INITIATE

Table of contents

Chapter 1 - Family and friends.........................1

Chapter 2 - New names...................................44
Chapter 3 - Keira and the kettle.....................87
Chapter 4 - The break-in...............................134
Chapter 5 - A place to belong........................180
Chapter 6 - Aboard the Hogwarts Express..214
Chapter 7 - The Professor’s intervention.....253
Chapter 8 - Sorting things out......................293
Chapter 9 - A proper welcome.......................351
Chapter 10 - Slytherin and Gryffindor.........395
Chapter 11 - Helpless, hindered, hero..........445
Chapter 12 - Time to talk.............................481
Chapter 13 - Lion-hearted............................519
Chapter 14 - Help from the Headmaster.....560
Chapter 15 - Zabini and Benson...................598
Chapter 16 - Midnight madness...................633
Chapter 17 - The Marauders.........................674
Chapter 18 - Talks among friends................710
Chapter 19 - Fight and flight........................743
Chapter 20 - Harry and Higgs.......................781
Chapter 21 - Denial and desire.....................816
Chapter 22 - Forewarned is forearmed........860
Chapter 23 - Answers and avoidance...........890
Chapter 24 - Housemates..............................929
Chapter 25 - Cloak and cub..........................968
Chapter 26 - The dragon.............................1005
Chapter 27 - A letter to Charlie..................1037
Chapter 28 - The best laid plans................1075
Chapter 29 - A night gone wrong................1156
Chapter 30 - A memorable morning...........1184
Chapter 31 - King and Croaker..................1218
Chapter 32 - Aches and pains.....................1260
Chapter 33 - News in the night..................1300
Chapter 34 - Passing through.....................1332
Chapter 35 - The boy with two names........1396
Chapter 36 - The patients............................1441
Chapter 37 - The cost of freedom....................1477
Chapter 1:
Family and friends

“With the Animagus thing, how will I know

when I’ve got the right incantation?”

Sirius, who was dozing in an armchair in

the library, snorted and pushed himself
upright, trying to pretend he’d been awake
the whole time. He yawned massively, and
was rewarded by a snigger, and then an
impatient shuffle of papers.

“You’ll change,” he muttered, and forced

-1-
his eyes open. A bookcase was the only
thing in his immediate line of sight, but
warm, pinkish light was flooding in from
the window; the sun was rising.

“That’s not very helpful,” Harry said from

the floor, where he was curled up with his
worn piece of parchment – Sirius thought
he ought to rewrite the parts he was keep-
ing – and several large books, including
the storage book Dora’d bought him for
Christmas.

“What?” Sirius asked, rubbing his face.

Harry sniggered again, and Sirius got a
whiff of ink, probably from the inkwell on
the carpet with Harry, and also the strong,
mouth-watering scent of bacon; breakfast
obviously wasn’t far away. “Ah, sorry.
What’ve you got?”

Harry got up and came to perch on the

-2-
arm of the chair for all of three seconds;
then he slid down the side, until he was
wedged between Sirius and the arm. Sir-
ius moved over as much as he could, but
Harry was still half sitting on him, so he
just rearranged his arms into the most
comfortable position he could, and looked
over the parchment Harry had given him.

My fur is as dark as the night but (some-

thing about the moon?). I like belong to
my pack and we’re have the same moods
happy and sad at the same time together.
I am the wolf born of stag and doe.

Sirius hadn’t seen it for quite some time,

and was impressed with Harry’s prog-
ress. He read it a few more times, gather-
ing ideas – mainly he thought about the
sort of things that had worked for himself,
James and Peter when they created their
incantations. The moon was something

-3-
very appropriate to mention in an spell in-
volving a wolf, and Sirius spent a moment
wondering whether Harry’d come up with
that on his own, or whether Remus had
suggested it; he was leaning more toward
the former.

“I don’t know what to do about the moon

part,” Sirius said slowly, thinking. He tick-
led Harry’s ear with the quill, and Harry
squirmed and almost threw himself off the
armchair in an attempt to get away. Sirius
subsided, though, before he had to resort
to such extreme measures. Harry eyed the
quill warily but then resettled himself. “I
like the pack part, but it could be reword-
ed... maybe something about it being an
adoptive family... I mean, we’re family-”
Of that, Sirius had no doubt, and he didn’t
think Harry did either. “-but we’re only
distantly related by blood, and you and
Moony aren’t really related at all-”

-4-
“My pack adopted me?” Harry suggested.

“We all sort of adopted each other,” Siri-

us said, smiling to himself, as he became
very aware of the dogtags hanging around
his neck. “Maybe ‘my pack is chosen and
they are mine and I am theirs’?”

“My pack is chosen carefully,” Harry

amended, thoughtfully. “Otherwise – if
he’d had his way - Mr Malfoy would be part
of it, and so would every other ‘well-mean-
ing’ person in Britain.” He shuddered and
Sirius sniggered, but forced himself to fo-
cus.

“And happy and sad works nicely,” he said,

“but there’s got to be a better way to word
that... something more canine.”

He and Harry lapsed into concentrated si-

-5-
lence; Sirius was thinking about Padfoot,
and what he did when he was happy, and
Harry was probably using him as a refer-
ence too, since Harry’d never seen Remus
as Moony.

“Wagging tails,” they said in unison, and

then, “Oi!”

Harry jumped off the armchair and start-

ed to scribble that down, just as Remus
wandered into the library – obviously
breakfast wasn’t ready yet - and burst out
laughing.

“Moony,” Harry said, waving in Remus’

general direction, but his eyes never actu-
ally left his parchment.

“Harry,” Remus said, in an odd tone; it was

mild, like usual, but there was an amused
sort of reprimand in his voice too. It was

-6-
a tone Sirius had heard him use a lot, but
only once or twice had he ever heard it di-
rected at Harry. Sirius glanced at Harry;
his thin shoulders were trembling with
laughter, and he refused to look at either
of them.

“What’ve you done?” Sirius asked, feeling

a bit left out. Harry just looked at him and
smiled a smile that got wider with each
passing second. Remus sighed. “Accio Sir-
ius Black’s mirror,” he said, flicking his
wand. A moment later, Sirius’ mirror shot
into the room and Remus caught it and
passed it over. Sirius glanced into it and
chuckled; Harry – no doubt while Sirius
had been dozing – had joined Sirius’ eye-
brows, given him a lightning bolt scar, cat
whiskers and a very curly moustache.

Sirius set the mirror down and leaned

back in his chair, contented.

-7-
“I look fantastic,” Sirius said; both Harry
and Remus seemed surprised he’d left it
on.

“I thought it was an improvement,” Remus

said, smirking.

“Why not take it off?” Harry asked.

“I could...” Sirius said, “but I’d much rath-

er show Kreacher what you did to his poor,
tired Mast-”

“Saponum!” Harry said, looking panicked.

Sirius ducked, and a jet of soapy bubbles
shot over his head and splattered on the
wall behind him. “Sit, Padfoot!”

“Assaulting an Auror is a legal offense,”

Sirius cackled, ducking another cleaning
spell. “And again!” He clicked his tongue.

-8-
“What would your mother say-”

“Probably a spell to help her son,” Remus

said helpfully; he was staying well out of
the way. Harry tried a water spell next,
and it would have hit Sirius square in
the face if he hadn’t tripped on a stack of
books; it got the back of his head instead.

“Kreacher!” Sirius shouted, running to the

door. “Kreacher, look what Harry did to
me!”

“Ignore him!” Harry bellowed, chasing af-

ter Sirius. “Kreacher, stay where you are!”
Sirius could only imagine the dilemma
Kreacher was under in the kitchen, argu-
ing with himself over whether to stay or
come. “Pedis Offensio,” Harry said, and
Sirius was relieved that he’d waited until
the pair of them reached the landing; it
could have been dangerous at the top of

-9-
the stairs.

Sirius went over with a yelp, and Harry

promptly sat on him and started to clean
his face with water spells. Sirius splut-
tered and changed into Padfoot – Harry
should have anticipated that, but didn’t –
and so Padfoot was able to throw him off
– gently – and get a grip on the hood of his
school jumper.

Harry, of course, tried to wriggle out, and

had managed to extract one arm, and lose
his head in the folds of the blue wool, when
Kreacher appeared at the bottom of the
stairs with his hands on his skinny hips.
Padfoot still immediately, and attempted
to smile at Kreacher – it must have looked
silly, given that he was a dog, and had a
mouthful of wool. Harry stopped strug-
gling too, though Sirius wasn’t sure if he’d
given up, or sensed Kreacher’s presence.

- 10 -
Kreacher eyed Padfoot, who was dripping
inky water all over the carpet, and Harry,
who was dangling from Padfoot’s mouth
by his jumper, and peeking out through
the neckhole, glasses askew.

Kreacher’s eyes narrowed and Padfoot

opened his mouth. Harry dropped to the
floor with a grunt, and his head popped
out of his jumper. Padfoot wagged his tail
and gave Harry an enormous lick on the
side of the face – which was met by a play-
fully disgusted sound and a tug on his ear
– and then changed back into himself.

Both he and Harry watched Kreacher,

probably looking rather guilty. Kreacher
just sighed, as if he hadn’t really expected
anything else – Sirius supposed he prob-
ably shouldn’t have, because he’d been
living with the pair of them for over two

- 11 -
years now.

“Breakfast is ready,” he said. After that,

it was the usual morning rush; Remus
helped Harry with a bit of last minute
preparation for a spelling test he had that
day at school – Sirius wondered briefly if
Harry should have been working on that
instead of his Animagus incantation and
then decided that being able to turn into
a wolf would probably help him more in
the long term than knowing how to spell
‘scintillating’ – and Sirius Summoned his
mirror and scrubbed the rest of the ink off
his face over the kitchen sink – as much
as it amused him, he didn’t think it’d be
well received at work - and Kreacher got
underfoot, trying to get them all to eat.

Dora Flooed in, looking tired – she’d had

an overnight training session – and she ac-
cepted a egg and bacon roll from Kreach-

- 12 -
er which she devoured in the time it took
Harry to run upstairs and fetch his ruck-
sack, and then Apparate back upstairs to
find shoes. Ted and Andy would both be at
work, and Dora couldn’t cook to save her
life, so she was a regular at Grimmauld
or Remus’ in the mornings if she want-
ed anything other than toast or cereal for
breakfast.

“Ready,” Harry said, hopping on the spot

to try to get his trainers on; he hadn’t both-
ered to untie the laces. While he was still
– or sort of still – Sirius tapped him on the
head to change his appearance slightly.
While they weren’t on the run anymore,
Sirius wasn’t entirely sure what muggles
knew about Harry Potter, other than that
he’d been kidnapped two and a bit years
ago. Harry’s hair lightened to a sandy
brown, sat a bit flatter, and his eyes light-
ened to blue. Sirius repeated the same

- 13 -
charms on himself.

“Got everything?” Sirius asked. Harry

nodded, hoisting his bag over his shoulder,
and headed for the stairs. “Coming?” he
asked Dora; Ted and Andy’s house wasn’t
only a few streets past Harry’s school.

“I think I might Apparate,” she said

through a yawn. “Straight into bed, I might
add.” She yawned again, kissed Remus
and then and stumbled after Harry, her
hair a sleepy blue. “Thanks for breakfast,
Kreacher.” Kreacher bowed and continued
to clear the table.

“Good luck,” Sirius told Remus, who

grinned, wiped his palms on his robes and
headed over to the fireplace.

He vanished into the fire with a nervous,

“Hogwarts!” Sirius started upstairs after

- 14 -
the other two, and then shook his head.

“Wand, Harry,” he said; the item in ques-

tion was protruding from the pocket of
Harry’s school shorts.

“Oops,” Harry said, spinning around.

“Sorry.” He squeezed past Dora and then
Sirius, dropped his wand on the kitchen
table. His lunchbox, which he’d forgotten,
was pressed into his hands by Kreacher.
“Thanks! Bye, Kreacher,” he called, letting
Sirius usher him upstairs, down the hall-
way, and out the door. Sirius took a mo-
ment longer, to retrieve his bike from the
indoor shed he and Harry had replaced his
father’s old office with, back in early Jan-
uary, and wheeled it out into the warm,
June sun.

Dora yawned and bid them both goodbye

before she promptly vanished, and Sirius

- 15 -
carefully manoeuvred his bike down the
front steps to where Harry was waiting
impatiently, spelling out words under his
breath.

It was a nice morning for a walk, Remus

thought, as he walked along the road be-
tween Hogsmeade and the school. The sun
was already out, but not too hot yet, and
everything was very green. Hagrid was
waiting for him at the gates; Dumbledore
had probably sent him.

“Mornin’,” he said, beaming at Remus

through his thick beard, as he unlocked
the gates.

“Good morning, Hagrid,” Remus said,

with a smile. “I hope I didn’t disrupt your
breakfast-”

- 16 -
“Ate early,” Hagrid said, waving a large
hand. He stepped back to let Remus in-
side, and then patted him on the shoulder.
Remus braced himself, but still staggered
a bit under the force. “Got things ter do
today, what with Fluffy moving to a new
home an’ all.”

Remus smiled politely; he wasn’t entirely

sure who or what Fluffy was, but was cer-
tain that Fluffy probably wasn’t as friend-
ly and gentle as the name suggested, and
was even more certain that, despite his in-
terest in magical creatures, that he prob-
ably didn’t want to meet this one. Hagrid
pulled a pocket watch the size of a normal
wall clock out of his coat, and baulked.

“I’d best get going... Good luck!”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Remus said, and wished

- 17 -
for the millionth time that everyone would
stop wishing him luck; he appreciated the
sentiment, but it was making him very
nervous. Hagrid headed off toward the for-
est, whistling for Fang as he went; Fang,
who’d been sitting on the front steps of Ha-
grid’s hut, trotted over and fell into step
beside him.

Remus continued up to the castle. Most of

the school was still at breakfast; he could
see them through the large windows that
looked out into the grounds, though he
suspected quite a few of the seventh years
were still in their common rooms, or in the
library, cramming for their N.E.W.T.s. A
few students were out and about; a group
of small children – probably first or sec-
ond years – were throwing rocks at the
Whomping Willow, two older students
were sitting very close together, over by
the lake, and another pair – younger stu-

- 18 -
dents, again, were watching the Whomp-
ing Willow from a safe distance.

“Reckon they’ll find the knot?” a voice

asked. It was nigglingly familiar, and
Remus slowed to get a closer look at the
speaker. She was sitting, so it was hard
to guess her height, with very blond hair,
and a very straight posture. She was eat-
ing a piece of bacon and talking to a young-
er, skinnier male companion, with brown
hair. Both were wearing Hufflepuff robes.

Remus actually recognised the boy first;

it was Silverear, from the werewolf camp.
The girl had noticed him looking, and the
scowl she wore triggered his memory,
and given that Silverear was beside her,
Remus knew it could only be Greentooth.
He’d known they were starting Hogwarts
– Dumbledore had actually consulted
him on the matter – but he hadn’t really

- 19 -
thought about it since.

“Lupin,” she said flatly. Her voice, which

had been lighter and gentler when she
was speaking to Silverear, had reclaimed
its usual growling edge. Remus also
couldn’t get over how clean she looked; at
the camps, her hair had been matted, and
brown from dirt, she’d had long, ragged
fingernails and torn clothes. Here, she had
freshly laundered robes, and had washed,
brushed hair pulled back into a neat po-
nytail. She was almost unrecognisable.
Silverear’s hair was a few shades lighter,
but that was the only difference; he’d al-
ways managed to maintain a reasonable
standard of hygiene. “What are you doing
here?”

“I’ve come to see the Headmaster,” he

said, approaching slowly. “And you two...
almost at the end of first year, I suppose?”

- 20 -
Silverear glanced at Greentooth, who’d
folded her arms and put her nose in the
air. Silverear nodded. “Enjoying it?” Sil-
verear nodded again, instantly, and Remus
couldn’t help but smile.

“I suppose,” Greentooth said after a pause.

“Obviously learning from Father and the
others would have been preferable-” Her
eyes went dull for a brief moment, and
then sparked with anger. “-but after last
year that wasn’t an option.” She sniffed,
and Silverear looked grim, but not sad.

Interesting, Remus thought, watching the

pair of them. “Well,” he said aloud, “I’ll
leave you to it. Good luck with exams.”

“Thanks,” Silverear said quietly. Green-

tooth silenced him with a look, and then
turned one of her most threatening glow-
ers on Remus, who turned away from them

- 21 -
and continued on toward the castle.

Remus wasn’t sure whether Dumbledore’d

spotted him through the window in the
Great Hall, or if he’d just known in that
uncanny way of his, but he was waiting in
the Entrance Hall, when Remus walked
through the front doors. They walked
companionably up to Dumbledore’s office,
exchanging pleasantries – Dumbledore
asked about Sirius and Harry, and about
the last full moon, and Remus in turn,
asked about the school and about Green-
tooth and Silverear, though Dumbledore
knew them both as Sarah and Ethan.

“Now, may I hope that your presence here

today indicates a positive response to the
proposal I made in my letter?” Dumble-
dore asked once they were settled in his
office.

- 22 -
“Third time’s the charm,” Remus replied,
amused. Dumbledore beamed. “If you’re
willing to have me, of course.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore said warmly. “Ar-

rangements can easily be made for when
you’re ill – Sarah and Ethan are current-
ly occupying the Shrieking Shack, so you
could always join-”

“No, thank you,” Remus said. “I’ll either

leave the grounds altogether, or I’ll take
the Wolfsbane potion and spend the night
in my office.” Dumbledore inclined his
head.

“I’ll leave you to choose the method that

best suits you,” he said. “We will be able
to facilitate either, I’m sure. All I ask is
that you keep me informed, should that
method change at any time. People – par-
ents and students both – may be uneasy,

- 23 -
given your admission at Sirius’ trial, but I
should be able to placate them, as long as
I know exactly where you’ll be.” Dumble-
dore sighed. “I apologise for the intrusion,
because I know you’ve never truly been
comfortable talking about your condition-”

“Don’t apologise,” Remus said. “It’s not an

unreasonable request, by any means.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve got to ask, though, sir: why me? Why

sign up for all this trouble when you could
just have Bean or Rattler, or just keep
Davey in the positi-?”

“Neither Sturgis or Thomas were willing

to step down from their jobs for a year,”
Dumbledore said. “My other candidate was
Quirinus, but when I spoke with him this
morning, he seemed distracted. He said he

- 24 -
had some sort of research project on the
go, and that he’d be occupied with that for
quite some time.” Dumbledore smiled in
a fond sort of way. “He said that teaching
was important, but that he had to prior-
itise. And Davey’s eyesight is deteriorat-
ing; while he can still teach theory, he’s
struggling to write notes, and struggling
with his aim and coordination in practical
demonstrations.”

“And that leaves me,” Remus said wryly.

“You are hardly a last resort, Remus,”

Dumbledore said patiently. “As you said
earlier, this is not the first time I’ve ap-
proached you.”

“No,” Remus agreed.

“So you’ll take the job?” Dumbledore

asked. Remus hesitated, and oddly, found

- 25 -
himself thinking of James.

The risk’s what makes it fun, he thought,

mustering a smile. “Sure,” he said. “Where
do I sign?”

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Dora said, bounc-

ing along beside Remus; she was wearing
the Balance Boots she’d been given for
Christmas, otherwise Remus didn’t think
she’d dare bounce, for fear of falling over.
She and Remus dodged a pair of trainees
and Auror Dawlish and continued through
the corridor. “Have you told Sirius yet?”

“I haven’t seen him. Or Harry,” he added

with a grin, forestalling her next question.
He caught her hand, and she gave his a
squeeze and smiled up at him. “I thought
we could stop by Sirius’ cubicle, though,

- 26 -
and see if he wanted to join us for lunch.”

“No,” Dora said. Remus glanced at her,

surprised.

“Why not?” he asked.

“He’s not here.”

“He said he’d be in all day, though,” Remus

said, frowning. “Did something come up?
Is Harry-”

“He went to get coffee with McKinnon,

about half an hour ago,” Dora said, shrug-
ging. Remus arched an eyebrow.

“Did he now?” he asked, smirking. “What

prompted that?” Dora shrugged again.

“They do it all the time,” she said, not

seeming fazed. Remus stopped walking,

- 27 -
and Dora glanced back at him, her hair a
puzzled sort of orange.

“He’s never said anything to me about

that,” he said.

Now it was Dora’s turn to smirk: “Well he

wouldn’t, would he?”

“He always liked to brag about dates,

though,” Remus said, frowning.

“I don’t think it’s a date,” Dora said, rolling

her eyes, but she didn’t smell convinced.
Remus just gave her a look. “I think they’re
just friends.”

“They’ve always been ‘just friends’,” Remus

said, amused. He kissed Dora’s temple,
and she smiled up at him. “Even when they
were practically living together, and we all
thought Sirius was going to propose, they

- 28 -
weren’t dating.” She laughed, and then
looked thoughtful. Remus stepped for-
ward – but kept hold of her hand – while
he pressed the button for the lift. “Any
preference for lunch?”

“No,” she said. “I just need to be back by

one, or Mad-Eye’ll... er...”

“Be unimpressed?”

“I was going to say hex me, or feed me to

his rubbish bins, but unimpressed works
too,” she said, grinning.

“Blaise,” Mrs Phelps said, “you’re need-

ed at the front office. Everyone else, off to
lunch.”

Harry tried to catch Blaise’s eye, but

- 29 -
Blaise wasn’t looking his way; he looked
puzzled, and was frowning at his feet.
Harry glanced at Hermione, instead; she
shrugged and pulled an apple out of her
schoolbag. Harry grabbed his own lunch
– two slices of freshly baked bread (it was
still warm, and he grinned and remind-
ed himself to thank Kreacher) – a small,
mixed selection of fruit, and a slice of trea-
cle tart.

“Hats on,” Mrs Phelps called after them.

“If the teacher on duty sees you without it,
you’ll be sent inside!”

Harry jammed his hat onto his head, and

Hermione did the same. Blaise hadn’t even
taken his. The pair of them made their way
out of the classroom with the rest of the
students, and out into the sunny school-
yard. Harry’s eyes followed Blaise; Blaise
was too well behaved to be in trouble, and

- 30 -
his father – Mr Benson – would venture
out of the principal’s office to talk to him,
rather than call him in.

“What do you reckon’s going on?” Harry

asked Hermione.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, not seem-

ing bothered by the whole thing. “Mr Ben-
son probably just wants to talk to him.”
She pulled a juicebox out of the pocket
of her shorts – orange, just like always.
She unwrapped the straw. “How’d you go
in the spelling test? Did you get number
seven?” Harry’d known her too long to be
surprised when class work came up, but
he still had to swallow a groan. He looked
around for any other topic of conversation,
and his eyes fell on Blaise again.

“Who’s that?” he asked; Blaise and Mr Ben-

son were standing outside the front office,

- 31 -
but they weren’t alone; a tall woman stood
near them, dressed in a dark shirt and
blouse, tall heels, and Harry could see her
red lipstick from across the playground.
She had Blaise’s dark skin and hair.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, sipping at

her orange juice. She seemed completely
unconcerned.

“Look at Blaise!” Blaise was watching the

woman from behind his father, and his
hand was curled around Mr Benson’s arm.
He seemed scared, or wary, something
Harry never would have expected from his
confident, charismatic friend.

“Odd,” Hermione agreed, sounding a bit

more curious now. She eyed Harry. “You
can’t be thinking of going over there?!”

“No,” Harry said, and then relented. “Why

- 32 -
not?”

“Because that’s called spying!” Hermione

said, looking scandalised. “Blaise is our
friend, and-”

“And what if he needs us?” Harry said.

“Mr Benson will look after him,” Hermi-

one said, with confidence. Harry couldn’t
doubt that; Mr Benson was about as com-
mitted to Blaise as Padfoot was to Harry.

“It’s not spying,” Harry said. “It’s just keep-

ing an eye on-” He could tell from Hermi-
one’s face that she wasn’t convinced, so he
dropped that line of argument, and tried
another one: “You’re not even a bit curi-
ous?”

“No,” Hermione said, after a moment’s

hesitation.

- 33 -
“Liar,” Harry said, grinning. He tucked
what was left of his lunch into his pocket,
and hopped off of the bench.

“I’m not- Harry! You’ll lose house points

if you’re caught!” Hermione sprang to her
feet and hurried after him, hissing repri-
mands. Blaise, Mr Benson and the woman
were heading inside, probably to Mr Ben-
son’s office.

“House points?” Harry asked. “What do

you care? You’re not in my house.”

“You’ll get in trouble!” she said, tugging

on his shirt.

“Only if you’re not quiet,” he whispered.

“I’ll get in trouble!” she moaned. “I’ve nev-

er had a time out, and I don’t want one

- 34 -
just before school finis-”

“I’m not forcing you to come,” Harry point-

ed out. He crept around the outside of the
administration building – technically, they
were out of bounds, so he kept an eye out
for teachers – and was a little surprised
to hear Hermione’s overly slow, quiet foot-
steps behind him.

“So was it Gina?” Blaise asked.

“Giovanna,” Giovanna replied. She sat

down in Emmanuel’s chair. He seemed a
little annoyed by that, but he was a mug-
gle – even if he was the father of her son –
and she was a witch, and she’d like to see
him try to stop her. He remained standing,
his hand on Blaise’s shoulder. He’d always
been very mild-mannered. A nice man –

- 35 -
other than the fact that he was a muggle –
and not her usual type; he wasn’t exceed-
ingly handsome, or exceedingly wealthy.
Or wealthy at all; she eyed his suit and
was sure the entire thing cost less than
her lipstick.

That was probably what had saved his

life... that, and when Blaise came along,
she needed somewhere to leave the boy be-
cause she certainly hadn’t wanted to deal
with dirty nappies, and baby food, and
crying, and toilet training... but who bet-
ter to leave her child with, than a teacher?
Teachers liked children.

Giovanna looked at her son. There was no

doubt he was hers; he looked very much
like her older brother had at the same age.

“Giovanna,” Blaise said, tasting the name.

- 36 -
“Giovanna Zabini,” Giovanna said; she’d
never had much patience for children, and
their need to repeat everything. “Your
mother.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You mentioned that.” He

glanced at his father and then back at her.
“So what do you want?”

“To give you this,” she said, pulling a heavy

parchment envelope from her pocket.
She’d had it since April, when he turned
eleven – it would have been sent out that
day – probably with Minerva McGonagall
- except she’d had a word with Dumble-
dore and he’d given it to her so that she
could take it to her son. She’d been rather
busy since then, with work, but she’d fi-
nally managed to find time to visit.

She passed the letter to Blaise, who

glanced at Emmanuel again. Giovanna

- 37 -
rolled her eyes; the boy wouldn’t last five
minutes in any house but Hufflepuff if he
was so hinged on reassurance. Giovanna
wondered if she should have come earlier.

“Open it,” she sighed. For a moment, she

thought he might refuse – he certain-
ly would have if Emmanuel hadn’t been
there, nodding warily – but then he broke
the wax and opened the letter. His dark
eyes flicked back and forward as he read
the letter, and his face paled a bit.

“Blaise?” Emmanuel asked. Blaise hand-

ed him the letter, and while he was read-
ing, Blaise looked at Giovanna. There was
something in his eyes that reminded her
of herself, and for the first time today, she
thought the boy might actually amount to
something.

“Is this a joke?” he asked.

- 38 -
Or perhaps not, she thought, sighing. He’s
just as dense as every other muggle I’ve
ever met. “No,” she said. “It’s quite real.”

“Magic?” he asked. “I think I’d know if I

had magic.” There was a squeak from
over near the open window, and Giovan-
na frowned, pulled out her wand, and
closed it. She added a Silencing charm for
good measure. Blaise and Emmanuel both
stared.

“Haven’t you ever been scared or excited

and made something strange happen?”
she asked impatiently.

“Er... no,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes.

Giovanna felt as if she’d been hit.

“Never?” she asked, staring between her

son and his father.

- 39 -
“Never?” Blaise said. Emmanuel nodded.

“But-” She shook her head. Her son could

not be a Squib. “But he’s on the list! He
has a letter. He has to be magical!”

“Well, I’m not,” Blaise said. “Like I said, I

think I’d know.”

“Did he ever do anything strange as a child?

Summon toys, turn on lights?” Emmanu-
el shook his head, and frowned down at
the letter. Giovanna pulled out her wand
again, and the other two flinched. “Take
it,” she said.

“I don’t want to,” Blaise said.

“Now, Blaise!” she snapped.

“No,” he said. “You can’t just show up here

- 40 -
after eleven years and tell me what to do.”

“All right,” she said coolly. She flicked her

wand, securing Blaise to his chair. Em-
manuel stepped forward, but Giovanna
was already on her feet, wand pressed to
his throat. Emmanuel swallowed nervous-
ly. “Take it now, or Daddy gets hurt.”

“You’re insane!” Blaise said, and then

started to shout at the office door: “Mrs
Felser! Mrs Felser, call the-” Giovanna Si-
lenced him. Blaise’s eyes were enormous,
and his mouth was moving rapidly, but no
sound was escaping. Emmanuel tried to
step away, but Giovanna just prodded him
with her wand.

“Three,” Giovanna said, “two, o-” Her

wand flew out of her hand and landed by
the office door. She smiled at her son, who
looked scared. “See,” she said. “Magic.”

- 41 -
Emmanuel was quite still, so she collected
her wand and released Blaise. “Now,” she
said, “that we’ve established that, certain
steps need to be taken. Firstly, Blaise is
coming with me, until Hogwarts starts in
September.”

“Now wait just one-” Emmanuel began.

“But I still have school-”

“Muggle school,” Giovanna said dismis-

sively. “Hogwarts, and preparing for Hog-
warts, is more important. No son of mine
is going to show up behaving like a mud-
blood in front of the likes of the Malfoys,
Greengrasses or Parkinsons.”

“I’m not your son,” Blaise muttered.

“Your blood says differently,” Giovanna

told him dismissively.

- 42 -
“You can’t just show up and take my son-”

“I showed up and left him eleven years

ago, and you didn’t complain,” Giovanna
said. She checked her watch. “You’ll see
him at Christmas, don’t worry.”

“No,” Blaise said. “No, I’m staying with

Dad-”

“Good bye, Emmanuel,” Giovanna said,

taking hold of Blaise’s arm. He tried to
shrug her off, but he wasn’t quick enough;
she pulled them both into Apparition.

- 43 -
Chapter 2:
New names

“Magic?” Blaise’s voice drifted through the

open window. “I think I’d know if I had
magic.”

Next to Harry, Hermione squeaked, and

above them, the window snapped shut.
Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm and hauled
her away before anyone came to find the
source of the noise. They didn’t stop run-
ning until they’d reached the library, and
found their usual corner at the back, in

- 44 -
the quiet reading section.

Hermione was very pale, and looked a lit-

tle panicked. Harry couldn’t believe she
hadn’t spoken up already, with a thou-
sand reasons that Giovanna Zabini was
completely mad and couldn’t possibly be
right.

She didn’t believe it, did she? Harry wasn’t

sure what he was supposed to do if that
was the case. Talking to Padfoot was the
obvious solution, but then what? Obliviate
Hermione? Tell her everything and make
her swear never to say anything to any-
one?

And Blaise... Blaise was a wizard. He

hadn’t sounded convinced, but then, Har-
ry himself hadn’t believed it when Padfoot
first told him. That meant Blaise would be
at Hogwarts. Harry would know another

- 45 -
person... and Blaise would know someone
too. September was suddenly looking even
better.

“Mad, right?” Harry heard himself say.

“Mad,” Hermione agreed with a shaky

laugh. “Silly, really, that a grown woman
could think magic was real.” She still didn’t
quite sound like herself. Harry forced a
smile. “And she thinks, what, that Blaise
could be some sort of witch?”

“Wizard, probably,” Harry said, with a

nervous smile. Hermione gave him an odd
look. “Cause, you know, Blaise is a bloke,
so he’d be a wizard, not a-”

Stop talking! he told himself. He clamped

his mouth shut.

“Not a witch,” Hermione finished. “Right,

- 46 -
silly of me.” She shook her head hard
enough that her hat nearly fell off. “All hy-
pothetical, of course.”

“Yeah,” Harry said quickly. “I mean, mag-

ic’s not real.”

“No, definitely not,” Hermione said. They

lapsed into silence. Harry glanced around
the library, and when he was convinced
they were alone, pulled his treacle tart
out of his pocket and took a bite. Hermi-
one pursed her lips, and her eyes flicked to
the “No eating” sign on the wall, but she
didn’t comment. She still looked nervous.
“And she didn’t even look like a witch.”

“No warts,” Harry agreed, rubbing mud

off his shorts.

“No toad,” Hermione said nervously.

- 47 -
“Nope,” Harry said. “Very muggle-ish.”
She’d actually done well, he thought. Za-
bini’d carried herself like a pureblood –
haughtily – so he doubted she spent much
time in the muggle world, but she’d cer-
tainly looked the part.

“Pardon?” Hermione asked, eyes huge.

Harry realised his mistake too late.

“I-” he said. Idiot! How the bloody hell am

I supposed to explain that? Hermione’s a
walking dictionary, and she won’t have
heard the word, so she’ll start asking ques-
tions...

“Muggle,” Hermione said. “You said mug-

gle.”

“No, Harry told her as firmly as possible,

“I didn’t, I said-”

- 48 -
“You did too; I heard you,” Hermione said
bossily. She was smiling – still rather ner-
vously, but there was hope there too – and
it was very, very, worrying.

“I didn’t,” Harry insisted. Hermione stared

at him for a long moment, apparently
thinking something through. She crossed
her fingers. Oh, Merlin, what have I-

“What House do you think Zabini was in?”

Hermione asked, her eyes fixed on Harry’s
face.

“I didn’t- what?” Harry stared at Hermi-

one, certain his ears were playing tricks
on him. She watched him, her expression
almost impossible to read. Harry wished
he could transform; then he’d be able to
smell her mood. He took a deep breath,
hoping that this wasn’t going to backfire
on him. If it does, they can always Oblivi-

- 49 -
ate her, he thought miserably. “Holly,” he
said carefully. “And phoenix feather.”

“Vine,” she whispered, “and dragon heart-

string.” Harry gaped at her, and she stared
back, obviously stunned.

“You’re a witch?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“You’re a wizard,” she countered, and it

wasn’t a question. “Hogwarts?” she asked
shrewdly.

“Hogwarts,” Harry agreed. Hermione

beamed. “How- how long?” Harry stam-
mered. Hermione shifted her chair closer
to his, and lowered her voice.

“Well, all my life, I imagine,” she said.

Harry would have rolled his eyes if he
wasn’t so shocked. “But I only found out
last year, on my birthday. Professor Mc-

- 50 -
Gonagall, she teaches-”

“Transfiguration,” Harry supplied. “Yeah,

I know.”

“Did she come to meet you too?” Hermi-

one asked. Harry shook his head. Hermi-
one frowned at him, and then pushed on
with her story. “Well, anyway, she came
over with a letter – like the one Blaise got
- and I didn’t believe her at first, but then
a lot of things she told me made sense,
and then she turned our couch into a goat,
and well, how could I not believe her after
that?” Hermione paused for breath. “It’s
all so interesting! That there’s a whole
other world hidden right under everyone’s
noses, and now I can be a part of it! Mum
and Dad had a bit more trouble accepting
it than I did; they had all sort of plans for
me for high school, but really, they just
want me to be happy, and-”

- 51 -
“Hermione,” Harry said, “breathe.”

“Sorry!” she said breathlessly. “I just- it’s

so nice to be able to tell someone. Mum
and Dad are interested enough, I suppose,
but they’re not home much...” She gave
him an expectant look, and then sighed
impatiently.

“What?” Harry asked.

“How did you find out?” she asked, looking

like she might explode.

“Oh,” Harry said, blinking. “Er, well, my

family was magical-”

“So you’ve always known?” Hermione

asked, eyes bright with the prospect of
new knowledge.

- 52 -
“Er... no,” Harry said. “We- Padfoot told
me, when I was eight.”

“Is that normal?” Hermione asked. “Are

you not allowed to know before then? Did
your parents just not use magic? And Pad-
foot’s an odd name; are they a wizard, or-”

“Hermione,” Harry said again.

“Sorry,” she said, falling silent at once, but

she remained attentive. Harry pushed his
glasses up, thinking about what to say; was
it a good idea to admit everything, and tell
her his real name? He couldn’t see why not
– Draco knew, and so did Ron and Ginny
– and they weren’t in hiding anymore... it
just seemed wrong, when Harry’d worked
so hard to keep his real name, face and
magic hidden at school. He sighed.

“I think,” he said, “that you probably know

- 53 -
more about me than you think.” She read
a lot, and knowing Hermione, she’d have
tried to find as much out about the current
situation in the wizarding world as possi-
ble, so she had an idea about what she’d
be walking into, come September. He held
his hand out. “I’m Harry,” he said. Her-
mione rolled her eyes, but took his hand.
“Harry Potter.” Her mouth fell open.

“That’s not- but you can’t- This is a joke,

right?”

“I’m serious,” Harry said, apologetically,

and then grimaced. “Well, actually, I’m
not, but my godfather is; Sirius Black.”
Hermione looked like she might faint.

“You’re sure?” she asked. Harry just stared

at her. “Not that I- You’re dead in the mug-
gle world, did you know? They stopped
looking, and everyone assumed...” She

- 54 -
shook her head. “Of course, anyone that
knows even the slightest about what’s go-
ing on in the magical world knows that’s
not true, but when you’re in both worlds
like we- Are you really?” Not sure how to
respond to that, Harry just shrugged in a
helpless sort of way. “D-”

But whatever Hermione had been about

to say was lost in the sound of the bell that
signalled the end of lunch, and, for the sec-
ond time ever in Harry’s year at school, he
was the one that leaped out of his chair
and led the way back to the classroom.
Hermione assumed Harry’s normal role
and shuffled along behind, looking disap-
pointed that lunch was over.

“One word, Blaise, and I-”

- 55 -
The boy – Blaise – wrenched his arm out
of Giovanna’s manicured grip. Narcissa,
who’d opened her mouth to greet the pair,
closed it again. She’d never seen the boy
– who was probably somewhere between
Hydrus and Draco in age - before, but with
his skin, dark eyes and height, he could
only be Giovanna’s son. She remembered
Giovanna had mentioned a son, once, a
while ago, but she’d never met the boy, and
hadn’t even realised Giovanna was in con-
tact with him; she’d said he lived with his
father. Blaise glanced over his shoulder,
glowered at Giovanna and then stepped
forward.

“Blaise Zabini,” he said, hesitating for the

briefest moments between his names, as
if he’d wanted to say something else. A
charming smile spread over his face, but
his shoulders were still rather stiff. “You
must be Mrs Malfoy.”

- 56 -
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Narcis-
sa said, smiling at him. She extended a
hand and he shook it without hesitation.
“Giovanna,” she added, looking over the
boy’s shoulder.

“Narcissa,” Giovanna said coolly. She

stepped past the pair of them and into the
Manor without another word. Narcissa
pursed her lips, and then glanced down
at Blaise, who was eyeing her expression
of disapproval and, oddly enough, seemed
comforted by it.

“I don’t like her much either,” he said, and

then, like his mother, walked right past
her. She wasn’t sure whether he’d seen
his mother and followed her, or just fol-
lowed the noise the others were making,
but he didn’t need any help finding his
way to the drawing room. Narcissa fol-

- 57 -
lowed him, curious; she didn’t think she
– an adult - could walk with as much con-
fidence into a stranger’s house as he did,
and she was torn between being annoyed
and impressed that he didn’t seem to ap-
preciate the manor’s expensive interior.

Giovanna had already made herself at

home in the drawing room; Roderick Crab-
be, Aloysius Goyle, Nishith Shafiq, Ernest
Parkinson and Leopold Nott were all gath-
ered around her, laughing, and Lucius
and Marius Greengrass were a bit further
away but still watching her closely.

Edith Crabbe, Clementina Goyle, and Nola

Shafiq were huddled together, all looking
rather displeased, but Eleanor Nott didn’t
seem to mind, or even have noticed. She
and Catherine – her five year old daughter
– were reading a book on one of the couch-
es, and Parmenia Greengrass was talking

- 58 -
to Magnus and Theodosia Bulstrode.

Blaise hesitated in the doorway, looking

around at – Narcissa supposed – all the
people – and then squared his shoulders
and strode toward the children – who were,
as usual, gathered by the fireplace - as if
he’d known them his entire life. She won-
dered absently, whether he was brave like
a Gryffindor, in his own little world, like a
Ravenclaw, trusting like a Hufflepuff, or
bluffing like a Slytherin... one action, with
so many possible motives. She shook her
head and smoothed her robes. No one paid
Blaise much mind at all as he crossed the
room, and Narcissa wanted to be surprised
but couldn’t quite manage it; it was Dra-
co’s birthday they’d all gathered to cele-
brate, yet no one appeared to have noticed
that Draco wasn’t even there.

- 59 -
“...a blue feather, a rock, a bookmark, an
apple, a dragon’s claw, a piece of string,
and a piece of parchment-”

“Which said what?” Severus asked, from

behind his desk. Between them, rested a
large tray covered in a cloth Severus had
conjured.

“It was a recipe for a potion?” Draco said,

squinting as he tried to remember. Sever-
us waited. “The Wolfsbane Potion?”

“Are you guessing, or telling?”

“Telling,” Draco decided.

“And the last object?”

“Godric Gryffindor’s chocolate frog card,”

Draco said. Severus watched him im-
passively, and then inclined his head. It

- 60 -
wasn’t praise, but it was the closest thing
to it that Severus usually gave.

“Fetch me Advanced Potions Making,” he

said, “and then we’re done for the day.”

Draco turned to the bookshelf he’d rear-

ranged that morning, trying to remember
what system he’d used; last week, he’d
sorted it by author, the week before that
it had been by subject, and the week be-
fore that it had been by date of publica-
tion. All had their advantages, of course;
it was easiest to find a book when the en-
tire bookshelf was stored in alphabetical
order, but alphabetical didn’t work quite
as well if it was potions ingredients, or po-
tions that he was sorting; it was better to
sort them by species.

At the moment, the bookshelf was sorted

by author’s surname, and Draco paused

- 61 -
– Borage? he thought tentatively – and
then stepped toward that part of the room.
Sure enough, it was there. Severus nod-
ded again.

“That’s it?” Draco asked, disappointed.

When he’d started visiting Severus regu-
larly – until he was about nine, he’d hadn’t
seen much of his godfather – he’d hated it.
He’d hated the odd, pointless tasks – like
organising shelves, and playing memory
games, and learning to lie, and reading
expressions, and reading strange bits of
wizarding literature – and Severus’ frus-
trating questions that had no real answer,
but made him think and shook his faith in
lifelong assumptions.

Now, he liked the visits, and if Severus’

teaching schedule allowed, Draco would
probably spend more time there than at
home. He liked Severus’ company, abrupt

- 62 -
and sarcastic as it was, and he didn’t mind
the tasks. He still didn’t see the point, but
he didn’t really mind. And if he’d changed
his mind about a few things, so be it... even
if they had made him an oddity amongst
his family and the purebloods in his social
circle.

Draco absently scratched the scar on his

palm, which Severus had given him when
he showed him that purebloods - like Dra-
co - and halfbloods - like Severus - had the
same blood. Then he looked up, and was
surprised to see Severus pulling a pack-
age out from one of his desk drawers.

It was wrapped in the same brown paper

than apothecaries used to wrap things
like unicorn horns, and roots... things that
weren’t going to drip everywhere, but still
needed covering.

- 63 -
“Happy birthday, Draco,” Severus said.
Draco didn’t bother to hide how touched
he was that Severus had bought him a
birthday present; it wasn’t a very Slyther-
in thing to do, but Draco didn’t have to
be cool and dismissive – or even try to be,
because he wasn’t as good at that as he’d
used to be - with Severus, which was an-
other thing he liked about his godfather’s
company.

Severus didn’t pass him the parcel, though;

it was a thick, parchment letter that was
pressed into Draco’s hands, one with emer-
ald green ink on the front of it, and a very
distinctive seal... the seal of the school he
was sitting in currently, in fact.

“They usually owl them,” Draco said, sus-

piciously, eyeing his godfather.

“They do,” Severus said curtly, and offered

- 64 -
no more explanation; instead, he passed
Draco the package.

“A book?” he asked wryly, unwrapping

it. One part of his head instantly went to
where he’d sort it and came up with sever-
al possibilities, while the other focused on
the title. “Songs of Innocence and Expe-
rience?” he read. He’d never heard of the
author, and when he flicked through, he
was surprised to find that the book didn’t
contain potions instructions, or the his-
tory of the founders, or anything else of
the kind... it contained poems. “Poetry?”
he asked, doubtfully, trying his best not to
come across as ungrateful.

“Muggle poetry,” Severus agreed. Draco

just stared at him, and was about to ask
why when the fireplace flared and Mother
stepped out, wearing a pair of startlingly
red dress robes. In her arms was a stack of

- 65 -
folded green fabric.

“Draco,” she said, her eyes sweeping

around the office. Draco saw them land on
the covered tray, and at the book in Dra-
co’s hand. “Severus.”

“Everyone has arrived,” Narcissa told Dra-

co, whose expression flickered and then
went neutral, in the way that Severus’
often did. Severus watched that with sad
pride. “I brought your robes.” She offered
him the pile in her arms, and he set down
his book and letter –which was tucked into
the cover - so that he could take it.

“Is there-”

“The bathroom,” Severus said. Narcissa’s

eyes tracked him across the room and then
flicked to Severus. There was a moment of
silence between them – the sort of silence

- 66 -
where two people weigh each other, and
reassess their standing – and then Narcis-
sa took a step forward.

“A bold choice,” he said, nodding at her

robes. He’d seen her wear them before,
so he wasn’t shocked... just surprised by
her timing; her home, would, no doubt, be
swarming with generations of Slytherin
and Ravenclaw purebloods and she was
wearing Gryffindor red..

“Why?” Narcissa asked, arching a thin eye-

brow. Severus stared at her, wondering if
she genuinely didn’t understand, and then
inclined his head; it was, no doubt, the re-
sponse she’d have given to everyone else
that had asked. Narcissa was no fool, but
people seemed to assume she was vague
and entirely subservient to her husband
like a good pureblood wife. Narcissa, in
turn, knewexactly how to use that to her

- 67 -
advantage.

“Well played,” he said quietly, and she

graced him with a small, cool smile.

“What’s this?” she asked, tracing the cover

of the books Severus had given Draco.

“A book,” Severus said. Narcissa’s eyes

narrowed. “Poetry.”

“Poetry?” Narcissa asked. This time, she

wasn’t acting; she didn’t understand.

“Yes, Narcissa, poetry,” he said. He cast

a silent Muffliato at the bathroom door.
“You asked me to teach him-”

“I did,” she agreed warily.

“And that is the intent. What is poetry?”

- 68 -
“Words,” she said dismissively, and then,
“Severus, it’s been nearly two years since I
first approached you, and you’re still play-
ing memory games, and-”

“And Draco is progressing well,” he said.

“His memory is exceptional, and his or-
ganisational skills are among the best I’ve
ever seen. Once he is thirteen and can be-
gin Occlumency, he will take to it like a
broom to air-”

“I expected you to have moved on to spells,”

she said, “not- not poetry!”

“What’s more dangerous, though? The

wand, or the word?”

“Words make the wand work,” Narcissa

said, without hesitating, and Severus was
grudgingly impressed. “But spells are go-
ing to keep him alive! Poems-”

- 69 -
“Things aren’t ever what they seem,” he
drawled. “A poem could be about one per-
son or thing on the surface, but be, in actu-
ality, about something entirely different.
Learning to look past face value so that he
can interpret what lies beneath will serve
him far better than knowing how to Stun
something-” His lip curled. “I assure you,
and that is why I chose the book I did.”

Narcissa didn’t seem to have anything to

say to that, nor did she have the chance;
Draco emerged from the bathroom, strug-
gling with his waistcoat. He collected his
anthology from the desk, and smiled at
Severus, who smiled faintly back. Com-
fortable as he was with Draco, he had an
image to maintain, and Narcissa was still
in the room.

Narcissa gave him a shrewd look, nodded

- 70 -
at him, and then guided Draco toward the
Floo.

Draco and Mother arrived at the Man-

or just as dinner was being served; Dra-
co almost knocked into Dobby, who was
dashing through the corridor with a plate
loaded with steaming slices of bread in
his skinny hands. Draco stole a piece, and
Mother arched an eyebrow at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Take that upstairs,” she said, nodding to

the book. “And then come and greet every-
one.”

“Yes, Mother.”

When Draco entered the dining room a few

- 71 -
minutes later, he wasn’t surprised or dis-
appointed that no one paid him much at-
tention. He just smiled at Dobby – whose
stressed expression vanished for a few sec-
onds so that he could smile back – and sat
down in the empty seat between Theodore
Nott and Vivienne Greengrass.

“Happy birthday,” Theodore said in his

usual, quiet manner, and his sister Cath-
erine gave Draco a shy, dimpled smile.
Vivienne was deep in conversation with
her twin, Astoria – who, interestingly, had
her back very pointedly turned toward her
other sister, Daphne – and acknowledged
him with a polite, sideways nod, but noth-
ing more. Others – Pansy Parkinson, Milli-
cent Bulstrode and Nadia Shafiq, who had
been talking – glanced at him and then
away again, and Gregory Goyle, Vincent
Crabbe and Daphne Greengrass, who’d
been laughing, all fell silent.

- 72 -
Next to Hydrus, someone spoke, however,
startling Draco.

“You must be Draco,” the unknown boy

said, offering his hand across the table.
Draco shook it, nodding. “I’m Blaise Zabi-
ni.” Pansy whispered something to Nadia,
and then pair of them started to giggle.
Draco rolled his eyes at them and then
turned his attention back onto Blaise.

“Nice to meet you.” Draco eyed the new-

comer, who seemed quite comfortable.

“So everyone here’s off to Hogwarts?”

Blaise asked. “Eventually,” he added, eye-
ing the Greengrass twins who were a year
younger than the rest, and also Catherine,
who was only five.

“Well,” Hydrus drawled, “Father consid-

- 73 -
ered Durmstr-”

“Mother wouldn’t hear of it,” Draco said,

cutting Hydrus off. Hydrus shot him an
angry look, but Draco ignored it. “We were
always going to Hogwarts.” Everyone
stared at him. “What?” he said. “It’s true.”
Hydrus sighed in a long-suffering sort of
way.

“What House are you hoping to be in,

Blaise?”

“Slytherin,” Blaise said at once.

Lie, Draco’s head told him, before his eyes

really even registered it. Hydrus – and
everyone else at the table for that mat-
ter – seemed satisfied with the answer,
and Blaise seemed satisfied with their
satisfaction. Draco stared fixedly at him,
re-evaluating; he’d taken Blaise to be an-

- 74 -
other pureblood, cut from the same fancy
fabric as every other person gathered, as
himself, but now, he wasn’t sure.

He was silent as Dobby put a bowl in front

of him, and picked up his spoon out of hab-
it, rather than interest; his attention was
directed elsewhere. He watched as Blaise
picked his spoon up – the wrong spoon –
with complete confidence. Pansy cleared
her throat, and the others exchanged con-
fused looks.

“What?” Blaise asked.

“Wrong spoon,” Millicent told him, since no

one but Draco would if she didn’t. If Dra-
co hadn’t been looking for it, he wouldn’t
have noticed Blaise’s expression spasm
into panic. The worry was gone almost im-
mediately, though,, replaced by an arro-
gant smirk.

- 75 -
“So?” Blaise drawled. “Slytherins do what
they want. And I want to eat with this
spoon.” And he proceeded to do so, not
seeming to care at all what any of the oth-
ers thought.

“Brilliant,” Pansy – ever the follower –

exclaimed, and swapped her spoon too.
Daphne followed suit.

“Yeah!” Crabbe guffawed. “We Slytherins

do what we want!” He promptly picked up
his fork and started trying to eat soup with
that. His brother, Cyril, who was Cather-
ine’s age, mimicked him. None of the oth-
ers had changed their silverware, but they
weren’t looking at Blaise like he was mad,
either; they all seemed impressed. Draco
just watched.

“So, how’s out favourite Hufflepuff?”

- 76 -
Daphne asked, flicking a berry at Draco,
while everyone else ate dessert. Blaise
had managed to use the right spoon this
time, but lowered it when he saw the ber-
ry fly past. Everyone else had stopped too,
to watch Draco, who did his best to ignore
it. “Aww,” she cooed, “are you not feeling
friendly today-”

“Interesting,” Astoria said, just loud

enough that the others looked at her in-
stead of her older sister.

“What is?” Daphne asked, her voice no lon-

ger high and mocking; it was sharp, and
cool, and Draco wasn’t sure about whether
to be relieved that she was distracted, or
insulted that she obviously thought that
tiny Astoria was a bigger threat than he
was.

“Well, just that it was very friendly of you

- 77 -
to ask how Draco was-”

“I was teasing him, you-”

“If you have to explain that it was teasing,

you haven’t done a very good job,” Astoria
said primly. Daphne’s face turned a nas-
ty red. “And it’s Draco.” It wasn’t scorn in
Astoria’s voice, but it was close. Hydrus
snickered. “You’re paying attention to the
person here that’s most starved of it...” She
trailed off and smiled in a dazzling way,
and Draco couldn’t work out whether she
was standing up for him, or just adding
further insults. Daphne just stared at her.
Astoria sighed, and gave Daphne a conde-
scending look. “I just think it’s interesting.
Very considerate, and compassionate for
a person that’s supposed to want Slyther-
in...”

Astoria, having said what she wanted to,

- 78 -
went back to her dessert. Daphne glared
at her, and promptly turned to Nadia and
Pansy, who both seemed upset on her be-
half. Draco distinctly heard the words ‘out
of line’, before the rest were lost in furious
whispers. Millicent, though, was eyeing
Astoria with a very contemplative expres-
sion.

“It’s not very Slytherin of you to protect

him, Astoria,” Daphne said, pulling away
from the other girls; it seemed they’d fi-
nally come up with something. Draco just
kept his head down.

“I wasn’t protecting him,” Astoria said,

sounding bored. She hadn’t even looked
up from her spoon, which she was load-
ing with cream and a strawberry. “I was
protecting our family, Daphne, because
stupid things tend to come out when you
open your mouth, and I’m rather trying to

- 79 -
make sure you don’t do too much damage.”
Daphne, rather unsurprisingly, had noth-
ing to say to that.

The rest of dessert was tense, and Dra-

co was thoroughly relieved when Dobby
cleared the table and they could all escape
to the drawing room. There, at least, they
would have a chance to spread out. He
found himself walking there, next to As-
toria.

“Thank you,” he said, even though that

wasn’t really what he was supposed to do.
Aspiring Slytherins didn’t say thank you;
they just waited for a chance to return
the favour and get themselves out of debt.
Still, Draco hadn’t been a conventional
Slytherin for a long time.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Astoria said, with-

out looking at him. Her pointy little nose

- 80 -
remained firmly in the air, and her tone
was lofty.

“I know that,” he said snippily. He knew

he didn’t have any friends, or even any al-
lies in the group, other than maybe Theo-
dore, but he didn’t particularly like to be
reminded. Astoria said nothing. “You did
it to spite your sister.” That was only a
suspicion of Draco’s, but there’d been ten-
sion between the two – Vivienne seemed
removed from it – for the past few months.
Astoria pressed her lips together and gave
him an irritated look. “But it helped me
anyway, so I’m thanking you.”

Now, she just looked puzzled. It was a look

Draco had directed at him frequently, by
all sorts of people; his family, his social cir-
cle, and even Potter, though Potter always
looked bewildered, so Draco wasn’t sure
that that counted. “Now’s the time where

- 81 -
you say ‘you’re welcome’,” Draco prompt-
ed.

“You’re welcome,” she said, flatly, and

stalked into the drawing room. Vivienne
was sitting with Theodore and Catherine,
and Astoria went to join them. Hydrus had
received his rat, Feta, and she was doing
tricks to entertain everyone else. Draco’s
heart sank – his rat had been killed by a
monster that got onto the Manor grounds
last year – and unlike when Bosworth, Hy-
drus’ first rat had vanished, Draco hadn’t
been given a replacement. He sat down in
an armchair, and wondered if he’d be able
to talk Mother and Father into buying
him another rat, or even an owl when they
went to Diagon Alley tomorrow, to get his
wand and school things.

“Anyone using that?” Draco glanced up

and saw Blaise, who’d broken away from

- 82 -
the main group to hover beside the arm
chair next to Draco’s.

“I thought Slytherins did what they want-

ed,” Draco said, arching an eyebrow.

“Sod off, kid,” Blaise said, and sat down

with a swish of robes and a roll of his eyes.

“I’m hardly a kid,” Draco scoffed.

“It’s your birthday,” Blaise said. “That

means you’re younger than me, and that
makes you a kid.” Draco wasn’t sure he
liked Blaise all that much. Blaise said
nothing, and then, “So this is it, huh?”
Draco stared at him, wondering what
sort of man Mr Zabini was, to have raised
Blaise to speak so casually; he’d only met
Giovanna Zabini a few times but he still
knew she was very proper.

- 83 -
“This?” Draco asked.

“This,” Blaise said, gesturing around. Most

of the adults had retired to Father’s office,
but Mother and a few others were over on
the couches, talking. “It’s just a big game
of politics, where everyone tries to be bet-
ter than the next person.”

“More or less,” Draco sighed. Blaise gave

him a curious look.

“And you lot find this fun?”

“I don’t really speak for the majority,” Dra-

co said.

“I’d noticed,” Blaise said wryly. “You just

keep your head down... try to survive.” Dra-
co grunted. “We’re not so different.” Dra-
co glanced over and saw, for the first time
that night, an earnest expression on the

- 84 -
other boy’s face. He sort of believed him,
but also sort of thought that this might be
Hydrus, Pansy or Daphne’s idea of a joke.

“Right,” he said. His lip curled. “Except

you don’t really keep your head down.”

“Different approach, same intended out-

come, kid,” Blaise said sagely, and then
sighed, his mouth turning down at the
corners.

- 85 -
Chapter 3:
Keira and the kettle

When Blaise hadn’t returned to lessons

after lunch, Harry hadn’t been entirely
surprised, and when Blaise hadn’t shown
up the next day, he didn’t think anything
of it. When Blaise didn’t show up on Mon-
day, though, Harry started to worry; not
only was Blaise gone, but Mr Benson
had taken a few days off – apparently for
health reasons. By Friday, Mr Benson was
back, but he looked tired, and like he’d
lost a bit of weight. And, when Mrs Phelps

- 86 -
ticked them off the class list that morning,
Blaise’s name wasn’t even called.

“I don’t think he’s coming back,” Harry

said to Hermione the following Monday.

“I know,” she said, in a low voice, watch-

ing Mrs Phelps. She was worried, obvi-
ously, but she and Blaise hadn’t got on as
well as Blaise and Harry, so Harry didn’t
think she missed him quite as much. Still,
her slight worry was probably more than
Blaise would have had for her, had she
been the one who’d disappeared. Harry,
for his part, missed his friend a lot. Her-
mione was great, but there was very little
joking around when it was just the pair
of them. There’d been a lot of talks about
magic, but Hermione didn’t really like
Quidditch, and Harry wasn’t quite ready
to tell her about his Animagus work, and
Hermione loved the theories behind mag-

- 87 -
ic, while Harry had always been a very
practical sort of person.

As a result, Harry spent a lot of time lis-

tening to her explaining things she’d read
in obscure textbooks, or her favourite Hog-
warts: A History, or trying to answer ques-
tions about the magical world, and about
Padfoot, Moony and Kreacher before Her-
mione could ask more.

“I was thinking I might try to, you know,

write. To Blaise, I mean,” Harry whis-
pered. “I spoke to Padfoot about it, and he
says Zabini’s a solicitor... even if she’s tak-
en time off, she’s got to be contactable, so
if I send Hedwig-” Hermione, who’d been
writing down the new week’s spelling
words, glanced over, interested despite
herself.

“Who?”

- 88 -
“Oh, she’s our owl,” Harry said.

“Assuming it can go directly to Blaise...

what would you write?” Hermione asked.
She glanced around the classroom and
then lowered her voice so that Harry had
to lean over to hear her. “You can’t really
be thinking of explaining who you are on
a piece of paper, can you?”

“No,” Harry said, “I’ll just stay as Evans

for now. He can assume I’m muggleborn
too.” Harry just hoped the muggleborn fac-
tor wouldn’t stop the letter from making it
to Blaise; he suspected Zabini was proba-
bly the type to discriminate against mug-
gleborns. He also hoped wherever Blaise
was living wasn’t as heavily warded as
Grimmauld, or Hedwig, clever as she was,
would never make it through.

- 89 -
“But-”

“Hermione,” Mrs Phelps said warningly,

“Harry, I hope you two are getting these
down, or you’ll struggle in Thursday’s
test...”

“We are; sorry,” Hermione said at once,

ducking her head. She began to scribble
words down, and was so focused on her
work that Harry wondered if she’d for-
gotten he was there. He sighed, pulled a
pencil out of his pencilcase, and started to
write them down in his school diary. Her-
mione didn’t speak to him for the rest of
the afternoon; Harry wasn’t sure if she
was annoyed he’d almost got her in trou-
ble, or if she was just interested in what
the teacher had to say.

She did, however, start talking to him as

soon as Mrs Phelps dismissed them, and

- 90 -
chattered happily to him about that after-
noon; he’d invited her over, to meet Pad-
foot, Moony and Kreacher, and Dora (if
she was there, and not at training) and to
pull what might also be the biggest prank
of his young career.

“-ah, hold that, sorry,” Sirius said, putting

his hand up. Marlene paused, mid-sen-
tence, and Sirius pulled his burning Side-
kick out of his pocket. He murmured the
password, and it clicked open.

“Black,” Hemsley’s voice said, “where are

you?”

“Just having lunch,” Sirius replied. “Down

in the Ministry cafe. Why?”

“We’ll meet you in the Atrium,” Hemsley

- 91 -
said, and his voice cut off.

“Damn,” Sirius said. “Guess lunch is over.”

He scooped up what remained of his burg-
er and stuffed it into his mouth.

“That’s disgusting,” Marlene said, eating

a chip off her fork.

“Di’ oo expe’ anefink ele’?” Sirius asked,

and she pulled a face.

“No,” she said. He swallowed so that he

could grin at her. She gave him a wry smile
back. “No, not really.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, tossing a few

sickles onto the table to cover his lunch.

“Probably,” she agreed. He threw her a

last grin over his shoulder and stepped
out, nodding at a few people he knew.

- 92 -
He got to the Atrium just as Hemsley –
flanked by two others; Brown, and some-
one else - arrived in the lift and swept to-
ward him. Sirius couldn’t work out why
Hemsley was wearing a cloak over his
robes; it was the middle of June, for Mer-
lin’s sake, and far too hot for that, in Sir-
ius opinion... although, Sirius’ body tem-
perature was always a little higher than
the average person’s, thanks to Padfoot.

“You remember Dirk Cresswell,” Hemsley

said.

“Of course,” Sirius said, shaking Dirk’s

hand. He knew him from school – Dirk
had been a Hufflepuff, in Reg’s year – and
also from his work in the Ministry. Back
in early January, it was Dirk who’d ap-
proached them with their current case, be-
cause he was quite high up in the Goblin

- 93 -
Liason Office. Dirk was a portly little man,
with a bulbous nose, curly brown hair and
a near-permanent smile, but right now, he
looked tired and sad. “What’s happened?”
Sirius asked.

“A goblin,” Dirk said sadly, “was killed.

Murdered.”

“What?” Sirius asked. Goblins didn’t have

wands, but they had powerful magic of
their own, and a rather strong desire not
to be bested by wizards, ever. Hemsley
nodded grimly, and Brown mimicked the
gesture perfectly.

“Not five minutes ago. We have witness-

es,” Hemsley sighed. “Someone used an
Unforgivable, of all things, and then Ap-
parated away with the body. The Hit Wiz-
ards are there now, but it’s a mess.” Sirius
arched an eyebrow and Dirk straightened

- 94 -
his muggle-style tie and shoved his hands
into his pockets. “That’s where we come
in,” Hemsley sighed. He stepped into one
of the fireplaces and said, “Leaky Caul-
dron.” Dirk was swallowed up in the fire-
place next to theirs, and Brown and Sirius
spent half a second looking at each other
before Brown shoved past and vanished
into the fire. Sirius rolled his eyes and fol-
lowed.

They split up in Diagon Alley; Dirk and

Hemsley headed to the bank, to question
the dead goblin’s superiors and co-work-
ers, while Sirius and Brown went down
Knockturn Alley to question the witness-
es. Sirius, reluctant to be left alone with
Brown, tried to reason his way into going
with Dirk – he thought it made sense, giv-
en that his cousin Andy worked there as
a liason for muggleborns, and that he was
well respected amongst goblins, because

- 95 -
of his name, and the gold that went with
it – but Hemsley just shook his head and
sent them on their way.

“And Brown,” he called, as they parted

ways, “listen to Black; he’s your superior
while I’m gone.” Sirius smirked at Brown
– he had a whole lot of things he wanted to
say – but Brown seemed annoyed enough
so he stayed quiet.

Knight – a Hit Witch, who’d testified at

Sirius’ trial – was there with a handful
of witches and wizards, and Bennett was
warding the area of Apparition, so that the
traces left behind could be read later. Siri-
us took in the area; it was a sheltered part
of the alley - and that was saying some-
thing, given how sheltered Knockturn Al-
ley already was - just in front of a shop
that sold a lot of illegal, rather dangerous
creatures. A frazzled looking wizard was

- 96 -
trying to calm an enormous, spiny bat,
and his shop hand – a greasy haired girl
with filed teeth – was talking to a smoking
cage full of firecrabs. A cloaked figure was
leaning against the wall of the bookshop
next door.

“Go take their statements,” Sirius told

Brown, gesturing to the witnesses gath-
ered on the street with Knight.

“Me?” Brown asked, looking suspicious.

“Where are you going?”

“To interview that banshee,” Sirius said.

Brown made a noise that sounded a lot
like a squeak and hurried over to Knight,
and Sirius strode toward Walpole’s.

“Auror Black.”

“Keira,” Sirius said, smiling at the strong,

- 97 -
Irish voice that came from beneath the
hood. He held out his hand, and a pale
green, long nailed hand emerged from the
folds of the cloak to clasp his. “How’ve you
been?” He hadn’t been down Knockturn
Alley in months; Aurors weren’t really
supposed to, and Harry’d been at school,
so he hadn’t needed any new or unusual
literature. They had, however, exchanged
a few letters.

“Well, until now,” she replied. “How is

Harry?”

“He’s good,” Sirius said, smiling for the

briefest moment.

“And your evil necklace?” He didn’t need to

see her face to tell how much she disliked
it; her tone was indicative enough. “Any
luck?” A scowl flickered over Sirius’ face.
It had been a few weeks since he’d given

- 98 -
the locket any thought; it remained safely
tucked away in a warded cabinet in the
drawing room, and would, until he found
a spell or potion that could permanently
destroy it.

“None,” he sighed. She sighed too. Siri-

us glanced over at Brown, to make sure
he was coping – he was looking panicked,
and being shouted at by a hag, and by a
spindly looking wizard – and Sirius decid-
ed he was, and so turned back to Keira.
“Sorry to be abrupt, but have you go any
idea what happened here?”

“Several,” she said. “Would you like to

hear them?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Sirius said.

“The goblin was next door,” Keira said,

nodding at the magical creature shop. “I

- 99 -
have seen many visiting there in the last
few months.”

“Do you know what this one was looking

at?” Sirius asked. She shook her head.
Sirius turned and whistled at Brown, who
scurried over, looking relieved.

“They’re mad,” he said, and then noticed

Keira and stepped away, looking rather
pale.

“Do I make you nervous?” she asked.

Brown shook his head frantically. “Hm,”
Keira said, not seeming impressed.

“See that bloke, and his shop assistant?”

Sirius said, snapping his fingers to get
Brown’s attention. Brown nodded, appar-
ently unable to look away from Keira’s
hood. “Brown.”

- 100 -
“Yeah, sure,” Brown said, finally tearing
his eyes away from Keira.

“Go and ask them what the goblins have

been looking at.”

“But- the statements-”

“This is more important,” Sirius said.

Brown rolled his eyes, and then flinched
when Keira planted her hands on her hips.
He walked off. “Sorry about-”

“He is normal,” Keira said, not seem-

ing bothered. “And predictable. It is the
strange ones that do not treat me different-
ly, that surprise me.” Though he couldn’t
see her face, Sirius got the impression that
she was smiling her strange smile at him.
He grinned.

“So after the goblin finished looking-” Kei-

- 101 -
ra shook her head.

“He never did; a person-”

“Can you describe them?”

“No, they were wearing a cloak. I don’t

even know their gender,” she said, sound-
ing ashamed.

“That’s all right,” Sirius sighed.

“But they were standing over there when

they killed him with a spell-”

“A green one?”

“Yes, green. A green spell, while the gob-

lin’s back was turned.”

“Did this person Apparate in, or were they

already there, hiding?”

- 102 -
“I only noticed when I saw the spell light
through the window,” she said, shaking
her head. “And then the goblin fell, and
the person came over, took hold of its arm
and vanished.”

“Who called the Hit Wizards?” Sirius

asked.

“Madam Walpole,” Keira said, gestur-

ing toward the witnesses; sure enough,
hunched old Madam Walpole was there.
“After I asked her to. The Aurors prefer
to deal with humans... or most do.” Again,
Sirius got the impression she was smiling
at him. “This one, certainly,” she added,
and Sirius turned in time to see Brown
coming over. He gestured to Sirius, who
sighed, thanked Keira and went to talk
with Brown.

- 103 -
“He’s not talking,” Brown said, look-
ing sulky, and a bit embarrassed. Sirius
glanced over at the shop owner, who was
glowering at them, arms folded.

“What did you do?” Sirius asked, chuck-

ling. Brown scowled, insulted, but didn’t
come back with a retort.

“I asked him what the goblins have been

looking at, and he told me it was none of
my business, so I showed him my badge
and he said he wasn’t dealing with Aurors
and I told him he had to do what I told him
to, but he just won’t talk. He’s a prick!”

“Wait here,” Sirius said. He approached

the shop owner, Sidekick raised, so that
the words Auror Sirius Black were clear-
ly visible. “Afternoon,” he said. “I’m Auror
Black-”

- 104 -
“You’re him,” the shopkeeper said. “That
one that was a Death Eater.”

“I’ve never been a Death Eater,” Sirius

said coolly. “I am an Auror, and I’ve come
to ask about your customers; the goblins,
in particular.”

“It’s none of your business,” the man said.

“You said that to Trainee Brown too,” Sir-

ius said, “but I think you’ll find that it is
in fact, our business.” He smiled in a way
that made the other man look nervous for
the first time. “There’s a murder investi-
gation happening right here, right now.
You’re not legally obliged to answer any of
our questions-”

“I know,” the man said, looking smug.

“-but if you don’t, it makes it look an awful

- 105 -
lot like you’ve got something to hide.”

“I don’t.” Sirius arched an eyebrow.

“Sir,” he said in a tone as insolent as he

could manage, “it was a witness’ state-
ment that led us to question you in the
first place. That’s indicative that whatev-
er you know - and aren’t sharing - is some-
thing important... something potentially
case-solving, in fact-”

“You don’t know that-”

“You don’t know that it’s not,” Sirius re-

plied. “I’m not here to cause trouble for
you, but I can and will arrest you-”

“For not talking?” the man sneered. Sirius

was quiet for a moment.

“I could decide you’re a suspect,” he said

- 106 -
eventually. “And I could take you away to
be properly questioned – you’d be allowed
to have a solicitor, of course, and fight for
your rights to stay silent, but that’d make
you look even more guilty... It would also,
frankly, be a waste of everyone’s time. You
can give me five minutes of your time and
a few honest answers, or I can take five
days of yours, and close your shop in the
meantime so that I, or other members of
the DM.L.E. can search it for evidence.”

“Search my shop?” the man asked, his eyes

widening. Sirius had no doubt the man had
all sorts of incriminating documents and
creatures in there, but he wasn’t interest-
ed in that this time; Knockturn Alley had
a reputation for being dodgy – even Wal-
pole’s had a less than stellar reputation
– but Aurors rarely bothered, for a num-
ber of reasons; firstly, Knockturn’s inhab-
itants were rough, but not usually dan-

- 107 -
gerous unless threatened (except for hags
that sold human fingernails and the like),
secondly, the shops stocked a lot of rare
items and ingredients that came in handy
from time to time, and thirdly, it was a
very good place to run surveillance or set
up traps for the wizarding world’s nastier
occupants, who felt safe in the area.

“I’d rather not,” Sirius said, “but I know

you know something, and I need to know
what.” The man hesitated. “I’ll tell you
what: you share what you know, and it
stays off record. That way, even if you
say something you shouldn’t, you can’t be
prosecuted for it. Sound fair?”

“Sound too good to be true,” the man said.

“I’m desperate here,” Sirius said, in a

self-deprecating voice. The man looked
pleased, obviously liking the falsely pow-

- 108 -
erful position Sirius had given him.

“Dragons,” the man said in a low voice.

“That goblin, he was looking at dragons.”

“Dragons?” Sirius asked, as a few pieces

clicked into place. The man nodded impor-
tantly.

“They don’t usually buy here – usually,

they buy direct from smugglers, but secu-
rity’s been tight in sanctuaries, after that
egg got taken from Romania. Only the best
get through, so the market’s dry, except in
a few places.”

“Here?”

“I got the best.”

Sirius asked him a few more things, and

then went to rejoin Brown, who was look-

- 109 -
ing at the Apparition traces with a pair
of trace readers. One vanished as Sirius
approached.

“Well?” Brown asked, glancing away from

the place of Disapparition.

“Dragons,” Sirius said.

“Dragons?” Brown asked; he looked torn

between wanting to scowl because Sirius
had won information Brown couldn’t, and
thoughtful. “You reckon they’re scared?”

“Who, the goblins?” Brown nodded.

“That’s exactly what I think,” Sirius said,
impressed that Brown had got the point
so quickly Still, no one had ever accused
Brown of being stupid. “They’ve been try-
ing to get dragons since March-”

“-when the blueprints were stolen,” Brown

- 110 -
said. Sirius nodded. “So, what, our goblin
was about to buy another hatchling to raise
into security work, and someone killed it
to stop that, or-”

“Dunno,” Sirius said. The second trace

reader Apparated back and shook her
head.

“Multi-coloured magic,” she said, as Brown

wrote everything down. “Green, black,
navy, and lots of silver. Gone. The person,
whoever they were, went to an abandoned
house in the outskirts of London and then
left again. I don’t know if it was a Portkey,
or broomstick, or Floo, or by Apparition,
but they’re gone, and the goblin too.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said. “I reckon we’ve

done what we can here.” The trace read-
ers nodded and vanished with pops. “We
should find Hemsley,” Sirius told Brown.

- 111 -
“He’ll want to know about all of this.”

He sent Brown to tell the remaining wit-

nesses to owl the Auror Department if
they felt like they had anything else to
share, while Sirius himself went over to
thank Keira again. Then, he and Brown
made their way to the bank, where a quick
flash of their Sidekicks was all it took to
have a goblin named Gornuk escort them
to where Hemsley and Dirk were talking
to the Head Goblin. Several other gob-
lins were in the room, either watching,
or talking amongst themselves. Dirk ap-
peared to be doing most of the conversing;
either the goblin didn’t speak English, or
was too proud or lazy to bother.

“May I present Black and Brown,” Hems-

ley said, into a pause. “My partner and
trainee.”

- 112 -
“A pleasure,” the Head Goblin said flatly,
showing his pointed teeth. He said some-
thing to Dirk in his harsh language.

“Did you find anything?” Dirk asked.

“The goblin was killed trying to buy a drag-

on, or dragon’s egg,” Sirius said; Brown
was just staring at the goblins in the room
and Sirius didn’t trust him not to squeak,
or speak offensively. “They-”

“He,” Dirk said, and Sirius nodded.

“He was killed with the Killing Curse from

behind, and taken from the scene. We
spoke with witnesses, and we had trace
readers examine what was left behind,
but couldn’t track them past the first des-
tination.”

The Head Goblin steepled his long fingers

- 113 -
and sighed. He said something to Gri-
phook - another goblin in the room - and
Griphook came forward. Then the Head
Goblin spoke to Dirk again, and Dirk nod-
ded.

“You three can go, Alexander,” Dirk said

to Hemsley, who nodded. The goblins
watched them with dark eyes as they left,
escorted by Griphook.

They went back to the Ministry for the rest

of the afternoon; Brown and Hemsley spent
a lot of time debriefing – Sirius was glad
Hemsley did that, because Brown needed
the feedback, and Sirius knew it wouldn’t
be as well received if it came from him –
while Sirius started writing up his report.
Being an Auror wasn’t dull by any means,
but there was a lot more paperwork than
most people thought.

- 114 -
“...another way you might have handled
that situat-”

“I’m off,” Sirius said, waving his sheet of

parchment at Hemsley, who was still sit-
ting with Brown. He copied it with a tap
of his wand, left one for Hemsley to read
and add to their personal case file, and
then took the original down the corridor
to Scrimgeour’s office. Scrimgeour wasn’t
there, so Sirius just left it on his desk.

Part of Sirius wanted to stay, and keep

looking over their reports, to see if they’d
missed anything, and part of him wanted
nothing more than to get home and try not
to think about it; being an Auror wasn’t a
job that ended when he left the Ministry,
because there was always something to
do, someone to question, a report to write,
and Sirius had learned years ago, and then
again recently, that he had to make it end,

- 115 -
and try to stop thinking about it when he
left work, if he wanted any peace of mind.

Besides, that afternoon wasn’t going to

be without its own drama; Harry’s friend
Hermione was coming over, Harry’s mug-
gle friend – Sirius still wasn’t entirely sure
how he’d let Harry talk him into that one
– and he and Sirius had spent hours put-
ting up muggle repulsion wards on certain
rooms of the house, and hiding anything
magical – Kreacher had instructions to
make himself scarce – that could raise
awkward questions.

He Apparated into the garden of a run-

down house around the corner from the
school, took off his robes, so that he was
just wearing a tshirt and a pair of jeans,
and then hid his Sidekick, wand and robes
in his rucksack. Then, he jumped the fence
– hoping no one had seen him – stepped

- 116 -
onto the footpath, and wandered toward
the school, like a normal, muggle parent.

Harry and Hermione were waiting at Har-

ry’s usual pickup place when he got there,
whispering to each other.

“-lying, Harry-”

“It’s fine,” Harry said, and then grinned

and stepped forward to greet Sirius, who
hugged him. Sirius released Harry and
smiled at Hermione.

“Hello, Mr Evans,” she said nervously.

“Hello, Hermione,” he said. “I hope you

don’t mind walking-”

“No,” she said quickly, “I’d usually have

to walk to the bus stop anyway, and then
home, so-”

- 117 -
“She doesn’t mind,” Harry said, and Her-
mione, who’d looked like she was about to
start babbling, seemed grateful that he’d
stepped in to translate. “How was work,
Padfoot?”

“Busy,” Sirius said. “Keira sends her best,

though.”

“Keira?” Harry asked, looking surprised.

“What were you doing over there?”

“Long story,” Sirius said, glancing at

Hermione, who was staring very hard at
him. “How was school?” he asked her. She
seemed startled.

“Oh,” she said, “Good, thank you.” She

glanced at Harry, and he just nodded en-
couragingly. She still looked and smelled
very nervous.

- 118 -
“Are you looking forward to the holidays?”
Sirius asked, trying to calm her down a
bit.

“Oh yes,” she said, smiling for the first

time. “There’s an international dental
convention in America over the summer,
and Dad’s been invited, so Mum and I are
going to go too, and then we’ll travel a bit
and be back in mid August, so I can have
some time at home before school starts.”

Sirius didn’t pry about schools; if he

brought that up, she’d probably ask about
Harry’s schooling prospects and Sirius
wasn’t going to get into that.

“Where in America?” he asked instead.

Hermione seemed relieved too, and began
to rattle off a list of places, some of which
Sirius knew about, and others he hadn’t

- 119 -
known existed until she said them.

“Is Moony going to be over tonight?” Har-

ry asked.

“I’ve told him he’s welcome; Dora too,” Sir-

ius said. Remus’ mother had been a mug-
gleborn, and Ted, Dora’s father was as
well. She’d also gone to a muggle primary
school, like Harry. Neither of them were
quite as likely to slip up as Sirius was.

“Here?” Hermione asked, when they ar-

rived in front of Number Twelve. She
seemed surprised for some reason.

“What were you expecting?” Harry asked,

arching an eyebrow. Hermione seemed em-
barrassed and muttered something Sirius
didn’t catch. Harry just smiled and led the
way to the door, while Sirius extracted his
wand behind Hermione’s back, and flicked

- 120 -
it to open the door, just as Harry turned
the handle. Hermione glanced over her
shoulder, and Sirius only just had time to
stuff his wand up his sleeve.

This was a bad idea, he thought, stepping

inside.

“You can leave your bag there, if you want,”

Harry said, waving to the hallway floor. He
kept his own schoolbag on, thinking he’d
either leave it in the kitchen, or take it up-
stairs. “Hungry?” Hermione nodded, still
looking around curiously. Harry knew she
was looking for signs of magic, but Pad-
foot didn’t, and he was looking rather dis-
concerted.

“Sure,” she said. She swung her bag off

and tucked it off to one side, where, Harry

- 121 -
remembered the troll’s leg umbrella stand
had used to live. “Kitchen’s this way,” he
said. Hermione followed him, and Padfoot
followed the pair of them; Harry wasn’t
sure which of them was more nervous;
Hermione for not being completely honest
with Padfoot, or Padfoot for thinking he
was going to inadvertently break the stat-
ute. He hid a smile. Hermione gasped as
they passed the stairs, and pointed up at
the landings. “What?” Harry asked.

“Is that- is this four storeys?!” she asked,

peering up. “It only looked like two from
the outside!” Padfoot’s mouth fell open,
and he made a small noise that sounded
like a cross between a groan and a squeak.
“How-”

“This way,” Harry said, guiding her off to

the left, toward the kitchen stairs. Hermi-
one looked like she was dying to ask, and

- 122 -
he suspected she’d bombard him as soon
as she had the chance, but thankfully, she
just gave the stairs a longing look and let
Harry lead her. Kreacher had left a plate
of biscuits on the table, and a tray of small
meat pies in the oven.

“Is that safe?” Hermione asked, glancing

at the oven. “If no one was home, then-”
Padfoot looked stricken for a moment, and
then relaxed:

“I was,” Moony said, appearing at the top

of the stairs. He smiled at Hermione. “John
Evans,” he said. “Patrick’s brother.” Pad-
foot and Harry were both sporting sandy
hair so it was believable enough, even if
Moony had brown eyes and theirs were
currently blue. “You must be Hermione.”

“Hello,” she said nervously. Harry saw

Moony’s nostrils widen and then a look of

- 123 -
concern painted itself over his face. Her-
mione looked at Harry, obviously trying to
place Moony from the stories Harry had
told her in the last week and a half.

“I didn’t know you were here, Moony,” Har-

ry said. Hermione’s eyes sparked with rec-
ognition, and she relaxed a bit, and took a
bite of her pie.

“I thought you might like something to

eat when you got home,” he said. Harry
thought that Kreacher would be scowling
if he could hear this, and grinned at the
thought.

“Thanks, mate,” Padfoot said, looking re-

lieved to have someone else there. Moony
sat down and helped himself to a biscuit
and a pie, and then looked at Harry and
Hermione.

- 124 -
“New words today?” he asked. Harry made
a noise of disgust, nodded, and pulled out
his school diary. Moony looked over this
week’s spelling words. “They’re not bad,”
he said. “What do you think?”

“If I make any mistakes, they’ll be silly

ones,” Hermione said. “They’re reasonably
common words, so I should be all right, as
long as I practice.” Harry rolled his eyes;
she probably didn’t need to practice.

“Are you going to study properly this

week?” Padfoot asked Harry, sniggering.
Hermione looked scandalised.

“You didn’t practice?!”

“I did!” Harry protested. “Moony and I

went over them on Thursday morning.”
Hermione pursed her lips.

- 125 -
“Where do ‘Moony’ and ‘Padfoot’ come
from?”

“School nicknames,” Padfoot said easily;

that was a half-truth he had experience
telling. “I suppose they stuck.”

“But ‘Moony’...?” Hermione asked.

“It was a dare,” Moony muttered. “I’m not

proud of it.” Padfoot sniggered, and Har-
ry knew there was truth to that as well,
though that wasn’t where the name had
come from. “Oh, shut up, Pads,” Moo-
ny said, elbowing him. Padfoot got up to
make tea, and was laughing so hard that
he dropped the kettle. He reached for it,
but in doing so, dropped his wand, which
must have been in his sleeve.

The kettle landed with a clanging noise,

on the stone floor, and the wand with a

- 126 -
wooden rattle. Padfoot might have been
able to brush the whole situation off, had
his wand not shot out a whole bunch of
red sparks, and turned the kettle into a
fat, copper-skinned frog. Hermione made a
noise of surprise, Moony and Padfoot both
swore, and Harry fell off the bench because
he was laughing so much. The frog made
a noise rather like a kettle whistling, and
Padfoot hastily scooped it up and deposit-
ed it in the sink under a bowl. It croaked
again, sounding distinctly metallic this
time.

“Harry, why don’t you go and show Her-

mione the rest of the house,” Moony said,
looking very worried. Harry wheezed and
tried to pick himself up off the floor, but
couldn’t quite manage it.

“Your kettle just turned into a frog,” Her-

mione said faintly, and Harry didn’t think

- 127 -
she was even playing along; she just
seemed stunned, and he remembered she
probably hadn’t seen much magic other
than McGonagall’s, and the spells she’d
tried herself. “Harry-”

“Harry,” Padfoot said, looking panicked.

Harry just laughed harder at the look on
his face, but managed to get off the floor
this time.

“All right. Come on,” he said, grabbing

Hermione’s arm. A chuckle slipped out,
and Hermione looked at him beseeching-
ly. Harry shook his head.

Moony and Padfoot were already standing

over the sink, talking in low voices. Harry
distinctly heard ‘statute’, ‘muggle’, ‘bloody
frog’ and ‘Obliviate’, before Hermione
cleared her throat, looking horrendously
guilty.

- 128 -
“Mr Evans- I mean, Mr Black-” Sirius and
Moony spun around so quickly that Harry
wondered how they hadn’t cracked their
necks. “You don’t have to worry,” she said,
“I... umm... I know. I-”

Moony was staring at her, mouth agape.

Then he closed it, looking immensely re-
lieved, and began to laugh. Padfoot opened
his mouth, swelled, made an odd noise, as
if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t
manage it.

“You’re a witch?” he croaked. Hermione

nodded, biting her lip. Harry was already
running for the stairs, and heard Hermi-
one speak up behind him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,

Harry didn’t- I just don’t want you to wor-
ry- Oh!” She made another startled noise,

- 129 -
and Harry heard claws scrabbling on the
stone floor, and glanced over his shoulder –
without slowing – to see Padfoot charging
up the stairs after him.

Hermione and Moony stayed down in the

kitchen – Harry could hear Moony explain-
ing things in his ‘teacher’ voice, and intro-
ducing himself properly – while Padfoot
chased Harry around the upper levels of
the house. Padfoot caught him outside the
library, and pounced before transforming
back.

“You should have seen your faces!” Har-

ry gasped, and Padfoot stared at him,
shocked for the briefest moment, before
he started laughing too. It didn’t stop him
from tickling Harry to within an inch of
his life, though.

They didn’t introduce Hermione to Kreach-

- 130 -
er that day, but they did the next Monday,
and Kreacher was suspicious, but very po-
lite, and if he had any problems with hav-
ing a muggleborn in his house, he didn’t
voice them to Harry or to Padfoot.

Hermione quickly became a regular, on

Monday afternoons. They’d sit in the
kitchen and answer her questions, or let
her loose in the library for a few hours, or
play cards, or chess, or occasionally even
doing their muggle homework. Harry and
Padfoot took to dropping her home, after a
problem with the muggle repulsion wards
that Padfoot’s father had set years ago...
The first time they came by, they were un-
able to find the house, or their daughter.

The only reason they hadn’t panicked and

called the police, was because McKinnon
had gone outside to see what the com-
motion was about, and worked out what

- 131 -
had happened. Harry wasn’t sure how
long she’d known they were living there,
but that was another prank in itself; she
walked right inside, stopped at the bot-
tom of the stairs and started yelling for
Padfoot – who, of course, she couldn’t see,
thanks to the Fidelius Charm (and he had
seemed quite happy that that was the
case). Moony had taken Hermione outside
to her parents and apologised profusely,
and McKinnon had, in the end, stayed for
dinner; Moony asked her, because Padfoot
was too nervous to.

- 132 -
Chapter 4:
The break-in

“Guess we know why the blueprints were

stolen,” Sirius said, approaching Hemsley
and Brown through the damp tunnels that
wound around beneath Diagon Alley.

“Apparently,” Hemsley said, his expres-

sion tight. “Did you find anything?” Sirius
stepped into their circle of wandlight, haul-
ing his captive with him. Hemsley took
a step backward, revolted, and Brown’s
mouth fell open.

- 133 -
“Is that-”

“Krognug,” Sirius said, as Krognug, or

what remained of him, snarled, and tried
to squirm free. Sirius tightened his grip on
the leather collar he’d conjured and forced
around the goblin’s neck. “Our missing
goblin.”

“But he’s supposed to be dead!” Brown

said. “Everyone saw the Killing Curse, but
he looks alive to me.”

“Sort of,” Hemsley said, stepping forward

to examine Krognug with a morbid sort
of curiosity; bits of the goblin had rotten
away, and his skin was a ghastly grey co-
lour. “I’ve never heard a goblin make those
noises-”

“He’s an Inferius,” Sirius said, rattling

- 134 -
the collar. Krognug wheezed and tried to
charge at Hemsley, but Sirius restrained
him. Hemsley stepped back. “They – who-
ever it was - used him to get past the
guards, and through all the goblin exclu-
sive warding.”

“Ew,” Brown said, and for once, Sirius

agreed with him. “So he’s just been like-
well, like that for over a month?”

“You should come over here and smell

him,” Sirius said darkly. “Good news is, the
vault had been emptied. Not ten minutes
before the break-in, apparently, which is
bloody lucky.”

“What-”

“They won’t say what was in the vault,

or who owned it,” Sirius said. “But may-
be once Dirk gets here, you’ll have more

- 135 -
luck.” Hemsley nodded as he took this in.

“Not how you pictured your day off?”

Hemsley asked, with a wry smile.

“No, not exactly,” Sirius said. They’d re-

ceived two letters over breakfast; one from
Hermione, in America, which had been
delivered by a weary Hedwig, wishing
Harry a happy birthday, and one from a
Hogwarts owl; Harry’s letter had arrived
– and been received with much excitement
(some of it Sirius’, most of it Harry’s) and
some sulking from Kreacher – that morn-
ing. Sirius had expected a quiet, fun after-
noon with Harry and Remus, shopping for
Harry’s school things. He hadn’t expected
his Sidekick to go off while they were look-
ing for cauldrons, though his location was
convenient; he’d beaten the Hit Wizards
to the scene.

- 136 -
“You’re bleeding,” Brown said. Sirius
rubbed his cheek and felt three shallow
cuts that would – if he felt inclined to try
to match it up – be an exact fit for Krog-
nug’s long fingernails.

“Little git,” he muttered, and then sighed.

“I’ll deal with it later.”

“Did you want to go?” Hemsley asked.

“We’ll need a report from you, but you can
write that at home... we can handle the
rest here.”

“Are you sure? I don’t min-”

“Go on,” Hemsley said. “Come September,

you’ll be on full time, and you’ll be wish-
ing you’d taken time off when you had it.”
Sirius couldn’t fault his reasoning, so he
carefully handed Krognug over to Brown,
washed his hands with his wand, and

- 137 -
made his way back out into the main part
of the bank. It was completely empty ex-
cept for staff – mostly goblins, but a clus-
ter of humans were over at the far end.
Sirius caught Andy’s eye and nodded at
her, and then nodded again as he passed
Scrimgeour on the way out.

“The vultures have arrived,” the other

man murmured. Sirius glanced at him,
puzzled, and then stepped through the
heavy bronze doors.

“Black! Mr Black! Auror Black! Sirius!”

Reporters had already set up outside the
bank, which Sirius couldn’t help but be
impressed by, given the break-in had only
happened ten minutes ago.

“No comment,” Sirius said, trying to get

past the mob, but they just closed in around
him. “Get out of my way, please.”

- 138 -
“Was anyone hurt? Was anything taken?”
Sirius said nothing, just kept his head
down and kept walking.

“How are the goblins handling this? Will

they close the bank?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing

case,” Sirius said tersely. “Excuse me.”

“Where were you doing today before you

were called in?” a witch in magenta robes
asked. “Are you here alone, or are you with
someone else? Harry Potter? A romantic
partner?”

