That evening, Harry gained admittance to the headmistress’ office. His book bag weighted down his shoulder, full of his assigned and self-purchased alternative texts. It thuded when he set it on the floor beside the visitor’s chair. As he sat down, McGonagall waved the straight-backed old thing into an overstuffed armchair. Harry settled in comfortably and sighed.

“Are you sure you have time for this, Professor?” he asked in concern.

“Tea?” she asked, rather than reply. At his nod, she tapped the teapot and it poured out two cups. As she handed one over, she said, “One of your most endearing qualities, Harry, is that you have never asked for, nor expected anything in return for eliminating Voldemort.” She smiled affectionately at him. “I will never forget the day after, when you insisted that you couldn’t read your post because you had assignments to finish.”

Harry sipped his tea and wondered what she had expected. His furrowed brow must have given him away.

“As opposed to,” she explained, even more amused, “insisting on, say, a week off from your studies. Or even a year, frankly.”

It was true that he had not thought of that. Too late to ask for a pass on his N.E.W.T.s probably too, he thought. He shrugged instead of responding.

She took her chair and with bright eyes shook her head lightly. “You saved so many students’ lives, Harry. And many of ours, as well. Most of us would have traded anything for that, and yet you never asked.” She put her teacup down and refilled it. “I am glad Albus insisted on giving you something anyway, although how he ever managed to arrange it is beyond me.”

Harry sort of considered that to be between him and Snape, so he didn’t respond.

She sipped her fresh cup with pleasure. “I promised you that I would see you through your N.E.W.T.s so that you could gain admittance to the Auror’s program, and I intend to follow through with that. Now, where shall we begin? What was the last assignment you had difficulty with?”

“Protasmic Elastic Transformations,” Harry stated slowly, as though the words themselves were hazardous.

“It was just a special form of Elastic, which we covered in fifth year,” she offered in a helpful tone. His face must have given him away, because her tone dropped as she said, “You didn’t understand it then, either.”

Reluctantly, Harry shook his head. “And it didn’t make more sense the second time around, last week.”

In a commiserating tone she said, “That can happen at this level of coursework. You fall a little behind and it escalates until everything is simply too remote to grasp any longer.”

Harry nodded and dropped his gaze. “And I feel daft when I don’t even know what to ask to get another explanation. I’m afraid I’m just going to waste your time here.”

“Oh, my dear Harry,” she said with pained affection. “Goodness, imagine my class of all things making you feel less than worthy.” She stood up with a rustle of her robes and came around the desk. She stood before him and said, “In the forty years I have been at this school, you are the student who has amazed me the most. You have already passed the most important test of your life—the rest of this is just so many small details. And I will get you through them.”

Exhausted and with a History of Magic essay unfinished, Harry made his way back to the common room. Hermione, Ginny, Dean, and Ron where studying in the corner. The new students were not around.

“That took a while,” Ron said upon seeing him.

“Tell me about it,” Harry breathed as he plunked down in a nearby seat. He rubbed his eyes as he pulled out his half-filled essay parchment. It felt like torture to have to complete it, but he had no choice. “How did Ani go tonight?”

“No one made much progress,” Hermione whispered. “We read one of the Animagical chapters aloud and discussed it, mostly. What do you think of the visiting students?”

“They’re all right,” Harry answered as he reread the first part of his essay titled History of Laws Applying to Trolls and Giants. He remembered Binns discussing something about them being only allowed to carry weapons that were all wood with no charms. He had not mentioned that yet.

“Just all right?” Hermione asked brightly.

Harry shrugged and pulled out his notes.

“Penelope is very pretty,” Hermione went on.

Ginny asked, “Does she use something on her face at night? She has the nicest skin.”

“I haven’t noticed. You could ask her, I’m sure,” Hermione said chummily.

Harry was writing fast now, desperate to finish. Hermione went back to her studies as well.

During Care of Magical Creatures the next day, Hagrid pulled out the Blue Wombats. They had mated, apparently because there were nearly a dozen small blue creatures which even Harry had to admit were very cute as they slept in their wooden crates. The girls were ohing excessively as they gathered around, their winter cloaks brushing together noisily.

