“Psst, Prongs... Prongs!” The bespectacled boy didn’t turn around and Harry had to hide snickers behind his fork at Sirius’s unsuccessful attempts to gain the other boy’s attention. Sirius eventually gave up and chucked a bread roll at James’s head. “Oi!”

“Huh?” James turned round and blinked owlishly, his hair looking messier than ever. “Thought we weren’t starting ‘til pudding.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and used his wand to retrieve the errant bread roll. “I just wanted to say get ready.” He cast a shifty look at the staff table. “Snape the elder has ascended from the depths and we need this to start quickly if it has any chance of being a success.”

James cast a glance up at the Head Table – where Snape was looking just as nasty as usual – gave a thumbs up, and turned back to trying to get Lily’s attention, who was currently having none of it.

Sirius cast his eyes to heaven. “Why is no one taking this seriously? There hasn’t been a truly successful food fight at Hogwarts in over thirty years!”

Harry quickly covered up his laughter up with a cough and patted Sirius on the arm. “Don’t worry, Padfoot. We’re taking this seriously, we’re just... err... acting casual.”

Lupin dropped his fork and doubled over, almost shaking with laughter. To be honest, Sirius’s enthusiasm was pretty amusing; the boy was practically squirming in his seat, rather like an over-excited puppy, easily alerting the teachers to the fact that the Marauders had something planned.

Once glance at Snape was all it took to see that he at least was on full alert for ridiculous pranks. Gathering all his courage, Harry met the man’s eyes and glared, receiving a vicious glare back for his efforts. But then, amazingly, Snape’s gaze dropped and slid away... at exactly the same moment that the first course melted away into pudding on the four House tables.

“Now!” Harry hissed, eyes still fixed on Snape while his hands reached for whatever was nearest. “Do it now!”

“Right you are, Windhover!” Sirius replied jovially before hurling a jam tart with such force that it splattered the full width of the Hufflepuff table opposite.

There was a moment of delicious stillness as those nearest all turned and stared at the still grinning Sirius, who even had the gall to casually lean back and cheerfully say, “Oops!”

And then James leapt onto the table with a shout and used his wand to send a whole tureen of custard over to the Slytherin table, where it obligingly dumped itself over their heads.

Suddenly the air was full of flying food. Most of it was chucked at the Marauders, who gleefully retaliated in kind, but some puddings flew wide, splattering innocent people and causing them to get their own back on whichever unfortunate person had such atrocious aim. And within seconds what had previously been a peaceful Saturday lunch, descended into complete and utter pandemonium.

Most girls were screaming about their hair and running for the exits, but a fair few were also joining in – some even going so far to band together and gang up on certain boys. James Potter was one of these unfortunates.

Harry didn’t care; he was having the time of his life. Ducking and diving to avoid whatever food product was coming his way, he kept grabbing the puddings that were closest and chucking them into various knots of people with surprising accuracy. It didn’t matter that he kept slipping on the sticky floor, it didn’t matter that most of the teachers were screaming at them to stop – Dumbledore was just sitting in his chair and laughing, his beard half-covered in an errant cherry pie – all that mattered was making sure that the fun continued as long as possible. And getting as much of the Great Hall plastered in foodstuffs as they could, of course.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and this particular display was quickly put to an end by an irate McGonagall and an amused Flitwick casting a weather charm that immediately soaked the student population to the skin.

Harry panted heavily, glancing forlornly at the huge cream cake he’d managed to get his hands on seconds before. It was a bit soggy, but would still have made a more than adequate missile. He was about to put it down when a pincer-like grip suddenly closed around his other arm.

Crying out in shock, Harry looked up, right into the face of a furious Snape who was, miraculously, completely clean.

“What were you thinking, indulging in this foolishness? You are supposed to be setting an example!” the apparition hissed venomously. “Remind me to assign you two months worth of detention once we return to our own time for orchestrating this farce!”

Harry tried to tune out the vicious words and the hypocrisy in them and, in doing so, caught a glimpse of young Snape watching them and frowning from over adult Snape’s shoulder. The boy’s robes were still a complete mess but he didn’t make a move to correct them, seemingly content to stand and watch Harry with a pensive expression. And then... young Snape’s gaze briefly dropped to the cake in Harry’s hand before returning to his face. A single eyebrow arched and Harry struggled to keep a grin off his face.

Why not? It’s not like I’ll EVER get another chance like this one...