“Has your relationship with your godson

suffered since you took this new job?”

“Is Harry looking forward to Hogwarts?

How will you cope when he’s gone?”

- 139 -
“Are you still in contact with the werewolf
Lupin?” More than half of the reporters
followed Sirius away from the bank; the
other half had pounced on a goblin spokes-
person.

“Excuse me,” Sirius said again.

“How does it feel, Mr Black, to go from

criminal, to law enforcer?”

“Do you-”

“Oh, for- Caligo,” he murmured, and

smirked as everyone shrieked and stum-
bled over each other to get away from the
fog. Sirius tucked his wand away, trans-
formed and bolted. He sought shelter be-
hind a rubbish bin and waited for everyone
to disperse – and by disperse, he meant
return to hassling the people and goblins

- 140 -
leaving the bank – before transforming
back and altering a few of his features;
Patrick Evans was his most common dis-
guise these days. He also turned his robes
navy, so that he wouldn’t stand out.

Then, he shoved his hands into his pock-

ets, and went for a wander to find Harry
and Remus. They were easy to find, in the
end; the pair of them, and a rather con-
spicuous third member, were sitting un-
der one of the umbrellas at Fortescue’s,
enjoying icecream.

“Hello, Hagrid,” he said. Hagrid looked

confused, and then lowered his voice. “Sir-
ius?”

“The one and only,” he said, grinning. Ha-

grid beamed and patted him on the shoul-
der. Sirius staggered and fell rather un-
gracefully onto the fourth seat at the table.

- 141 -
“I had a bit of trouble with reporters.”

“We saw,” Remus said, nodding down the

busy street. From where they were sitting
they’d have had a clear, albeit distant view
of Sirius’ little spectacle. “And we ordered
you that, figuring you’d be along soon
enough.” Harry pushed a slightly melted,
peanut butter fudge – Sirius still didn’t eat
chocolate after the Dementor’s Draught
incident – sundae toward him, and Sirius
scooped up a mouthful, delighted.

“Thanks,” he said. Remus just smiled at

him.

“Wha’ happened to yer face?” Hagrid

asked.

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said, waving a hand;

he was more occupied with his icecream.
“So what’re you doing down here, Hagrid?”

- 142 -
“On official Hogwarts business,” he said
proudly, patting his coat pocket. “Dumb-
ledore sent me ter sort out a few things fer
him.” He pulled a large pocket watch out
of his coat and nodded importantly. “Best
be movin’ on, in fact. It was nice ter see
yeh Sirius, Remus. An’ happy birthday,
Harry.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Harry said. “Thanks

for the sweets!”

“It’s nothin’,” Hagrid said, beaming at him

nonetheless. He waved his enormous hand
at the three of them and disappeared into
the crowd surprisingly quickly for a man
of his height and bulk.

“How were things at the bank?” Remus

asked.

- 143 -
“Later,” Sirius replied in a low voice.
Remus nodded, and Harry just licked his
icecream, oblivious.

Madam Malkin’s was their final stop of

the day, and the one that Harry was least
interested to visit. Moony’d left after ice-
cream, to meet up with Tonks, and wasn’t
back yet, and Padfoot had had to answer
his Sidekick, so Harry went in alone.

“Hogwarts robes, dear?” a kind-faced witch

asked, bustling over from the other side of
the shop.

“Er, yes,” Harry said. “Please.”

“Well, I see you’re just as articulate as

ever,” a familiar voice drawled. Madam
Malkin seemed ready to tell him off, but

- 144 -
Harry just smiled wryly.

“Draco,” he said.

“Potter.” Draco was standing on a podium,

while an enchanted sewing needle adjust-
ed his robes. Hydrus was next to him, still
being measured.

“Potter.”

“Hydrus,” Harry sighed.

“Just up here, if you wouldn’t mind, dear,”

Madam Malkin said, conjuring a block for
Harry beside Draco’s. “That’s it. Arms out,
if you wouldn’t mind.” She started taking
measurements by hand.

“Is it one of your birthdays?” Harry asked,

looking at the Malfoys.

- 145 -
“No,” Draco said, as if he was daft. “Moth-
er just didn’t see the point of buying robes
that we’d grow out of before school even
started, so we put it off.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He looked down, and

was a little surprised to see that Madam
Malkin was gone; she was talking to an el-
derly witch that had entered the shop. The
tape measure nudged Harry’s ankle, and
then stretched up to his hip, and a floating
piece of chalk scribbled the measurements
down on a nearby blackboard. “Right. Are
your parents around?”

“Father’s next door because Hydrus forgot

a book,” Draco said.

“Did not!” Hydrus snapped.

“Then why do I have it when you don’t?”

Draco asked. “And Mother’s at Olli-

- 146 -
vander’s-”

“Don’t you have wands yet?” Harry asked,

surprised.

“Of course we do,” Hydrus said, rolling his

eyes. “Do we look like muggles-”

“Other than the robes, we’re indistin-

guishable,” Draco told him. Hydrus looked
horrified. “Do you really think you can
tell someone’s bloodline just by looking at
them?” Harry smirked. “I mean, look at
the Weasleys; you’d never know they were
purebloods, would you?” Harry’s face fell;
Draco might not have meant it to be offen-
sive (or he might have, with Draco it was
hard to tell), but it still came across that
way. He turned to Harry. “She wanted to
talk to him about cores and woods.”

“She- your mother?”

- 147 -
“Well, yes, Potter, that’s what we were
just talking about,” Draco said, looking
exasperated.

“Keep up,” Hydrus sneered.

“You’re done, dear,” Madam Malkin said,

coming back over. She helped Draco ex-
tract his arms from his new school robes
and he jumped off the block and went to
examine a rack of robes. “Now, do-”

“Just leave them on the counter,” Hydrus

said dismissively; the sewing needles had
moved onto his hems now.

“Thank you,” Draco added, giving Mad-

am Malkin a polite smile. She looked a bit
confused, but walked off. Draco gave Hy-
drus a reprimanding look. “Mother would
be furious if she’d seen you treat her like

- 148 -
that.”

“Mother’s not here,” Hydrus said loftily.

“That isn’t the point,” Draco said, irritat-

ed, and then glanced at Harry, who was
watching them silently. “So how’ve you
been, Potter?”

“Oh, er-”

“Did you even read your dictionary?” Dra-

co asked, frowning at him.

“Yes,” Harry said.

“You’ve had it almost a year now,” Draco

told him, “and it certainly doesn’t show.”

“Sorry?” Harry said, not sure what else

to say. “And... er... yeah, good, I suppose.
You?”

- 149 -
“Bored-”

“How can you possibly have been bored?”

Hydrus asked, apparently shocked. “We’ve
had four birthdays since yours, and two
other social functions for no reason!” Dra-
co’s face went curiously blank, the way
Harry had seen Snape’s do on occasion.
“Stop doing that!” Draco smirked, break-
ing his mask. Hydrus looked disconcerted.
“Well?”

“They’re a dull lot,” Draco said. Now Hy-

drus smirked.

“You just don’t like them because they

don’t like you.”

“Well, yes,” Draco said, blinking. “That’s

not unusual.” Harry bit down on his tongue
to keep from laughing, and Draco almost

- 150 -
smiled at him.

“Is for a Hufflepuff,” Hydrus muttered.

Then he looked up, smiling rather nasti-
ly. He looked a lot like his father in that
moment. And Draco, with his folded arms,
and supremely unimpressed expression,
looked a lot like his mother.

Harry wasn’t sure if his robes had just

been a better fit to start with, or if Mad-
am Malkin had taken pity on him and in-
structed Harry’s needles to work faster,
but he was done before Hydrus. He hopped
down and followed Madam Malkin over to
the counter, where she wrapped his robes
and used the measurements she’d taken
earlier to find him two pairs of school trou-
sers, three shirts, a jumper, and five pairs
of socks, which also went in his bag. She
also gave him an owl order form, which he
could use to order a House scarf, once he

- 151 -
was sorted.

He thanked her, gathered everything up

and headed for the door.

“Bye, Potter,” Draco called after him. “It

was good to see you!” Harry had no doubt
that he meant it.

“Bye, Draco,” Harry called back, with a

genuine smile and a wave, and then left
the shop, smiling slightly to himself as
he braced for the headache that always
seemed to follow in the wake of dealing
with Draco’s polar personalities.

Dora curled into Remus’ side and let out a

happy sigh. Her hair flashed yellow, and
then reverted back to the pale blue it al-
ways did when she was sleeping. Remus

- 152 -
adjusted himself - trying not to wake her -
and was just putting his head down when
he heard a quiet pop.

He sat up, carefully extracting himself

from his girlfriend’s grip and reached for
his wand. He heard a quiet thump, and
then everything went silent again.

Remus frowned, thinking that perhaps it

was Strix, his owl, or that he was imagin-
ing things, when he saw a shadow move
at the end of the hall and heard the guest
room door creak.

Sirius? he wondered, and then dismissed

that; Sirius would have turned on a light
and made himself a cup of tea... he wasn’t
the type to go about unannounced. And
Remus doubted it was Mad-Eye, either; he
did, on occasion, sneak in to try to startle
Dora, but he’d been in three nights ago,

- 153 -
and he never bothered to check the guest
room first because he knew where he was
going...

Remus put a hand over Dora’s mouth and

shook her awake. Her eyes fluttered open
and he pressed a finger to his lips. She nod-
ded and glanced toward the hall, where
the bathroom door had just creaked. She
grabbed her wand and rolled out of the
bed, her expression resigned. Obviously
she thought it was Mad-Eye. There was a
thump and she muttered something about
the bedside table. Remus slipped out of
the other side of the bed.

A shadow - or more precisely, a tall figure

in a black cloak - moved in the doorway of
their room just as Remus cast a non-ver-
bal Stunner and Tonks sent a Full Body
Bind.

- 154 -
“Avada Kedavra,” it snarled in what was
obviously a man’s voice.

Remus threw himself out of the way as the

green curse hit and burst a pillow. Dora
gasped with the realisation that it wasn’t
Mad-Eye, but didn’t hesitate and sent an-
other hex - Remus didn’t recognise it - but
the attacker batted it away with a flick of
his wand and Dora rolled out of the way of
another Killing Curse. Remus’ heart was
in his throat as he watched her.

Two more of the deadly green spells were

sent Remus’ way in such quick succession
that he didn’t have a chance to retaliate
and was forced to simply dodge.

“Avada-” the attacker began. Remus spun

on the spot and Apparated to the other
side of the room. The curse exploded on
the wall.

- 155 -
Dora fired off a quick spell that hit their
attacker. He stumbled back a step with
a sound like a snarl and shot a gleaming
rope at Remus. It tangled around his arms
and bare chest and he hissed as it burned;
the ropes were silver. Dora looked at him
helplessly for a split second and then cast
a Shield Charm to block another attack.

“Finite Incantatum,” she said as soon as

the attacker was distracted. Her hair was
a brilliant red and her eyes were dark and
angry as she flicked her wand at Remus,
who was biting down on his lip so hard he
was sure he was about to lose a chunk of it.
He’d never been in so much pain and that
was saying something. The ropes fell off
him and he let out a little relieved sound
and pressed a hand to a burn on his shoul-
der.

- 156 -
“Avada Kedavra,” their attacker snapped,
sounding irritated. Dora pulled Remus to
the ground.

“Sorry!” she said as he hissed in pain.

He shook his head at her - noticing ab-

sently that she was bleeding from a cut
on her forehead - flicked his wand at the
cloaked figure who was unable to block the
Wind Charm and staggered back. Remus
ignored the pain and grabbed her arm and
then the familiar squeeze of Apparition
seized them both and Remus’ ruined bed-
room faded. They landed roughly on a hard
surface and Dora immediately jumped to
her feet, wand out.

“Where are we?” she asked, after she’d de-

termined they hadn’t been followed. She
shrunk as she spoke, to ensure Remus’
shirt covered more of her than it had pre-

- 157 -
viously.

“Padfoot’s,” he said. He pushed himself up-

right with considerable effort, but his legs
were fine and standing wasn’t a problem.

“Thank Merlin,” she said. “You need a

Healer.” Remus watched her face, pale
and worried in the dim light of the street
lamp. Her hair was an odd purple – a mix
of sad, scared navy, and furious red - and
her eyes were a bright blue.

“Expecto Patronum,” he muttered, trying

to move his arm as little as possible. His
wolf burst into existence. “We need help.
Come downstairs,” Remus muttered.

The door opened and Sirius stepped out

looking half-asleep, dressed – like Remus
– in only his pyjama bottoms. Dora snig-
gered, despite the situation.

- 158 -
“Are those paw prints?” she asked.

“I’ll leave you out here if you’re going to

be mean,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.
“Moony?” He blinked and took in Remus’
burns. “What the hell happened to you?”
Then he grinned wickedly and glanced at
Dora again. “And is that your shirt she’s
wearing?”

Remus flushed and made a rude hand ges-

ture. It made his burns sting like hell, but
it was worth it. Dora pretended to ignore
her second cousin, but Remus didn’t miss
her hair turning pink, and he doubted Sir-
ius had either. Sirius barked a laugh and
stepped back to let them inside.

“Padfoot?” Harry’s head, complete with

bed hair and very tired eyes, was sticking
out over the landing.

- 159 -
“Go back to bed, kiddo,” Sirius called, yawn-
ing. Harry didn’t, though. He, like Sirius
was in pyjamas, but his were shorts with
little deer on them – a birthday present
from Kreacher – and a big white t-shirt.

Remus didn’t know if he was too tired to

ask, or if he was simply too used to seeing
Remus dealing with painful injuries, but
Harry just set about making tea – he bor-
rowed Sirius’ wand to speed the process
up - while Sirius retrieved his healing kit
from the pantry.

“Thanks,” Dora said, accepting a cup from

Harry.

“You’re welcome,” he said, flopping down

in the seat next to her. “What happened to
your head?”

- 160 -
“I hit it on the bedside table,” she mut-
tered.

“Oh, really?” Sirius asked, grinning wide-

ly at Remus. He summoned a cloth and
dipped it in Dittany.

“Not like that,” Remus snapped. Sirius

sniggered. Dora flushed. Harry, thank-
fully, was too tired to have registered his
godfather’s comment. “Oww.”

“Sorry,” Sirius said, not looking sorry at

all as he continued to dab at the burns.

“Sadistic prat,” Remus muttered, glower-

ing at Sirius. Harry grabbed another cloth
and started to heal Dora’s cut, and Remus
felt a surge of affection for him.

“So,” Sirius said cheerfully, “what brings

you here at one in the morning?”

- 161 -
“Someone broke into my house and start-
ed flinging Killing Curses,” Remus said.
Harry paled. Sirius’ dabbing stopped.

“Who?”

“A man. No idea who.”

“Why?” Harry asked, wide-eyed.

“They wanted Remus,” Dora said, her hair

turning red again.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. They knew enough about him to

use silver rope, aside from anything else.”

“It was planned, then,” Sirius murmured,

dabbing Remus’ other shoulder.

- 162 -
“They didn’t know their way around the
house,” Remus said. “That’s probably what
saved us. I thought it was Mad-Eye, but
then I realised it couldn’t be-”

“Poorly planned, then,” Sirius said. “You

can’t rely on that next time, though.”

“Next time?”

“This was planned,” Sirius said rolling his

eyes. “Obviously someone wants you dead
and since you’re still alive, it’s reasonable
to conclude they’ll come looking for you
again.”

“He’s right,” Dora said, not seeming to like

the revelation at all. Remus didn’t like it
much either.

“Of course I am,” Sirius said. Harry smiled,

seeming too tired to laugh, but sobered

- 163 -
quickly. “Kiddo, do you mind?”

“No,” Harry said, accepting the Ditta-

ny-soaked cloth from Sirius. He’d helped
with this sort of thing a few times before,
but his dabs were still softer, and more
timid than Sirius’. Remus appreciated
that.

“Library,” Sirius said, vanishing into the

kitchen fireplace. He was back less than
a minute later, seeming marginally more
awake than before. He was dressed, at
least, and also had a pair of jeans that he
tossed at Dora. She put them on and then
grew so that she filled them out.

“Stay here,” Sirius told Remus, but glanced

at Harry as if to make sure that Harry
knew it applied to him too. Then he looked
to Dora. “Are you coming?”

- 164 -
“Obviously,” Dora said.

“Wait, wha-”

“Stay safe,” she said, giving him a small

smile. She kissed him, and then followed
Sirius into the fireplace, wand drawn.

“Clear,” Sirius whispered, catching Tonks

as she stepped out of the fireplace. Sirius
had already lit the lamps and once Tonks
was steady, he released her and headed
for the hallway, murmuring, “Ostendere
me omnia,” as he went.

She followed; her Sidekick was in there, in

her rucksack, and so was a half-finished
report than she didn’t particularly want
in just anyone’s hands. They were safe,
though. Her bag didn’t even appear to

- 165 -
have been touched, other than by a spell;
the top pocket was a bit blackened. Sirius
looked around the room, his eyes wide and
unfocused, and then left.

“Green, black, navy and silver,” he mut-

tered, as she joined him in the main part
of the cottage. “Why does that sound fa-
miliar...?”

He crouched down, staring intently at a

patch of floorboard that seemed remark-
ably normal to Tonks. Sirius, though,
rarely did anything without good reason,
so she left him to it, and tried to find the
intruder’s entry point. She found it easily
enough; a bowl had shattered on the kitch-
en floor, and Tonks knew that meant he’d
come in through the window above the
sink; she’d broken something in the ex-
act same way nearly two years ago, when
she’d broken in to borrow Remus’ clothes

- 166 -
so that she could impersonate him.

“Here,” she said, growing her legs so that

she could look outside. “Those plants look
flat, and this bowl’s broken.”

“Geraniums,” Sirius said, coming over

for a look. “He told me off for standing on
them, once.” Somehow, Tonks wasn’t sur-
prised that Sirius had once trampled (be-
cause with Sirius, it was rarely as simple
as standing) Remus’ garden, and she cer-
tainly wasn’t surprised that he’d been told
off for doing so.

“Any traces?”

“A few,” Sirius said, in a cautiously opti-

mistic tone. He stepped away and back to
the same patch of floor. “Nothing helpful
yet, but if I just...” He trailed off, drawing
strange shapes in the air with his wand.

- 167 -
“What are you doing?” Tonks asked in a
hushed voice.

“I’ve been spending Tuesdays with trace

readers,” Sirius said after a pause; she’d
begun to wonder if he’d even heard her.
“Picked up a few tricks.” Tonks didn’t in-
terrupt him again after that, just perched
on the arm of Remus’ couch and waited
patiently. Finally, Sirius pushed himself
to his feet and sighed. “Got it,” he said, ex-
tending his hand to her. She took it, and
he pulled her into the tight darkness of
Apparition.

Tonks fell over upon arrival, and for once,

Sirius didn’t catch her; he’d already gone
to examine something on a desk, on the
other side of the room. She stood up,
brushing dust off her borrowed jeans, and
looked around.

- 168 -
They appeared to be in some sort of cot-
tage. It looked a bit like she imagined the
Shrieking Shack would, on the inside; the
walls were made of crumbling plaster, cov-
ered in smears of dirt, mould and peeling
wallpaper, and the beams that held the
patchy roof up had almost been destroyed
by rot. The floor was dusty – broken in plac-
es by footprints - and creaky, and what lit-
tle carpet remained was stained and thin.

There was a desk and chair – over by Siri-

us – a kitchen, which seemed to have been
cleaned recently, and there was, when
Tonks checked, food in the cupboards.
There was also a curtained off area which
revealed a toilet – also clean – a shower-
head above a patch of tiled floor, and a
sink with a leaking tap. It couldn’t be the
Shrieking Shack, though; Tonks could see
the Thames through the spotty window.

- 169 -
“Homenum Revelio,” she said, but Sirius
was the only one to glow orange. Tonks
left Sirius examining the desk and went
to check the next room. In it, was a small,
lumpy bed that had been slept in at some
point, and recently, because it was un-
made, but dust was yet to gather on the
exposed sheets. There was a door off to one
side that led to another, smaller room, and
in there, Dora found a cauldron, an open
book with instructions for some sort of po-
tion-spell combination ritual, and a whole
lot of stacked jars and phials of strange
ingredients.

She picked up the book and scanned the

pages. It was, by far, the most complicated
thing she’d ever seen, and she was a good
enough potioneer to brew Wolfsbane (that
had been her birthday present to Remus,
in fact). It was also dark magic, involving

- 170 -
the blood of the victim, and blood of the
Master.

“Sirius,” she said, and he appeared in the

doorway almost instantly, wand up and
ready.

“Are- what’s this?”

“I don’t know.” Tonks offered him the book,

and he accepted it gingerly. “I’ve never
seen anything like it, but it’s Dark.”

Sirius seemed to have more idea about

what the ritual did than Tonks had; grue-
some as it was, she doubted he was paling
because of the ingredient list.

“Green, black, navy and silver,” he whis-

pered. “Of course! Knockturn Alley- It’s
the same- They’re the same!”

- 171 -
“What?” Tonks whispered.

“This place...” Sirius said. “I never came,

the trace readers did, but their reports de-
scribed an old, abandoned cottage on the
outskirts of London. And this-” He held up
the book. “-is instructions.”

“I’d worked that out,” Tonks said, rolling

her eyes, but her heart wasn’t really in it.
She bit her lip. “Instructions for what?”

“For how to create an Inferius,” Sirius said

grimly. “It’s similar to the Animagus stuff
really; I could turn that cauldron into a
dog, if I wanted to, using a variation of my
old Animagus incantation, and I would be
able to control it, the same way I control
Padfoot, when I become him... But I could
use that incantation on any old dog on the
street, and it wouldn’t work... I couldn’t
just force it do things with a thought-”

- 172 -
“That’d be the Imperius curse,” Tonks
said. Sirius nodded.

“But if it’s dead, you’ve already got the

body – so it’s not creating it, like with the
Animagus stuff – but there’s no mind, like
with a normal dog, or linked mind, like an
Animagus. So you’ve got to... well, essen-
tially make that link-” He held the book
up again, grimacing. “-and implant it.” He
shivered. “This is very dark magic.” He
folded the corner of the page the instruc-
tions were on, and then shrank the book
and tucked it into a pocket in his robes.
“This is how they got Krognug,” he said,
more to himself than her. “But how the hell
is Remus the next step after Gringotts...?”

“This- they’re the same person? The same

person that broke into Gringotts today-”
Or yesterday, she supposed. “-is the same

- 173 -
one that attacked us tonight?” Sirius nod-
ded. “But- why-”

“No idea,” Sirius said darkly. “And here

I was thinking I couldn’t possibly be any
more motivated to catch this git... You
should see this.” His mouth set into a hard
line. “And fair warning: you won’t like it,”
he said, leading her back through to the
room they’d arrived in. She followed him
over to the desk, and then stopped. She
felt her hair shrink into angry spikes, and
her eyebrows morph into a very pointy,
angular shape. There, on the desk, were
pictures of Remus. Two were from articles
regarding his upcoming position as the De-
fence teacher at Hogwarts; one was from
The Quibbler, and about how it was good
that the wizarding community was finally
starting to be more open-minded toward
employees.

- 174 -
The other was from the Prophet, implying
that Dumbledore was insane and Remus
was a murderous beast. Tonks had sent
the Prophet a very angry letter after that,
and Sirius had also sent one, less angry,
and far more impressively condescending
and sarcastic than Tonks thought she’d
ever be able to manage.

The desk also held a grainy photograph of

Remus - who seemed to be telling Matt a
joke - and a rough sketch of his cottage.
Tonks stiffened and felt her skin tingle.
She didn’t need to look to know it was red,
like her hair. Sirius took a step backward,
and then shook his head, took two forward,
and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Go home,” he said.

“No, I-” She paused; he’d said ‘go’, not ‘let’s

go’. “What about you? Aren’t you com-”

- 175 -
Sirius looked like he desperately did want
to go home, but he shook his head.

“I’m not done here,” he said grimly. “Some-

one’s got to collect this-” He gestured at
the papers on the desk. “-before anyone
tries to hide it, and someone’s got to try to
trace our attacker past here.”

“Are there traces?”

“Not magical ones,” Sirius said.

“There’s no point, then,” Tonks said. “Come

home, Sirius. This can wait until mor-”

“Not magical ones,” Sirius repeated. “But

I have other ways of tracking people.” He
tapped his nose, and it started to extend
into a long, black snout before he changed
it back again. “And they – whoever they
are – went that way.” He pointed to a door

- 176 -
that led out into an overgrown garden.
Tonks felt tired just thinking about it.

“I’ll stay,” she said. “You could use the

help-”

“Help me by warning your parents,” he

said. “If they can’t get to Remus, they’ll
try to get to you, and that’s the first place
they’ll look. They’ve been forced to rethink
after tonight’s little attack failed, but who
knows how long that’ll set them back.”

Not long, Tonks thought; this person, had

broken into Gringotts, after all. A little
failure like tonight’s wouldn’t deter them
for long.

“Then,” Sirius said tiredly, “tell Remus to

go back to his cottage to pack; he can live
at home-” By home, she knew he meant
Number Twelve. “-until term starts. He

- 177 -
practically lives there anyway, so we might
as well make it official.” He smiled, but
seemed too troubled to keep the expres-
sion there for long. Tonks nodded slowly.

“You’ll be all right on your own?” she asked.

He was silent, toying with his Sidekick for
a moment, and then looked up.

“Hemsley’s awake,” he said, “and proba-

bly already on his way to get Brown. I’ll
be fine.”

Tonks stayed with him anyway, until

Hemsley and Brown arrived – and an-
swered their respective security questions
– just to be sure. Then, she gave him one
last look; a warning, that if he got hurt,
she’d kill him herself. He nodded tiredly,
and managed a small smile, and then she
turned on the spot and the cottage melted
away.

- 178 -
Chapter 5:
A place to belong

“Ginny,” Ron warned, as Ginny took a step

into his room. She stomped her foot and
came in anyway. “Ginny!”

“You’re going tomorrow anyway,” she said,

and Ron noticed the waver in her voice. He
turned away from her to throw a pair of
socks into his battered trunk. Ron wasn’t
entirely sure how he hadn’t managed to
get a new one, because Bill and Charlie
had both taken theirs with them, and Per-

- 179 -
cy and the twins were still using theirs,
but Mum had pulled this old one out of
somewhere, and so Ron had a second-hand
trunk to put his second-hand things into.
“It shouldn’t matter if I’m in here at all!”

“I’m still here,” Ron pointed out. “And that

means the rules are sti-”

“I’m going to come and stand in here all

the time when you’re gone,” Ginny told
him.

“No,” Ron said, “you’re not.”

“I am,” Ginny said, throwing herself down

on his bed.

“Get off!” Ron said, shoving her. Ginny

shoved him back.

“I’m going to come in here and jump on

- 180 -
your bed, and look at your things, and-”

“I won’t write if you do that,” he said. Gin-

ny’s bottom lip quivered, and her shoul-
ders slumped. Ron felt instantly bad for
upsetting her.

“You weren’t supposed to say that,” she

said. Ron went to retrieve a book from
his desk. It was Hogwarts: A History, and
he didn’t think he’d ever seen it before in
his life. Still, Ron certainly hadn’t read it,
and it wasn’t a book he’d had for years...
so, he reasoned, it could only be a Hog-
warts book. He tossed it into his trunk.
“You were supposed to say you were going
to stay home to make sure I didn’t.” She
sniffled and Ron turned around in time to
see her wiping her eyes on the sleeve of
her tshirt. “Why can’t I go this year?” Gin-
ny asked piteously. “I could keep up,” she
said. Ron said nothing. “I could! There’s

- 181 -
not that much difference between ten and
eleven! And Percy could help me if I need-
ed it!”

“Perce’ll be doing his O.W.L.s,” Ron point-

ed out. “He won’t have time for anything
else.” There was a pause as Ginny consid-
ered this, and then her lip trembled again.

“I’m going to have no one,” she said.

“I’ll write,” Ron said at once. “I promise.”

“It’s not the same,” she said, and Ron

couldn’t help but agree. He and Ginny had
been all each other had – aside from their
parents, and they didn’t really count – for
the past two years. She was his best friend,
without a doubt, and, excited as he was to
go to Hogwarts, he wished she could come
with him. Harry would be there, but Ron
didn’t know anyone else, and he couldn’t

- 182 -
help but worry that no one would want to
be his friend. Other than his brothers, Gin-
ny, and occasionally someone like Luna
or Harry, he hadn’t had much to do with
other kids. What if no one liked him? He
wasn’t smart, like Bill and Percy, wasn’t
funny like the twins, or popular like Char-
lie. Ron didn’t really have anything to of-
fer.

Why couldn’t we have been twins too? he

wondered, looking at Ginny... who was
still in his room, and on his bed... but Ron
couldn’t bring himself to tell her to get
out. He was leaving tomorrow, so it was a
special occasion, he supposed. He could be
lenient this time.

“Ickle Ronniekins!”

Ginny’s sad expression brightened at once,

and Ron’s musing was overtaken with the

- 183 -
thought that if he wanted to get under his
bed before the twins arrived, he had about
five seconds left to do so.

But Ginny would give me away... She was

his best friend, but she was also his little
sister, and Ron wasn’t about to make the
mistake of forgetting that. His door, which
was already open, flew backward and hit
the wall, causing the Cannons players on
a nearby poster to zoom out of sight. Mum
shouted something from downstairs, and
Percy’s irate voice added something into
the silence that followed.

Ron grumbled as George invited himself

into Ron’s room, wondering if his favou-
rite pair of socks had ended up in Ron’s
washing pile, and proceeded to rummage
through his trunk to find them, undoing
what little packing Ron had managed
to get done. He rolled his eyes as Fred -

- 184 -
never far from George – slouched in with
bulges in his pockets that were very ob-
viously dungbombs and casually dropped
them into Ron’s trunk when he thought no
one was looking. Fred started to whisper
to Ginny, who, in turn, started to snigger.

Ron gave up and slouched out, leaving the

room-invaders he called siblings in his
room and went in search of food; there was
no way that he’d be able to get anything
done with the others upstairs.

“Fred, I told- Oh, Ron, dear,” Mum said,

bustling past him with a last minute pile
of washing. Ron spotted the socks George
was looking for, and sighed. “All packed?”

“Uh, no,” Ron said. “I thought I’d just grab

something to eat, and-”

Through the open laundry door, Mum

- 185 -
told him - in no uncertain terms - that he
wouldn’t be getting as much as a crumb un-
til he’d finished packing, and shooed him
back upstairs as soon as she re-emerged.

Ron stomped through the house, swear-

ing under his breath, until Percy poked
his head out of his room - with his Prefect
badge and a polishing cloth in hand – and
told him that he’d take House points if Ron
carried on that way tomorrow. Percy can’t
have his little brother embarrassing him,
Ron thought, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry, Percy,” Ron muttered.

“That’s quite all right,” Percy said, putting

his nose in the air.

“Yes, Ron, it’s quite all right,” Fred said

pompously, coming up behind them. He
stopped, eyes gleaming as they landed on

- 186 -
Percy. Percy – as Ron would have done
had he been the one Fred was looking at
like that – took a step back through the
doorway of his room. “Are you polishing
your Charms Club badge?” Percy pursed
his lips.

“It’s my Prefect badge,” he replied stiffly.

“Oh, that’s right,” Fred said, as if he’d just

remembered. He turned to Ron. “Did you
know Percy’s a Prefect this year?”

“He’s mentioned it,” Ron said wryly. Percy

had mentioned it... just about every time
he opened his mouth. Percy gave him a
betrayed look. Ron shrugged in a vaguely
apologetic way, but he wasn’t very sorry.

“Second one in the family,” Fred continued

pompously, sticking his chest out the way
Percy had when his school letter arrived

- 187 -
a few weeks ago. “Bill left a rather large
pair of shoes to fill, but they’ve got differ-
ent styles, you see, and Bill was probably
a bit too casual about the whole thing-”
Ron snorted. “-while Perce will be taking
a much more traditional approach to his
leadership, and-”

Funny as it was to see Fred prancing

around on the small landing outside Per-
cy’s room, Ron had heard Percy’s plans
for his Prefectship too many times to stay
and watch; he started up the stairs again,
passing George who was on the way down,
no doubt to investigate the Fred and Per-
cy situation.

“Your socks are downstairs,” Ron told him,

and George nodded absently, his eyes al-
ready fixed on Percy.

“And if he plays it right,” Ron heard George

- 188 -
say in a grand voice, “then Head Boy is a
distinct possibility in the futu-”

“And there they go again,” Ginny an-

nounced, as Ron re-entered his room.
Downstairs, Fred and George were cack-
ling, and still trying to imitate Percy’s lofty
voice, and Percy was shouting at them.
“I’m glad they’re going with you.”

“No, you’re not,” Ron said. Ginny poked

her tongue out at him. “But I am,” he said
quietly.

Blaise sat alone, in a too-big-chair at a

too-big-table in a too-big-dining-room in
a too-big-and-too-expensive-house. He
had bolognaise that he’d cooked himself
– which had horrified Dolly the house elf,
but Blaise didn’t care – and water – be-

- 189 -
cause Giovanna didn’t believe in juice, or
flavoured milk – and he was about as hap-
py as he could be, given the circumstances.

Tomorrow, he was getting out. Not home,

to his father, where he wanted to be, but
he would, at least, be away from Giovanna
and Dolly. And that, in Blaise’s opinion,
was the next best thing.

Blaise wasn’t sure what to expect of Hog-

warts. He’d always liked school, and learn-
ing, so he expected that side of it would
be okay, but wizards and witches were,
in his opinion, the most bigoted, spoiled,
self-centred lot he’d ever met. Blaise Zabi-
ni, of course, was one of them. Blaise had
always been good at handling people, good
at reading them so that he knew how to
act to blend in, and good at playing the
roles he needed to play.

- 190 -
The role Giovanna had given him was
snotty heir, set to be Sorted into Slyther-
in, or less preferably, Ravenclaw. The oth-
er two Houses weren’t even up for consid-
eration, so Blaise hadn’t given them much
thought. He wasn’t sure which of his two
potential Houses he was most likely to
end up in; he’d always enjoyed study, and
that was the only Ravenclaw trait anyone
ever spoke about, but Slytherin... Slyther-
in, apparently, was all about cunning and
ambition – or that was what everyone said
– and Blaise rather thought he had both of
those covered as well.

Blaise didn’t particularly want to be Min-

ister for Magic, or own the largest vault
at Gringotts, but he did have a goal, and
that was protecting himself, and in doing
so, protecting Dad. There was very little
he wouldn’t do to achieve that, and every
action he’d taken since he was introduced

- 191 -
to Giovanna had been to further that pro-
tection.

He didn’t rate any of the other kids he’d

met as overly intelligent – they were too
self-centred to have any real perspective
– but he thought it required a reasonably
good bluff on his part to make them be-
lieve that he really was Blaise Zabini, and
not Blaise Benson. Draco Malfoy had been
with that lot for years, and even he wasn’t
able to fit in as seamlessly as Blaise had.
That, Blaise thought, took skill, and he
wasn’t too modest to admit it.

He liked to think he was a bit better

than the little prats at the dinner par-
ties Giovanna took him to. They were
that way because they’d been taught from
birth to behave a certain way, and never
had the courage or curiosity to question
it. He was playing along so that he’d get

- 192 -
to write a letter to his dad once a month,
and because Giovanna had made it clear
that any missteps on his part would have
dire consequences for his dad. He’d taken
her seriously; the first time he’d met her,
she’d put a wand to Dad’s throat, for cry-
ing out loud, and in the months since, he’d
learned about her previous husbands, and
where exactly the money that funded her
enormous house and expensive tastes had
come from.

He’d asked her, once, about three weeks

in, why she hadn’t killed Dad like the rest
of them. She’d told him that muggle teach-
ers – which is what Dad had been back
when he met Giovanna – didn’t make much
money, and what little they did make was
smaller again once it was converted to gal-
leons... that, apparently, was what had de-
terred her initially, and once she’d found
out she was pregnant with Blaise, she’d

- 193 -
been forced to keep him alive out of conve-
nience. It went without saying that – now
that Blaise was off to Hogwarts - Dad was
not as useful as he had been for the past
eleven years, and so Blaise was being very
careful to do what he was told.

He was blending in, lying, and wearing the

same bored, haughty expression that ev-
eryone else in the magical world seemed to
wear. And he was careful to never, ever, to
reveal anything about his life that hadn’t
happened in the past three months.

He twirled his fork – which was probably

worth more than every piece of cutlery he
and Dad owned at home – in his dinner
and then stuffed it in his mouth. He smiled
a little sadly – Dad’s bolognaise recipe al-
ways made him think of home – and won-
dered what Dad was up to now.

- 194 -
Probably getting ready for the new term
to start, Blaise thought, sighing. He won-
dered if Dad was coping. He tended to get
caught up in his work at the beginnings
and ends of term, and Blaise usually
helped out a bit more around the house
during those times; he’d put through the
occasional load of washing, or help make
dinner, and he’d also help Dad relax by
having some fun time, watching telly, or
kicking the football around the back gar-
den.

The first thing Blaise was going to do when

he got to school, was get a moment alone so
that he could write a letter to Dad. Giovan-
na had a lot of connections – he’d seen lots
of them at the manor in the first month,
and in the second and third months, once
she was back at work, he’d heard a lot of
discussions about cases, and co-workers,
and clients between Dolly and Giovanna

- 195 -
– but even she couldn’t have so many that
she’d be able to stop the school’s post.

Blaise had another bite of his dinner, and

glanced over as the kitchen door opened
and Dolly stepped out, holding a plate
of chicken and pumpkin something for
Giovanna in her bony hands. She gave
Blaise’s plate a disapproving look as she
went past, and didn’t offer her usual ‘Mas-
ter Zabini’.

They watched each other, until Dolly dis-

appeared through another door, leaving
Blaise alone again. He listened careful-
ly, for the faint grind of the fork on the
plate Dolly was holding so that he had a
rough idea of where in the house she was.
Blaise missed the everyday sounds of the
television, or the washing machine, or the
telephone, but he couldn’t deny that the
complete and utter silence of Giovanna’s

- 196 -
house had its advantages; it made it easi-
er to avoid the other occupants, unless, of
course, Dolly did her Apparition thing.

Blaise had another mouthful of his dinner,

and then stirred in a few stray bits of par-
mesan. He then lifted his glass of water in
a toast to the empty chairs around him.

“To Blaise Benson,” he said. “May he rest

in peace until Christmas.”

“All packed, sweetheart?” Mum asked,

coming to lean against the doorway.

“Almost,” Hermione said nervously. “I

thought I’d keep these two-” She gestured
to A Standard Book of Spells and Hog-
warts: A History, which were lying on the
mattress beside her. “-with me, so I can

- 197 -
read them on the train.” She’d talk to peo-
ple first – Harry, or Blaise, or anyone else
she met on the train – but there was only
so much that could be talked about, and
she was sure that, by about halfway, they’d
have run out of conversational topics. Har-
ry would probably want to play Exploding
Snap, which Hermione’d always been bad
at, and so while he did that, she’d be able
to retreat into her books.

Mum watched her for a few seconds, and

then stepped into the room, looking around
at the bare shelves, the empty wardrobe
and the almost-overflowing trunk on the
floor. A photograph of Hermione and her
parents – taken recently, on their trip to
America – lay on the very top, and Mum
smiled sadly at it before turning back to
Hermione.

“Are you sure about this, Hermione?” Her-

- 198 -
mione nodded. “It’s not too late to go to a
nice, local scho-”

“Mum, I’m going,” Hermione said, not sure

whether her mother’s concern came from
the fact that she was moving out, at age
eleven – almost twelve - or whether it was
because she was moving out to study mag-
ic. “This is a fantastic opportunity, and I
can’t pass it up. I’ll learn all sort of new
things-” Hermione didn’t miss the way
Mum’s eyes flicked to the wand that lay
beside the books on her bed. “-and make
new friends-”

“You could make friends here,” Mum said

gently.

“No one here ever wanted to be my friend.”

“You met Harry, and Bla-”

- 199 -
“And they’re both wizards,” Hermione
pointed out. “They’re different too.” Mum
watched her sadly. Hermione wondered
whether it was the use of the word ‘differ-
ent’ or something else. “I’m going to Hog-
warts, Mum,” she said earnestly. “I’m a
witch, and that’s where I belong.”

“I know,” Mum said, tearing up a bit. “I

know, I know... just... if you don’t like it –
if it’s too much, or if you change your mind
- promise you’ll come home. Okay?”

“Okay,” Hermione said, crossing her fin-

gers behind her back.

She had Harry, and Blaise, but otherwise

it would be just like every other time she’d
moved school. She’d be starting at the bot-
tom again, knowing hardly anyone, and
this time, she wouldn’t even be able to go
home at the end of the day, because her

- 200 -
school was going to be her home... for sev-
en whole years. If she didn’t like it, she’d
be stuck, because, regardless of what she’d
said to Mum, she wasn’t just going to give
up and leave.

She was going to find a place for herself

– she didn’t care where, just somewhere –
in the magical world, the way she’d never
managed to do in the muggle one. She was
a witch, and so Hogwarts was where she
belonged... and she just had to keep tell-
ing herself that until she believed it.

“-and unless you want to lose it, you’ll do

no such thing,” Mother said. Draco’d al-
ready reconciled himself with the idea of
leaving his broomstick behind, and, while
he didn’t like it, he certainly wasn’t as dev-
astated as Hydrus seemed to be.

- 201 -
“Father,” Hydrus whined. Draco rolled his
eyes.

“Narcissa,” Father began, looking at Moth-

er, “surely-”

“No,” Mother said, buttering a slice of

bread. She hadn’t even looked up. She’d
been odd for the last few days; she’d been
avoiding the rest of the family, had snapped
at Dobby twice, had been talking to herself,
and on Mother’s birthday the day before,
she hadn’t gone to see Aunt Bella, which
she always did... Draco hadn’t thought it
was possible, but he’d spent enough time
watching people that he knew Mother was
feeling nervous, or guilty... or maybe both.
Draco had worked out that she was going
to miss them, when they left for Hogwarts
tomorrow.

- 202 -
He was sure Father had noticed, but Fa-
ther’s method of dealing with Mother
when she was in a mood, tended to be to
give her space. Hydrus was so caught up
in the injustice of not being able to take
his broomstick that he probably hadn’t
even noticed, and so it fell to Draco to do
something about it.

He had his chance, after dinner. Father

and Hydrus went flying, and Mother re-
treated up to the library to hide behind
History Of The Houses. He knocked on the
doorframe, not wanting to startle her too
much – she’d been distant, lately, too – and
she twitched and looked up. Her forehead
creased when she saw that it was Draco.

“Mother,” he said, “can I come in?”

“Of course,” she said, and then buried her

head in her book again. Draco came in

- 203 -
and sat down on the armchair closest to
hers, and he knew she wasn’t as oblivious
as she seemed; he noticed her shoulders
had stiffened, and her fingers tightened
around the cover of the book she was hold-
ing.

“It’ll be all right,” he said.

“Pardon?” Mother asked, stiffening again.

Draco glanced out the library window, and
could still see Father and Hydrus soaring
around the grounds, so he stood. He hes-
itated for the briefest moment – Mother
hadn’t hugged him for a long time – and
then wrapped his arms around her shoul-
ders. She made a small sound, and then
pulled him into her lap and tightened her
hold on him. “Oh, Draco,” she whispered,
and he felt her tremble, and then heard a
soft sniff.

- 204 -
“Mother?” he asked, uncertain. He’d seen
her cry before – once – but not for a long
time; it was something Mother just didn’t
do.

“You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you?”

Draco gave the top of her head – her face
was pressed against his shoulder – an odd
look.

“Obviously,” he drawled, and then patted

Mother’s shoulder carefully. “Mother, you
don’t need to worry about me, or about
Hydrus. We’ve been preparing for Hog-
warts forever.” It was true; they’d been
surrounded by their future House-group
since birth, and Mother had taught them
the spells and theories that they would
need to settle into lessons. Mother, though,
sobbed when Draco said ‘preparing’. “We’ll
write, I promise. Or I will, and I’ll remind
Hydrus if he doesn’t, but we’ll have all of

- 205 -
our classes together, so it won’t matter if
he doesn’t, because we’ll have all the same
news.”

Mother choked.

“Or we can sit down in the common room

and write one together,” Draco said quick-
ly, not sure why she was still upset. “It’ll
all be fine, Mother, I promise.”

Mother was silent for several long seconds,

and Draco could almost feel her gathering
resolve.

“Yes,” Mother said. Her voice was very

subdued but it didn’t shake, and when
she lifted her head, only a single tear re-
mained. “Yes, you’re right.” The tear slid
down her pale cheek, and Mother wiped its
track away with her sleeve. She shifted,
and Draco stood up, so that Mother could

- 206 -
get to her feet. She clasped her hands in
front of her, nodded, smiled, and said, “It’ll
all be fine.”

Then she picked up her book and swept

out, leaving Draco standing warily in the
middle of the library:

Lie, his head told him.

Harry woke up to Padfoot’s freezing nose

in his ear, and hot, doggy breath in his
face. He laughed, pulled Padfoot out of the
way by his collar so that he could sit up,
and then batted his godfather away with
his pillow.

Padfoot just caught the end of it – gently -

between his sharp teeth, and gave Harry
a silly, tongue-lolling grin. Harry gave up

- 207 -
on trying to wrest it away, and pushing
him – and the pillow – off the bed.

Padfoot bounced back up almost instantly,

and Harry just knew he was going to lose
the scuffle that would come next, so he did
the only thing he could do.

“Is Moony awake yet?” Padfoot paused

mid-bound, and his ears perked up. Harry
put on his glasses, grabbed his wand, and
with a grin, hopped out of bed.

Padfoot made an impatient noise, and

Harry laughed again and ran after him.

After such an eventful morning, it was

hard to imagine breakfast being anything
but subdued by comparison, but it wasn’t;
Kreacher had outdone himself and cooked
all of Harry’s favourite things - even things
like treacle tart, which wasn’t a breakfast

- 208 -
food - and Moony and Padfoot were in good
spirits, reminiscing about their own Hog-
warts days, and getting louder and louder
as they tried to talk over each other to re-
mind Harry about a place or painting that
he had to visit as soon as he got the chance.

“The forbidden forest’s always fun,” Pad-

foot said. “But I wouldn’t recommend it
until you’ve managed to transform, or
you’re likely to get lost, or attacked by
something.” Harry arched an eyebrow and
glanced between them.

“Or both,” Moony said, and his mouth

twitched and then spread up into rueful
smile. “Remember that game we-?”

“Yes; poor Hagrid,” was Moony’s way of

acknowledging that he did. He turned to
Harry who was waiting patiently for an
explanation. “Back in school,” Moony ex-

- 209 -
plained, “we used to spend our frees mess-
ing around in the forest.”

“Hide and seek,” Padfoot supplied, “Prongs

and I would wrestle and Pe-” He cleared
his throat loudly. “-Moony would bet on
who would win.”

“The forest was – and still is, I imagine -

out of bounds, though; the centaurs aren’t
always friendly and there are all sorts of
other creatures living in there.”

“Remember the spider?” Padfoot asked

wistfully. Moony nodded, and Padfoot
turned to Harry. “It was about as big as
a cat and it tried to eat Wormtail one full
moon.”

“But Hagrid,” Moony said, getting back

onto topic, “once he worked out where we
were going in our spare time, tried to stop

- 210 -
us when he could.”

“Used to sit out in front of his hut and

shout at us if we got too close to the trees,”
Padfoot supplied. “And if we went in, he
had to come and get us, and take us back
to the school – part of his gamekeeperly
duties, obviously...”

“Sirius and James-”

“And you,” Padfoot added. Moony hesitat-

ed and then sighed and then grinned, ap-
parently unable to help himself.

“The three of us, then, thought it was a

fantastic game. There was a big old tree,
and we used to race – see who could get
there before Hagrid caught us and carried
us – literally – back to the school.” Harry
- who’d met Hagrid a few times now - was
well able to picture him with a Maraud-

- 211 -
er or two draped over each shoulder, and
laughed.

“You should show him the tree...” Padfoot

said excitedly. “See if we can get the sec-
ond generation playing-”

“I’m already putting Dumbledore in a

tricky position by being what I am,” Moo-
ny said, biting his lip. “I’m not sure that I
should be encouraging-”

“If Dumbledore wanted a well behaved

teacher, he wouldn’t have hired a Maraud-
er,” Padfoot said, with conviction. Har-
ry sniggered. Moony opened his mouth,
closed it, and then shook his head.

“No,” he agreed wryly, “probably not.”

- 212 -
Chapter 6:
Aboard the Hogwarts Express

“You’re joking, right?” Harry asked.

“No,” Moony said.

“Definitely not,” Padfoot added, looking

uncannily serious.

“Walk through it?” Harry repeated. A mug-

gle woman stopped and looked at Hedwig,
who was clicking her beak impatiently
from inside the cage atop Harry’s trunk

- 213 -
on the trolley. Tonks turned and stared at
her with the same amount of interest, un-
til the woman readjusted her handbag and
hurried away. Tonks turned back around,
smiling so widely that her eight-year old
face was threatening to split.

It was Moony’s first time outside Grim-

mauld – except for when he’d gone to his
cottage for the full moon, or to the Tonkses,
or to Matt’s for lunch – since the attack at
the end of July, and while Padfoot - who’d
made no effort to disguise himself – would
be keeping an eye on things, Tonks was
there as a second round of protection, just
in case.

“Or run,” Padfoot said, shrugging. “Either

works.” Harry gave him a doubtful look.
If Padfoot had told him to run through a
seemingly solid wall the day he’d taken him
from Privet Drive, he might have believed

- 214 -
him... With wizards being wizards, Har-
ry wouldn’t be entirely surprised if it was
necessary to run through the wall to get
to the platform. But Harry also wouldn’t
be surprised if this was Padfoot’s idea of
a joke; Padfoot would never do anything
to actually hurt Harry, but he’d probably
find it funny to convince him to run into a
wall.

“-packed with muggles of course-”

Harry and the others spun to see another

family, a very obviously wizarding family;
they were fully equipped with their Hog-
warts trunks, and the tallest boy even had
an owl. They were also rather familiar.

Ginny was the first to spot Harry, and,

as Mrs Weasley began to say something
about the platform number, she wrenched
free of her mother’s grip, and nudged Ron.

- 215 -
The pair of them grinned and waved, and
the others – Harry recognised the twins
he’d heard a fair bit about, and an older
boy that was either Bill or Percy (Charlie
was a friend of Tonks’, who worked with
dragons) – followed them over a bit more
slowly.

“Hi, Mr Black,” Ron said, giving Padfoot a

shy wave, while Tonks changed her nose
(subtly, because they were still surround-
ed by muggles), prompting Ginny to squeal
and hug her. “Hi, Mr Lupin.”

“Professor Lupin this year,” Harry said,

grinning. Ron’s answering grin spread
across his face at once.

“Brilliant!” he said excitedly. “Are you the

new Defence teacher? Fred said the last
one quit at the end of the year-”

- 216 -
“Fred’s right,” Moony said. One of the
twins – probably Fred – looked up. The
other one – from memory it was Greg, or
George, or something similar - was bicker-
ing with the older brother, and Mrs Wea-
sley was watching Moony and Padfoot
awkwardly, as if she wasn’t sure whether
to say hello or not. Harry wasn’t sure that
they’d met before. She smiled kindly at
Harry when she saw him looking, though,
and he smiled back.

“Excited to be off?” she asked, and he

grinned and nodded, but his eyes flicked
to Padfoot, and his smile withered slight-
ly. It was hard to imagine not seeing him
every day, not hearing his voice, or his
bark...

I’m really going to miss him, Harry thought,

and not for the first time. Padfoot checked
his Sidekick and gave Harry a question-

- 217 -
ing look. Harry shook his head and Pad-
foot watched him for a moment longer and
then addressed the others.

“Shall we head through?”

“How do we get there?” Harry asked Gin-

ny in an undertone; she was standing the
closest, because Ron had moved behind
Tonks – though he towered over her when
she was in this particular form – to get
out of Mrs Weasley’s line of sight so that
he could make a rude hand gesture at the
twins. The oldest brother looked torn be-
tween disapproval and delight.

“Through that wall,” she said, pointing.

“I thought Padfoot was joking,” he said,

and Ginny laughed at Padfoot’s injured
expression.

- 218 -
Mrs Weasley managed to get her lot
through the barrier – Harry hung back
with Padfoot, partially to keep from get-
ting underfoot, and partially to be sure
that Ginny wasn’t having him on as well –
and then they followed; Padfoot first, then
Harry, and then Moony and Tonks at the
rear.

“Wow,” Harry said, before he could help

himself. Even partially obscured by steam,
the gleaming, crimson Hogwarts Express
was a sight to behold. And the people
gathered... Harry didn’t think he’d seen so
many since Padfoot’s trial the year before.
The noise – voices (some excited, some
tearful), owls hooting, cats mewling – was
overwhelming. Hedwig ruffled her feath-
ers, and Harry took a step closer to his
godfather, who put a hand on his shoul-
der. No one, thankfully, seemed to have
noticed them, or rather, who they were.

- 219 -
“Gran, I’ve lost my toad again,” Harry
heard a round-faced boy say, as he followed
Padfoot through the crowd. The Weasleys
went their own way, but Harry was sure
they’d find each other again later, once the
train was moving, and Moony and Tonks
had disappeared somewhere in the mass-
es as well.

“They’ll catch up,” Padfoot said, reassur-

ingly. “Come on; let’s find you somewhere
to sit. The back’s best, I reckon; the Heads
don’t go down that end as much.” Harry
laughed, and relinquished his trolley to
Padfoot – who had better luck steering it
through the crowd than Harry did. Harry
kept a hand on the trolley though, so they
wouldn’t be separated.

Harry spotted a few familiar faces; Amelia

Bones with a red-haired girl – the girl hid

- 220 -
behind her when she saw them, but Bones
nodded in their direction – and the Malfoy
family, with a whole group of others. From
the distance he was at, Harry couldn’t
even tell Hydrus and Draco apart, though
he suspected Draco was the one sticking
closest to Mrs Malfoy. He lost them in the
masses a moment later.

“Padfoot!” Harry recognised Moony’s voice

over the din, and spotted Tonks, who was
taller than Moony at the moment – but
still, oddly, had a girlish facial features –
with pink hair, like a beacon. “Do you re-
member it being this bad?” he asked, and
Padfoot shook his head.

“I-” Padfoot’s eyes widened and he forced

Harry’s head down, and flicked a leg out
to trip Moony up. Moony landed with a
thump, and Tonks was dragged down with
him. Harry looked up in time to see an in-

- 221 -
digo spell explode harmlessly on the side of
the train. Padfoot was gone from Harry’s
side a second later, and Tonks was back to
her usual shape and size, ushering Har-
ry toward Moony. Both of them had their
wands out, and once Tonks seemed certain
that no one else was aiming for them, she
stalked after Padfoot.

Padfoot had cornered their would-be-at-

tacker, who was standing with his son – a
wide-eyed boy that Harry suspected was
about his age. The boy looked surprised,
and a bit embarrassed, but the man looked
unrepentant; he’d crossed his arms, and
was looking at Moony with very obvious
distaste.

“Bloody werewolf!” Harry heard him say,

and then missed part of the conversation,
but heard the man’s voice again, saying,
“-not teaching my son-”

- 222 -
He and Padfoot exchanged a few more
words – Padfoot said something in a low
voice than made the man straighten (he
was still shorter than Padfoot by a fair bit)
and then look uncomfortable – and then
Padfoot turned and headed back to them,
stopping only to get a hold of Tonks; she
looked like she might explode, with her
red hair, pink face and orange eyes.

Padfoot didn’t say anything about it when

he came back to them, but his jaw was set
and Harry could tell he was not impressed.
Moony was very quiet – if Harry’d been
able to hear the werewolf comment, then
Padfoot certainly had – and didn’t pay
much attention to Tonks as she stroked
the side of his face, and murmured some-
thing Harry didn’t catch.

“What about that one?” Harry asked,

- 223 -
pointing to an empty compartment. Pad-
foot helped him over to it, and the pair of
them – with Moony hovering behind, in
case Harry couldn’t manage his end – lifted
the trunk into the overhead storage rack.
Harry tucked Hedwig’s cage into a corner,
spent a moment scanning the crowd out
the window for Hermione’s bushy head,
Ron’s red one, or Draco’s pale one, and
then turned around.

“You’re not staying?” Harry asked, when

he noticed Moony hadn’t put his own
trunk down. Moony looked surprised, and
then smiled, and shared a look with Pad-
foot. Tonks was out in the corridor, with
her normal – or at least, a face she used
regularly – talking to the Head Boy (or
that’s what his badge said, anyway). Har-
ry didn’t miss the eye that had grown out
of the back of her neck though, and was
fixed on Moony.

- 224 -
“I might drop by later on,” Moony said. “I
thought I’d go and meet the Prefects and
Heads, and the driver for now.” He glanced
at Padfoot. “You’ll be all right?”

“Aren’t I supposed to ask you that?” Pad-

foot sighed. “Dora.” She nodded and fol-
lowed Moony out. “Be careful!”

“You worry too much!” Moony called back.

“I-” Padfoot began, probably about to point

out that Moony had just been attacked,
but the sound of Dora hitting Moony, and
a muffled ‘Ow!’ drifted through the open
door. “Git,” Padfoot said fondly. “So, how
are you feeling?”

“I’m all right,” Harry said.

“You’ll be fine,” Padfoot assured him, and

- 225 -
Harry believed him; he had two years in
the wizarding world, had heard more sto-
ries about Hogwarts than he could remem-
ber, and he’d had his wand for a few years
now, which meant he knew about as much
as anyone else – and definitely more than
some – did. The rest, he could learn with
everyone else.

He was nervous, but not worried, about

the Sorting; he’d ruled out Ravenclaw, be-
cause he didn’t think that was him, but he
thought any of the other three were pos-
sibilities. He wanted Gryffindor, like his
parents, and like Padfoot and Moony, but
Tonks had been a Hufflepuff and loved it,
and Slytherin wasn’t all bad, though Har-
ry didn’t particularly want to share a dor-
mitory with Hydrus Malfoy.

“You, er-” Padfoot ran a hand through his

hair, looking awkward. “-you know that

- 226 -
wherever you end up, kiddo, is fine with
me, right?”

“I know,” Harry said, and did. Padfoot made

it no secret that he didn’t particularly like
the Slytherins he’d gone to school with –
in fairness, most of them had been Death
Eaters – but he’d also made it equally clear
that some very talented witches and wiz-
ards came out of that House; Andromeda,
for one, Regulus, Padfoot’s Auror part-
ner Hemsley, and even Snape. And Harry
only had to look at the way Padfoot treat-
ed Dora to know he had no problem with
Hufflepuffs either.

“Good,” Padfoot said gruffly. So quick-

ly that Harry barely had time to register
what was happening, Padfoot pulled him
into a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Harry said, his voice

- 227 -
muffled by Padfoot’s tshirt. His dogtags
clinked against Harry’s glasses.

“You remembered your mirror?”

“In my rucksack,” Harry said. Padfoot’s

only response was to squeeze him tighter.

“You’ll have fun,” Padfoot said, and Harry

could hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t
give Moony too hard a time in lessons...
but that said, if you ever need help plan-
ning anything, then I’m only an owl or
a mirror call away.” Harry laughed, and
Padfoot let him go, but kept ahold of his
shoulders. “Enjoy it,” he said, and then so-
bered up a bit. “Just-” He hesitated. “-just
keep your wits about you, all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said.

“With everything that’s going on, with

- 228 -
Gringotts, and Moony, and-”

“I’ll be careful,” Harry said. “I promise.”

Padfoot smiled and hugged him again. A
shrill whistle blew, and Padfoot let go.
“That’s my cue,” he said, and Harry, sud-
denly, didn’t want him to go. “Can’t dogs
be pets at Hogwarts?” he asked, without
much hope.

Padfoot laughed and said, “Not yet, but if

I write enough letters to Dumbledore, I’m
sure he’ll give in eventually.” He glanced
at the door. “I’ve got to go, kiddo, or I’ll
be jumping off a moving train, and that’s
never fun-”

“When have you ever-” Harry began, but

Padfoot was gone. Harry crossed to the
window, waiting for him to reappear.

Another whistle sounded, and the Weas-

- 229 -
ley family moved closer to the train. Gin-
ny was clinging to Ron’s hand as if her life
depended on it, but was forced to let go
when Mrs Weasley started shooing her
sons onto the train. The three of them
jumped aboard, and beside Mrs Weasley,
Ginny began to cry.

“Don’t, Ginny, we’ll send you loads of owls,”

Harry heard Ron promise.

“We’ll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat,”

one of the twins said.

“George!” Ginny, apparently unable to help

herself, burst out laughing, and Ron snig-
gered. A familiar bark-like laugh sounded
out and Harry spied Padfoot, who’d found
Tonks, squeezing through the crowd to get
to the front.

“Only joking, Mum,” one of the twins said.

- 230 -
Mrs Weasley pursed her lips, and the train
jolted forward.

“Have fun!” Tonks shouted, waving. Her

hair flashed through the colours of the four
Houses, making Harry grin, and others on
the platform turn and point.

“Eat your vegetables!” Padfoot called,

walking alongside the train. Ginny was
running just in front of him, laughing
and crying, and waving at her brothers.
“Don’t start anything with Hufflepuffs or
Slytherins without your friends – they
hunt in packs!” Harry just laughed. “Say
hi to Peeves, and old McGonagall, and tell
Snape I want my bloody book back!” Pad-
foot was jogging now. “And cause trouble,
but don’t get caught!”

The train was gathering speed quickly, and

Padfoot dropped into his dog-form so that

- 231 -
he could keep up. Harry could hear him
barking, right up until the train rounded
the bend, and the platform disappeared
from sight.

Ron found him almost straight away.

He dragged a battered trunk to the door,

knocked once on the frame and then, when
Harry glanced over, asked, “Do you mind
if I-”

“Go for it,” Harry said, and Ron smiled,

seeming relieved. He dragged his trunk in.
“Want a hand with that?” Lifting a heavy
trunk wasn’t nearly as easy with Ron as
it had been with Padfoot; one of the latch-
es gave way, and a jumper fell out, star-
tling Ron, who dropped the trunk, which
landed on Harry’s foot. His eyes watered,

- 232 -
and a few of the more colourful words he’d
learned from Padfoot slipped out. Hedwig
hooted disapprovingly.

“Looks like you two will get along well,

then.” The twins had followed Ron, and
were now leaning in the doorway, watch-
ing the scene before them with amuse-
ment.

“Both share a love of swear words,” the

other twin added.

“I learned mine from you two!” Ron pro-

tested.

“Ah, and what a student you were.” The

twins exchanged fond looks, and then
turned to Harry, who was trying to get his
foot out from under Ron’s trunk.

“Need a lift?” one asked. Together, they

- 233 -
managed to fix the broken latch and get
the trunk onto the luggage rack. Then, the
twins offered their hands to Harry.

“We didn’t meet properly before,” one said.

“George Weasley.”

“Fred,” Fred added, once Harry’d shak-

en George’s hand. Then, the pair of them
turned to Ron. “Lee’s got a giant tarantu-
la-”

“-might even be a tiny Acromantula,”

George added excitedly.

“-down the middle somewhere. So we’re

headed that way.”

“You could come,” George offered, with a

sly grin.

“No, thanks.” Ron looked faintly ill.

- 234 -
“Harry?” Harry glanced at Ron, and shook
his head. Ron looked grateful. “Your loss.”

“See you later!” The twins left, shutting

the compartment door behind them, and
Harry could hear them cackling as they
ran down the corridor outside. He grinned.

“Not interested?” Harry asked curiously.

“I hate spiders,” Ron muttered. He didn’t

seem to want to explain why, so Harry
didn’t press the matter. Instead, he posi-
tioned himself so that he’d be able to see
anyone that passed their compartment –
namely Moony, Hermione, Draco or Blaise
– and turned the conversation to Quid-
ditch, which kept them both entertained
until the train was well and truly out of
London, and into the countryside.

- 235 -
Around twelve-thirty, just as Harry was
just about to ask Ron whether he wanted
to come for a walk to try to find anyone
else, their door slid open to admit a wom-
an with dimpled cheeks and a huge smile.

“Anything off the trolley, dears?” Harry’d

had an enormous breakfast, and had food
in his rucksack that Kreacher’d packed
for him, but he figured there was always
room for sweets. Ron’s ear reddened and
he muttered something about lunch from
home, and so Harry was the only one of
the pair of them, to get up and follow the
lady out into the corridor.

He bought Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour

Beans immediately (he had Dumbledore
to thank for that particular fondness),
as well as chocolate frogs and liquorice
wands. He also bought pumpkin pasties
because, while he didn’t particularly feel

- 236 -
like them, he knew it was entirely likely
that Moony would come by and catch him
eating nothing but sweets for lunch, and
he’d report to Padfoot. Ron, in the mean-
time, had extracted a set of sandwiches
and was picking at them with a resigned
expression.

“Corned beef,” he sighed. Harry, who’d

had lunch with Ron several times before,
knew of Ron’s dislike for corned beef, and
of Mrs Weasley’s tendency to forget that
and pack it for him anyway.

“Have a few of these,” Harry said, tossing

the pasties at him. “Just make sure you
leave the package, so I can show it to Moo-
ny if he comes by.” Ron protested, but Har-
ry wouldn’t hear of it, and eventually, Ron
was persuaded to eat. Harry opened a box
of beans, and dug around in his rucksack
for his old set of Exploding Snap cards.

- 237 -
He and Ron had a great time playing the
tower game – where one player adds a card
to the tower until it explodes and the loser
has to pick and eat a bean – while they ate
the other sweets. Shortly after a visit from
a boy who’d lost a toad and was looking for
it, Ron, got a cheese flavoured bean, which
lured his pet rat out of his pocket.

Harry froze at the sight of it; he didn’t re-

ally like rats after everything that had
happened, and this one was even missing
a finger where Wormtail was. Though he
knew full well that Wormtail was in Az-
kaban – and would remain there for the
rest of his life – it still put Harry on edge
enough for him to need to check.

Ostendere me omnia, he thought, and

blinked to adjust as magic flooded his
eyes. The train, like Diagon Alley, Hog-

- 238 -
warts, and even Hogsmeade, was so coated
in magic that it was painful to look at for
long. Ron’s magic was gold, with smudges
of green, and had a thin, spiky texture, a
bit like wire. And his rat – Scabbers – was
a dark blob, completely devoid of magic.
Harry let the sight fall away, and relaxed.

“I think this is the liveliest I’ve ever seen

him,” Ron said, making Scabbers run
up and down the seat, after the cheese
flavoured bean. Harry noticed Hedwig
watching the rat’s progress with deadly
interest. “Mostly he just sleeps.” Harry
nodded, chuckling when Scabbers lunged
for the bean and managed to pry it out of
Ron’s grip. He then retreated to the win-
dowsill to eat it. “I tried to turn him yellow
yesterday,” Ron said. “Everyone’s got cool
things, like owls-” He nodded in Hedwig’s
direction. “-and cats, and I’ve got stupid
Scabbers, so I thought if he was colourful,

- 239 -
that-.”

“You tried to turn him yellow?” Harry

asked, grinning. “With a potion, or-”

“Nah, a spell,” Ron said. He pulled out his

wand – like the rest of Ron’s things, it was
quite well-worn. His wand was chipped,
and had cracked at the end; Harry could
see the unicorn hair glinting at the tip.
Ron saw him looking at it, and his ears
turned pink.

There was a scream from outside. Ron

twitched and dropped his wand, which
rolled under Harry’s seat. Harry jumped
to his feet, not quite sure what he was do-
ing – but Padfoot’s voice was in his ear
saying he should keep his wits about him
– and when he looked down, his wand was
in his hand. The scream was followed by
laughter and a girl saying, “Hydrus!”

- 240 -
Harry rolled his eyes, pocketed his wand,
gave Ron a sheepish grin and bent to look
for Ron’s wand. There were some interest-
ing things under the seat, Harry realised;
a Montrose Magpies badge, half a Daily
Prophet article on wart removal, a shoe-
lace, a wad of gum and, finally, behind a
faded copy of Witch Weekly, was Ron’s
wand. As he reached for it, Harry heard
the compartment door slide open.

“Has anyone seen a toad?” asked a bossy

and extremely familiar voice.

“Hermione?!” Harry jumped up to turn

around and smacked his head on his seat.
“Ow! Bloody-”

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice asked, sound-

ing surprised and delighted. “I was look-
ing for you earlier! What are you doing

- 241 -
under there?”

“Getting Ron’s wand,” Harry said, emerg-

ing. He passed the wand back to its con-
fused owner. “Oh, sorry. Hermione, this is
Ron Weasley, Ron, this is-”

“Hermione Granger,” Hermione said

promptly. She waved the toadless boy into
the compartment. “This is Neville Long-
bottom.” Neville waved at them, but didn’t
make eye contact. He did, however, look
at Harry, and then glance at Harry’s fore-
head.

“Pleasure,” Ron said, looking a bit over-

whelmed as Hermione dragged Neville
over to a seat and then sat down herself.

“You found the platform, obviously,” Har-

ry said; he and Padfoot had offered to meet
up and help the Grangers through, but

- 242 -
they’d wanted to do it alone the first time,
and say a proper goodbye to Hermione.

“Yes, there was a bit of fuss when we got

to the wall, but we managed,” she said.

“I thought Padfoot was joking,” Harry said.

“We got our instructions from Professor

McGonagall, and I don’t think she’s the
joking type,” Hermione said. “I could have
told you that, if you’d asked, or you could
have just read the chapter on Platform
Nine and Three Quarters and the Hog-
warts Express in Hogwarts: A History,
or in The Extended History Of Wizarding
Transport-”

“Sounds fun,” Ron muttered, and Harry

laughed. Hermione gave them both dirty
looks, and then glanced over at Neville, as
if expecting him to have laughed too; Nev-

- 243 -
ille, though, was sitting quietly, with his
hands folded in his lap.

“-which are both definitely worth looking

at,” Hermione finished. She looked around
at the three of them. “Oh, isn’t this excit-
ing! Hogwarts is one of the best magical
education institutions, and we’re actually
on our way there! I-”

“Chocolate frog?” Harry said, offering

sweets to her and to Neville, before she
could get into lecture-mode.

Neville took one with a quiet, “Thank you,”

and Hermione paused, looking interested.

“A what?”

“A chocolate frog,” Harry said, passing

her the box. “They’re sweets.” She’d had
Bertie Botts when she’d come around to

- 244 -
Grimmauld, but hadn’t been overly fond
of them, so it was with a fair bit of trep-
idation that she took a wrapped frog and
turned it over in her hands.

“Oh,” she said, looking at Neville. “Frog!”

“What?” he asked. Ron looked at Harry in

askance, and Harry just shrugged.

“We’ve still got the rest of the back com-

partments to check,” she said. “Come on,
Neville. We’ll be back later!” she said, ush-
ering Neville out. Harry heard her knock
on the compartment door next to theirs
and heard, “Excuse me, have either of you
seen-” before the door clicked shut.

“That’s Hermione,” Harry said.

“Right,” Ron said faintly. They went back

to their card game, chatting idly all the

- 245 -
while. “Hey, did you hear about Grin-
gotts?” Ron asked, after a while.

“Yeah, a bit,” Harry said. “Padfoot’s been

working on it.” He didn’t offer any more
than that, though; he wasn’t supposed to
know as much about it as he did, and he
certainly wasn’t supposed to tell people
about it. Ron looked impressed.

“Do you know what was taken?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “No idea what they

were after, either,” he added honestly, fore-
stalling Ron’s next question. “The vault
had been emptied, but the goblins won’t
say whose it was, or what was in there.”

“And they don’t know who’s behind it?”

Ron asked. Harry shook his head. “Weird,”
Ron said. “Bit scary, too, isn’t it? I mean,
Gringotts is supposed to be one of the

- 246 -
most secure places in the world – or that’s
what Bill says, and he works for them, so
it’s probably true – and then someone just
breaks in and doesn’t get caught or any-
thing...”

“Scary,” Harry agreed. “So what does Bill

do?”

“Oh, he’s a cursebreaker. He’s over in Egypt

at the moment, working his way through
all sorts of traps – magical and muggle – to
find treasure.” Ron launched into a proper
explanation – Harry lost the next round,
and had to eat a moss flavoured bean –
and had just started on what Charlie did
for a job when the door opened. Harry
looked over, expecting Hermione, and saw
instead that their visitor was taller, red-
faced from dragging his trunk, and had
a tawny eagle owl in a cage, in his other
hand.

- 247 -
“So,” he said, “it’s true; everyone’s say-
ing that the famous Harry Potter’s in this
compartment... not much of a celebrity,
are you?” This comment was matched by a
smirk, but the sneer wasn’t quite as harsh
as it would have been; Draco was puffing,
and he wasn’t generally rude to Harry –
on purpose, anyway. “You’ve got ash all
over your face, and chocolate around your
mouth.”

“The Prophet would have a field day, I’m

sure; Harry Potter behaves like a nor-
mal kid,” Harry said sarcastically. Draco
stared at him.

“You know, Potter, I think that’s the most

words I’ve ever heard you put together at
once.” Harry sighed. Draco continued to
stand there, in the doorway, giving Har-
ry an expectant look, and then he was the

- 248 -
one that sighed. “Don’t just sit there, Pot-
ter, help me.”

“With-”

“My trunk,” Draco said. “Please.” Har-

ry stood and helped him drag it into the
compartment. Draco put his owl down be-
side Hedwig, and the two looked at each
other curiously. “Thank you.” Draco chose
the seat that was as far from Ron as was
physically possible. “House elves should
be mandatory on the train, to help us get
our things around, don’t you think?” Ron
rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.
“House elves are these creatures we have
at home,” Draco said, “that help us with
daily tasks.”

“I know what a house elf is,” Ron said,

scowling.

- 249 -
“But you’re a Weasley,” Draco said, seem-
ing surprised. “I didn’t think you’d have
even heard of them.” Ron’s ears turned
pink again, and he opened his mouth –
Harry was reasonably sure an explosion
of some sort was coming, and didn’t blame
Ron – but then Draco spoke again; he’d
spied Scabbers, who was asleep on the
windowsill. “Is that your rat?” he asked,
his expression brightening.

“Scabbers,” Ron said cautiously.

“Scabbers...?” Draco scoffed. “Not a very

nice name, is it?”

“My brother Percy-”

“It’s okay,” Draco said, “you’re a Weasley.”

Harry groaned quietly from his corner
of the compartment, sure that this was
about to go from bad, to worse. “May I?”

- 250 -
Ron blinked. “I like rats,” Draco said. Har-
ry stared at him.

“Er, sure,” Ron said, looking baffled. He

scooped Scabbers up and passed him over.
Draco immediately let him sit in the crook
of his elbow, and started stroking him.

And so they stayed; Draco played with

Scabbers, Harry and Ron played cards,
and Draco and Ron kept shooting unim-
pressed looks at each other. It wasn’t com-
fortable, but there was yet to be a duel,
or a fistfight, so Harry thought they were
doing well, all things considered.

For now, anyway.

- 251 -
Chapter 7:
The Professor’s intervention

Harry managed to hit a winning streak

in his and Ron’s card game, and after his
seventh bean in a row - to add insult to in-
jury, it (apparently) tasted like bellybut-
ton fluff – Ron gave up and started sorting
through the pile of chocolate frog cards
they’d gathered so far.

“Urgh,” he said. “Morgana again; I reckon

I’ve got about six of her.”

- 252 -
“You’re joking,” Harry said. “I’ve got my
dad’s old album of cards, and he didn’t ever
manage to find one of her.” Ron passed it
over, and Harry tucked the card into his
rucksack. He didn’t really collect – certain-
ly not to the level that James had – but
if he found one he knew the album was
missing, he’d add it.

“Any chance you’ve got Agrippa?” Ron

asked hopefully. “I’ve got about five hun-
dred, but not him, or Ptolemy.”

“I reckon I’ve got at least four of him” Har-

ry said. Ron’s mouth fell open. “You can
have one if you’d like.”

“I got Ptolemy earlier,” Draco said, from

the corner. He pulled the card in question
out of his pocket, and Ron looked torn be-
tween distaste at the source, and delight
at his good luck. “Would you like it?” Ron

- 253 -
looked surprised, and a little wary – Har-
ry didn’t blame him in the slightest. Draco
held the card out impatiently. “Don’t wor-
ry, Weasley, it’s free,” he drawled. “I don’t
need the money and you don’t have it, so
I won’t charge you.” Ron looked mildly in-
sulted, but accepted the card.

“Thanks,” he said. Draco just nodded and

went back to stroking Scabbers. Harry
spent a moment watching him; while Dra-
co and Hydrus weren’t close, Harry had
always been under the impression that
they’d put up a united front when Hog-
warts rolled around, for their own sake,
and for the sake of the family name. Har-
ry wasn’t sure if they’d had a falling out
that morning, or if they’d been separated,
if Draco’d been driven away by others, or if
Draco had just got up and left on his own...
It was hard to tell; Draco didn’t seem an-
gry, or upset, just very subdued (and that

- 254 -
could have been because Ron was there),
but then, Harry wasn’t all that good at
reading Draco.

There was a knock on the door; Hermione

was back. Her eyes skimmed over Ron,
and Harry, and then stopped on Draco.

“Hermione, this is Draco, Draco, this is

Hermione,” Harry said. Draco looked up,
curious. He opened his mouth, frowned,
and then closed it again, looking a bit
guilty. Harry wondered what he’d been
about to say.

“Move,” someone said, and Hermione was

shoved – not overly roughly, but certain-
ly unnecessarily – into the compartment.
She tripped on Draco’s outstretched foot,
and would probably have landed on the
ground if Ron hadn’t caught her. Harry
was on his feet at once.

- 255 -
“So this is where you’ve got to,” Hydrus
said, strolling into their compartment. He
looked at Draco, who said nothing (Dra-
co was suddenly even more interested in
Ron’s rat), and then at Draco’s trunk in
the corner. “A compartment with a blood
traitor-” Ron’s face flooded with colour,
but he didn’t say anything; he, like Harry,
must have noticed the two large boys that
had followed Hydrus in, like bodyguards.
“-and precious Potter.” Hydrus glanced at
Hermione and curled his lip. “Well, shows
what you know, Draco.”

Draco continued to ignore him.

“You can tell someone’s blood from their

appearance; no one with magical parents
would be allowed to have teeth like that.”
Hermione made an injured sound, and
Harry saw Draco’s fist clench, but still he

- 256 -
said nothing. “Mud-”

“Shut up,” Harry said to Hydrus, and Ron

got to his feet as well, looking furious. He
was taller than everyone else in the com-
partment, but not as wide as either of Hy-
drus’ bodyguards. Hydrus’ smirk widened.

“And if I don’t?” Hydrus said.

“You’re not being very nice,” Hermione

said, from behind Harry. “You pushed me
and were very rude; I’ll tell a teacher-”

“On the train?” Hydrus scoffed. “You real-

ly don’t know anything about this world,
do you, Mud-”

Harry would never know if Moony had

some sort of sixth sense for detecting trou-
ble (which was entirely possible, given his
old circle of friends) or if he came across

- 257 -
their compartment by pure chance, but
all Harry knew was, that, as he raised his
wand to jinx Hydrus for the name he’d
been about to call Hermione, his hand
cramped.

“Is there a problem here?” Moony asked

mildly, looking down on the Hydrus and
his goons. Hydrus’ face was comical; he
looked terrified, and then embarrassed,
and then managed to get a haughty ex-
pression back on.

“No, Professor,” he sneered. “None at all.”

Hydrus gave the occupants – all of them
– of the compartment a superior look, and
then nodded at the other two, who followed
him out. Moony didn’t, as Harry had half
expected, follow them, or say anything else
on the matter. Instead, he flicked his own
wand, and the cramping in Harry’s hand
ceased.

- 258 -
“What was that for?” Harry demanded.

Moony glanced around the compartment,

at Hermione, who looked relieved he’d
intervened, at Ron, who was still stand-
ing, and looked angry, and at Draco, who
was still paying very close attention to
Scabbers. He tilted his head and Harry
frowned, glanced at the others – hoping
that Ron and Draco wouldn’t kill each oth-
er, or Hermione, while he was gone – and
then followed Moony out into the corridor,
pulling the door shut behind him.

The few people that were in the corridor

and not settled in their compartments dis-
appeared quickly when they saw Remus
reappear and so he and Harry had the cor-
ridor to themselves. Harry was massaging

- 259 -
his hand, and Remus felt a stab of guilt
for that, and then reminded himself it had
been for the best. While he was sure there
was a good reason for Harry raising his
wand, there were several better ones that
supported his intervention.

“Well?” Harry asked grumpily.

Remus sighed. He and Harry spent a lot

of time together, but Remus had never re-
ally joined in on the parenting aspect. He
was happy to give advice, or offer a com-
ment like ‘Is that really a good idea?’, or
help Harry with homework, or tell him a
story, but he always let Sirius deal with
the... well, with serious matters. It wasn’t
Remus that Harry came to when he want-
ed to discuss nightmares, or if he needed
someone to confide in; that was well and
truly Sirius’ area.

- 260 -
“Think,” Remus sighed. “You’re not a ce-
lebrity at home, Harry, but you’re not at
home anymore. People are watching you-”
People were watching all of them, these
days – Sirius and Remus for years, but
Harry’d been sheltered until now. “-and if
you go around hexing people – and Lucius
Malfoy’s son, of all people, then word will
get around.” Harry said nothing. “It won’t
look good for you, and it won’t look good
for Sirius, as an Auror, to have you throw-
ing spells around at every opportunity you
get. You’re not even off the train, for-”

“I wasn’t just throwing spells around,”

Harry said, with a scowl that made Remus
wish Sirius was there with them, so that
he could handle this instead. Remus
arched an eyebrow. “Do you know what he
called – or started to call Hermione? The
M-word.”

- 261 -
“Little git had it coming; you didn’t hear
what he said, Moony! He called Lily the
M-word, like it was nothing!”

For a moment, it wasn’t Harry standing

before Remus; it was James. James, with
the same set jaw, angry eyes, and heated
tone as Harry had now, trying to explain
to (back then) new-Prefect-Remus, that
he’d given Regulus silver skin because he’d
called Lily a Mudblood. Harry glowered at
the ground, and Remus was reluctant to
speak and break the moment, and lose the
temporary reincarnation of James, but
eventually, he did find his voice.

“That’s still no reason for you to react the

way you did; there’s always a better way
to handle these things.”

“Short of him hexing me or her, what could

possibly be a better reason?”

- 262 -
Harry’s response, though, was different
to his father’s; he didn’t say anything at
all, but Remus caught his scent, and he
smelled betrayed. Guilt squirmed in Remus
chest, and Remus almost apologised, and
then shook his head. He was Harry’s ‘god-
mother’ but he was also his teacher, and
that needed to come first, at least for the
next few days until the scrutiny (of the
re-emerging Harry Potter, and of Remus
the teacher-werewolf) died down. Hydrus
Malfoy was, Remus had no doubt, a little
wart, but he couldn’t just turn a blind eye
to kids hexing each other, particularly not
when Harry knew some that could actual-
ly cause damage... he’d made that mistake
during his own school years.

Remus took a deep breath and nodded at

Harry’s compartment, where, perhaps,
the oddest combination of children he’d

- 263 -
ever seen together, sat.

“I’ll be up the front with the driver,” he

said, when Harry didn’t say anything; he
was looking out the window at the dark-
ening sky, perhaps thinking, or perhaps
just avoiding eye contact. “And you might
want to think about putting your robes on;
we’ll be there in about an hour.”

Harry nodded and headed back into his

compartment. Remus shoved his hands
into his pockets, feeling very unsure about
the whole exchange, and wished, once
again, that Sirius was there with them to
mediate. And Dora, too - not so much for
the mediation – if only for her company.
He sighed, and started toward to front of
the train.

- 264 -
The rest of the train ride passed without
fanfare. Draco had – after being horrified
to learn that Scabbers didn’t have a cage,
and instead travelled around in Ron’s
pocket even on long journeys – sent his
owl home to ask his parents to send his
old rat cage, and then relinquished his the
rat to Ron. Ron had been surprised by the
kind gesture, and spent the majority of the
time after that watching Draco carefully,
as if reforming his opinions of him.

Draco, unlike Hydrus, seemed more inter-

ested than offended by Hermione’s blood
status – something Harry found very re-
lieving - and had started to question her
on a whole assortment of aspects of muggle
life. Strange ones like ‘Do muggle families
eat dinner together?’ and ‘So what exact-
ly do muggles do?’ cropped up regularly,
and Hermione seemed confused, but hap-
py enough to answer. And, emboldened by

- 265 -
Draco’s questions – perhaps realising that
nothing he said in comparison could sound
silly - Ron started to ask her things too,
though his questions were more specific.
Ron wanted to know how muggles cooked
and cleaned, and how they played Quid-
ditch if they didn’t have broomsticks.

Harry sat in silence, laughing every now

and then at some of the funnier ones that
came up, but mostly he was thinking about
what Moony had said. Harry hadn’t given
the celebrity thing much thought, other
than to think he’d rather like it if he wasn’t
famous, and he certainly hadn’t worked
out that he’d be watched like a Snitch for
the first little while. He also thought that,
while Moony was right about there being
better ways to deal with Hydrus than hex-
ing him, that Hydrus thoroughly deserved
it for his horrible disposition, and that
Harry might, in the future, have to start

- 266 -
listening to Padfoot: don’t get caught.

Eventually, Hermione escaped the quiz-

zing, saying she needed to change into her
robes, and once she was gone, the boys
changed into their school uniforms, and
pulled their robes on over the top. Har-
ry saw Draco eyeing Ron’s second-hand,
slightly-too-short ones, but he didn’t com-
ment on it, though Harry was sure he must
have been dying to.

Instead, Draco bit his lip and turned to

look out the window, where mountains
and thick trees were blurring past. Har-
ry thought they were becoming clearer,
though; the train was slowing down.

“We will be reaching Hogwarts in five

minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage
on the train, it will be taken to the school
separately.”

- 267 -
Outside, people were moving in the cor-
ridors, and excited babble was drifting
through the door.

“Do we just-?” Harry asked, nodding to-

ward the corridor.

Ron, who was very pale, just shrugged, and

said, “I s’pose.” Draco didn’t say anything,
but he followed them out into the crowd,
and stuck close to Harry’s side. The train
stopped completely only moments later,
and then Harry found himself being ush-
ered out into the brisk night by the taller,
older students.

He shivered, and looked around for the

others. Hermione wasn’t anywhere to be
seen, but Ron and Draco – red and white,
in the dim light – had managed to stay
together, and Harry headed straight for

- 268 -
them, and then started to look around for
Moony.

“What-” Ron began, but was cut off as light

– in the form of a floating lantern - flooded
the platform.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!” The

lantern, it turned out, was not floating –
Harry decided he was far too used to magic
– but was actually being held, by Hagrid.
He smiled down on them all, and called
a greeting to Harry when he spotted him.
“C’mon, follow me – any more firs’ years?”
Harry started to look around for Blaise,
but it was dark and there were lots of
others around. “Mind yer step, now! Firs’
years follow me!”

Hagrid led the way down a narrow path

– and a rather steep one at that – and the
rest of them stumbled after him. Nobody

- 269 -
had much to say, except Hydrus, who,
somewhere behind them, was wondering
loudly if Hagrid was kidnapping them all
to eat them. Draco sniggered at that, and
then saw Harry’s frown and fell silent.

“Yeh’ll all get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts

in a sec,” Hagrid called, from up ahead,
“jus’ round this bend here.” Around the
other side of the bend was the edge of the
lake, and on the other side of the water
was Hogwarts, big and tall, with the light
from its windows shining like golden stars
in the dark sky.

Harry was not the only one to make an im-

pressed noise; several people made ‘Oooh’
noises, and a girl at the back even squealed
before she was shushed by her friends.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called

and for the first time, Harry noticed the

- 270 -
fleet of boats resting by the shore. He, Ron
and Draco climbed into a boat and were
joined by a girl Harry didn’t know. Her-
mione and Neville climbed into the boat
next to theirs with the girl Bones had been
with, and another boy. “Everyone in?” Ha-
grid shouted. “Forward!”

The boats took off smoothly across the lake.

Harry settled against the side and looked
up at the castle – he’d visited before, but
only been outside once, and not at night,
or from as far away – just drinking in the
sight of his new home.

Hagrid’s voice jolted him out of his reverie,

but Harry’d missed the actual words. He
craned his head to try to see ahead, and
then Draco shoved his head down. They
passed through a curtain of ivy and into a
wide cavern lit by torches that held some
sort of hidden dock.

- 271 -
“Do you want your head knocked off?”
Draco hissed, as their boat stopped with a
bump of wood against wood, and Ron and
the girl clambered out.

“Not really, no,” Harry muttered back.

“Thanks.” Hermione and Neville made
their way over – Hermione was asking
Neville if he still had his toad with him,
and Neville was nodding shyly – and the
five of them joined the rest of the first
years. Hagrid led them up a passageway
and out onto damp grass, and then up a
set of stone steps.

“Everyone here?”

Then, he lifted his enormous fist and

knocked on the heavy front door three
times. It swung open at once. A tall witch
with black hair and a strict expression

- 272 -
stood there, surveying the first years. Her
sharp eyes landed on Harry several times,
but her expression never changed. He
nodded at her; he’d met her once, briefly,
during Padfoot’s trial.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,”

said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from

here.” She pulled the door open properly
and everyone shuffled inside. Hermione’s
chatter about facts she’d read in Hog-
warts: A History ceased as she too took in
the huge Entrance Hall and massive mar-
ble staircase.

“If I remember correctly,” Harry heard

Hermione saying, “the Great Hall - where
students have meals – is just through that
door.”

- 273 -
Harry glanced toward the doorway on the
right that she had directed Neville’s at-
tention to and could hear the buzz of hun-
dreds of voices. Professor McGonagall led
them right past it and into a side-cham-
ber. For the first time since the platform,
Harry found himself feeling nervous... not
for any real reason, he just supposed he
was getting caught up in it with everyone
else. He shared a look with a grim Ron,
and Draco hadn’t said anything, but he
was still staying quite close.

“Can you see Blaise?” he whispered to Her-

mione. She craned her neck and looked
around, and then shook her head.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGo-

nagall said. “The start of term banquet
will begin shortly, but before you take your
seats in the Great Hall, you will be sort-
ed into your Houses. The Sorting is a very

- 274 -
important ceremony here because, while
you are here, your House will be like your
family within Hogwarts. You will have
classes with the rest of your House, sleep
in your House dormitory, and spend free
time in your House Common Room. The
four Houses are called Gryffindor, Huf-
flepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each
House has its own noble history and each
has produced outstanding witches and
wizards.

“While you are at Hogwarts, your tri-

umphs will earn you House points, while
any rule-breaking will lose House points.
At the end of the year, the House with the
most points is awarded the House Cup, a
great honour. I hope each of you will be-
come a great credit to whichever House
becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will
take place in a few minutes in front of the
rest of the school. I suggest you smarten

- 275 -
yourselves up as much as you can while
you are waiting.” Her beady eyes lingered
on Neville’s cloak which was fastened un-
der his left ear, and on Harry and Ron’s
faces; Harry remembered too late that
they probably had ash all over them. He
scrubbed his face with his sleeve, and
McGonagall’s thin lips twitched. “I shall
return when we are ready for you. Until
then, please wait quietly.” With a swish of
emerald robes, she was gone.

“Ceremony in front of the rest of the

school?” Harry asked, looking over at the
others, horrified. “Do you how they sort
us into Houses?” Harry asked. He’d asked
Padfoot and Moony a few times, but nei-
ther had ever let on, but that hadn’t both-
ered him because he’d assumed it was pri-
vate.

Ron shrugged, pale under his freckles, and

- 276 -
said, “Some sort of test, I think. Fred said
it hurts a lot but I think he was joking.”
Harry nodded, mentally running through
the spells he’d learnt and might need. He
couldn’t see her, but he could hear Her-
mione doing the same. He was just try-
ing to remember the incantation for a ba-
sic shield charm when several students
screamed.

A group of ghosts had just floated through

the wall arguing amongst themselves:
“-forgive and forget, I say,” said a fat lit-
tle monk, “we ought to give him a second
chance-”

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves

all the chances he deserves? He gives us
all a bad name and you know, he’s not re-
ally even a ghost- I say, what are you all
doing here?” A ghost in tights and a ruf-
fled shirt had just noticed the first years.

- 277 -
Nobody answered.

“New students!” the Fat Friar said, beam-

ing around at them. “About to be Sorted,
I suppose?” A few people, Harry among
them, nodded. “Hope to see you in Huf-
flepuff!” he said kindly. “My old House you
know.”

“Move along now,” Professor McGonagall

said sharply, making a chubby girl with
pigtails jump and scream. “The Sorting
Ceremony’s about to start.” The ghosts
drifted through the wall, making sever-
al students break out in nervous chatter
again. “Now, form two lines and follow
me.” Harry got into line behind Ron. Dra-
co was beside him, looking calm, but re-
signed.