“Yer going ter be assigned one teh take care o’ until the end of term. So find a partner,” Hagrid instructed. “Nah, tha’ won’ do,” he said as they chose their normal partners. “Split up a bit and take one o’ the Durmstrang students, each a yers.”

Hermione bit her lip and hauled Ron over to where the six Durmstrang students in this class were gathered. “Ron, why don’t you partner with Opus?” she suggested brightly.

Ron opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by Hermione saying. “Frina, do you want to be my partner?”

“Everyone says you are the smartest in the school…” Frina said, sounding eager.

“Great,” Hermione said.

Harry wandered over at that moment.

“Do you haf a partner?” Penelope asked him, making Hermione bite her bottom lip very hard.

Harry shrugged and said, “No.”

“Vould you mind?”

Hagrid came by with small crates lined with shredded Prophets and Witch Weeklies.

“That’d be fine,” Harry replied levelly.

Hagrid handed him a crate, and with one of his massive hands, lifted out a small blue ball of fur. Harry accepted it and placed it in the bedding. It curled up tighter and ignored them all.

“What magical properties do these things have?” Harry asked as another was scooped out for Hermione. He watched with trepidation as Malfoy took one out of the big crate and handed it to Parkinson.

“Oh, ye’ll find ou’ soon enough,” their teacher said happily.

Harry froze.

Hermione giggled and leaned over to say, “They aren’t dangerous, Harry.”

“That’s no fun,” Frina complained, as she prodded theirs gently with her index finger. Her hair turned blue and everyone gasped. A few laughed. “What?” she asked curiously.

Harry heard Parkinson’s annoying laugh and looked over at Malfoy whose blond mop had gone to the sapphire. Frina turned as well and her hand immediately went to her own head.

“Aye,” she breathed.

Penelope doubled over in laughter, her delicate fingers half over her mouth. She had a much nicer laugh than Pansy.

After dinner, they trooped up to the attic to check on their wombats. Each pair’s crate sat on the floor along one eave, charmed to prevent anyone else from opening it or even disturbing it. Harry stood aside and let Penelope open the crate. The small blue fur ball was absolutely still. She peered at it with a tilted head.

“You don’t think it likes to be touched?” Penelope asked.

“Hermione?” Harry deferred.

“I don’t know. The books referring to magical wombats have all been removed from the library.” She sounded insulted. “I tried to look up more information but no luck. I think this assignment is about the process of figuring it out for ourselves.”

She and Frina stared down at theirs as well.

“Do you think it’s hungry?” Ron asked.

Ron’s and Opus’ crate sat two down from Hermione’s. Ron stepped over to the supplies area where fresh bedding, dog’s milk, dried blue corn, and a large mortar and pestle sat on an old heavy table. Hermione joined him and the two of them mixed up a bottle with two tablespoons of ground corn as they had been instructed. Ron shook it as he took it back over to the crate and tried to get the wombat to accept it.

Opus crouched across from him. “You not ever live on farm?”

“No,” Ron replied, sounding as Malfoy might if asked the same question.

Opus took the bottle and with practiced motions, used his finger to get the wombat interested in it. It sucked eagerly at it after that. His hair didn’t even change color.

“Wow,” Penelope said. “It did not look hungry.”

Ron looked proudly at his impromptu partner and gave Hermione a grin. The rest of them, with some instruction from Opus, gave all three of theirs bottles. After long minutes when they stopped drinking, they wouldn’t give them up again.

Harry shrugged and said, “Just leave it inside, I guess,” as he picked up the lid and set it in place. He added an additional locking spell to their crate, just in case.

That night, Harry awoke with a start. He couldn’t remember a dream or a shadow, so he was not sure why he was awake. He had been sleeping pretty well lately, so he was a little annoyed to be wide awake at three in the morning. As he lay on his back, staring into the darkness, he started worrying about their wombat. Maybe they should not have left the bottle in the crate all this time, he thought. Although, what was the worst that could happen?

With a huff he rolled over and punched his pillow to fluff it, but he was now even more awake. Silently, he slid out of bed and down to his trunk. It had been a long time since he had taken out the Marauder’s Map to actually use it for its intended purpose. With his invisibility cloak and the Map, he crept out of the room.

The walk to the attic proved rather pleasant. The castle was dark and silent and he felt old comfort in its corridors and halls.

