Harry was woken by a flare of lights.

"Get up," ordered a biting voice. Harry focused through the glare at his window.

"Still dark out," he complained sleepily.

"And you need to be back before anyone wakes." Severus gave his shoulder a quick shove. "Up, now." Harry sat and rubbed his eyes, then got out of bed. He had slept in his shirt and underwear, but the rest of his clothes were in a tangle on the floor. He could only find one sock.

Severus had crossed to the window and was looking out at the darkness. "What you said, last night, about leaving the Dark Lord...."

Harry pulled up his trousers. "Yes?"

"It is ... not that easy. I'm not certain what I will do when I must. He can make my Mark burn whenever he has one of us to signal through -- or without, with more effort. He could keep me from functioning. He might be able to drive me insane."

A flash of panic brought Harry thoroughly awake. He hadn't thought about the Dark Mark at all, but now he remembered how edgy Severus and Karkaroff had been when Voldemort first started to return -- before any summoning -- and how even the rigidly controlled Potions master would flinch when summoned. He watched Severus pulled his black robes in tight around him.

"I could have the arm removed, of course," he continued bitterly, "but without two hands, I'm rather useless."

Harry tried to force his just-woken mind to think. "I know oath marks are supposed to be permanent," he said, as he drew on his robe, "but what would happen if you removed just the skin?"

Then the mark would be gone --until the skin grew back."

"Oh." The panic was turning to horror now. Being unable to brew potions would drive Severus mad as inevitably as persistent physical torture. He would be trapped with his thoughts and his memories, and no sense of worth to balance them.

"I could have a magical arm attached, of course -- but I'm not sure the Mark wouldn't manifest on that, as well. It is in my soul, you see. It can overcome any surgical procedure." The sock fell out of somewhere in Harry's robe. Harry ignored it and walked over to his father. He shivered as his bare feet left the carpet for the cold stone floor. He stopped a pace behind and to the side of Severus, where he could just see his face.

"I suppose I'll just have to kill him for you, then," he said casually. His heart was hammering in his chest as he tried to calculate how much time he had. Six weeks? A bit less. Why didn't he mention this sooner?

Severus whipped around. He glared.

"That is not your job."

"But it is. I kill him or he kills me." Harry tried to regain his previous light tone. My destiny, and all that. He tried to imagine how Fred would pose, just to make it less real. He shrugged. "Might as well get it over with."

"If you attempt it now, he will kill you." Severus scowled at Harry. "You will stay out of the war until you are an adult."

"You didn't."

"No. I did not. Which rather proves my point, does it not?" Severus gave Harry one of his most vicious looks, and, despite himself, Harry backed up a pace.

"I'm not you," he complained.

"And you're not going to be. Now finish getting dressed."

Harry hurriedly pulled on his socks, and then his shoes. That was all he had in the bedroom. He followed Severus out to the kitchen and picked up his school bag. "So," he asked, "will I be trained?"

"In what?"

"Anything. Anything you think may help. I should be able to kill him by the time I leave here, shouldn't I? Because I will try."

Severus whirled (twelve inches up, three-quarters wrap, Harry noted absently) and stalked into the sitting room.

"We don't have time to discuss this now."

"You mean you're afraid to!" Harry challenged.

"My reluctance to discuss this does not make it less true that we do NOT HAVE TIME!" Severus stopped next to Harry's invisibility cloak, which was hanging by the door, and visibly worked at pulling his temper under control. "I will speak with Dumbledore about the prophecy," he said tightly, "and any plans he may have. We will discuss it next time we meet."

"Agreed. When?"

"Saturday, after lunch, my lab. You can help me with some work. Now get to bed while everyone's asleep."

Harry nodded, but did not move. He found himself wanting to touch his father, but he couldn't work out how to do it. A hug would definitely be too much, and he wasn't sure he could bring himself to try it, anyway.

"Well?" Severus demanded.

Nervously, Harry reached out a hand and touched the other's arm, just below the shoulder. Severus jerked back.

"Sorry!" Harry said quickly.

"What was that about?"

"I didn't -- I hate to leave after a fight. I just -- I'm sorry, I know you don't like me being affectionate." Harry reddened at the sound of his own babble. He looked down. For a moment he heard his own breath in the silence.