“Good luck,” Harry muttered. Draco turned

to stare at him, seeming confused.

- 278 -
“Thanks?” he said after a moment. “Good
luck to you, too.”

Professor McGonagall led them out of the

chamber, back across the Entrance Hall
and into the room Hermione had pointed
to when they first arrived. It was easily
as big as the Entrance Hall and had four
long tables where the older students were
sitting, and one table across the far end
where the teachers sat.

Dumbledore was front and centre, beam-

ing around at them all, and Snape was to
his left – the seat on his right was emp-
ty, and was probably McGonagall’s – and
Moony was beside Snape. He smiled at
Harry when he spotted him, and Harry,
despite having some lingering frustration,
waved and smiled back. Harry didn’t rec-
ognise any of the other teachers, but there

- 279 -
was a tiny little man next to McGonagall’s
empty seat, and a witch with enormous
glasses and flyaway hair right down the
end on the left, who was staring intently
into the bottom of her goblet.

Above the tables were thousands of float-

ing candles which bathed the Hall in a
warm golden light and above that was the
ceiling, which was velvety black and dot-
ted with stars. Hermione was telling Ron
– who looked too terrified to actually be
paying proper attention - that it was be-
witched to look like the night sky. Harry
hid a smile. As they drew even with the
end of the tables, McGonagall re-emerged,
carrying a stool and a frayed hat.

The older students were watching the hat

expectantly. Harry shared a confused look
with Ron – Draco and Hermione were star-
ing straight ahead and wouldn’t meet his

- 280 -
eye - and looked up in time to see a stitch
near the brim open. The hat began to sing:

“You may not think I’m pretty,

But don’t judge on what you see,
I’ll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top-hats sleek and tall,
For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all!
There’s nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can’t see,
So try me on and I will tell you,
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart.
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,

- 281 -
And not afraid of toil.
Or yet, in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you’ve a ready mind.
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind.
Or perhaps in Slytherin,
You’ll make your real friends.
Those cunning folk use any means,
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don’t be afraid!
And don’t get in a flap!
You’re in safe hands (though I have none),
For I’m a Thinking Cap!”

The entire Hall burst into applause as the

hat finished its song and bowed to each of
the four tables.

“So we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron

whispered to Harry, sounding relieved.
“I’ll kill Fred; he was going on about wres-
tling a troll!”

- 282 -
Harry nodded, but wondered how safe it
was; he was a Secret Keeper, after all – not
that they were hiding anymore - and he
knew an awful lot about things like Hor-
cruxes, and about Padfoot’s Auror cases,
and all sorts of other things that he didn’t
really think a hat needed to know. Har-
ry’s wondering was cut short by Professor
McGonagall who was holding a long roll of
parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on

the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted,’
she said. “Abbott, Hannah!” A red faced
girl with blonde pigtails - the one who had
screamed when McGonagall had returned
- stumbled out of the line in front of Harry
and put the hat on.

There was a short pause and then the hat

shouted, “HUFFLEPUFF!” A table to Har-

- 283 -
ry’s right – all with yellow and black ties
- cheered as Hannah sat down.

“Bones, Susan!” The girl who’d been with

Bones that morning hurried up, but Harry
didn’t pay much attention to that; he was
wondering where ‘Benson, Blaise’ was. He
glanced around, but couldn’t see through
the throng of first years, and gave up in
time to see Susan take the hat off and hur-
ry over to join Hannah at the Hufflepuff
table.

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!” Ravenclaw’s reaction

was a little more subdued – clapping in-
stead of cheering – but several older stu-
dents shook hands with Terry as he sat
down next to a pretty Asian girl. Mandy
Brocklehurst, a tall girl with a short brown
ponytail joined Terry in Ravenclaw, and a

- 284 -
moment later a girl with curly brown hair
named Lavender Brown went to join the
Gryffindor table, which exploded into ap-
plause. Millicent Bullstrode, a tall, thick-
ly set girl with a square jaw was the first
Slytherin of the evening.

Justin Finch-Fletchley – the boy that had

been in the boat with Hermione and Nev-
ille - became a Hufflepuff.

“That’s what he wanted!” Hermione whis-

pered, and then jumped as her name was
called.

She had the hat on her head for the lon-

gest of anyone so far, and Harry was sur-
prised when it finally called, “GRYFFIN-
DOR!” because he’d fully expected her to
end up in Ravenclaw. He caught her eye
and smiled though, and hoped more than
ever that he would end up in Gryffindor

- 285 -
too.

When Neville Longbottom was called, he

fell over on his way up to the stool.

The hat took a long time to decide, but fi-

nally it called out “GRYFFINDOR!” Harry
was a little surprised - he’d picked Neville
for Hufflepuff - but he clapped along with
the rest anyway. Neville himself looked
shocked but pleased as he ran off to sit
down, still wearing the hat.

He had to jog back through everyone’s

laughter to pass it to “MacDougal, Morag.”

Draco was called shortly after. The entire

Slytherin table perked up at the mention
of his surname. He extracted himself from
his place beside Harry and walked to the
front. The hat - which covered most of his
head – was quiet for a long time, but Har-

- 286 -
ry thought he could hear Draco talking to
it.

Severus’ heart was in his throat as Dra-

co approached the stool and sat down. Be-
side him, Lupin could probably smell it,
because he looked sympathetic. Severus
put his back to the werewolf, and focused
on his godson, who didn’t look even faintly
nervous.

Severus wondered if Draco would look ner-

vous if he had even the slightest inkling
of what Severus and Narcissa had done to
him over the past few years. The boy that
sat beneath the hat now, looked the same
as the one who’d come to Severus’ office
at his mother’s request, to re-sort a book-
shelf, but he was entirely different. They’d
put ideas in his head, changed him, slowly,

- 287 -
changed the way he thought and the way
he acted... Draco, untouched, and left to
grow up the same way Hydrus had, would
be a lot like Hydrus, although, Severus
suspected, he would be an little kinder;
Draco had always had that tendency.

There was silence but confused looks were

beginning to pass between friends and col-
leagues.

Teach him to survive, Narcissa had said.

So, Severus had taught the boy to lie, to
see lies, and to organise, so that once he
was thirteen, he’d be able to take up Occlu-
mency without difficulty. He would have
Severus’ rather unique skill set. And, if
Severus and Narcissa had done their jobs
properly, he would have that skill set, a
Gryffindor tie, and Harry Potter’s friend-
ship.

- 288 -
And, with those three, he would have a
choice, and therefore freedom that few
people had; when the time came, he could
serve the Dark Lord from Gryffindor,
the way Pettigrew had. Or, perhaps, like
Severus, he would change sides and play
double agent. If Potter was anything like
his mother – and Severus, very grudging-
ly, had to admit there were some similari-
ties – then friendship with him would not
be an easy thing to turn away from... or
at least it wouldn’t be, if Draco could keep
himself from making Severus’ mistakes.

But, whichever side he did choose – and

Severus hoped rather fiercely that it would
be Potter’s, Dumbledore’s and his, so that
he didn’t have to kill his godson – could be
kept a secret, if Draco so desired, and with
ambiguity came safety...

But that all hinged on the Sorting Hat’s

- 289 -
next word. They had a tentative friend-
ship already, but if Draco didn’t make it
into Gryffindor, he’d never make it – prop-
erly – into Potter’s circle of friends, never
have the chance to offer himself as a spy,
or have the reasons to turn on the Dark
Lord. He would have no choice but to fol-
low in his father’s footsteps, and kneel at
the Dark Lord’s feet, and he would have a
life of servitude whether he wanted it or
not.

That was what Narcissa feared, what she

wanted to avoid, regardless of the cost.

Severus did, of course, want Draco to have

a better quality of life than ‘Death Eater’
but above all - and he’d never admit this
to anyone, and especially not to Dumble-
dore - he just wanted Draco to be happy,
doing whatever he enjoyed, or spending
time with people whose company he ap-

- 290 -
preciated.

And, Severus knew, thanks to his and

Narcissa’s manipulations, there was real-
ly only one place that he’d find that.

For all the good it does, he thought, I am

sorry, Draco.

Severus sighed, crossed his fingers in his

lap and thought with all his might, Gryffin-
dor. Please, please, let it be Gryffindor.

- 291 -
Chapter 8:
Sorting things out

“I attempted to attack Mr Remus Lupin

knowingly, because he’s a werewolf, and
I don’t want him teaching my son,” Sirius
read.

“I didn’t have the ‘Mr’ in there,” Paul Mor-

ton – the git who’d attacked Remus at the
platform earlier that day – said, “but oth-
erwise, yes, that’s my statement.” Sirius
set the parchment down on the interview
room’s desk, and took a deep breath.

- 292 -
“And the spell you used?”

“I’ve forgotten, I’m afraid,” Morton replied,

folding his arms. He smiled coolly at the
wall behind Sirius. Morton didn’t have a
criminal history, or one in the D.M.L.E.,
so Sirius wasn’t sure how he knew about
the one-sided Disillusionment Charm on
the wall, but Sirius was certain that the
smile was directed at Brown and Hemsley
on the other side.

“I don’t believe you,” Sirius said.

“Prove I’m lying,” Morton said, arching an

eyebrow. Sirius pulled his Sensor Sphere
– a birthday present from Robards last
year – out of his pocket.

“Hold this and say that again,” he said.

Morton just gave Sirius a how-stupid-do-

- 293 -
I-look stare.

“They don’t hold up in the Wizengamot,”

he said flatly. “Got anything else?”

Sirius ground his teeth together, and

tucked his sphere away. He hadn’t rec-
ognised Morton’s spell, hadn’t heard an
incantation – and neither had any of the
witnesses Brown had questioned – and the
spell hadn’t hit, so there were no known
effects.

They’d arrested Morton for verbal assault

(he’d said some very unsavoury things
about Remus when Sirius first approached
him on the platform – and it was with-
in Remus’ earshot, so the charges held,
even though Sirius was making them on
Remus’ behalf, and Remus didn’t know
about them), attempted magical assault,
and had brought him in for questioning

- 294 -
because of the potential link to the Grin-
gotts case and the first attack on Remus,
but they had nothing, and Morton knew
it. Sirius could, if he pulled a few strings,
get Morton questioned under Veritas-
erum, but it wasn’t worth it. There was
something off about the man, and he was
a prejudiced git, but neither of those were
things that they could condemn him for.

“You can expect your fine in the mail in

the next two days,” Sirius said stiffly. Mor-
ton’s cold smile widened. “And the Aurors
may still contact you for a second round
of questioning, so please don’t leave the
country or county at all in the next week.”

“I won’t,” Morton said, getting up. He went

to the door, but didn’t leave through it; he
waited, instead, for Sirius to get up and
open it, and not because he was unsure;
Sirius rather thought he just wanted the

- 295 -
door held open for him.

Git, he thought darkly. He recollected

Morton’s statement from the table and
then left the interview room, to meet up
with Hemsley and Brown.

“What an arsehole,” Brown said, without

preamble. Sirius favoured him with a rare
smile, and then looked at Hemsley.

“What’d you think?”

“There’s something Dark about him,”

was all Hemsley said; he didn’t offer an
opinion, which Sirius thought meant that
he disagreed with Brown’s summary; if
Hemsley had an unpopular opinion, he
tended to keep it quiet and stick to facts.
Hemsley gestured to the table of instru-
ments lined up against the Disillusioned
wall, and, more specifically, the Dark De-

- 296 -
tector. “This one went off a few times.”

“That’s helpful,” Sirius grumbled. He’d

been caught by a Dark Detector when he
had the Horcrux with him in Diagon Al-
ley, but he’d also known Dark Detectors to
go off for things as ‘Dark’ as a wand core.
Morton might just have had a particularly
vicious dragon supply the dragon heart-
string in his wand. Or maybe the Detector
thought he was a git too. “Any of the oth-
ers do anything?”

“Nothing,” Brown said. “I reckon he was

lying about not remembering the spell,
though.” Hemsley said nothing. “So, what
do we do?”

“Nothing,” Hemsley said, shrugging. “We

can’t lock people up for prejudice, and no
one was hurt. Case closed.” Hemsley was
very quiet about his own political stand-

- 297 -
ings, but Sirius had managed to learn
that Hemsley wasn’t particularly comfort-
able around humanoid magical creatures,
except goblins. He didn’t want them all
killed or anything, but he wouldn’t go out
of his way to help them either.

Sirius nodded briskly and left. He didn’t

really think that Morton had created a
goblin Inferi, or successfully broken in
and out of Gringotts, but he also thought
there was more to Morton than they’d un-
covered today, and his instincts were tell-
ing him to keep an eye on him for the next
little while.

If I’m wrong, and he’s just a git, Sirius

thought to himself, then that’s the end
of it. But if he’s something more danger-
ous... Sirius checked his Sidekick; Harry
was probably at Hogwarts by now, or very
close to arriving. He smiled to himself and

- 298 -
stopped by his cubicle to collect a few case
files to look over that night.

“Sirius!”

Marlene, like Sirius, looked like she was

about to leave for the night; she had a
heavy textbook under one arm, and a phi-
al of something in the other hand.

“Poison analysis,” she said, when she saw

what he was looking at.

“Sounds fun,” Sirius said. She grunted.

“I’ve been to St Mungo’s twice this week.”

Sirius gave her a sympathetic look. “Are
you heading off?”

“Yeah-”

“Do you have anything planned for din-

- 299 -
ner?”

“It’s just Kreacher and me, tonight,” Siri-

us said, shrugging.

“So you’re not interested in eating out?”

she asked. “I could use a break from all of,
well, this.” She lifted the phial again. Siri-
us bit his lip, sorely tempted to accept, but
shook his head.

“Any other night,” he said apologetically,

“sure.”

“Here comes the ‘but’,” Marlene said wry-

ly. Sirius grimaced. “Have you got a date
or something?” Sirius told himself he was
imagining the jealousy that had crept into
her voice.

She’s made it very clear, a thousand times

before, that she’s not interested in you

- 300 -
anymore, he told himself. But he was cu-
rious, now.

“Date’s probably too formal a word for

this,” Sirius said casually.

“Oh, so it’s one of those nights?” Marlene

said, smirking, but the skin between her
eyebrows had creased. “Harry’s away, so-”

“-Harry and I are going to mirror call,

yeah,” Sirius said innocently, as if that
had been what Marlene was about to sug-
gest. He watched Marlene’s expression
change from shocked to embarrassed. “I
expect he’ll want to tell me about the train
ride, and I’m dying to know which House
he ends up in.” Marlene still seemed to be
processing the words ‘mirror call’. “I’m not
doing anything tomorrow night, though,”
Sirius continued, with a grin. “If you still
want a break from study, I’m sure I can

- 301 -
help out.”

“Sounds good,” she managed.

“I’ll meet you in the Atrium at six,” Sirius

said. He winked and then forced himself
to walk away before he did something stu-
pid like try to kiss her.

After nearly two minutes, the hat finally

opened its mouth and shouted “GRYFFIN-
DOR!”

If Harry’d been surprised to hear Hermi-

one’s Sorting, he was stunned to hear Dra-
co’s. Next to him, Ron’s mouth was hang-
ing open.

The entire hall was silent. Harry could see

Hydrus’ wide-eyed look of disbelief, and

- 302 -
could feel the shock radiating off the Sly-
therin and Gryffindor tables. Draco tugged
the hat off his head, looking horrified.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” he said to

McGonagall, and the words echoed around
the hall. He sounded scared, panicked, and
like he might cry, all at once. McGonagall
– if her face was any indication – thought
there’d been a mistake too, but she just
shook her head.

“Take a seat with your House, Mr Mal-

foy,” she said faintly, pointing. Harry won-
dered, through his shock, if this was how
Padfoot’s Sorting had gone. Draco stood
in front of her for another few seconds,
and then walked woodenly over to the
Gryffindor table. He took a seat right at
the end, looking distinctly uncomfortable,
and completely ignored Hermione’s whis-
pered congratulations, and Ron’s Prefect

- 303 -
brother’s offered handshake. Harry tried
to catch his eye, but Draco wasn’t looking
at anyone or thing.

Up at the staff table, Moony looked sur-

prised, and Snape was impossible to read.
Dumbledore, though, started to clap, and
a few students from around the hall joined
in, but the majority were still silent.

“Malfoy, Hydrus,” McGonagall said, with

no small amount of trepidation.

His Sorting was much faster, however; the

hat barely touched his blond head before
it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!” He walked
over to the cheering table and sat down
between Crabbe and Goyle – the hulking
boys who’d accompanied him into Har-
ry’s compartment on the train – looking
pleased with himself. Harry saw him give
Draco’s back a scornful look.

- 304 -
Harry took a deep breath; there weren’t
many people left now. Lily Moon was sent
to Hufflepuff, Christopher Morton – the
son of the man that had tried to hex Moo-
ny on the platform – went to Slytherin and
so did Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkin-
son. Padma Patil was sorted into Raven-
claw and her twin sister Parvati was sort-
ed into Gryffindor. Sally-Anne Perks was
sorted into Ravenclaw and then, finally,
“Potter, Harry!”

Harry wiped his sweaty palms on his robes

– he’d been calm until Draco’s Sorting, and
now he was reasonably sure that he could
end up anywhere - and stepped forward,
nodding to acknowledge Ron’s whispered
“Good luck!” Other whispers broke out all
through the Hall, even at the staff table.

“Potter, did she say?”

- 305 -
“The Harry Potter?”

It seemed to take an eternity to reach the

stool and take the hat from a critical look-
ing Professor McGonagall. The last thing
Harry saw before he put the hat on was
an entire hall full of people trying to get a
good look at him; two Hufflepuff girls were
standing on their seats and he suspected a
Gryffindor boy would lose balance and fall
off the bench if he leant back any further.

Harry waited anxiously, wondering if the

hat was already reading his thoughts, or if
he had to say something to it first.

“Hmm,” said a quiet voice in his ear. Har-

ry jumped. “Difficult. Very difficult... plen-
ty of loyalty, but you’re not a Hufflepuff...
you don’t have the work-ethic. No offense,”
the Hat added as an afterthought.

- 306 -
None taken, Harry said quickly; he knew
that.

“And you’ve got a good mind, but you’re not

a Ravenclaw either, even if you are trying
to follow in your family’s footsteps with
your little wolf project...” Harry cringed,
and hoped the Hat would keep that partic-
ular piece of information to itself. “Which
leaves Slytherin or Gryffindor. You’ve got
plenty of courage and you’d do nicely in
Gryffindor, I think, but you’re no stranger
to secrets either... that’s interesting...”

Harry was dying to think Not Slytherin,

but he didn’t; Draco had been talking to
the Hat, and it didn’t seem to have made
a difference. The Hat made an amused
sound.

“Brave of you,” it said, “not to try to get out

- 307 -
of a House you’re not particularly keen on.
Or stupid.” Harry didn’t reply. “Brave and
stupid,” the Hat said, “and no real ambi-
tions to do anything with your fame. Bet-
ter be... GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry took the hat off and walked toward

Gryffindor table in a daze. The cheer was
deafening; the Weasley twins had started
a chant (“We got Potter! We got Potter!”).
Percy the Prefect – who introduced himself
over the din - stood and shook his hand, as
did several other members of the House.
Even the staff table was clapping; Hagrid
beamed and gave a thumbs up which Har-
ry returned, Moony was clapping and grin-
ning, Dumbledore was clapping too, and
Snape inclined his head ever so slightly.

Harry sat down next to Draco who strug-

gled with himself before muttering, “Con-
gratulations”.

- 308 -
“Thanks,” Harry said awkwardly. He
wanted to offer the same, but doubted it
would be well received. As Price, Leanne
was called, Draco went back to staring
at his hands. Hermione beamed at Har-
ry from across the table, and Neville of-
fered him a timid smile too. A ghost in a
ruff patted his arm, startling Harry – it
felt like someone had just pressed a block
of ice against his arm - but he mustered a
smile and shook his head; the ghost had
started to apologise.

Harry looked back to the Sorting Hat,

which had just placed tall, dark-haired
“Thomas, Dean” in Gryffindor.

Ron was looking positively green; Harry

thought it was as much nerves as it was
the fact that he and a surly looking dark-
skinned boy were the only two left to Sort.

- 309 -
Harry did a double-take. In the wake of
Draco’s Sorting, and the nerves leading
up to his own, Harry had completely for-
gotten about Blaise.

“Hermione,” he hissed. She looked away

from Ron, who was approaching McGo-
nagall, and at Harry. “Look.” She gasped.
Harry stared at the side of Blaise’s head,
willing him to turn around, but he was
looking resolutely forward, watching Ron.

Ron jammed the hat onto his bright hair.

“Another Weasley?” a blond girl whispered

at the Ravenclaw table. Harry saw Fred
and George grin and Percy’s ears redden
slightly.

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted. Ron

slumped, a look of relief settling on his
freckled face. Fred and George whistled

- 310 -
and Percy clapped loudly as Ron passed
the hat back and joined Harry. Draco
groaned and buried his head in his hands.

Blaise Zabini – so he’d taken the name of

the witch that came to visit him at school
the day he vanished - took a while to be
Sorted too. Not as long as Draco or Harry,
or even Hermione, but longer than most of
the others. He looked calm though, not as
if he was arguing with it, or anything like
that.

“SLYTHERIN!” the Hat announced, and

Harry exchanged a baffled look with Her-
mione as Blaise smirked, whipped the Hat
off and went and sat between Pansy Par-
kinson and Theodore Nott.

McGonagall vanished the scroll with a tap

of her wand, and carried the Hat and stool
away as Dumbledore got to his feet. He

- 311 -
was beaming around at them all, his arms
open in welcome.

“Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to a new

year at Hogwarts! Before we begin with
our banquet, I would like to say a few
words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blub-
ber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

He sat back down, smiling, and Harry

laughed and clapped along with everyone
else. He didn’t even notice the food appear-
ing on the golden plates in front of them
until Hermione and Dean Thomas let out
an ‘Oh!’ of surprise, in unison.

Harry took a bit of everything, wondering

how the cooking here compared to Kreach-
er’s and was impressed. It was different,
but tasted just as good. Ron, beside him,
was eating with gusto, but Draco’s plate
was still empty.

- 312 -
“Roll?” Harry asked, offering Draco the
bread basket. He shook his head, and con-
tinued to stare at the table. “Potatoes?
Steak?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I am,” the ghost in the ruff said gloomily.

“I haven’t eaten for nearly four hundred
years. I don’t need to, of course, but one
does miss it. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Por-
pington, by the way; resident ghost of
Gryffindor tower.”

“I know who you are,” Ron said suddenly,

through a mouthful of roast carrot. Her-
mione and Draco both gave him vaguely
revolted looks. “You’re Nearly Headless
Nick; Fred and George told me about-” Sir
Nicholas turned to give Fred and George
an irritable look, and in the process, his

- 313 -
head fell off his neck and rested on his
shoulder.

Seamus Finnegan, who’d been in the mid-

dle of asking how someone could be ‘Near-
ly-Headless’, started and spilled his pump-
kin juice. The others – Harry included – all
had the same stunned expressions. Percy
sighed and passed Seamus a napkin.

“So,” Nick said, righting his head, “I hope

you new Gryffindors are going to be an as-
set to the House; we haven’t won the cup
in far too long, if you ask me.” He looked
around expectantly, and seemed - despite
his apparent dislike for his nickname -
pleased that they were all still staring at
him with awe. “The Bloody Baron’s becom-
ing almost unbearable.”

“He’s the Slytherin ghost,” Hermione said

tentatively, “isn’t he?” Harry, Ron, Seamus

- 314 -
and Dean all looked over at the Slytherin
table, where a ghost in chains and blood-
stains was sitting beside Hydrus. Hydrus,
Harry was happy to notice, did not seem
impressed with the seating arrangements.

“How’d he get like that?” Seamus asked,

fascinated.

“I’ve never asked,” Sir Nick said gently.

Seamus looked disappointed.

“Do you know?” he asked Hermione, who

didn’t. “I’ll give someone a galleon if they
ask,” Seamus said, looking around the ta-
ble.

“No, thanks,” Dean said at once. Harry

and Ron shook their heads.

“Fred and George might do it,” Ron said

thoughtfully.

- 315 -
“You could get your brother to ask,” Sea-
mus said, prodding Draco, who flinched.
He looked up slowly, his face changing
from uncomfortable to blank in less than
a second.

“And what makes you think we need your

money?” Draco sneered. Seamus frowned
at him.

“It’s just incentive,” Seamus said.

“I’m not a Weasley,” Draco said, and then

returned to glaring at the table. Fred,
George and Percy all looked around at
their name, but thankfully hadn’t heard
the comment; dessert had appeared at
that moment, replacing dinner, and drawn
a fair bit of attention. Ron, though, had
heard but he didn’t respond the way Har-
ry’d expected; he didn’t go red, or swell, or

- 316 -
offer any sort of insult back.

“Oi, Malfoy,” he said, digging around in

his pocket. “If you’re not eating, would you
mind holding Scabbers; he tends to get a
bit mad when there are sweets around.”

Draco looked up and didn’t say a word, but

there was something in his expression like
confused gratitude, and he accepted Scab-
bers carefully. Harry saw his lip tremble
before Draco got control of himself. Ron
didn’t say anything; he was demolishing a
bowl of icecream, as if what he’d done was
no big deal.

Harry helped himself to his second serve

of treacle tart for the day – he’d eaten the
one Kreacher packed for him on the train
– and turned his attention back to the oth-
er first years’ conversation; they’d moved
onto the topic of families.

- 317 -
Seamus said something funny about his
that Harry missed, and then Ron asked
Neville about his.

“I live with my gran,” Neville said, giving

Harry a fearful look. Harry gave him a
confused one back in return, and Neville
quickly looked away. “She’s a witch, but
my whole family thought I was a muggle
because I couldn’t do any magic until I was
eight. My Great Uncle Algie dropped me
out a window when my Great Aunt Enid
offered him a meringue and I bounced,”
he added, making Seamus and Laven-
der laugh. The others exchanged looks.
“Then they didn’t think I would be magi-
cal enough to get in here, so my Great Un-
cle Algie pushed me off the Blackpool Pier
last year. I had to go to St Mungo’s.”

“Sounds like a great bloke,” Ron said sar-

- 318 -
castically.

“Gran was really angry,” Neville said.

“But he was so pleased when I got in that
he bought me Trevor.”

“My family’s magical, but gran’s a mug-

gle,” Lavender Brown said, from beside
Hermione. “Mum works for Witch Weekly,
and Dad’s with the Prophet... And I think
my brother knows your godfather,” she
added, looking at Harry. “He’s an Auror
trainee.” Out of the corner of his eye, Har-
ry saw Neville twitch at the word ‘Auror’.

“Ooh,” said Parvati Patil, who was sitting

across from Lavender. “He must be very
brave.” Neville’s fingers whitened around
his spoon.

“I think he’s annoying,” Lavender replied,

flipping her hair.

- 319 -
“So does Padfoot,” Harry muttered to Ron,
who choked. Lavender grinned at him,
and Ron smiled back uncertainly. Harry,
though, was watching Neville again; he’d
gone back to eating, but there was a tight-
ness around his shoulders that hadn’t
been there before.

Dessert disappeared eventually too, and

Dumbledore got to his feet. Everyone fell
silent, and he smiled.

“I have a few reminders to pass on, be-

fore I let you head to your dormitories.
Firstly, that the forbidden forest is... well,
forbidden.” His eyes twinkled. “This is
mostly directed at those of you who have
just arrived, but a few of our older stu-
dents could probably stand to take note
as well...” The Weasley twins chuckled as
Dumbledore glanced in their direction. “I

- 320 -
will also advise you keep your distance
from the Whomping Willow.” Harry could
have sworn that Dumbledore looked at
the Weasley twins again, and then at the
entirety of the Gryffindor table. “Those of
you that had Professor Gudgeon last year
will know that it is not to be trifled with.”

Murmurs went out amongst the older stu-

dents, and among those like Ron – who’d
probably heard stories from his brothers
– and Harry – who’d heard why Moony
was offered the job, and also just stories of
Gudgeon (who’d been the year above Pad-
foot and his parents) in school.

“Secondly, our caretaker Mr Filch-” Fred

and George both started sniggering. “-has
asked me to remind you that no magic is to
be used in the corridors, between classes.”
Lots of students rolled their eyes at this.
“Quidditch trials will be held next week,

- 321 -
and anyone interested in playing for their
House team should contact their Head of
House, their Quidditch Captain, or Mad-
am Hooch.” Madam Hooch, a witch with
spiky grey hair, lifted a hand and waved
from the staff table. “I’d also like to intro-
duce Professor Lupin, who will be taking
over for Professor Gudgeon as our Defence
Against the Dark Arts teacher.” Moony
stood and waved, and the majority of the
students clapped politely – Harry, Hermi-
one and Ron clapped the loudest – while
some didn’t clap at all. Moony sat again.

“And finally,” Dumbledore said, his tone

suddenly serious, “I must tell you that the
right hand side of the third floor corridor
is out of bounds to everyone that does not
wish to die a most painful death.”

Only a few people laughed, and Harry was

not among them. He waited for Dumble-

- 322 -
dore to give them a reason, but none came.
Percy seemed to be thinking along the
same lines; Hermione asked him some-
thing, looking horrified, and Percy replied,
“He’s serious, I think, but I can’t imagine
why this is the first time I’ve heard about
it... we Prefects really ought to know about
these things.”

“And now,” Dumbledore said, his voice

light again, “before we all go off to our beds,
let us sing the school song.” Harry saw
McGonagall lean back so that she could
say something to Moony. Moony was very
obviously fighting a laugh when he reap-
peared. Dumbledore conjured the words.
“Everyone pick their favourite tune and
off we go.”

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hog-

warts,

- 323 -
Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they’re bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we’ve forgot,

Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.”

- 324 -
Some people, who’d picked very lively
tunes, finished early. The rest – Harry in-
cluded – finished somewhere in the mid-
dle, shortly before Draco, who was singing
in a very low, very depressed sort of way.
Last to finish, though, were the Weasley
twins, who were standing on their bench-
es, with their arm over the other’s shoul-
der, singing along to a slow funeral march.
Dumbledore conducted the last few lines
of song with his wand, and when they fin-
ished and started bowing and applauding
each other, Dumbledore was one of those
that clapped the loudest.

“Ah, music,” he said. “A magic beyond all

we do here! Now, bedtime; off you trot!”

Percy, and Annette Gamp, the fifth year

Prefects, gathered the first years to them.
The other Prefects – two from sixth year,
and two from seventh – spread themselves

- 325 -
out amongst the older students, whisper-
ing something to each of them.

“This way,” Annette called. Harry and the

rest followed them out of the hall and up a
large staircase. People in portraits on the
walls whispered at them as they passed,
but Harry didn’t really care; all he could
think about was trying to remember the
way Percy was leading them so that he
could find his way back downstairs in the
morning, and on mirror calling Padfoot as
soon as he got to his dormitory.

Up and up they went – encountering a few

friendly ghosts, and a rather unfriend-
ly Peeves – on the way. Peeves attacked
them all with walking sticks and swooped
at them.

“Ickle firsties,” he cackled. “Oh, the fun I

can have with you!” Annette flinched with

- 326 -
the first years, and ushered those closest
to her - Hermione, Lavender, Dean, Nev-
ille and Parvati out of harm’s way. Draco
made a quiet snarling noise – obviously he
was not in the mood – and held Scabbers
closer, so the rat wouldn’t be hurt, and
then he stomped after Annette.

“Peeves!” Percy said, ducking a walking

stick. Harry yanked Seamus out of the
way. “Peeves, stop it, or I’ll call the Bar-
on!” Peeves blew a raspberry at him. “I’ll
do it!”

“Peeves,” Harry said.

“Oh, it’s a brave ickle firstie,” Peeves said,

coming to float in front of Harry, who took
a step back. “What’s the ickle firstie got to
say?”

“Peeves!” Percy bellowed.

- 327 -
“Padfoot sends his regards,” Harry said.
Peeves frowned for a moment, and then
his eyes glinted. “And Moony’s a teacher
this year.”

“Loony, loopy Lupin!” Peeves cackled,

zooming up toward the ceiling. “Oh-ho!
Peevesy willhave some fun this year!” He
vanished, and the walking sticks dropped
with a clatter. One hit Percy’s shoulder,
the other got Seamus’ foot, but Harry and
Ron were unharmed. Harry heard a ghost-
ly cackle on the staircase further down,
and hoped he hadn’t doomed Moony... He
shook his head; Moony of all people, would
be able to handle Peeves.

“You’ll want to watch out for him,” Percy

said. “He doesn’t listen to anyone except
the Baron... not even Dumbledore, or us
Prefects.” His injured tone gave Harry a

- 328 -
fair idea of what Percy thought of that.
“This way.”

They rounded another corner, to where

Annette and the others were waiting in
front of a portrait of a fat lady wearing a
pink dress.

“Password?” she asked as Percy ap-

proached.

“Caput Draconis,” he told her, giving the

first years a significant look. Harry stored
the password away, hoping he’d remem-
ber it in the morning. The portrait swung
open and the first years clambered in - Har-
ry, and Hermione were the first through,
since Ron had waited with Seamus to help
poor Neville through, and Dean, Parva-
ti and Lavender were all asking Annette
about Peeves. Draco was the last one to
enter, and he did so very reluctantly.

- 329 -
Harry found himself in a cosy room full
of squashy red armchairs, some of which
were already occupied by students who
fell silent and turned to watch them walk
in. Harry suddenly wished he’d waited to
help Neville so that he hadn’t been at the
front of the group of first years.

“It’s Potter,” one kid whispered. Harry

looked up and met the boy’s eyes, resigned.
“And the Malfoy kid.” Draco stiffened and
set his jaw.

“Percy,” Harry said. “Which is our dormi-

tory?”

“Up those stairs, the fourth door up,” Per-

cy said. “Girls, you’re the same, but up
those stairs.”

“I’ll see you in the morning?” Hermione

- 330 -
whispered. Harry nodded. She waved and
followed Annette and the other two up the
stairs.

“Come on,” Harry muttered with a last

stare at the still-whispering students.

They found their dormitory; it was a lar-

gish, circular room filled with red-cur-
tained, four-poster beds and there was a
door on the far wall that Harry suspected
led to the bathroom. Draco looked around
with narrowed eyes and plonked down on
the bed closest to the door they’d just come
in through.

“I call the bed closest to the bathroom!”

Seamus shouted, diving onto it. Neville
sat down quietly on the bed beside him.

Harry took the bed next to Draco’s while

Ron and Dean bickered quietly about who

- 331 -
got the bed next to Harry’s but eventually
Ron won and flopped down.

Harry dug through his trunk – which,

along with Hedwig’s empty cage (he sup-
posed she’d gone to the owlery or some-
thing) and his rucksack, had been brought
up - trying to remember where he’d put
his pyjamas. He pulled them on, tossed
his robes back into his trunk and also re-
trieved his mirror from his rucksack. The
other boys were changing and arguing
over toothpaste so Harry took the moment
to slip back out onto the landing. He sat
down with his back to the wall, looking
out over the common room, and propped
his mirror up on his knees.

“Sirius Black,” he whispered. Padfoot ap-

peared in the mirror at once.

“Hey, kiddo!” he said, grinning.

- 332 -
“Hi, Padfoot,” Harry said. “How was work?”
Padfoot shrugged.

“I dragged Morton – the bloke that hexed

Moony – in for questioning, but didn’t
get anywhere... Brown was tolerable to-
day though; he was more on my side than
Hemsley’s, for once.”

“Brown’s sister’s here. Lavender,” Harry

said. “She reckons he’s annoying.”

“I reckon she’s right,” Padfoot chuckled. He

was silent and then, looking like he might
burst, said, “Well? How is it? How was the
train, what House are you in? Who-”

“Do you want to keep talking or are you go-

ing to let me answer?” Harry asked, grin-
ning. Padfoot clamped his mouth shut. “I
like it,” Harry said, answering his first

- 333 -
question. “The train was good. I sat with
Ron, mostly, but Draco and Hermione
were with us for a bit, and a boy named
Neville.”

“Not Neville Longbottom?” Padfoot asked.

“Yeah, how did- Oh,” Harry said, remem-

bering. Neville’s parents had been part
of the Order too, and they’d been Aurors,
which was why he’d been raised by his
gran, and why he’d flinched when Laven-
der started talking about her brother and
Padfoot. The Longbottoms had been tor-
tured into insanity, if Harry remembered
properly, by Padfoot’s lunatic cousin.

Which is probably why he’s so nervous

around me, Harry thought, wincing.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Padfoot asked

quietly. Harry just shook his head and

- 334 -
changed the subject.

“Moony and I had a- I don’t really know

what to call it – on the train.”

“Oh?” Padfoot asked, frowning.

“Hydrus started to call Hermione the

M-word, and I was about to hex him, but
Moony stopped me. Said it was a bad idea
because I’m famous, and you’d look bad,
and-” Padfoot sighed held up a hand. Har-
ry fell silent.

“Listen to me,” he said, seriously, “okay.”

Harry nodded, and waited. “There is al-
ways another option. Sometimes that’s
getting a teacher or a Prefect, other times
it’s walking away, other times it’s keep-
ing your mouth shut, or letting them hex
you instead, and other times, you throw
a punch, not a spell.” A small smile flick-

- 335 -
ered across his face. “That said, just be-
cause there’s another option, doesn’t mean
it’s the best one; I hexed a tonne of people
when I was at school, and so did James,
and so did Moony, and I don’t regret as
many as I probably should, because I be-
lieved, and still do, that they deserved it...
I also spent half of my time at school in
detention, or being yelled at by teachers.”

Harry chuckled, but continued to listen

carefully. Padfoot sighed.

“Point is, kiddo, is that hexing is the start,

not the end. If you think something’s worth
the detention, and the letter they’ll write
to me-” Padfoot waggled his eyebrows at
that point. “-and the – and this is a worst-
case scenario – Daily Prophet article, then
– and I’m not being sarcastic here – do it.
That applies to anything; we broke laws
when we all became animals to help Moo-

- 336 -
ny, but I don’t regret that for a second.
And same goes for escaping Azkaban and
taking you.”

“So... what... make a choice and stick with

it?”

“Don’t do anything you can’t justify. If you

hex someone, be prepared for them to hex
you back, and be prepared to spend the
rest of the week cleaning filthy cauldrons
with that person. If you’ve hexed them be-
cause they bumped you accidentally, then
you’re a git, but it’s also probably not worth
it. If you’re hexing them because they’ve
already tried to get you, and it was with
an Unforgivable, then who cares about a
detention in the scheme of things?” Pad-
foot laughed. “Heavy stuff for a first night
away from home, isn’t it?”

“A bit, yeah,” Harry agreed, laughing, but

- 337 -
he was already going over what Padfoot
had said. “I still would have jinxed Malfoy
today, if Moony hadn’t intervened.”

“Moony had to,” Padfoot said in a voice

that held a not-quite-reprimand. “He’s not
just Moony, anymore; he’s Professor Moo-
ny, and he’s got to look out for other kids
too. The school’s got their own system. Me
though... if you hex some little git, and
you’ve got a damn good reason for doing
it... well, I’m hardly going to punish you
on top of what the school does, am I?”

“What if it’s not a good reason?” Harry

asked. He knew what Padfoot was getting
at, and why; he wanted Harry to think be-
fore he acted. Padfoot had often said that
he’d been impulsive as a boy, and that
had got him into a lot of trouble... and he’d
made a lot of mistakes that he didn’t want
Harry to repeat. Padfoot had also spent a

- 338 -
lot of time fighting for what he believed in
– the Order, and later, his freedom – and
so obviously he wanted Harry to find and
fight for Harry’s own values.

But what if Harry made a mistake? What

if he hurt someone, or he chose a bad set of
morals to follow? Would Padfoot tell him
he was wrong, or would he just leave Har-
ry to work it out for himself?

“You’re not on your own,” Padfoot said.

“I’m here, and there’s Moony, of course.
But you’ve got a pretty good moral com-
pass; it certainly points closer to North
then mine does.”

“But what if I-”

“Kiddo, you’re eleven, and you don’t know

everything – and no one expects you to. Of
courseyou’re going to slip up a few times;

- 339 -
that’s what growing up is. I just want you
to think about things, so that when you do
slip up, you don’t almost kill someone, like
I did.” A shadow passed over Padfoot’s face,
but it was superficial; he still regretted it,
obviously, but he’d long ago learned from
it, and moved on. “You can take comfort
from that, actually; no matter how badly
you mess up, you can just about guaran-
tee that I’ve messed up worse.”

Padfoot smiled in a self-deprecating way,

and Harry laughed, feeling better, but still
thoughtful; Padfoot had given him a lot to
think about.

“Thanks,” Harry said, wishing Padfoot was

there with him so that he could hug him.
Padfoot just shook his head and smiled.

“Go and find Moony at some point,” he ad-

vised. “He’s probably tearing his hair out

- 340 -
over the parental-imitation he did today.”
Harry chuckled.

“I will.”

“Good.” Padfoot fidgeted on the other side

of the glass. “Tell me about the Sorting?”

“I wasn’t expecting a Hat,” Harry said.

“No one does,” Padfoot said, amused. “Why

would they?”

“I almost asked it not to put me in Slyther-

in,” Harry said wryly, “and then I changed
my mind and didn’t say anything-”

“Well, firstly, congratulations,” Padfoot

said, grinning. Then he looked concerned.
“And you’re all right? I know you were
hoping for Gryffindor, but you’ve got Dra-
co with you, at least, and-”

- 341 -
“Let me finish!” Harry laughed. “I didn’t
say anything, and the Hat told me that
was either brave or stupid...” Padfoot
chuckled.

“Only you, kiddo,” he said, shaking his

head. “So, Gryffindor?”

“Gryffindor,” Harry agreed, grinning

broadly.

“Excellent,” Padfoot said, grinning back.

“What dorm are you in?”

“Fourth one up,” Harry said.

“That’s our old dormitory! What bed’s

yours?”

“Er...”

- 342 -
“Uh oh-”

“I’ve only been in there once,” Harry said

defensively. “I’m... second from the door, I
think.” Padfoot beamed.

“Check the headboard - I carved a tiny

paw-print in it in my sixth year.”

“There are six of us,” Harry said. “It might

not be yours.”

“Yes, well my bed was always second from

the door,” Padfoot said. “And speaking of
the door, does it have a rather large dent
in it?”

“I didn’t check. Why?”

“Moony,” was all Padfoot said.

“Dunno. I’ll have a look later.”

- 343 -
“Good, and let me know.” Padfoot checked
his Sidekick. “I’m helping with training
at four,” he sighed, “and you’ll have les-
sons tomorrow, I imagine.” Harry nodded.
“Bedtime?”

“Bedtime,” Harry agreed. “Night, Padfoot.

And thanks.”

“No problem, kiddo. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Harry said. Padfoot’s im-

age wavered and vanished. Harry stared
at the blank mirror for a bit and then got
up and walked back into the dormitory.

The other boys were all in their beds -

Ron was already snoring and Seamus and
Dean were talking quietly, their voices
muffled by the hangers of their beds. Dra-
co was curled up on his side staring blank-

- 344 -
ly at the wall. Harry sought out his tooth-
brush, brushed his teeth in the bathroom,
and then crawled into bed.

“Great food, isn’t it?” he said to Neville,

who was digging through his trunk.

“Yeah,” Neville said. He seemed calmer

now than he had at dinner, which was odd,
because it was just Harry now. “Have you
seen a Potions textbook anywhere?”

“Er, no, I don’t think so,” Harry said. “Sor-

ry.”

“Oh,” Neville said, sounding disappoint-

ed. He continued to dig through his trunk.
Harry pulled his pillows away from his
headboard and scanned the dark wood.
Finally he found it, but it wasn’t the mark
he’d expected; it wasn’t a paw print at all.
It was a tiny hoof-mark with the letter ‘P’

- 345 -
beside it. He brushed his thumb over it,
smiling, as it sank in that James Potter,
his father, had sat on this very bed, had
lived and breathed in this same room...
Harry wiped his damp eyes on his sleeve
before anyone could notice. “I know you
know,” Neville said after a pause that was
filled by the other boys’ snoring. He hadn’t
looked up.

“Know what?” Harry asked, trying to keep

his voice steady. He replaced his pillows
and settled into bed. “Your book? I haven’t
seen-”

“Not- about-” Neville seemed to struggle

with himself. “I mean about- my parents.”
The last two words came out as a whisper.
“I know you know what happened.”

“I’ve heard the stories,” Harry said qui-

etly, rolling onto his side to face Neville

- 346 -
properly. He wasn’t sure whether it was
appropriate to apologise, or whether he
should wait for Neville to speak again in-
stead. Thankfully, Neville beat him to it.

“Can you not- I don’t want people to- I don’t

want to be like you,” Neville said. Harry
looked up, and so did Neville, and there
was pity of all things, on the other boy’s
face. “I don’t want everyone to know, and
to talk about me wherever I am, or to feel
sorry for me, or for my family. They were
brave, and they should be remembered
that way, not as- as-” Neville trailed off
helplessly. Harry’s estimation of Neville
soared in that moment.

“I won’t say anything,” he promised.

“It’s not mine to tell, but even if it was,
I wouldn’t, because I know what people
are like, or, I mean, what they can be like,
when they, you know, talk and point.”

- 347 -
“Thanks,” Neville said, looking relieved.
“I’m sorry for being... well, I’m not really a
very talkative person, but I was even worse
today, because I thought you might recog-
nise me and say something. Sorry.” Harry
shrugged. Neville sighed and tucked him-
self into his bedding. The dormitory was
silent for nearly ten minutes, and Harry
was just starting to slip into sleep, when
Neville spoke again. “I wish they weren’t
missing this; my Sorting, and my first
night here... I think they’d be happy for
me, if they knew.”

“Mmm,” Harry agreed. He reached for his

trunk, rummaged around one-handedly
for a moment, and then his fingers brushed
the thing he was looking for. He put his
parents’ wedding photograph on his bed-
side table, smiled at it – at his mum and
dad, and at Padfoot and Moony – and then

- 348 -
snuggled down into his bedding.

Everyone in the photo beamed back, and

that was the last thing Harry saw before
sleep claimed him.

- 349 -
Chapter 9:
A proper welcome

Narcissa,

We did it.

Narcissa’s heart constricted, and she

scrunched the message up.

“We have mail, Lucius,” she called, as she

stepped into the dining room to join him
for breakfast. Her voice echoed, and she
couldn’t help but think it seemed very emp-

- 350 -
ty in the house, without the boys around.

“Excellent,” Lucius said. He was spread-

ing jam over his toast, but put it down to
receive the envelope. He checked the writ-
ing on the outside. “From Hydrus?”

And nothing from Draco, Narcissa thought,

squeezing Severus’ note even tighter. She
slipped it into her pocket as Lucius sliced
the envelope open with his wand.

“Mother and Father,” Lucius read aloud.

“I made it into Slytherin – no surprises
there – and have settled in well. The train
ride was long, like you said, Father, but
I spent it with the rest of the group, so it
wasn’t too bad. I think there’s something
wrong with Draco though; more than usu-
al, anyway.” At this Lucius looked up to
meet Narcissa’s eye. He only looked wor-
ried, but to her, it felt like condemnation

- 351 -
for what she’d done. “Firstly, he got up
and moved compartment about halfway
through the ride. And guess where he
sat: with Potter, and Weasley, and some
mudblood girl.” Lucius just looked puzzled
now, and Narcissa’s heart clenched again
– he didn’t know what was coming any-
more than Draco or Hydrus had. “I went
to go and get him, but halfbreed Lupin
interfered. And that’s not even the worst
part. I-” Lucius paused, his face draining
of colour.

“What is it?” Narcissa made herself ask.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Lucius

read, looking stunned, “but Draco didn’t
get into Slytherin with the rest of us. He’s
in Gryffindor.” Narcissa tried to look sur-
prised, but Severus’ note was burning her
through her pocket.

- 352 -
“What?” she asked.

“The hat took a long time to decide, and

then put him there. He said – and I agree
– that there must have been a mistake,
but the teachers told him to sit down.
He’s always been a bit odd, I know, but
I never thought it was this serious, and
I don’t know what to do. He’s family, so I
really should help him and I do want to,
but part of me also wonders whether it’s
better to just sever all ties.” Narcissa bit
down on her tongue, so that she wouldn’t
sob. “I could really use some advice, Fa-
ther, on how to handle this. Perhaps you
could write to the school and ask to have
him transferred into Slytherin, or maybe,
if it’s not too late, you could take him out
and have him go to Durmstrang. I really
don’t know what to do about this. Yours in
confusion, Hydrus.”

- 353 -
Lucius’ hand trembled as he set the letter
down by his teacup, and also when he ges-
tured for Narcissa to come over. She got
to her feet and went to Lucius, who pulled
her down into his lap and kissed her cheek.

“You’re crying,” he said. Narcissa touched

her face and was startled to find it was wet.
She dabbed at it, but Lucius just held her
close and rubbed her back gently. “Where
did we go wrong?” he asked aloud, looking
shocked, and a bit angry. “I stopped trying
to get him into Gryffindor over a year ago,
and Severus kept up the visits, but not the
lessons!” Lucius shifted restlessly, jostling
her, and then sighed. “I am so, so sorry,”
he said.

“For-”

“You warned me against this – you said it

was a bad idea, that you didn’t want our

- 354 -
son to be a bloodtraitor, a Gryffindor... And
I- my actions have brought us to this same
outcome; I’ve ruined him, without even in-
tending to.”

“It’s too late to change anything now,”

Narcissa said, resting her head on her
husband’s shoulder, but another few tears
had trickled down her cheeks when he’d
said ‘ruined’. “We just have to move for-
ward, and not lose Draco the way my Aunt
lost Sirius.” Lucius stared at Hydrus’ let-
ter, and then, abruptly, made a choking
noise. Narcissa turned, startled, in time
to see Lucius dab impatiently at his eyes.
“And I don’t blame you,” she said quietly.

That rests on my shoulders, and on Sever-

us’.

“You should. This is my fault-”

- 355 -
“It’s not your fault,” Narcissa said, and
was reminded of her conversation with
Draco in his bedroom, at a function a few
days after Sirius’ trial.

“It is,” Lucius said, his face crumpling. He

wasn’t crying anymore, but he looked dis-
traught.

“No,” Narcissa said helplessly.

“I am so, so sorry, Narcissa,” Lucius said

again, and wrapped his arms around her.

Please, please let this be worth it, Narcis-

sa thought, burying her face in the side of
Lucius’ neck. Her tears started up again,
and she vowed they would be the last over
Draco; it was done now, and time to step
back and watch.

- 356 -
Harry blinked himself awake to the sound
of general morning bustle; Seamus was
trying to talk to Neville and brush his
teeth at the same time, Ron couldn’t find
a pair of matching socks and Dean was
struggling to tie his tie. Harry rolled out of
bed - rather ungracefully, but no one was
looking - and staggered over to his trunk.

“Malfoy’s still asleep,” Seamus said, roll-

ing his eyes. “He’s probably never had to
wake up before nine before.” Harry knew
for a fact that this was wrong and he saw
Draco’s back - the blond was facing the
wall again - tighten.

“Maybe he was just tired,” he said. He

doubted Draco’d slept well; in his eyes, he
was probably in enemy territory.

“Maybe,” Neville agreed warily, looking at

Draco as if he were a sleeping dragon and

- 357 -
not a sleeping boy.

“I’m starving,” Ron said, yawning as he

shoved his belongings back into his trunk.
“Can we go down?”

“I’m ready,” Dean said, having given his

tie to Neville to fix. Seamus nodded. Har-
ry pulled his robes on over his uniform and
bent to tie his shoelaces.

“Are you coming, Harry?” Ron asked as the

four of them made their way to the door.

“I’ll wait,” Harry said, nodding at Draco’s

back. The others shrugged and trooped
out.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Draco mum-

bled, rolling over once the door was closed.

“Nope,” Harry agreed. Draco stared at

- 358 -
him, opened his mouth, closed it, and then
got out of bed and disappeared into the
bathroom. Harry heard the shower start,
and sat down on his bed to wait, wonder-
ing which of Draco’s many personalities
he’d be dealing with that morning. He
also wondered whether he’d have Defence
Against the Dark Arts that day; Moony
had hidden his lesson plans away, so Har-
ry had no idea what he had in mind, and
was eager to find out.

Twenty minutes after he’d first gone in –

and Harry was starting to get very impa-
tient – Draco finally emerged again. His
blond hair was gelled back and his robes
were free of creases. He looked every bit
a Malfoy, even with his red and gold tie.
Harry groaned.

“You know,” he sighed, “you look exact-

ly how everyone’s going to expect you to

- 359 -
look.”

“I’d hate to fail to meet their expecta-

tions,” Draco sneered. He didn’t look open
to any further conversation, so Harry just
shrugged awkwardly and led the way out
of the dormitory.

Because they were running so late, the

corridors were almost abandoned, but, de-
spite there not being anyone to follow, they
managed to find their way to the Great Hall
fairly easily; it was a simple matter of go-
ing down and down until they reached the
Entrance Hall. Inside the Great Hall was a
different matter altogether. There wasn’t
a single student or teacher that didn’t look
up when the two of them walked in.

Harry froze, his eyes darting up to the

staff table; Help? he thought toward Moo-
ny, who was wincing.

- 360 -
Draco though, took one look at him, curled
his lip and drawled, “Good morning,” loud
enough for everyone to hear. The rest of
the school looked rather surprised, but
Harry saw Snape smirk into his breakfast.
“Flattering as this is,” Draco said, “hav-
en’t you got anything better to do?” With
that, Draco grabbed Harry and hauled
him over to the Gryffindor table, where
Ron and Hermione shuffled over to make
space for them. Harry sat at once, eager to
blend in, but Draco remained standing for
a few moments; he was giving the Slyther-
in table a longing look.

“Sit down,” Harry said, yanking Draco

into his seat. Draco scowled at him. Har-
ry ignored that, and grabbed two pieces of
toast, several spoonfuls of scrambled eggs,
and a few rashers of bacon.

- 361 -
“Hungry?” Hermione – who had pancakes
in front of her – asked.

“Starving,” Harry said. “Bacon, Draco?”

He shook his head, but he was, at least,
eating again; Draco was drizzling honey
over a bowl of porridge. Neville turned
to Harry only moments later, to ask him
whether they’d had any trouble finding
their way downstairs, and that conversa-
tion led to one about where their classes
would be, and whether they’d manage to
find them.

Then, the post came.

Harry was terrified when he saw Hedwig

soar in with the rest of the owls; Padfoot
had joked once, about a month ago, that
he’d send a singing letter to congratulate
Harry on his Sorting, and Harry had no
doubt that he would follow through with

- 362 -
that. Hedwig had two letters tied to her
thin leg, but only let Harry take one. The
writing was vaguely familiar, and when
Harry opened it, he was touched to see
that it was from Tonks. Hedwig took the
second letter up to the staff table, to Moo-
ny.

Wotcher Harry! it said.

Remus told me about your Sorting, and

congratulations! I’m glad you got the
House you wanted, and I know Charlie al-
ways had a lot of fun there, so I’m sure
you will too. Hopefully you’ve got a few
friends with you, and the teachers aren’t
too mean!

I’m keeping an eye on Sirius out here – help

a witch out, and keep an eye on Remus for
me, eh? Thanks!

- 363 -
I’ll see you soon, I’m sure!

Love,

Tonks.

Harry smiled and tucked the letter into

his pocket. Moony was smiling at his,
and Harry wondered what she’d written
to him; his ears were faintly pink. Moony
pocketed it when he saw Harry was look-
ing at him, and went back to his breakfast.

Ron had received post too – one was a fam-

ily letter that was passed around between
him, Percy and the twins, and the other
was from Ginny – and he chuckled to him-
self as he read.

Several minutes later, when they’d all

eaten their fill – even Harry and Draco,
who’d been the last down to breakfast –

- 364 -
Professor McGonagall came by with their
timetables.

“Are we all in the same lessons?” Ron

asked, craning his neck to look at every-
one’s timetables.

“They’re sorted by Houses,” Hermione

said knowledgably. “So we’ve got History
of Magic with the Hufflepuffs, and then
Charms with the Ravenclaws.”

“Fun morning,” Draco grumbled from next

to Harry.

“Okay, if you wouldn’t mind passing this

around – just tick your names off, and I’ll
try to learn them as I go,” Remus said, to
his Gryffindor and Slytherin third years.
“I’m Professor Lupin, as I’m sure you’ve

- 365 -
all heard, I’m your Defence Against the
Dark Arts teacher for the year.” A boy in
Gryffindor robes – Figures, Remus thought
to himself – flung his hand up. “Yes? Uh,
Mr-?”

“Kenneth Towler,” the boy said. He was

chubby, with curly hair and squinty eyes.
“Are you really a werewolf?” Remus sighed
and leaned back against his desk.

“I am,” he said. “And I promise, I don’t in-

tend to maul any of you... unless you don’t
hand in your homework on time.” A pair
of Gryffindor girls in the front row looked
terrified, and the other students had ex-
pressions of fear, shock, or awkward un-
certainty on their faces too. “Kidding,”
Remus said hastily. “I was joking. I won’t
be eating anyone.”

“Shame,” one of the Weasley twins mut-

- 366 -
tered to the other, glancing at a trio of Sly-
therin boys. Remus’ lips twitched.

“I’ll warn you now,” he said, “that I have

very good hearing-” He glanced at the twin
who’d spoken; the boy grinned and glanced
at the other twin. “-and a good sense of
smell...” He fixed the Weasley twins with
a pointed look; he could smell the dung-
bombs in their schoolbags.

“Bloody hell.”

“I heard that,” Remus said, smiling. One

of the Slytherin girls sniggered.

“Now,” Remus said, pushing off the desk.

“My area of expertise is – obviously – mag-
ical creatures, so that’ll be the focus this
year, along with a few jinxes and protec-
tive spells that I’ve always thought were
useful. So, books away, and wands out...”

- 367 -
He stepped over to a large trunk that
Snape had – very reluctantly – helped him
move out of the dungeons the night before.
“We’re going to be doing a bit of work with
Boggarts today.”

History of Magic, in Draco’s opinion, was

fascinating. He and Granger were the only
two to think so, though; less than ten min-
utes into the lesson, Finnegan and two
Hufflepuff girls had already dozed off, and
Potter and Weasley were playing hang-
man on a spare piece of parchment.

Charms was a bore, though Draco was

sure it would get better; they spent the en-
tire first lesson learning how to hold their
wands properly, and then learning about
spell pronunciation, and common wand
movements. Draco was relieved when they

- 368 -
finally escaped to lunch.

He, though, was intercepted in the En-

trance Hall. In hindsight, he should have
expected it, been surprised, even, that it
had been put off for so long.

“Got a moment?” Hydrus asked. Vincent

and Gregory flanked him, like always, and
Daphne, Nadia and Pansy were bringing
up the rear. Draco was suddenly even
more aware of his Gryffindor tie, and had
to force himself not to take it off and bury
it in his bag.

Weasley looked like he might say some-

thing, and Potter looked worried – Grang-
er just seemed confused – but Draco nod-
ded.

“I don’t cause a fuss when you want to

talk to your family, Weasley,” he drawled,

- 369 -
without looking at the Gryffindors.

“But-” Weasley began.

“Shoo,” Draco told him. Potter put a hand

on Weasley’s shoulder and guided him into
the hall. Granger frowned at the Slyther-
in girls, who were whispering some rather
nasty things about her, and followed Wea-
sley. Potter followed the pair of them, and
something in his expression made Draco’s
insides squirm with... was it guilt? Draco
shook his head to clear it.

“Well that was easy,” Hydrus said, smirk-

ing. “You’ve already got them at your beck
and call.” Draco almost protested, but just
smirked instead. It was easier than trying
to explain. There was an awkward silence.
“Care to explain?” Hydrus’ eyes lingered
on Draco’s tie.

- 370 -
“I don’t know what happened,” Draco said
miserably. “I should be in Slytherin, with
all of you-”

“So you say,” Daphne said sneered. Draco

shot her a venomous look.

“Poor Draco,” Pansy said, coming forward

to pat his arm. She didn’t seem at all mock-
ing, or mean, just confused and worried.

“I’ve had a letter from home,” Hydrus said,

pulling a folded piece of parchment out
of his pocket. “I wrote to Mother and Fa-
ther to tell them about the Sorting.” Draco
cringed. “They’re disappointed – not in you
– in the way things have turned out. And
they want to fix it. They’ve asked me to let
you sit at the Slytherin table for meals,
and – even though the rest of the House
won’t like it – I think that’s for the best.
And we’ll study with you in the library,

- 371 -
right up until curfew, to limit the time you
have to spend upstairs. There’s not a lot
to be done about lessons, or sleeping ar-
rangements, but the rest can be helped.”

“And we’re willing to do it,” Pansy said

earnestly.

“But if you’re going to sit with us, you’ll

have to follow a few rules,” Daphne said
primly. “And the main one, is that you
can’t wear that-” She jabbed a finger at
Draco’s tie. “-unless it’s absolutely neces-
sary. The second one, is that you should
try to lose as many points from Gryffind-
or as you possibly can.” She smirked, and
Hydrus gave her a pleased look.

That doesn’t seem fair, Draco thought,

frowning to himself, and then shook his
head. Idiot; that’s the sort of thinking that
got me into this mess.

- 372 -
“Deal,” he said, holding out his hand. Hy-
drus looked relieved, and shook it.

Draco tugged his tie off and tucked it into

his trouser pocket and then followed his
brother and peers to the Slytherin table.
There were no official rules about who
was allowed to sit where, though general-
ly people felt the most relaxed with their
House, and so that was where they stayed.
Draco was the exception.

It wasn’t a warm reception from the rest

of Slytherin House, but no one was openly
hostile. In fact, the majority just glanced
at him, at his missing tie, and went back to
their own conversations. Draco sat down
where Hydrus pointed, with a few of the
other first years; Millicent was there, and
Blaise, and the girl who’d been in his and
Potter’s boat last night, and a boy that

- 373 -
Draco didn’t know.

“Tracey Davis,” the girl said. “I was too

nervo-” Millicent made a soft noise that
got both Draco and Tracey’s attention for
a moment, but she didn’t seem to have
anything to say. She just filled her goblet
with water and turned to Theodore, who
was watching Tracey carefully. “I mean,”
Tracey said, in a cool voice, “I didn’t have
a chance to introduce myself last night.”
Draco saw Theodore nod. He didn’t recog-
nise the name Davis, so he was reasonably
sure that Tracey was either a halfblood or
muggleborn... and, if Millicent and Theo-
dore were trying to keep her from putting
her foot in her mouth, it was probably the
latter. Draco nodded at her and decided to
keep his mouth shut about his suspicions.

“I’m Christopher Morton,” the boy said.

That was a name Draco thought he rec-

- 374 -
ognised; the Mortons weren’t initially
from wizarding stock – too many mug-
gles and muggleborns popping up on their
family tree, Father always said – but had
kept their line ‘pure’ for a few generations
and were constantly striving to get into
the pureblood circle, but Father and a few
others had turned them down enough that
they hadn’t bothered in the last few years.
“Sorry to hear about your Sorting.”

“Thanks,” Draco muttered. “Well done on

yours.”

“Thank you,” Morton said, with a smirk. “I

wasn’t surprised, per say, but it was a re-
lief. I don’t know what I would have done if
I’d ended up anywhere else.” Draco forced
a smile and reached for a ham and cheese
sandwich. His eyes fell on the Gryffindor
table, where Potter was laughing at some-
thing Weasley had said, and Granger was

- 375 -
looking appalled. Draco wondered what
Weasley had said.

“It’s Granger, isn’t it?” Blaise said, nod-

ding in the direction that Draco was look-
ing. Draco turned back around at once, be-
fore anyone could see him looking at his
Housemates.

“A muggleborn,” Draco said, because that

was the sort of thing that would matter
most to the occupants of his table. Tracey
fidgeted, and Millicent rolled her eyes and
offered her a bowl of fruit.

“Well obviously,” Pansy said. “Just look

at her!” Daphne sniggered into her lunch.
Blaise was still looking over Draco’s shoul-
der.

“Oh, please tell me you’ve got better taste

than that,” Daphne said, shuddering.

- 376 -
Blaise gave her a cold look.

“I’m just trying to work out what she’s do-

ing in Gryffindor, and not Hufflepuff,” he
drawled. “Or why she’s here at all, for that
matter.” Nadia laughed appreciatively,
and Daphne gave Blaise a long look before
she returned to her lunch. Blaise went
back to watching the other table. “How
does she know Potter?” he asked after a
moment.

“Do we care?” Pansy asked incredulously.

“Honestly,” Daphne muttered. Theodore

glanced at her, pursed his lips, and glanced
away. No one had answered, though.

“I think they went to muggle school togeth-

er,” Draco said. Granger had mentioned
that when he was questioning her on the
train yesterday. Blaise blinked and stared

- 377 -
– if it was possible – harder at the trio on
the other table.

“What’s Potter’s name?” he asked.

“Why are you so interested?” Nadia asked,

looking irritated. “He’s a bloodtraitor, and
Granger’s a mudblood. They’re not worth
our time-”

“Malfoy,” Blaise said curtly, ignoring Na-

dia altogether. Hydrus, who was talking to
Vincent, Gregory and two boys – brothers,
Draco thought, but only one looked young
enough to be a first year – turned at the
sound of his name. “Not you,” Blaise said
dismissively. He fixed Draco with an ex-
pectant look. “Well?” he asked impatient-
ly.

“Harry, isn’t it?” Theodore said. Draco

nodded and Blaise, oddly, groaned.

- 378 -
“Yeah, that’s what most of us think,” Hy-
drus said, smirking. Everyone else snig-
gered and carried on, but Draco was silent,
and so, interestingly, was Blaise.

Harry thought he was going to like life at

Hogwarts very much indeed. After lunch
(when they would usually have had Her-
bology), he and all of the other first years -
had a meeting with the four House Heads,
and the Head Boy and Girl, who gave
them a proper introduction to Hogwarts;
they introduced themselves, and let the
students know where their offices were, if
they ever needed to find them. They were
briefed – in detail – on the rules – curfew,
for example, as well as magic use, home-
work deadlines and even had the caretak-
er Filch present a talk on prohibited areas

- 379 -
and items.

Harry couldn’t keep a straight face

throughout it all – he could imagine all too
well what Padfoot and Moony would say
if they were there to hear it – but he was
the only one. If the aim of the session had
been to scare the first years into being on
their best behaviour, Harry thought it had
worked. Snape and McGonagall, in partic-
ular, made it clear that they expected no
nonsense.

Even the Slytherins – and Draco, who

stood with them, blank-faced – weren’t
sneering or smirking like they had been
when they intercepted Draco before lunch.
Blaise looked unimpressed and Harry
tried several times to catch his eye, but
Blaise didn’t look in his direction at all.

Once the teachers were done, they were

- 380 -
offered the chance to stay on and learn to
properly write with a quill – muggleborns
had very little experience with that, as
Harry knew all too well from his pre-Pad-
foot life – and so Hermione and quite a
few others stayed behind to get some ex-
tra help.

Harry left – as did Ron and Neville – and

tried to catch up with Blaise, but he and
his new friends slipped out of the room,
and Harry got caught behind a group of
Ravenclaws that couldn’t have walked
any slower if they’d tried.

“Reckon Hermione’ll be all right finding

her way back?” Ron asked.

“With her memory?” Harry asked, chuck-

ling. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. And she’s got
Dean and Seamus with her if she’s not.”

- 381 -
“Wish I had her memory,” Neville said
sadly; he’d been ten minutes late to the
first year meeting and Snape told him off
– quite nastily - for it. Ron patted him on
the shoulder.

“Common room?” Harry asked.

“Nowhere else to go,” Ron said, shrugging.

The three of them managed to find their

way back without any hassle, and spent a
concerted ten minutes reading the chap-
ter Binns had assigned them for home-
work before they got hopelessly bored and
started a game of chess instead. Harry, to
his great shame, lost four times in twen-
ty minutes, and then swapped places with
Neville, who was even worse.

Hermione joined them about an hour af-

ter the meeting ended and settled right

- 382 -
into her homework. She didn’t stir until
dinner, and would probably have studied
all the way through that, had Harry not
poked her until he got a response.

“Scary,” Ron said to him in an undertone,

as he and Harry walked down to dinner
behind Hermione and Neville. “She’d have
missed dinner, for homework... Is that
normal?”

“It is for Hermione,” Harry muttered back,

grinning.

“Scary,” Ron said again.

As he had at lunch, Draco sat with the

Slytherins, and Harry tried not to let that
worry him... it wouldn’t have, he didn’t
think, if Draco seemed happier over there
than he had with the Gryffindors. But Dra-
co seemed just as quiet and withdrawn.

- 383 -
It’s not my business, Harry told him-
self, and smiled when Draco caught him
looking. Draco started to smile, and then
checked the movement and looked away
with a sneer. Harry frowned and turned
back to his dinner.

“So, ickle firsties, how was your first day?”

Fred – or Harry assumed it was Fred, be-
cause he was wearing a jumper with an ‘F’
on it – said, shooing Ron aside so that he
could sit down. George was further up the
table with a stocky boy that looked about
Percy’s age, and a pair of third year girls.

“All right,” Ron said, glancing at Harry,

who shrugged. “A bit boring – History of
Magic, Charms and then we had a bit of
time off this afternoon because we’ve got-”

“Astronomy tonight,” Fred said. “Sounds

- 384 -
like the timetable’s still the same as it was
when we were young and innocent, like
yourselves.” Ron snorted – probably, Har-
ry thought – at the ‘young and innocent’
bit. Hermione just glanced at them, seem-
ing amused. Then, she caught Harry’s eye
and nodded down the table; George was
now trying to slip some sort of insect into
one of the girls’ gravy without her notic-
ing.

“What’d you have?” Ron asked his brother.

“Defence,” Fred said.

“With Moony?” Harry asked, interested.

“How was it?”

“Wicked; we were up against a Boggart,

and-” Fred suddenly went very still. “Sor-
ry, did you say Moony?”

- 385 -
“Yeah, Remus- I mean, Professor Lupin. I
call him-”

“Moony,” Fred said again, rather wooden-

ly. He’d lost quite a bit of his former ani-
mation, and seemed to be shutting down
before their very eyes. “Excuse me.” He got
up, and walked over to George, in a daze.

“You all right?” Harry heard George ask,

but didn’t catch Fred’s response. George
looked over at Harry though, and then at
Moony, and then he got up jerkily, leaving
his plate of food untouched. He and Fred
practically ran from the Great Hall.

Only a few minutes later, Percy came in

and sat down in the seat that Fred had va-
cated, shaking his head, and accepted the
basket of bread rolls from Hermione with
a distracted ‘thank you’.

- 386 -
“What?” Ron asked.

“They’re squealing,” Percy sighed, pinch-

ing the bridge of his nose.

“Who?”

“Fred and George,” Percy said. “They’re

skipping around in the Entrance Hall,
squealing like- well, like I don’t know
what.”

“That’s never good,” Ron said, wincing. He

spent a few seconds looking concerned –
Percy actually looked scared - and then
went back to his steak and potatoes. Harry
supposed he was used to it. Percy ripped
his bread roll to pieces and kept a bespec-
tacled eye on the door, as if expecting to
hear an explosion or something from be-
yond it.

- 387 -
Fred and George returned during dessert,
looking livelier than Harry had even seen.
Ron had joined Percy in looking scared, but
that quickly turned to irritation when he
was shoved out of the way so that George
could sit down beside Harry. Fred sat on
Harry’s right. Both were entirely focused
on him, and it – unsurprisingly – discon-
certed Harry.

“Fred,” Percy began.

“Shut up,” George said briskly, and Percy

huffed and went to sit further down the
table. “One moment, kiddies,” George said
to Ron and Hermione. “We’ve got import-
ant things to discuss with Harry here.”

“Shove off,” Ron said. “We can sit here if

we-”

“You’ve got five seconds,” Fred said, “be-

- 388 -
fore we take action to make you move.”

“And a few feet down the bench is much

easier than a trip to the Hospital Wing,”
George advised.

“Right,” Ron said. “Come on.” Hermione

scowled and looked at Percy, as if expect-
ing his help, but he’d gone to sit with the
stocky boy George had been with earlier.
“Trust me,” Ron said, giving the twins a
nervous look.

“If it’s anything bad, I will tell Professor

McGonagall,” Hermione warned. Fred
just shooed her away, and she followed
Ron down to where Neville and Dean were
sitting with Parvati. Harry rather wished
he could go too.

“Harry-”

- 389 -
“-we’re going to play a game.” Fred’s eyes
were gleaming in a rather maniacal way.
Harry could well believe he’d been squeal-
ing in the Entrance Hall, though Merlin
only knew why.

“Rules are easy,” George continued. “We’re

going to say a name, and you’re going to
tell us what comes to mind.”

“Er... right. Okay.” Harry sent Ron a

pleading look, but Ron just shrugged in a
helpless way.

“The Marauders.”

“How do you know that name?” Harry

asked curiously.

“We’re the ones asking the questions,”

Fred said, shaking his head. He looked
unusually serious, and on the verge of ex-

- 390 -
ploding, all at once. “Come on, Harry; the
Marauders.”

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs,”

Harry said carefully.

“You were right,” George said, looking to

Fred with awe on his face.

“I found them,” Fred said. He was crying a

bit, and didn’t seem to care at all. “Harry’s
Moony is the Moony. We found them!”

“Cover us,” George said, rather tearfully,

to Harry. He was digging around in his
pockets, and Fred had drawn his wand.

“Do you think it’ll be enough?”

“Nothing’s enough,” George said, sniffing.

“But I think he’ll appreciate it anyway.”

- 391 -
“Wha-”

The pair of them crawled under the table.

Harry stayed where he was, feeling rather
isolated now that no one was sitting with
him.

A moment later though, it didn’t matter.

Gold and purple fireworks burst out from

under Gryffindor table and exploded
against the charmed, starry sky. Several
students seemed startled, but the major-
ity just pointed and smiled. At the same
time, a banner appeared in mid air, facing
the staff table.

Welcome home, Marauder Moony, it said,

in large golden letters. Harry beamed.
Sparks from the fireworks fizzled down
around it, and Fred and George emerged,
startling a group of fourth years, to kneel,

- 392 -
tear-streaked faces and all – beneath the
banner. Confused murmurs raced around
the student tables, but the staff table
seemed to know what was happening.

“No!” McGonagall said, quite audibly.

“It’s only been one day- they can’t know-”
Dumbledore just patted her shoulder, and
chuckled. Snape’s expression was the best;
equal parts dread and fear, and was mim-
icked on the faces of the rest of the staff...
except for Moony’s.

Moony was laughing at the banner, and

at McGonagall, and trying to apologise for
laughing, all at once.

Yes, Harry thought he was going to like

life at Hogwarts very much indeed.

- 393 -
Chapter 10:
Slytherin and Gryffindor

Harry’s second day at Hogwarts was just

as dramatic as the first; they had the morn-
ing off to sleep in after Astronomy, he’d
spent lunch undergoing rigorous question-
ing by the twins (who’d been shooed away
and told not to talk to Harry, by Profes-
sor McGonagall), and then had their first
Transfiguration lesson after lunch. Her-
mione was the only one in the class that
managed to turn her needle into a match,
and Harry wasn’t at all pleased with his

- 394 -
lack of success; how in Merlin’s name was
he supposed to turn himself into a wolf, if
he couldn’t even manage a match? He lis-
tened carefully as McGonagall tried to ex-
plain the theory behind the matches, and
what their homework would be, and he
even slipped his match into his pocket so
that he’d be able to practice with it later.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was that

afternoon, and it was the class he’d most
been looking forward to. Moony didn’t dis-
appoint. He spent ten minutes answer-
ing questions – mainly from Seamus and
from Hydrus – about his condition, before
he told them to get their wands out and
spent the afternoon teaching them a few
useful spells. Most of them were ones that
Harry knew – the Finger-Twitch jinx, for
example, and the Body-Bind; they weren’t
ready to learn to Stun or Disarm, but these
worked just as well in the meantime.

- 395 -
Harry tried to go over to talk to Blaise and
Draco several times during the lesson, but
was stopped by the rest of the Slytherins.
Hydrus, the third time, thought it would
be funny to use the Finger-Twitch jinx on
him, and once Harry had recollected his
wand, he used a full body bind in return
and was rather pleased when Hydrus fell
to the ground with a thud. He blinked an-
grily at Moony.

“That’s what we’re after,” Moony said, with

a blithe smile. “See how Hydrus can’t move
at all? Nicely done, Harry – five points to
Gryffindor.”

Harry grinned, and Moony winked before

he turned around to help Lavender; Harry
just knew it was to get Hydrus back for the
train yesterday. Unfortunately, though,
Draco lost those points Harry’d earned,

- 396 -
after only a few minutes, for calling Nev-
ille a bloodtraitor. That seemed to delight
the Slytherins to no end, and that in turn,
made Harry suspect Draco’d been told to
do it. Ron didn’t appear to have made that
distinction though.

“That little git,” Harry heard him growl,

and he and Hermione grabbed an arm
each before Ron could go over and lose
them any more points. “Ignore him, Nev-
ille,” Ron said firmly, when he’d settled
enough to not lunge at Draco.

“Of course you’d say that, Weasley,” a

blonde girl whispered, keeping an eye on
Moony, who was helping a trio of Slyther-
ins, all of whom had stayed out of the dis-
pute. “You and your family are just as-”
Lavender stepped up to the other girl,
flanked by Parvati, and was probably
about to defend Ron, when Moony cut in.

- 397 -
“That’s enough, I think,” he said quietly,
but firmly. He did not look impressed. No
one lost points – Moony had been distract-
ed with other students and so couldn’t tell
who’d said what and when – but he dis-
missed them all early; he let the Slyther-
ins (and Draco) leave five minutes before
the Gryffindors – probably to avoid any
casualties in the corridors – and then let
the Gryffindors go. Harry stayed behind.

“Well, that went well,” Moony sighed, sit-

ting down on his desk.

“I thought it was a good lesson,” Harry said,

sitting down on a desk in the front row. “I
just wish we weren’t with the Slytherins.”
Moony looked rather like he thought the
same thing, but he didn’t vocalise it.

“Mmmm,” was all he said, and then sighed.

- 398 -
“About the train-”

“It’s okay,” Harry said. “I talked to Pad-

foot about it last night.”

“And what did Sirius have to say?” Moo-

ny asked, looking unsure about wanting
to hear Harry’s response.

“That everything has consequences – or

that was the gist, anyway. He said not to
do anything if I can’t live with what comes
next.”

“Good advice,” Moony said. “As your teach-

er, I’m not sure that I should be saying
that – I should be saying ‘don’t hex any-
one, ever’, but as a person... well, there
are far worse moral codes to stand by.” He
hesitated. “Nice body-bind, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, grinning.

- 399 -
“Even if you weren’t supposed to have done
it,” Moony added.

“You shouldn’t have given me points then,”

Harry countered. Moony smiled reluctant-
ly.

“I won’t next time,” he warned, and Har-

ry nodded, not bothered by that. “Draco’s
taking some time to adjust, apparently.”

“Apparently,” Harry sighed.

“It’s not easy,” Moony said. “Sirius wanted

to be Sorted into Gryffindor, and even he
struggled.”

“I get that it’s put him in a hard position,

but he doesn’t have to be a git about it,”
Harry muttered. “He can hang around
with Slytherins without turning against

- 400 -
Gryffindor, can’t he? I mean, he is one; if
he belonged in Slytheirn, the Hat would
have put him there.”

“You’re right,” Moony said, “but Draco

probably doesn’t see it so simply.”

“That’s a relief,” Lucius said, smoothing

Hydrus’ second letter out. They were still
yet to hear from Draco himself – Narcis-
sa imagined that he was probably too con-
fused to be able to formulate any sort of
sense in a letter – but Hydrus had said
that Draco was willing to go along with the
rest of the pureblood children. “His House
can’t be helped now, but his opinions and
behaviour still can. A snake in lion’s cloth-
ing, or something similar... yes.” He nod-
ded to himself. “A good idea, Narcissa.”

- 401 -
She nodded distractedly from behind her
book on Occlumency; Merlin knew she
had some secrets these days. Lucius left
to write back to Hydrus, and Narcissa
sighed.

She had sworn to herself the morning be-

fore that her manipulations were done,
but they weren’t. As evidenced by Hydrus’
latest letter, Draco was very willing to go
along with the rest of the Slytherins, and
apparently, not at all pleased with his new
House.

Narcissa didn’t think that was entirely

true, but she did believe that Draco proba-
bly didn’t knowthat, not yet. Which was ex-
actly why she’d suggested Hydrus include
Draco in everything. Had Draco rejected
the offer, then she’d have known that Dra-
co was comfortable in Gryffindor, and well
on his way to being on Potter’s side. But,

- 402 -
Draco had taken the offer, which would, in
the long term, work just as well.

In the wake of his Sorting, Draco had no

doubt forgotten – or at least, set aside – his
problems with Hydrus and the rest of the
pureblood children. But Narcissa knew
that it was only a matter of time before a
value or opinion of Draco’s conflicted with
someone else’s too much for him to simply
overlook. Draco belonged in Gryffindor –
she and Severus had seen to that – and
whether it took a day, or a year, he would
eventually come to realise that, and grav-
itate away from his old cohort and toward
Potter and others like him.

Sirius had done it, and, while Sirius had

wanted Gryffindor, and Draco hadn’t, the
principle still applied; she and Bella had
– at their aunt’s request – tried to include
Sirius. In the end, their attempts had

- 403 -
pushed him away faster. The same, she
was sure, would work with Draco.

And he would be safe, because with his

training and his House, he’d have a choice,
if or when the time came, and he would
also, eventually, be happy.

Narcissa turned the page of her book.

On Friday, they finally had an encoun-

ter with Blaise. Or, rather, Hermione did.
She’d been keen to get to Potions early and
left before the rest of them. Blaise – never
one to be late to any sort of lesson – was
there too, and Snape hadn’t yet arrived to
open the doors.

By the time Harry and Ron arrived, with

the rest of the Gryffindors (except Draco)

- 404 -
in tow, Hermione was in tears, and at the
mercy of the Slytherins, and Blaise, par-
ticularly, seemed determined to upset her
as much as possible. Only Draco, Nott and
Davis looked uncomfortable. Before Har-
ry or Ron could step up and defend her,
Snape arrived.

He took one look at Hermione, one look

at the sneers on his students’ faces, and
then barked, “Explain, Mr Malfoy.” Harry
pulled Hermione back to the safety of the
Gryffindor group, and rubbed her back.
Ron asked her a question in a low voice,
and she sniffed and shook her head.

“The mud-”

“The other Mr Malfoy,” Snape said curt-

ly. Hydrus curled his lip and fell silent.
Draco shrank back and looked around for
help. None came. “Well?” Snape asked im-

- 405 -
patiently. For the first time it occurred to
Harry that whatever fondness Snape had
had for Draco might have gone after his
Sorting; Snape had never made it a secret
that he hated Gryffindors.

“Granger provoked them,” Draco said fi-

nally. He glanced at Hydrus, drew himself
up, and then added, “So we put her back
in her place.” Hermione, who’d stopped
crying, made an outraged noise.

“All I said,” she cried, “was-”

“No one asked you, mudblood,” Blaise

said coldly, and Hermione fell silent with
a tearless sob. Harry frowned at Blaise,
who, very resolutely, did not meet his eye.

“Mr Zabini, that is not an acceptable word

to use at school and if I hear it from you
again, I will be forced to deduct points.”

- 406 -
Snape then turned back to Draco. “So
she provoked you, and you handled it
as a group?” Snape asked, fixing Draco
with a look that made him wilt. He nod-
ded, though. Harry thought Snape looked
disappointed for a moment, but his usu-
al scowl was back a moment later. “Very
well. Miss-”

“Granger, sir,” Hermione said shakily.

“Granger.” Snape’s lip curled. “Five points

from Gryffindor for provoking the other
students-” Ron and Seamus made furious
noises, and Harry glared at Snape, who
glared right back. Harry didn’t think his
heart was in it, though, which was odd.
“-and I will take more if it happens again.”
He flicked his wand at the dungeon door,
which opened and he barked, “In!”

Snape, like every teacher except Moony,

- 407 -
started off with the class list. He hesitated
when he got to Harry’s name, and for a mo-
ment, Harry thought he was about to say
something, but in the end, he just drawled,
“Harry Potter.” Harry couldn’t shake the
feeling that he’d just been spared some-
thing very unpleasant.

“You are here to learn the subtle science

and exact art of potionmaking,” Snape said,
when everyone had been called. “As there
is little foolish wand-waving here, many
of you will hardly believe this is magic.
I don’t expect you will really understand
the beauty of the softly simmering caul-
dron with its shimmering fumes, the del-
icate power of liquids that creep through
human veins, bewitching the mind, en-
snaring the senses... I can teach you how
to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper
death - if you aren’t as big a bunch of dun-
derheads as I usually have to teach.”

- 408 -
Harry smiled, before he could stop him-
self.

“Did I say something funny, Potter?”

Snape asked quietly. Harry quickly wiped
the smile off his face.

“No,” Harry said quickly.

“Tell me, what-” Again, Snape hesitated.

“-is the difference between monkshood-”
Harry’s heart sank. “-and wolfsbane?”
Hermione’s hand shot into the air, and the
majority of Slytherin sniggered; a few just
looked confused.

Harry opened his mouth to say, ‘I don’t

know’, when he realised that he did. “There
isn’t one,” he said. Merlin knew he’d heard
Moony, Tonks and Padfoot talk about that
potion and its ingredients enough times.

- 409 -
“Well, it seems you’re not entirely useless,”
Snape said, making the Slytherins laugh
appreciatively. Harry didn’t really care.
Compared to the way Snape had treated
him when they first met three years ago,
Snape was being downright friendly. Her-
mione, next to Harry, put her hand down,
looking a bit disappointed that she hadn’t
been allowed to answer.

Given the disastrous start to the class,

out in the dungeon corridor, Harry re-
ally shouldn’t have been surprised that
the end of class was just as bad; Snape
paired them up and had them prepare a
cure for boils and then swooped around
the classroom, criticising everyone’s po-
tions. Hermione and Harry seemed to be
the only two Gryffindors that weren’t ter-
rified; Hermione wanted to prove herself,
no doubt, and Harry had made far more

- 410 -
complicated potions – his Form-Revealer,
for one - and had experience with Snape
– though, admittedly not in a teaching en-
vironment. Their partners though, Dean
and Ron, were criticised for not helping
enough, and told to pay attention because
Snape would pair them together next les-
son.

Neville managed to melt Seamus’ caul-

dron, and cover himself in painful look-
ing boils; Seamus took him to the hospital
wing, and Snape told Harry and Ron off
for not keeping a closer eye on him.

“He’s the teacher,” Ron complained to

Harry, as they shifted their stools away
from the puddle of cauldron that Neville
had left behind. “Shouldn’t he be the one
keeping an eye on people?”

“Probably,” Harry sighed, stirring their

- 411 -
cauldron. Ron passed him the next ingre-
dient, and then ducked his head; Snape
was heading back their way.

“Mr Malfoy, stay behind,” Severus said, as

everyone filed out, or, rather, as the Sly-
therins filed out, and the Gryffindors fled.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Draco muttered to

Hydrus, who gave Severus an appraising
look and left with Vincent and Gregory.
“Sir?”

“Not here,” Severus said. He led Draco

out of the classroom and into a part of the
castle that Draco was much more familiar
with; his office. “Sit.” Draco dropped his
school bag on the office floor, and lowered
himself into the chair Severus was point-
ing at. Severus himself didn’t sit; he re-

- 412 -
mained standing.

“How are you?” Severus asked, surprising

Draco.

“I haven’t had the start to Hogwarts that

I’d hoped for, but I’ve adjusted.”

“So I’d noticed,” Severus said coolly. “I was

relieved to see, that, despite your current
problems, you’re still managing to keep
muggleborns in their place.” There was so
much sarcasm and condemnation in his
voice that Draco shrank back into his chair.
“I’d expect that supremacy nonsense from
Hydrus, or the others, but from you, Dra-
co... I confess, it’s disappointing.” Draco
scratched the scar on his palm, ashamed –
he was disappointed in himself too, and to
hear it from Severus was even worse – but
frustration bubbled up too, and in the end,
he couldn’t hold it back.

- 413 -
“You know what else is disappointing?” he
said. “This!” He tugged on his tie. “This
isn’t how it’s supposed to be! I’m supposed
to be in Slytherin with everyone else, but
I’m stuck in stupid Gryffindor!” Draco
wiped his cheeks, angry. “It’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair,” Severus said quietly. Dra-

co just sniffed.

“I always knew I was different,” Draco said,

letting out words that had been bouncing
around his head since the Sorting. “but I
didn’t know that- that that was wrong! I
just thought I thought differently, that I
thought older or something; I think like
you, and you were a Slytherin, and so was
Mother! I was raised to be a Slytherin, and
somehow, I’ve managed to- to- to undo it.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Severus

- 414 -
said. “These things-”

“I don’t blame myself,” Draco said. “I just...

don’t understand. I want to write to Moth-
er and Father and tell them I’m sorry, but
I don’t know what there is to say, because
what- I- there-”

“Draco, calm yourself,” Severus said firm-

ly. Draco took a few deep breaths, and
wiped his face again for good measure.
“Your parents will understand - I spoke
with them both last night.” Draco’s eyes
widened and he wanted to ask a thousand
questions, but held his tongue instead.
“Your mother, in particular, is eager to see
you, or, at the very least, hear from you.”

Relief, even if it was wary - who knew

what Mother would say when she got past
the worry and shock? - seeped into Draco.

- 415 -
“I’ll write to her,” he said tentatively. “To-
night.”

“See that you do,” Severus said, with a

sharp nod. “And, despite the fact that you
did not make it into my House-” Draco
flinched, but Severus’ tone was mild, and
free of its earlier bite. “-my office is always
open to you.” Severus put a hand on Dra-
co’s shoulder for a brief moment, and then
stepped back. “I suggest you go to lunch,”
he said, “before those buffoons you call
classmates eat it all.”

“I don’t sit with the Gryffindors,” Draco

said. Severus didn’t say anything. Con-
fused, Draco stood and hovered awkward-
ly by the door. “Thanks,” Draco mumbled.
“Sorry for-”

“There is no need to apologise.” Draco left,

heading upstairs to the Entrance Hall.

- 416 -
Just before he stepped into the Great Hall,
for lunch, he pulled off his tie and tucked
it into his pocket.

As much as he was enjoying school, Harry

was glad when the weekend arrived. He
spent most of Friday afternoon doing his
homework with Hermione and Ron, and
went and saw Moony after dinner. The pair
of them mirror-called Padfoot and Kreach-
er, who were eager to hear stories about
the first week; Harry told them about his
classes and teachers, and his friends, and
Moony had a whole heap of funny stories to
share, mainly about Peeves (who wouldn’t
leave him alone), and the Weasley twins
(who were almost just as persistent).

“They don’t do anything, though” Moony

said. “They’re not pranking, and they’re

- 417 -
not talking... they just sort of watch me,
and seem completely content with that...
It’s- I offered them tea yesterday, and they
panicked and ran off. I’ve got no idea what
to make of the whole thing.”

On Saturday, Harry left his friends to

their own devices and went to the library
to work on his Transfiguration. He re-read
the chapter they were working from, and
his notes, and then pulled out the match
to practice with. He managed to make his
match silver in the first five minutes, but
it took him another fifteen to make it thin
and pointy.

I’ll try again, he decided.

“Finite,” he said, but the needle remained.

Harry frowned and leafed through his
book until he found ‘Reparifarge’, but that
was only to undo incorrectly done trans-

- 418 -
figurations.

He closed his book and went to search the

library for something that could help him.
Trying to reverse the transfiguration took
Harry the rest of the day. By the time he
got to dinner, he was tired and hungry,
and his hand ached from all of the wand
movements he’d tried before he got the
right one – it had to be the exact reverse
of the one he’d done initially – but he was
also the very proud owner of a seemingly
normal match, and, as he loaded his plate
with mashed potatoes, he couldn’t quite
wipe the grin off his face.

“What’d you get up to today?” he asked

the table, but was mostly focused on Her-
mione and Ron.

“We played chess,” Hermione offered; Ron

had looked up with his mouth full. “Ron

- 419 -
won,” she added, looking a bit put out. “All
seven times.”

“I reckon even you’d have won,” Ron told

Harry, who grinned. Hermione huffed and
picked up her fork , but she wasn’t offend-
ed; knowing her, she was disappointed be-
cause she’d finally found something she
wasn’t the best at. Harry didn’t think that
was a bad thing.

“And Draco?” Harry asked, glancing over

his shoulder at the Slytherin table, where
the boy in question sat silently, picking at
his dinner. “Did he show his face today?”