Returning his gaze to Snape’s outraged expression, Harry let the smile out... and brought his arm around in a wide arc, which ended in the cream cake landing with a loud splat on Snape’s face.

The grip on his arm loosened in shock and Harry was off running without even a second glance at the funniest sight he had ever laid eyes on. He didn’t see the Professor scrape the food from his face and send a murderous glare at Harry’s back. Nor did he look back and see Lily Evans walk up to the laughing young Snape and scold him for making such a mess of his only set of robes.

Harry didn’t stop running until he was a good way around the lake. Only then did he double over, hands on his knees, and laugh until he thought he’d fall over. The look on Snape’s face as the cake had headed towards it was worth all the detentions in the world and the outlet of his anger against the man had felt utterly brilliant.

Harry briefly thought about suggesting to the Headmaster of his time that a good way to deal with students’ anger at Snape would be to line them up and have them chuck various food products at him and started laughing again.

Eventually, he managed to calm himself enough to catch a breath and cast a wary eye at the castle as he sank down onto the grass verge by the water. You never knew with Snape – the man could appear out of nowhere.

He shivered slightly in the chilly, October air but immediately perked up as he saw three familiar teenagers making their way towards him, waving madly. Sitting up straight, he waved back and within minutes they were beside him, panting and laughing, their breath making steamy clouds billow out in the chilly air around them all.

“That,” James stated emphatically, “was the most brilliant thing I have ever seen!”

The rat James was holding twisted out of his grasp and transformed into Pettigrew, who was almost doubled over with laughter. “Did you. See. His face!”

“Yeah! Nice one, Windhover!” Sirius threw his head back and let out a bark-like laugh. “If only we had had a camera!” Slowly, smirking, he drew said camera from his robes with one hand and a set of photographs with the other. “Seeing as we’ll be forced to forget about you by the end of the week, I think you should have these.” Sirius handed the pictures over, sending Harry into fits as he looked through them all.

Lupin was trying to look disapproving, but judging by the way his lips kept attempting to turn up at the corners, he had enjoyed it just as much. “What happened to your ‘don’t humiliate Snape in public rule?”

Harry snorted and lay back in the grass, staring up at the pale, grey sky just as a shaft of sunlight broke free and lit the other side of the lake. “It was worth it! Have you any idea how many hours I have sat in that bastard’s class wanting to throw something at him? Definitely worth it.” Truth be told, Harry was starting to feel a little guilty about what he’d done – not to mention nervous about the consequences – but the feeling of satisfaction still outweighed the bad, making Harry more than willing to brush it aside. For now.

Sirius laughed again and leapt to his feet from where he had been crouching by the water’s edge. “C’mon, everyone! Let’s sneak into Hogsmeade. Everyone up at the castle will be looking for us so they can put us in detention” – Sirius made a face – “so we might as well stay out of everyone’s way for a while.”

“Uh... Padfoot?” Lupin was looking towards the castle with a very grim expression.

“Yeah, Moony?”

“We may have to delay the trip out... until another time.”

“What? Oh, drat!”

McGonagall was striding towards them, forbidding expression already clearly visible on her face. Harry felt his heart sink; something told him they wouldn’t be able to get away this time...

Hours later, arms and legs aching from kneeling and scrubbing the floor of the Great Hall, the five boys stumbled back to the Tower and fell into bed. The teachers had ended up setting extra essays for the rest of the student population who had participated in the fight – after all, the House points system would have been rendered completely useless, and there weren’t enough teachers to supervise all the detentions needed, so essays had been essential – but for the instigators, they had decided that they alone would be the ones to clean up the mess.

They had been allowed to stop at six for supper – everyone else received theirs in the Common Rooms – though after that, it had been straight back to work.

It was all rather unfair in Harry’s opinion – they’d only started the fight, not caused the majority of the mess. Luckily, Dumbledore seemed to share this outlook when had wandered past the Great Hall at about midnight; a convenient fifteen minutes after McGonagall had turned in for the night. With a muttered, “Goodness me, I wonder where all of this mess came from...” and a wave of his wand, which immediately left all surfaces sparkling, he sent them off to bed.

In fact, Harry could have sworn he heard a muttered, “Fifty points to Gryffindor for a most brilliant prank,” as he ascended the marble staircase, but he was really too tired to tell...

