A shadow crossed over Dumbledore's gentle features, as he continued his Welcoming Speech, that unfortunately this year, unlike previous years, was thus far, devoid of light-hearted banter, and full of dark warnings and safety concerns.

“I'm trusting that all the Prefects, Head Boy and Head Girl, will ensure that students obey these rules, and that all students will remain safely away from the long arms of the Dementors.”

Percy puffed up his chest, and glanced with self-importance at the younger students, as he caught the eye of the smitten Penelope.

Ron rolled his eyes, and made a motion of sticking his fingers down his throat, as though the very idea of Percy and Penelope making goo-goo eyes at one another was enough to make him vomit up his upcoming excellent feast.

Hermione of course awarded him with a stern look.

“Now that we've dispensed with the more sombre and serious warnings, I have some news that will perhaps lift your spirits somewhat,” he announced; his sparkling blue eyes, twinkling madly.

Wide eyes lifted up towards the aging Headmaster, alight with curiosity.

“I am pleased to announce the fulfilment of two new Professorial positions this year.”

“Two?” Ron asked curiously. “I wonder what the other position is.”

Harry scrunched his eyebrows. “Dunno.”

“Shh,” Hermione admonished.

“First and foremost, I'd like you all to extend a warm welcome to the new Defence against the Dark Arts Professor, Remus Lupin.”

With a knowing look, Harry, Ron and Hermione looked up to see the haggard-looking professor rise, and nod shyly to acknowledge the smattering of applause that broke out at this announcement.

Looking to Lupin's right, Harry shuddered at the look of intense malice that appeared on Snape's stern features. Harry almost felt a pinch of pity for the man; after all, it was a wide-spread rumour that Snape had been vying for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor for ages, only to be overlooked time and time again.

Dumbledore waited until the chattering died down, and the Hall grew quiet once more.

“As to our second new appointment,” he held up a long finger, “I am sorry to say that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year, to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. I am pleased to say, however, that our very own Rubeus Hagrid has agreed to step in to fill the position, as well as continuing on with his duties as Gamekeeper.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione, looked at each other, stunned. Then, slowly applause erupted with great fervor, throughout the Hall, particularly at the Gryffindor Table.

Sounds of disgust could be heard from the Slytherin table, and Harry snickered to himself. It looked as though the lot of them had been sucking on lemons.

That thought only made Harry grin more widely, and he put even more effort into smacking his palms together, until they tingled.

Harry looked fondly up at the large man, whose face turned a deep shade of crimson, at all the attention he was getting.

Ron shook his head in disbelief, and his freckled face broke into a big smile. “We should have known, shouldn't we have? I mean...a book with large pointy teeth that practically chomps your fingers off. It has Hagrid written all over it.”

Harry nodded. “Well, one thing is for sure. It's going to be a very interesting year,” Harry said thoughtfully.

All thoughts of Dementors, and Sirius Black were temporarily shoved to the back of Harry's mind, as he obeyed Dumbledore's order to tuck in.

This was actually the first year, since coming to Hogwarts that Harry's stomach was able to handle more than a forkful of food. Normally, after a summer of being denied sustenance, Harry's stomach was unable to handle normal amounts of food, and he could only look longingly at the delicious food that adorned the long tables.

Harry had Snape to thank for being able to thoroughly enjoy the feast and consume normal amounts of food for his age.

Harry's emerald eyes lifted up to see Snape's own obsidian ones staring at him piercingly. Harry found it difficult to break eye contact with the man; it was as though the man was trying to impart a message to him.

What neither Snape nor Harry failed to notice was that Remus Lupin was carefully studying the both of them, from over the top of his large mug of cider.

---------

It was with a full stomach, and a sleepy glow that Harry climbed the charmed staircase, following the other third year Gryffindor boys. They secretly snickered as the pompous, arrogant voice of Percy, filtered through the crowd, in back of them.

“Coming through... coming through,” announced an irritated Percy. “I'm Head Boy! Make way. I'm coming through.”

Percy looked down his pompous nose at the younger students, as he shoved his way through. He stopped outside the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“The password is Fortuna Major, and I expect you all to remember it, otherwise you'll be sleeping in the corridors,” he announced arrogantly.

