The first thing Harry did when he entered the Great Hall the next morning was glance toward the head table. Snape wasn't there. That was all right, though. Harry didn't want Draco to have to eat breakfast all alone on Harry's first day back. He was actually glad to see Snape's empty chair up on the dais . . . though he did wish he could give his father a little wave. He wondered what Snape and Draco were talking about over tea and toast.

Hopefully, the subject of lines wasn't too prominent.

His own breakfast seemed pretty typical at first. Gryffindor table, of course; he didn't feel up to braving the Slytherins yet. Platters heaped with food, students laughing and talking and eating all at once. Hermione reminding them all that there was a test scheduled for Charms. Everything just as it usually was. Except . . .

"Be good, Harry," said Seamus in a slightly mocking voice as he stood up and grabbed his book bag.

What struck Harry about it was that Seamus had never said anything remotely like that to him before. Be good . . . what was that about?

"Yeah, be good," Dean echoed, a wide grin on his face.

A bunch of the students who remained started laughing.

"I don't get it," Harry said, looking around, but that only made them laugh harder.

Ron leaned over to speak quietly to Harry. "Way I hear it, that's what Snape said last night when he left. Be good."

Harry shook his head. "What's so funny about that?"

Ron finished his juice, then stood up so they could make their way to Charms. "You're kidding, right? Snape, going all fatherly and saying a thing like that right in front of students? It's hilarious."

Harry didn't think so, but he didn't want to argue about it. Besides, by then he was thinking back to Hermione's comment about a test. He hadn't known about that, though he had been keeping up with the readings and essays for the Charms class. He'd even finally got caught up in his spell casting, though the Parseltongue incantations didn't have always have exactly the same results as Draco's Latin ones. The differences weren't too important, and it wasn't like Flitwick had ever graded them that hard to start with, but Harry was still nervous.

Or maybe he was on edge at the prospect of incanting in Parseltongue in front of anyone but his family and closest friends.

Hermione must have sensed his nervousness; she smiled kindly at him as he walked down the corridor, Ron on his other side, the two of them flanking him as they'd agreed. Ron was taking guard duty, as he'd called it, pretty seriously; his gaze was constantly swinging from left to right, left to right as if he was trying to identify in advance anybody that might try to cause trouble for Harry. He even had his chest sort of thrown out in a don't-mess-with-my-friend stance.

The Slytherins didn't seem like they wanted trouble, though. In fact, they were subdued. Thinking back, Harry realised that yes, their table had been awfully quiet during breakfast. Maybe it was the funeral coming up. One of their own . . . all right, so he'd never been able to stand Pansy and frankly thought her last letter to Draco had been a ploy to return him to Voldemort, but she'd had friends in Slytherin. A lot of them. And they were still reeling from her sudden death, obviously. The Slytherins he saw on his way to class looked seriously depressed. Almost ill with it, in fact.

It was probably wrong to be glad for that, Harry thought. Yeah, it was definitely wrong. But he couldn't help it, not if their depression meant that nobody felt like tangling with him. He really didn't want to have to fight with anybody in Snape's house. In his house, he told himself. Too strange, that thought. It was one thing to recognise Slytherin tendencies in himself. It was quite another to really feel like he was a member of their house. Back in the dungeons, it had been almost theoretical, and visit their common room, sit at their table, Harry had sounded a lot less daunting than it really was.

"All right there, Harry?" Ron said as the reached the door to Flitwick's classroom.

He'd been lost in thought and hadn't even realised they'd arrived. "Oh yeah," he said, stepping back to let a few Ravenclaws rush into the room. He lowered his voice. "Um . . . bit nervous, I guess. Been a while."

Hermione understood what he hadn't said. She knew he was leery of speaking Parseltongue in front of everyone. "They're going to have to know sooner or later," she said, giving him that kind smile again. This time Harry found it sort of irritating.

"You think?"

Ron put a hand on his arm. "Come on, it'll be all right. It's a written test anyway."

Harry felt better, then. He knew he couldn't put off the inevitable forever, but still . . . yeah, he felt a lot better. Going in, he sat at a long table with Ron at one side and Hermione on the other. Neville saw him sit down and gave him an encouraging smile, and started to say something, but Flitwick started talking then so he had to fall silent.

"Wands away, everyone. Parchment and quill, that's what you'll need for this morning," the little man said in his usual jovial voice, beaming at all of them from the raised platform he used for lectures. He surveyed the hubbub for a moment, then added, "Ah, look who we have back with us. Mr Potter, nice to see you here. Very nice indeed. Class, everyone say welcome back to Mr Potter."

They did, a good number of them grinning like idiots as they parroted, "Welcome back, Mr Potter!"

Harry ducked his head. "Uh, thanks. Good to be back." He hoped his other teachers weren't going to make a big deal over him. He wanted to be just Harry. He mentally reviewed his course programme. Transfigurations next, and then after lunch Double Care of Magical Creatures. McGonagall probably wouldn't demand the class welcome him, but she might give him a frosty lecture about Transfiguration not being his best subject and how he'd better work extra hard now that he was in class again. He didn't even want to think about what she might say about his snake-and-lion crest. She had to know already that Harry was in both houses, but Harry still didn't think she was going to care for his crest. And as for Hagrid . . . he'd probably give Harry a big hug and pick him up and whirl him around, or something equally embarrassing.

He suddenly wished he had Potions on Mondays, so at least he'd have one teacher who would act like it was just ordinary and usual to have Harry Potter returning to class.

Harry looked up to see a piece of chalk beginning to write out the exam question. Compare and contrast hunger and thirst charms. Include a discussion about the ethical considerations of the use of each.

Suddenly buoyed, Harry dipped his quill in ink and began to scratch out his answer. He knew loads about this topic. Draco and he had even played around one day with the hunger charms, seeing if they could make each other hungry enough to eat things they normally wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. Harry had won when he'd made Draco gobble down some meatloaf. Hmm, maybe he could include that when he got to discussing ethics. It wasn't too nice to make somebody eat food they hated . . . unless you were just fooling around, of course . . .