Unfortunately for the Marauders, Sunday morning didn’t start off as well as the night before had finished. Awoken at the crack of dawn by Madam Pomfrey insisting that the resident werewolf needed to spend the day preceding the full moon in the Hospital Wing – not that she actually came out and said this of course – is not the best way to be pulled from your sleep after a late night.

After a sleepy and grumbling Lupin had left the dorm to the continuous accompaniment of, “I noticed yesterday you were looking awfully peaky; you really have to look after your health better, you know, especially seeing as you’re already delicate...” there had been no chance to catch a few more hours sleep. McGonagall had come in almost as soon as Madam Pomfrey had left and immediately dragged them off to start the punishment essay that everyone else had finished ages ago.

Still, it hadn’t all been bad. Aside from it being a perfect excuse to avoid Snape, there were also a lot of opportunities to talk and learn more about each other in the silent library. Harry had learnt that, at the age of nine, James had collected Muggle stamps, managing to accumulate an impressive (for a wizard) three hundred before finally giving up.

Pettigrew’s father kept hawks – hence the reason why the timid boy had been able to handle Harry so expertly when he was in kestrel form – and he himself expressed a desire to open a business that trained hawks instead of owls as message bearers.

Sirius had – apparently – the summer before he came to Hogwarts, stolen a Muggle motorbike and taken it for a joyride around London, resulting in many of Her Majesty’s Police Force being Obliviated, a smashed up bike, and a broken arm, caused when Sirius had had to swerve violently to avoid a lorry travelling in the opposite direction. Harry wasn’t sure about how much of this tale should be believed. But, knowing Sirius, there was a very good chance it could all be true.

According to the others, Lupin – unsurprisingly – wanted to go into teaching, but also wanted to see if he could get into a Muggle University first and learn more about their culture. Lupin the boy had an almost fierce curiosity of the world around him and Harry couldn’t help but feel sad as he thought of how that interest had been practically squashed out of him by the various cruelties the world had heaped upon him.

He, himself, told the daring tale of how he rescued the Philosopher’s stone – conveniently leaving out any parts referring to what had happened to any of the Marauders or Lily – thinking it sounded like such an unbelievable tale that none of the other boys would even think to ask after themselves.

Unfortunately, all further conversation was curtailed when a younger-but-barely Madam Pince came and hovered over them like a bad-tempered vulture. Sirius quickly found a way around the ‘no talking’ rule by successfully Transfiguring Pettigrew’s spare parchment into a frog, which he promptly sent hoping speedily across the shelves with an irate Madam Pince chasing after it. Harry had had to hide his laughter by stuffing his sleeve in his mouth.

But, as Harry had learned to his own cost over the years, one could not avoid Severus Snape forever. And so, just as the four boys had packed up their books to head back to the Tower, he was again cornered by McGonagall, who snootily informed him that Professor Snape was awaiting his presence in the west dungeons. Apparently she was still annoyed about the Great Hall incident and made no attempt to get him out of it.

It was a tired and sore Harry – still stiff from cleaning – that limped down to the dungeon that evening, wishing more than anything that he could take a wrong turn and conveniently get lost in one of the Castle’s many confusing corridors.

This, irritatingly, did not happen.

With much reluctance, he knocked. “Professor Snape?” he called, almost wincing at the hypocrisy of using the title.

“Enter!” The voice was sharp and unforgiving, and Harry knew without a doubt that he was in for it.

“Err... Hello, sir?” Harry whispered, opening the door and peering at the inscrutable back of his Professor, who was currently bent over a cauldron.

The man didn’t

“You, well, you sent for me?”

Still no answer.

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Harry snapped, the short lead on his temper breaking. “Your younger self practically told me to chuck that cake at you, so logically it should really be you that you’re punishing, or giving the silent treatment, or whatever! Never mind the fact that’s it’s impossible, you’d probably give it a good enough go; you’re stubborn enough–”

“Mr Potter.”

Harry clamped his jaw closed, suddenly realising how far he’d let his mouth run away with him. If he wasn’t going to be punished before, he certainly would be now.

“Sir?”

“Chop those daisy roots. I need an extra pair of hands for this stage in the process.”

Harry blinked. Had he just heard right? Evidently, seeing as Snape was still pointing a long, yellowed finger at the offending roots. Shrugging, he headed over to the chopping, sparing a calculating glance over his shoulder at his puzzling teacher. Snape certainly didn’t look angry, but with Snape that meant nothing.