A small squeak escaped from Neville's trembling lips. “Oh no. How am I going to remember it?” he despaired.

The portrait opened to allow them entry, and the boys made their way up to the dorm. Harry couldn't help but feel his spirits lift at the familiar dorm that he'd shared with his mates since first year; despite the feeling of never having belonged with his so-called family, Hogwarts always managed to give him that sense of security and belonging that his relatives always fell short of doing. Even as reluctant as he had been to stay with Snape over the summer, Harry had to admit that the man had, despite his high expectations, and cool reserve, had made Harry feel more secure and well-cared for than his aunt and uncle had ever done.

-------

“Try this,” Ron mumbled through a mouthful of Bertie Botts every-flavoured beans. Harry thought that he resembled a chipmunk; his cheeks were puffy, and his eyes bulged out.

Harry looked at him warily, as he hesitatingly held out his hand. Knowing Ron, Merlin knows what sort of flavour he'd end up with. Harry pulled his pyjama-clad knees up to his chin, and popped the sweet into his mouth.

Suddenly, smoke puffed out from his ears, as they popped; he felt as though his brain was knocking against his skull. Harry shook his head, and stuck his fingers in his ears to unblock them.

He grinned. He loved Magic!

“Okay, your turn Ron,” Seamus smirked.

Ron eyed him suspiciously. “What does this one do?” he asked, rolling the brightly wrapped sweet between his fingers.

Seamus chuckled. “You'll just have to eat it and see.”

Ron took a gulp of air, shrugged his shoulders and with fumbling fingers, unwrapped the sweet and popped it into his mouth.

Suddenly, a low guttural sound emerged from his throat, and he threw back his head; his flaming red mane whipping around him.

Scabbers, who had been snuggled on Ron's lap, began trembling and Harry thought that his tiny little eyes would pop out of their sockets. His little whiskers shook in rhythm with his body. He nudged his way under the striped fabric of Ron's night robes.

One by one, they passed the package around and had a good laugh at the variety of transformations that occurred with each flavour.

Finally, by mutual agreement, they extinguished the lanterns, and retired for the night; classes began tomorrow, after all, and as they'd already been lectured by Hermione, this year promised to be a challenging one.

Harry lay for what felt like hours, before finally succumbing to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see long bony fingers, dark flowing, wispy robes, and empty sockets for eyes. An icy-cold feeling permeated his insides, and the feeling of darkness and despair gripped his heart, as though it would be all he'd ever know in his entire life.

As the rain pelted the window, jagged streaks of lightning illuminated the Quidditch poster-plastered walls of the Dorm, in an eerie glow.

His mother's screams pounded in his ears; Harry yanked the pillow out from under his head and squeezed it against his ears, but it couldn't drown out her pitiful cries. Harry swiped a few stray tears from his eyes, and swallowed down the cold feeling of hopelessness that hung over him, like a suffocating fog.

Normally Harry looked forward to the start of a new year, but after the events that had transpired at the Dursleys, his subsequent stay with Snape, the incident with the Dementors, and the threat of a maniac stalking him, hovering over his head, his excitement abased somewhat.

--------

Harry rubbed the grit from his eyes, and gulped down a mouthful of pumpkin juice. He stared down at his eggs, which had gone cold, and poked them with his fork. It was difficult to have an appetite when strains of snickering and taunts drifting his way.

Harry dipped his head down, and groaned. He had a feeling that he was not going to live down his experience with the Dementors, for quite some time; the Slytherins, Draco in particular, would not lose the opportunity to exploit Harry's embarrassment to the fullest.

Harry had, unrealistically, been hoping that the Slytherins would lose interest in, what Harry considered his moment of weakness, but Harry was not to be so fortunate. Harry had a sudden urge to fling his plate of eggs in Draco's pointed face.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, when he looked up to see McGonagall's pointed hat, bob up and down, as she made the rounds up and down the Gryffindor table, handing out schedules.

At the same time, Harry caught, with the corner of his eye, a flurry of black robes billowing behind the tall form of the Potions Master, as he handed out the schedules to his Slytherins. The man looked pointedly at Harry, and inclined his head slightly. Harry blinked. A strange feeling spread over him then. For the first time since learning about Sirius Black's murderous intentions towards him, Harry felt as though he was less vulnerable from the convicted killer's clutches.