"Mr Potter."

Flitwick's thin, reedy voice made him look up. "Sir?"

"I'd like to use this time to see you perform a few of the charms we covered in your absence. If you would come up here with me? Come along, now."

Up to the raised platform where he'd be on display for the whole class to gawk at, especially when Parseltongue began spilling out his mouth? Harry didn't think so.

"But I need to finish my test, don't you think, sir?"

Flitwick shifted from foot to foot, reminding Harry strangely of a dancing goblin. Not that goblins ever danced. "No, no, your earlier essay on this subject was more than adequate to demonstrate your grasp of it. Consider yourself excused from the test."

Harry had to frown at that. He didn't want special treatment, especially when all it did was garner him resentful glares from the Ravenclaws. "Really, sir, I'd rather do the test and then see you during office hours for the other," he said rather desperately.

Beneath the table, Hermione patted his knee. Harry knocked her hand off of him and gave her a warning look not to coddle him again.

"Young man, I set this test on purpose so that I might have time to assess your wandwork. Written assignments are all well and good but we mustn't forget that we are here primarily to learn the practice of Charms."

Great, now the Gryffindors were glaring at him, too. Like it was his fault the Charms teacher had decided to give a test.

"Now, Mr Potter."

Flitwick's voice at the end was about as stern as it could get. He even sounded like he might take points if Harry dithered any longer. And that was all he needed. The Gryffindors would get angry; they hardly ever lost points in Charms class. And half the points would come from Slytherin, which would not do Snape's temper any good.

"Yes, Professor." Sighing, Harry pushed back his chair. It didn't help that when he got to the end of the row, Seamus snickered and told him to be good. Harry had a strong urge to cast a hunger charm right then and there. A strong one, so Seamus would have to sit there starving while he tried to write about the topic.

Mastering the impulse, he joined the teacher on the raised platform. There was hardly room for them both up there, but Flitwick didn't seem worried. "Well? Wand at the ready. Let's start with weather charms. Localized, please. The other students surely don't want their hard work drenched. So, a bit of rain, right there." Flitwick pointed to a strip of empty space below them. "All right, then?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered. It felt like his throat was closing over. People were staring at him already. It wasn't every day students got called up to give private demonstrations, and besides, they'd all heard months ago that he'd lost his magic. Death Eaters had spread the news far and wide, hoping to demoralize the Order. So of course they were curious. Harry really couldn't blame them for that.

He couldn't even blame Ron and Hermione for looking alarmed to see him begin to brandish his wand. They knew he was pretty good at making sure his magic didn't flow through it, but they also knew just how violent his spells could get when his wand did come into play. They were probably imagining the whole classroom flooding, washing students, desks, and a screaming Flitwick out into the corridor.

With a deep breath, Harry adjusted his wand angle to one that looked good but wouldn't work, and then, looking down the length of his arm and at the ring his father had transfigured, he began to murmur the incantation for rain. He didn't put much effort into it, but that part wasn't resentment at being put on display like this. It was because he was supposed to look a little bit inept. Word was supposed to spread that for all Harry Potter was back in class, he wasn't so great at magic these days.

He might as well not have bothered; nobody paid any attention to the water falling from the ceiling, not after they heard what he had to say to put it there. He could hardly hear himself over the shocked gasps that began to ripple through the classroom. He's doing it again . . . Haven't heard that in years . . . Could have gone without ever hearing it again, myself . . . Was that Parseltongue? . . . No, it was German.

That last comment actually reminded him of Draco. Harry might have laughed if not for the fact that several students were actually rearing back in their chairs.

There was no snake here this time, though, nothing to frighten them.

Nothing except Harry.

"Well done, Mr Potter, well done!" Flitwick bounced with enthusiasm, his eyes alight with pleasure as he studied the drizzly rain now falling into the middle of his classroom. Clearly, he'd been briefed to expect Parseltongue and thought very little of it. Snape had likely told the other teachers in advance, for which Harry was grateful. "Nicely localized indeed. I don't believe a single drop has strayed. Now, a Finite and a sunlight charm, please. A strong one to dry the stones."

If Harry had been reluctant before, now he was practically paralyzed. Every single student's eyes were trained on him, and most of them looked pretty well horrified. But there was nothing for it but to grit his teeth and cast the charm. It was Parseltongue magic or no magic. Not much choice at all.

A wavering beam of light began to filter down from the ceiling, though it looked as though it would dissipate before it ever reached the wet stone floor.

"Oh come now, a bit stronger than that," Flitwick urged. "Go on, try again."

Harry did the Solare charm once more, using slightly different wording than before, as he had several Parseltongue variations of it. The light stabilized somewhat, though it wasn't what anybody could call strong.

"Well, that is some improvement, even if somewhat orange," said Flitwick in a slightly puzzled voice. Only then did he appear to realise that nobody was working on the exam. "Thirty more minutes," he chided the class, his hand making a shooing motion. "To work then, all of you to work."

They did start working, but most were watching through lowered lashes even as they scribbled out sentences on their parchments. The wariness level, at least from some students, seemed to decline as Harry kept casting. Others appeared to be just as horrified as before.

Finally, Flitwick released him with a jolly, "There now, I can see you have kept up with the class. You might want to practice more as your spell power seems a bit off, but we'll chalk that up to the fact your magic's taking a slightly new form and you're still adjusting. All things considered, I think your father didn't exaggerate when he mentioned how hard you've been working . . . yes, five points to Gryffindor!"

Harry wondered how the counters would divide an odd number, but that speculation was cut short by a wave of snickering, the word father repeated several times in low voices. Well, at least it helped distract them from the whole Parseltongue issue. And too, some of the Gryffindors weren't snickering. That was worth something.

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Transfigurations was both better and worse than Charms. McGonagall didn't publicly welcome him or turn him into a one-man show, but she did harrumph rather ostentatiously when she caught sight of his crest. Harry stared levelly back. What did she expect him to do? She knew as well as he did why he was in both houses now. Maybe she didn't approve of the adoption? That sort of bothered Harry, but he chalked it up to her Gryffindors-can-take-care-of-their-own attitude. She had been pretty upset when he'd first moved down to the dungeons. This was probably just more of the same, so he mentally shrugged it off as class began.

