"Isn't that a bit excessive?"

Snape rolled his eyes, fist clenched around the dirty rag he was using to pick up cauldrons and set them in place on the back table. They were still hot from his last class–a double period combined of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff firsties–and he crinkled his nose at the bulbous things reeking of botched potions and their insidious concocted grimes left behind. They would cool soon enough, but (he gleefully thought) would remain filthy and stained, ready for scrubbing.

Frankly, he had no time whatsoever for werewolves and their misplaced concerns over his teaching methods.

"Is there something you need?" Snape ground out, not bothering to turn around and respectfully greet the man standing in the doorway of the classroom.

"Well, upon seeing all this, I just felt the need to point out that this is a bit…overboard…Slughorn only made us do half that amount, and even then we weren't able to finish in time…" Lupin's voice sounded hesitant and trailed off, as if losing confidence upon bringing the topic up. Indeed, talking of shared detentions with James Potter was not likely to endear the Potions Master to him.

"Wayward children are accustomed to harsh punishments in my detentions and know what they are in for when they misbehave in my presence." Snape, still refusing to formally acknowledge the man, crouched down and grabbed another cauldron. He hated doing this the muggle way, but there was really nothing for it. The things were already drenched in chaotic magic from the potions they endured; any more, even a simple levitating charm, could prove to be their undoing. And Snape had no desire to spend his school budget on more cauldrons, nor did he wish to be pulling pewter shrapnel from his abdomen.

There was a pause and then Lupin murmured in question,

"Is Harry a wayward student?"

Snape turned around then and regarded Remus Lupin and the question with honest surprise, especially upon seeing the genuine curiosity in the man's somewhat softly scarred face.

"You honestly have no idea, do you?" Snape said instead, his face twisting into a contemptuous and slightly haughty sneer.

Lupin flushed and focused on his fraying sleeve.

"Of course not. I only just met him but you…you've gotten to know him for three whole years." Lupin sounded bitter and almost jealous and this gave Snape an odd mixture feeling of pride and confusion. He felt elated to be in possession of something the wolf so clearly wanted: time with Potter. But he also felt confused because why should he care in the first place? And why would Wolfy McSharpClaws be asking him of all people?

"It's far less, since this term has just begun and my life is blissfully Potter-free during the Summer." Snape tried to sound indifferent, and managed to despite feeling out of place in this conversation.

Lupin bravely ventured farther into the old classroom–one Snape used only for detentions such as these–and continued to speak.

"And holidays." He added almost to himself than to Snape, digging his hands into his pockets and looking about the room in interest, almost lost in memories. During their underclassmen years, the room had been a favorite of Slughorn's.

Snape frowned, turning back to his work, not in the least interested in talking to Lupin about Potter. Of all things! Could he not live a single day without someone talking about that ridiculous boy?!

"He stays during hols, the odious little brat." Snape ground out absently, his main focus on slamming the next cauldron on the tabletop harder than necessary. He grimaced as a bit of putrid grime sloshed onto his shirt front. That was going to leave a stain, even though his shirt was solid black. Magical stains were always stubborn.

Lupin turned sharply to look at Snape's working form, the man's visible agitation and harsh tone seemingly of no consequence now that he latched onto information about Harry.

"What? What do you mean? He doesn't go home?" The rapid fire of questions finally grated on Snape's last dwindling nerve.

"Enough!" Snape snapped, whirling about to regard the man full on. He regretted the effect was minimal as he had forsook his outer, more impressively swishy, robes to deal with setting up Potter's detention. And he was not in the mood to speak of trivialities with a man who still caused him humiliation at this school.

"I've tried to be…civil. And believe me, Lupin, my demeanor thus far has been pulled off with GREAT effort on my part. But I have no desire to engage in idle chit chat with the likes of you." He rasped put, his anger coming back tenfold. Lupin actually took a step back.

"I heard what you did in your classroom. And I know it's only a matter of time until you and Potter," here he spat the surname with derision, "team up to give me more hell. You saw he had a detention with me on the roster and just had to come down here to inspect what I had planned for him, did you?"

Lupin flushed again, this observation apparently being more truth than not.

