Harry was the last person to sit down at the breakfast table, which meant he had to slide into his seat, next to Snape, feeling like all eyes were on him. True to Snape's word, they had waited for him, and as soon as he was seated the plates were filled.

After a few minutes of looking resolutely down at his plate, Harry finally took a look around.

"-- won't cooperate," Bill Weasley was saying, shaking his head. "Goblins are frustrating in the best of times. It's near impossible to get anything out of them now."

"Do we have anything left to bargain with?" This came from McGonagall. "It would be prudent to have something we could use in a time of true need."

Bill frowned. "We've got Great Auntie Muriel's goblin-made tiara. I shudder to think what she'll do should we barter it away, but it might get us in the door if it came to that."

"The sword of Gryffindor is goblin-forged," Snape said, in a tone of great indifference. He was reading the morning Prophet, but was apparently able to do that as well as keep up with conversations around the table.

"Yes, well," McGonagall said, her eyes flashing with indignation, "we won't be giving away Godric Gryffindor's sword, surely!"

Snape lowered the paper enough to look at her over its top edge. He raised an eyebrow. "Not even to save the life of a Gryffindor?"

McGonagall huffed, but didn't reply.

Snape disappeared behind the paper again, still with the air of one who had no vested interest in the topic at hand.

Harry looked to the other side of the table, where Lupin was speaking with Charlie Weasley.

"-- might still be out there," Charlie was saying, "but there isn't a way to know without going out looking for them. The whole herd might've moved on, for all we know. I'm not about to go tramping through the Forbidden Forest without a damn sight better reason than that. We can find some other means of getting the students in from Hogsmeade."

"We're going ahead as if it's certain he won't be coming back, then?"

"Doesn't dare, does he?" Charlie said, shrugging. "He would be a mighty big target."

McGonagall joined their conversation. "He can do a lot more good at Beauxbatons. No telling how many of our students will be attending, and we need the eyes and ears."

Harry wondered if they were talking about Hagrid. Was he on the run from the Ministry, too?

The idea of Hogwarts students attending other schools rather than return to Hogwarts was a new one, as well, but perhaps it should not have been. He hadn't thought about it before, but how many times had he heard someone mention families who had gone on the run? Of course those children wouldn't just board the Hogwarts Express in September like nothing had happened.

McGonagall tapped her spoon against her goblet, bringing an abrupt silence to the table. "I seem to have misplaced the Hogwarts Annals. It is a large, square book with a red leather cover with gilded corners. I left it in the staff room during our last meeting and now it is nowhere to be found."

There were blank looks, shrugs, and frowns, which eventually turned to quiet murmurs.

"Sorry, Minerva," Lupin said. "I recall seeing it, but I was one of the first to leave the meeting. I will keep an eye out for it, of course."

McGonagall sighed. "It isn't vitally important, but I do hate that such an important artifact is out of its normal place. I should not have taken it out of the Headma-- my office."

The mood turned decisively glum at the accidental mention of Dumbledore, but eventually everyone went back to their previous conversations.

"Poor Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, glancing over Snape's shoulder. "Why must they hound an innocent boy?"

Harry felt a chill run up his spine. Was he in the news?

"Unfortunate," Snape said. "Not unexpected, of course. It was only a matter of time."

He passed the paper to his left, to Mrs. Weasley, leaving Harry to stew in ignorance.

Appetite gone, Harry poked at his food listlessly until everyone else was done eating.

"Hadrian, Draco, you will help me again this morning," Snape said. He turned to Mrs. Weasley. "I will let you know when I have more time for Luna."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I do hope this is the answer. I would hate to waste your time and energy when you have so many other obligations."

"I will make time," Snape said, inclining his head. "It may be a while before we are able to tell if it will help."

Mrs. Weasley sighed heavily and nodded. "Patience is the key, I know. She did not get this way overnight and she will not heal overnight, either."

Harry fell into step behind Malfoy, who looked eager at the prospect of spending more time helping Snape. Harry found out why when they were halfway down the dungeon stairwell.

"Professor? You know I can brew those potions on my own."

Snape looked at him doubtfully. "One at a time, I'm certain you can."

Malfoy waved his hand impatiently. "Maybe not thirty at a time, sure. But that just means it will take me longer than it would take you. I don't mind working all morning, all afternoon, or all night for that matter."

"Hmm."

Malfoy's voice took on a familiar overly-formal tone that Harry supposed he had learned from his father. As far as Harry was concerned, it was not much better than the whiny, wheedling tone Dudley used on Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to get what he wanted.

"I know you must be thinking of making that potion for Luna, and you must be concerned about how much time it would take. I know, because I overheard Neville telling you he has the recipe. Couldn't you use the time I'd save you to research if it would be of any benefit to her?"

Snape took a long time answering. They were halfway to the classroom they had used the previous day before he finally made up his mind.