"But I do," Severus confessed softly. He touched the outside of Harry's arm lightly, in an echo of Harry's gesture. "I just don't know what to do about it." His voice grew stronger and harsher. "I'm not certain I approve. I certainly don't deserve such a thing, and you should be more judicious in your affection."

"Some things are just free," Harry said fiercely. "I do not owe you anything for having conceived me -- not affection, or obedience, or gratitude, or any of those things -- and you do not need some banking of favors or virtue for me to love you. That just is." Frightened at having said so much, Harry smiled and added quickly, "and we're fighting, again."

"Of course we're fighting," his father answered dryly, picking up the way out. "We always fight." To Harry's surprise, he did not fully retreat. "So why do you obey me?" he pressed, "If you don't feel I'm owed that? You have ceded to things you consider unreasonable."

"I said I don't owe you anything for conceiving me. I do owe you something for taking care of me -- more than you're required to, I mean. The Dursley's never took care of me more than they were required to."

"A good deal less, I would say."

"And I'm not that obedient. I stayed a few minutes after Defense, yesterday, because I needed to speak privately to Professor Lupin."

"Harry...."

"You know, I better get back to my dormitory. People will start waking up, soon!" Harry said brightly.

Severus snorted in amusement. "Very well. Make your escape. It merely gives me longer to think about my response."

Harry, feigning panic, flipped on his cloak and ducked out the door.

On his way through the empty corridors, Harry thought about what he had said. To his relief, he did not regret any of it. It occurred to him that if affection did not need to be deserved, he had an easy solution to the problem of Ron and Hermione. He liked them -- loved them, in their own ways, really -- and though they were not, under current circumstances, fully trustworthy, he could still feel that and express it.

In a glow of contentment, Harry hurried back to Gryffindor tower.

When he entered the common room, there was a sudden movement on one of the couches by the fire.

"Who's there?!" Ron called wildly, with the artificial alertness of someone who has been suddenly woken. Harry could just see him in the glow of the low fire. He wondered if he could get up the stairs and into bed before Ron came looking for him.

"Harry?" Ron called.

Harry looked at the windows. From the barely lit room, the dark sky had a subtle blue tint. He judged it to be past five o'clock. He sighed to himself. He wouldn't have to fake a morning-after fog, at all. Or should he still be affected?

"Fuck," Ron said to himself.

Harry pushed back his hood.

"Sorry to wake you," he said. "Let's get up to bed, shall we?"

Ron stumbled to his feet. "What time is it?"

"Dunno." Harry grinned. "Still night, though."

"I stayed up till two!"

"Sorry. I fell asleep." Harry nudged him amicably, pushing him off-balance. "You know better than to wait up for me!"

Ron looked at the clock, then at Harry. He smiled slightly. "Who's the girl?" he asked.

"What girl?" Harry countered, amused. I suppose that would be the easiest way to accidentally fall asleep, he mused.

"Give over, Harry! I can see you not wanting to let Hermione know, so soon after she dumped you, but you're obviously in love!"

"I am not!" Harry retorted.

"I have never before seen you all smiles before six a.m."

Harry rolled his eyes. Ron did not think the way Hermione did. "Well, there are all sorts of love," he demurred. "Nothing romantic going on with me."

"Well, whose bed did you sleep in, then?"

"No bed, no girl," Harry said airily. He yawned. "I fell asleep on a sofa. Alone."

"Well, what do you mean about sorts of love, then?"

Harry tried to recall how he'd sorted things out on his walk upstairs. Exhaustion made it difficult to think clearly, and he knew he shouldn't speak clearly, anyway, as he wasn't supposed to be capable of that, right after returning. He decided a semi-coherent ramble was fine.

"Well, look," he said. "There's the way I love Hermione, and that might be romantic, or it might just be that I love her in a simple way, and then think she's pretty, on top of that. I'm not sure. There's the way I love you, and that is simple, and I know it's not romantic, but then I don't think you're pretty, so no complications." Harry grinned at Ron, who gave him an uncertain half-smile in return. "There's the way I love your mother," Harry continued, deciding he should make the separation from sex clearer, "which is an uncertain sort of love that's half-gratitude."

