The cackling fire of the Gryffindor Common Room filled it lazily as the students streamed in and out. It’d been a week since the Demise Party and the impromptu Hogwarts break had finally ended.

Everyone had returned on a Sunday, ready to go back to classes tomorrow, and Harry had been hounded by nearly all of them, as were the others. For the first time he had found a chance to recline, and was doing so not in the most conventional way—yet the most effective way he could think of.

Doing homework.

No one bothered a student doing their homework, interrupting their studies for they understood how annoying and tiresome it was to have it happen to them, so they didn’t do it to anyone else.

Ron, however, thought him mental.

“Why are you doing it mate?” Ron hissed over the table. “I mean, we got it before Halloween, which was a Thursday, and we would’ve had enough time to turn it in had it not been for the You-Know-Who thing, so you know…we can get out of it because of that.”

“Just don’t want people bothering me,” Harry informed causal and Ron rolled his eyes.

“Then read or play chess…”

“They’ll still bother me,” Harry retorted causing Ron to flush. “Why does it matter? It’s my homework, not yours.”

“Hermione’s got two essays she hasn’t even done,” Ron breathed quietly, so not to attract that girl’s attention. “She’s not going to do it. We can get out of it by using the excuse of the You-Know-Who incident.”

“Sorry Ron,” Harry bit out. “I’m not gonna use Voldemort effing death to get out schoolwork.” The boy flinched a bit before sitting back, heatedly.

“Fine,” he spat. “Be that way.” Then slamming backwards, he stormed off. Harry watched him walk off with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s the matter with him?” he asked Ginny, who happened to be sitting the closest to him.

“For once, you’re equal in the limelight,” Ginny informed quietly. “Ron feels like you two will agree upon more things and do more things ‘cause of this. Not to worry, he did it with Bill when they both met the Goldberg Brothers.”

“Who?”

“Another band for Wizards,” Ginny said patiently. “Everyone in the Weasley household, beyond that of me, was obsessed. When Ron and Bill met ‘em, they were heroes. Give Ron time, he’ll come around to remembering how to hide from the light.”

“’Kay,” Harry rubbed his jaw line, tired.

“Why are you doing your homework?”

“It’s really the reason I told Ron,” Harry shrugged. “Get people to bugger off, ya know?” He glanced darkly at a group of second years that were lingering about.

“Give it time,” Ginny said softly. “They’ll back off, they always do.”

Harry snorted—they haven’t backed off from sixteen years earlier, why should they back off now? Rubbing his eyes tiredly for a moment, he leaned back.

“You glad to be getting back to life?”

“To the schoolwork of a fifth year student,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Ooh yeah, just dying too.” She flipped the page of her book, roughly. “Hermione’s a bitch with studying—hounding me every second I get.”

Smiling at her apologetically, Harry stretched back and started once again on his Potions homework. The sad part, really, was that he was halfway good at it—or at least in understanding.

A few weeks before the ‘Ball’, he been wracked with insomnia and so in a desperate attempt to get to sleep, he’d gone into the library, grabbed the first book that was in the potions section, and prayed it would make him fall asleep like most potions books did.

Unfortunately, yet somewhat fortunately, it hadn’t. Instead it held his interest, showed him a different way to look at potions, and far from put him too sleep—which really was bad for his test in Transfigurations the next day.

888

It was quiet when Harry woke up the next morning, all his roommates sleeping soundly and deeply, and with a quiet padding of his feet, he collected his things and cut into the bathroom.

For a brief moment, as he changed his clothing, he flexed his hand, cringing from the tight, stiff ache that had been created in it, and twisted his left hand. He couldn’t write with his life hand still and it took a lot of effort to curve his right hand to the skill of a quill, so until his hand worked up to spam, he was given a talking quill.

They weren’t allowed in Hogwarts expect for special cases, and Harry’s case warranted one. It was simply a quill that you told what to write and did.