Harry looked over his schedule, and felt his spirits rise. He was looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. Harry had a feeling that the new Defence teacher was going to be loads better than Lockhart. Of course, anyone would be better than Lockhart, he thought sardonically.

Ron leant over and peered at Hermione's schedule. “Merlin Hermione! How many classes are you taking?”

“Just a fair few,” she responded, shifting her eyes nervously.

“But Hermione, you can't possibly take all these classes,” he gasped, as his eyes widened.

“Of course I can Ronald,” she said primly, as she tried to grab the schedule away from Ron's tight grasp.

Ron leant over, and shoved the parchment in front of Harry's face. “Look at how many classes she's taking.”

Harry's eyes widened. “Uh Hermione,” he began tentatively, not wanting to upset the increasingly agitated girl further, “you're scheduled for Care of Magical Creatures at the same time as Arithmancy, and Divination, at the same time as Ancient Runes.”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “She's scheduled to take ten classes a day! That's bloody impossible. You'd have to be in three places at once.”

Hermione fidgeted nervously, and began entwining her slender fingers around the delicate gold chain, she was wearing around her neck.

“Don't be ridiculous Ron. How could I be in three places at once?”

“Then how-” Ron began.

“Don't worry your pretty little heads about it. Professor McGonagall has arranged it all,” she said, pursing her lips and stood up, snatching the parchment away from Harry's relaxed fingers.”

Harry and Ron both rolled their eyes, as Hermione scooped up the large pile of books from the table, and hurried off, saying a quick goodbye over her shoulder.

Harry and Ron shook their heads.

“She's barmy that one. I mean come on, even Hermione can't keep up with that many classes in one day,” Ron stated firmly.

“No, I guess not,” Harry said raking his hand through his already messy hair, “but I wonder what she meant by saying that McGonagall arranged it all?”

Ron shrugged. “Don't know, but-ugh-” Ron scowled, when he looked down at his schedule. “My first class is Potions.”

Harry's stomach somersaulted when he looked down at his parchment to see that he also had Potions with Snape. He really wasn't sure if he was ready to face not only Snape, who on the surface seemed to have softened his acerbic tongue towards Harry somewhat, at least out of class, and the Slytherins, particularly Draco, who would relish another opportunity to throw his little episode with the Dementors in his face.

“Yeah, me too,” Harry said dejectedly.

Ron picked up his book bag, and hurled it over his shoulder.

“Well...let's get it over with then.”

“Yeah. Coming Neville?” Harry asked the nervous teenager, who'd paled considerably when he had glanced down at his own schedule to reveal that he had Potions as well.

Harry gently clasped his arm, pulling forward the anxious boy, who stood frozen to the spot.

Neville's bottom lip trembled, but Harry could hear him gulp down a large breath, and straighten his shoulders.

Neville nodded. “Yeah, I'm coming,” he said in a brave, yet croaky voice.

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

“Minerva?” Dumbledore peered over the top of his half-moon glasses, to peer at McGonagall, who stood in the doorway, with her back rigid, and her fists clenched.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Pleasure, my eye,” she snapped. “I've just intercepted Fudge from storming his way in here,” she responded; her face was pinched into a scowl.

“I see,” Dumbledore said, tracing his lips with his long fingernail. “Did he happen to enlighten you as to the purpose of his visit, by any chance?”

“No, but he has a bee in his bonnet Albus. That much is apparent. Oh...and Auror Rogers is with him,” she came closer, “do you think this has anything to do with Black?” she asked quietly.

Dumbledore laced his fingers together on the desk. “It's possible,” he acknowledged, “however, I suppose the only way to be certain, is to allow the esteemed-” at this, he smirked at Minerva, “Minister and Auror Rogers entrance.”

“Very well Albus,” Minerva agreed, nodding.

“Albus,” Fudge said brusquely.

“Cornelius...Auror Rogers,” Dumbledore said, rising, and offering his hand, which Fudge pointedly ignored.

Wayne squashed down a stab of annoyance at Fudge's continued rude behaviour, and smiled apologetically at the Headmaster, while offering his own hand.

