s note, however, a frown formed on his features. At first he was puzzled, and then understanding came. “Oh, Harry,” Remus shook his head. Then, summoning parchment, ink, and quill, he drafted a reply and sent it off with the patiently waiting Hedwig.

“Well, I hope that helps,” he murmured as he closed the window and picked up his newspaper.

-------------------

On Thursday morning Harry watched the owls flocking to the Great Hall during breakfast. He had finally turned back to his meal when Hedwig landed neatly in front of his plate. He offered her a piece of bacon and took the parchment from her leg.

“Whazzat?” Ron asked, voice muffled by the toast he was eating.

“Letter from Moony,” Harry replied as he broke the seal and smoothed the parchment. Hedwig stole another bit of toast from his plate as he began reading.

Dear Harry,

I was quite pleased to receive you letter and let me assure you that I am doing well.

In regards to your question, I think I should remind you that the one thing Snuffles cared most in the world for was you. He wanted you to be safe and happy. Snuffles would have been proud of you for working so hard and adjusting so well. If talking to someone else is what you need, then he would not object or be disappointed.

I hope you will allow me to say that I am very proud of you, too, Harry.

Moony

Harry sat back and sighed, the tangle he had been struggling with the past several days eased slightly, and he began to think that he might be able to get free of it.

“Bad news?” Hermione asked, concern lighting her eyes.

“No,” Harry assured her, “it was just a question I had about Snuffles.”

“Oh. Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I think so.” A tiny bit of hope crept into his voice.

Ron and Hermione exchanged meaningful glances before Ron said, “Eat up, mate, breakfast is almost over.” Harry shoved the parchment into a pocket with a nod and turned dutifully back to this owl-depleted plate.

-----

The next Saturday Harry was once again sneaking out of his dormitory quite early to meet Draco on the Quidditch Pitch. The blonde was waiting for him, bundled close against the cold. “Good morning,” he greeted Harry politely.

“Morning.”

“How are you finding the potions essay?” Draco inquired solicitously.

“It’s a bit long, but not too bad,” Harry responded. “You?”

“My progress is satisfactory. It helps that my father was able to send me a book on moonstone properties from our family library. I could lend it to you, if you like,” Draco offered.

“Are you certain you want to?” Harry asked in a falsely-jovial tone. “I mean if you lend it to me Hermione will want to read it, too.”

Draco gritted his teeth but said brightly, “Oh, by all means, let Granger see it. I shouldn’t like to stand in her way, after all.” On further consideration, he thought, why not let the mudblood have it. It should prove interesting to see her reaction, especially since not all of the topics the book dealt with were particularly mainstream.

“Thank you,” Harry said, struggling to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Certainly,” Draco nodded. “I’ll bring it to you Monday in Potions.”

“Brilliant.”

“Shall we, then,” the Slytherin asked withdrawing the snitch from his pocket. Harry nodded as Draco released the small, golden ball and they mounted their brooms.

-----

He knocked tentatively on the door in the dungeon. He was, for some indefinable, inexplicable reason, dreading this Sunday’s meeting even more than he had the last. How could he have been trying to drive Snape away when he had been so angry with him for doing that same thing before? He didn’t even have a particularly good reason, he berated himself. “Come,” came the familiar voice. It was not only caution that prevented him from opening the door as he was bidden, however.

Before he had a chance to even begin identifying the feelings swirling through him, however, the heavy oaken door was swinging open on its hinges and the tall form of his professor stood before him. He ducked under the man’s arm and went to stand next to the chair before the desk.

It was a chair he had occupied far more frequently lately, though he still recalled a time when being in that chair meant being caught doing something he shouldn’t have, or at least shouldn’t have got caught doing. He stood silently for a moment, thinking back to second year when he and Ron had stood here, being lectured for letting Muggles see them in a flying car.

“Are you going to stand there all evening, or will you take the cloak off?” a slightly amused but wary voice broke through his reverie.

The man who spoke to him looked the same as he had back in second year, and yet he did not. There was a small softness in his eyes and voice, and an almost-imperceptible openness that had not been there when he was younger. It had not been there for very long at all, Harry considered, and a flush of shame surged through him. Had he really been so ready to throw away all that the man before him offered by that very softening merely because of a dead man’s dislike? Harry shook his head.

“Are you there?” this time there was no amusement in the voice. “If someone is playing tricks on me,” the eyes tightened and the voice became more of a low growl as he prepared to cross back to the door.

“No, wait,” Harry said quickly, throwing back the hood and tugging the cloak off his shoulders. “I’m here. Sorry I got distracted,” he looked down for a moment, and then his eyes darted back, barely daring to meet the other’s gaze.

Snape froze and considered the boy before him for a moment, then nodded and moved to sit in the chair behind the desk. The menace fell away, but the wariness remained in his posture. “You are well?” he inquired carefully.

“Yes,” Harry assured him. “Are you?”

“I have nothing to complain of.” They sat in silence regarding each other. Finally Harry blushed a little and looked away. “What were you thinking of?”

“Huh?” Harry startled out of recriminating thoughts.

“You said you got distracted, by what?”

“Oh,” Harry said exaggerated understanding tracing across his face. “I was thinking about how things have changed, and how much different it is to sit here now than it was in second year.”

Snape nodded. “Hmmm, yes, the change is dramatic. For one thing, you are not in trouble this time, hard to believe as that is,” there was a hint of teasing in his voice.

“I haven’t been in trouble every time I’ve been in this office,” Harry said mock-defensively. “But I used to feel very differently about coming, even last year…” his voice trailed off and he stared determinedly at the surface of the desk between them.

The corner of Severus’s mouth curved up a little. “Harry,” he said leaning forward, “will you tell me what was troubling you last week?”

“I, I,” Harry paused to search for the words. Snape leaned forward a little farther. “I had a dream,” Harry said at last.

“A dream?” Severus asked in concern.

“I dreamed about Sirius,” Harry said. “And for a moment, I thought—I wondered,” he stumbled to a halt.

“Yes, go on,” Snape pressed him.

“I was afraid that he wouldn’t have wanted…things to change the way they have,” he finished at last.

Severus leaned back and inhaled sharply. “I see,” he murmured softly.

“I wrote to Remus,” Harry hurried on, “he said it would have been okay,” he tried to assure the man before him.

Severus shook his head, “Be that as it may,” he gave a dismissive gesture, “it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks your godfather might have said. It matters what you think.”

Harry looked up at him with wide eyes. “He would not have understood,” the youth said.

Severus closed his eyes. This was it, he had worked hard to help this boy and now the job was done, the boy was leaving him. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t hurt.

“He would not have understood,” Harry repeated seeing his professor wince, “but I think he would have accepted it, in the end, after a lot of yelling, and probably threatening you, and a temper tantrum, and some sulking. In the end, though, he would have accepted it, if only because you have helped me, and Remus would have threatened to beat some sense into him.”

Snape’s eyes flew open at the continuation and he couldn’t help that they widened as the boy spoke. Harry was not leaving after all, despite all the faults he had and all the cruel things he said in class Harry would continue to come back on Sundays. The burden that had settled on his chest eased and he could breathe again. Harry smiled shyly at him and Severus permitted his mouth to curl upwards slightly, reassuring the boy that it was all right, that his moment of doubt was forgiven. How could it not be?

“So,” he said a moment later, resolving to move past this sentimentality, “aside from writing to the werewolf, what else have you done lately?”

Harry rolled his eyes, a part of him was relieved that they were past that emotional moment. It was still a little uncomfortable to him, and more than a little strange to share such a moment with Snape, of all people. Shrugging it off he said, “Well, most notably, I’ve gone flying twice with Malfoy now.”

“What?”

“It’s true,” Harry nodded, “I have. It was actually sort of fun, and since I can’t play on the team now,” he shrugged.

“And what have your friends said about that?” Severus asked curiously. He had known that Draco would need to do something, he had even paired the two boys in lesson to facilitate that, but he had not expected this.

“Well,” Harry squirmed in his seat a little. “Hermione wants me to be careful.”

“Very wise of her,” Severus commented. “And Mr. Weasley?”

“Er, Ron doesn’t know,” Harry intimated hesitantly.

“I see,” Severus said carefully. “Is there any particular reason that you are keeping secrets from your friend?”

Something flashed in Harry’s eye at that, but it was gone again before Severus could identify it. “I just, I don’t think Ron would understand. The reason I agreed was to figure out what Malfoy was up to, but the flying is nice, too. Ron keeps trying to include me in the team, but he can’t because I’m not really part of it anymore, and it’s not the same.”

“I see,” Severus repeated. “You will do your friendship more harm than good, I think, to keep this to yourself. Not to mention that it is grossly unfair to Miss Granger to make her keep your secrets for you.”

“I know,” Harry moaned. “I just don’t know quite how to tell him. I don’t want him blowing up at me, but I know you’re right.” He shrugged defeatedly. “You’re certain you don’t know what’s going on with Malfoy? This could be so much easier if you did,” he looked at Snape curiously.

“No,” Severus shook his head regretfully, “I don’t know.”

“If you did,” Harry asked, “would you tell me?”

“If I could,” Severus said softly, “if there was a greater danger in you not knowing.”

“All right,” Harry acknowledged, wondering a little at the absolute stillness that had passed over his teacher. “Shall we get on with it then?” he said, canting his head to the side.

“Yes,” Snape said decisively. “I think, next week, we may want to try something a little different, but for now, legilimens.”

-----

Severus sighed wearily when Harry had gone. He needed to make rounds, ensure that all the students were quietly pursuing academia and not mischief or each other. He continued to sit, though.

The trust Harry had in him was as refreshing as it was damning. He did not deserve that trust, he knew. He had betrayed it with his lie. But at the same time, it was such a new and enjoyable experience to have someone believe him without proof that he didn’t have the heart to admit his fault. He heaved another sigh. He needed to talk to Albus.

-----

Draco squared his shoulders as he stepped into the corridor in front of the potions classroom. His eyes darted through the clump of students who had not yet resolved themselves into the habitual two lines. He found Potter and Granger standing on the fringe of the group. There was nothing particularly unusual about that, but it was something that had always struck him as odd. Before he came to Hogwarts, he had been certain that Harry Potter would always be at the center of any group. He had even thought so for awhile afterward, and yet it was not so. Unless he was some specific part of what was going on, Potter tended to stick to the edges, where he could move forward or back, as needed.

Draco shook his head and reached to pull a book out of his bag. The gilt writing on the cover proclaimed it to be Moon Stones: Obscure and Obvious Properties. Malfoy tapped Harry on the shoulder, causing the dark-haired boy to turn. “Here you are, Potter, as promised,” Malfoy said, presenting the tome.

“Thanks,” Harry replied looking at the cover, “this should help a lot.”

Draco nodded, “Most of the potion information is in chapter six, but the rest is interesting, too.”

“All right,” Harry nodded. “When do you need it back?”

Draco waved a hand dismissively, “Whenever you finish with it.”

“Right then, thanks again.”

“Of course.” With that the blonde turned and strode away. Both boys ignored the stares directed at them by their classmates and Harry did his best not to notice the way Hermione’s eyes looked like they might engulf her face. It was not until Snape started lecturing that she snapped out of it, and even then the rest of the class darted wondering gazes at the two famous enemies.

-----

As it happened, Albus wasn’t available to see Severus until the following evening. When the appointed time came, he climbed slowly up the stairs and was invited in before he had a chance to knock.

“Hello, Severus,” the headmaster greeted him as he stepped into the room.

“Headmaster,” he greeted the mage with an inclination of his head.

“What can I do for you?” Severus hesitated a moment before answering and Albus suddenly got a knowing look. “Ah, I see. Sit down, Severus,” he said kindly. “Will you have some tea?”

Snape nodded as he seated himself. He watched his employer and mentor pour the tea and stared contemplatively into his cup for a moment. At last he spoke. “I had a rather interesting conversation with Harry yesterday.”

“Did you?”

“Mmm,” Snape nodded.

“Does this have anything to do with the way you’ve been watching him during meals lately with something very like worry in your eyes?” the old wizard’s voice was slightly teasing.

“No, though we did resolve that yesterday too.”

“May I ask what happened, though?”

Severus looked at him piercingly. “It was nothing I did,” he said sharply.

“I did not believe it was,” Albus said soothingly. “It is simply that the two of you have had difficulties in the past. I was curious to know how it was that you had resolved this one so quickly.”

Snape did not look entirely mollified, but he said, “Harry was suddenly afraid that he was not doing justice to Black’s memory.”

“Ah,” Albus was nodding again. “How did you convince him that he was?”

“I did not.”

“I beg your pardon?” there was a hint of warning in the elder man’s voice.

“He wrote to Lupin,” Severus explained. “When he discussed it with me I pointed out that whatever Lupin said it was what Harry himself thought that mattered. In the end, he convinced himself.”

Dumbledore smiled at him, eyes a-twinkle, “Well,” he said merrily, “that is progress indeed.”

“Indeed. He also informed me that Draco has invited him to go flying.”

“And?” Dumbledore leaned forward slightly.

“He has gone.”

“Excellent,” the white-haired wizard clapped his hands together. “You see, Severus, this may all work out for the best after all.”

“Perhaps,” the potions master looked unconvinced. “Harry has asked me, twice now, whether I know why Malfoy is behaving oddly.”

“He asked directly?” The twinkle dimmed a little.

“Yes. I lied to him. I told him I did not know why. He believed me, Albus,” Snape glared fiercely at the man before him.

“Have a little faith, Severus, all is not yet lost.”

“And when the boy finds out what I have done? Will it be lost then?”

“That I cannot say,” Dumbledore shook his head, “But Harry is a good lad, a good young man. Have a little faith, Severus.”

Snape just scowled.

On Tuesday afternoon all those who shared Advanced Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts with Harry and Draco were in for another surprise. Professor Lyons announced that since they had studied several offensive and defensive spells, they would devote a class period to more intense and active practice. “I want each of you to choose a partner. I do not, however, want you to pick your best friend. Pick someone you dislike, or at least are mostly indifferent to.”

Several people looked at each other, and a few pairs of girls who had immediately glanced at each other in confirmation of the fact that they would be partners frowned disappointedly.

“But Professor, what are we doing?” one of the Slytherins asked.

“You’ll get further instructions once you’ve got partners.” He paused and looked at them for a moment before barking, “Well, what are you waiting for? The sooner you get up the sooner we can start.”

Tentatively the class stood and began looking around. No one wanted to step forward because Lyons had told them to partner people they didn’t like. Lyons watched them for another long moment when he said, “This is a surprise. Shall I step out of the room? Surely some of you have hexed each other between classes?” He looked around at a few faintly blushing faces and said, “The point of this is to pair you with someone who is not your best friend.”

When he paused again, Harry stepped over to Draco. “No one could accuse us of being best friends,” Harry said to the blonde.

“True enough,” Draco replied with a smirk. “Partners?”

Harry nodded and turned to stand next to him. Hermione gave them a knowing look as she walked up to Millicent Bulstrode, and Ron looked at Harry with confusion as he approached Blaise Zabini. With this example, others in the class began to warily approach each other. A few minutes later the entire class looked to Professor Lyons.

“Today we will be dueling,” he paused to let the excited murmurs that sprang up die down. “You may use any spell we have studied in class, with the exception of the Unforgivables, and you may also learn any spell you learned in Charms. I will ask you to refrain from using Transfigurative spells, in fact it will be ten points from the house and the final grade of anyone who tries it. Understood?”

He looked sternly at them as they chanted, “Yes, Professor Lyons” in a ragged chorus.

“Right then,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Begin.”

Harry and Draco were one of the first pairs to recover and turn to each other. They threw their first spells almost simultaneously. Back and forth they went, incanting spells, charms, curses, and hexes. They cast shields and blocking spells when they could, and dodged when they couldn’t. For a time, they even shot at each other from behind two tables that they had tipped over.

Half way through the extra-long lesson Professor Lyons shouted, “Stop!” After a moment, the class did and students with jittering legs, blue hair, boils, and all manner of other magical ailments and disfigurations turned to look at him. “You will all please cast Finite Incantatem on your sparring partners,” he instructed them.

When most appearances had gone back to normal he instructed them to sit down and reversed the few spells that the students had not been able to break and returned to the front of the classroom. “That was excellent,” he said as he stood in front of his desk. “Some of you seemed to do rather better than others, but that is to be expected. Homework tonight will be to analyze the tactics you and your partner used in a short essay to be handed in next class. Yes, Miss Granger?”

“How long is ‘short’ Professor?” the witch asked as she returned her hand to the desk.

“How long do you think it is, Miss Granger?”

“No more than one roll of parchment?” she suggested hesitantly.

He nodded, “Very well, Miss Granger, your essay is to be no longer than one regular roll of parchment.”

“That’s a bit long isn’t it? I thought you said short?” one of the students in the back row piped up.

“Then by all means, make yours shorter.”

“But there has to be a minimum,” one of the Ravenclaws said in a distressed voice.

“Yes,” a Hufflepuff chimed in, “otherwise it wouldn’t be fair.”

“You all want a guideline, eh?” Lyons said.

“Yes!” several voices exclaimed. “Fair enough. You are to deal with the topic thoroughly. When you honestly believe that you have covered all major aspects of the different tactics you and your partner used, you will be done. I should warn you, I am not interested in any historical precedents for using that method or maneuver; I will guarantee that you didn’t consider any of that today. What I want is an assessment of the pros and cons of your actions here. I also don’t want you to write more than one standard roll of parchment. Given that that is about ten feet, I think you all should be able to comply with that restriction with little difficulty. Understood? Good. Take out quill and parchment, then, we’re going to take a few notes on various single-combat tactics, maneuvers, and strategies. Keep in mind that this will be a very brief overview and there is more information in your text, as well as in the library.”

-

The next Defense class Professor Lyons had them all pass in their essays and then asked, “Well, how did you all find that assignment?”

“A little odd, but not too bad,” Ron said.

“Glad to hear it, Mr. Weasley, because you will have the same assignment today.” Several eyebrows went up at that statement, prompting the professor to smile. “Find your partners please.” The students exchanged excited glances and hurried to comply. “The same pairs as last session, if you please,” Lyons called above the din.

When it was still again he said, “This will be a little different from last class. Today, you and your partner will need to work together. I want each pair to select another pair. You will be dueling, with your partners, against the other group. Everyone clear?” When there were no objections he said, “All right, get into groups and let’s begin.”

Ron dragged Blaise over to Draco and Harry. “Group?” he asked.

“Sure,” Harry said.

“Fine with me,” Draco agreed.

Blaise just nodded. A moment later, the four were hexing each other. Or rather, two pairs were hexing each other. By common consent Draco and Blaise aimed for Ron and Harry, respectively, and Harry and Ron also cast at their Slytherin counterpart.

After a few moments of this Professor Lyons’ voice boomed out, “Stop!” All activity ground to a halt. “The point of this exercise is to force you to work with your partner against the other pair, even if one of the members of that pair is in your house, even if it’s your best friend. You are to support your partner. If this were a real dueling situation you wouldn’t just ignore one half of the enemy, so don’t do it here. You will fight together, or not at all. Anyone caught fighting against their partner will lose five points for each spell cast. Is everyone clear?”

There was a chorus of groans, but no real objections, so the grizzled professor gave the signal for them to begin again. It was an awkward and halting battle at first, but after a few minutes all house boundaries and loyalties began to disappear in the heat of the moment.

Which is not to say it went smoothly. People who had just pressed their advantage ruthlessly would suddenly find that they simply could not curse their best friend. Others decided that if they had to spell both members of the other team they would use nothing but the most mild of hexes and jinxes.

When the halfway point of the period came, Professor Lyons once again called a halt to their activity. He helped them reverse the spells that had been cast on them and bid them put the room back in order and sit down. Then, as in the former class, he lectured for the rest of the period, this time on group combat tactics.

-

That weekend was once again a Hogsmeade weekend, but that didn’t stop Harry and Draco meeting early Saturday morning. There was little conversation, but they spent their time very agreeably engaged in a game of aerial tag. This assuaged Harry’s guilt a bit; he couldn’t help feeling that it was disloyal to Gryffindor, and more importantly, Ron, to help the Slytherin Seeker practice his Quidditch moves.

When Harry got back to the tower he found Ron already awake, which was something of a surprise as his friend usually slept in later on the weekends. “Where have you been?” Ron asked eyeing the broomstick Harry was carrying.

“Out for a bit of flying. There’s nobody out this early on Saturday mornings, so I can fly without anyone talking about me.”

“Right,” Ron nodded. He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t say anything, so Harry simply gathered his things and headed off for a shower.

-

Ron and Hermione went to Hogsmeade with Harry, as usual, but once they reached the village Harry soon wandered off on his own. It felt more than a little strange, but he appreciated the fact that his friends needed a little time to themselves. He had just stepped into Zonko’s when he heard someone calling him. It was Ginny. She and Luna were standing in front of a display of disappearing ink. “Hello,” he greeted them.

“Hi,” Ginny replied. “I’m trying to convince Luna to play a trick on some of her housemates. Want to help?”

“Sure,” Harry said with a smile. “What are you going to do?” he addressed the blonde Ravenclaw.

“I was thinking of slipping some disappearing ink into their bags. It vanishes after awhile so you can’t see what you’ve written.”

“What if they write their class notes in this ink?”

“Harry! You’re supposed to be helping me!” Ginny exclaimed.

“I will, but are you sure this one is a good idea?”

“You can cancel the magic on the ink with a simple charm,” Ginny protested.

“How simple?” Harry asked.

“Well, for a Ravenclaw I’m sure it will be no problem.”

“I know that spell,” Luna commented. “I used it last year to cancel the disappearing spell on my potions text.”

“They spelled your potions book?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Mmhmm,” Luna nodded, “it always vanished halfway through class.”

“Definitely the ink, then,” Harry commented. “If they can’t figure it out they’ll just have to ask you for help.”

“I’m not sure they would.”

“Serves them right, then.”

Luna gave him a piercing look and picked up the ink, heading for the counter. When she had completed her purchase and tucked it discreetly into a pocket, the three walked out of the store. “Want to come to the Three Broomsticks with us for lunch?” Ginny asked.

“Sure, but it’s a bit early, isn’t it?” Harry asked.

“We’re going to the bookstore next. I wasn’t sure you’d want to come,” the redhead replied, head tilted slightly to the side.

“I’ll come.” Ginny nodded and the three of them crossed the street and entered the dusty bookshop. The time passed quickly and soon it was noon. The trio walked into the crowded Three Broomsticks and struggled over to a table.

“I’ll get drinks,” Ginny called, leaving Harry alone with Luna.

“How’s your year going?” he asked her.

“Well enough, none of my books have disappeared yet.”

“Why don’t you do something about that?”

“It’s not that important.”

“Yes it is,” Harry said vehemently.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” Luna said, looking closely at him. “Besides, I don’t mind so much. If they pick on me it means that they underestimate me. That could come in handy someday.”

“I suppose,” Harry said resignedly.

“It’ll be all right.” Harry looked at her dubiously, but did not contradict her.

When Ginny returned she had Neville in tow. She sat two glasses down in front of Harry and Luna and took her seat as Neville sat the other two down. “Look who I found,” Ginny commented before taking a sip of her butterbeer.

“Hello, Neville,” Harry said. Luna nodded absently at him.

“Hello everyone,” the round-faced Gryffindor said. “How are you?” he inquired.

“Pretty well,” Ginny said in response.

“How are you liking the recent DADA lessons?” Neville asked, looking very sly.

“Much better than last year,” Harry said warmly.

“Yes, much,” Ginny agreed. “I wonder how he can be getting permission from the ministry to teach dueling, though. It is hard to believe that Fudge is any less worried about a Dumbledore’s Army this year than he was last year.”

“It is odd,” Harry agreed thoughtfully.

“Well, I really don’t care, as long as we get to keep Lyons a while longer. He’s only the second decent DADA teacher we’ve had in the last six years.”

“No kidding,” Harry agreed rolling his eyes at the memory of the incompetence they had been subjected to.

“Speaking of the D.A.,” Neville said casually. “Can we assume that we’re not going to be meeting this year?”

“Yes, unless something happens to Lyons. The whole point of it was to get people to practice dueling and hopefully getting some idea of what we’re up against. The way class has been going lately there’s really no need for it.”

“It might be interesting to do it as an optional study group,” Ginny countered.

“It might be, but I couldn’t really do anything but repeat what was said in class. I don’t think many people would come to that.”

“You might be surprised, I think,” Ginny commented levelly. “Still, if it should become necessary…”

“If it should become necessary,” Harry picked up as she trailed off, “or if it even looks like it might be more beneficial than not, you can bet I’ll be the first to start back up again.”

“That’s all we can ask for, I suppose,” Ginny said as she leaned back in her chair and took another sip of her butterbeer.

-

“Hello again, professor,” Harry said slipping the cloak from about his shoulders.

Instead of the greeting he was expecting, however, Snape said, “Legilimens.” Harry was startled, and it took him a few minutes to actually force the other’s presence from his mind. It was far easier to keep someone from getting in in the first place, Harry had found, than it was to kick them out afterward. Conversely, however, it was difficult to keep his shielding up all the time. He tended to relax them when he was with someone he knew and trusted.

When he had succeeded in evicting the invading presence, Snape said, “Acceptable, but only just.”

“I take it this is the new idea you wanted to try?” Harry asked wryly.

“It does you very little good to only be able to resist attack when you know it is coming, and though you are no longer as vulnerable during your sleeping hours you must be on your guard during your waking ones as well. This will take practice.”

“Right,” Harry sighed.

“Consequently, I will be randomly spelling you during our conversations.”

“I suppose it’s for the best,” Harry said in a resigned tone.

“I believe it is,” Snape returned with the barest hint of apology. Harry simply nodded. They sat in silence for a few moments before Severus commented, “I shall be unable to test you in the manner I have described if we do not actually discuss anything.”

“I know,” Harry said with a mischievous grin. “Actually, I have a question for you,” the youth continued as his teacher leveled a reproachful glare at him.

“What is that?” Snape asked in mild apprehension.

“I don’t know whether or not you know what we’ve been doing in DADA,” he paused in expectation.

“I may have heard something, though I have far less inducement to keep up with the lesson plans for that class this year, as your professor is neither a moronic imbecile nor a possibly dangerous creature.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed a bit, but he replied, “We’ve been dueling.”

“Indeed? And how have you been divided for this exercise?” Severus paused to allow Harry to answer and said, “Legilimens,” just as the young wizard-in-training was opening his mouth to answer.

Once again it took some time for Harry to regain complete control over his own mind. When he had finished occluding he said impatiently, “You know, that really is distracting.”

“It is intended to be,” Severus remarked blandly, though Harry thought he discerned a small twinkle of amusement in the other’s dark eyes. “You were about to tell me how you have been grouped for dueling,” the potions master said helpfully.

“Oh yeah. So far we’ve dueled one on one and two on two.”

“No doubt you and Weasley have been wildly successful,” Severus commented in a dry voice.

“No, actually,” Harry said.

“Oh, you have partnered Granger then?”

“Nope,” Harry said, a smirk beginning to stretch his lips.

“Don’t tell me you’ve let Weasley and Granger pair with each other?”

“Still wrong,” Harry said, the smirk becoming a full grin.

“Do tell,” Snape commanded with a raise of his eyebrow. “Whatever can have come between the golden trio?”

“Lyons,” Harry said simply. When there was no immediate reply Harry continued, “He told us to pair up with someone we either didn’t like or didn’t care about. Then he let us hex each other.”

“What?” Snape asked, voice falling into that dangerous, be-careful-how-you-answer tone that Gryffindors learned to fear early in their first year.

“He did,” Harry said earnestly. “And then he stopped us and we talked about tactics for a bit, and then the next class we had the same partners and had to duel against another pair and if we didn’t support our partner we got points off,” he finished a trifle breathlessly.

“I see,” Snape said contemplatively. “And who is your partner?”

“Malfoy.” The eyebrow rose quickly. “It was my idea, actually,” the boy said brow furrowing, “and I think it’s made Ron suspicious.”

“You are still keeping secrets from Mr. Weasley?” Harry frowned and nodded.

“Legilimens.” This time, Harry was a bit quicker about occluding his mind.

“Anyway, the question I wanted to ask is how is the ministry letting us get away with actually practicing our dueling in class?”

“With the proof that our esteemed minister has finally found that the Dark Lord truly has returned, I think he may have realized that it is best to keep Dumbledore on his side. The headmaster, of course, maintains that they were always on the same side, but I think it safe to say that Minister Fudge is feeling a little contrite.”

“As well he should be,” Harry said passionately, “foisting that Umbridge-“ he was cut off abruptly as Snape once again said, “Legilimens.”

Harry found it far more difficult to close his mind while angry, but after a few false starts found that he could do it if he let go of his anger.

“Remember that hatred is one of the things the Dark Lord feels most often,” Snape said tonelessly.

Harry nodded but did not immediately give the statement the thought it deserved. “So that’s it, then? Fudge caved because he needs Dumbledore?”

“Primarily, though it probably also helped that Professor Lyons has been examined and certified by the Ministry’s education department.”

“Where was he last year?” Harry grumbled.

“Curse breaking in Central America, I believe.”

“He’s a curse breaker?” Harry asked leaning forward as excitement colored his tone.

“Yes,” Snape confirmed, “One of the more talented ones, too, I understand.”

“Wow,” Harry said. “What was he doing in Central America?”

“Working on one of the Mayan temples, I believe he said. The ancient Mayan wizards were not only very creative; they tended to be extremely paranoid.”

“Do wizards know why the Mayans vanished?” he asked curiously, remembering a short history section he did once in primary school.

There was an amused quirk of an eyebrow, but an answer was, obligingly, forthcoming, “It is widely believed that the people went under the Fidelius Charm to avoid the conquistadors of the period, though such a thing is, of course, rather difficult to verify.”

“Oh,” Harry said, clearly trying to work out how an entire people could be placed under a single charm. “Wow.”

“Indeed,” Severus said with a twist of his lips. “Shall we do some more traditional practice for the remainder of our time?”

“I think we’d better,” Harry said with a sigh. “Clearly I need more work than I thought I did.”

“You have not done so very badly,” Snape said, “You simply need to work on your adaptability. Rigidity can be deadly.”

Harry blinked at him and nodded, biting back a comment on how less than comforting that sentiment had been.

At the end of their session as Harry was getting up, Severus said, “Don’t forget the essay due tomorrow.”

“I haven’t,” Harry said with the look that Snape had learned meant the youth was plotting something, then swept his cloak on to his shoulders and drew the hood up, slipping out the door as his professor left and warded the office behind him.

Monday afternoon’s Potions class was the due date for a six foot essay on the uses and properties of moonstones in various potion types. Harry had actually got the bulk of the essay done before receiving the book he borrowed from Draco, but the book had quite a lot of information that he simply couldn’t find in the other sources available in the main section of the Hogwarts Library. Most of those uses were dark, but Harry supposed that was to be expected of any book from the Malfoy collection.As it was he was able to polish his essay and it was actually a respectable amount over six feet, but no longer than six feet six inches, as requested. It was more of a demand, actually, over the years Snape had found that unless he was very specific about an upper limit Hermione tended to turn in ridiculously long papers in very tiny handwriting. And what was worse was that he couldn’t even take points off for irrelevancy. When Snape called for the papers at the beginning of the class Harry fished his out and handed it over to his professor with pride.

“And what is that smug look for, Potter?” Snape almost snarled.

“Nothing professor,” Harry said innocently. Snape sneered down his nose at Harry and, collecting Hermione’s carefully bound roll of parchment, stalked away in a swirl of robes.

When the class was over, Harry and Hermione lagged behind a bit and, seeing that, Draco took a bit longer packing up himself. The three of them left their tables at about the same time and met at the door under Severus’s watchful eye. “I wanted to thank you again for lending me that book,” Harry said.

“Certainly, always pleased to help a classmate,” Draco replied.

“We were wondering, though,” Hermione said in her politest voice, “if you would mind lending it to us for just a little longer.”

“We got what we needed for the essay, but there are a few other things that we didn’t get to pay as much attention to as we would have liked,” Harry explained.

Draco found his eyebrows rising of their own volition. “Absolutely,” he replied.

“We just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t mind too much,” Hermione said.

“Not at all,” Draco assured her in a courtly voice.

“Excellent, thanks,” she smiled at him.

“See you later,” Harry said to the blonde as the pair walked away.

“I can’t believe it,” Hermione said, peering over her shoulder as they hurried to Transfigurations class, “Malfoy knows I’m going to touch that book and he hasn’t thrown a fit yet.”

“I know, but I told you he said he didn’t mind.”

“You know, if it weren’t that whatever is going on is probably very bad, I think I could start to like this new Draco,” Hermione said.

“Yeah. He’s almost worth knowing,” Harry replied. Hermione smirked back at him as they slipped in the door and went to sit at their customary table with Ron.

The trio was gathering their things after McGonagall’s class when Justin Finch-Fletchly stopped by their table. “Hey, Potter,” he said.

“Hello,” Harry said curiously as he looked up.

“What’s up with you and Malfoy and Snape?”

“Nothing’s up, why do you ask?”

“Because the three of you have been acting pretty strangely. Snape isn’t as mean to you as I’ve always heard, and you and Malfoy have practically been getting along lately.”

“Snape’s bound to be a little nicer to his advanced class,” Hermione said in a sensible voice.

“Yeah, I guess,” Justin said dubiously. “But what about Malfoy?”

“Honestly?” Harry asked. “I think he wants to make friends.”

“You’re not going to do it are you?” Justin wrinkled his nose.

“Well, I figure as long as he’s being nice I might as well reciprocate.”

“And when he tries to take advantage of your goodwill?”

“Then we’ll know for sure, but in the meantime we may as well give him a chance, right?” Harry was hoping to play on the Hufflepuff’s sense of fairness.

“I suppose,” Justin said at last, “as long as you’re not going dark on us.”

“I promise you, Justin, you’ve got nothing to worry about on that score.” Finch-Fletchly nodded and walked away.

-

Tuesday’s DADA brought a return to single-opponent dueling with the same partners they had had before. Professor Lyons announced that they were to practice what they had learned from writing their essays. This time he let them have most of the class. He only stopped them fifteen minutes before the end to reverse the spells they had cast on each other. He also announced the homework, a short analysis of what they had learned and whether their assessment of tactics as offered in the first essay had changed.

-

The next class they were instructed to pair up as usual. Then they were to join the pair they had dueled with previously. After that they were to find another group of four. They two groups of four would be dueling each other, thus Draco, Harry, Ron and Blaise found themselves opposing a team of Hermione, Millicent, and a Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girl and boy that none of them knew very well. It was a fierce battle.

At the end of the class period they were once again stopped. “Since there is a weekend between now and our next meeting,” Professor Lyons proclaimed as the duelists cast finite charms at each other, “I want you to not only review your previous essay on group tactics just as you did for today’s class, I want you to analyze the strengths and weaknesses of your group members. Make sure that you include both positive and negative attributes. Class dismissed.”

-

That Saturday was the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff game. Harry went eagerly to the pitch to meet Malfoy, knowing that the Hufflepuff players would be in a last-minute strategy meeting and probably wouldn’t make it to the pitch until quite some time after breakfast.

Draco knew this, too, and left for the pitch a bit later than usual, meeting Potter on the path to the Quidditch stadium. To his very great surprise, Draco found that he was not nearly as disgusted by the other’s presence as he had been. They were not friends, but they seemed to get along fairly well when they tried hard enough.

Perhaps, Draco mused, he could write to tell his father that he was at long last successful? And when his father received the good news he would know that his son could be trusted with more of the plan. Certainly he would tell him what was going on. Surely he would.

Harry reentered his dormitory wondering what had caused Malfoy’s oddly triumphant mood. The Slytherin hadn’t even pouted when Harry had beaten him to the snitch. Preoccupied with these thoughts, Harry was startled when, as he was putting his broom in his trunk, he heard a throat being cleared from the next bed over. He looked up to see Ron trying not to glare at him. “You know mate, if you wanted to fly that badly, the least you could do was invite to come.”

Harry heaved a sigh, closed his trunk, and sank down onto his own bed where it was nearest Ron’s. “No,” he said, “I couldn’t.”

“And why’s that?”

A flush was beginning to spread through Ron’s face and Harry looked away for a moment. “Because I was already flying with someone, and he doesn’t like you, and you don’t like him, either.”

“Oh,” Ron said, anger building in his voice as he continued until finally he finished with a furious hiss, “I see. You’re giving up your old friendships for this new whoever-he-is. Our years of friendship mean nothing to you!”

“Our friendship, your friendship, has meant more to me than you can know,” Harry said softly, “and it still does.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it!”

“OY!” Dean hissed suddenly, “keep it down over there; some of us aren’t ready to be up yet!”

Ron glared at Harry and Harry gestured the redhead over to sit next to him. “Will you let me try to explain first, please?” Harry asked.

“You better try to explain,” Ron said matter-of-factly. “Otherwise I’ll hex you, and I’ll have Ginny hex you, too.”

Harry winced at this threat and took a deep breath. “Look, I’ve been flying with Malfoy.”

“Malfoy!” Ron interjected.

“Hey!” Seamus said, “Keep that git out of our dormitory.”

“Yes,” Harry whispered, “he’s been acting really strangely lately and I thought if I accepted his invitation I could figure out why.”

Ron gave him an annoyed look, “And you didn’t think to tell me? Does Hermione know?”

“She knows,” Harry admitted heavily.

“And she didn’t think to tell me either?” Ron replied indignantly.

“She did,” Harry hastened to reassure him. “She’s been nagging me to tell you for a while now.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I was afraid you would think I was abandoning you or something. Or that you would think that I thought that your efforts to keep me involved with the team weren’t enough.”

“Well they weren’t enough, were they?” Ron muttered sourly.

“Ron,” Harry sighed. “I really, really appreciate that you’ve tried, I really, truly do. But no matter what we do, it’s not the same as actually being on the team.”

“No,” Ron said, “it’s not the same as having you on the team either. We miss you mate.”

Harry gave him a small half smile. “I miss all of you, too.”

“So what do you and Malfoy do, when you’ve got the pitch all to yourself?”

“Play seeker’s matches, mostly, and broom tag.”

“Bloody hell, Harry! You’re helping him practice Quidditch? Is he getting better?”

“Not really,” Harry said reassuringly, “I still beat nearly all the time.”

“You beat him, but can Liza beat him?”

“I think so, Liza’s got real talent. Besides, the Slytherin-Gryffindor match isn’t for ages. There’s plenty of time to train her up.”

“There’d better be,” Ron said mock-seriously, “or I’ll use you as a target at bludger practice.” Harry gave a small laugh. “You do realize the reason why Malfoy’s acting all weird is probably just to get you to train him this way, right?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said doubtfully, “something tells me there’s something bigger than that.”

“Does this have anything to do with what happened over the summer, which you still haven’t told us about?”

“It might,” Harry said, noncommittally.

Ron sniffed when he realized that Harry wasn’t going to give him anymore details than he already had. “Come on then, let’s get washed up for breakfast. I’m starved.”

“You’re always starved,” Harry said teasingly as he stood and gathered his shower kit. Ron just shrugged and smiled as he picked up his own toiletries. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?” Harry asked as they left the room.

Ron rolled his eyes at him. “I can’t believe you’re flying with that bloody, ferrety git, but I’m not mad at you for trying to figure out what he’s up to. You’re Harry Potter, that’s what you do. I’m still a little angry that you didn’t think you could tell me about it though.”

“I really am sorry, Ron.”

“I know,” Ron said cheekily as they arrived at the showers. “That’s why I’m not very angry with you.”

He ducked into a stall as he said this and Harry was left staring at the curtain. “I’m going to be pranked for this, aren’t I?” he asked.

“Almost definitely,” Ron called cheerfully.