Sighing from his aching hand, Harry rolled the rest of his body, stretching it out somewhat, before quietly leaving the dorms. Escaping through the dawn-lit corridors of the school, Harry nodded a greeting to the other wandering ‘Dawn Risers’ before cutting outside.

Once he reached the Quidditch pitch, he stretched out his legs, and set off in an alluring, escaping, brisk jog about the field. It freed his mind, allowing him nothing but peace to escape it all. He didn’t have to think about what happened or what was going to happen.

Voldemort never died at his hand. The others never almost died themselves. His hands were stained red and he wasn’t a savior. When he ran, he was just Harry. Nothing more, nothing less.

It was exhilarating.

After a while, he started to work on speed. Doing straight, slowly increasing sprints, relishing in the natural high he got, breathing in the fresh crisp air. Back and forth he ran, hard as he could. Possibly he was running to escape, but he didn’t care.

It was nice, just running.

Finally, he drew to a stop, hunched over and panting for breath. Sweat trickled down his brow, and propping up he smiled largely. It felt good, he felt free.

Shaking his legs out, he stretched slightly toward the sky, and started a warm-down job toward the school. One day he would fast. Real fast. So fast maybe you couldn’t even see him run.

That was his plan.

To run fast.

Jogging back to the school, he cut through the slowly filling corridors, and into the showers. Once he was done there, flexing his right hand in and out, he walked lazily down to Breakfast.

Ginny and Hermione smiled in greeting to him as he flopped down, piling up his plate with eggs and toast.

“Morning,” he smiled at them causing the girls to glance at him suspiciously. “What?”

“What’s the matter if you?” Ginny prodded. “You’ve been silent and acting all week—what’d you do this morning, eh?” She smirked wickedly. “Been getting into Snape’s Pepper-Up potions?”

Harry snorted, hurriedly covering his mouth to keep food from flipping out. “Snape…” he choked. “Pepper-Up…Potions?”

“Yeah,” Ginny crossed her arms. “How else do you think he manages his glare all throughout breakfast—he’s here before anyone is too. Just look at the smugness of that glare,” she nodded her head the Head Table. “Has to be Pepper-Up induced.”

Laughing, Harry glanced over his shoulder at the glaring Snape, who seemed to find threatening his toast before he ate was the wisest action. “I thought Pepper-Ups make you preppy though…”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “It’s Professor Snape we’re talking about here.”

“Yeah, that means everything,” Harry nodded in agreement. Hermione grunted sourly into her plate, but made no comment to the conversation that was being held. “Anyway, where’s Ron?”

“Where do you think?” Hermione shook her head. “Sleeping in as late as he possibly can.” Harry nodded in agreement and went back to eating.

As more and more of the school filed in, they talked and waved at him, Ginny, and Hermione like they were the best of friends, having never been apart from each other for more then a moment.

To say they weren’t all flustered angrily by the time they got up to leave for their first class was a lie. Though Ron was too busy thinking over the way to swing ‘the excuse’ to truly notice any of it.

Yet, he hadn’t needed to think about swinging it, Flitwick gave them—he, Neville, Harry, and Hermione—automatic leave-way for all of their homework for the next week, insisting they have time to settle and get use to it.

McGonagall’s nostrils flared, but she gave Ron an extended time leave-way with homework for the rest of the week too, before cutting a glance at Harry, expecting the same thing, but the boy stubbornly remained silent. Hermione requested just a day extra.

Ron and Harry couldn’t stop gaping.

Ginny apparently used ‘the excuse’ to her best extent with all the homework piling up on her, while Luna just seemed oblivious to the chance. Neville more or less followed Ron’s suit, who seemed to take the nervous boy under his wing.

Hermione was disproving of it all, and as they walked into Snape’s classroom on Wednesday afternoon, she laid into Harry and Ron—who were only in Potions by requests from Dumbledore, though they could be kicked out at any time—and while Ron had the grace to look ashamed, Harry didn’t pay attention.