Wayne's eyes widened in surprise at the strength that the fragile-looking man possessed, and was impressed at how firm the Headmaster's handshake was. Despite his aged appearance, Wayne could feel the sheer magical energy emanating from the man. He was awed to be in the presence of such a powerful and wise wizard. He'd heard stories of course, throughout his years of training as an apprentice Auror, and as a now, Senior Auror, at how, not only had Albus Dumbledore defeated one of the most evil wizards of his time, Grindelwald, but was the only one that Voldemort (he refused to use the ridiculous appellation, He-Who-Must-Not-Named.) ever feared.

“Have a seat gentlemen,” Dumbledore, handing out a dish of lemon drops. His eyes twinkled with mirth, when Rogers plucked a sweet from the dish, and nodded thank you. It was not often that anyone actually took Albus up on his offer of his favourite sweet.

Fudge, on the other hand, waved an impatient hand at the dish, and refused to sit down, preferring to stand with his feet apart and his hands clasped behind his back.

“Well...let's not waste any time,” he said tersely. “While rummaging through the ruins of the Potter estate, looking for clues of Black's whereabouts, we happened to come upon, this-”

He turned his attention towards Rogers, and held out his hand.

Wayne relinquished the metal box that he'd been clutching tightly, and handed it to Fudge, who in turn, placed it on Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore gently caressed the box, pain etching his lined face.

“We've had several departments at the Ministry working in conjunction to open the box, without much success,” said Fudge with a scowl.

“I see,” Dumbledore said icily. “And did you not think that perhaps it was not your place to open the box? That perhaps the box belongs to James and Lily's son?”

Fudge's face grew red. “Now see here Dumbledore,” he blustered.

“Uh sir,” Wayne interrupted, “this scroll was also found at the Potter's,” he said, quickly handing over the parchment to Dumbledore, in the hopes of averting a rather unpleasant scene.

Wayne could see that the aging man's long, slender fingers were trembling slightly as he fumbled to undo the ribbon.

The colour drained from Dumbledore's face, as his eyes scanned over the writing on the scroll.

He touched the scroll lightly, with the tip of his long fingernail, and looked up with a clouded expression at the two men before him.

“We attempted to gain access to the vault, but that damned creature, Griphook refused to allow us entry.”

“I assume that he directed you to the Barrister that is responsible for the Potter's estate, Minister?”

Dumbledore's lip curled slightly at the title. In his opinion, the man was not capable of governing his own bodily functions, let alone the Wizarding World.

Glancing over at the Minster's rigid stance, inwardly applauding the Headmaster's obvious slight, Wayne, ever the diplomat, decided to take charge of the situation, much to Fudge's dismay. The Minister of Magic didn't like being upstaged, especially by a subordinate, but recognized that Dumbledore truly had the upper hand here, and as the animosity that hung in the air, was thick as pea soup, he allowed the Auror to continue the explanations, uninterrupted.

“Yes we have sir, and he informed us that you were the Executor of the Potter's estate. Also, he mentioned that-” Wayne took a steadying breath, “that the opening of the vault was incumbent upon the presence of-” he looked right into Dumbledore's crinkled eyes, “of course, Harry Potter, Severus Snape, and...Sirius Black.”

Dumbledore put his elbows on his desk, and pierced the two men, with his blue eyes, which had widened considerably.

“Yes well...of course,” he started, clasping his hands together, “it is natural that James and Lily would name Harry and Sirius in their will, but I'm rather taken aback at Severus' presence being requested. Particularly, as the relationship between James and Severus was rather volatile,” he said thoughtfully.

Fudge, who, surprisingly, had been rather quiet, up until this point, interjected, “Yes well Dumbledore, it is rather shocking that a known Death Eater-”

Dumbledore's eyes flashed dangerously. “Former Death Eater,” he corrected.

“Of course,” Fudge sneered, “Former Death Eater or not, the fact remains that the man was loyal to Who-he-must-not-be-named, in the past, and it is highly suspicious, that the Potters would have named a known follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...at the time,” he added hastily to appease Dumbledore's growing agitation. “-in their will.”

Fudge was an idiot, but he knew on what side his bread was buttered, and it would be counterproductive to further aggravate the man, whose cooperation was essential to solving the mystery surrounding the Potter's will.

Whether Fudge had legitimate reason, or not, to be involved at all in this situation, he was a man whose sense of self-importance, made him believe that he had the right to.