This year they had Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, and the current topic was a review unit on same-name transfigurations. They were supposed to be simple, though Harry had never found them so. Today's task was turning gloves into foxgloves. McGonagall gave them each table several different gloves to work with: lady's lace ones, thick canvas work gloves, even a dragonhide one.

"Now," she lectured from the front, "be sure to focus your magic on the word glove as I'm sure we don't want any dragons running loose in the castle."

A couple of Hufflepuff girls began giggling at the image. Or maybe it was at him, since Harry caught a hint of a comment, something about the Triwizard Tournament and the First Task. Thinking he was being made fun of, he turned to give them a bit of a glare, only to see the pair of them flush red just like Ginny Weasley always used to do around him.

"Begin your transfigurations." McGonagall briskly walked up and down the aisles, critiquing their pronunciation and results. Nervous of what she might say when she got to him, Harry tried to keep track of her as she wandered the room.

"Concentrate, Miss Bones. We don't want lace, do we?"

Hermione poked him in the shoulder. "Harry, pay attention! Let's get started. The incantation is Gantus Floramus."

"Not for me, it isn't," he muttered, and then, in a lower voice still, "I didn't learn this one in advance." He waved his wand over a work glove, back and forth as McGonagall had demonstrated, though he held his wand so the end of it wouldn't touch his palm. Now came the hard part. When he had to incant a brand new spell, he never really knew what words would do the trick. He was still thinking about it when the noise of someone clearing a throat made him look up.

"Is there a problem, Mr Potter?" she asked, her voice as haughty as ever, her stance critical.

"No, Professor McGonagall. I'm just thinking of how to do it."

"Perhaps if you thought out loud?"

Harry lowered his voice. "Um, in Charms the teacher seemed to know already that I cast a bit differently than I used to. Did my father, I mean, did Professor Snape tell you about that?"

He hadn't spoken quietly enough; someone behind him made a gagging noise at the word father. Harry felt his face heating but decided to ignore it.

McGonagall had evidently decided otherwise. In her most supercilious tones, she inquired, "Are you taking ill, Mr Finnegan?"

"No, no, ma'am."

"Then you'd best see to getting some flowers made, hadn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

McGonagall returned her attention to Harry, her gaze less icy than before. "I believe Professor Snape informed all your teachers, yes. So that we could be prepared in case other students needed reassurance. And so?" She gestured at the table he was sharing with Hermione. "Gantus Floramus, Mr Potter, however you need to say it."

"That's just it." Harry lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "I don't know how to say it. I have to figure out each spell as it comes. My own wording, I mean. Sometimes the obvious thing doesn't work."

McGonagall replied in a voice loud enough to carry. "I suppose you shall have to simply muddle your way through, Potter. It's a pity that magic is more difficult for you than formerly, but that's no excuse to do poorly."

Harry glared up at her suspiciously, only to receive a bland look back, but that was enough. McGonagall had done that on purpose, and not to humiliate him, either. She was in the Order, after all. She might not know about his wandless magic or what happened when he used a wand, but either Snape or Dumbledore had told her it was in the Order's interests to spread the story that poor little Harry Potter would never be the same.

"Yes, ma'am," he said quietly, looking back down at the gloves as he began to wave his wand again. The ring was really perfect, he thought. He couldn't help but see it every time he cast. "Turn yourself into flower," he tried. Nothing, though it wasn't lost on him that the Hufflepuffs were backing away. Hannah Abbot even turned and ran for the door.

"You will return to your seat," McGonagall called over the general hum of alarmed noise. "There is no cause for concern. Unless you're seriously proposing that Potter here is a dark wizard?"

"No, ma'am," said Hannah in a shaky voice that implied the opposite.

"I rather think if he were a dark wizard then You-Know-Who wouldn't be trying so hard to kill him. You did read the papers this past November, I trust?"

"Yes, ma'am." Hannah walked back toward her place then.

"You mustn't let it bother you, Potter," McGonagall told him, her voice still loud enough to carry. "It's an old prejudice, this idea about Parseltongue. Well, keep trying."

She walked off then, and Harry did try. It wasn't too hard to make sure he looked inept, not in this class. Finally, when he ordered the glove to Bloom, it did, sprouting flowers out each finger. But they weren't foxgloves, they were carnations.

"Maybe you need to be a bit more specific," said Hermione at his side. She, of course, already had a beautiful bouquet.

"I don't know if there's even a word for foxglove in Parseltongue. I try to say it and I just hear the word flowers coming out." Discouraged, Harry leaned one hand on the table. "I mean, how many snakes are botanists? This is impossible. The words don't overlap in Parseltongue the way they do in English."

Hermione plucked a beautiful pink foxglove from her bunch and handed it to him. "Ask Sals what she would call it. Then you'll know."

Harry smiled his thanks, and told the glove to go back to the way it had been.

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Snape was in the Great Hall for lunch, but Harry had reconsidered his idea of giving him a little wave. He'd already had enough teasing. Sitting as far as he could manage from Seamus, he settled for just catching his father's eye.

The Potions Master gave him a rather regal nod, no more greeting than that, and then glanced at the Slytherin table. Looked like a significant glance, too. Harry couldn't help but wonder if it was a message. Was Snape telling him to keep his promise to Draco and go sit with the Slytherins? His father had said he didn't expect Harry to brave the common room without him, at least not for the time being, but maybe he thought a table in the safety of the Great Hall was another matter.

Tomorrow, Harry told himself. It was just his first day back, and after all, he was a Gryffindor, too. He'd been in Gryffindor for a lot longer. Nobody, not even Snape, would seriously expect him to sit elsewhere on his first day back, right?

A wave of laughter from down at Seamus' end of the table made it just the slightest bit tempting, though. Especially when he caught half a sentence, something about wonder if Harry can convince him to wash his hair. Draco and he had joked about the same thing, of course, but somehow that was different. They hadn't meant anything by it, not really.

