"It was just this way," Harry says, walking over a thick tree root spanning a ditch with Snape, Dumbledore and McGonagall in pursuit. He jumps over a little dip full of nettles, and then he points to the "trunk" he'd seen earlier. He now sees the slightly torn piece of shed skin that had once covered the Basilisk's eyes, deep, brown-red blood clinging to the shed skin around the eye holes. "Ugh," he mutters.

Dumbledore and McGonagall stand back, and Snape moves forwards, tearing a piece of skin from the yellow husk. The Majority of it is hidden in the undergrowth, and Harry can see it between Snape's fingers: it's not parchment-thin and a little transparent, like pictures of shed snake skin he'd seen before, but a dirty brown colour as thick as a piece of honeycomb.

"How old is it, Severus?" Dumbledore asks, and Snape gives a shrug of his shoulders.

"I'm hardly an expert, Headmaster, but I would estimate the skin has been here a few months. Certainly the Basilisk has lived for a few months in the Forest, at least. With the width and breadth of the Forest, however, one could hardly expect to pinpoint its exact location."

"You said you could kill a Basilisk with cockerels," Harry says, looking at Dumbledore. "Can't you just send some into the Forest?"

"They'd not survive long, Potter," McGonagall says, staring at the huge skin with a terse expression on her face, her lips pursed. "There are a number of predators here."

"The spiders," Snape offers, looking to Dumbledore, and the old man gives a quiet hum, rubbing his knuckles over his beard. Harry glances between the two of them, trying to figure out what the spiders are, but Dumbledore just shakes his head.

"They don't take kindly to intruders, Severus. We could hardly make our way into their den."

"I didn't mean us," Snape retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I meant-"

"I took your meaning, Severus," Dumbledore interrupts in his most kindly tone, and Harry can see the way Snape's lips thin as he glares at the older man, see the way his knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on his own sleeves. "But nor can Hagrid go alone. In the meantime, we might exercise patience."

"Patience?" Harry repeats. "Sir, it's a fifty-foot long, poisonous snake."

"Venomous," Snape corrects. Harry stares at him.

"I have no doubt it will remain within the boundaries of the Forest, Mr Potter," Dumbledore says. "Perhaps we ought decide what is to be done with the skin."

"I found it," Harry says quickly. "Doesn't that make it mine?" Dumbledore peers down at him, his blue eyes twinkling.

"And what are you going to do with it, Mr Potter?" It had been automatic for him to ask, in all honesty - he's learned to grasp at all available opportunities, but the Basilisk's skin isn't something he really wants to cart back to his dormitory, and nor does hs really think he can use it.

"Donate it," Harry says slowly, "To the Hogwarts Potions department?"

"How very generous of you, Potter," Snape says dryly as McGonagall hides a very small chuckle against her wrist. Harry feels his cheeks redden, and he feels like more than a bit of an idiot, standing before the three teachers.

"Can I go back to the castle now?"

"Come, Potter," McGonagall says, giving him a very small smile.

"He was going to give it to Snape anyway, wasn't he?" Harry asks.

"Indeed," McGonagall agrees, and Harry sighs. Either way, Snape is getting skin for Christmas, even if Harry is a bit embarrassed.

---

"So they're just going to let this serpent wander around the Forest?" Draco asks, and Harry gives a nod of his head.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's pretty much what I was told."

"This school is going to the dogs," Draco says, opening his Charms textbook with a huffy sound, and Harry just shakes his head.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asks, rushing forwards and settling at the table with them. It's coming up to five o'clock, now, and Harry knows Hermione's just come from an Arithmancy session with Vector. "Those unicorns-"

"They didn't hurt me," Harry assures her, and then goes onto explain the skin he'd found in the Forest, and how he'd brought Dumbledore and the rest to examine it. Hermione is silent, putting her hand on her chin as she considers the idea, and she frowns deeply. "So, you know. Don't go wandering by the lake at night, or a snake will eat you."

"Oh, don't say that." Draco snickers.

"Scared of the snake, Granger?"

"At least I don't cry at the thought of werewolves, Draco," Hermione shoots back archly, and Draco's expression abruptly sobers, and he goes quiet. For once, Harry wishes Draco could keep his mouth shut around her, but apparently that's beyond him. "Now then, who's going to be your plus one, Harry?"

"I thought you were?" Draco asks, looking at Hermione with a momentary intensity, and Hermione gives a minute shake of her head.

"No," she says firmly. "I'm not." Draco opens his mouth, looking like he's going to ask why, but Harry doesn't need to deal with that.

"I don't know," Harry admits. "I don't even know for certain if I'm coming, yet."

"You can't not come," Draco protests, as if Harry missing a party is the most offensive idea he's ever come across. "Everyone will be there. Just- Well. Don't bring a Weasley."

"Given your dad's sad little feud with the Weasleys, Draco, I wasn't planning on it."

"What do you mean, sad?" Harry doesn't have the patience for this right now, and so he turns around, glancing around the Great Hall.

"Hey! Luna!" Luna Lovegood turns from her place at the Ravenclaw table, regarding Harry with her strange, blue eyes.

"Yes?"

"You want to come to a gala with me Christmas Eve?" Luna blinks, staring at him. "You know, a party?"

"Oh," Luna says, tilting her head slightly, and then she says, "Yes, alright. Do write me the details, Harry."

"Will do," Harry agrees, and he turns back to Draco and Hermione. Draco is staring at him, his icy eyes wide, and Hermione looks equally taken aback. "What? She's nice."