Instead his eyes traveled to Malfoy, who was jeering at him snidely as he consulted Blaise, and then he moved on to the rest of the small class that was mainly Ravenclaws and Slytherins. Hermione, Ron, Harry were the only Gryffindors in that particular class.

There were two other N.E.W.T level Potions classes in the week, one where Harry was just with Neville, and the other where Harry was conspicuously alone. He had a feeling that was Snape’s doing, but didn’t say anything about it. Ron luckily was never alone, or he might’ve had a heart-attack, while Hermione had to deal with Ron in both other classes.

She seemed a little stressed about that.

Settling down at their desk in the back, Harry was settled on the table by himself, while Ron and Hermione set up directly next to him.

“Think I should try it on him?” Ron asked, gesturing his head toward Snape, who was sitting in the front, scribbling away at parchment.

“Only if you wish a short-lived life,” Harry hissed back and the boy groaned.

“Well honestly, you deserve it for abusing it so badly,” Hermione scolded causing the red-head to roll his eyes.

“Give it up, ‘Mione,” he groaned. “I’m only doing it for my health. You know studying causes brain damage.” Harry winced while Hermione instantly rounded on the boy.

“Not the smartest thing, mate,” the boy mumbled as he drew a foot to the side, allowing Hermione’s timing rage to only engulf Ron.

“Class!” Snape’s voice suddenly barked out, startling everyone out of their idle chatter. Yet, it was his sudden control of the class that saved Ron a brutal tongue-lashing. “You’ve had a break, I know, but I severely hope you didn’t let your small brains rot anymore then they have.”

Harry felt Ron’s grimace from where he stood. “Today’s potion will be easy enough, I regret to inform you. However, you’ll have to figure out what potion it is to be exact—ten points will be added if you get it right.” He waved his hand, conjuring up the ingredients. “Now, begin!”

Instantly there was rummage of movement as everyone got out their books and set to gathering up the ingredients. Walking with Ron, they gathered their ingredients, before retreating back to their cauldrons and quietly setting to their work.

Flipping through the book, his mind tingling a bit with the familiarity of the potion, Harry stared at the ingredients for a quizzing moment before realizing it. In the book he hoped would make him fall asleep, it had spoken of a potion that added dragon hair and bat wings together with a counter-clockwise turn.

A rare combination…

What had that potion been?

Distracted, he started to make the potion, his mind spinning circles around the information, trying to place it to a certain, specific potion.

Blue-Jay Blues

Struck with a realization, Harry let his potion stew a shimmering red for five minutes before flipping quickly through his Potions book. Then on page 126 he found it.

Ha!

It was exactly the same potion that had once been on the blackboard, though Snape had gotten rid of it by then, and inwardly Harry smirked to himself. Now, imagine that.

By the end of the class, everyone had a potion that was shimmering a milky white color that was either slightly off or on cue. Hermione’s, of course was, as were Malfoy’s and Parkinson’s. Most everyone else had a bit of a off-white color.

Snape stalked, quipping out comments, before stopping before Harry’s desk. Distracted by Hermione’s gripping to Ron, he didn’t pay much attention to Snape’s roaming eyes that took in his whole work area, before the man cleared his throat.

Involuntarily, Harry looked at the man, narrowing his green eyes somewhat. “Amazingly, it’s somewhat presentable,” the man growled quietly. “But I suggest you improve you act, Mr. Potter, if you want to stay in my class.”

With that, he swooped off, leaving Harry to share a long look with Ron.

“Seeing how you’re all done, you can bottle up your potions,” everyone started to move. “After I get the answer for what this potion is.” Instantly hands shot up, but knowing that the Potions Master was going to ignore him Harry didn’t even bother.

Why waste his energy?

Instead he set to the tedious task to scribbling out his name on a tag with his left hand. It was only the ‘H’ and the ‘P’ that were readable though. Then again, not many had the initials ‘HP’, so he figured it would be all right.

“Miss Parkinson then?” Snape asked, as Malfoy answered wrongly.