Harry sighed. “Suppose I deserve it, don’t I?”

Ron peeked out of the curtain, “Too right you do,” he said seriously. “The next time you go around telling secrets you better make sure you tell me, too. I’m not saying you’ve got to tell me everything, just make sure you tell me if it’s important enough that you’re telling everyone else.”

“I will,” Harry promised.

“You’d better,” Ron replied as he ducked back into his stall.

“I will,” Harry repeated as the water came on. Heaving another sigh he walked into his own cubicle and got ready to take his own shower before heading to the Great Hall.

The game took place at the usual time and Harry was seated in the stands beside Ron. Hermione was sitting on the other side of Ron. She claimed she was there to take advantage of the sunlight, though Harry suspected that she considered the match another excuse to spend a bit of free time with the gangly redhead.

After a few minutes Ron said, “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Hermione commented.

“That’s not my fault,” Weasley protested as he withdrew some candy from his cloak pocket. “Every flavor bean, Harry?” Ron said offering him a few of the treats in the cupped palm of his hand.

Harry thought he had spotted the snitch on the other side of the pitch and so absently said, “Thanks,” picking one up and popping it in his mouth.

The next moment all thoughts of the snitch had vanished as he found himself on his feet and singing “I’m a Little Teapot” complete with hand motions. He sat down when he was through, amidst much laughter, cheering and applause.

Red-faced, he turned to his friends to find both of them snickering at them. “Very funny,” Harry commented, which sent them over the edge and both ended up clinging to each other they were laughing so hard. “May I consider myself pranked now, or shall I be on the lookout for something else?” Harry asked with a grin.

“No, I definitely got you good with that one,” Ron assured him breathlessly.

“You certainly did,” Harry agreed.

“Now let that be a lesson to you,” Ron said in a falsely-stern voice, just before he collapsed once more into laughter.

This time, Harry joined him.

“What was that book you and Granger borrowed from Draco?” Severus asked Harry the next day at their weekly meeting.

“Something he lent me for the essay we turned in, Moon Stone Properties or something like that.”

“I see. You do realize that anything the Malfoys have is likely to be,” he paused as though searching for an appropriate word.

“Dark?” Harry supplied. “

Yes.” Severus looked closely at him.

“I know. Quite a lot of the book is, actually, but some of it isn’t.”

“I am not teaching you Dark Magic, Potter, that is just a front.” He was using a very soft, deadly-serious tone of voice and concern created little crinkles around his eyes.

“I know that, Professor Snape. I’m not going to ask you to. I don’t really want you to. But Draco does need to believe that I am learning this stuff.”

“Be careful, Harry. And don’t let your friends get dragged into it, either. You will never forgive yourself if you do.”

The older man spoke with an intensity that frightened Harry. “You mean Hermione.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll talk to her tonight.”

“See that you do.” Harry nodded and looked down for a minute. Severus just watched him. He needed this young man before him to understand what he was doing, what exactly the danger he was flirting with was. He did not want the boy to become like him.

Harry glanced back up at him and gave him an odd, small smile. It was faintly reassuring, but it did not completely erase the crease between the Slytherin’s eyebrows. “I’ll be careful.”

“I’d rather you didn’t read it at all. Whatever you do, Harry, don’t do anything you’ll spend your life regretting. And you will regret it. It may take some time to realize that you do, but eventually you will.”

“I didn’t actually read all of those parts, I sort of skimmed most of them. Just to get an idea of what to put in my essay.” Severus breathed a tiny sigh of relief but could not rid himself of a nagging sense of worry and foreboding. “Don’t worry,” Harry told him.

Severus still felt that Harry didn’t understand, but saw that he wasn’t likely to be able to explain it then. He sincerely hoped that Harry never understood.

“Did I tell you Ron found out about Draco and me yesterday?”

The teen was clearly trying to lighten the mood and Severus let him. “No, you haven’t. Was it as bad as you were expecting?”

“Not really. He was angrier that I didn’t tell him than he was that I was doing it in the first place.”

“I understand that is often the case with friends. I doubt, however, that young Mr. Weasley allowed this offence to pass unpunished.”

“Nah, he gave me this candy at the game that made me stand up and sing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ with the little dance.”

“You ate something a Weasley gave you?” Snape looked nonplussed.

“Well, I was distracted,” Harry excused himself, “besides, I had it coming.”

Snape rolled his eyes, mostly in amusement though also in exasperation. “What else have you done this week?” he asked, preparing to begin testing Harry with legilimancy as they moved on to slightly less serious topics.

“Well,” Harry began, launching into a recital of some of the weeks more interesting occurrences as well as relating some of the funnier antics that had taken place in the common room.

Later that afternoon, Harry arrived back in Gryffindor tower and looked around the common room for Hermione. To his not-so-great surprise she was curled up in a chair near the fireplace with an open book on her knees. “Hey ‘Mione,” he said as he sat down next to her. “What are you reading?”

She looked up and blinked at him before smiling in greeting. “It’s a supplement for my arithmancy class. It’s all about the ancient Greeks and how they began using the Arabic numeral system.”

“Sounds interesting,” Harry said, thinking that it sounded too dry for him. He glanced around and, seeing no one near, continued, “I wanted to talk to you about that book we borrowed.”

“Right. I’m finished with it, actually, so if you want to return it to Malfoy tomorrow, that would be fine.”

“That sounds good,” Harry nodded. “Actually, I was just talking to Snape and he’s really concerned about it. He’s worried that we may not recognize how dangerous the magic is.”

“The Dark Magic?” Hermione asked with a wry smile. Harry nodded. “Well, you needn’t worry about me, Harry, because I certainly have no desire to read any more about it. It’s disturbing. Interesting, but disturbing. Besides, there are so many other things,” she broke off and smiled at him, then frowned a little. “You are giving the book back, right?”

“Yes,” he assured her, “I don’t want it either.” There was a far away look in his eyes as he said, “I think I’ve had enough of it in my life.”

“I think so, too,” she said firmly. “I’ll pass it back to you tomorrow, and then you can return it in potions, that way Professor Snape will know that we gave it back.”

“Good idea.”

Harry stared into the flames and Hermione smiled at him again before returning to her book. Neither of them stirred again until Ron returned from Quidditch practice and dragged them off to dinner and then back for a game of chess.

Meanwhile, Draco was busy with his own tasks on Sunday. Carefully, he penned a letter to his father and then carried it up to the owlery where he sent it off with the family owl. He watched the bird fly away in happy anticipation; he could hardly wait for his father’s answer.

The next day in Potions class Hermione and Harry once again approached the prince of Slytherin. “We wanted to return this to you,” Harry said as he nodded a greeting and held out the book.

Hermione nodded as well and said, “Thank you again for lending it to us.”

“Did you like it?” Draco asked with a smirk.

“It was most informative,” Harry replied blandly.

Draco’s smirk grew a little and he tucked the tome into his bag. “I’ll let you know if I get anything else that might be useful,” the blonde assured them politely.

“Thanks.”

Draco nodded and shouldered his bag before making his way out the door. The two Gryffindors shared a glance out of the corner of their eye and then followed the other out the door. They had another class to get to.

Unnoticed, at the front of the room, Severus heaved a small sigh of relief.

On Wednesday morning a regal looking owl landed in front of Draco at the breakfast table and allowed the youth to remove the letter it was carrying from its talon. He opened the letter there, presuming with a frown that if he could receive the letter in public it would be safe to read it there also.

It was, as he expected, from his father, though there was no outward sign to indicate that. It might be publicly known that Lucius Malfoy had escaped Azkaban, but it would be disastrous for anyone to find out that his son and wife actually knew where he was.

The note, while longer than the first, was equally disappointing, possibly even more so. Draco was congratulated on his success and ordered to continue his efforts. It was also suggested that he might use his position as leverage to split up the Gryffindor Trio. No mention was made of the plan except for these instructions, and no explanation was given.

Draco crumpled the parchment in his fist and shoved the ball into his pocket. He would burn it later, no sense in drawing too much attention to himself.

Draco had not gotten over his disappointment that day, nor did he show any signs of cheering up the next day. They were dueling in three groups of eight in DADA, the groups of four who had previously worked separately now paired to resist the other groups. The Slytherin prefect was impatient and it showed. He failed to smile at Harry’s approach, as he had made it a point to do in the past, and the there was something in his air which reminded Potter of Dudley, just after he had been told no. “Hello,” he offered tentatively.

Draco barely acknowledged the greeting and immediately complained, “What is the point of this exercise? We’ve been pairing up and combining and pairing and splitting for weeks now, and there’s no point.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Harry said and was glared at for his troubles. “Does it really matter what the point is?” he asked. The other gave him a blank look. “Well, it is fun, right? And at least we don’t have to memorize anything new, we can be creative.”

“I suppose,” Draco grudgingly replied, crossing his arms as he waited for the rest of the groups to organize themselves. Soon they were all engaged in open battle, and some of Malfoy’s grumpiness was channeled away into his spells.

“What was Malfoy’s problem?” Ron asked later as the trio was doing the customary tactics essay in front of the fire.

“He was just in a bad mood, I guess. He didn’t say what was bothering him.”

“He was putting more power into his hexes today than usual,” Hermione commented.

“I think it annoyed him that he couldn’t immediately identify the point of dueling for so long. Especially when we have the same partners over and over.”

Hermione looked up at him for a moment then returned to her book saying, “That could be. I would have thought he had figured it out by now though.”

Ron looked at the bushy-haired girl fondly and rolled his eyes. “Well I haven’t,” he said, “not that I’m complaining about getting to duel in class though.”

“Honestly,” Hermione sighed, “it’s a way to bring the houses together. If we can figure out a way to work on class assignments with people we don’t like then we can figure out ways to work on more important things together.”

“That doesn’t explain why we got to hex each other though,” Harry pointed out.

“It’s sort of like a safety valve. And it’s a gimmick. Who wouldn’t love to hex their enemy?”

“Ah,” Harry said, dipping his quill into the inkwell.

“Brilliant,” Ron said.

“It is a good idea, isn’t it,” Hermione smiled at her paper before turning to a book next to her and flipping a few pages.

“Mr. Malfoy, a word with you, if you please.”

These words caught the youth and held him after potions while the rest of the class filed out. “I do have another class sir,” the blonde said as he adjusted the strap of his bag.

“I am aware of that; I wish to speak with you, however.”

“Now is really not a good time, sir,” Draco said, forcing the proper amount of respect into his tone.

Snape studied him a moment before saying, “Very well, perhaps you would prefer to come back later this afternoon.”

The teen groaned inwardly but said, “Yes, sir.”

“See that you do come back, Mr. Malfoy, or I will be forced to come find you.”

“Yes, sir.” Snape nodded in dismissal and Draco hurried out of the classroom and into the hallway.

Later that same day, after dinner, Severus sat in his office marking papers. He was also watching the clock. If Draco didn’t come in the next half hour, Severus decided, he would make good on his threat and go find the boy.

Fifteen minutes later, as he checked the clock for the second time in as many minutes a knock came at the door. “Enter,” he called. The door creaked open and Malfoy the younger stepped in. “Draco,” he said in greeting, “Sit down.” He nodded at the chair as he laid his quill aside.

“Sir,” the prefect replied as he sat. His features were very nearly neutral, but Severus’s practiced eye could detect traces of agitation.

“I will be blunt; you’ve not been yourself these past few days. What has happened?”

“Nothing, sir,” the youth said sullenly.

“Do not lie to me, Mr. Malfoy. I ask you again, what has happened?”

The blonde stared coolly at him another moment before dropping his gaze. When he raised his eyes again they contained a faintly pleading expression, though it would go unnoticed to any but those trained to pick up the most subtle nuances of behavior. His words, however, left his mood in little doubt. “I’ve done what I was supposed to, haven’t I? I’ve done well; too, even father acknowledges that.”

“You have carried out your task admirably,” Severus replied reassuringly.

“Then why won’t he tell me?”

“Of whom are speaking?”

“Father,” the boy spat. “I wrote to him, informing him of my progress, and he merely sent more instructions. Why won’t he tell me what’s going on?” he demanded.

“I believe, Draco,” Severus said slowly, “your father seeks to protect you. If you do not know of the plan, if you do not know the particulars, then you are not as blamable. Certainly Dumbledore would not be inclined to blame you for following a parent’s instructions.”

“He does not trust me to carry it out properly; he thinks I’m going to get caught!”

“Your father wants only the best for you, Draco, I am certain,” Snape soothed the boy despite being certain of no such thing.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?”

“If Lucius has not told you…”

“You won’t then! You’d tell Potter!” he accused.

“I most definitely would not,” Severus said coldly, “as your own success must indicate.”

Draco flushed slightly and leaned back in his chair, hardly having been aware of leaning forward.

“Draco, your father does care for you. He is only looking out for your best interests. I will mention your frustration to him when next we meet. Try to hold out a little longer.”

“I’ll try,” Draco sighed. “It’s not easy being so friendly with someone I dislike. And I’m supposed to get even closer now. He wants me to break up the trio,” Malfoy had a faintly derisive look as he said it, though it was not clear who or what he was mocking.

“I have every faith in you,” Severus said in an almost-warm tone.

“Thanks,” Draco said, taking a deep breath. “I’ll try and get back to normal. I’m sure this hasn’t been helping my standing with Potter.”

“Hmmm, perhaps not. On the other hand, there may be a way to turn this to your advantage.”

“How so?”

“If you explained that your father had contacted you, I am certain Potter would sympathize.”

The youth nodded pensively, head filling with plots and possible scenarios. “Yes,” he whispered absently. Abruptly, he came back to himself. “If that’s all, sir?” he canted his head to one side.

“Dismissed,” Severus replied as he picked up his quill. Draco nodded and departed.

As the teen closed the door Severus sighed. He hated to betray Harry, but he couldn’t not offer Draco help, it was expected of him. Furthermore, Lucius’s fury was a terrible thing, and Draco was sure to incur that wrath if he failed. With the boy in such a delicate position that sort of disapproval could push him toward the light, or straight into the arms of the Dark Lord. Severus heaved another sigh. Why did this have to be so difficult?

Saturday morning dawned cool and windy, and as Harry bundled up to go out he wondered if Draco would be in a better mood that day than he had been the last few. He rather hoped so, because a moody Draco was almost worse than a contemptuous and stuck up Draco. At least you knew that if he was ignoring your existence he wasn’t going to be snapping at you or whining on your shoulder.Trepidation slowed his footsteps through the castle, but eventually he got outside and the wind gusted at him, pulling at his robes as though it were attempting to hurry him along. When he got there he found Draco already present and waiting for him. He walked up to the blonde watching his face carefully. “Hullo,” Harry said as he got near enough to speak.

Draco nodded cordially. This was the tricky part, and he had spent some time figuring out how best to go about it and psyching himself up. “Look, I know I’ve been a bit of a prat lately, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry for it.”

Harry examined his face closely. Draco though he could almost see the thoughts flashing behind Potter’s eyes.

“Everyone has a rough day now and then,” Harry said with a small, one-shouldered shrug.

“It was just that I’d just got a letter from Father. Things have been rather tense since he came back this summer.”

Harry nodded understandingly and thanked Merlin that he had learned enough control to keep his jaw from slamming down to the ground. Who was this person and what had he done with the cool Prince of Slytherin? Draco Malfoy, Harry had learned over the years, did not apologize. Nor did he ever volunteer information such as ‘it’s been tense at home.’ For a brief moment Harry considered the possibility that Draco was really trying to change. Perhaps the other youth had had a change of heart.

Then Harry’s suspicions kicked in. Yes, it was possible, but it seemed extremely unlikely. Therefore, all of this was a clever attempt to…to what? To get closer to him? For what purpose? It was frustrating, but at the same time, Harry told himself, if was another piece of the puzzle to consider.

Draco watched the dark-haired boy through ever-so-slightly narrowed eyes, waiting to see if he would believe him or not.

“Is there anything I can do?” Harry said after a moment, gambling.

“No,” Draco shook his head.

“Let me know if there is,” Harry pressed.

“Absolutely,” Malfoy said with a small smile. Fooling Gryffindors was all too easy, he thought to himself as he turned toward the center of the pitch.

Sunday arrived and Harry went down to his regular appointment still thinking about Draco. He put those thoughts aside, however, when he stepped into the Potions Master’s office. He had seated himself and was currently watching Snape watch him. At last the older wizard spoke. “I saw you and Granger returning Malfoy’s book on Monday.” His tone was deceptively neutral.

Harry nodded, “We wanted you to know we did, that’s why we did it in class and not at breakfast.

Snape nodded again. “Did the two of you discuss the contents of the book at all?”

“A little,” Harry said. “We came to the conclusion that most of it was disturbing.”

There was a gleam of relief in the professor’s eye when he heard that statement and his lips twitched. “I do have a question, though,” Harry said.

Severus felt his heart speed up but gestured for Harry to ask. “Does Voldemort know that you aren’t really teaching me that? Won’t he figure it out soon?”

“The Dark Lord is aware of the impossibility of practicing the Dark Arts on Hogwarts’ grounds without alerting the headmaster. He believes we are discussing theory. Eventually, yes, he will realize that I have not taught you anything.”

“And when that happens?” Harry inquired in an apprehensive voice.

“When that day comes it is likely that my usefulness to the Order will decline very sharply.” Harry’s eyes dropped to trace the cracks between the flagstones on the floor, but not before Snape saw the worry that clouded them. In an effort to distract the youth Snape asked, “And how much trouble have you caused this week outside my dungeons?” Harry grinned wryly at him as he looked up. Before Harry could answer, Severus whispered the legilimens spell, thus beginning their practice session.

Severus stalked confidently down the corridor. As he passed near the Charms classroom he saw Draco talking to Pansy. The blonde looked over at him as he passed. Severus cocked an eyebrow in question. Draco gave a small smirk and nodded slightly. Severus’s lips twitched imperceptibly in return and he walked on.

They were lined up outside the potions classroom again. The Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws mingling together in a large mass of black with only the occasional flash of color from the house badges on the front of their robes. The Slytherins, led by Malfoy, stood behind the other three houses, next to Potter and Granger.

It was an odd arrangement, Snape thought to himself, but it was better than the two lines they had sorted themselves into before. The whole staff were pushing for unity this year, mostly in small, subtle ways, but pushing nonetheless. It was both heartening to see this change and disturbing, since Severus knew that it rested on the false friendship of the two largest threats to that unity.

He only hoped that Albus was right and whatever good was accomplished by all this was not completely overwhelmed by the bad. He waited a few moments more, letting Potter and Malfoy finish their conversation, before calling the class in and ordering them to work.

“Potter,” Draco said in greeting as he approached the Gryffindor wizard.

“Hello, Malfoy,” Harry returned. Hermione nodded to him.

“You know, we just started the new unit on human transfiguration, and I was wondering if you wanted to meet in the library to study with me.”

“It depends on when, really,” Harry said warily after a swift glance at Hermione.

“Perhaps Friday evening?”

“I’ve already made plans for Friday, sorry,” Harry replied, thinking of Ron and Quidditch practice.

“Another time then,” Malfoy said politely.

“Another time,” Harry agreed, turning away as Snape opened the classroom door.

Halloween passed with the customary feast and without major disturbance. A few

students had somehow managed to switch out some of the sweets on the tables with Weasley Wheezes. Consequently a rash of vividly colored hair broke out which competed with the canaries and other transfigurative effects for notice. The Slytherins seemed to be especially afflicted as three fourths of the pranksters in question belonged to the house of the lion. The muggleborn students laughed it off, saying that it was better than any costume, but many other students, and Professor Snape were more put out by the hijinks than was entirely warranted.

A few days later there were still students wandering around with brightly colored hair. All attempts at transfiguring it back to the normal coloring resulted in even more exotic effects, as Pansy Parkinson demonstrated when her hair went from bright red to purple to green with orange polka dots. Draco showed up on the Quidditch Pitch with bright blue hair himself, a fact that Harry would have found far more amusing if his own hair weren’t a deep purple. “I suppose you’re proud of yourself, eh, Potter?” Draco asked, “Getting away with that prank at Halloween?”

“It wasn’t me, Malfoy,” Harry assured him as he gestured at his own plum-colored locks.

The usually-blonde just sneered. “How soon is it supposed to wear off?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. “It wasn’t my prank, and anyway I didn’t know the twins were working on anything to do with hair color.”

“So you think it was Weasley’s sister then?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied, hesitant to implicate Ginny although he suspected her himself. “It could be anyone really, just because I didn’t know about it doesn’t mean anything.” Draco looked less than satisfied but didn’t comment.

When Harry went to see him the next day, Severus also assumed he was behind the Halloween hair colorings. “Shall I congratulate you, Harry, on a successful prank?” the older wizard asked.

“It wasn’t my prank,” Harry replied.

“No?” Snape looked as though he didn’t believe Harry.

“No. Malfoy thought it was me, too.” Harry commented. “You are, or were, the most likely candidate.”

“Why? There are other people who could have done it.”

“Obviously, but with your connection to the Weasley twins,” Severus shrugged.

“I didn’t know you knew about that,” Harry said in surprise.

“I know about a great many things,” Severus said enigmatically as he began their usual occlumency practice.

On Monday Draco once again approached Harry outside the potions classroom. “Are you free tomorrow?” he asked. He had spent some time considering the previous rejection, and he had concluded that it might be more effective, in the long run, to take up time that Potter did not normally devote to his friends. Then too, however, if Potter were studying in the library with him, there was no way he could change his mind and spend the time with his friends.

“Free for what?” Harry asked turning to look at the Slytherin prefect standing next to him.

Malfoy could see the glimmer of suspicion in the corners of those famous green eyes. “I wondered if you might like to study in the library with me.”

“I’ll probably be studying with Hermione,” Harry replied.

Draco gritted his teeth. There was no way he could make Granger unwelcome without upsetting Potter. “Bring her along,” he said as he forced a smile.

Hermione, who had heard her name mentioned, looked questioningly at the pair, “Bring me along where?” she asked.

“Malfoy’s inviting us to study in the library,” Harry explained.

Hermione examined the pair closely. Harry, no doubt, would insist that Malfoy invite her. She was certain, however, that Draco would rather she was not present. She was also certain that a happier Malfoy would be a Malfoy who was easier to figure out. Therefore she did what any good friend in her position would do; she lied. “Oh, no, I can’t, Harry, I meant to tell you. I promised Lavender I’d help her study charms,” Hermione said smoothly.

“Are you certain?” Draco asked politely.

“Oh yes, I really must, I promised.” Hermione said firmly.

“What about you?” Draco asked, looking at Harry, “Have you made other plans as well?”

“No,” Harry said. “When did you want to meet?”

Although that was the response that he had been hoping for, Draco was still caught off guard when he heard Potter accept his invitation. “Shall we say five o’clock?” he suggested. “At the table by the potted ivy in the potions corner?”

“I’ll be there,” Harry replied with a nod.

“As will I,” Draco said. He nodded sharply to the two Gryffindors before turning back to Crabbe and Goyle.

“When did you promise Lavender you’d help her study?” Harry asked Hermione as they hurried to transfigurations.

“I didn’t, really,” she replied, matching his quiet tone. “I just thought it might be a bit easier for you to get Malfoy to talk if I wasn’t there.”

“You know I would have insisted he invite you?” Harry asked. He didn’t want his friend to feel that he was giving up her company for the Slytherin’s. He needed to make sure she knew that her own company, though trying at times, was truly preferable to him.

“Oh, I know that, Harry,” she reassured him. “It’s just that you might get a bit farther with the ferret if he thinks you are…coming ‘round to his way of thinking.”

“I suppose,” Harry conceded. “Still, if even Ron couldn’t break up the trio I don’t imagine Malfoy can!” Hermione laughed with him as they continued to hurry down the halls.

Five o’clock the next evening found Harry hurrying to the library and expertly turning through the labyrinthine stacks until he got to the agreed upon table. He found Malfoy already sitting there. “Potter,” the prefect greeted him. Clearly Harry’s lateness had agitated him.“You know,” Harry said, “it’s kind of silly for us to keep calling each other Potter and Malfoy all the time. Friends don’t do that.” He had spent a while thinking of what Hermione had said, about pretending that Malfoy was closer to him than he was, and he decided that a little extra show of familiarity would not be amiss.

Malfoy blinked twice and said, “No, that’s true. I didn’t want to be too familiar without invitation, though.”

“Well,” Harry smirked, “consider yourself officially invited, then.”

Draco gave his own smirk and said, “Why thank you, Harry. And, please, won’t you call me Draco.”

“I should be delighted,” Harry said, teasing the other youth’s formal tone and wording.

Draco was annoyed but smiled anyway. If Potter wanted to believe they were actually friends, so much the better for him.

In this way, both of them pretending more camaraderie than they really felt, the evening passed quickly. Though they did not make as much progress on their potions work as they might have, they both left feeling that they were closer than ever to achieving their respective goals. It was only when Draco offered to meet again on Friday afternoon that any hint of discord appeared, and they were both careful to minimize it as much as possible. Draco acted understanding, while Harry pretended to feel real regret that he could not come. They parted amicably with confirmation that they were, once again, meeting on Saturday morning.

Friday afternoon Draco followed Harry down to the Quidditch pitch, taking care not to be seen by any of the other members of the Gryffindor team. He watched the way Potter and Weasley chatted easily and freely. There was no sign of any tension or uneasiness between them, which had the blonde growling in frustration. How was he supposed to break them up when Harry refused to let it happen? He supposed it was just a matter of treating Potter better than his other friends did. Possibly he could come up with a way to create a misunderstanding. It would have to be something fairly spectacular to break up five years of friendship.

He’d give it a week or two, he decided. If he hadn’t won Potter over a bit more by then, then he would see about plotting something. Draco turned his attention to the players in the air. Just because he was there for Potter didn’t mean he couldn’t get a little information for his own team.

Saturday morning Harry once again suggested they play tag instead of Seeker’s Quidditch. It was easier on his conscience. Malfoy seemed to be making a special effort to be kind to him, he noticed. It had gone too far, he decided, when Malfoy seemed to be about to let him win. “Draco,” he cried in exasperation when he had just caught the other for the fifth time in a row.

“What?” the blonde asked, hovering next to Harry on his broomstick.

“You don’t have to let me win,” Harry said.

“Let you win?” Draco began, “I don’t know what you’re-“

“Draco,” Harry interrupted him with a look that said he saw right through Draco’s protestations of innocence. “You can play as well as you can. It’s not going to make me mad or anything.”

The pale prefect flushed slightly. “Of course not,” he said archly, “why would it make you mad not to win?”

“Look, I like winning as well as the next bloke, but I don’t need to do it all the time. In fact, I lose to Ron at chess nearly every time I play him, but we still get along all right.”

Malfoy just looked at the raven-haired youth before him, struggling to understand what it was that he had just been told. He finally concluded that what he was being offered was a chance to perform as an equal. He need not curry favor like an underling. He wondered why it had never occurred to him before, but then concluded that it was because before he had been unwilling to put aside his own pride. Yesterday, however, he had realized that he would need to make it obvious that he put Harry first if he wanted to break up the dream team.

It seemed that Gryffindors did not conduct their friendships the same way that Slytherins formed alliances. It was something of a shock to Draco. Realizing at that moment that Potter was still looking at him, Malfoy nodded. “Okay, Harry,” he said, “you’re on.” A half-moment later the pair were once again zipping through the air and chasing after each other.

“Voldemort has been awfully quiet lately,” Harry commented to his professor as they sat in the potions master’s office on Sunday afternoon.

A softly whispered “legilimens,” was his only response until he had successfully resisted the attack. “Yes, the older wizard said pensively as he nodded at Harry to show his approval. “The Dark Lord has indicated that he is hopeful that, having no proof of his activity, the wizarding world at large will believe him to be simply a rumor.”

“Even when Fudge has acknowledged his return?” Harry said disbelievingly.

“People believe what they want to believe. And if they can’t see any evidence that he has returned, they will think Fudge is an alarmist, or simply mistaken. Neither option will contribute to their preparedness.”

“I suppose,” Harry said doubtfully.

“Legilimens.”

“I just can’t see him sitting around doing nothing, though,” Harry said.

“He is not doing nothing. You will, perhaps, recall that I am supposed to be luring you into the darkness.”

“I know, but that’s slowed down a bit while we’re in school.”

“The Dark Lord has also indicated that he is making other advances and forays,” he said hesitantly. He was holding his breath, hoping that Harry didn’t ask for specifics. To his immense surprise, however, Harry just nodded thoughtfully and began to tell him about the latest odd behavior of Draco Malfoy.

It was an interesting thing to hear about from Harry’s perspective, Severus reflected. And he couldn’t help smiling a little when he pictured Draco trying to come to terms with what Harry had told him. Friendships purely for their own sake were exceptionally uncommon in the house of the serpent, and it showed at times. This was one of those times. Despite his lingering doubts that all would come out as well as Dumbledore kept assuring him it would, Severus couldn’t help being a little glad that the Malfoy heir was being exposed to Harry and the different viewpoints that Harry had as a Gryffindor.

On Tuesday evening Harry and Draco were once again settled at their table in a corner of the library. They were quizzing each other on the chapters of the potions text they would be tested on the next day. It was clear to Harry that no matter what else Draco did, the youth was actually quite good at potions. Whether that was due to talent or extensive studying, however, he could not say. In any event the blonde seldom had any trouble answering the questions Harry put to him, even though he frequently required more thought to answer the Slytherin’s questions.

After some time, however, they both decided that they were as ready as they were going to be for the test and that they may as well quit for the night. “I don’t suppose we could meet here again on Friday night?” Draco said as he was placing his books in his bag. He did not look up at Harry.

“No, I’ve already got plans for Friday night,” Harry said apologetically.

“No big deal,” Draco replied with a shrug.

“You know, with the game coming up soon, you could come to practice on Sunday, too. Maybe we could run a special drill for Liza, just to make sure she’s good and sharp. Put her through her paces, what do you think?”

Harry rolled his eyes at the red-head’s chatter. “Ron, the game is a week away, calm down a bit.”

“It’s my first game as captain, Harry. I want to win!” Ron exclaimed.

“And I’m sure you will,” Harry said soothingly. “I’ll come Tuesday night, how’s that?”

“You could come Sunday and Tuesday,” Ron pressed.

“No, I really couldn’t,” Harry said.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed. “Why can’t you? Would it cut into your time with Malfoy?”

“Not at all,” Harry said coolly. “Actually I meet Snape on Sunday afternoons.”

Ron looked at his friend with an expression that clearly said he had gone nuts. “Why?” he asked.

“Remedial potions,” Harry replied succinctly.

“Remed—but you’re in the advanced class!”

“Precisely,” Harry said with a look.

“Oh,” Ron murmured. “I guess that’s a good idea, after what happened…” Ron trailed off with a look at Harry.

Harry, for his part had gone quite pale and silent. “I have decided,” he said finally in a very soft yet very firm voice, “that I will never again be responsible for such a thing happening.”

Ron gave his companion a worried look. “You do realize, mate, that you aren’t to blame for…that?”

“Am I not?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “I was the one who was duped into going to the Department of Mysteries!”

“Maybe so, but listen, Harry, You-Know-Who would have done anything to get you there! It’s not your fault you fell for his trick!”

Harry set his mouth in a pale, thin line but only said, “Nevertheless, I am determined that I will not be vulnerable to that sort of attack again. I don’t think I could bear losing…“ and then he shut his mouth with an audible click and did not speak another word until they had got to the pitch proper, and even then it was only to coach Liza through a new trick.

The following Saturday was another Hogsmeade weekend, which pleased everyone as it provided the perfect opportunity to purchase their Christmas presents. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed along with the crowd as they made their way to the village, but once there they separated by common consent, each heading in a different direction.Harry managed to get gifts for Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville rather easily. Only Luna and Snape presented much difficulty. Eventually, Harry settled on a moon pendant for Luna. It was a navy colored stone charm threaded on a copper chain, and just unusual enough that he thought the eccentric girl would like it.

Snape was far more difficult. In the first place, Harry really didn’t know much about what his professor liked, aside from potions, despite having spent the summer with him. In his defense, he reflected, practicing occlumency and potions didn’t leave much time for getting to know each other, especially when they’d spent much of the rest of the time avoiding each other.

Then too, there was the fact that Harry wasn’t sure how the older wizard would react to receiving a gift from him. Certainly they hadn’t discussed anything. Harry shifted uneasily where he stood. Should he just get his professor a book voucher? That way he could use it to purchase any new potions texts that were published. Did they even do that in the wizarding world? Well, Harry decided, putting his shoulders back, he could only ask.

As it turned out, wizard shops did not have gift cards, but it was not entirely unheard of for someone to reserve books in another’s name. Harry had frowned as he left. He couldn’t risk anyone finding out he was buying a gift for the potions master, that would arouse far too much suspicion.

With a sigh Harry ended up buying several bars of Honeyduke’s chocolate and slipping it into his bag before he headed to the Three Broomsticks for lunch.

As he stepped into the warm bar he heard a voice, Hermione’s, calling him over to a table. Harry walked over to join her and found Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna were already there. “We were wondering where you were,” Ginny commented. “The rest of us got here half an hour ago.”

”I’m sorry,” Harry replied. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“Oh, that’s all right. We got a round of butterbeers and it wasn’t so bad,” Ron assured him.

“Have difficulty picking out gifts?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, one in particular,” Harry said absently.

Hermione shot him a meaningful look and then said, “Shall we order, then?”

“Yeah, I’m starved,” Ron said heartily.

“You’re always starved,” Ginny commented rolling her eyes.

“So?” Ron bristled good-naturedly.

“So go order,” Harry said as he shoved his friend toward the front counter. The others laughed and followed him

When they finally got settled back at the table with their food, they chatted about various things; classes, assignments, funny things that had happened in the common room or in the halls. They were just talking about Professor Lyons when Neville said suddenly, “I wonder where he came from.” “What d’you mean?” Ron asked. “Well, you know, Umbridge came from the Ministry, Moody was a retired Auror; I wonder what Lyons did.”

“Somebody told me he was a curse breaker,” Harry volunteered.

“Really?” Hermione said with interest. At Harry’s nod she said, “I wonder if I could ask him about it sometime.”

“Well, he’s not told us he’s a curse breaker, has he? Maybe we’re not supposed to know?” Ginny suggested.

“Well, then I can always ask him what he did before he taught,” Hermione said sweetly. “That way we’ll know.”

“Well, he’s not incompetent and he doesn’t seem to have it in for me,” Harry said. “That’s enough for me, really.” His friends laughed at that.

“It does make for a quieter year,” Ginny said. “Actually, not much seems to have happened this year.”

“Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not happening,” Harry said grimly, the smile sliding off of his face.

The others exchanged swift glances and Ginny asked, “Do you know something we don’t?”

“Not really,” Harry replied with a shake of his head. “It’s more a suspicion, really. And I just don’t think Tom could stand to not do anything.”

“Well,” Hermione began pensively, “he knows the wizarding world knows he’s alive. Maybe he’s just waiting for them to relax a bit before he does anything. Catch us when our guard’s down, kind of thing.”

“Maybe,” Harry agreed darkly.

“Don’t you know?” Neville asked. “Haven’t you had any dreams lately?”

“No he hasn’t,” Ron said sharply. “And how do you know about Harry’s dreams?”

“Really, Ron, he’d have to be thick to sleep in the same dormitory and not know,” Harry said levelly. “I’ve not had any dreams though. Not lately.” Neville nodded.

“Well then,” Luna said, to everyone’s surprise, “We wait.”

“Wait for what?” a familiar voice asked from just behind Harry’s shoulder.

“For Christmas.” Hermione said promptly.

“I hate to tell you this, Hermione, but there’s no way to go forward in time. Everyone has to wait for Christmas,” Draco drawled.

“To exchange gifts,” Ginny said in a tone that indicated that she thought he was being moronically dense. “We were discussing whether to do it before we left for holidays or to wait and let the house elves do it on Christmas. We decided to wait.”

“Ah, I see. Forgive me, Hermione,” he said in a gallant tone as he bowed slightly. Hermione quirked an eyebrow but nodded.

“Was there something you needed, Malfoy?” Neville asked coolly.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you, Harry, if you had time to study a bit more on Tuesday. The test is on Friday, and I wanted to go over anti-swelling draughts again.”

“On Tuesday?” Harry said.

“Yes, Tuesday,” Draco repeated.

“Harry, you promised to come to practice on Tuesday,” Ron injected.

Harry gave him a swift look, not recalling any such promise, but nodded slowly. “You’re right, I did. I had forgotten.” Ron sniffed as he looked back at his food, as though indicating what he thought of people who forgot their Quidditch commitments.

“Well, in that case, I shall let you all get back to your meal.” He turned, preparing to go.

“You could stay,” Luna said with a wicked glint in her eye.

“No, thank you,” Draco replied in a slightly shocked tone. “I really must get back to Crabbe and Goyle,” his face took on a pained expression. “They shouldn’t be left alone for too long.”

“Another time then,” Ginny said graciously.

“Indeed,” Draco said before sweeping off.

Ginny and Luna exchanged a look as he walked out the pub door, then burst into giggles. “Did you see his face when you asked him?” Ginny wheezed. At that everyone else joined in.

“Priceless,” Hermione gasped in agreement.

Draco was not certain why exactly Loony Lovegood had invited him to join them, but he was certain, as he walked down the sidewalks toward Honeyduke’s, that it could not be for any good reason. Probably, he decided, they only wanted to laugh at him.

He did not quite feel like admitting that he had been almost tempted to take them up on the offer. He wondered, from time to time, what it would be like to have real friends that one could laugh and joke with. The question had popped up more frequently, lately, since he had spent more time with Potter.

Draco resolutely pushed the thought out of his head. He was a Slytherin and a Malfoy. He didn’t need friends. As he entered the candy shop, however, and saw Crabbe and Goyle standing about with chocolate smeared in the corners of their mouths, a small part of him whispered that it would certainly be better than this.

The rest of the weekend passed in the usual manner. Harry was more antsy than usual in occlumency practice, but he put it off on the approaching game when Snape asked him. After he returned to the tower, it was a flurry of homework and studying. Hermione pounced on him as soon as Monday’s assignments were done. “If you’re really going to practice on Tuesday, and I don’t see how you can get out of it now, you’re going to need to study a bit more now,” she said, pulling out her potions work and text. Harry groaned but acknowledged that she was right, and sat back in the chair.

Tuesday afternoon Harry trekked down to the Quidditch Pitch with the Gryffindor house team. Hermione looked at him indulgently as he left, which he thought rather odd. As she wasn’t nagging him, however, he decided not to question it and merely began planning out what he wanted to do with Liza that afternoon. As it turned out, it was a good thing that Harry had gone to the Tuesday practice instead of just waiting until Friday as he normally did.

Liza had just realized that the first game was on Saturday and she would actually be required to get up in front of the entire school to play it. The thought had her looking very pale and positively green. “I can’t do it,” she moaned to Harry.

“Of course you can,” he said reassuringly.

“No, I can’t. I’m going to fall off my broom and the other seeker is going to get the snitch first.”

“You aren’t going to fall off your broom. You’re a really talented flier, you know.”

“I’m going to let the whole team down, I just know it,” she said in a small voice, somehow turning even paler.

“You won’t let the team down.”

“Will they kick me off if I don’t get the snitch?” she asked him with very large eyes.

“I seriously doubt it. They didn’t kick me off when I missed the snitch.” She looked skeptical. “They didn’t kick Ron off back when he was so nervous he couldn’t play properly.” She began to look slightly more reassured. “Anyway, it’s not going to matter because you are going to catch the snitch.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Trust me, Liza, when you get up there, all you can see is the snitch. All you can feel is your broom and the air slipping past you. You won’t even notice the crowds. Half the time you probably won’t even notice the rest of the team.”

“Really?” A small bit of hope began to dawn on her face.

