Harry forgot all about the old bit of parchment until the day after Hermione and Neville returned from Hogsmeade. Hermione had brought him back all the sweets he’d asked for, while Neville had ended up just buying six bottles of ink and a magical cleaner that made the ink run off of his tie and onto the floor of the dormitory and his shoes.
Harry thought that it was a good thing that the required shoes were black, because otherwise he, Hermione, and Neville would have all sort of splatters on them. At least this way the splatters weren’t as visible.
Hermione had also bought some mysterious parcels that she claimed were for Christmas, treats for Crookshanks, and a very big book titled ‘BEHEADING AND BEWITCHMENT: Famous Court Cases Involving the Control of Deadly Creatures.’ She had been popping off to Hagrid’s shack in her free time to try and help him with Buckbeak, the hippogriff that had clawed Malfoy earlier in the year.
Harry and Neville almost confiscated the book from her, because she had been looking worn to the bone, lately. Hermione had been the only Gryffindor that had listened to a word Binns said since the beginning of second year. Now, she silently gave in and spent the period scribbling out her Runes homework or trying to solve equations with imaginary numbers.
“But Hermione,” Harry had asked her once at dinner. “If they’re imaginary numbers, why do you put them in equations at all?”
Hermione had launched into a long discussion on the balances between numerical properties and how it related to the balance between Muggle and magical worlds and had started to dig several complicated looking charts out of her bag before Neville distracted her with a well placed question on the History of Magic essay.
The morning after the Hogsmeade visit, Hermione fell asleep in her toast. She woke up with a start, cinnamon and melted butter all over her face, her eyes bleary, and an odd gold chain poking out of her robes.
Neville immediately took over. “Hermione, you’ve got to rest today.”
“Neville, I have so much work—twelve inches on Greco-Romanic runes due on Tuesday, and then I have the inanimate to animate transfiguration spells to research so I’m properly prepared for class, and then I still have the Vergil—“
Harry frowned at her. “Hermione, it’s a Sunday. You can do all that later. You’ve got free periods tomorrow, haven’t you?”
She let out a short bark of slightly hysterical laughter. “Of course not! I have classes every period! Double periods!”
Neville looked her up and down worriedly. “Hermione, you’ll make yourself sick if you keep pushing like this. Just rest today, what harm can one day do?”
“But I have to get ahead! I can’t fall behind! I’ve done everything I need for tomorrow, except for the Vergil and—oh, I promised Hagrid I would meet so we could strategize, and then there’s those blasted Divination charts—I hate Divination!”
Harry suddenly remembered what Snape had told him in the summer. “Hermione, let’s go to McGonagall. You can drop Divs, Snape told me, after a term, and it’s—well, it’s almost a term.”
Neville looked at Harry. “We can?”
“We can?” Hermione asked dazedly. “Oh, oh, thank God!” She immediately got up from the table and ran to the Head Table, dragging Harry and Neville behind. They were lucky it was a Sunday morning, because had the Great Hall been full Harry was sure he and Neville would never hear the end of it.
The Head Table, also, was mostly empty, except for the Heads of House, who made a point to be there and available, and a few early risers. Professor Flitwick was sipping a large cup of tea and chatting away to Professor Sprout, who looked half-asleep and was nodding every now and then. Professor McGonagall was involved in a conversation with Professor Vector, while Professor Snape was pointedly eating his eggs and ignoring Professor Lupin.
“Professor McGonnagal!” Hermione cried out, which drew Snape’s attention away from his eggs and to the threesome. “Is it true?”
McGonagall looked quite perplexed. “Is what true, dear?”
“Divination! I can drop Divination?”
McGonagall gave the girl a small smile and inclined her head. “Yes, Miss Granger, you may drop Divination. I must say, I’m quite glad. It’s really a load of—“
“Potter,” Snape asked, and Harry turned his head to him. “Are you joining in with Granger on this unspeakably wise move?”
Harry shrugged and mumbled “Erm, no, sir,” which earned him a glare from Snape, who turned back to his eggs. Lupin gave the group a small wave.
As soon as McGonagall confirmed that, Hermione was far too happy to protest when Neville and Harry covered her with blankets on a couch in an unused nook in the common area. She was dozing within minutes, Harry and Neville sorting through her notes and things to try and determine what she needed to do.
“How is she taking all these classes?” Neville asked in horror as he unearthed another roll of parchment. “There aren’t enough hours in the day!” Harry had to agree. Instead of helping sort out her work, they settled for copying their translations of Vergil for her, hiding her copy of ‘Bewitched and Beheaded’, playing a game of noughts and crosses on her History book, and scribbling little smiley-faces and imaginary numbers jokes on the inside cover of her Arithmancy text.