Once in the attic, he turned up the oil lamp dangling from the ceiling. The crates in this light resembled coffins, which disturbed him. He stepped down to his, released the spells and lifted the lid before promptly dropping it and jumping back in horrified surprise. Instead of a cute, fuzzy, blue, bear-like thing, there was an oddly monkey-like, blue, winged bat.

As Harry crouched beside the crate, catching his breath, it moved its dark skin-covered wing to shade its fox-like head from the light. Harry’s panic eased and he leaned over the crate to take a better look. The bottle was still there, about half-full. He really needed to take it out; it almost certainly had gone sour. Because the chimneys ran up through the room, the attic was warm all the time, which would certainly have spoiled the milk. Bracing himself and wincing, he reached in with two fingers and plucked the bottle out without disturbing the occupant of the crate. He exhaled in relief and sat back to think. He and his partner now knew something none of the other groups knew, but what did it mean?

Harry decided that he needed to know what kind of bat it was. With the cloak and Map he nipped down to the library and brought back a book on flying mammals. Other than being blue, it looked an awful lot like a Livingstones fruit bat, which according to the entry could have a wingspan of six feet. Harry tried hard to imagine that and failed. This one was a lot smaller, but then it also was young.

Harry headed down the kitchens on a hunch and had Dobby put together a basket of fruit, including lots of blueberries, which he took back to the attic. He had left the crate open and had a bad moment before he found his bat hanging from the rafter above its crate. It blinked at him, turning its head this way and that to look him over. Harry dimmed the lamp and offered it different fruit, one kind at a time. It expressed some interest in the blueberries, but mostly it just dropped them on the floor. The orange it took up eagerly when Harry handed it a slice. Using the hooks on the bend in its wings as hands it quickly chewed down the wedge, sucking at the juice before dropping the remains. Harry gave it another.

The creature ate three-quarters of an entire orange before refusing the next slice. Harry tossed the peel and masticated wedges back in the basket along with every last stray blueberry. Lastly, he needed to put the wombat-bat back away. He looked at the crate in thought before emptying the bedding and putting just a little in one end. It took a little awkward coaxing but eventually he got the bat to hang on the inside of the crate, which he placed on the floor on its end before attaching the lid. He put on extra protective spells and took the basket away.

Yawning, Harry went down to breakfast. He intentionally sat across from Penelope, who gave him a casual good morning.

“We should check our wombats before class, so eat fast,” Harry said and then winked at Penelope.

She blinked at him in surprise before returning to her plate with a befuddled air.

In the attic Harry moved in first to reset the crate before anyone saw it, then stalled a bit to let the others get involved in their wombats, changing bedding and bottles. Penelope gave him a concerned look as Harry held the lid just cracked and waited until no one was watching. He put his finger to his lips as he opened it.

Inside wasn’t what he was expecting either. Penelope almost gasped, but clamped it off. Inside was a much larger wombat, one with orange tiger stripes. Harry nodded to the corner where spare crates were kept. Penelope went over and picked out a larger one, filled it with bedding and brought it back. Using his body to block the view, Harry moved the sleeping form from one to the other before covering the new one. In rapid, covert silence, they put together a bottle and gave it to the creature before re-closing the lid.

“I have to recheck my essay before class,” Harry announced.

Hermione made a noise of acknowledgment as she and Frina tried to get their wombat to take a bottle. Theirs and Ron’s were exactly the same as they’d been the day before. With a wag of his eyebrows at Penelope, Harry left. After a moment, Penelope followed, saying a quick goodbye to her friends.

“What did you do?” she asked when they were on the stairs.

“It was kind of an accident. Not a bad one,” he said quickly. “Last night I couldn’t sleep so I came up to check on it and…” he waited for a cluster of third-years to pass, several of whom said hello to Harry. “…you wouldn’t believe what I found.” He patted his chest at the memory of his racing heart.

“Vat?” she whispered eagerly, accent thickening.

They were at the portrait hole and waited as students came out of it.

“I have to get my books for class,” Harry said as they stepped through.

The common room had a few mingling students in it.

“Come up to the boy’s dormitory,” he said, thinking they could talk freely since it would be empty.

She appeared shocked.

“Or…not,” Harry retracted, a little amused. “Boy’s can’t go up the girl’s staircase, but the reverse doesn’t apply. A bit suspicious, I think. We can talk after classes then. We’ll find someplace,” he said dismissively and started up.