"What's his problem?" Harry asked, grabbing a toasted cheese sandwich from the platter that had appeared.

Ron glanced around. "Who? Oh, Seamus? Don't mind him."

Harry was still fuming. "Well how long is he going to keep it up? He's known about the adoption for ages. He came down with the well-wish--"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. Not coming too, I mean."

"I didn't mean that. We're all right." He wondered if this would be a good time to mention that Draco was his brother, but decided he'd better put it off. As for Seamus, maybe it was best just to ignore him.

"So, been a while since you saw Hagrid, eh?" Ron was saying as Neville slid in beside them. "He'll be right glad to have you back. He's told us a bunch of times how much he misses you." When Harry looked alarmed he added, "Not in class. When we go visit him, you know."

Harry let out a breath. "Oh, okay." He'd been following along with Care of Magical Creatures using his book, but it had been difficult to really feel he was keeping up. Snape had agreed to have a few plants in his quarters from time to time so they could learn the practical aspects of Herbology, but he'd drawn the line at the kinds of dangerous creatures Hagrid liked to feature in the curriculum. Hermione's class notes had helped quite a bit, but Harry still thought there was nothing like the real thing.

He glanced a couple of times at his father as lunch progressed, but Snape was always looking at the Slytherin table. Looking for signs of trouble, looking out for Harry? Or maybe he was just worried about his students. He did care about them, Harry knew. He even cared about the ones about to make the same dreadful decision he'd once made.

Studying the Slytherin table himself for a minute, Harry decided they still looked despondent. Some of them were evidently too depressed to eat; about a third of the house was missing entirely. Maybe it would get better after the funeral? At this point Harry wasn't so sure about his plan to eat with them tomorrow.

He decided he'd let Care of Magical Creatures decide the matter for him. He had that class with the Slytherins. He'd sound them out, just a little bit, and see how it went.

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"'Arry!" Hagrid picked him up in a hug, lifting him off his feet in his enthusiasm.

"Good to see you, too," Harry said sincerely, though he poked at the half-giant's shoulder.

Hagrid let him down, but ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Tell him to be good," Seamus called out, and at the continued joke, half the Gryffindors convulsed with laughter.

"Ach, no need to tell our 'Arry that," said Hagrid, smiling ear to ear. His pleased expression faltered when he saw the Slytherins hanging back from the lesson. "What's this, 'ere?"

Harry's first thought was that the Slytherins were reluctant come near him. When he glanced their way, though, it seemed that maybe they were just tired out after walking to the Magical Creatures class. Not that it was that far, but they sure did look exhausted. Depression could do that to you, Harry knew.

"Hi," Harry said. It was probably a weak start, but since he normally didn't greet the Slytherins at all, nobody could claim he wasn't making an effort. Besides, he didn't really know what else to say. I'm sorry about Pansy wouldn't really be true, and they would know it.

As Crabbe and Goyle stiffened and Zabini actually clenched his fists, Harry braced himself for the worst.

The only Slytherin to so much as move, however, was Theodore Nott, who pushed his way to the front of the group and came slowly forward, looking Harry up and down as he approached. Beside Harry, Ron and Hermione both tensed, hands on wands. Harry had a sudden vision of having to explain to his father just why he had hexed someone on his first day back in class.

"Potter," Nott greeted him, coming to a halt an arm's length away. Even though he looked even more depressed and exhausted than his house mates, he still held himself in a way that reminded Harry slightly of Draco. Harry wondered then, if during Draco's long absence, Nott had become the leader of the sixth-year Slytherins.

"Nott." Harry nodded as he said it. He was civil, nothing more.

Theodore's gaze sought out Harry's crest, his voice quiet as he said, "Snape told us you were in Slytherin. I can't say I agree with seeing our house symbol polluted with a lion there--"

"Polluted!" Ron clenched his wand.

"Easy," Hermione murmured in a low whisper.

Theodore flicked a contemptuous glance towards them both, then returned his attention to Harry. "Welcome to Slytherin," he merely said, sounding strangely like he might mean it. Maybe that was just because his voice seemed so very tired, though.

Nott held out his hand, clearly waiting. Harry, not knowing what to do, went ahead and shook hands.

After Theodore stepped away, Harry glanced at his friends, mouthing Welcome?

Ron and Hermione only shrugged as if to say there was no explaining Slytherins.

"Don't let your guard down," Hermione whispered as Hagrid began the lesson.

Harry nodded to show that he understood. He kept an eye on Theodore and all the Slytherins as he listened to Hagrid begin a discussion of hydras. That was a bit alarming, though; surely Hagrid didn't have an actual hydra on hand? He suddenly thought it might not be so bad to learn Care of Magical Creatures out of books, after all.

Before the lesson could proceed to the practical, though, Theodore Nott suddenly let out an awful groaning noise. Harry had noticed him shifting restlessly on his feet, had seen him rubbing his hands up and down his arms more and more as the lesson had progressed, but he hadn't thought much of it. Now, however, the Slytherin boy's face was puce.

The other Slytherins backed away from him as Hagrid walked their way. The half-giant looked Nott over, shaking his head. "Best get yer ta see Madam Pomfrey, I'm thinkin'," he announced, his voice tinged with concern. "Yer got yerself some sort a rash, I 'spect."

By then, the boy's face, neck, and hands were all spotted. As Harry watched, the spots grew larger and bulged out, then began to ooze thick yellowish fluid streaked with black. Theodore swayed on his feet for a moment, then fell over backwards into the grass.

"Yer all dismissed," Hagrid said, scooping the boy up into his arms and striding off.

"Wonder what's wrong with him?" Hermione tilted her head to one side as she thought about it.

"You don't suppose he could have had an allergic reaction to shaking Harry's hand?"

"Don't be silly," Hermione told Ron in a chiding tone. "It was quite odd, though."

"It was," Harry said, wondering about it.