"I would like to get the infirmary stocks replenished to at least a minimal level. We will see how much we can get done this morning, and I will let you try your hand at it tomorrow, on a trial basis only."

Malfoy breathed an audible sigh of relief. Harry looked sideways at him. If Malfoy was pretending he cared about Luna's health, he was doing an impeccable job of it. Harry was almost convinced that Malfoy did care, however unlikely Harry would have thought it was if he had been asked his opinion just a few weeks back.

"If I find you wasteful, that will be the end of it," Snape warned. "Potions ingredients are in short supply these days."

"Neville would work on that if he wasn't being kept prisoner upstairs," Malfoy said, shrugging. "If you ask me, there's a lot of mismanagement happening."

"I quite agree," Snape said. "However, it is not up to me."

"It is up to you," Malfoy said, his voice ringing with challenge, "what Hadrian and I do. You could be directing us to do all sorts of things to help."

Harry wanted to throttle him. Imagine, giving Snape ideas like that, when Snape already filled Harry's days with stressful tutoring sessions and now potion-making, too.

"Need I remind you that you are still in a weakened state?"

"I am not," Malfoy said, splotches of red popping up on his cheeks. "I'm fine. I know when I need to rest. I know myself. I know --"

"Draco."

Malfoy fell silent, but he didn't look any less rebellious.

"We will see what you can do," Snape said. "That is all I am willing to promise now."

Malfoy breathed out irritably, but said, "Yes, sir."

Somehow, Harry didn't think that was the end of it. Briefly, the thought of keeping a closer eye on Malfoy flashed through his mind, but he dismissed it. He had enough to worry about, and if Malfoy was busy with potions that was going to keep him from doing anything else for a while. As far as Harry was concerned, Snape could lock Malfoy in an empty classroom and make him brew potions all day long, with only breaks for meals and sleep. Then Harry wouldn't have to think about where the next stab in the back was going to come from, or rather when.

"Set up the cauldrons as before," Snape ordered as soon as they were inside the classroom. "I will also need four large cauldrons. Hadrian, go get them from the cupboard and scour them at the sink. They can go on the table closest to my desk."

Harry headed for the cupboard. Snape was still giving Malfoy instructions.

"Pay special attention to how I set up my rows, Draco. You never want to have to double back the same way you came. When you begin brewing, start at the head of the inside isle..."

Harry fetched the cauldrons and scrubbed them with hot water. He washed and wrung out the rags when he was done, and put them up to dry, thinking maybe he could avoid having to stay behind like the last time. He put the cauldrons where Snape wanted them. By then, Snape and Malfoy had set up the smaller cauldrons in regular rows, four to a table.

"Hadrian, join us."

Harry walked over to stand next to Malfoy. Malfoy had a look of great concentration on his face, and didn't even glance Harry's way.

"You can do certain steps at once. Most potions begin the same way, with the cauldron filled with water and set to boil. Have you been taught to cast split-stream Aguamenti?"

Malfoy shook his head. "No, sir."

"That will slow you down, then," Snape said. "I will give you the charm and you should practice it. It's very useful in potions. Unfortunately, it is not something you can learn through observation. Watch me, and note how there is no change in the incantation or in the wand movement."

Snape waved his wand and cast the familiar charm. All four cauldrons filled with water.

"You can do the same with lighting the fires," Snape went on. "This one you can observe, since it is the wand movement that makes a difference. Like so."

Flames flared under each of the cauldrons.

"There is no point in trying to manage multiple cauldrons until you master using charms such as these. Until you have mastered them, you will be limited to the cauldrons you can have in your direct line of sight and within reach, which means eight at the most if you set them up the way we have here, with yourself in the isle between tables. Even so, it would mean sometimes having your back to half of them, which is not recommended if the potions are at all volatile."

"I'll practice tonight, if you give me these charms, sir," Malfoy said. "I'm sure I can do it."

"I would like you to practice now, while I can see what you're doing and correct you as necessary," Snape said. "The water charm is harmless, but I don't want you casting fire out of my sight unless I have some assurance you won't burn the castle down. You will have to fill the cauldrons one at a time for now, but attempt to light all four fires at once. I assume you don't need me to walk at your elbow to put out any stray flames?"

"No, sir," Malfoy said. He pushed up his sleeves and went over to the next table, with his wand out and with a very determined look.

"Hadrian, begin preparing ingredients for Skele-Gro. There's a book on my desk that lists the ingredients. I assume you can find everything on your own?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief.

He had been afraid Snape would make him try those charms, too, and that Malfoy would see just how bad things were with his magic. He supposed he should have known Snape wouldn't do that; the previous day Snape had made both of them clean without magic for the sole purpose of avoiding that very problem.

He walked over to the desk. There was a very slim, brand new book with a glossy cover, which could have easily been mistaken for a magazine. It was titled:

 

SKELE-GRO
Bone Regenerator. Bone-fide results every time.