She pretended to be cross when she woke up, but Harry and Neville were convinced that it was a morning well spent. They spent the afternoon writing Transfiguration papers, practicing Flowering Charms on each other’s fingers (Colin Creevy took a wonderful picture of Hermione with lilies and lilacs sprouting from her fingertips and Neville with pansies coming out of his ears), and classifying the flowers for Herbology extra-credit. They consumed eight Chocolate Frogs and Harry tried all the odd candy Hermione had bought him the day before. It was the best weekend Harry had spent in ages.
The next day, at breakfast, Hermione was her usual, workoholic self and fell asleep in nothing. Rather, she was fretting all about her schedule.
“Harry, do you have a spare bit of parchment? I need to try and figure out where I’ve got gaps now, thanks to Divs.”
Harry scrambled through his pockets, but all he turned up was the Marauder’s Map.
“What’s that?” Neville asked curiously.
Harry shrugged. “Dunno. The twins gave it to me. Reckon I should risk it?”
Neville shrugged, but Hermione looked horrified. “Risk it? The twins? Don’t touch it!”
“Well, it’s been in my pocket all weekend and it hasn’t done me any harm,” Harry pointed out reasonably. “Besides, they said they gave it to me because of what happened with Ron last year. I don’t think that they would prank me after that.” Harry paused. “At least, not citing that as the reason I should accept it.”
“What’s it do?” Neville asked, prodding it with his wand.
“S’posed to figure it out for myself, they said. You have to say something to it, though.”
Neville scrunched up his nose and held his wand in front of his face for protection. “Erm—what are you?” he asked, then he tapped the paper.
“No, Neville, like a password.” Harry was about to demonstrate when Hermione dragged the two to History of Magic.
Sitting quietly in the back and feeling slightly ridiculous, Harry tapped the parchment with his wand and muttered “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” The top of the parchment exploded into action. Where it had been merely wrinkled and stained faintly brown with age, little runs of ink appeared on the surface. Harry was scared it had all been an elaborate joke and that the ink would rise up and soak him and Neville, but the ink stayed confined to the paper, forming—
“Hold on,” Neville said, squinting at the abstract lines. “That—Harry, I think that might be Hogwarts.” And it was. They picked out the Great Hall and the Defense classroom and the History of Magic room they sat in right then before noticing another feature. “That’s us!” Neville exclaimed softly, pointing to two small little dots labeled Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Other little dots swarmed all along the page. A massive dot representing Hagrid was walking the halls to Dumbledore’s office, while Harry grinned at seeing Professor Snape’s dot pacing in the Potions classroom in front of many still Hufflepuff dots.
“What is this thing?” Neville asked, and Harry wordlessly pointed to a flourished note at the top of the page. Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDERS MAP
Harry and Neville spent the rest of the period gasping over the new corridors and passage ways the map revealed. Hermione merely sniffed and kept working on her Muggle Studies paper—‘Electricity—Muggle Magic’—though, when learning of it’s existance at lunch, she became quite worried. “You don’t know it’s not like that thing that possesssed Ron last year,” she whispered as she picked at a plate of macaroni and cheese.
“Well, a pretty good hint is that we’ve not been possessed yet, have we?” Harry said, and Hermione turned an angry red.
“I’m only trying to look out for your best interests, Harry Potter!” Hermione said shrilly.
“Sorry,” Harry muttered before she could go off completely. “But—it’s such an interesting bit of magic. Don’t—erm, wouldn’t it be a great side project? To study it?”
Hermione looked half intrigued and half suicidal at the idea of another side project. “Let me and Nev research it,” Harry coaxed. “It’s like that talk we had on Halloween, isn’t it? We can—can look for secret passages with it, can’t we? And—“
Hermione had waved a hand at him. “Fine. Go—go exploring like stupid boys. But if you end up taking out Muggleborn’s with—with some sort of deranged badger or something, on your head be it!”
Harry and Neville cracked jokes for the rest of the meal about the Heir of Hufflepuff and the great and mystical power it wielded over the legendary Great Badger.
In the days before Christmas break, things started to get tense. There had been another Black sighting, this one dangerously close to Hogwarts, and Harry had been spacey and short tempered all week.
In Potions, during another of Snape’s ‘forced partners’ lessons, Harry had been grinding up caterpillar eyes (which seemed rather pointless—the eyes were already so small that grinding them couldn’t do anything. Harry didn’t complain, though—it was nice to get his anger out of defenseless Potions ingredients) when Malfoy had leaned over.