"Let me tell you, I have been burdened with the boy's company more than you would know, in sessions just like this every year since he was sorted in the Great Hall. But you wouldn't know, would you? Because you've been Merlin knows where during the little cretin's time here." Lupin stumbled back as Snape continued to advance on him, but did look terribly angry at Snape's name calling of Harry. He did not, however get a chance to rebut it as Snape continued his bellowing rant.

"So do not pretend to be some authority over me, you cursed creature!" Lupin blanched, eyes shining in hurt. He took another step backward towards the door. Snape advanced as the man retreated, eyes blazing and magic cracking slightly in the air.

"Because I don't answer to you." This Snape finished in a deadly whisper, inches from Lupin's face.

"I just…I…" Lupin tried to get his bearings and then turned away, taking a deep breath. Snape was rather impressed the man hadn't turned tail and run. Unfortunately (or fortunately), Remus Lupin was made of sterner stuff than his predecessors at Hogwarts.

"I'm not perfect Severus. But neither are you."

Snape narrowed his eyes at Lupin's bold statement.

"He wonders why you hate him, you know. He wonders if you'll ever stop."

Snape's eye twitched. Something in his chest shifted into a sick pinch, and Snape couldn't understand just why. His spine stiffened ramrod straight. That was an unexpected little tidbit thrown into the line of fire, and it was no question over who Lupin meant. Who else than Potter? This, coupled with the earlier conversation between the brat and the Headmaster certainly gave him pause. It was always easier to hate when one didn't call it out for what it was. And now, with the sentiment out in the open, as well as recent events, he wasn't sure he could claim it fully. Perhaps it was the tone Potter used in how he expressed his trust in him or the way he defended his actions in class that day the boy reacted so badly and he responded in kind. But no one had ever defended him like that, however little it was. No one but Albus and Lily. And it made Snape sick to think how much the small gesture meant to him, even when it came from the spawn of his childhood enemy.

"I never said I hated him." Snape mumbled after a moment, hands clenched into a vice grip on his sides as he thought about these unpleasant feelings warring inside his soul. He hoped though that this statement, for what it was worth, was not a lie.

Lupin turned back to him, looking more aged, skeptical and mournful than Snape expected. "You act for nothing less." Snape didn't try to refute that one. He knew how he acted towards the boy. As short a time Lupin had spent there, it was apparent to even him. And the reasons ought to have been just as clear.

"My question is, how? I've known him as he is now less than a week and I can't help but like him."

Snape felt offended at that, feeling the answer was terribly obvious. But he instead pointed out,

"You are a terrible judge of character, Lupin. You think you can know someone for a mere moment of time and decide if they are trustworthy? One isolated encounter of apparent heroism and you're as loyal to him as any Hufflepuff? No wonder Black was successful in his disgusting crimes."

Lupin closed his eyes as if in pain and Snape, who had felt no remorse in his entire life for the man, actually regretted what he said, if only for a second. And this because he knew far too well that a soured friendship left its mark on the soul.

Opening his eyes once again, Lupin pulled his arms around to hug himself. His eyes unfocused as they gazed just off of Snape's shoulder.

"Maybe you're right."

Then his eyes snapped, amber meeting obsidian with renewed clarity, though now they were tainted with a weary sorrow.

"But I don't believe the same goes for Harry. You're wrong about him. And I think you're afraid to be proven wrong. I saw it in your eyes when he helped that Lovegood girl."

Snape snorted, crossing his arms.

"You think so? Why would I be afraid to know that insufferable boy Potter, the Boy Who Lived," He sneered, "was a decent human being? With no ulterior motives as I suspect?"

"Because then your wall of hatred would vanish and you would have nothing to stand on but his mercy."

Snape's face crinkled in badly contained fury.

"There is but one man whose mercy I require, and believe me when I say it wolf, it's not your precious Harry Bloody Potter."

Lupin looked to lash out, but within a split second's passing he simply crumpled into himself and sighed dejectedly.

"I forget sometimes that we are both in need of that particular mercy Albus provides."

Snape stiffened, his joints aching now from the repeated action, then turned back to his work, to have something to do other than looking at the DADA professor. He would not readily admit that he too had not made the connection either. He and Lupin shared their places at this school only because of the compassion of an old, but powerful wizard.