 

In extremely small print, taking up the bottom two-thirds of the book's cover, was a very long paragraph attributing the creation and development of the potion to one Reubens Winkius of Reubens Winkius and Company Inc., and releasing the rights for further development and general use of the potion to the public. Apparently, Winkius was yet another potioneer who invented useful potions for the wizarding world to use, much like Slughorn and Belby, but not Snape.

Skele-Gro wasn't one of the potions the students had ever brewed, and Harry saw why as soon as he looked at the recipe. It was a very complicated potion, and the list of warnings and safety precautions went on for six pages. It was, in fact, one of the few potions Harry had ever seen that even included specific safety precautions at all. He thought this might be because the recipe was in a book entirely devoted to that one potion, rather than in a book containing a collection of various recipes.

By the time Harry had fetched the ingredients from the storage cupboard, there was a distinct burnt smell in the air, but every cauldron had a fire under it. Snape was teaching Malfoy some charm that had complicated wand movements with a lot of floaty waves, airy swishes, and small flicks.

"Try it now," Snape was saying. "You may have to walk around and cast it several times, until you are able to cast it on a larger scale."

When Malfoy walked past Harry, there was a noticeable breeze of fresh, cold air, and the burnt smell dissipated.

"This one is useful in that it is one of the few charms that increase oxygen rather than merely clearing the air of toxins. It can save your life if you find yourself trapped in a small space with poor air circulation."

Harry focused on crushing scarab beetles, trying to force down a wave of something that felt suspiciously like bitterness mixed with jealousy. He told himself he had no reason to feel that way. He didn't need Snape to teach him spells, and at the moment it wasn't like there was any use in trying to learn them, anyway.

He just couldn't help wondering if Snape would teach him, if he asked. And not just because Snape didn't want his son to embarrass him when classes started, but simply because Harry asked.

He shook those thoughts off and concentrated on the beetles. It wasn't like he planned on ever asking Snape to teach him anything. Snape was doing a fine job forcing Harry to revise five years' worth of material without being given any extra opportunities to add to Harry's load.

Eventually, Malfoy joined him at his table and started chopping roots. Snape was slowly making a round of the room, checking each cauldron and adding ingredients.

Harry found himself doing most of the work, because Malfoy spent more time watching what Snape was doing than anything else. Harry wasn't about to complain about it, since that would mean speaking to either Malfoy or Snape. He much preferred the silence, even if it did mean more work for himself.

He would have liked to watch Snape for a bit, too, actually. Snape moved with a lazy ease that made everything look effortless. It was as though the fires flared or burned low all on their own, lids of precisely the correct size knew just when to settle silently on top of cauldrons, and ingredients threw themselves into the boiling water at just the right moment. Harry, of course, knew that everything had to be done at exactly the right time and in exactly the right way, and that Snape only made it look easy from years and years of practice. There Snape was, managing dozens of cauldrons at the same time -- and cauldrons containing a variety of different potions, no less -- while Harry still wasn't very good at making even one potion while staring at a page of instructions the whole time, or having Hermione whispering directions at him.

"Watch what you're doing," Malfoy hissed just then, sounding a great deal like Hermione did when especially irate. "You're missing the bowl. Didn't you hear what he said about ingredients?"

Harry blinked -- he had been staring at Snape after all -- and quickly moved his hand. "Sorry."

He redoubled his efforts. The bowls in front of him were quickly filling.

"That will be plenty for the first batch," Snape said, walking past. "You may begin preparing ingredients for more burn salves, which we will be making tomorrow. Leave them as they are. I will set a stasis charm myself."

Harry cleaned up his work area and washed his hands before moving to a different table with the new set of ingredients. His stomach was growling, which he thought meant it could be nearing lunch time, until he recalled that he hadn't eaten much at breakfast. He sighed and got back to chopping, peeling, crushing, and dicing.

"Draco."

Malfoy, who had been walking toward Harry's table, stopped and turned toward Snape instead.

"I will show you the charm for extinguishing multiple fires. The incantation is the same, so there is only the wand movement to learn."

Harry purposely kept his eyes on the bubotubers he was squeezing over a wide-rimmed bottle. He told himself firmly that he didn't care. He wasn't the one who was dead-set on brewing potions morning, afternoon, and night, like Malfoy was. It wasn't like he had any use for a spell like that, anyway. He could barely manage one cauldron under the best circumstances. Besides, he didn't need to get a squirt of bubotuber pus in his eyes, so it was best to concentrate on what he was doing.

An hour later the potions were either finished or covered and left to simmer over low flames, and Harry was scrubbing the empty cauldrons at the sink while Snape gave Malfoy further instructions for learning and practicing the charms he had been demonstrating. Harry tuned it out, scrubbing so hard that his entire arm ached from fingers to shoulder.

He finished the last cauldron and wrung out the rag just as Malfoy headed for the door with a pile of books. Snape was scowling at the book containing the Skele-Gro recipe.

He hung up the rag and quietly followed Malfoy.

"Hadrian."