Harry looked around the familiar common room, with its comfortable chairs, grouped for talking, and its bright colors, the red now muted by the dark, but bits of gold still glimmering. He loved Gryffindor, too, as a concept as much as a place, but he thought that saying so would muddy his point still further. He wasn't quite sure what his point was, for all that. His eyes were drawn to the glowing embers of the fire, and he remembered another low fire in the dark common room, where he had crouched to talk to Sirius, so Sirius could advise him on dragons.

"There's the way I loved Sirius," he said, a familiar stab of pain cutting even through his new joy, "which was supposed to be one thing, but ended up being another, because he was supposed to be my guardian and look after me, but he always seemed to be the one who needed protection and reassurance." He couldn't mention his father, so he chose the next closest adult for comparison. "Remus is closer to what Sirius should have been -- a sort of mentor." He looked uncertainly at Ron. "Does this make any sense to you?"

"No."

Ron looked not only confused, but anxious. Harry sighed. He really should have kept his mouth shut at the start.

"I'm not explaining well. I'm really tired. Look, there's romantic love, like boyfriend/girlfriend love, and then there's friends love, and then the love for older people who take care of you, and the love for people you take care of, and all of those can overlap, and they can all be enhanced by other things, like trust or shared interests, but those other things are still other."

For a moment, Ron just blinked at him. Finally, he spoke. "I think we both need more sleep," he said.

Harry nodded. He thought he was running on about three hours of interrupted sleep, himself. He followed Ron quietly up the spiraling stairs, but at the dormitory door, he caught Ron's sleeve. "About all that babble -- one thing?"

"What?"

"That you betrayed me to Malfoy? It's-- You're still my friend, even if I don't trust you, right now."

"I did not betray you to Malfoy!" Ron snapped. Even in the dim, bluish wandlight, Harry could see his face darkening, and knew it must be red. "I said I would, but I didn't. I went back on it, okay? I do know how to do that, when I've promised something stupid. I hate it, but I did get that from years of Fred and George tricking me into things. It wasn't like I took a vow over it, or anything." His voice lowered. "Will you please shut up about it? I feel completely miserable, already."

"All right, then," Harry said, feeling rather a bully himself. "Let's just forget it ever happened."

"Thanks."

"No problem." Harry smiled to himself as he followed Ron into the darkness of their dormitory. "I've forgiven worse," he whispered, restraining a laugh. He stripped down to his shirt, and tumbled into bed.

Harry was glad it was a Friday, and his first morning class was not with Ron and Hermione. Eventually, he would need to spend a Charms class looking dim, but the longer he could put that off, the better. He and Ron had dashed down to breakfast late. For the second day in a row, Harry wrapped sausages and toast in a napkin, so it wouldn't vanish with the plates at the end of the meal, and ate as he walked to class. The one advantage to this was that Hermione had no chance to speak to him, though she shot him a sharp look as he entered the Great Hall and she left it.

Snape wasn't in the classroom when Harry arrived, but Draco looked with distaste at the scrap of toast that Harry put down to unpack his bag. With a flick of his wand and a murmured charm, he sent it to the rubbish.

"That was my breakfast!" Harry complained.

"If you want breakfast, Potter, get up in time to eat it at the table, like a civilized wizard."

"But you didn't have to throw it out!"

"Harry, think about what sits on these tables!" Draco snapped. "You cannot put food on them, then eat it."

Harry went rather green at the thought of Wednesday's Potions components. "Point taken," he admitted, as he trued his scales.

"How can you go out like that?" Draco chided. "Did you just roll out of bed?"

"Yes."

Draco gagged, pointed his wand at Harry, and let off another spell before Harry could do more than turn. Justin and Parvati jumped up in alarm, then froze as Professor Snape entered.

"What is going on here?" he hissed. Harry saw now that Justin had his wand out. He realized his own hand was in his wand pocket and discreetly eased it out. Whatever Draco had done had no effects that he could detect.

"Malfoy hexed Potter, sir!" Justin exclaimed.

Snape's black eyes turned on Harry. He examined him with apparent scorn. "Potter looks no worse than usual to me, Mr. Finch-Fletchley," he sneered.

Draco hrumphed. "He walked in looking as if he had been pulled off the street by some charity. I was just arranging his hair, as he apparently can't be bothered. I suppose I should just have ordered him to move."

Harry's face was burning. He looked down at the worktable. "Stop it," he muttered to Draco. "I promise I'll comb my hair--"

"Perhaps you could share your explanation, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up. "I promised him I would comb my hair in future," he said furiously. "Could we please get on with class?"