“Not ‘til now,” Ron said, his face darken-

ing a bit. Harry’s heart sank. He wasn’t
sure where he sat with Draco at the mo-
ment, but he suspected he’d be a lot more
forgiving than Ron, who hadn’t been at all
impressed by the blood traitor comment

- 420 -
in Defence. And, judging by the way that
Hermione’s eyebrows drew together, she
didn’t care much for him at the moment
either.

Harry sighed and stabbed a roast carrot.

The next week at Hogwarts was about as

uneventful as life at Hogwarts could be.
Seamus punched Morton – the boy whose
father had attacked Moony – outside
Charms on Monday afternoon for insulting
his muggle father, and on Tuesday morn-
ing, Moony gave Blaise detention for pick-
ing on Hermione; this time, she didn’t cry,
just ignored him, and Harry was proud of
her for that. Harry, on the other hand, hit
Blaise with the knockback jinx they were
practicing, giving Moony no choice but to
give him detention too.

- 421 -
Moony seemed disappointed, but Harry
figured it was an opportunity to hit two
Bludgers with one bat; he’d defended Her-
mione, and he’d also earned himself sev-
eral hours with Blaise. His hopes for hav-
ing a civil chat with him diminished but
didn’t disappear, when Blaise shoved him
into the doorframe on the way out of the
classroom.

Tuesday afternoon was Potions again, but

thankfully only a theory lesson. Snape
taught them about the properties of a few
ingredients and the ways that they inter-
acted together, and, once Harry’d taken
all of the Gryffindor-directed nastiness
out of his notes, they were actually very
informative.

Wednesday passed without consequence;

they had their first Herbology lesson with

- 422 -
Professor Sprout, and Neville, of all peo-
ple, proved himself a very capable student.
Once, he even beat Hermione in answer-
ing a question. Harry’s plant experience
was limited to weeding and watering – the
things he’d done for the Dursleys – so he
partnered with Ron, figuring that at least
they could have no idea together.

Draco continued to ignore the Gryffindors,

and, when they weren’t in Defence or Po-
tions (the Slytherin-Gryffindor classes) he
sat with Zacharias Smith from Hufflepuff,
or Sophie Flint from Ravenclaw. Neither
seemed to like him very much, and he
didn’t seem to like them either, but he sat
there nonetheless.

Thursdays, Harry thought, were likely to

become his favourite day; they got to sleep
in – if they wanted to - then had Transfig-
uration with McGonagall, lunch, then De-

- 423 -
fence with Moony, and, until Christmas,
they now had flying lessons in the after-
noons (though that was, regrettably, with
the Slytherins).

Hermione and Neville talked about flying

all through breakfast, and Harry, after
trying to tell her that you couldn’t learn
to fly from a book, gave up, left them to it,
and relocated with Ron to where the twins
were sitting, discussing a prank they were
going to pull on Snape over dinner; the
plan was, Harry managed to gather, to
charm his peas to make his skin change
colour, each time he ate one.

“He’ll kill you if he finds out,” Ron said,

impressed.

“He’ll know,” Fred said, shrugging, “but

what’s the worst that could happen. Mc-
Gonagall’s our Head, so she’ll hand out the

- 424 -
punishment, and Snape hates us already,
so we’ve got nothing to lose.”

Harry wondered, for just a moment, if

Snape ever saw his dad and Padfoot in the
twins.

“Greasy git,” George added. Harry winced,

deciding that was a distinct possibility.
“So, young Harry,” George asked, turning
around, “we think we’ve covered enough
about Moony for the time being-”

“-and that it’s time to move on, to, say-”

“Wormtail,” George said hopefully. Harry

– who’d not been expecting to hear that
name - choked on his mouthful of yoghurt,
and Ron thumped him on the back. As al-
ways, there was the anger that Harry as-
sociated with the traitor, but even more
prominent was the guilt and pity; Har-

- 425 -
ry still remembered Wormtail’s shrill,
babbling confession at Padfoot’s trial,
and knew all too well that Wormtail was
doomed to spend the rest of his life in the
cold company of his deepest fears.

“He’s a git,” Harry said, after he’d had

juice to clear his throat. “He’s in Azkaban,
and staying there.” It was clear that Fred
and George were dying to ask more, but
Harry saw Ron shake his head and they
went back to their breakfasts.

Harry forgot all about Wormtail though,

when he got into Transfiguration. They
were working on their matches again, and
Harry managed his as quickly as Hermi-
one. Hermione went to collect more from
Professor McGonagall’s desk so that she
could keep practicing, but Harry kept
his single needle, and set about trying
to change it back again. It only took him

- 426 -
twenty minutes, and only ten the time af-
ter that.

By the end of the double lesson, Harry

could reverse his transfiguration just as
quickly as he could do it in the right di-
rection. At the end of the lesson, everyone
except Harry (who’d turned his back to a
match), Neville (who had a toothpick) and
Wayne Hopkins from Hufflepuff, had a
needle on their desk. Hermione had elev-
en, and earned a point for Gryffindor for
each one.

“Monday’s single lesson will also be ded-

icated to this,” McGonagall said as they
loaded their books back into their bags. “I
expect everyone to have managed by the
end of that lesson, so if you still have a
match today, I suggest you practice.” Her
beady gaze lingered on Harry, Neville and
Wayne. “Do not forget.”

- 427 -
“I’ll remember to practice,” Neville said, as
they made their way to lunch. “Look what
Gran sent me.” He pulled a glass ball out
of his pocket and lifted it up to show Har-
ry. “It’s a Rememberall; it’ll fill with smoke
when I’ve forgotten something.”

“How’ll you know what you’ve forgotten?”

Ron asked curiously.

“I won’t,” Neville said. “Gran said she’d

get me the proper one-”

“Proper one?” Harry asked, looking at the

Rememberall; it looked pretty proper to
him.

“You can put memories in them,” Neville

said, “And it shows you what one’s import-
ant, instead of just smoking. But they’re
really expensive,” he added. “Gran said I

- 428 -
have to prove I won’t lose this one before
she’ll let me have a real one.”

Harry glanced at Ron, fighting a grin; it

had only been a week, and he’d already
seen first-hand how easily Neville lost
things. Neville’s things kept turning up in
strange places all around the dormitory
and common room, and it was common to
see Neville digging through his trunk in
the early hours of the morning, or sitting
on his bed, deep in thought as he tried to
remember where he’d last seen something.
Trevor didn’t help matters, because the
toad kept misplacing himself; Lavender
had returned him to Neville after finding
him in the girl’s bathroom on the week-
end.

“Where’re we sitting?” Ron asked, glanc-

ing around the table.

- 429 -
“There,” Harry said; he’d spied a rather
unusual addition at the very end of the
bench. Ron frowned, but followed him
over with Hermione. Neville bade them
goodbye to sit with some of his Hufflepuff
friends.

“Did I scare him?” Draco asked, as they

approached.

“Only as much as we scare you when you

sit over there,” Ron said, jerking his head
at the Slytherin table. He sat down oppo-
site Harry, who’d taken the seat beside
Draco.

“You don’t scare me,” Draco scoffed, “I

just-” He hesitated. “-don’t like you very
much.”

“There’s your answer,” Hermione said,

taking the seat next to Ron. She poured

- 430 -
the four of them drinks, and wasn’t the
only one that seemed startled when Draco
thanked her for it. Harry saw her expres-
sion soften a tiny bit and then she asked
rather briskly, “If you don’t like us, why
are you sitting here?”

“They’re not out of lessons yet,” Draco

said. He picked up a quarter of a sandwich
and took a bite. “I had to wait somewhere,
didn’t I?” Ron grunted. “Keen for flying
lessons today, Potter?”

“I s’pose,” Harry said, helping himself to a

generous serve of cheesy macaroni. “You?”
Draco shrugged.

“Fred and George say the school brooms

are rubbish,” Ron said.

“How would they know?” Draco asked,

looking confused. “Your family can’t afford

- 431 -
quality brooms, so they wouldn’t know the
difference.”

“Obviously there’s a difference, or they

wouldn’t have said anything,” Ron said,
red-eared.

“I suppose,” Draco drawled. “If the Weas-

leys thinks they’re bad, they must be. I-”
Harry kicked him – probably harder than
was necessary – and Draco cut off with a
yelp. “What, Potter?” he asked crossly.

“My leg twitched,” Harry said, unrepen-

tant. “Sorry.” Ron sniggered, and Hermi-
one looked amused.

“Lie,” Draco muttered.

“Lie?” Hermione asked. Oddly, Draco co-

loured at that.

- 432 -
“It’s nothing,” he said. Hermione, never
content not to know something, folded her
arms, and frowned at Draco, who didn’t
seem to care at all.

“What do you think of classes so far?” Har-

ry asked, not sure whether he was trying
to spare Draco from Hermione, or spare
Hermione from the retaliation that Draco
would no doubt come up with. “I haven’t
really had a chance to ask.”

“No,” Draco said quietly. He frowned and

took another sandwich. “No, I suppose
not. They’re... good, I suppose. I like His-
tory of Magic-” Ron made a revolted noise,
and Harry wholeheartedly agreed. “-and
Charms is boring at the moment, but De-
fence Against the Dark Arts, Potions and
Transfiguration are interesting. I man-
aged my needle today.” He looked quite
pleased with himself, so Harry smiled,

- 433 -
and was surprised when he earned a smile
back. “I like McGonagall. She’s tough, and
she’s terrifying, but at least she’s fair.”

“Terrifying is right,” Fred – or the twin

that Harry thought was Fred - said, sit-
ting down beside them. “Some friends of
ours-”

“-And yours, Harry-” George winked.

“-were telling us the other day about the

time she made them clean the entire Pre-
fect’s bathroom-”

“-without magic.”

“How do you know about the squid?” Harry

asked; last he’d heard, the twins had been
content to stare at Moony in awed silence,
instead of asking him questions. “And
friends? Were there- I mean- Friends? As

- 434 -
in, more than one? Who-”

“Friends is the plural of friend, Potter,”

Draco said, “so yes, I daresay there was
more than one.” Hermione laughed before
she could stop herself. “Why in Merlin’s
name did these friends of yours have to
clean the bathroom? I’m lost.”

“They lost me at squid,” Harry heard Ron

say to Hermione, who nodded. At the same
time, the twins seemed to realise Draco
was with them.

“Oh, Malfoy,” Fred said. “Didn’t see you

there.”

“Well,” George amended, “we did see you-”

“-but we didn’t recognise you-”

“-with your tie.” Draco glanced at the of-

- 435 -
fending item and flushed.

“Sorry,” Ron said, interrupting, “but

squid?” Draco shot him a grateful look
that Ron missed. “What about-”

“Squid,” George agreed, beaming. “Lega-

cies, they were, even as ickle firsties.” He
sighed, content, and he and Fred gave the
staff table – where Moony was sitting, next
to Snape – an admiring look.

“You’ve got a lot to live up to,” Fred told the

four of them. Harry arched an eyebrow,
Ron continued to look blank, Draco just
seemed confused, and Hermione looked
interested by the prospect of living up to
something, but Harry rather thought that
interest would fade if she knew she’d have
to break rules.

“How did you talk to more than one of

- 436 -
them?” Harry persisted, directing his at-
tention back to the twins; it was impossi-
ble, because while Moony was here, Pad-
foot was back home in London, Peter was
in Azkaban, and James was dead.

“Ah, ah,” Fred said, waggling a finger.

“that’s sensitive information, I’m afraid.”

“Can’t go spilling all our secrets,” George

added.

“Which of the others did you talk to?”

“All of them,” Fred said. Harry shook his

head, and let the matter drop. If the twins
weren’t just joking around, he was dying
to know how it was possible to talk to all
of the Marauders. If there was a way to
do so, Harry was sure Padfoot or Moony
would have mentioned it.

- 437 -
Can’t hurt to ask them about it, though,
Harry thought. He glanced up, just miss-
ing the punchline of whatever joke George
had told the other three. Hermione looked
scandalized, but rather pleased at the same
time, and Ron and Draco were laughing.

“What?” Harry asked.

“The squid,” Ron chuckled. “Who’d you say

did it?”

“I didn’t,” George said, winking at Harry.

“Names don’t matter-”

“They did to you,” Harry said, amused.

Fred shushed him and gave Draco a point-
ed look.

“But, our nameless heroes aren’t the only

ones that won’t tolerate blood-traitor and
m-word nonsense.” Draco shrank into his

- 438 -
seat, looking far more guilty than Har-
ry had expected him too. Draco’s eyes
flicked over to the Slytherin table, and
he twitched. Harry didn’t blame him; the
entirety of first year Slytherin, and a few
students from the older years were star-
ing in his direction.

“How long have they been here?” he asked,

looking horrified.

“They came in at the same time as we did,”

George said.

“Handy, that; there was some congestion

at the doors, and we had a chance to put
a handful of frog spawn in your brother’s
schoolbag.”

Draco yanked his tie off and stuffed it into

- 439 -
his bag while Weasley One was still con-
fessing to the frog spawn. The others were
laughing – even Granger, who Draco’d no-
ticed didn’t usually laugh about pranks
– and Draco was tempted to laugh too;
had it happened a month ago, he probably
would have. But Hydrus had been... well,
not nice but certainly accepting... of Draco
anyway... mostly.

He’s trying, Draco thought with a sigh. Hy-

drus’ support meant that Draco had to sac-
rifice a lot of his own values, but he hadn’t
had any sort of brotherly support in years,
so Draco was willing to go along with it;
Hydrus gave him somewhere to be, other
than with the Gryffindors, if nothing else.

“Bye,” he said hastily, swung his bag over

his shoulder and hurried over to the Sly-
therin table. “Hi,” he said, sitting down in
the empty seat next to Morton.

- 440 -
“What were you doing?” Hydrus asked,
looking horrified.

“Waiting,” Draco said in a small voice.

“You were late out of lessons, so I-”

“Sat with the Gryffindors,” Pansy sneered.

Draco nodded. “We’ve been here for ages,
though; what took you so long?” Draco
knew they had; Vincent and Gregory al-
ready had two dirty plates in front of them,
and everyone else appeared to be onto sec-
onds. And, Slytherins tended to be slow
eaters, because they’d been raised to have
such proper table skills.

“I was distracted.” And he had been; he

hadn’t even seen the others come in.

“By what?” Hydrus asked, looking flum-

moxed. “Gryffindors? They’re about as dull

- 441 -
as they come.”

“They’re not that bad,” Draco muttered,

and then realised what he’d said. “They
were telling a funny story, about a squid
in the Prefect’s bathroom-”

“Ew,” Daphne said.

“It was a prank,” Draco said, rolling his

eyes. “Someone called a girl a-”

“A what?” Morton asked.

Mudblood. “Nothing,” Draco said, realising

almost too late that this crowd wouldn’t
see the funny side at all, and would prob-
ably be quite offended on the pranks’ vic-
tim’s behalf. “Nevermind. It wasn’t that
funny.” He didn’t talk or laugh again all
through lunch, just nodded and smirked
in the right places, picked at his lunch,

- 442 -
and stayed silent whenever one of the oth-
ers insulted his House or his Housemates,
and tried not to spend too much time look-
ing over at Potter, Granger and the Wea-
sleys, who were still talking and laughing
over on the Gryffindor table.

- 443 -
Chapter 11:
Helpless, hindered, hero

Sirius materialised in front of a small

stone fence, and straightened his travel-
ling cloak. Smoke was drifting out of the
chimney, and golden light was glowing
out of the house’s windows. Sirius eased
the wrought iron gate open and made his
way up the cobbled path to the front door.

He knocked once, and heard noise inside,

but a minute later, no one had arrived
to let him in. Sirius knocked again, and

- 444 -
then a third time. He glanced through the
closest window; light was on in the kitch-
en, but he couldn’t see anyone. Irritation
crawled up his neck.

“Mr Morton, it’s Auror Black,” he called.

There was a scuffling noise inside, and
then a creak, like a door or window open-
ing. “Morton, open the door.” A thump. Sir-
ius’ irritation became unease. “Morton!”

“Help!”

It was so weak that it was almost a whis-

per, and Sirius didn’t think he’d have
heard it if it wasn’t for his canine hearing.

“Ventus Maximus!”Sirius said, and the

door burst open. “Point me,” he said, and
his wand spun and pointed into a room on
his right; there was a doorway in there that
led to the kitchen. Morton was slumped in

- 445 -
his chair, face ashen, breathing heavily,
as if he’d just been running, or to a par-
ticularly vigorous Quidditch training. He
also appeared to have lost several pounds
in the past two weeks.

Morton didn’t respond when Sirius burst

in; he was staring into space with droopy,
unfocused eyes, and Sirius wasn’t sure
that he’d noticed him at all. He pitched
sideways off his seat, and Sirius managed
to cross the room in time to stop him from
cracking his head on the stone floor. He
managed to lower him to the ground, and
started casting non-verbal diagnostics.
Verbally, he opened his Sidekick, and,
couldn’t get Hemsley, but he managed
to get through to Brown. He didn’t think
he’d ever been happier to hear the train-
ee’s voice.

“Bl-”

- 446 -
“Don’t talk: listen. I’m at Morton’s; big,
stone house between Lockswood cemetery
and River Avon, in Bath. Morton’s- not
well.” Sirius glanced up at the list of diag-
nostics that had written itself in the air be-
side him. “He’s bleeding internally at the
base of his brain; lower skull-higher neck
region-” Morton started to flail and choke
in Sirius’ arms. “I need you and Hemsley
here now,” Sirius said urgently, “and bring
a Healer.” There was no way that he could
use any sort of transport with Morton in
this state; it’d probably kill him.

He flicked his wand to cast a spell that

would thicken blood; it wouldn’t thicken it
enough to clot arteries, but it would make
small clots that would hopefully slow the
bleeding. It was the only thing he knew
that could help, and it wasn’t even de-
signed for internal wounds; brains were

- 447 -
tricky for experienced Healers, and Sirius’
healing abilities were limited to broken
bones, torn muscles, and cuts and bites.
The closest thing to this that he’d ever
dealt with was a torn throat, but he’d been
able to see what he was doing there, and
had had Dittany to help.

“Accio Dittany,” he said, but nothing came,

or even rattled in the cupboards around
them. Sirius cast a spell that worked like
a blood replenishing potion - but was no-
where near as powerful – and hoped that
it would do something.

Where are you, Hemsley? he thought des-

perately.

Morton’s eyes suddenly locked onto Sirius’.

He reached up, presumably to grab Sirius,
but missed by several inches. “Please, don’t
let him-” He cut off with a choking noise.

- 448 -
Sirius tossed his Sidekick to the ground.

“Him? Who?” Sirius asked, squeezing Mor-

ton’s wrist. He moved down to his hand
when that didn’t earn him a response and
squeezed again. Morton’s face drained
of what little colour it had left. “Morton!
Morton, can you hear me?” For a moment,
Sirius thought he’d died.

“Your fault,” Morton slurred, without

opening his eyes. “You did this, Black-”
Sirius was startled by his direct address;
he hadn’t been sure that Morton knew who
he was. “-you killed me, you didn’t see,
didn’t help.” Sirius held Morton down as
he seizured again, and was so busy trying
to make sure the older wizard didn’t injure
himself that he didn’t have time to move
as Morton’s dinner made its reappearance
all over his robes. “You-” Morton’s voice
faded as he slipped into unconsciousness.

- 449 -
“Rennervate,” Sirius said, several times.
Nothing happened. He cast two spells
in quick succession; one to keep Morton
breathing, and one to keep his heart beat-
ing, and then sat there beside him, help-
less, waiting, until Hemsley swept in with
Brown and Healer Leatherby. Leatherby
came straight to Morton, his wand already
dancing through the air. Sirius got to his
feet and out of the way.

“Is he-”

“Still alive,” Sirius said. Hemsley nodded.

Brown was eyeing the patches of vomit
on Sirius’ robes with revulsion, and the
now-twitching Morton with fear. “Is there
anything I can do to-” He cut off, and
Brown stopped breathing as Morton went
still. They were all silent for a moment.
Leatherby continued to wave his wand,

- 450 -
and then lowered a hand and put his fin-
gers to Morton’s neck.

“Dead,” Leatherby said in a flat voice.

Sirius closed his eyes and took a deep

breath... then wrinkled his nose, because
the kitchen really did smell; like half-di-
gested food and stomach acid.

“Take the body,” Hemsley told Leatherby,

who nodded. “And samples of that.” He
nodded at the puddle on the floor. “If it
was poison, it’ll show up in tests. Brown,
search the rest of the house.” Hemsley
waited for Brown to leave, and Leatherby
to take his sample - and Morton - and Dis-
apparate. Then he turned to Sirius. “What
in Merlin’s name were you thinking?” he
sighed.

“You made it obvious that you didn’t think

- 451 -
he was worth investigating-”

“He’s not-”

“He’s dead,” Sirius said. “Obviously he is-

was. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he
was involved in all of this somehow, and I
thought I’d speak with him again.” Hems-
ley just stared at him. “I don’t need per-
mission to follow a lead.”

“Lead? Your instincts?”

“People have found more, going by less,”

Sirius said.

“And you found a dying man,” Hemsley

said. “So answer this: would he have died
tonight anyway, and the fact that you
stumbled across the scene is an interest-
ing coincidence, or did he die because you
visited?”

- 452 -
“You think I killed him?!” Sirius snarled.

“No,” Hemsley said, shaking his head.

“But others might, because you kept your
visit a secret. Scrimgeour trusts you, but
if Dawlish gets wind of this, or one of the
Ministerial staff... they’ll have you inves-
tigated, Black, you know they will.” Sir-
ius did know that. He’d only seen Fudge
on a handful of occasions since his trial,
and the usually jovial man had been rath-
er frosty. Dawlish had led the Anti-Au-
ror-Black campaign after the trainee tri-
al last Christmas – he’d complained to
Scrimgeour at length, and even started a
petition – and while Crouch didn’t seem to
care much, the few times Sirius had been
around Fudge’s other Undersecretary –
the Umbridge woman – she’d reeked of
fear and hatred... and that, Sirius knew,
was never a good combination. “What I’m

- 453 -
saying, is watch out.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” he said, frustrated. “I

decided to come here tonight on a whim.
No one knew-” Hemsley opened his mouth,
and Sirius waved a hand to tell him to
close it. “- sure, but I’d have filed the re-
port in the morning. It wasn’t supposed
to be a big deal. Just a check-up, where I
was supposed to find nothing and spend
the rest of the night telling myself that I’m
just working too much and getting para-
noid.” Hemsley snorted, and then sighed.

“Except you’re not.”

“Not yet,” Sirius sighed, staring at the

place where Morton had been. “I sort of
wish I was.” They stood in silence for a
moment; Hemsley looked troubled, and
Sirius was feeling too much – sad, tired,
worried, stressed, lonely – to feel much at

- 454 -
all.

“Make a list,” Hemsley said finally, “of the

magical traces in the area, and any iden-
tifiable spells that were cast or in effect in
the last twenty-four hours. I’ll handle the
manual searching.” He skirted the mess
on the floor to get to the kitchen window,
which was ajar, and started running his
wand over the windowsill.

Sirius sighed, pulled out his wand, and got

to work.

They were at Morton’s for another few

hours, combing the house in every way –
magical, non-magical and canine – they
knew how. The Mortons, it seemed, were
very normal people, and they’d found no
evidence of anything sinister, or even sus-
picious, other than the obvious; Morton
himself.

- 455 -
Sirius left the house just after midnight,
and went straight into the office, intend-
ing to find Scrimgeour and tell him what
had happened; it was usually best to get
these sorts of things out of the way as soon
as possible, and the older man would be
around, because he was taking a session
with the trainees that ended at midnight,
and meeting with Moody, Robards and
Dawlish – the three most senior Aurors –
until one, like he always did on Thursday
nights.

Sirius had the lift to himself on the way

to Level Two, which was probably for the
best, and when he got to his cubicle, he
pulled off his travelling cloak, robes and
t-shirt, which were all damp and covered
in Morton’s vomit, conjured a bag and
stuffed them inside it. He then Banished
that to Grimmauld. He’d deal with them

- 456 -
when he got home, or Kreacher would. His
jeans, thankfully, were fine.

He used a few cleaning spells to get rid of

the smell, and then went to dig through
his desk, in search of something he could
transfigure into a new shirt. He decided on
a piece of parchment, and was just trying
to decide which spell to use, when Mar-
lene walked in.

“Oh!” she said. “Sorry, I just-”

“What?” he said wearily. “Never seen a bel-

lybutton before?” Marlene rolled her eyes.

“You know I have,” she said. She bit her

lip. “I overheard Brown talking to Gelder.”
Gelder was the mind-healer that was
counselled Aurors and trainees when they
needed it. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough
day.”

- 457 -
“You could say that,” Sirius sighed. “A
man’s dead and he said it was my fault...
that I didn’t see... whatever that means.”

“If you’re about to start moping-”

“I’m not about to mope,” Sirius assured

her. “I’ve thought about it, over and over
for the last hour, and I can’t think of any-
thing I would have done differently... and
that sort of makes it worse, because I was
helpless. Do you know what I mean?”
Marlene gave him a sad look, and came a
step closer so that she could put her hand
on his arm. “It’s worse when it’s not war
time,” he continued. “You don’t expect this
sort of thing. And- just- I mean, blaming
me was the last coherent thing he said
before he died. I don’t know if he’s just a
git and wants me to feel bad, or if he was
actually trying to tell me something, or- I

- 458 -
don’t know. And Hemsley’s right – if the
wrong people hear about this, then I’ll be
up for investigation, and off work until I’m
cleared, and without Harry and Moony
around, I won’t have anything to do.” Mar-
lene was silent, and Sirius glanced down
at her. She dragged her eyes away from
his collarbone and met his gaze. “This is
where you say something comforting.”

“I’ve never been very good at comforting,”

she said dryly, and went back to staring
at- not his collarbone, he realised, but the
tattoo about an inch beneath it.

“It’s my prisoner number,” he said, unnec-

essarily. She just nodded, and ran a fin-
ger over it. Sirius shivered, and Marlene’s
mouth twitched. “There was a thing in the
Prophet a few months back about them
adding more compulsory tattoos for pris-
oners, but I got off with just the one, so-”

- 459 -
“It’s seems strange there,” she said, trac-
ing it once more before letting her arm
drop back to her side. A significant amount
of Sirius’ stress dropped away, and he
watched Marlene with interest. “Unfamil-
iar.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Sirius said, wink-

ing. Marlene didn’t make an excuse and
leave, as he’d half expected her to, or turn
and run, or slap him, or make a sarcastic
retort. She just stared at him.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” she replied, and he

could have sworn her voice shook. He felt
his face twitch into a shocked expression
before he could help it, and she smirked.
Her eyes didn’t lose their intensity, though,
and Sirius didn’t dare look away.

He reached for her hip, to see how far she

- 460 -
was willing to take this. She didn’t back
away, though, and his hand met robes,
and then she tilted her head up, ever so
slightly, eyes still locked on his. It was an
all too familiar gesture, and Sirius’ stom-
ach lurched in a rather pleasant way. He
bent his head-

And then, for the second time in ten min-

utes, someone walked in, unannounced.

“Holy Merlin on a Hippogriff!” Sirius and

Marlene leapt away from each other to see
Dora standing there, with her hand over
her eyes. Her hair was white, for shock,
but her skin was pink with embarrass-
ment. “Shit. Sorry, I’ll just-”

“No, it’s fine. I was leaving,” Marlene said.

Sirius tried to catch her eye, but she didn’t
look anywhere but straight ahead.

- 461 -
“What the bloody hell was that?” Dora
asked.

“That,” Sirius said, flopping down onto his

desk with a groan, “was proof that rela-
tives have rubbish timing, no matter how
old they are.” He transfigured his parch-
ment into a shirt and pulled it over his
head. “What do you want?”

Sirius thought his sulky expression might

have withered any questions she had – or
at least made her change her mind about
asking them at that exact moment – be-
cause she pulled out a piece of parchment.

“An owl just arrived from Remus this was

in there for you,” she said brightly. “I was
going to wait until morning, but your light
was on, so I figured I might as well give it
to you now.”

- 462 -
Sirius decided he was going to punch
Remus the next time he saw him.

Weasley One and Two, Draco reflected,

had been right when they’d told Weas-
ley that the school brooms were nothing
special. Longbottom’s tried to kidnap him
when they first mounted, but Draco –
who’d regrettably ended up next to him in
the line - pulled him off the broom before
he was even at shoulder height. Longbot-
tom landed with a thud on the grass, star-
tled, but unhurt.

“What?” Draco’d said, while everyone

stared at him, and Longbottom picked
himself up off the ground, embarrassed.
“If he didn’t kick me in the face while he
was flailing around-” That had been a seri-
ously likely possibility, in Draco’s opinion.

- 463 -
“-he’d have fallen on me.” The Slytherins
looked thoughtful, but a few smirked, and
Draco relaxed.

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” Madam Hooch

said quietly, and the Slytherins groaned.
Draco sighed. “Now, who can tell me what
Mr Longbottom’s problem was?” Granger,
predictably, was the first to put her hand
in the air.

“Thanks,” Neville said, in a timid voice, as

Granger said something about the magic
in brooms sensing their flier’s emotions –
it was a word-for-word quote from Quid-
ditch Through The Ages.

“Shut up, Longbottom,” Draco said, and

Longbottom fell silent at once, with a
squeak. Draco wasn’t sure how to apologise
for the blood traitor comment last week –
it wasn’t really something he’d ever had

- 464 -
to do before – but he thought helping him
was a good way to start.

Madam Hooch fetched Longbottom a new

broom, and this time, the entire class
made it into the air. They hovered with
their feet about a foot off the ground, and
Draco looked around, interested. Tracey,
Granger, Thomas and Longbottom were
all wobbling horrendously, and the rest
of the class – Draco included – varied in
skill between them, and Potter, who was
so stable that he could have been sitting
on a bench in the Great Hall.

Madam Hooch spent a bit of time with each

of them – some, like himself, Potter, Wea-
sley, Hydrus, Daphne, Gregory and Fin-
negan only got a sentence or two – while
others had several minutes worth of tips
and corrections. It was rather satisfying,
in Draco’s opinion, to see that Granger

- 465 -
wasn’t the best at everything.

Once they’d managed that, Madam Hooch

let them rise until they were level with the
castle’s second floor windows. She set up
Cushioning Charms on the grass below,
and then joined them in the air.

“The quickest way to learn,” she shout-

ed (everyone was spaced out, and Draco
thought it was for the best; he didn’t want
to be anywhere near any of the new fliers
until he knew they could steer), “is to fly.”
She flicked her wand and several cours-
es, outlined in glittery orange magic ap-
peared. She explained and then demon-
strated each of course; there were three
sets of two lines beside each other, (so they
could practice going in a straight line, or
race a friend), there were several squares
(to practice turning), a wave like line (to
practice varying height), five helical shapes

- 466 -
(to practice turning and ascending at the
same time) and there were also a series of
hoops for the more advanced fliers to use,
which would combine several skills.

The class spread out; Hydrus and Weasley

went straight for the hoops, while Tracey
and Granger went for the straight lines
(very slowly, and very unsteadily) and
Theodore, Morton and Brown all went
for the helices. Draco was content just to
watch everyone – people were interesting
– but he made his way over to the squares,
where Patil and Daphne were niggling
at each other. Potter had ended up with
Longbottom, and was coaxing him through
the wave course, but Potter quickly moved
onto a helix.

“Watch it!” Draco looked up in time to see

Weasley yank his broom into a sharp turn
as Hydrus zoomed past and then pulled

- 467 -
up.

“Scared, Weasel?” Draco glanced over but

Madam Hooch was helping Tracey and
hadn’t noticed the commotion.

“Only of your rubbish steering,” Weasley

retorted. Patil started to laugh, Daph-
ne arched an eyebrow, and Longbottom
looked over from the wave. Hydrus turned
a furious pink.

“Why you little-”

Draco wasn’t sure where Potter had come

from, but he was beside Weasley in an in-
stant.

“Careful, Malfoy,” Draco heard him say.

“You haven’t got your little friends to pro-
tect you up here.” They glared at each oth-
er for a few moments, and then Hydrus

- 468 -
flew past Weasley, shoving him as he
went. Weasley, though, was bigger than
Hydrus, who wobbled a bit and then man-
aged to stay on his broom. Draco watched
him rejoin Vincent and Gregory.

“Did you see his face?” Weasley laughed.

Potter grinned.

Draco watched Longbottom’s face set de-

terminedly as he eased his broom up high-
er than it had been so far; obviously, he
wanted to join the other two, and laugh
about Hydrus. Then he stopped at once,
and his knuckles went white. Draco knew
what was coming before it did. Longbot-
tom’s broom jerked and went speeding up-
right. Longbottom let out a wail and held
on for dear life as it corkscrewed through
the air, higher and higher.

“Madam Hooch!” Draco shouted, as Potter

- 469 -
and Weasley flew off to the sides; Long-
bottom had just scattered them and kept
going up. Potter shouted something at
Longbottom, but Draco didn’t hear it, or
Longbottom’s response. Potter flew up
after him, still talking, but unable to get
too close, because the broom was spinning
and Longbottom was flailing. The Slyther-
ins were laughing, but Draco didn’t think
it was funny at all; there were Cushioning
Charms, certainly, but they’d only do so
much. Longbottom could be seriously hurt.

“Madam Hooch!” Finnegan said, alarmed,

finally getting her attention. Longbottom
was a fair way up – even with the castle’s
lowest spire, but still rising. Potter was
beside him, trying to grab the broom.

“Potter,” Madam Hooch bellowed, as she

zoomed up toward them, “get away from
him before you get hurt!” Longbottom’s

- 470 -
broom gave a particularly violent jolt, and
then Longbottom was off, falling toward
the ground. Potter urged his broom into
the tightest dive Draco thought he’d ever
seen outside of professional Quidditch.

“What the-” Draco heard Blaise whisper.

Granger let out a horrified noise, and
Madam Hooch swore rather impressive-
ly – Father would have her sacked if he
heard about it - and flew faster, pulling
out her wand.

“Arresto Momentum!” she shouted, and

Longbottom slowed, but continued to fall.
Draco caught a glimpse of his face; he was
absolutely terrified. Potter yanked his
broom up only a few feet from the grass,
and started up toward Longbottom this
time. They were going to collide. Draco
was sure of it.

- 471 -
“Ventus,” Draco heard Potter say, and for
a moment, Longbottom went up. Potter
was level with him now – he’d moved to
the side – and his hand clamped onto the
back of Longbottom’s robes. Potter’s spell
wore off, and Longbottom plummeted a
few more feet, dragging Potter with him.
Potter’s wand fell onto the grass and his
face scrunched up they jerked to a stop,
level, once again, with the second storey
windows of the castle.

Madam Hooch got there and helped Long-

bottom onto her own broom, and then blew
her whistle. Potter’d gone rather white,
but Weasley was beside him in an instant,
so Draco thought he’d be all right.

“Everyone on the ground,” she said hoarse-

ly. “We’re done for today. I’m going to trust
you all to see your brooms back to their
proper places in the shed, and then you’re

- 472 -
dismissed. Mr Weasley, help me with these
two.”

Potter passed his broom to Granger, left

handed; his right was held awkwardly
against his side.

“I’ll take it,” Draco said, taking Weasley’s

broom, when he tried to give it to Grang-
er. She was already struggling with two.
Weasley nodded at him, and left, with
Madam Hooch, Potter – who appeared to
have some sort of sprain or dislocation –
and Longbottom, who obviously needed
something for shock.

The first years were a very subdued lot

as they put their broomsticks away, and
made their way back across the grass. Hy-
drus, rather predictably, Draco thought,
was the first to break the silence. He bent
down, and picked something up off the

- 473 -
grass, and then held it around for every-
one to see.

“Look what Potter’s left behind,” Hydrus

drawled, giving the wand a flick. It let out
a stream of sparks. “He won’t have much
luck in lessons without this.”

“Give it back,” Granger snapped, holding

out her hand. Several other Gryffindors
made angry noises, and Blaise, Draco no-
ticed, looked uncomfortable.

“No,” Hydrus said. “I don’t think I will.

I think I’ll-” Draco rolled his eyes and
snatched it out of his brother’s hand. Hy-
drus turned to him, smirking. “It seems
Draco’s got an idea. What should we do
with it, brother?” Pansy, Nadia and Daph-
ne all giggled.

“I’m going to give it back to Potter,” Draco

- 474 -
said, walking past him, and up toward the
castle.

“You’re joking, right?!” Hydrus snarled.

Draco ignored him. “Draco!?”

“I’m here to visit Potter.”

Harry felt sorry for Madam Pomfrey, he re-

ally did; he’d already been visited by Moo-
ny and Professor McGonagall, a boy called
Oliver Wood, and had spoken to Padfoot
through the mirror; Ron had left him to
fetch that, and been with him the rest of
the time. But his sympathy was overrid-
den by curiosity; why was Draco visiting
him?

“Tell him he can leave when he’s ready,”

she said irritably, and swept away into

- 475 -
her office.

“Malfoy,” Ron said, as Draco approached.

“Weasley. Potter. This is yours.” Harry

stared at the very familiar wand in Dra-
co’s hand, surprised. He patted his pockets
and, sure enough, they were empty. “It fell
out during your heroics,” Draco drawled.

“Thanks,” Harry said, accepting it from

him.

“Are you hurt?” Draco asked, after an awk-

ward pause. He seemed worried.

“Madam Pomfrey fixed me in about ten

seconds,” Harry said, shrugging his new-
ly-repaired shoulder. “I’m fine; she just
wanted me to rest, but I heard her telling
you I could leave, so I reckon I might.” He
climbed off the hospital bed, pulled on his

- 476 -
school jumper and robes, and tucked his
mirror safely into his pocket. He checked
his watch, and smiled; it was dinnertime,
and just as well, because he was starving.

“Can I sit with you?” Draco asked sud-

denly, when they were passing McGona-
gall’s office on the first floor. Harry stared
at him, confused. Draco winced, and then
frowned. “I know I’ve done some mean
things in the last few weeks,” he said de-
fensively, “but I helped Longbottom today,
and I brought you your wand, so the least
you can do is not make me sit with Hydrus
because he’s going to be furio-”

“You don’t need to ask,” Harry said, cut-

ting him off. Draco blinked, and Ron
looked like he might laugh. “If you want to
sit with us, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Oh,” Draco said in a small voice. “Thanks.”

- 477 -
Hermione was sitting with Percy when
they arrived, and leaped to her feet.

“Oh, Harry!” she said. Harry grabbed her

arm and forced her to sit down before any-
one else started staring. Ron sat on the
other side of them, with Draco, who was
nervously avoiding eye contact with the
Slytherins. “I was so-”

“Hermione,” he said, “calm down; I’m fine.”

“Did you get your wand back?” she asked

abruptly.

“Yeah, Draco brought it,” Harry said. Her-

mione looked surprised and then embar-
rassed. Draco pulled a face at her, and
Harry and Ron sniggered. “I-”

“Here he is!” George said.

- 478 -
“Man of the hour-”

“Of the century, more like,” George amend-

ed.

“Wood’s just told us,” Fred said, lowering

his voice.

“Welcome to the team, Potter.”

“There are no secrets at Hogwarts, are

there?” Harry asked, grinning.

“Well, we can think of a few,” Fred said.

“But they wouldn’t be secrets if we told
you.”

“Team?” Hermione asked. Ron looked at

her, grinning.

“Meet the youngest Quidditch player in a

century.”

- 479 -
Chapter 12:
Time to talk

Blaise hacked off a chunk of meat with his

knife and tossed it into the bucket. Next
to him, Harry Evans Potter – or whatever
his name was – was cutting his with more
care. Professor Lupin was reading a book
in his office; Blaise could see him through
the slightly open door.

“So it’s Potter now?”

“Apparently, Zabini,” Potter said, grab-

- 480 -
bing another slab of meat from the pile at
the end of the bench.

“Touche,” Blaise muttered. “It was Evans

though, wasn’t it?”

“Benson,” Potter replied, inclining his

head.

“Knew it,” Blaise said.

“Good for you.” Potter gave him a sideways

look. The curious expression was exactly
the same, even if his eyes were green now,
instead of blue, and his hair was dark and
messy instead of sandy and neat. “What
happened to you?”

Giovanna happened.

“Nothing happened to me,” Blaise said,

slamming his knife down into the chop-

- 481 -
ping board. “I just grew up.”

“I think I liked Benson better,” Potter said,

rather coolly. “He didn’t make people cry
for fun.”

Benson’s dead, Blaise thought dully.

“Is this about Granger?” Potter just stared

at him, and Blaise, oddly, found himself
feeling guilty. “I didn’t have a choice; she
was going to say she knew me, and she’s
a mudblood. She’d have ruined everything
without even meaning to.”

“Ruined everything?” Potter asked, look-

ing curious again.

“It’s none of your business.” Potter

shrugged in an if-you-say-so sort of way,
and Blaise felt another unfamiliar squirm
of guilt. “Is this to feed him-” He nodded

- 482 -
at the bucket of cut meat, and then at the
door to Lupin’s office. “-during full moons?”
Blaise asked, to change the subject.

“No,” Potter said, rolling his eyes. Blaise

wasn’t sure if he saw through the diver-
sion, or was just unimpressed by the ques-
tion. “The third years are looking at flesh
eating slugs next lesson.”

“Oh.” Potter didn’t say anything. “Is Lu-

pin Mr Evans?”

“No,” Potter replied. “He’s Uncle John.

Padfoot – my godfather – is Mr Evans. Or
was, I suppose.”

“Oh,” Blaise said again. “How’s Dad?” he

asked, before he could help himself. “I hav-
en’t seen him since-” He cleared his throat.
“It’s hard to tell from letters, you know?”

- 483 -
“Sad,” Potter said. “Tired. Or he was at the
end of last term, anyway.” Blaise couldn’t
honestly say he expected any differently;
he was writing to Dad almost daily now,
which helped, but it still wasn’t the same.

He’s alive though, I suppose, Blaise

thought to himself. That’s what matters.

“So who are you living with?” Potter asked

in that well-meaning and curious, but
blunt way he had. Blaise had to force a
fond smile away. Benson’s dead, he re-
minded himself. And Zabini can’t like Ev-
ans or Potter. “Your Mum?” Blaise nodded
stiffly, and Potter, thankfully, didn’t push
that particular issue. “Are you happy in
Slytherin?”

“Very,” Blaise said curtly. “Giovanna’s

pleased,” he added, indulging in a mo-
ment of bitter pride. Potter watched him,

- 484 -
curious as ever, and Blaise felt like he was
being too friendly, and giving information
up too quickly. Zabini can’t like Evans or
Potter. Blaise threw a small pile of meat
into the bucket. Potter did the same. “I
don’t suppose there’s much point asking if
you’re happy in Gryffindor; from what I’ve
heard, no one but Weasley and mudbloods
like Granger could be happy there.” Potter
finished slicing his last chunk of meat and
set down his knife.

“I am happy,” Potter said coolly, and Blaise

mentally congratulated himself for annoy-
ing the other boy.

Friends, he thought, and added that to his

mental list. Potter’s touchy about insults
to his friends. He’s probably use that in-
formation later.

“So you’re just as bad as they are,” Blaise

- 485 -
drawled.

“And proud of it,” Potter said, going to

wash his hands in the soapy bowl Lupin
had left for them. “I don’t know how you
can say those things after being raised by
a muggle, and going to a muggle school.
Do you really think your dad’s worth less
than you are?”

Dad’s better than everyone in this stupid,

magical world, Blaise thought, but knew
he couldn’t say it.

“He’s a muggle,” Blaise said. “And you’d

better keep that to yourself.” Potter looked
disappointed.

“Well I think Mr Benson’s a brilliant per-

son,” Potter said curtly. “Even if you’ve
changed too much to see it.”

- 486 -
“You’re going to talk to me about change,
Evans?” Potter dried his hands, and waved
into Lupin’s office.

“I changed my name and my hair colour,”

Potter said, “not everything.” There was
something condemning in the way he
looked at Blaise, and it made Blaise want
to shrink into his chair a little. Potter
paused by the door. “I can’t really see us
getting on, Zabini, but if you see Blaise
Benson, tell him his friends miss him, and
that I’d like to talk to him.”

He pulled the door open and left, and

Blaise watched him go, feeling unsettled.

Christopher Morton sniffed and wiped his

eyes, and then let out a small, gut-wrench-
ing noise. Sirius sat in a chair opposite

- 487 -
him, thinking this was probably one of the
most horrible things he’d ever had to do.

“I’m so sorry,” Sirius said.

“Why’d they send you?” Morton managed

to ask.

“Sending a letter was an option,” Siri-

us said carefully. “But I thought you’d
have some questions, or- letters can leave
things out, and you deserve to understand
as much as we do at the present time.”

“But why you?”

“Representatives from the Department of

Magical Records aren’t known for their
compassion,” Sirius said. “To them, every-
thing’s just another statistic, and I thought
I’d spare you that. And, as I’ve already
said, I was the Auror that found him.”

- 488 -
“But he wasn’t d-dead.”

“No,” Sirius said. “But he was in no state

to be moved, and beyond my healing abili-
ties. The qualified Healer-”

“Who?”

“Healer Leatherby was on duty that night.

And he got there as soon as he could, but
there wasn’t anything we could do.”

“You didn’t try h-hard enough,” Morton

said tearfully. “Why w-would you, after he
said those things to your friend Lupin at
the p-platform. I bet you w-wanted him-”

“I tried to save him,” Sirius said curtly.

He’d spent the entire night awake – first
he’d talked to Scrimgeour, and then he’d
started on the paperwork – in his cubicle

- 489 -
at the Ministry, then he’d flown to Hog-
warts, and, grieving or not, was not about
to sit there and listen to anyone that was
saying he hadn’t tried hard enough. “And
I’m also going to do everything I can to
find out what happened and who was re-
sponsible.”

“That’s all well and g-good,” Morton

drawled through a new wave of tears, “but
that doesn’t help me, d-does it?” He sniffed
and made a choking noise. “My father’s
dead. D-dead. And now I’ve got no o-one-”
Mrs Morton had died when her son was
four, Sirius had learned. “-and nothing.”

“Your father’s will is being examined at

the Ministry as we speak,” Sirius said.
“I know you probably don’t give a damn
about money and property and posses-
sions at the moment-”

- 490 -
“What gave you that idea?” Morton asked
sarcastically.

“You won’t have nothing,” Sirius assured

him, and knew that it wasn’t really an
assurance, and that Morton would much
rather have his father than his father’s
money. “Take whatever small comfort
you can from that.” Morton’s face crum-
pled and he started to sob again. Sirius
reached over to put a hand on his shoulder
and Morton flinched and moved away.

“Don’t,” he said thickly.

“Sorry,” Sirius murmured. “These are for

you.” He pulled three envelopes out of his
pocket. “You don’t have to read any of them
until you feel up to it. This one is from the
Department of Management and Control
of Magical Children, and it’s got a list of
contacts in there for you, and it also out-

- 491 -
lines some of your options. The second one
is a set of questions, from the Aurors, to
see if you know anything that could help
us find the person or people responsible.
We thought that you could write your an-
swers down and post them to us, instead of
having to be questioned... that that might
be easier for you. If it’s not, the third is
just an envelope, but it’s addressed to me,
and should you need to contact me for any-
thing - whether it’s to ask me any more
questions, or you’d like an update about
the case – this will let you do that.”

“Right,” Morton said dully. Sirius nodded

and passed him the envelopes.

“Do you have any questions?” Sirius asked.

Morton sniffed and shook his head. “I’ll
go, then. I think Professor Snape wanted
a word with you.” Sirius could hear him
pacing outside the office, in fact. “Again,

- 492 -
I’m so sorry, Christopher.” Sirius left the
office and stepped out into the dungeon
corridor where Snape was waiting impa-
tiently.

The impatience seemed to slide off his sal-

low face, though, when he looked at Sirius.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Am I all right?” Sirius asked. Snape wait-

ed. “No, not really. But my father didn’t
just die, so I’ve got nothing to complain
about.” Sirius nodded at the door. “Look
after him.”

“What sort of Head of House do you take

me for?” Snape asked, looking mildly in-
sulted. Sirius forced a smile and conjured
himself a chair in the corridor, hoping
Snape was better able to comfort Morton
than Sirius had been.

- 493 -
 §

“I saw Wood in the common room this

morning,” Harry said, as he, Ron, Hermi-
one and Draco made their way down to
the Great Hall for breakfast. Draco was
still with them, and had in fact stayed
with them after dinner the night before;
he’d done his homework in the corner of
the common room, with the rest of them,
and he’d even agreed to a game of chess
with Ron.

If losing to Ron was good for Hermione,

Harry thought it might be essential for
both Draco and Ron; Draco hadn’t taken
it at all badly – he’d actually seemed in-
trigued – but it was a safe, non-offensive
way for Draco and Ron to butt heads, with-
out either of them getting hurt or offend-
ed. Harry also thought Ron was pleased
that he’d finally been able to get one-up

- 494 -
on Draco; it was something he’d not been
able to do, and had desperately wanted
since they arrived at Hogwarts.

“He said the first training’s tonight, so

hopefully Hedwig gets here before dinner;
Padfoot said he’d post my Galaxy-”

“Galaxy’s are good and all,” Ron said, look-

ing wary – obviously he didn’t want to of-
fend Harry, “but they’re not really match
brooms-”

“I know,” Harry said. “McGonagall was

going to talk to Padfoot about it; she reck-
ons I should get the new Nimbus, but I’d
be happy with a decent school bro-” Harry
stopped and frowned; tucked into an al-
cove off to one side of the Entrance Hall
was a very large, very distinctive motor-
cycle.

- 495 -
“Harry?” Hermione said, staring at him.
She’d seen the bike on visits to Grimmauld,
so when she spotted it, her eyes widened.
“Oh! That’s not-”

“Yeah,” Harry said, puzzled. He glanced

around, half expecting Padfoot – either the
man, or the dog – to leap out from behind a
pillar, or concealed doorway and surprise
him, but he didn’t. “He didn’t say he was
coming, and I talked to him yesterday af-
ternoon after flying lessons...” Harry did a
mental countdown of the number of days
until the full moon, but it wasn’t until the
end of next week, so it couldn’t be for that.
He shook his head, confused.

“Maybe he brought your broom here in

person,” Draco suggested.

“Maybe,” Harry agreed, but didn’t really

mean it; Padfoot would have said so, sure-

- 496 -
ly. “Maybe he’s in the Hall already.” With
a last, curious look at Padfoot’s bike, he
and the others pushed the heavy doors
open and entered the Great Hall. Padfoot
was not seated at the head table – Moony
was, though, talking to Hagrid - or at the
Gryffindor one, or even waiting off to the
side. Harry was a little disappointed.

Their entrance was not ignored, though;

Hydrus, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and
Shafiq were waiting for them. Harry
checked their hands, but none of them
were holding their wands; they were all
staring at Draco. Harry moved in front of
him.

“You’re sitting with us,” Hydrus told Dra-

co, looking over Harry’s shoulder. “I don’t
know what that nonsense was yesterday,
but it’s done. We won’t talk about it; it’ll
be like it never happened. Let’s go.”

- 497 -
Draco sighed and moved past Harry to
follow his brother and the other Slyther-
ins. He didn’t look happy – irritated was
probably the best word for it – and Harry
also noticed, that, for the first time, Dra-
co didn’t remove his tie when he sat down
with the Slytherins.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Harry told Ron

and Hermione, who nodded and sat down
with Neville. He approached the staff ta-
ble, earning odd looks from other students;
Harry’d only seen seventh years – proba-
bly with questions about their N.E.W.T.s -
go up there, and even that was rare. Moo-
ny, thankfully, didn’t seem to mind, and
Hagrid looked delighted.

“Harry!” Hagrid exclaimed, waving at him

so enthusiastically that he almost knocked
tiny Professor Flitwick off his chair. The

- 498 -
Charms teacher straightened his hat and
shifted as close to Professor Sinistra as he
could manage.

“Harry,” Moony said, just as warmly, but

perhaps not quite as excitedly, “can I help
you with something?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Have you seen Pad-

foot?” Moony gave him a strange look.

“No,” he said, blinking. “Should I have?”

“His bike’s in the Entrance Hall,” Harry

said. Moony blinked again.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said-”

“I heard you,” Moony said, flapping a hand.

“But no, I haven’t seen him.” He grinned,

- 499 -
and nodded at the Gryffindor table. “Fred
and George are present though, so we can
probably rule out a kidnapping.” Harry
laughed, but his frown didn’t go. “I’m sure
he’ll turn up,” Moony said, but he looked
concerned; he, like Harry, had probably
worked out that if Padfoot hadn’t come to
see the pair of them, that he was probably
here for work. And that, Harry doubted,
was a good thing.

“Is everything all right, Remus, Harry?”

“We were just discussing Padfoot, sir,”

Harry said, looking up at Dumbledore as
he passed them to get to his seat. Dumble-
dore – who probably knew everything that
had happened, was happening, and would
happen at Hogwarts – looked troubled for
a moment.

“I expect he’ll be with us shortly,” he said,

- 500 -
with a small, sad smile. “He accepted my
offer to stay for breakfast.”

“Why-” Moony started to ask, but Dumble-

dore just shook his head.

“I daresay Sirius will tell you about it lat-

er,” he said quietly. “Now, however, is not
the time or place for such things. I suggest
you sit down again for the moment, Har-
ry.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “er... okay.” Dumble-

dore’s eyes twinkled.

“Good morning to the both of you.” The

smile that followed was happier than those
that had preceded it, and Dumbledore in-
clined his head at both of them, and then
took his seat beside Professor McGonagall.

“I’ll... er... go sit, I guess,” Harry said, with

- 501 -
a glance at Dumbledore. Remus nodded.

“Everything all right?” Ron asked, as Har-

ry sat down. He just shrugged, grabbed a
piece of toast off the stack and positioned
himself so that he could watch the doors
while he ate. Neville gave Hermione a
questioning look, but she just shook her
head.

Padfoot arrived about ten minutes later,

with Snape of all people. Other than be-
ing tall, he didn’t stand out all that much;
Padfoot was wearing a black cloak, like
the rest of the students, and no one paid
Snape much attention – they were likely
to get glared at or insulted if they stared
too long.

There were bags under Padfoot’s eyes,

and grim lines around his mouth, and
Snape looked even more dour than usual.

- 502 -
Padfoot brightened when he saw Harry,
though, and ruffled his hair as he passed,
but didn’t say anything. Harry watched
him separate from Snape at the staff table;
Snape went right, while Padfoot went left,
to where Moony was. Flitwick and Sinis-
tra had left, and now McGonagall was in
Flitwick’s vacated seat, talking with Moo-
ny.

“He doesn’t look well,” Hermione said,

watching Padfoot. Harry glanced at her.
Her hands flew to her mouth, and Neville
squeaked. Harry turned around in time to
see Moony’s chair rock back, him holding
a hand to his face, and Padfoot lowering
his fist.

What in Merlin’s-

Then, Padfoot steadied an indignant Moo-

ny’s chair, and pulled him into a hug.

- 503 -
 §

“What the bloody hell-” Remus began,

holding his face, but was cut off by McGo-
nagall.

“Mr Black!” she hissed, from Hagrid’s

other side; Sirius could see Harry and
his friends staring in their direction, but
thankfully, the rest of the school was obliv-
ious. “I understand you’ve had a rough
morning-” Sirius glanced at his old Head
of House, grimacing, and then at Remus,
who seemed irritated enough to leave him
to her mercy. “-but you are a visitor here,
to a school, and you are setting a very poor
example to the students!”

“No one saw,” Sirius said. “I’m not an id-

iot.” Remus snorted. “Well, Harry saw,
but he’s been living with my ‘example’ for
years now, and he’s turned out all right.”

- 504 -
McGonagall’s lips twitched. “I saw that,”
Sirius told her, and she pursed them at
once.

“You saw nothing,” she said sternly. “And I

think that boy’s turned out well, but that’s
probably more due to his mother’s blood
than your influence.” She smiled sudden-
ly, startling Sirius, and taking the sting
out of her comment. “Merlin knows you
and Potter were terrors at the same age.”

“You loved it,” Sirius said.

“I think I have the pair of you to thank for

my grey hairs.” Hagrid chuckled.

“Probably,” Remus agreed, unhelpfully.

“I wouldn’t start, Mr Lupin,” McGona-

gall said, giving him a pointed look. “You
weren’t much better.” Remus looked

- 505 -
sheepish.

“I’m better than I was,” he said mildly.

“Which is more than can be said for some.”
He rubbed his cheek in a rather petulant
manner.

“You deserved it,” Sirius muttered, but he

pulled out his wand and cast a quick heal-
ing charm.

“What for? I haven’t seen you in two

weeks!” Sirius opened his mouth, but was
all too aware of McGonagall and Hagrid
sitting two seats away, listening in. He
felt a bit of colour rise in his cheeks, and
itched his nose as Remus’ scent went from
exasperated to curious.

“Ask Dora,” he said tersely.

“I will,” Remus said thoughtfully. Sirius

- 506 -
grunted and helped himself to scrambled
eggs. Remus waited until Hagrid and Mc-
Gonagall were engaged in conversation to
ask, “So, what’s happened?”

“Morton’s dead,” Sirius said in a low voice.

“I came to tell his kid.”

“What- How?” Sirius sighed, set down his

fork and set about explaining the previous
night’s events, as quietly as possible; the
teachers all knew, but Sirius wasn’t sure
that Hagrid did, and he might try to hug
Morton if he saw him, which would proba-
bly end badly. “Long night, then,” Remus
said, when Sirius finished explaining. He
had, though, omitted the entire exchange
with Marlene.

“Very. I haven’t slept yet.” Sirius smoth-

ered a yawn.

- 507 -
“You shouldn’t be flying, then,” Remus
said.

“I’m not going to,” Sirius said, rolling his

eyes. “I’d probably crash into one of those
muggle ellypanes-”

“Aeroplanes?” Remus suggested, smirk-

ing.

“Them,” Sirius said dismissively. “Dumb-

ledore said I can move my bike back to its
old storage place for the next day or so,
and then Floo out of the Gryffindor com-
mon room.”

“Old storage place?”

“There’s a garage on the seventh floor.”

“What? But the Map-”

- 508 -
“We never found it,” Sirius said, rather
sadly. “I didn’t even know the place existed
until Dumbledore took me there. I think I
remember where it was. I might head up
there now, actually.” He chugged a goblet
of pumpkin juice and got to his feet.

“Do you want me to-”

“I’ll be all right.” Sirius said, yawning. “I

might try to grab a bit of time with Harry,
before lessons start.” Remus smiled. “See
you next weekend.”

“Apparently,” Remus said, with a wry

smile. “Look out for yourself in the mean-
time.”

“You too,” Sirius said, holding Remus’ eyes

to let him know that he meant it. “And
keep an eye on-”

- 509 -
“Harry, yes,” Remus supplied.

Sirius grinned at him and departed with

a wave, heading for his godson at the
Gryffindor table.

“... doing here?”

“Ms McKinnon came looking for Master,

and decided to wait when Master wasn’t
home.”

“But why?” Sirius hissed, sounding almost

panicky.

Marlene realised that what she was hear-

ing was not, in fact, a dream, and jerked
awake, remembering just in time that
there had been a cup of tea in front of her;
she steadied it, and it was promptly carried

- 510 -
over to the sink by Kreacher the house elf.

“Morning,” she said blearily, pushing her

hair out of her face. Sirius was standing
over by the fireplace, staring at her with a
mix of hope and horror, in crumpled, sooty
robes.

“Hi,” Sirius said, eyeing the fireplace as if

he’d very much like to step back into it.
Marlene rolled her eyes, stretched and
then yawned. “Er... can I... What are you
doing?”

“I was sleeping,” Marlene said, making

no effort to stand. “And before that, I was
waiting for you.” Sirius scrubbed a hand
over the stubble that had appeared in the
hours since she’d last seen him. She patted
the bench beside her, and Sirius glanced
at Kreacher – who was busy by the sink
and paid him no attention at all – before

- 511 -
slumping and coming to sit down.

“In my house?” Sirius asked.

“We need to talk,” Marlene said, and her

heartbeat picked up. “And it was obvious
you weren’t going to come looking for me-”

“I would’ve-”

“Then why are you here, and not standing

on my doorstep, wondering why I haven’t
answered?”

“I would’ve come eventually,” Sirius

amended, and she believed him, but she
needed this resolved now, not eventually.
“I’ve had a long night, and all I really want
right now, is to sleep.”

Do it, Marlene told herself. Ask.

- 512 -
“Is that all?” Marlene asked, holding his
gaze. Sirius stared at her, and then, with-
out meaning to, his eyes flicked downward,
to her lips.

“I-” He hesitated. “Kreacher, go upstairs

for a bit.” Kreacher bowed and vanished.
“Do- Are-” He shook his head and rubbed
his chin. “I’ve made what I want pretty
clear, I think.” Marlene didn’t disagree
with that, and was also pleased that he’d
said it; once, all she would have received
was a joke or witty retort, or some sort of
suggestive comment, or a change in topic.

But you’ve grown up since then, haven’t

you? she thought, watching him. She was
mostly used to it, but, every now and then,
Sirius’ maturity caught her by surprise.

“-or as clear as I can, without being a prat

about it, and, uh- well, forcing the issue,”

- 513 -
Sirius was saying. “So-”

“So it’s on me, is what you’re saying?” Mar-

lene asked.

“Frankly,” Sirius told her, “yes.” Marlene

inclined her head, and Sirius looked wary.
“So what do you want?”

“I think I made that fairly obvious last

night,” she murmured, looking him in the
eye. Again, Sirius’ gaze drifted down to
her mouth, and then up again. Marlene’s
heart thudded in her chest; her cards were
on the metaphorical table now, ready to
explode in her face, or ready to have Sir-
ius’ added to them, depending on what
came next.

Sirius was silent, and Marlene’s heart

stopped, but she couldn’t look away. It
was a Gryffindor thing, she thought, to be

- 514 -
faced with her potential destruction, and
still managed to be entranced by it.

“I suppose you did,” he said finally, and his

face was impossible to read. Perhaps he
was bracing himself to be let down as well,
but she had no intention of doing that, not
again. “So-”

“So, if you’re stupid enough to take me

back, after everything I’ve done to you in
the past three years,” Marlene said wryly,
her heart beating ridiculously fast again
now, “then I’m yours. I don’t deserve an-
other chance, but I’m too selfish to not
take it if it’s there.” Sirius watched her for
another long moment, and then smiled.

“Come here,” he said, and pulled her into

a warm, tight hug. Marlene didn’t resist;
she snaked her arms around his shoulders,
and rested her cheek against his neck.

- 515 -
They were like that for a while, but Sirius
was the first to move. Not far; he kept a
hand on her hip, but his other hand moved
to her ear and he tucked her hair behind
it, and out of her face, and then his hand
moved to her chin. His eyes were warm –
warmer than any grey she’d ever known,
and warmer than any grey had a right to
be – and held hers as he tilted her chin up.

Then, nothing; Sirius didn’t move – either

forward, or away – and didn’t say any-
thing. He just watched her, and a silly grin
slowly spread across his face.

“Tease,” she said. And, just to be mean,

she tugged his hand off of her waist and
started to move away. Sirius yanked her
back – not that she tried to stop him – and,
then, finally, finally, ten years – of fake
deaths, and wrongful imprisonments, and

- 516 -
blame, attempted murder, and running
away and being found again, and fighting
side-by-side in a training exercise, and too
many shared lunch and coffee breaks to
count - after their last kiss, Sirius’ mouth
found hers.

- 517 -
Chapter 13:
Lion-hearted

“Are you all right?” Draco asked, leaning

across the Slytherin table to talk to Mor-
ton. He’d been very quiet for the past day,
and everyone knew something was up, but
no one was quite sure what.

“Fine,” he said stiffly, scratching his eyes.

Draco could tell he’d been crying, and that
he was very obviously not okay, but he
wasn’t about to say that, not when Hy-
drus was stuffing his face with bacon and

- 518 -
talking to Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle at the
same time, from next to Morton, and Daph-
ne was refilling her goblet with pumpkin
juice on Draco’s other side. They’d tear
Morton to pieces.

Draco waited for him to return his atten-

tion to his breakfast, before he turned to
his other side, where Zabini was. Zabini,
Draco had come to learn, was observant,
but also knew how to keep his mouth shut,
which was an uncommon trait amongst
the Slytherin first years. Draco secretly
thought that it was born from Zabini be-
ing aware of other peoples’ feelings, rather
than because he wanted to be mysterious,
but had no evidence to back that up.

“Do you know anything about that?” Dra-

co said in an undertone to Zabini, who
ignored him entirely. Draco, who’d been
looking at his cereal while he spoke – so

- 519 -
that he wouldn’t draw attention to either
of them, or their conversation – glanced
over. Zabini was frowning at the Gryffin-
dor table, and his calm mask was not as
well tended as it usually was; rather than
looking detached, Zabini looked angry,
and a bit confused.

Draco leaned back, and sighed.

Theodore and Tracey often talked to him,

but they were sitting further down this
morning, with Millicent, Nadia, and Na-
dia’s older brother Narun. Draco spent a
moment watching Hydrus and the others
across from him, looked again at Blaise
and at Morton, and then sighed again and
got to his feet. Neither Morton or Blaise no-
ticed, but Pansy looked over and frowned
at him.

She asked something, but it was lost in the

- 520 -
sound of the owls arriving with the morn-
ing’s post.

“What?” he asked. Pansy gave the ceiling

– but mostly, the owls flying below it - an
irritated look.

“Where are you going?” she asked. By

now, Hydrus was paying close attention,
and even ignored Titus – Father’s owl – as
he landed in a graceful fold of black wings.
Draco had written to Mother, like Sever-
us suggested, and he’d heard back since
then, but things were still awkward with
Father – or he perceived them to be – and
probably wasn’t wrong; the single enve-
lope attached to Titus’ leg was addressed
to Hydrus, and Mother and Father weren’t
the type to save money by sending only a
single envelope, the way Weasley’s family
seemed to.

- 521 -
“No one’s talking to me,” Draco said, and
hated how petty that sounded.

“Oh, poor, poor, Draco,” Hydrus sneered.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you,
you know.”

“I’d noticed,” Draco said stiffly. Titus

clicked his beak at Hydrus, who stroked
him. Draco’d become very used to being ig-
nored by this lot, and things hadn’t really
changed since they’d started Hogwarts...
except people tended to notice when he
wasn’t there. It was nice, he supposed,
but he also, rather selfishly, found himself
wanting more; more specifically, he found
himself wanting to spend more time with
Potter, and with Weasley and Granger,
because they didn’t ignore him. “I just-”

A rather scruffy barn owl dropped out of

the air and landed in front of Morton, who

- 522 -
looked surprised, and then confused, and
then swiped his eyes and grabbed the let-
ter and parcel. His knuckles were white
around the envelope as he opened it, and
his hands were shaking. Draco forgot
what he was saying, and watched him in-
stead, curious. Morton let out a noise like
a sob, and cradled the letter and the small,
wrapped box to his chest.

“Who’s that from?” Hydrus asked, rather

nosily, gesturing to the parcel.

“My dad,” Morton said hoarsely. “He must

have sent it bef-” But whatever he’d been
about to say, cut off, as his owl twitched
and crashed onto the table, with a horri-
ble squawk.

“What’s wrong with your owl?” Pansy

asked, laughing. Draco, though, didn’t
think there was anything funny about

- 523 -
it; the owl was flapping its wings around
helplessly, and Morton didn’t seem to
think there was anything funny either;
he was gaping at it, his expression blank
with shock.

“Seve- Professor Snape!” Draco shouted,

waving his arms at the staff table. Sever-
us was already on his feet, though, as were
several others, having apparently already
noticed the commotion. The owl screeched
and flapped its wings, and Snape arrived
at the table with Dumbledore and a teach-
er Draco didn’t recognise – he was miss-
ing an arm, and had a stump replacing his
second leg - in tow.

McGonagall and the other House Heads

were instructing the rest of the students
to leave.

“Silvanus,” Dumbledore said to the strange

- 524 -
teacher. He limped forward and lifted the
owl, deftly dodging its wings. He man-
aged to brace it against his side, and then
awkwardly passed it to Severus so that he
could use his only hand to draw his wand.
Other than the Prefect that was escort-
ing an irate Hydrus and the others out –
and somehow forgot Draco in the process
– it was silent. Dumbledore looked grim,
though.

After another ten seconds, the owl went

still. Morton made a strange gasping noise
that might have been a sob.

“Is it-” Draco began, and Severus caught

his eye and shook his head, not, Draco
knew, to say that it was in fact alive, but
to stop him from saying the word ‘dead’;
Morton had started to tremble. Draco
turned to him, not sure what to say, but
Morton just closed his eyes and sank down

- 525 -
onto the bench. Draco picked up his letter
and parcel, and gave them to him. Morton
didn’t say anything.

Severus deposited the owl in a the other

professor’s arm, and swept over to claim
the place on the bench beside Morton.
Severus was speaking too quietly for Dra-
co to hear, but Morton was close enough;
he just didn’t respond. Draco stared at the
dead owl, and jumped when a gentle hand
landed on his shoulder.

Dumbledore gestured to him to follow,

and led Draco away from the other three,
toward the Hall doors. Draco thought
Dumbledore was going to make him leave,
but he stopped a few yards from the exit.

“Are you all right?” he asked kindly. Father

didn’t like Dumbledore at all, and Moth-
er and Severus never really talked about

- 526 -
him, but both seemed neutral when they
did. Draco, from what he’d seen, thought
the man seemed odd, but harmless. He,
after all, could relate to being odd.

“Fine,” Draco said. He’d seen his own rat

killed by a lizard-bird monster, and this
hadn’t been anywhere as scary or sad. He
felt wretched for Morton, though. “I’m all
right, really. Just- shocked, I think.”

“Would you like to visit Madam Pomfrey?

She has remedies for-”

“No, thank you,” Draco said. “I’ll be all

right.”

“You’re certain?” Draco nodded. “May I ask

then, Draco: did you see what happened?”

“It landed,” Draco said confidently – his

memory was good, after all, and he knew it,

- 527 -
“and then Morton took the letter and parcel
from it, then it started to twitch and make
those awful noises, and then I called for
Severus- I mean, Professor Snape. No one
even touched it, really, it just happened.”
Dumbledore seemed lost in thought for a
moment – and looked rather worried all
the while – and then looked down at Dra-
co again.

“You may go then, and rejoin your class-

mates,” he said, with a gentle smile. “Stu-
dents will talk amongst themselves, and
that cannot be helped, but I would appre-
ciate your discretion on the matter; your
friends may know, but I would be disap-
pointed to learn that you’d told the en-
tire school. I will do that myself, once we
know more.” Draco nodded. “And please,”
Dumbledore continued, “do not hesitate to
visit Madam Pomfrey if you feel you need
to, or, to visit Professor McGonagall, or

- 528 -
even Professor Snape if you need to talk
to someone about what you’ve seen this
morning.”

“I’m all right,” Draco said earnestly.

“Gryffindors always seem to think so,”

Dumbledore said, looking amused for a
moment. That comment didn’t hurt Draco
as much as it might have two weeks ago.
He rather saw the humour in it now, even
if he still wasn’t sure that he belonged in
Gryffindor. “Have a nice weekend, Draco.”

“You too, sir,” Draco said, smiling at the

older wizard. He got a faint smile in re-
turn, and then Dumbledore turned with a
swish of starry robes and walked back to-
ward Severus, Morton and the other pro-
fessor. Draco left the Hall.

The first year Slytherins – minus Zabini,

- 529 -
Theodore and Tracey - were waiting by the
door that led to the dungeons, and waved
Draco over when they saw him. He looked
around for an escape, but no one else was
around, so he sighed and headed over.

“What happened?” Daphne demanded.

Draco quickly thought about his options.
Dumbledore had told him that he could
tell his friends – and this lot fell under that
category, very, very loosely, he supposed
– but Draco wasn’t sure that he should.
They’d tell others, he was sure of it, and
Dumbledore didn’t want that.

“You,” Draco drawled, “saw as much as I

did-”

“Until Farley made us leave,” Hydrus said,

obvious annoyed. “I’ll be having words
with her, when I-”

- 530 -
“Words with her?” Draco scoffed. “She’s a
Prefect, who was following the teachers’
instructions-”

“And I’m a Malfoy, and she’s a halfblood,”

Hydrus said. “She’s got no right to tell us
to do anything.” There was a chorus of
agreement from the others. Draco ground
his teeth together. “So are you going to tell
us what happened?”

“If you want to know, ask Sev- Snape,”

Draco said. He wasn’t sure that Severus
would thank him for that, but there was a
good chance that Hydrus might not ask if
it meant going to Severus.

“I asked you.” Draco shrugged. Daphne

gave him a disgusted look, and then, very
pointedly, turned her back on him, and
drew the others into a conversation about
the common room. Draco hadn’t ever been

- 531 -
allowed in there; no one from any of the
other Houses had been in there for centu-
ries, apparently - Draco wasn’t sure how
true that was – and it had been made clear
that he was no exception.

And, so, Draco, who knew very little about

the Slytherin common room, was left
talking to no one. Again. He turned and
headed toward the stairs. No one noticed
until he’d reached the top of them.

“Where are you going?” Hydrus asked.

“To talk to people who’ll talk to me,” Draco

snapped.

“If you mean Potter, Draco,” Hydrus said,

stomping toward him, “and his silly little
friends-”

“It’s none of your business who I mean,”

- 532 -
Draco said, facing resolutely forward.

“They’re not going to talk to you,” Hydrus

said. “Gryffindors don’t like us, and you’re
one of us, so-”

“Am I?” Draco asked, turning to face him.

Hydrus looked shocked for a moment. “Be-
cause it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Of course you’re one of us,” Hydrus said,

looking too confused to wear any other
expression. “Besides, you’re too good for
Potter and his lot. Stop being so dramatic,
and come and stand with us.”

“I don’t know how you put up with him,”

Nadia said to Hydrus, taking no care at
all to keep her voice down.

“Sorry to be such a problem,” Draco said

sarcastically.

- 533 -
“Apology accepted,” Hydrus said serious-
ly. Draco rolled his eyes. “Now-”

“I’ll see you all later,” Draco said.

“Draco, stop it,” Hydrus said angrily, strid-

ing forward. “I’ll write to Father if this
doesn’t stop.”

“Go ahead,” Draco muttered. “Father’s

probably as frustrated with me as he can
get.” He was still yet to receive a letter
from Father; the only contact they’d had
since term started was indirect, through
letters from Hydrus and Mother.

“Draco, stop it!” Hydrus said. “Now.” Dra-

co kept walking. “Stop! We’ve been noth-
ing but nice to you since term started –
we haven’t treated you differently at all-”
Draco thought they had; they’d been more

- 534 -
patient with him, or Hydrus had; Daph-
ne was still just as quick to throw verbal
barbs in his direction. “-which has been
more than you’ve deserved lately, after
that business with Potter’s wand after fly-
ing. I think it’s time you were a little more
grateful.”

“I am,” Draco said, tiredly, turning to face

him again. “I appreciate everything you’ve
tried to do, really. I just- need a break from
everyone at the moment.”

“A break?” Hydrus said, looking blank.

“Time away from you all,” Draco said.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Hydrus asked, looking puzzled,

rather than angry.

“I just do.”

- 535 -
“But why?” Draco said nothing. “All right,”
Hydrus drawled. “Why don’t we compro-
mise?”

“How?” Draco asked distractedly; Weasley

One and Weasley Two had just appeared
in a corridor off to the right.

“We’ll come with you,” he said, smirking.

“You can’t,” Draco said, walking toward

the twins. Hydrus looked frustrated.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Draco said snidely. “I’ll be in

the Gryffindor common room. No Slyther-
ins have been in there for centuries, and
we’re not about to change that now, even
if you are family.” Hydrus gaped at him,
and then turned a rather nasty shade of

- 536 -
pink.

“If you go, don’t bother coming back!” he

said furiously. Draco knew he didn’t mean
it. “If you-”

“Oi, One, Two!” Draco called, ignoring his

brother. Hydrus could be bold, but Draco
doubted he’d take on these two, even with
the rest of the first years behind him. Both
twins smelled faintly of dungbombs, and
had brown spots on their trainers. Draco
wrinkled his nose. “Are you heading back
to the common room?”

“Malfoy,” One said, looking puzzled, as

Draco fell into step beside them. “I think
the question is, are you heading back to
the common room?”

“Obviously,” he said, and then watched the

stunned glance that went between them.

- 537 -
“Are you feeling quite well?” Two asked,
putting a smelly hand on his forehead.
Draco batted it away, revolted.

“Looks a bit pale, Fred,” One said.

“He’s always pale, George,” Two replied.

“But he doesn’t feel warm.”

“Oh, shut up,” Draco said. “I can spend

time there if I want t- Stop that!” He swat-
ted One’s hand away from his forehead.
The twins exchanged another glance.

“Well, it’s odd-”

“-but anything that upsets your git broth-

er’s good with us,” Two informed him
cheerily. “Isn’t that right, George?”

“Right it is,” One agreed. He frowned.

- 538 -
“What did you call us, before?”

“One and Two,” Draco said. “I’ve got to tell

you apart somehow.”

“One and Two?” One asked, looking disap-

pointed. “That’s the best you could come
up with?”

“Two’s got two freckles just under his left

earlobe,” Draco said, shrugging. “One’s
only got one. I thought it made sense.”
He’d made that observation at dinner,
on the night of his Sorting; it had been a
good way to distract himself from his mis-
ery, and also something of a challenge for
himself, to test his observational skills.
He thought Severus would be proud. His
statement was met by two, identical, sur-
prised looks. “What?” Draco asked.

Two just shook his head.

- 539 -
The twins – whether they were reward-
ing him for his impressive observations,
or whether they were just genuinely talk-
ative – told him funny stories about life in
the Weasley home, and about their first
two years at Hogwarts as they headed up-
stairs. Draco had never laughed so much
in his life, and, by the time the three of
them clambered through the portrait hole,
he was pink in the face, and out of breath.

“A spider?” he asked, amused.

“You should’ve seen his face-”

“You can,” Two said, nudging Draco. “Just

point and say ‘spider’-”

“And he’ll get all funny.” The twins trem-

bled with laughter, and Draco couldn’t
help the grin that spread across his face.

- 540 -
“What’ve you done now?” Prefect Wea-
sley demanded, staring at the twins. He
was sitting with a group of older students
– those from about fifth year up – on the
central cluster of couches in the common
room. Two of Prefect Weasley’s compan-
ions were discussing Sirius Black’s appear-
ance at breakfast the day before, two more
were discussing that morning’s breakfast
and Morton’s owl, and one of the seventh
year girls had a teary Lavender Brown
on her lap. Draco gave her a curious look,
but she didn’t see him. “Fred, George, I’m
warning-”

“Keep your hair on,” One said, “Merlin.”

“Brothers, eh?” Two sighed, sharing a look

with Draco.

Brothers indeed, Draco couldn’t help but

- 541 -
think. As the twins moved away to soothe
their ruffled brother, a voice called out to
Draco. He smiled when he saw who it was;
Potter, Weasley and Granger had found
themselves a comfortable corner in the
common room. It wasn’t over by the crack-
ling fire, but as he drew closer, Draco no-
ticed they were seated around their own
little fire; a blue one, that was flickering
prettily in a jar, giving them light to do
their homework in.

“What’s wrong with Brown?” Draco asked.

“Lavender’s homesick,” Granger said. She

held her hands up to warm them by the
fire-jar. It was only mid-September, but it
was already starting to get cold at Hog-
warts, particularly in the towers. “I think
that seventh year girl knew her brother
when he was here, so they were swapping
stories.” Draco glanced over in time to see

- 542 -
Brown smile at something, and wipe her
eyes. He glanced back at the three on the
floor in front of him.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Transfiguration,” Potter replied absently,

crossing something out. Draco wrinkled
his nose. He wasn’t bad at the subject, but
it was probably one of his worst; Potions
was easy, because it was just following in-
structions – or would be for the next few
years – Charms was all about wand-mo-
tion and incantations, and History of Mag-
ic was all memory-based... Transfigura-
tion had rules, and Draco wasn’t sure that
he liked it all that much.

“Same,” Granger said. She pulled her

hands away from the jar and picked up
her quill. “Ron’s doing History of Magic.”
Draco brightened at that. Two weeks into

- 543 -
school, and it was still his favourite sub-
ject.

“Well, I suppose I’ll sit with you then,

Weasley,” he said. He waited a moment;
half expecting them to reject him, but they
didn’t.

“Lucky me,” Weasley said, but he grinned

and shuffled over to make room for Draco,
who sat, and tried not to look too relieved
that they hadn’t asked him to leave.

“Did they send you back?” Potter asked,

looking over at him.

“Pardon?” Draco asked.

“The teachers- or Prefects, I suppose. Do

they want us to stay here? Is that why
Fred and George came back too?”

- 544 -
“No, I just- wanted a break from the oth-
ers,” Draco said, and waited for them to
laugh. They did, but not in a cruel way.

“You’ve done well,” Potter said. “I’d go mad

if I had to spend that long with them.”
Weasley nodded vigorously. Though he
didn’t disagree with Potter, Draco tried to
defend the Slytherins anyway.

“They’re not that bad-”

“Never said they were,” Potter said calm-

ly. “Just that I’d go mad. We’re too differ-
ent to really get along, I think. It’s no one’s
fault, it just...”

“Is,” Draco finished for him. Potter nodded

and went back to reading his textbook.

It’s not like that for me, though. It can’t

be. Draco wasn’t convinced, though; he

- 545 -
knew that his reasons for sticking so close
to Hydrus and the others were more to do
with familial loyalty, and trying to keep
his parents happy than they were to do
with his own happiness. It was only be-
cause he cared what they thought that he
hadn’t cut them out of his Hogwarts life
altogether. If he was as brave as Gryffin-
dors were supposed to be, then he’d have
just got on with things – either toughened
up and stuck with the Slytherins, or left
them behind entirely.

Instead, he was stuck in some strange sort

of limbo between both sides. He was hap-
pier with his Housemates – though he’d
never admit that out loud to anyone but
Severus – but he felt wretched for disap-
pointing his brother. And he was miser-
able with the Slytherins, and frustrated
by how close-minded they could be, but
it kept everyone else happy... He sighed,

- 546 -
and then jumped as Weasley slammed his
book shut and tossed his quill down, spot-
ting the dark carpet with darker ink.

“Chess, Malfoy?” Weasley asked, already

getting up. All worries fled from Draco’s
mind at that point, because he’d lost last
time, and he was not going to lose to Wea-
sley again. He needed to focus.

“If you can handle losing, sure,” he drawled,

getting up. Weasley just snorted.

“My fur is as dark as the night-” Harry hes-

itated. Padfoot, though the mirror, gave
him a questioning look. “I’m not sure about
this next part,” he admitted. “I’m stuck
on ‘moon’; Moony suggested my eyes, but
they’re green, not white and- well, glow-
ing, so-”

- 547 -
“What about inside?” Padfoot said. “’My
heart shines-”

“Like the moon?” Harry said, scrunch-

ing his face up. He could tell that Pad-
foot wasn’t joking. “No, thanks. That’s- it
isn’t- it’s not me.” Padfoot chuckled. Harry
re-adjusted himself against the wall; Pad-
foot had given him directions to a secluded
alcove behind a door that was pretending
to be a wall. Much as he liked them all,
he couldn’t really discuss his Animagus
incantation in front of the boys in his dor-
mitory.

He stared out the small, paneless window

at the moon, searching for inspiration, but
couldn’t think of anything; he’d considered
‘teeth like crescent moons’ but he wasn’t
sure that it suited him; his wolf was a bit
too puppyish for that, yet.

- 548 -
“Well, other than that moon bit, what’ve
you got?”

“I thought of something else,” Harry said,

pulling a second piece of parchment out
of his pocket. Padfoot arched an eyebrow.
“I like it, but it means not using the part
about night, or the part about the moon.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“My fur is as dark as storm clouds,” he said

tentatively, “and lightning marks my fore-
head?” Padfoot nodded slowly, but Harry
wasn’t sure whether it was approving, or
whether it was merely to buy him time
while he thought of some way to tell Harry
not to use that. “I want to use moon some-
where, but I just can’t get it to fit, and-”

“You can’t force this sort of thing,” Pad-

- 549 -
foot said. “I like the storm one better, to be
honest. Your scar’s an important part of
you - whether you like it or not,” he added
ruefully, “and I think it’s good it’s in your
incantation now. As for the moon... well,
maybe it’s just not you. There’s nothing
wrong with that. I wanted to put a serious
pun in mine, but couldn’t make it work-”

“What was yours?” Harry asked, and then

thought about what he’d just said. “Sorry,
if it’s too person-”

“Kiddo, firstly, there’s very little I ever

keep from you. And secondly, you’ve been
sharing yours with me the whole time, so
really it’s only fair that you hear mine...”
He looked guilty for a moment. “The only
reason I didn’t was because you and are
quite similar – both black canines – and
you needed to establish your own ideas be-
fore I told you what worked for me.”

- 550 -
“So what is it?” Harry asked.

“My coat is as black as my name,” Pad-

foot said, looking a bit embarrassed, “but
in truth I am the white sheep. I am the
dog-brother, with a cat’s insides, and I
have no master, only friends and we ma-
raud together.”

“I like it,” Harry said, after a pause to let

it sink in. Padfoot shrugged.

“It serves its purpose,” he said. “I always

liked James’ better.”

“What was that?” Harry asked.

“I can’t remember the whole thing off the

top of my head,” Padfoot said, grimac-
ing. “I’ll just- Hang on.” His face didn’t
move from the mirror, but his surround-

- 551 -
ings blurred a bit as he moved. He passed
a short, moving thing that was the right
shape and colour to be Kreacher – Harry
called out a hello – and eventually, Pad-
foot settled in the library.

Harry could see the couch and table over

Padfoot’s shoulder, and knew that Pad-
foot was facing the small section of the li-
brary that was not sorted by subject; in-
stead, it contained the collection of Lily
and James’ books that had been in the box
of their belongings that Moony had kept
while Padfoot was in Azkaban. They’d
unpacked it a few years ago, and divided
the more personal things up between the
three of them, and the books had ended up
in Grimmauld’s library, where all three of
them had access to them.

“It’s here somewhere,” Padfoot murmured.

Harry could hear pages flicking. “Aha. I’m

- 552 -
as stubborn as my hide is brown, prey
with a predator’s heart. I will fight for my
herd with hoof and antler, the maraud-
ing stag, brother to dog, wolf and rat.” He
grinned at Harry. “Prey with a predator’s
heart sounds better than dog with a cat’s
insides, don’t you think?” Harry shrugged.
“I always did. Peter’s was something about
a rat with a lion within, but I can’t remem-
ber the rest.”

“I did that too,” Harry said. “Referenced

my House, I mean. I thought that would
be important, so-” Padfoot nodded and
gestured for him to read the rest of it.
“Most of it’s the stuff you helped me with
in June: My pack is chosen carefully, but
they are mine and I am theirs, for I am the
lion-hearted wolf born of stag and doe.”

“I like it,” Padfoot said, echoing Harry’s

earlier response. “Lion-hearted wolf.” He

- 553 -
smiled.

“So does this mean I’m finished?” Har-

ry asked, hopeful. “If I use the bit about
storms and lightning... mine’s about as
long as yours, so-”

“Yeah, kiddo, I’d say your incantation’s

ready.” Padfoot smiled at him, rather
proudly. “The next step’s one of the worst-”

“Translating?” Harry said. Padfoot gri-

maced.

“I’ll help you where I can, but I didn’t ever

learn much Latin-”

“Dad did,” Harry said, “yeah, I know. It’s

all right. I’ll work it out.”

“I’m sure you will.” Padfoot paused. “A

word of advice: translate in private; James

- 554 -
was muttering to himself in the library,
trying to do his, and said the part about
hoof and antler, and managed to give him-
self antlers and hooves. We were able to
say I’d hexed him, but you won’t get away
with that in first year.”

“Got it,” Harry said, trying to imagine

what Snape or McGonagall would do if he
suddenly sprouted black fur everywhere
in the middle of a lesson. He shivered. He
and Padfoot lapsed into silence, and then
Padfoot spoke again.

“If that’s all you wanted to talk about with

the Animagus stuff, I’ve... er... got some...
er...”

“What?” Harry asked, curious.

“Marlene and I are... er... back?” Padfoot

said, not really looking certain. “We’re-

- 555 -
sort of like we were before Azkaban and
her ‘dying’- I don’t really have a word for
it- I know you didn’t like her after the hold-
ing cells, but she’s- I like her, so-”

“I’ll get used to her,” Harry promised. Pad-

foot was all alone – aside from Kreacher
and Tonks – back in London, while Har-
ry and Moony had each other, and Harry
had his friends. Padfoot deserved a friend
– or whatever McKinnon was going to be
to him – back home. If Padfoot was willing
to trust her again, Harry certainly could.
It certainly didn’t surprise Harry overly
much. He knew McKinnon and Padfoot
had been spending time together at lunch
at the Ministry.

“You could meet her again,” Padfoot said,

tentatively. “Over Christmas, maybe?
Things have been... odd, when you two
have been together, so-”

- 556 -
“All right,” Harry said easily. Padfoot
looked relieved. Harry waited a few sec-
onds to see whether he had anything to
add, and then asked, “Are you still coming
tomorrow night, for Moony?”

“Tomorrow morning, actually,” Padfoot

sighed. “I spoke to Dumbledore this after-
noon, and it sounds like Morton’s owl died
from the same thing as its master...” That
the owl had died was news to Harry, but
he didn’t say anything. Padfoot could fill
him in later, or, if Draco was in a chatty
mood, Harry could ask him. “I’m coming
to have a look, talk to a few people-”

“The usual,” Harry said.

“The usual,” Padfoot agreed, sighing

again. “But - if you haven’t got too much
homework – I thought we could go flying

- 557 -
at some point. Have a bit of time...”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. His first

Quidditch training was on Monday night,
and so Padfoot had decided to spare Hed-
wig a journey and bring Harry’s Galaxy up
in person, when he came for the full moon;
the Galaxy would be a good broom to prac-
tice with, even if he couldn’t use it in actu-
al games. Harry was keen to fly something
more responsive than the school brooms,
but even keener to just fly; other than the
flying lesson on Thursday, he hadn’t flown
since the school holidays.

“Sounds brilliant,” he said.

The grim lines that had appeared when

Padfoot was talking about Morton and the
owl disappeared as he beamed and said,
“Shall we meet at two?”

- 558 -
Chapter 14:
Help from the Headmaster

“Come in.” Draco twisted the doorknob

and stepped into Severus’ office. Severus,
who was behind his desk, looked surprised
to see him, but lowered his quill and ges-
tured for him to have a seat. “How can I
help you, Mr Malfoy?” Draco was rather
taken aback by the use of his surname.

“I just- need some advice. If that’s okay?

I didn’t know who else to come to, and I
know you’re the Head of Slytherin, so you

- 559 -
probably want me to be friends with the
Slytherins, but-” Draco bit his tongue and
counted to five, but his voice still wobbled
when he next spoke. “I don’t know what to
do.” Severus’ expression and demeanour
hadn’t changed, so Draco added a sneered,
“Professor.”

“Have I offended you?” Severus asked,

quirking his lips. He seemed amused, and
Draco scowled.

“You’re not supposed to laugh at me.”

“My apologies,” Severus said, watching

him intently. “You’re Draco to me, but you
are also my student, and I forget which-”

“In two weeks?” Draco asked dubiously.

“With a memory like yours? I beg your
pardon, sir, but that’s-”

- 560 -
“Ridiculous,” Severus said, smirking. “Yes,
it is. Well picked.” Draco blinked, and then
scowled again.

“I’m not here to play mind games,” he said

angrily. He spotted an envelope, addressed
to Severus, that bore Father’s handwrit-
ing. The small pile of owl droppings next
to it was dry, but obviously hadn’t been
there that morning, or the house elves
would have cleaned it. It wasn’t hard to
guess what Father was writing about, af-
ter Draco had walked away from Hydrus
yesterday. Perhaps they wanted Sever-
us to make Draco ‘see sense’, or perhaps
they were warning him that Draco was a
blood-traitor now. Fear trickled through
Draco’s shoulders and into his chest.

“I certainly hope you haven’t come here to

whine about how unfair your life is.”

- 561 -
“Life isn’t fair,” Draco retorted, and could
have sworn he saw a gleam of approval in
Severus’ eyes.

“How can I help you, Draco?” he asked,

more sincerely than he had before. Relief
flooded through him, and he pointed to the
letter.

“I-” But there was another knock on the

door, and, before Severus could answer, it
opened. Dumbledore strode in, whistling a
merry tune, and beamed at them both.

“Right again,” he declared, looking be-

musedly at Draco. Then, addressing both
of them, he added, “Should either of you
ever need to find anyone, you can merely
ask Fred or George Weasley. They have an
uncanny way of knowing where everyone
is, at any given moment.” Severus looked
like he would rather drink the slimy con-

- 562 -
tents of the jars on his shelf than ask the
Weasleys for help, but Draco stored away
the Headmaster’s suggestion. “I think it is
a penchant that troublemakers have; I re-
member another group of boys who were
also very good at knowing where people
were.”