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Half the Slytherins were missing from dinner, and a rumour was going around that they weren't just depressed, they were actually sick. Two more students, seventh-years, were in the hospital wing with Theodore Nott, their symptoms the same as his. The others were apparently just feeling nauseous and having a lie-down, or so Harry heard.

"What do you think is going on?"

Hermione shrugged as she sprinkled a bit of pepper on her pumpkin soup. "Well, nobody seems to know quite what was wrong with those first Aurors who came in to investigate. Just that they got sick and had to be bundled straight off to St. Mungo's. Maybe they infected the Slytherins."

"They did spend more time with them than with anyone else," Ron said, nodding. "Yeah, that would work."

Harry stabbed at his fried chicken with his fork as he glanced at the empty chair up on the dais.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing."

Ron wasn't fooled. "You're homesick."

"Not exactly."

"Yeah, you are."

"No, it's not that." Harry shrugged. "I'm fine, but if Severus isn't here then I guess he's with Draco. And I'm wondering how Draco's holding up. I guess I'm a bit worried about him."

"Put me off my food, why don't you?"

"Ron, nothing could put you off your food," said Hermione, her voice crisp. "And as for Professor Snape, maybe he's brewing potions for Nott and the others."

"Pretty weird how Nott got sick right after shaking your hand," said Ron, chewing.

"He was sick before that if you took a good look at him."

"Oh, now you're taking good looks at Slytherins?"

"I'm trying to figure out how to fit into my new house."

Ron laughed. "Well, that's easy enough. Lie, cheat, and steal, not to mention kill--"

"Draco did not kill anyone!"

"I think he was speaking in general terms, Harry."

Harry didn't think so, but he wasn't going to argue about it. What he was going to do was his bit to help Draco. "I saw him take Veritaserum myself--"

"Snape-brewed though," Ron said with a glitter in his eyes.

"No, as a matter of fact, Ministry official. And I know it was real because he ended up saying things I know he doesn't want anyone to know. Personal things--"

"Like what?"

"Oh, be quiet, Ron," Hermione said, leaning closer. "And?"

Harry turned to look her straight in the eyes. It put his back to Ron, but he was a little irritated with Ron at the moment, so that was all right. "And they went over and over what happened, Hermione. They left no stone unturned, you know? And he didn't do it. Do you want to read the transcript? Severus would probably let me have a copy. But it would be nice if you'd just believe me."

Behind him, Ron laughed. "Well, you are wearing a snake on your robes these days, Harry--" When Harry rounded on him, though, the other boy put up his hands, widely splayed. "Joke, all right? Joke. You're awfully touchy."

"Do you believe me about the Veritaserum or not?"

Ron stared for a moment. "Well, I guess I don't really want to, that's the problem. I'd rather Draco Malfoy landed his snide Slytherin mouth, along with the rest of him, in Azkaban. But yeah, I believe you. So . . . all right."

When Harry turned back to face his plate, he saw Hermione nodding. "I believe you, too. And as for Malfoy . . . hmm. I can't forget what he said to me--"

"Oh, you just like to hear how clever you are."

Hermione glared at Ron, then continued. "But it's more than that. I was watching Malfoy all the time we were . . . uh, revising Defence down in the dungeons . . ."

Harry figured she meant when they were in Devon.

" . . .and, well look. I'd hate to be wrong about this, and when Ron and I popped down to see you and nobody answered, and then you came to the door looking, um, you know how you looked . . . "

Harry figured she meant his black eye.

" . . . and then we heard about the Owlery . . ."

"Hermione, get to the point!" Ron said, leaning over.

She grimaced. "I suppose I'd rather not, but here it is, then. Malfoy seemed like he was really trying to help you. He had good pointers and such when we were all practicing together. Don't get me wrong, Harry. I don't exactly think he's changed. But . . . well, he's not quite the same, either, is he?"

Ron started rolling his eyes. "If he's trying to help Harry with Defence, it's because he's hedging his bets in case his father gets his hands on him."

"I know," Harry admitted, shrugging. "I'm not going to tell you that he's perfect. But if you think about what you said, you'll see it means Draco is actually on our side, now."

Ron didn't reply to that. Neither did Hermione, but she looked like she was turning it over in her mind.

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After dinner, Harry thought of going down to the dungeons to see Draco, but he wasn't supposed to go alone and he thought he'd really rather give Ron and Hermione some time to think things over. Too bad he didn't have his invisibility cloak so he could sneak down . . . Snape had insisted Harry leave it at home. In fact, he'd announced that he would keep it safe and sound, which meant, of course, that Snape had squirreled it away in his office, or perhaps his bedroom.

That development hadn't thrilled Harry, but neither had it come as any great surprise. Snape didn't approve of Harry having a thing like that. Besides, Snape had said he wanted Harry to understand that he had help now, with anything.

Oh well, Harry thought. Even if he had the cloak he couldn't really use it, not for this. He might be able to get safely down to the dungeons, but once he got inside his father would be pretty upset he'd come without an escort. Of course Snape might not even be home at the moment. If he had the Marauder's Map he'd know. But that was another thing he'd had to leave behind. Evidence, Snape had explained. He and the headmaster were still investigating it, trying to figure out how it had been tricked.

So that was that. At least he still had his Firebolt, though of course he'd rethought the whole idea of Seeker. In the rush of excitement, that first night back in Gryffindor, he'd more or less forgotten that his vision problem pretty much ruled out Quidditch. Competitive Quidditch, at least. It would still be fun to play a pick-up game now and again, but he'd feel awful if Gryffindor lost because he couldn't see to the left properly.

So . . . it was time to clear that matter up. No sense in letting his house mates think he could play. "Ginny."

She looked up at him from across the common room, and smiled. Harry walked over to where she was. "How's the team doing? Good practices, all that?"

"Sure. But everybody's looking forward to having you back," she said, nibbling a bit at her lip.

Harry sat down next to her. "I'd love to play but . . . well, you've done almost the whole season, and you're brilliant, you know. I watched a couple of matches, and I think you mesh with the other players really well, and . . . well, I think I'd just as soon have you finish out the season. How's that sound?"