Snape looked amused, but the look turned grim as he stopped near them in the aisle and said bitingly:

"Prepare to spend far more time on your appearance, Potter, if you wish to associate with a Malfoy."

The remark had the sound of a sly cut, but Harry knew it was a warning: This is what Malfoys value, and a Malfoy will make you into whatever he wants. Harry returned his attention to the tabletop. He refused to speak. After a moment, his father moved on.

During class, Draco surreptitiously unwrinkled Harry's clothes and magically cleaned his few areas of exposed skin, which Harry found disturbingly intimate, though he could not decide why. Draco appeared more irritated than anything else, and Harry was mortified by the whole experience. When class was finally, dismissed, they turned to each other and launched immediately into complaints:

"If you ever sit near me again--"

"I am not your doll--!"

"-- looking like that--!"

"-- and I did not give you permission--"

They stared at each other for a moment. "Wait your turn, Harry," Draco scolded.

"Who says you get to rant first?" Harry protested.

"I do," said Draco coolly, "and we are in the dungeons, so I win. Now listen. If you want to come to class looking like a tinker, that's your affair, but you will not sit next to me unless you have, at minimum, used a freshening charm, dressed in clean clothes, and brushed your hair. Is that clear?"

"Quite," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Good. Your turn."

"You will not cast spells on me without my permission. You didn't even tell me what you were doing! If I was more awake, I could have hexed you before I figured it out!"

Draco shrugged. "I'll take those odds. Shall we go, now?" He shouldered his bag and left the room. Harry felt a bit ridiculous following him, but thought hanging back waiting until Draco had got ahead of him would feel even more so.

"I don't know how you can bear to walk about like that," Draco remarked, as they reached the stairs.

"I was up very late," Harry replied, "and I overslept. Incidentally, I don't know any 'freshening charms,' and I did not have time to shower."

"You don't know any freshening charms?" Draco repeated, aghast.

"Draco, I was raised by Muggles."

"Oh."

"And it's not like I'm really dirty, or anything. I showered yesterday, and I will after practice tonight."

"But your clothes were wrinkled, and your hair was worse than it used to be."

"Still, you don't need to humiliate me like that."

"How do you think I feel, being seen with you?" Draco exclaimed indignantly.

Harry choked back a laugh. "All right, Draco. If I roll out of bed and run to class, I'll pretend we've never met, okay?"

"That will do," Draco replied arrogantly. "As long as you don't do it too often."

They got to class a few minutes early, and were able to get seats near the back, for once. Ron and Hermione hadn't showed up yet, which suited Harry's purposes perfectly fine. He pulled the Verifier from his pocket and started to rummage through his bag with the Verifier still in his hand.

"Ever hear from Ron?" he asked.

"One owl," Draco said, carefully selecting some books from his own bag. Harry looked at the verifier. It was white. "He said he was going back on our arrangement. We'll see. Have you been out?"

To Harry's relief, the Verifier was still white. "Yes," he answered.

Draco snorted. "Not going to tell me much, are you?"

"Believe me, I'm not telling them much, either," Harry answered. He set an ink jar on the desk with his left hand. "Did Ron say why?"

"He said he had decided it was too dangerous for you. I sent him a reply promising not to tell anybody while you were out, but I haven't heard back."

"Would you tell?" Harry asked, following the ink with his book and notebook.

"Probably not," Draco said airily.

Harry decided more rummaging would be suspicious. He dropped the still-white Verifier and took out his quill.

"Have your supplies got a bit disorganized?" Draco asked pointedly.

"I was hoping I had another quill," Harry returned. "The point on this one is crunched."

Draco took the quill and looked at the tip critically. "A bit," he agreed. A moment later, he had drawn a small knife from a low pocket or a boot sheath, and was using to make a practiced, angled cut on the quill. From the ease with which he did this, the knife was quite sharp. "There you go," he said, pushing it back.

"Thanks!" said Harry in surprise. He filled the inkwell and tried the quill. It did, in fact, write more neatly. "I never knew you had practical skills," he commented, without thinking.

Draco tensed. "Excuse me?" he asked, with brittle precision.

"I -- Oh, hell! I mean, you have servants and things...."

Draco looked disgusted. "And you expect me to wait for one every time I stab my quill into something?" He looked contemptuously at Harry. "I can also," he said pointedly, "brush my own hair."