“’Delinquent’ is the word you should have

used, not ‘troublemakers’,” Severus said,
scowling. “What do you want?”

“I was told Draco was in the dungeons,”

Dumbledore said. “Naturally, I assumed
he’d be here.” Draco glanced at Severus,
confused, but Severus inclined his head.
Dumbledore looked at the letter, and for
a moment, Draco entertained the notion
that Dumbledore knew what was in there.
Then he shook his head; that was ridic-
ulous. While he didn’t hate him, like Fa-
ther did, Severus would hardly use Dumb-

- 563 -
ledore as a confidant. “An Auror is here,
to talk about yesterday’s incident with the
owl. I was wondering if you would speak
with him, Draco? Young Christopher has
indicated a desire to be left alone.”

“I suppose I can do that,” Draco said, even

though he didn’t really want to talk to any
of the Aurors. He glanced at Severus. “Will
you-”

“I will be here, in my office, this after-

noon,” Severus said. “Also, Headmaster,
the potion has been received by those it
was intended for.” Dumbledore bobbed his
head, looking pleased. Severus caught and
held Draco’s eyes, and Draco nodded; this
was something he wasn’t allowed to talk
about.

“Thank you, Severus. Shall we, Draco?”

Draco eyed the letter once more, and then

- 564 -
followed Dumbledore out. “I apologise for
interrupting what was probably an im-
portant conversation,” Dumbledore con-
tinued, looking genuine. Draco nodded to
acknowledge that, but didn’t say anything.
“How have you found it, having Severus go
from merely you godfather, to your teach-
er?” Somehow, it didn’t surprise Draco
that Dumbledore knew Severus was his
godfather.

“It’s not that different,” Draco said, shrug-

ging. “He still treats me the same... acts
the same.”

“Ah, consistency,” Dumbledore said, smil-

ing. Draco glanced at him. “Severus, you
have no doubt found, is a very consistent
person. It is very easy to guess what he
will say or do, at any given time.” Draco
nodded. “I think that I am rather similar
in that regard too; easy enough to pre-

- 565 -
dict... or that’s what I like to think.” Draco
thought he agreed. While Severus usual-
ly responded with sarcasm, or a pointed
question, Dumbledore seemed to respond
with smiles and odd statements “It’s not
an easy thing to do.” He glanced at Draco,
apparently waiting for some sort of com-
ment.

“Why not?” Draco asked, and Dumbledore

beamed at him – Draco had to hide a be-
mused look – before continuing to speak
with a flourish of his hand.

“Say someone likes red,” Dumbledore said,

making Draco blink, confused. “They wear
red, own red things, sleep in a bed with red
sheets... and, thanks to consistency, we
can trust that they will always do so. But
then, another person – a friend, perhaps
– likes green. To them, red might be offen-
sive. And, so, due to no fault of our person

- 566 -
that likes red, they will always clash.”

“They could compromise,” Draco said, thor-

oughly confused. “Maybe they could wear
green sometimes, and then the green one
could wear red-”

“But neither really wants to,” Dumbledore

said gently.

“Maybe they could both wear red trousers

and a green shirt, then,” Draco said.

“Dear boy, I consider myself eccentric

with my tastes in robes, but even I would
not advise such a mix... unless it is Christ-
mas.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, and
then he sighed, looking – for the first time
– old and tired, in the dungeon’s dim light.
“It is impossible to please everyone. You
are young still, and can be forgiven for not
knowing that yet, but trust this old man

- 567 -
when he says that it’s true. It is far better
for our hypothetical wizard to wear red,
if that is what makes him happy, and be
consistent in doing so. If he wears green
every now and then, or – as you suggested
– wears that daring mix, then the green
wizard will be hurt each and every time
the red things reappear. If the red wizard
is consistent in being red, then the green
wizard will come to expect it.”

“But the green wizard might not want to

be friends after-”

“The green wizard and the red wizard

should acknowledge the other’s differenc-
es, and embrace them. They should not
condemn the other for not conforming to
their opinions.”

“Okay,” Draco said, still confused. Dumb-

ledore was, he supposed, making sense.

- 568 -
He just had a very odd way of doing so.

“May I tell you a secret about opinions?”

“All right,” Draco said hesitantly. Dumble-

dore actually stopped walking, and turned
to face Draco, halfway up the stairs that
led up to the Entrance Hall.

“Everyone has a different one. And every-

one is wrong.”

“Some people must be right,” Draco said

at once.

“Ah, but who determines what is ‘right’...

I’ve always found it to be a matter of opin-
ion.” Dumbledore winked, and Draco felt a
small, amused smile slide across his face.
“Society does have some guidelines about
what right and fair might be, but I’ve of-
ten found they tend to err too far one way

- 569 -
or the other. We can only do what we
think is right, and fair, even when we face
what we think is unfair, and wrong.” Dra-
co found himself rubbing the scar on his
palm. Dumbledore placed a hand on Dra-
co’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Your
opinion is your own, Draco,” he said, start-
ing up the stairs again. Draco followed.
“And remember the red and green wiz-
ards.” With that, he pushed the door open
and led the way into the hall, where Pot-
ter and Black were talking.

“... running late,” he heard Black say to

Potter. “Morton’s not feeling up to it, so I
have to wait for Dumbledore to find-” They
both looked up; Black half a second before
Potter. “Excellent,” Black said, looking re-
lieved. “I’ll be out there soon,” he promised
Potter, who nodded and continued out to
the grounds.

- 570 -
“Draco,” Black said, and Draco was re-
lieved it was him. “Thank you for agreeing
to talk to me.” Draco shrugged. “Thanks for
finding him,” he added. Draco was a little
surprised by the lack of ‘sir’, or ‘Professor’
or ‘Headmaster’, but then he remembered
back to the trial. Black was obviously able
to work with Dumbledore, but it was dif-
ferent from the implied relationship they’d
had during the war. Dumbledore didn’t
seem to mind, though, or at least didn’t
show it.

“This is where I leave you, Draco,” the

Headmaster said. “Thank you for your
company.”

Draco opened his mouth to point out that

Dumbledore hadn’t really given him a
choice, but the older wizard had already
gone.

- 571 -
“Would you mind doing this in the Hall?”
Black asked.

“No,” Draco said, shrugging again.

Black nodded, apparently pleased and

said, “I’d like to see where everyone was,
when it happened, if that’s possible.”

“I have a good memory,” Draco told him.

“I hope so,” Black said, smiling. Draco

smiled back.

“What in Merlin’s name is that?” Harry

asked, his mouth falling open. Padfoot
grinned at him, and continued forward
so that Harry could get closer to the two
broomsticks in his godfather’s grip. In
Padfoot’s right hand was his Nimbus 1700,

- 572 -
and in his left was not Harry’s Galaxy, but
a sleek shiny Nimbus 2000.

“It’s your new broom,” Padfoot said, look-

ing rather smug. “You couldn’t play on
your Galaxy-”

“I was going to use a school broom, or ask

to borrow yours or Moo-”

“And Professor McGonagall told me in no

uncertain terms that if I didn’t buy you a
Nimbus, she would.”

“But-”

“’Thanks’ is the word you’re looking for,

kiddo,” Padfoot told him, with a grin.
Harry just stared between his godfather
and the broom. “It’s a very early Christ-
mas present,” Padfoot continued, “so don’t
expect much, come December.” That got

- 573 -
Harry’s attention.

“That’s definitely fair,” he managed to

say. “I probably don’t need anything when
I turn twelve, eit-” Padfoot waved a hand.

“Try it,” Padfoot said, grinning at him.

Harry dashed forward, not to get to the
broom, though, but to throw his arms
around Padfoot.

“Thank you!” he said, hugging Padfoot as

tightly as he could.

“Gently, kiddo, I can’t breathe,” Padfoot

joked, and dropped the brooms so that he
could ruffle Harry’s hair. Then, in a quick
movement that he’d probably picked up
in the D.M.L.E., he broke Harry’s hold –
much more gently than he would have,
had it been a real attacker – snatched up
his own Nimbus, and went soaring up into

- 574 -
the air. “Catch me if you can,” Padfoot
called down to him.

“Up,” Harry said – that was an import-

ant bonding process with any broom that
was being used for the first time – and the
Nimbus shot into his hand. Harry spent
a moment admitting the gleaming wood,
and then wrapped one leg around the
broom and kicked off with his other. The
acceleration was much faster than Har-
ry was used to, and also much smoother;
his Galaxy didn’t have as many stabilis-
ing charms on it, because it was a stunt
broom, and the ones on the school brooms
had probably worn off over time.

Padfoot gave an appreciative whistle, and

shot over the stands to the pitch. Harry
sped after him.

- 575 -
Draco bumped into Potter again in the
Entrance Hall, on his way down to dinner.
He’d had a chess game with Weasley after
talking to Black, and then he, Longbottom
and Granger had gone to the library. Sur-
prisingly, he’d stayed longer than she had;
she’d gone down to dinner with Longbot-
tom, and so Draco was alone.

At least until Potter arrived, looking wind-

swept. Draco’s eyes went straight to the
beautiful object that was resting on Pot-
ter’s shoulder

“Is that a Nimbus Two-Thousand?” he de-

manded. Potter turned a funny shade of
red – apparently embarrassed – and Dra-
co found himself thinking of the red wiz-
ard. Dumbledore’s story had been bounc-
ing around in his head all afternoon. Had
Dumbledore meant Potter, perhaps? He
was wearing his Gryffindor scarf. Did that

- 576 -
make Draco the green one? Green like Sly-
therin.

But Potter and I don’t really fight. He

doesn’t mind if I sit with the Slytherins.

They mind, though, another voice point-

ed out, the Slytherins, when I sit with
Gryffindor.

Did that make him the red wizard? Draco

wasn’t sure that he liked that idea.

“... early Christmas present, and appar-

ently McGonagall said- I didn’t ask for it,
so-”

“A yes would have sufficed, Potter,” Draco

snapped, and he fell silent at once. Dra-
co went back to pondering red and green,
and grew more and more convinced that
Dumbledore had meant him. He also grew

- 577 -
more and more irritated with himself, and
with the Headmaster. “Are you all right?”
Potter asked worriedly. “You look a bit-”

“A bit what?”

“You can fly it sometimes,” Potter said.

“First years still technically can’t have
brooms, but I’ll share-”

“I don’t care about brooms,” Draco said

distractedly.

“Did Padfoot ask you too much?” Potter

added at once. “He-”

“Do you have a mental list somewhere, of

all the things that could potentially make
me angry?” Draco asked, latching onto
Potter as a distraction from his rather un-
pleasant revelation.

- 578 -
“Er... I promise to actually read that dic-
tionary?” Potter said. He had such a ner-
vous look on his face that Draco couldn’t
help but smirk. “Use bigger words, and all
that.” Draco laughed before he could stop
himself, and Potter looked relieved. “Is it
something I’ve-”

“It’s nothing to do with you, Potter,” Draco

assured him, feeling tired all of a sudden.

“Anything I can help with?”

“I- I don’t know,” Draco said. Potter, odd-

ly, didn’t press the point. He was silent,
watching as the Slytherin first years
emerged from the dungeon door. Draco al-
most groaned; they were the last people
he wanted as company now. “Are you go-
ing to dinner?” he asked Potter.

“I’m just going to take this upstairs.” Pot-

- 579 -
ter glanced between Draco and the Sly-
therins, and pushed his glasses up. “Do
you want to come? Then we can come back
down together.”

Red or green? Draco wondered.

“I- would- if you wouldn’t mind, that-”

“Okay,” Potter said, with an easy smile.

Draco felt his own mouth turn up in re-
sponse, and turned around and followed
Potter back upstairs.

Padfoot must have left early on Monday

morning, because Harry didn’t see him at
breakfast. Moony wasn’t there either, but
the school elves had probably seen to it
that he was fed.

- 580 -
“Morning,” Hermione said, as Harry and
Ron sat down. Draco had already settled
himself across from Hermione, and was
adding cinnamon to his french toast.

“Morning,” Ron muttered, pouring two

goblets of pumpkin juice. Ron, Harry had
learned, was not a morning person; he
was often the last in their dormitory wake
up - with Harry or Draco usually being
the first - but he had an impressive abil-
ity to function despite being half asleep.
he could dress, talk to Harry on the way
down to breakfast, and serve himself all
without being properly awake. “Anyone
else want one?”

“If you’re offering, Weasley, certainly,”

Draco said. Scabbers, looked up from
where Ron had placed him on the table,
and scurried over to Draco, who offered
him a bit of toast.

- 581 -
“You look tired,” Hermione told Harry.
He shrugged. He’d spent time with Moo-
ny and Padfoot after dinner, and then left
before Moony could transform. He hadn’t
gone back to the dormitories, though;
he’d gone to the library, to make a start
on translating his incantation. He’d been
there until midnight, and made nowhere
near as much progress as he’d hoped, and
had, tiredly, sneaked back to Gryffindor
tower, taking care to avoid Filch and the
other professors.

“What do you reckon we’ll do with Flitwick

today?” he asked. They had History of
Magic first, but it was only a single lesson,
and Harry would probably sleep throuh it
anyway. So far, Draco and Hermione were
the only two that were capable of staying
awake through one of Binns’ lessons. As
he’d hoped, Hermione’s eye brightened at

- 582 -
once.

“Movement,” she said. “I think Professor

Flitwick mentioned we’d be starting that
this week.”

Hermione’s prediction proved correct - not

that that surprised Harry - and at the be-
ginning of Charms, Flitwick announced
they’d be learning to move objects with
magic. Each of them were given a marble
and told to open their textbooks. It wasn’t
to fly, Flitwick warned - they weren’t
ready for that yet - but they could use any
of the spells in the book to get it to move
across the desk. He wanted to see what
they could do.

It turned out to be a fun lesson. Harry,

without bothering to consult his textbook,
used a Wind Charm, and was given ten
points; Ventus was a charm they learned

- 583 -
later in the year, apparently, and he had
the control of a second year. Seamus, in
the seat behind Harry, tried to melt his
marble. It sort of worked; he did manage
to melt the marble, but he also set his desk
on fire, and lost five points for doing so.

Harry glanced at his friends; Draco was

blowing on his marble, and stopping it be-
fore it rolled off the desk, before blowing
it the other way, and Ron was shooting
sparks out of his wand. Every second or
third spark would hit the glass, and push it
over a bit. Hermione’s face was scrunched
up in concentration, and she seemed to
have two spindles growing out of her mar-
ble.

As they left Charms, and headed for lunch,

she told Harry, rather sadly, that she’d
been trying to make it grow legs and run,
but hadn’t quite managed it.

- 584 -
After lunch, they had Transfiguration
which went well, Harry thought; McGona-
gall gave them each a match at the very
beginning of the lesson, and had them
show her, one by one, that they were able
to change it into a needle. The rest of the
lesson was spent going over the theory
they’d need in Thursday’s lesson, when
they tried to turn salt into sugar. His extra
reading had paid off; he understood what
she was saying, and was actually disap-
pointed he’d have to wait until Thursday
to try it out.

That disappointment faded quickly

though, when he passed Wood on the way
back to Gryffindor tower.

“Ready for tonight, Potter?”

“Definitely,” Harry said, grinning. He

- 585 -
didn’t think he was a bad wizard; he was
certainly smarter than Crabbe and Goyle
(but then, so were the candles that floated
above the tables in the Great Hall), and
he was more consistent than Ron. Magic,
though, didn’t come to him as naturally as
it did to Hermione. It took effort to under-
stand things, and practice to manage to do
anything useful with what he’d learned.

Flying though... there, Harry was in his

element. That was something he under-
stood instinctively, something that he was
good at. He could get better with practice,
certainly, but even without training, he
knew what he was doing, felt comfortable,
confident.

“Good; we’ll be putting you through your

paces,” Wood warned. “We need to see
what you can do.”

- 586 -
Harry couldn’t wait.

“Sorry I’m late,” Remus said, pushing the

door open. His second years were already
seated. Greentooth – or Sarah – and Sil-
verear – Ethan – both looked as sickly as
he felt. “I’m not in any state to give you an
exciting lesson today, I’m afraid,” Remus
said. Every step ached, and made his head
throb, but he managed to make his way
from the classroom door to his desk. He
opened his briefcase and pulled out a thin
stack of parchment. “I’ve prepared some
questions for you to do instead; they cover
everything we’ve learned so far, and will
be useful to look back on when we get to
exam time. I’ve tried not to make them too
boring.”

“Are you going to mark them?” Cho Chang,

- 587 -
a Ravenclaw second year, looked up at him
expectantly.

“Once I’m feeling better, yes,” Remus as-

sured her. “And, because of that, I’ll let you
have a week to work on them. It shouldn’t
take you much longer than this lesson,
though, if you concentrate. Angus, Isobel,
would you mind passing them out?”

“Are you still feeling ill?” Marietta asked,

as Angus passed her a worksheet.

“Quite,” Remus said, easing himself into

his chair. He was relieved that he had the
Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and not the
Gryffindors/Slytherin second year cohort.
Or worse yet, the Gryffindor/Slytherin
third years; an afternoon with Fred and
George Weasley would probably kill him.
This lot would ask a lot of questions, but
they would also work through a lesson

- 588 -
without a fight breaking out, or an explo-
sion of some sort. “I won’t be much fun this
afternoon.”

Remus pulled a chipped teacup and a te-

abag out of his briefcase, and also a small
bag of sugar, and an Anti-Ache potion. Sir-
ius had dosed him up with his usual po-
tions that morning, but Remus still hurt.
A few of the Ravenclaws watched him pre-
pare his drink with interest, but were – as
was probably inevitable with Ravenclaws
– drawn back to their work before Remus
became too uncomfortable under the scru-
tiny.

Remus watched as Greentooth seemed to

revel in her illness. He knew she must be
feeling awful, but her eyes were bright and
alert, and she was restless in her chair,
as if she wished she could be back in her
wolf-form. He respected her, on one lev-

- 589 -
el for her ability to embrace her condition
as much as she did, but also couldn’t help
himself from condemning her for the same
reason; she had the same vicious delight
for her lycanthropy that her ‘father’ Grey-
back had had. Silverear, though... Remus
watched him closely, and couldn’t help
but feel sorry for the boy; his expression
grew more and more tired and miserable
as time passed, and Remus couldn’t help
but be reminded of himself.

Silverear didn’t have the friends that

Remus had had, though, that was also
clear. James and Sirius had always picked
fights with Slytherins on the day after the
full moon, in the hopes that they’d get
themselves sent to the hospital wing, and
that Remus could be the one to take them
there. When they got there, Madam Pom-
frey’d always given Remus a cup of tea and
let him lie down while she tended James

- 590 -
or Sirius. Peter and whoever’d been left
standing would go to the lessons and fill
the other two in later.

Yes, Remus had been well looked after

during his time at school. Silverear, as far
as Remus could tell, only really spent time
with Greentooth, and she was so caught
up in her own delighted memories that
she didn’t stop to think about him. Remus
picked up a quill and dipped it in ink.

Rest up, he wrote. You had a big night

too. Both of the second years were also
being supplied Wolfsbane by Snape, but
Remus doubted Greentooth touched hers.
Silverear probably did – Remus suspected
he followed rules, even if he didn’t agree
with him – but even with the potion, the
transformation was painful, and the night
was long. Burn this, he added as an af-
terthought. He folded it twice and wrote

- 591 -
Silverear on the outside.

“Who’s done the most work?” Remus asked.

A few students craned their necks to
check their neighbour’s progress. “Ethan,
you’re usually a quick worker.” A few of
the Ravenclaws – Dylan and Elyse, in
particular – looked put out that he hadn’t
chosen them. “Pack your things. I have a
note that needs to go to Professor Snape-”
Everyone now looked relieved to have not
been picked. “- and I’m in no state to get
down to the dungeons, I’m afraid.”

Silverear closed his eyes for a brief mo-

ment, probably thinking Remus was being
cruel, rather than kind. Greentooth just
seemed irritated that Remus was talking
to either of them; the glare she was giving
him was about as sharp as Remus’ teeth
had been a few hours ago.

- 592 -
Ethan swept his things off his table and
into his bag, and shuffled up to the front
desk. He gave Remus a baleful look, which
turned into surprise and then suspicion
when Remus pressed the note into his
hand, but he was smart enough not to say
anything.

“Thank you,” Remus said politely, gestur-

ing to the door. Ethan gave Remus one
more curious look – and Remus also heard
him sniff a few times – before he slouched
out of the classroom. Everyone was watch-
ing the exchange; no one but Greentooth
looked suspicious, and Remus wanted to
keep it that way. “Twenty minutes left,
you lot,” he said, mustering a smile. “Try
to finish those questions, and then you
won’t have to worry about it later.”

- 593 -
“See you tomorrow night, Harry!” Angeli-
na called. He’d seen her around the com-
mon room, and the Gryffindor table in the
Great Hall, but never been introduced.
He’d also met Alicia Spinnet – who was
in Fred and George’s year, with Angeli-
na, and met Katie Bell, who was the year
above him.

Harry waved, shouldered his Nimbus, and

made his way out of the change rooms. It
was a chilly night, and Harry was almost
tempted to fly back to the castle, but he
walked, thinking it would be just his luck
if Filch spotted him and confiscated his
broomstick.

Everyone was just settling in the Great

Hall, for dinner; he could see them – staff
and students - shuffling around, choosing
seats, and what not. He spied Ron’s bright
head next to Draco’s equally bright one,

- 594 -
and Hermione’s bushy one, and smiled.
He wasn’t sure what had happened be-
tween Draco and the other Slytherins, but
the youngest Malfoy had been sticking
close to his Housemates for the past few
days. Harry was glad he’d come around,
and stopped acting like a git, but he also
worried; Hydrus could make Draco’s life
very unpleasant if he wanted to, and Har-
ry didn’t want to see that happen.

“Our little secret, until we’re ready, all

right?” This was followed by a chillingly
familiar giggle, and, while it wasn’t loud,
it was easily audible in the silent Entrance
Hall. Harry stilled immediately, his eyes
on the stairs that led down to the dungeon.

“All right,” a less familiar voice agreed.

Morton moved into view, his back to where
Harry had stopped; he was talking.

- 595 -
“Good. Surprise is important with these
things, dear; trust me on that.” The speak-
er’s voice soured, and Harry grinned,
pleased by that. “But I have experience
with this, now, and I think we can both ac-
complish what we want, here.” He frowned,
not liking the sound of that at all.

“And arrangements for me, too, right?”

Morton asked.

“Right, right. But first things first, and

Black is the biggest problem at the mo-
ment.” Harry saw Morton nod. Harry shiv-
ered, and started up the stairs again, as
quietly as possible, headed for his mirror.
Then, Morton turned around, and spotted
him, and so, unfortunately, did his com-
panion.

- 596 -
Chapter 15:
Zabini and Benson

“Potter,” Morton said, sounding equally

alarmed and curious. Harry lifted the hand
that wasn’t supporting his broomstick and
gave an awkward wave. Next to Morton,
Umbridge swelled and stepped forward.

“Mr Potter,” she said. She didn’t look dis-

pleased to see him - a sickly smile was in
place – and her tone wasn’t nasty, either,
but Harry couldn’t shake the idea that she
was not happy to see him. “Might I ask

- 597 -
what you’re doing here?”

“Well,” Harry said, mustering a look that

would question her intelligence, and hope-
fully annoy her, “I go to school here.” She
giggled. Morton gave her a revolted look.

“Of course,” she said. “Silly me.”

“You’re a long way from the Ministry,”

Harry added, rather pointedly.

“I work for the Department of Manage-

ment and Control of Magical Children,”
she said primly. “My work is wherever
children need me.” Harry glanced at Mor-
ton, who glowered back at him.

“Right,” Harry replied. “Well, bye.” He

turned around and continued upstairs,
and thankfully, neither of them called
after him. He waited until he was out of

- 598 -
their line of sight, and then ran the rest of
the way to his dormitory.

Sirius’ Sidekick burned and Sirius swore,

making Marlene look up.

Scrimgeour’s symbol was glowing inside.

“Sir?” Sirius said.

“You’re needed,” he said, sounding irrita-

ble. Someone said something in the back-
ground, and Scrimgeour grunted. “As soon
as you can make it, Black.”

“I’ll just finish my chapter-”

“My office. As soon as you can.” As the

connection faded, Sirius heard him say to
whoever else was there, “I understand it’s

- 599 -
important, but you can’t just expect every-
one to drop everything on your-”

“What did you do?” Marlene asked won-

deringly. “Stick a broomstick up his-”

“No idea,” Sirius said. He glanced down at

Mortal Magical Maladies and sighed. He
had three pages of the zoonoses chapter
left to read, but Scrimgeour hadn’t sound-
ed like he was in the mood to wait. Mar-
lene slid off the desk. “If there are others in
there with him, though, it can’t be good.”

“It probably wasn’t an Auror or Trainee,

either,” Marlene said. “I’ve never heard
him talk like that to any of us.”

“Brilliant,” Sirius muttered. He sighed

again, stood, and stretched; he’d been at
his desk all afternoon, reading his book
– borrowed from the Healer library at

- 600 -
St Mungo’s – to try to work out whether
it had been a disease that killed Morton
and his owl; Sirius wasn’t sure if it was a
disease, but he was sure that it had been
the same thing. His biggest concern – in
the short term – was working out if it was
contagious; the owl had probably come via
the Owlery, and had contact with sever-
al Hogwarts owls... if whatever had killed
Morton and his owl was spreadable, all
of Hogwarts could be at risk. “All right,”
he said, rolling his shoulders. “See you-”
Right then, his pocket tingled and started
to warm.

“What’s wrong?”

“My mirror,” Sirius said.

“Shouldn’t he be at dinner?” Marlene

asked. Sirius shrugged and glanced out
into the corridor. Scrimgeour wasn’t on

- 601 -
his way back, thankfully, and Harry was
more important to Sirius anyway, so he
pulled his mirror out and resized it. Har-
ry’s face was already centred in it, look-
ing impatient. His hair was sweaty, and
brushed to the side, so that his scar was
showing.

“Have you been running?” Sirius asked.

Marlene waved as she left the cubicle.

“Yeah,” Harry said, with an odd expres-

sion. He didn’t look scared, but he was
definitely worried. Sirius’ other hand went
to his wand at once.

“Are you safe?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. Sirius

released his wand. “It’s just... Umbridge
was at school. With Morton.” Sirius knew
Harry didn’t like Umbridge – neither did

- 602 -
he, after the stories he’d heard – but wasn’t
quite sure what the problem was.

“She works in the Magical Children De-

partment,” Sirius said. “She’s probably
been assigned Morton’s case. He’ll need
their services; a guardian for one, and
some sort of counselling-”

“I know that,” Harry said. “I heard them

talking, though; they said something
about you being the biggest problem, and
that it would be their little secret.” Sirius
frowned and opened his mouth.

“Black!” Scrimgeour groaned out of his

half-closed Sidekick. It almost sounded
like a plea for help.

“Who’s that?” Harry asked, squinting

through the glass. Scrimgeour groaned
again.

- 603 -
“Excuse me!” he said.

“Black-” An unfamiliar female voice was

coming through the Sidekick now; the
speaker had a slight accent that Sirius
couldn’t place, and a rather nice sound-
ing voice. Very feminine. “-postpone your
little familial session and come and talk
to the adults. Your presence is required.”
His impression of the speaker diminished
dramatically, but his curiosity had height-
ened. Sirius glanced at his Sidekick, which
had gone quiet, and then back at Harry.

“I’ll- thanks for telling me, kiddo, but I’ve

got to go, apparently. We’ll talk more to-
night; go and eat, and I’ll get back to you
when I’ve got a spare moment, and you
can tell me what else you heard, and how
your first practice went, all right?” Har-
ry nodded, still looking worried, and faded

- 604 -
from the mirror.

Sirius grabbed his Sidekick and headed

down to Scrimgeour’s office.

“You have greatly overestimated the pow-

er you have here,” he could hear Scrim-
geour saying irritably, “if you think you
can handle my personal belongings with-
out my permission, and order my Aurors
around-” He didn’t bother to knock – they
(whoever they were) knew he was com-
ing – and walked right in, in time to see
Scrimgeour taking his Sidekick out of the
red-nailed hand of one of the two women
in the office. “Black,” Scrimgeour said at
once, sounding relieved, apologetic and
angry all at once.

The woman with the red nails turned

around, and examined him with dark
eyes. With olive skin, shiny black hair,

- 605 -
bright red lips and flatteringly cut robes,
she was nothing short of stunning... and
he suspected she knew it. Sirius kept his
eyes on her face, and only for a moment,
before they moved to the occupant of the
other seat. Dolores Umbridge looked even
frumpier than usual compared to the oth-
er woman, and was dressed – as usual – in
a sickly shade of pink.

“Giovanna Zabini, wizarding solicitor,”

Scrimgeour said, waving a hand at the ol-
ive-skinned woman, who gave him a cool
look and inclined her head, “and I believe
you’ve met Dolores Umbridge before.”

“Madam Umbridge,” Umbridge said.

“Now, Black-”

“Auror Black,” Sirius said. Zabini’s mouth

twitched, surprising him, and Scrimgeour
actually chuckled. Sirius, despite his quick

- 606 -
response, did not find anything remotely
funny about the situation. Thanks to Har-
ry, he knew Umbridge was working on
Morton’s case... and, if she was here with
a solicitor, it could only really mean one
thing.

“Yes, Auror Black,” Umbridge said prim-

ly. “We-”

“They’ve come to ask me to run an inves-

tigation against you,” Scrimgeour said,
rolling his eyes. Umbridge glared at him;
apparently, she’d been wanting to deliver
that news herself.

“Madam Umbridge has,” Zabini said qui-

etly. “I’m only here to provide legal sup-
port.” She gave Sirius a sympathetic look,
but he was already turning back to Scrim-
geour, eyebrows raised. The Head Auror
shrugged in a helpless sort of way.

- 607 -
“I spoke with Auror Dawlish this morning,
and he has agreed to take up the case,”
Umbridge said. “Your involvement in Paul
Morton’s death will be looked into, and-”

“It’s a waste of time,” Scrimgeour said

tiredly. “I have three witnesses who saw
Mr Morton die, and they’ll tell you Black
wanted to save him as much as they did.
Black told me what had happened as soon
as he could, and filled out all of the appro-
priate paperwork... he’s not a guilty man.”

“That’s not for you to decide, I’m afraid,”

Umbridge said, in a tone that would be sad
if it hadn’t come out of her smiling mouth.
“I am representing a child who cannot in-
stigate this investigation himself, and I
promised to do everything in my power
to help him.” Sirius stared at her. “We’ll
need copies of all of the documents you

- 608 -
have that mention Black’s involvement in
the case,” she added. Zabini inclined her
head.

Sirius heard Scrimgeour mutter some-

thing that sounded like, “Stupid bloody
cow,” but wasn’t amused.

“So what does that mean for me?” Sirius

asked, folding his arms.

“You’ll have some time away from work,”

Scrimgeour said, with an angry look at
Umbridge. “Two weeks, and if they hav-
en’t found any promising evidence against
you, you’ll be allowed to return to the of-
fice.” He sighed. “It’s standard procedure
for any Auror being formally investigated.
If – sorry, when – they don’t find anything
against you, they’ll have to compensate
you for your missed work.”

- 609 -
“Not that Auror Black is struggling for
money,” Zabini said. Her smile would have
been lovely, all red lips and white teeth,
but it didn’t reach her eyes. Sirius looked
away and saw her frown out of the corner
of his eye.

“That’s not the point,” Scrimgeour said.

“The law-”

“Says he will be compensated if no evidence

is found,” Zabini said, waving a hand. “I
am aware, Auror Scrimgeour.” He grunt-
ed.

“Anything else?” Scrimgeour asked the

two witches.

“No,” Umbridge said. “Black merely need-

ed to be aware of the situation.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said sarcastically.

- 610 -
“Your time off will start tomorrow,” Scrim-
geour said, cleaning his glasses on his
robes. “I’ll be in contact as things develop.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said, genuinely this time.

Scrimgeour gave him a tired, sorry look,
and Sirius shook his head; he didn’t blame
him at all. He nodded at the other two,
pulled the door open, and walked – trying
very hard not to stomp – down to corridor
to his cubicle. He flopped down in his chair
and groaned.

Seconds later, there was a knock on his

cubicle wall.

“May I have a word?” Zabini asked smooth-

ly. Sirius waved her in. She didn’t take
the chair in the corner, as he’d expected;
she took the corner of the desk that Mar-
lene had occupied earlier. Sirius shifted

- 611 -
his chair back. “I’d like to apologise,” she
said, folding one leg over the other. “Do-
lores Umbridge has a personal issue with
you – that much is clear – but I want it
known that I’m approaching this from a
professional stance, and only a profession-
al stance. I don’t have anything against
you.” Sirius grunted. Zabini gave him a
thoughtful look, and then sighed loud-
ly. “I’m only in it for the money... my last
husband died at the beginning of the year,
and I have a son to support. You’re a sin-
gle parent too, from what I’ve heard-”

“Your son’s at Hogwarts,” Sirius said. He

knew from Harry that Blaise Benson was
now Blaise Zabini, and that this woman
was probably his mother. “So you don’t
need to support him at the moment, real-
ly.” Because so many Hogwarts graduates
ended up working for the Ministry, the
Ministry supplied a significant portion of

- 612 -
the school’s funding. Students really only
had to supply their own wands, uniforms
and school things. Zabini’s smile dropped
off her face. “And you said you’re ap-
proaching this from a professional stance,
so I hope you won’t be offended that I don’t
want to discuss my family life with you.”

“I’d heard you were clever,” she said. Sir-

ius didn’t say anything. “It’s a shame, re-
ally... we need clever Aurors, to stop all
the bad things in the world... and yet, here
you are, after only a year as a free man,
being investigated once again. It’s not fair,
is it?” She reached out and put a hand on
his shoulder. Then it crept up to stroke his
neck. Sirius moved his chair back, so that
he was out of reach.

“No,” Sirius said tersely. “But I lost my

faith in the Ministry a long time ago, so
I’m not surprised.”

- 613 -
“What will you do with your time off? With
your godson gone, things must be awfully
lonely-”

“I’m not sure what makes you think you

can ask that,” Sirius said coolly. “It’s inap-
propriate for you to do so as a profession-
al.”

“I get lonely too,” Zabini said, looking at

him through dark eyelashes.

“That’s a shame,” Sirius said, not really

meaning it. “Could you get off my desk? It
seems I’ve been given some time off, and I
have a few things to pack before I go home.”
She did get off – very slowly – and walked
around to claim the seat he’d vacated. Sir-
ius ignored her and conjured a rucksack
to put his things in. He took everything he
had that related to Morton and the owl,

- 614 -
the book he’s been reading, and then cast
a Shrinking Spell and tucked the rucksack
into his pocket with his mirror.

“Have you eaten yet?” Zabini asked, while

she checked her nails.

“No,” Sirius said.

“The Ministry Cafe should still be open,”

she said. “I was thinking of heading down
there myself... I wouldn’t mind company.”

I bet, Sirius thought, rolling his eyes when

she wasn’t looking at him.

“I’ll pay,” she offered.

“I thought you were struggling with mon-

ey, and that’s why you were helping Um-
bridge with my investigation,” Sirius said.
Zabini’s cheeks darkened ever so slightly.

- 615 -
“Goodnight, Madam Zabini.” He left his
cubicle without another word, and headed
for the lifts. Marlene fell into step beside
him on the way. “Where’d you come from?”
he asked.

“It’s a secret,” she said, smirking at him.

He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t like your
friend.” She jerked her head back toward
his cubicle.

“Were you listening?” he asked, glancing

at her.

“I have better things to do than stalk you,

Sirius,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I walked
past when she told you she was lonely, and
heard a snippet.”

“You could have saved me,” Sirius said,

nudging her.

- 616 -
“When have you ever not been able to han-
dle unwanted female attention?” Marlene
asked. Sirius grinned.

“Who says it was unwanted?”

“I do,” Marlene told him. “She was pretty,

and quite obviously interested... and yet
here you are.”

“Ah, well; I’m taken, anyway,” Sirius said.

“Nice girl?” Marlene asked, lips twitching.

“When she wants to be,” Sirius replied.

Marlene laughed.

Draco and Weasley were minding their

own business, walking from breakfast
back up to the Gryffindor common room,

- 617 -
when Weasley was tripped and Draco was
grabbed – rather roughly – and dragged
into the nearest classroom. Draco saw Za-
bini standing over Weasley as the door
snapped shut.

“What in Merlin’s name is wrong with

you?” he snapped, wrenching his arm out
of Hydrus’ grip. Hydrus, up close, didn’t
look well. He looked tired and stressed,
and his hair looked greasy underneath the
gel. “Are you all right?”

“What sort of question’s that?!” Hydrus

hissed. “Am I okay? Do you think I could be,
when my brother’s turned into a Gryffin-
dor overnight?! I thought you’d come back
after we fought! I thought you’d apologise
and-”

“Apologise for what?” Draco said. “My

House? And you’re the one that told me

- 618 -
not to bother coming back-”

“I didn’t mean it!” Hydrus howled. Draco

knew that. “Mother and Father have been
frantic; Titus is following me everywhere,
with letters full of questions, and you don’t
even seem to care! You were walking with
Weasley!” Draco shrugged; he didn’t like
Weasley as much as he liked the twins, or
Potter, but he liked him more than Grang-
er and Longbottom, and certainly more
than most of the Slytherins.

“He forgot his books, I forgot my wand,”

Draco said. “We’re both walking the same
way.”

“You forgot- You’re a wizard!”

“I was in a rush this morning,” Draco said

defensively. “Besides, I haven’t got any
need for it until Defence-”

- 619 -
“But you’re a wizard!”

“I’m also a Potions student, and you don’t

see me carrying my cauldron everywhere,”
Draco said, rolling his eyes. He watched
his brother carefully. “What do you want?”

“Who says I want something?”

“You just kicked my-” Draco almost said

‘friend’ and then thought better of it.
“-Housemate and dragged me off for a
chat. Obviously you want something.”

“Come back,” Hydrus said in a small

voice. “Please.” Draco had to actively
work to keep his mouth from falling open;
he hadn’t been aware that Hydrus knew
the word please. “It’s not proper for you to
be associating with these halfbloods and
bloodtraitors and mudbloods.”

- 620 -
Not ‘we miss you, Draco’, Draco thought,
sighing, but ‘it’s not proper’... It always
comes back to blood. He rubbed the scar
on his palm.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said. He’d given a lot

of thought to Dumbledore’s red and green
wizards in the past day, and – though he
didn’t want to admit it – had reached the
conclusion that the Headmaster was right.
Indecision about where he should spend
his time, and how he should behave was
just going to make things worse. “I- I be-
long with my House. And I know you don’t
like that – it’s taken me a while to adjust
to the idea too – but it has to be this way.”

“You’re picking Potter and the rest of them

over me? Over your own brother?!”

“I’m not picking anyone over you,” Draco

- 621 -
said wearily. “We should embrace our dif-
ferences, instead of condemning each oth-
er for them.” He’d stolen that from Dumb-
ledore, but he didn’t know how to say it
any better than that. “We’re still brothers,
still family. Still blood. I’m still a Malfoy,
still the same Draco... I just- I wear red
now, that’s all.”

“You wear red?” Hydrus spat. “It goes

deeper than that, Draco, and you know it.”

“Only if you let it,” Draco said. Hydrus’ face

fell. For a moment, Draco entertained the
ridiculous notion that Hydrus was going
to hug him, and say that it was all okay,
and that none of this mattered. Instead,
Hydrus trembled, and the windows of the
classroom exploded out into the sky. Chalk
dust puffed up into a white cloud that was
spread by an invisible wind, chairs and
desks tumbled to the floor, and Draco felt

- 622 -
his nose crack, and then felt warm blood
dribble down his face. Tears sprang into
his eyes in response to the pain.

“I hate you,” Hydrus said, and swept out.

Draco thought he was crying, but it was
hard to tell because his own vision was so
blurry. Weasley hurried in, looked at the
classroom, then at Draco, and swore.

“I dink I deed da hobsital bing,” Draco

said, dabbing his face with the sleeve of
his robes.

“Is it broken?” Weasley asked, trying to

peer past his hand for a better look.

“Do, Beasley,” Draco said sarcastically, “I’b

dust bleeding ebrywhere for do readon. Ob
cord id’s broken!”

“I meant is it broken, and not just bleeding;

- 623 -
Percy used to get blood noses all th- Never
mind.” He shook his red head, and put a
hand on Draco’s shoulder to guide him to
the door. “We’d better go, before Filch sees
this mess and blames us.” Draco’s eyes
widened, and he nodded. The pair of them
hurried down the corridor, up two flights
of stairs and down another corridor. Sever-
al portraits let out horrified exclamations
when they saw Draco’s bloody face, and so
did a group of Ravenclaws who were on
their way to class.

“Did Babini hurt you?” Draco asked, when

they’d decided they were far enough from
the classroom that Filch wouldn’t catch
them. Weasley shook his head.

“Just told me to leave you to it... I wouldn’t

have interrupted, though.” His ears turned
pink. “I’m hardly a Ravenclaw, but I know
how families work... brothers in particu-

- 624 -
lar.” He grimaced. “Are you- you were cry-
ing when I-” Weasley faltered, apparently
torn between wanting to help Draco, and
not wanting to upset him.

“By dose ib broken,” Draco said. “It hurt.”

Weasley nodded. “But tanks,” he added.
Weasley smiled at him, and for the first
time since Scabbers, Draco felt something
of connection with him, like they could ac-
tually be friends, instead of just two peo-
ple that shared friends.

Several hours after Draco had been pulled

aside by Malfoy, Harry was also waylaid,
and pulled into a nearby classroom. While
Ron was perfectly happy to let things stay
between brothers unless one of them asked
for help, Zabini was not Harry’s brother,
and Ron felt obliged to do something other

- 625 -
than stand there. He followed Harry in.

“Most people just write letters,” Harry

said, adjusting his broom on his shoulder.
He didn’t seem worried, or angry, just con-
fused, and Zabini didn’t look like he was
about to attack either of them, so Ron hov-
ered by the doorway, just watching.

“This news is better in person,” Zabini

said. “It’s from Benson.” Ron glanced at
Harry, who was looking curious now.

“All right,” he said. “What is it?”

“Look out,” Zabini said.

“Look out?” Ron repeated. “For what? Za-

bini gave him a sharp look.

“You’re not very popular in our House at

the moment,” Zabini continued, looking

- 626 -
at Harry again. Harry’s expression was
wary, and Ron got the feeling that Harry
knew exactly what this was about. So, ap-
parently, did Zabini. “You know?”

“Morton?” Harry said, and Zabini nodded.

“And Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?”

“Not yours; ours. He reckons you’ve sto-

len poor, helpless Draco and turned him
against them.” Zabini snorted. “I’ve met
footballs with more common sense than
Hydrus Malfoy-” Harry snorted, and Ron
tried to remember where he’d heard the
word football before. “-but he’s nasty
enough to make up for it, and where he
leads, the rest of us follow...”

“Isn’t football a muggle thing?” Ron asked.

- 627 -
Dean had a poster in their room; the stu-
pid thing didn’t move, but Dean still liked
it, which puzzled Ron (and Draco, who he’d
caught talking to it on the weekend) to no
end. Zabini looked stricken, but the ex-
pression vanished quickly behind a calm,
blank face.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Weasley,” he said,

pushing past Ron to the door. “I’ll see you
around.”

“Hey,” Harry called after him, and got a

cool glance in return. “Thanks.” Zabini
grunted and disappeared. Harry looked
thoughtful, and then turned to Ron and
shrugged.

“Do you know him?” Ron asked, curious.

He knew they weren’t all gits, but he’d
never seen a helpful Slytherin before...
and of all the people to help, why was it

- 628 -
Harry, a Gryffindor?

“I- It’s complicated,” Harry said, grimac-

ing. “Blaise- he- it’s complicated,” he said
again, shaking his head. He gestured to
the door, and he and Ron left the class-
room, and started back downstairs; Ron
was going to watch Quidditch practice,
and then Harry’d offered him a turn on
the Nimbus. “I don’t know if I can explain
it.” Ron shrugged.

“Do you think it’s a trick? Having him come

to talk to you?” Harry was silent for a mo-
ment, fiddling with the badge on the front
of his Quidditch robes, and then shook his
head.

“It’s not a trick,” Harry said. “He said the

message was from Benson, who was- is- a
friend.”

- 629 -
“So what are you going to do?” Ron asked.
He decided he’d stick close to Harry – when
it was reasonable to do so - just in case any
of the Slytherins tried anything.

“There’s nothing I can do. Morton’s- he’s

dealing with a bit at the moment, and- I
dunno, I guess I’d want to blame someone
too.” Understanding as his words were,
though, Harry looked angry.

“Blame someone?” Ron asked. Harry had

told him what had happened to Morton’s
father, and blame didn’t make sense at
all; it sounded like the man had just been
sick, or that the whole thing had just been
a horrible accident.

“He thinks Padfoot did it, or didn’t try

hard enough to save him, or something,
I think.” Harry said, looking frustrated.
“Padfoot was vague on that; all I know is

- 630 -
he’s being investigated. I s’pose Morton
thinks I’m guilty by association. And Hy-
drus... he’s not stupid, but Blaise is right
that he doesn’t have much common sense.”

“Our Malfoy’s all right,” Ron said, and

meant it. He wouldn’t go as far as to call
them friends yet, but he liked him more
than he thought he would have, and was
warming to him. Harry grinned.

As they walked, Ron wondered if there

would ever be a normal day at Hogwarts,
where an owl wasn’t dying, or their teach-
er wasn’t transforming, or where Slyther-
ins weren’t dragging Gryffindors off for
talks in abandoned classrooms. He hoped
not; it kept things interesting.

- 631 -
Chapter 16:
Midnight madness

“A cork, a blue feather, a Prefect’s badge,

a copy of Transfiguration today-”

“What year?” Severus asked. Draco might

have rolled his eyes at that, but couldn’t
bring himself to; while he was adjust-
ing now – properly – to life in Gryffind-
or, things were still weird. Spending time
with Severus like this, playing odd memo-
ry games, was calming. And, Draco much
preferred it to gutting cockroaches or

- 632 -
whatever Severus usually gave students
for detention; Draco had defended Grang-
er in Potions the day before, and Severus
had given him detention for talking back
to a Slytherin.

When Draco had shown up earlier that af-

ternoon, though, Severus had apologised,
said he thought Draco had made the right
choice, but that Severus couldn’t show
that he thought so at the moment. Draco
understood that; Hydrus and the rest of
the first years were probably still shaken
by Draco’s ‘betrayal’, and if Severus took a
Gryffindor’s side too, well… Draco didn’t
want to think about the mess that would
cause. And so, instead of a horrible de-
tention, Draco and Severus were playing
their old memory games.

“Nineteen-ninety. June edition,” Draco

said.

- 633 -
“Very good. What else?”

“A page from a textbook with the unlock-

ing charm-”

“Which is?”

“Alahamara,” Draco said.

“Alohomora,” Severus corrected, but didn’t

look disappointed. “What else?”

“A key, a toothbrush, a button-”

Harry grabbed Blaise’s uniform sleeve as

they passed in the corridors. Draco and
Ron exchanged a glance, and Hermione let
out a, “Harry!” but he ignored all of them.

- 634 -
“Do you mind?” Blaise asked, wrenching
free. Hydrus, who was walking with him,
paid no attention to Draco, and instead
curled his lip at Harry.

“You’ll have to burn those robes, Zabini,”

he sneered. “The smell of half-blood never
comes off.” If Harry hadn’t been looking
for it, he wouldn’t have seen the twitch of
Blaise’s expression that showed he didn’t
find Hydrus as funny as he pretended to.

“I need to talk to you,” Harry said. Blaise

watched him for a moment, and then start-
ed to nod.

“Whatever you’ve got to say to Zabini can

be said in front of the rest of us, Potter,”
Hydrus said. Blaise closed his eyes for the
briefest moment, and then opened them,
looking irritated.

- 635 -
“I really don’t have time for this,” he
drawled. “See you around, Potter-”

“So you’ll hand out words from Benson,

and in the meantime, you’ll send your
mother after Mr Evans?” Harry asked.
Blaise looked startled for a moment, then
confused, then worried… then nothing.

“I’ll thank you not to talk about my moth-

er,” he said stiffly.

“Fine,” Harry said, “but I still need to talk

to you.” He grabbed Blaise’s arm again.

“If you don’t unhand me, Potter, I will put

you in the Hospital Wing,” Blaise snapped,
yanking free.

“Hex me, then,” Harry said, closing his

other hand around his wand. “Go on.”

- 636 -
“You think I’m an idiot?” Blaise scoffed.
“Hex you, in front of your silly little friends,
in a place where a teacher or Prefect could
see?” He curled his lip. “You’re stupider
than I thought.” His expression hardened,
but his eyes widened imploringly. “Mid-
night tomorrow, in the trophy room,” he
sneered. “I’ll put you back in your place.”

“Looking forward to it,” Harry said.

“Harry, this is a terrible idea,” Hermione

whispered at dinner on Thursday night.
Her hair was even bushier than usual, af-
ter their flying lesson, and she was a bit
pale, but no less resolute.

“He wants to talk, Hermione,” he said,

loading his plate with some sort of creamy
pasta. “I’m sure of it.”

- 637 -
“Are you, though?” she pressed. “Blaise
isn’t- Blaise isn’t Blaise anymore, Harry.
He’s arrogant, and rude, and I don’t think
he cares about us like he used to.” A hurt
expression flickered over her face, and
then vanished behind a frown. “Blaise has
to go up three flight of stairs to get there
tonight. You have to go down four, and
cross the castle! Do you really think you
won’t get caught? That’s what he wants!
You’ll lose so many points for Gryffindor,
and for what? For Blaise?” She shook her
head, looking sad. “I- I don’t think he’s
worth it.”

“Leave it, Hermione,” Harry said. “I’m go-

ing.”

“And then what? What if he actually does

attack you, like he said he would?! What
then, Harry?”

- 638 -
“He won’t,” Harry said, with as much con-
fidence as he could muster.

“But-”

“He won’t,” Harry said again, firmly. Her-

mione pursed her lips and turned to Ron
and Neville, who were talking about that
afternoon’s lesson with Hooch. Harry
sighed and picked at his dinner, hoping
that Hermione was wrong.

“Don’t go tonight,” Malfoy said, sitting

down beside Blaise at dinner.

“Why not?” Blaise asked, glancing at Pot-

ter, who was talking to the other Malfoy,
and the Weasley twins. “Potter needs to
be-”

- 639 -
“Put in his place,” Malfoy finished, eyes
gleaming. “Exactly. Someone left Filch
a note saying students were planning to
duel and cause a mess in the trophy room
tonight, at midnight… He and that cat
of his will be waiting for Potter.” Blaise
stared at him. Malfoy laughed, and ac-
cepted a goblet of pumpkin juice from Par-
kinson, who was watching him adoringly.
“If he even shows up,” Malfoy continued.
“I’ll bet stupid Potter isn’t half as brave as
he’d like to pretend.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Blaise said, shrug-

ging. “I’ll tell you if he shows up or not.”

“You?” Malfoy asked, frowning. “You’re

not going.”

“Actually, I am,” Blaise said.

- 640 -
“What are you, some stupid Gryffindor?”
Malfoy looked angry now. Parkinson just
looked confused. “You’ll lose us house
points!”

“I’m a Slytherin,” Blaise said coolly. “I’m

ambitious enough to not give up an oppor-
tunity to get one up over Potter, even if it is
a bit risky. I’ll hex him into a puddle, and
leave that for Filch to find.” He grinned
and Greengrass, Parkinson, Shafiq and
Malfoy laughed appreciatively.

Blaise sat on his hands so he wouldn’t

strangle his Housemates.

“Black.”

“Sir,” Sirius said, flipping his Sidekick

open.

- 641 -
“Have you got a moment to talk?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sirius said, propping himself

upright. He was two days into his forced
holiday, and was yet to accomplish any-
thing other than a long chat with Harry,
and a few glasses of firewhiskey with Dora
and Marlene on Wednesday night. He’d
finished his book, and looked over Mor-
ton’s case files, but found nothing new.
“Everything all right?”

“Are you bored yet?” Scrimgeour asked.

“Dying of it, sir,” Sirius said, only half-jok-

ing. “I made myself breakfast this morn-
ing because the only one that gets more
annoyed about having time off than I do,
is my house elf.” Scrimgeour made an odd
grunting noise that might have been a
laugh.

- 642 -
“I’ve got a job for you.”

“Really?” Sirius asked, curious. “What-”

“Nothing major,” Scrimgeour said, “so

don’t get too excited. A man – Saul Croak-
er – from the D.o.M. came in this morning,
to report a possible missing persons case.
Friend of his. Academic, and a bit eccen-
tric. It’s not unusual for him to go off for
months at a time, but Croaker hasn’t heard
from him since the end of May, and he’s
starting to worry that something might be
wrong.”

“All right,” Sirius said.

“I’d like you to look into it,” Scrimgeour

said. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“So it’s not important enough for active

- 643 -
Aurors to look into yet, but I don’t have
anything better to do, so…”

“Got it in one,” Scrimgeour said, blunt

as ever. “I’ve got the report here, but you
might as well go and talk to Croaker your-
self, ask him a few questions and all that.”

“All right.”

“Keep me posted,” Scrimgeour added, and

then was gone. Sirius spent a moment
staring at his Sidekick, then rolled off his
armchair and headed upstairs to change
out of his pyjamas.

“Thank you. Hello, Unspeakable Croaker,”

Sirius said, nodding at the young witch
who’d helped him through the labyrinth
that was the Department of Mysteries.

- 644 -
She smiled at him and left through one of
the three doors on the left wall.

“Auror Black,” Croaker said, holding out a

hand. He was younger than Sirius had ex-
pected, but was hunched over like an old
man. His eyes – bright blue, and very alert
- were on a group of wizards and witches
that were excavating a room. “Thank you
for visiting.”

“You’re welcome,” Sirius said, looking

away from the excavation. “I hear you’ve
got a bit of a problem-”

“Potentially,” Croaker said, not look-

ing overly worried. “I’m sure you’ve been
briefed on the situation-”

“I was told a few things, but I’d rather

hear them from you,” Sirius said. He con-
jured a quill and a piece of parchment and

- 645 -
glanced at Croaker.

“I went into the Ministry this morning

to file a missing persons report. I haven’t
heard from my friend Quirinus Quirrell
since the end of May, and I’m starting to
think that something might have gone
wrong on one of his expeditions.”

“Quirrell?” Sirius asked. “The old Muggle

Studies teacher?”

“The very same,” Croaker said, peering at

him with those large, bright eyes. “He’s
been travelling for the last two years, so
it’s not unusual if I don’t hear from him,
but- well, the last time I heard from him,
he was different… feverish. I’ve always
admired his thirst for new knowledge,
but- well, I admit it worried me.”

“Do you have a copy of the letter?”

- 646 -
“Letter? No, it was by Floo. He spoke to
me about power, and about- well- necro-
mancy. Or rather a branch of it; restoring
someone injured beyond what can be fixed
by ordinary methods of magical repair to
a functional state.”

“That’s Dark Arts-”

“I work in the Department of Myster-

ies, Auror Black, so understand that I do
not share the rest of wizardkind’s limit-
ed views,” Croaker said gently, but firm-
ly. “Magic is about intent as much as it
is about results, and there is a difference
between wanting to understand a concept,
and wanting to apply it. Besides, how can
one defend against your so-called ‘Dark
Arts’, if they do not understand them?”
Sirius smiled ruefully. “I fear, though,
that Quirinus was not asking for purely

- 647 -
academic reasons.”

“Asking?” Sirius said. “He wanted infor-

mation?”

“When the Veil was discovered in March,”

Croaker said, “I was reassigned to the
Chamber of Death. I used to work in the
Hall of Prophecy.”

“Chamber of Death?”

“The room before you,” Croaker said, wav-

ing a hand at the excavation. “I’ll show you
another time, perhaps. The point is, that I
am quite knowledgeable on such matters-”

“But you didn’t tell him anything, right?”

“Of course I did; it’s rare that I get a chance

to discuss such things with an interested
audience, and even rarer that that audi-

- 648 -
ence understands the subject matter.”
Sirius groaned. “Initially, I didn’t worry
about it, but now, with things so quiet on
his end, my fear is that my knowledge may
have been placed in the wrong hands, and
that Quirinus may have done something
foolish with it, and hurt himself or some-
one else.” He wrung his hands, and then
brightened. “Of course, he could simply be
travelling, and out of touch for the time
being. I can’t be sure.”

“What exactly did you tell Quirrell?” Siri-

us asked.

“Necromancy is… well, not impossible,

I’m sure, but no one knows just yet exactly
how to work it. The closest thing we have
is the Inferius, which-”

“Doesn’t really count. I know, I’ve seen

them.”

- 649 -
“Have you really?” Croaker asked, excit-
edly. “How-”

“Another time,” Sirius assured him. “What

else did you say?”

“Well, unicorn blood, obviously,” Croaker

said, blinking. “Terribly difficult to obtain,
but as effective as phoenix tears – which I
also recommended – if you can get it.” Sir-
ius pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Yes,” Croaker said, blinking again. “The

Philosopher’s Stone… or, rather, the Elixir
of Life that it produces. Fascinating piece
of magic, that.”

“Anything else?”

- 650 -
“No, that was it,” Croaker said brightly. “I
just- well, I’m worried. Probably just being
silly, but well, better to be safe, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Sirius murmured. “Do you have an

address for him?”

“I have his old London address. The house

is still his, even if it’s not in use.” Sirius
nodded. Croaker rattled off the address,
and Sirius wrote it down and thanked him
for his help.

“I’ll be in touch,” Sirius said.

“I’d love to hear about those Inferi,” Croak-

er added as Sirius left. Sirius nodded dis-
tractedly, and followed his scent trail out
of the Department.

- 651 -
Harry was lucky; he made it all the way
down to the third floor of the castle with-
out being caught or spotted. Flitwick had
been patrolling parts of the staircase, so
Harry had had to be patient and quiet to
sneak past him, but he’d managed. There
hadn’t been any sign of Filch, though, or
the Prefects, which Harry thought was in-
credibly lucky.

Still, I won’t complain, he thought, creep-

ing toward the trophy room. A light was
on inside.

“They said they’d be here, pretty,” a

voice was saying from inside. Harry rec-
ognised it and shuddered; Filch. “It’s past
midnight. They’ll be here any minute, I
should think.” Harry sucked in a breath
and stepped away from the door, back into
the corridor.

- 652 -
They said? They as in Blaise? he wondered.
Blaise certainly wasn’t anywhere in sight.
And, he couldn’t have been caught, or Filch
wouldn’t be there. Was- Blaise was trying
to get me expelled? Harry backed further
down the hall, eyes on the trophy room in
case Filch came out. He tried, over and
over to think of a better explanation, but
couldn’t. Hermione was right.

Then, there was a bang from ahead of him,

and footsteps from inside the trophy room.
Harry ducked into the nearest alcove, and
held his breath. He saw Filch run out –
swinging lantern, cat, and all - and down
the hallway – thankfully away from Har-
ry – and then another figure appeared
behind Filch and started running toward
Harry’s hiding place. Filch was turning
around, though, about to spot whoever it
was. Harry acted without thinking, and
yanked them into his alcove.

- 653 -
“P-Potter?” Blaise looked at him, startled.
He was panting, and pale underneath his
tanned skin. Harry gestured for him to be
quiet, all ideas of Hermione being right
gone at the sight of the other boy. Blaise
wouldn’t have risked point loss and expul-
sion if he’d known Filch would be around.

“They’re here,” he could hear Filch saying,

as he turned back toward them. “Mrs Nor-
ris, quick, they’re here!”

“We need to move,” Blaise breathed.

“They’re right there,” Harry hissed back,

shaking his head, and gestured for Blaise
to be quiet again. Blaise gave him a frus-
trated look, and pressed himself closer to
the wall.

“You can’t hide,” Filch sang. “We know

- 654 -
you’re out here, and you’ve got nowhere to
go.”

Filch searched every alcove and secret

passage and windowsill and room along
the corridor. It took him almost an hour to
cover the corridor before, next to and after
the trophy room, and all the while, Har-
ry and Blaise had to stand still and hope
he gave up before he reached their hiding
place. There were no chances for them to
run; whenever Filch turned his back, Mrs
Norris was watching the other way, and
vice versa.

“Must be getting close now,” Filch said to

his cat. His cackles drifted closer, and the
light of his lantern spread across the stone
floor toward them.

“We’re dead,” Blaise moaned, and Harry

elbowed him.

- 655 -
Filch stopped in line with them, lantern
aloft, and began to turn to check their al-
cove – Harry’s heart was pounding so fast
that he thought he might have a heart at-
tack, and Blaise looked like he was about
to be sick – when noise erupted in the cor-
ridor on their right. Filch set off – distract-
ed - toward the clanging and shouting, and
a moment later, Mrs Norris streaked past
them too, after her owner. Harry slumped,
so relieved that he thought he might be
going into shock.

“What do you reckon it was?”

Blaise yanked on Harry’s wrist and pulled

him out of hiding. Harry’s legs ached from
standing for so long, but he forced them to
work. “I don’t really care; run, kid.”

- 656 -
“Do you reckon one of us should have gone
with him?” Weasley asked. It was almost
one in the morning, and Potter still wasn’t
back.

“Potter’s a big boy,” Draco said. “Knight to

G4.”

“Bishop to G4,” Weasley said, after a mo-

ment. Draco flinched as his piece was
knocked off the board. Weasley looked
pleased with himself, and then troubled.
“I know Harry can look after himself, but
we’re his friends... Shouldn’t we be with
him?” Draco shrugged. He was new to the
whole having-friends business, and wasn’t
sure how they were supposed to act. “I
just-I dunno, what if something’s gone
wrong?”

“What if something hasn’t?” Draco coun-

tered. Weasley rolled his eyes. “Potter

- 657 -
said he was meeting Zabini to talk, and
that was it. He’ll be back any minute, I’m
sure.” Weasley chewed his lip. “Pawn to
F4.”

“Bishop to C2,” Weasley said, and then

grinned. “Checkmate.” Draco’s pieces
started to shout at him.

“Well, no wonder you’re in Gryffindor!”

his queen shrieked. “You were beaten by a
blood-traitor in a wizard’s game. How em-
barrassing!”

“They’ve lived in the Manor for a few de-

cades,” Draco said apologetically. Weasley
picked her up, looking vaguely disgusted.

“Wash me! Wash me at once! I am made

of the finest marble and will not be han-
dled by filth! Wa-” Draco picked her up
and stuffed her into the velvet lined box

- 658 -
he kept his pieces in.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Weasley just shook

his head and scooped his pieces into a
small, wooden box.

“We should have gone with him,” Weasley

muttered.

“Can you really see Granger volunteering

to go wandering around the castle in the
early hours of the morning?” Draco asked.
Weasley didn’t even bother to respond.
“Or what she’d say if we’d said we wanted
to go too?”

“She’d probably have hit us with a book or

something,” Weasley said, looking oddly
fond. “But she’s not here.”

“No,” Draco agreed slowly. Granger had,

in fact, gone to bed hours ago. She’d told

- 659 -
Potter she’d see him in the morning if he
hadn’t been expelled, said goodnight to
the rest of them and then stomped up the
stairs. Draco could have sworn he heard
her sob, but had no way to check, because
the staircase wouldn’t let him, and be-
cause the other two Gryffindor first year
girls had gone to bed before Granger.

“So?” Weasley pressed. “Should we go?

We’re staying up anyway.” Draco sup-
posed they were. It wasn’t a spoken agree-
ment, but he and Weasley both seemed to
be committed to staying awake until Pot-
ter returned. Merlin knew why, but there
they were.

“We’d never find them,” Draco said, shak-

ing his head. “Chances are they’d think
we were a Prefect or a teacher, and run
the other way.”

- 660 -
“But what if he needs us?” Weasley pressed.
“Zabini’s all right, but Filch is out there,
and Morton and your brother are appar-
ently after him.”

“Pardon?”

“Zabini came to talk to Harry the other

day,” Weasley said. “Said Harry wasn’t
very popular at the moment, because Mr
Black’s an Auror and Morton’s dad’s dead
and that Morton thinks it’s his fault, and
then Malfoy thinks Harry stole you from
him, or something.” Draco wasn’t sur-
prised to hear that, because that was ex-
actly the way Hydrus would see it.

“But- why would Zabini tell Potter that?”

He was decent enough, from what Draco
had seen, but to help a Gryffindor, partic-
ularly Potter…?

- 661 -
“I think they know each other.” Weasley
shrugged. “Harry said it was complicat-
ed.” Draco decided he’d be having a word
with Potter about that at the first possible
opportunity. Zabini and Potter… friends?

Stranger things have happened, said a

small voice in Draco’s head.

“He’s been gone for an hour now.” Weasley

bit his lip and got to his feet.

“You’re going?” Draco asked, not all that

surprised. Weasley nodded.

“Are you coming?”

“If anything’s happened, he’s probably al-

ready in a teacher’s office by now,” Draco
said. Weasley chewed his lip again. “And
like I said before, do you really think we’ll
be able to find him?”

- 662 -
“Won’t know unless we try,” Weasley said
with forced cheer.

“What are you, a Hufflepuff?” Draco

sneered. Weasley stared at his sock-cov-
ered feet. Mentally, though, Draco was run-
ning through the possibilities. If Hydrus
was after Potter – which Draco could very
well believe – then this would be a perfect
opportunity to get him, and Hydrus was
bold – or thick - enough to try something.
They weren’t exactly quiet about announc-
ing the time and place of their ‘duel’. And,
Hydrus has had two days to come up with
something… All he would have had to do
was say something to a teacher or Prefect
and they’d be waiting for Potter when he
got there. Or maybe he got a group togeth-
er, and they hexed Potter before he even
got to Zabini. That didn’t sit well with
Draco at all. And Potter has been gone for

- 663 -
an hour... Damn it, Potter.

“All right,” Draco said. “Let’s go on this

little rescue mission of yours, Weasley.”
Weasley nodded, looking relieved by the
prospect of company. The pair of them
headed for the portrait hole. “But if this
ends in disaster,” Draco added, “like… Mc-
Gonagall finds out and gets so angry that
she explodes and kills us in the process, I
swear to Merlin I’ll haunt your family.”

“… are you doing?! It’s the middle of the

fucking night!”

“Run, run, run, run,” Malfoy chanted,

grabbing at Ron’s arm as the suit of ar-
mour continued to shriek and swear. “This
way, quick, before it wakes up the whole
castle!” Ron ran after him. They’d tried to

- 664 -
take a shortcut to the trophy room, got lost
on the third floor, and then disturbed an
obscene suit of armour. Ron wondered ab-
sently, whether Fred and George had had
anything to do with it, and decided he’d
kill them if he lived to tell the tale. Light
shone around the corner of the corridor.

“Here,” he said, flinging out an arm to stop

Malfoy. He pulled him into a classroom, but
didn’t stop. The pair of them wove around
desks and out through a door on the other
side. They found themselves in a thank-
fully empty teacher’s office – Ron wasn’t
sure whose, but suspected it was proba-
bly for one of the older students’ classes
– and then, luckily, spotted another door.
“Quick!” They came out next to the trophy
room, and crashed, to his horror, into two
others. Ron was the only one that didn’t
fall over.

- 665 -
“Who’s that?” Malfoy demanded, obvious-
ly trying to sound calm, but it was difficult
when he was sprawled on the floor, with
someone’s leg over his chest.

“Malfoy?” a vaguely familiar voice said. A

dark shape sat up, rubbing their head.

“Zabini?” Malfoy asked. Someone else sat

up on Ron’s left and he saw glasses gleam
in the moonlight.

“Harry?”

“Ron?” Harry’s head moved. “Draco? I

thought you were Prefects.”

“Shortest Prefects I’ve ever seen,” Zabini

said.

“What are you two doing here?” Harry

asked, ignoring him.

- 666 -
“Rescuing you,” Malfoy drawled. Zabini
snorted.

“Well done, then, really,” Zabini said sar-

castically, getting off the ground. “Do you
feel safe now, Potter, after your rescuers
have just bowled us over and given us con-
cussions?”

“You don’t have a concussion,” Ron said.

He’d had several – growing up with five
older brothers and a formidable little sis-
ter hadn’t been an easy thing to do – and
knew that their little collision hadn’t been
nearly hard enough.

“Can we talk about this later?” Harry said,

getting to his feet.

“Good thinking,” Zabini said. “Let’s go.”

He started into the room that Ron had just

- 667 -
come from.

“Filch is that way,” Malfoy said.

“Well the Prefects are that way,” Zabi-

ni snapped. “Filch is probably running
around trying to find you, so we should
be able to sneak past him. The Prefects
are sitting on the only staircase down,
talking. There’s no getting past them, or
we wouldn’t have come back this way.”

“What about that way?” Harry asked,

pointing across a walkway.

“Don’t you listen?” Malfoy asked, rolling

his eyes. “That part of the third floor’s for-
bidden.”

“So it’s the last place Filch or the Prefects

would check,” Harry said. “I’m sure it links
up to a staircase or something-”

- 668 -
“Clever,” Ron said, grinning. Harry
grinned back. Malfoy and Zabini did not.

“You’re idiots,” Malfoy hissed. Zabini nod-

ded. All four of them froze.

“-nasty streak that no eleven year old

should have. Merlin knows it’s messing
things up at home; she takes it out on
Viv, and then poor Tori has to step in, and
that’s changed her too… you should see
it, though. Tori’s this tiny little thing, but
she’s terrifying when she gets going-”

Someone else laughed and said, “Clarice-”

“Prefects!” Ron hissed.

“This way,” Harry said, gesturing to the

forbidden area. Ron followed at once, and
Malfoy groaned, but followed too. “Blaise-”

- 669 -
“Dumbledore said painful death was down
there,” Zabini whispered, backing off, as
light from the Prefects’ wands came around
the corner, “so I’ll take my chances with
Filch and the Prefects, thanks. All the best
getting back to your common room, and
not dying, though.” He disappeared into
the teacher’s office that Ron and Malfoy
had come through. Harry watched him go.

“Don’t worry about him,” Malfoy said,

yanking of Harry’s jumper. “Come on.”

“Who’s that?” the female Prefect called.

The three of them hurried around a cor-
ner, out of the line of wandlight. “Did you
hear that, Ed?”

“Hello?” Ed the Prefect said. Harry ges-

tured from Ron and Malfoy to hurry up.

- 670 -
“I can definitely hear footsteps,” the fe-
male Prefect said. The three of them skid-
ded to a stop.

“In that forbidden part? No one’s that stu-

pid-”

“Gryffindors probably think it’s a funny

dare. Remember how Professor Gudgeon
told us they used to play with the Willow?
Come out!” she called, and footsteps came
closer.

“Door,” Malfoy breathed, pointing to their

right. Ron, who was closest, reached for
the handle.

“Locked,” he said, wishing Ginny was with

him; Fred and George had taught her to
open doors with muggle hairpins. Harry
looked panicked. Malfoy, though, stepped
forward.

- 671 -
“Alohomora,” he whispered. The door
clicked, and the three of them hurried in-
side.

“Where’d you learn that?” Harry asked,

apparently impressed, while Ron fumbled
with the door. “It was on a scrap of parch-
ment in a memory test,” Malfoy said, “and
I- well, remembered it so-” He fell silent.

“Wh-” And then Harry went quiet as well,

and backed into Ron. Ron looked up, and
his mouth fell open.

- 672 -
Chapter 17:
The Marauders

Harry didn’t think he’d ever been so wor-

ried for his own safety in his life. Ron made
an odd whimpering noise, and Draco was
unhealthily pale. The giant dog – and not
just any dog, but a dog with three heads
– yawned, showing teeth as long as Har-
ry’s forearm. It sniffed and then growled.
Had it been smaller, Harry might have
approached it, and tried to pat it – after
living with Padfoot for so long, he had a
fair idea on how to pat dogs – but it wasn’t

- 673 -
small, it was huge, so Harry backed off.

Ron yanked open the door with a, “Hur-

ry up!” and ran out of it. Harry followed,
pausing to grab Draco’s arm; he didn’t
seem able to move without help. The Pre-
fects, thankfully, were nowhere to be seen
in the corridor. Harry wasn’t sure where
they could have gone, because they’d been
there moments before, but he wasn’t going
to complain.

Ron closed the door and the three of them

ran back the way they’d come, through the
moonlit halls, past the trophy room, around
the corner and to the staircase. Harry had
to half drag Draco, who was stumbling
along, apparently in shock. They round-
ed another corner, and knocked right into
one of the Prefects Harry and Blaise had
seen sitting on the stairs earlier.

- 674 -
“Got them!” she shouted, and movement
revealed a panicked looking Prefect Ed -
with Moony of all people - at the end of the
hallway. Harry’s entire body flooded with
relief.

“Harry?” Moony said, sounding shocked.

“Ro- Draco, are you all right?” Draco, his
wrist still clamped in Harry’s hand, nod-
ded weakly.

“I’ll handle this,” Moony assured the Pre-

fects, who nodded importantly. “Thank
you for being so vigilant tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” Ed said. Moony was

still staring very hard at Harry, as if he
was trying to read his mind.

“Come with me, you three,” Moony said,

and led them away. Ron stuck very close
to Harry’s side, and Draco had started to

- 675 -
quiver. They walked in complete silence to
Moony’s office, on the floor below. He lit
the lamps with dim, orange fire – Harry
was grateful for that, because bright light
probably would have blinded them after a
night sneaking around in the dark - ush-
ered them in, conjured them chairs, and
then sat down at his desk, looking unusu-
ally stern.

Harry suppressed the urge to wilt. Even-

tually, Moony sighed.

“You all look terrified,” he said, and, with

a click of his fingers, summoned a house
elf. “Four mugs of hot chocolate, please.”
The elf bowed, without even looking at the
boys, and vanished again. “Would any of
you like to explain? Because I’m trying –
really I am – but I really can’t think of any
good reason that explains why you’d be up
and about at half-past one in the morning,

- 676 -
and why you were up there-” Moony jabbed
a finger at the roof of his office, which was
below the forbidden corridor. “-in a place
you have been told specifically not to vis-
it.”

Draco just shook his head. Ron gave Har-

ry a nervous look, apparently wondering
whether or not they were supposed to tell
Moony the truth.

“I was meeting Blaise,” Harry said. “We

needed to talk, about his mum and ev-
erything that’s happening with Padfoot.”
Moony ran a hand over his face.

“I’m not saying that wasn’t a good idea,”

Moony sighed, “but now? In the middle of
the night, Harry? It would have made far
more sense to meet in the morning, before
anyone’s up, or while everyone’s at dinner,
or on the way back from Quidditch train-

- 677 -
ing, don’t you think?”

“Probably,” Harry said in a small voice.

Moony didn’t sound angry, just bewil-
dered. It made Harry feel stupid, and he
rather felt he deserved it.

“And you two? Harry said ‘I’, not ‘we’.”

Moony looked at Ron and Draco.

“He didn’t come back,” Ron said, rather

timidly. “We thought something might
have happened, so-”

“So you went to find him,” Moony finished

for him. Oddly, his expression had soft-
ened during Ron’s declaration. Draco nod-
ded.

“Then there was Filch,” Harry said, “and

the Prefects, and we didn’t want to be
found, and one thing sort of led to another

- 678 -
and well-”

“-you ended up in the Forbidden corridor.

And not just in the corridor; of all the doors
up there, you managed to pick the most
dangerous one.” Harry considered deny-
ing it, but if he did that, Moony would nev-
er tell him what the dog was doing there.
“It’s warded,” Moony added, when none of
them said anything. “And, since my office
is closest, I’m the one that hears the ward
alarm when someone goes inside. That’s
why I was there so quickly after you went
in.”

“Oh,” Harry said. Moony sighed again. The

house elf reappeared, with four steaming
mugs, and passed one to each of them.
Moony thanked the elf, as did the other
three – though their expressions of thanks
were muttered and guilty – and it vanished
again. Harry sipped his hot chocolate and

- 679 -
felt better at once. “Sorry for waking you
up,” he mumbled.

No one said anything. Moony was appar-

ently trying to decide whether or not to
tell the other teachers, or Dumbledore,
and whether or not to punish them, Ron
was just staring at his mug, still pale be-
neath his freckles, and Draco was staring
hard at Moony.

“Why’s it there?” Draco asked, speaking

for the first time. His voice was surpris-
ingly steady.

“I beg your pardon?” Moony asked.

“The dog,” Draco said shrewdly. Moony

hesitated, and then sighed.

“For the N.E.W.T. level Care of Magical

Creatures students,” he said. Harry didn’t

- 680 -
think he believed him, but he didn’t know
why Moony would lie about it. “They can’t
let it run around the forest, with me spend-
ing full moons out there, and there wasn’t
really anywhere else to put it.” Draco
moved slightly, and Moony gave him an
odd look. “Ten points from Gryffindor from
you, Harry. You’re smart, but your actions
tonight didn’t reflect that at all.” Harry did
shrink in his chair this time. “Five points
from each of you,” Moony added, looking
at Ron and Draco, neither of whom said
anything. “And I hope you’ve learned that
when Professor Dumbledore gives a warn-
ing, it’s not without good reason.”

Moony let them finish their hot chocolate,

but Harry’s had turned bitter in his mouth.
He escorted them back to the common
room in silence; he appeared to be deep in
thought, and Harry wasn’t sure what to
say, either to Moony, or to the others.

- 681 -
“Night,” he said.

“I’ll see you all in lessons,” Moony said,

and nodded to the Fat Lady; she clucked
her tongue, but swung open to admit them
when Ron said the password, and Harry
thought he heard her say something to
him about tides turning.

The common room was empty – not that

that was surprising, given the early hour
– and Harry supposed he ought to try to
get some sleep; they had double Potions
with Snape in the morning, and that was
unpleasant even when he wasn’t tired and
grumpy.

“He’s lying,” Draco said.

“Pardon?”

- 682 -
“Professor Lupin,” Draco clarified. “About
that dog.”

“Maybe,” Harry said. He’d thought the

same thing, back in Moony’s office.

“No,” Draco said. “Not maybe; he is.” Har-

ry glanced at Ron, who shrugged, but still
looked rather glum about their lost points.

“What makes you say that?” Harry asked.

“I could tell,” Draco said. “And we’d have

heard rumours about a dog for the seventh
years.”

“Unless they don’t know,” Ron said. Draco

gave him a flat look.

“They don’t know because they’re not sup-

posed to,” he said.

- 683 -
“Did either of you actually look when we
were in there?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “I saw a giant bloody dog

with three heads!” Harry nodded.

“It was standing on a trapdoor,” Draco said,

looking exasperated. “It’s not for N.E.W.T.
students, it’s there to guard something.”

“Guard?” Ron said.

“Why would Moony lie?”

“Why would a Defence Against the Dark

Arts teacher be the one the wards alert-
ed if it was a school project?” Draco coun-
tered. “Why wouldn’t the Care of Magical
Creatures teacher just live next door?”

“Moony specialises in magical creatures,”

Harry said. Draco shook his head.

- 684 -
“They’re either keeping something in, or
something out,” Draco said. “Either way,
Lupin’s going to be the next best thing af-
ter the dog – except for Dumbledore – to
help with that, because he’s the Defence
teacher.”

“Maybe,” Harry said.

“Do you know what I really want to know,

though?” Draco asked them.

“What?” Ron asked.

“Why, in Merlin’s name, a door with that

monster behind it could be opened with a
simple opening charm,” Draco snapped,
looking angry. Something about the out-
burst reminded Harry of Snape, though
he couldn’t say what. “Obviously the as-
sumption was that no one would be stu-

- 685 -
pid enough to go against Dumbledore-” He
gave the pair of them a rather pointed look.
“-but when a quarter of the school is spe-
cifically known for taking stupid risks…”
He trailed off, shaking his head.

The three of them went to bed shortly af-

ter, and managed to get a few hours sleep
before Potions the next day, and all three
of them chose an extra hour in bed over
breakfast.

Blaise, was the first person Harry spot-

ted – mainly because he was sitting right
in the middle of the classroom – and he
looked none the worse for wear after the
night’s adventures. He looked a little tense
when Harry walked in, but that faded to
relief when he spotted the three Gryffind-
or boys, and he called out a greeting.

Surprised, Harry lifted a hand to wave at

- 686 -
him… and then Theodore Nott edged past
them, muttering about blocking the door,
and greeted Blaise as he sat down.

Harry saw Blaise’s mouth twitch into a

smirk, and then something sold collided
with his back with a loud, “Harry!”

“Hermione, ow,” Harry said, struggling;

her textbooks were poking him in the side
through her overstuffed schoolbag.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, letting go.

She looked at Ron and Draco, apparent-
ly to confirm they were real. “When you
weren’t at breakfast, I thought-” She shook
her bushy head. “And you two- I suppose
you did something silly, like go with him?”

“Well, no,” Ron said, his ears turning pink,

“not exactly-”

- 687 -
Hermione narrowed her eyes and opened
her mouth, but a rippled whisper of,
“Snape!” ran through the Gryffindor side
of the room. Harry grabbed Hermione’s
arm and dragged her over to sit next to
him, while Draco and Ron sat down near
Neville.

Hermione sat impatiently through Snape’s

introduction; they were making a potion
that revealed invisible ink (they’d made
that the week before), and turned to Harry
as soon as Snape told them to get started.

Keeping his voice down, Harry filled her

in on the night’s events.

“It still could have been a trap,” Hermione

said, watching Blaise. She didn’t sound
apologetic, just defensive, and Harry knew
that was the best he’d get from her on that
particular matter. “Oh, Harry, I’m sor-

- 688 -
ry. I shouldn’t have gone to bed, I should
have come to help you, with Ron and Mal-
foy. And after I told you I’d see you in the
morning if you hadn’t been expelled, and
then you didn’t show up to breakfast- I felt
awful, I thought something had happened,
and-”

“Hermione,” Harry said. She measured

and added squid’s ink to their potion and
wiped her hands on her robes, looking up-
set.

“And the fact that it was Professor Lupin

that caught you,” she said, looking sym-
pathetic. Harry didn’t think he deserved
sympathy - Moony was right about him
making some unnecessarily silly choices
the night before – but he much preferred
that to Hermione telling him off, or tell-
ing him he deserved it. “That’s got to be
hard, for both of you.” Harry nodded as he

- 689 -
peeled violet petals into little strips and
sprinkled them into the cauldron. “I’m
sure he’s not too angry-”

“He’s not angry,” Harry said, “that’s the

worst part. And I don’t know if I should
apologise, or- I don’t know. And I haven’t
been able to get through to Padfoot and
talk to him about it, yet-”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Hermione said, and

then glanced up at the instructions on the
board. Harry wanted to believe her, just
as he’d wanted to believe Ron when he’d
said the same thing on the way to the les-
son. Neither of them had a close friend – a
godmother, to be technical – for a teacher
though. They didn’t understand just how
tricky it could be at times.

Harry was very quiet for the rest of the day.

Potions didn’t end in complete disaster - he

- 690 -
and Hermione ended up with a function-
al invisible ink revealer, which was bet-
ter than most of the rest of the class - and
they had the afternoon off. He didn’t feel
like flying when Ron asked, though - he
had Quidditch that night anyway - didn’t
go to the library with Hermione, or take
Draco and the twins up on their offer of a
game of Exploding Snap.

“Well you won’t know if he’s upset unless

you talk to him, Harry,” Hermione said
reasonably, when he confessed the reason
for his silence. “He’s hardly going to turn
you away.”

“He might,” Harry said, even though he

knew Moony wouldn’t. “He’s completely
right, too; there was a better way to talk to
Blaise than sneaking around in the mid-
dle of the night.” It even sounded stupid
as he said it. Hermione clearly agreed, but

- 691 -
didn’t say so. Instead, she sighed.

“Blaise didn’t think of anything better ei-

ther,” she said. Somehow, that didn’t make
him feel any better.

“And here I thought you were ever cheer-

ful,” Draco commented, sitting down oppo-
site him (and very obviously at Hermione’s
instruction). Harry had stopped moping
under the pretence of flicking through
his Latin dictionary. If anyone wondered
what he was doing, they didn’t ask. “Lu-
pin’s about as friendly and forgiving as
they come, Potter,” he said. “He thinks you
made a stupid decision, but that’s nothing
new. I mean, it’s you.” He smirked, and
Harry managed a weak smile back. Dra-
co’s affected haughtiness faded, and was
replaced by an earnest look. “Kids do stu-
pid things all the time. I bet Lupin even
did some stupid things, when he was at

- 692 -
school, and I bet he got told off for them
too.”

Not by a man that was practically his un-

cle, Harry thought, but that didn’t stop
him from smiling properly.

“Life goes on,” Draco drawled, seeming

pleased with the smile he’d earned.

Slightly cheered by his conversation with

Draco, Harry was in a decent mood at din-
ner, and a better mood during and after
Quidditch training. Harry hadn’t seen
the other House teams play, but he was
willing to bet that Gryffindor stood a fair
chance of beating them. Wood was a good
Keeper, and a good captain, if a little man-
ic. He kept them in shape, went through
good general drills, and also had a set of
specialised activities for each of them to
practice on their own.

- 693 -
Fred and George were just at good at ap-
pearing and disappearing mysteriously
in the air as they were around the castle,
and were more than a match for the pair
of bludgers. The chasers, Alicia, Angelina
and Katie worked well together, and what
they didn’t have in muscle mass, they more
than made up for in speed and skill.

“And they look good doing it,” Fred com-

mented, as he, Harry and George made
their way back up to the castle. George
whistled and nodded, and Harry just
glanced between them.

“Ah, bless the little firstie,” George said,

ruffling Harry’s hair. “So young and inno-
cent.”

“Those were the days,” Fred agreed.

- 694 -
“Yeah but young and innocent?” Harry
asked. “You two?”

“Well, young,” Fred amended, grinning.

“Innocent’s not really our style-”

“We find it boring,” George said seriously.

“We doubt the Marauders were ever inno-

cent either and they’re the best roles mod-
els a pair of pranksters could ask for.” Dra-
co’s words about Moony doing silly things
at school - which had now been seconded
by the twins - popped back into Harry’s
head, and he felt his mood boost again.

“I dunno,” Harry said. “Padfoot wanted to

be innocent for a long time...”

“Liar,” Fred said, but Harry could see that

both twins were excited by the prospect
of new information about the Marauders.

- 695 -
“Padfoot’s the biggest rule-breaker of the
lot and Prongs isn’t much better.”

“How would you know?” Harry asked, curi-

ous now. It wasn’t the first time the twins
had alluded to actually knowing the Ma-
rauders... Harry just couldn’t for the life of
him work out how.

“We just do,” Fred said, winking at George.

“Did you know Prongs was Head Boy?”

Harry asked. Fred and George burst out
laughing.

“Yeah, right,” Fred said.

“Good one, Harry. We’ll make a prankster

of you yet.”

“I’m not joking,” Harry said.

- 696 -
“Prove it,” Fred said.

“Tell me how you’re talking to them,” Har-

ry said. “Please. And I’ll tell you whatever
you want about any of them. Even Worm-
tail.” The twins knew Wormtail was a
touchy subject with Harry, so they clear-
ly understood the value of the offer. Fred
and George exchanged a long look.

“We’ll have to think about it,” Fred said.

“We’re not saying no,” George assured

him. “Just...”

“Give us a few days,” Fred said. “This is a

huge secret-”

“Hugest secret in Hogwarts,” George said.

“If Filch knew-”

Fred shuddered dramatically and said,

- 697 -
“We’ll talk it over with them, see what
they think.”

Harry forgot all about Fred and George’s

promise over the coming week. He spent
Saturday with his friends in the common
room, playing chess and exploding snap,
and later, on his own, working on his in-
cantation translation.

He managed to meet Blaise on Sunday

afternoon, at the back of the library and
talked to him about the Padfoot-Zabini sit-
uation. Blaise kept a very straight face all
through it, and had nothing to say when
Harry had finished explaining except for,
“Well, what am I supposed to do about it,
Potter?” Harry didn’t know why he kept
expecting things from Blaise; Blaise Zabi-
ni might not have been as bad as Harry’d

- 698 -
first thought, but he was still a very dif-
ferent boy to Blaise Benson. Perhaps Her-
mione was right, and he just wasn’t worth
the effort. That thought left Harry stom-
ach in knots, though, and he knew, deep
down, that he’d probably still keep trying
to get through to Blaise.

Harry spent all of Monday stressing about

Tuesday’s Defence lesson, and whether
Moony would be any different. He spoke
briefly to a very tired Padfoot - who,
thankfully, wasn’t angry at all, or even
disappointed; he just seemed amused that
Moony had taken points - who assured
him Moony wasn’t angry, and he proved
correct; Moony greeted him with his usu-
al friendly smile, showing that the events
of Thursday night were behind them and
nothing significant in the scheme of things,
and he and Harry had dinner together af-
ter Quidditch training and talked to Pad-

- 699 -
foot about his time off (and the job he was
working in the meantime, searching for a
man called Quirrell).

They had a whole heap of homework from

Snape, McGonagall and Flitwick, unfortu-
nately, toward the end of the week; they
seemed to have decided - all at once - that
the first years were well and truly settled
at Hogwarts and that they were fair game
for larger workloads. And, when Harry
wasn’t doing homework, he was at Quid-
ditch training. With September almost
over, the Quidditch season was almost
upon them, and Wood was reminding them
of that fact at every possible opportunity.

The first free moment Harry got that week,

was on Saturday morning. He and Draco
were discussing what might be behind the
trapdoor; Ron wasn’t up yet, and Hermi-
one was doing homework at a nearby ta-

- 700 -
ble, because, while interested by the trap-
door, she maintained that it wasn’t their
business. She was probably right, but it
made for an interesting conversation any-
way.

“Maybe it’s a-” Draco looked at something

over Harry’s shoulder. “Ah,” he said. “Wea-
sley One and Two.”

“Malfoy,” Fred said jovially. He and Fred

- unlike Ron - were morning people. That
was when there the the most mischief to
be made, they’d told Harry a few days ago,
when he’d commented on it. “How are you?”
Harry wasn’t sure what had happened be-
tween the twins and Draco, or when, but
they talked to Draco almost as much as
they did to Ron.

“We’re not here for you this morning, I’m

afraid-” George said, patting him on the

- 701 -
head. Draco scowled.

“We’ve come for Harry,” Fred added, wag-

gling his eyebrows.

“Me?” Harry asked. George gestured for

him to follow.

“You’d better,” Draco said. “Those buffoons

will probably drag you if-”

“Drag him?” Fred said.

“Now there’s an idea!” George exclaimed.

Harry leapt to his feet, and the other three
sniggered. Harry gave Draco a question-
ing look, but he just shrugged and relocat-
ed to where Hermione was sitting.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked. Nei-

ther twin answered; instead, they led him
up the boys’ dormitory staircase, past the

- 702 -
first year dormitory - it sounded like Dean
and Seamus were stirring, and arguing
good naturedly over a pair of socks - and
up to the third year boys’ dormitory. “Am
I allowed?” Harry asked. There were no
rules against it, but even Ron - who had
brothers in the higher years - rarely vis-
ited the other dormitories. Most of the
socialisation was done downstairs, in the
common room.

“The dorm’s half ours,” George said, push-

ing the door open. “And we say so, so in
you come.” Harry stepped into a room that
was almost identical to his own room; there
were four beds instead of six, and Fred
and George’s window overlooked more of
the castle than the grounds, and one of the
other third year boys had posters of pretty
witches in very revealing Quidditch robes
instead of Dean’s football team, but other-
wise, it was the same.

- 703 -
“Close the door,” Fred added. Harry did so.

Fred and George’s beds had been pushed

closer together than the normal arrange-
ment; their four poster hangings were
connected - either by spells, or by muggle
methods, Harry wasn’t sure - and it formed
a big red dome of bed that he couldn’t see
into. George lifted a section of the hanging
and ushered Harry in.

Quite unsure now, he crawled onto the

bed, and then laughed; there was a large
table between the two beds, not visible
from the outside. It was covered in cards,
and sweets, and drawings of strange ob-
jects, and there was also a small cauldron
and a potions kit on it. There was also a
photograph of the Weasley family - from
back when Ron was still shorter than Gin-
ny - a large collection of prank objects,

- 704 -
and, what appeared to be Percy’s Prefect
badge. Harry chuckled.

“Welcome to our office,” George said, in a

tone he’d obviously copied from Percy.

“We make our best plans here,” Fred said

proudly, joining George on the bed oppo-
site Harry. “And this is where we meet
with the Marauders.”

Harry snapped to attention at once, look-

ing around. George grinned and slid a
piece of ragged parchment across the ta-
ble toward him.

“This?” Harry asked, prodding it.

“We took your request to them.”

“And got a very interesting response,”

George said, giving Harry a curious look.

- 705 -
“Prongs demanded we bring you here,”
Fred added, “as soon as we said your
name.”

“And we are but their humble servants,”

George said, making a reverent gesture
toward the parchment.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“So you don’t know?” Fred said, apparent-

ly surprised. He looked at George. “Inter-
esting.”