And having something, anything, in common with Lupin made Snape Upset.

Lupin had walked out by now but he heard his voice moments later down the hallway, mingled with the higher tones of the subject of their latest fight. Potter.

"Oh! Rem-er, Professor Lupin!" Harry dumbly shouted, walking faster to reach Remus in quicker time up the way. It was late, and the corridors terribly dark with only the occasional torch lit every few yards. To be frank, Harry had a bit of a fright seeing the unusual form emerging from the dungeons. He had felt like he was eleven all over again, dashing into the last chamber to retrieve the Stone.

"Harry?" Lupin called, then smiled as said boy approached him at a trot. He looked a bit rumpled and pale, but had pink tinging his cheeks. And Harry's hair, Merlin! How did he get that same part to stick up in the back that James had? Not to mention it looked even more wild as a whole from the wiles of the day the boy had obviously enjoyed. He looked in good spirits, even as he was marching to his doom–er, detention.

"Hiyah!" Harry grinned widely, clearly pleased with the man's presence. "What are you doing here?" He paused a beat then added, "er, sir."

"I just wanted to have a small chat with Professor Snape." Lupin replied quietly, his whole visage taking a turn for the glum at remembering the earlier conversation. Harry definitely noticed, but wisely asked nothing about it. He was curious beyond belief, but Harry had a much better control of his prying now than he had as a real child.

"Oh, okay cool." Harry shrugged, pushing up his glasses by the middle of the frame. He looked adorably dorky just then and Remus had to stop himself from hugging the teen, emotionally raw as he was.

"Are you alright then?" Harry queried, cocking his head slightly.

Remus ran a hand through his sandy brown hair. One upon a time it shined in gold; now it had dulled with burdens, sparse living conditions and premature greying.

"I'll be fine, kiddo." Remus replied quietly.

Harry sucked in his breath. Sirius called him that so many times…he hadn't consciously realized Remus did too, though not nearly as often.

"Okay." Harry smiled softly, then he seemed to remember something and he looked down the corridor with an odd expression.

"Be careful though. I ran into Peeves and he was acting weird…"

Remus blinked. "Weird?"

"Yeah…he saw me and looked about to drench me in something wet and disgusting but at the last minute he stopped and gave me a weird look." Harry turned back to Remus. "And then he just flew through the wall. Pretty spooky." He shrugged.

"Yes, that does sound rather unusual for him…" Remus trailed off, peering into the darkness that Harry had indicated the encounter had occurred. A clearing of another throat interrupted his thoughts and the pair turned to see Snape leaning on his door jam, arms crossed and lank hair falling over half of his face. The parts of his countenance that were visible seemed to indicate he was not pleased to see the two together in his territory.

"You're late, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor."

Harry huffed loudly. "What? I was trying to be early for once!"

"And then you decided a quaint little chat with your Defense teacher would be wise when you knew you had a detention to begin with me." Snape theatrically looked at his pocket watch slung into a fold in his under-vest.

"And imagine, only two minutes and you would have made it. A pity."

His horrible grin made Harry grit his teeth. Remus surprisingly (or not) looked cross as well.

"Yes sir. Sorry, sir." Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Run along, Harry. I'll see you tomorrow." Remus kindly promised, and with a dark look shot at Snape, he made his leave of them.

"Bye professor." Harry glumly called after the man. He then tried his best not to stomp into the doorway Snape had now vacated.

Control, Harry. Control.

"I want this done without magic, so hand me your wand." Snape ordered, swooping to behind his desk.

Harry did so without question (missing the put off look Snape gave him as he did so) and proceeded to take off his outer robe, leaving him freer to tackle whatever putrid, demeaning task the man had ready to thrust upon him. Though that was being a bit extravagant; Harry had done much worse in way of cleaning. And Harry, despite being mad at Snape for his outbursts of 'gitness', was rather content to be working in his presence. His only regret was that said work was apparently ten cauldrons in various states of filth.

This was going to be a long two hours.

Harry proceeded to pull at his tie after setting his robes on the back of one of the old fashioned school desks. He contemplated which cauldrons would be best to begin soaking while he started on the lesser-caked-in ones. Pulling at his tie a bit more, he made for the bunch.

"This is a detention, Potter, not some sordid two-bit exhibition in the back of an alley."