"Yes, mother," Harry growled, but he kept it to a whisper. Draco snickered, then nudged Harry.

"The Weasel's here."

"Stuff it, or I'll start calling you 'Ferret,'" Harry whispered back.

Draco rolled his eyes, but said nothing more. Harry smiled at Ron and Hermione, and motioned to the desks across the aisle from him, on the far side from Draco. "Sit?" he asked.

"I don't like sitting at the back," Hermione complained, while taking the nearer seat. Draco gave a contemptuous snort that she and Harry ignored. Ron narrowed his eyes, and Harry shook his head at him. To his surprise, Ron looked down immediately, his face flushing. He sat beside Hermione, who whispered something to him.

Throughout the lesson, Draco nudged Harry and whispered comments about the Foe-Glass Lupin was showing to the class. Harry could tell he did it to annoy Ron and Hermione, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. Often he whispered back. It kept his mind off memories of Barty Crouch, Jr., and the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

After class, Harry leaned towards Ron and Hermione, who looked ready to bolt. "Wait for me?" he asked. They glanced at each other for a moment.

"'Course," Ron said.

Harry nodded to Draco. "See you on Monday."

"If not before," Draco returned, a bit testily.

"Okay, then," Harry replied.

Draco began to clear his desk. Harry went up to the front of the room and stood waiting for Professor Lupin to finish talking to Hannah Abbot. When she had left, he stepped forward.

"Thank you for the loan, professor," he said quietly. He dug in his bag and pulled out the Verifier. He was careful to block Ron and Hermione's view of it with his body.

"You're welcome," Lupin said lightly. "Was it useful?"

Harry nodded. "He didn't lie to me. On the other hand, he didn't answer everything."

"Be careful."

"I will. I promise." Harry shifted. "About Sunday...."

"Yes?"

"That's okay, but it will need to be Saturday, instead, this week."

Lupin hesitated. "I can't do four to six, this Saturday. Would after dinner work for you?"

Harry nodded. "That's fine."

"Good, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione and Ron stood at the back of the room, waiting for Harry. Draco was collecting his things very slowly and arranging them neatly in his bag. Hermione wished he would hurry it up and leave. She wondered if he was lingering just to spy. When he finally sauntered out after Hannah Abbot, Ron leaned close.

"I need to talk to you without Harry," he whispered. "Meet at Thalia's alcove straight after afternoon classes?"

"Right," she said. "When did he--" But Harry was turning. She smiled at him as he approached, and he grinned back at her, but sailed past before she had time to speak. In the hallway, he moved forward quickly to join the back of a crowd of third years. She and Ron had to hurry to catch up. Once he was with other people, Harry slowed down and walked companionably from there to lunch with her and Ron, but he stayed with the crowd, so they had no chance to question him. He sat with them at lunch, just like he used to do every day, but again, their conversation was restrained to public matters. For all that, he was cheerful and animated. Hermione didn't think she'd seen him so happy all term.

When Hermione was ready to leave, she invited Harry along, but he smiled innocently, and said he needed to talk to Teresa about tonight's practice. Fifteen minutes later, she and Ron were waiting for him on the steps outside the Entrance Hall.

"He has to come out soon," Ron said, looking nervously at the time. Most of their classmates from Care of Magical Creature had already passed them. "Unless he went down early to see his snake."

"Isn't it too cold, today?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged. "Beats me. All I know about snakes is how to tell the poisonous ones from the non-poisonous ones. And how to whack them with sticks."

They stood a moment in silence.

"Could we talk here?" Hermione asked Ron.

Ron looked at the heavy door behind them as if it might suddenly disappear, then scuffed at the stone landing with the toe of one shoe. "I suppose," he said.

"Do you know when he came in?" Hermione prompted.

"Yeah," Ron answered. "Just a bit before six."

"Oh. Did he say where he'd been?"

"Just that he'd fallen asleep." Ron twisted a section of his robe between his hands. "And he was smiling like an idiot the whole time."

"Oh," Hermione said again. Drugs -- not the bubble stuff, but whatever he was on that night at dinner.

"I think I know what's up with him," Ron stated.

"Fairly obvious, really," Hermione said absently. Let's see ... every three or four nights --

"I think he's having it off with Malfoy."