“Zabini, mind if I borrow your ladle?” he drawled, and Blaise—one of the easiest Slytherins to tolerate, Harry thought—shrugged.
“Whatever, Malfoy.” He tossed it to the boy, and after Malfoy caught it he hung about for a moment, smirking at Harry, which wore on Harry’s already shot nerves.
“What?” he barked at the boy, and Malfoy’s smirk got even bigger.
“Just getting a look, Potter. You know—so I remember what you look like.”
“I’m touched, Malfoy,” Harry snapped. Hermione, working furiously behind him while Pansy yammered on about the deplorable state of her hair, put a hand on his shoulder. He tightened his lips and got back to grinding, pretending it was Malfoy’s stupid head he was pulverizing.
“After all,” Malfoy continued, determined to get under Harry’s skin, “Who knows what you’ll look like when Black gets through with you?” Harry tightened his shoulders and started pounding the caterpillar eyes. “They never even found Pettigrew, you know. Just one finger.” Malfoy let out a nasty snigger. “Bet they don’t even find that much of you, Potter.”
“If it was a finger, Malfoy,” Harry said tightly, “Which one do you reckon it would be?” With that, he flippped Malfoy off and continued pounding.
Malfoy flushed an angry red. “I’d say I’d make you regret that, Potter,” he hissed, “But I’m sure Black will make you pay worse than I ever could.” He regained a little composure. “Bits of you scattered from here to Wiltshire. And I’ll be there, Potter.” He jabbed a finger into Harry’s chest, and Harry snarled and almost leapt for the arrogant boy, if only Hermione weren’t restraining him.
“Don’t, Harry!” she said. “He isn’t worth it.”
Malfoy was pulled away by a livid Professor Snape. “What is this?” he yelled at Malfoy. “You leave your cauldron unattended, simmering, in the vital last stages? Look at this!” He pointed to Malfoy’s cauldron, which was filled with a useless, dull orange sludge. Ron was grinning broadly, uncaring that it was his potion as well. “Thoughtlessness, Mr. Malfoy! I will not have it in my classroom. Twenty points!”
Malfoy goggled at the professor. “What?” Harry was fighting the urge to laugh. He doubted Snape had ever taken so much as a point off of Malfoy, and it was good to watch him get it, finally. “You can’t take points from me!”
Snape narrowed his eyes. “I will thank you, Mr. Malfoy, not to tell me what I can and cannot do in my own classroom! I am your professor and your head of house, and I can take as many points as I want from you! You just made it twenty five, and a detention!”
Malfoy looked like he was in the middle of an extremely bad dream. “My father—“ he started, shutting up rather quickly when he saw the dangerous look on Snape’s face.
“Detention, Mr. Malfoy! Tonight!” The whole classroom had ceased it’s action, and Professor Snape swung a deadly look around the room. “What are you looking at? Back to work! Thirty points!” No one asked what house the points were from and there was a great flurry of activity.
Zabini cleared his throat. “Erm, I think the eyes are sufficiently ground, Potter.”
Harry looked down at the fine white powder and blushed. “Oh. Sorry.” He tipped the container in and class continued as usual. He tried to meet with Snape after class, but Malfoy was there whining about his father, who was on the Board of Governors.
He tried before his Patronus lesson that night, but Snape had Malfoy scrubbing out the first year’s cauldrons the Muggle way. Dismayed and wondering, Harry went to his lessons with Professor Lupin. However, it was glaringly apparent something was weighing on his mind. Lupin stopped the lessons.
“A break, I think,” he said kindly, and he poured tea for both of them. Harry sat down, sweating. He hadn’t been quick enough that lasst time, and since they were practicing his Patronus against a Lethifold, it had twined itself around his neck before he had garbled some variation on the Patronus and it had fled. He accepted the tea thankfully, gulping down half of it in one sip.
“I’m rubbish at this,” Harry said angrily. “I should just quit.”
“You’re not rubbish,” Lupin said kindly. “Many adult wizardss are unable to get this far—or even to the level Hermione reached.”
“But it’s not working. Every time I go out on the grounds—“ Harry said, and he shuddered. “I just want it to stop,” he said miserably. “I hate hearing it. Neville, too, he hates it. We all used to go on walks, even when it was cold, but now—“ Harry shrugged.