Harry spun around, blushing as he registered the implication. "What?"

Snape nodded to Harry's hand still tugging at his tie.

"Oh! Of course, sir. I was just loosening things…"

"Loosening things." Snape repeated with a raised brow of disdain.

Harry fought a mad burst of laughter that threatened to erupt from his throat. "Er, yeah–I mean, yes sir. It's easier to clean like…this." Harry shrugged off his embarrassment, turning back to walk towards the table where his punishment stood. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, taking care to tuck them into their own folds so they would not come undone and shift down into the muck he was about to plunge into.

Snape meanwhile merely regarded the boy who had acted completely out of character so far (as far as Snape assumed his character to be that is). Lupin was thankfully out from underfoot, and so he now was able to afford his undivided attention to figuring out just what was up with the Brat Who Lived.

He refrained from taking points on the basis of a uniform demerit–though only just–and considered the reply Harry had given for it. The statement in itself was not unusual, in fact the reasoning was not either, but Harry Potter shouldn't be so familiar with cleaning…right? Snape began to shuffle parchments of essays from his students, beginning to get a move on grading, but his thoughts were divided. He began to think back to every detention the boy had served directly under him the past two years. Thinking back, he seemed to remember Potter never being so…casual in his presence. He sometimes did shirk off his robes when they got in the way of his work but only when it was absolutely necessary. And he would ground out answers to any rare comments he made (as Snape enjoyed the silence to ignore Potter even existed), more out of spite than thoughtful honesty. (Not that anyone would blame him, being harassed passive aggressively took its toll on anyone.) That was the biggest thing. And by an odd contrast he was never this polite. Always sure to say 'sir' or 'professor' without reminding. It was almost maddening since Snape now had to nit-pick in order to find wrong in his behavior. But wasn't that the crux of the entire situation? The fact that now Potter seemed to be of a completely different behavioral temperament? No one seemed to really notice besides himself and the Headmaster, but that did not matter in the least. He would get to the bottom of this somehow.

And he would start tonight.

"You expect me to believe that you know anything about cleaning? Other than what you do here in my detentions?" Snape needled out in the open silence, which was currently only somewhat broken by the small sloshing sounds Harry made while dragging a cauldron over to the basin in the very back and turning the spicket on.

Harry looked up with narrowed his eyes at his professor who looked to all the world to be just innocently grading papers. The scratching of his quill was comforting in a way as it sounded…normal, but he felt sorry for the poor soul whose paper he had just now. There were already several patches of red in his corrections of the thing. Such, it seemed, to be a regular price to pay in being a student of Severus Snape. At any rate, Harry felt the man was Up To Something, but was not quite sure what.

Constant Vigilance, Potter!

"I don't expect you to believe anything, sir." Harry evenly replied as he turned back to his cauldron. What was that on the side near the handle hinge…? Gum?!

"I highly doubt that. I think you wish to subscribe me into whatever delusions you have invited upon your little fan club at this castle."

Harry whipped around again. "What?!" Where had that random insult (?) come from?

Snape finally looked up, the darkness of his eyes giving way to the sparkle of the torches lighting the room. They flickered unevenly on his face and Harry had a hard time to make out exactly what sort of expression lay there. All Harry knew he could do was not directly stare into those dark orbs, lest he want his still weak Occlumency shields immediately broken.

"I want an honest answer from you, and I'll decide if it is indeed truth."

Harry quirked his brow at the man, thoroughly perplexed. "Um…okay. Sir." He rubbed at his lighting scar absently with the back of a hand. "What was your question?"

Snape resumed his quill scratching as he said nothing and Harry stood there feeling stupid, though he couldn't say why. The moment stretched into almost a full minute, and Harry had by then also resumed his own work when Snape's silky tones broke into the relative silence once again.

"How would you know anything about proper cleaning?"

Harry sighed, still scraping at what he could only assume was the lovechild of gum and crude oil and had wedged itself into the cauldron hinge. The question was accusing, but there was a certain deliberate tone about it too. Distracted by this and the crud he was determined to wipe out, he answered more honestly than he normally would mean to.

"I did a lot of it growing up."