"Harry," Hermione says delicately, "Don't- Well, isn't she a bit mad, Luna? I've heard people call her Loony Lovegood." Harry's heard the same name repeated now and then, but it's certainly not a nickname he approves of. He doesn't see why everyone's so opposed to Luna's company - she's a bit strange, certainly, but she's always nice to him when she sees him, and Harry sees no sense in being unpleasant to her.

"She's utterly batty," Draco says in a much harsher tone, "I can't believe you've just invited her to my house."

"Who did you want me to bring, Draco? Cho Chang?"

"Yes!" Draco snaps. "That would have been quite nice!"

---

"I'm not going," Sirius says as a form of greeting. Harry stares at him, holding Hedwig's cage carefully in his hands as Sirius picks up his trunk.

"Why not?" Harry asks. He'd wished Sirius had said outright that he wouldn't come in the past few weeks, and Sirius lets out a little groan of noise.

"Because Lucius Malfoy is the scum of the earth," Sirius says. "And I don't want to spend an evening eating fancy food and making small talk with the worst of society."

"Alright," Harry says. "Me and Luna will just Floo over without you." Sirius stiffens, glancing at him.

"Without me?" he repeats. Harry looks at Sirius innocently.

"Well, we've already RSVPed. I can't not go. But you don't have to come, obviously, if you don't want to."

"I'm coming," Sirius says firmly, and Harry feels the mildest bit of guilt for having pushed him into direction he'd wanted, but he would have gone on his own, had Sirius refused. The Malfoys' views are outdated and ridiculous, but it's not as if they're going to be the only people present at the gala, and the Malfoys are... Well. Harry likes them. It's difficult to completely hate them when he's met them in person and when Lucius is normally so pleasant and warm when he writes his letters. "How was the ride home?"

"It was alright," Harry says. "Hermione and I played a game of chess."

"Are you any good?" Sirius asks. They'd played once or twice when Sirius had been hidden in the Shrieking Shack, but the other man had never been in completely the right state to concentrate on them.

"Not really," Harry says, "But nor is she, so we were pretty evenly matched."

"Remus is terrible at chess," Sirius says affectionately. "James wasn't too great, either. Normally I had to play with one of the girls." Harry glances at him, listening carefully, and Sirius continues, "Lily was alright at chess. She didn't find much fun in it though."

"What sort of thing did she like?"

"Oh, Charms. She went to Charms club religiously, pursued all these little projects of her own, charming everything in sight. Especially your dad, obviously." Harry laughs, and Sirius continues, "She played a few things with the girls, I think, but she wasn't big on games. More of a talker." Harry nods his head, and Sirius stops short in front of a red-painted door with a 16B. Harry can see a set of steps leading down to a flat below Sirius', and a second door that presumably leads up to the flat on the next floor. "This is us."

"Really? This isn't even five minutes' walk from the station."

"Yeah," Sirius agrees. "Diagon Alley's nice and close, as well. Open the door then, Harry. Give your old godfather's arms a break so he can put his trunk down." Harry reaches for the door handle, which turns easily under his hand, and he pushes it open.

The door opens into a hallway, and Sirius drops Harry's trunk beside the door, kicking it closed behind them. Already, the magic in the building is obvious: the hallway is long and winding, much longer than should be physically possible in a poky little London flat, and Harry grins.

"Go on then," Sirius says, grinning at him. "Explore." Harry needs no more prompt than that.

16B Argyle Street has two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a library, two bathrooms and, illogically, an attic. Despite 16C's flat being above them, a ladder in the library leads up into the humble little loft, in which is a large piece of white fabric stretched on the ground. Tools are scattered around the room, in tool boxes, and Harry can see the black shine of oil stains all over.

Sirius' bedroom is ridiculously plush, decorated in garish reds and golds with pillows on every other surface; the library and living room are much the same. The colour scheme is almost blinding, actually, and if Harry had had doubts at to his godfather's Hogwarts house, they'd be gone by now. The library is modest, with a dining table accompanied by plush dining chairs in its centre, but there are all sorts of interesting books on the shelves, a mix of wizarding and Muggle.

The living room has a wonderful fireplace that's carved a stag on its one side and a large dog on the other: the mantel looks as if it had once had a pattern carved into it too, but it's been smoothed away. It's a comfortable lounge, though, and Harry likes the framed photographs of his parents, Remus and Sirius around the room. There's even one photo of Sirius with his arm around the shoulders of a dark-eyed, attractive woman Harry recognizes as a young Andromeda Tonks. He doesn't mention the two or three gaps in the walls where photos have obviously been torn down.

The most exciting room of them all, though, is Harry's own bedroom. It's currently undecorated, with simple wood boards flooring it, and plain white paint covering the walls. There are no sheets on the double bed, and there's currently no furniture at all in the room bar the bed itself and Harry's trunk, but it's his. It's Harry's own bedroom, and it's not in some magical tent - it's in Harry's new home, with his godfather.

"I thought we'd buy some furniture and some paint tomorrow," Sirius says, appearing in the doorway and leaning against the frame, crossing his arms over his chest. He's the very image of casual: he's just wearing a set of flared jeans and a shirt emblazoned with made-up men captioned with KISS despite the cold outside. "You can set up your tent in the living room for now." Harry laughs a little.

"Camp out in the living room?"

"Why not? Put a record on, play some cards... Just like old times." Harry smiles at his godfather, and then he gives a nod of his head.

"Just like old times," he agrees quietly. "Sounds good."