“Really. In the meantime, what do you say we go through a couple of drills, just for fun?”

“All right,” she said with a deep breath. She mounted her broom and flew a quick lap before signaling him that she was ready. With a final nod and a smile, he called out the first instruction, beginning to put her through her paces while the rest of the team skirmished.

The week seemed to fly by, and soon it was Friday. Once again, Harry was going to the pitch with Ron. They were about half-way there when Draco stepped out in front of them. “Hello,” he said as they neared him.

“What do you want, Malfoy,” Ron began aggressively.

Harry put a hand on his arm. “All right, Draco?” he asked.

“Look, I don’t blame you for wanting to hang out with the team, Harry; and frankly, Weasley, I’d say you were stupid not to take advantage of his skills,” he nodded to indicate Harry. “I’m certainly not going to report you for the Hufflepuffs’ sake. But you’d better not be at the practices before the Slytherin game.”

“Is that a threat?” Ron bristled.

“No, not really,” Draco said coolly.

Harry inserted himself between them. “Really, he’s right, Ron. I shouldn’t be with the team.”

“Harry, we’ve been through this…“ Ron began, exasperation tingeing his voice.

“Which is why,” Harry continued, speaking over his red-headed friend, “I’m going to quit. I just wanted to get Liza through her first game.”

Draco nodded in satisfaction. “Good practice, then,” he said cordially as he walked away.

“Quit?” Ron exclaimed. “When did you decide you were quitting?”

“Just now, actually,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but I really can’t keep doing this. It isn’t fair to the other teams at all.”

“But,” Ron spluttered. “How are you going to manage to keep flying if you quit?” he said in a faintly triumphant tone.

“I don’t do all that much flying at practice, anyway, but I suppose I’ll just do it on my own time, like everyone else,” Harry replied.

Ron gave him a look that clearly indicated that he thought his friend was more than a little touched, but said, “If you think so, mate.”

“I don’t like it,” Harry admitted. “But I think it’s got to be that way.”

Ron shrugged and resumed walking. Harry stood in place a moment longer before scurrying to catch up.

Draco, meanwhile, was remembering the way that Harry had stepped between him and the Weasel, and wondering if anything could be made of that.

That evening Harry watched the Slytherin table as carefully as he could without making it obvious that he was watching them. When Draco appeared to be finishing up he stood up and excused himself. “I’m completely knackered,” he told his friends. “I think I’m going to go up to the common room for a bit and have an early night.” He walked briskly out of the Great Hall but slowed down significantly once he reached the corridor.

A few minutes later, the blonde prince of Slytherin emerged alone. “Hey,” Harry called to him.

“Hey,” Draco replied, surprise registering on his face.

“Where are Crabbe and Goyle?” Harry asked suddenly. “I don’t think I’ve seen much of them lately.”

“They weren’t finished eating,” Draco said with a faint sneer. “And they’ve been keeping to themselves lately.”

“Oh,” Harry said, with raised brows. “Anything wrong?” he probed.

“Not really,” Draco said, giving him a sharp look. “Was there something you needed?”

“Err, yeah, actually. I just wanted to beg off flying tomorrow morning. It’s Ron’s first game as captain and I shouldn’t abandon him. He’s probably going to need someone to bully him into eating.”

Draco’s eyebrows quirked up almost of their own volition, “Bully him into eating? You can’t be serious?”

“I am,” Harry said with a grin. “It’s the most amazing thing, but the more nervous he is, the less Ron eats.”

“Amazing,” Draco said, without a hint of sarcasm.

“Yep.”

“Well, then, I suppose next week?”

“Absolutely, I wouldn’t miss it.” Harry smiled at him.

Draco was surprised to find himself actually smiling back before it even occurred to him that it would be politic to do so. “See you ‘round,” he said.

“In class,” Harry nodded, turning back to the path to Gryffindor Tower. Draco merely nodded and continued walking down to the dungeons, thoughts awhirl.

It was, Harry decided, bloody odd to be sitting in the stands next to Hermione while the Gryffindor Quidditch team took the pitch. Strange not to be out there with them, not to be reveling in the feel of air against his cheeks and the knot of excitement in the pit of his stomach. To be fair, there was a knot in his stomach, but it was not the familiar one he felt just before he entered that timeless place where he hunted the snitch.

No, this particular knot was the worry that he had not done all he could to prepare Liza for the game. Perhaps he should have forced her to train harder, to fly faster, to practice longer. Would his incompetence be what kept Gryffindor from winning the game, would it be what kept her from fulfilling her potential?

Harry heaved a deep and ragged sigh.

Next to him, Hermione squeezed his hand. “It will be all right,” she whispered.

“You sound so certain,” he said with a frown.

“I am. Ron is a good captain, and we’ve got a good team. You did your best. Don’t worry about it.”

“How can I not?” Harry asked with a wry smile.

“Relax,” Hermione admonished him. “This is supposed to be about having fun, remember?” She smiled impishly at him and for a moment Harry just looked at her. Then it occurred to him how backward it was to have Hermione telling him to have fun, and he laughed. “That’s better,” Hermione said with a nod as she turned back to the pitch, eyes moving automatically to the figure circling the goal hoops.

A little over an hour later it was all over. Liza had caught the snitch and Gryffindor had taken a healthy victory. Harry streamed down onto the grass of the pitch with the rest of the excitedly chattering student body. He elbowed his way through the crowd to stand next to Ron. Harry was smirking a little to see that Hermione had got there before him.

“Congratulations, mate!” he called to his red-headed friend.

“Thanks!” Ron shouted back, flushed with the exercise and success.

Harry turned to Liza, who was rather dazedly accepting the cheers and pats on the back of her team- and housemates. “I knew you could do it!” Harry said as he approached.

Liza looked up at him and blinked slowly before shrieking and throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed.

“Erm, you’re welcome,” Harry said as he flushed and looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” Liza said once again before drawing back and flushing slightly. “I don’t think I could have done it without you.”

“I’m sure you could have,” Harry said. Liza just smiled at him before being drawn once again into the circle of admirers.

Later that night, during dinner, the Great Hall was filled with the noise of teenagers who had been celebrating, or trying to forget their sorrows, all day.

“What was all that about with Liza, eh Harry?” Ron asked as he elbowed his mate in the side.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said as he reached for the shepherd’s pie. He was pleased that he managed not to flush, since he knew that would make Ron think the whole thing had been something more than it was.

“Oh, I think you do,” Hermione teased. “I think you know exactly what Ron is talking about.”

“Liza was just saying thank you. She was just excited that she’d won.” Harry spooned up a large helping from the serving dish and stretched to put it back in its place.

“Oh, so that’s what they’re calling it nowadays,” Ginny remarked as she slipped in next to Hermione.

“Guys,” Harry moaned as he swallowed a bite, “it didn’t mean anything! Liza’s way too young for me.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Ron said, laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I’d hate to have to warn you off. Can’t have you distracting my star seeker, Harry-old-chum.”

Ginny and Hermione giggled, but Harry rolled his eyes. “You have nothing to worry about, I promise you,” he remarked as he turned to his plate.

If Harry thought that was the end of the discussion, however, that evening in the common room he found that he was sadly mistaken. Dean and Seamus asked him when he would be asking Liza to Hogsmeade. This seemed to be a signal, for his other dorm-mates and several others gathered round and joined in. Harry was caught between blushing indignantly and laughing as much as everyone else.

There was no sign of stopping until Liza herself walked in and froze in horror. It was her gasp that drew everyone’s attention. Her face was bright red and there was a glittering wetness in her eyes.

“That’s enough guys,” Neville said as he stood and approached the girl. “Don’t worry, Liza, we weren’t making fun of you. We were just teasing Harry.”

“Why would you tease Harry?” Liza asked a small tremor in her voice.

“Why, because it’s his turn, of course. Just like last week was my turn and next week is Ron’s. Keeps everything even, you see. Can you imagine if we didn’t have a schedule? Why, Harry would get pranked all the time and the rest of us would be neglected.” Liza giggled at his faintly scandalized tone and he smiled at her. “Besides, Harry doesn’t have a girlfriend, and he’s never been caught hugging a girl in public,” Neville whispered to her.

“Oh,” she said, tears gone. “Well.”

“Exactly, you see. So we simply couldn’t let this opportunity pass.” Liza nodded and smiled again before waving to the group by the fire and continuing to the stairs leading up to the dormitory.

Neville returned to his seat and Hermione leaned forward and said, “That was really kind of you, Neville. Very thoughtful.”

Neville reddened a tiny bit but simply shrugged and said, “It was nothing.”

“Oh, I think it was. Maybe you like her, eh Neville,” Seamus wriggled his eyebrows comically.

“You can’t say that, Seamus,” Dean laughed. “It’s not Neville’s turn to be teased.”

“Yeah,” Harry said in a falsely whiny tone as everyone laughed. “I’m feeling neglected now.” The entire group laughed even louder, drawing complaints from other groups, including a group of fourth years trying to finish up a potions project due that Monday.

“So, Mr. Potter,” Severus said in a stern tone, seating himself as Harry took off his invisibility cloak and warily sat in the chair across from him. “Do I need to warn you against public displays of affection?”

Harry felt his mouth drop open and he was just about to make a vehement protest when he saw the glint of humor in the professor’s dark eyes and the smirk playing about the corners of his mouth. “Oh, not you too!” he exclaimed throwing himself back in the chair. “My house-mates have been teasing me about that practically since it happened.”

“Hmm, and what, exactly, did happen?”

“I just went up to say congratulations and she got a little over-excited,” Harry explained with a long-suffering expression.

“Ah, the infamous Potter charm.” There was, to his credit, only a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“Something like that,” Harry muttered.

Severus looked sharply at him. “I had wondered if you would come into that. Just don’t let it go too far. You are in a slightly different position than your father was.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Harry said quickly. “I know things are different now. And I don’t really—I mean there isn’t,” Harry flushed and pursed his lips.

Severus looked amused at his embarrassment. “I am certain Miss McFarland will be very disappointed to hear that,” he remarked, steering the conversation back toward its original lightness.

“Oh yeah, she’s devastated, I’m sure.” Harry rolled his eyes, but Severus didn’t miss the hint of relief in his voice.

Chocolate.

He had gotten Snape chocolate. What had seemed like a good idea now looked he did not care at all, when he did.

Harry sighed unhappily and scrubbed at his forehead, dragging his hand back through his already mussed hair. What could he do? There were no more Hogsmeade weekends until after Christmas, but even if there were, he still did not know what he could get. That meant there was no real point to sneaking into the village either. Harry sighed again.

The only thing he could think to do was write a note to include with the gift, and it still did not seem like it was enough. He sat down with some parchment and ink, trying to set his thoughts and feelings down on paper.

It was more difficult than it sounded, especially since Harry was not entirely certain what he felt. Crumpled bits of parchment littered the floor about him when Ron came up. “What are you doing?” the red head asked surveying the debris and the ink stain Harry had managed to get on the bridge of his nose.

“Nothing,” Harry replied without looking up.

Ron raised incredulous eyebrows and said, “This nothing wouldn’t have anything to do with why you were late meeting us in Hogsmeade would it?”

Harry glanced up, face unreadable. Ron sighed, “That’s what I thought. Good luck with it, mate.”

Harry blinked. “Thanks,” he said at last.

Ron nodded and turned to go back down the dormitory stairs, only pausing to say, “You should pick up the parchments a bit, or the others will think you’re writing love notes up here.” Harry laughed and picked up his wand, evanesco’ing most of the rejects before he settled back down to the current attempt.

Harry frantically groped in his trunk. He needed to find some trousers and quickly so that he could go meet Draco on the Quidditch pitch. He had managed to oversleep and spill on all his newest uniform pants and was hoping to find a pair from a year or two ago that still fit. Harry glanced up at the clock just as his hand closed around a waistband.

“Hah!” he said triumphantly, pulling the pants out and slipping them on. He noticed as he zipped them up that they were not last year’s uniform, as he had suspected, rather they were a pair that used to belong to Dudley. Against all odds, however, they were in reasonably good condition, having only one hole at the knee and a bright green paint splotch up the other leg. Hastily Harry cast a shrinking spell at the waist and snatched up his Firebolt as he ran out the door.

Draco sighed and leaned against the stands. They had skipped last week’s meeting because of the game, and Draco was surprised to find that he had actually sort of missed it. Resolutely he pushed that thought out of his head, determined not to think about it. No matter what happened, Potter was the enemy. He was just pretending to be Potter’s friend. It was important that he not forget that.

Draco sighed again and looked at his watch. He was always here before Potter, but the Gryffindor seemed to be later than usual. A moment later Harry came into sight, cloak thrown over his shoulders and flapping slightly in the breeze. As he hurried forward a larger gust caught the material and blew it open. What was that Potter was wearing?

“Morning,” Harry panted as he approached. “Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s all right,” Draco said negligently. “Is that a Muggle fashion?” he asked, curiosity suffusing his voice.

“Being late?” Harry asked with a puzzled frown.

“No, your trousers.”

“Erm,” Harry blushed, “sort of.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed fractionally as he noted Harry’s embarrassment. “Shall we play tag today?” he suggested, knowing Harry was less tense about that than Seeker’s Quidditch.

“You’re it,” Harry said tapping his shoulder and taking off.

“Hey! No fair!” the blonde cried as he, too, took to the skies.

“See you in class,” Harry said with a grin as he pulled the hood of his invisibility cloak over his head. Severus smiled slightly at him and swung the door open, stepping forward a bit as he did so. Harry slipped out and slunk around the door and right into Draco Malfoy.

Harry just barely managed not to fall down and ended up brushing heavily against the Slytherin’s side. Draco glared around him suspiciously. “Who’s there?” he growled.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, drawing his attention. “I thought I heard someone out here. Did you wish to speak with me?”

“Ah, yes, actually,” Draco replied, glancing around at the seemingly empty hallway again. “I did have an inquiry to make of you sir. I wondered if I might have just a moment of your time?”

“You know my door is always open to you, Draco,” Severus replied gesturing for the prefect to enter his office.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against the wall for a moment. Thank Merlin he had not been caught!

Back in the potions master’s office, Severus and Draco were seating themselves on opposite sides of the desk. “Now then,” Snape said, “what was it you wanted to discuss?”

“I actually wondered if you know anything about Muggle fashions,” Draco confessed, an odd look on his face.

“Muggle fashions?” Snape repeated disbelievingly.

“Yes,” Malfoy confirmed. “Potter was wearing something rather odd yesterday and I wondered if it was something he had picked up over the summer.”

“Well, I know very little about such things,” Severus began in a dismissive tone, “but surely if Potter was wearing it, it is the height of chic. Did you ask him?”

“Yes, and he didn‘t seem to want to answer the question.” Draco said slowly, as though he were not entirely convinced. “Probably he was just embarrassed to be caught wearing it at school. I wouldn‘t wear anything like that. Muggles have such odd taste.”

“Well, they are Muggles.” Snape shrugged, all the while wondering what Harry could have worn to create such curiosity.

“That’s true,” Draco replied. “Thank you sir.”

“Certainly.”

Draco, however, was not entirely satisfied as he left. He felt certain that Snape knew more than he was letting on. But why would his head of house keep that from him? Unless he was doing it to protect Potter. Draco snarled. First his father, now Snape. Did Saint Scarhead need to steal everyone away from him?

After that day the last two weeks before the Christmas holidays seemed to fly by, and soon enough it was the last day that everyone would be at Hogwarts. It was a Saturday, which naturally meant that everyone was doing last minute packing, wrapping, and scurrying. It also meant that Harry and Draco once again had an appointment to meet out on the snowy Quidditch pitch. The blonde was standing in the shadow of one of the nearer stands clutching a piece of parchment. “What’s up?” Harry asked as he approached. Malfoy whirled to face him.There was a brief unidentifiable look on Draco’s face before he took a breath and smoothed his features. “Have plans for the Christmas hols?” he asked, trying for a neutral tone and failing.

“Not really,” Harry said surprisedly.

“No?” Draco pressed, “Not going home to your loving, muggle relatives?”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. “No,” he said.

“Not going to stay with the Weasleys either?”

“No,” Harry replied. He was becoming extremely puzzled and more than a little suspicious. Why was Malfoy so agitated?

Draco took a deep breath and asked, “You were planning on staying here at the castle for holidays, then?” He prayed that the answer was no.

“Yes, I was.”

Draco flushed. Why, oh why, were the fates doing this to him? “In that case,” Draco said, drawing himself up and straightening his shoulders, “It would honor my family greatly if you would pass the holidays with us.”

Harry looked and him and blinked, then frowned a little. “You can’t be serious,” he said at last.

“I assure you I am perfectly serious,” Draco replied in the same formal tone he had used to issue the invitation.

“Why in Merlin’s name would you invite me home for Christmas? Why would you think I would come?”

The disbelief on Potter’s face was pushing him out of the calm place he clung to to make the invitation. “Because,” he said in a slow, careful voice, and with the air of one explaining a concept they think beyond the listener’s grasp, “that’s what friends do, of course.”

“No, that’s what close friends do, friends who actually like each other. A little flying and not entirely innocent banter does not close friends make,” Harry returned. “Besides, you didn’t tell me why you would want me to come with you. Merlin, half the time I don’t think you even like me,” he continued.

“For your information, Potter,” Malfoy said through clenched teeth, “I don’t want you to come home with me; I’m hoping you don’t come at all.”

Harry just looked at his companion a moment. “Well,” he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He was grateful the blonde hadn’t started hexing things yet. “If you don’t want me to go then why on earth did you ask me?” Harry asked.

“Because my parents told me to,” Draco answered bitterly. “That’s what those of us with parents do, Potter,” he was unable to resist the jab.

“Well, then, it looks like you get your wish, Malfoy,” Harry said aggressively. “No way am I going home with you, especially since your father’s out. I have no desire to be presented to the Dark Lord like some trussed-up Christmas Goose!”

“Good!” Draco said fiercely.

They stood there a moment, breathing a little heavily.

“So, are we flying or what?” Harry asked at last, breaking the silence.

“Well since we’ve already declared how we feel about each other what’s the point?” Draco asked stingingly.

“No point really,” Harry said with the calmness of one about to deliver a jibe, “just that I feel like it and you need the practice.”

“I do not!” Draco said hotly.

“Of course not,” Harry said patronizingly.

“Just leave me alone, Potter!”

“Okay,” Harry said, “But what will you tell your father?”

“What?” Draco snarled.

“He’s the one who told you to befriend me, right? No doubt because Voldemort asked him to.” Malfoy stared at him a few moments longer then picked up his broom and headed out onto the pitch. He couldn’t answer Potter’s question; he had no idea what he would tell his father and he knew, having watched his father come home from meetings over the summer, exactly what his failure meant.

Harry watched him a moment before picking up his own broom and ran after the blonde prefect. “Maybe you don’t have to tell him yet,” he said when he had caught up.

Malfoy looked at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again and said, “What’s in it for you?”

“The flying of course,” Harry said lightly, ‘and Voldemort leaving me alone a little longer,’ he continued silently. “Come on, race you round the pitch,” Harry said aloud and threw his leg over his waiting broomstick. Draco scarcely managed to mount his broom before Potter was up and away, but bare seconds later he was giving chase.

Unbeknownst to the boys and to each other, two silent shadows had watched their interaction. One strode off after they took off. Snape had wondered for a moment whether he would have to stop a duel, but he had been pleasantly surprised when he had not been needed. Now he just needed to talk to Albus.

The other shadow had been rather seriously displeased. Obviously his son had not had the success he’d hoped for or implied. More interestingly it was possible that Severus had failed, too. One steeped in the Dark Arts was generally not given to acts of kindness or charity. It could be, he supposed, an act, but with Potter that was highly unlikely. Lucius no longer underestimated the brat’s spell-casting abilities, but the boy just wasn’t clever or subtle enough for that.

It wasn’t a bad idea to let his son think he’d fooled him successfully, though. And as for Potter’s refusal, well, this eventuality had been acknowledged as a possibility and planned for by the Dark Lord. In the event that Potter refused these advances a very special spell had been found. It was a beautiful, if somewhat old, piece of magic. It was very dark, of course, and had been mostly forgotten by the witches and wizards of today. Lucius was looking forward to casting it very much.

As the boys landed, Lucius aimed his wand very carefully and muttered the incantation then he took off running toward the apparation point, trusting his disillusionment charm to hide him from unfriendly eyes. He made it just as Snape and Dumbledore arrived on the pitch and couldn’t keep himself from grinning wickedly as he disapparated to his master’s side to cast the second half of the charm.

They had just landed when Harry felt a strange tingling pass over and through him and was short of breath for a moment. He stumbled and grabbed Malfoy’s arm to steady himself. “Get off, Potter,” Draco shoved at him.

Just then they saw Professors Dumbledore and Snape approaching rapidly. “What did you do?” Snape demanded as soon as he drew near enough.

“What?” both boys asked with puzzlement.

“The wards indicated that someone was practicing Dark Magic out here,” Dumbledore explained. “So I’m afraid we must ask you what you two have been up to.”

“We were just flying and when we landed Potter fell on me,” Draco said.

“I didn’t just fall on you,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, “I felt something, a…” he broke off and his eyes widened a moment then he pressed them closed and shivered slightly.

“Harry?” Snape asked and began to step forward.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, blinking and opening his eyes.

“What did you feel, Harry,” Dumbledore asked, looking intently at him.

“It’s sort of like a tingling, its not really painful, but it…wants to be, I think.”

They just looked at him. Dumbledore with concern, Draco in disbelief, and Harry could have sworn it was worry creasing the lines around Snape’s eyes. “It wants to be?” Malfoy asked, breaking the silence. “Potter, that’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard, and I live with Crabbe and Goyle,” the blonde said, crossing his arms.

“Perhaps not, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore said. “Come, we should go inside,” the Headmaster turned toward the building and the rest followed him. Malfoy turned immediately with Potter a little behind and Snape trailing thoughtfully along behind. Luckily for his reputation, Severus’s frown of contemplation made him look quite as menacing as the students would expect him to when following Harry Potter.

The little troupe traveled up to the infirmary where Madame Pomfrey checked both boys over thoroughly, frowning when she detected nothing unusual. She released them with an admonishment to come back if they felt at all odd. “Yes, Madame Pomfrey,” they chorused with identical eye rolls that indicated they would do no such thing. Snape nearly snorted in amusement and it seemed to be all Dumbledore could do not to burst out laughing, if the twinkle in his eyes was anything to go by, though neither youth seemed to realize what was so funny. Both of them headed off, Draco to return to Arx Serpens and Harry to Gryffindor Tower and futile attempts to avoid his friend’s questions and allay their concerns.

In a darkened room of the house on the hill overlooking Little Hangleton a tall, pale figure was once again seated contemplatively before the fire. Nagini was curled at his feet, enjoying the warmth as she digested the rats she had eaten earlier. It had been quite amusing watching Pettigrew’s face as he fed the snake. The animagus had turned a lovely shade of green. Riddle’s face curled into a cruel smirk as he recalled the scene.

He had just been feeding Nagini the last of the rats when Lucius Malfoy appeared and made his obeisances before him. “Risse, Luciusss,” he said and gestured for Wormtail to leave. The small man scurried away in relief, all too ready to leave the presence of his master.

“Master,” the blonde said. “I have just come from Hogwarts and I beg leave to cast the remainder of the spell on you.”

“You may.” A whispered word later it was done, and he took a moment to feel the new connection before turning his attention back to the minion waiting patiently before him.

Voldemort savored that. The only person Lucius Malfoy waited on was him. It was a delicious and satisfying irony. Lucius Malfoy, a veritable prince of pureblooded society, rich and powerful, with the ministry still half-prostrated at his feet, kowtowed before him, a half-blooded orphan who had had nothing but cunning and ambition, determination and a little luck. Not that he would ever admit to having relied on luck, even if he had been very young at the time. “You have other newsss to report, my Luciusss?”

“I have, my lord,” the blonde answered with the barest hint of hesitation.

“Well? I presume you are not merely going to tell me that your sson hasss not been ssuccessful. I know you would not wasste my time sso, nor would you casst the sspell if he had been ssucessful.”

“No, my lord, I simply wondered how strong this new bond with Potter is, my lord.”

“And why would you wonder that?” he asked dangerously softly.

“I fear, my lord, that Severus has not done as he promised. The boy does not behave as one who practices the Dark Arts.”

“You sspeak againsst Sseverusss again?”

“No, lord, only I speak out of concern for you.”

An eyebrow twitched in amusement at Lucius’s professions of concern, but he calmly said, “You are dismissed, Luciusss.” Normally he would not have let his follower get off so easily, but he had wanted to explore this link further, especially given Lucius’s comments about Severus.

More than likely, Voldemort now considered, Lucius was just jealous of Severus. Then again, the link was nowhere near as strong as he had assumed it would be. He had not forgotten the suspicions he had had over the summer; this bore looking into. Then too, now that he was no longer trying not to antagonize Potter, there was the matter of making sure that the wizarding world was aware of his return. The approaching yuletide festivities made for a perfect opportunity.

Going to the infirmary had caused Harry to miss most of breakfast, so he made a last minute decision and went down to the kitchens to get something before he went back up to the tower. When he returned to the common room, pockets thoughtfully crammed full of sweets, he found Ron and Hermione witting at a table near the fireplace with the holiday transfiguration project spread out around them. Neither of them were focused on the books, however, and the instant they saw him walk through the portrait hole Ron called him and Hermione began waving him over.

“Where have you been?” Ron demanded.

“We were getting worried, Harry, you’ve never missed breakfast before,” Hermione said looking critically at him.

“I know,” Harry replied. “Something happened and we got dragged up to the Hospital Wing.”

“What happened?”

“Are you all right?”

His two friends spoke at the same time and Harry put a hand up to stop them. “I’m fine. Madame Pomfrey couldn’t find anything wrong with me.”

“Then why--?”

“Malfoy asked me to spend the holidays with him,” Harry began.

“I hope you said no,” Ron exclaimed with a hint of indignation.

“I did,” Harry said reassuringly, “which made Malfoy very happy.”

“If he didn’t want you to come why did he bother to ask?” Ron queried.

“I think Malfoy senior wanted him to make friends with me so that he could hand me over to Voldemort.”

“I knew ferret-face couldn’t be trusted! So all that friendliness was an act?”

“Obviously, Ron,” Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron just rolled his eyes back at her and squeezed her hand under the table. “So how did you end up in hospital?” Hermione asked to cover the faint blush on her cheeks.

“Well, we decided to go flying anyway and when we landed, I felt something. Sort of an odd feeling, and then Snape and Dumbledore came running out saying that someone had been practicing Dark Magic and it set the wards off. When we convinced them that it wasn’t us they took us to see Pomfrey.”

“Did they catch the person who was casting Dark Spells?”

“I don’t think so. That’s the thing, ‘Mione, there wasn’t anyone there but me and Malfoy, and it wasn’t either of us.”

“There wasn’t anyone there that you could see, you mean,” Ron said darkly.

Harry frowned and shrugged, “Nothing happened and it’s all over now.” Ron and Hermione looked dubious but nodded and turned back to the work before them.

The next morning everyone was running about cramming last minute items into their trunks. Harry got washed and dressed in a more leisurely fashion and sat on his bed watching Ron check his trunk. “Are you sure you won’t come, mate?” the red-head said turning to him. “Mum would be just as happy to see you as she will be to see any of us.”

“No, I’ll stay here,” Harry said. “You guys deserve a holiday to yourselves. Besides, with Bill and Charlie visiting, I imagine it will be a bit crowded.”

“Yeah, but mum likes crowds,” Ron said, then, smiling wryly, he continued, “Why do you think she had so many kids?”

Harry laughed and, seeing that they were the last people in the dormitory he said, “Hurry or you’ll miss the train.” Ron nodded and smiled as he went out the door. Harry followed him and they walked to the main doors together, meeting Hermione and Ginny on the way. And then, with a last goodbye and Happy Christmas, they were gone.

Harry spent that day wandering the castle and the evening half-heartedly working on the holiday assignments. He felt an odd sort of prickling at times, but ignored it. He was glad when the time came to go to dinner in the Great Hall. Nearly everyone had gone home to their families and there were only three other students left, a small second-year Hufflepuff and two seventh-year Ravenclaws that Harry didn’t know.

On Thursday Harry was again wandering the corridors, having decided it was too cold for flying, when he met Snape. After a moment’s hesitation the professor invited him to his office. “Tea?” Severus asked when they were seated.

“Depends,” Harry said jokingly, “is there veritaserum in it?”

Snape’s brow twitched before he smirked a little and said, “No.”

“All right, then,” Harry nodded. Severus smiled a little and prepared the tea things.

They sat in silence a moment before Severus spoke, “How are you weathering the lack of company?”

“I’m all right,” Harry said. “It’s given me a lot of time to think.”

“Has it?” Snape murmured as he poured the tea.

“Yeah. Malfoy’s a good actor,” Harry commented. “There were a few moments when I almost believed he wanted to be my friend.”

“Mr. Malfoy is a very talented young man,” Severus agreed before taking a sip from his cup.

Harry was looking into his own mug when he asked, “Is it a bad sign that you didn’t know about the plan?” He looked up with concern in his eyes.

Severus looked uncomfortable and said, “There is no indication that this wasn’t simply the Malfoys working on their own.” He knew it was folly to continue maintaining the fabrication, but he found that he was frightened of Harry’s reaction.

Harry stared at him in disbelief. “What?” he exclaimed. “Draco said it was his father’s orders, and I doubt his father is doing anything Voldemort isn’t telling him to. Besides, I know for a fact that Voldemort was trying to recruit me.”

Snape paled a shade, “How do you know that?”

“Dream I had over the summer,” Harry said, waving it aside in order to pursue his first question. “Is it very bad that you didn’t know about all this?”

Severus shifted slightly. Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know, you said you didn’t know when I asked you. Did you find out after that?”

Snape shook his head slightly. “You knew before that?” Harry whispered, “You lied to me?” When there was no denial he spoke again, “I thought you were the one person who wouldn’t lie to me!”

“I couldn’t tell you then,” Snape said softly.

“Why not?” Harry demanded.

“I wanted you and Draco to have a chance,” Severus explained. “A real friend, one who doesn’t worship the Dark Lord, could do him a world of good, and the rest of Slytherin house as well.”

Harry just stared at him. Snape had lied to him because he though it would help Malfoy. He felt like a skater who had just crashed through ice he had been assured would hold him. Like Snape had just told him that no matter how close Harry had thought they’d gotten, the Slytherins would always come first and Harry would remain a distant second.

“I did not enjoy lying to you,” Severus said in a pain-filled voice, “but I thought it was for the best.”

“You thought it was for the best,” Harry repeated softly.

Severus looked at the youth before him with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had dreaded this moment for weeks, months, and now that it had come it was a hundred times worse than he had imagined. Harry was staring at him expectantly, but for the life of him Severus couldn’t figure out what it was the green-eyed wizard wanted.

An apology would have helped, Harry decided. It would not have made everything better, but it would have eased the pain a little to know that the Potions Master regretted his actions. After another moment Harry gave a small snort of disgust and put down his tea cup. He didn’t look back as he stalked out of the office.

As he went he felt bitter recriminations welling up in his chest. He was furious with Snape, but he was also angry with himself. How could he possibly have trusted that slimy, greasy git! It defied all reason. Clearly Harry had been suffering from grief-induced delusions. To believe that the heartless bat of the dungeons could care, about him, of all people, was the height of idiocy. And then to expect an apology on top of that! Harry kicked the wall fiercely, disgusted with his own stupidity.

Severus sighed as Harry slammed the door behind him. He had known that this would happen. He knew that keeping things from Harry was a bad idea, look at what had happened last time! And then he had gone and done it anyway. He was just getting his comeuppance, really. He had this coming. He knew that, but it didn’t make anything any better. Severus sighed again. Perhaps Harry would forgive him, given time. He snorted, yes, and perhaps the Dark Lord would sprout wings and proclaim peace on earth, too. It was unlikely, he told himself, that the youth would ever trust him again, let alone that they would ever be as they were. But that didn’t stop him from yearning for it.

Harry spent the next several days avoiding Snape at all costs. He only went to meals when the Marauder’s Map showed that the potions professor was in the dungeons. He never went down to the dungeons and always carried his cloak when he went out wandering the halls. He stayed holed up in Gryffindor Tower any time he saw that Snape was out patrolling the halls. Harry wanted to spend the majority of his time as far away from the older wizard as possible. He would have gone outside except that the snow drifts and bitter wind eliminated that possibility.

He had skipped two meals because he saw Snape sitting in the Great Hall when McGonagall came to roust him out. “I’ve hardly seen you since term ended, Mr. Potter. What on earth are you doing up here?”

Harry, who had hastily wiped the map and hid it under a text book he had left out when he saw his head of house coming, blinked up at her. “What do you mean, Professor?”

“I mean it’s all well and good for you to be doing your schoolwork,” she gestured at the books on the table in front of him, “but I want you attending meals. No more skipping, is that understood?” She peered over the top of her glasses at him.

“Yes ma’am,” Harry said looking down at the parchment spread in front of him.

“I never thought I’d have to tell you this. Miss Granger perhaps, but not you. Are you quite well, Mr. Potter?”

“I’m fine professor.”

McGonagall gave him a disbelieving look and sat down in the chair next to him. “I was apprehensive, when you came back this summer. I was uncertain how you would react to the…changes that had been forced on you. You seemed to be doing all right. You didn’t withdraw from your friends or leave your work undone, as many in your position might have. I persuaded myself that you were all right, that you were stronger than I had given you credit for being. I wonder now, if I was wrong.”

Harry looked at her in surprise, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Mr. Potter, that I sincerely hope you have not been acting all this time. Your friends would be very hurt to discover that you felt you could not grieve around them, and it would mean that I have failed you even more than I ever have before.”

Harry blinked at that statement, “Professor, you haven’t failed me. I wasn’t acting; I just…things have changed again, and I need a little time to pull myself back together.” Harry was blushing and looking down at the table top.

She pursed her lips, wondering what in Merlin’s name he had gotten himself into this time. “Well, I am always here for you to talk to.”

“Thank you.”

McGonagall nodded. Then she clapped her hands to her knees and said, “I have often observed that when times are difficult it can be comforting to follow one’s ordinary routine. I have also noticed that you haven’t been in the Great Hall as often as you should be. I will not have you skipping meals, Mr. Potter.” The look on her face was stern, but Harry could still see a hint of concern in her eyes.

“I’m not skipping meals, Professor.”

“I don’t even want to know how you found your way to the kitchens. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less from James’s son.” She stood up. “Nevertheless, I want to see you in the Great Hall at lunch and dinner from now on, starting tonight.” She held up a finger when he looked as though he might protest and he sighed and followed her out of the common room and down to the Hall.

He took a seat at the end of the table farthest away from where the professor’s were sitting.

Severus sighed softly as he decided that Harry was not coming to dinner again. He had come to several meals on the principle that the youth had to eat sometime, but he was beginning to doubt that. It was almost as though the younger wizard had some way of knowing when he was in the Great Hall.

Just then Minerva walked in with Harry in tow. Severus watched covertly as the young man seated himself at the end of the table. Minerva frowned when she noticed, but did not comment.

Albus smiled at her as she sat down beside him. “How is young Harry?” the aged wizard asked.

Minerva shook her head slightly, “Clearly something is bothering him, but I don’t know what it is. I pointed out that he was welcome to confide in me, but I think we both know how unlikely that is.” The witch pursed her lips and dropped her voice, “I would almost think he was grieving, but I can’t imagine him putting it off this long. It’s been months,” she shook her head.

Dumbledore smiled at his younger colleague, but Severus couldn’t help noticing a hint of uncertainty in the old mage’s eyes. Severus himself glared at his plate.

“I have extracted a promise from him to come to lunch and dinner, however, so at least we know he won’t starve.”

The slightly tart comment from the witch elicited a small chuckle from Dumbledore. “I doubt he was in danger of starving, Minerva. I understand Harry knows how to get into the kitchens. He is also friends with a rather remarkable house elf.”

“Even so, if he eats here with the rest of us at least we can keep an eye on him. It cannot be good for him to be alone all the time. I still don’t know why he chose to stay here for the holidays.”

“Ah, I believe he felt that his friends should enjoy a holiday with their families.”

McGonagall sniffed as though she was not entirely convinced. “Well, at any rate it won’t hurt him to come down here for two meals a day.”

“Certainly not. Oh, Minerva have you tried this delicious lemon cobbler?”

Severus resisted the urge to snort and glanced again at the dark haired wizard. The boy’s hunched shoulders and resolute gaze at the plate in front of him was more disheartening than most other things Snape had seen in his life. He could not decide whether it hurt more to know that he had done this to the boy or that this time he probably would not be able to reconcile with him.

Draco was staring out his window at the falling snow. His father had greeted him when he returned to the manor with a heartiness that was overwhelming. He had asked about how the plan was going and wanted to know why Potter wasn’t there with him. Draco had said that his rival had mentioned other plans for the holidays, praying his father wouldn’t ask him what those plans were. To his surprise, the expected interrogation did not come. Draco wondered about that; he never would have dreamed that his father could so calmly accept an apparent sign of failure. He couldn’t possibly have already known...? But no, that was ridiculous.

His wandering thoughts, in search of some less disturbing topic, turned to why it was that the spoiled Boy-Who-Lived-to-Make-the-Wizarding-World-Worship-Him had seemed so unconcerned about spending the vacation at the school when all his friends were going to be elsewhere. Could it have anything to do with the spell he had overheard his father mentioning yesterday? Then again, how could it? If Lucius knew about it, it was virtually guaranteed that the Dark Lord knew about it too, which would make it worse than useless as a pitiful Light attempt at offense. On the other hand, if it was something that the Dark confederation was using, that would mean that Potter must have some other reason to stay at Hogwarts.

A tiny trickle of water slid down his window, collecting several other droplets from melted snow flakes as it ran down the pane. Draco stared at it in contemplation. Somehow, this must all fit together, he just knew it.

Maybe when he figured out that riddle he could determine why Snape had seemed oddly protective of the Boy Wonder lately as well. They couldn’t be connected in any way, could they? Draco shook his head and snorted softly. In the meantime, Draco resolved to keep his ears open. If that meant more skulking outside his father’s study, well, he would just have to avoid being caught.

“Sseverusss, I wasss wondering when you would come to ssee me.” The cadaverous figure stepped out of the shadowed recess that housed a hidden doorway and moved to the over-sized chair used as a throne.

“I fear I come with bad news, my lord.” The kneeling man swallowed uneasily. “It seems I have failed you.”

“Oh? How do you mean, my Sseverusss?” There was a cruel smile on the too thin lips and in a sudden flash of intuition Severus new that what he was about to say would come as no surprise to the Dark Lord. That would make his job even more difficult. How much did the dangerous wizard know, and from what source?

“I have managed to estrange Potter, my lord. It was…unintentional, but, I fear irreparable.” He spoke hesitantly and with a hint of cringing fear in his voice. Exactly as Voldemort would expect, which was fortunate, because he really did not know how his master would react, only that it was certain to mean pain for him.

“And how did thisss falling out occur?” The tyrant’s voice was deceptively mild, and Severus could feel his heart rate speeding up and the muscles in his back clenching even more than they had been.

“As my lord has no doubt foreseen, there was a certain difficulty in corrupting the boy under Dumbledore’s nose. I was unable to spend as much time with him as I needed. Also, Potter became…envious of my more open relationship with Draco Malfoy. I believe this jealousy may also be the cause of the failure of Malfoy’s attempts to befriend Potter.”

“You think the Boy-Who-Lived wasss jealousss?” Voldemort’s eyebrow arched in disbelief.