However, after several more moments spent in silence, Harry felt ready to change his opinion. “So, uh, is this it, then? You make a stupid mistake, I cover your head with pudding and we’re square?”

Still no answer. Harry was beginning to wonder if Snape had somehow managed to end up the wrong side of a selective Silencing Charm. Now, that would be poetic.

Deciding he rather liked this new, unresponsive Snape, Harry decided to continue talking out loud and to hell with the consequences. “We should have used this system before. It would have saved so much time, and probably ended with fewer hard feelings on both our parts–”

“Potter!” Snape whirled around and glared at him for the first time that night. “Are you ever going to shut up?”

“You haven’t asked me to yet, sir,” Harry replied quietly, steadily meeting the man’s gaze.

Merlin! What am I doing? I’ve spent far too much time with the Marauders! Oh well, too late to back out now...

And then, astonishingly, Snape sighed and turned back to his own cauldron as if nothing had happened. After another few minutes of chopping and brewing in their usual, silent routine, Snape took a breath and muttered, “Well, it’s better than listening to Slughorn prattle on about his special little club all day. Your company is most certainly... preferable.”

Harry almost dropped the knife. It was his turn to whirl about and stare at Snape, but the Professor didn’t seem inclined to look up, instead choosing to scowl ferociously at the brew before him.

Slowly, Harry convinced himself to turn back to his own station and carry on working on the daisy roots, his hands feeling numb and clumsy as his mind whirled. What Snape had said was about as absurd as the man saying that he actually liked him, which was blatantly ridiculous. It was as if the world had turned on its head. He felt as dizzy as the time he had stepped into the golden mist in the Triwizard Maze.

Harry snorted and shook his head violently, trying to stay focused as Snape assigned him several different tasks throughout the evening. Occasionally he roused himself to ask questions on exactly how he was meant to do things – he wasn’t going to make the salamander mistake again – and Snape answered snappishly, but he answered nevertheless. It seemed as if they had managed, somehow, to get their relationship back to where it had been before this whole Marauder accident, and, even more shockingly, it seemed to have been improved somewhat by the series of impossibly peculiar events.

Harry wasn’t complaining. He was shocked, certainly, but definitely not complaining. He even manage to persuade Snape to coach him in a few obscure Defence spells – after the promise had been made that he wouldn’t practice them out of Snape’s sight – and had, to his own surprise as well as Snape’s, managed to recite them back word perfect.

Finally, midnight drew near and Snape firmly pointed him towards the door.

“If you are caught for being out after curfew, that is your own failing and not mine. I refuse to write a pass for a student so notorious for sneaking out.”

Harry hid a smirk behind his hand. “Thanks for protecting my reputation, Professor,” he answered cheekily.

Snape pretended that he hadn’t heard. “I have successfully separated the different components that are necessary for the potion but the combinations require more consideration. Rest assured, Potter, you will be back among your fawning sycophants in no time” – Snape sneered – “though you seem to have acquired some here as well.”

Harry felt the back of his neck heating up as he tried to control his temper. “Any sycophants I have acquired here is through no fault of my own!” he snapped, imitating Snape’s style of speech. Yes, of course he knew what sycophants were; he’d looked it up in a dictionary the last time Snape had insulted him that way. “I am sorry about humiliating you in the Great Hall, but you deserved it and you know it!”

Furious, Harry turned and stormed towards the door, only to be brought up short by a softly snarled, “Potter.”

He really did think Snape was going to kill him this time – those black eyes were promising murder – but Harry raised his chin and glared straight back, furious that Snape couldn’t seem to last an evening without putting him down at least once.

And then the moment passed. Snape leaned back against the nearest counter and briefly rubbed a hand over his face. “We are both tired. Go to bed, Potter, and be careful. I don’t think I need to remind you that it’s a full moon tonight?”

Harry shook his head slowly. “No, Professor. Goodnight.” He slipped out of the door, wondering if he’d imagined the softly echoed ‘Goodnight’ from the room behind. Snape was acting strangely indeed... almost as if he was expecting something bad to happen...

The dorm was deserted, as expected, but Harry found a quickly scrawled note from Sirius saying, Windhover, we’ve gone to find Moony. Wish you could come along. Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail. Harry smiled and chucked the note on his bedside table, the feeling of foreboding that had been brewing in his chest all the way up from the dungeons evaporating.