Harry stopped short, stiffening his shoulders to keep them from slumping. He had suspected Snape would want to speak with him, but that didn't mean he wasn't wishing he'd been allowed to escape back to his room.

"We have been neglecting your studies, I'm afraid," Snape said. "Bring your Transfiguration and Charms books and meet me in my quarters."

Harry saw Malfoy linger in the doorway and with great effort tried to put on a smile. "Sure, Dad. I'll go get them right now."

Malfoy was waiting for him in the corridor just outside the classroom. "Still doing First Year work?"

Harry gave him a dirty look. "What if I am?"

"You haven't taken me up on studying together. I could help you, you know. I don't mind revising from the beginning. Last year was a joke and we all slacked off studying."

Harry had to bite his tongue, remembering long, exhausting sessions with the D.A., long, exhausting sessions of Occlumency with Snape, and his efforts to keep up with his other classes around long, painful sessions with Umbridge and her blood quill. He hadn't slacked off. Not even close.

"Well..." Malfoy said, sounding slightly hurt, "let me know if you change your mind."

Harry thought quickly. Last thing he needed was to be accused of snubbing Malfoy and making him even more suspicious than he already was.

"It's not that I don't want to. It's just that... my wand is really not responding right, and... my dad doesn't want me doing any spells without supervision."

"Is it what I said that one time?" Malfoy asked. "About you not being magical? I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"No," Harry said. "And you didn't. I just need to get this figured out on my own, that's all."

Malfoy looked at him doubtfully. "That's not a very smart way to go about it."

"Maybe not," Harry said, fighting not to sound as irritated as he was. "But that's the way I'm going to go about it."

Malfoy didn't reply, and when they parted ways at the corner, Harry had the sinking feeling that he was going to have to spend time with Malfoy in the near future to fix the situation. He wished he had kept his temper under control, but after having to pretend to be thrilled Snape wanted to spend more time with him, he simply didn't have any patience left for Malfoy.

Once in his room, he sat down at his desk and put his head down on his arms, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He needed a few moments before he would be able to force himself to go back and face Snape again, after already spending a whole morning with him.

He got his books, but hesitated as he started to pull open the door.

Maybe he would ask about the photographs. He didn't have to risk losing all of them. Snape, after all, had told him he hadn't looked the photographs over before giving Harry the box, and was unlikely to know how many photographs of Lily Harry had found inside. He would risk losing one of them, if Snape didn't like his idea, but at least this way he would have tried to do things the right way before being devious, sneaky, thieving, lying, and whatever else it was that Snape and Lupin were so convinced he was.

He dropped to his knees in front of the dresser and rummaged through the bottom drawer, where he had hidden the photographs. He quickly found one he didn't mind giving up; it was a blurry close-up of Snape, who was partially hidden behind a large flask full of some potion that billowed a column of steam, with Lily in the background, bent over a thick book. If she hadn't been his mum and he hadn't been looking for her so eagerly when he had sorted through the photographs, Harry might not have even noticed her.

He tucked the photo into his pocket and hurried out, sure that Snape was going to demand what had kept him.

It didn't help that the dungeon corridors, perhaps sensing his hurry, led him in a wide circle that took him past Snape's closed office door. By the time he got to Snape's quarters, he was walking at a normal pace, having decided it was not worth it to get all out of breath when he was going to be lectured just the same no matter what.

Snape opened the door for him, his expression neutral until Harry was inside and the door was shut again.

"Took your time, didn't you?"

Harry looked down. "Sorry, sir."

Snape stared at him for a long time in disapproving silence. Harry, who had always been able to feel when Snape's eyes were burning into him, didn't need to look up to know the exact expression Snape probably had on his face.

"I forgot to use the map." Not that excuses ever helped. "Also, I was talking to Malfoy."

"I see." Snape's voice dripped with disapproval, but he abruptly changed the subject. "You may continue your study of Charms for the next quarter hour while I research an issue with the Skele-Gro. What chapter are you reading?"

Harry checked his book. "The last one."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? I shall test you when the time is up. You should have finished by then."

He turned and walked into the bedroom, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the room, Charms book still in his hands and his shoulders slumped in resignation.

After standing there long enough to start feeling stupid about letting Snape's disapproval upset him even though he'd known it was coming, Harry sighed and headed for the table in the corner.

He couldn't get into the reading. For one thing, he couldn't recall where he had stopped the last time he had studied. Every page he looked at was vaguely familiar, like he had recently read it, but when he tested himself on several random charms he found the details were blurry in his mind. Maybe he was simply remembering what he had learned in class, ages ago.

He was still flipping pages when Snape came back into the room, pausing to stare at Harry for several moments and narrowing his eyes when he noticed Harry's lack of focus.

Harry saw that he was carrying the Skele-Gro book, which was now looking distinctly more dog-eared than when Harry had last seen it on Snape's desk, which was only an hour or two earlier. There were bits of parchment sticking out at odd angles from between its pages, and where the cover corner was curling up Harry could see that the first page of the book was covered in cramped writing in Snape's favored red ink.