“I do, my lord. He cannot bear to have anyone better than him in a chosen pursuit. The fact that I could overtly devote more time to what he presumed was Draco’s continuing education…” Severus trailed off, and looked regretful. A drop of sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

The key to everything when dealing with the Dark Lord was balance. The balance between truth and deception, between servility and strength, and between furtiveness and openness; such things were crucial. If one was too open, Riddle automatically assumed something was being hidden. On the other hand, he believed that his followers could truly hide nothing from him, and he was greatly amused by and humored their attempts, seeing himself as a sort of indulgent father in that regard.

“Ironic, isss it not, Sseverusss, that the rivalriesss that plagued you in sschool continue to haunt you to thisss day?” Severus bowed his head lower. “Well, fortunately for you, I have another plan which hopefully will ssalvage thisss little messss.” Voldemort peered down at him. “Would you like to know what my plan isss, my Sseverusss?”

Snape swallowed and felt another trickle of sweat. “As my lord pleases,” he murmured, struggling to keep his voice steady and disinterested.

A frown flashed across the megalomaniac’s face but a second later he was laughing. “Sso charming, my Sseverusss. But, asss it happensss, I do not pleassse. And I cannot allow your foible to go unpunished.” Severus braced himself, knowing it was futile.

“Crucio.”

So, Severus had broken off teaching the brat. Well, the more he thought about it, the less that surprised him. That so delicious surge of anger along the tenuous new link he had created should have told him. Odd that it was so tenuous, too. Any student of the Dark Arts should have cast enough dark spells that the link should have a firm hold. Then again, perhaps the link's strength varied with how recent the dark magic usage was. He would have to look over that old manuscript again.

“What?” Lucius breathed softly to himself. He was standing back a little way from the Dark Lord. Normally he wouldn’t have tolerated others between him and his master, but said master had already assigned leaders and teams for the missions he was detailing now. Lucius had had the good, or bad, depending on how things went, fortune of being declared a leader, as had Severus who was standing next to him.

“I’m certain the Dark Lord knows what he’s doing,” Severus said serenely. A trifle too serenely, in Lucius’s opinion. He was certain that his old school chum was up to something, had somehow betrayed everything they stood for, but he could not prove it. Even the curse the Dark Lord had placed Severus under had not revealed anything damaging. What was even more frustrating was that the suspicious looks that their master should have been aiming at the school teacher were now bent in his direction.

“Sseverusss, Luciusss, you feel no need to lissten to my insstructionsss?” The oily voice of the serpentine terror of the wizarding world stopped Lucius mid-glare.

“Your pardon, my master,” Severus replied quickly, though without seeming quick, curse him, “I was merely assuring my colleague that you had good reasons for ordering us to deface the targets, rather than to destroy them.”

“I do indeed, Sseverusss. Do you know what they are?” Voldemort’s head cocked to the side and his voice was deceptively mild.

Snape bowed his head. “I would not presume to claim to know your mind, my lord, but, I am certain you would not give such orders were they not the best way to further the noble goals you have espoused.”

“Ah, my Sseverusss,” the skeletal face smile dotingly. “I wonder that I should ever have questioned your loyalty.”

“I hope I shall never give you reason to question my devotion to you again, my lord.”

The pale mockery of a man laughed aloud at that, “Yesss, I am certain you do. However, the reasson for my ordersss, which I will share with you now, are that I wish to sstrike the mosst fear into the heart of the wizarding world. Alsso, thisss misschief of oursss tonight will throw them off guard for any future plansss we may wish to make.” There was a malicious sparkle in his eyes as he suggested the possibility of future plans that made Severus shiver, though he was careful to suppress it. All hints of lightheartedness were gone from the insane wizard’s face, however, when he looked at Lucius. “Doesss that ansswer your quesstionsss, Luciusss?”

“Yes, my lord,” the blonde said quietly, bowing low. He would keep a close eye on Snape and bring any evidence of betrayal to his master at once. In the meantime he could only hope to demonstrate enough devotion to keep the Dark Lord from being too interested in him.

The headlines of the Daily Prophet on the morning of the twenty third of December screamed that the Dark Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named, had returned with a vengeance. Though he would never admit it, when Harry saw them, he shot a quick glance at the far end of the table, just to make sure that Snape was okay. Upon seeing the git sitting in his usual spot, however, Harry turned back to the paper and his breakfast. Gringott’s, the Ministry, and Trafalgar Square had been hit. It seemed that no one had been injured, but there was a fair amount of damage. Also, the Dark Mark had been present in copious numbers, both hanging in the air and, curiously, spray painted on the buildings and statuary of the area. The muggles, it was reported, were in an outrage while the wizarding community seemed to be caught in a paroxysm of fear.

Harry read the newspaper grimly and tried to figure out why he had a niggling feeling that something was wrong. He finally attributed it to the fact that he had slept no worse the last night than he had for the past week or two and turned grimly back to the bangers on his plate.

He supposed that it would have been a bit too much to ask that Voldemort not make some sort of grand gesture in token of the season. Still. As he sliced into the second sausage it occurred to him that it was odd that no one had gotten hurt. Especially given the Dark Lord’s deep hatred of muggles. He glanced up at Dumbledore who nodded amiably at him, leaving Harry to wonder if that was an acknowledgement or an answer.

As the headmaster exited the Great Hall he paused for a moment and said, “Come talk to me this afternoon, Harry; we have much to discuss.”

Harry nodded, a cold weight settling into the bottom of his stomach. He had a feeling they were going to end up discussing Snape, which wasn’t something Harry wanted to do. Just thinking about that slimy Slytherin made his skin crawl. He would have expected a betrayal of this sort from Draco, but he had though that he was safe from any such thing with Snape.

Clearly that was just another mark of his idiocy, Harry berated himself. Of course that greasy git had to win him over first for the betrayal to work. It was just his stupidity and mindless dependency that had let him fall for it. The more fool he. Well, Harry told himself that he would never need anyone else again.

The small reasonable voice in the back of his head pointed out that his friends would never let him withdraw so much, but he ruthlessly told it to shut up and that if he didn’t tell them they would not know. The voice tried to whisper that his friends were smart enough to figure it out, but Harry was scrupulously ignoring it in favor of building up walls of icy indifference.

Severus, who had not dared to skip breakfast that day, particularly given the previous night’s…activities…was watching Harry out of the corner of his eye. He was relieved to see that the boy was eating, but knowing Harry it was one step forward, two steps back. If he was eating, that just meant that he was planning something to inflict more guilt on the adults around him.

No, that was unkind, Severus chided himself. Furthermore it was giving Harry more credit than he deserved. Harry never seemed to plan his two steps back, he just did it. And he was probably entirely unaware of the guilt anyone else felt about it. Ah, to be young and self-centered, Severus thought dryly.

Still, he glanced at the youth again, Harry was not entirely self-absorbed, he decided as he watched the young wizard frowning over the Daily Prophet. Perhaps oblivious was a better word. And perhaps if he kept analyzing Harry’s faults he wouldn’t have to face the fact that it was he who was at fault in driving Harry away. Again.

-----

It was definitely afternoon, and Harry was making his way over to the headmaster’s tower. He didn’t really want to go. He walked over to the gargoyle and kicked at the base. It startled him when the statue began revolving open and Snape stood there on the staircase behind it. “Professor Dumbledore sent me to fetch you,” the potions master said in explanation.

Harry glared at him and resolutely brushed past him, ignoring the urge he had to run away from all of it. He suppressed a growl when he saw that the older wizard was following him up the stairs.

“Ah, Harry and Severus,” Dumbledore exclaimed welcomingly when they reached the tope of the staircase.

“Headmaster,” Severus greeted politely. Harry merely nodded.

“Sit down,” the old man said with only a hint of twinkling in his eyes. “I imagine, Harry, that you have some idea of what I’ve asked you here for,” he said as they complied.

Harry nodded again. Dumbledore sighed. “I feel that you should know everything about what happened, we owe you that much, at least.”

Harry, who had been looking at the edge of the headmaster’s desk, found his eyes drawn inexorably upward. “What do you mean?” the youth asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“It is a rather long story,” Dumbledore said. “I hope you won’t mind if I have a spot of tea,” he waved his wand and an entire china tea service appeared. “Help yourselves, and I’ll begin at the beginning. Dumbledore waited a moment while they fixed their cups then leaned back, cradling his own tea in his hands.

“I hope you will forgive me for bringing it up, but it is important. I’m sure you remember the events of the spring, particularly as took place in the Ministry building.” Harry nodded coldly. “Yes, well, the staff for the Department of Mysteries was well aware of the fact that someone fell through the veil, they even managed to discover who it was. The circumstances of his fall managed to raise some rather interesting questions about his guilt, most of which Cornelius has avoided and ignored, primarily because he did not inform the Daily Prophet of the event. Since Sirius was your godfather, had there not been other complications, he could have petitioned for guardianship of you and the Ministry would be able to do very little but comply.”

Harry felt a twinge at that and tightened his fingers convulsively around his tea cup. “As it was, he could not petition. I do not know how familiar you are with the Black family tree, but I’ve no doubt that you have divined the nature of the majority of the family.” He paused for a moment as though expecting Harry to reply, but Harry remained silent.

“Sirius had three cousins. One of them is Mrs. Tonks, Nymphadora’s mother. There is also Bellatrix Lestrange. The third is Narcissa Malfoy. Well, as you may imagine, the Tonks cousins have been disowned by the family. Even Tom Riddle would admit that there are insurmountable animosities between you and Madame Lestrange, so that left Madame Malfoy. You see, while they cannot directly petition for your custody, it is possible, that if you requested it, since Narcissa was Sirius’s cousin, the Ministry would allow your guardianship to go to the Malfoys. It would be a little more difficult, given the family’s recent encounter with the law, but still possible since the guardianship would go to Narcissa, who is still a model citizen, and not Lucius. The Ministry, no doubt, would prefer to keep you in the wizarding world and in wizarding hands at all times, rather than letting you go to your muggle relatives every summer.”

Harry felt a cold stealing over him. He could see where this was going, he thought, and he did not like it in the least. “Well, when Riddle found out that you were staying with Severus for the summer, he was persuaded that it would be best to make some effort to subvert you, instead of attempting to kill you straight out. Severus was instructed to teach you the Dark Arts, and to continue your education here at Hogwarts as much as possible. Meanwhile, he spoke to Lucius, who spoke to his wife, and later to his son.

“While you were at Diagon Alley with your friends, for reasons that are as yet undisclosed, Narcissa confided in Molly Weasley. She told us a great deal that we already knew, but also some things that we did not. It is fortunate that Molly Prewitt and Narcissa Black got on well enough in school that their discussing their children when they meet by chance in Diagon Alley should be rather unremarkable. So, when you returned to school, Draco received instructions from his father. He was to take any and all actions necessary to befriending you.

“Naturally, he went to Severus, who has long been a mentor of his, and one of the few adults he trusts, for help. I believe, Severus, that you mentioned that you gave him general directions and did not divulge any information you felt Harry might want kept private?”

Snape inclined his head, “That is so, Albus.”

“I instructed Severus not to tell you of this plan. I felt that it would be safer for all involved for you to react naturally to Draco’s overtures. I also felt that you and Draco could be rather good friends if other circumstances could be overlooked. I do hope that you won’t hold any of this against Severus or Draco, and that, if such a thing appeals to you, that you will consider carefully before you decide to petition for the Malfoy family guardianship.”

Harry stared at the aged wizard before him. There was an odd and unfamiliar glimmer in his eyes, not at all akin to the usual sparkle that could be found in them. It took Harry several moments to determine that it was apprehension. Suddenly the cold that had filled him exploded into rage. “Perhaps Snape did only follow your directions,” he said in a half-choked voice, “but it was still his choice to follow them. And I doubt you need have any fears that I will become a Malfoy. Draco has made it quite clear that he doesn’t particularly care for me and was only befriending me because Lucius told him to. I am not such a fool as to trade even the Dursleys for that.” With that, Harry got up, set the tea cup down, and stalked out of the office.

When the door slammed closed, Albus slumped a bit. “Well, that did not go at all as I expected.”

“No, it didn’t,” Severus replied with a sigh.

He was so angry! How dare they! How could they deceive him like that! How could he let them? Harry was furious and ran down the stairs. Suddenly, he felt an odd dizziness over taking him and his vision wavered for half a second. The next he knew he was falling down the stairs, rolling and tumbling around the spiral until he came to rest at the bottom. He blinked slowly and lay there, catching his breath a little. He was so shocked that most of his anger was gone.Just then, Snape and Dumbledore came into view, hastening down the last few stairs that separated them. “Harry! Harry, are you all right?” Severus breathed, rushing to kneel at the younger wizard’s side.

“Are you hurt, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“No, I think I’m okay,” Harry said, tentatively sitting up.

“Come, you need the hospital wing.” Severs put a hand on the back of his shoulder in support. He felt a pleasant thrill to note that Harry neither flinched away nor shrugged it off, especially after the conversation that had just taken place, but told himself that that could have been simply that the teen didn’t notice.

“I don’t need the Hospital Wing,” Harry protested.

“Just a check up,” Severus said firmly, rising as Harry got to his feet without removing his hand.

“What happened,” Dumbledore asked before the youth could get another chance to object.

“I tripped,” Harry replied blushingly.

“Tripped?” Dumbledore repeated softly to himself.

“Come on,” Severus said, chivvying Harry off to Hospital. When they walked in the infirmary doors, Madame Pomfrey was nowhere in sight. “You sit down,” Severus said, urging Harry toward one of the beds. “I’ll go fetch the matron.

A moment later the nurse bustled in with Severus hovering behind her. “Well, Mr. Potter,” she said, “what seems to be the problem?”

“I fell down the stairs,” Harry sighed.

“Oh, how did you do that?” the woman asked, pulling out her wand and beginning to move it in the pattern of a diagnostic spell.

“I tripped,” Harry replied.

Madame Pomfrey cast him a look that said she was less than impressed with his being unforthcoming. “Did you have help tripping?” she inquired.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head slightly.

“Did you have a moment of dizziness or disorientation?”

“A little bit of a dizzy spell,” Harry confessed reluctantly.

Severus straightened at the information and his eyes tightened for a moment. The nurse cast Harry another sharp glance. “Have you been eating, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes,” Harry said indignantly.

“Good, scrawny as you are you can’t afford not to.”

“I am not scrawny!” Harry protested.

“Would you prefer delicate?” Madame Pomfrey asked dryly as she completed a spell and looked up. Harry scowled at her and she just gave him a small smile. “Well, the good news is I don’t see anything wrong. The bad news is I don’t see any reason at all for you to have been dizzy. I don’t even see any residual effects, which I should. You just have a few bumps and bruises from falling down. They might make you a little stiff, and I can give you a cream, but it’s nothing serious.” The matron paused and gave Harry a penetrating look. “Were you doing anything before you went down the stairs that might have contributed to your unsteady state?”

“I was a little angry, but that’s never meant anything before,” Harry replied.

“Hmm, well,” she sighed. “I suppose it could just be a one time thing.” She looked distinctly unhappy with that assessment and sighed again. “I’d like to keep you here overnight, just to be sure.”

“What?” Harry cried. “You said there was nothing wrong!”

“I said I couldn’t see anything wrong, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t there,” she corrected him.

“I am not staying here overnight,” Harry said firmly.

“Yes you are, Mr. Potter,” Severus said more firmly. Harry screwed up his face in protest and Snape continued before he could speak. “And your head of house would agree. In fact, I ought to go notify her right now.”

Harry simply scowled as Snape swept out the doors to go in search of Professor McGonagall. “You will let me out early, right? I still have some presents to wrap,” he asked, turning to Madame Pomfrey.

“I said I’d keep you overnight, Mr. Potter, not forever. Take your shoes off,” the nurse replied with a small smirk as she bustled off to fetch the necessary linens.

Later that evening, a little after Madame Pomfrey had brought him a dinner tray, which Harry was relieved to find looked far more reasonably sized than usual, Professor McGonagall came into the infirmary. She strode over to Harry’s bedside and gave him a hard look. “How you have managed to get into trouble enough to need the hospital wing, I don’t know,” she said with a hint of exasperation in her voice before sinking into the chair beside his bed.

“It’s not like it’s ever intentional,” Harry protested.

“I know,” his head of house replied. “That’s part of what is so truly frightening about you.” Her face took on a somewhat sly and teasing look. “If I had known you were going to be this much trouble I’d have wished you on Professor Snape instead of being so excited to see you in Gryffindor.” Harry’s face flashed through a series of colors at that comment and he turned his face abruptly to his tray. “I know you don’t like him, Harry, but he is a good man,” the transfigurations professor said softly.

Harry forced a smile and said, “Now you sound like Hermione, professor.”

“Well, Miss Granger is right.” Seeing Harry’s minute nod she continued, “And there was a time when Miss Granger and I were not so different.” She nodded to herself when Harry smiled. “Severus told me what happened this time.”

“Did he?” Harry asked in a noncommittal voice.

“Yes, he did. I also talked to Poppy and you should be leaving sometime late tomorrow morning.”

“That’s good,” Harry said enthusiastically.

“Hmm, yes. You have everything you need for overnight?”

“Yes,” Harry replied.

“You are sure you are all right?”

“You just said Madame Pomfrey will let me go tomorrow,” Harry said looking over at her.

“I don’t mean physically necessarily. You have seemed quite blue lately, and it isn’t like you to pass out or to trip down stairs. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Yes professor.”

“You aren’t having problems with any of your classes, are you?”

“No, coursework hasn’t been too bad.”

“I’ll have to work harder then,” McGonagall said lightly. “Did you have a fight with your friends before they left? Or Draco Malfoy? Or even Professor Snape?”

Harry looked at her sharply, “What do you know about Draco Malfoy?” Had everyone known about it but him?

McGonagall looked taken aback. “Only that you and he seemed to be getting on quite well for a time. Far better than I ever would have though possible. It has done wonders for interhouse relationships though. Some of the youngest Gryffindors have been making overtures to the youngest Slytherins and vice verse. They quite look up to you and Draco, you know.” She glanced at Harry and saw his unreadable expression. “Did you have a fight with Mr. Malfoy?”

“Sort of, but it actually cleared the air a bit,” Harry said absently. He was pondering what she had said about the youngest students.

McGonagall sucked in a breath and leaned back in her chair a little. “Professor Snape has been reasonable, has he not?”

“Yes,” Harry said absently then suddenly looked more alert, “wait, what?”

“I asked if you had had problems with Professor Snape.”

Harry grimaced a little and said with a hint of dryness, “Only one.”

McGonagall nodded firmly to herself and said, “Eat some of that tray Harry.”

Harry blinked down at it for a moment and glanced at the fork in his hand. He looked confused for a moment, but then shrugged and took a bite of his dinner.

“I have a few things to see to tonight, but I’ll check in on you tomorrow afternoon. You will be in the Tower, won’t you?” There was a sternness in her voice that suggested she would be less than pleased with any answer but yes.

“Probably,” Harry replied. “I still have some wrapping to do.”

“Until tomorrow, then, Mr. Potter.”

“See you then, Professor.”

Later that evening, Minerva strode purposefully down the halls and corridors until she reached a gargoyle that was familiar to everyone in the school. She whispered a password to it and stepped onto the staircase it slid aside to reveal. When she reached the door at the top of the stairs she rapped firmly on the door and entered as bidden a moment later. “Albus, I’m not sure what you thought you were doing, but I am quite certain that it did not work.”

“Ah, Minerva, lemon drop?”

“Don’t you lemon drop me, old man. I visited Harry in the infirmary today, and I got the distinct feeling that he had been interfered with.”

“Minerva, you know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt the students.”

“I think we both know that the rules are rather different for that particular student, and it’s a bit late to change that. What you don’t seem to grasp is that intervening in other people’s lives can cause misunderstanding and pain, regardless of your best intentions.”

“I assure you, Minerva, I do grasp that and I am very careful in my interventions.”

She gave him a disbelieving look and replied, “Careful or not, Harry has been through a significant amount of emotional turmoil. His godfather just died not that long ago. I don’t think he ever properly made it through all the stages of grief. Whether that was a conscious decision or not, I cannot say. He does not need to be manipulated into friendships with people who will likely betray him, whether intentionally or not. He is a delicate boy, although he would never admit it. Frankly I’m surprised he hasn’t passed out more often before now.”

“Did Poppy determine that he had passed out?” Dumbledore questioned her.

“Poppy isn’t quite sure what happened, but I happen to think it likely that Harry was emotionally overwrought. I find it especially interesting that he should be in such a state while descending from your tower.”

Dumbledore spread his hands, “What is it you want me to say, Minerva?”

She sighed and glanced up at the pictures of some of the headmasters and headmistresses that had gone before. A few of them looked curiously rapt, while others were pretending to be sleeping, as usual. “Harry is in many ways curiously fragile and inexperienced. Do keep that in mind before you push him into something that he can’t handle.” Then she closed her mouth firmly and turned to stride out of the room.

The next afternoon, after Madame Pomfrey extracted another promise to come to the infirmary at once if he felt even the slightest bit unusual, Harry trekked back up to Gryffindor Tower. He hurriedly made his way to his trunk and began pulling out presents and wrapping paper. When he came to the letter and chocolate he had planned to give to Snape, he tossed them across the room, crumpling the parchment into a tight ball. Then he sat down and got to work. With magic, it was only the work of a few moments to wrap gifts for all of his friends, and a few minutes later Harry was saying, “Dobby, can you hear me?”

He more than half expected that he would have to go down to the kitchens to look for the devoted house elf, but he was a little curious, since he doubted professors had to run all over the castle anytime they needed an elf. When nothing happened he decided that perhaps the house elves had been told not to listen to students, or perhaps there was some spell one cast or some other method.

A few minutes later he was standing in front of a portrait of a bowl of fruit, tickling the pear. He gained admittance and looked around for his diminutive friend. “Is Dobby here?” he asked when he could not spot him.

Two of the house elves who had clustered expectantly around him detached from the group and said, “We go fetch him,” before disappearing. The rest, after making certain that he did not want anything to eat or drink, drifted back to their work in various parts of the kitchen.

A moment later Dobby appeared before Harry and asked, “Harry Potter sir has been asking for Dobby? What is it Dobby can do for Harry Potter sir?”

“I just wanted to ask if you’d mind delivering my friends’ presents to them tonight, since I’m not sure Hedwig can get to them all tonight.”

“Dobby would be honored, Harry Potter sir.”

“Thanks very much, Dobby. They are all in a pile in my dorm. Would you like me to put them somewhere else?”

“No, Harry Potter sir, Dobby will be delivering Harry Potter sir’s presents to his friends, Harry Potter sir doesn’t need to worry about a thing.”

“Well, thanks again,” Harry said as he prepared to leave the kitchen.

“Harry Potter sir is most welcome,” Dobby squeaked excitedly.

Harry was contemplating a short flight as he re-entered the Tower a few moments later. His pleasant thoughts were cut off, however, when he heard his head of house ask sharply, “And just where have you been?”

“Ah, Professor, I just went down to take a little walk. I had to return something to the library,” Harry lied, giving her his best innocent look.

She gave him a suspicious look but asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Harry replied. “Actually, I was thinking of going outside for a bit.”

“You’ve gotten all your wrapping done?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Well, bundle up, then, and don’t be late for dinner.” She peered at him sternly over the top of her spectacles.

“I won’t,” Harry promised. McGonagall nodded and turned to exit the tower while Harry ran up the stairs to his dormitory to get his broom out of his trunk.

It was much later that night that Dobby crept up into the Gryffindor dormitories to collect Harry’s friends’ presents. Harry had left them all in a large pile near the foot of his bed and Dobby had no trouble at all sorting them out and sending them off to their destinations. One last, careful look around the room, however, revealed a present that Dobby hadn’t seen before.

Picking it up and smoothing the parchment, Dobby saw that it was for Professor Snape. Dobby paused for a moment then took the present down to the kitchens with him. He deposited the present Harry had wrapped for him in his usual sleeping place, then wrapped Professor Snape’s present and charmed the letter smooth.

Dobby thought for a moment more and decided that he had best deliver this one himself. Professor Snape didn’t like it when things just appeared in his rooms, though they had all been instructed not to tell anyone else that. With a nod of his head and a snap of his fingers, Dobby apparated to the dungeon quarters Professor Snape kept. He looked about for a place to put the present so that it would be seen when he realized that the wizard was not in his rooms, but had got no further than glancing about the living room when the portrait door swung open and in strode the professor himself.

The wizard had his wand out and was glancing sharply about the room when his eyes landed on Dobby. “What are you doing in here, elf?” he demanded.

“Dobby begs your pardon, Professor sir, Dobby was just delivering this present,” he held the gift up in both hands.

“A present? From whom?” Snape asked sharply.

“From Harry Potter sir, Professor sir.”

“Harry?” Severus asked in a low voice before crossing the room in a few quick strides to take the parcel. He glanced at the letter and ascertained that it was indeed Harry’s handwriting before turning back to the elf.

“I have a gift for Harry as well. If I allow you to deliver it, will you speak of it to no one?”

“Dobby will not even tell Winky or Professor Dumbledore sir!” Dobby declared.

Severus raised one eyebrow but nodded in acceptance. “See that you don’t,” he commanded, handing a slightly larger package to the elf. “Here. Place this one at the bottom of the pile.”

“Dobby will see to it, Professor Snape sir!” Half a moment later the cheerful elf had gone in a puff of smoke, leaving Severus to sink down on the couch. He had wanted nothing more than to wash up and pour himself into bed, but he found himself very curious about what Harry might have sent him. Considering the circumstances, he told himself, it was probably some sort of practical joke.

Severus attempted to ignore how much that thought hurt, and the faint echo in the back of his mind that said like father like son, and opened the letter. The ink was slightly smudged in some places, as though it had been tossed away, but the parchment itself was smooth. Filing that thought away, Severus settled in to read the note.

I was trying to figure out how to address this letter because ‘dear Professor Snape’ sounded all wrong, and it got me thinking about everything that has happened in the last months.

When Sirius died, I was so sure that it was partly your fault because you had goaded him about not being useful. I think I hated you for that. I knew that you hated me too, so I reckoned it made us even. But I hated myself even more, for being stupid and putting Sirius in a position where he would be in danger.

That’s why I was so surprised when I ended up spending the summer at your house. I know you didn’t want me there at first. To be fair, I didn’t want to be there. So when you let me stay in the blue room I was so shocked I could hardly speak. Honestly, I think it made me hate you even more. At first.

How could you be so kind when you loathed me? How could you do something my own relatives never managed? Especially when you had a far better reason for your dislike?

And then, somehow, everything changed. We didn’t hate each other anymore. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be able to talk to you. In a way, it’s like having a godfather again, only better because we’re not separated the way Sirius and I were. This has been one of the best terms and summers I’ve ever had. In fact, I think going to stay at your house was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

Thank You,

Harry

It was a good thing, Severus reflected, that he was sitting down. Harry’s letter completely took his breath away. Clearly, Harry had written this before the end of term. Severus had known that they were getting on quite well, but he had not realized that Harry’s feelings were quite so deep. It sent a fresh stab of pain through his heart.

Suddenly, an idea took place in his mind. He nearly dismissed it at once, but decided that as he didn’t have any better ideas, he might as well try this one. What he wanted was to reconcile with Harry. It was probably impossible, but he had to try. If he found out that he could not do it, well, at least he would have given Harry another adult who knew about the situation but hadn’t contributed to it.

Striding quickly over to his desk, Severus drew out a piece of parchment and a quill and bottle of ink. Lupin, he penned. I do not know whether you have heard or not, but I find that I have once again made a grievous mistake in trying to protect Harry…

Severus rubbed tiredly at his forehead when he at last sat back with a sigh. He had sent his missive off to the werewolf in the Order way. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t Order business, but it was the fastest and most secure way of passing the information on, and he didn’t dare take a chance on having his owl intercepted.

Severus glanced tiredly up at the clock to see that it had become so late that it was now actually early. With another sigh he levered himself out of the chair and stumbled into the bath to take a long, hot shower and then drink enough tea to see him through breakfast. After breakfast he could come back and collapse into bed, he promised himself. He just needed to get through a few more hours.

The next morning Harry woke earlier than usual. He sprang up with a grin and looked at the foot of his bed. There, a large mound of presents stood waiting for him. Even after six years, Harry was still occasionally somewhat startled when he saw gifts addressed to him.

Harry excitedly settled into a smooth pattern of glancing at the tag and unwrapping the gift. All of his friends had sent him something, even Luna, who he had also tentatively picked out a present for. He had finished all the rest and was not expecting any more when he noticed that there was still one present left to be opened.

Who could this be from? There was no tag that he could see. Harry tore off the paper and discovered two books. One was on Quidditch, the other on potions. Harry glanced over at the book Hermione had given him, just to make certain he hadn’t been mistaken somehow, but no, the potions text Hermione from Hermione sat at his side.

Warily, Harry picked up the potions book. There was writing on the flyleaf inside. Suspiciously familiar handwriting.

Harry, it read,

I hope you will find this book useful in your studies. I am nearly certain that you won’t make a career of potions, as I have; nevertheless I think that this book will give you important insights into the nature of potions and their making. I also had a copy of this particular tome given to me while I was a student, and I found it to be of immeasurable worth.

The notes on the margins are mine and my mentor’s. I have copied all of them from my copy into yours.

If you don’t want such scribblings to encumber you, there is a relatively simple erasing spell which I am certain that Miss Granger knows and would be happy to teach you.

The last sentence looked to be written at a later time than the first part, and the handwriting was a little jerkier and more resembling some of the angrier notes Harry had seen on past potions essays. Curious despite his reawakened anger and the hint of hot shame twisting through his gut, Harry turned to the Quidditch manual.

It too had an inscription: No young man can spend all his time working, and I certainly have no wish to see you try. I hope that you enjoy this and that it is as useful to you in its own way as the other.

Harry just stared at the books, blinking slowly. Perhaps, just perhaps, he ought to see if Dobby would mind sending Snape’s present to him. It was only fair, considering that the other wizard had clearly spent some time and money on him.

Just the chocolate though, Harry was not sending that note. If Snape had lied about some things, he more than likely had lied about the rest, too.

Dutifully, Harry got up and walked across the room, looking for the candy he had tossed the day before. He didn’t see it. He checked the whole room, even under the beds, but still could not find any sign of his planned gift. Finally Harry sighed and headed for the shower. He’d ask Dobby later. Perhaps the house elves had taken it when they cleaned up. He just hoped that they had burned that note…perhaps he would ask Dobby to do that, too. In the meantime, however, he really needed some breakfast.

Remus stumbled into his rooms, tripped over his worn coffee table, and collapsed face-down onto his makeshift couch.

What a night!

The Order had been on alert full time since the first attacks. Severus had been able to tell them that there would be more raids, but not when or where. Right now, Remus was weary from watching, guarding, and tonight, fighting. All he wanted was a nice cup of tea and a two day nap.

He wouldn’t take one, of course, or at least, not a nap that long. The full moon was in a week and a half, and he had lots of work to do before then. It struck him as amusing that he was almost looking forward to his monthly torment, if only so he could get a break. The humor was bitter, though.

Lying around was not going to brew tea, though, so he wearily pushed himself up and trudged over to his little kitchenette. On the way he noticed that he had received a letter. He picked it up and saw that it was from Severus, sent in the Usual Way. The usual way for Order work, anyway. Remus dropped it on the table. He refused to know what else was wrong with the world until he had a cup of tea in his hands to fortify himself.

A few minutes later he seated himself at the table, drink in hand, and picked up Severus’s missive. He got no further than the first sentence when he wanted to thunk his head down in exasperation. Once again, Severus had managed to alienate Harry. But why was he writing an old rival from school and not Dumbledore?

Oh, because Dumbledore seemed to be nearly as much at fault. For a long moment Remus wondered why he was getting this news from Severus, instead of from Harry. His tired brain was too slow to puzzle out the reasons, though, and he decided instead to get a bit of sleep before answering the letter or sending one to Severus addressed to ‘the idiotic git who can’t maintain a normal relationship for more than a week or two without botching it completely’. He somehow doubted that Severus would respond favorably to that.

On the other hand, indignation might push Harry back to Severus…no, wait, Harry would probably agree at this point if he knew anything about James’s son. Besides, either way, Harry would have to see it, which was highly unlikely.

No doubt about it, Remus thought to himself as he levered up out of the chair and crossed to the bed, he definitely needed a little sleep before he wrote anything.

Harry was sitting outside when an owl swooped up to him, deposited its letter, and then flew toward the owlery. He looked the envelope over cautiously, not relaxing until he saw Remus Lupin’s handwriting on the front.

Dear Harry,

First of all I should like to thank you for the lovely gift you sent me. A scarf is exactly what I needed, and I have always thought that red and gold were the warmest color combination. Also, I am sorry to say, my old Gryffindor scarf was getting rather the worse for wear.

I am surprised that I did not hear this from you, but I understand that you are having troubles with a boggart. The one in the green dress, again? If so, you have a number of options open to you. The question is, do you want to be rid of it for good, or not? You could shove it off into an unused corner, for instance, or you could keep it closer at hand. I have heard of some people even keeping boggarts in their living rooms.

It is all a matter of what you want.

Unfortunately, I cannot give you realistically useful advice until I know your feelings on the matter. If you wish, however, I can come out and have a look myself.

Happy Christmas,

Remus.

Harry stared at the letter, willing it to make sense. What was all this nonsense about a boggart? In a green dress…wait a minute, back in third year; Neville’s boggart had ended up wearing a green dress. Everyone had laughed at the sight of their least favorite teacher so costumed. So, the letter was in code.

Eagerly, Harry bent his attention toward the parchment and read the note again. Ah! Someone had told Remus that he, Harry, was having troubles with Snape again. There were only two people who could have done that, and right now, Harry wasn’t sure which one was more likely, or which he would rather it was. This required some thought.

What did he want? His gut reaction said to get rid of Snape permanently, but, some part of him was reluctant. Harry gazed out over the lake again, deep in thought.

Harry was frozen through by the time he went back into the castle. He had tentatively decided how to respond to Remus’s letter, and he knew that if he didn’t show up to dinner, McGonagall would kill him. To his surprise, the scent of hot food as he entered the Great Hall roused in him an interest in the meal that had previously sounded completely unenticing. Then too, the trees looked glorious and Harry thought he spied scattered crackers along the single table that was laid. Perhaps, just for now, Harry could forget his troubles for a little while. After all, it was Christmas.

Christmas, it seemed, did not stop reality from intruding where it was not wanted. Dumbledore urged them not to let the far more serious attacks of the previous night, which Harry had not known about until that moment, spoil their Yuletide festivities. As a strategy, it failed, but as there were only a handful of students in the castle and far more staff members Harry supposed it didn’t really matter. It was however, a very subdued Christmas feast. Especially in comparison with previous years. Even the crackers seemed to be quieter and less satisfying.

All in all, Harry was pleased to escape the Great Hall and go back to considering what he should say to Moony. Maybe, he decided, it wasn’t such a bad idea to have his former professor come for a day or two. There was still quite awhile before the holiday ended, and Harry had gotten most of his work done, thanks to the spat he’d had with Snape.

Besides, it would be nice to see his old professor again. Not only was he an old friend of every real family Harry had known, he had always been kind to Harry himself.

Unlike some people.

And his wisdom and understanding could be useful in figuring out the tangle he found himself in. Yes, Harry decided. A visit was exactly what he needed.

Excitedly, Harry settled down to drafting a letter to the werewolf. It had to sound innocuous enough that it wouldn’t attract attention to the real message. Although Harry used the same code as the letter he had received, it still took some time to get the wording exactly right.

He was just returning from posting his letter in the owlery when he met Dumbledore. “Harry, my boy, I was hoping to speak to you.”

“Oh?” Harry enquired coolly.

“Yes. I would like a chance to talk to you again. Perhaps you would come up to my tower later this afternoon?”

“Has something happened?”

“No.” Dumbledore canted his head slightly to one side.

“Then I think I’d prefer not to come up, sir, unless this is about school?”

“No, Harry, it isn’t that.” Harry nodded. “I do wish you wouldn’t blame Severus. I was the one who told him not to tell you anything.”

“Yes, but he still chose to listen to you, didn’t he?”

“Harry…”

“If you’ll excuse me, headmaster, I’ve got some work to do on my holiday projects.”

The headmaster nodded, looking every moment of the well over one hundred and fifty years he was rumored to be. Harry felt a small pang. He knew he was being cold, and he was certain that the older wizard knew he was lying about his homework, occlumency or not. But he turned resolutely and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry still didn’t feel like spending time with the meddling old man.

It was no time at all before Remus got Harry’s reply. Luckily, he was feeling a bit more himself than before. He tore the envelope open impatiently and scanned its contents until he was certain that Harry had responded using the same code that he had written to the youth in.

Reading the missive more closely Remus saw that Harry was eager to see him, saying that the Yuletide season was certainly a time to see family and friends, though he noticed that the teen didn’t specify which he qualified as.

That was catty, Remus chided himself. Particularly as he wasn’t exactly certain himself what his relationship with Harry qualified as. Perhaps he counted as a sort of god-uncle. Perhaps he was more fatigued than he had thought. It didn’t really matter in the long run exactly what he called his relationship with his friend’s son. What mattered was that he was there for the young man for as long as he possibly could be.

With that thought in mind Remus turned to the hearth to floo the headmaster of Hogwarts. In light of recent events, the security of the school would be heightened. It would probably be difficult for a parent to see his or her child unannounced, let alone a werewolf ex-teacher who had no clear relationship with the student. Tossing the greenish-gray powder into the flames Remus knelt and gave the direction, trying to ignore the dizzying sensation of his head being shunted through the floo network while the rest of his body stayed firmly in his run-down little apartment.

The white-bearded wizard seemed happy to see him. “Remus, my boy! Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, headmaster.”

“And how are you faring?”

“Well enough thank you. I was actually wondering if it would be all right to drop in tomorrow morning?”

“I should think so.” The older wizard blinked and asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Oh yes, I just thought that I might visit Harry. I haven’t really seen him since the summer, you know, and I just thought it might be an appropriate time to catch up with him.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Dumbledore replied, eyes a-twinkle. “I’m certain he’ll be pleased to see you. Will you stay to dinner?”

“Possibly. I thought I would spend the day, but it really depends on Harry’s plans.”

“I shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning then. You won’t mind if I meet you at the gate, will you? Times being what they are.”

“Of course. Tomorrow morning then, say about nine?”

“An excellent suggestion.”

Remus nodded. “Good day headmaster.”

“Good day, Remus.” Remus leant back from the hearth and gazed into the flames thoughtfully. The old man had seemed very knowing there at the end. Had Severus spoken to him? Was this simply another example of Dumbledore’s omniscience? Or was it all a bluff?

Perhaps he could get some more of Albus tomorrow morning as they were walking up from the gate. Like what in the name of Merlin the old man had thought he was doing. Harry didn’t trust easily. Remus snorted to himself. That was like saying that Voldemort was bad.

Given that twinkle, Remus thought that it probably wouldn’t be too hard. It had almost sounded like the older wizard had something he wanted to tell him anyway. Which was all to the good. The more he knew about the situation, Remus told himself, the better.

In the meantime it would probably be best to send Severus a note letting him know that he was coming. He would have to send it by Return of Post, as it were, and it would need to be as tactful and polite as possible. That meant that saying, I’m coming to fix your mess, if that’s still possible, was right out. Remus sighed. Why was it that every time anything good happened, it was complicated to the point of becoming a bad thing?

The next morning Remus Apparated into a wooded glen just off the path leading up to Hogwarts. It was highly unlikely that anyone but a witch or wizard would see him if he had Apparated to the gates themselves, but it was better not to risk it. What with the recent death eater attacks the Muggles would notice suspicious activity and be more likely to report it to authorities. All of which was more hassle than the wizarding world needed.