"WHAT?"

"Shhh!"

"You can't be serious!"

"Well, think!" Ron said earnestly. "Who else wouldn't he tell us about?"

"What makes you think he's off ... seeing someone?"

"Why else would he fall asleep?" Ron asked, a bit impatiently. "Besides, people only have that sort of smile when they're in love -- or roundly shagged, at least, and--"

"What would you know about that?"

"I have five older brothers! I'm not completely oblivious, you know!" Ron waved down her attempt at interrupting. "So I asked him who the girl was, and he said there wasn't any girl, and I told him he looked like he was in love, and he laughed and said there were all sorts of love, and this was nothing romantic. So I figure it's a boy, and they're just ... just doing it, and clearly it's not a Gryffindor, right?" Ron paused for a moment, and Hermione interrupted.

"Ron, I think you're entirely off on the wrong track, here. I don't think he's in love, or lust, or anything like that. I don't think there's another person involved at all."

"People don't just wander off and fall asleep, Hermione. People fall asleep when they've got too cozy."

"I suspect this is more a matter of passing out -- if any loss of consciousness is actually involved."

Ron looked puzzled. "You think he's dueling? Practicing?"

"I think he's drugged out of his mind!" Hermione snapped. "You remember last Saturday, when we'd talked to Malfoy, and Malfoy said he'd been with Snape?"

"Unfortunately," Ron said gloomily.

"Well, do you remember how he was acting at dinner? Those weird smiles and strange responses?"

"You think he's seeing Snape?" Ron yelped.

Hermione pulled her hair in frustration. "Ron, will you listen? No! I think he's getting some drug -- potion -- from Snape, and it knocks him out for a bit, then makes him stupid and happy for a bit longer." Ron stared at her for a minute, then the idea got through. She could see him turning it around in his mind, linking it to various events, and making connections to behaviors. Probably still adding two and two to make six and a half, she thought fondly.

"Could be," he said slowly.

"He disappears every three or four days. And he's tetchy before, then friendly afterwards. He's avoiding being alone with us today, but I think that's just because he knows I'll want answers. He seems relaxed, today, don't you think?"

Ron chewed at his lip as he nodded thoughtfully.

"We know of three things he's been taking in the last month," Hermione elaborated, "-- the cigarettes, the bubble stuff, and this 'counters a side effect of the wards failing' stuff that he told you he took every other day. And he sees Professor Snape a lot."

"But that last thing -- he said I could talk to Dumbledore about that."

"And I'm sure you can. It's legitimate, or he wouldn't say that." Hermione hesitated. "But Professor Snape may be giving him something else, or he may be stealing something else."

Ron's eyes widened. "That's got to be it! Not the stealing-- Look! Snape has been giving him harmless potions so Harry will get him used to coming to him. The greasy git has probably been setting this up since Harry came here in August. I bet it's doing something horrible to him." He hesitated. "Bastard," he muttered.

"Ron!"

Ron glared at her. "Are you arguing? If he's hurting Harry?"

"But that's the part I don't understand," Hermione said. "Snape can't harm Harry. He's an Ord- part of the old crowd."

"So was Pettigrew," Ron said grimly.

"So what do we do?" Hermione sighed. "Talk to Dumbledore? I hate getting Harry into trouble."

"I think we should confront him," Ron said firmly. "Except, let's make sure this is right, first, okay? Not another 'Harry died in August and this is an impostor' mess. We need to go back to the map, but now that we know what we're looking for, we don't need to map the whole castle, just the dungeons and the Room of Requirement. If we explain why, I bet we can get Ginny to help. We could have it done by next Tuesday, I bet. He's disappeared every Tuesday, right?"

"Except this one." Hermione nodded, attempting to look brisk. She felt a little better, now that they had a plan. "So we watch and see if he goes to Snape...."

"Then when Snape leaves wherever they meet, we go loom over him," Ron confirmed.

Hermione could imagine Harry on the couch in his indulgent Room of Requirement, smiling vaguely up at them and saying a dreamy hello. If they stayed, though, he wouldn't be able to say he didn't know what they were talking about, once he was over it.

"Shall we start after dinner? I need to finish my Arithmancy work."

"I won't have much time after Quidditch practice. I'll talk to Ginny, though. If we get together for a bit after practice, perhaps we can start straight in tomorrow."