“Talk to it,” George suggested. Harry

stared at them, trying to work out if they
were joking or not. Both looked unusually
serious.

“Er, hi,” Harry said to the parchment. “I’m

Harry.”

- 706 -
Mr Moony passes on his greetings, and
thinks it is a pleasure to meet Harry.

Mr Prongs would like to know if this is the

same Harry he was told about?

Mr Padfoot would like to second Mr Prongs’

question and add his greetings.

Mr Wormtail would like to third the ques-

tion and add his greetings too.

Harry stared at the words before him,

which had scrawled themselves over
the front of the parchment as soon as he
spoke. He stared at the writing, two sets
of which were very familiar, and two set of
which was recognisable, but only because
he knew whose they were; he’d seen them
scribbled in margins in their old textbooks,
and on the backs of photographs.

- 707 -
“Hi, Prongs,” he whispered, holding the
parchment with shaking hands. “I’m Har-
ry James Potter.”

- 708 -
Chapter 18:
Talks among friends

“I appreciate your apparent need to talk,

Sirius,” Remus said as he and Sirius en-
tered the Leaky Cauldron one night in
early October, “but I don’t know why you
couldn’t have just come to the castle. Har-
ry for one, would be happy to-” Remus’
voice died in his throat when he saw who
was waiting for them.

“Wotcher,” she said, and that was all she

had time to say before Remus had scooped

- 709 -
her into a tight hug. Her hair turned a
bright, pinkish red, and Sirius’ bark-like
laugh sounded out behind them.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Remus said,

loosening his hold, but not letting her go.
He hadn’t seen her since term started, and
they’d corresponded, and talked – when
she was able – through the mirror, but it
wasn’t the same. Here, in person, she was
warm and smelled so familiar, and he’d
almost forgotten how bright her hair was,
and how wide she could smile.

“I’ve missed you too,” she said, grinning

at him. Remus turned, eyes seeking Sir-
ius’, because there was no way he could
say ever express how thankful he was for
bringing her here, but Sirius just grinned
at him in that don’t-worry-about-it sort of
way he had.

- 710 -
The three of them settled in a booth and
placed their orders with the lovely Mad-
am Rosmerta, and Sirius didn’t seem to
mind that neither of them paid him all
that much attention in the beginning. He
just sipped at his butterbeer and fiddled
with his Sidekick, while Remus and Dora
chatted.

Suddenly, though, he burst out laughing.

Remus glanced at him, and Sirius threw an

arm around his shoulders. Remus glanced
at him, puzzled.

“Good joke, Moony,” he said. “I heard a

better one the other day, though; there’s a
dragon and a-”

Someone cleared their throat, and Remus

turned around. Sirius’ scent changed in-
stantly, from defiant, to irritated, and Do-

- 711 -
ra’s hair lost its remaining pink and went
red.

“Hello,” she said. Remus noticed she hadn’t

addressed him or Dora, only Sirius, who’d
plastered a polite - but obviously fake -
smile on. The woman, whoever she was,
looked out of place in Rosmerta’s bar. She
was prettier than the barmaid herself,
and dressed in very fine robes, with ex-
pensive-looking executive clothing under-
neath. She gave Sirius a red-lipped smile
back, and Remus wrinkled his nose as a
strong, determined scent rolled off her.

“Zabini,” he said. Remus’ eyes widened, as

he recognised the name; Zabini was the
woman helping the Umbridge cow investi-
gate Sirius. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I was just thinking the same,” she said ,

leaning over the table, toward him. Dora

- 712 -
made an annoyed noise and pulled her
dinner plate out of the way of Zabini’s dan-
gling necklace.

“Please be careful, Madam,” Sirius

drawled. “You’re about to get your robes
in my friend’s dinner.” Zabini frowned and
straightened. Then, she gave Remus an
expectant look.

“May I?” she asked, gesturing to the part

of the booth between the two men. Remus
glanced at Sirius.

“Madam Zabini,” Sirius said, “I thought I

made it clear the last time we spoke that I
have no interest in pursuing anything ex-
cept a professional relationship with you.”
Remus exchanged a look with Dora, who
looked like she was about to laugh. Zabini
didn’t seem to care.

- 713 -
“And your apparent hesitance to even hold
a conversation with me outside the Minis-
try is very unprofessional, Auror Black,”
she said curtly.

“Actually,” Sirius said, “since you’re inves-

tigating me, Madam Zabini, or at least as-
sisting the people that are, I think it’s best
that our contact is limited. We wouldn’t
want to compromise your interests, would
we?” Zabini opened her mouth and closed
it. Apparently, she had nothing to say to
that, at least not immediately.

“It seems you don’t live up to expectations,”

she said. Remus might have believed she
was disappointed, if it wasn’t for the fact
that her eyes were gleaming. “I’d heard
you liked to toe the line with rules, yet
here you are following them without fail.”
Remus waited for Sirius to chuckle, or at
least protest. Instead, he arched an eye-

- 714 -
brow.

“I’m an Auror,” Sirius said. “If I can’t follow

the rules, how can I expect anyone else to?
Besides, I followed the rules – I filled out
the right paperwork, told the right people,
did everything I could – and I’m still being
investigated. I’d hate to think what would
happen if I did do something wrong. Now,
if you’d excuse us, Zabini, I’d rather like to
eat my dinner before it gets cold.”

Zabini, apparently realising she couldn’t

stick around any longer without making a
fool of herself, smiled and excused herself.
Her scent was no less determined that it
had been when she arrived.

“Charming, isn’t she?” Sirius asked sar-

castically. He watched the door behind
Remus, apparently waiting for her to
leave. “So, how’re things? Are you still

- 715 -
feeling horrendously guilty about telling
Harry off?”

“A bit,” Remus said. “I know I had to, but I

still feels like a betrayal… does that make
sense? I mean, we were hardly model stu-
dents when we were here.”

“How many times did McGonagall tell us

off at school?” Sirius asked.

“Not nearly enough.”

“And you don’t hate her, do you?” Dora’s

dark eyes flicked between them, curious.

“No,” Remus said. “Tough but fair, wasn’t

that what James used to say?”

“Exactly. And if anyone knows what fair

is, it’s James’ son… you were justified in
taking points, and Harry knows that – he

- 716 -
told me so – so don’t worry.” Remus grunt-
ed and stuffed a chunk of bread into his
mouth.

“You sounded like you had more import-

ant things to talk about when you wrote,”
he said, swallowing. Sirius sighed.

“Yeah; Quirrell.”

“So you haven’t found anything?”

“No,” Sirius sighed. “His house hasn’t

been touched in months, and there’s noth-
ing suspicious or helpful around… It’s the
same as with the attack on you, and the
break-in at Gringotts… I’m always one
step behind.”

“You think it was him?” Remus asked,

surprised.

- 717 -
Sirius shook his head and said, “Croaker
said three things; phoenix feathers, uni-
corn blood, and the Philosopher’s stone…
and all of those-” He lowered his voice. “-are
at Hogwarts.” Dora already knew – in fact,
she’d known before Sirius; Remus had told
Sirius after Harry almost got himself eat-
en by Hagrid’s guard dog. If Harry was at
all suspicious, he’d take it to Sirius, who
could hopefully smooth it over. “It makes
sense that Quirrell – or whoever he was
asking the questions on behalf of – would
be trying to get in, or close to it, right?”

“Right,” Dora said.

“But,” Sirius continued, “Quirrell already

had a place at Hogwarts, or a potential
one. You said you knew about the stone as
soon as you got the job, so surely Quirrell
would have known too, since he was al-
ready, technically, a member of the staff.”

- 718 -
Remus nodded slowly. Dora had an inter-
ested look on her face; she, apparently,
was trying to follow Sirius’ reasoning. “I
reckon Quirrell got scared. It was some
dark stuff he was asking about, and he
was always curious, but everyone’s said
he was no Gryffindor. I reckon he ran for
it – or tried to.”

“You think he’s dead?”

“They came after you, didn’t they? Next in

line for the job and all that.” Remus shud-
dered, and Dora’s hand tightened on his.
“You’re a good fighter, Moony, but whoev-
er it was knew to use silver, and I think
the only thing that saved you was the fact
that Dora was there to help you.” Remus
squeezed Dora’s hand, thinking that was a
very fair way to put it. He’d been the first
to wake, but without Dora there, the as-
sailant would have been solely focused on

- 719 -
him and would probably have managed to
kill him. “Quirrell was an eccentric… not
really the type to have someone sharing a
room with him, by all accounts. If some-
one went for him, they’d have got him.”

“And killed him because he knew too

much,” Dora said. Sirius nodded. “But
what if it was the other way around; what
if he wanted the job, but Remus beat him
to it, so he tried to kill Remus and take it
back?”

“Maybe,” Sirius said.

“But Dumbledore told me Quirrell was dis-

tracted and had other priorities,” Remus
said. “Surely if he wanted to get into the
school, he’d have put the job first?”

“What if the stone wasn’t at the school yet,

though?” Dora asked.

- 720 -
“We knew it was coming,” Remus told
her. “All the teachers did. Maybe Quirrell
didn’t, but then we’re assuming that the
stone was his top priority. Unicorn blood
and phoenix tears are at the school too,
and I’d have thought he’d want to keep his
options open.”

“So you agree?” Sirius asked. “He’s dead?”

“Probably,” Dora agreed after a pause.

Remus nodded. Sirius sighed.

“And now I’m back to where I started, try-

ing to work out who broke in with that dead
goblin, who tried to kill you, and, in a case
that may or may not be entirely separate,
trying to work out what the hell happened
to Morton.”

- 721 -
Mr Moony would like to ask if Harry James
Potter is named after a James Charlus
Potter, and if the James in question is his
father.

Mr Prongs would like-

“I am, and he is,” Harry said. The parch-

ment went still for a long moment.

Mr Moony would like to register his as-

tonishment that James Potter ever found
someone willing to reproduce with him.

Mr Prongs would like to tell Mr Moony to

shut up, and ask who the mother is.

“Lily Evans,” Harry said, grinning at the

parchment.

YES! YES, YES, YES! appeared in James’

writing.

- 722 -
Mr Moony thinks that’s a cruel joke, and
that Harry Potter wouldn’t have told it if
he was the one that would have to deal
with James afterward.

Mr Wormtail would like to ask if there was

a love potion involved?

Mr Padfoot would like to everyone to know

that he predicted this years ago.

Mr Moony supposes he agrees with Mr

Padfoot – reluctantly.

Mr Wormtail thinks they must be joking;

Lily Evans doesn’t like James.

Mr Prongs would like to announce that

this is the happiest day of his life, and
wonders how Snivellus is taking the news.

- 723 -
Mr Padfoot hopes that he’s crying some-
where, the greasy git.

Harry frowned.

“Wicked, eh?” George asked.

“Where did you get this?” Harry asked.

“Nicked it,” Fred said. “From Filch, when

we were ickle firsties like yourself.”

“And it just talks?” Harry asks.

Mr Padfoot would like to point out that

doing anything is pretty impressive for a
piece of parchment.

Mr Prongs would like to heartily agree,

and wonders if he’s ever mentioned this
particular piece of parchment before. Har-
ry winced.

- 724 -
“Is this all it does?” Harry repeated, look-
ing at the twins.

“No.” Fred and George exchanged a look.

“It does other things.” Harry stared at his
father’s fading handwriting again. “But
we’ll tell you about that later.”

“ Once you’ve had some time to get used to

talking to them,” Fred added. Harry nod-
ded. “So…?”

“Prongs is my father,” Harry said, “James

Potter. Padfoot is my godfather. Wormtail
is Peter Pettigrew, who went to Azkaban
for selling them to Voldemort-” Both twins
cringed. “-and of course, you already know
Moony.”

They looked like Christmas had come ear-

ly and were not satisfied with such a sim-

- 725 -
ple answer. Moony they already knew, and
they obviously understood there was only
so much Harry knew about Wormtail and
even James, but Padfoot, apparently, was
fair game for a rigorous round of question-
ing.

He answered what he could - which turned

out to be a rather impressive amount -
and then managed to escape when Ron -
who seemed nervous to be upstairs - came
searching for him so that they could go to
breakfast.

Harry continued to visit the twins up-

stairs in the coming weeks, though, and
by association, the parchment. Padfoot
was different than the Padfoot that Harry
knew, and so was Moony. Most different,
though, was James.

He wasn’t better or worse than Harry

- 726 -
had expected, just different. It wasn’t un-
til a few weeks after his fist talk with the
Marauders’ parchment that Harry came
to the realisation that the James in the
parchment hadn’t grown up like Padfoot
and Moony. He wasn’t alive in there, just
an imprint, like a portrait or a memory.
He was forever stuck at the age he’d been
when they made it. Harry sort of wished
he could have known his father - not the
man that would become his father – but
he couldn’t deny teenage-James was fun
too.

They spent a lot of time talking Quid-

ditch, and James was always quick to of-
fer Harry interesting spells and tips about
the school - and about witches, but Harry
wasn’t really interested in that yet. James
also spent a lot of time asking about Lily
and his older self. Harry spent a lot of
time dodging those questions, and instead

- 727 -
asked James about himself, or told James
what was happening in Harry’s Hogwarts.

Harry told told him how he was the first

to transfigure a school tie into a belt (and
back again), about his friends, about how
Quidditch trainings were going, and what
Wood was like as a captain, and about how
Harry was about halfway done with his
incantation. James wasn’t as helpful with
Latin as Harry had hoped; while James
had been an Animagus at the time he made
the parchment, he’d been more interested
in preserving his personality than his spe-
cific knowledge. That was Padfoot’s - the
older, real Padfoot’s - theory, anyway.

Things happened that Harry didn’t tell

James, as well. Padfoot went back to work,
when Umbridge couldn’t find any evidence
to use against him. She was still looking,
but Padfoot was no longer required to stay

- 728 -
away from the office. Blaise approached
Harry a few days after that, and told Harry
that Padfoot needed to be careful around
his mother; she was a dangerous woman,
and used to getting her way. That hadn’t
made sense to Harry, but he’d passed the
message along, and Padfoot had obviously
understood it, and appreciated the warn-
ing.

Draco had cemented himself in their lit-

tle group, as well. By the end of October,
Hydrus had given up on the angry stares,
and was instead ignoring him altogether,
so Draco rarely had contact with the Sly-
therins, except for in Potions and Defence.
Harry thought that was a bit sad, but also
thought that Draco seemed happier for it.
Ron and Draco got on surprisingly well,
and the pair of them had even ended up
with a joint detention for defending Her-
mione from Pansy Parkinson after a Po-

- 729 -
tions lesson.

Hermione hadn’t seemed to know wheth-

er to be grateful that they’d helped, angry
that they hadn’t let her do it, or irritated
that they’d lost points and got a detention.
She’d ranted at Harry – who didn’t bother
trying to point out that he’d been trying to
talk to Blaise, and not even present – and
then had hugged the pair of them, and
helped them both with homework that
night.

Halloween came quicker than Harry

would have expected, marking a full two
months at Hogwarts already done. Hagrid
– who they’d had tea with the Friday be-
fore – had done a spectacular job with the
decorations, and the food looked even bet-
ter than usual.

- 730 -
“Would you look at all of this?” Ron ex-
claimed in delight, pouring himself a glass
of pumpkin juice.

Hermione glanced at Harry, rolled her

eyes in a fond sort of way, and pulled a
baked potato toward her. Harry followed
suit, but his potato was promptly stolen
by Draco. Harry shot him a look.

“What?” Draco asked.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “I wanted to eat

that.”

Draco shrugged, reaching for the butter

and said, “Get another one-Oops. Sorry,
Granger.”

Hermione huffed and mopped pumpkin

juice off her robes. She stole Harry’s nap-

- 731 -
kin too but her robes were still soaked.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she said.

“Just do a drying charm,” Ron said.

“And dry the juice?” Hermione asked skep-

tically. “I’ll rinse it, first.”

“Can you pass me the plate of drumsticks?”

Harry asked Ron as she left. Draco snagged
one as they went past, and then started up
a conversation about the upcoming Quid-
ditch game. Harry wished he hadn’t; he
got nervous every time it was mentioned.

The conversation didn’t last long, however,

because the Great Hall doors burst open.
Filch ran in with Mrs Norris just behind
him, with her tail puffy and eyes dark.

“Troll!” Filch bellowed. “There’s a troll in

- 732 -
the dungeons, Professors!”

Lavender Brown shrieked so loudly Har-

ry’s ears rang. She wasn’t the only one;
students everywhere were screaming and
looking to their Prefects and teachers in
panic. Professor McGonagall stood and
tried to shout over the top of everyone but
in the end, Dumbledore had to release a
series of bright purple firecrackers from
the end of his wand.

“Prefects,” he said in a loud, clear voice,

“lead your Houses back to the dormitories
immediately!”

“But the Slytherin dormitories are in the

dungeons!” Draco hissed, craning his neck
to look for his brother.

“They’ll be fine,” Harry said. “Look, Ha-

grid, Sprout and Flitwick are going down

- 733 -
with them.”

“Follow me!” Percy shouted. “Stick togeth-

er, first years! No need to fear the troll if
you follow my orders! Stay close behind
me, now. Make way! First years coming
through! Excuse me, I’m a Prefect!” Jessi-
ca Roberts, the sixth year Prefect, ushered
Ron out of the way as she led a gaggle of
second year Gryffindors past.

“How could a troll get in?” Harry asked.

“Don’t ask me,” said Ron. “Trolls are sup-

posed to be really stupid. Maybe Peeves
let it in as a Halloween joke.”

“Someone has to have helped it,” Draco

said, eyeing passing students as if they
might have done it.

I doubt it was for a joke, though, Harry

- 734 -
thought darkly. Someone could be hurt-
Harry latched onto Ron’s arm.

“Ow. What?”

“I’ve just thought- Hermione.” Draco’s

eyes widened.

“She doesn’t know,” he said, looking hor-

rified.

Ron glanced at the back of Percy’s head

and nodded. The three of them joined the
Hufflepuffs who were headed down toward
the kitchens and when no one was looking,
slipped down a side corridor.

“It’s this way,” Draco whispered, turning

a corner. Harry looked at Ron.

“I thought it was this way,” Ron said,

shrugging.

- 735 -
“Me too.” He frowned, wrinkling his nose.
“Can you smell that?” It was foul, what-
ever it was, like a mix between old socks
and a blocked toilet. Padfoot had always
said trolls had poor hygiene. “This way?”
Harry said.

“Yes, let’s go toward the horrible smell,

Potter, what a brilliant idea,” Draco said
sarcastically, but he and Ron both followed
as Harry crept up the corridor. Then they
heard it. Loud, thudding footsteps and a
low grunting sound.

“Hide!” Harry hissed as a huge, horny leg

appeared at the end of the corridor. Draco
ducked behind a suit of armour, Ron un-
der a bench and Harry into a little alcove.

The thing had moved into a patch of

moonlight and was now clearly visible. It

- 736 -
was huge - a good twelve feet tall - with
lumpy, grey skin. It had a round body and
perched on top of broad shoulders was a
small bald head with huge ears. The troll
grunted again as it stomped past Draco’s
hiding place and the large wooden club
it was carrying knocked the bench Ron
was under; its arms were so long the club
dragged along the ground.

It trudged up to a doorway and stood there

for a good thirty seconds as if trying to
make up its mind. Finally it lunged for-
ward and slouched into the room.

“The key’s in the lock,” Harry called to the

other two in a very, very soft voice. “We
could lock it in.”

Ron nodded. He rolled out of hiding, got to

his feet and snatched the key at the same
time as Draco slammed the door.

- 737 -
“Thank Merlin!” Harry said, his legs weak
with relief. Now if we can just find Hermi-
one... There was a loud, horrified scream
from inside the room they’d just locked.

“Oh, no,” Ron moaned.

“It’s the girl’s bathroom!” Harry gasped.

“Open the door!’ Draco said. “Open the

door!” He took the key from Ron’s shak-
ing hands, stuffed it back into the key hole
and yanked the door open.

Hermione was standing - though only just

- against the wall at the far end of the
room. She looked ready to faint. The troll
was advancing on her, smashing sinks off
the wall as it went. Glass and water was
flying everywhere.

- 738 -
“Confuse it!” Harry shouted desperately
to Ron. Draco had crawled under the clos-
est cubicle and was making his way to the
other end of the room. Harry grabbed a
tap and tossed it as hard as he could at
the wall.

A tile shattered and the tap hit the floor

with a loud clang. The troll stopped with
a snuffling noise, looking around for the
source of the noise. “Oi!” Ron shouted as a
hose bounced off its shoulder. “Pea-brain!”

The troll roared and took a step toward

Ron who paled but held his ground. Draco
had reached Hermione and was trying to
get her to move but she didn’t seem able
to. “Help,” he called to Harry, eyes wide.
The troll turned back to them.

“Over here!” Ron shouted, distracting the

troll long enough for Harry to run around

- 739 -
it.

“Come on, Hermione!” Harry said, trying

to pull her to her feet. Her eyes focused on
him and she managed to close her mouth.
Draco pulled her into a cubicle as the troll
roared. Harry dove out of the way of the
club and Hermione and Draco whimpered
as the door of their cubicle shattered. Har-
ry could see them crawling but the troll
was ready to strike again-

“Oi!” Ron shouted.

The troll bellowed and stumbled toward

him. Ron had nowhere to go. Draco and
Hermione had reached the door. “Run!”
Harry told them as Ron backed into a far
wall.

“Ventus!” Harry shouted. The spell hit the

troll’s thick hide and it stepped back, but

- 740 -
didn’t seem bothered. Ron scrambled out
of the corner and tossed another pipe at
the troll. The troll came at Harry now. He
dodged the club once, slipped in a puddle
and fell, sprawled at the troll’s feet.

- 741 -
Chapter 19:
Fight and flight

Harry gasped, winded, but forced himself

to roll over. The troll nudged him with its
foot – surprisingly gently – and then roared
and lifted its club. Harry tried to get to his
feet, but his trainer was tangled in his wet
robes, and the floor was slippery.

“Do something!” he heard Ron shout. Har-

ry rolled into the single cubicle that was
still standing, and braced himself; he knew
the wooden walls were about to be demol-

- 742 -
ished, that the toilet would shatter, and
just hoped the club didn’t hit. Hermione
screamed something, and then everything
went silent. Harry looked up.

The troll was still towering over him, club

raised, and had that same angry look on
its face… but it wasn’t moving. Its tiny
eyes blinked, and then it rocked forward,
falling toward him. Hermione screamed
again. Then Ron was there, grabbing Har-
ry’s arm and dragging him under the wall
of the cubicle, and out of the way. The troll
landed with a crash, destroying the major-
ity of what was left of the bathroom.

Harry stared at it, dazed, and Ron sank to

the floor next to him, panting.

“You okay?” Ron asked. Harry nodded and

looked over to the bathroom door, where
Hermione was standing, looking surprised,

- 743 -
her wand in her hand. She had a collection
of small cuts on her cheek and bits of wood
and porcelain in her hair. Draco, who was
next to her, had a long, thin scrape on his
forehead. The key from the door still dan-
gled in his hand.

“Is it dead?” Draco asked Hermione.

“It’s just frozen. Or- it was a full body bind,”

she replied nervously, staring between her
wand and the troll. Harry was impressed
she’d thought of it; he hadn’t, but he sup-
posed he’d been on the right track with
Ventus, another spell that didn’t target a
specific area and so couldn’t be reflected
off the troll’s skin. Hermione’s spell – like
usual – had just been better, and he’d nev-
er been more grateful for that. “Just no-
body say the counter charm and it should
hold.”

- 744 -
“What’s the countercharm?” Ron asked.

“If you don’t know it, we’re not telling you,”

Draco said. “Then there’s one less person
that can undo it.” Ron looked offended for a
moment, and then shrugged and laughed.
Harry’s ears pricked as he heard two sets
of hurried footsteps charging down the
corridor outside. Moments later, Profes-
sors McGonagall and Snape appeared in
the doorway. Harry and Ron pushed them-
selves into a standing position.

“Oh my,” McGonagall said, pressing her

hand – which was clasped tightly around
her wand – to her heart. Snape didn’t
seem to have eyes for any of them, except
for Draco, who was fidgeting. McGonagall,
apparently already over her shock, was
now looking angrier that Harry had ever
seen. She flicked her wand at one of the
spraying jets of water, which transfigured

- 745 -
itself into a chain and secured the troll to
the stone wall. Then she rounded on them.
“What on earth happened here?! Why ar-
en’t the four of you in your dormitory?!”

“I spilled juice on Granger, and then Pot-

ter said to lock the door, and Weasley ac-
tually locked the door, and-”

“You-you spilled juice on Miss Granger so

you could lock her in with a troll?” McGo-
nagall asked faintly.

“No!” Draco said. “It was a huge misun-

derstanding, Professor, really!” He gave
Snape a beseeching look, and Snape, sur-
prisingly, inclined his head.

“Draco spilled juice on Hermione,” Harry

said.

“It was an accident. I just came to clean

- 746 -
up,” Hermione said, looking like she might
cry.

“She wasn’t there when Filch came in,”

Ron added. “And we didn’t want her wan-
dering around with a troll on the loose.”

“Why then, did you not tell a teacher or a

Prefect?” Snape asked, his face impassive
as his eyes swept over the four of them.

“There wasn’t time!” Harry said, before

any of the others could respond. “By the
time we got here, the troll was already
inside the bathroom.” That wasn’t com-
pletely true but it wasn’t a lie either; the
troll would have gone into the bathroom
whether they were there or not.

“And so you locked it in?” Snape asked.

“We didn’t know,” Harry muttered, his

- 747 -
face burning. Ron’s ears were still red, and
Draco was wilting at the sight of Snape’s
arched eyebrow.

“There wasn’t time to go for help, or we

would have,” Draco mumbled. Professor
McGonagall raised an eyebrow as if she
doubted that, and that brought back most
of Draco’s composure. “What, you think
we wanted to fight that thing?” he asked
her, almost crossly. “Potter and Weasley
might be stupidly brave Gryffindors, but
Granger and I are a bit more sensible,
thank you.”

“Thanks,” Ron muttered. Oddly, it was

Snape’s mouth that twitched at this com-
ment, not McGonagall’s.

“If Harry, Ron and Draco hadn’t have come

looking for me, I’d probably be dead,” Her-
mione said quietly. Snape and McGona-

- 748 -
gall stared at her, and then at Harry, Dra-
co and Ron. They were silent for almost a
minute.

“You’re bleeding, Potter,” McGonagall said

finally, her voice sounding rather thick, as
Snape moved over to look at Draco’s head
and Hermione’s cheek. Confused, Harry
followed her gaze and saw that he had a
small but deep cut just below his wrist,
and another three on his palm. She held
out her hand, and Harry extended his own.

She tapped his arm with her wand and

the skin healed; not, perhaps, as neatly as
Padfoot might have done it - the one on
his forearm had scarred – but well enough
to save him a trip to the Hospital Wing.
When he looked over, Draco and Hermi-
one looked good as new.

“Go back to your dormitories,” McGonagall

- 749 -
said. “I’m not going to punish you for a sit-
uation where you – apparently – had no
choice but to act, but you certainly won’t
be receiving house points for your reck-
lessness, either. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Snape watched them all with dark eyes.
She flicked her hand again, dismissing
them, and Harry didn’t need telling twice.

“Did you find it?”

Minerva turned away from the gargoyle

that guarded the entrance to Albus’ of-
fice and spied Remus striding toward her.
His mouth was set in a grim line, and he
smelled worried.

“Oh, we found it,” she said, and could al-

most feel grey hairs sprouting from the
stress of what had happened not ten min-

- 750 -
utes earlier. Had she been a cat, her tail
would have been flicking uncontrollably.
“Unfortunately, we were not the first.”

“Prefects?” Remus asked, aghast. “Are

they all right? Is anyone-”

“Not Prefects,” she said. “And yes, every-

one’s all right-” Except for Minerva, who
was still waiting for her heart to give out.
“-but- first years, Remus! They were first
years!”

“First years?” Remus asked, looking horri-

fied. “But- who-?” His mouth fell open and
he paled. “It wasn’t- Professor, please tell
me it wasn’t-”

“Who else?” she asked, with a humourless

laugh. Remus looked – and smelled – ready
to run all the way to Gryffindor tower to
check on Potter and the others. “He’s all

- 751 -
right. He seems to have inherited his fa-
ther’s luck-” Remus’ mouth twitched, but
then his expression twisted and she knew
he too was thinking of the night James
Potter’s luck had run out. “-thankfully.”

“Like father like son,” Remus said, look-

ing like he might be going into shock.

“Indeed,” Minerva agreed, “but our cur-

rent Potter’s already given me more grey
hairs in two months than his father did
in two years. At least James was just a
naughty schoolboy. Harry Potter seems to
have a death wish… first the dog, now a
troll… what’s next, a dragon?”

“What was he thinking?” Remus asked,

looking panicked. “Did he say?”

“My understanding is that it was some

sort of rescue mission; apparently Miss

- 752 -
Granger was unaware of the danger and
was alone in the bathroom-” Remus’ eyes
closed briefly. “-but even so, there are al-
ways options! Why not inform a teacher
or a Prefect the moment they remembered
she was gone? Why not send one of the
three of them to get a teacher, while the
other two went to the rescue, if that was
what truly had to happen?”

“Because Harry’s a Potter,” Remus sug-

gested, sighing. “I remember a full moon
where another student was in danger from
a monster, and another Potter ran off to
help without going to a teacher first.”

“I’ll not tolerate you being called a monster

in my hearing, Remus,” Minerva warned.
“Not even by yourself.” Remus smiled wry-
ly.

“What happened to it? The troll?”

- 753 -
“A body bind. It’s almost lucky they were
first years. If they’d known any better
spells, they might have tried to Stun it and
had the spell reflected back onto them.” She
shook her head. “I love my House dearly,
and I’m very proud of the people that have
passed through that common room, but by
Merlin, it’s a wonder some of them make
it to adulthood.”

“Where are they now?” he asked. “Up

there?” He waved at the gargoyle.

“Back in their common room, I should

hope, but with those four, it’s hard to be
certain. They’re probably in your office,
fighting whatever you’ve got lined up for
your seventh years, or back on the third
floor with that beast of Hagrid’s.” Remus’
mouth twitched; Minerva didn’t have a
raging prejudice against dogs, but she har-

- 754 -
boured a small dislike for unfamiliar ones,
and for exceedingly large ones, thanks to
her Animagus form. “Speaking of which,”
she added, arching an eyebrow, “the fact
that you’re here alone means you didn’t
find anyone?”

“No one,” Remus said, shaking his head.

“And I know those wards work, because
they went off when we tested them, and
when Harry and the others broke in…
someone was in there tonight, and the
troll was a diversion, I’m sure of it…”

“They didn’t make it past?”

“The seals were in place,” Remus said, run-

ning a hand through his hair. The seals –
set up by Albus – didn’t act as a lock, but
they would show if or when it had been
breached.

- 755 -
“So who, then? And to get the stone, obvi-
ously, but why? Wealth? Immortality?”

“Sirius might have some ideas,” Remus

said, shrugging. Minerva arched an eye-
brow again. “I’ll run it by Dumbledore first,
obviously… he might not want Aurors
hanging around, even if it is only Sirius
and Hemsley. He’s looking for- I shouldn’t
say… Just- this could be related to some-
thing he’s working on.”

“I told you,” Harry said, exasperated, “I’m

fine.”

McGonagall had been up to the common

room to see them about an hour after the
troll ordeal, to ask whether or not any of
the four of them wanted the school to con-
tact their parents. Ron had paled and said

- 756 -
his mum wasn’t allowed to know, Hermi-
one had shaken her head and said hers
wouldn’t understand, and Draco had giv-
en a flat ‘no’. Harry had hesitated; Padfoot
was only a mirror call away, and Moony
would no doubt know anyway, when the
decision had been made for him; Moo-
ny, had apparently Flooed Padfoot from
Dumbledore’s office and Padfoot had come
through at once.

The three of them were now sitting on the

couch and armchairs in Moony’s quarters
sipping hot drinks – Moony and Harry had
hot chocolate, Padfoot had tea and was
wrinkling his nose in their direction.

“All right,” Moony said, putting his hands

up in a gesture of surrender, on the arm-
chair opposite. Padfoot just squeezed Har-
ry’s shoulders; he had his arm around him
on the couch they were sharing.

- 757 -
“We’re just making sure,” Padfoot assured
him. “You’re lucky, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I could’ve died. McGonagall

said it about five times.”

“No,” Padfoot said, “that it’s us here.” Har-

ry frowned.

“Who else would it be? The Dursleys?”

Technically, they were Harry’s next of
kin, but thanks to the forms Aunt Petunia
had filled out before the trial, Padfoot was
Harry’s official guardian.

“Worse; your mum. She’d have lost it,”

Padfoot said fondly. “At you, the troll, the
school, James, us - pretty much every-
one, really - and then she’d have cried and
hugged you-”

- 758 -
“And not let go,” Remus said.

“-and then probably taken you home for

the weekend and made you stay in bed;
Healer’s orders,” Padfoot said, in what
was obviously supposed to be an imitation
of Lily. “And then, when you were feel-
ing better, she’d have yelled at you some
more.” Harry, who’d only heard his moth-
er’s voice around Dementors, thought he’d
take the yelling if he was able to, but didn’t
dwell on it.

“So you won’t yell?” Harry asked, grinning

at Padfoot.

“Yelling’s for parents,” Padfoot said, wav-

ing a hand. Harry and Moony exchanged
a knowing look. “What’s that for?” Padfoot
asked.

“Nothing,” Moony said airily, having a

- 759 -
drink. Padfoot narrowed his eyes and
looked at Harry, who was fighting to keep
a straight face.

“I’m not a parent.”

“You’re not a father,” Moony said. “There’s-”

“Are you calling me a mother?” Padfoot

asked, looking amused. “Because Harry’s
records clearly state that you, Moony, are
Harry’s godmother, and-”

“I know what the papers say,” Moony said

calmly. “What I was saying is that just
because you’re not a father doesn’t mean
you’re not a parent.”

“It definitely does,” Padfoot said.

“Does not,” Moony said.

- 760 -
“Does too,” Padfoot argued, and then stuck
his tongue out for good measure. “So, is
the match this weekend, kiddo, or next?”

The first match of the season – Gryffindor

vs Slytherin – came around a lot sooner
than Harry had expected, and that was
saying something, because Wood remind-
ed him off the fact so frequently. Lunch
times had become compulsory team meet-
ing times in the week leading up to the
match Harry didn’t mind, because he liked
the team, but he was a little disgruntled
when Wood confiscated his fourth sand-
wich; he needed Harry light and fast on
Saturday, apparently.

“Is he always like this?” Harry asked the

twins, on the way down to the pitch; Wood
was up ahead with Katie, talking excited-

- 761 -
ly about a strategy he’d come up with.

“Oh, yeah,” Fred said.

“Took to throwing things at us before the

final last year.”

“Wanted to make sure our reflexes were

working,” Fred said fondly, rolling his
eyes.

“And he wasn’t even captain,” George said.

“Berkley was.”

“Was he good?”

“Rubbish,” both twins said at once. “Al-

ways forgot to book the pitch, so train-
ings were at weird times. And he spent so
much time captaining in the matches that
he forgot to look for the snitch.”

- 762 -
“Our mutual friends wish you luck, by the
way,” George said.

“Mr Prongs in particular,” Fred said, and

winked. He pushed open the door into the
changerooms and walked right into a Sly-
therin boy who was looking rather dazed.
“Watch it, Higgs,” he said, not nastily.

The boy – Higgs – looked at the three of

them and mumbled something before he
walked into a wall, bounced off, and man-
aged to make it into the Slytherin chang-
eroom.

“Reckon he’s any good?” George asked

Fred.

“Dunno,” Fred said. “I would’ve thought

so, but he looks a bit off, eh?”

“Higgs is their Seeker,” George said. Har-

- 763 -
ry stared at Higgs’ retreating back; he
wasn’t that much taller than Harry, but
his arms were longer, and he didn’t need
glasses. George seemed to sense Harry’s
worry. “He’s a decent sort; second year.
He’ll play fair.”

“And you’ll fly rings around him,” Fred

added, clapping him on the back. Harry
followed them into the Gryffindor change-
room on stiff legs.

The three of them got into their Quidditch

gear while Wood outlined his match plan,
and then, much sooner than Harry would
have liked, they were walking out onto
the pitch, to join Slytherin. Madam Hooch
was waiting for them, broom in one hand,
chest of Quidditch balls in the other. Wood
shook hands with the Slytherin captain,
who looked like he might have been part
troll, and the other players eyed each oth-

- 764 -
er nervously.

Harry looked at Slytherin’s brutish Chas-

ers, and then at their three girls, and
hoped they’d be all right, reckoned Fred
and George could handle the other Beat-
ers, and then looked at Higgs, who gave
Harry a vague smile. Remembering Fred
had said he was a decent sort, Harry
smiled back.

“I want a nice, clean game,” Hooch said,

apparently addressing Flint in particu-
lar, “from all of you. Mount your brooms,
please.” Harry swung his leg over his
Nimbus. Madam Hooch opened the chest,
took the Quaffle out and then rose into the
air. Her shrill whistle blew, she tossed the
Quaffle up, and then flicked her wand at
the chest. The two bludgers and the snitch
burst free and joined the players in the air.
Harry tried to grab the snitch as it passed,

- 765 -
but it was too quick.

“And Gryffindor has the Quaffle; nice take

there by Angelina Johnson! Excellent play-
er, that girl is, and quite attractive too-”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor,” Lee Jordan – a Gryffin-

dor who Harry had met up in the third
year dorms when he was visiting Fred
and George - said, not seeming apologet-
ic at all. Angelina, who flew past Harry
with the Quaffle tucked under her arm,
was laughing. Harry shook his head “And
a nice pass to Alicia Spinnet- Merlin, that
girl can fly; how she was only in reserves
last year is beyond me. Another pass back
to Johnso- Oh, no- good intercept by Flint-
It’s impressive that someone so bulky can
move so quickly, really, and that his broom
can even get off the-”

- 766 -
“Jordan!” McGonagall snapped, as laugh-
ter rang around the stands.

“We’re all thinking it,” Lee said. “Flint’s

still got the Quaffle, he’s going to take a
shot- Oh! Brilliant save by Wood there, ev-
eryone, and he’s passed it to Katie Bell…”

Harry tried to drown Lee out so that he

could focus on finding the snitch. Higgs
was almost directly opposite him on the
pitch, leaning off the side of his broom. It
was either an odd spotting tactic, or he
was about to fall off. Harry wasn’t the only
one who’d noticed it; as the crowd roared
for Gryffindor’s first goal, Flint flew over,
gave Higgs a shove, and then shouted
something at him. Higgs shook his head
and his face set with determination.

“-the kid a break, Flint, it’s his first game,”

- 767 -
Lee was saying. Flint made a rude gesture
in his direction, and Harry spotted the
snitch, just on the other side of his knee.
He urged his broom forward. “And speak-
ing of first games, Potter’s doing well; on
the move, perhaps he’s spotted something-
yes, there it is, Potter’s seen the snitch-”
Harry saw a smear of green – Higgs – start
toward Flint too.

Faster, faster, he thought, and then, out

of nowhere, Flint appeared, blocking him
off. Harry yanked his broom toward the
sky and managed to stop the collision. The
snitch was still there and Harry spiralled
back down toward it, when Flint appeared
yet again. This time, Harry had no way to
avoid him and could only turn his broom
so that they collided shoulder to shoulder
instead of Flint’s huge shoulder colliding
with Harry’s face. When Harry’d stead-
ied himself and looked up, the snitch was

- 768 -
gone. Higgs pulled to jerky stop, looking
disappointed.

“Foul!” screamed Jordan, and the word

was echoed by most of the crowd, except
for the Slytherins, who were cheering.
Madam Hooch flew over to Flint and said
something to him – looking rather angry
– and Gryffindor were awarded a penal-
ty shot, which Spinnet put away with no
difficulty at all. “Good girl. And what a
revolting and blatant piece of cheating by
Flint-”

“Jordan!”

“It was; Flint could have killed Harry-”

“Jordan!”

“All right; the game goes on, despite the

attempted murder of the Gryffindor Seek-

- 769 -
er. Spinnet still has possession, and…”

Gryffindor scored six more goals, and Sly-

therin scored four before Harry spied the
Snitch again, and not far from where he
was. He plummeted, and as he did, won-
dered why he’d been so nervous. Flying
was natural, and he’d had training for
Quidditch. He could do this.

Higgs was nowhere to be seen – probably

behind Harry, too far away to catch up,
now – and Harry was so close, now. He
was flying almost directly at the grassy
turf and was fairly sure that it was only
wind resistance keeping him on his broom-
stick. He could feel air being pushed onto
his hand by the snitch’s furiously beating
wings, and he could almost reach-

WHAM! Higgs knocked the end of Har-

ry’s broom, making him parallel with the

- 770 -
ground, and then went sailing across and
collided with the bottom of the stands. Har-
ry’s mouth fell open, and he turned back
toward the snitch, when something hit
him in the throat. He gagged and yanked
his broom to a stop. He gagged again, and
Lee made some joke about Quidditch not
being for the faint-hearted. Harry put his
hands to his mouth and coughed again,
and felt something cold and round drop
into his gloved hand.

It was the snitch. Startled, Harry stared

at it, and then hastily lifted it up.

“I’ve got the snitch!” he shouted, and

George, who’d been coming to see that he
was all right, turned around and bellowed
the same thing at the rest of the team, and
Hooch.

- 771 -
“Well done, Harry!” Katie said, patting
him on the back as she crossed the chan-
gerooms to the shower block. “Brilliant
catch.”

“Thanks,” he said, grinning, as he tow-

elled his hair dry. Wood, who was emerg-
ing from the showers in a towel, came by
to congratulate him again; he’d already
done so at the end of the match, on the
way to the changeroom, and over the top
of the wall that divided the showers. Har-
ry grinned at him, and then shouldered
his broom and excused himself.

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him,

both beaming, and Hermione threw her
arms around him at once. Harry patted
her on the back as best he could without
dropping his broom.

“Brilliant,” Ron said. Harry still couldn’t

- 772 -
wipe the grin off his face.

“Draco says well done too,” Hermione said.

“He’s gone back to the castle, because he
didn’t want to offend his brother too much.”
Harry nodded, understanding.

“Reckon we’ve got time to get a few things?”

Fred asked George, as the pair of them
ducked out of the changeroom.

“I reckon,” George said, looking thought-

ful. “Party in the common room in an hour,
you lot.”

“Wicked,” Ron said. Hermione pursed her

lips The twins hurried off toward the cas-
tle.

“What do you think they’re getting?” Her-

mione asked.

- 773 -
“No idea,” Harry said honestly. The three
of them started off toward the castle, and
Harry listened with amusement as Ron
ranted about Flint’s foul.

“Didn’t matter in the end, though,” Ron

said proudly. “Can’t wait ‘til I’m allowed
on the team.”

“Did Hagrid come?” Harry asked, as they

passed his cabin.

“He was with us at the start,” Hermione

said. “I don’t think he saw the end, though.”

“We should tell him,” Ron said. “Look, the

chimney’s going; he’s there.” Hermione
knocked on the cabin door, and Hargid’s
hairy, smiling face appeared a moment
later.

“Harry! Ron, Hermione! How’d it go?”

- 774 -
“We won,” Hermione told him. Hagrid
beamed.

“Harry nearly swallowed the snitch,” Ron

added. Hagrid’s eyebrows rose, and he
stepped away from the door.

“Yeh’d best come in, then,” he said. “Yeh

can tell me about it over a hot mug o’ tea.”

Harry filed in after the other two, and

then paused, confused; Hagrid’s table was
already occupied, by Morton of all people.
He had Fang’s head on his knee and a half-
gone cup of tea in front of him, and looked
startled to see them. Fang licked him and
Morton started to pat him again.

“Oh,” Hagrid said, watching the first years

stare at each other. “Have yeh met?”

- 775 -
“Yeah,” Harry said. Ron’s eyes were nar-
rowed at Morton, who still just looked
shocked.

“I’ll find another chair,” Hagrid said,

squeezing around Hermione.

“It’s all right, Hagrid,” Morton said, stand-

ing up, and gently pushing Fang away. “I
should probably go, before I’m missed.”
Harry was surprised to hear him speaking
so politely.

“Oh,” Hagrid said, looking disappointed.

“Will yeh come back soon?”

“Of course.” Morton smiled – again, Har-

ry was surprised to see him to that - and
clasped his cloak around his shoulders.
Then he nodded at the three Gryffindors,
said, “Thank you for the tea,” and left.
Hagrid sighed and cleared away Morton’s

- 776 -
teacup.

“Nice boy,” Hagrid told them as they sat

down.

“Morton?” Harry asked, not sure that ‘nice’

was a word he’d use to describe the other
boy. Hagrid nodded.

“Sad story, too.” Hagrid put a bucket sized

kettle down and lowered his voice. “I as-
sume yeh all heard about his dad?” The
three of them nodded. “O’course you would
have, Harry, what with Sirius working it
an’ all.”

“Did Morton tell you he tried to get him

sacked?” Harry asked, stiffly.

Hagrid nodded and said, “Now, I don’ say

I agree with him, but he was upset, and
I don’ reckon he’d have done that if he’d

- 777 -
stopped ter think about it.” Harry said
nothing. “An’ then his owl… almost as
sad about that as he was about his dad,
I think; he’s a lover of animals. Gets on
great with Fang.”

“Does he come often?” Ron asked.

“The Slytherins give him a hard time, he

says, if he’s not around.” Harry could be-
lieve that, having watched the whole dra-
ma with Draco at the start of term. “An’
I’m not very well liked amongst the Sly-
therins, either,” Hagrid added. “But he
comes when he can.” Harry felt his opin-
ion of Morton rise significantly. “Enough
o’ that, he probably wouldn’t want yeh
all ter know this stuff.” Hagrid waved an
enormous hand, and it blurred through
the air. Harry squinted, and then polished
his glasses with his sleeve. “Tell me about
the match,” Hagrid said, but Harry barely

- 778 -
heard him.

Harry opened his mouth to say he wasn’t

feeling well, but no sound came out. In-
stead, he felt himself moving, and then
something hard hit his head. Fang’s paws
stopped in front of his eyes, and Harry
could hear worried voices, but couldn’t
make sense of them before everything
went black.

- 779 -
Chapter 20:
Harry and Higgs

“Can we stop for a bit?” Brown called,

through chattering teeth. Padfoot pulled
his head up, snorted to get the snow away
from his nose, and trotted back to the oth-
er two, stopping once to shake ice and wa-
ter from his fur. “I can’t feel my fingers,”
Brown said. Hemsley bit off once of his
mittens, pulled out his wand, and cast a
warming charm on Brown.

“Any better?” he asked in a muffled voice.

- 780 -
“Not really,” Brown said, grimacing.
Hemsley sighed and put his mitten back
on; Padfoot didn’t think he was overly
warm either, and that the only difference
between him and Brown was that Hems-
ley didn’t complain as much. Brown gave
Padfoot – who was sitting in the snow,
waiting patiently for his human compan-
ions – a sad look, and adjusted his scarf.
Obviously he was wishing he had warm
fur too, and trudged forward through the
snow.

“Anything, Black?” Hemsley asked.

Padfoot barked softly and started up

the trail again. The most popular theo-
ry (amongst those that knew about the
stone) was that the troll had been let or
sent in as a diversion. Troubling as that
was, the Aurors could not be involved; re-

- 781 -
ports would have to be filed, and a report
about the attempted thievery of the phi-
losopher’s stone from Hogwarts would de-
feat the whole purpose of hiding the stone
there in the first place.

No, investigation about what had hap-

pened inside the castle on Halloween was
best left to Dumbledore and the rest of the
teachers to handle in relative secrecy. Out-
side, though… there were wards around
Hogwarts to discourage dangerous crea-
tures from entering the school grounds
– otherwise anything could wander down
from the mountains and attack students
out by the lake, or going to or from Quid-
ditch – which meant the troll had been
helped in, and by someone on the outside.

Someone would have had to find and en-

courage the troll toward the school and
through the wards, which would take

- 782 -
days. Any teacher or student would have
been missed, and so it had to be someone
else. And that was exactly what Aurors
were for.

It had been snowing on and off since Hal-

loween, so the trail left by the troll – and
any companions that might have been with
it – had been covered. The scent though
– like sweat, toilet water, and the very
worst body odour – remained, and Sirius
was very capable of tracking that, even if
it did make his stomach churn, and that
was even using Padfoot; Sirius’ dog form
was much more tolerant to unpleasant
smells than his human form.

“Glad it’s not me, sticking my nose in that,”

Padfoot heard Brown mutter to Hemsley,
who chuckled quietly. Padfoot huffed at
them, but didn’t lift his nose. It was only
mid-morning, but up in the mountains, it

- 783 -
was dark enough to be the afternoon.

Afternoon on… was it Sunday, or Monday?

Padfoot counted back mentally. It was hard
to keep track of time as a dog, and hard to
keep track of time in the mountains, when
everything was dark, no matter the time
of day. Their mission structure also made
it difficult; they walked for as long as they
could, slept when they felt like it, or need-
ed a break, and then walked some more.

Sunday or Monday? Padfoot wondered

again, and was bothered by the fact that
he wasn’t certain.

“Black?” Hemsley asked, curious, as Pad-

foot reared up into Sirius. The smell of
troll faded a bit – to a level more bearable
to his human nose – and Sirius knew at
once what the other two meant when they
said it was cold. He was dressed in warm

- 784 -
robes, and was more tolerant to cold in hu-
man form – thanks to his Animagus form –
but the chilly wind still scraped across his
cheeks and burned his nose, and seemed
to get between the layers of his robes and
cloak.

This is nothing compared to Azkaban,

though, he thought, and wrapped his cloak
firmly around his shoulders.

“Is something wrong?”

“Is it Sunday,” Sirius asked, “or Monday?”

“Monday,” Hemsley said. Sirius winced.

“Why?”

Quidditch was yesterday, Sirius thought,

feeling guilty. Harry’s probably tried to
get me through the mirror forty times to
tell me what happened. Harry had known,

- 785 -
of course, that Sirius was going on this
trip through the mountains, and that he
wouldn’t make it to the match, but Sirius
had also promised he’d try to stay in touch.

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said. “How’s every-

one feeling?”

“Cold,” Brown said at once, and Hemsley

gave him an exasperated look. “But I’m all
right.” Sirius sighed. “We’ve only been go-
ing an hour.”

“Hemsley?”

“Fine,” Hemsley said shortly. It didn’t

surprise Sirius that Hemsley’s abrupt,
no-nonsense approach to everything ap-
plied even high up in the freezing moun-
tains; he wouldn’t stop until his toes fell
off, or until one of the others stopped.

- 786 -
I’ll talk to Harry when we stop next, Siri-
us thought, shrinking back down into Pad-
foot. Immediately, he was warm again – or
rather, not cold – and his nose was flooded
with troll-smell again.

“Any change?” Remus asked, stepping into

the Hospital Wing. Ron shook his head
carefully – Hermione was asleep on his
shoulder – and then glanced at Harry, who
was still pale and breathing shallowly in
one of the Hospital Wing beds. In the hour
Remus had been gone – talking to Dumb-
ledore and McGonagall, and going down to
the kitchens to arrange breakfast for him-
self and Harry’s friends - Snape had set
up in the brewing room that was adjacent
to the main room, Draco had vanished,
and Madam Pomfrey had retreated to her
office to read a book on odd ailments, but

- 787 -
seemed to be watching Harry more than
the pages.

“Snape gave him another-” Ron’s face

scrunched up. “-besa- those… the goat
rocks.”

“Bezoar,” Draco said, emerging from the

brewing room. “And Madam Pomfrey did
some more spells, but she’s reading again
now. Severus is testing blood in there.”
Ron shuddered. Remus reclaimed the seat
he’d spent the night in – beside Hermi-
one’s chair – and put his chin in his hands.

“So it started at Hagrid’s?” he asked, for

the thousandth time since the afternoon
before. Ron nodded. Draco was listening
keenly as well, though he’d heard the sto-
ry as many times as Remus. “And did he
eat anything, did anyone hex him, or make
him drink anything-”

- 788 -
“No,” Ron said. “He had pumpkin juice with
breakfast, and he sort of nibbled on a piece
of toast, but he said he wasn’t hungry, and
then there was Quidditch, and next thing
he’s on the floor of Hagrid’s hut-”

“He wasn’t making potions, or playing

with ingredients?” Remus couldn’t think
of any reason for that; first year Potions
students weren’t required to do practi-
cal homework, and the Animagus potions
work had been completed long ago.

“No,” Draco said.

“We have to have missed something,”

Remus said, mostly to himself. He’d had
Ron fetch Harry’s mirror as soon as he’d
heard Harry was in the Hospital Wing –
Ron had returned with both the mirror,
and with Draco – and Remus had been us-

- 789 -
ing it to try to reach Sirius all night, but
hadn’t had any luck. Either Sirius hadn’t
taken it with him, or he was Padfoot and
the mirror was tucked away in the magic
of transformation, and out of reach. It was
unfortunate – because Sirius, as Harry’s
guardian, would want to be there, and be-
cause Sirius was good at working through
these sorts of puzzles, because he had such
a unique perspective on things.

“Madam Pomfrey,” Adrian Pucey, from

second year Slytherin said, peering into
the Hospital Wing. He had Terence Higgs’
arm over his shoulders, and seemed to be
supporting him. He spied Remus. “Profes-
sor Lupin,” he said, looking relieved. “Is
Madam Pomfrey about?”

“Here,” Madam Pomfrey said, before

Remus could respond. Then she spied
Higgs. “Terrence, is your head still sore?”

- 790 -
“He’s been confused,” Adrian said, helping
Terrence down onto a bed.

“He has a concussion,” Madam Pomfrey

said. “Flying into the stands will do that
to you… stupid game. He’ll be a bit wobbly
for a few hours, but he’s due for the rest of
the potion at lunch time, and he should be
all right after that.”

“Wobbly, yeah, but walking into things?

He couldn’t remember my name this morn-
ing, and he almost fell down the stairs on
the way back down to the dormitory after
breakfast-”

“Sorry,” Terrence mumbled from the bed.

“And at breakfast, I asked him to pass me

the milk and he gave me a bit of toast,
and he picked up a fork for his porridge

- 791 -
instead of his spoon- I just-” Adrian bit his
lip. “Maybe- I don’t know, he could stay
here for a bit?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Terrence said,

shaking his head.

“See!” Adrian said. “Things like that!” Ter-

rence looked confused and miserable.

“Of course he can stay,” Madam Pomfrey

said. She flicked her wand and her eyes
started flicking back and forward; she was
obviously reading a diagnostic. “Tempera-
ture normal, heart rate normal,” she said.
“But you’re right, he doesn’t seem-” She
paused and shook her head. “I’ll keep him
under observation. You can go back to les-
sons, if you’d like, Mr Pucey.”

“Professor Sprout said I could stay with

him,” Adrian said. Madam Pomfrey

- 792 -
glanced at the three first year Gryffindors,
at Remus, and then back at Adrian and
huffed; she didn’t like visitors very much,
Remus knew, though she’d always seemed
to have a soft spot for the Marauders
when they were visiting Remus. She prob-
ably couldn’t wait for her Hospital Wing
to empty in an hour, when Remus had his
first class of the day, and when Ron, Draco
and Hermione’s History of Magic ended,
and they had a class they’d be missed in
and actually needed to go to.

“You might as well lie down, Mr Higgs,”

she said. “I’ll be back over in a minute.” She
made her way over to Harry’s bed, shooing
Draco out of the way; he seemed to decide
it was best to stay out of her path and re-
treated to the brewing room with Snape.
“What is it with Quidditch players, hon-
estly,” she muttered, casting a few more
diagnostics. Some, Remus recognised, oth-

- 793 -
ers, he didn’t. Harry didn’t stir.

“How long’s he been like that?” Ron asked

suddenly.

“Well,” Madam Pomfrey said, a little

waspishly, “since he’s been like this since
Hagrid arrived with you in tow, I would
think you’d already know the answer to
that.” Her lack of sleep, combined with the
fact that she hadn’t yet pinpointed Har-
ry’s problem seemed to have had a serious
effect on her normally endless patience,
and kindly nature.

“Not you- Harry- sorry,” Ron said, his ears

turning red. “I mean him.” He pointed at
Terrance.

“Since he flew into the stands,” Madam

Pomfrey said. She shook her head at Har-
ry, and hurried back to her office to con-

- 794 -
sult her book.

“But he was flying strangely,” Ron said.

Hermione stirred on his shoulder, let out
a sleepy mumble, then a snore, and then
went still again. Ron gave her a wary look.

“Better than you could do,” Terrence said,

looking insulted.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” Adrian add-

ed. Remus cleared his throat, and both
Slytherins deflated at once; Remus rather
liked the pair of them, and he thought that
they liked him as well; they were among
the few Slytherins that didn’t sneer at him
because of his condition.

“No,” Ron persisted. Remus gave him a

don’t-start-trouble-look, but Ron ignored
it. “Like he was confused. Like he is now.”
Adrian frowned, but it was thoughtful this

- 795 -
time.

“He was a bit funny in the changerooms-”

Adrian was, of course, on the Slytherin
team as well. “-but I thought it was nerves.
First game and all… Merlin, I was terri-
fied, and Terry doesn’t handle stress very
well-”

“Shut up,” Terrence muttered. Adrian did,

and Ron didn’t have anything else to say
either. He was staring very hard at Harry.

“Ron?” Remus asked. Ron shook his head.

“What is it?”

“The snitch,” Ron said slowly.

“I beg your pardon?”

There was a pop and a pair of house elves

appeared with trays of food – Draco peeked

- 796 -
out of the brewing room, smiled tiredly,
and came over. The elves passed the food
over and vanished with a slightly louder
pop that woke Hermione. She yawned and
pushed her hair out of her face, looked em-
barrassed about the small dribble patch
she’d left on Ron’s shoulder - but resolute-
ly did not mention it – and reached for an
apple.

“What about the snitch, Ron?” Remus

pressed, taking a bite of bacon.

“He had it in his mouth,” Ron said. He

hadn’t touched the food yet. “What if the
snitch made him like this? And someone
made it so that Harry had to win, because
he-” Ron pointed at Terrence. “-couldn’t
fly-” Remus passed the tray in his lap to
Hermione, stood, and approached Adrian
and Terrence. Both looked at him, curious.

- 797 -
“May I?” Remus asked, drawing his wand.
Terrence nodded slowly. Remus flicked
his wand, murmuring a quick charm that
would tell him if there were any jinxes or
hexes currently acting on Terrence. The
reading came up blank. Not disheart-
ened, Remus cast a charm sensor. A small
white mark appeared, showing a symbol
– a wand movement, to be precise – and
Remus stared at it for a moment.

It was a Confundus Charm.

“Finite,” was the first thing Remus said,

and Terrence blinked and shook his head.

“What did you do?” he asked, looking sur-

prised.

“Did anyone cast a spell on you before

the match yesterday?” Remus asked. Ter-
rence shook his head slowly. Disappoint-

- 798 -
ed, but not surprised, Remus nodded. “I
think you’ll find that you’re better now…
perhaps just a bit concussed.” He smiled
faintly, but his mind was racing. “We’ll
get Madam Pomfrey to have another look,
in any case.” Remus went to knock on the
matron’s doorframe. She glanced up.

“Terrence was Confunded,” he said.

“Confunded?! But-”

“I’ve cancelled it. And Harry was definite-

ly poisoned. Someone put something on
the snitch, and when he caught it, he-”
Remus cleared his throat. “It wasn’t an
accident. Someone poisoned him.” Remus’
eyes filled with angry tears. “Who poisons
an eleven year old?!”

He heard whispers of ‘poisoned?!’ pass

amongst the three first years. Hermione

- 799 -
cast a frightened look in Harry’s direction.

“The sooner we know what it is, the sooner

we can fix it,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Oth-
erwise we just hope bezoars will do the
trick. You say it was the snitch?” He nod-
ded. “Then find it, and give it to Severus
so he can make an antidote. Poisons aren’t
exactly my area of expertise.” She swept
past him to check over Terrence.

Remus ran for the doors.

“Come in, Severus.”

“You summoned me, Headmaster?” Sever-

us said, walking into Dumbledore’s study.
The Headmaster was not behind his desk,
like usual, but was in the library-loft that
overlooked the office, on a window seat

- 800 -
that looked out into the cold, starry night.
The snitch that has caused them all so
much trouble sat innocently on the desk.
“Lupin brought it back?” he asked.

“I asked him to; I took it from the match,

unaware, of course, of its danger, and quite
luckily put it into a bag without touching
it,” Dumbledore said, but his voice lacked
its usual cheer. “Snitches have flesh mem-
ories, you know.”

“I hope you’ve cleaned it.” Then he frowned.

“Why did you have it in the first place?”

“Perhaps I’m as senile as they say,” Dumb-

ledore said in a cheery tone that didn’t
match his slumped shoulders. “How is
Harry?” He’d been by the Hospital Wing
several times; once last night, once that
morning, and once more after Severus had
administered the antidote an hour ago.

- 801 -
“Has he awakened?”

“Not yet,” Severus said. Dumbledore nod-

ded to acknowledge that, and then, be-
fore he could help himself, Severus added,
“He was lucky. Very lucky. The poison… I
haven’t identified it, but its function was
simple enough to determine based on the
ingredients… it shuts everything down.
Had Potter merely touched it, like he was
obviously supposed to, the poison would
have been slower to activate. He would
have been asleep in his tower, unwatched,
unable to warn anyone or ask for help, and
wouldn’t have woken up.” Dumbledore’s
eyes closed for the briefest moment.

“Lucky indeed,” the older man murmured.

“His stupidity saved him,” Severus said.

“What idiot catches a snitch with his
mouth?” He couldn’t quite muster his

- 802 -
usual venom, though. He still harboured
a strong dislike for James Potter, but his
feelings toward the younger Potter were
not nearly so clear; on the one hand, he
loathed the boy for being tangible proof
that Potter had won the battle for Lily’s
heart, and also for being the thing Lily
had died for… on the other hand, howev-
er, Severus had called a truce with Black
that would almost certainly be broken if
he bullied the man’s godson, and, more
importantly, he was one of Draco’s closest
and only friends.

Had Potter been born to different parents,

Severus might actually have liked him,
but he was the son of James Potter, and
Lily Evans, and so liking or disliking him
wasn’t nearly so simple.

“Were you afraid, Severus?” Dumbledore

asked gently.

- 803 -
“No,” Severus said stiffly, but it was a lie,
and he thought Dumbledore knew it. Like
and dislike aside, Lily had died for the boy,
and Severus was not about to let that be
for nothing, and have the boy die at elev-
en.

“I was,” Dumbledore said, very quietly.

Severus’ head snapped up. “Twice now,
my students have been in danger – first
the troll, and now the poisoning – and I
had no idea at the time, that either was
about to happen. Had I been in my office,
I’d have known about the troll, admit-
tedly-” He waved a hand at the silver in-
struments, and Severus couldn’t help but
wonder if there was a troll detector there,
or just something general that would have
given it away. “-but students still found it
first.”

- 804 -
Don’t remind me, Severus thought; his
godson had been amongst them. He’d en-
couraged the boy to embrace his House and
yearmates, and it seemed Draco had done
so wholeheartedly; he was on the way to
becoming as reckless and stupidly brave
as the rest of the Gryffindors, and that
wouldn’t do for a spy at all. But Severus
would deal with that later.

“As for the poisoning… we have no sus-

pects, had no idea that things were under-
foot, and what kept Harry alive last night
was not competent staff, or an observant
member of the school community, or a slip-
up by the attacker, but – as you pointed
out – the fact that he almost swallowed
the snitch. It was luck, Severus, nothing
more.”

“When Lupin gets through to Black, he’s

going to hand over the list of ingredients

- 805 -
I managed to construct. The Aurors could,
potentially track the ingredients-” Some
were rare enough that it could work. “-to
the poisoner.”

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said, sounding

distracted. A little uncomfortable now,
Severus cleared his throat.

“Headmaster, I think- I don’t know what

you want from me this afternoon. I feel
Minerva is a far better ear for you to pour
your uncertainties into-”

“Ah, but you don’t think of me as infalli-

ble, Severus. I am a man – a fairly excep-
tional one at times, admittedly – but just
as human as you, and the students that
learn here, and the staff-”

“Except Lupin,” Snape said. Dumbledore

gave him a patient, but rather unim-

- 806 -
pressed look. “Sorry,” Severus muttered.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled for the first
time that night.

“Minerva, at times, thinks I can do no

wrong,” Dumbledore sighed. “Sometimes,
that’s the very last thing I need to hear.”

“Was there a purpose to this,” Severus

said, distinctly uncomfortable now, “be-
yond you needing to vent, Headmaster?”
He didn’t think the man was infallible, but
he put a lot of trust in him and it unset-
tled him to have to consider that that was
poorly founded… Severus had long ago de-
cided that when he could trust nothing, he
could trust Dumbledore.

“I was wondering if you’d felt anything,”

Dumbledore asked, turning away from the
window to look at Severus.

- 807 -
“I beg your pardon?”

“Your arm, my boy.” It took Severus a

moment to realise what the Headmaster
meant. When he did, he was not amused
in the slightest.

“You’re joking.”

“An attempt was made on Harry Pot-

ter’s life,” Dumbledore said. “Who would
be your first guess, Severus, honestly?”
Severus said nothing.

“It’s been ten years, Dumbledore. Rumours

would have arisen about dark magic, or
people dying, before Potter was targeted.
He’d want his strength back-”

“There have been rumours,” Dumbledore

said quietly. The statement hung in the air
between them for several long moments.

- 808 -
“Perhaps I misinterpreted them.”

“Rubbish,” Severus said. Dumbledore

wouldn’t have voiced his theory unless he
was certain. Chills raced down Severus’
spine, and he thought for a moment, look-
ing up at the Headmaster. “I- no. Nothing.”
Dumbledore nodded. “I- I’ll pay closer at-
tention to it, and- I’ll keep you informed.”
Severus waited for a few moments, and
when Dumbledore didn’t speak, Severus
left.

He didn’t walk with any direction – he had

too much on his mind for that – and was
a little surprised when he found himself
standing outside the hospital wing. He
sighed and entered. Madam Pomfrey was
tending a group of second years; one Huf-
flepuff and three Gryffindor boys. Sever-
us seated himself in one of the four empty
chairs that surrounded Potter’s bed.

- 809 -
The boy was still unconscious, but had
more colour than he had an hour earlier,
and his breathing was stronger, more reg-
ular.

I was wondering if you’d felt anything,

Dumbledore’s voice asked, trapped, by
Severus’ excellent memory. Severus shook
his head.

Perhaps someone else poisoned the boy,

Severus thought, sighing. Again, Dumb-
ledore’s voice crept into his head. An at-
tempt was made on Harry Potter’s life.
Who would be your first guess, Severus,
honestly?

Severus didn’t consider himself a foolish

man. He’d never believed that the Dark
Lord was truly gone, but he hadn’t expect-
ed the man – if he could even be called

- 810 -
that – to come back, or show signs of be-
ing back, so soon. Severus had expected
– and hoped – that his return would be
years away, when Potter was a grown
man, trained, competent – probably an
Auror like his idiot father and godfather
– not when Potter was a child, and had no
chance at all.

Eyes closed, and hair covering that scar of

his, Potter could have been James Potter
lying there. And Severus, who once would
have given anything he owned to see the
sight that lay before him now, didn’t feel
anything except slightly ill. Footsteps –
fast, purposeful footsteps – echoed in the
corridor outside, and Severus didn’t have
to turn to know it was Black.

“I see you finally made it,” he drawled.

Black ignored him, going straight to the
side of the bed, to kneel beside Potter. He

- 811 -
flicked his wand, apparently casting sev-
eral diagnostics of his own. There was a
grim silence as Black read the results, and
then he reached for a chair and lifted him-
self into it. He was wearing thick robes, a
heavy travelling cloak, and mud and snow
was still caked onto the sides of his boots.
Obviously, he’d left wherever he’d been in
a hurry.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be here,”

Black said quietly, looking at Severus and
once again displaying his infuriating tal-
ent for knowing what a person would least
like to talk about, and directing the con-
versation there anyway.

“I brewed the antidote,” Severus said. “I’d

like to make sure it works.”

“What was it? The poison?”

- 812 -
“Nothing I recognised.”

“But you made an antidote-”

“To counter the ingredients I could iden-

tify. Do you remember anything about
fourth year potions, Black?”

“What are they?”

“The ingredients?” Severus asked. Black

nodded. “Castor beans, aconite, hemlock
and meadow saffron.” Black murmured
them under his breath a few times – per-
haps committing them to memory – and
nodded again.

“He’s only eleven,” he mumbled. Sever-

us, who’d been thinking along those lines
when Black arrived, had nothing to say.
Instead, he stood. “I thought you wanted
to make sure it worked,” Black said.

- 813 -
“If he’s not awake by the time Draco and
the others return from their last class,
send one of them to fetch me,” Severus
said curtly, “I have better ways to spend
my time.”

“Hmm,” Black said. He seemed distract-

ed – and not with worry, Severus didn’t
think.

“What?” he asked flatly.

“I know you’re thinking it too,” Black said,

glancing at Potter.

“I wasn’t aware you were a Legillimens,”

Snape said stiffly, but he had his suspi-
cions about what Black was referring to.

An attempt was made on Harry Potter’s

life. Who would be your first guess, Sever-
us, honestly?

- 814 -
Chapter 21:
Denial and desire

“Not yet,” Sirius said, trying not to think

about it. He strode into the dim light of
Hemsley’s wand. “Remus is there now,
though, and he’ll stay until I can get back.”
Hemsley nodded and turned back to the
wall. They’d found the cave early that af-
ternoon, made sure it was clear (which,
thankfully, it had been) and then Sirius
had tried to get Harry through the mir-
ror, at what would have been the school
lunch time. He’d reached Moony instead,

- 815 -
and gone straight to Hogwarts. “Anything
here?”

“Not really. There are a few spots of mag-

ic here and there, but it’s all pretty old…
nothing we can use, in any case.” Sirius
sighed.

“And you’re sure this is it?” Brown asked,

walking in from an adjacent cave.

“Yep,” Sirius said. “The scent came from

here.”

“That’s a shame,” Brown said, not looking

too put out by it; Sirius expected he was
looking forward to a shower, and some
warm food. Hemsley’s mouth twitched;
obviously he was thinking along the same
lines. Sirius wasn’t too bothered by the
lack of development in the case either;
it meant he could get back to the school

- 816 -
sooner, and it would also give him some
time to think about Harry, or rather, who
would be interested in killing Harry.

Sirius didn’t think it took a genius to

guess who might have a vested interest in
his godson’s death, but he hoped he was
wrong.

When Harry woke, he was entirely dis-

oriented. At first he thought he was still
at Hagrid’s, that Fang was sitting on his
legs, and that he was snoring. Then he re-
alised it was not Hagrid’s – he was on a
bed, not the floor – that it was not Fang,
but a darker, shaggier dog on his legs, and
that the snoring was coming from Moony.
It wasn’t the first time Harry had awoken
to find him slumped, dozing in a chair be-
side his bed, and with his luck, he doubted

- 817 -
it would be the last.

Harry stomach rumbled loudly. He was

hungry. He sat up carefully and reached for
his glasses, which someone had thought to
place on the bedside table. The dark hos-
pital wing came into focus.

But how did I get here? he wondered. Last

thing I remember was feeling sick at Ha-
grid’s… His stomach rumbled again. But
how long ago was that? And when did Pad-
foot get here? He’s supposed to be away.

He cleared his throat. Neither dog or man

stirred.

“Moony,” he whispered, tapping Moony’s

knee with a finger. He also tried to kick –
gently – to rouse Padfoot. Padfoot stretched
and his tail wagged slowly, but he didn’t
wake. Harry prodded Moony again. Moo-

- 818 -
ny blinked and stared at him.

“Harry?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “Is

everything-” He blinked again. “Harry-
Oh, thank Merlin.” He scooped Harry up
into a tight hug. That probably would have
jostled Padfoot awake, but Moony yanked
on his tail to make sure. “Wake up, you
lazy git; Harry’s up!” Padfoot turned to-
ward Harry and transformed in the same
movement.

“About time,” he said, yawning. He grasped

Harry by the shoulders, looked at his face
for a long moment, and then asked, “How
do you feel, kiddo?”

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Poison,” Moony said. “From the Snitch.

Ron worked it out.”

- 819 -
“The- poison? I was- by who? Slytherin?”
Padfoot pushed him back onto the mat-
tress.

“Calm down, kiddo,” he said, but even in

the dark Harry could tell he was worried.
“I- there are some things we need to talk
about.”

“Padfoot,” Moony said in a low voice. Har-

ry’s stomach grumbled again.

“Are you hungry?” Padfoot asked. Harry

nodded, but looked at Moony.

“What’s ‘Padfoot’ about?” he asked. Moony

didn’t look at him, though; he was watch-
ing Padfoot with a sad but stern expres-
sion.

“Sirius, I really don’t think now is the

time,” he said, sounding agitated. “Look

- 820 -
at him, for Merlin’s sake; he’s just woken
up-”

“Keep your voice down, or you’ll wake

Pomfrey,” Padfoot muttered. “Could you
go and get him something to eat?” Moo-
ny’s jaw set. “Please?” For a moment, Har-
ry thought Moony might actually say no.
Eventually, though, after an intense stare-
off – and probably a significant amount
of unspoken debate between the adults –
Moony sighed and looked away.

“Fine,” he said tersely, still not looking at

either of them. “Fine. But I want it known
that I don’t think now is the right time.”

“There’s never going to be a ‘right’ time,”

Padfoot said. He was obviously talking to
Moony, but his eyes were fixed on Harry.
“Never going to be an easy way to say it,
is there? Will he ever really be old enough,

- 821 -
Moony?” Padfoot’s voice cracked, and de-
spite how determined he seemed to be,
Harry still thought he cared for Moony’s
approval.

“Old enough for-” Padfoot held up a hand

to tell Harry to be quiet and he did that so
rarely that Harry shut his mouth.

“Moony?” Padfoot asked quietly.

“I suppose this is it,” Moony said. “Apart

from the obvious.” He glanced out at the
almost full moon in the sky. “You- can
make the hard decisions. You know when
to shelter him, and when to- well. They
trusted you, so I’ll trust you.” Padfoot
looked relieved.

“Thanks,” Padfoot croaked. Harry glanced

between them, utterly bewildered.

- 822 -
“How does soup sound, Harry?” Moony
asked.

“Er, good, I s’pose. What-” But Moony was

gone. “Padfoot?”

“Do you remember our first night at Grim-

mauld Place?” he asked, pulling himself
into a cross-legged position on the end of
the bed. He didn’t look at Harry; he was
picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.
Harry drew the blankets up around his
chin and nodded slowly.

“We stayed up late talking, and slept in

the kitchen. Kreacher found me, in the
morning…” Harry’s voice dwindled away
into the dark hospital wing. That night
seemed like so long ago – almost three
years ago now – back when Harry hadn’t
known anything about his parents, or Pad-
foot and Moony, or magic.

- 823 -
“Do you remember what we talked about?”
Still Padfoot toyed with the thread.

“Mum and Dad, you,” Harry said. “Worm-

tail-”

“And Voldemort, and why he came after

you,” Padfoot said.

“He wanted Mum and Dad,” Harry said

quietly. He knew the story, or rather, he’d
picked up enough from Padfoot and Moo-
ny to know what had happened. “It was
the war.”

“No, kiddo,” Padfoot, meeting Harry’s eyes

properly for the first time since Moony had
left. “Not them.”

Something flopped in Harry’s chest and

memories, his worst memories – and the

- 824 -
only ones he had of his parents – filled his
ears.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go!

Run!”

“Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have

mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please- I’ll
do anything-”

“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”

Harry clapped his hands over his ears, but

he still heard the silence, saw the flash of
green behind his eyes and heard the soft
thump.

“No,” Harry said. Tears prickled in his

eyes. “No.” Padfoot’s expression hadn’t
changed.

“Avada Kedavra,” Voldemort said. Green

- 825 -
light flashed behind Harry’s eyes again.

“No,” Harry said again, looking at Padfoot.

Padfoot was clever and talented, but Har-
ry had never considered him to be able to
fix all of Harry’s problems with a flick of
his wand. Harry had seen him after Azka-
ban, seen him brought low by the Demen-
tor’s Draught, and seen him fail to destroy
the Horcrux over and over. No, Padfoot
wasn’t all powerful… but Harry had nev-
er wished more than now that that could
be the case, and that Padfoot could make
what he was saying now a lie, simply be-
cause Harry wanted him to.

“I’m sorry,” Padfoot said, with so much

sincerity that Harry felt sorry for him.

“No,” Harry said again. “No-”

“Kiddo-”

- 826 -
“They could have lived!” Harry croaked.
“If all he wanted was- he asked Mum to
stand aside, and she- he- all he wanted
was- No.” And with that, Harry crumpled.

For a long time, he was lost in the horror

of the information Padfoot had just given
him, and only vaguely aware of Padfoot
talking to him, hugging him, rubbing his
back…

“Why?” Harry asked into the crease of

Padfoot’s elbow. Even to his own ears, his
voice sounded broken. “Why did- why me?”

“Do you remember I mentioned a proph-

ecy?” Padfoot said, and his voice broke.
Harry nodded without lifting his head.
Padfoot’s palm traced a gentle circle on the
back of Harry’s pyjamas. “That’s why. It-”
He took a deep breath. “Voldemort only

- 827 -
knew the first half; The one with the pow-
er to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...
born to those who have thrice defied him,
born as the seventh month dies... and the
Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but
he will have power the Dark Lord knows
not... and either must die at the hand of
the other for neither can live while the
other survives...”

“It- Padfoot, what does it mean?” Harry

asked, scared. “Vanquish the Dark-”

“It means, Harry,” Padfoot said, “that

Voldemort will – eventually – be proper-
ly defeated by someone born at the end of
July, to parents that had- well, er… upset
old Voldy a few times. Three times, techni-
cally. If the father for example, once appa-
rated away from Voldemort with acciden-
tal magic after refusing to join him, that
would probably count, and if the mother

- 828 -
had, maybe Disarmed him and accidental-
ly won the allegience of his wand in a duel
then that would also, probably, count, and
if they’d have done anything to stop him,
died for the child in the prophecy, maybe,
then that would probably count as a third
time-”

“A boy,” Harry said. “It says mark him,

and he will have power-”

“It does,” Padfoot said, and his voice shook

slightly. “As soon as Dumbledore heard, he
contacted the people that had sons born at
the end of July, and who had defied Volde-
mort.”

“Who?” Harry asked, and his voice shook.

“Your parents,” he said. Harry’s heart

sank. “And Neville’s.”

- 829 -
“Neville?”

“He was born the day before you were,”

Padfoot said quietly. “And he also had
parents in the Order. They were told to
go into hiding, and not to tell anyone, but
James, of course-”

“Told you,” Harry surmised.

“And Moony. Not Wormtail, thank Merlin;

he wasn’t there that night.”

“So- so it was me, or Neville-” Padfoot just

rubbed his back again. “How are we sup-
posed to know, then-”

“And he shall mark him as his equal, Har-

ry,” Padfoot said softly. Something in his
tone made Harry look up, and when he
did, Padfoot touched a hand to his fore-
head. To his scar.

- 830 -
“Me?” Harry asked. “I- I’m supposed to- to
kill-”

“No one’s asking that of you, Harry,” Pad-

foot said at once, and firmly. “There are
only four people alive today that know the
full prophecy; you me, Moony and Dumb-
ledore. No one knows, no one expects that
of-”

“We know, though. And he can’t just come

back, I’ll have to do something- what do I-”

“You’re not doing anything yet,” Padfoot

said again. “You’re eleven. You’re going
to grow up, and go to lessons, and play
Quidditch and talk to your friends.” Harry
watched the determination on his godfa-
ther’s face. “I promise you that.”

“But he’ll come back,” Harry said. “The

- 831 -
Horcrux-”

“He will,” Padfoot said simply. “And we’ll

deal with that when the time comes. If
you want to help, you can help. And if you
want nothing to do with any of it, then
we’ll find a way to make that work too. No
one’s making you do anything, I’ll see to
that.”

“But I’ll have to. He’ll come after me, won’t

he? If I’m the only-” Harry’s voice cracked.
“-he’d want me out of the way, wouldn’t
he? Padfoot?”

“It’s… likely, yes,” Padfoot said slowly.

“That’s why I’m telling you this now.”

“Now? But-” It only took one look at Pad-

foot’s face for Harry to know. “It wasn’t
Slytherin with the snitch,” Harry choked,
“was it?”

- 832 -
“We don’t know,” Padfoot said. “But we
don’t think so.”

“I need-” Harry shoved Padfoot’s arm away

and climbed out of bed. The stone floor was
freezing on his bare feet.

“Harry,” Padfoot said, getting up.

“Don’t,” Harry said. “I just-” He could feel

the tears coming back, so he just shook his
head and backed toward the doors of the
hospital wing. Padfoot got up and moved
toward him. Harry shook his head – trying
to say without words that he just needed
some time alone, to think, that this wasn’t
something that could be made better by
a hug and ruffling his hair – and turned
toward the doors- and right into Moony,
who was holding a bowl of soup.

- 833 -
Moony looked at his face and reached out
with his free hand… but to grab Padfoot’s
arm, not Harry’s. Harry ran before Moony
realised what was going on.

“Let him go, Padfoot,” Remus said, not let-

ting Sirius go. Harry’s pale, pyjama-clad
figure disappeared around a hallway, and
the slap of his bare feet on the stone floor
faded away.

“Let him go-”

“You wanted to tell him,” Remus reminded

him. “Let him handle it how he sees fit.”

“By running off? After he’s been poisoned?”

“He’s in more danger from being told off by

Prefects than he is from the poison,” Remus

- 834 -
said, setting the soup down on the table
beside Harry’s empty bed. He dragged Sir-
ius into one of the chairs, and took another
for himself, looking sad. “Give him time,
Sirius. I don’t think I’d handle that news
at my age, and Harry is eleven, Sirius. He
was never going to take it well.”

Harry walked around a corner – he’d

stopped running a while ago – and froze.
The person that had come around the cor-
ner opposite him, also froze.

“Potter,” Blaise said, looking relieved. “I

thought you were a Prefect.” Harry, not
wanting company at the moment – partic-
ularly not that of Zabini – turned on his
heel and went back the way he’d come.
“Did I say something?” he asked. Harry
heard him follow.

- 835 -
“Leave me alone,” Harry said.

“You weren’t a breakfast or dinner,” he said.

“And Granger and the others looked wor-
ried at dinner.” Harry’s insides squirmed
at the thought of his friends. What was he
supposed to tell them? Not say anything,
not mention that he now had a job to do,
one that would probably kill him, and let
them be involved, or hurt if they stayed
with him, either directly, or hurt because
they’d lost him? Or tell them everything,
and watch as they ran for it, like any
sane person would? He closed his eyes.
“Where’ve you been?” Harry said nothing.
“I’m talking to you, I thought you wanted
that from all the times you’ve come look-
ing for a chat-”

Blaise huffed, put a hand on his shoulder,

and tugged him around. Harry knew he

- 836 -
must look horrible, and that idea was con-
firmed when Blaise’s annoyed expression
faded at once. He looked uncomfortable,
and let Harry go.

“Just don’t,” Harry said, walking away.

“Did someone die?” Blaise asked. Yeah,

me, I think. “Are you- do you want to find
a teacher? Lupin?”

“No,” Harry said thickly, rubbing the wet-

ness away from under his glasses. “I’ll
just-”

“Just what, Potter? I know we haven’t re-

ally seen eye to eye this term, but I’m not
a complete git. I’m not about to let you go
wandering off in whatever state you’re
in. What about Granger and Weasley and
Malfoy? Why don’t we try to find-”

- 837 -
“It’s the middle of the night,” Harry said,
“and I don’t really want to see them at the
moment. Any of them.” He didn’t want to
imagine Hermione’s look of piteous horror,
or Ron’s pained worry, or Draco’s genuine
fear, and he certainly didn’t want to see it
in person.

“Well, where are you going, then?” Blaise

asked. “Obviously not bed, because Gryffin-
dor’s that way… you look like you could
use a rest, to be honest.”

“Why don’t you go to bed?” Harry snapped.

“I was going to,” Blaise said. “I was headed

there, in fact. I was coming from the Owl-
ery,” he added, patting his pocket. Harry
wondered why he’d chosen to share that.
“But, it looks like I’ve got other things to
do tonight.”

- 838 -
“Have fun,” Harry told him, and stalked
off.

“You know, I thought happy, persistently

friendly Potter was a pain,” Blaise said.
“But now I think I prefer him to you being
all mopey and defensive.”

“I thought Blaise Zabini was frustrating,”

Harry said, “and I still do. Leave me alone.
Please.” Blaise looked troubled by the em-
phasis Harry had put on that last word,
or maybe it was the fact that his voice had
broken when he said it.

“Here,” Blaise said, putting a hand on Har-

ry’s shoulder. He tried to shrug it off, but
the other boy held fast, and guided him
down the hall, up a flight of steps and into
a disused classroom. There were broken
quills, and half-used bits of parchment all
over the place, and several of the desks

- 839 -
were chipped or rested on uneven legs.

The only thing – aside from Blaise – that

didn’t look like it was broken enough to be-
long there, was an ornate mirror, propped
against a far wall. Blaise pushed Harry
down into one of the chairs, which creaked
ominously underneath him, and then
perched on a nearby desk. Harry stared at
his trainers, while Blaise make crackling
noises.

“Here,” Blaise said again, pushing some-

thing against Harry’s hand. It was half
a Mars Bar – a muggle sweet – and he
stared at Blaise, confused. “Dad sends
them,” Blaise said. “They’re my favourite,
but chocolate helps when I’m sad, so may-
be it’ll-” He shook his head. “Just eat it,
Potter, all right.”

“It’s yours,” Harry said.

- 840 -
“I don’t want it after you’ve wiped your
half-blood hands all over it,” Blaise said
in a flat, unpassioned voice. “Eat it, Pot-
ter,” he said, and there was feeling in that
statement. More than there had been in
anything Blaise had said to him that term,
in fact. He almost sounded like Blaise Ben-
son.

“Why do you talk like that?” Harry asked,

looking for anything to distract him from
thoughts of the prophecy, and Voldemort.
“You’re not a pureblood, remember?”
Blaise sighed.

“Giovanna-”

“Why do you call her Giovanna?” Harry

interrupted.

“Because she’s not my mother,” Blaise

- 841 -
said, still staring at the chocolate in his
hands. “I don’t have a mother, and I don’t
want a mother, and any cow that thinks
she can just-” He took a deep breath, and
Harry suspected the words that tumbled
out next weren’t entirely deliberate. “She’ll
kill Dad.”

“What?” Harry asked, aghast.

“She is a pureblood,” he sighed. “Dad’s

not, and if it got out that she’d- that my
father was a muggle, she’d lose a lot of
respect from a lot of people. Malfoy’s
parents, would probably have rather a
lot to say about it, among others. It’d be
her word against mine, but even if they
didn’t believe me, rumours would start…
So I do what I’m told, play the good little
pureblood, and she leaves Dad alone… he
doesn’t even know.”

- 842 -
“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

“Don’t be,” Blaise said curtly, making an

almost immediate transition from Ben-
son to Zabini. Harry shrank back into his
chair, and nibbled on the end of his choco-
late bar.

“I didn’t mean to offen-”

“I’m not offended… I just don’t-” He looked

at his trainers, expression angry, but
that faded after a moment and he sighed.
“Look, it’s the way it is, and feeling sorry
for myself won’t change that. I’ve found it’s
best to just do what I have to, and get on
with things.” Blaise, admittedly, had had
months to come to terms with his situation,
while Harry hadn’t even had an hour, but
something told Harry Blaise hadn’t run off
to feel sorry for himself when he first met
Mrs Zabini. Harry felt rather ashamed of

- 843 -
himself. At least he had Padfoot and Moo-
ny to help him. Blaise was up against his
mother with no support, and if he seemed
a little bitter, he was probably perfectly
justified in feeling that way.

“You sound like a Gryffindor,” Harry said.

“Slytherin was where I needed to be to keep

her happy, so Slytherin is where I went
and where I’ll stay,” Blaise said, almost
defensively. “Otherwise, the Hat wouldn’t
have put me there, right?”

“Maybe,” Harry said.

“Well, why were you put in Gryffindor?”

Blaise asked snottily. “In school, I’d have
said you were a Hufflepuff, all friendly and
happy and fair-”

“There’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuff,”

- 844 -
Harry said, frowning. Blaise snorted, and
Harry wasn’t sure if he was playing his
role, or if he genuinely thought that. “It
just… it wasn’t the right House for me; I
don’t have the work-ethic, apparently. So
it said Gryffindor, because I’m brave and
stupid,” Harry said, shrugging. “Can’t
say I disagree.” I’ve definitely showed the
stupid part of me tonight, and absolutely
nothing of the brave one. He sighed and
pushed his glasses up.

“Stupid is right,” Blaise agreed, but odd-

ly, there was no sting behind the words.
“I meant to tease you about your perfor-
mance yesterday… I, admittedly, don’t
know much about Quidditch, but I’m pret-
ty sure you’re supposed to catch it, not
eat-”

“Shut up,” Harry said, tensing.

- 845 -
“Ooh, touchy,” Blaise said, putting his
hands up. But no comments followed. Har-
ry glanced at him, thankful, but confused.
“You look like you’re about to cry,” Blaise
told him.

“You didn’t mind when it was Hermione,”

Harry muttered.

“Granger and I only got along because of

you,” Blaise said. “Before you arrived, I’d
never said two words to her.”

“But we were friends-”

“We were your friends. I felt bad for say-

ing that stuff to her, but we were less than
a week in, and she – a mudblood-”

“Don’t say that word,” Harry said flatly.

“Whatever,” Blaise said. Then he paused.

- 846 -
For a moment, Harry thought he might
apologise, but he just shook his head. “Point
is, she almost told everyone that I’d gone
to school with her. It wouldn’t have taken
a genius to work out one of us was lying,
would it? And then there’d be questions,
and Dad-” His chin came up. “I didn’t like
it, but I’d do it again and I won’t apologise
for that.” Blaise cocked his head. “So what
about you, Evans?”

“What about me?” Harry asked, rolling his

eyes.

“An evil witch didn’t come to take you

away from your family?”

“No,” Harry said. “An evil wizard killed

them instead.” Blaise’s looked ill. “I have
Padfo-”

“I- forgot. I’m sorry, Potter. I really did-

- 847 -
Sorry.” It was one of the most genuine ex-
pressions Harry had seen on his face since
starting Hogwarts. Harry waved a hand,
not trusting himself to speak. “I don’t know
what’s worse,” he said after a moment, in
a defeated voice. “You, with a dead family
you can’t help, or me, with a father I can
help… but only by becoming the world’s
biggest git… what if I stay this way? What
if I pretend for so long that I stop pretend-
ing?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, still mulling

over what Blaise had said. “It’s like what
you said, though; that’s how it is, and feel-
ing miserable won’t make it any better.”

“It’s more comforting saying that to myself

than hearing you say it,” Blaise mumbled.

“I think it’s good advice,” Harry said, offer-

ing him a half-smile. Blaise shrugged. The

- 848 -
pair of them sat there in silence; Blaise
ate his half of his chocolate bar (which he
seemed to have forgotten about while he
was talking) and Harry thought.

“I think I’ll go to bed,” Blaise said finally.

“Will you be all right?”

“You weren’t supposed to stick around in

the first place,” Harry pointed out, though
he was glad Blaise had; it was nice – even
if the timing was rotten – that Blaise had
made an effort, instead of Harry trying to
talk to him and being insulted or told to
leave.

“But I did, and you look a lot calmer, so-”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry said, rolling his eyes,

but he shot Blaise a small smile. Blaise,
after a moment’s pause, sent the tiniest
smile back as he slid off the desk.

- 849 -
“Could you get rid of this?” Blaise asked,
passing Harry the Mars Bar wrapper. “I
can’t risk it falling out of my pocket in the
common room.” Harry took it and put it in
the chest pocket of his hospital wing pyja-
mas. “Thanks,” Blaise said and left.

Blaise, Harry decided, was right; he did

feel calmer, though it was probably because
he’d been distracted by Blaise’s story. He
shifted in the chair, and then jumped as
something moved on the other side of the
room; his reflection, in the mirror... Only
there was red in the mirror, and there was
no red in the dark room with Harry. He
glanced behind him, and then got up and
made his way over.

The red was the colour of a woman’s hair.

Mum’s hair. She was standing beside his
reflection-self, alternating between smil-
ing down at him, and smiling at the man

- 850 -
behind Harry; Dad. Harry thought he
knew what he meant when people said he
looked like James; they looked uncanny in
the mirror, standing side-by side.