Besides, a walk sounded like a lovely idea. It was brisk but not too cold, especially now that he had a scarf again. Remus smiled thinking about the gift. He could see Albus standing just inside the massive wrought iron gates as he approached. “I hope you haven’t been standing here long,” he called as soon as he judged that he was within earshot for anyone not a werewolf.

“No, not long. It’s such a lovely morning I thought I’d walk down here a bit early,” Dumbledore smiled at him.

Remus grinned back. It was difficult to stay mad at the cheerful headmaster as he walked up to Hogwarts. Almost like going back in time. Any second now Remus expected James and Sirius to pop out from behind a convenient tree and pelt him with snowballs. “Well, I guess your socks are coming in handy, now, aren’t they?”

“Yes, my feet are quite toasty, thank you.” Remus passed through the shadow of the statuary guarding the gates. “Your yuletide visit is rather fortuitously timed,” Dumbledore said as the younger wizard drew near. “I do not know whether you have heard or not, but Harry has been a little blue lately.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Remus asked, his voice carrying concern but sounding suspiciously flat underneath. So much for his happy reminsences.

“Well, I’m afraid he and Severus may have had a little trouble. And I am also afraid that I may have contributed to that trouble in a way that may have alienated Harry for good.”

Remus gave the man a hard look, taking his eyes off the slippery path he had been watching. “You didn’t happen to come up with this little plan, did you?”

“Ah, you have heard then.” Remus made no reply.

After another moment the headmaster continued. “Actually, I did not originate this plot, no. But I did influence it a little.”

“And Harry doesn’t appreciate it.” There was an unspoken ‘of course’ attached to the statement and it reeked of censure.

“That would be putting it rather generously. The boy is furious with me, I fear, and with Severus as well. He even seems to have passed out leaving my tower after discussing it. Whether his loss of consciousness is a direct result of my ‘meddling,’ as Minerva put it, Poppy couldn’t say.”

“Harry passed out?” Remus asked, shocked.

“It seems so,” a slight crease in his forehead belying the apparent serenity of his visage. “Hmmm.” Remus’s sigh was nearly a growl.

“Yes, a rather difficult situation. I do hope you can find some way of reconciling it.”

Remus cast him a disbelieving look. “I highly doubt that I’m going to be able to wave my wand and make everything right again. Based on what I’ve heard, difficult seems to be an understatement. And it’s all up to Harry, don’t forget. I can try to explain, but I can’t make him like you. Actually, I’m not even sure at this moment whether he ought to.”

Dumbledore gave Remus a sad look. “I really was trying to act in the best interests of everyone here at Hogwarts. All I ask is that you try.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the werewolf replied, tone stating clearly that he was not at all pleased with this turn of events.

Their talk turned to other, less sensitive, topics until they entered the castle, where Albus invited his younger colleague into the Great Hall for breakfast.

“I really ought to go and find Harry,” the former Defense professor replied.

“Well, there’s no reason why you can’t begin your search here. And you may as well take some toast or a muffin as long as you’re here.”

“Honestly, Albus, sometimes I think you’re worse than Molly,” Remus responded teasingly.

“No one is worse than Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, appearing that moment.

“You know, you may be right,” Remus said, affecting a pensive pose.

Harry laughed and said, “Happy Christmas,” accepting a hug from the friend who had stood by his father and godfather and who was now at his side.

“Happy Christmas, yourself.”

“I see you’re wearing your scarf.”

“Yes, I couldn’t resist. And it being winter I didn’t have to.”

“I reckon you would have looked rather silly wearing it in the summer.”

“I certainly would have,” Remus smiled, “and I would have people saying that I was crazy.”

“Nothing wrong with being called crazy,” Albus interjected as they walked through the large, familiar doors.

“Some would argue that,” Minerva replied pertly from her seat at the end of the single table. “Good morning Harry, Albus, Remus.”

“Good morning, Minerva,” Remus replied cheerily while Harry nodded.

“Good morning, Severus,” he nodded to the dark wizard who sat next to her. Severus scowled at him but nodded back.

Remus followed Harry to a pair of adjacent seats, which, he noticed, were as far as possible from Severus and Albus. He decided, however, that it might not be the best time to comment on the seating arrangements. There were others present, even if they seemed more interested in their tea and eggs than in anything anyone else was saying.

It was a little later that they had finished with breakfast and settled on going for a walk. They made it all the way out to the lake before Remus spoke. “How are you, Harry?”

“Well enough,” the youth shrugged. Remus frowned slightly but continued,

“Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Yes.” The werewolf’s frown deepened.

“Harry, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“What happened Christmas Eve?”

Remus blinked. That wasn’t what he was expecting at all. “Christmas Eve?”

“Voldemort did something, I know!” Harry cried with surprising vehemence. “What happened? Don’t you start keeping things from me, too!”

Remus raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you, Harry. I just wasn’t sure what you meant. Voldemort attacked a couple of places, Harry. The same places he attacked before, actually. Only this time, he didn’t just put up a couple of Dark Marks. He destroyed buildings, he killed people, kidnapped some, we think. All the bodies still haven’t been found. Several people were kissed.” Remus trailed off and shook his head.

“People,” Harry asked. “Not just witches and wizards?”

“Muggles too. Their authorities are saying it must be some sort of gang activity.”

Harry snorted mirthlessly. “They don’t know the half of it.”

Remus shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” They stood in silence a few moments. “You want to tell me what’s going on now? I don’t mean to push you, but you’re starting to worry me a little.”

Harry looked up at him. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know.” Remus gave him a small smile.

Harry heaved a sigh. “When I went to stay with Snape over the summer, he told Voldemort that I was being taught the Dark Arts. That way I could stay with him without too much suspicion.” Harry paused a long moment. “Maybe he was suspicious anyway, or maybe he just saw this as a way to get his hands on me for good, I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Anyway he came up with this plan. Sirius was my godfather, right? But he died, and the Ministry knows it now. Well, obviously he can’t be my guardian anymore, and the Dursleys still are my guardians, but, since they’re related, if we both really wanted to, apparently Narcissa Malfoy could petition to be my guardian.” Harry looked up at him out of the corner of his eye.

“I should think the Ministry would be a little reluctant to do that with Lucius having escaped from Azkaban,” Remus commented.

Harry shrugged. “Anyway, Snape and Dumbledore knew about it and didn’t tell me. They just let Draco go on trying to get close to me, and encouraging me to let him.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Draco?” he asked. “How does he fit in?”

“Well, the Malfoys had to convince me to like them somehow, didn’t they?” Harry asked in a tone that made it clear that it should have been obvious.

Which Remus supposed it should have a moment later. “And Draco? Did he know the plan too?”

Harry glanced at him in surprise and a thoughtful look bloomed on his face. “You know, I don’t think he did.”

“Well, then,” Remus began, hoping to try to get Harry to focus on the positive.

“Snape definitely did, though. And so did Dumbledore.” His look and tone clearly indicated that the rest of his thought was that he would never forgive them.

“I’m sure they only thought they were doing what was best for you.” Remus offered.

“I certainly hope you didn’t come to try to make me understand,” Harry growled.

“Harry,” Remus sighed. Clearly this was going to be more difficult than he thought. “I am first and foremost always on your side. You should know that. Your father and godfather meant a lot to me and I would always take care of you for their sakes. However, quite independent of that, I am very fond of you. You have become just as much a part of my family as James or Sirius ever were.” The werewolf shifted a little and blushed a bit though he bravely did not break eye-contact. “In fact, in fact, I think of you quite as my own nephew.”

Harry, who had been quite prepared to ignore anything and everything his former professor had to say found himself instead transfixed by his simple and meaningful statement. He opened his mouth but could not speak immediately. “Thank you, Remus,” he managed to shove out at last.

Remus just nodded, laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s a little different, I know with Albus and Severus, but they care about you too. I’m certain that whatever they did they didn’t want to see you hurt.”

“You still sound like you’re on their side,” Harry said, a hint of accusation creeping into his voice.

“I don’t mean to.”

“Well you do, a little.”

Remus sighed. “Harry, I promise you, I am not on their side. Actually, I’m rather angry with them. I didn’t come here to fix anything for them, I came for you. Because I thought you might need me. Still, if they had meant to hurt you, I think this would not be the way they would have gone about it. I also think we’d have known before now.”

“Well, meaning to or not, they certainly succeeded,” Harry muttered. “I trusted them! I trusted both of them! After everything that happened, how could they? How dared they? How could he? Was it all a lie?”

Remus wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “It was not a lie. I know that. I saw you and Severus together. In fact,” Remus paused, uncertain as to whether he should reveal this. It was clear, however, that Harry felt more betrayed by Severs than by his headmaster.

His pause got Harry’s attention more than the soothing words had. “Go on,” the young man urged him. Remus sighed and hoped that Severus would forgive him, “In fact, it was Severus who told me that you would need me. He knew he’d muffed it, and he was very concerned for you. I believe he is sorry.”

Harry took that statement in but said, “I’m not sure sorry is good enough.”

Remus nodded sighing again. “That’s fair enough. You have been hurt, I can’t deny it and neither can anyone else. Nor does anyone want to. I just thought you should know.”

Harry nodded although his face was still set in lines of obstinacy. His image of unwavering resolve was shaken by the sudden shiver that raced through him.

Remus noticed immediately. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go inside, it’s cold out here.”

Harry just nodded again as they turned, leaving the lake behind.

They stamped their feet before they entered the castle and despite the fact that they knocked most of the snow from their boots Mr. Filch still scowled at them as he went to fetch a mop. “Sorry, Argus,” Remus called to his retreating back.

The caretaker gave a haughty “harrumph,” and stomped away. Harry and Remus shared an amused look and loosened their cloaks and scarves and peeled the mittens from their hands.

“There’s got to be a way to make warming charms stick to clothing,” Harry mused as they walked toward the first set of stairs leading up to Gryffindor Tower.

“Oh there is,” Remus assured him.

“But then why didn’t you just apply warming charms to your old scarf?” Harry asked in surprise. “Why were you so happy to get a new scarf?”

“Well, it isn’t everyday I get gifts, you know,” Remus smiled down at Harry. “Besides, the charms stick better to new fabric than to worn cloth. And my old scarf was decidedly worn out.”

“Oh.”

Remus smiled at him again, but he frowned when Harry’s face suddenly twisted into a scowl. “What, oh” he exclaimed softly when he saw Severus on the receiving end of Harry’s glare. The potions professor was giving the impression that he hadn’t noticed the youth’s expression but Remus thought he could detect a certain stiffness to the Slytherin’s gait that wasn’t usually there.

“Lupin,” the dark wizard, greeted him. “Since you’re here, why don’t you come down to my office and pick up some of your potion. It will save the effort of sending it to you later.”

“Certainly, Severus. You don’t mind, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, “Go ahead. I’ll be up in the Tower.”

“Will you think about what I said?”

Harry, who had been trying to present a pleasant countenance to his former professor had to work even harder not to scowl at that question, and he was not entirely successful, though he succeeded in keeping his tone even when he said, “Yeah, sure.”

Remus nodded. “I’ll be up in a bit, I expect.”

Harry just nodded shortly and turned away. Remus watched him for a moment before turning to Severus. “Well, shall we?” he asked.

Snape nodded and led the way to his dungeon lab. As soon as they entered the room Severus raised the wards. They would prevent anyone from eavesdropping, which was an important consideration in this delicate situation. He was quite sure that Lupin would start talking any second now. All he had to do was walk over and start packing bottles. Severus conjured a box and placed it on the clear spot on a table.

“I talked to Harry,” Remus commented watching him closely.

Severus didn’t reply. He walked over to the shelves that ran along the wall behind him and picked up a handful of bottles.

“He’s quite upset, you know.”

Severus grunted. He’d really hoped that Lupin would be more forthcoming, perhaps even tell him how to fix the situation without ever having to say a word himself.

Remus frowned. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, Severus, I’ll just take my potion and be on my way.”

Severus glanced up at him sharply. “I haven’t brewed your potion, Lupin. It wouldn’t be anywhere near as effective at this time of the moon.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Well then, what are you doing?”

“Packaging some potions to go to the infirmary.”

Remus nodded. “Then you don’t really need me here, do you? I’ll see you at dinner I expect.” He turned to leave.

Severus glared. The werewolf was not being at all helpful. And, unfortunately he was about to walk out the door. “What did Harry say,” Severus asked just as Remus’s hand rested on the door handle.

“He’s furious with you,” Remus said without turning.

Remus looked back at Snape when he didn’t hear a reply. Severus was looking down at the table with a bereft expression. It was in the slight pinch around his mouth and the careful attempt to hide the bleakness in his eyes. Which was exactly what Remus needed to know. He smiled a little as he turned and leaned back on the door, crossing his arms across his chest. “He doesn’t want to see you. He doesn’t want to talk to you. If he didn’t want to be an auror so badly he would probably drop your class at this point.”

Severus snapped out of his funk. The werewolf had just confirmed his fears. “There’s no need to rub it in,” he snarled.

Remus grinned. “I don’t know. I’m pretty upset with you myself.” There were more teeth in that grin than Severus felt entirely comfortable with. He was reminded rather forcefully of Lupin’s alter ego, something that wasn’t often brought to mind when dealing with the mild-mannered Gryffindor.

Severus swallowed but spoke anyway. “Why don’t you go celebrate somewhere, then? Go with Harry and leave me in peace.” He turned back to the shelves behind him.

Remus rolled his eyes. “I swear, Severus, you are such a drama queen.”

Snape whirled around, wand drawn. “Get out of here,” he growled.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted my help.”

Severus’s eyebrows narrowed further. “Go gloat elsewhere,” he snarled.

Remus heaved a sigh, “I’m not gloating, Severus. It isn’t even a temptation. Please put your wand down.” He waited a beat. “Or not. You’re being extremely provoking, you know. I told you I wasn’t particularly happy with you. It’s tempting to pull my own out.”

Severus glared and lowered his wand. “What do you want? What are you going on about? You’ve won, why should you not be happy?”

Remus rolled his eyes again. “Once again, you miss the point completely, Severus. Relationships are not competitions; I haven’t ‘won’ anything.” He drew a breath. “I’m not sure you realize exactly what you’ve done.”

“How could I not? Harry refuses to speak to me. He can’t look at me. He skipped meals to avoid me. You said yourself that if he could drop my class he would. Believe me werewolf; I know precisely what I’ve done. I’ve made him hate me as virulently as I possibly could have.”

“That’s true. But you’ve also hurt him badly. He’s convinced that anything that happened between the two of you was a lie. He’s lost his paternal figure twice now, Severus.”

Severus was quiet for a long time. “It wasn’t a lie,” he said at last. “What was I to have done? Told him everything despite direct orders from Dumbledore and the Dark Lord? I didn’t enjoy lying to him. I know he trusted me. I don’t blame him for hating me.”

“Ah, but you see, Severus, I’m not entirely sure he does hate you. He thinks he does, and he’s doing a very creditable imitation, but I’m just not sure the feeling is really there.”

“What?”

“Let’s put it this way, if I thought Harry actually hated you, I wouldn’t be here talking to you now. I’d have hexed your ears off and left.”

Severus nodded once.

“As it is,” Remus continued, “I just want to beat some sense into you so that I can go back to enjoying my holiday. I haven’t seen Harry since this summer, you know, and I care about him, too.”

Severus sighed and pocketed his wand. “What shall I do?” he asked.

Remus shrugged. “Just be there for him. If he needs to talk, listen. Don’t try to pester him, just let him be. If you can find some way of letting him know you still support him, that would be good.”

“Like a gift?” Severus asked.

“That would work. A little belated, but still. It’s the thought that counts, I suppose.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “I have already given him his Christmas gift.”

“That’s good, then. This may take a while, you know. This is probably your last chance to cut and run.”

Severus growled and reached into his pocket.

Remus held up a hand. “Just saying.”

“Well, don’t. I am not giving up.”

“Good.”

Severus blinked again. “Would you make up your mind? Are you going to help me make it up to Harry or not?”

“No. I’ll discuss it with you, Severus, but this is up to you.”

Severus took a deep breath and nodded. He wasn’t sure whether to be encouraged or to acknowledge that all was lost right there.

---

“Harry?” Remus had expected the youth to be in the lounge at the bottom of Gryffindor tower, but Harry was nowhere in sight. Remus stepped further into the tower and called again. “Harry?”

He appeared on the stairs. “You know, for someone who isn’t here to fix everything, you were certainly eager to run off with Snape. I notice you aren’t carrying any potion, either.”

“Surely you,” Remus began sharply and then shut his mouth with a snap. He had been going to say, ‘surely you can recognize a subterfuge when you see one, Harry,’ but that could be taken in a way that Remus didn’t mean at all. He was just frustrated with the whole situation. That wasn’t Harry’s fault, however, and Remus forced himself to take a breath and calm down. “Severus has been very anxious about you,” he said. “In fact,” Remus watched Harry closely. “In fact, he was the one who wrote me about this mess.”

Harry stood very still. “Is that so?” the youth asked.

“Yes.” Harry did not move, he just glared at the stair in front of him.

Just then his stomach rumbled. The sound carried to Remus’s sensitive ears. The former professor smiled. “Why don’t we go find lunch, and then I challenge you to a snowball fight.”

Harry turned. “It’s not lunch time in the Great Hall,” he pointed out.

“Harry, do you hold the Marauders Map or don’t you?” Remus asked with a grin. “The kitchens are always serving.”

“That’s true,” Harry said slowly. He turned around and descended the stairs and pensively walked over to Remus.

Suddenly Remus smirked and tapped Harry’s arm and raced for the door. “Tag, you’re it!” he called as he stepped out of the portrait hole.

Harry was standing with a bewildered look on his face for a moment but then he shouted, “Hey!” and ran out after his friend, leaving the Pink Lady to swing herself shut and yell after them.

Remus laughed. “Can’t catch me!” He shouted back. Harry needed to play more.

“Watch me!” Harry cried, running faster than before.

---

They were both breathless with laughter when they collapsed against the painting of the fruit bowl that guarded the kitchens entrance and it was some minutes before either could reach up to tickle the pear. At last they did, however, and the pair entered only to be surrounded immediately by a ring of house elves eager to help.

While Moony calmed them and set about ordering lunch, Harry looked around for Dobby. After a moment he spotted the elf in a corner ironing someone’s socks. Harry blinked, but given Dobby’s obsession with socks he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.

Harry walked casually over to Dobby. “Hey,” the greeted the house elf.

“Harry Potter sir!” the diminutive creature exclaimed.

Harry was oddly touched when he heard the awe still there. “I just wanted to say thanks again for delivering those gifts.”

“Harry Potter sir is most welcome!” Dobby squeaked ears wriggling delightedly.

Harry smiled but then frowned slightly. “There was one separate from the others,” he began.

“Dobby delivered that present too,” the house elf volunteered. His ears drooped slightly. “Was that one not to be delivered?”

“No, that’s fine, Dobby,” Harry said reassuringly. “I just didn’t see that one this morning and thought I’d ask.”

“Harry Potter sir is not angry with Dobby?”

“No, Dobby. I’m not angry.” Harry smiled despite an oddly hollow feeling in his stomach.

“Harry?” It was Remus.

“I’ll see you later, Dobby,” he said. Dobby nodded enthusiastically.

“All right, Harry?” Remus frowned slightly as Harry crossed to sit at the large kitchen table across from him.

“Fine,” Harry nodded. Remus raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. “Really,” Harry assured him with a crooked smile. Remus nodded and moved the conversation on to other things.

---

Harry fell asleep much more quickly than usual that night, though he still remembered to occlude. When he woke he felt no sudden urge to move and decided to give in to the impulse to lie abed for a while. Yesterday had been nice, he decided. It had been good to see Moony again and good to talk with him. Painful at times, but Moony had also told him stories about the time the Marauders were at school. He had told plenty of amusing tales and then taken him outside where they laughed and ran and played like children until it was practically too dark to see their mittens in front of their faces. It had been nice to talk of Sirius with someone who understood. Unlike Snape.

Snape.

Harry sighed and stretched rubbing his hands over his face. That same sinking feeling that had crept over him yesterday when Dobby said he had delivered Snape’s gift was back again. Harry wasn’t sure what it meant, but he didn’t like it. He was tired of thinking about it, though. With a weary nod Harry resolved to think of the man as little as possible. He was determined to enjoy the rest of the holiday.

Perhaps he would do a bit of flying today. Honest fatigue sounded good to him, as did another night of deep rest such as he had enjoyed last night. Perhaps Remus had been right when he said that Harry needed to have fun more.

Harry sat up abruptly and swung his legs out of bed and into his slippers. That settled it. He would get cleaned up, go down to the Great Hall and get breakfast, let McGonagall know where he was going, and get outside. Harry carefully did not think of whom else he might meet in the hall.

Nothing was going to ruin the rest of his break.

Lord Voldemort stood up with a small sigh. He’d thought, hoped, that the entertainment value of a few nights ago would have lasted longer, but even though he had practically given them fair warning it was far too easy to destroy his targets. Granted there had been a few casualties on his side, but really, if any of his Death Eaters were bad enough to be hit they deserved whatever they got. And he didn’t really need faulty minions. He had enough of those already.

Voldemort sighed again. Sometimes it got just the slightest bit boring sitting alone on his throne. Not often, but sometimes. Usually when there were no minions around to torture. Where had Wormtail gotten to?

On the other hand, Wormtail was always whiny when he got cursed. It took days for the rat to stop whinging and get back to doing his job properly.

No, the short term satisfaction of cursing his minion senseless simply did not compare with the three days it would take to go back to getting his dinner done properly. There were so few creature comforts he could still enjoy. Even stretching wasn’t the same anymore.

So what else could he do to alleviate this moment of tedium? Well, there was always summoning some other minion, but he didn’t want Wormtail to think he favored him too much.

What about that text he had meant to look over? The one concerning his newest link with Potter. It was feeling stronger again, though there had already been several times that he could barely feel it. Yes. It was definitely time to look into that.

With a small nod Voldemort walked out of the throne room (such as it was) and down the hall to his private and very well warded library. Several of his Death Eaters, he knew, would give more than just eyeteeth to get in here. Severus being one of them, or at least so he had thought. Perhaps he would offer to let him have a peek, as a reward for setting Potter up. Perhaps, ah, here was the tome.

-----

It was some time later that the self proclaimed Lord Voldemort straightened his hunched shoulders and tore his eyes away from the pages of the book on the table before him. It seemed that Lucius had been right all along. Severus would not be getting a glimpse of his private library after all.

The cedo catenatus invitus curse was a very old and somewhat unusual piece of magic. If the Ministry remembered it, no doubt it would be considered very dark, though originally it was used to control prisoners. Only those who had dabbled in the dark arts were susceptible, and it created a link between the caster and the victim.

Fortunately, Voldemort had also found a text that instructed him in modifications. The link terminus could be transferred to another, which was very fortunate for Lucius Malfoy. If the second charm hadn’t worked as it was supposed to, the blonde would have been very dead. It would not have done at all for Lucius to reap the benefits of this rather ingenious little plot.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the link was variable. It was strengthened by prolonged use of dark magic and also ill feeling and intent, but it was weakened by joy, peace, love, and other similarly disgusting and pitiably weak emotions. For the bond to be nearly imperceptible at times, Potter would either need to be a continually and horrifyingly cheerful practitioner of the arts, or he would need to not be a practitioner at all.

The first was practically impossible, but the second was entirely likely. He’d had his suspicions about Severus, despite his warnings to Lucius. Perhaps it was time to have another chat with his favorite potions master. And if things went the way he suspected they would, well, he wouldn’t be feeling nearly as bored or restless for quite a while.

---

It was with slightly more fear than usual that Severus Snape, Potions Master and professor at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry found himself kneeling before the Dark Lord Voldemort. He was there alone, which could not bode well, but on the other hand, if he were going to be made an example of there would be a circle of witnesses. “My Lord,” he said as he made his reverence.

It was a long moment before the enthroned figure acknowledged him, and even then he was not told to rise. “Do you know, Sseverusss, that I had a nearly fool proof plan when I regained a usable corporeal form?” Voldemort regarded him carefully. “Sseverusss?”

“I would have guessed that my lord had a plan, but what that plan might have been specifically I could not say.”

“Could you not?”

Severus carefully and slowly raised himself to a kneeling position. “Only in general terms my lord,” he replied.

Voldemort propped his chin on one fisted hand. “Tell me, Sseverusss, what do you believe my plan might have been?”

“To kill Potter and Dumbledore. To grasp the wizarding world here in Britain. To extend your dominion throughout the islands, purifying them until such time as they could be used as a staging area for the extension of your power.” Severus spoke calmly, desperately trying not to reveal his nervousness. He had not seen the Dark Lord this way before, and he felt woefully unprepared.

“I did hope to do all thosse thingsss, yesss. And do you know how many I have managed to accomplissh ssincse then?” Riddle paused a moment and eyed Severus. “None, Sseverusss. I am nearly immortal, time mattersss little to me, but that doesss not mean that I enjoy thesse delaysss. I have been thwarted at nearly every turn. Why do you suppose that is?”

Severus knew this was dangerous ground. To criticize the Dark Lord was to court pain. Likewise, a refusal to answer would also bring down the villain’s wrath. Severus licked his lips. “I could not say for certain, my lord,” he said cautiously.

“Again I assk, could you not, Sseverusss? Well, I will tell you. I find that I am failed by thosse I put my trusst in. It isss not a pleassant thing, failure, Sseverusss, asss I am ssure you undersstand. Thisss isss why I am sso dissappointed in you, Sseverusss. I accepted you back into the fold, even though you were not sso quick to join me asss othersss. I defended you againsst your brethren. I even gave you a sspecial tassk as a demonsstration of my trusst. Yet you have failed me.”

Severus bowed his head.

“Why, Sseverusss? Do you not wissh to sserve me?” Voldemort’s voice was deceptively soft and the gentle sussuration of his voice was entrancing.

“Of course I wish to serve you, my lord. How could I do otherwise?”

“Indeed, how could you? And yet it sseemsss that you have.”

“How have I failed you my lord? Tell me that I might attempt to make amends.”

“Do you not already know, Sseverusss? Thisss passt summer Harry Potter sstayed in your housse. You did not bring him to me. You allowed the werewolf to teach him occlumencsy, cutting off a valuable line of information and connection. I insstructed you to teach him the Dark Artsss, and yet he remainsss firmly on the sside of the light. Why isss thisss, Sseverusss?”

Snape shivered. How could the Dark Lord know that Harry was not as tainted as he hoped. Had Draco said something to his father? Was there some other spy at Hogwarts that he was unaware of? Severus opened his mouth to speak, but subsided when he saw the Dark Lord’s raised hand.

“Yesss, I know, Sseverusss, you could hardly sstop Lupin. I know that there have been obsstaclesss to your corruption of the youth. But I know that you are a determined wizard, Sseverusss. When you run into problemsss with your potionsss you overcome them. Why have you not overcome thesse problemsss for me?”

“I have tried, my lord. I will continue to try,” Severus promised.

“No, Sseverusss. It isss clear that you cannot continue. Corruption isss taking too long. I begin to doubt whether it can happen.” The serpentine wizard was silent a moment.

Perhaps if he knew the rest of the prophecy…He looked at the young wizard kneeling before him. Dumbledore would certainly have gotten the whole prophecy by now, if anyone had. Should he instruct Severus to nose something out?

Not now, he decided. He still had other sources to try first, and he would not make the mistake of giving Snape too much responsibility again. “Have you any explanationsss for me, Sseverusss?” he asked at last.

“Forgive me, my lord. I should have brought it to your attention sooner, but Potter has difficulty casting dark spells. His mother’s blood seems to interfere somehow. I have been trying to counter the effect, but Dumbledore is the only expert…” Severus trailed off regretfully.

“And clearly you can not asssk that barmy, ineffectual old bag,” Voldemort finished for him.

“Yes, my lord.”

Voldemort thought a moment. It was true that he had had some small difficulties with certain spells himself since he had been repossessed of a body. He had assumed it was a flaw in Wormtail’s potion. He had also hoped that using Potter’s blood would allow him to counter the wards around his relatives’ home, but he had been unable to do that either.

If the mudblood’s charm was still active in the blood though, and fighting him, that could explain several things. He thought a moment longer before speaking again. “I have a new tassk for you, Sseverusss. I think it isss one that you should be able to accomplissh with little difficulty. I should be very dissapointed to learn otherwisse. Are you lisstening, Sseverusss?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good. I want you to do everything in your power to make Harry Potter misserable. Can you do thisss, my Sseverusss?”

Severus swallowed thickly but said, “Yes, my lord,” with little hesitation.

“Good. Crucio.” Any thoughts he had on how to explain his new assignment to Harry were lost in a wash of pain.

Despite Harry’s resolution to enjoy the rest of his holiday, or perhaps because of it, life didn’t seem to get any easier. Vacation passed quickly for a few days, and Harry relaxed a little, but on New Year’s Eve he felt a small twinge in his scar. He immediately began occluding, and it went away after a few minutes.

The next morning he went down to the Great Hall, half wondering if he should mention the event to Dumbledore. When he arrived, however, he saw the teachers sitting hunch-shouldered over their morning papers. Apparently Dumbledore already had his hands full.

There was a short announcement. The places that had been attacked the previous week had been hit again, and this time the damage was more serious. There were casualties now, including children. The Daily Prophet included a complete list of the magical victims.

Harry fled the Hall as soon as he could. He ran up to the Tower, put on his scarf and thickest cloak and left through the window on his broom. He flew out to the pitch and started doing laps. Harry knew he was the wizard of prophecy. Not only was the wizarding world expecting him to somehow save them again, Fate itself had decreed that Harry kill Voldemort or die trying. That was hardly the most encouraging news he had received. What most people failed to realize, including himself sometimes, was that Harry was only sixteen. He was still quite young, despite the fact that he was nearing adulthood.

Realistically, Harry thought, the only way I’m going to take out Voldemort is if all his Death Eaters turn their backs and he is sleeping. Actually, given how paranoid the heir of Slytherin was, Harry probably couldn’t even get to him if he was sleeping. The youth chuckled grimly.

He did need to do something though. He was the prophesied one, and he couldn’t just turn his back and let Voldemort go on killing innocent witches and wizards and Muggles just because they were there. There had to be something he could do. Harry pondered what that might be for several laps.

Well, let’s go through this logically, said an inner voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione. If Voldemort is a Dark Lord, the best place to start would be Defense Against the Dark Arts, right? Granted it wouldn’t be all he needed, but it would at least make a beginning, and at this point, Harry felt he was in desperate need of a beginning.

With a nod to himself, Harry flew back to the window he had left ajar and alighted in his dorm room. He might as well start with this year’s text. He could skim through it (after all, they would be studying it for the rest of the year) and then go to the library and start looking there.

----

Severus Snape was in quite a quandary. He had crawled back to Hogwarts after his meeting with the Dark Lord and patched himself back together. He knew he ought to go and talk to Dumbledore. At the very least he needed to let the older wizard know that the Dark Lord no longer trusted him much.

Yet, despite knowing his duty, Severus felt reluctant to go and fulfill it. A part of him wanted very much to ask his mentor’s advice about his new assignment, but at the same time, another part of him ridiculed that desire. After all, look what had happened the last time he had sought the old man’s advice.

Perhaps he might owl Lupin. Again. Quite a large part of Severus still wanted very much to despise the werewolf, but his rational side forced him to acknowledge the fact that Lupin had given him good advice before and would probably do his best to steer him in the right direction this time.

But Severus really didn’t want to tell him. To go before him as supplicant, again, even now that they were adults, was repugnant.

Severus sat before the fire, weighing and measuring his options as carefully as if they were ingredients for a delicate potion. Finally, he had a thought that was different, and it might just lead to success. Hadn’t his current row with Harry arisen because of secrecy? Therefore, what else was there to do but to speak with the lad about his new assignment? Severus nodded to himself. He stood up and crossed to the door.

Before he had made it halfway across the floor, however, he suddenly had a new thought. If the Dark Lord wasn’t telling him about his plans, how was the Order going to be kept informed? Severus went back to his chair and his thoughts. Perhaps someone else could be persuaded to take up the mantle of spy for the Order? Not that he would retire from the position, but maybe it was time to bring in someone else as well.

---

Severus had just reached a decision on who to contact when his stomach growled loudly. Startled, he looked over at his clock and noticed that it was time for dinner. Excellent, perhaps he could catch Harry going into the Hall or coming out afterwards. He could speak with Dumbledore after that.

Snape got up and left his quarters. He moved down the hallways and up the staircases with his usual determined air, eyes moving in hope that he would spot Harry. Severus did see the boy, but it was as he was walking into the Hall. He sighed. Perhaps he could time leaving a bit better.

Severus noted when Harry rose from the table and carefully waited a few minutes before following him. By quickening his pace just slightly after closing the door behind him, he was able to catch up with the youth on his way back to his dormitory. “Mr. Potter, a word please,” Severus called to him.

Harry froze, shoulders tightening. “Is this in regard to anything academic?” Harry asked without turning.

“Mr. Potter,” Severus protested as he drew nearer.

“Or perhaps I have broken some school rule, Professor?” Harry’s voice was so scrupulously polite that it was clearly an insult.

“I should like to speak with you.”

“I’d rather not, sir, as I believe I made clear to you before.”

“Harry, it is important,” Severus sighed softly.

Harry glanced up at him. “What?” he growled.

“Would you accompany me to my office?” Harry rolled his eyes and gave him a look that said he wouldn’t accompany him anywhere, even if Severus had offered to bring him to a place that contained all his wildest dreams.

“Very well. I merely thought that you should be made aware that the Dark Lord has a new plot against you. I do not know any of the specifics, but I have been instructed to make you as miserable as possible.”

Harry’s face twisted into the most furious and hateful scowl that Severus had seen since just after the Mutt had died. “Ah! I see you are more than willing to confide in me now! Well, I’m glad that at least this time you haven’t been given anything that you’ll find too taxing.” And with a final sneer Harry spun on his heel and marched off to Gryffindor.

“Mr. Potter!” Severus called. “Harry!” he tried again. But Harry never turned.

Several minutes later the furious Potions Master found himself in front of the gargoyle that had guarded the headmaster’s office since time immemorial. Snape absentmindedly gave the password and started up the spiraling staircase. It had not gone well with Harry.

Not that he’d expected it to, but he had hoped that the boy might appreciate the warning, and the risk he’d taken in discussing it in the hallway. Granted there was no one else there, he had checked, but that didn’t preclude the possibility that there was a spy-spell or some other way of observing that hallway that Severus hadn’t noticed. It was a slim possibility, but still, he had lived this long on taking as few chances as possible.

Perhaps, he mused as Albus invited him in, this was one of those necessary risks. He never would have done such a thing before the summer. Then again, perhaps all the crucio’ing had finally driven him round the bend.

And furthermore, what had that impertinent boy meant, nothing too taxing! Did he suppose it wasn’t difficult deceiving the Dark Lord and virtually the entirety of Slytherin House? Did he think that Snape liked the position he was in? That he enjoyed insulting someone he had come to…Severus drew himself up mentally at that even as he dropped into the chair before Dumbledore’s desk.

That was what it was really all about, wasn’t it. He, Severus Snape, had grown to care about the whelp of James Potter. What was the world coming to? Severus had thought he had made peace with his concern for the boy’s welfare before. There was no excuse for this new spasm of grief. Well, he would have to think on it later. Preferably when he was alone, although Ogden might be welcome to join him. Severus sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“Feeling all right, Severus?” Albus inquired. He had been watching his protégé for several minutes now, and the younger man looked far older and more tired than Albus liked. This war was hard on all of them, but it seemed to be hardest on Severus and Harry and others who seemed to him far too young to even be involved. Sometimes, Albus thought, age did not feel like an advantage.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, Albus,” Severus replied a moment later. “I’ve come to report. I seem to have lost the Dark Lord’s confidence.”

Albus looked at him sharply. “To what extent?”

“He revoked my previous assignment. I have been given a new one, but really, it isn’t particularly an assignment so much as telling me to go back to my ‘usual behavior’. He also hasn’t confided anything to me, even as part of a group; although I have the feeling that something is being planned. I really have no idea what that might be, though,” Severus concluded with a grimace.

Albus was frowning deeply. “Do you think you are in danger?”

Severus snorted. “Not much more than usual, I shouldn’t think.”

There was a glimmer of humor in the elder wizard’s eyes as he agreed, “Yes, I suppose spending significant portions of time in the company of a madman isn’t exactly devoid of danger.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Severus replied in the same tone. “You’ve never asked me to do anything more dangerous than chaperone a Hogsmeade visit. Then again, that isn’t exactly healthy for anyone…”

That elicited a chuckle from the headmaster. “I suppose you are correct, as usual. Although the students didn’t seem to come back quite as worse for the wear as you did.”

“Nonsense, Albus.”

Dumbledore smiled indulgently. “Speaking of students,” he began.

“I’d rather not speak of it,” Severus cut him off before he began.

Albus sighed. “Very well. Exercise extra caution with Tom, my boy. I don’t want to lose you, and I don’t think anyone else does either.”

Severus inclined his head. He had no intention of being caught. The consequences would be distinctly unpleasant.

-----

Draco Malfoy didn’t think he had ever been this happy to be going to Hogwarts, with perhaps the single exception of his first year. It had been a singularly tense and silent holiday. He had never before noticed how his mother tended to fade into the background whenever his father was present. He found that he missed her warmth, her acceptance of him, and her wicked sense of humor.

He was pleased that she was taking him to the train station, and even more pleased, though he carefully buried the thought, that his father would not, could not, be coming with them. He knew his mother must have wanted to spend a few moments with him as well, since they hadn’t simply taken a portkey.

Or rather, they hadn’t simply taken a portkey to platform 9 and ¾. They had taken a portkey to a wizarding pub that was a short walk from the train station. They walked in silence at first, but as soon as they were out of earshot to anyone entering the pub Draco looked carefully around to see if there were any wizards walking near them. He didn’t see any, so he decided to risk asking his mother a question that had been plaguing him since the end of summer. “Mother, what did you and Weasley’s mother speak about in Diagon Alley?”

Narcissa had looked over at her son, regretting that it wasn’t looking down at him anymore. Her boy was growing up. When she heard the rest of his question, she looked around carefully. In a way, she decided, a crowded muggle street was probably the best place to have this conversation. “Children, of course.”

“But mother, how could you speak to her?”

Narcissa looked down at her son in amusement. “I suppose the same way that you find it in yourself to speak to her son or daughter.”

Draco gave her a disbelieving look. “Do you mean to tell me that you were taunting her?”

“No, indeed, Draco, that wouldn’t be polite.” There was a pointedness to her comment, but her son let it pass unremarked upon.

“Then what did you say? And how did you dare? You know Father hates them.”

Narcissa looked over at her son with a calculating expression. “My son, you are growing up. You will find, as you do so, that things are not always as they seem, nor are they always as you have been told.”

She paused then nodded very slightly. “Molly Prewitt and I knew each other long ago, when we were but girls. It was an accidental meeting, her family didn’t spend a lot of time with my family, but we did see each other occasionally, and it was a delightfully scandalous acquaintance. In school we were obviously separated by house, but we never completely gave up speaking to each other.”

“But mother, she’s a muggle-lover and a blood-traitor!” Draco exclaimed softly.

Narcissa cast another glance at her son. “She is a mother. We do not quite see eye to eye on many things, Muggles included, but still.” She shrugged slightly and elegantly. “Mother’s have a way of speaking to each other when their children are involved.”

“So then what did you say?”

“What do you think we said?” Draco frowned slightly in thought. Perhaps his mother had been telling her off for letting her children hex him. But on the other hand, why would Mrs. Weasel take it so calmly? But what else could it have been?