Nothing was going to happen; Snape would brew the potion, Harry would spend some more time with the parents he’d never known – well, parent; he really wished Lily would stop avoiding him so he could at least learn a few things about her – then he and Snape would drink the potion and go back to where they were supposed to be and everyone here would forget they’d ever been here.

It made Harry a little sad thinking about it that way, but he supposed that was what made the moment all the more precious. Walking over to the dormitory window, he peered out over the grounds and up at the beautifully bright full moon.

A flicker of movement caught his eye and he quickly turned his gaze to the Forbidden Forest. There, flitting right at the edge of the forest, he could make out a huge, grey, lupine shape loping between the trees. If Harry squinted hard enough, he could just make out the large, black form of a dog and the tall shape of the red deer made thick by its winter pelt. The moonlight reflected off an odd lump on the stag’s antlers and Harry smiled as he realised that that must be Pettigrew.

Suddenly, the wolf stopped and lifted its muzzle to heaven, an unearthly howl breaking out across the silent grounds. The dog joined in, its joyful barks a marked contrast to the melancholy of the wolf. The stag reared and boxed the air in front of it before letting its forequarters fall and turning gracefully toward the forest. After another moment, the wolf broke off its song and followed after some gentle persuasion from the dog.

Harry sat and watched them until they were no longer visible. He felt awed and humbled and utterly grateful for what he had just witnessed; a part of his heritage, a part he would never truly know, but had been allowed to come closer to than he ever had before on this night. Content and happy, Harry went to bed and fell into peaceful dreams.

“Today we instigate The Plan!” Sirius gestured far more eagerly with his toast than the bags under his eyes suggested him capable of. Lupin was still in the Hospital Wing, but Madam Pomfrey had informed them, to their delight, that he would be out by lunchtime.

“What plan?” James grumbled, his head resting on the table while his glasses were held safe in one hand. “I don’t remember any plan.”

“The Great Snape Plan!” Sirius exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. “We’re starting it today! Ideas? Any ideas, people?”

“Shh, not so loud,” Harry muttered, casting a glance at the staff table where Snape was acting his usual hawk-like self. “Ears like a bat that one.”

To be honest, he was feeling a little guilty for agreeing to prank Snape now that the man had started being Snape-decent to him again, but then, he did need taking down a peg or two sometimes. He could be very arrogant...

Hmm, what a dilemma...

Harry shrugged and turned back to his breakfast. It was too late to back out now and this way he would be able to curb some of the Marauders’ more dangerous ideas – he really didn’t like the way they looked at Snape, almost predatorily sometimes.

Still, he didn’t want to have that particular conversation just yet – that was guaranteed to end in a loud argument – and they seemed decent enough to everyone else. If they had turned out to really be the bullies they had appeared to be when he first met them, they would have received such a bad hexing, they wouldn’t have been able to walk straight. Instead, they just seemed like four, normal teenage boys who were a bit full of themselves. And who happened to hate Snape with a passion... but then, Snape hated them back equally. So who had really started it all?

It was so confusing! What would be the right thing to do? Confront them now or wait until they, God forbid, ganged up on young Snape again?

Sirius effectively distracted Harry from continuing any further in his line of thought by accidently whacking James in the head with his toast and the resulting grumbling that followed, where Harry had to calm James down before he accidently restarted the food fight again. Lily, who was sitting near them, took one look and turned away in disgust. Harry felt his heart squeeze even as he forced himself to ignore it.

“I have an idea!” Sirius muttered, after having apologised to James.

All five Marauders leant in. “What?” Harry asked while internally praying that it would be somewhat subtle.

“Fruit salad!” Sirius exclaimed gleefully.

Harry was about to ask what on earth he was talking about when he suddenly noticed that the other the Marauders were laughing and clapping Sirius on the back.

“Don’t worry,” James whispered, nudging his arm. “Even Moony wouldn’t think there’s anything wrong with this. Watch.” He pointed towards the staff table just as Sirius muttered a spell under his breath.

The adult Snape, oblivious, spooned up some more of his cereal into his mouth... and froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. Convulsing with laughter, Sirius pulled out the same camera he’d been carrying around all week – apparently it was a belated birthday present from James’s mum – and snapped a picture of Snape staring down at his spoon as though it had tried to start a conversation with him.