“That’s terrible, mate,” Ron whispered, looking back at his tag. “Want me to write it out for you?”

“Wrong, Miss Parkinson, but five points for trying. Mr. Boot?” Snape’s voice rose a bit, to gain attention of several of those he had lost.

“’Cause you know, that git would probably just take off points for illegibility or somethin’.” Ron turned and fished out another tag from his pack. He was bluntly ignoring Hermione’s tittering hand that was held high in the air.

It was routine anymore.

“Wrong, Mr. Boot. Miss Bones?”

“Here mate,” Ron passed him the tag and Harry took it with a grateful smile. Pulling off his old, illegible tag, he tied on Ron’s tag, which wasn’t nearly as bad chicken scratch as it usually was.

“Mr. Weasley,” Snape suddenly barked out. “If you feel the need to talk so, why don’t you tell me what it is. And rest assured, if you repeat an answer already said then I will take off ten points.”

Ron cringed, hurriedly racking his mind for what had been said and glancing feverishly through his book. Frowning, Harry discreetly drew back, pulled out his wand, and making sure no one was watching—especially Snape, he muttered the spell that flipped Ron’s page to 126.

Through Ron’s shuffling, only he was the one to notice the spelled change. Resisting the urge to glance around to see who, Ron shrugged and glanced into his potion.

“The, erm, Blue-Jay Blues,” he stated, attempting to make his voice firm.

Snape lifted an eyebrow and stalking forward, he peered down at the boy’s book, his face going impassive. “Correct, Mr. Weasley,” he sounded like he never thought the sentence possible.

Ron discreetly smiled but the man raised an eyebrow. “But no extra points for the outside help,” and before Ron could protest, or Hermione—who assumed the Snape was accusing her—the man stalked off.

“Dismissed,” he waved his hand, and there was a clamber of movement.

“Well that was ruddy unfair,” Ron grumbled as he bottled up his potion and packed up his bag. Yet, before either he or Harry could leave, they had to wait for Hermione, who was cramming her bag darkly and furiously.

Harry looked at Ron with a raised brow but didn’t comment.

By time the girl was done, they were the only ones left in the classroom. Much to Ron’s and Harry’s annoyance. Eagerly they dumped off their potions, homework—in Harry’s case—Ron hadn’t done his but McGonagall had written him a leave for all homework before the event.

Yet, Hermione wasn’t done. “Professor,” she said in a steely voice. The man looked up with his dark eyes, bored.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“I didn’t help Ron,” the girl huffed out. “Therefore I think—”

“Miss Granger,” Snape cut in lazily. “Try not to be too self-absorbed and realize that had you helped Mr. Weasley then I would’ve taken off points, like I usually do. It was someone else.” He glanced up, relishing in Hermione’s flushed face. “Now please leave, class is over.”

“Sorry Professor,” she nodded curtly, threw her pack over her shoulder and walked off. Ron glanced at Harry, dumbfounded, but scrambled after her.

“Oh and Mr. Potter,” the boy paused at the door as Snape called him back. “I expect you to raise your hand from here on out when you know the answer.” Harry stiffened before sighing.

“Yes sir,” and then he ducked out.

Later that night:

“Harry,” Hermione slide up out of nowhere. “I’ve always wanted to be a teacher, you and Ron know this, but lately I’ve been considering becoming an official in the Department of Magical Creatures Bureau.”

“Alright,” Harry breathed, raising an eyebrow at the girl, confused.

“It’s my secret, Harry,” the girl said with an imploring look.

“Nice secret,” he said awkwardly. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to know,” Hermione pressed. “That you can tell me things.”

“Such as?”

“Things, Harry, things…” she stared for a moment longer before sighing. “Whenever you want to.” Awkwardly Harry inclined his head.

Turning the bushy-haired girl walked off, in the direction of the Common Room. “Oh and Hermione,” Harry called out. She paused. “Being an official in the Department of Magical Creatures Bureau…it fits you.”

She smiled at him before walking off.