“Zis is really okay?” she asked uncertainly from the base of the stairs.

“Hermione has to come up all the time to get Ron moving some mornings.”

With a glance at the other students in the room, who weren’t paying any attention, she followed. Harry then hoped the room wasn’t a total sty. He opened the first door and stepped in. It wasn’t as bad as it could be.

She looked all around curiously, especially at Dean’s football posters. “Dis is a Muggle poster.”

“Dean is Muggle-born,” Harry explained offhandedly as he tossed a pair of Neville’s socks onto his closed trunk lid.

“Both of his parents?” she asked in surprise.

“Far as I know. Hermione’s the same.”

That surprised her even more. She stepped around the ends of the beds. “And this one is yours?” she asked. Her eyes moved avidly over the stuff on the night stand, the poster on the wall. “Do you play Quidditch?”

“Seeker.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “You are too tall.”

“I didn’t used to be. No one told me to change positions for this year.”

“No, I don’t suppose dey would,” she said. Beside he and Ron’s shared window, Ron had pinned up a few Daily Prophet articles regarding the final battle. She leaned over to look at the photo of him in the Entrance Hall. “It is the same picture as your chocolate frog card.”

Harry could barely stand to look at that picture now. “Blue wombats,” he said to draw her away. When she turned with a curious look, he said, “What I found last night at three in the morning was a real bat in our crate. What looked like a Livingstones fruit bat, except blue.”

“Hm,” she said. “Guess you couldn’t come and tell me so I could see.”

He shook his head. “On a hunch I went to the kitchens and brought back fruit for it. It ate most of an orange, hence the stripes, I think. And it’s phenomenal growth, too, I suppose.”

“Wow. We should check again tonight. Three a.m. vee meet in the common room?”

“Sure. We have to get to Potions, as much as I hate saying that.”

He turned to check the contents of his book bag sitting beside the bed. Penelope headed out on her own. When she was gone, he unrolled the Auror’s application that was slowly being crushed in the side pocket. He rolled it back up and stuffed it in the drawer of the bedside stand.

Harry and Penelope met up with the rest of their friends in the Entrance Hall and headed down to the dungeon together.

“Not your favorite?” Penelope asked Harry as she, Hermione, and Frina sat at a bench. Greer wasn’t there yet but they were a little early.

“It never has been,” Hermione said consolingly. “Though I don’t know what Professor Greer has against you, Harry.”

“I think I do,” Harry said, remembering lunch the first day she arrived.

“You guys just didn’t hit it off.” Hermione commented.

“And we won’t ever. She tried to get Severus fired,” Harry said quietly.

“You didn’t tell us that,” Hermione said in a blameful tone.

“You are referring to Professor Snape?” Frina asked in confusion. “You refer to your teachers by first name?” she asked in horror.

Harry shrugged. “The headmistress keeps telling me to call her ‘Minerva’.”

Hermione said, “Harry’s special,” with a broad grin. “And after the years of suffering in Snape’s Potion class, he deserves it.”

“Professor Snape used to teach Potions?” Penelope asked.

“Yep,” Harry replied. “In fact he graded your school’s O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations this past year.”

“Did he?” Hermione asked with keen interest.

Harry nodded in confirmation.

“It is too bad he cannot teach both,” Frina said stoutly. “I like Professor Snape. He treats girls and boys the same.”

Penelope gave her friend a distressed look.

“There’s a reason to like him,” Hermione quipped, garnering a difficult look from Harry.

Greer stomped in at that moment and conversation stopped.

By the end of double Potions, Penelope and Frina were very concerned.

In the corridor on the way out, with Darsha trailing behind, Penelope said, “She is completly unfair to you.”

Harry shrugged it off. “I have too many other things to worry about. And my N.E.W.T. grade is all that matters.”

“I hope she grades us fairly,” Frina said worriedly. “What do you think?” she asked Darsha.

“I liked the lecture,” she replied. “Her pomposity does not matter.” She gave Harry a measuring look when their eyes met. He ignored it.

“Bring her a present or something. Get on her good side,” Harry suggested.

“Good idea,” Hermione confirmed.

“We will do that at lunch,” Frina said. “We have a few things we brought to give as presents, but your headmistress did not expect any so we still have them.”