“Suspicious would not be the word I'd use Cornelius, but it is very curious,” he murmured, scrunching up his snow-white eyebrows. “Very curious indeed.”

“We have a more pressing problem Dumbledore,” Fudge said, his voice rising shrilly, “The Barrister, that Von Schmidt fellow, said that to open the Potter's vault, all three parties must be present, as some sort of blood ritual is involved.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, I see the dilemma.”

“Well?” Fudge demanded forcefully, “You are Executor of the Potter's estate Albus, what are going to do to solve the problem? Obviously, Black's participation is impossible at this time, as he's a wanted fugitive from the law.”

Dumbledore gave him an icy look. “What would you have me do Cornelius?”

“As Executor of the estate, you are responsible for finding another solution to the problem, or perhaps formulating a plan to capture Black.”

Dumbledore's expression hardened. “I'm afraid that I've misunderstood you Cornelius. Are you suggesting that I do your job for you? That I take over where the Ministry has failed?”

Wayne had to hide a smirk. He had to hand it to the Headmaster. He was certainly capable giving back as good as he got, with his incredibly rude and obnoxious superior.

“The Ministry has not failed,” Fudge sputtered angrily. “It's only a matter of time before the Dementors track Black down.”

“Then, I see you have the situation well in hand Cornelius.”

“Now, I hate to be rude Cornelius, but I have other important matters to attend to,” Dumbledore said, as he rose from his seat.

“We have not concluded our business Albus.”

“I'm afraid we have have Cornelius. I will consult with the Barrister concerning our options, but I'm afraid that Blood Magic is very specific, and without Black's participation-” he said, twirling his beard with the tip of his slender fingers, “-I'm afraid that we may have to bide our time, until he is apprehended.”

Fudge clenched his fists in frustration. “Very well Albus. Since you refuse to cooperate, I will take matters into my own hands.”

“Come Rodgers,” he snapped.

“Yes sir.”

“Good day Gentlemen,” Dumbledore, said with a tight smile, while scooping up the scroll and the metal box, just as Fudge's hand grasped at a fistful of air.

“Those objects are Ministry property Dumbledore, you have no right-”

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled mischievously, and Wayne bit back a smile.

“Ah...but as you have pointed out Cornelius, I am the Executor of the Potters' estate, so I do believe that any property belonging to the Potters should be in my possession, until such time as the full contents of the will can be revealed.”

The flush on Fudge's face, began to spread from his neck upwards.

“The hereditary laws are quite clear, I believe, Cornelius.”

Dumbledore motioned with his arm towards the door. “Now, I apologise profusely gentlemen, but I really must bid you goodbye.”

“This is not over Dumbledore,” Fudge growled, and stalked out the door, his robes billowing behind him, in a way that would rival Snape's.

Albus chuckled softly. “Of that, I have no doubt Cornelius.”

Wayne looked apologetically at Dumbledore, who winked back at him.

------

Harry's heart pounded loudly against his chest, as they descended further towards the Dungeons' classroom.

Harry knew that he couldn't expect Snape to show favourtism towards him, but he wasn't sure how he'd deal with it, if the man reverted to his previous behaviour.

Would Snape continue to ridicule him and his Dad, despite the events of the past few weeks? It really did seem like something had changed between them—subtle as it may have been.

Harry's mind was so occupied with concerns over how Snape would treat him in class, that he was taken by surprise, when Malfoy and his minions, shoved into him, clipping him on the shoulder.

“Ooh, sorry Potter, didn't see you there,” Malfoy sneered.

“Yeah,” Crabbe piped up, “Itty bitty Potter is hiding behind the Weasel. Are you afraid of that the big bad Dementors are going to get you pip-squeak?”

Goyle and Malfoy laughed. “So Potter,” Malfoy nudged closer to Harry, and whispered in his ear.

“I heard that you hear your Mudblood mother being murdered, when you're near a Dementor,” he whispered.

The blood rushed to Harry's head, and before he could think better of it, he whipped his wand out, and pointed it between Draco's arched eyebrows.

“Don't ever talk about my mother that way.”

Harry suddenly felt a vice-like grip from behind, and grab him underneath his ribcage.

“Or what Potter?” sneered Goyle's voice in his hear.