"Sir?"

Snape expression darkened. "What is it now?"

"I just wondered... well, why are you brewing Skele-Gro for the first time? Isn't that a potion Madam Pomfrey needs regularly?"

He was aware of several Gryffindor students the previous year who'd had broken bones mended. Two just from one Care of Magical Creatures class. Accidents were expected, what with various spells and charms, impromptu duels in the corridors, Quidditch, moving staircases with trick steps, and all the other ways to injure oneself in a large, old castle.

Snape sniffed irritably. "The potion was provided through St. Mungo's while the formula was still proprietary."

Harry knew he had a blank look on his face.

Snape, looking no less irritable, nevertheless chose to explain. "When a potioneer invents something truly new, he has the right to brew and sell the potion exclusively for a span of thirteen years. Most choose to take a large one-time payment and sell the recipe to a publisher, an apothecary, or even directly to St. Mungo's or the Ministry. Some, however, prefer to keep control of the recipe and sell it directly to customers. Most of those who choose to do so are owners of apothecaries. Skele-Gro was developed by Reubens Winkius, who owns an apothecary large enough to handle bulk orders. He kept control of the recipe for the past thirteen years and provided St. Mungo's and several other magical hospitals around Europe with the entirety of their supply. This is the most financially lucrative option for any potioneer."

"Oh," Harry said, still a bit blankly. "So, the thirteen years ran out, and now..."

"And now the recipe has been released to the public at large and can be brewed by anyone with the skill to do so," Snape confirmed.

"Why do it this way?" Harry asked. "I mean, why thirteen years?"

Snape shook his head. "Thirteen has been the number for hundreds of years, and I do not know the original significance of the number. It is done this way so as to balance the rights of the potioneer against the rights of the public. To allow one individual to control a recipe indefinitely would stifle that recipe's further development and potential for improvement. By publishing it, it is ensured that others have a chance to alter or improve upon the formula, for the good of all magical society."

"Oh."

"Why the sudden curiosity?" Snape asked suspiciously. "You are hardly likely to invent potions, with your lack of skill in the craft."

Harry felt himself reddening. "No reason. Sir."

"In that case, stop stalling and get back to studying. I do believe you were revising summoning charms when we last met."

Harry ducked his head. Snape had, with just a glance, known that Harry had lost his place in the book. For all Harry knew, Snape was still using every possible opportunity to read his mind. He was going to have to be extra cautious, now that he was keeping so much to himself.

When Harry looked up again, Snape was sitting in an armchair at the other end of the room, scowling as he read the book. Harry had the disheartening thought that perhaps the potion was too difficult for Snape. Ron could be right, and Snape might be rubbish at Potions for all any of them knew. Maybe he was only good because he'd had years of practice making a limited set of relatively simple potions; those he taught to his students and those he made for Madam Pomfrey, with much overlap between the two. Harry thought he would brew almost any potion from his textbook quite decently if he had to do it every day for a decade. Even Neville would, most likely. Harry knew, thanks to Umbridge, that Snape had been teaching Potions for fourteen years. That was nearly as long as Harry had been alive, and to him it felt like a very, very long time. It would be shocking if Snape wasn't good at brewing the more common potions.

Snape looked up, his piercing black eyes boring right into Harry's. Harry was not quick enough to look away, but luckily the only thoughts in his head were of potions and Umbridge.

Snape frowned at him. "It's an unusually complicated recipe, using several ingredients currently in short supply. Ingredients I see no clear reason to include in the potion, and would rather not waste unnecessarily."

Harry blinked confusedly. Perhaps Snape had misinterpreted his thoughts as continued curiosity about the Skele-Gro potion, in which case Harry wasn't going to disabuse him of that notion.

"Will you be making it today? Will Malfoy and I be helping again after lunch?"

"No, you will not be," Snape said, letting the book fall shut and setting it aside. "I see you have no intention of using this time to study."

Harry didn't know what answer Snape wanted from him, so he kept his mouth shut and his eyes averted to a spot just over Snape's left shoulder.

"You may leave," Snape clarified, in a tone that dripped disdain. "But don't think you won't have to make up the wasted time."

"Wait --!" Harry was too late to stop himself from blundering forward with his plan in spite of having intended to only do so if Snape seemed in a relatively calm mood.

Snape, who had pointed his wand at the door to open it, stopped and frowned at him again. "What now?"

"I... I wanted to ask your permission to... well, something."

Snape's expression showed exactly what he thought the likelihood might be that Harry would get permission to do anything at all, unless perhaps it was to drown himself in Myrtle's toilet. "And what might that be?"

Harry reluctantly took out the photograph, which he suddenly found himself very unwilling to part with now that it was very likely he was going to lose it. "I found this photo among the others. Since I sent a few to Neville, I thought maybe it would be all right to send some to myself. To Hadrian, I mean. From me as myself. I mean..." Harry floundered a bit, because it was a chore to keep things straight in his head. "I mean... from..."