The scratching paused a moment, then picked back up, quicker and more sporadic. Harry didn't notice as he dipped his rag into the quickly dirtying water.

"Did you?" Snape's tone made the innocent query sound almost scathing, but Harry had long ago learned to tune out that sort of tone as he worked. The Dursleys were no less vile in addressing him, perhaps more so. And now it was just habit kicking in, combined with Harry's immense trust in the older wizard.

"Mmm…yes. My aunt is a bit of a neat fr–" Harry stopped himself saying the word, stumbling for a vaguely synonymous word to replace it. "Er, obsessed." Oh Merlin, what was that spongey texture at the bottom? Harry leaned over and into the cauldron partly to get a better angle at it.

Snape considered that for a moment. He remembered Petunia being almost germaphobic when they were children. He and Lily would often play in the nearby wood, or traipse about in Lily's mother's garden catching toads or some odd insect. Petunia would shriek with disgust when they would come in during the heat of the day, screeching about silly children with dirt embedded into their pores. He would often take great delight in making her so irritated by his mere state of being; Lily would seem more disappointed Petunia couldn't stand a little dirt or grass every now and then.

So, alright. Perhaps Potter wasn't a complete liar. He could see Petunia teaching her family to stay clean and neat or suffer her wrath: incessant shrill shrieking.

Sadly, the boy was a walking dishevelment here, with his ridiculous hair and rumpled clothing. Not to mention the entire pack of Weasley's brood he ganged around with, all having some sort of soot on their faces or rip in their clothing at the end of the day.

"And she taught you, did she?" Snape asked in a neutral tone, almost to himself. Which, he meant it to sound so; it was easier to glean information when the question was open rather than directly pointed.

And it worked.

"No…not really. She sort of threw me into it." Harry answered, his voice strained from his work but otherwise nonplussed by the conversation. Harry did think it odd as he had never been invited to speak with Snape over anything, much less his home life, during detentions…or any time really. But it was nice to speak with him like this. The only other time Harry recalled talking with Snape like this was back in his time with the elder wizard's portrait.

But that had just been…awkward. And painful.

"Threw you into it? Thank you for such eloquent elaboration."

Harry huffed, a laugh close in his chest but the hint of coldness in Snape's voice quelling it just enough. The man's way of speaking could be terribly clever and his humor inspiringly dry, once one worked out what he was saying. But his tone of voice was what made the message clear. And right now Harry clearly heard the disbelief and accusation still there.

Harry bent backward to work out the kink in his spine from bending over. "I have always thought you were a man who had a certain derision for drawn out sob-stories." Harry said after a moment. That caught Snape's full attention and he again looked up at Harry. That was a very Slytherin, mature statement coming from a thirteen year old Gryffindor. And why would it be a sob story? Well, now his interest was piqued. He would see how deep this truth–or lie–ran.

The boy was shaking out his arms now, but a second later diving back to his work whole-heartedly.

"Not that you could even begin to fathom the type of man I am, Potter, but under the hypothesis you have an iota of understanding there in that dunderhead of yours, let's assume I'm all ears for the time being, my personal preferences notwithstanding."

Harry put the first cauldron back on the table, sparkling as it dried, and hauled off the next one back to his station at the basin, testing a bit of grime in another that he had set soaking ten minutes ago. It was getting there, but not yet ready to be scrubbed.

"Alright…well, I've known how to clean since I was three." Harry began slowly, eyeing Snape who was now staring at him with a blank, almost bored expression. He shrugged off the feeling of trepidation. It wasn't like he hadn't already mentioned in passing about how his relatives didn't like him all that much. This wasn't a big deal. And it didn't seem Snape thought it was a big deal either.

"The more my dexterity improved, the harder the chores got. So really, cleaning isn't new to me, sir. If that's what you wanted to know."

And it's certainly not the worst thing I've ever had to do, even if these cauldrons seem to be made of more grime than pewter, Harry thought.

Snape set his quill down a moment as he just watched Potter scrub. He hardly made any noise like other students. That was another thing Snape observed about the boy as he worked. He was almost morbidly quiet in his work. He was meticulous as well. Careful with the cleaner and mindful of the water not sloshing sloppily onto the counter or floor. How had he not noticed this before?

Was Potter actually telling the truth?