James winked at Harry, and then turned

to Padfoot, who was on Harry’s other
side, with a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He
nudged Moony, who was on Padfoot’s oth-
er side, calling something to Lily. In the
background, Kreacher waved at him, and
stepped aside to let Tonks join the main
group. She hugged mirror-Harry, and
planted a kiss on Moony’s cheek before
saying something which made Lily laugh.

The Harry in the mirror laughed too, and

Harry – the real Harry – stared at him.
Padfoot ruffled mirror-Harry’s hair, and
Harry’s hand jumped to his forehead. His
fingers encountered the lumpy edge of his
scar, and he sighed. Mirror-Harry laughed

- 851 -
again, and looked up at Lily, who planted
a kiss on his smooth, unmarked forehead.

It’s what could have been, Harry real-

ised, drinking in the scene on the other
side of the glass. If there was no Volde-
mort, no prophecy. He wasn’t sure which
Harry he was more jealous of; the statue
of baby-Harry at Godric’s Hollow, or mir-
ror-Harry. Regulus

When Harry wasn’t back, several hours

later, Remus gave in, and the pair of them
tracked Harry’s scent through the dawn-
lit castle. It wasn’t hard; eventually they
found him asleep in front of a large mirror,
on the floor of a dusty, abandoned class-
room. He had tear tracks on his cheeks, but
his face was calm, and he looked peaceful
enough, lying there.

- 852 -
At least he can sleep, Sirius thought. He’d
been fretting that Harry would be sitting,
wide-awake and terrified in a corner of
the castle all night, worrying about Volde-
mort.

“I’ve got him,” Sirius said, stepping for-

ward to lift Harry off the ground. His re-
flection stood up in the mirror, however,
and Sirius was still crouched. He glanced
up.

He, Remus, Dora, Lily and James stood

next to and behind Harry, who was grin-
ning up at his parents. The adults were
laughing and talking – and all but Dora
looked to be the same age… there were
laugh lines on James’ face, and Lily had a
single grey hair at her temple. Tears prick-
led Sirius’ eyes. Mirror Harry was saying
something to Kreacher, who’d appeared.

- 853 -
As Sirius looked closer, Charlus and Dorea
appeared behind him and James, looking
old, but happy, and Marlene appeared on
Lily’s far side, looking much the same as
she did now. She winked at Sirius through
the mirror, and he stared back, curious.
The last figure to appear, though, was
Regulus. He looked older too, still wiry,
but more filled out that Sirius had ever
known him to be.

He said something to James, then to Sir-

ius and then to Harry, who laughed. And
then, Reg stretched. He was wearing a
tshirt, Sirius noticed, and his arms were
bare and unmarked. For the first time,
Harry looked at Sirius, who closed his
eyes, briefly; Harry’s fringe was brushed
to the side, and his forehead was as bare
as Reg’s forearm.

“Padfoot?” Remus was at Sirius’ side, shak-

- 854 -
ing his shoulder gently. “Padfoot, what-”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said, gruffly. He gave

the scene in the mirror one last, sad look,
and then gently shook Harry awake. Har-
ry gave him a bleary look, glanced at the
mirror, and then back at Sirius, who won-
dered what he’d seen.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, looking like he

might cry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“It’s all right,” Sirius said, hugging him.

“It was a lot to take in.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “I just-”

“No one blames you, Harry,” Sirius assured

him. “But we have to go, before we’re both
killed.”

“What?” Harry asked, looking aghast.

- 855 -
“Madam Pomfrey will be awake soon, and
if she finds your bed empty, we’re both
dead.”

Harry and Sirius hurried out of the room;

Sirius looked more frightened than Har-
ry did, but Harry hadn’t been regular
enough patient or visitor to have devel-
oped a healthy fear of the matron. Remus
watched them, knowing he ought to go,
but curiosity made him stay.

The Mirror of Erised? he wondered, read-

ing the words that framed the glass. It
seemed too well cared for to have been
in the dank classroom for very long, and
from the way Sirius had stared into it,
he doubted it was any ordinary mirror.
Seride? Deeris? Redise? Deser- Desire?

- 856 -
Erised, desire?

Remus stepped in front of it. For a mo-

ment, it was just him. Just him in a room,
with a window. It was night outside, and
a full moon, yet Remus looked perfectly
healthy. Several of his more obvious scars
were missing. A silver ring glinted on his
hand, and as he stared at it, a smaller hand
– with a matching ring – slid into it. That
hand, he knew, belonged to Dora, and sure
enough, her smiling face – surrounded by
a halo of pink hair, stared back at him.

Harry – a slightly older Harry – walked

into the room with a child on his hip. A
child that looked like James. Remus
stared, stunned – his desire was for Harry
to have a child? – but then Harry passed
the boy to Remus, and the boy’s features
immediately changed to mimic Remus’,
when he’d been a child.

- 857 -
My child, Remus thought, reaching out to
touch the glass. Such things were impos-
sible, given his condition, but that didn’t
seem to matter inside the mirror; neither
his mirror self, or the child seemed both-
ered by the full moon outside. Sirius ap-
peared behind Remus, tickled the child in
his arms, and then nudged Remus, who
passed the boy to Dora. He and Sirius
crouched into a wolf and a dog – willingly
– and moved toward a door Remus hadn’t
noticed, where a stag was waiting impa-
tiently, its antlers too big to fit through the
door. A red haired woman was stroking
the stag’s nose, laughing as the canines
bounded toward them.

Suddenly, Remus paused; on the stag’s

head, rested a sandy brown rat. Remus
frowned and took a step away, and then
sighed.

- 858 -
Chapter 22:
Forewarned is forearmed

“I won’t apologise,” Sirius said. Albus could

only stare at him. Once, Sirius might have
said such a thing when asked to apologise
to Severus, or for taking a risk to save his
friends on Order raids… but those words
were no longer accompanied by the slight-
ly nervous look in Sirius’ eyes, or the re-
spectful addition of “Sir” to the sentence.
No, this Sirius sat before Albus with his
jaw set and eyes defiant.

- 859 -
“He’s a boy,” Albus said softly. “A boy, Sir-
ius-”

“I know.” He didn’t offer any explanation,

or justification, just those two words, and
it made it difficult to respond to.

“He wasn’t ready-”

“He was never going to be ready,” Sirius

said. It was the first thing he’d said today
that Albus agreed with; Albus had thought
that very same thing himself on numerous
occasions.

“He might have grown to be better able

to handle such news. A weight that large
on such young shoulders is bound to- to- I
wish, Sirius, that you might have consult-
ed me-”

“I’m telling you,” Sirius said. He folded his

- 860 -
arms. “You had your chance with Harry,
with making decisions about what he could
know, and when, and how he would live,
and it didn’t work. Remember the bright
idea that was Petunia and her husband,
Dumbledore?”

“I was trying to keep him safe-”

“I walked in and took him,” Sirius pointed

out.

“You didn’t mean the boy any harm-”

“You didn’t know that at the time,” Siri-

us said, with a trace of bitterness. Shame
coiled in Albus’ stomach. He’d made a lot
of mistakes in his life, but Sirius was one
of the largest.

“He was safe,” Albus said. “I put up the

strongest blood wards I could manage-”

- 861 -
“Safe,” Sirius said, curling his lip. “Safe-
ty’s not knowing about his parents? About
magic? Being pushed around by that cous-
in of his, and yelled at by his aunt and un-
cle? He was miserable-”

“I did the best I could for the boy at the

time, and I know you disapprove all the
same.” Sirius opened his mouth, probably
to agree. “But,” Albus said, holding up a
hand to keep his quiet, “this was resolved
long ago. The matter currently at hand,
is the information you’ve chosen to share
with Harry, and whether or not that was
appropriate.”

“I’m his guardian,” Sirius said. “If I say it

was appropriate, it was.”

“So being the boy’s guardian makes your

decisions regarding him infallible?” Albus

- 862 -
asked. Sirius’ chin came up.

“It gives me the right to make decisions

that affect him,” Sirius said. His jaw set
again.

“And I believe this was a poor one-”

“When would you have told him, then?”

“When he was old enough-”

“But when? When he was twelve? Thir-

teen? Fifteen? Twenty?”

“It’s impossible to know-”

“Harry asked me the first night we met,

why Voldemort came after him. And I told
him I’d tell him in a few years,” Sirius said.
“Because he’d just learned about me, and
about Lily and James, and about magic,

- 863 -
and about the war-” Sirius gave Albus a
look that made it clear he blamed Albus
– however indirectly – for Harry’s lack of
knowledge on all of those things. “- and I
thought that was enough for him to take
in for the night. And, he was too young,
and he wasn’t in any danger.”

“He’s still young-”

“But he is in danger,” Sirius said. “He was

poisoned! And no one knows anything for
certain who was behind that, but I know
who my first guess is, and you’re too smart
to not have thought the same thing.” Albus
wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an
insult. He inclined his head. “I thought as
much,” Sirius said quietly.

“Harry could have been aware of Volde-

mort’s potential return without knowing
every little detail, though, at least for the

- 864 -
next few years-”

“Perhaps,” Sirius agreed. “Perhaps not.

Don’t you think he, of all people, has a
right to know why?”

“Of course, Sirius,” Albus said, trying not

to show how agitated he was, “but not yet.
You could have waited. Let him be hap-
py for a time, let him have some peace of
mind-”

“Waited until when?” Sirius asked. “Un-

til Voldemort tried something face-to-face,
instead of just poison? Until Voldemort
tried to use someone to get to Harry? Un-
til someone got hurt because they were in
Voldemort’s way?” Sirius’ voice broke, and
Albus was sure he was thinking of Lily
and James as well. Albus sighed. “Volde-
mort will come after him again, either in
person, or like he did with the snitch. And

- 865 -
if this is the only attempt for another ten
years, brilliant, but what if it’s not? You
know how Voldemort works, how he uses
people. And I think that Harry would take
this – a bit of stress and worry on his part
– over losing one of his friends.”

Albus bowed his head. He too, from the

brief interactions he’d had with the boy,
agreed with that. And didn’t he, as well?
When had the happiness of one child be-
come more valuable than the potential
lives of others? Albus wasn’t sure. Had
Sirius not escaped, when would he have
told the boy? It would have fallen to him,
after all… he’d known for many years that
that would be the case. But when?

When he was old enough, Albus thought

firmly, and when it was necessary.

“He shouldn’t have been told until he was

- 866 -
ready,” he said, looking across the desk at
Sirius.

“And that’s what would have stopped you,

every single time,” Sirius said. Albus had
expected condemnation in his tone, but
there was none. “Was one of the things
that almost stopped me; he’s not ready,
not old enough, not in any danger, it’s too
much of a burden, I’ll let him be happy for
a bit longer, I’ll do it another day, another
year …”

Each excuse that dropped from Sirius’ lips

seemed as if it had come from Albus’ mind.
He bowed his head.

“You care, sir, I’ve never doubted that,

even if your actions haven’t always shown
it.” And there it was again; neither com-
pliment or insult, but something that was
both. “And I think maybe, sometimes,

- 867 -
that gets in the way of you making the
hard choices.” Albus, who’d thought such
things in his moments of doubt, had no de-
fence, though Sirius seemed to be expect-
ing some.

“I would be a fool to argue with you about

that.”

“For a man that’s so clever, you certainly do

a lot of thinking with this.” Sirius tapped
his own heart, and then sighed. He picked
up an instrument Albus had been looking
at earlier that morning – one that showed
who was out of bed after hours, and when
– and rolled it around in his palm. After a
moment, he set it down on the desk. “We
can only protect him so much,” Sirius said.
“Him not knowing the prophecy doesn’t
make it go away, doesn’t change the fact
that one day, it’s going to come true-” Siri-
us’ jaw wobbled, and he looked away from

- 868 -
Albus to the window; the first rays of sun
were just creeping over the stone ledge.
“-one way or the other.”

“No,” Albus agreed, bowing his head. “No,

I suppose not.” And he had nothing more
to say; any arguments he had had been
defended by Sirius – even if Albus hadn’t
agreed – and their debate didn’t matter at
all in the scheme of things, because Harry
had already been told. All that could be
done now was ensure Harry was support-
ed while he struggled to wrap his mind
around the information Sirius had given
him, and that help – of any form – was
given to him when he needed it.

“I should go,” Sirius said, turning back to

Albus. The sun caught his face, catching
the bags under his eyes, and the tired lines
of his forehead. “I wanted to say goodbye
to everyone before I go back to work.”

- 869 -
“Work?” Albus asked. “Perhaps you should
rest, Sirius… return home for a few
hours..?” Sirius gave him an unreadable
look. “Forgive me,” Albus murmured, “it’s
not my place.”

“No, it’s all right,” Sirius said, still giving

Albus that odd look. “I- thank you. But I
have to- there are things I need to look
at…” He trailed off, shrugged in an awk-
ward sort of way, and then spun toward
the door.

“Sirius,” Albus called after him. Sirius

turned. “I-It was not my intention to criti-
cise you, or your decisions regarding Har-
ry.” Sirius’ shoulders relaxed just enough
that Albus noticed it. “I apologise if I have
seemed critical this morning. I- You were
right to say that I care… we may not have
seen eye to eye for some time, but trust

- 870 -
me when I say I want what is best for the
boy.”

Sirius stared at him for a long moment,

then nodded and swept out. Albus waited
for the door to close and then stood, feel-
ing his age more than ever. With a flick of
the wand, he brought his pensieve over to
the desk, and placed his hand on its rim.

Legillimens, he thought, probing the mem-

ories stored within for the one he want-
ed. Mist swirled around his face, dragging
him into one of his memories.

“You told Sirius?” Albus’ younger self

asked, while the older Albus settled him-
self in a corner of the enormous sitting
room and leaned against one of the walls
to watch.

“And Remus,” James said, watching Remus

- 871 -
disappear into the green flames of the fire-
place in Potter Manor. It was a grand old
house and had served them well; the Or-
der sheltered there after a Death Eater
attack in James and Lily’s seventh year,
and many an Order meeting had been held
there in the years before its destruction.
Despite it being his family home, howev-
er, Albus had always thought the neat lit-
tle cottage in Godric’s Hollow had suited
the young Potter family better.

“It’s ours to tell,” Lily said. Harry – who

was only a few weeks old – slept sound-
ly in James’ arms, completely oblivious
to the enormous weight that prophecy
had placed on his shoulders. His parents,
though, looked strained. When Albus
thought back and remembered James and
Lily, he always remembered brave, talent-
ed young people who were happy and live-
ly, despite the dark times. Here though,

- 872 -
in this memory, they seemed just as bur-
dened as he’d been.

Lily had always been a slender woman,

but her collarbone seemed sharper than
usual, her wrists and fingers bonier, her
eyes duller, and her skin paler – except for
the dark smudges under her eyes, and her
freckles. James, whose hand was wrapped
around hers, looked distracted, equally
tired – and not just from raising an infant
– and his shoulders had a defeated sort of
slump to them. Both James and Lily had
returned to normal – both had had an ex-
traordinary ability to bounce back, Albus
remembered – shortly after, but for the
moment, they looked scared and tired.

“I was not contesting your right to tell,”

the younger Albus said, holding up a hand,
“but the wisdom behind it; Voldemort is
aware of the first half of the prophecy and

- 873 -
is desperately searching for the rest. I
have no doubts, whatsoever, about Sirius
and Remus being trustworthy, but I worry
that Voldemort will seek them out, that
they’re in danger now, from-”

“They’re in danger anyway,” James said,

looking unhappy. “And they’re Harry’s
godparents, sir, they deserve to know why
we won’t be around as much, why we’ll be
hiding. I trust them both with my life, and
more than that, if something happens, I-”

“We,” Lily said quietly, but with empha-

sis.

“We,” James said, giving his wife a long

look, “trust them with Harry’s.”

The older Albus sighed and stepped out of

the memory and back into his office.

- 874 -
They trusted you with Harry, Sirius, Al-
bus thought, so I shall trust you.

“I’m fine, Hermione,” Harry said. Madam

Pomfrey had let him out on Monday morn-
ing, and Hermione had spent all of History
of Magic, Charms, and lunch, fussing over
his health, and whether he should really
be out of the Hospital Wing. He appreci-
ated the concern, he did, but it had worn
him down over the hours.

“You do look a bit,” Draco began, as they

walked into Transfiguration, “well…
peaky-” Harry took the seat next to Ron,
who’d asked him once how he was feeling,
at breakfast, and not pushed the point
since.

“Lay off, you two,” Ron said, rocking his

- 875 -
chair back to talk to Draco and Hermi-
one at the desk behind Harry’s and his.
“If he says he’s fine, he’s fine.” Hermione
was probably biting her lip, and Draco
was probably scowling, but Harry didn’t
turn around to check. He kept his eyes on
the front, eager for a distraction from the
images from the mirror in that classroom,
and from Padfoot’s voice saying the proph-
ecy. He was yet to share either with his
friends, and had no immediate plans to do
so.

A snail dropped onto the desk in front of

him with a loud squelch.

“Urgh,” Ron said. Harry looked up at Mc-

Gonagall, who was sending snails to each
desk with a sweep of her wand.

“All four chair legs on the ground, Mr Wea-

sley,” she said. Ron’s ears turned pink and

- 876 -
he tipped his chair forward with a quiet
thud. “Could I have your attention please,”
she said, addressing the whole class now.
“We will be making pipes, today-” She
tapped her wand on the blackboard, and
a diagram appeared, as well as several
paragraphs of theory, and, in large block
letters, the incantation. “-from, as you
ought to have guessed, snails. I will not
be walking you through this as I have in
previous lessons. We are almost halfway
through your first year, and I’d like to see
what you can manage so I know how best
to teach in later lessons.”

“Great,” Ron said gloomily.

“The theory is on the board, as are the rele-

vant textbook page numbers, and you may,
of course, ask me for help if you need it.
You have the entire double lesson at your
disposal.” She waved a hand, gesturing for

- 877 -
them to start, and Harry saw Zacharias
Smith’s hand go up. His questions had a
tendency to be sarcastic and occasionally
insulting, so Harry wasn’t surprised when
McGonagall went directly to him instead
of asking him to speak.

“Cochlea tibium,” Ron muttered, poking

his snail. It made a wet noise, and its shell
turned to wood. “Well that’s not bad,” he
said, grinning at Harry.

“Yeah, but that looks solid,” Harry said,

poking the snail’s shell. “I think its crush-
ing it.” Draco sniggered. Ron looked strick-
en and picked his struggling snail up off
the desk, so that he could inspect it.

“Here,” Hermione said, holding out her

hand. Ron passed her the snail. “Repari-
farge.”

- 878 -
“What’d you do?” Ron asked, accepting his
normal looking snail back.

“It undoes incorrect transfigurations,”

Hermione said. Ron’s face fell. “Chapter
six of A Beginner’s Guide To Transfigu-
ration; I expect we’ll cover it after Christ-
mas.”

“I was under the impression you were

feeling better, Potter,” McGonagall said,
pausing by the side of his desk.

“I am,” Harry said.

“Then perhaps you ought to participate in

the classes you claim to be well enough to
attend,” she said, not unkindly, but she did
give his untouched snail a rather pointed
look.

“Erm, right. Sorry,” he said. She waited.

- 879 -
“Now?” he asked.

“That was the idea, yes, Potter,” she sighed.

“Right,” Harry said again. He looked at his

snail, trying to visualise the pipe he want-
ed, working out which parts of the snail
would lengthen, which would shorten,
how it would become hollow… and then
he tapped it with his wand and said, “Co-
chlea tibium,” with as much confidence as
he could manage.

“Ten points to Gryffindor, Potter,” she

said, nodding with approval, as the pipe
tipped sideways onto the desk with a clat-
ter. “And despite what followed, I still feel
you ought to be congratulated for your
performance on Saturday.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered.

- 880 -
On the other side of the room, Dean and
Seamus started to laugh, and Neville’s
hand rose slowly into the air. McGona-
gall sighed and went to his aid. Hermione
managed hers about thirty seconds after
she’d gone, and so missed out on points,
and Harry stared at hers – which was
prettily engraved with a leafy pattern -
and at his – which was just plain, smooth
wood. Then he looked at Draco’s and felt
a bit better; Draco, in his frustration, had
tapped the snail too hard, and shattered
its shell. He and Ron were talking in low
voices about how best to fix it; Ron was dig-
ging through his bag for Spellotape, and
Draco was muttering about the repairing
charm. Hermione had put her hand up, ei-
ther to show McGonagall her pipe, or to
get McGonagall’s attention on behalf of
the other two.

Harry chuckled quietly and set about

- 881 -
working out how to undo his transfigura-
tion.

So if I take energy from here… no, add en-

ergy, then it can go from nonliving back to
living… right? Harry looked at his pipe a
little dubiously. Thoughts of the prophecy
were pushed to the back of his mind as he
lost himself in the challenge of solving the
puzzle before him.

“Could I see some identification, Auror

Black?” the wizard at the counter drawled.

“You’ve just addressed him by name, with-

out him introducing himself,” Marlene
pointed out. The wizard blinked at her,
and held his hand out.

“Could be an imposter,” the wizard told

- 882 -
them.

“Any imposter would have made sure they

had the Sidekick for this exact reason,”
Sirius said, but he sighed and extended
his Sidekick. Marlene offered hers but he
paid it no attention.

“May I see your list of requests?” Sirius

passed over a piece of parchment. The
wizard glanced at it, passed over a key,
and then tapped his counter. A section of
it melted away to let them through. “I’ll
need that back when you’re done,” he
said, sounding bored, and ushered them
through the far door. Marlene waited un-
til he was out of earshot.

“What a complete-”

“If you were locked up here I think you’d

go a bit barmy too,” Sirius said, distract-

- 883 -
edly. He’d lit his wand and was reading
the signs above each door, obviously look-
ing for the one he needed. He stopped af-
ter about two minutes, in front of a shabby
door – labelled Herbs and Fungi -unlocked
it, and entered. Marlene followed him. In-
side were shelves as high as the ceiling,
and on each shelf were hundreds of boxes,
all filled, Marlene knew, with books and
files and articles from publications – both
magical and non-magical. “I’ve got castor
bean,” Sirius said, consulting the refer-
ence list on the wall. “Do you mind check-
ing meadow saffron?”

“I can do that,” Marlene said. She too, con-

sulted the reference list, and then went off
searching for row eleven. Predictably, she
found a few muggle botany books, a few
potions books, and a jar with a preserved
sample of meadow saffron. More inter-
estingly, were Auror and muggle police

- 884 -
reports about poisonings. She grabbed a
handful and started to sift through them,
looking for any that mentioned castor
beans, aconite or hemlock as well.

“Got something,” Sirius said. Marlene

glanced over. “Castor beans, aconite, hem-
lock; murder of H. Smith, 1946. It’s an Au-
ror’s report, but that’s all that’s been writ-
ten.”

“Who looked into it?” Marlene asked.

“Maybe we can track them down and ask
for more details-?”

“Filed by C. Potter,” Sirius said in a flat

voice.

“Oh,” she said. Sirius didn’t reply. “So

what now?”

“You keep looking,” he said. “I’m going to

- 885 -
check the old Auror case files and reports.”

“All right,” Marlene said, flicking through

her stack of parchment. Sirius’ footsteps
faded away, and Marlene focused on the
task she’d been given. Sirius was back
within the hour, with the file about H.
Smith’s murder, and a troubled expres-
sion on his face. He tossed the file into her
lap. “You took it?”

“I copied it,” he corrected. Marlene’s mouth

twitched. “Smith was killed – supposedly
– by her house elf… poisoned her tea, or
something.”

“Supposedly?”

“Dumbledore was involved.” Marlene

arched an eyebrow. “There’s a transcript in
there, of a memory Dumbledore took from
the house elf before she died. The memo-

- 886 -
ry is Tom Riddle, talking to Smith, about
some cup or other… supposedly it was sup-
posed to counter the charges against the
house elf, but it was pretty weak evidence-
that’s not important,” Sirius said, looking
agitated. “Point is, Tom Riddle is linked to
a case where three of the four ingredients
used on Harry showed up, and I’ll eat my
Sidekick if that’s a coincidence.” Marlene
took a moment to let that sink in. “Did you
find anything?”

“Not as much as you, apparently,” she said,

holding up the solely useful thing she’d
found. “Those ingredients are all found in
Chapter Fourteen of Secrets of the Dark-
est Art.” Sirius’ jaw set. “What is it?”

“It’s him,” Sirius said in a low voice. “It’s

all him… We – Dora and I - found that
book – an old copy of it – in that cottage af-
ter the attack on Moony… the same book

- 887 -
we found the Inferius ritual in… I don’t
know if or how Morton’s death fits into it
all, but whoever attacked Moony and who-
ever attacked Harry and whoever broke
into Gringotts are the same person… and
after reading about that memory…” Chills
crept along Marlene’s hairline, and she
slipped her hand into Sirius’.

“He’s back,” she whispered. “Or trying to

be.” Sirius squeezed her hand.

“Not if we get any say in the matter.”

- 888 -
Chapter 23:
Answers and avoidance

Knowing that it was Voldemort made all

the difference. Quirrell being behind it
all hadn’t made sense; he lacked motive,
and from what Sirius had heard, Quirrell
wasn’t the sort to suddenly up and become
a Dark Lord.

Quirrell, by all accounts was a rather

vague, eccentric, but knowledge-hungry
man; in short, he was exactly the sort of
person that would be drawn to Voldemort,

- 889 -
and it would explain a lot if he’d been ask-
ing about unicorn blood, phoenix tears
or the stone on Voldemort’s behalf. And
Dumbledore had said he was distracted…
Croaker likely didn’t know how right he’d
been when he’d worried Quirrell was in
over his head with some dark and danger-
ous things.

But Sirius now thought he’d been wrong

in thinking Quirrell was dead. What was
more likely was that Quirrell was still
acting on Voldemort’s orders. Sirius had
no idea how functional he was at the mo-
ment, but knew Voldemort well enough to
know that he preferred to stay behind the
scenes, while others did his work for him.

Sirius suspected Voldemort’s ultimate

goal was to get his hands on the philoso-
pher’s stone… which, given the sequence
of events, must have been at Gringotts at

- 890 -
some point. If they’d been able to get to
the stone before it made it to Hogwarts,
they wouldn’t have needed to worry about
finding a way into the school.

“But that failed,” Sirius murmured, get-

ting up to pace. “So he needed a way in.”

But, by the time that he’d realised that,

Remus had already accepted the Defence
post, blocking that approach… so Volde-
mort had gone after him, or sent Quirrell
after him. With Remus out of the way,
Quirrell would have been free to take up
the Defence role. But, he hadn’t factored
in Dora, and so Moony had survived.

“Then Halloween,” Sirius said, thinking

aloud. It was clear someone had sent the
troll; they were too thick for one to have
made its way through the wards and in-
side the castle without help. Was it pos-

- 891 -
sible Voldemort had been responsible for
that too? It wasn’t his style at all; Sirius
had never known Voldemort to use diver-
sions. Oh, he’d hide, and give orders from
the shadows, but diversions were compli-
cated, and required trusting another par-
ty… no, it wasn’t his style at all. But may-
be that was the point… if it had worked,
brilliant, except it had failed… but, it had
still fulfilled another purpose; it had con-
fused Sirius at the other Aurors.

“And then Harry.” Sirius’ hands balled

into fists and he spun around so quickly
that his dogtags jingled. “Didn’t you learn
anything from Halloween, you stupid git?”
he asked the room. Kreacher, who was
passing in the hall outside with a basket
of laundry, peered in and then continued
on, shaking his head. Sirius pushed his
hair out of his face, spun on the spot and
continued to pace. “And Morton…”

- 892 -
No matter how Sirius looked at it, he
couldn’t find a way that Morton was in-
volved, and was leaning more and more
toward the fact that the man’s death had
been a horrible accident. He’d certainly
wanted to injure Remus on the platform,
but on Voldemort’s orders…? Sirius doubt-
ed it. It was far more likely that the man
was just horrendously prejudiced.

Everything else made so much sense now,

though; the break-in at Gringotts, the at-
tack on Remus, the troll, the attack on
Harry… finally, finally, Sirius felt like he
was catching up, like he was no longer a
step behind.

“I just have to get in front,” he muttered.

Knowing it was Voldemort helped, though;
he’d struggled with finding someone that
had both the means and the motivation to

- 893 -
pull off everything that had been happen-
ing. It was more than the average man or
woman could manage, that was for sure,
but Sirius knew now that there were prob-
ably two – Quirrell and Voldemort – of
them working together, and, given that it
was Voldemort, Sirius wasn’t going to rule
out the possibility that other Death Eat-
ers had been involved as well.

Finally, finally, after months of frustra-

tion, he had a lead.

“And you’ve not found anything, dear?”

Umbridge asked. “Not seen anything sus-
picious, or heard any rumours?”

“No, Madam,” Florence said, stirring sug-

ar into her too-sweet tea.

- 894 -
“You can’t access Black’s case files, to see
if anything-”

“I’m not his trainee,” she said, struggling

to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “I
don’t have access to his ongoing case files.”

“Then you’re not trying hard enough,”

Umbridge hissed. Florence gave her a flat
look. “When I saved you from Azkaban, I
expected your utmost cooperation, and so
far, you’ve proved to be a very poor invest-
ment!” Florence said nothing. “I stand to
lose hours of my time, and a significant
amount of money if I can’t find anything-”

“With all due respect, Madam, I don’t

think there’s anything to find,” Florence
said, trying not to look believably apolo-
getic. On the inside, though, she was rath-
er pleased. Her only real interaction with
Black had been when he helped out in

- 895 -
trainee sessions, and when she’d guarded
him before his trial, but she knew a mon-
ster when she saw one, and Black did not
fit the description at all. The cow across
from her, though…

“There is something!” Umbridge said des-

perately.

“You’re chasing a lead given to you by a

grieving, pre-pubescent schoolboy,” she
said, throwing her hands up in the air. “I
agreed to help you because I owe you, but
I can’t pull evidence out of thin air! Black
didn’t kill Morton-” Her own, extensive re-
search on the matter had made that very
clear. “-and that’s the end of it, so can we
stop wasting our time with this?”

“You ought to be a little more respectful,

Prewett, when you address the woman
that saved your life,” Umbridge said cold-

- 896 -
ly.

“My apologies, Madam,” Florence replied,

ducking her head. She hoped it would
make her look contrite, but in reality, the
full moon was only two nights away, and
Florence didn’t think she could look at the
toad without wanting to rip her face off…
and that would be very unprofessional.

“Yes,” Umbridge said, “well.” She drummed

her stubby fingers on the desk, almost in
time with Florence’s headache. “People
are probably getting suspicious, what with
you poking around… and you’re no use to
me if you’re found out… I- I’ll- Perhaps
we both ought to keep our heads down for
a bit… yes…” She nodded to herself. “I’ll
contact you in another few weeks… un-
til then, just do what the Aurors tell you
to, all right, dear… we need to be careful
here.”

- 897 -
“Of course, Madam,” Florence said. She
stood, deposited her full teacup on the
desk, and left.

One day, she promised herself, one day, I

am going to ruin that woman.

She spent the lift trip to the second floor

leaning against the wall, finishing a note
to Mundungus Fletcher, the man who had
taken the fall for her and gone to Azkaban
in her place, for Greyback’ death. Umbridge
had promised the man a sizeable amount
of money, but Florence had never thought
that was enough. She wrote to him every
few weeks – under the guise of Lauren
Fletcher (a distant niece) - and sent him
copies of the Daily Prophet, of magazines
she could get her hands on, and sent him
blankets and jumpers and blocks of choc-
olate… anything to make his stay more

- 898 -
comfortable. The guards had returned her
first two parcels, worried that Fletcher
might try to strangle himself, the guards
or other prisoners with the blankets – like
a few of the high security prisoners had
done in the past – but he’d signed a good
behaviour form, and was now receiving
the things she sent.

Guilt was too strong a word for how she

felt; she’d kill Greyback again, and again,
and never regret it, and Fletcher had of-
fered to take her place in Azkaban, she
hadn’t forced him to, and she really did
feel like she was an important addition to
the Program, and that she was doing good
things on the outside, catching the dregs
of witch and wizardkind… protecting peo-
ple… It was all for the best, really… but
Azkaban was still a horrible place, and
Florence felt better knowing that Fletcher
was wrapped up in a heavy blanket, with

- 899 -
warm slippers and gloves, and had access
to the occasional chocolate frog.

She was on time for training, and that

wouldn’t do; Florence was a naturally
prompt person, but when she’d started the
Program, she’d had to change that. So that
it wouldn’t stand out when she missed a
morning for a full moon, she’d skipped
a few things to give herself a reputation
for having a tendency to sleep in and
miss trainings. Unfortunately, everyone
seemed to treat her like a joke, because of
it, and that infuriated her, but she’d start-
ed the whole thing, so she had no right to
complain.

So, she sat down, pulled her work on the

Morton case out of her bag – she’d lied
when she’d said she couldn’t access it, but
the Umbridge cow didn’t need to know
that - and flicked through it. She thought

- 900 -
she knew it all backward, but she re-read
it again, just to make sure. She couldn’t go
directly against Umbridge just yet, but an
anonymous tip to Black once she worked
out what had happened to Morton was per-
fectly reasonable, she thought. Then he’d
have solved it and would be praised, in-
stead of having his reputation torn apart
by Florence’s wretched ‘saviour’.

She was just going over Black’s statement

– or trying to, but it was hard to concen-
trate when she was so achy - when her
Sidekick burned. She murmured the pass-
word and flipped it open. Lyra’s engraved
bird was glowing.

“This is Prewett,” she said.

“I thought I should make sure you were

out of bed,” Lyra said wryly.

- 901 -
“I’ve been up for hours,” she said airily.
Lyra snorted. “I have; I’m even at the
Ministry, heading over now. I’d have been
there sooner but I got held up.”

“All right,” Lyra said, and it was hard to

know if she believed her or not. “Donald’s
waiting, so hurry up.” Donald was Flor-
ence’s Occlumency teacher – that was
her special ‘talent’ in the Program, and it
was going slowly, but well. Not as well as
Tonks’ metamorphmagic, but better than
McKinnon’s wandless magic, and about as
well as Ben’s Defence Against Dark Crea-
tures lessons. “See you soon.”

“You will,” Florence agreed, snapping her

Sidekick shut. She stuffed Morton’s file
into her bag, swapped it for her drink bot-
tle, which had water, mixed with a taste-
less Anti-Ache potion in it, gulped a few
mouthfuls, rubbed her temples and then

- 902 -
sighed, putting up Occlumency walls; it
wouldn’t do to have Donald know why she
was sore and tired.

The weeks before Christmas flew by at

Hogwarts after Harry’d been poisoned.
Wood kept them all busy with Quidditch
trainings, and they had two more games
– one against Hufflepuff and one against
Ravecmlaw – which they’d won. They were
now set to be in the finals, and Wood was
ecstatic, and spent every spare moment
poring over books on strategy, and trying
to come up with new drills for them to do.
It was full on for a few weeks, until McGo-
nagall cornered him at dinner one night
in early December and threatened to take
him off the team if he didn’t put a bit more
effort into his O.W.L. year.

- 903 -
Snape had been vicious in lessons, taking
points for the most trivial things – Her-
mione’s hand was taking up too much air
space, could she please put it down, Mr
Weasley your hair’s giving me a headache
– but he wasn’t only targeting the Gryffin-
dors. Hydrus lost five points for talking
too loudly, and Daphne lost ten for having
her hair down in a theory lesson. Draco –
Snape’s obvious favourite – lost five points
for asking a question – “Weren’t you pay-
ing attention, Mr Malfoy?” – and then got
ten back at the beginning of next lesson
before the lesson had even begun; all he’d
done was sit next to Harry.

“Maybe he’s sick,” Draco said for the first

week of Snape’s overly unpleasant be-
haviour.

By December, though, he’d run out of pos-

sible excuses and had no reply to offer

- 904 -
when Ron said, “Yeah, or maybe he’s just
a git.”

The other first year subjects were going

well, though; they’d moved onto locking
and unlocking spells in Charms, which
was interesting, and Herbology wasn’t too
bad either. History of Magic was a bore
– despite Draco’s apparent interest in it,
which surpassed even Hermione’s – and
Astronomy wasn’t much better. In fact,
without Draco to help them out, Harry –
who could identify the moon, the dog-star
and nothing else – thought he and Ron
would probably be failing.

Harry’s favourite two classes, though, were

still Defence – with Moony as a teacher, it
was hard not to enjoy it – and Transfigura-
tion. Transfiguration didn’t come quite as
naturally as Defence seemed to, but Harry
was still doing well at it; better than Her-

- 905 -
mione, even. Flying was of course, anoth-
er favourite of his – even though he had
a lot of opportunities to fly during Quid-
ditch trainings – and Harry was rather
sad when they had their last lesson on the
Thursday before Christmas. He got over
that quickly though, because, as of Satur-
day morning, he was going home.

“Well,” Hermione said on Friday night as

they discussed their plans for the holidays,
“Mum and Dad are keen to see me, and I’m
sure they’ve got thousands of questions to
ask…” Harry, who could well believe that,
nodded and skewered a piece of roast po-
tato.

“Are you likely to visit us at all?”

“Visit?” Draco asked. “You’re going home?”

Harry gave him a funny look.

- 906 -
“Er, yeah, that was the plan,” Harry said,
thrown.

“And you, Weasley?” Draco asked. “Your

family’s going to Romania, right, so you’ll
be staying behind?”

“Sirius wrote to Mum,” Ron said, shak-

ing his head. He grinned at Harry. “I’ll
be at Harry’s for the holidays.” They’d or-
ganised it only a few days before; Percy
was staying at Hogwarts to study for his
N.E.W.T.s, and once the twins had learned
that Harry and Ron weren’t going to be
around, they’d made plans to go to their
friend Lee’s house, though it was possible
they’d spend a few days at Grimmauld be-
fore term went back.

“Oh,” Draco said, rolling a pea across his

plate.

- 907 -
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing,” Draco said. Harry exchanged a

look with the other two, who didn’t seem
to believe him either.

“Malfoy,” Ron said, nudging him.

“I thought one of you might be staying,” he

said.

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Well, I don’t particularly fancy spend-

ing Christmas alone,” he snapped. Harry
stared at him, as did Ron and Hermione.
Draco made an irritated noise and got up,
to sit with the twins further down. Harry
tried to think if Draco had been present
when they’d been discussing holidays. He
was sure he must have been, but couldn’t
remember him adding anything to any of

- 908 -
the conversations. Now that he thought
about it, he couldn’t recall Draco ever
mentioning what his holiday plans were…
though, it was now apparent that he was
planning to stay behind.

“Has he said anything to you about Christ-

mas?” Harry asked Hermione. She shook
her head. “Ron?”

“Nope,” Ron said. “I thought he’d be going

home, but when I think about it…”

“Yeah,” Harry said. Now that he thought

about it, it wasn’t surprising that Draco
had opted to stay at Hogwarts for Christ-
mas; he and Hydrus didn’t really see eye
to eye anymore, as far as Harry could tell,
and his parents would no doubt be angry
or disappointed about his Sorting. If it was
Harry in the same situation, he probably
wouldn’t want to go home either.

- 909 -
Draco didn’t sit with them in the com-
mon room that night; he stayed over by
Fred and George, and went to bed earli-
er than usual; about the time Hermione
usually did. Harry and Ron exchanged a
look, packed up their game of chess, and
headed up to the dormitory. It was empty,
other than for Draco – who’d drawn the
curtains around the bed – because Dean,
Seamus and Neville were still down in the
common room, playing Exploding Snap.

“Draco,” Harry said, while Ron went to

brush his teeth. Draco didn’t respond, but
Harry heard him huff, heard the sheets
rustle, heard Draco huff again, and then
the curtain drew back, just enough for
Draco to peer out.

“Generally, Potter, closed curtains mean

I’m trying to sleep, or that I want to be left

- 910 -
alone,” he said irritably. “Obviously you’re
too thick to have worked that out, but con-
sider this a warning for next time.” Harry
rolled his eyes, and Draco bristled. “What
do you want?”

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to

stay at mine over Christmas too,” Har-
ry said, flopping down onto his own bed.
“We’ve got the space-” Draco yanked his
curtains shut again.

Ron emerged from the bathroom, took one

look at the closed curtains and sighed. He
pulled Scabbers off his pillow and shoved
him through a tiny gap in the curtains at
the end of Draco’s bed. Harry heard a sniff
from inside, and almost pulled the cur-
tains back, but Ron shook his head.

“He’s got Scabbers. Just let him…” Ron

gestured about in a rather vague sort of

- 911 -
way, but Ron had siblings, and had prob-
ably seen a fair bit of this before, so Harry
decided to trust him. With a last, troubled
look at Draco’s bed, Harry went to brush
his teeth.

Stupid, Draco thought, cradling Scab-

bers in his hands. Stupid! Why hadn’t he
just said yes to Potter’s offer? He’d rather
hoped that someone would ask him about
his plans for the holidays, though he
wasn’t sure why. On one level, he wanted
to talk about it with his friends, or at least
have them acknowledge the fact that he
wouldn’t be going home. On the other, he’d
gone to lengths to ensure that they didn’t
ask… not that it had been hard to deter
them; Potter and Weasley weren’t very
observant, and Granger probably hadn’t
felt comfortable prying.

- 912 -
Yeah, and you’d have told her to mind her
own business if she had asked, a voice in
Draco’s head told him.

Shut up, Draco thought back. It was quiet

in the dorm – Potter and Weasley had gone
to sleep a while ago, without their usual
pre-bed chat, and Finnegan, Thomas and
Longbottom had been in the room for at
least an hour. Longbottom had already
completed his initial snoring phase – he’d
sleep quietly for the next two hours, and
then snore for a few more before falling
quiet again. Weasley would snore quietly
all night, and Potter would start babbling
nonsense in the early hours of the morn-
ing. And so it was each night.

Draco was far too used to all of that to be

irritated by it – in fact, he found it strange-
ly… comforting, he supposed. In Slytherin,

- 913 -
snoring would be vehemently denied, and
great lengths would be gone to to ensure
the blame fell on someone else. In Gryffin-
dor, no one denied it – it was common for
Longbottom to wake up apologising, or to
apologise before bed, in fact – and the rest
of them took part in good natured teasing
about it.

And, every now and then, if it was partic-

ularly bad, someone – usually Weasley or
Finnegan – would get up and smack the
offender with a pillow. Such behaviour
would be punishable by exile in Slyther-
in, but in Gryffindor, it just caused a bit
of grumbling from the victim, and a lot of
laughter from the rest of them. Even Dra-
co thought it was funny.

It was going to be very lonely for two weeks,

without everyone there. Draco sighed and
stroked Scabbers, who twitched; he’d fall-

- 914 -
en asleep.

Why didn’t you say yes?!

I’m not Potter’s charity case, Draco thought

back, irritated. Spending time with his
friends at school was one thing, but at
home…? If it had been for a birthday, or
something similar, and for a brief amount
of time, it might have been acceptable…
For two weeks, though… Potter was prob-
ably asking out of politeness, rather than
because he wanted Draco there. Guests
were only taken when a family wanted to
show of new refurbishments, or when rel-
atives were sick. Potter probably felt sorry
for Draco – that was the sort of thing Potter
would do, stupid Potter – and felt obliged
to offer him a solution. People didn’t take
guests for fun, and particularly not for two
weeks.

- 915 -
They were friends, of course, but even Pot-
ter – the friendliest person Draco had ever
met – wouldn’t want him for that long.

We’ve spent more than two weeks togeth-

er at school, Draco’s argumentative side
thought.

And he probably wants some time away,

Draco thought back.

If he wanted time away, why would he

have invited Weasley? That thought came
entirely unbidden, and Draco had no good
answer to it.

After several minutes contemplating it,

he pulled the curtains back and slid out
of bed. He gently placed Scabbers into the
cage he’d given Weasley – Roquefort’s old
cage – and then went to stand beside Pot-
ter’s bed. The curtains were drawn, and

- 916 -
light flickered behind them.

He’s still up? Draco wondered, and knocked

on the bedside table. Potter pulled the cur-
tain back. He had a quill in one hand, and
a Latin dictionary resting on his knees,
but Draco didn’t think much of it.

“Is that offer still there?” he asked, before

Potter could say anything.

“What?” Potter asked, yawning. He looked

half-asleep, though it was obvious he
hadn’t slept yet.

“About Christmas,” Draco said in a rush.

“About- What? Oh,” Potter said. He

watched Draco for a moment, and Draco
tried to clear his face of whatever emo-
tions he was feeling; he thought he must
look rather feverish. “Yeah, if you want.”

- 917 -
Oddly, Potter’s casual response reassured
Draco, rather than making him feel un-
wanted.

“Thanks,” Draco said.

“S’all right,” Potter said, still giving him

that bewildered look. He yawned again.

“Sorry,” Draco said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean

to keep you awake.”

“I wasn’t-”

“And sorry for being- before- Thanks,”

Draco said. He backed away to his own
bed and sat down.

“What?” Potter asked, looking thoroughly

confused.

“Sleep,” Draco told him. “You’re more of

- 918 -
an idiot when you don’t and if we’re going
to make it through these holidays, you’ll
need to be decent company.”

Potter chuckled.

“Was he on the train?” Narcissa asked her

eldest son. Hydrus shrugged.

“You didn’t look?” Lucius asked.

“No,” he said. “Why would I?”

“Hydrus-”

“No,” Hydrus said angrily. “He’s not him-

self anymore, he’s a stupid Gryffindor that
would rather spend time with blood trai-
tors than with his social circle and broth-
er. If he’s not coming home for Christmas,

- 919 -
that just proves it even more.” Lucius put
a hand on his son’s shoulder in a rare com-
forting gesture. Though he didn’t say it,
she thought he agreed with Hydrus.

“Did he say anything to you?” Narcissa

asked her husband.

“In all those letters he sent?” Lucius asked

sarcastically. Narcissa looked down. They’d
received two letters from Draco that term
– one had been on Severus’ orders, and the
other had been a few days before he and
Hydrus had their falling out. They hadn’t
heard from him since, and had only re-
ceived snippets of news from Hydrus and
Severus. “Nothing,” Lucius said, looking
sad, rather than offended. “I had assumed
however that he would return home, and
that we would have a chance to talk things
out…”

- 920 -
Fix him, you mean, she thought sadly. Lu-
cius had let that phrasing slip a few nights
ago, and Narcissa didn’t think he’d be un-
kind, but she also doubted Draco would
enjoy attempts to fix him. Sirius certainly
hadn’t, after his first term at Hogwarts,
and Draco and Sirius now had a lot more
in common than she’d hoped. It seemed
Draco, too, was now going to avoid his
family at any cost. Narcissa had another
quick look around the crowded platform,
for her son’s platinum head.

“Perhaps he’s been delayed,” Lucius mur-

mured. “He could be stuck behind a group
of Ravenclaws or perhaps he’s duelling
Hufflepuffs.”

“Perhaps,” Narcissa murmured, thinking

it was very unlikely.

“We should wait, to be sure,” Lucius said.

- 921 -
“Wait?” Hydrus asked. “I’m tired, and
hungry, and if Draco’s not here now, he’s
not coming.”

“We wouldn’t want to leave your broth-

er behind,” Lucius said sharply. He gave
the train a hopeful look, and Narcissa felt
something crumble inside her.

“Parmenia,” Narcissa murmured, as Par-

menia Greengrass strode by, leading her
five children.

“No Draco?” Daphne, the oldest of the three

younger children asked, rather snide-
ly. The older two – Narcissa couldn’t re-
member their names because it had been
so long since they’d attended a function
– exchanged troubled looks. The smallest
one, Astoria, glowered at her older sister’s
back, and her twin Vivienne pretended to

- 922 -
ignore the whole thing. “Can’t say I’m sur-
prised; I’m sorry for you loss, Mr and Mrs
Malfoy.” Hydrus’ lip curled.

“Daphne,” Parmenia said, looking furious.

“Bertram, would you-” Her son stepped
forward and led Daphne away. The old-
est daughter guided the twins after them.
“I- I’m sorry about her,” Parmenia said,
frowning after her daughter. It was clear
she wanted to say more – perhaps she
wanted to apologise too – but all she said
was, “I’ll see you at ours for Christmas,
won’t I?”

“Of course,” Lucius said coldly. Parmenia

gave Narcissa an apologetic look and hur-
ried after her children. Lucius went back
to scanning the crowd.

“Yeah!” There was a wolf-whistle, and

more cheering from other voices. Lucius

- 923 -
glanced at the source, and looked away
in disgust and Narcissa followed his gaze;
Lupin had stepped off the train and right
into the rather enthusiastic embrace of
Narcissa’s niece, Nymphadora. “Nice one,
Professor!” a seventh year called.

Lupin went red and broke away from

Nymphadora, who seemed to have rec-
ognised the seventh year, and cheerfully
raised a finger in his direction – Narcissa’s
lip curled - while her hair flashed blue.

“Tonks!” he said, grinning, and she went

over to greet him. Lupin had managed to
vanish into the crowd, but Narcissa spot-
ted him again a moment later. It wasn’t
hard, given his height. He was with Sir-
ius – predictably - and the pair of them
were almost a head taller than the rest of
the crowd. Around them, blocked and re-
vealed, depending on where other people

- 924 -
walked, was Potter’s untidy head and a
red one – probably a Weasley.

“Watch it, Granger,” Hydrus snarled at a

bushy haired girl who walked past. Her
face darkened and she led her parents
away, with her nose in the air. Curious,
Narcissa watched her; she lifted a hand
when she neared the barrier and waved in
the Black-Lupin-Potter-Weasley cluster’s
direction. Several hands lifted to wave
back at her… and then two red headed
boys – more Weasleys, no doubt – and
their dark-skinned friend and his par-
ents moved away, and Narcissa caught
the briefest glimpse of hair. Draco’s hair,
before the Zabinis passed them, blocking
him from view again. Young Blaise nod-
ded once, but it was Potter, not Draco that
nodded back.

Potter and Black’s group started to move

- 925 -
toward the barrier – Nymphadora had re-
joined them – and Draco was more visible
now, in the thinning crowd. He was trying
very hard not to be seen, though.

You did this, she thought, and sighed. Lu-

cius glanced at her, and she offered him a
sad smile. Then, she perked up.

“There!” she breathed, pointing to a blond

head that was coming off the train. “Lu-
cius, is that him?” Lucius’ head snapped
up at once, and even Hydrus looked more
hopeful than he’d probably intended to.
Out of the corner of her eye, Narcissa saw
her son disappear through the barrier, ac-
companied by his friends, her cousin, her
niece and Lupin.

“It’s not him,” Lucius said, looking disap-

pointed. It was a girl – admittedly, with
hair the same colour – but she was in

- 926 -
Hufflepuff robes, and was towing a lanky,
brown haired boy – with a rather grue-
some cut on his cheek – toward a group of
four or five uncomfortable looking adults.
Narcissa looked away. The train started to
move back, and Narcissa could see the con-
ductor moving through it, checking each
compartment. “I don’t think he’s coming,”
Lucius said, and then turned and stormed
toward the barrier.

“Hydrus,” Narcissa said, wishing she could

hug her son; he’d probably push her away,
though, and she didn’t think she could
handle that at the moment. Instead, she
mimicked Lucius’ earlier action and put a
hand on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to
mind that. “Come.”

- 927 -
Chapter 24:
Housemates

Living at Grimmauld Place was about

as different from life in the Manor as it
was possible to be. Potter and Black were
always up early, and moving about the
house - usually they would congregate in
the library, or down in the kitchen - and so
Draco had guaranteed company if he rose
early. Weasley, Lupin and Tonks (when
she was there) all liked their sleep, so if
Draco had a lazy morning, he wasn’t sin-
gled out for it.

- 928 -
He was allowed to wear his pyjamas
around the house all day if he wanted to,
and no one talked about mudbloods, or
teased him for acting like a Hufflepuff, or
anything like that.

And, there was so much interaction and

Draco found himself enjoying it, rather
than shirking from it; in the Manor, Hy-
drus would often pass by Draco without
a word, Father would just nod, and even
Mother had grown more distant in the
year before he started Hogwarts. At Grim-
mauld, Draco bumped into people on the
stairs, or in the library, or the kitchen all
the time, and more often than not, it was
accompanied by a question, or a funny sto-
ry, or - from Potter, Weasley and the adults
- an offer for a game of chess, or Explod-
ing Snap. If it was Kreacher the house elf
he bumped into, he was often offered food,

- 929 -
or a pat on the shoulder; Kreacher was a
lot bolder than Dobby - who Draco missed
rather more than he’d expected - and on
his first morning there, Draco had walked
into the kitchen to see him telling Black
off for sneaking off to see the neighbours
in the middle of the night.

“Worth it,” Black said cheerily, as Kreach-

er bowed at Draco - he’d been fond of ‘Mis-
tress Cissy’ during her childhood, appar-
ently - and offered him a cup of tea. Draco
watched the pair of them warily - if Dobby
told Father off, he’d probably be ordered
to turn the oven on, climb into it and not
come out, or drink one of the potions Fa-
ther kept under the drawing room. Black
didn’t seem to mind, though; he’d turned
to Potter without even a reprimand for the
old house elf.

“What was that, kiddo?” Black asked.

- 930 -
“I asked: what were you doing there in the
middle of the night?”

Kreacher cleared his throat rather threat-

eningly, and Black - to Draco’s surprise -
looked uncomfortable.

“Erm, well,” Black said, casting a look at

Draco, before returning his attention to
Potter. “The thing is, that, erm-”

“Morning, all,” Lupin said, stumbling

down the stairs in pyjama trousers and
a tshirt. Draco, who’d only ever seen him
in teacher’s robes, spent a moment trying
to reconcile the two versions; he was wor-
ried he’d slip up and call Lupin ‘Professor’
during the holidays - like Weasley did - or
that he’d get back to school and call him
Lupin, or Mr Moony.

- 931 -
He still looked half-asleep, but was wo-
ken quickly when Black greeted him with
a loud, cheerful - and, Draco thought, re-
lieved - exclamation of “Moony!”

“Sirius,” Lupin said, and Draco saw his

nostrils flare. Then, Lupin gave Black a
puzzled, slightly amused look.

“Were you sniffing?” Draco asked. Lupin

looked taken aback.

“Observant,” he said after a moment, with

a faint smile. “Yes, I was; I was wondering
why Sirius was so relieved to see me.” He
glanced at Potter, apparently expecting an
answer, and Black started to cringe, but
then Potter just shrugged and he relaxed
again. Draco didn’t understand friendship
well enough yet to know what every look
and expression passed between friends
meant, but he knew enough about people

- 932 -
in general to know that Lupin would be
pursuing that avenue of discussion later.

Potter then tugged on Draco’s sleeve - that

much, he’d grown used to at Hogwarts -
and drew him into a conversation about
how they should go about waking Weasley
up.

Sirius sighed and knocked on Harry’s bed-

room door, on the fourth day of holidays.
Four amused voices cut off, and Sirius
spent a moment wondering who the fourth
was until Harry’s voice invited him in.

“Should have known,” he muttered.

“Remus is looking for you, you know.” Dora
grinned at him from her place on the floor
between Draco and Harry.

- 933 -
“Obviously not very hard,” she said, drop-
ping an Exploding Snap card onto the pile.
“I win,” she announced. Harry groaned.

“You play like Charlie,” Ron muttered.

“He always wins card games.”

“Who do you think he learned from?” Dora

asked, winking. Ron flushed.

“Am I needed?” she asked.

“No,” Sirius said. “I was actually wonder-

ing if I could have a word with Draco.”

“Wi- me?” Draco asked. It came out like a

squeak.

“If that’s all right,” Sirius said, nodding.

The only time they’d ever spoken alone be-
fore was after Morton’s owl died; obvious-
ly Draco was expecting something similar.

- 934 -
Draco looked at Harry, who said nothing
- though he did give Sirius a curious look -
and Draco had no choice but to follow Sir-
ius out of the room.

Sirius pulled the door shut behind him and

put a quick charm on the door that would
act as a noise barrier until the door was
next opened; he wouldn’t put it past his
overly curious godson to try to listen in.

“Have I done something, sir?” Draco asked.

“Not ‘sir’, Sirius is fine,” Sirius said. “And

no, I-” And he couldn’t believe what he was
about to say, given his own childhood, but
he did anyway. “I was wondering if you’d
written home.” Draco’s worried expression
vanished at once. Sirius couldn’t read any-
thing off of his face, though he could smell
a sort of wary defiance. “I’m happy to let
you stay here of course,” Sirius was quick

- 935 -
to add. “And I’ve got no intention of send-
ing you home, but- I saw how you were on
the platform-”

“How was I?” Draco asked, rather defen-

sively.

“Like me,” Sirius said wryly. “When I

sneaked past my family to go home with
Harry’s dad and grandparents.” Draco’s
sudden guilty scent was confirmation
that Sirius was right, though, impressive-
ly, none of it showed on his face. “And, if
you’re anything like me, I suspect your
family doesn’t know where you are at the
moment.”

“You just said you did the same thing,”

Draco pointed out.

“I did.” Sirius sighed and ran a hand

through his hair. “My parents, though, as-

- 936 -
sumed I was at the Potters’. Yours...”

“Think I’m at school,” Draco said defen-

sively. That answer was the one that had
made Sirius stay quiet this long; what
Narcissa and Lucius didn’t know couldn’t
hurt them. Unfortunately, Sirius had giv-
en the matter some thought and found a
problem.

“And Snape?” Sirius asked.

“What about-” Draco’s eyes widened, and

Sirius suspected he’d answered his own
question. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, grimacing. “I suspect

he’ll notice.”

“He’s observant,” Draco mumbled.

“I know.” It was a trait that had caused

- 937 -
Sirius a lot of grief in the past, and he’d
only begun to appreciate it in the last year
or so, after the development of their more
or less civil interactions. “Anyway, I’m not
here to try to push you into talking with
anyone you don’t want to, but I do want to
let you know that you’re more than wel-
come to borrow Hedwig, or to use the Floo.”

“No,” Draco said. “Thanks, but no. I-

Severus would understand, I think, but
he’s too close with my parents to not say
anything, and I- if they find out I’m here- I
don’t know how to- what to say- you’re all
bloodtraitors, and halfbreeds-”

“Hear hear!” Sirius’ mother’s portrait

cheered from Kreacher’s ajar cupboard.
Sirius shot the room a dirty look.

“-and that’s not a bad thing, I know, but

they don’t- it’s-”

- 938 -
“I understand,” Sirius said, with a grim
smile.

“White sheep,” Draco said.

“Right,” Sirius murmured, giving the boy

an odd look. He knew Harry’d said some-
thing to Draco about that, over a year ago,
but he hadn’t expected Draco to remember
it, much less understand it.

“So, thanks,” Draco said, “but I think I

might- I’ll talk to Severus once school’s
back, and he’ll be all right about it, I think.
But I don’t want to have to write home.”
He glanced at Harry’s door.

“Do you have a preference for dinner?” Sir-

ius asked.

“No,” Draco said. “Thanks.” He smiled at

- 939 -
Sirius and then disappeared into Harry’s
room again.

It was not the usual snide “What do you

want?” or “Who is it?” that greeted Sirius
when he knocked on Snape’s door, much
later that night. It was hurried footsteps,
and then the door burst open. Snape’s face
fell when he spotted Sirius.

“Expecting someone else?” Sirius asked.

Snape stormed back into his office, and

Sirius followed him in.

“What do you want?” Snape asked irrita-

bly. Oddly, though, it wasn’t resentment
or anger that featured most prominently
in his scent. It was worry.

- 940 -
I was right to come, Sirius thought, nod-
ding to himself. Maybe. It felt like a bit of a
betrayal; he’d certainly have felt betrayed
if someone had done the same to him.

“To talk to you,” Sirius said.

“Obviously,” Snape drawled. “And since

it’s the middle of the night, I expect it’s
either a matter of urgency, it’s a moral di-
lemma that’s preventing you from sleep-
ing, or that you’ve just come to be infuriat-
ing... wouldn’t be the first time,” he added.

“Draco’s safe, and happy,” Sirius said.

“He-of course,” Snape murmured. “Of

course.” His mouth twitched, and Sirius
wondered why, at least until Snape spoke
again; “I should have known he’d be with
you; you seem to have a penchant for kid-
napping unhappy children.” Sirius chuck-

- 941 -
led.

“I didn’t kidnap him. Harry invited him,

and he agreed to come.”

“Without telling anyone,” Snape said, look-

ing irate again. “He said nothing about
his plans to myself or his family... the only
one he did speak to was Minerva, and he
told her he was going home. Lucius and
Narcissa, though, were under the impres-
sion he must have stayed, and I was in the
unfortunate position of drafting a letter
to the Malfoys trying to explain that his
son has been... misplaced.” Sirius winced.
Snape tossed the unfinished letter into the
fire. “So am I to assume you’ve come on his
behalf?”

“Not quite,” Sirius said. “I just- If it was

Harry, I’d want to know.”

- 942 -
“I appreciate it,” Snape said, looking as if
he’d struggled to say the words. Sirius just
nodded. “May I... ask why Draco hasn’t
contacted me himself?” Snape’s expres-
sion flickered. “Have I... done something,
perhaps?”

“I- no, I don’t think so,” Sirius said. “He’s

said you’d understand, but I think he was
worried you’d make him speak with his
family, or tell them where he was; said
you were too close to them not to.” Snape
sighed loudly, and flicked his wand at the
bookcase, which opened to reveal a door
into what appeared to be Snape’s quar-
ters. A moment later, two glasses and a
bottle of firewhiskey appeared.

“Would you like one?” Snape asked.

“No, thanks,” Sirius said, struggling to

hide his surprise. “I should probably be

- 943 -
heading back... I have three Gryffindor
boys in my house-”

“Until you’ve handled a class of them,

you’ll get no sympathy from me,” Snape
said, pouring himself a drink. “Feel free
to use the fireplace in here; it’ll save you a
trip to the Headmaster’s office.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said. He took a pinch of

Floo Powder from the mantel and tossed
it in.

“To godsons,” Snape muttered, raising his

glass in Sirius’ direction.

Sirius chuckled as he stepped into the fire

and said, “Number Thirteen, Grimmauld
Place!” Snape gave him an odd look, and
opened his mouth to say something, but
the flames had already taken Sirius.

- 944 -
“If you get soot on my carpet, Sirius, I’ll-
mmph.”

“You’ll what?” Sirius murmured against

Marlene’s mouth.

“Find the most annoying jinx I can and-

” Sirius kissed her again, earning a
half-hearted protest.

“You taste like toothpaste.”

“That’s because I’m a normal person,” she

said, stepping away from him. “And nor-
mal people are doing normal things, like
brushing their teeth to get ready for bed,
and not popping out of fireplaces.”

“Ah well,” Sirius said. “I like to keep things

interesting.”

“I see,” Marlene said. Her mouth pulled

- 945 -
up. “Are you staying tonight?”

“Actually,” Sirius said. “I was going to ask

if you wanted to...” He gestured to the wall
that separated Number Twelve, and Mar-
lene’s sitting room. “I have three Gryffind-
or first years in my house, and poor Moony
and Kreacher are all alone-”

“Remus is a teacher,” Marlene pointed out.

“He’s far too forgiving,” Sirius said. “Ideal-

ly, I’d need another Auror to help out, but
given the late hour, and short notice-”

“You’ll settle for a trainee?” Marlene asked,

amused.

“Exactly.” Marlene didn’t agree right

away, though. She bit her lip, and glanced
up at him, looking worried.

- 946 -
“I don’t know, Sirius,” she said. “I didn’t
make a very good impression on Harry
when I was guarding him at the Manor,
and he- does he understand that we’re- I
know you told him, but he might not-”

“It’ll be fine, Marly,” Sirius assured her.

“You’ll have to re-meet him some time, so
it might as well be tomorrow, at breakfast.
Moony’ll be there.”

“It’s Christmas tomorrow, though… won’t

I be intruding-”

“Nope,” Sirius said. “The more the merri-

er.”

“You’ve only got two weeks with him,

though, before term goes back-”

“Three Gryffindors, Marly,” he joked. “Re-

member us at that age? We were terrors-”

- 947 -
“You’re right,” she said, laughing. “If you
lot in second year was anything to go by,
anyway.” She, of course, hadn’t known
them in first year, because she’d been the
year below them. “I suppose I can’t let you
go into that without backup, can I?”

“Definitely not,” Sirius said gravely.

“Floo?” Marlene asked. “Then I can get

soot all over your house.” She glanced at
the black smudges on her carpet, and then
cleaned them with a wave of her wand,
which she’d pulled from somewhere in her
dressing gown.

“Floo,” Sirius agreed. “It’s cold outside,

and Kreacher’s probably sleeping... I could
always put a hole in the wall,” he offered.
“It’d make coming and going a lot easi-”
Marlene’s mouth fell open, and she pushed

- 948 -
him toward the fireplace.

“If you break my house, Sirius, so help

me…” Whatever she was going to add was
swallowed by the fire as Sirius stepped into
it, though. He re-emerged in the kitchen,
and a moment later, she toppled out after
him.

Kreacher, thankfully, wasn’t in the kitch-

en; he had far more idea than Harry - and
even Moony - about what was going on
between Sirius and Marlene, and the sly
looks and amused comments were coming
quick and fast at the moment. Sirius could
only imagine what the old elf would say if
he caught Sirius sneaking her in through
the kitchen after midnight.

Sirius led the way upstairs, gesturing for

Marlene to be quiet; not, for fear of being
caught, but for fear of waking Remus; his

- 949 -
room was on the third floor, underneath
Harry’s. All three boys would doubtless
be up early the next morning, wanting to
unwrap presents, and so Sirius thought
Remus ought to take the sleep while he
could get it.

The light was on, however, showing that

Remus was not yet asleep. Sirius heard
the toilet flush as he and Marlene crept
up the stairs, but it was Dora of all peo-
ple that emerged, not Remus, and she was
wearing nothing but an old t-shirt. Since
there was a bathroom upstairs, the boys
wouldn’t have any need to venture down-
stairs until morning, so she’d probably
assumed she was safe. Sirius averted his
eyes, and, peripherally, saw her hair turn
a brilliant shade of pink, as she hurried
into the safety of Remus’ bedroom.

Remus stepped out of his room a moment

- 950 -
later and spied Marlene. A wide, mischie-
vous grin spread across his face, but Siri-
us beat him to it.

“That was one of your t-shirts, wasn’t it?”

he asked, smirking.

“Point taken,” Remus said, nodding, and

said nothing about Sirius and Marlene at
all.

Draco awoke early, and was startled to see

presents at the end of his mattress; nei-
ther his parents or Severus knew where he
was, after all, and could hardly send him
anything… even if they did know where to
find him, he doubted he’d get much at all
from them, now that he was a blood trai-
tor.

- 951 -
With a shaking hand, he reached out and
read the label on the closest present.

To Draco, it said in familiar handwriting.

Happy Christmas, From Harry.

Draco glanced at Potter, surprised, and

saw he was stirring in his bed.

“You bought me something,” Draco said.

“Happy Christmas,” Potter said, grinning

as he rammed his glasses onto his face so
that he could examine his own, slightly
larger pile. Draco unwrapped the pres-
ent carefully and couldn’t help the small
smile that crept across his face. When he
looked up to thank Potter, he found Potter
already staring at him, looking nervous.

“I wasn’t sure if-” Potter fiddled with the

ribbon on one of his presents. “I thought,

- 952 -
maybe, since you’ve settled in now, that-”

“Thanks,” Draco said sincerely, wrapping

his brand new, red and gold scarf around
his neck. He liked it as much for its warm,
soft wool as he did for its meaning; he was
now – in Potter’s eyes, anyway – a proper
member of Gryffindor House.

“You like it?” Potter asked. Draco nodded.

He collected the sweets that had also been
in the parcel and put them to one side. The
rustling woke Weasley, who blinked, con-
fused, and then sat bolt upright, grinning
from ear to ear, and attacked his pile. He
had the most presents of all of them.

Draco’s next present was a large box of

chocolate frogs and a book about the his-
tory of the Hogwarts ghosts.

“Hermione helped me pick it,” Weasley

- 953 -
muttered, his ears turning red, when Dra-
co stammered a thank you. Kreacher had
given Draco and Weasley a large box of
gingerbread cut into the shapes of various
magical creatures, and Lupin and Black
had given them both a large, varied collec-
tion of sweets. Draco unwrapped his last
present. “Oh no,” Weasley said, looking
between Draco and Potter.

“What?” Draco asked, pulling a small box

of what appeared to be fudge off a lumpy
navy-blue thing.

“Mum’s sent you both jumpers,” Weasley

mumbled, his ears turning red again. Pot-
ter grinned and held his up, and Draco
couldn’t help but be relieved that Potter
was the recipient of the green one, and
that he, Draco, had been given a far more
neutral blue one. Draco felt a surge of af-
fection for the family that his father so

- 954 -
disliked.

“That’s nice of her,” Potter said, sampling

some of the fudge. He beamed at it, and
set it on the bedside table, and pulled the
jumper over his head. Weasley had ig-
nored his own, maroon jumper, and in-
stead wrapped his own scarf – a yellow
and green striped one – around his neck.

“Oh, very funny, Malfoy,” Weasley said,

tossing a ball of paper at him. He held up
the alarm clock – Draco had thought it
a rather hideous thing, but had thought
Weasley would appreciate it; it was, after
all, themed after his favourite Quidditch
team.

“I know you hate to miss breakfast,” Draco

told him. “I’ve taken the liberty of setting
it for you.”

- 955 -
“Great,” Weasley muttered, but looked at
the bludgers on the clock hands, the play-
ers flying in the picture that was the clock’s
face, and the little quaffles and snitches
that marked each hour-line, with interest.

“No way,” Potter muttered, from up on his

bed. Draco and Weasley stared at him.
In his hand was a blank, ragged piece of
parchment poking out of an envelope –
Draco wrinkled his nose – and in his other
hand was a silvery, fluid sort of material.
Draco had never seen anything like it in
his life, but Weasley, of all people, had.

“They’re supposed to be really rare!” he

exclaimed.

“You know what it is?” Potter asked, look-

ing surprised.

“Tonks had one when she came to vis-

- 956 -
it Charlie at Christmas,” Weasley said.
“Fred and George got ahold of it.” Potter
sniggered. Draco, though, was getting an-
noyed. “Who sent it?” Weasley continued.
“It wasn’t Tonks, was it?”

“Nah,” Potter said, running his fingers

through the fabric. “I think- I’ve heard
stories… I think this must be my Dad’s
old cloak-”

“What cloak?” Draco huffed. Potter grinned

at Weasley and pulled it over his head…
and promptly disappeared. Draco inched
away from Potter’s bed.

“It’s an invisibility cloak,” Potter’s voice

said, from where he’d been sitting.

“It’s brilliant,” Weasley said reverently,

and Draco had to admit that he too, was
very impressed. Potter reappeared, look-

- 957 -
ing pleased with himself.

“And that?” Draco asked, pointing at the

envelope by Potter’s knee. “That ratty old
bit of parchment; what’s that?”

“He doesn’t mean it,” Potter murmured

to the parchment, and then chuckled. “I
suppose ‘ratty’ could be a compliment.”
His face shadowed slightly, and he depos-
ited the parchment on his bedside table,
with his other presents. Draco glanced at
Weasley, who seemed just as perturbed as
Draco himself, and Potter turned back to
them, apparently having forgotten Draco’s
question, and asked whether they were
ready for breakfast.

Draco was the first down the stairs into

the kitchen because Weasley and Potter
were plotting ways to reveal the cloak to
the adults in the house, and so was the

- 958 -
first to have a view of the kitchen. Ini-
tially, all he could see was Tonks, who’d
grown reindeer horns, a bright red nose,
and had darkened her skin for the occa-
sion. Bells, hanging around her neck, and
strung along the hems of her robes, and
her sleeves, jingled noisily as she moved.

Draco was so busy watching his cousin

that he didn’t notice the familiar, but un-
expected guest Black appeared to be host-
ing, until he was almost to the bottom. He
stopped, uncertain, and Weasley, obliv-
ious, walked into the back of him. Both
of them would have tumbled the last few
steps if it wasn’t for Potter’s quick reflexes;
he managed to get a hand on Draco’s scarf,
and on Weasley’s and hold them steady.

“McKinnon?” Potter asked curiously, and

she looked up from her seat between Black
and Tonks, and offered him a nervous

- 959 -
smile. Black rubbed the back of her hand.
Since Potter seemed surprised, but not
worried by her presence, Draco continued
downstairs and seated himself beside Lu-
pin. Weasley followed, but Potter hesitat-
ed, his eyes on Black. He sat down before
anyone said anything, but he was quiet.

“Happy Christmas, you lot,” Black said

cheerily. Draco eyed the Father Christ-
mas hat on his head, and wondered if he’d
make them wear one as well, like he had
a few years ago, with Potter’s party hats.

“Happy Christmas,” Weasley said back.

“Thanks for the-”

“Don’t mention it,” Black said, waving a

hand. Draco started to offer his own thanks,
but Black shut him down too, and called
Kreacher over to serve them all breakfast.

- 960 -
“What a lovely scarf,” Lupin said, smiling
at Draco, who couldn’t help smiling shyly
in response. “And yours as well, Ron.”

“Ginny made it,” Weasley mumbled, look-

ing embarrassed, but pleased that Lupin
had noticed.

“Ron,” Black said, “this is Marlene… Har-

ry, Draco, you remember her-”

“Yeah,” Potter said, smiling, but Draco

thought something was off. His suspicions
were only furthered by Potter’s silence
– not a brooding silence, or an angry si-
lence, but rather a confused, thoughtful
sort of silence – during the meal, and by
his quick escape upstairs afterward. Wea-
sley helped himself to a second bacon and
egg roll, while Draco followed Potter. He
found him looking through an old photo
album, in the library.

- 961 -
“Potter?” Draco asked. Potter snapped his
album shut.

“What?” Potter asked.

“Are you… Has something happened?”

“No,” Potter said.

Lie. “Spit it out,” Draco said. “Or stop look-

ing like that.”

“I’m just thinking,” Potter said defensive-

ly.

“And I don’t want to discourage the hab-

it,” Draco retorted, “but it’s making me
uncomfortable-”

“Why; because I don’t usually look like

this?” Potter asked sarcastically.

- 962 -
“Exactly,” Draco told him. Potter frowned
for a few seconds, and then, abruptly,
laughed and shook his head.

“They were holding hands,” he said.

“Pardon?” Draco asked.

“Padfoot and McKinnon,” he said, glanc-

ing at the door, as if he expected one or
both of them to walk past and overhear
his whispered revelation.

“All right,” Draco said, puzzled. “And that’s

important because-”

“Because friends don’t usually hold hands,

do they?” Potter said, looking puzzled as
well. “Moony and Tonks hold hands, but
they’re not really friends… well, they are,
but they’re- you know, together. And Le-

- 963 -
anne and Ryan from my primary school
did once and they were dating too. But
Padfoot’s not- he and McKinnon are just-
Do you think they’re… together, then? If
they’re holding hands?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Draco

asked.

“You always know things about people,”

Potter said.

“I don’t know this time,” Draco said help-

lessly. “Do they kiss? I think couples kiss.”
He really didn’t know all that much about
how couples behaved; all he did know was
that pureblood couples didn’t behave like
other people. Hugs were practically for-
bidden, for Merlin’s sake!

“I don’t know,” Potter said, wrinkling his

nose. He looked concerned by the thought.

- 964 -
“You could ask him?” Draco suggested.
“Black seems pretty up-front about… well,
everything, so far.”

“But what if I’m wrong?” Potter asked.

“What if they’re just holding hands be-
cause they can?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said. There doorbell

rang through the house and a moment
later, Draco heard footsteps heading for
the door. Potter glanced out the window,
looked shocked, then nodded to himself
and then looked at Draco. “I wish Severus
was here; he’d know.” Potter looked like
he might laugh. Loud, thumping footsteps
came up the stairwell, and then Weas-
ley skidded into the room, pale, with his
half-eaten roll in his hand.

“What now?” Draco asked exasperatedly.

- 965 -
“What the bloody hell,” Weasley said
shakily, mostly to himself. He obviously
saw Draco’s impatient look, because he
glanced at the doorway, swallowed and
said, “Snape’s here.”

- 966 -
Chapter 25:
Cloak and cub

Draco felt his face lose what little colour it

usually had, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Did he say why?” he asked, looking at

Ron, who shook his head. “Was he alone?
He didn’t have Mother, with him, did he?”
He swallowed. “Potter, I’ll be upstairs, and
if he comes looking for me, I’ll have to bor-
row that cloak of-”

“Cloak?” Black asked from the doorway.

- 967 -
Severus lingered behind him, dark eyes
looking nowhere but at Draco.

“A word, Draco,” he said, and Draco’s heart

sank. How had Severus found him? What
had he told Draco’s family?

“All right,” he said, trying to sound casual

about it. Weasley grimaced – a look that
was not missed by Severus, who scowled
– and Potter was giving Black a shrewd
look, probably still trying to work out his
McKinnon problem. Draco trailed out of
the room after his godfather, leaving the
other three behind. Severus didn’t speak
until they reached the drawing room.

“Foolish boy,” he said tersely, folding his

arms across his chest. “Did it never occur
to you, to perhaps tell someone your plans
for the holidays?”

- 968 -
“It occurred to me,” Draco said. “I just
didn’t like the idea overly much, so-”

“We have an obligation to keep you safe,

Draco,” Severus said, still looking an-
noyed. “And we can’t do that if we don’t
know where you are-”

“Well obviously you do know where I am,

because you’re here, aren’t you?” Severus
gave him a look that Draco hadn’t seen him
give to anyone else but Longbottom, and
Draco shrank back a bit. “How’d you find
me?” he mumbled, feeling rather sulky.

“You weren’t at school and you weren’t

at home,” Severus said. “Anyone with an
ounce of common sense could have worked
out you would be with your friends.” That
did nothing to abolish Draco’s sulky mood.

“So what are you doing here?” he asked.

- 969 -
“Visiting you,” Severus said, rolling his
eyes. “I’d have thought that would be ob-
vious.”

“Did Father send you?”

Severus arched an eyebrow and said, “He

did not, no. And, neither did your mother.”
Draco closed his mouth. “I came of my own
volition.”

“Wh-”

“Merry Christmas,” he said, pulling a

large, rather flat parcel out of his dark
robes. Draco reached out and took it, too
surprised to thank him. “I thought you
might enjoy it.” Draco pulled the paper
off, and raised an eyebrow.

“Where’s Wally?” he asked, frowning at

- 970 -
the red and white striped man on the cov-
er. “What’s-”

“I know you pride yourself on your obser-

vational skills,” Severus murmured. “Per-
haps this can help you hone them. I’ve
made a few alterations; if you tap him
with your wand once you’ve found him,
he shall move… that way, you can avoid
doing the same puzzle again and again.”
That didn’t make much sense to Draco,
but he stored the information away and
nodded in thanks.

“Did you get my-”

“I did,” Severus said. If Draco hadn’t known

better, he’d have said Severus was rather
pleased. “Thank you.” Draco had bought
him a leather-bound journal to record new
spells and potions in - since both of those
were interests of his godfather - and sent

- 971 -
it with Potter’s owl the night before. “I
should be on my way.” Draco gave him a
curious look. “I have the staff Christmas
party, and I made the mistake of telling
the Headmaster I would attend.”

“Sir, my parents-”

“-received a letter from me this morning,”

Severus said. Draco flinched, and Sever-
us’ expression didn’t change. “You and I
shared an early breakfast this morning,
and I sat with you while you unwrapped
the presents your family sent to the school.
You’ve been keeping busy with homework,
and I was forced to take five points from
Gryffindor from you for hexing a Huf-
flepuff at dinner last night. You’ve been
very lonely, and are rather sorry you didn’t
choose to go home these holidays, and will
be helping me in my potions lab for the
next few days.” Draco stared at him, open-

- 972 -
mouthed.

“You- you didn’t-?”

“I have made the wrong choices when

choosing sides in the past,” Severus said
curtly. “I have no intention of doing so this
time.”

“So-” Draco stared at him. “So, you-”

“I will send a school owl with the pres-

ents from your family. Happy Christmas,”
Severus said, and swept out.

The rest of the holidays were some of the

best days of Draco’s life. Knowing that
Severus was willing to support Draco – or
at least not turn him in – was an enormous
relief, and Draco wondered why he hadn’t

- 973 -
just trusted him in the first place. Lupin
went with Severus to the staff party, and
Tonks and McKinnon went off to do Auror
things, so it was only Draco, Potter, Weas-
ley, Black and Kreacher around the house
for most of the day.

They spent a bit of time with their new

presents, but after lunch, they all – ex-
cept Kreacher - put on warm clothes and
had a snowball fight in the park across
the road, which Lupin, Tonks and McKin-
non all joined later. All of them were pink-
cheeked and damp by the time they went
inside for dinner – Weasley and Tonks
were eagerly recounting the battles’ best
moments – Draco and Lupin were won-
dering about dinner, and Black had given
McKinnon his jumper to keep her warm,
and Potter was watching the pair of them
very closely.

- 974 -
Potter was distracted by that for another
two days; whenever McKinnon was around,
he’d be lurking near Black, looking and lis-
tening for evidence, and he even recruited
Draco and Weasley to listen from the cor-
ner of the kitchen while Black and McK-
innon talked late one night over tea; they
were under the cloak the entire time, and
the only thing they learned was that Au-
ror Moody was going to retire when Tonks
made it through, and that Black was busy
looking at old Death Eater names to find
any potential accomplices of a man called
Quirrell.

Granger visited them all toward the end

of the holidays and the four of them ex-
changed slightly late Christmas presents
– Draco and Potter had both given her
books, and Weasley had given her some
new quills, and some patterned paper –
and Granger, unsurprisingly, gave them

- 975 -
all books. Weasley received a puzzle book
about chess, Potter got one about the his-
tory of the broomstick, and Draco’s was an
updated edition of Hogwarts: A History.
They spent Granger’s visit playing card
and board games – magical ones, that
Potter had around the house, and muggle
ones that Granger had brought from her
house.

Then, for the last three days of holidays,

Weasley One and Two came to stay.

Despite the fact that he’d had a lot of fun

with Harry and Malfoy, Ron was excited
when Fred and George arrived at Grim-
mauld Place. He was used to being away
from his older brothers – they’d all been
off to Hogwarts – but it had been Ron’s
first Christmas without Ginny and Mum

- 976 -
and Dad, and he’d been trying not to miss
them too much.

Ron wondered if Fred and George had

missed him too, or if they were just on their
best behaviour because Mum would kill
them otherwise. They’d been very excit-
ed when he, Harry, Malfoy and Mr Black
went to collect them from the train station,
but also very polite. They’d hugged Ron,
patted Harry and Malfoy on the backs and
had shaken Mr Black’s hand so enthusi-
astically that Ron had worried they’d hurt
him.

They’d whispered to each other the whole

way back to Harry’s house, and, when
Harry led them through the wards, had
looked like they might cry.

“You two all right?” Mr Black had asked,

and Fred had reddened and then nodded.

- 977 -
“This is where Padfoot grew up,” Harry
said, nudging George. His mouth had fall-
en open, and he and Fred had started to
examine the house with the same rever-
ence Ron had seen on Percy when their
family had visited a museum of magical
history.

The two nights Fred and George stayed at

Grimmauld were spent in the library, with
Mr Black and Professor Lupin telling sto-
ries about their Hogwarts days, and about
their old friends, and Ron – who had quite
a few funny family members – didn’t think
he’d ever laughed so much in his life. Even
Malfoy, who usually just smirked, was
properly crying when Mr Black told them
about the time they’d turned the school’s
doorknobs into Portkeys.

“Not that you lot should be getting any

- 978 -
ideas,” Professor Lupin said, chuckling at
Mr Black. “You’ve got quite a record on
your own-” Fred and George glowed with
pride. “-and you three – and Hermione –
seem to get into enough trouble without
even trying.”

“It’s genetic,” Fred told Harry, patting him

on the back. Harry grinned.

Ron was rather sad to leave on Tuesday

morning, to head back to school. He threw
what he could see of his belongings into his
battered trunk, and stumbled downstairs
to join the others for breakfast. He passed
Professor Lupin, the twins and Malfoy in
the library, and found Harry and Mr Black
talking animatedly in the kitchen.

“-think I’ve got it,” Harry was saying, grin-

ning from ear to ear.

- 979 -
“Have you said it?” Black asked. “That’s
the only way to know for sure-”

“Not yet,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“But I- morning!” he called, spying Ron at
the top of the stairs.

“Morning,” Ron said.

“All packed?” Mr Black asked, getting up

to get breakfast for Ron.

“Sort of,” Ron said, and then added in a

lower voice, to Harry, “I’ve left that alarm
clock from Malfoy under your bed.” Funny
as the present was, and pleased that he
was that Malfoy had thought Ron worthy
of a Christmas present, the alarm clock
made the loudest, most horrible noise
when it went off, and, Ron had tried and
tried to change the time of the alarm, and
failed miserably. It was all right at Grim-

- 980 -
mauld, when everyone rose early anyway,
but Ron doubted Seamus, Dean or Neville
would be happy when the clock went off at
ten to six on a Saturday morning. “It’s not
coming to school.” Harry sniggered into
his tea.

Ron soon learned that leaving for Kings

Cross from Harry’s was just as frantic as
leaving from the Burrow; everyone’s things
had managed to spread through the house
– Harry’s, worst of all – and took the bet-
ter part of an hour to find, and Mr Black
and Kreacher were just as fussy as Mum,
just quieter about it, Ron thought.

“I thought I’d say goodbye to everyone-”

Harry paused as he recognised McKinnon’s

voice, and slowly lowered his trunk to the

- 981 -
carpet. Then, he reached for his father’s
cloak, which was tucked into the pocket
of his jeans, and pulled it over his head.
Then, skipping the step that squeaked,
Harry made his slow way down the last
few flights, and peered around the corner.

“Do you want anything to eat, or drink?”

Padfoot asked, putting a hand on her arm.
Harry watched, thoughtfully.

“No, thanks,” she said, stepping inside.

Padfoot closed the door behind her, and
kissed her cheek as she passed. Harry’s
eyes widened, and then McKinnon leaned
toward Padfoot and Harry suddenly felt
very guilty for watching them. He looked
away, and backed up the stairs.

Then, however, his foot caught the hem of

his cloak and couldn’t find any purchase
on the slippery material; Harry slid down

- 982 -
into the hallway, and to his horror, the
cloak fell off. Padfoot, who’d been grin-
ning, jumped and turned around.

“Harry?” Padfoot asked, looking bewil-

dered, as Harry got to his feet, rubbing his
bruised hip. “Are you- what are you doing?”
McKinnon looked embarrassed, mumbled
something about the kitchen, and hurried
past Harry. He scooped up the cloak, and
Padfoot’s mouth fell open. “What is that?”
he asked, stepping forward. “It can’t- it’s
not-”

“Yep,” Harry said. He’d been too keen to

use the cloak to sneak around and work
out what was happening with Padfoot and
McKinnon that he hadn’t told his godfa-
ther about it yet. Since Padfoot had seen it
now, though… Harry held it out, and Pad-
foot accepted it with shaking hands.

- 983 -
“The trouble we got up to with this…” Pad-
foot murmured, his voice sounding rather
thick. “Where did you find it? I thought it
was gone-”

“Dad gave it to someone before- they

thought it was time it came back to me,”
Harry said.

“Dumbledore,” Padfoot said, after a mo-

ment. “Of course… He confiscated it, after
James sneaked out to help us- Of course.”
He smiled and offered it to Harry, who
tucked it back into his pocket. “”’ve heard
footsteps, but not been able to see you, and
smelled you, but not been able to place
it… you’ve been under the cloak… What
were you doing with it?” he asked curious-
ly. Harry felt his face heat up.

“Nothing,” he said. Padfoot gave him an

odd look. “I was just… checking some-

- 984 -
thing,” Harry said.

“We’ve had this conversation before, I

think,” Padfoot said idly. “About you look-
ing like James, and being just as bad at
lying…”

“Are you dating?” Harry blurted, and then

covered his mouth. Padfoot blinked.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. Padfoot, though,

looked like something had just started to
make sense to him.

“So that’s what’s been bothering you,” he

said.

“It doesn’t bother me, I just- wasn’t sure

if- I mean, if- you never said, and then you
were holding hands, and then- just be-

- 985 -
fore-” Harry felt his face heat up again.

“Oh,” Padfoot said, and actually looked

embarrassed as well. “I thought you real-
ised we were-” Harry just shook his head.
Padfoot laughed and pulled him into a
hug. “Sorry, kiddo, I should have been- I
dunno, clearer, when I told you-”

“You just said back to what you were,”

Harry mumbled. “Which I thought was
friends, but-”

“Right,” Padfoot said. He looked faintly

pink too, which made Harry laugh, but
then, rather abruptly, Padfoot turned se-
rious. “Are you all right with it?” he asked,
holding Harry at an arm’s length. “You’re
not- it doesn’t bother you?”

“Not now that I know,” Harry said. “When

I wasn’t sure- it was confusing-”

- 986 -
“Harry!” Moony called. “Is this your trunk
blocking the stairs?” Padfoot chuckled and
Harry grinned at him and hurried back
upstairs to move it.

“I’m an idiot,” he heard Padfoot mutter as

he went in the opposite direction.

Happy birthday, Mum, Harry thought,

pausing on the way back to the common
room to look out at the clear, starry night.
He’d hoped to find that mirror again, and
see Lily so he could, for once, say his birth-
day greetings to a face that wasn’t carved
from stone, but the mirror had gone.

Harry pulled his animagus incantation out

of his pocket, more out of habit than be-
cause he needed to see the words to know

- 987 -
them; he’d seen them so many times it was
a wonder he wasn’t reciting it in his sleep.
He’d finished it – or thought he had – over
the Christmas break, but it hadn’t worked
when he’d tried it in Moony’s office on the
second day back at school. He’d been go-
ing over it in the month since, double and
triple checking his grammar and spelling,
and was fairly sure he had it right, now,
but hadn’t had a chance to test it.

He read it to himself – only in his head,

because that way, there was no chance of
him transforming – and rounded the next
corner. Something hit his chest, and he
staggered backward, gasping.

“Capill meum nigrae,” Harry’s lips said,

without him wanting them to, “sicut pro-
cella-”

“Potter?” a familiar voice said, as Harry

- 988 -
rambled his way through his incantation.
“Oi, One, it’s just Potter-”

“-cerva natus ex,” Harry finished, and then

winced as pain jolted through him. Dra-
co, Fred and George peered out from be-
hind a pillar, looking sheepish. Pain jolted
through Harry again, and with horror, he
realised he was changing. “What did you-
” was all he had time to ask, before the
world warped.

His bones ached as they twisted and

changed, and his skin itched so much it
was burning, as dark fur sprouted every-
where. Harry yelped as his legs gave way,
and he fell to what should have been his
hands and knees, but all he had were big
paws, which stung as long nails grew out
of them. He would have been crying, if it
was possible, but all he managed was a
keening sound, which hurt his newly sen-

- 989 -
sitive ears as much as the panicked cries
of the other three.

The worst, though, was the tail.

While the whole thing must only have tak-

en a few seconds, it felt like minutes, and
Harry was a quivering mess on the cold
stone floor by the time it was over.

“What did you do?” Draco was asking Fred

in a shrill voice. “Potter?” he asked. Harry
tried to talk, but it came out as a whine.
Then he coughed, because his altered
tongue was a lot longer than he was used
to, and his mouth felt narrow, and strange
and full of very sharp teeth. “Did you try
to make him into Black?” Both twins were
just gaping at him. “Fix it!” Draco demand-
ed.

“It wasn’t supposed to- it was just sup-

- 990 -
posed to make him say what he was think-
ing, like the others we got before,” George
said. Harry could smell his panic, all hot
and prickly, and oddly contagious. Harry
wrinkled his nose, and whined again.

“Harry.” That was Fred, crouched down

near him. Harry wriggled away, not out of
fear, but because Fred smelled so human.
In fact… Harry looked around, and found
his wolf-side growing very uncomfort-
able. Where were the trees and the grass?
Where were the dens to hide in? Every-
thing was stone and dead, except for the
humans, and everything smelled tingly
and magical. Where was the sky?

I belong here, Harry told himself, but felt

restless, trapped. He wondered If Padfoot
had ever had this problem, but Padfoot
had been a dog, not a wolf. Padfoot hadn’t
been wild. I can fix this, all I have to do is

- 991 -
change back… It didn’t take long for Har-
ry to reach the horrifying conclusion that
he didn’t know how; he’d always assumed
that Padfoot or Moony would be there with
him, to supervise, and help him. Padfoot
just changes… Harry thought. Change. He
waited for a few seconds. Change? he tried
again, trying to remember what it felt like
to have arms and legs and a human body,
and no tail and no fur… This is bad, Harry
thought, when nothing happened.

“Potter?” Harry focused on Draco with an

effort. “We’re going to get you help. The
hospital wing’s just-”

Not the hospital wing! Harry thought,

scrambling back. His legs worked instinc-
tively, but he had to splay them to stay
upright. He must have looked silly, but
didn’t mind; more important things were
at stake. No, no, no, no, no- His thoughts

- 992 -
came out as an odd, growling yelp, and
Draco backed off, looking a bit frightened.