"Awful." Ginny looked at him with wide eyes. "I like playing but I knew I was just filling in for you, Harry. You're very nice, but honest, you don't have to worry about hurting my feelings. I'll go back to reserve Seeker. It's fine."

Well, there went that argument.

"Listen Ginny," Harry tried. "I feel like I have a lot to keep track of, just getting back into classes and all. Really, I'd rather you finish out the season for me. All right?"

Ginny stared at him and shook her head. "Not all right," she said in a louder voice. "I told them, Harry, I told them I wasn't taking your position away. It was just temporary." She suddenly laughed. "How can you say you don't want to finish the season? Honestly! You always had plenty of schoolwork before, and managed just fine! And besides, you'd only just got that ridiculous lifetime ban lifted when all this other stuff happened! You're just trying to do the right thing for me, I'm sure, but it's not necessary. I'm a big girl, I can handle being second string!"

He was trying to do the right thing for the team, but since he couldn't tell them all about his eye, they weren't going to believe that. Harry pressed his lips together, frustrated.

"You're just nervous because you've been off the team for so long?"

"Ginny . . . " Harry sighed. "I haven't even flown in forever. There's not a lot of room for it down in the dungeons. And . . ." He lowered his voice. "Well, look. I'm in Gryffindor and Slytherin both. This is a lot like taking sides, don't you think?"

Ginny looked taken aback at first, but then she lifted her shoulders. "Well, maybe. Honestly, Harry, I think Professor Snape would understand why you have to keep playing for Gryffindor. But you haven't been adopted very long, really, so if you'd rather not open that can of worms . . . I guess I can understand." Her expression darkened. "I don't know that Ron will, though."

Ron, of course, knew about his eye so Harry wasn't worried on that score.

"What am I supposed to tell everybody?" Ginny went on in an undertone. "You don't really want me to say it's to do with your dual houses, do you? That's bound to cause resentment."

"Yeah, just say . . ." It occurred to Harry that there might be a way to turn the situation to his advantage. "Just say my magic's a little unstable and that since I haven't flown in so long, you're the best Seeker Gryffindor could have."

Ginny blushed. "I'm not saying that!"

"Say that I said it, I meant."

"I'll tell them to ask you themselves."

"All right." That was probably better, anyway. More opportunity to spread the word about his magic.

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Herbology with the Hufflepuffs the next morning went fine. Nobody asked him to do Parseltongue magic and nobody needed to be taken to the hospital wing. Lunch went fine as well, though Harry couldn't help but notice that Snape wasn't there. Nor had he come to the Great Hall for breakfast. Well, half the Slytherins were still missing, so probably he was dealing with house matters.

Besides, Harry told himself, Potions was next. He would see his father in Potions. He wished he felt a little more upbeat about that, but as lunch drew to a close and it was time to go, he was nervous instead.

"It'll be all right," Neville murmured in his ear as they filed into the classroom.

Harry glanced around. Theodore Nott should be in the class, but he must still be ill. Some of the other Slytherins were absent as well. The ones who remained favoured Harry with cool, calculating glances . . . like they were trying to figure him out. In between looks, they just seemed tired, like all the Slytherins.

Snape was late, which didn't help Harry's anxiety any. Harry kept rearranging things on his workbench as he waited.

"Do you know what we're supposed to brew today?"

"Harry," Hermione said in exasperation, "that's the third time you've asked. No, I don't know."

"Sorry, just thought I could review the potion in my mind--"

"Mr Potter, if you could cease your chattering I do believe we might be able to begin class," was Snape's opening salvo as he finally entered the room, robes billowing out behind him.

Well, that was a bit snide but it hadn't been said in too dark a tone, so Harry just gave a definite nod. "Yes, sir."

From the large workbench at the front of the room, Snape swept his gaze over the assembled students. "As there are noticeably fewer Slytherins than Gryffindors present this afternoon, we will forego our practice of inter-house pairs." His glance settled on Harry for a moment. "I believe your current partners will do. Now, as you have no doubt realised already from our work this term, charmed potions are notoriously volatile. I repeat for the benefit of students who have missed a great deal of in-class instruction this year: you must follow directions exactly or certain disaster will ensue. I will not tolerate any first-year mistakes in N.E.W.T. level potions." He waved his wand at the board to make directions appear in his usual impossible-to-read scrawl.

It wasn't exactly business as usual --no Potter-specific insults as of yet-- but it was close enough to normal that Harry started to relax. He studied the board. "Magma Potion?"

"It boils over like lava when the final charm is applied," Hermione explained in an undertone as she set out the supplies they would need. "It's a defensive potion. Stable state until that last charm is applied in battle--"

"I know what it is!" Harry whispered. "I'm caught up on the readings! Well of course I am, think about where I've been living! I was just trying to read Snape's writing, for pity's sake--" A shadow suddenly loomed over him, and Harry had the awful feeling that the best thing he could do would be to swallow his tongue. "Um, Professor Snape, I mean," he said without glancing up.

The Potions Master moved on without comment. Or at least, without a comment to Harry. He had plenty to say to Neville, who had apparently chosen from the storeroom several rocks not nearly igneous enough, as Snape put it.

When Snape crossed the room toward the Slytherin half, Harry leaned over and spoke quietly against Hermione's ear. "What's an igneous rock?"

Still a bit miffed, she murmured, "I thought you said you did the readings."

"I did, I just don't remember every last thing."

"I'll go get the rocks." Hermione sighed.

After that, the brewing seemed to proceed without too much difficulty. Harry chopped while Hermione added ingredients and stirred, until Snape made a rather pointed remark about the inequitable distribution of labour amongst the Gryffindors. So Harry started taking his turn at stirring.

After over a solid hour of chop-add-stir, the potion was a smooth glossy blue-green, almost the shade of mermaid scales seen underwater, as the board indicated. Harry thought those directions were typically Snape. How many of the students had ever seen a mermaid underwater? Harry had, so he had an advantage, but he still thought Snape could have been a lot clearer about just what colour they should all be aiming for.