Finally, he trailed off, realizing he was not only babbling but sounded quite daft.

Snape held out his hand for the photograph, which Harry relinquished with a small sigh.

"Hmm," Snape said, after staring at it longer than Harry thought it warranted. "I suppose you may."

He held it out to Harry, and Harry, eager to get it back, fell for the trap by reaching for it.

"Were there others?" Snape asked, snapping the photograph out of reach just as Harry's fingers brushed the edge of the thick paper.

"Yes..." Harry said, unable to lie his way out of it. He dropped his hand to his side. "A few."

"I hope you know better than to send one with just her," Snape said; he sounded like he was gritting his teeth by the time he got to the end of the sentence. "Any like this one would be fine. Not too many, mind you."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, suddenly hopeful again. He supposed Snape meant he could send ones where Lily was in the same frame as Snape. They had all been like that; he had been rather upset there hadn't been one of just her, because having Snape there somewhat ruined his ability to enjoy looking at them. "There aren't any of just her, anyway."

Snape held out the photograph again, and this time allowed Harry to take it. He didn't say anything.

Harry scurried out the door as soon as Snape had opened it with a flick of his wand, and he didn't look back. He was a bit shocked his plan had worked at all.

As soon as he was behind the locked door of his own bedroom, he wrapped the photographs in the same wrapping paper he had used for Neville's gift. He even managed, unintentionally, to tie the ribbon the same lopsided way.

All he needed was a way to get it to the tea the next day.

Unfortunately, as he suddenly realized, that meant asking either Snape or Lupin for help, and he couldn't make up his mind which choice would be the less uncomfortable one. Could he really ask Lupin, after what had happened?

He supposed he would have to ask Snape. The thought that Snape had somehow come out on top in Harry's mental struggle to figure out the best option, was more than a little upsetting. In fact, Harry headed to lunch feeling confused and vaguely upset, which wasn't the best way to face meals.

Maybe that was why the sight of Ron and Fred and George with their heads close together, whispering, set him on edge more than ever. He tried to tell himself he was being paranoid, but their narrowed eyes landed on him far too often for that to be a very convincing argument.

An uneasy thought settled into his mind. Was this how Snape had felt as a student, with a gang of four bullies openly plotting against him? Harry really wanted to believe what Sirius had said about Snape giving as good as he got, but all the evidence was to the contrary. There had been four against one, and the four had the Marauder's Map, the Invisibility Cloak, and both Dumbledore and McGonagall on their side. Lupin had as good as admitted it to Harry.

He'd seen it, too, in Snape's memories. He hadn't seen how it all began, but he knew it began early. Had Snape done something to them first, or had he, like Harry now, just presented a tempting target? All Harry knew was, it was a very uncomfortable feeling to know that he was hated, that they meant him some yet-unknown harm that could range from merely embarrassing to something that did actual damage, and that he had done nothing substantial to invite it and could do nothing to stop it.

He looked at Snape, and found Snape's eyes locked on someone across the table. When Harry followed his gaze, he saw that Lupin was rubbing his temples tiredly, his plate sitting barely touched in front of him. Harry couldn't tell if Snape's look was one of concern. Snape's expression was blank, as it so often was, leaving observers to guess blindly about what Snape might be thinking.

He wondered if Snape really was over it now. Harry found it hard to believe that he was, so suddenly. He certainly wasn't over his hatred and fear of werewolves, and how did that work, when Lupin was one?

Harry was sure he wouldn't be able to be best buddies with Dudley, after all the years of torment. He wasn't even certain anymore that his friendship with Ron and the twins was going to survive this wholly unchanged. He was trying not to hold it against them, and he didn't, exactly, blame them for disliking Hadrian, but it was as if he were looking at them now through a warped fun-house mirror, and he wasn't sure, anymore, which version of them was the true one; the friends he had known for years, or the strangers who chose to hate him without knowing anything about him.

Snape took his eyes off Lupin long enough to notice Harry watching him, and gave him a nasty look over the rim of his cup. Harry quickly dropped his gaze and went back to eating.

"No, it has not," McGonagall was telling Mrs. Weasley. "It has simply vanished."

"My boys will search for it this afternoon," Mrs. Weasley said, patting McGonagall's arm sympathetically. "I'm sure it will show up, as all misplaced things do, eventually."

"I appreciate it," McGonagall said. "If not for the time-tables, I would not spend the time looking for it, but it will be a nightmare to do them by hand."

Harry supposed, from this, that the book McGonagall had lost was still missing. He just hoped he wouldn't be expected to look for it alongside Ron and the twins. That would give them far too many opportunities to get him alone in some far corner of the castle.