Narcissa glanced over at her son, who was now deep in thought. She gave a little sigh. She wanted so badly to guide him, but it seemed it was too late. She didn’t dare come out too strongly in opposition to his father, that would have disastrous consequences, but at the same time, she couldn’t stand by and watch her son follow blindly in a path that had been laid out for him.

Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, had thought very hard when her husband was arrested, and she had determined that her son would at least see where he was going, whichever direction he chose. And she would see that it was he who chose. As his mother, it was the least she could do for him.

Draco sat on the train, staring out the window and watching the countryside roll past. Every now and again, he noticed absently, they passed a Muggle village. Ordinarily he might have waited to catch another glimpse of one of these towns, but then again, ordinarily he would be chatting with his fellow Slytherins or trying to torment the Gryffindors of Hufflepuffs.

Instead, Draco allowed his thoughts to dart forward to what the new term would be like. His father had not mentioned following Potter around since he had first asked why his son had come home for Christmas alone. Draco supposed that that meant that the task was over, but it seemed unlike his father not to determine that there was some fault and berate him for it. To just let the whole thing drop this way seemed somehow…ominous.

Draco gave a small shudder but then mentally pulled himself back. Ominous, honestly he was starting to sound like a Hufflepuff. Actually, he was glad to be rid of Potter. No more hanging about pretending to like the freak. He could go back to being his normal self. Boss Crabbe and Goyle around. Tease Granger. Rile Weasley.

This is going to be great, he told himself, ruthlessly suppressing the small voice that pointed out that he would no longer be flying on Saturdays with someone who could keep up and didn’t worry too much about the proper number of times to let him win. When he thought of it that way, it almost made his life seem…lonely. Draco spent half a second examining that thought before pushing it utterly and thoroughly away.

Clearly sitting here looking out the window was only encouraging him to think melancholy and utterly untrue thoughts. Resolutely, Draco stood up and strode from the compartment. He had some Gryffindors to torment.

---

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville all sat in the same compartment. Hermione looked around at them and wished that Harry could be here as well. And Luna. Hermione wasn’t sure where the young Ravenclaw was, but it seemed positively unusual not to have her sitting there with her nose buried in The Quibbler. Strange as she was, Luna now seemed to belong to their little group.

“He hasn’t written to you either?” Ron asked Neville.

“No. I got a gift from Harry, but that was it.”

“What about you Hermione?”

“I haven’t heard from him, no. You didn’t either?”

Ron shook his head, causing Hermione to frown.

Ginny said, “I just hope the prat didn’t have some stupid reason like not intruding on our family holiday.”

Hermione’s frown deepened. That would be exactly like Harry, to assume that he wasn’t wanted. “Well, if that was his reason, we’re just going to have to set him straight.”

“I’ll set him straight,” Ginny grumbled.

“No, Ginny, I don’t think hexing him into oblivion, or even just the Hospital Wing will work.” Hermione’s smile was gentle, but the look in her eye said she wouldn’t mind trying it herself.

“I think,” Neville said somewhat nervously, “that we should just point out to him that we are his friends, and then we shouldn’t let him forget it.”

“How do you mean, don’t let him forget it?” Ron asked. “Harry knows we’re his friends.”

“I mean make sure he knows we’re willing to talk to him. Don’t let him keep secrets all the time unless he has to. Has anyone talked to him about what happened in the Ministry?”

The others glanced at each other. “He hasn’t brought it up either,” Ron said defensively.

“Of course he hasn’t, Harry wouldn’t. That doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t want to talk, though. Sometimes it’s easier when you have.” Neville frowned a little. “Has anyone got any idea what was going on with him last term? He was acting a little oddly.”

“I know a bit,” Hermione offered. “But it doesn’t really answer any questions and I was afraid to push too much. I’m not sure how much I should say without Harry’s permission…” she trailed off with a deeply apologetic look.

Ron looked like he might have pushed the issue, but Ginny spoke first. “I guess we need to sit down with Harry and have a chat.”

“I guess we do,” Ron agreed. They all nodded to seal the deal.

Just then, the compartment door opened. “Hello, Draco,” Hermione greeted the blonde.

Draco sneered. “Have a good holiday, Granger?”

“I did, thanks. Did you?”

Her response caught him off guard. Could she be sincerely asking? Was it a trap? Long experience had taught him to regard all unexpected actions with wariness if not outright suspicion. “I guess you didn’t see much of Weasley, then.”

“We were able to spend a few days together, actually.” Hermione replied serenely, oblivious to the incredulous glances and out and out gaping that everyone else was giving her. “Is your mother well?”

Draco blinked hard. This was not at all the way this little interview should have gone. “She is well,” he answered shortly.

“Good.” Hermione nodded and smiled at him. Draco just nodded slightly and turned away, closing the door behind him. The second it had shut completely the three Gryffindors leaned toward Hermione.

“What was that?” Ginny asked softly. She was clearly impressed.

“Delaying tactic,” Hermione shrugged.

“What?” Ron exclaimed.

“Look, I’ve been thinking about this a lot actually. If Malfoy wants to be polite, we should encourage that. And if he doesn’t want to, we need to make sure that it’s clear that he’s the one at fault. I’ve seen Mum do it loads of time at the office. Besides, he thinks we’re all dumb Gryffindors, right? So he’d never expect it.”

Ron, Ginny, and Neville stared at her another moment. “I’m not sure if that’s brilliant, or completely starkers,” Ron breathed. “Sometimes, you scare me.”

“Well, I just thought, I mean, if you think it’s a bad idea,” Hermione began.

“No! It’s a great idea!” Ginny exclaimed.

“What?” Neville turned sharply to face the red-headed witch. He couldn’t help feeling somewhat bewildered at this turn of events. Draco Malfoy being polite? What was next? Was Snape going to show up and award him points for Gryffindor for his magical prowess and potions skills?

“Yes, definitely,” Ginny smirked. “We’ll kill him with kindness. He’ll never know what hit him.”

“I’d rather just kill him,” Ron muttered, only to be slapped lightly by Hermione and favored with an admonishing look.

“Do we have to be nice to him all the time?” Neville asked, resignation beginning to show on his face.

“Well, we don’t need to seek him out or anything. Only when he comes up to us,” Hermione replied.

“You can’t be serious,” Ron protested. “We’re actually going to be nice to Malfoy? The ferret that’s made our lives miserable for years?”

“Yes, Ron,” Ginny said before Hermione could answer. “We’ll keep him confused that way and maybe he’ll stay away from us.”

“Well, I’m not going to go out of my way to be nice to him,” Ron huffed, crossing his arms and slouching in his chair.

“So don’t. But you know what Mum says. If you can’t say anything nice, you’d best not say anything at all.” Somehow the way Ginny smiled when she said that made it sound less like an adage and more like a threat.

---

Draco had leant briefly against the wall beside the door he had just exited. That was distinctly disturbing, he decided. He took a deep breath and pushed himself upright. He needed Hufflepuff therapy. There had to be some runty firsties from Helga’s house about somewhere. He doubted more than three people had stayed at school this year.

“Good morning, Draco.” Luna Lovegood stood before him. Perfect.

“It’s afternoon, Lovegood,” he drawled.

“It’s morning somewhere,” she replied calmly. “Have you seen Ginny? I want to tell her about my prank.”

“Your prank? You pranked someone?” The incredulous note in his voice was decidedly unflattering.

“Yes.” The Ravenclaw seemed entirely unconcerned. “Have you seen her?”

Draco just sneered and brushed past her. This was shaping up to be a thoroughly miserable train ride.

---

Harry landed impatiently in the gathering gloom. Any minute now his friends should arrive. It would be good to see them again. He was still of two minds as to whether he ought to tell them about everything or not. He supposed he would just wait until it came up and then make it up as he went along. He gave a small shrug and trudged back up to the tower. He might as well get cleaned up for dinner.

Several minutes later, Harry was sitting in the Great Hall. The smaller table had disappeared again and was replaced by the four house tables and the staff table on the raised dais. Harry watched with bored eyes as the teachers filtered in. He had not seen several of them since before break began, and he mostly ignored them. He simply couldn’t be bothered just then.

“The train should be here any moment.” The kind words of his head of house jolted him from his apathetic reverie. McGonagall smiled at him. “You don’t have much longer to wait,” she assured him.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said at last.

“Mr. Potter,” she paused. “Harry. I, I do hope you know that you can come to me for anything that you might need. Whether you are having a problem in class or you just want to talk to someone. I am aware that I may have seemed…somewhat stand-offish in the past, but I…You seemed to have everything sorted at the beginning of the year, and nearly always in the past. I thought perhaps you didn’t need, didn’t want…well.” She broke off again and Harry could see her gathering her resolve and coherency. “I just wanted you to know, that I am here for you.”

Harry could only blink at her. “Thank you, professor,” he mumbled at last, looking away from her searching, black eyes.

“You are entirely welcome, Harry. And I do mean it.”

Harry nodded again, unable to meet her eyes. She gave him another smile and strode briskly to her place at the staff table.

---

“Coddling the boy, Minerva?” Severus sneered as she passed.

“Well, someone has to look after him,” she replied with a sniff. “He’s been positively out of sorts this holiday.”

“Aye,” Severus breathed inaudibly as she seated herself. He tried not to blame her for being able to approach Harry while he could not. He tried not to blame himself for the fact that he couldn’t.

As it happened, McGonagall had been right. It had not been long at all before the carriages arrived and the returning students descended upon the previously empty school in a swirl of noise and chaos. Everywhere were students shaking snow off their cloaks and stamping mud and ice off their boots as they greeted each other boisterously and made inquiries about the just-past holidays.

Harry waited for his friends in his usual spot at the Gryffindor table with just a touch of apprehension and a great deal of impatience. He was just beginning to wonder if they were ever going to get around to finding him when they burst through the open doors of the Great Hall. Harry couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face when he saw them.

Hermione smiled brightly and began waving energetically. She was not content until Harry had waved back, and even then Harry was certain that she had used her prefect status to cut a path through the milling students over to him. “Hello, Harry!” she exclaimed as she bounced up to him. “How were your holidays?”

“All right, thanks. Yours?” Harry didn’t really want to discuss what had happened over break and he didn’t want to think about the fact that he had just lied to one of his best friends.

“Great, thanks.”

“Harry, mate!” Ron slapped him on the back. “How are you?”

“Fine thanks,” he replied.

Before he could make his own inquiries Harry found himself greeting Neville and Ginny and even Luna drifted up to him. “I’ll send you an owl,” she promised him before wandering over to the Ravenclaw table, although he wasn’t quite sure why that was so important. He finally just decided that if she wanted to keep in touch he wouldn’t really object. He owed her, he supposed, for assuring him that he wasn’t loosing his sanity last year. Funny as that statement sounded.

Harry didn’t have long to spend on the incongruous thought, however, because Dumbledore was calling for everyone to take their seats. “I’d like to welcome you all back to Hogwarts,” the smiling, old wizard said. “I sincerely hope that you’ve all had most excellent holidays and that you’ve gotten your brains ready to cram lots of new knowledge into. Not forgetting that your end of term exams are cumulative, of course.”

He twinkled knowingly at them. “But fortunately those final exams aren’t for quite a while yet, so on that happy note, I’ll let you all eat.” He gestured emphatically and the tables were suddenly filled with practically anything a hungry teen could want.

“Harry,” Ron said around a mouthful of chips. “Why were you glaring at Dumbledore?”

“I wasn’t,” Harry said.

“I saw you,” Ron said in surprise.

“Impersonating basilisks again, Harry?” Ginny asked airily.

“Something like that,” Harry muttered. His joy at seeing his friends again seemed suddenly far less fulfilling than it previously had.

“Well, you’ll just have to tell us about it later, eh?” Neville said. “We want to hear all about your holidays, you know.”

“I didn’t really do much,” Harry replied evasively.

“What, no pranks? No portable swamps?” Ginny asked. “Gred and Forge would be most disappointed in you.” She gave him an examining and reproachful look that reminded Harry inordinately of the manner in which McGonagall looked over her glasses at miscreants.

He smiled a little but shrugged. “It’s been pretty empty around here. Why don’t you tell me what you guys did, instead?”

They started off slowly and with many exchanged glances, but eventually his friends began telling him all about their vacations, and the recounting managed to get them through dinner and back to the common room. Neville was just finishing up an amusing story about a plant that he had been breeding that suddenly and unexpectedly showed a definite propensity to mimic Muggle Christmas lights. “Great Uncle Algie kept trying to take it down, but every time he got one section loose another had taken root again.”

When they had stopped laughing and were leaned back against the couches and chairs they occupied near the fire just breathing Ginny looked carefully around the room. “Okay, Harry. It’s just us now. Spill.”

He was a little taken aback at how abruptly she began demanding answers, but after a few minutes thought, he decided that really he owed them something. After all, they had put up with his evasiveness all last term. And he really wanted a chance to complain to someone who wouldn’t try to make him be responsible and see that maybe Snape hadn’t meant to hurt him. If nothing else, he could depend on his friends, most of them anyway, to roundly curse the man, strictly figuratively speaking now that the twins were gone, and give him lots of sympathy.

“I suppose,” he began hesitantly. “I suppose it really begins at the end of last term, right after we got off the train in London. You may remember, a couple of the old crowd decided to have a chat with my Uncle.”

Hermione nodded, and then frowned. “He didn’t, well, they didn’t do anything, did they?” she asked.

“Not exactly. You see, they left.”

“What?” Ron sat up straight.

“For Merlin’s sake, Ronald, keep your voice down,” Ginny hissed, flicking her wand in the gesture for a conversation bubble.

Ron glared at his sister for a split second before he said, “What do you mean they left?”

“They went to Majorca, on holiday. I wasn’t invited. Long story short, I ended up spending the summer with Snape.”

“But why did they stick you with Snape? Instead of letting you stay at Headquarters or coming to the Burrow?”

Harry shrugged. “Apparently someone thought it was a good idea. He wasn’t so bad after a while. I even sort of thought we were…” Harry trailed off and stared into the fire.

“Thought you were what, Harry?” Neville probed hesitantly.

“I dunno. It doesn’t matter anyway. It turns out I was wrong.” His friends exchanged glances that he pretended not to notice over his head. “When we got back here, he was all buddy-buddy, and I thought everything was all right. Even when Malfoy started acting weird and palling around with me I didn’t suspect anything, but then, right after term ended, I found out.”

Harry broke off and shook his head furiously, eyes gleaming. “Turns out it was all an act. See, Malfoy wanted me to get his mother to accept custody, some loco parentis thing, from Sirius. And Snape wanted me to make friends with Malfoy so that maybe poor little rich boy wouldn’t turn out to be all Dark, and Dumbledore didn’t want Snape to tell me what was going on.”

Harry slouched further down in his chair. His friends were exchanging glances again. He tried to pretend it didn’t bother him.

“Well,” Hermione tried, “at least that explains why you were glaring at Professor Dumbledore.” Her smile was a wan, small thing and disappeared after a moment.

“So, you and Snape, you were, what, friends over the summer?” Ron asked slowly.

Harry snorted. “Well, I thought he wasn’t so bad, you know. He tutored me in potions a bit. And spoke to my Aunt and Uncle. And he didn’t lie to me. Not at first, anyway.”

Everyone was silent. “So, I take it you aren’t speaking anymore?” Hermione ventured.

“No,” Harry said emphatically.

“Speaking?” Ron mouthed at Hermione. She shook her head at him.

“Oh, you may as well tell him,” Harry said without looking at either of them.

“I don’t know everything, you know,” Hermione said. “Just that you were going to talk to him sometimes.”

“Is that what that remedial potions thing was?” Neville asked.

“Yeah.”

“But, if you only just stayed with him this summer, how come you were taking remedial potions last year, too?”

“Last year I was studying Occlumency. It didn’t work out at the time,” Harry grinned bitterly.

“How about now, mate?” Ron asked.

“I’m pretty good, I suppose. I don’t get visions anymore.”

They all nodded, although Neville had a vaguely unsettled look on his face.

“So, that’s it, then? You just hung around and glared at Snape and Dumbledore all break?” Ginny asked.

“Mostly, yeah. I avoided them a lot. Got my homework done.”

“How has Snape been treating you?” Neville asked.

Harry shrugged. “He apologized for a while, but the other day he said that he’d got orders from Riddle to make me miserable. So it’s back to the way things were, I reckon.”

“Oh.” His friends were quiet again. They hadn’t complained as much as he had expected, but then he supposed that it really hadn’t sunk in yet. He was watching the hypnotic flames dancing in the fireplace when he yawned.

“We have classes in the morning,” Hermione remarked.

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “I’ll walk up the stairs with you.”

Hermione nodded and rose, crossing over to kiss Ron on the cheek. She straightened, but he pulled her back down for a proper goodnight-kiss. When they pulled apart the pair was blushing, especially when Ginny catcalled and Neville surprised them by letting out a wolf-whistle. Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“Goodnight, Ronald, Harry, Neville,” Hermione said primly. “Coming, Ginevra?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Coming, Hermione. ‘Night guys.” The boys bid her goodnight and sat before the fire a few minutes longer.

“Suppose we ought to go to bed too,” Neville said.

“Yeah,” Ron said without moving.

“Well, goodnight,” Neville said as he climbed to his feet and headed toward the stairs. Halfway there he paused. “Harry?”

Harry looked up. Several unidentified expressions flickered over Neville’s face before he shook his head. “Nothing. Get some sleep.”

Harry blinked and nodded. He sat there with Ron for perhaps another ten minutes filled with a sort of expectant silence before the redhead stood up. “C’mon, mate.” He offered Harry a hand. “We really have got class tomorrow and you look as if you could use the sleep.”

Harry glanced at the hand before him, slightly calloused from holding a broom and a quill and covered with the ubiquitous freckles. Then he took it and let Ron pull him up. Instead of releasing him right away, however, Ron peered into his eyes. “Harry, mate. You never talked about Sirius, and you never said anything about any of this, either. You can talk to us, you know. We’re here for you.”

Harry shook his head. “Everyone’s been saying that lately, you, McGonagall, even Remus when he was here.”

Ron quirked an eyebrow at hearing that Lupin had come to Hogwarts. “Well, it’s true. And if you ever want to talk about Sirius, or about Snape, you know just to insult him, or not, I’ll be around.”

Harry stopped himself from making a sarcastic comment and said instead, “Thanks, Ron. I’ll let you know.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

Ron looked like he didn’t quite believe him but let go of his hand anyway, in favor of slinging an arm about his shoulders as they crossed the common room.

---

Luna Lovegood was as good as her word.

The next morning Harry stumbled out of his bed, got ready, and made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast with Ron. His sleep had been surprisingly restless. Whoever it was that said that talking would make it better was clearly lying. It was somehow as if baring his soul to his friends had served only to crystallize his anger.

He’d not been seated five minutes, however, before a single owl swooped down to the table in front of him, seemingly not noticing that it was standing in a platter of eggs. Harry had barely time to untie the note from its leg before it took off again.

“Is that from Luna?” Ron asked as he fitted his mouth around half a pastry.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry said as he unrolled the scroll.

“Her owl’s as loony as she is.”

“Luna’s not loony,” Harry protested.

“Yeah, she is,” Ron said with a grin.

“Luna is abstracted, Ronald.” Hermione peered at her boyfriend over the top of her Arithmancy text.

“Yeah, Ronald,” Neville teased gently. “Luna is abstracted.” He had a lofty and superior expression on his face that seemed entirely out of place on the gentle Herbology student.

“Can it,” Ron mock-growled as he nudged Hermione’s knee with his own under the table. She smiled but did not look up again.

Harry, meanwhile, was perusing Luna’s note. It had a rambling salutation, which was no more than he expected, but it soon got down to business. Apparently Luna had nicked several items from her housemates. They were not entirely essential things, but their owners would soon notice their absence. In their place she had left bits of parchment with riddles that told where the items were hidden. The answers were written at the bottom in the invisible ink that she had purchased earlier in the year. All of the parchments had been written out before hand, but the prank was actually in motion right now.

Harry couldn’t help but look over at the Ravenclaw table. Several of the students were wearing frowns and Cho Chang seemed to be asking everyone if they had seen her favorite hairclip. Harry couldn’t help breaking out in a large grin that soon devolved into barely repressed laughter.

“Just read Luna’s letter, did you?” Ginny asked as she plunked down on the bench across from him.

“Yes,” he answered. “It seems so fitting,” he said.

“That’s what I thought. Her house really does underestimate her. I doubt anyone will ever guess it’s Luna.”

“Yeah. That’s good though. It’d be a shame if she got in trouble for it.” Ginny nodded in agreement.

“Speaking of trouble,” Ron said, “I notice you managed to behave well enough over Christmas hols. The hourglass hasn’t changed at all.”

“Yeah, it was a struggle, but in the end victory was mine,” Harry said gesturing grandly.

Ron snorted with the unfortunate side-effect that he inhaled the egg he had been chewing.

“Honestly, Ron.” Ginny said and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why Hermione puts up with you.”

Hermione looked up. “Well,” she said thoughtfully. Her long pause made Ron look up at her nervously. “I suppose it’s because he’s rather cute at times, and quite brave,” Hermione said at last, her brown eyes dancing with humor. Ron smiled at her and, having thoroughly cleaned his face with his napkin, leaned over to kiss her.

“Ugh,” Harry groaned playfully looking away. “Do you have to do that at the table?” There was no reply. “Do you think my professors will accept seared eyeballs as a reason to skip class?” he asked Ginny and Neville mock-seriously.

Ron and Hermione finally broke apart and Hermione smoothed her hair and straightened her blouse. “Professor Snape won’t,” she replied. “We have potions today, you know.”

This time, Harry’s groan was entirely real.

---

“Well? Enter!”

The moment he had awakened that morning he could feel the headache coming on. It was going to be one of those sort, and it was only a matter of time and dunderheads before it blossomed just behind his eyes with an enthusiasm that convinced him that there was justice in the universe, even if there was no mercy. There had been idiots aplenty in his previous classes, and no one had been safe from his sharp tongue. Given how truly miserable he felt, he thought that it was a wonder any houses had any points left. And he did mean any house. But here he was, opening the door to what was sure to be the worst class of the day. He had certainly dreaded it long enough.

Fighting the urge to rub at his temples or pinch the bridge of his nose, Severus instead growled out the directions, poorly worded and overly concise, and ordered them to start working. He ignored the raised eyebrows as he stalked around the classroom. Any moment now he was going to have to find something, anything, to criticize Harry about. Before he would have been only too eager to do so, but now…well. That was no longer the case.

Nevertheless, within fifteen minutes of the beginning of class he found a fault in Harry’s preparation technique. His ginger root cubes were just a trifle too large. Granted, it probably wouldn’t greatly alter the efficacy of the potion, especially if he waited an extra minute before adding the lavender sepals and tossed in an extra pinch of ground cactus spine. But those steps weren’t written in the text, and the cubes were too big.

“Potter!” Severus shouted from the opposite side of the classroom. He startled Finch-Fletchly, whom he had been standing next to, and the boy was lucky not to have cut himself with the knife he wielded.

Harry, to his credit, did not flinch as many might have, but his shoulders tensed noticeably. “Yes, Professor?” the youth ground out without looking up.

“Your ginger root is inadequately diced. Go and get a new root. And twenty points from Gryffindor for wasting class time and school materials.”

Harry shot him a venomous glare from beneath his eyelashes but moved to comply. If the class had been watching him with raised eyebrows before, they now looked like the innocuous bits of hair were going to crawl right off their faces. Twenty points was harsh, especially given the relative patience Snape had treated Harry and the rest of the class with all first term. Well, it was just as well that they learned rapidly that Severus Snape had not mellowed. And about time, too; if he had waited much longer they might have started coming to him with questions about class or, Merlin forbid, about life in general.

Harry, meanwhile, had gotten his root and moved back to his table. He was dicing again and this time the cubes were too small. Again, not by much, and it would be fairly easy to counter, but they were not the perfect eighth inch that the book specified.

“Potter!” Severus shouted again. “Are you utterly incapable of dicing ginger roots? Perhaps it is too much work for your single brain cell to accurately measure and cut a one eighth inch cube?” This time there was nothing discreet about the glare that Harry gifted him with. “Well, boy?” The class stared at them in fascination.

“What answer shall I give you, Professor?” Harry cocked his head to one side. “Either way you’ll find some way to make me look stupid.”

“Perhaps that would not be the case if you did not behave in a way that made it so very easy to point out your intellectual handicap.”

Harry’s lips paled as he pressed them firmly together.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor, Potter. And a zero for your daily work. You can spend the rest of the class period reading your text, supposing, of course, that that task isn’t too difficult for you?”

Harry grudgingly cleaned up his work station before perching on the stool and leaning over his book. Severus just sneered as he turned away.

Hermione scowled at him and cast sympathetic glances at Harry throughout the class, though she was careful to make sure that her head was bent over the cauldron anytime he looked her way. He did manage to catch Harry grimacing back at the girl though, and he descended upon them in an instant. “Is it possible, Potter, that you are incapable of reading without Miss Granger’s assistance?”

“What? I can read by myself, thanks!” the boy exclaimed indignantly.

Miss Granger appeared to focus on her brewing, but he could tell she was listening closely, ready to intervene, no doubt, by the way that her fingers lingered on her supplies as she reordered them.

“Really?”

“Yes!” Harry shouted, interrupting him. “I’ve handed in several essays at this point. Surely I could not write without being able to read. Unless, sir, it is you who are incapable of reading? Maybe you just didn’t see my name at the top of the parchment!”

“Detention, Mr. Potter. Be here at seven o’clock tonight. In the meantime, take your things and head to the Headmaster’s office.” Severus was furious, and only part of it was the insistent throbbing in his temples.

Harry slammed his things in his bag and stomped out of the classroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Fifteen points from Gryffindor!” Severus stalked about the room once more before seating himself behind his desk and marking essays, glowering up at the remaining students, most of whom were cowering behind their cauldrons.

---

Harry was certain that Snape would have taken points off for slamming the door, but he didn’t really care. He had known that the class was going to be bad, but that didn’t stop him from fuming over it. That greasy, slimy, bastard!

And of course he would send him up to Dumbledore! Who was going to say, ‘there there, Harry. It’s all Voldemort’s fault, you know. Severus didn’t mean to do it. Lemon drop?’ Hah! He did not want to deal with the barmy old man’s sympathetic mutterings.

Harry’s steps slowed. Why should he? Dumbledore couldn’t know that he had been sent up. And besides, Snape had said ‘head to the Headmaster’s office.’ He hadn’t said that he actually had to go there. Technically, all Harry had to do was go to the gargoyle and then leave, and no one would be the wiser. Harry smirked. There was another hour or so until his Transfiguration class. He could always head to the library and get some Defense reading done.

“Mr. Potter, what are you doing out of class?” Professor McGonagall had just come out of Dumbledore’s office and Harry knew he wasn’t going to be able to go the library that period after all.

“Snape threw me out,” he informed her.

“Threw you out?”

“Yeah.”

“Whatever for?”

Harry shrugged.

McGonagall looked at him closely through narrowed eyes before turning around. “Well, come along, then, Potter. Up to the Headmaster’s office with you.”

“Yes ma’am,” Harry muttered, following her up the winding staircase and into his second least-favorite office at Hogwarts.

“Minerva? Ah, and young Harry. What can I do for you two?” Dumbledore tilted his head to the side and peered over his spectacles at them, eyes mercifully free of the majority of their usual twinkle.

“I found Mr. Potter at the gargoyle, Headmaster. He claims that Professor Snape told him to leave class.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Is that so, Harry?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry glared at the edge of the headmaster’s desk so that he wouldn’t have to meet the old man’s eyes.

“I see.” The office was silent as Albus eyed Harry before speaking again. “Thank you Minerva.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow for a moment then pursed her lips and nodded. She turned and left, recognizing the dismissal for what it was, but determined to have a little chat with Severus. That determination was only strengthened later that evening when she happened to see the point counters.

“Sit down, Harry,” Dumbledore said at last. “Why don’t you tell me what happened in Potions class?”

“I’d rather not talk about it, sir.”

Dumbledore frowned. “Mr. Potter, I understand that this is a somewhat difficult time for you, but I really must insist that you cooperate in this matter.”

Harry’s glare intensified. “Snape lit into me again. After a while I just couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“Professor Snape, Harry. Would you care to elaborate any more?”

“Well, he just kept picking at me about how I diced my ginger root. At first I did what he told me to. I took a zero for the day and sat in class reading my text book. But when he started saying that I couldn’t read without Hermione to help me, well, I sort of snapped.”

“Snapped how?”

“Well, I said that I’d been turning in essays for the last six years and if he couldn’t tell that they were mine then perhaps he was the one who couldn’t read.”

There was a quickly smothered glint of amusement in Dumbledore’s eyes at that statement. “I see. I don’t imagine that Professor Snape was very pleased by that.”

Harry snorted. “No. He chucked me out of class and sent me here. And he gave me a detention.”

“Well, Harry, I am going to have to insist that you treat your professors with rather more respect than you showed Professor Snape. Magic can be a dangerous thing, especially for students. I am also going to leave your punishments intact. However, I will not assign any further punishments, and I will have a talk with Professor Snape.”

Harry continued scowling at the desk.

“Harry.” The aged wizard looked at him sorrowfully. “I do know that this is a most trying time for you. I hope that you and Severus can find some way to work around and through the current difficulties. If you cannot,” he sighed. “If you cannot, and you find that you cannot, or will not, talk to me, please, find someone. You have rather remarkable friends, you know. More than you realize, I think. And your head of house would always be happy to talk to you.” Dumbledore gave him a penetrating look. “You are not alone, Harry. It is important that you remember that.”

Harry made no reply, and the headmaster sighed again. “You may go, Harry. I’m sure you don’t want to be late to Transfigurations.”

---

Five minutes to seven found Harry standing outside Snape’s office, glaring fiercely at the door. He had a headache, and had had a slightly faint feeling all afternoon that only seemed to get worse as time passed. It had even prevented him from doing much more than playing with his food at dinner, though he had passed it off as anxiety about his detention. Much as he wished to be anywhere else, staring at a wooden door was not exactly the most titillating activity, so Harry raised his hand and knocked.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, how good of you to come,” Snape sneered as he let him into the office. It had occurred to him that detention was the perfect opportunity to talk to Harry without raising anyone’s suspicions. Once the door was securely shut behind him Severus gestured at the chair. “You may sit, if you like.” Harry stepped forward and dropped into the chair, but he did not speak, and he did not relax in the slightest as Severus seated himself behind the desk. The professor steepled his fingers and examined the youth before him. “I am not certain you wish to hear this,” he spoke hesitantly. “But I thought I owed you some explanation for today.” He paused and peered at Harry. “You may recall that I had told you about my assignment?”

Harry glared at him. “Yes,” he said grudgingly.

“Well, then I hope you understand why I had to do what I did.”

“Look, do you have any cauldrons for me to scrub or anything? Because I don’t really want to spend my detention sitting around talking about my feelings,” Harry sneered.

Severus frowned at him. “I had hoped you would be willing to discuss this in a rational and adult manner. I see that is not the case.”

“I don’t see why we need to discuss it.”

“Harry!” Severus said, leaning forward. “I have apologized and explained repeatedly. I am not in the easiest of positions.”

“Neither am I!” Harry shouted. “I am sick and tired of being lied to and taken advantage of, and told only what somebody else thinks I need to know!”

“I am attempting to tell you the truth! Why do you think I’ve told you anything? The wrong word to anybody about what you know and I could end up dead! I have trusted you, why won’t you return the favor?” Severus’s voice had started out quite loud and had progressed to a soft hiss by the end of his statement.

“Perhaps because you don’t deserve it,” Harry said in icy dignity.

Severus glared at him. “Your behavior does not merit the reward of mature conversation. You will write lines, Mr. Potter. You will write ‘I will respect my professors’ one thousand times before you leave this evening. There is ink, quill, and parchment on the table, there.”

Harry glared back defiantly but moved over to the small side table where the stationary Snape had described was set out. He had been writing for some time, inwardly fuming, when he noticed a spot of blood on the parchment. His first thought was that somehow Snape had gotten hold of Umbridge’s horrid quill, but he realized that that was not the case when another spot joined it. There was a sort of warm, trickling feeling in his nose. Harry raised his hand to his face and drew it back to stare in surprise at the smear of crimson.

“Why are you not…” Snape trailed off. With a flick of his wand he conjured a tissue and strode over to his student. “Here,” he said, holding the tissue in front of Harry’s face. Harry took it and put it to his nose. “Tilt your head back, boy,” he said, tipping Harry’s chin up so that his head was leaning backward. “Have you ever had a nosebleed before?” he asked after several minutes.

“No,” Harry replied, his voice distorted.

“Well, it will pass in a moment. Unless there is some sweet you should be eating?” He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“No,” Harry said indignantly.

“Very well. Just wait a moment then. I don’t think there will be any need to send you to Madame Pomfrey.” Harry nodded awkwardly. A few moments later the minor crisis was over and Harry was bent over his parchment again.

Minerva McGonagall had the strong suspicion that Something was Going On.

This was not one of those usual somethings that every House-master or –mistress learned to have a sort of sixth (or sometimes seventh) sense about, like Longbottom losing his toad again, or Thomas trying to get up the stairs into the girls dormitory, or Finnegan trying to transfigure his pumpkin juice into firewhiskey. This wasn’t even a slightly larger or less ordinary something that might have been equivalent to one of the Weasley twins’ many escapades.

This was Something big.

And, as usual, it appeared to have something to do with Potter.

Minerva sighed. Sometimes she wished, for her own sake, that the boy could get into ordinary troubles like his father had done. It certainly would have been much easier on all of them. But it was not to be.

She also had the strongest suspicion that whatever It was, Albus and Severus both knew all about it. And, also as usual, neither of them had bothered to mention it to her. This was probably more Albus’s fault than Severus’s, particularly if it had to do with the problem plaguing the Wizarding World at large, and she thought it might. She couldn’t help but sigh again. After the rather tumultuous events at the end of Potter’s fifth year, she had hoped that the boy would curtail any adventures for awhile.

Then again, he wasn’t usually the one who started these Things. He just didn’t let go of them.

Minerva had decided to have a little chat with Severus about what was going on, and she had known that he probably would not be cooperative, so she had determined to strong-arm him into giving her the information if she had to, although her Gryffindor status did not preclude her possession of underhanded and devious stratagems, so she might trick it out of him after all.

She had not, however, reckoned with him being so uncooperative as to not show up to dinner at all. And yet he hadn’t. She supposed she ought to have known. Severus often seemed to know when she wanted to talk to him, and he avoided her assiduously on those occasions. She wondered idly if that was somehow left over from his school days. No matter, either way she was going to talk to him, and if he didn’t show up at breakfast this morning she would just have to go and track him down in his office.

Fortunately, she saw as she walked into the Great Hall, Severus was present for breakfast. As she made her way to her customary seat, she paused by him. “I should like to speak with you later, Severus.”

He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow for a moment, but when her expression did not change he said, “Very well. This afternoon, perhaps?”

“I have a bit of a break right after last class,” she said. He knew that, and she knew he knew it, but as long as he was willing to come to her she thought she should be accommodating.

Severus nodded.

“I’ll have tea,” she promised with a small smile as she continued on to her chair.

---

Draco Malfoy was in a pensive mood that morning. He had awakened early and, since he didn’t have anything better to do, had gone directly to the Great Hall with his books for the day. Arriving so early let him watch most of the teachers come in. Most of them were either morning people or had already fortified themselves with at least one cup of tea, but a few of them, like Sinistra, seemed to stagger just a little as they made their way to the Head Table.

He noted that McGonagall walked in with her lips compressed, and felt a brief twinge of sympathy when she stopped next to his Head of House, but apparently Snape was able to mollify her, because the stern witch passed by after a minute. Probably she wanted to know what was going on with Snape and Potter.

That was something Draco wouldn’t mind knowing himself. Earlier this year he almost would have said that Snape doted on the Boy-Who-Scarred. That was clearly not the case now, as demonstrated by yesterday’s rather…exciting…Potions class. What had changed? Draco mused on this while the other students finally began trickling, and then pouring, into the Great Hall, but he could not come up with a satisfactory answer.

Perhaps he ought to see if he could get it out of Potter? Granted, they had not parted the best of friends, but he thought that they might be on good enough terms. Didn’t Gryffindors value honesty? Potter had been a somewhat restful companion at times, and he just might be a valuable source of information. Nine tenths of the interesting things that happened here at Hogwarts connected to Potter and his set in some form or another.

He wasn’t under orders anymore, he didn’t think, but he hadn’t been ordered to give up the acquaintance all together, either. Maybe there was a chance for this to work.

--0--

It was with those thoughts in mind that Draco caught up to Harry just before the start of the last class of the day. “Granger, Potter,” he greeted the brunettes politely.

Hermione nodded.

“Malfoy,” Potter’s tone was significantly cooler, and his eyes were narrowed. Maybe this wasn’t going to work out after all.

“I was wondering, have you made plans for Saturday morning?”

“What’s it to you?” Harry asked aggressively.

“I simply wished to inquire whether our previous arrangement was still standing.” Draco allowed his voice to cool slightly, but was careful to remain inviting. His little plot definitely would not work if he were insulting.

A look of surprise flitted across Harry’s face. “I hadn’t thought about it,” he confessed.

“Well, I will be on the pitch, if you do decide to come.”

Harry nodded as Draco walked away.

Ron, who had been talking to Neville, came back at that moment. “What’d the ferret want?”

“Ron,” Hermione admonished.

“He wanted to know if I would meet him on Saturday morning.”

“You didn’t say yes?” There was a faintly horrified but resigned air about Ron as he asked.

“No, I didn’t,” Harry said.

Hermione looked at him closely, but refrained from pointing out that he hadn’t said no either. “Class is about to start,” she said mildly, which was enough to put Ron and Harry in their seats in time for Professor Lyons to begin lecturing.

---

“Severus, thank you for coming.” McGonagall looked up from the paper she had been reading and smiled at him.

“Come now, Minerva, we both know that if I hadn’t shown up you would have attempted to beard me in my den.” He smirked at her as he moved to stand behind the chair in front of her desk.

“Such florid language, Severus.” She looked at him reprovingly. “I only would have haunted your office.” They shared a small smile.

“At any rate,” he said with a shrug. “What was it you wanted?” “Why don’t you sit down, Severus, and let me pour you some tea? This is likely to be a rather lengthy conversation.”

“Ah, it’s about Potter, then,” he sneered as he seated himself.

“Actually yes.”

“You’re not even going to bother to deny it?” he asked in surprise.

“No. Why should I?” She conjured a tea set and began to pour out.

“You might have in the past,” he demurred, accepting a steaming tea cup from her.

“Well, this time I am determined not to be distracted by inconsequentials. Severus, what is going on?”

“Could you be a bit more specific, Minerva? I’m afraid that at present I have no idea what you mean.” His slight smile was disingenuous.

“If you think I’m going to be put off by a blanket denial, Severus,” she shook her head at him. “What is going on with Harry?”

“You’re his Head of House; I should think you would know more about the boy than I would.”

“Not so much a boy anymore, Severus. He’s a young man these days. And you know good and well what I’m asking you and why it is that I am asking you.” She paused with her head tilted slightly and huffed when he made no reply.

“Very well. Why is it, Severus, that despite having got on well enough for the last few months, suddenly Gryffindor is down eighty-five points after Mr. Potter has class with you?”

“The boy was impertinent and prepared his ingredients sloppily.”

“Sloppily enough to endanger anyone?”

“No,” Snape admitted grudgingly.

“Then he must have been very impertinent indeed.”

“That, he was,” Severus said emphatically.

“Oh, I’m sure. Mr. Potter has quite a mouth when he chooses to exercise it. But I am somewhat surprised that he chose to in class. He doesn’t usually behave that way unless provoked.”