“Perhaps it’s not you that’s the problem. Are you focusing on a happy memory, like I told you?” Harry shrugged. He didn’t know what his happiest memory was. It was very hard to think of one on the spot—all he could remember was nights on the streets when it was cold, or when Uncle Vernon broke his arm, or when Dumbledore had tried to take his wand. Nothing happy came to mind. “What are you thinking?”
Harry looked down and cast about for any happy memory—anything even slightly happy. All he could remember was life at the Dursley’s—wait! That was it! “When Professor Snape came to get me at the Dursley’s,” he said happily. That was the right sort of memory!
Lupin pursed his lips and nodded. “Hmm…well, why does that make you feel happy?” Harry shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. “Well,” he said slowly. “He came to get me, like he said. That was good. And that he—you know, he cared enough to come. And—well, I’m leaving the Dursley’s, that’s always happy—“
“Harry,” Lupin said very softly. “What happened at the Dursley’s?” Oh, no. No, no, no. He wasn’t talking about this. No way was he talking about this. He liked Professor Lupin and all, but the man wouldn’t understand. It—he wouldn’t understand.
Harry shrugged and tried to keep it cool. “I don’t know. Nothing much. Just—it’s more interesting with Snape.”
“You—you know what I thought at the beginning of the year? After the Boggart?”
“I told you,” Harry said quickly, “Snape wouldn’t do that to me. He—he likes me. He really does.”
“I—I believe you, Harry. But—but you said, you said he would never do that to you, not him. So—did they?”
“They who?” Harry said, slightly confused.
“The Dursley’s. Did they—do that to you?” Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“No.” Lupin didn’t seem to believe him. “No, sir.”
Lupin chose to leave it. “Well, focus on the happiness of that memory now, Harry, and we’ll give it one more go.” He got out of his chair and watched as Lupin went to the charmed box where the Lethifold was kept. “Alohamora!”
Harry tried as hard as he could to remember that moment—tried to remember the happiness of all his moments with Snape, the talks and the potions and the Hospital Wing chats. Snape saying he was proud of him, the recent hug-- “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Harry yelled, and something exploded from his wand and the Lethifold let out a sort of cry and turned and fled right back into the box.
Professor Lupin slammed the lid down after it and gave Harry a wide smile. He came over and ruffled Harry’s hair. “Well done, Harry, well done! Brilliant showing, not even your father—“
“My—my father?” Harry said, and Lupin looked guiltily at the ground. “Did—did you know my father?”
“Yes,” Lupin said quietly. “Your mother, too. Both were—extraordinary people, Harry.” He patted Harry awkwardly on the shoulder. “I—you do them credit.”
Harry suddenly felt torn between being extremely happy and being extremely sad.
Lupin seemed to be able to tell, and he squeezed Harry on the shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sure many people have told you this,” he said, offering Harry a small smile. “But you really do look like James. Except for the eyes—Lily’s eyes.”
“Professor,” Harry said as the thought came into his head. “If—if you knew my father, than you must have known Sirius Black as well.”
Lupin’s face tightened. “I—I thought I did. But—I suppose you can never really know anybody, now, can you?”
“Do you—sorry, this’ll sound odd—but Malfoy was baiting me today—“
“Something he seems to do often,” Lupin remarked, seemingly relieved to be off the subject of the past.
“Er, yeah, I guess. But he was—well, he was really trying to scare me about Black, but he kept saying that all they’d find was a finger, like Pettigrew—do you know who that—sir? Are you all right?” Lupin had gone pale as a sheet.
“Fine, Harry,” he said weakly. “Just fine. Did—Pettigrew? That’s—is he giving you a lot of trouble over this, Harry?”
“A bit,” Harry admitted, but then grinned. “Be less now, though, Snape’s got him serving detention scrubbing out cauldrons. But—I was just wondering who—“
“Peter Pettigrew was—was another friend of mine. Of—James and Lily’s, as well. He—he was a very quiet sort of boy, and we never—well, it’s just another example of how you never really know anyone. None of us thought that Petey Pettigrew would ever—“
Here Lupin stopped and swallowed. “I will tell you, Harry, because I don’t want you hearing from somewhere else and hearing wrong.” Harry nodded. “Peter heard the news about Ja—about your mum and dad and he—I was out of the country, but he went and he tracked down Black after wards and Black—well,” Lupin said with a forced sort of smile. “He was always helpless with duels. Black destroyed him, of course. The—the largest piece they found was—“
“A finger,” Harry said. “I—Thank you, sir. I’m very sorry for—for—“ Harry tried to think of how to say he was sorry that all his friends were dead. “I’m just very sorry.”
He retreated, and he thought he heard Lupin give a sharp, short sound before he closed the door and hurried away.