Regardless, he knew that the potion he'd made with Hermione was looking good. Snape of course, didn't comment on that. No, he had to go over to the Slytherins and give them points for what looked a lot more like swamp goo than mermaid scales. At least, it looked like that from across the room. Harry wasn't about to go over there to see.

"You'd better do the charms," Harry mentioned, as it was time to begin that phase of the brewing.

He'd forgotten about his father's phenomenal hearing.

"What did I just say about an inequitable distribution of labour, Mr Potter?" Snape inquired, the tone glacial as he glided over.

"Um, that if Gryffindors want the world to be fair they ought to start right here in Potions class, sir?" Harry made sure his voice was neutral.

"Indeed. And yet you were ignoring my clear instruction on the matter and once again burdening your more qualified house mate with your own portion of the work?" By the end, Snape was staring at him in a way that made shivers run up and down Harry's spine.

"Yes, sir," he murmured, wondering what his father thought he was doing. The attack was nothing like the vitriol Harry used to get in Potions class, of course, but since he hadn't expected an attack at all, he felt like he'd been cut adrift. And Snape was still just staring . . . like he was waiting for something.

Hermione evidently understood what the professor wanted. "Tell him," she said, poking Harry in the arm. "Harry, tell him why you can't charm the potion yourself!"

Something in Harry's mind clicked. Snape was a Slytherin, which meant he had schemes inside schemes. He wasn't just teaching Potions, or favouring his house in hopes of steering the students away from Voldemort waiting in the wings; he was using class time to advance another objective, as well.

"Professor, you know my magic's gone a bit wonky," Harry said, hating the slight whinging tone he used. It was effective, though. The Slytherins practically perked up their ears, despite the way they were all drooping with exhaustion. "You saw how many spells of mine went 'round in circles as the magic was coming back. And so with what you said about these potions being so volatile . . ."

Snape gave him a hard glare, but that was for the class. "Very well, carry on then."

"Yes, sir," breathed Harry with relief.

He was just getting back to work when pandemonium broke out. Almost en masse, the few Slytherins present began to groan, and then their hands and faces turned puce and began to spot over with those same horrible lesions Theodore Nott had sprouted during Magical Creatures class.

"Oh Merlin, not more," Harry heard Snape mutter under his breath. "Up to the hospital wing, all of you!"

But just as with Theodore, once the spots began to sprout, matters went from bad to worse. In no time at all Slytherins were passing out left and right, knocking over cauldrons as they slumped.

"Mobilicorpus," Snape said, using a single spell to lift up all of the downed students. "As all your potions are in a stable state prior to charm application, we'll continue on Friday. See to it that they are bottled correctly for short-term storage; it should not be beyond the capabilities of a sixth-year. Potter, Granger, Weasley, you three clean up this lot after your potions are put away." He gave a vague wave toward the green potion oozing in various places on the floor. "Class dismissed."

And with that, the Potions Master was on his way to the hospital wing with his sick students. Most of the other Gryffindors quickly bottled up their potions, and left grinning, Seamus calling back in a sing-song voice, "Be good, now!"

"Can't I go to a normal class?" Harry groaned as he got his wand out to try a series of Evanescos. Neville was hanging back, so Harry made sure his cleaning charms only did away with about half of each gloppy mess.

"Oh, let me," Hermione said with a sigh. In no time at all the classroom was spotless.

"Well, at least we have some free time before dinner," Ron said. "What do you want to do, go out flying a bit?"

"Um . . . did you talk to Ginny, by any chance?"

"Yeah, earlier. Team roster stuff. I get it, Harry. I know why you can't be playing Quidditch just now. I'd think you'd still like to take the old Firebolt out for a spin, see how you feel on it, all that."

"Why can't Harry be playing Quidditch?" asked Neville from behind them.

"Oh. Out of practice and the old magic's just not what it used to be." Harry shrugged. "But a spot of flying before dinner sounds fun, actually. And then . . . well, listen. I'm in Slytherin now too. So I thought I'd go sit with them for dinner, see how it goes. Nott wasn't too horrible, remember? Not that I trust him, but . . ." None of his friends said anything. "Don't get angry over the idea."

"I'm worried, not angry," Hermione said in a chiding tone. "We can't really go sit there. I mean, in theory you could invite us but I think it would cause a row, which is the last thing you need. And . . . well, what Nott did in class was sort of . . . interesting, but the house as a whole seems awfully hostile. Plus, Snape won't be there to keep them in line, not with all those students having just taken ill."

"And you've only just got back to Gryffindor," Ron complained.

It was Neville, however, who offered the sagest comment of all. "The way things are going, there might not be any Slytherins there for dinner, Harry."

And sure enough, there weren't.

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"Epidemic," Luna was saying at the entrance to the Great Hall. "I took a peek in the hospital wing earlier. Filled to the brim, all of them dead to the world and covered in boils and sores. I heard the first three to come down with it actually have pustules or something on the inside, too. Not a single Slytherin has escaped the plague, but those three are the worst. There are so many sick that Madam Pomfrey has taken over several extra rooms and called in extra staff from St. Mungo's, but nobody yet knows what's wrong. I owled my father so he could have an exclusive--"

"Not a single Slytherin?" Harry said, a horrible thought clenching his stomach. He turned to Ron and Hermione. "You have to come down with me to the dungeons, now. What if Draco's sick? Nobody would know!" He glanced toward the head table, but as Hermione had predicted, Snape was missing. Harry somehow doubted he was eating at home this evening. "Come on!"

Ron looked longingly over his shoulder toward the tables already laden with food, but then sighed. "All right," he said, and began to trudge alongside of Harry. Hermione didn't comment, not on any of it.

Harry made short work of convincing the stone wall to let him in, then rushed inside. "Draco!"

The Slytherin boy looked up from the couch where he was flipping through a Quidditch magazine. "What?"

"You're all right?"

Draco's eyebrows drew together. "Apparently."

"You don't feel tired or faint? No itching on your arms, your face?"