“What the...?” Harry glanced towards the other Marauders, who were quickly pretending to not notice Snape glaring in their direction... while simultaneously convulsing with silent laughter.

“The spell makes everything he eats with his spoon turn into Fruit Salad after he’s put it in his mouth,” Sirius snickered. “And he’s not exactly the type to spit it out again. Quick! He’s coming!” Sirius snatched his arm and quickly dragged Harry after the others and they hastily left the Hall.

“Don’t you think it’s rather obvious who did... whatever you did, since we were the ones who ran?” Harry asked as they walked towards the Charms classroom. While Harry still had to attend classes, he didn’t have to take notes or do any of the homework, which suited him just fine, especially as it annoyed the other Marauders so much.

“He’d have worked it out anyway. Serves him right, sitting there like he owns the place!”

“James, he’s a teacher, he’s supposed to look like that,” Harry said, feeling more than a little longsuffering. “I didn’t suggest the prank war just so you could follow up on whatever grudge you have against the younger one. I suggested it in case he actually did something to provoke us. Which I took care of, if you remember, with that cream pudding.”

“Yeah, right,” James sneered, suddenly rounding on Harry. “This is Snape we’re talking about. Even if he hasn’t done anything yet, he’ll still be planning it, so he deserves everything we do to him! We’d all be a lot better off if he’d never been born!”

Sirius was nodding in agreement, and Harry felt the dormant anger boil up in him again, this time there was no stopping it.

“Would you listen to yourselves?” he spat, glaring at them all. “If you truly believe that, there’s no difference between him and you; or at least the ‘him’ you think he is! How dare you think you have the right to decide who deserves to exist and who doesn’t? You might have forgotten, but I’m from the future, and I can tell you now that a world without Snape would be worse: a lot worse!” Harry knew he couldn’t say that Snape had spied against Voldemort in the first war, not only because Snape being an ex-Death Eater would invalidate his point, but also because it wasn’t his secret to tell. How he wished he could, though!

Suddenly a hand reached out and, without any warning, pulled his glasses from his face. “Hey!” Harry grabbed in the direction he’d last seen them and snatched them back from Pettigrew. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked as he shoved them back on his face.

Pettigrew shrugged. “Nothing. Just checking if they were rose-tinted.”

That smarmy little...!

As Harry stared at the self-righteous smirk that had spread itself across Pettigrew’s face and all the hatred he had felt for Wormtail suddenly came flooding back like a storm of ice.

“You slimy, little rat!” he hissed, stepping forward and looming over the smaller boy like Snape had done to him. “I ought to learn to become an Animagus just rip you to shreds!”

“Don’t you dare!” Sirius snarled viciously, pulling the terrified Pettigrew back by the shoulder and standing protectively in front of him. “Don’t you dare threaten him! If you like Snape so much, why don’t you go and spend time with him?”

Breathing hard, Harry looked from him to the others; James had his wand out, Sirius was glaring, eyes gleaming with some unholy light, and Pettigrew was still cowering behind the taller boys. And in that moment, Harry knew that he couldn’t tell them why they shouldn’t trust the boy they were so rigorously defending. Aside from the fact that he didn’t want to make the same mistake as Snape, he knew it wouldn’t make any difference; everyone would forget he’d ever been there by Thursday evening, and, judging from the Marauders’ pugnacious faces, that would probably for the best.

“Fine!” he snarled back. “I’ll do just that!”

The corridor was very long, and he felt the glares aimed at his back every step of the way.

Well, I always knew it was too good to last.

Harry hadn’t gone to see Snape, he knew how that would probably end: a vicious “Why aren’t you in lessons, Potter?” and then a swift boot out of the door. He hadn’t particularly wanted to deal with that just yet, so instead he’d headed up to the dorm and lain down on the bed, fully prepared to brood for a few hours.

Bastards. All of them.

Still furious, Harry threw himself off the bed to pace the length of the room and back again.

Who are they to judge Snape? Who are they to judge ME?

He stopped abruptly and stood, breathing hard, in front of one of the dorm windows – consequently the same one he’d watched the Marauders with awe through the night before.

Well, the morning certainly shows them up in a different light, doesn’t it?

Gripping the sill, Harry glared out into the grounds below, wondering if he should have gone to Snape after all; the man certainly seemed to appreciate his presence more if last night was anything to go by. Besides, past incidents had taught him that both of them could scream blue murder each other and not experience any great change in their relationship.