The wand slid out from Harry's hand, as his air supply was cut off.

Crabbe grabbed Ron's arm, just as he was about to land a punch to Goyle's jaw.

“Not so fast Weasel,” he jeered.

Just as Harry's chest was burning from the lack of oxygen, and his head was spinning, a steely voice came from behind him.

The crowd of students that had gathered just outside of the Potions classroom, parted to make way for the very irate Potions Master.

Goyle released Harry so suddenly that were it not for Ron's steadying hand, he would have lost his balance.

Snape's dark eyes smouldered with fury. “Explain,” he said in a dangerous voice.

“Potter attacked me sir,” Draco said smugly, straightening up his robes, and smoothing his white-blond hair back, with his long, pale fingers.

Snape lifted a dark eyebrow. “Really?” he said cooly.

Harry was still had his hands wrapped around himself; his ribs poked sharply against his chest, with each breath.

“That's not the way it happened,” Harry managed to spit out, through painful gasps of air.

“So, you didn't raise your wand to Mr. Malfoy, Potter?”

“No, I mean yes, I mean...”

Oh what was the point? Harry thought in frustration. He should have known that nothing would have changed. Snape was still a git; it was like this summer had never happened. He would always favour his Slytherins, and he would always take Malfoy's side.

“Yes sir I did,” he admitted reluctantly, “-but he called my mother a Mudblood,” Harry said through gritted teeth. Harry knew that Snape wouldn't accept any excuse from him for harming one of his Slytherins. When did Snape ever award him with the opportunity to defend himself? He normally jumped down Harry's throat, no matter the provocation that he received from Malfoy, time and time again.

Snape's eyes glinted dangerously.

“He's lying sir,” Malfoy protested quickly; a little too quickly Severus noted. Draco had already received a warning from his Head of House, for calling several of the Muggle-born students the inappropriate name, including Granger, last year.

“Twenty five points each from Gryffindor,” Snape snapped at Harry, and Ron.

Harry clenched his fists. Surprise, surprise. Draco pushes Harry's buttons, and Harry is the one who's punished for it.

“And Mr. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle,” Snape said silkily. “You three will report back here after Dinner to serve detention with Mr. Potter.”

Draco's face flushed angrily. “But sir, Potter is lying, he-”

“That's enough Mr. Malfoy. Unless, of course, you'd like to serve detention for the remainder of the week as well.”

Snape leant in closer to the pale boy. “Must I remind you of the Slytherin House rules once again Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco lowered his eyes.

“No sir,” he said softly.

“Then I suggest you take your seat, and keep your mouth shut,” he said coldly, motioning towards the doorway.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” he barked at the remaining students who had been brave enough to linger outside the classroom, after Snape's appearance.

“All of you, inside. Now!” he snarled.

“Potter, to the Hospital Wing with you.”

Harry's eyes widened. He didn't know if he was more in shock from Snape actually punishing his Slytherins, or the fact that Snape had noticed that he was in pain from Goyle's bone-crushing hold.

Hermione and Ron hesitated.

“Are you two deaf as well as stupid?” Snape sneered at them. “Potter is perfectly capable of finding his way to the infirmary. Now move it,” he snapped at them.

After Ron and Hermione scurried inside the classroom, and the corridor was clear of students, Snape slammed the classroom door shut, and stared piercingly at Harry, with his dark eyes.

“Do not even think about going elsewhere Potter. You are to go directly to the infirmary. Is that clear?”

Harry gulped. The man could surely read minds. How did he know that Harry was contemplating forgoing the Hospital Wing, in favour of escaping to his Common Room?

“I will join you, when class is dismissed.”

Harry's lips parted in surprise.

“That's not necessary sir, I-”

“I will decide what is necessary, Potter. Now do as you're told,” he said tersely.

“Yes sir.”

Harry could feel dark eyes follow him, until he rounded the corner.

One thing was for sure, Harry thought tiredly, Snape was an enigma. Yes, the man made it clear that he was furious with him for attacking one of his beloved Slytherins; that much was clear, but as expert as the man was at hiding his feelings, he couldn't erase the brief glimpse of concern that Harry had seen flash in the man's obsidian eyes.

Harry was enveloped in a warm glow...although his chest felt like a hippogryph was sitting on it.