"I will have Hadrian and Draco make a round of the most obvious areas of the dungeons," Snape said. He still had Harry pinned with his gaze, which made it impossible for Harry to look at him to try to figure out what he might be up to. "I don't imagine it's there, but if Peeves took it, it could be just about anywhere. We know he quickly tires of items he pilfers."

"Can't you ask the Bloody Baron?" Mrs. Weasley suggested. "Couldn't he interrogate Peeves and find out if he did indeed take it?"

Snape smiled thinly. "I shall ask, but you give me far too much credit if you think I hold that much sway over him. Only Dumbledore could persuade the ghosts to do precisely as he wanted."

Harry, now that he knew for certain he would be joining the search for the lost book, could only feel relieved that he was going to be searching with Malfoy rather than the Weasleys. This was just as wrong and out of place as finding he would rather speak with Snape than with Lupin, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was really wrong with his head.

Everything was so muddled lately; even the things that had been crystal clear to him before.

Sometimes, he even thought his mind was working differently now than before. Thoughts would come that had a slightly alien feel, like they didn't quite belong in his head. He made connections that he would have expected Hermione to make, not himself. Something was different about how new information settled into his memory; he found studying easier, but he wasn't using the same strategies as before to recall things he read about, and was finding it a perplexing task to pull facts out of his brain. They were there, but his brain now insisted on organizing itself in an entirely new way. It was like someone had come into his house and moved everything around, and Harry was no longer sure where anything was.

He thought about talking with someone about it... but whom was he supposed to talk to? There was only Snape.

And wasn't that a depressing thought, to find that he had no one else but Snape to turn to?

Well, he wasn't going to talk to Snape if he could help it. He would just wait and see if everything would sort itself out. There was no doubt he was under a lot of stress and had been thrust into circumstances that were barely tolerable. It wasn't shocking his sanity was getting a bit frayed around the edges, really.

"Draco, Hadrian, come."

Harry rose like an automaton and followed Snape and Malfoy back to the dungeons.

"Make a round of the classrooms and any room whose door you find will open for you. The locked ones have wards to keep Peeves out, so there is no need to look there. The book has a faded red leather cover and ornate corners or tarnished gold. It is large, square, and twice the thickness of your Potions book."

"Sir?" Malfoy said. "Why is this book important?"

"It is a records book that has been used since the time of the Founders. It contains hundreds of years' worth of information on classes, clubs, teachers, and students. Most importantly, it lists the classes offered this year and who will be teaching each, which is used to generate time-tables. The book is charmed to perform this task with minimal oversight. Without the book, time-tables for each set of students will have to be set up by the staff, which can be a daunting task."

Harry supposed it would be; there were seven Years in each of the four Houses, making for twenty-eight sets of students to assign to classes. Some classes, like Transfiguration, were mandatory for all students, and most met more than once a week, but clearly one professor would not be able to teach twenty-eight classes in one day. Maybe not even in a week. Yet, Harry knew that it could be done somehow; that every student somehow got the classes he or she needed.

He trailed after Malfoy.

"You would think this thing would have some way of tracking it, if it's so damn important," Malfoy groused. "I was going to start on some potions."

Harry ignored him.

"I always thought Dumbledore kept Peeves around on purpose," Malfoy continued, apparently not bothered by the lack of participation coming from his captive audience. "It was just the sort of dotty thing he was known for doing. Peeves is a nasty poltergeist, by the way, in case you haven't had the pleasure of running into him."

"I have," Harry said shortly.

"Then you know what an embarrassment it is to have such a thing in a place of learning," Malfoy said, sounding altogether like Percy Weasley. "I would have thought McGonagall would've dispatched him post-haste as soon as she became Headmistress. It isn't terribly difficult to do." He paused, frowning. "Lupin should be able to, but he isn't looking too well, is he? Is something the matter with him, aside from the usual?"

Harry felt energy draining out of him. Just what he always wanted, to have a conversation about Lupin's health with Malfoy. "The Ministry poisoned him with veritaserum. He almost died."

Malfoy was silent so long that Harry turned to look at him.

"I hate the Ministry," Malfoy said, his voice flat. "Father wants us to leave Britain..."

Harry felt sick to his stomach. For five years he would have leaped with joy at the thought of Malfoy transferring to Durmstrang and being shot of him and his Death Eater father. Now it was a real possibility and he didn't feel any happiness at all. Nothing had changed; he didn't like Malfoy much better than ever and he certainly didn't trust him enough to want him around. It was just that he couldn't feel happy it wasn't safe for Malfoy to stay. It wasn't safe for Harry, either, nor for anyone Harry cared about. The Ministry had succeeded in pushing him and Malfoy onto the same side, and there was nothing to be happy about.

"I don't think he'll leave without me," Malfoy went on, quietly. "She did, so maybe if he joins her in France I can avoid going."

"You really don't want to go with him?" Harry kicked himself for not keeping his mouth closed, but Malfoy's repeat insistence that he wanted nothing more to do with his family was something he simply didn't understand. "He's your father."