“What are you implying, Minerva?”

“I would have to know something to imply anything, Severus.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Do you have specific orders to keep me in the dark?”

“Keep you in the dark about what, Minerva?”

She huffed again and leant back. “I do wish you’d stop being deliberately obtuse, Severus.” She examined him through slightly-narrowed eyes. “Well, if you won’t tell me, then I shall simply have to threaten you.”

That made him laugh. “You know, threats usually work better when you don’t warn your victim beforehand.”

“Oh I don’t know. I could transfigure you into a mouse, you know. Mrs. Norris would adore that, and I could do with a bit of a run myself.” Her grin was positively feral.

Severus blanched. “Minerva,” he began.

“Oh calm down, Severus. I wouldn’t let Mrs. Norris have you.”

“I’m less concerned about Mrs. Norris than I am about you,” he replied.

“Why thank you, Severus.”

His lips compressed.

“Harry Potter is, as you know, a fairly high-strung youth. The loss of his godfather, especially in those circumstances, will have struck him quite harshly. He does not seem to have had much trouble with that, but he did have the summer before he came back here, and he is perfectly capable of hiding his feelings.”

Severus snorted a bit there, though it was more because he felt obliged to than because he didn’t believe her.

“I know you don’t see that often, Severus, but it is true. He doesn’t usually choose to, as we all saw last year, but he can. His behavior lately suggests to me that he has not adequately dealt with all the emotional baggage that he incurred last year.” She gave him a keen glance. “I’m not asking you to coddle the boy, Severus. You wouldn’t even if I did ask you to, but I am asking you not to go out of your way to provoke him. By all means, correct him when he is at fault, I have no objection to that, but do not antagonize him.”

“Surely you would not have me believe that he is delicate or unbalanced.”

“I am sometimes surprised that he isn’t unbalanced with all the things that happen to him,” she said tartly. “But he is more delicate than he would have anyone believe, and that includes himself.”

“I think you are doing him a disservice, Minerva. Mr. Potter is more than capable of handling anything I say or do to him.”

“I did not say he wasn’t. I merely asked you to show restraint.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I will take your advice into consideration,” he said.

It was the best she was going to get out of him, and she knew it. So instead of pushing further, she simply nodded. She wasn’t any closer to knowing what was Going On, but she had at least made a beginning. And perhaps if Severus went a little easier on the boy he would be less inclined to rush into danger half-cocked.

---

Later that evening Hermione and Harry were sitting in the Gryffindor common room. Ron was at Quidditch practice and the two remaining members of the trio were doing homework. “Are you going to go flying Saturday?” Hermione asked in a too-casual voice.

“Why would I,” Harry asked.

“I can think of any number of reasons why you might,” she replied coolly. “But I asked if you were going to.”

“I doubt it.” His answer was abrupt and he didn’t look up from his parchment.

“Why not?”

“What?”

“Why not?” she repeated slowly.

“Why would I? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. He was just trying to get me to fall victim to Voldemort’s plot.”

“I suppose,” Hermione shrugged.

“You think he wasn’t?” Harry asked aggressively.

“I don’t think he saw it that way. You said he did it because his father told him to, right? I think to him it was just a matter of staying out of trouble.”

“Oh yeah, poor little Malfoy. What a victim.” Harry snorted.

“I didn’t say that.”

“It sounded to me like you did.”

“Maybe you weren’t listening, then.” She answered him sharply.

“You think I should go with him?” Harry asked her in a slightly calmer voice.

Hermione shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Because I wanted to know, of course.”

Harry sighed in exasperation and returned to the essay he had been ignoring. They worked in silence for a few minutes before Hermione spoke again. “Why do you think he asked you?”

“What?” Harry looked over at her with a long-suffering expression.

“Well?”

“I don’t know!”

She nodded and kept working, but Harry just sat there looking at her. “You do want me to go with him!” he accused her after a moment.

“When did I say that?” she asked.

“You didn’t, but—“ “Well then why would you think so?”

“Because!” he hissed. “You keep asking me all these leading questions.”

“Do I?” she grinned a little that time.

“Hermione!”

“All right, I’ll stop.”

“Thank you!”

Hermione bent over her scroll again, and Harry followed suit, however he couldn’t quite attain the degree of focus he had had before. “Okay,” he sighed dramatically. “What? Why did you ask?”

Hermione blinked up at him. “I told you, Harry, I just wanted to know.”

“Yes, but why did you want to know?”

“Well,” she said a little hesitantly. “We all talked on the train, and we had sort of decided to be, well, polite to him. We didn’t realize at the time that you two were going to call it quits this term.” She gave him a concerned look.

“So, why were you doing this?”

“Well, the others were mostly going along with it to annoy him. But, now he’s asked you to fly with him, even though the whole Slytherin campaign to befriend you is apparently over. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe he really does want to…” she trailed off with a shrug.

“Wants to what? Make friends with us?” Harry asked skeptically.

“Well, maybe not and maybe it’s just another plot. But it was sort of easier on everyone when we weren’t engaged in out and out hostilities. And we won’t know either way if you say no.”

“So you want me to go so I can spy on him.”

“That’s putting it a little strongly,” she protested.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Okay, a little. Mostly I just think, you know, the times being what they are, maybe we should be working harder for interhouse unity.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “You realize Ron would hate it,” he pointed out.

“More than he did last term?” she asked. “Besides, why did you go last term?”

“Because Malfoy wouldn’t leave me alone?”

“The first time, maybe, but you could have said no later. Why didn’t you?”

Harry blushed a little. “I, well, it was. That is, I…”

She cut him off with a sharp wave of her quill. “You had fun, right?”

“Well...”

“It’s all right to say yes, Harry. You are still allowed to have fun.” He stuck his tongue out at her. “Very mature,” she smiled. “So are you going?”

Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. “You know,” he said slowly, “I just might.”

Hermione nodded with a faintly self-satisfied air. “Just don’t wait so long to tell Ron this time,” she said firmly. Harry nodded absently, turning back to his homework.

Harry was miffed. Snape, after having been somewhat kinder in detention, had gone right back to being unbearable in class. Harry knew that the older wizard had explained to him, multiple times, that it was necessary, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it. It was terribly difficult to look at someone you had previously considered safe and not react as they said anything they could think of to hurt you.

Well, not anything perhaps. Snape knew quite a lot about him, after all. But still. Harry was not pleased. And part of the beauty of life was that he did not have to be pleased. He didn’t have any parents or anyone to force him to be reasonable about this. He was free to go on being as angry as he possibly could be at Snape and Dumbledore.

This was not quite as satisfying as it should have been, but Harry thought it would do in a pinch. He was careful not to think too directly about his reasoning though. It was better not to have to deal with it at the moment, and any time he thought about not having parents now his mind sort of slipped sideways to godparents and why he didn’t have any of those any more either.

The red ink staring up at him from his recently-returned Potions essay wasn’t helping matters in the slightest. The only consolation that he had was that apparently no one had done particularly well on this essay, excepting Hermione, of course, and Snape had ordered everyone to rewrite them and hand them back in. With all the corrections made on his original, Harry figured it wouldn’t be too difficult to figure out which parts he needed to fix. Like all of it.

He had spent a solid three hours researching this paper and writing up the rough draft. That was in addition to the time he had spent doing the required reading and the suggested background reading for the class, and fulfilling similar requirements for his other courses. He had seriously considered only focusing on Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in the end he had decided against it. The prophecy had said that he had a power the Dark Lord knew not, but at the moment he hadn’t the slightest idea what that power was either. He didn’t want to take a chance on missing the skills or knowledge he needed to do Tom in just because he hated a professor.

Harry thunked his head down on the table. A few minutes later Ron sat down beside him. “You know, mate, if you’re that tired, you could quit studying this hard,” he commented. “Honestly, you’re getting to be as bad as Hermione.”

Harry tilted his head to the side so that he could look at his friend without actually sitting back up. “I’m not tired,” he protested. “I’m distraught.”

“Distraught?” Ron looked dubious and slightly amused at this claim.

“Yeah,” Harry sat up and gestured expansively at his essay. “I have to rewrite that.”

Ron glanced over the offending scrap of parchment and whistled, garnering a frown from Madame Pince. “You know, it’s moments like this that I’m really glad I didn’t get into that class.”

“That’s so helpful,” Harry drawled. “I’ll probably have to stay up late tomorrow finishing this.”

“Well, look at it this way,” Ron slung a friendly arm around Harry’s shoulders. “There’s always Saturday morning.”

“Erm, yeah,” Harry said.

“What’s up?” Ron asked, ears pricking up.

“Well, see, Malfoy invited me to go flying again on Saturday morning.” Harry glanced at the redhead out of the corner of his eye.

Ron sat very quietly for a moment before nodding. “All right, Sunday morning, then. I’ll make sure no one wakes you up.”

Harry turned to look fully at him. “You don’t mind?” he asked.

“A little, I suppose. But I understand.”

“You could come, you know,” Harry suggested. “There’s nothing to stop you now. I don’t care if Malfoy gets offended.”

“Nah. I don’t think I could manage to get along with Ferret-face for an extended period, and then you wouldn’t have any fun at all. Besides which, it would mess up our plans, and you wouldn’t find out why he’s asked you again.” Ron shook his head. “I’ll just meet up with you at breakfast.”

Harry flashed Ron a grateful smile. “If there’s any breakfast to be had, you mean, by the time you get finished.”

“I’m a growing young man, Harry,” Ron said sagely. “And besides, if you’re late, you deserve to miss out,” he teased. Harry grinned at him.

“Listen, Harry mate, Neville and Ginny and Hermione and I are having dinner in a bit. You want to come and join us?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied. Schoolwork was all well and good, but even considering his recent vow to succeed he saw no reason to skip dinner with friends. He needed to keep his strength up, right? And maybe it would get his mind off Snape.

---

Madame Malfoy,

I hope this finds you well. I know that this is a difficult time for your family, and I would like to speak with you about your son, Draco. He is coping quite well and his behavior is, as always, a model to the rest of the school, however I feel it might be beneficial for us to meet so that I may be of the most help to him. You will forgive me, I hope, for not requesting this meeting sooner, however I did not wish to intrude on your family’s time together, nor did I wish to remind you of your sorrows until they had had a chance to abate somewhat. If I may suggest that you meet me here at Hogwarts? Perhaps next Saturday, at approximately 9 o’clock?

I await your reply.

Your servant,

S. Snape

---

Narcissa looked up from the letter and gazed out the window at her magically blooming garden with unseeing eyes. Severus’s letter was vague and couched in thoroughly polite terms, but she was still relieved that her husband had not been at home when she received it. Lucius was very sensitive about anything concerning his son, and he would have expected a full report.

If however, she made it appear that she was instigating this contact, that she missed Draco and was worried about him, well, it wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened. Her son might not be aware of that, but then what boy wanted his mother hanging about and getting in the way? Just as well that he didn’t know.

Narcissa tapped one elegantly pointed fingernail against her cheek. She would reply at once, she decided, in the affirmative. But she would ask Severus to change the meeting time to eight and suggest that they disillusion themselves and take a walk around the grounds.

---

On Saturday morning Harry woke early. He wasn’t at all certain why he was awake for several long minutes, but he then remembered that he had agreed to go flying with Malfoy again. For another few moments he seriously considered not going, his conversations with Ron and Hermione notwithstanding, but then he thought about how nice it would be to get on his broom, to cut cleanly through the crisp (all right, cold!) morning air, to feel as though he was detached from all of the petty difficulties that plagued him when he was ground-bound.

Besides, maybe the exercise would help re-invigorate him. He’d been feeling a bit off-color lately and he couldn’t think why. Probably he just needed to go out and do something.

---

Draco was actually surprised to see Potter striding briskly onto the field. He was even more surprised to find that he was, ever-so-slightly, pleased to see his rival. As the brunette approached, Draco brought his broom to the ground in front of his yearmate with considerable skill. “I didn’t think you were coming,” he remarked casually.

“I woke up,” Harry shrugged.

“Tag?” Draco quirked an eyebrow up.

“Sure.” Harry lunged for Draco without warning, but just as suddenly Draco stepped back, avoiding his grasping hands.

The blonde leapt into the air. “You’re supposed to wait until you’re actually on your broom, Potter,” he chastised from a safe distance.

Harry just shrugged again. “Muggles play on the ground,” he said as he followed Malfoy into the air.

“We are not muggles.”

“So what? If you’re afraid that I’ll beat you…” Harry trailed off.

“Certainly not,” Draco sniffed haughtily. “After all, you can’t even catch me on a broom, can you?” Harry raised his own eyebrow and took off after the suddenly fleeing Slytherin.

---

Severus could not help thinking of Narcissa’s letter as he watched her son file into his classroom with the rest of the sixth year NEWT class. Her suggestions for alterations to his plans had been well-considered and he had had a few bad moments when he couldn’t help wondering if his intentions were that obvious. He had concluded, however, that he was over-thinking the situation and that Narcissa was only being prudent, a trait far more people of the world could stand to develop, particularly that group which spent much of its time surrounded by crimson and gold.

With that remembered thought, Severus’s eyes traveled, almost against his will, to one Harry Potter. He remembered to scowl even as he did so, and he was rewarded with an answering glare. He held the look for a few beats, then sneered and turned away.

Sometimes, he considered, his life was a little too much like that ridiculous muggle spy-novel he had confiscated from one of the Ravenclaw students. Severus shook his head imperceptibly and brought his thoughts back in line. That little mental vacation was over and he could only thank Merlin that it had happened at a time when his lack of concentration was not fatal.

He turned firmly back to the business at hand and brought the class to order. If these students were going to be ready to sit his exams, let alone the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests, there was a lot of work to do.

---

Harry was on time this morning. He had felt quite thoroughly refreshed after his morning flight last week, and the week just gone had been tough. Harry had been taking his vow to study more quite seriously. Nearly every spare moment had been devoted to extra reading.

This didn’t mean that he didn’t spend time with his friends anymore. They had a tendency to drag him off whenever they felt like it, particularly the Weasleys, but he had been quite diligent. Even Hermione had commented on it.

Today, he needed a break, he decided. Surely it wouldn’t hurt anything to put aside his books and go for a quick flight. Besides, if Ron caught him studying this early, well, it wouldn’t be pretty. Harry dressed quickly and snatched up his broom on the way out the door. He was looking forward to this.

---

Narcissa glanced around as she and Severus strolled the grounds of Hogwarts. It was quite nostalgic, except that during her school years she wouldn’t have been caught dead walking with Severus Snape. The Malfoy matron shook her head. Youth was such a silly time, and yet it held an inexplicable charm for so many.

So far they had spoken only of inconsequentials. The weather (allowed to be fair), the price of salamander tails in Diagon Alley (up for no discernable reason), how the goblins were faring during the turbulent times (well, as nearly always). They neared the Quidditch Pitch now, expecting it to be deserted at this still-early hour. Perhaps they could finally come to the real reason that Severus had invited her here.

To Narcissa’s surprise, there were, in fact, two figures already in the air. They flew well, she could see that even from a distance, performing loops, spirals, swerves, and dives with ease and grace. “Surely there isn’t a team practice scheduled now? I should have thought all the students would be still asleep, or possibly breakfasting?”

Severus cocked his head slightly. The privacy charm they used functioned much like a disillusionment charm for outsiders, but allowed him to see Narcissa clearly, and vice versa. He strongly suspected that it had been developed to allow trysts and was thankful that most students had never heard of it. “I did not realize that they had re-instituted their tradition.”

“Which tradition?” Sometimes Severus was a little too evasive for his own good, she decided.

“Your son and Harry Potter met Saturdays last term to fly. Apparently they have decided to do so this term as well.”

Narcissa examined Severus closely from the corner of her eye before turning to look at him fully. “My son?” she asked. “Are you certain you haven’t gotten him confused with someone else? So far as I know, my son despises Harry Potter and is unfortunately vocal about it.”

Severus permitted himself a small smile. “Yes, I’m quite certain that it is your son, Draco.” He paused. “I understand that he originally instigated the practice at his father’s behest, but I am aware of no such prompting this time.” Narcissa nodded and watched the two youths. Her son was growing up more everyday. “He is a fine young man,” Severus said. “A credit to you.”

Narcissa did not even glance over. “He is far more his father’s son than mine.”

“Are you certain? I was quite sure I detected your influence.”

This time Narcissa did look at him. “Did you really?”

Severus didn’t miss a beat before replying. “He has your grace. He has grown up much in the last several months.” He turned to meet her eyes.

She searched his face for a long moment before she turned away again. “Why did you really ask me to come here, Severus?” she asked.

He was silent for a time. “At the end of the summer you met Molly Weasley, nee Prewett, in Diagon Alley. You spoke to her. What did you say?”

“Anything I said to Molly was between Molly and me, as you well know. As it happens, however, we spoke of our children.”

“It might surprise you to know, then, that I have spoken to Molly myself.” He paused. “Your stories do not quite match up.” He looked up at her, but she remained coolly unmoved.

“Are you denigrating my integrity, Severus?” she asked with an almost-smile stretching her lips.

“Of course not, I wouldn’t dare,” he returned. “However, I cannot help wondering why you feel the need to dissemble.”

“Do you truly?”

“Would it help if I told you what Molly told me? You said that I could not be trusted. That Madame Weasley should be careful of all of her children around me.” He examined her for a moment, but she made no reply, verbal or otherwise. “What if I told you,” he began, surreptitiously fingering his wand, “that I could be trusted?”

“Ah, but trusted by whom?” That same half-smile was on her lips again. This time, Severus returned it.

“I admit that my credibility seems to be low in some camps at this moment.”

“And in other camps it is always low.”

Severus inclined his head, “As you say, Madame Malfoy.” He paused before appearing to change the subject. “I am surprised that you were not more aware of young Draco’s activities,” Severus said as he watched the young wizards in the air beyond him.

“A young man does not always confide in his mother.”

“But a man will often confide in his wife.”

“I have not seen Lucius lately.”

“Have you not? Come, Madame, must we continue to preserve this polite fiction? We both know that the lord of the manor has returned to it for the same reason that you were able to warn your kinswoman.”

“What are you suggesting, Severus?”

“An exchange of information.”

“You wish me to betray my lord?”

“I wish to be kept better informed of what my duties may be or may become. In return, I would be pleased to keep you more abreast of your son’s activities.”

“I grow weary, Severus. At what point does a power pursued cease to be attractive? When is it no longer worth acquiring?”

“When is the loss no longer acceptable?”

She looked at him. “I want peace for my son. I want him to be strong and successful.”

“I want the same for all of my students.” He placed a subtle, nearly indistinguishable accent on the word all. It would not have been noticeable unless one was listening for it. As it happened, however, Narcissa Malfoy was listening for it.

She was silent for some time, considering his offer. It would be dangerous, she knew, but she was no longer absolutely convinced that the path she had chosen as a young witch was the correct one. It was suspected in many circles that Severus’s loyalties were divided. Given the way their conversation had gone, Narcissa doubted that division. It was just a matter of which he had truly pledged himself to. But did it really matter, either way? If he supported one side, there would be no change. A little more danger added to that of being married to a servant of the Dark Lord. If Severus supported the other side, that small danger would be larger, but not greatly so. Pain and death were still pain and death. And either way, Severus would take great care to guard his source, at least until she was no longer useful to him. She would choose what to pass on. No matter which side Severus was truly working for, her information would find its way, in whole or in part, to the right ears.

Narcissa Malfoy loved her son dearly, she always had. Lucius had always claimed that she weakened the boy, but she wondered now how true that statement was. Draco was far more credulous on some subjects than she would have believed possible. That naivety could be taken advantage of, a dangerous situation for any young man to find himself in, and one that was particularly hazardous for Draco.

She had not realized how much she had been separated from Draco until the separation was gone, and now that she had her son back, she would be damned if she would give him up again. Narcissa looked up at her son, flying peaceably, even enjoying it! With a halfblood, no less, though still one that was destined to change the magical world. Who would have thought it? She nodded in acknowledgement of Severus’s offer, and in agreement.

“It hasss been sso long, Sseverusss, ssincse I have sseen you. You musst update me. How goesss your quesst?”

“Well, my lord. Potter hates me more with each passing day.”

“Each passssing day? That isss not sufficsient! He musst hate more with every passsssing moment! You have the temerity to call your lack of progresss ‘well!’ I want him to be infuriated by the mere sssight of you, by the sssimple ssuggessstion of Ssslytherin colorsss that might caussse him to remember your exisstencse!”

Severus bowed his head. “Yes, my lord.”

“Crucio!”

---

“Potter! What do you think you are doing?”

“Brewing a potion, sir,” Harry ground out.

“Mangling is more like, though that is certainly an excellent illustration of your mental capabilities. As it happens, I was actually referring to your conference with Miss Granger. Apparently I did not make it clear enough last time that I do not want you relying on her to do your thinking for you. I know you must counter nearly six years of habit here, but surely the Boy-Who-Lived is capable of the effort.” He smirked knowingly at Harry. “I think another detention is in order.”

Harry clenched his jaw together as tightly as he could. Detention would seriously cut into his homework time, and he needed that time this evening if he was going to sneak into the Restricted Section later. “And when would you like that, sir?” Harry was all obviously false-solicitousness.

“Tonight, I think-immediately after your last class come and see me.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

---

Harry was fuming again as he stalked down to the dungeons. The headache that had appeared that morning (probably from grinding his teeth, he seemed to recall Aunt Petunia telling Dudley that grinding your teeth could do that), had never gone away. In fact, it had grown steadily through the day, developing into what Harry thought might be a migraine. He’d never had one before in his life, but the nausea and sensitivity to light were dead give-aways. At least that greasy blot on the face of wizarding-kind usually kept the dungeons dark and cool. That should give him some relief.

Severus knew the instant that Harry entered the classroom that something was wrong. His eyes were slightly unfocused and the boy seemed pale. He had been intending to inquire about the curious sight he had witnessed over the weekend, and also to reassure Harry after the spate of poor grades he had gotten recently.

The papers that were returned to the class were ink-soaked and figuratively shredded, but Severus had been keeping track of the marks that Harry would receive were he free to be more obviously fair. All of them were recorded in the grade book that Severus kept warded and out of the reach of students. As he observed the boy, however, he realized that now was probably not the time.

So, what to do?

He could, of course, ascertain the problem and treat Harry himself, thereby fixing the problem and avoiding any semblance of compassion as seen from outside the relationship, but at this point it seemed entirely unlikely that Harry would actually accept any potion from the Potions Master’s hand. Unless…

“Mr. Potter.” Severus looked up at the youth for the first time since he had entered the room.

“Sir?” Harry glowered, but simply came off looking a bit ill.

“For Merlin’s sake, boy! If you’ve got one of the Weasleys’ boxes with you, take the antidote.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? How dare you accuse me of trying to skive my way out of detention? After all, I am not a lying Slytherin,” Harry hissed the words.

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Mr. Potter. I am merely suggesting that one of the sweets might be efficacious in clearing up your current condition.”

“And what condition is that?”

“Clearly you are unwell.”

“Funny, no one else noticed. Perhaps you had a hand in my ‘condition’, sir?”

Severus glowered. “I will refrain from making unfounded accusations if you reciprocate, Potter. Take the sweet if you have it. If you haven’t, I’ve got something that will help.”

“I’m feeling just fine, sir.”

Severus snorted. “Certainly you are. Well, if that is the case, you won’t mind sitting down and writing lines again. You may write ‘I will think for myself’ one thousand times. You may be dismissed when the task is completed.”

Harry glowered again, but sat down to comply. It did not escape Severus’s notice that it took him a significant amount of time to complete the relatively easy task. Nor did it escape his notice that this was the second time Harry had shown up sick at detention.

Perhaps, since they seemed to be serving no positive purpose, he should discontinue the detentions entirely. He had thought before that he might be able to use the time to reach out to Harry, but the youth was entirely unresponsive so far. It seemed unlikely that the detentions were actually the cause of Potter’s strange malaise, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to give the boy some extra space. Severus sighed. It wasn’t giving up, he told himself. It was just attacking the problem from a different angle.

----

Draco was sitting at his favorite table in the library. It was isolated and out of the way of most students who found their way into what was arguably one of the largest rooms in Hogwarts, yet it was within easy access of most of the major sections of the library.

Actually, Granger had a table quite nearby, but they usually observed a sort of truce that was as much out of necessity and an avoidance of the Wrath of Pince as anything else. Granger, however, was not present tonight. In fact, most of the student body was elsewhere, it being a Tuesday with no major projects due on Wednesday. The silence and solitude made the table a good place to think while Draco pretended to do some homework.

It had occurred to him Saturday morning that while flying with Potter was actually entertaining, he had so far not managed to further the ostensible reason for the exercise. He had learned absolutely nothing from or about St. Potter so far that didn’t come through the usual, and usually unreliable, channels. Perhaps it was time to do something drastic.

Malfoys did not chat; certainly they did not typically indulge in personal conversation with social inferiors. And yet, even though he was a half-blood, could the Boy-Who-Lived really be a social inferior? He probably had more popular cachet than the entire Malfoy family, especially lately. Draco considered his dilemma.

Sometimes, progress required sacrifices. This appeared to be one of those times. Then too, as a first year Draco had had no qualms about trying to ally with Potter. Draco nodded imperceptibly to himself. Even now, he had no problems with spending vast quantities of time in Potter’s presence.

He would just have to try to introduce an element of conversation the next Saturday…or rather, the Saturday after. This coming Saturday was the Ravenclaw game and no doubt the Slytherin captain would want him for a strategy and planning session. Perhaps it was even time to do what his father had suggested in the first place. Perhaps he really should befriend Potter.

---

Despite his best efforts, Draco didn’t actually get a chance to talk to Potter until Friday just after Potions class. He knew that he was probably going to get a bad response talking to the wizard then. After all, anyone who had spent an entire class period under the none-too-tender ministrations of Snape’s tongue was likely to be rather irritated, and lately it seemed that the mere mention of Snape’s name, let alone his presence, was sufficient to get Harry Potter hot under the collar. This was a definite contrast to the first term of the year. The two dark-haired wizards had gotten along quite well in the fall and early winter. What ever could have happened between them, Draco wondered again. “Potter,” he called.

“What?” Harry snarled at him. Hermione, walking beside the brunette youth, was silent but watchful.

“I just wanted to let you know that this Saturday I have a game, so I won’t be able to meet you before it.”

“Fine,” Harry said shortly.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll see you later then, Potter.”

“Later,” Harry growled.

Draco nodded briefly at Hermione and she lifted a hand in response, sparing him a small, sympathetic smile.

---

Saturday, Harry woke briefly in the early morning, but after a moment, promptly rolled over and went straight back to sleep. He did not awaken again until Ron stood next to his bed, shaking his shoulder. “What?” Harry moaned sleepily.

“Oh nothing,” Ron replied. “I just thought that you’d like to get up, maybe eat breakfast, and then come cheer Ravenclaw with me.”

Harry blinked at him a moment before sitting up. “Yeah, okay.”

“I guess the Ferret didn’t want to fly with you today?”

“He said he wouldn’t be able to meet me before the game. He didn’t say why.”

Ron nodded sagely. “Well, he’ll probably meet you next weekend, right?”

“I suppose,” Harry said absently as he gathered some clothes.

Ron nodded again. “We are cheering Ravenclaw, right?”

“Of course,” Harry looked up at him in surprise. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well, you are friendly with the Slytherin seeker…”

“Yeah, but not that friendly. I still want Gryffindor to win the House Cup.”

Ron nodded one final time and shoved Harry toward the showers. “Hurry up, you prat, or there won’t be any food left and I’m starving!”

“You’re always starving,” Harry laughed as he went to get cleaned up.

---

About forty-five minutes later, Harry and Ron were making their way to the Quidditch Pitch, along with most of the rest of the school. Miraculously, there had been enough food left for them, and after a hearty meal they were looking forward to the excitement of the game. They found good seats, mostly by dint of squirming through the crowds and a little mostly-harmless misuse of Ron’s prefect status. Within five minutes Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Ginny had found them and within ten Madame Hooch had walked out into the middle of the field to tell the captains to shake hands and start the match.

It was a good game. Both teams were fairly evenly matched, and it was clear to Harry from the start that unless Slytherin cheated the outcome was going to come down to which seeker found the snitch first. With that in mind, Harry looked up at the two figures circling above the pitch on their broomsticks.

Draco looked intently focused. He was searching methodically, but every lap or two he’d change his pattern a little to keep from getting bored. He did, however, succumb to the temptation of making some comment or taunt to Cho every time he passed her, distracting himself far more than he did the Ravenclaw.

Cho, Harry noticed, had gotten a bit taller, but she seemed to be as willowy as ever and she sat her broom with easy grace. She was, perhaps, not quite as good a flier as Malfoy, but she made up for it by not being as easily distracted as the Slytherin. No matter what, it was going to be a close game.

In fact, the game lasted for nearly three hours. The score was forty-sixty in favor of Slytherin until the snitch, which had been even more elusive than usual, finally showed itself. Draco didn’t notice it until a full seven seconds after Cho, because he was busy teasing her about her recent bad luck romantically speaking.

The snitch was about halfway across the pitch, and although Cho took off as soon as she saw it, Draco at first thought that she was running from him. By the time he realised the truth, there was no way he was going to be able to catch up.

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t try. With his broom’s superior agility and speed, he turned and accelerated with nearly unmatched grace and speed. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t enough. He was still five meters away when Cho Chang’s hand closed around the snitch, ending the game. In that moment, three quarters of the students present rose to their feet and began cheering.

---

Draco was, understandably, out of sorts for the rest of the week. His housemates and teammates were not particularly forgiving of his mistake in missing the snitch. Draco had not expected them to be, but all the understanding that they had had when he lost to Potter was noticeably absent after his loss to Chang. “You just got too cocky, Malfoy,” the team captain had told him. “You’ve got to keep your head in the game. If you can’t do that, then you’re out, I don’t care who paid for the brooms.”

It was for that reason that Draco had spent most of his free time in the library at his favorite table. Sometimes, he reflected, it is good to be alone, away from the petty squawkings of others. He ruthlessly ignored the feeling of restlessness, of recklessness that had been growing in him since the match on Saturday. Malfoys were tranquil, or at least gave the appearance of it. Always.

Draco sighed. He no longer felt like studying, but he did not want to go back to the common room to be treated with grudging acceptance and as little attention as possible. For one thing it would mean dealing with Crabbe and Goyle. True, he had not spent much time with them this year, but it seemed to be getting more difficult to be in their presence rather than less. Perhaps, he had reasoned, he had just needed a break. As time had gone on, though, Draco began to wonder if he had outgrown his two loyal sidekicks.

He still kept them as acquaintances, of course; one never knew when an extra pair of unquestioning hands might be useful, but neither youth provided anything in the way of meaningful companionship. Draco sighed again and dragged his attention back to the present.

Being in the library more also meant seeing quite a bit more of Granger, who seemed to live at the next table over. How it was that she managed to spend time with her friends, help everyone outside of Slytherin (and a few within) study, eat, sleep, and not go absolutely barking mad while still spending such a significant amount of time in the haven of books was beyond him. Draco could not help watching her for a few moments as she crouched over her book.

She seemed utterly oblivious at first, but after a few seconds she blinked, sat up straighter, and glanced about. She smiled at him when she saw him, a polite smile that somehow managed to convey more sincerity than most of the smiles he had received in his life and was about to turn back to her book when he spoke. “Granger?”

“Yes?”

Draco hesitated. Did he really want to do this? Well, why not? He needed a study break. Besides, if he had already determined that he could talk to Potter, was Granger really that much worse? Deliberately ignoring the voice in the back of his head that screamed yes, she was, Draco got up and walked over to the chair that was just across the table from Granger. “May I?” he inquired, head tilted slightly to the right.

“Yes, of course,” Hermione replied. “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine, thank you,” Draco said haughtily.

“Good. You’ve seemed,” Hermione paused delicately, “a little off all this week. I was concerned.”

“You were concerned?” His skepticism showed clearly in his tone and expression, though he was careful to retain at least an appearance of utter politeness.

“Yes, of course.” Hermione paused again. “I’m certain that you didn’t come over here to discuss your health or behavior, though.” This time it was her turn to tip her head to the side.

Draco hesitated again. Now that he was here, he did not really know what to say. He had the vague idea that maybe he could get some information out of his classmate, but he was not quite sure what he was looking for, what she might know, or how to go about finding it out. He would, he realized, have to make small talk. “I didn’t think I could stand another minute staring at my text books and essay and note outlines,” he said finally.

Hermione smiled again, this time a little more warmly. “I know what you mean.”

“Do you? I’m not sure I believe you.” To Draco’s immense surprise, Granger laughed softly.

“Yes, I do. I don’t spend my every waking minute studying, you know. Not that anyone actually could,” she qualified. “You mustn’t let on, though,” she said conspiratorially. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Draco assured her. “So if you’re not studying all the time, what is it you are doing?”

“Well, I do read quite a bit. A lot, if I’m going to be honest. Not all of it relates to coursework, but I find that a lot of the knowledge I pick up can be sort of, cross-referenced. Like a spider web or the weaving of cloth on a loom.” She blushed slightly and looked as though she expected him to say something caustic.

“So that’s why you do so well in class? If you don’t understand what the professor says you just cross-reference it?”

“Partly. It helps to be able to think of things in more than one way, to have more than explanation. Not only does it clarify what the professor is trying to teach us, it can actually bring to light other, perhaps previously unconsidered, aspects of the topic.” She managed to look earnest and excited at the same time.

The flush on her cheeks lingered, even deepened, and Draco got the impression that she had not explained this particular philosophy to many people. “That’s actually fascinating,” he said. He was struck by a sudden thought, and if he hadn’t been feeling so displaced and rebellious he never would have said it out loud. “Do you ever think of magical things in Muggle terms?” He blushed himself as soon as he realized what he had said, but Granger did not seem at all offended by his question. In fact, she seemed to think it was a natural extension of thought from her last statement.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “I know that in a lot of ways the magical world is very different from the Muggle world, and a lot of the things I learned when I was younger, a lot of laws and things that Muggles think of as absolute aren’t necessarily so. But I did grow up believing I was just an ordinary girl until I was eleven. It’s only natural really.” She shrugged. “Wizards, when confronted with non-magical objects and phenomena usually look for a magical explanation, even though it doesn’t exist.”

Emboldened by her response and feeling (he thought) justifiably smug that his attempt at insinuating himself into her confidence was going so well Draco continued. “Has there ever been a time when being familiar with the Muggle world has actually helped you adapt to magic? Or has it been a hindrance?”

Granger looked thoughtful. She regarded him with slightly wary eyes for what seemed an unnaturally long time before she replied. “It was hard to accept, at first, the existence, even the possibility of magic. I had, of course, had some experiences with accidental magic when I was younger. I repaired a plate I had dropped, for instance, just by wishing it whole. But magic isn’t logical. Its existence is not really allowed for by modern, rational, scientific thought. Of course, science can’t prove that magic doesn’t exist, but most Muggles simply don’t believe in it. Magic is for children and clowns and stage magicians and fantasy novels. It doesn’t factor into everyday life. In that respect, it was very difficult to join the magical world.

“Of course,” Hermione smiled, “everything got easier to accept when Professor McGonagall came and levitated our tea cups and transfigured our couch into an elephant and back again. I think my parents were a little relieved that I was a witch and would be trained properly and I wasn’t going to turn into Carrie or anything like that. To answer the other half of your question, though, yes, I think coming from a Muggle background has been beneficial. I tend not to accept as many things without thought as some of my wizarding-raised friends do. And Muggles are loads better at things like analytical thinking and logic and organization. Those skills have definitely come in useful.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully. “Who’s Carrie?” he asked at last.

Hermione laughed again. His first instinct was to take offense, but she didn’t appear to be laughing at him, so he didn’t say anything. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I sometimes forget that purebloods know so very little about Muggle culture. Carrie is a fictional character created by an author renowned for his horror stories. She was a social outcast who ends up killing her class when they play a prank on her that goes too far.” Seeing his blank look, Hermione continued, “She killed them using a combination of telekinesis and pyrokinesis. To a certain extent, accidental magic is explained in the Muggle world by attributing it to psychic gifts.”

Draco frowned. “Muggles think magic is created by the mind?”

“More or less,” Granger nodded. There’s a lot of thought and research on the subject, not all of it reputable or reliable, and there are even more books and programs and films and things.”

“That is…bizarre.”

“Not really. Modern Muggle society is founded on secular thought, the belief that there is a rational explanation for everything. It cannot be possible that every single Muggle-born witch or wizard comes to Hogwarts or any of the other magical schools, despite the best efforts of the wizarding world. In fact, given the resentment that so many wizard-bred feel for Muggle-borns it’s practically guaranteed that some should fall through the cracks. Given this, it’s only to be expected really that science would try to study magic. And without knowing what magic really is, the probability of stumbling onto the right answer is extremely low. Especially since in Muggle society these gifts are possessed by only a few and in some cases don’t seem to be gifts at all.”

“Don’t seem to be gifts? You mean Muggles think magic is actually something to be ashamed of? They think it’s a curse?”

Hermione got the distinct impression that Draco was about to declare that the most barbaric thing he’d ever heard of. “Sometimes. Sometimes it is.”

“Now wait a minute!” Draco interrupted her before she could go any further. “Magic is possibly the best thing ever to happen to humanity! Without it, society as it is today wouldn’t exist!”

“I agree,” Hermione inserted coolly.

“But you just said that magic was a curse,” Malfoy protested.

“No, I said that sometimes it is a curse. Perhaps it would be better to say that in certain cases it is a burden.”

“How could magic possibly be a burden?” Draco asked in an exasperated voice.

His face stated quite clearly that he would not be convinced, but Hermione knew she had to try anyway. Even though she knew that it was probably useless to try to engender any sort of understanding of the Muggle world in Draco Malfoy. She took a deep breath and let it out, watching his face the entire time. She leaned back in her chair and tilted her head, studying him as she gathered her thoughts. This was, without a doubt, the longest conversation she had ever had with the Malfoy heir, but it was also the most satisfying.

Finally, she leaned towards him again and said, “You have to forget what you know, to really understand. You’ve grown up with magic; you’ve seen it worked all your life. Muggles don’t. You understand magic instinctively. Muggles don’t. They don’t even acknowledge the truth of its existence. Now, say that there is someone with magical potential who isn’t recruited by a school. This person is Muggle born and bred, so they’ve grown up denying magic. All right?”

“Okay.” Draco’s disbelief was clear, but it was equally apparent that he wanted very much to know what she would say next.

“Now, you don’t believe in magic, but you eventually become aware that you have some very strange abilities. Abilities that you can’t discuss with anyone because if you do, they’ll probably think you mad, and then you’ll be locked away where you can’t hurt anyone, or yourself. Perhaps these abilities are even more apparent when you are distressed or frustrated or hurt or confused. Maybe you find that you can’t always control them. Can you imagine? It would be terrifying.

“Muggles have posited that what they call ‘poltergeist activity’ is due to psychic phenomena brought on by severe distress. Now, it is entirely possible that all the documented but unexplained happenings are due to actual poltergeists which the Muggles simply cannot see. On the other hand, it is also possible that this activity is, in fact, due to uncontrolled accidental magic. The phenomenon is far more prevalent among the young and the emotionally troubled.” Hermione spread her hands. “In that case, magic might very well seem like a curse.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, imagining what it might be like not to have any idea that magic existed, actually to be convinced that it did not exist, and then to be confronted with things that could not otherwise be explained. It was not a comfortable thought. “I see,” he said at last. “It has been suggested,” he began slowly, “that we purebloods ought simply to exclude Muggle-borns entirely. If, however, as you say, Muggles are actually aware of magic, are studying it, no matter how peripherally, that might actually not be in our best interests.”