"No. What's your problem?" Draco glanced to the side as the door thudded closed. His expression darkened slightly even as his perfect manners went on display. "Hallo there. Thanks for bringing Harry by."

"We didn't have much choice," said Hermione as she helped herself to a seat. Ron followed suit; only Harry was left standing.

"What's all this about my health?"

Harry sighed. "Something funny is going on--"

"Slytherins are dropping like flies," Ron interrupted.

Hermione gave him a critical look and then briefly explained what they'd seen in classes and heard from Luna.

"Strange it's only the Slytherins," Draco said, his brow furrowing. "I take it Severus is assisting up in the hospital wing? You know, he's seemed distracted ever since you left, Harry." The Slytherin boy suddenly swallowed, his face almost looking like it was cast into shadows. "I thought it was the funeral coming up, actually." With a shake of his head, Draco reverted to his bored façade, though again, his hands were shoved deep into his pocket so nobody would know what effort his self-possession was costing him. "If all these students have fallen ill, though? If it started yesterday? I'm sure he's very busy with that and the funeral both."

"The funeral." The implications leapt out at Harry. "Unless the sick students get better awfully fast, there's going to be nobody to attend. I mean, I think the Parkinsons were only allowing Slytherins."

"Sounds like the Parkinsons, all right." Draco wilted a bit, his rigid control weakening. Harry wished he could do something to help. "I'm not invited, Slytherin or no. But Severus said it'll be on the east lawn at noon tomorrow, and I thought that maybe . . ." Almost as if realizing he was rambling, Draco suddenly gritted his teeth and came to the point. "Harry, could you ask your friends to step out for a moment?"

What a question. Harry almost wished he could comply, but it didn't seem a good idea to start any new intrigues. "Draco, we all need to be getting along better, I think. That won't help, not at all. Don't you see?"

Draco considered that and gave a jerky nod. For a long moment, Harry was sure the other boy wouldn't speak at all, but then he finally admitted what was on his mind. "Fine, let them hear. What do I care? I just wondered if you might lend me your invisibility cloak so I could . . ." He cleared his throat. "Go to her funeral?"

Harry knew how he felt. He'd had the same idea back when Aunt Petunia had died and he'd been told he couldn't attend the services. Snape had said no then . . . and now, Harry could understand the reasons why.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, sitting down across from Draco, ignoring the intense way Hermione was studying the entire scene. Ignoring, even, the rather cynical look in Ron's eyes. "Severus took it away, and he's not going to let me borrow it just because I ask. He never did like me having it. And . . . well, now that I think about it, he was probably intending to keep you away from the funeral when he took it."

"I know all that," Draco said with a touch of impatience. "But you could get it, I'm sure. Your magic's amazing now--"

"Harry," Hermione said in a warning tone.

Harry waved a hand to tell her to let him handle it, then spoke to Draco. "I'm not doing wanded magic to break through my father's wards, not unless it's a life-and-death situation. And besides, if you get caught lurking around the funeral, it's just going to raise more questions about you and Pansy. That's no good."

"I know," Draco said again. "I had to ask. I didn't think you'd agree, especially not in front of your friends there. So, that's it then. Fine, whatever. I think I'll just go lie down for a bit."

"I thought you weren't tired?"

"Now I am." Draco wandered off with a lost, hurt air that really didn't suit him, and closed the bedroom door with a click.

Harry leaned back, frowning, wishing he'd handled that better.

"You think he's coming down with the Slytherin plague?" Hermione asked, staring at the closed door. "That was . . . well, a bit odd. Not like Malfoy."

"He's just really depressed."

"If you say poor thing I'll sick up. Just warning you." Harry and Hermione both gave Ron a disgusted look. "What?"

Harry didn't want to argue about it, so he said nothing.

"Let's just go," Hermione said, standing up and walking to the door. Ron jumped up too.

"You two go. I think I'll wait here for Severus, see how he's doing." And see what he can tell me about these sick Slytherins. When his friends looked a bit doubtful, Harry went on, "Really. Severus can walk me back, and if he doesn't come by morning, I'll sleep over and you two drop by before breakfast to get me, all right?"

They didn't want to agree; Harry could tell. But eventually they did.

After Harry saw them out, he went into the bedroom to talk to Draco.

The Slytherin boy was sitting on his bed, cross legged, staring into space.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you," Harry said, shoving aside the curtains so he could sit on his own bed. "I just . . . it's a bad idea, all around."

Draco shot him an irritated glance. "Stop apologising. Makes you sound like a sodding Hufflepuff."

Well, at least that was more like his usual personality.

"Granger's wrong for once," Draco suddenly said, his silver eyes narrowing. "Every Slytherin hasn't been infected with this plague, or whatever. You and I are fine."

"Well, we didn't see those first Aurors who got sick, so maybe that's why; they brought it to Hogwarts, I guess."

"Oh, guess again, Potter. That's ridiculous. Severus saw them. Apparently he's fine. And I'm sure they talked to students from other houses even if they did concentrate on Slytherin. Besides, these symptoms . . . the whole thing sounds more like a curse than a disease, to me. A dark curse, and believe me, I would know. You see a lot growing up where I did."

"Who would curse the entire house of Slytherin?"

Another irritated glance, as if he really should have figured it out by now. "Pansy. Who else? On her way down. Accidental magic. Wild magic, even, considering the amount of pure screaming . . . fear she must have felt." Draco sucked in a harsh breath, pressing his lips together as if to calm a rebellious stomach. Then he continued, his voice more controlled. "But she didn't curse me. Because she loved me. And you and Severus were helping me, she knew. And you were going to help her, too. We talked about it, all of it, in that closet. And . . ." Draco closed his eyes. "In the end, when she knew she didn't have any time left at all . . . she cursed all Slytherin but kept me safe. And I can't even go to her funeral to tell her that I understand."

Draco kicked off his shoes and abruptly lay down on his side, facing the wall. When Harry made a restless motion, the other boy said, "Go away now. Just . . . I don't want to talk about it, Harry. Just . . . just go away."

Harry hesitated, but then he did as his brother had asked, and went to wait in the living room for Snape.