Malfoy pressed his lips together until they turned white.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

"No," Malfoy said. His jaw moved in a way that suggested teeth being ground against each other. "I know he's my father, and she's my mother, but I don't trust either of them anymore. He would have made me join the Dark Lord, and she sold me to the Ministry for her own freedom. I feel safer with your father, and I won't go with them unless there isn't another way."

Harry thought he should feel annoyed that he was stuck with Malfoy, but he couldn't get past feeling bad for him. He was finding it hard enough to reconcile his own father having been a bully, and by most accounts, barring Snape's, James Potter had grown out of that and turned into a decent man. Malfoy's parents had to be really awful if Malfoy really felt this way about them, and that was something Harry didn't think he would ever truly understand, having no living parents of his own. Wouldn't he do anything, forgive anything, to have his parents back? How did one just throw his family away, like a set of worn-out robes that no longer fit? Even if they were Death Eaters.

He remembered, rather guiltily, that he had been grudging Malfoy time with Snape with the excuse that Malfoy had a family.

"I'm glad my dad's your godfather," Harry said, feeling like he had something to make up for. Anyway, he had no reason to care whose godfather Snape was, did he? "And maybe someday you'll make up with your parents."

Malfoy snorted. "Thanks... I don't know about that, though. I suppose I'm glad my father wants me to go with him, at least. That's something."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "That's something, even if you don't want to live with him right now, at least he's there and he wants you."

Malfoy smiled lopsidedly at him.

"We're supposed to be looking for the book," Harry said, uncomfortably aware that he had managed to do the very thing he had been trying hard to slither out of -- making friends with Malfoy. "We just passed a classroom."

"We'll check it on the way back. This corridor's a dead-end."

They turned the corner and found themselves facing a set of doors, one on either side of the corridor.

"You check that one," Malfoy suggested. "That's an unused office. This one's a classroom. They used to have a class on Magical Metallurgy down here, many years ago. My grandfather liked to talk about it."

"Magical Metallurgy?" Harry repeated. "Like, metals?"

"Sure, I guess. Forging metals into magical objects, and the magical properties of different metals. It got incorporated into N.E.W.T.s level Potions, under Alchemy... only later they stopped teaching that, too." Malfoy frowned. "The curriculum here is very narrow and watered-down, you know. No other school turns out so many incompetent witches and wizards."

Harry bristled at first, but as he could see no personal insult in Malfoy's words, he deflated just as quickly. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, you'll see when classes start, I suppose, but you must have an inkling already from the way the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors were described. Useless, every last one. Lupin was competent, but he wasn't teaching defense against the Dark Arts. Nearly everything we did that year should have been covered in Care of Magical Creatures, if there'd been a competent teacher in that class."

Harry's anger flared again, but he could think of no way to protest when he wasn't supposed to know anything about Hagrid.

"Anyway, Hogwarts teaches Defense, but not the thing we're supposed to be defending ourselves from -- see the problem? They're so afraid we'll get sucked in by the Dark Arts that they won't even let us learn enough to recognize Dark Magic when it stares us in the face. All that leads to is evil wizards having all the powerful magic and the rest of us sitting like lambs for slaughter."

"Oh," Harry managed. He was gritting his teeth. Malfoy had a lot of nerve, when his parents were counted among the 'evil wizards' he spoke of.

"Part of it is the jinx on the Defense position," Malfoy went on, blithely unaware of Harry's upset. "Father told me the Dark Lord jinxed it himself, and no one can teach it without coming to a sticky end, unless they're one of his loyal followers. Father told me it's been that way for some forty years now, and every Defense teacher had something terrible happen to them before the year was out. It's worse than that, really, because most of them died. Hardly anyone applies for the position, and that must be how Dumbledore was able to get a werewolf in. That's why I asked about Lupin. I thought maybe the jinx had got him before term even started, on account of him already having taught a year. Of course, the jinx must have ended when the Dark Lord died, so I didn't really believe that was Lupin's trouble." Malfoy paused for breath. "Well, let's not stand here. We have a lot of rooms to check and I still need to find a classroom to use for brewing."

With that, Malfoy shoved open the classroom door and walked through the doorway with his wand lit.

Harry was left standing in open-mouthed horror in the middle of the corridor.

The existence of the jinx on the Defense position had completely escaped his attention. He had been so happy that Lupin was coming back to teach that he had forgotten about no one being able to teach that class longer than a year. Lupin hadn't escaped the jinx, either. His secret had come out, with consequences that Harry knew to be terrible.

If Voldemort was still out there, then the jinx was still active and Lupin's life was put on the line the moment he accepted the position of Defense professor. His secret was already known to the public. Maybe the jinx had taken that route last time because to Lupin being outed as a werewolf was worse than death. Now there was nothing else the jinx could do but kill him... or destroy him like it did Lockhart.

Was that, then, why both Lupin and Snape were so convinced Lupin didn't have long to live?