“To be completely honest, I think it would be very bad for the wizarding world to pursue that course,” Hermione said quietly. “Aside from all the potential progress and innovation that would be forgone, if there were a sudden increase in the percentage of the population that exhibited what appeared to be psychic gifts, there would be a vast deal more research done on the subject, and it would most likely be much better funded than such ventures are now. To exclude the Muggle-borns could actually lead to the discovery of the magical world.”

“That’s a worst case scenario, surely,” Draco scoffed.

“Is it?” Hermione asked calmly. “I admit it probably wouldn’t happen immediately, but think about it.”

Draco nodded. “I shall.” He straightened, stretched slightly, and stood. “Thank you, Hermione,” he said gravely. “You have given me much to contemplate.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of this for some time, but I’ve never actually had the chance to discuss it before. I appreciate the opportunity.”

Draco nodded again and returned to his own table. Hermione smiled at him again before settling back into her chair and returning to her long neglected book.

---

It was now Friday afternoon, and in addition to avoiding the common room, the Great Hall, and the Quidditch Pitch, Draco now considered the library off-limits as well. He did not expect that he would encounter any angry Slytherins there, as he might in any of the other places, rather he was almost certain that he would see one Hermione Granger, Muggle-born. Unfortunately, Hermione Granger was also probably the most intelligent person in the school and an interesting conversationalist. It was for the last reason, nearly as much as the first, that Draco did not want to see her.

He could not believe his own behavior. He, Draco Malfoy, pureblood, practically a prince of wizarding society, had actually said the words ‘thank you, Hermione.’ It was unheard of. It was extraordinary. Potter hadn’t even been there to witness the occasion, so Draco could not even pretend that the whole thing had only happened because he was trying to win the other youth over. No, to his horror, the entire conversation had taken place because he was feeling bored, reckless, and, to be completely and utterly honest with himself, lonely. It was unthinkable, and yet, it was the truth.

He was lonely. And she had seemed utterly reasonable. And easy to talk to.

Draco stood up from the bed that he had been comfortably perched on and began pacing the room. Perhaps, he thought after several minutes, all was not lost. Surely Granger, open and friendly as she was, would mention to her best friend and her boyfriend that she had seen and talked to him. Therefore the entire experience would improve his standing with Potter, possibly even more than if Potter had been standing there.

Then too, it never hurt to have multiple sources of information. If Potter didn’t want to talk, probably Granger could be induced to. He could cultivate her as an informant if nothing else. Yes, that just might work. And, if they met in the library it would mean that not only would relatively few students see them, they would assume that any meeting was for the purpose of studying. Come to that, they might actually do a little studying.

Draco smiled for the first time in nearly a week. Things were beginning to move forward again.

---

When Harry had arrived at the Pitch, Draco was scowling furiously. “Something wrong?” Harry had been too surprised by this fact to be anything other than solicitous and politely concerned.

“Go ahead, just say it.”

“Say what?” Harry had asked confusedly.

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you’d like to thank me for letting the Ravenclaw win the match.”

“It does mean that Gryffindor has a better shot at the Cup,” Harry shrugged. “I’m not a particular fan of Cho Chang, though, if that’s what you mean.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

Draco had just sniffed as they climbed onto their brooms.

For Harry, flying was a way to get away from tension and the things that caused it. Taking to the air was like the ultimate escape. This was not so for Draco. Like his namesake, taking to the air just seemed to give Malfoy a more advantageous position to attack from. He flew more aggressively that morning than Harry had ever seen him, even while playing. Harry couldn’t help thinking of Hermione’s assessment of the youth.

“He’s unhappy,” she had claimed. “He may act superior, but the second I started really talking to him like a person I could tell how lonely he is.” After the obligatory expressions of surprise that Draco Malfoy had bothered talking to her at all, as well as a thorough discussion of possible motivations for the act, Harry had concluded that she was probably right. Hermione usually was.

It had never before occurred to Harry how isolated Draco probably was. Even if Slytherins put aside their ambition and acted familial in the privacy of their own House (which Harry greatly doubted), the only people he ever recalled seeing Draco spend any real amount of time with were Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson. None of them were exactly what he would call a brilliant conversationalist. Harry mused on this.

Maybe he could talk to Malfoy a little more? It would more or less depend on how trustworthy he was though. Would Draco still be expecting to befriend him to further his father’s (and Voldemort’s) plans? Or would he take it as a genuine gesture of camaraderie? Did Harry even want to make the gesture?

While Harry was consumed with those thoughts, Draco was mentally berating himself. Just when he had determined that he was going to honestly try to talk to Potter he behaved in such a surly manner that he wouldn’t be surprised if Potter completely gave up on him. Not that Draco was even sure why the saintly youth was still meeting with him. He was just going to have to make some sort of overture. He just needed to get over it. He was pouting. Malfoys did not pout. He did not pout. The whole thing was just ridiculous.

As thoughtful as they both were, however, neither of them let it interfere with their flying. They were even in the air a little longer than usual. When they landed, Harry lingered instead of rushing off. Just this once Ron and Hermione could forgive his lateness. If they noticed. It seemed that lately whenever the two of them were alone they became much more concerned with each other than with anything else.

Harry shook away the thought noting that, as he had half-hoped, Draco was walking next to him instead of stalking away. For his part, the Malfoy heir was surprised at Harry’s slowness in leaving, but was determined to seize any opportunity presented to him.

“So, is something wrong?” Harry asked as the walked slowly back up to the castle.

“Not really. Not all of us are as gifted at flying as you are. My captain saw me with my broom this morning and asked if I was getting some much needed practice.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. “You know, it’s not that you’re a bad flier. You’re really not. All that time you spent flying as a kid maybe.”

Draco looked around at him with wide eyes. He could hardly believe what he had heard. “So then what is the problem?” he asked cautiously.

“Well, mind you I haven’t watched all your games, but from what I have seen, you don’t focus enough. You’re too busy trying to tease or taunt the other seeker, or laughing at the other team, and you don’t always pay attention to the things that are really important.” Harry looked over at the blond to see how he was taking that statement.

Draco was silent for several paces. “So you’re telling me to quit being obnoxious and just play the game?” he said with the ghost of a smile flitting about his mouth.

“Pretty much.”

“You know, my mother said that to me once,” Draco remarked absently.

“Smart lady.”

“Even if she does look like she smells something unpleasant?” Draco asked slyly. Harry just grinned.

Harry had been spending much of his free time at a table in the corner of the section of the library devoted to Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had made it his goal to read as many of the tomes as he could before…before whatever was going to happen happened. Just reading about the theory seemed nearly as useless as not reading at all, though, so Harry had been spending any free time not in the library (and not with his friends) in the Room of Requirement, practicing the spells he was learning. As a result, he was working very hard, probably harder than he ever had before in school. ‘Not that that would take too much effort,’ he thought wryly.

He was in the library now, reading from the latest selection from the well-stocked shelves. Harry paused to rub at his eyes. He removed his spectacles and placed them on the table in front of him. He couldn’t suppress the yawn that escaped him, and he took a moment to stretch convulsively. Harry ran his hands over his face again as he lowered his arms. He was more tired than he would have expected for the hour. Perhaps he could knock off early tonight?

No. He would never be able to defeat Voldemort if he quit just because he felt a little tired. And as for his tired, itchy eyes, well, he had probably just been reading too long. Maybe it was time to go practice some more. It was dusty in here…

---

Harry was miserable. Not Dursleys’-house miserable, and not middle-of-Snape’s-class miserable, but decidedly uncomfortable and out of sorts none-the-less. He had decided that it was the library dust that was getting to him, so he had checked out a couple of books and spent the rest of the evening and the following day in the Room of Requirement.

Apparently, all that exertion had caught up with him. He was more fatigued than ever and he had developed a slightly runny nose. That seemed a little odd, given that he had not been in the library for a while, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“Harry, are you all right?” Ginny asked as he sniffed again. Leaning over a parchment to write an essay was not the optimal position for a runny nose at all.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look so good,” Ron commented as he looked up from his own scroll.

“You’ve been working awfully hard, Harry. You’re not overdoing are you?” Harry looked at his brunette friend in astonishment.

“Hermione, are you all right? Warning me not to work too hard?”

Hermione looked down her nose at him. “I think you ought to see Madame Pomfrey. Remember what she told me. A little Pepper-Up early on can eliminate a lot of trouble later.”

Harry nodded. “Actually,” he said, “I might just go up and see her. No use getting behind on my work.” Hermione smiled at him.

“I’ll walk with you,” Neville volunteered. “I’ve finished my essay anyway.”

Harry grinned at the youth and pushed back his chair. “I’ll go now, then, if you guys don’t mind watching my things?”

“We don’t mind,” Ron assured him. “Go ahead.”

Harry nodded and turned toward the portrait hole. He and Neville walked to the infirmary, chatting pleasantly about class assignments and the performance of various Quidditch teams. It was quiet in the large, well-lit room when they entered, and the two young men stood for several minutes before Madame Pomfrey emerged from one of the store-rooms in the back.

“I thought I heard something,” the matron said as she strode forward. “Well, what can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Nothing for me, Madame. I just came up with Harry,” Neville said smiling.

“Mr. Potter?” an expression of concern creased Poppy’s face. “Come sit down on one of the beds. What seems to be the problem?”

“I’ve just been a little tired, lately, Madame Pomfrey. And I’ve got a bit of a runny nose.”

The nurse nodded as she ran her wand over him. “Well, your temperature isn’t particularly elevated. How is your appetite?”

“A little smaller than usual.”

“And you’ve been sleeping?”

“As well as ever,” Harry said.

“Nightmares?” Pomfrey’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

“No.”

“Have you ever suffered from allergies, Mr. Potter?”

Harry blinked. “No, I don’t think so. Not that I can remember.”

“You don’t seem to have any particular illness. I can only conclude that you are just a little run-down.”

“You have been studying a lot lately,” contributed Neville who had drifted over to join them.”

“That’s probably it, then,” Madame Pomfrey said, though she didn’t look entirely convinced. “I’ll give you a dose of Pepper-Up, but you need to make sure that you get plenty of sleep at night and that you don’t deprive yourself at meals. Make sure you get lots of fruits and vegetables and not too much dessert.” She gave him a very stern look.

“Yes, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry said dutifully.

The matron nodded and bustled off to a supply cabinet. She retrieved a large bottle of the potion as well as a cup and poured him a single dose with a precise efficiency and economy of motion that showed that she had repeated this same set of actions thousands of times in her history as school nurse.

“If you aren’t feeling better in a week, or if you feel any worse, come and see me immediately,” she instructed Harry as she handed him the cup. “Now just drink all that down and then you can go.”

Harry did as he was told, wrinkling his nose at the decided odd feel of the steam pouring out his ears. “Thank you,” he said as he slid off the bed.

“You’re welcome, dear,” Pomfrey permitted him a small but fond smile before she bustled off. “Mind you come and see me if you have any problems!” she called again as he and Neville left. “You too, Mr. Longbottom.” They assured her that they would and slipped out of the infirmary and back into the corridor.

“Although I really do feel better already,” Harry said to Neville as they began the trek back to Gryffindor.

“Well, it is Pepper-Up.”

“True.”

---

Harry was supposed to be resting. Which meant that although he had been permitted to make a serious dent in the homework he had for the weekend after they had gotten out of classes, he had not been allowed to slip off to the library (or, as Ron put it, sounding uncannily like his mother, to ‘Merlin knows where’) to do any extracurricular activities.

Neville, it had become apparent, had mentioned to everyone else exactly what Madame Pomfrey’s prescription had been. He was allowed to relax. He could play games with his friends. But they would only let him complete the homework that was absolutely necessary. It was annoying, but at the same time it was very comforting to know that his friends cared that much. Even Ginny, who was studying more and more as her OWLs grew ever closer, had declared that she was taking the weekend off, tacitly daring anyone to say anything about it. No one had, though Harry suspected that that might have been because Hermione had stomped on Ron’s foot and then kissed him to make up for it.

Harry couldn’t help snickering a little as he recalled the scene. He had been a little worried when his two friends had first begun going out that they wouldn’t need him anymore. It had rapidly become apparent to Harry that that wasn’t the case. They were still very much a trio, although their circle of immediate friends had expanded a bit. Harry didn’t really begrudge Hermione and Ron time together. As often as not he was busy anyway, studying. They were happy together, and he was happy for them, and he was even happier that they weren’t always asking him where he was going.

He knew that sooner or later he would have to, but Harry still didn’t feel like talking about the prophecy. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable subject, and it would only bring up more thoughts about Sirius. The passing thought of his father’s friend made Harry think of Remus. It had been some time since he had written to the last Marauder, he realized guiltily. Well, there was no reason why he couldn’t write to him now, right? With a smile, Harry sat up from the bed he had been sprawled on and moved to the desk. It took only a moment to get out parchment, quill, and ink and another moment to gather his thoughts, and then he was relating everything that had happened lately to Remus.

He finished significantly later. Attributing his fatigue to the late hour, Harry put his quill, ink, and extra parchment away. He sealed the letter and set it aside to go up to the Owlery in the morning, and then he crawled into bed.

---

“Harry James Potter!” the voice was a trifle shrill and entirely unexpected. Harry pulled up suddenly and looked down at the pitch below. “What on Earth do you think you are doing?” Hermione stood, arms akimbo, feet planted, glaring up at him with Ron standing just behind her, his arms crossed over his chest.

Draco had pulled up next to him and was also looking downward. “What do they want?” he asked curiously.

“Get down here this instant, Harry James!” Hermione shouted.

“Is she using a sonorous charm?” Draco murmured.

“No,” Harry replied as he began to descend.

Draco hung back for a second or two, but he swiftly decided to follow Potter down. Whatever this was, it would probably be beneficial to be aware of it. He landed a small distance from the Golden Trio and walked silently closer.

“Hey, guys. What are you doing here?” Potter was asking.

“I saw you were gone this morning, mate. We reckoned this was where you’d be.”

“Harry, you are supposed to be resting!” Hermione said, gesturing expansively. “Not doing reckless stunts on your broomstick!”

“I was not doing reckless stunts!” Harry defended himself. “We were just playing tag!”

“But that’s not resting!”

“Hermione! I feel just fine!” His friend looked mulish and disbelieving.

“Come on,” Harry’s voice turned coaxing. “It’s fun. You said yourself that it’s important to have fun.” She looked unconvinced. “I haven’t had any problems since I saw Madame Pomfrey!”

Draco frowned. What were they talking about? Potter didn’t appear to be ill, Draco looked him over carefully, but his friends were acting like he was. Potter was, however, rapidly becoming frustrated, Draco saw.

“So you want to wear yourself out?” Granger was asking.

“No, I wanted to do something I enjoy!” Harry cried.

“Well, at least he didn’t sneak off to study in the dusty library or something,” Ron contributed.

“Ronald!” Hermione protested, glaring at him.

“Why did you even make a big deal of it anyway? I do this every Saturday!”

“I beg you pardon,” Draco interrupted. “But what is going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Ron stated with conviction.

“You did just interrupt my morning,” Draco pointed out in an utterly reasonable tone. Hermione looked a little chagrinned, but her determination clearly had not waned. The trio glared round at each other.

“My friends are just over-reacting,” Harry said a frown etched deeply into his face.

“We’re just worried about you!” Hermione said exasperation evident in her tone.

Ron was silent a moment, but what he said when he spoke surprised everyone. “We were worried. We thought you might have snuck off to study knowing that we’d believe you were flying with Malfoy, here. You have had a bit of a mania about studying, lately,” he said when Harry looked about to object. Harry grimaced but conceded the point with a shrug. “We are very pleased to see that you are, in fact, having a good time. And,” he looked over at Draco for a moment with a strange expression which the Malfoy scion realized was actually a lack of hostility. “We’re glad to see you’re happy.”

He slid an arm around Hermione who smiled at him. “You’re growing up, Ron. Unlike some people who dash around in the cold air on broomsticks without even a proper warming or sticking charm on their cloaks!” She glared at Harry and, Draco was surprised to note, at him as well.

“Well then, Mum, go for it,” Ron said with a smile.

“Ronald!” Hermione elbowed him in the side and although he gasped and grimaced, he also managed to wink at Harry. Harry grinned back.

“Just when you were so adult, too!” Hermione continued, oblivious to the by-play.

“Well, I am hungry,” Ron said with a grin that matched Harry’s. “Maybe I haven’t finished growing yet.”

Hermione snorted but smiled fondly. “I suppose we’d better go and get you some breakfast, then, so you don’t waste away entirely.

“Good idea,” Ron said as he began to steer her off the pitch. “See you later mate,” he called back over his shoulder to Harry.

“See you,” Harry replied, smiling.

“They are an attractive couple,” Draco commented as they walked away. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“At any rate, they are neither displeasing nor disturbing.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Except when they’re snogging.” Draco wrinkled his nose slightly.

“My thoughts exactly!” Harry laughed. “But they are happy together. They ought to be, it took them long enough.”

“True.”

Harry heaved a sigh. “I really ought to go in to breakfast.”

“Yes, I should as well,” Draco said.

Harry paused and tilted his head to the side. “Care to join us?”

Draco blinked repeatedly. Granger might have missed the earlier by-play, but he had not. At least one of the Golden Trio appeared to have Slytherin tendencies, and another was apparently not as dumb as he looked. Draco half felt he needed time to consider this new information. He had decided to be friendly and forward, it was true, but now that the opportunity had come, he didn’t feel ready. “I would not like to intrude upon your friends,” he said at last. “Especially so early in the morning. Another time perhaps?”

“Sure. We’ll do lunch or something,” Harry said.

“Agreed. Until later, then, Potter.”

“See you.”

---

Draco could hardly believe his own behavior. Had he really just turned down the very opportunity he had been working for these past weeks? He was surely an idiot. He had abased himself before half-bloods and muggle-borns. He had deigned to speak with them, to befriend them, to treat them as his equals which they patently were not. Draco sniffed. His father, were his father ever to know of such behavior, would be ashamed.

Malfoys, Lucius Malfoy anyway, did not handle shame well. It was not an emotion that they enjoyed and it was not one they cared to admit to being familiar with. In the past, this had meant that any feelings of shame were taken out on the person who inspired them.

Draco shivered involuntarily before reminding himself that his father would not know of this…lapse. His father was not aware of his current plans and there was absolutely no reason for that to change. There was a time, long past now, when Draco might have confided all to his father. That had, however, been before Azkaban. The stint in the wizarding prison, brief though it was, had altered Lucius in certain undeniable ways. Or rather, it had perhaps not altered him, which was even more frightening, but had simply stripped away the veneer of culture and grace that Lucius had previously worn nearly constantly.

Briefly Draco’s thoughts drifted to his mother. He might be able to confide in Narcissa. They had not been truly close until recently. In a way, he had always idolized her, of course. She was everything a pure-blooded witch ought to be. Beautiful, clever, intelligent, capable of sparkling conversation and well versed in all the social customs of polite society, she was a paragon of magical woman-hood. It had not been until very recently that Draco had learned that there was more to this woman who had borne him than what he had so far been permitted to see.

He sighed. He might have been able to confide in her over the summer, but Narcissa’s first and foremost loyalty was, so far as Draco knew, to her husband. Certainly she had never opposed him in Draco’s experience. After Lucius, he supposed, came the Dark Lord, then the Malfoy family as a whole, the Black family, and pure-blood society.

Draco knew that he fell under both the Malfoy and Black families, but he did not know where he fit into this hierarchy as an individual. Did his mother love him? Silly question. Of course she loved him! How could she not? He was everything that was desirable in an heir, intelligent, magically powerful, charming and knowledgeable.

Draco shook his head to clear away the idle fancies that seemed to have taken up residence in his brain. Whether he might have been able trust his mother was irrelevant. She would not know of his recent endeavours, either. No, Draco was on his own in this.

Actually, further thought revealed that his hesitation might be beneficial. Were he to jump at the chance, he might be seen as too eager, it might arouse suspicion. No, he must seem more diffident…and maybe a trifle lonely. The Gryffindorks always loved a good sob story. He would gain their pity and use it to further his forays into their confidence. Things were progressing well so far. There was an up-coming Hogsmeade weekend, actually that was next weekend. It was perfect.

Draco smirked to himself. It would be no great trial to leave Crabbe and Goyle behind for a time; inferior or not, Potter’s circle really were better conversationalists. And he could tell anyone else who questioned him that he was trying to get in with the Golden Group. Honesty might actually be the best policy, in this case. Draco’s smirk widened as he considered the situation. He might finally be on the right track. He permitted himself to whistle softly as he entered the castle and headed down to the Slytherin dorms.

---

Remus Lupin was enjoying his first cup of tea of the morning. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, that was true, but he had been up quite late several nights running. So late, in fact, that he had hardly gotten a full night’s sleep in over a week. Yesterday, however, the project that he had been working on had finally drawn to a mostly successful close. Remus had come straight home, or as straight as the somewhat circuitous route he took for safety’s sake would allow, and collapsed into bed, where he had remained until roughly forty-five minutes ago when he had decided that it was positively indecent to stay there any longer.

He was now trying to sort through some of the correspondence that had arrived while he was too busy to pay attention to it. There really wasn’t much. A couple of communications from Order members, some of the inevitable bills that were just as much a nuisance in the Wizarding world as in the Muggle world, and, Remus was most pleased to see, a letter from Harry.

His pleasant anticipation lasted long enough to break the seal and start reading. It was tempting to say that the letter didn’t sound like Harry, but that wasn’t really true. It did sounds like Harry, but it was a very troubled, very bitter Harry indeed. No matter what Severus’s intentions may have been at the beginning of the term, it seemed that things had not worked out. All Harry could see now was the performance Snape gave during class time.

The youth’s anger seemed somewhat extreme, however. Granted, Harry felt betrayed. Granted, Harry was still grieving for Sirius. The irrational near-hatred that Harry was expressing, however, without, Remus suspected, even being entirely aware of it, was disturbing and to a certain degree unexpected. He would reply, of course, but perhaps he might also send a note to Severus to inquire about the State of Affairs.

---

Harry looked over his planner. He was not feeling at all pleased with himself. Taking a weekend (plus) off was murder on his study schedule, and he was now behind. Not too far behind to catch up, though, he decided. He would just need to put in some extra hours. All this resting and relaxing was all very well and good, but it did not help him prepare for what he needed to do. Time spent goofing off with friends was great, but it wouldn’t help him get rid of Voldemort. It wouldn’t even ensure that he survived the next confrontation. It was true that he had survived every past confrontation, but how long could ‘sheer dumb luck’, as McGonagall liked to say, hold?

Harry looked round at his friends. They had claimed one of the larger round tables in the common room and all of the Gryffindors he considered close were there. They might have had a little more room if they had split up and claimed two tables, but each student had claimed just enough room for whichever book they needed and a bit of space for a roll of parchment, and the homework party was proceeding. Well, no one was paying any real attention to him; they were all too busy trying to keep pace with their own work.

Except Hermione, that was. She was likely doing extracurricular reading. Something light from the size of the book she held. If they weren’t paying attention, Harry could work ahead a bit. Get some of the smaller, simpler assignments out of the way so that he could spend more time on the bigger ones. The fact that this would also clear up room in his schedule for more of his own extracurricular studying was just a very happy coincidence. Harry smiled and got down to work.

---

As it turned out, it was a very good thing that Harry had cleared out some space in his schedule. A few days after sending off his letter to Remus, Harry received a reply from the older wizard.

Harry,

I was delighted to hear from you. Your test scores are marvelous! I’m really very impressed, and I know that James, Lily, and Sirius would have been very proud of you, too. Especially Lily. She was always quite talented in Charms while we were in school, and I know she was particularly found of the subject. James and Sirius might have teased you a bit about becoming a brain, but I know that they would have respected your enormous talent and obvious skill.

I am not quite so pleased to hear that you and Professor Snape are still having difficulties. The behavior you have described is far from comforting. Is he like that all the time? (The phrase ‘all the time’, Harry noted, seemed to be slightly italicized.) I really thought that Professor Snape might have mellowed a bit more.

I understand what you mean about being busy. My time has been kept pretty full lately, too. It seems that I keep getting detailed to help break-up and clean up after certain raucous parties. It is exhausting work, but I am always happy to make myself useful. I really must get a bit more sleep though. I have already had two very strong cups of tea, but I confess that I cannot seem to keep my eyes open. I hope you will forgive me for the brevity of this note. Perhaps it will inspire you to write again soon?

Yours always,

Moony

Harry finished reading the note and grimaced. Of course Moony was tired. There was a war on, after all. He was almost certainly out battling Death Eaters frequently and risking his life. And what was Harry doing? Nothing. Messing about with his broomstick and playing exploding snap and wizarding chess with his friends. Harry felt an unpleasant sensation slither leadenly through his belly.

Guiltily, Harry realized that he had not kept the promise he had made to himself at all well in the last week. He should be training! Studying! Doing everything in his power to ensure that Voldemort was stopped as soon as possible.

Well, Harry resolved. He would just have to work a bit harder. He would study hard for all his school subjects in the common room, and then study everything else in the library or Room of Requirement. He would not allow himself to be swayed by pleas to relax or take it easy. There was nothing really wrong with him.

Come to think of it, he could probably even get a bit of extra time in on the weekends. He could study in bed before Ron got up on Sundays. Harry considered the hours he spent with Malfoy on Saturday mornings. He didn’t really want to give up those hours; they were the only time he spent on a broom anymore. And flying was a useful skill. And Ron and Hermione would be suspicious if he quit now…

Harry nodded to himself. He would keep that time for flying for now, but he would study extra hours in the evenings to make up for it. There was a war on, and it required certain sacrifices. It was time that he stepped up and started trying to contribute. If the Order didn’t want his help and wouldn’t help him, he would just have to find some other way to prepare.

When the time finally came, Harry promised himself, he was going to be ready for it.

---

“Harry,” Ron looked up from the Transfiguration essay he was working on.

Harry stayed bent over his paper. “Yeah?” he asked absently.

“Harry?” Ron repeated. Hermione glanced up to see the irritated look on Harry’s face.

“What?” the dark-haired wizard replied, finally looking away from his parchment.

“Calm down, I just wanted to ask you a question.”

Harry took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. There was no reason to be mad at his friends, he reminded himself. After all, they didn’t know that anything was up and that was the way he wanted to keep it. “Sorry,” he said. “What did you need?”

“I just wanted to know if you were planning on flying on Saturday?” Ron was peering at him with the look he usually wore when he wanted something but was trying to be subtle about it.

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Well, we do have a match with Slytherin coming up soon, you know. In two and a half weeks, actually.”

“And you don’t want me to give him any help,” Harry concluded.

“Erm, more or less, yeah,” Ron replied bravely.

“Okay. I’ll tell him I can’t.” Harry bent back over his essay.

“That’s it?” Ron said in surprise.

“What?” Harry looked back up at him.

“That’s it? You’re not going to argue with me or anything?”

“I told you before, I still want Gryffindor to win the Cup,” Harry explained patiently. “Besides, you’re my friend. If you’d rather I didn’t help the Slytherin seeker practice, I can understand that.”

“All right,” Ron said. “Thanks mate.”

“Sure,” Harry replied, finally returning to his homework.

Ron continued to look at him for several moments before he glanced over at Hermione. She just looked back at him before she, too, went back to work. Ron shook his head.

---

Severus Snape looked at the note that had appeared on his end table. The hand-writing was familiar though it took him several instants to place it. Lupin, the writer’s identity came to him. He wondered for a moment why the werewolf might be writing to him before deciding that the only way of knowing for certain was to read the missive. Ten to one it was about the Potter boy, though. Severus sighed and cast a few revelatory spells at the heavy parchment.

Nothing showed up, which was more or less what he expected. He cast a few more, this time the spells were more sensitive and looked for more subtle meddlings. He could still detect nothing. Deciding that the letter was probably safe, Severus prodded it with his wand. When it showed no reaction, he reached out and picked up the letter. It was the work of half a moment to open the scroll and the work of but a few moments after that to scan the writing. It was definitely the werewolf, and it was about the Potter boy. Apparently the youth had written to Lupin complaining about his behavior and the former professor had written to him to ask what was going on.

Severus scowled. Of course, he would be held responsible for this debacle. He sighed and dropped the letter back onto the end-table. It was charmed to appear empty to anyone but him, so he felt no qualms about leaving it there and ignoring it for the present in favor of grading the essays the third years had most recently handed in. They were due to be returned and he’d only gotten through about half of them so far. Severus sighed again. Time to get to work.

---

“Where are you going, Harry?” Neville looked up at him.

“For a walk,” Harry replied as he gathered his things and prepared to take them back up to his dormitory where they belonged. “All this homework has clogged my brain. I think I’ll take a turn about the castle.”

“Care for a bit of company?”

“Erm, not just now, actually. I, ah, actually wanted to just get away for a bit. Do some thinking, you know?”

“Sure,” Neville replied with a small grin. “Next time,” he suggested. Harry nodded gratefully and disappeared. The grin slid off Neville’s face. He didn’t mind giving Harry alone time, but he wished there were something that he could do to help the other teen. Harry had been very tense these past few weeks.

Of course, Harry wasn’t merely headed out for a walk about the castle. He felt a little guilty about lying to Neville, who had stood faithfully at his side for some time now, but he told himself that it was all for the best. It was, wasn’t it?

“OY! Watch where you’re going, Potter.” Malfoy was recovering his balance and scowling at the slightly shorter Gryffindor.

“Sorry,” Harry said as he recovered himself. What was Draco doing so near Gryffindor territory? “I was, well, never mind. I was looking for you anyway.”

“Oh?” One of Draco’s eyebrows went up, seemingly of its own accord.

“Yeah. I wanted to let you know that I won’t be able to make it on Saturday.”

Draco sighed slightly. “I had more or less expected that.”

“Did you?”

“Weasley is the Gryffindor captain, isn’t he?” Draco smirked. “The week after the game, then?”

“I suppose so.”

“Fine. But if you can’t fly with me, you can’t fly with that little mite of a seeker Gryffindor are using either.”

“I haven’t practiced with Liza for some time now,” Harry said firmly. “As I’m sure you already knew.”

Draco shrugged elegantly. “Just making sure.”

“Right,” Harry said tersely as he belatedly realized how near he already was to the library.

Malfoy studied him another moment or two. “I expect I’ll see you in class, then.”

“Right. In class, then.” The two youths exchanged nods and continued on their ways.

It was, he knew, an action that Albus would never approve of. Nor would any of the other staff, although he strongly suspected that Minerva, having dealt with The Golden Group and its predecessor, would appreciate it. Everyone but Harry were gathered at the Gryffindor table. Well, he corrected himself, Lovegood wasn’t there either. They huddled close to each other and had an air of definite concern. He saw the doubtful glances they cast at each other. After six years, Severus could read the signs as well (better!) as anyone else.

Something was Up. A small sigh and a twitch of his wand later and he was frowning at his breakfast as he listened in to the teens’ conversation. Merlin bless whoever made eavesdropping spells invisible! But Potter’s behavior was a concern.

Severus sighed as he listened. He had thought that Harry’s behavior recently was merely a reaction to his perceived, and true he supposed, betrayal. Yet why would he be studying so much? Why would he become secretive? Why would he impose isolation on himself? It didn’t make sense. If he were truly honest with himself, Severus would admit that he had not paid so much attention to Harry as he should have.

The lad’s rejection, even as justified as he was, tore at him. Severus had allowed that pain to spur him into a withdrawal. This was not unusual for him, quite the reverse, in fact, but in this case it may have been the wrong move. Severus cut the spell of with an irritated snap of his hand. Perhaps he should consult with Minerva? She was the boy’s head of house. She would have noticed something if there were anything to notice.

-----

“Yes, Severus, he’s done much better in class lately. Haven’t you noticed?” Minerva tilted her head to the side as she poured out the tea.

“Actually, no. The quality of his work has actually declined, if anything. Two, please. Thank you.” Severus sat back, cup of tea firmly in hand.

“Would you like me to speak with him about it?” the witch asked. “I know you were by no means required to let him into your class. Perhaps I should remind him that it is a privilege? And one that he is perilously close to losing?”

“No, don’t do that.” He flicked his fingers dismissively. “I didn’t really mean academically anyway. Have you noticed anything else about him? Anything out of the ordinary?”

Minerva pursed her lips. “You mean other than the fact that his relations with you seem to be at an all-time low?” she asked tartly. Severus tipped his head forward in a shallow nod.

“Well, he’s been quiet lately. All this year, in fact, except for those incidents with you. And he’s…branched out a little in his friendships, or perhaps I should say associations? It has not been lost on me, Severus, that Draco Malfoy has spent a great deal of time not antagonizing certain Gryffindors, nor did I miss that they seem to have reciprocated.”

She gave him a narrow-eyed look of speculation. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, yet, Severus?”

“Minerva…”

“I did ask you not to provoke him too much, you know.”

“I know!” It was a savage and impatient exclamation but he looked contrite a scant moment later. “I will not pretend to be blameless, but…his behavior seems….out of character, perhaps.” He gazed into the depths of his teacup.

Minerva regarded him closely before nodding tightly. “I was afraid of this. After last year, especially, but I had so hoped….” She shook her head and began again in a brisk tone. “Does Albus know?”

“Does he know?” He laughed bitterly. “Albus is half the problem. I took several actions at his behest and now I fear that they may not have been the most advisable.”

“Oh dear.” Minerva looked upset, but she did not protest his assessment. Severus was probably right. He was a very astute young man, he always had been. And Albus was at times more than a little highhanded. “Will you advise me if you find out anything that I need to know?” She asked with a small sigh.

“I will.” he promised. “Perhaps we could even arrange a trade?” He smiled grimly. “I will keep you updated, if you tell me if the boy does anything of…concern.”

Her eyebrows arched high over widened eyes. “Oh my, Severus. I should almost think you care about him.”

His look was unexpectedly guilty. It was a certain flash in the eyes left over from his youth. It had taken her four years to notice it, but it had served her well ever since. “Why you do! but…” she trailed off and examined him more closely. “Over the summer then?” she asked gently. He scowled but his head tilted almost imperceptibly in assent. “Your secret is safe with me,” she assured him.

“I will keep you informed.”

She offered him her hand. He smiled briefly, a self-mocking smile and one that was uncertain. But he found that he was unwilling to examine any good fortune too closely lest it evaporate like Leprechaun gold, and grasped her offered hand in his own.

---

Draco glanced at the Gryffindor table as he took his seat in the Great Hall at breakfast. It was mostly a habitual maneuver and he barely noticed it anymore. He did notice, however, that Harry seemed to be missing. He absently made a note to pay attention and see if the brunette wizard showed up later in the meal. Quite unnoticed by Draco, however, was the scowl that Pansy Parkinson gave him.

---

Sunday morning, a time that was far too filled with uneasy feelings about unfinished school work to be properly enjoyed as part of the weekend, but not late enough in the day for those feelings to inspire a panicked frenzy of essay-writing and text-reading. Of course, Draco Malfoy did not panic. Actually, he usually had most of his homework done before Sunday, although today he had a bit more to complete than usual. This was due to the trip into Hogsmeade village yesterday, which had cut into his habitual work time. It was depressing, he knew, but sometimes there just wasn’t that much else to do in a castle set in the Scottish wilderness in the middle of winter. Besides, Sundays Draco wrote home to his mother.

---

Dear Mother,

It has been some time since last I wrote to you, and in my defense I can only offer the fatigues of school. I hope you will forgive me for not finding the time to write sooner. I hope that this missive finds you well and that your life is proceeding smoothly. Things here have been a bit unsettled, as I am sure that you have heard. I find myself missing the peace of the summer time. My assignments have much to do with this longing, although not as much as you suspect, I am certain.

In answer to the questions that you asked in your last letter, I will tell you that all of my friends are doing well…

Lucius sneered and dropped the letter back onto the delicate antique table in his wife’s sitting room. Narcissa’s voice drew his attention. “I am surprised to see you here, husband. You have been remarkably busy lately.”

“And I shall continue to be busy, I fear,” he replied smoothly. “My work is yet unfinished.”

“Of course,” Narcissa nodded. “It is a poor wife and witch I should be if I did not realize the importance of your work and support you in it.”

“No one could accuse you of being a poor witch, my wife. Though I could wish that you would not coddle and hamper our son as you do. I have hopes that he will join me in my work when the proper time comes.” Lucius frowned at her.

“My days are long and lonely, Lucius. Surely you do not begrudge me what little contact I am able to maintain with my only child?” She laid a slight emphasis on the words only child that, to Lucius’s ears, held a hint of reproach and accusation.

“He will never be able to focus on learning the things he must if you continue to distract him.”

“I do not believe that we write so often that I am as distracting as you say. And in any event you seem to forget that before I was your wife I was Narcissa Black. There are plenty of things that I can teach my son.”

“Provided you do not forget what is appropriate,” Lucius sneered and strode out of the room, squeezing past her to get to the door.

Narcissa waited a moment to ensure that he had truly left before she sighed a tiny sigh of relief and victory and crossed to the table Lucius had been standing at. As she had feared, the table held Draco’s most recent letter and it was entirely likely that Lucius had seen it, given their conversation. However, on a more positive note, Lucius had clearly not read it that closely, also given their conversation.

Narcissa gave a small smirk as she considered exactly how much truth there was to the statement that she could teach her son many things. And Lucius had only the vaguest ideas about most of them. There was, for example, any number of spells which the Black family had traditionally reserved to itself, being passed on personally from Black to Black. Draco, as her son, was eligible to learn whichever of those spells she wished to teach him. And she was not obligated to tell anyone else about them. In particular, she could think of a few privacy charms that would not go amiss. Unless she was very much mistaken, Draco’s last letter had, in fact, contained a request for advice. Not knowing the whole situation, however, made it difficult to give practical or useful advice. The charms that Narcissa was thinking of would allow her to get the full story from her son without the information falling into anyone else’s hands.

Her smirk grew as she considered exactly how to pass this knowledge on to Draco. The simplest method would be by owl, but that was not particularly secure. Perhaps a brief visit to Severus Snape was in order?

---

“Hey guys!” Neville whispered, placing his bag on the floor beside the seat he dropped into. He nodded at Draco, who was perched gracefully in the seat just across the library table. “Where’s Harry? I thought for sure I’d be the last one here.”

Ron and Hermione shared a look that spoke volumes. “He ought to be here by now,” Hermione said, pressing her lips into a pale, thin line.

“He disappeared again earlier,” Ron commented. “If he’s not here soon I’ll go and have a look for him.” The redhead frowned and shared another significant look with his girlfriend. Unspoken words passed between them and she nodded.

“In the meantime, shall we begin?” Draco canted his head to the side and rested a hand on the cover of his charms text. This time all three Gryffindors exchanged glances and Neville replied in a hesitant and uneasy affirmative.

Ten minutes later, Harry rushed in, ducking away from Madame Pince’s glares and sliding into the empty chair at the end of the table. “Sorry I’m late. I went for a walk and lost track of time,” he offered. None of his fellow students looked like they believed him.

“Quite all right,” Draco said mildly. “I don’t suppose you have your notes on counter-charms handy?”

“Sure,” Harry breathed, reaching into his bag and pulling out his notes.

“Good. Goyle fell asleep on mine and they are now entirely illegible.” Draco’s expression was a mixture of both a sneer and a grimace.

“Why do you hang around with them, anyway?” Neville asked after making an appropriate noise of sympathetic dismay.

Malfoy shrugged. “We’ve always been together. Our fathers introduced us when we were young.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

Neville ducked his head and looked at his notes again. There was a faint red tinge on his cheeks. Clearly he wanted to say more but did not dare.

Draco studied him a moment and then, without giving any sign that he realized that the entire table was watching him, he shrugged again. “They never have been very good conversationalists, though.”

Neville looked up at him and gave him a small smile and a nod of acknowledgement.

Draco nodded back and turned slightly to quiz Ron.