What he really wanted to do was fly until it didn’t matter anymore, but he wasn’t angry – or malicious – enough to steal someone else’s broom merely to settle his thoughts, so that option was out.

Better go and talk to Snape; at least I’ll be able to shout at him if nothing else.

But, as he turned towards the door, a glint caught his eye and his gaze automatically snapped in its direction.

It was the glass phial that held the potion which had turned Harry into the kestrel, sitting innocently under a heap of James’s discarded robes. Harry bit his lip indecisively. It wasn’t stealing, per se... It would merely be drinking the remainder of something that had been made for him, without asking. James had said that, while the potion was easy enough, one of the ingredients was impossible to get hold of without a licence... unless you were the son of someone who harvested said ingredient, who James conveniently was. Which essentially meant that Harry would be drinking something that belonged to the Potter family anyway – and he really was desperate to fly.

Making a split second decision, he snatched up the phial and hurried over to the window, throwing it open as wide as it would go.

Let’s see... James said that a full phial lasted five minutes, and I’ve just got a little over halfway left. Three minutes. Plenty of time for a kestrel to get from the seventh floor to the ground. Easy. Yeah.

Harry glanced at the drop and gulped, realising just how far seven floors was when you didn’t have a broom.

Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be fine. You trust yourself on a broom, don’t you? So you should be able to trust yourself in a body specifically designed for flying! You’ll be fine.

Taking a deep, deep breath, he climbed up onto the sill and downed the potion, which tasted strangely like burnt sugar and seawater mixed together. Nasty.

Crossing his fingers, Harry crouched and waited for the change. And waited and waited. And just went he was about to give up, the change happened, making him feel like a piece of paper that had suddenly been scrunched up into a much smaller shape – peculiar but not particularly painful.

As soon as Windhover saw the open sky before him, he didn’t even think, just simply launched himself into the huge, wide openness and he didn’t feel angry anymore but free, free, free!

Dipping one wing, he swooped in a long, graceful arc, flying faster and faster like an arrow from a bow, only pulling up from the dive when the ground seemed impossibly close.

However, the nearness pulled a bit more of the human part of Harry to the front of his mind than was strictly wise when in flight, and he ended up flapping wildly to try and avoid ploughing into the ground. Luckily, the kestrel’s natural instinct to hover saved him and Windhover settled comfortably into the energy-consuming wing-beat, his eyes automatically scanning the ground for prey.

There! A mouse!

Windhover dived, snatched, and almost caught it before it whipped away into longer grass. Giving a warbling cry of exasperation, the kestrel flew up again and went to settle on the top of Hagrid’s hut, listening to the half-giant’s movements inside while his eyes scanned the ground for more prey. However, all the small animals of the area had heard the kestrel’s cry and had gone into hiding, meaning that Windhover would be out of luck. For now.

Idly preening one wing, Windhover huffed and eventually decided to give in to the inexplicable part of his mind which seemed to be screaming at him to get OFF the roof and under cover NOW. He cast a glance over his shoulder in confusion. There wasn’t a goshawk in sight, so there was no particular reason to flee, was there? The phrase three minutes repeated in his mind, confusing him further. What was a ‘minute’? Could you eat it?

Chirring in annoyance, Windhover spread his wings and flew into the trees of the forest, settling on a branch too close to the ground to his liking, and then...

Trying not to yell at the sensation of unexpectedly being inflated back to ‘normal’ size within the short space of a second, Harry gripped the branch and concentrated on not falling off.

As soon as he’d got his bearings back, Harry held onto the trunk and laughed quietly. Being a kestrel was so fantastic! He’d have to start studying the Animagus Transformation as soon as possible! Windhover saw the world so differently it was almost radical – he’d almost eaten a mouse, and had actually looked forward to the idea for Merlin’s sake!

Amazing, brilliant...!

Harry only remembered he was over one hundred metres inside the Forbidden Forest when a twig moved beside his hand. While the forest didn’t seem to mind letting a kestrel in, it didn’t seem too fond of the idea of letting the human the kestrel had transformed into stay.

“OK, OK, I’m going,” Harry whispered to the peculiar, twiggy creature that was shaking its fist at him.

The twig creature drew its lips back in a snarl and pointed imperiously to the ground.