And if so, he was uncertain how he felt about this. But he was certain this had begun to change everything. Three?! And the chores got harder. What other sort of tasks did Petunia fling onto the boy? What else was going on in his life that Snape assumed but may also be untrue? Was this why Potter was acting so odd? Or was he acting normally and he was just now able to see him for who he really was as a person? What parts of him were actually his father (and dare he think it, his mother)?

Just who exactly was Harry Potter?

Harry meanwhile remained totally oblivious that the world around Severus Snape was crashing down hard on him merely from one small detail he was made aware of by their conversation.

If someone had asked Harry what sort of reason Snape would have to have in order to view him differently, he would have laughed (a bit bitterly) and say that the reason would have to be something huge. After being almost beaten to death by a tree, almost eaten by a gigantic spider, battling the biggest snake perhaps in a thousand years to roam Scotland, being literally used for potions ingredients by Voldemort himself, and countless other perils in his life Snape was privy to (aside from possibly the Aragog incident) the man still looked at him like he was some sort of repulsive attention-seeker. A miniature copy of the man Snape seemed to hate almost as much as the Dark Lord.

So Harry was no fool. He expected Snape to be the same this time around, and only hoped to at least form some sort of civil rapport with him…eventually. It would likely take years but, it was a start.

He didn't realize that this Snape had not been even more hardened by life yet; not given dark ultimatums that robbed whatever was left of his compassion yet.

And right now he was staring at Harry's small frame as the boy worked on his cauldrons, (completely unaware of his Professor's scrutiny so engrossed was he in the task) reevaluating the last couple of years.

Dear Padfoot,

I know why you're coming. I can't explain how I know, it's a long story. We've taken care of Wormtail—he won't be causing any trouble for a while. But we need you to stay low. You've already been spotted, and unless you want a Kiss, I suggest you take my advice. I'll be arranging a safe-house for you, but until then: Do. Not. Come. Here.

I can't wait to see you, but unless we time this right, we can't be together.

P.S. Moony doesn't know the Truth yet, but I'm working on it.

Love, Pronglet

There. Harry had tried to keep it as cryptic as he could without the meaning being totally lost on Sirius. He was a smart wizard, but being so fresh from Azkaban he was still magically groggy and was making several mistakes in his rush to get to Peter.

It was after his detention with Snape that Harry found time to pen the letter, in the privacy of his bed and under his sheets, balancing his ink well and tucking his wand behind his ear while having cast a dimmed lumos. He hated being in such close proximity with Peter—it gave him the willies to sleep in the same room as the rat—but nothing could really be done for it. Not yet. They still had several weeks before their plan was supposed to be enacted, of which they were still working on. And now Harry had the added task of arranging a safe place for Sirius. He could not very well let the man survive in caves and eating wild mice.

Harry shivered.

Well. He had a few ideas for that as well, but they did not bear much thought for now. He would have to wait until the first Hogsmead weekend, which wasn't until late October. It was still September. Harry just hoped Sirius would take his advice and stay as far away from Scotland as he could. Though somehow he doubted his godfather would be able to restrain himself. The sightings indicated he was headed straight for Hogwarts, and knowing Sirius…well, Harry figured he had a better chance stopping the Hogwarts Express at full speed with his bare hands. But he could hope, couldn't he?

For now, Harry's hands were quite full. And until he was sure things were more settled and safe, a letter would have to do. He knew no teacher would listen to him (Remus aside, but as it was he needed to keep the man far away from the situation as the Ministry would likely see fit to put blame on the werewolf somehow if they twisted the story). Confiding to Dumbledore would mean pushing his hand far too prematurely. And even sending Dobby could be dangerous with those Dementors skulking about and Aurors roaming the countryside (and if he were caught, Harry could only imagine what Mr. Malfoy would do upon seeing his ex-slave involved in this).

But, at the very least, Harry would not send Sirius just a letter. After muttering a drying spell on the ink, and scrolling up the parchment, he had ducked out of the common room and out the tower, stopping by the kitchens and softly requesting a box of food. The elves were only too happy to provide, not asking questions and setting about quickly to the task. So now, with a nicely packed package, letter stuck to the top, Harry placed a warming charm and stasis spell on the provisions and headed for the Owlery.