Late that night, Harry went down to the common room without his cloak or Map. Penelope was waiting before the fire. He stepped over, making her jump.

“Sorry,” Harry said.

She patted her chest and caught her breath. “I didn’t hear you.” She stood up and hooked on her cloak. Harry thought she looked a little sad.

Outside the portrait hole, he asked, “Are you glad you came to Hogwarts?”

“Very. Durmstrang lost many staff last year, so even zee end of last year’s classes were cancelled or not taught well. You were very lucky here. In one way,” she added quickly. “I keep forgetting who I am conversing with,” she said, half to herself. As they rounded the first corner, she said, “You are not at all as one would expect you to be.”

“No?” Harry prompted. He wasn’t sure he wanted to cover this topic, but he was a little curious what she meant.

She thought a moment. “You are not as…grand, I suppose is the word. Quieter zan I would have expected.”

“Keeping low was important for staying alive,” Harry pointed out.

“Very true,” she agreed quietly.

Harry sensed there was something there but didn’t feel he could pry at it.

Up in the attic they opened the crate and found the same striped wombat as before, although it looked a little bigger than this afternoon.

“It is too cute to not pet,” she said, reaching into the box to touch it on the head. Her long black hair turned blue striped with orange. She pulled her hair around and examined it with her other hand. “Hah,” she breathed, but continued to pat the creature on the head.

“If your skin changes, maybe you should stop,” Harry suggested in concern, taking a seat on the floor nearby.

Silence descended for many minutes, until Penelope said in an odd voice that sounded closed in by the low attic, “What was it like, destroying Voldemort?”

Harry tilted his head to the side and did not reply. He noticed the strips in her hair oscillating a bit when she spoke.

“You did kill him, correct? That is not just a story?” she asked stiffly.

“Oh, yes,” Harry said. “I had a little help, of course. My friends kept his followers at bay long enough for me to do it.”

She shook her head. “De news reporters said you were fulfilling zome prophecy. Is that why you were trying? Otherwise you were insane to try. You don’t look like someone who could defeat such a powerful wizard.”

“It was insane,” Harry admitted, feeling the honesty of that relaxing him. “I’m amazed I succeeded when I think back on it. But I couldn’t not try. He was there to kill me.”

She lifted the wombat out and cradled it on her arm. Harry held his breath, afraid something bad might happen. It seemed to be asleep.

“Don’t move much, do they,” Harry observed.

“I think it is a lovely thing. Like a baby bear.” She held her hand out to check it for color. Seeing it normal she petted the wombat more. “Were you taking revenge when you killed him?” she asked.

Harry looked her over. He couldn’t shake the notion that she sounded hopeful. Her hair definitely rippled that time.

“No. I would have died had I been.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to explain.”

She looked up. “I’m sorry. I’m too curious. It is easy to talk to you, which is very strange. You are so ordinary.”

Harry grinned at that. He stood up and with a sigh, said, “I’d like to be.”

He went to the supplies table and put together two bottles. He had kept an orange from breakfast in his pocket.

“I want to try something,” Harry said. He squeezed the orange into one of the bottles and brought them both over. She lifted the wombat to put it back in the crate. It clung to her robes with a kind of desperation.

Harry reached over and unhooked its broad claws so she could put it down. It pawed the bedding when she released it.

“It wants zomething to hold on to,” she said, sounding very concerned. She stood up and took off her cloak.

As she wrapped it into a tight bundle, Harry said, “You’re going to use that?”

“I zink it will like de fur collar.” She put a few charms on it to keep it clean and untorn and stuffed it beside the wombat, down into the bedding. The creature grabbed the furry side and pulled itself over to it. “Zeems to like it.” She looked up at him. “Harry?”

Harry had fallen into a trancelike state of memory. “Don’t mind me,” he said quietly, mentally shaking himself. He saw the bottles he had set beside the crate and picked up the orange-tinted one. “I want to see if it still wants some fruit.” The two of them coaxed it to take the bottle and it happily went to it. “I assume it wouldn’t eat it if it shouldn’t,” Harry said. “You think?” he asked her.

She lifted a shoulder. “Probably would just annoy it to zwitch back and forth to test.”

By silent consensus they closed the lid again and left it there.