Harry glanced down and realised the ground, which had seemed so close to Windhover, was actually much further than he’d anticipated. Unfortunately, the creature was getting impatient and it looked very much like it would like to take a chunk out of Harry’s hand with its tiny, pointy teeth. “Err... right. Wish me luck!” he hissed under his breath.

Harry pushed off, fell about two metres, being careful to absorb the impact by rolling, and fetched up in the middle of a large thorn bush.

“Ow!” he yelped into the stillness around him.

“Mr Potter.”

“Holy fu–!”

Snape did not look impressed.

“I mean... err... Ouch, that hurt!” Harry amended, still trembling from Snape’s unexpected appearance.

I think this is a case of be careful what you wish for: I wanted to see Snape, well, I can see him, and he definitely doesn’t seem pleased to see me.

“Indeed.” Snape suddenly swept forward and hauled Harry from the bramble patch, holding tightly him by that same arm and glaring down into Harry’s wide eyes. “Might you care to inform me what you were doing up a tree in the Forbidden Forest, Mr Potter?”

“I...” Harry stared into the pair of emotionless, black tunnels and could find no words.

“As I thought,” Snape purred. “You and your little band of Marauders must have decided that it was time to play yet another trick on snivelling, sneering, Snape.” With every S word, Snape’s grip tightened until Harry was almost certain all the blood supply had been cut off from his arm.

“I... No! No.” Harry found his voice and tried to jerk away from Snape, who only responded by tightening his grip further.

Harry twisted away again, managing a strained, “Sir... You’re – hurting – me.”

And suddenly the grip was gone. Harry stumbled back, regaining his footing and looking up only to find Snape staring at him in disgust. “Just when I thought I might have been mistaken about you,” the man scoffed. “But it’s always the same, isn’t it? Your father never knew when to stop either, and evidently, you’re just like him.”

“No I’m not!” Harry shouted, his voice echoed through the trees. “Is this about the prank this morning? Is it? ‘Cos I had nothing to do with that! I didn’t want them to do anything and they went ahead and did it anyway!” Harry broke off, breathing hard, and glared at Snape. “Didn’t it even occur to you that the reason I’m spending time with them is not because I agree with what they do but because before now I’ve never been able to remember spending time with my father...”

Mortified, on hearing his voice break on the last word, Harry turned away from Snape and glared out among the trees instead, fists balled at his sides.

“And why should I believe that, Potter?” The sneer – though still present in Snape’s voice – seemed softer than before. “And why, if your theory is indeed valid, did you only think your father” – the sneer came back full force on this word – “was worthy of your consideration? Did your mother not meet with your high expectations?”

Here was a topic Harry wasn’t sure he was ready to discuss with Snape – with anyone – but the last thing he wanted was for the man to think that Harry thought his mother inferior in any way when quite the opposite really.

“She’s been avoiding me,” he muttered, his voice thick. “She obviously doesn’t want to know me, to have anything to do with me, so why bother? Add to that the fact that the Marauders aren’t talking to me anymore because I defended you,” Harry spat, “it looks like my last few days here are going to be pretty lonely, so why don’t you just go ahead and gloat and then leave me alone!”

Snape was silent for so long that Harry became almost certain the man had glided off into the trees during Harry’s last rant, leaving him alone in the forest. Well, fine. It’s not like he needed company anyway. In a few days he’d be back with Ron and Hermione...

And would never see his parents ever again.

“Potter...”

Harry jumped and turned around, shocked to see the man still standing there with an unreadable on his face. He seemed to be struggling to say something, and Harry waited patiently for whatever it was. Snape’s expression twisted for an instant into a derisive sneer before smoothing once more into impassivity. The man held out a leather knapsack that Harry hadn’t noticed before.

“Carry these roots up to the castle and put them in my workroom, would you?” he snapped, not looking at Harry.

Harry hastened to take the bag and slung it over his shoulder, wondering what had caused the sudden change in mood this time. He’d only walked ten paces towards the edge of the forest when another sharp, “Potter!” froze him in place.

“Yes, Professor?” he asked, half-turning. Snape had a speculative expression on his face, and that could mean anything.

“Have you actually tried talking to her without your father and his sycophants in tow?”

Harry’s temper rose at the insult but he forced it down and shook his head.

“Then I suggest you do so. You will find her in the library after lunch; try then and you may find her more willing to talk you than you first thought.” With a whirl of black robes, Snape turned and strode off deeper into the forest’s black gloom, leaving a bemused Harry in his wake.