His heart beat rapidly, going out on his own like this. He had left Ron and Hermione behind, mainly because he did need to learn to relax. After all, it was a big castle and Harry would have to mend his still-raw nerves. The first day of class was testimony enough of that. Besides, he spotted Ron having a comfortable nap for once as he had come back from detention, and very much wanted him to remain so. Hermione was likely in her own dorm setting about her things for Astronomy that evening. Harry took a breath and trudged upwards, smiling as he thought of his friends. Their mere memory helped ease his anxiety at once.

It now just felt so odd to be without the Marauders Map, but he knew he should not rely on it; he just had to get used to the feeling again until the Twins felt the need to pass it on to him. Hopefully.

"So how was your detention?" Ron asked as Harry made it to class. They were having Astronomy tonight, and he had had just enough time to mail his provisions to Sirius before making it up.

"It was…weird." Harry confessed, settling into Ron's side as Hermione was occupying his other. The air was cold and windy so high up, and Harry had no intention of shivering his trainers off. One of the many wonderful things about Ron was that he was extremely warm, and Harry found it very satisfying to mooch off of said warmth when necessary. He took a look in their shared telescope after pulling out his chart notes. They left off from the term before and were half-hearted and frankly sloppy in many instances. Smirking to himself, Harry turned the page and began his new chart for the year, this time in neater script. He was thankful this paper was charmed to glow softly in the dark, as was their Astronomy book, and he found it a small courtesy he took for granted before but found fascinatingly simplistic and valued now.

"Weird?" Hermione and Ron asked in unison. Before Harry could reply, Professor Sinistra's calm, but no nonsense voice called from behind them along with the other students who had been setting out places around the telescopes and chatting away amicably.

"Settle down, class, settle down."

A few yawns were stifled but other than that Aurora's command was met with quick obedience, not an easy feat when it came to a class full of Gryffindor preteens. But Sinistra's class was usually a casual favorite among all students in every house. She wasn't jovial like Hagrid or bubbly like Flitwick or Sprout, but she held an air of fair kindness that governed her class well just the same.

And the best thing about her classes was that if you kept your voice down and got your work done, she did not mind idle chatter.

"Yeah." Harry yawned, now feeling his joints begin to ache from the chill of the air and the lingering dampness of the dungeons. Harry squinted into the scope again before adjusting to the parameters Sinistra was now calling out to locate a specific star rising in the horizon for the season. Ron took the next turn as Harry began to jot down a sketch of the map of the sky he would use later for an actual chart. "He actually talked with me for a bit."

Hermione dropped her quill at the revelation. "Did he really? Whatever about?" Ron had stopped mid-scrawl of his own chart to stare at Harry as if he had just said he had battled another full grown mountain troll on his way to class just for funsies.

"Nothing really, which was the weird part. Just on how I knew how to clean." Harry shrugged, biting the end of his quill softly in thought at his coordinances. He hated this part, figuring the projected path of the star for the next month. He was never really good at that sort of thing, especially in using maths.

"What sort of dumb question was that?" Ron huffed, still ill at the professor as he curved a line along dotted points of his own projection. Harry pointedly looked at Ron's current progress mournfully and Ron rolled his eyes and smiled.

"The arc will likely fall within…" Ron trailed off as he wrote something down on Harry's page. "…around that many degrees, in relation of the horizon. Your line should be higher, mate, given the past week's rises and sets." Ron waved a printed info sheet Sinistra had copied for them all, giving them a basis to work off of complete with a cartoon-star pointing animatedly at the sky and then shooting itself upward off the page.

"Cheers." Harry grinned, spelling away the ink and correcting it with Ron's advice. Ron may not have been a bookworm like Hermione, but Mrs. Weasley apparently instilled a great knack for maths in his early education because ever since Harry had known him he had been good at it. He might have pursued Arithmancy had he the self-discipline.

"Do you think he suspects anything?" Hermione asked after a moment of silent work. Her voice was lower now, and far quieter.

"Nah, why should he? He's got us both in detentions; Harry for a whole week! I think for him all is right with the world." Ron said, a laugh in his voice that overpowered the bitter undertones.

And the trio giggled at that, earning a cleared throat but smile from their professor to get on with their work.