“Do you think he’s still Potter?” Draco

asked. He too smelled panicky.

“I think- I don’t know,” George said. “Har-

ry, mate, can you er… woof if you under-
stand us?” It took Harry a moment to work
out how to do that, but he managed a weak
barking sound. “Good.” George looked re-
lieved. “Now, we’re going to take you to
see Madam Pomfrey, and-”

Moony, Harry thought. I need Moony. He

whined again and backed away.

“Maybe we should Stun him…?” he heard

Fred mutter. Harry snapped his jaws to-
gether, unimpressed, and the twins and
Draco gave him a wary look.

- 993 -
Harry tried to remember what floor he
was on. He was jealous that Padfoot could
remain so focused when he transformed.
Harry was struggling to process all the
sounds and smells and wolf-things, and
was forgetting human ones in the process.
Third floor. I was on the third floor. He
nodded to himself. Moony’s office was just
downstairs.

He looked at the twins and Draco, who

were still bickering about what to do with
him, and, deciding they were occupied,
turned awkwardly and started to slink
away down the corridor. His legs felt odd,
and didn’t move the way he was used to,
but the less he thought about it, the bet-
ter it was. He grew bold enough to try to
run, and that, unfortunately, was when
he tripped a little, knocked a cabinet of
awards, and alerted the others to the fact
that he was trying to escape.

- 994 -
“Potter,” Draco said exasperatedly, mov-
ing after him. George though, had drawn
his wand with a grimace, and was point-
ing it in Harry’s direction. Danger, Har-
ry’s human and wolf sides thought, and
instinct kicked in. He sprung to his feet,
hackles rising, and bolted around the cor-
ner. He heard someone swear, and heard
footsteps. He had to check once that they
weren’t right behind him, because the
sound was so clear. It was very disconcert-
ing. He skidded down the stairs, bowling
over a pair of second year Ravenclaws,
who shrieked, but given Fred and George
were behind Harry, they’d – hopefully –
assume it was a prank.

Harry untangled his legs and trotted awk-

wardly toward Moony’s office. Moony was
just locking the door – probably on his way
to dinner – and hadn’t spotted Harry yet.

- 995 -
Harry, though, was so filled with relief that
a familiar face was there – even if it was
human – and was so comforted by the fact
that that face also smelled wolfish that he
jumped on Moony as soon as he was close
enough. Moony, having not turned until
the last moment, fell over. Some embar-
rassingly happy whines escaped Harry’s
throat, and he even licked Moony once or
twice.

“Padfoot,” Moony said, grabbing the thick

fur around Harry’s neck, “what the-” Har-
ry couldn’t move, but that didn’t stop him
wriggling around, or stop his tail from wag-
ging nervously. Moony’s nostrils flared,
and his eyes widened, but before he could
say anything, there was a commotion at
the end of the corridor.

“Oh, no,” Fred said. He tucked his wand

away, and Harry snorted.

- 996 -
“They saw?” Moony murmured, and Harry
whimpered. Moony’s scent grew exasper-
ated – an interesting smell, all thick and
it came in large, overwhelming clouds.
“Dare I ask what happened?”

“We- it was only a prank,” George blurted.

He looked white and worried. “It wasn’t
even supposed to happen, and then he
just- he said something and changed and
then-”

“I see,” Moony said, cutting him off. “Per-

haps, then, you need to work on your
spell pronunciation… I’m sure Professor
Flitwick would have covered the story of
wizard Baruffio with you in first year?”
Fred nodded. “No matter, though,” Moony
continued. “A quick Finite should do the
trick.” He gave Harry a very pointed look
as he drew his wand and waved it.

- 997 -
Finite? Harry thought. All I have to do is
think- But it had already worked; Harry
grimaced as his hipbones moved, and his
legs grew, and paws elongated, and as his
tail shrank into nothing. Some part of him
was relieved to notice he was still wearing
his robes, but the rest of him was just sore.

Moony lifted Harry to his feet, and put a

steadying arm around him. Harry winced,
and wobbled.

“Should we take him to the hospital wing?”

Draco asked.

“No,” Moony said, “I’ve got some Pepper-up

potion in my office, and that should fix
him.” Fred and George still looked terri-
fied. “I’m not going to take points, or have
you expelled,” Moony assured them. “Ac-
cidents happen.” He gave them a point-

- 998 -
ed look, however, and said, “but, if I hear
you’ve tried this spell again, I’ll be very
disappointed… human transfiguration is
not something to fool around with.” They
nodded quickly, and Moony smiled at
them. “Harry should be back in the com-
mon room after dinner.”

Fred and George, realising they’d been

dismissed, grabbed Draco, and hurried
off. Moony unlocked his office, guided Har-
ry to the couch, and then went straight to
the fire and said, “Number Twelve, Grim-
mauld Place.” Kreacher’s head appeared a
moment later, but he didn’t speak; he took
one look at Harry, who was trembling on
the couch, and disappeared again.

Moony had just pressed a cup of tea into

Harry’s hand – and Harry could smell it
was laced with some sort of potion – when
Padfoot tumbled through. Harry winced as

- 999 -
the Floo roared, and then sneezed several
times as Padfoot shook ash off his robes
and out of his hair, and came over, still
stinking of fire.

“Kiddo?” he asked, glancing at Moony, who

was still smelling exasperated. He looked
proud, though, and also rather amused, so
Harry didn’t think it was too bad. “Kiddo,
what-” Harry put his tea down and flung
his arms around his godfather, who pat-
ted him on the back, smelling bewildered
– that was a jumble of things. Scents, Har-
ry was noticing, didn’t smell like foods or
things, but rather they smelled the way
they felt.

To Harry’s extreme embarrassment, he

whined, rather than spoke. Padfoot pulled
away to look at his face, while Harry tried
to find his voice.

- 1000 -
“I did it,” Harry said hoarsely. “I changed.”

“You-” Padfoot beamed. “It worked?”

“Oh, it worked,” Moony said, shooing Pad-

foot back a bit so that he could press the
teacup back into Harry’s hand.

“It hurt,” Harry said, sipping at his tea.

He felt his face grow hot, and his ears felt
warm and wet; Harry’d always hated Pep-
per-up potion. Padfoot gave him a sympa-
thetic look. “Like- everything was moving
and stretching-”

“And tails,” Padfoot said, shaking his

head. Moony too, grimaced. “It gets better,
kiddo. Give it once or twice more, and you
won’t even feel it.”

Harry hoped so, and for the first time,

thought he’d had a glimpse into what full

- 1001 -
moons must be like for Moony. It must
have shown on his face, because Moony
shrugged in a helpless sort of way.

“Drink the rest of that,” Moony said. Har-

ry obeyed.

“How do you feel?” Padfoot asked, when

Harry’s cup was empty.

“Better,” Harry said hesitantly. And he

did.

“Good,” Padfoot said, grinning from ear-

to-ear. “Because I want to see.”

“Padfoot!” Moony squawked. “He’s ex-

hausted! You can’t-”

“He’s not actually tired, he’s just scared it’s

going to hurt again-” Padfoot was right,
Harry had to concede. “-and the longer he

- 1002 -
puts it off, the harder it’ll be. None of the
books tell you that… remember Peter?”
Moony made a face.

“How did you ever decide to change again,

after the first time?” Harry asked.

“More bravery than brains?” Padfoot of-

fered. “And a pretty important reason.” He
glanced at Moony, who smiled sheepishly.
“Come on, kiddo.”

Harry took a deep breath, and started to

murmur his incantation.

- 1003 -
Chapter 26:
The dragon

February and March flew by at Hogwarts.

Harry, overjoyed by his success with his
transformation, could only wish he’d tried
earlier, like over the Christmas holidays.
At school, the combination of lots of peo-
ple, and very little time made it hard to
find chances to practice. Other than his
disastrous first transformation in front
of Draco and the twins – who, thankfully,
hadn’t spoken about the incident since –
and his second attempt with Padfoot, he’d

- 1004 -
only had one other try, some weeks later,
in Moony’s office.

Two full moons had come and gone, and

Harry had remained behind, disappoint-
ed, but a little relieved as well; as both
Padfoot and Moony had pointed out, he
was still quite a bit smaller than either of
them – able to run under Padfoot’s torso,
in fact – and he hadn’t had enough prac-
tice to be able to handle his wolf-body well
enough to hold his own in a confrontation,
if it came to that.

Harry was eager to transform again, but

with Moony focused on his N.E.W.T. and
O.W.L. students, and with Padfoot pre-
paring the Auror trainees to graduate –
something Tonks had sounded very excit-
ed about in her last letter – he hadn’t had
a chance, and so had had to remain in his
normal, human form.

- 1005 -
Not that his human self was quite the
same, though; since transforming, Harry
had noticed a difference with his sight; his
vision without his glasses had improved
slightly, but he’d also noticed reds and
greens appeared more washed out than
they had before, and that yellows, blues
and purples were more pronounced. More
noticeable, however, were the improve-
ments to his scent and hearing.

Harry couldn’t believe how oblivious he’d

been before, or rather, how much he’d
been missing. The school was a veritable
cornucopia of scents, some of them pleas-
ant, some of them revolting, and others
just there. It was impossible to walk into
a classroom without being assaulted by
the scents of its previous occupants, im-
possible to pass someone in the corridors
without having a vague idea of how they

- 1006 -
were feeling, and impossible to be any-
where lower than the third floor without
catching a whiff of the kitchens and feel-
ing hungry as a result.

Smelling things and understanding them

were two very different things, though,
particularly when it came to how people
were feeling; as a wolf, he’d had an in-
stinctive understanding of what scents
meant what, but as a human he had less
instinct, and tended to think more. He’d
tried Padfoot and Moony’s trick of smell-
ing lies, but hadn’t yet managed, because
he hadn’t known when to focus, and hadn’t
known what to look for. Once, he thought
he’d smelled a lie, but had been so focused
on the scent that he hadn’t actually heard
what had been said.

What he did hear, though, was a lot more

than he tended to want; while it was conve-

- 1007 -
nient to hear Ron shouting his name from
the other end of a corridor, and amusing
to hear Draco mutter to himself, Harry
found himself overhearing all sorts of in-
teresting and embarrassing tidbits from
students in the corridors. Quite a lot of
it, he didn’t feel like he had any right to
know, and tried his best to forget about.

Then, there was the general noise; the

footsteps, the rustle of robes, the distant
chatter, the swish of water through the
pipes in the walls, the rumble of Peeves
causing mischief several floors above, the
heartbeats and breathing of anyone with-
in three feet of him… it was all very over-
whelming, and Harry had had a constant
headache all throughout February. Final-
ly, in the last weeks of March, he’d learnt
to block it out.

Harry still hadn’t found a way to tell his

- 1008 -
friends, either; while Ron would think it
was cool, Hermione would probably be
protest at the illegality of it all, and Draco
would probably be offended Harry hadn’t
thought to share it earlier, particularly
since Draco had been there the first time.
He was equally torn between wanting to
tell them, and being terrified by how they’d
respond. Thankfully, though, while they’d
noticed the sneezing and headaches as
Harry adjusted, they’d had other things
on their minds, which gave Harry time to
work out how to broach the topic.

Draco had, after the Christmas break, had

his hands full with Hydrus, and near-dai-
ly letters from home. Both Hydrus and the
letters, Harry gathered, had been alter-
natingly apologetic and understanding,
and suddenly angry and disappointed and
worried. Draco couldn’t do much to avoid
the owls, but had taken to using the Ma-

- 1009 -
rauder’s Map to avoid his brother; Harry
didn’t begrudge him that at all, after all,
he was the one that had worked out the
parchment even was a map, though Harry
rather suspected Fred and George might
have helped him along.

Ron had suffered a bout of homesickness

in early March – though he’d been cor-
responding with his parents regularly,
and Ginny more regularly, and had his
older brothers at school – and had been
very quiet for a few days. Harry and Dra-
co had finally been able to draw him out
of it, with numerous games of chess and
exploding snap, and with funny stories.
Draco didn’t have many of those, but he
was happy to listen as Harry and Ron told
theirs and Ron, thankfully, was cheered
by telling the stories of his siblings’ antics
when they were younger.

- 1010 -
Hermione helped Ron too, in her own
way, by providing company; with Draco
dodging the Slytherins, and off with Fred
and George, and Harry trying to wrap
his head around being an Animagus, and
being dragged off to Quidditch by Wood,
and Hermione off studying, Ron had been
feeling a little neglected. Hermione had
valiantly taken him under her wing, and
while Ron later grumbled – though rath-
er good-naturedly – about the hours he’d
been forced to endure in the library, Harry
thought it had done both of them good; un-
der Ron’s influence, Hermione had settled
in regards to study – admittedly only mar-
ginally, but it was still more than Harry
had ever managed with her – and Ron had
gained a firmer grasp of the theory side of
their school work.

Whether it was from Hermione talking to

him, or from merely sitting next to her, or

- 1011 -
even from his own reading, Harry didn’t
know, but Ron was level with Draco – and
above Harry – when it came to magical the-
ory, though Harry still outstripped both of
them when it came to pure, practical abil-
ity, and in Defence and Transfiguration,
he tended to do better than Hermione as
well.

Hermione was the only one of the four of

them to stay at Hogwarts over the Easter
break, claiming she needed to study for
the exams. Ron’s protests of them being
weeks away fell on deaf ears however; she
said goodbye to them all the night before
the train arrived, because by the time they
got up and ready to leave, Hermione had
already sequestered herself in the library
for the day.

Ron planned to return home – though he

promised he’d Floo over at some point –

- 1012 -
and Draco had been planning to stay at
Grimmauld Place again. Unfortunate-
ly, however, his brother spotted him on
the platform, and Mr Malfoy was over so
quickly Harry thought he’d Apparated.
Draco winced, and his scent tangled itself
up in a strange ball of so many conflicting
things that Harry had to rub his nose and
turn away for a moment.

“Draco,” Mr Malfoy said. He seemed sus-

picious, hopeful, and displeased; Harry
thought the last was directed at him. “You
said you were staying at the school-”

“Surprise,” Draco said with a weak smile.

Mr Malfoy stared at his youngest son –
Harry glanced past him and saw Mrs Mal-
foy and Hydrus watching with interest
– and then, abruptly, his cool expression
relaxed into something that was almost a
smile. Draco looked as surprised as Harry.

- 1013 -
“Let me help you with that,” Mr Malfoy
said, taking Draco’s trunk. “Say goodbye
to Mr Potter; Dobby’s expecting us for din-
ner.”

“Bye, Potter,” Draco mumbled, with a wary

look at his family; Mrs Malfoy looked like
she might cry, and Hydrus looked sour.
Mr Malfoy just seemed impatient.

“I’ll er… try to write?” Harry offered.

“If you do, try to use more legible hand-

writing than you do at school,” Draco said,
in an obviously poor attempt to seem un-
affected, “and some big words, from your
thesaurus.”

“See you on the train,” Harry said, forcing

a smile. Draco nodded and walked over to
his family. His mother put a hand on his

- 1014 -
shoulder, and led him toward the barrier.

Harry turned around, trying to find his

own family, but it seemed he’d already
been spotted.

“Harry!” Tonks was the first to reach him,

and wrapped him in an enthusiastic hug.
When she pulled away, she looked tired,
though her hair was a bright blue. Pad-
foot appeared behind her, beaming, and
dragged Harry into a tight hug, then
looked around.

“Where’s Draco?”

“His family took him home,” Harry said.

Padfoot grimaced, but nodded.

“Where’s Remus?” Tonks asked hopefully.

“Dunno,” Harry said.

- 1015 -
“Marly’s looking,” Padfoot told her. Tonks
grew several inches anyway, so that she
could look over the crowd.

“Harry!” Ron appeared from somewhere to

the left, with his trunk and Ginny in tow.

“Wotcher,” Tonks said cheerily, as Ginny

hugged her, and then went back to her
search for Moony. Ginny smiled at Har-
ry and Padfoot, and Mrs Weasley bustled
over, looking harassed.

“Hello, Nymphadora-” Tonks sighed. “-Sir-

ius, Harry dear,” she said distractedly,
peering around. “You haven’t seen Fred
and George, have you?”

“No, sorry,” Harry said. Tonks, however,

nodded.

- 1016 -
“Here they come,” she said, mouth twitch-
ing. Padfoot chuckled. Because he was
shorter, Harry had to wait a few moments
to see, but when he did, he couldn’t help but
laugh. Ron and Ginny laughed too, though
Mrs Weasley’s face darkened; Moony had
a one hand on Fred’s shoulder and one on
George’s shoulder, and was politely, but
firmly leading them through the crowds to
where the others waited.

All three were covered in large, bright or-

ange patches of some sort of goo, and Har-
ry suspected if it could be removed by a
charm, Moony would have already done
that. Moony was laughing though, as were
Fred and George, but the twins paled
when they spotted their mother. Ginny
launched herself at them, beaming, and
was received with sincere, but distracted
smiles; the twins were watching Mrs Wea-
sley, with no small amount of trepidation.

- 1017 -
“What have you done!?” Mrs Weasley
cried, marching forward. “I’m terribly sor-
ry, Remus- Oh, look what you’ve done to
your robes!” Fred passed Ginny to George,
who pushed her back toward the others,
and out of the range of Mrs Weasley’s ire.

“It’s like they never left!” Ginny said hap-

pily, sitting on Ron’s trunk to watch. Ron
tried, to little avail, to get her off, while
Harry watched, amused. Marlene had ap-
peared behind Padfoot at some point, and
was watching with interest.

“Well-” Fred began.

“There was this bertie botts bean…”

George trailed off, looking at Fred for
help, as Mrs Weasley planted her hands
on her hips. She took a deep breath, and
Harry braced himself for shouting, but to

- 1018 -
his great surprise – and apparently that
of everyone else gathered, Mrs Weasley
threw her hands up in the air and rushed
forward to hug them both at once. Fred
and George exchanged bewildered looks
behind her back, but seemed relieved they
weren’t going to be yelled at.

“We’ve missed you, Mum,” Fred said.

“Lots,” George added, patting her shoul-

der.

“You’re still in trouble,” she told them,

rather sternly, plucking some of the orange
goo off her own robes. “But it is nice to see
you. Christmas just wasn’t the same-”

“Best to leave them to it,” Tonks said in an

undertone, but Harry, Padfoot and Moony
all heard, and Marlene seemed to under-
stand.

- 1019 -
“I’ll write,” Ron said, “so we can organise
something.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, as Moony shrank

his trunk and Harry’s and tucked them
into his pocket. “See you soon!”

With the holidays at their disposal, Harry

spent a bit of time each day in his animagus
form; sometimes, it was chasing Padfoot
around the house – regardless of whether
he was in dog form or not – and once, he
fell asleep in the sun under the window. It
was good to transform, but Harry’s wolf-
side still hadn’t reconciled with the idea of
being indoors, and grew restless and un-
easy if he was inside as a wolf for too long.

A few days into the Easter break, they

- 1020 -
found a solution; he and Padfoot trans-
formed and went across the road to the
park – Harry had been so excited and dis-
tracted that he was almost run over by a
bicycle – and Moony threw sticks and balls
for them to chase. Harry didn’t find either
sticks or balls very exciting toys – he sur-
prised himself by wishing for a rabbit or
something similar, and then repressed
that at once - but the competition with
Padfoot made it fun.

Harry still looked enough like a puppy

that he wouldn’t scare people at the park,
but Padfoot insisted he wear a collar, just
to be safe, and Harry was too eager to go
outside to mind; their excursions to the
park became daily, and if the weather was
nice, they’d go once in the morning, and
once in the afternoon. By the end of the
week, Harry felt more comfortable in his
wolf-body than he’d ever expected, though

- 1021 -
he was still reliant on his incantation to
transform.

He heard from Draco once; it was a short,

very polite letter – that told Harry some-
thing was wrong straight-away – in re-
sponse to a fairly long one Harry had
written. Ron corresponded much more reg-
ularly, and Hermione almost daily, asking
how he was, and adding reminders to look
over a certain page in their textbook, or
asking if he’d remembered they only had
ten weeks until exams.

Then, three days before school went back,

Harry had the strangest dream. He was
in a dim, noisy room, and he was pleased;
very pleased. Harry saw himself pass
something large, brown and round into a
pair of enormous hands, and then his scar
burned and he woke up, gasping and con-
fused. Harry rubbed his forehead until

- 1022 -
the pain had subsided into a dull itch, and
tried to commit as much of the dream as
he could to memory, so that he could tell
Padfoot in the morning; Harry’s scar had
only ever burned when Voldemort was
somehow involved.

Then, Harry drifted back into an uneasy

sleep, and when he woke in the morning,
the details of his dream were lost in the
excitement of visiting Ron.

Harry had only been to a handful of magi-

cal houses; his own, Moony’s, Malfoy Man-
or, and Tonks’ once or twice. Tonks’ had
muggle influences, because they lived in
a muggle neighbourhood, and Harry’d re-
ally only seen the kitchen, Moony’s was
tidy and cosy but felt isolated and Mal-
foy Manor had been very clean and very
formal and full of aloof, unfriendly people
– aside from Dobby, and (when he’d been

- 1023 -
in a good mood) Draco. The Burrow had a
very lived in, very warm and welcoming
feel to it, smelled like fresh baked bread
and the tingly smell he’d come to associate
with magic, and Harry liked it at once.

Mrs Weasley had been enjoying a slice of

cake and her magazine at the kitchen ta-
ble when Harry came through, and smiled
at him warmly and directed him outside;
Ron, Fred and George were de-gnoming
their garden – something Harry’d never
needed to worry about in Grimmauld’s
tiny front garden, while Ginny watched,
looking sulky.

“Harry!” she said, brightening when she

spotted him. She patted the grass next to
her, and Harry sat down with, watching
with interest, as Fred tossed a gnome over
the back fence.

- 1024 -
“Does it hurt them?” Harry asked.

“Nah,” she said. “Just makes them dizzy

for a bit, and hopefully grumpy enough
with us that they won’t want to come back
for a few days. Ron and I made a house
for them a few years ago, though, and I
think that’s convinced them we want them
around forever.”

“Are they heavy?” Harry asked.

“No heavier than a loaf of bread,” she said,

shrugging, and then blushed, eyes widen-
ing. She glanced toward the back door. “I
mean, I wouldn’t know.” Harry gave her
an odd look. “I’m not supposed to go near
them, because Mum thinks the gnomes
are bad influences.” She rolled her eyes.

“So how do you know they’re no heavier

than a loaf of bread?” Harry asked.

- 1025 -
“I don’t,” Ginny said.

“But you said-”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, confused. “You just-”

“Nope,” she sang, and tossed her hair over

her shoulder. Harry wrinkled his nose at
the faintly flowery scent that came off her
as she moved, not because it was unpleas-
ant, but more because it was so sudden.
“Ron!” she called, before Harry could press
her about the gnomes anymore. “Harry’s
here!”

Ron looked over, beamed, and waved, and

was promptly bitten on the ankle by an
errant gnome. It blew a raspberry at him,
dodged George’s hands, and dove into a

- 1026 -
nearby bush. Ginny burst out laughing,
and Harry could hear Ron swearing on the
other side of the garden.

Another gnome ran past Harry and Gin-

ny’s feet. Harry almost transformed so
that he could chase it, but stopped him-
self at the last moment. Ginny, thank-
fully, hadn’t noticed; she’d pulled off her
sandal, and with uncanny aim, thrown it
and knocked the gnome over. Fred came
to grab it while it was still dazed, and Ron
was given the honour of dealing with it.

“So er… is it good to have everyone home?”

Harry asked. He knew from the frequency
of Ginny’s letters to Ron during the term
that she must miss her brothers.

“It’s brilliant,” she said happily, laying

back on the grass. “It can be really lonely
during term time… I- It was good to see

- 1027 -
Charlie at Christmas, obviously, but it
was odd not having everyone there.” She
was silent for a few moments, and then
said, “I got to see a dragon, though!”

“Really?” Harry asked, grinning, though

that niggled at him somehow. He shook
his head to clear it. The closest he’d come
to a dragon was seeing the tail of one on
the way from his vault in Gringotts. “How
big was it?”

“It was only a baby,” Ginny said, looking

a bit disappointed, “but it was still pretty
big… about the size your godfather gets
when he transforms.” Harry almost asked
how she knew that, but then remembered
she’d have seen Padfoot on the platform
on September first, chasing the train.

“Did you touch it?” Harry asked.

- 1028 -
“Yeah,” Ginny said, and showed him the
burn scar on her palm, as proof. Harry
winced. “They’re not very friendly.”

“So your mum lets you near dragons, but

not gnomes?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“Charlie and Tom took me really early,”

Ginny said, looking guilty. “Mum and Dad
were still asleep. I had to pretend to burn
myself on the kettle at breakfast, so they
wouldn’t be suspicious, or Charlie would
have been in so much trouble. Mum might
actually have exploded, or breathed fire
like a dragon.” When Ron spoke about Mrs
Weasley getting angry, his expression was
always fearfully awed. Ginny, though, just
seemed thoughtful, though Harry doubted
she’d been so calm if it was directed at her.

Harry talked to Ginny while Ron and the

twins worked, but when Ginny was called

- 1029 -
inside to help Mrs Weasley with lunch,
he got up to help get rid of the last few
gnomes. He was nursing a few bite marks
on his hands and shins by the end of it,
though none had broken the skin, and he
forgot all about them when Mrs Weasley
put a plate of toasted sandwiches down on
the table.

It was almost like he’d gone back in time,

when the compartment door opened and
Draco walked in, dragging his trunk and
owl. The only difference from back in Sep-
tember was that Draco was the tiniest bit
taller, and that his owl had looked much
more interested back then; now, it had its
head tucked under its wing, and its back
to Draco.

Harry’d almost forgotten he had an owl,

- 1030 -
though he supposed Draco – who’d spent
the last few months attempting to avoid
letters from his parents – wouldn’t have
had much use for it at all. It certainly
hadn’t been at Grimmauld over Christ-
mas, and Harry wondered if it had been
at the Owlery, or if it had been living at
the Manor. Either way, the owl didn’t
seem impressed at all, and ignored Hed-
wig when she clicked her beak at it.

Harry and Ron got up to help Draco with

his trunk, and offered him some of the
sweets they’d brought from the trolley
earlier. Draco curled up by the window,
nibbling on a chocolate frog, not seeming
inclined to talk to either of them. Scabbers
sniffed his foot, and then, apparently rec-
ognising the scent, set about chewing on
Draco’s shoelaces.

“How were your holidays?” Harry asked.

- 1031 -
“Fine,” Draco said, not looking at them.
Harry and Ron exchanged troubled glanc-
es.

“Did you do any study?” Ron asked. “I did,

just to get Hermione to stop pestering me
for a bit.”

“I did some, yes,” Draco said, resting his

forehead against the glass. Harry, who
hadn’t so much as glanced at a textbook
over the holidays, shifted in his seat, feel-
ing guilty.

“Would you like a game of chess?” Ron

asked, pulling his board and pieces out of
his rucksack. A bright smile appeared on
Draco’s face, startlingly quickly, and he
nodded.

The train ride passed quickly after that;

- 1032 -
Hydrus came looking for Draco at one
point, but Blaise – who was with him –
managed to distract him and get him out
of the compartment fairly quickly. Blaise
left after him, with a nod and very, very
faint smile at Harry. Moony dropped by
as well, to steal a chocolate frog, and say
hello to the others, and before long, they
were climbing out onto the platform, and
lining up for the carriages.

Harry, Ron and Draco shared a carriage

with Neville and Dean – Seamus had
stayed at school – and the five of them chat-
tered all the way up to the school. Aside
from feeling a little hungry, and wishing
he could run alongside the carriages as a
wolf and smell the fresh air, instead of be-
ing cooped up inside, Harry was in high
spirits.

Hermione rushed up to them as soon as

- 1033 -
they walked into the Entrance Hall, and
she wasn’t alone. Harry felt a prickle of
unease at the sight of Morton behind her
– Morton had always made his dislike
of muggleborns very clear – but Morton
looked just as panicked as Hermione, so
clearly their interests were aligned, at
least for the moment.

“Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Tell him,” she said to Morton.

“I went to see Hagrid yesterday,” Morton

whispered, drawing Harry, Ron, Draco
and Hermione away from the rest of the
arriving students. “And I think he’s finally
gone mad!” Harry exchanged a look with
Ron.

“Mad?” Ron asked.

- 1034 -
“He’s got a dragon,” Morton moaned. “He
got an egg somewhere a few days ago,
apparently, but he’s gone and hatched it
now! Hatched it! A dragon, at the school!
A dragon in his little wooden hut! What
was he thinking?!”

Harry exchanged dismayed looks with his

friends.

- 1035 -
Chapter 27:
A letter to Charlie

“You’re sure?” Harry asked Morton.

“Of course I’m sure; I’ve seen it,” Morton

said, sounding frustrated.

“Me too,” Hermione said, grimacing at

Harry.

“All right,” Harry said; it was Hagrid, so it

didn’t surprise him overly much.

- 1036 -
“All right? Morton said. “No, it’s not all
right! What do we do?”

“I don’t- We?” Harry asked.

“Well he can’t keep it,” Hermione said, gri-

macing. “They’re illegal! If he was caught
with it, he’d be in so much trouble, partic-
ularly because he lives at a school.”

“Sell it,” Draco said, shrugging. “I’m sure

Father knows someone… perhaps Grin-
gotts would even take it; they’re always
looking for security dragons.” Much as
he agreed with Hermione that Hagrid
couldn’t keep the dragon, Harry disliked
the thought of letting Mr Malfoy have any
involvement at all. Not that he’d say so to
Draco, who seemed a bit off after his time
at home.

“Charlie,” Harry said, tugging on Ron’s

- 1037 -
sleeve.

“Sorry?” Ron asked, looking bewildered.

“Charlie- What- Oh! Yeah, he’d take it,
I’m sure!” Draco and Morton looked con-
fused, but Hermione was nodding. “Char-
lie works at a dragon sanctuary, in Roma-
nia,” Ron explained.

Draco nodded looking relieved, and Mor-

ton scrunched his nose up, but didn’t seem
opposed to the idea, thankfully. Harry
supposed he was just unhappy to have to
rely on Gryffindors for help. Still, the fact
that he had even asked for help had caused
Harry’s estimation of him to rise again.

“We’ll go and see Hagrid after dinner,”

Harry decided, “and talk to him about it.
If he agrees, you can write to Charlie.” Ron
nodded.

- 1038 -
“Well, you sound like you’ve got that un-
der control,” Morton said, watching Harry
with interest. “Let me know when it’s done,
so I can visit Hagrid again, all right?”

“You’re not-”

“He’s got a dragon, and they’re illegal,”

Morton said flatly. “I’m not going any-
where near it until it’s gone, because I don’t
want to be expelled.” With that, he strode
into the Great Hall and joined the other
first years at the Slytherin table. Harry,
Ron, Hermione and Draco went to sit with
Fred, George, Katie and Oliver. Hagrid’s
bulk was very conspicuously absent from
the staff table.

“Potter!” Oliver said, clapping him on the

back. “Good break? I hope you had a chance
to fly; we need you on form this term-”

- 1039 -
Harry reluctantly allowed himself to be
drawn into a conversation about Quid-
ditch, which lasted until the food appeared.
Then, with the others distracted, he was
able to turn back toward his friends.

“… sudden friendship with Morton?” Ron

was asking Hermione, looking displeased.

“It’s hardly a friendship, Ron,” Hermione

said coolly. “We saw each other around
the school a few times over the holidays,
and then he approached me after break-
fast yesterday and told me about the drag-
on, so we went to see Hagrid, and then he
agreed to tell you about it.”

“You’ve known since yesterday!?” Ron

asked incredulously. “Why didn’t you
write?”

“Yes, that’s a brilliant idea,” Hermione

- 1040 -
hissed. “Dear Ron, how are you? I’m good,
but guess what I found out; Hagrid’s keep-
ing a baby dragon in his hut! From Hermi-
one. What if it was intercepted?”

“People have better things to do than read

Weasley’s post, I’m sure,” Draco drawled.

“Hermione’s right,” Harry said, shaking

his head. “Besides, there’s nothing we can
do without seeing Hagrid.”

They ate dinner as quickly as they could,

though Harry could tell from the size of
their servings that none of his friends were
very hungry. Harry picked at a bread roll
for most of the time, and didn’t even touch
the treacle tart. As soon as they could
leave the hall without drawing suspicion
upon themselves, they did, and hurried up
to the common room to get Harry’s cloak
and the map.

- 1041 -
It was the first time Harry had tried to fit
more than one person under it, but with a
bit of squeezing, the cloak covered the four
of them comfortably. Pleased, but not sur-
prised, Harry realised it had probably cov-
ered all four Marauders once upon a time.

They made their careful way downstairs;

though they were nowhere near curfew,
they didn’t want their visit noticed, and
Harry didn’t think it could hurt to have
some practice under the cloak. To him,
they seemed loud; he could hear four sets
of heartbeats, four sets of breathing, and
four noisy, scuffling sets of footsteps, but
to the normal person, he was sure they
couldn’t be that loud. As long as they didn’t
bump into Moony of McGonagall, they’d
be fine.

“Oww,” Hermione said, somewhere on the

- 1042 -
fifth floor, “Ron, that was my foot!”

“It wasn’t me!” Ron protested.

“Sorry,” Draco mumbled.

“Shh!” Harry hissed. Despite that – and

the fact that Ron tripped on a trick step
on the second floor - they made it out onto
the grounds without incident, and Harry
relaxed; the grass muffled their steps, and
there was a bit of wind that would muffle
any other noise they made. Harry pulled
the cloak off them when they reached Ha-
grid’s and tucked it into his pocket, while
Hermione knocked.

Hagrid’s footsteps were very easy to hear

inside – and would have been, even with-
out Harry’s better hearing – and Harry
noticed that Hagrid paused by the door,
shifted, and then stepped forward. The

- 1043 -
door opened a tiny bit, and one of Ha-
grid’s eyes appeared in the crack. Then,
he beamed and pulled the door open.

“Yeh’ve told them?” he asked Hermione,

who nodded and forced a smile. “Come in,
come an’ meet him!” Hagrid ushered them
inside, giving the dark grounds a rather
shifty look before he closed the door. It was
a warm night, but Hagrid’s hut was swel-
tering, likely due to the large fire in the
grate. Harry rolled up his sleeves at once,
and Ron peeled his jumper off, and tossed
it over one of the seats. Draco was being
harassed by Fang. Hermione had gone to
stand by the window, looking nervous.

“So where is- did you say he?” Ron asked,

looking at Hagrid. Now they were inside,
they could see Hagrid was wearing a large,
frilly apron that was liberally smeared
with what appeared to be blood, and also

- 1044 -
covered in scratch and scorch marks. Har-
ry exchanged a look with Draco, who gri-
maced.

“Meet Norbert!” Hagrid said proudly, wav-

ing Ron over to the fire. While his back
was turned, Hermione opened the win-
dow, and fanned herself. Harry, curious,
followed Ron.

“He’s a Norwegian Ridgeback,” Ron said,

looking surprised. Harry tried to see past
to the dragon, but Hagrid’s bulk was in
the way. Ron smelled worried. “How did
you get one?”

“I was talking to a wizard at the Hog’s

Head, I was, an’ he had such an interest
in magical creatures an’ all, and then he
pulled out Norbert’s egg an’ asked if I’d be
interested… He wanted ter be sure I could
handle one, so I told him after Fluffy-”

- 1045 -
“Fluffy?” Harry asked, looking around. He
half expected ‘Fluffy’ – whatever that was
– to wander out from behind the table,
or under Hagrid’s bed. The only one that
moved, however, was Fang, who rolled
over to allow Draco to scratch his stomach.

“Cerberus,” Hagrid said fondly. Harry

wasn’t sure what that meant, but Dra-
co and Hermione both gasped. “Had him
for a few years now, but I loaned him ter
Dumbledore-”

“For what?” Draco asked sharply. Harry

gave him a curious look, and Fang whined
because the petting had stopped, but Dra-
co was just staring at Hagrid.

“For-” Hagrid shook his head. “Never yeh

mind.” Draco frowned. “Come an’ see Nor-
bert, Harry.” Hagrid shuffled to the side

- 1046 -
and Ron moved back so that Harry could
come forward. There, lying in the fire, was
the dragon Norbert.

About the size of a housecat, it was an

orange-brown colour – though that could
have been the light from the fire - with
thin, leathery wings, long white claws and
long spines down its back. It opened one,
slitted, orange eye and regarded them
for a moment, before yawning to expose
sharp-looking teeth, and nestling further
into the flames.

“He’s grown,” Hermione gasped, from be-

hind Harry. “He was shorter yesterday-”

“Got a good appetite, he does,” Hagrid said

proudly. Harry heart sank; Hagrid looked
absolutely smitten with his new pet or
friend, or whatever it was he hoped Nor-
bert was going to be. “Ought to be as long

- 1047 -
as a broomstick by the end of the week.”

“In here?” Harry asked, seeing his oppor-

tunity. “Hagrid, in a month he won’t fit in-
side.” Hagrid gazed around his hut, and
Harry doubted this was the first time he’d
considered this; he expected Hagrid just
didn’t want to accept the fact that Norbert
would – due to space – be a short term vis-
itor.

“What exactly are you planning to do with

him, long-term?” Hermione asked curious-
ly.

“Well- I’ll see how he goes, first,” Hagrid

said, “and then maybe… maybe move him
out ter the forest?” He gave Harry a hope-
ful look, obviously hoping for support.

“The forest?” Harry asked. “Isn’t that dan-

gerous?”

- 1048 -
“I’ll wait fer him to get a bit bigger,” Ha-
grid said, as if that was obvious. “Make
sure he can hold his own against the other
creatures, an’ all.”

Harry, who’d meant dangerous for the stu-

dents if or when Norbert came out of the
forest and onto the grounds, and danger-
ous for Moony and Padfoot on full moons,
couldn’t think of anything else to stay.
Ron, thankfully, came to his rescue.

“You what where he could go, Hagrid; to

my brother Charlie.”

“Charlie?” Hagrid asked. “Always liked

him-”

“He works with dragons now, in a sanctu-

ary in Romania.” A dreamy look came over
Hagrid’s face; no doubt he was imagining

- 1049 -
a job with dragons. “I’m sure they’d love to
have Norbert.”

“Romania’s a long way, though,” Hagrid

said, glancing at the fire, where Norbert
was stirring.

“He’d be with his own kind,” Hermione

said.

“And a dragon really shouldn’t be at a

school,” Draco said, rather curtly, and Ha-
grid’s face fell. Harry gave Draco an exas-
perated look. “If the students found out,
they’d be here all the time to see him,”
Draco continued, giving Harry a long-suf-
fering look. “And if anything happened,
like pets going missing, or people getting
hurt, he’d be blamed.”

Probably entirely fairly, Harry couldn’t

help but think.

- 1050 -
Draco’s last statement seemed to have
reached Hagrid, though; he looked trou-
bled, and sad – almost nostalgic, Harry
thought – and he wrung his hands, and
gave the fire a sad look. Norbert had
crawled out, and was trailing ash along
the wooden floor as he made his way over
to Ron. Ron stood very, very still as Nor-
bert’s tongue darted out to touch his shoe.

“Maybe you could write ter Charlie, then,

Ron?” Hagrid asked, looking upset. “I
wouldn’t want- not like Aragog.”

“Who?” Hermione asked, but Hagrid just

shook his head sadly.

“Yeah,” Ron said in a rather high voice.

“I’ll- I can do that tonight, if you’d like.”
He took a step away from the baby drag-
on, and Norbert hissed in displeasure and

- 1051 -
scuttled after him. Hagrid gave him a fond
look.

“Yeh’ll let me know, won’t yeh?” Hagrid

asked, sitting down, cross legged on the
floor of the hut. Norbert scurried over to
him – Ron looked relieved – and promptly
bit one of Hagrid’s fingers. “Oh, bless him,
he’s hungry,” Hagrid said, reaching for a
bowl on the kitchen counter. Hagrid made
a pot of tea for them, while he fed Norbert
a strong-smelling mix of blood and some
sort of alcohol. Harry’s head was spinning
just from the smell of it.

They each shared stories about their holi-

days, though Harry would have much pre-
ferred if Hermione spoke less (about ev-
erything she’d revised) and Draco spoke
more; he was censorious with his informa-
tion. He told Harry that Dobby sent his
greetings, and that Mr Malfoy spent a lot

- 1052 -
of time with Hydrus, apparently grooming
him for the next Quidditch season.

Harry was able to read between the lines,

though; Draco hadn’t mentioned Mrs Mal-
foy at all, which Harry took to mean she
hadn’t been around, or at least hadn’t been
with Draco, gathered that if Hydrus and
Mr Malfoy had been together, that Draco
would have been left out, and suspected
the greeting from Dobby held the clue to
who Draco had spent most of his holidays
with. Harry smiled sadly at Draco from
across the table, and Draco looked away.

After he’d been fed, Norbert was full of en-

ergy. He gave his wings a few, weak flaps,
and then gave up and instead scurried
along the floor until he reached a wall,
sank his sharp claws in, and climbed, tear-
ing little splinters of wood free as he went.
Harry and the others watched him with

- 1053 -
no small amount of trepidation. Fang had
hidden under Hagrid’s bed.

“Clever boy,” Hagrid said, stroking Nor-

bert’s side with one finger. “Now don’t fall,
or yeh’ll-” Norbert didn’t fall; he jumped,
and spread his wings. It was incredibly
ungraceful, and he glided more than he
flew, but he ended up on the table. One
flick of his tail was all it took to send
the teapot crashing to the floor – Hermi-
one, thankfully, repaired it with a quick
charm – and then, Norbert coughed. The
tablecloth started to smoke, and Norbert
– Harry could have sworn he was smiling
– coughed again. This time, the tablecloth
caught fire.

“That’s not the place to practice that,” Ha-

grid said sternly. He picked Norbert up and
put him back by the fireplace – and had his
hand bitten and scratched and burned in

- 1054 -
the process – while Harry cleared the table
so that Ron and Draco could fix the table-
cloth. After that, they talked some more;
Hagrid told them, in a rather low voice,
that one of the unicorns had been killed
over the Easter break. Thankfully, while
they talked, Norbert dozed off in the coals
again, and didn’t cause any more trouble.

They spent the better part of an hour dis-

cussing the unicorn; what could be strong
or fast enough, what could be Dark enough,
and why whatever it was would do it in
the first place; obviously, it didn’t want to
eat it, or Hagrid wouldn’t have found the
body.

Sometime later, Hermione gasped.

“It’s midnight!” she exclaimed. Harry

looked at his own watch and was shocked
to find she was right. “We have to go, Ha-

- 1055 -
grid, it’s after curfew, and we’ve got class-
es tomorrow.” Hagrid was very apologetic
as he bade them goodnight, and told them
to blame him if a Prefect caught them.
Harry knew though, and suspected the
others were thinking the same, that men-
tioning Hagrid could result in Norbert be-
ing found, and so there was no way they’d
risk that.

Instead, they assured him they’d be fine,

and promised to let him know when they’d
heard from Charlie, and then waited for
him to close the door. Once he had, Har-
ry pulled the cloak out of his pocket and
threw it over himself and the others. Then,
carefully, they made their way toward the
school.

Severus strolled along the moonlit cor-

- 1056 -
ridor, his mind jumping from thought to
suspicion to emotion to memory to worry
to thought too quickly for him to keep up.
Occlumency and rationality had kept the
worst at bay, but it was the small things
that were niggling him… and those small
things had a tendency to accumulate.
Severus scowled and folded his sleeves
to the middle of his forearm. If someone
looked, they’d see the faintest tinge of the
black of his Dark Mark, but most of the
people Severus was likely to encounter at
this hour of the night would be so terrified
to see him that they wouldn’t care what
was on his arm.

Severus sighed. The Dark Mark – or rath-

er the monster that had given it to him
– was first and foremost on his mind. Pot-
ter’s poisoning back in November had
alerted him to the Dark Lord being… well,
less gone than everyone had thought and

- 1057 -
hoped… and things had been quiet ever
since, at least until the holidays; Severus
didn’t think it was a coincidence that his
Dark Mark had twinged the night before
the unicorn was discovered, dead, on the
outskirts of the forest.

Severus didn’t know what was more trou-

bling; the fact that the Dark Lord had – in
all likelihood – remained in proximity of
the school for months without Severus or
anyone else being aware of him, or that
he’d killed a unicorn… Severus couldn’t
for the life of him work out why. He knew
unicorn blood was a powerful restorative
– both physical and mental - but the Dark
Lord had never lacked mental fortitude,
and clearly he was not struggling phys-
ically, because he’d been able to catch a
unicorn. Severus could only wonder how
he’d managed to get a body in the first
place; Dumbledore had ideas, he knew,

- 1058 -
but wasn’t sharing them.

Severus would never admit it, but he

would have welcomed Black’s opinions on
the matter. He knew, from back in Novem-
ber, that Black had been well aware of the
Dark Lord’s potential return, and as an
Auror, he’d be privy to information that
Severus didn’t have access to. He was also
sure that, were he to ask for it, that Black
would share at least some of whatever he
knew; Black had come to Severus over
Christmas with news about Draco, and
that sort of behaviour – as far as Severus
could tell – was – and Severus shivered a
little to think it – friendly.

Yes, Black would give him answers if he

asked for them, but Severus refused to.
Black had already done him a favour re-
garding Draco, and Severus refused to in-
debt himself further.

- 1059 -
Then there was Draco himself… Sever-
us shook his head. Draco had progressed
better than even Severus had dared hope,
and had fought his way free of his family
and found his way to acceptance amongst
his Gryffindor classmates. Potter was im-
possibly slow at times, Weasley rather un-
couth and Granger insufferable, but Dra-
co could do worse as far as friends went.
Severus would even say he approved. Dra-
co’s relationship with the Weasley twins
was cause for worry, but Severus would
deal with it when it became an issue and
not before; he trusted Draco enough to
grant him that.

After the holidays though… Severus was

worried to say the least. Draco had con-
fided to Severus that he was planning to
sneak away to Potter’s again, but Sever-
us had received a very brief letter – the

- 1060 -
only letter he’d had from Draco during
the break – saying that Draco’s plans had
changed, and that he’d be at the Manor for
the holidays instead.

Severus had watched Draco closely at

dinner, and he’d seemed distracted. He’d
wolfed down his dinner and fled with his
friends before Severus had even finished
his soup, and destroyed Severus’ plans to
talk with him after dessert. He’d seemed
comfortable enough with his friends,
though. Severus took some small comfort
in that, but wanted to speak to Draco be-
fore deciding how much of an influence his
father had had on him during the holidays.

Severus hoped for the best but was pre-

pared for the worst; it was the first real
contact Draco had had with his parents
since the Sorting, and while Gryffindor
was what Narcissa had wanted for her

- 1061 -
son – though whether she showed that ex-
ternally was another matter – Lucius had
certainly been troubled. He would, doubt-
less, have tried to ‘fix’ Draco, at the first
opportunity.

Severus sighed again. He’d find out in

the morning, he supposed, and with that
thought, made his way down the stairs
and into the Entrance Hall. He was just
starting down the stairs into the dungeon,
when the castle’s main door creaked and
opened.

Severus drew his wand at once. There was

an odd hissing noise, and footsteps – lots
of footsteps – moved quickly inside and
then stopped abruptly. The door shut with
a thud, and Severus saw the briefest flash
of white. Frowning, he probed out with
Legillimency. An unguarded mind would
have been noisy, and a guarded one would

- 1062 -
have appeared as a wall – blocking him,
but still there. Oddly, though, Severus
found nothing; no noise and no block, but
he knew something was there.

“Homenum revelio,” he murmured, and a

glowing mass appeared in front of him, but
not, oddly, by the door where the perpe-
trators were. It was also impossible to tell
how many there were – though he assumed
more due to the footsteps – only that there
was a person or persons there. “Finite,” he
muttered, flicking his wand. Nothing hap-
pened. “Reveal yourselves,” he drawled.
“Now.” Again, nothing happened. Severus
stared at the spot, willing whoever it was
to appear with the force of his gaze, and
jumped, when a shoe squeaked at the top
of the staircase.

He swept after the sound immediately,

questions exploding in his mind, and the

- 1063 -
chase was on.

It took three floors, but finally, Sever-

us caught up; Weasley’s ridiculous hair
caught his eye first, even in the dark corri-
dor, and then Granger’s wide-eyed, wide-
mouthed look of horror. Behind them was
Draco, and next to Draco, was, predict-
ably, Potter, looking rather guilty. Sever-
us looked them all over, relieved than they
all seemed healthy, if worried; with the
Dark Lord out on the grounds, night-time
wanderings were out of the question. They
could have been killed, for Merlin’s sake!

“I was under the impression that you

could all read,” Severus said, feeling irra-
tionally angry. He calmed himself with an
effort; none of them knew of the danger
because no one had told them. Still, Pot-
ter was poisoned; I’d have expected him to
be more careful. Severus ground his teeth

- 1064 -
together.

“We can, sir,” Granger said nervously.

“Then why, when two of you-” He glanced

at Potter and at Granger. “-are in posses-
sion of watches, are you not aware that
it is well after curfew?” No one said any-
thing. “Or perhaps you were aware, and
just aren’t bothered by the fact.” Severus
was trying, but the boy did make himself
difficult to like. “Like father like son, per-
haps?” Potter flushed at that, and cast a
worried look at Draco. Severus glanced
between them. “What were you doing out-
side?”

“Nothing,” Weasley said. Severus glared

at him.

“We were…” Granger looked at Potter,

who grimaced and then she said said, “fly-

- 1065 -
ing.” Potter nodded eagerly. “Harry want-
ed to practice, and we lost track of time.”

“Five points from Gryffindor, for lying to

a teacher,” Severus told her. Her face fell.
Potter and Weasley both looked angry, Dra-
co resigned. “And fifty points from each of
you, for your little night-time adventure.”
Four mouths fell open at once, and even
Draco looked angry at that. Severus felt a
pang of guilt – mostly due to Draco - but if
he couldn’t explain why they shouldn’t be
out and about at night, he could at least
provide a deterrent. “And it shall be dou-
ble if I, or any other teacher catches you
again.”

“At least he didn’t get the cloak,” Ron said,

watching Malfoy pull the cloak out of his
pocket and give it to Harry, who’d flopped

- 1066 -
down into one of the common room arm-
chairs and buried his head in his hands.
He looked tired and angry, but not upset…
not like Hermione, who was sobbing into
her hands on the couch. Malfoy gave her a
wary look and sat down as far from her as
possible. Ron sighed and went to pat Her-
mione on the back.

“Two hundred points,” she hiccoughed.

Ron patted her knee.

“Snape’s a git,” was all Harry had to add

to that.

Malfoy, who usually remained quiet when

Snape came up in conversation, scowled
and said, “Git’s right. I’ll have words with
him tomorrow, I assure you.”

“It won’t change anything,” Harry said

wearily, running his hands through the

- 1067 -
cloak on his lap. Next to Ron, Hermione
sighed. “I just don’t know why he was so
angry. Ten points would be fair, twenty’s
tough but we were out late, but fifty…? It
seems extreme, even for Snape.”

“You’re right,” Malfoy said, looking sur-

prised. A moment later, he was looking
thoughtful.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Ron asked him.

“You don’t have a knut, you’re a Weasley,”

Malfoy replied. Ron frowned, and Harry
kicked Malfoy. “Ow, Potter, do you mind?
I’m thinking!” Harry and Ron shared an
exasperated glance, but Harry looked
thoughtful too. Ron – sure Snape was be-
ing a git and that there was nothing more
to it – patted Hermione’s back again.

“Maybe it’s the unicorn,” Harry said, not

- 1068 -
long after. “Or whatever killed it, I mean.
Hagrid said whatever it was would have
to be pretty dark…” Harry’s expression
spasmed and some of the colour drained
from his face.

“Harry?” Hermione sniffed, looking wor-

ried. Harry shook his head slowly.

“I’ve just thought- Something dark- or

someone…”

“Harry?” Ron said, because Harry looked

scared; not scared of Snape scared, or
scared before a Quidditch match, but gen-
uinely frightened.

“Do you know much about unicorns?” he

asked Hermione. Her shoulder moved un-
der Ron’s hand as she shook her head. “We
need to go to the library.”

- 1069 -
“Now?” Hermione asked. “Harry, you
heard Snape, we’d lose a hundred points if
we’re caught!”

“Stay here, then,” Harry snapped. Hermi-

one’s lip trembled.

“Settle down, mate,” Ron said. “Why do we

need the library?”

“To find out what unicorns are good for,”

Harry said.

“Right,” Ron said. “If it’s really important,

I guess we should go-”

“But?” Harry asked sharply.

“Well,” Ron said patiently, “it is the mid-

dle of the night, and we’ve got two hours
for lunch tomorrow, so if it’s not urgent,
I’d say we should do it then instead.” Har-

- 1070 -
ry swelled slightly, and Ron half expected
him to start shouting. Instead, he let out a
gusty breath.

“Fine,” he said.

“So you think it’s to do with the unicorn?”

Malfoy asked, finally speaking. Harry nod-
ded. “Not the Cerberus? Fuzzy, or whatev-
er it was called.”

“The what?” Harry and Ron asked togeth-

er. Ron was glad Harry’d asked too; too
often Ron was the only one to not know
something.

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione huffed, shrug-

ging Ron’s hand off. “The Cerberus? The
three headed dog from Greek mythology?
No?” Ron shook his head, as did Harry.
“Well, I imagine they look a bit like the
one you saw that night Harry went to meet

- 1071 -
Blaise.” Ron glanced at Harry, eyebrows
raised.

“The one we saw,” Malfoy agreed. “And

then there was the troll… Severus might
have thought we were off to do stupid,
brave Gryffindor things.”

“Or that we were going to explore the

trapdoor,” Ron said. “Find out what real-
ly is down there.” He’d be lying if he said
he wasn’t curious, but his heart still sank
when Harry’s eyes lit up with curiosity.
Malfoy looked thoughtful again, some-
thing Ron was beginning to grow wary of.
Hermione pursed her lips.

“I’m going to bed,” Hermione said, giving

Harry a stern look.

“Good idea,” Malfoy said, getting up. Ron

and Harry bid Hermione goodnight and fol-

- 1072 -
lowed Malfoy upstairs. Harry went to the
bathroom, Malfoy began to dig through his
trunk, and Ron yawned and found himself
parchment and a quill.

Dear Charlie…

- 1073 -
Chapter 28:
The best laid plans

Harry heard Blaise approach before he

smelled or saw him, and had already
looked up with a smile by the time Blaise
wandered into view.

“Morning,” Blaise said.

“Just,” Harry replied, checking his watch.

Blaise made a face and pulled out the chair
Hermione had vacated a few minutes ear-
lier; it hadn’t taken them long to work out

- 1074 -
that whatever it was the unicorn had died
for was Dark, and so not likely to be in the
easily accessed books in the library. They
were taking turns using the cloak to sneak
into the Restricted Section, and Hermione
and Ron had gone off to do just that; Har-
ry’d already found something promising.
“How were your holidays?”

“Fantastic,” Blaise said. His tone didn’t

change much, but Harry could tell he
wasn’t being sarcastic.

“Good.” Harry smiled, and Blaise smiled

slightly back. Harry returned his gaze to
his book, though Blaise still had his atten-
tion. “How’s Mr Benson?”

“Lonely,” Blaise said. He was quiet for a

moment, and Harry smelled a wry sort of
relief. “But he’s alive, which is what mat-
ters…”

- 1075 -
“Why don’t you tell anyone?” Harry asked,
looking up. He pushed his slipping glass-
es back up his nose. “I wasn’t joking last
term when I said Padfoot would be happy
to-”

“No,” Blaise said flatly. “I wasn’t joking

when I said don’t you dare, Evans.”

“Potter,” Harry corrected him. “But why

not? Wouldn’t you rather live with-”

“Of course I would!” Blaise hissed. “But to

do that, Giovanna would have to be dead
or in Azkaban, and frankly, I don’t think
Azkaban’s strong enough to hold her. She
goes there all the time to talk to clients
and comes back completely fine.”

“But-”

- 1076 -
“You need bad memories to be affected by
Dementors,” Blaise said, rather bitterly.
“I don’t think she has bad memories, the
stupid cow. So unless you’re offering to kill
her, then just leave it.”

“But-”

“I’m managing things,” Blaise said. “I’m

not happy, but she is, and that’s the import-
ant thing at the moment.” Harry sighed,
but didn’t push the point; this wasn’t the
first time he’d brought it up, and Blaise’s
response had always been the same. Had
it been something different, Harry might
have gone to Padfoot on his own and asked
him to do something, but it was Blaise’s
choice, and despite their strange friend-
ship, Harry still trusted Blaise enough to
believe he’d let Harry know if things were
going badly wrong.

- 1077 -
“How was the rest of your train ride?” Har-
ry asked instead. “Thanks for dealing with
Hydrus, by the way.” Blaise shrugged, his
expression becoming difficult to read.

“No problem,” he said. “The less people

that have to deal with that little git, the
better, I think. I just feel sorry for your
Malfoy.”

“He went home over the break,” Harry

said.

“Malfoy mentioned that. And I can’t do

much about my horrible home, but if I
can ease things for your Malfoy, then why
shouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re friends with his brother,”

Harry said, though it wasn’t really true.

“Please,” Blaise sneered, and then paused

- 1078 -
before saying, “They’re not all bad; Davis
and Nott are all right, though I haven’t
made my mind up about Bulstrode yet…
Morton’s… I can’t say I like the kid, but
I’ve dealt with worse…. Greengrass is a
piece of work.”

“I’d noticed.” Harry sighed; Daphne, along

with Pansy and Nadia were Hermione’s
worst tormentors at the school. She was
generally good at handling them, but Har-
ry didn’t like them much; only that morn-
ing, they’d tripped her outside the Great
Hall and tipped pumpkin juice on her.
“They-”

“Zabini.” Ron was back, with Hermione

just behind him. Thankfully, the cloak
was tucked out of sight; Harry didn’t real-
ly want to share that with Blaise just yet.
Hermione gave Blaise a rather frosty look,
and chose another chair. Her head was

- 1079 -
buried in her book within seconds. Harry
grimaced at Blaise, who waved a hand.

“Weasley,” he said, and then arched an

eyebrow at the heavy book Ron was hold-
ing. “I’d never picked you as the reading
sort.”

“Blaise-” Harry sighed. Blaise gave Harry

a sharp look.

“Potter,” he said in the same tone Harry

had just used. They frowned at each oth-
er. Eventually, though, Blaise stood, and
stepped away form the table. “I’ll leave
you with your own kind, Potter,” Blaise
said, and with a rather mocking bow, dis-
appeared from their corner of the library.
Ron watched him go, with a rather unim-
pressed look, but didn’t comment.

“Found anything?” Ron asked Harry.

- 1080 -
“I was talking,” Harry said, a little guiltily;
he was the one that had dragged Ron and
Hermione to the library with him, to work
out the importance of unicorns, and so far,
he was the one that had done the least
to help. Ron just shook his head, though,
smelling exasperated rather than angry,
and opened his tome to the contents.

“Can I help you?” Severus asked. It was

all he could do to not clutch his chest; it
wasn’t often that he stepped into his of-
fice and found it already occupied. Sever-
us was equally infuriated by his godson’s
nerve, and also rather impressed. Draco
looked up.

“Yes, actually,” he said. “I have to ask you

something.” Severus sighed and sat down

- 1081 -
at his desk, wishing for a butterbeer, or
better yet, a quick mouthful of Ogden’s.
Unfortunately, he had Draco and the rest
of the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years
after lunch, and Severus also wasn’t the
sort to drink during the day, if he could help
it. He knew what Draco was going to ask,
though; he was going to demand answers
about last night, and all the points Sever-
us had taken from him and his friends.

And Severus, who’d spent so long trying

to build Draco’s trust up after Christmas,
would be forced to tell him the truth –
which, frankly, Severus thought was more
than Draco needed to know – or lie. If Dra-
co knew it was a lie, Severus would doubt-
less destroy even more of their trust, and
if Draco didn’t know, Severus thought he
might feel guilty, which was absolutely ri-
diculous, but nonetheless true.

- 1082 -
“Let me guess,” Severus said, trying to
keep his face impassive. “You’d like those
points back?” Draco gave him a very cold
look – one that Narcissa would have been
proud of, Severus thought – and shook his
head.

“I was wondering what’s under the trap-

door that Hagrid’s Cerberus is guarding,
actually,” he said. This time, Severus re-
ally did clutch his chest.

“I- I beg your pardon?” he managed to

sputter.

“I was wondering,” Draco said, very slowly

and clearly, “what is under the-”

“I heard you the first time, idiot boy,”

Severus snapped.

“Well then why did you-”

- 1083 -
“Draco, enough,” Severus said, holding up
a hand. Draco fell into a sullen silence,
but there was a gleam in his grey eyes
that gave Severus the impression that he
was rather pleased with himself. Severus
curled his lip.

“Well?” Draco asked a moment later.

“Well?” Severus echoed. “You’re incredi-

bly presumptuous this morning, Mr Mal-
foy.” Draco flinched, and Severus winced
internally; stress had a tendency to make
him return to formalities. He didn’t dare
apologise for it, though. “What in Merlin’s
name gave you the idea that that was any
of your business at all?”

“Well,” Draco said, “it’s at my school. They

say curiosity killed the cat, and lions are
cats, Professor.” This time, it was Sever-

- 1084 -
us who flinched. Draco always addressed
him as ‘sir’. “So I thought I’d ask first, and
then decide my course of action, based on
what I learn.” Draco clasped his hands in
his lap, and for the first time, Severus had
a glimpse of the man his godson could be-
come… a very, very dangerous one.

But, Draco was still a boy, and it seemed,

despite last night’s adventures, still trust-
ed Severus enough to come and ask him
for answers. Truly, it wasn’t fair for Dra-
co to have pitted himself against Severus.
Oh, Severus coaxed him through abstract
moral lessons, and taught him useful skills
like memory, and organisation, and how
to lie with a straight face, but Severus had
been doing all of that for years. Severus
had used his skills against the Dark Lord,
and lived to tell the tale.

He bought himself time to think of a be-

- 1085 -
lievable story, by staring at Draco, as if
assessing him. Draco struggled with eye
contact more that he had before the Eas-
ter break, and Severus had to repress his
curiosity.

“Very well,” Severus said finally. “Lupin

is intending to use it in his seventh year
classes.”

“Lupin is?” Draco asked sharply.

“Yes,” Severus said. “His area of exper-

tise is Magical Creatures, as you have no
doubt noticed… He has some sort of obsta-
cle course in mind, I believe.”

“Really?” Draco asked.

“Really.” Severus tapped his fingers on

the desk, and then looked at his godson. “I
don’t know any more than that, I’m afraid;

- 1086 -
Lupin and I don’t talk terribly often.”
Draco absorbed that in silence. He looked
thoughtful, and Severus suppressed a sigh
of relief; clearly, Draco had believed him.
“And speaking of, we haven’t spoken prop-
erly, for quite some time…” Draco looked
up at him. “How was your stay at the Man-
or?” Severus asked.

“Fine,” Draco said.

“And to think you’re always the one be-

rating Potter for his limited vocabulary,”
Severus drawled. Draco glared at him,
and then shrugged.

“It was- quiet. Mother was very busy, and

Father and Hydrus were flying a lot. I
spent most of my time with Dobby.”

“Lucius wasn’t-” Severus struggled to word

his question, but Draco seemed to under-

- 1087 -
stand.

“He didn’t know what to do,” Draco said.

“He was very polite, and… left me to do
what I pleased…” Draco bit his lip and
then looked up at Severus. “He- I saw him
looking at me strangely, though. And I
overheard him talking to Mother about…
what to do with me…”

“Which was?” Severus asked.

“They didn’t know,” Draco said, staring at

his feet. “I- they’re confused. They’re not
even angry, just- I don’t know. Distant.”
The Malfoys, in Severus’ experience, were
usually distant, but to hear such a word
from their own son meant they’d been
particularly so. Draco’s stomach rumbled
loudly.

“Have you eaten?” Severus asked him.

- 1088 -
Draco shook his head. “Potions starts in
half an hour,” Severus said. “Perhaps you
should make a quick trip to the Great
Hall. I won’t have your rumbling disrupt
my class, am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said, getting to his feet.

He walked over to the door, and then
paused and looked at Severus. He didn’t
look angry, or confused, or even upset. In
fact, his face was almost curious.

“Yes?” Severus asked.

“Lie,” Draco told him.

“-only that Macnair’s working for the De-

partment of Regulation and Control of
Magical Creatures,” Sirius said. Marlene,
who was sitting on his desk, combing her

- 1089 -
fingers through his hair – which felt al-
most as good as an ear-scratch when he
was Padfoot – sighed.

“Nothing else?”

“Well, it does seem likely that he’d have

access to the whereabouts of all of the
known trolls around Hogwarts…”

“But?”

“But Macnair’s terrible with trolls. He’s

almost had his head knocked off on four
different occasions, and there are St Mun-
go’s reports and photographs to prove it.”

“Maybe it’s a cover?”

“Macnair’s a sadist, not a masochist,” Sir-

ius said shortly. He’d never liked Macnair
– Death Eater that he was – but he liked

- 1090 -
him even less now that he’d learned his
official job was to execute magical crea-
tures the Ministry deemed threatening…
creatures like Remus, if the Ministry ever
decided he was a threat. Macnair was one
of the few people actually authorised to
use a Killing Curse, but from what Sirius
had heard, his weapon of choice was not a
spell, but a very heavy, very sharp axe.

Sirius shivered, and Marlene’s fingers

curled around his cheek, tilting his face
up toward hers.

“So Macnair was probably involved?”

“Probably, but there’s no way to prove it.”

“Was he paid?”

“Goblins don’t give up details like that,”

Sirius said, shaking his head. “But I’d still

- 1091 -
guess no; if it is Voldemort, then Mac-
nair’d be happy to do the old git a favour,
free of charge.” Sirius made to stand, so
that he could pace, but Marlene put her
hands on his shoulders to keep him in his
chair. Sirius let her hold him there. “This
case has been going for almost a year,” he
said, frustrated. “And every time I think
I’ve reached a breakthrough, something
else gets in the way.”

“It’s all right,” Marlene said, cupping his

cheek again.

“No,” Sirius said shortly, “it’s not okay,

because that git is somewhere around
Hogwarts-” Remus had told him about
the unicorn, and Sirius, remembering his
conversation with Croaker, had taken his
suspicions straight to Dumbledore, who’d
admitted he’d been thinking of Voldemort
as well. “-and Harry is also at Hogwarts,

- 1092 -
and Moony too. And Harry’s not ready-
he can’t- he’s too young to have to wor-
ry about- I don’t want that monster any-
where near Lily and James’ son, not if I
can help it… and at the moment, I can’t.
I’m one step behind, and I’m terrified I’ll
miss something, and that’ll be it-”

“Sirius…” Marlene said, looking shocked.

Sirius just shook his head wearily, and
pulled her hands away from his face. She
frowned at that, then dragged him into a
standing position so that she could wrap
her arms around him. Sirius rested his
face against her neck, letting her short hair
tickle his cheek, and hoped she couldn’t
feel how badly he was shaking, from fear
and stress and anger and frustration. He
took several deep breaths, and focused on
how her hand felt, rubbing circles into his
back.

- 1093 -
When he thought he was feeling a bit bet-
ter, he gently slipped out of her hug, and
sat down again. Marlene, still perched on
the desk, watched him, looking troubled.

“You should go and find Robards,” Sirius

said finally, shuffling papers on his desk.
Usually it was him hugging her, after some
event or the other, and even then, most
of those times had been during the war.
They weren’t even at war, or not yet, and
Sirius thought of ice water to stop himself
from flushing out of embarrassment. “He’ll
probably want to help you revise.” The
trainees had their final exams in just over
a month, and all of the Aurors were work-
ing hard to make sure they were ready.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. Sir-

ius dragged the Quirrell-troll-Voldemort-
Gringotts-Remus case file toward him and
flipped it open. Marlene pursed her lips.

- 1094 -
“Can you recite that without looking, yet?”
she asked, rolling her eyes.

Yes, Sirius thought. “No,” he said aloud.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said, running her

hand through his hair once more.

“See you,” Sirius said, nodding at the parch-

ment in front of him. Marlene stalked out,
and as soon as she was gone, Sirius buried
his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes
with his palms. Harry could handle him-
self, certainly, but prophecy child or not, he
wasn’t ready to deal with Voldemort yet.
And Voldemort… obviously he was near
the school, but none of the charms Siri-
us or Dumbledore had done had revealed
him, and Sirius didn’t like that at all. He’d
grown confident as an Auror, and got used

- 1095 -
to stupid and unprepared criminals, rath-
er than people that knew what they were
doing, and liked it even less when Harry –
along with the stone - was the target.

Harry knew, of course, that Voldemort

was – potentially – coming back, but he
didn’t know everything. The prophecy was
enough for him to deal with at the mo-
ment, and Sirius didn’t want to stress him
by telling him Voldemort was still near
the school. He doubted Harry would, but
a small part of Sirius feared Harry would
try to find Voldemort and stop him, and
Sirius didn’t want to put Harry – or Har-
ry’s friends – in that position.

Sirius’ mirror burned in his pocket, and

he jumped and then pulled it out quick-
ly. Thankfully, it was Harry’s face in the
mirror, and not Remus or Ron, to tell him
about some accident or other. Harry’d only

- 1096 -
been back at school for two days, but Sirius
had learned not to underestimate Harry’s
luck (which seemed to put him in harm’s
way on a regular basis, but had, thus far,
kept him from being hurt too badly).

“Harry?” he asked sharply.

“Padfoot,” Harry said hoarsely. He didn’t

look well. “Padfoot, I think- A unicorn died
here, at school. Hagrid told me-”

“I heard from Remus,” Sirius said. “Kiddo

what’s wrong?” Harry looked like he was
about to be sick.

“Padfoot, I think- I think it might be- I

think it’s Voldemort. I think he’s here
again, or at least, he was. I looked at uni-
corns- I mean, at why they’d try to kill
them, and I know their horns and tails are
valuable, but Hagrid would have said… I

- 1097 -
think they killed it for blood. Do you- do
you know what unicorn blood does?”

“Yes, I know,” Sirius said, mind racing.

What was he supposed to say now?

“I think Voldemort’s trying to use it so that

he- to get stronger-”

“I think you might be right,” Sirius said.

Harry paled a little, but didn’t seem sur-
prised.

“Padfoot,” Harry said. “What do I do?”

“Nothing,” Sirius said at once. “Dumb-

ledore and the teachers think the same
thing, and they’re keeping an eye out. In
fact, I’m patrolling the forest on Friday
night, with Dumbledore, to make sure
he’s not hiding somewhere in there.” Siri-
us swallowed. “It’ll all be fine; we’re man-

- 1098 -
aging it, all right?”

“All right,” Harry said.

“Good,” Sirius said.

“So that’s what he wants?” Harry asked.

“Unicorns?”

“For the moment,” Sirius said. “Unicorns

are- they’re temporary. Their blood’ll last
for about a week, and then he’ll be weak
again… need something else. That’s why
we’ll be out there on Friday.”

“So then- what does he want? If he’s this

close to the school, he could have-” Har-
ry swallowed. “-killed me, if he wanted.
Couldn’t he? Because no one knows where
he is, or what he looks like, he could just-”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius said firmly, but

- 1099 -
Harry didn’t appear to have heard.

“So he wants something else… he’s wait-

ing.” Harry’s eyes, brilliantly, piercingly
green, stared through the mirror and at
Sirius. Lily was there, in the shape and
colour and warmth of the eyes, but there
was a lot there that was stubborn and re-
signed and alert and entirely Harry. “Isn’t
he?” Sirius nodded. “What for?”

Sirius hesitated for the briefest moment,

and then figured Harry was taking every-
thing well so far, and that telling Harry
the truth was yet to backfire horribly...
Please don’t let this be the time it does.

“The Philosopher’s Stone,” Sirius said in a

low voice.

“The wha-”

- 1100 -
“That’s all I can say,” Sirius said. “But you
can work it out from there. Harry.” Harry
looked at him, frowning. “Promise me you
won’t go looking for the stone, or Volde-
mort, or do anything silly. Promise.”

“I promise,” Harry said easily, but there

was something in his expression that
made Sirius uneasy. He frowned. “I prom-
ise,” Harry said again. There was a pause,
and then Harry’s expression twisted. “Do
you want to hear something else silly,
though?”

Sirius listened exasperatedly as Harry

told him about Hagrid’s new dragon, with
interest as Harry explained about Morton
and frowned when Harry told him – rather
unhappily – about Snape docking them so
many points. Then, he listened thought-
fully as Harry told him about Charlie’s re-
sponse, and their plans to get the dragon

- 1101 -
out of Hogwarts.

“It’s a good plan,” Sirius said, “or as good

as it can be, given the circumstances…
But kiddo, I think there might be a slight-
ly better, slightly less risky way to do it.”

“How?” Harry asked, his eyes lighting up

with curiosity.

“Here it is,” Hermione said. “The Philoso-

pher’s Stone.” They’d met up with Draco in
Potions and the four of them had returned
straight to the library afterward. “The
stone,” Hermione read, “can turn any met-
al into pure gold-” Harry didn’t miss the
awed look on Ron’s face. “-and it produces
the Elixir of Life.”

“Does it bring people back from the dead?”

- 1102 -
Harry guessed.

“No,” Hermione said, “but it makes the

drinker immortal.”

Voldemort, settled into Harry’s mind with

complete certainty.

“Why the sudden interest?” Draco asked.

“That’s what Fluffy’s guarding,” Harry

said. Three startled pairs of eyes stared
back at him.

“What?!” Hermione asked. “Are you sure?”

“How do you know?” Draco demanded. Ron

just looked stunned.

“Shh,” Harry said, waving his hands to

keep them quiet. “Firstly, yes, I’m sure;
Padfoot told me…”

- 1103 -
“Oh, brilliant; your godfather tells you
things,” Draco said, looking put out.

“Secondly,” Harry continued in a slightly

louder, but still quiet voice, “it’s in dan-
ger.” Harry stared at his friends’ faces.
“Voldemort’s after it.” All three of the oth-
ers flinched – Hermione’s was more out of
surprise, but both Ron and Draco twitched
as if they’d been hit with a stinging hex.

“Harry…” Ron said, looking troubled, but

Harry put up a hand, and started to talk.
He told them Padfoot’s thoughts about
his poisoning in November (but kept the
prophecy to himself), what he’d guessed
about the unicorn, and what Padfoot had
told him through the mirror that after-
noon.

“But-” Draco looked frightened. “Won’t

- 1104 -
he come after you, then? He already has
once- well, twice if you include when you
were a baby.”

“It’s possible,” Harry said.

“No wonder Snape was angry we were out-

side last night!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Still didn’t need to take that many

points…” Ron muttered.

“What are you going to do?” Draco asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said. Ron and Draco ex-

changed skeptical looks. Hermione just
looked worried. “Dumbledore knows, and
Padfoot knows, and they’re… managing
things.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered.

- 1105 -
“It’s fine,” Harry said. “I just- I’ll under-
stand if you want to keep your distance
until we know for certain where he is and
what he’s planning-”

“Don’t be silly,” Hermione said.

“We’re with you, mate,” Ron said, with a

nervous, but sincere smile. Harry glanced
at Draco, worried.

“You’re the least observant person I’ve

ever had the misfortune to meet,” Dra-
co drawled. Harry bit his lip. “The Dark
Lord could be standing right next to you
and you wouldn’t even notice, and I for
one, don’t think that’s safe at all.” He of-
fered Harry the tiniest smile Harry had
ever seen. “I think you’ll need someone ob-
servant around to make sure that doesn’t
happen, and since Granger’s usually got
her head in a book, and Weasley’s just as

- 1106 -
oblivious as you, I suppose it’ll have to be
me.” Harry stared at him, and a slow an-
swering smile spread across his face. Ron
was grinning, and Hermione looked like
she might cry.

“Thanks,” Harry said thickly. Draco just

shrugged. Harry composed himself. “The
other thing,” Harry said, “I talked to Pad-
foot about, was meeting Charlie’s friends.”

“You heard back?” Draco asked sharply.

Ron pulled the letter – which they’d re-
ceived shortly before Potions, from an ab-
solutely exhausted Hedwig – out of his
pocket. Draco read it and passed it back.
“Friday?”

“Friday,” Ron said, nodding. “What did Mr

Black-”

“He thinks Moony should take Norbert,”

- 1107 -
Harry said. Hermione looked relieved.
“Moony’s a teacher, so he won’t get in trou-
ble if he’s caught, and I can give him the
cloak to cover Norbert, and the map, so he
can be quick about it.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Hermione

said at once. “We’ll be in so much trouble
if we’re caught, after what happened with
Snape…”

Harry exchanged a long-suffering look

with Ron, and the four of them set about
deciding the best way to ask Moony about
Friday.

Remus was just wondering how to get the

contents of the phial in his sleeve into Mc-
Gonagall’s goblet at breakfast, when the
Hufflepuff table vanished under a cloud of

- 1108 -
gold glitter. Every teacher snapped to at-
tention, and with a quick flick of his wrist,
Remus’ work was done.

Harry – who was eyeing him from Gryffin-

dor’s table – raised an eyebrow, and Remus
nodded back. Harry grinned and turned
to Draco, who was receiving enthusias-
tic back-pats from Ron. Remus shook his
head.

“-can handle it, not to worry,” Professor

Sprout said, getting to her feet with a sigh.

“And I expect I know where I’ll find the

perpetrators,” McGonagall said angrily.
“Poor Molly; if she’s had one letter from
me this year, she’s had one thousand!”

“Leave them,” Remus said, fairly sure

that Fred and George – for once – were
blameless. “Everyone’s been so stressed

- 1109 -
lately… the children might not know why,
but they’re not blind. It might be good for
everyone to have a laugh, and Gryffindor
really can’t afford to lose any more points.”
McGonagall glanced at the tables, and her
nostrils ceased their flaring.

“I suppose,” she said stiffly, but her face

softened; Gryffindor table was laughing,
as were most of the Slytherins, and more
Ravenclaws were laughing than not. And,
the beauty of the target having been Huf-
flepuff was that most of them were laugh-
ing too; all of the other Hufflepuffs were
in the same situation, and Hufflepuffs
weren’t proud or tetchy enough to flare up
over something that hadn’t actually hurt
or embarrassed them. McGonagall took
a sip from her goblet, and Remus looked
away from her, and focused on his plate
instead.

- 1110 -
At lunchtime, that same day, Remus was
again next to McGonagall, and the Huf-
flepuffs were slightly less shimmery –
having trailed their glitter all over the
castle during the morning. Remus almost,
but not quite, felt a pang of sympathy for
Filch.

“You don’t look well,” Remus said to Mc-

Gonagall, at lunch. It was true; she looked
tired and pale, and her nose was red and
runny. He tried not to look too pleased
with himself.

“I seem to have- I have the most frightful

headache,” she admitted.

“Did you have the twins this afternoon?”

Remus joked. McGonagall managed a
weak smile, and took a small sip of water.
Then she shook her head.

- 1111 -
“About an hour after breakfast I just start-
ed to feel… well, feel ill,” she decided.

“Have the afternoon off,” Remus suggest-

ed. “Get the house elves to bring you din-
ner, and-”

“I have classes this afternoon, and then I’m

on patrol tonight,” she said. “I’ll manage,
don’t you worry about that.” Remus made
an apologetic gesture, and went back to
his lunch.

At dinner time, McGonagall was looking

utterly miserable, and Remus, who’d once
again claimed the seat next to her, cast a
pitying look in her direction. Sirius, who’d
showed up to have dinner before heading
out into the forest to patrol with Dumble-
dore, glanced at her, concerned.

“I’m sick, not dying,” she snapped at him,

- 1112 -
and blew her nose loudly in a tartan hand-
kerchief.

“All right,” Sirius said, leaning away from

her. “Sorry for showing concern for your
health, like a decent person.” McGonagall
gave him a look of utter loathing, and Siri-
us hastily turned around to talk to Snape.

“Let me take your rounds tonight,” Remus

offered. McGonagall turned drowsy eyes
on him. “I’ll be sick myself in a few days-”
They both glanced at the enchanted ceil-
ing, which was adorned with a nearly full
moon. “-so you can just cover for me then.”

“Would you?” she asked, grimacing. “I- I

don’t know what’s come over me, I just-”

“Not to worry,” Remus said. “Maybe go and

see Madam Pomfrey, and take something
to help you sleep before bed.”

- 1113 -
“An early night,” McGonagall agreed, look-
ing relieved. She played with her soup for a
few more minutes before she stood and left
the hall. Remus saw Hermione watching
her, and then watched Hermione nudge
Harry. Harry gave Remus a thumbs up.

“Nice work,” Sirius said. Remus heard

him, but Sirius had spoken so softly that
Snape didn’t even pause.

“I wasn’t a Marauder for nothing,” Remus

muttered back. Harry heard Blaise ap-
proach before he smelled or saw him, and
had already looked up with a smile by the
time Blaise wandered into view.

“Morning,” Blaise said.

“Just,” Harry replied, checking his watch.

Blaise made a face and pulled out the chair

- 1114 -
Hermione had vacated a few minutes ear-
lier; it hadn’t taken them long to work out
that whatever it was the unicorn had died
for was Dark, and so not likely to be in the
easily accessed books in the library. They
were taking turns using the cloak to sneak
into the Restricted Section, and Hermione
and Ron had gone off to do just that; Har-
ry’d already found something promising.
“How were your holidays?”

“Fantastic,” Blaise said. His tone didn’t

change much, but Harry could tell he
wasn’t being sarcastic.

“Good.” Harry smiled, and Blaise smiled

slightly back. Harry returned his gaze to
his book, though Blaise still had his atten-
tion. “How’s Mr Benson?”

“Lonely,” Blaise said. He was quiet for a

moment, and Harry smelled a wry sort of

- 1115 -
relief. “But he’s alive, which is what mat-
ters…”

“Why don’t you tell anyone?” Harry asked,

looking up. He pushed his slipping glass-
es back up his nose. “I wasn’t joking last
term when I said Padfoot would be happy
to-”

“No,” Blaise said flatly. “I wasn’t joking

when I said don’t you dare, Evans.”

“Potter,” Harry corrected him. “But why

not? Wouldn’t you rather live with-”

“Of course I would!” Blaise hissed. “But to

do that, Giovanna would have to be dead
or in Azkaban, and frankly, I don’t think
Azkaban’s strong enough to hold her. She
goes there all the time to talk to clients
and comes back completely fine.”

- 1116 -
“But-”

“You need bad memories to be affected by

Dementors,” Blaise said, rather bitterly.
“I don’t think she has bad memories, the
stupid cow. So unless you’re offering to kill
her, then just leave it.”

“But-”

“I’m managing things,” Blaise said. “I’m

not happy, but she is, and that’s the import-
ant thing at the moment.” Harry sighed,
but didn’t push the point; this wasn’t the
first time he’d brought it up, and Blaise’s
response had always been the same. Had
it been something different, Harry might
have gone to Padfoot on his own and asked
him to do something, but it was Blaise’s
choice, and despite their strange friend-
ship, Harry still trusted Blaise enough to
believe he’d let Harry know if things were

- 1117 -
going badly wrong.

“How was the rest of your train ride?” Har-

ry asked instead. “Thanks for dealing with
Hydrus, by the way.” Blaise shrugged, his
expression becoming difficult to read.

“No problem,” he said. “The less people

that have to deal with that little git, the
better, I think. I just feel sorry for your
Malfoy.”

“He went home over the break,” Harry

said.

“Malfoy mentioned that. And I can’t do

much about my horrible home, but if I
can ease things for your Malfoy, then why
shouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re friends with his brother,”

Harry said, though it wasn’t really true.

- 1118 -
“Please,” Blaise sneered, and then paused
before saying, “They’re not all bad; Davis
and Nott are all right, though I haven’t
made my mind up about Bulstrode yet…
Morton’s… I can’t say I like the kid, but
I’ve dealt with worse…. Greengrass is a
piece of work.”

“I’d noticed.” Harry sighed; Daphne, along

with Pansy and Nadia were Hermione’s
worst tormentors at the school. She was
generally good at handling them, but Har-
ry didn’t like them much; only that morn-
ing, they’d tripped her outside the Great
Hall and tipped pumpkin juice on her.
“They-”

“Zabini.” Ron was back, with Hermione

just behind him. Thankfully, the cloak
was tucked out of sight; Harry didn’t real-
ly want to share that with Blaise just yet.

- 1119 -
Hermione gave Blaise a rather frosty look,
and chose another chair. Her head was
buried in her book within seconds. Harry
grimaced at Blaise, who waved a hand.

“Weasley,” he said, and then arched an

eyebrow at the heavy book Ron was hold-
ing. “I’d never picked you as the reading
sort.”

“Blaise-” Harry sighed. Blaise gave Harry

a sharp look.

“Potter,” he said in the same tone Harry

had just used. They frowned at each oth-
er. Eventually, though, Blaise stood, and
stepped away form the table. “I’ll leave
you with your own kind, Potter,” Blaise
said, and with a rather mocking bow, dis-
appeared from their corner of the library.
Ron watched him go, with a rather unim-
pressed look, but didn’t comment.

- 1120 -
“Found anything?” Ron asked Harry.

“I was talking,” Harry said, a little guiltily;

he was the one that had dragged Ron and
Hermione to the library with him, to work
out the importance of unicorns, and so far,
he was the one that had done the least
to help. Ron just shook his head, though,
smelling exasperated rather than angry,
and opened his tome to the contents.

“Can I help you?” Severus asked. It was

all he could do to not clutch his chest; it
wasn’t often that he stepped into his of-
fice and found it already occupied. Sever-
us was equally infuriated by his godson’s
nerve, and also rather impressed. Draco
looked up.

“Yes, actually,” he said. “I have to ask you

something.” Severus sighed and sat down

- 1121 -
at his desk, wishing for a butterbeer, or
better yet, a quick mouthful of Ogden’s.
Unfortunately, he had Draco and the rest
of the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years
after lunch, and Severus also wasn’t the
sort to drink during the day, if he could help
it. He knew what Draco was going to ask,
though; he was going to demand answers
about last night, and all the points Sever-
us had taken from him and his friends.

And Severus, who’d spent so long trying

to build Draco’s trust up after Christmas,
would be forced to tell him the truth –
which, frankly, Severus thought was more
than Draco needed to know – or lie. If Dra-
co knew it was a lie, Severus would doubt-
less destroy even more of their trust, and
if Draco didn’t know, Severus thought he
might feel guilty, which was absolutely ri-
diculous, but nonetheless true.

- 1122 -
“Let me guess,” Severus said, trying to
keep his face impassive. “You’d like those
points back?” Draco gave him a very cold
look – one that Narcissa would have been
proud of, Severus thought – and shook his
head.

“I was wondering what’s under the trap-

door that Hagrid’s Cerberus is guarding,
actually,” he said. This time, Severus re-
ally did clutch his chest.

“I- I beg your pardon?” he managed to

sputter.

“I was wondering,” Draco said, very slowly

and clearly, “what is under the-”

“I heard you the first time, idiot boy,”

Severus snapped.

“Well then why did you-”

- 1123 -
“Draco, enough,” Severus said, holding up
a hand. Draco fell into a sullen silence,
but there was a gleam in his grey eyes
that gave Severus the impression that he
was rather pleased with himself. Severus
curled his lip.

“Well?” Draco asked a moment later.

“Well?” Severus echoed. “You’re incredi-

bly presumptuous this morning, Mr Mal-
foy.” Draco flinched, and Severus winced
internally; stress had a tendency to make
him return to formalities. He didn’t dare
apologise for it, though. “What in Merlin’s
name gave you the idea that that was any
of your business at all?”

“Well,” Draco said, “it’s at my school. They

say curiosity killed the cat, and lions are
cats, Professor.” This time, it was Sever-

- 1124 -
us who flinched. Draco always addressed
him as ‘sir’. “So I thought I’d ask first, and
then decide my course of action, based on
what I learn.” Draco clasped his hands in
his lap, and for the first time, Severus had
a glimpse of the man his godson could be-
come… a very, very dangerous one.

But, Draco was still a boy, and it seemed,

despite last night’s adventures, still trust-
ed Severus enough to come and ask him
for answers. Truly, it wasn’t fair for Dra-
co to have pitted himself against Severus.
Oh, Severus coaxed him through abstract
moral lessons, and taught him useful skills
like memory, and organisation, and how
to lie with a straight face, but Severus had
been doing all of that for years. Severus
had used his skills against the Dark Lord,
and lived to tell the tale.

He bought himself time to think of a be-

- 1125 -
lievable story, by staring at Draco, as if
assessing him. Draco struggled with eye
contact more that he had before the Eas-
ter break, and Severus had to repress his
curiosity.

“Very well,” Severus said finally. “Lupin

is intending to use it in his seventh year
classes.”

“Lupin is?” Draco asked sharply.

“Yes,” Severus said. “His area of exper-

tise is Magical Creatures, as you have no
doubt noticed… He has some sort of obsta-
cle course in mind, I believe.”

“Really?” Draco asked.

“Really.” Severus tapped his fingers on

the desk, and then looked at his godson. “I
don’t know any more than that, I’m afraid;

- 1126 -
Lupin and I don’t talk terribly often.”
Draco absorbed that in silence. He looked
thoughtful, and Severus suppressed a sigh
of relief; clearly, Draco had believed him.
“And speaking of, we haven’t spoken prop-
erly, for quite some time…” Draco looked
up at him. “How was your stay at the Man-
or?” Severus asked.

“Fine,” Draco said.

“And to think you’re always the one be-

rating Potter for his limited vocabulary,”
Severus drawled. Draco glared at him,
and then shrugged.

“It was- quiet. Mother was very busy, and

Father and Hydrus were flying a lot. I
spent most of my time with Dobby.”

“Lucius wasn’t-” Severus struggled to word

his question, but Draco seemed to under-

- 1127 -
stand.

“He didn’t know what to do,” Draco said.

“He was very polite, and… left me to do
what I pleased…” Draco bit his lip and
then looked up at Severus. “He- I saw him
looking at me strangely, though. And I
overheard him talking to Mother about…
what to do with me…”

“Which was?” Severus asked.

“They didn’t know,” Draco said, staring at

his feet. “I- they’re confused. They’re not
even angry, just- I don’t know. Distant.”
The Malfoys, in Severus’ experience, were
usually distant, but to hear such a word
from their own son meant they’d been
particularly so. Draco’s stomach rumbled
loudly.

“Have you eaten?” Severus asked him.

- 1128 -
Draco shook his head. “Potions starts in
half an hour,” Severus said. “Perhaps you
should make a quick trip to the Great
Hall. I won’t have your rumbling disrupt
my class, am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said, getting to his feet.

He walked over to the door, and then
paused and looked at Severus. He didn’t
look angry, or confused, or even upset. In
fact, his face was almost curious.

“Yes?” Severus asked.

“Lie,” Draco told him.

“-only that Macnair’s working for the De-

partment of Regulation and Control of
Magical Creatures,” Sirius said. Marlene,
who was sitting on his desk, combing her
fingers through his hair – which felt al-
most as good as an ear-scratch when he

- 1129 -
was Padfoot – sighed.

“Nothing else?”

“Well, it does seem likely that he’d have

access to the whereabouts of all of the
known trolls around Hogwarts…”

“But?”

“But Macnair’s terrible with trolls. He’s

almost had his head knocked off on four
different occasions, and there are St Mun-
go’s reports and photographs to prove it.”

“Maybe it’s a cover?”

“Macnair’s a sadist, not a masochist,” Sir-

ius said shortly. He’d never liked Macnair
– Death Eater that he was – but he liked
him even less now that he’d learned his
official job was to execute magical crea-

- 1130 -
tures the Ministry deemed threatening…
creatures like Remus, if the Ministry ever
decided he was a threat. Macnair was one
of the few people actually authorised to
use a Killing Curse, but from what Sirius
had heard, his weapon of choice was not a
spell, but a very heavy, very sharp axe.

Sirius shivered, and Marlene’s fingers

curled around his cheek, tilting his face
up toward hers.

“So Macnair was probably involved?”

“Probably, but there’s no way to prove it.”

“Was he paid?”

“Goblins don’t give up details like that,”

Sirius said, shaking his head. “But I’d still
guess no; if it is Voldemort, then Mac-
nair’d be happy to do the old git a favour,

- 1131 -
free of charge.” Sirius made to stand, so
that he could pace, but Marlene put her
hands on his shoulders to keep him in his
chair. Sirius let her hold him there. “This
case has been going for almost a year,” he
said, frustrated. “And every time I think
I’ve reached a breakthrough, something
else gets in the way.”

“It’s all right,” Marlene said, cupping his

cheek again.

“No,” Sirius said shortly, “it’s not okay,

because that git is somewhere around
Hogwarts-” Remus had told him about
the unicorn, and Sirius, remembering his
conversation with Croaker, had taken his
suspicions straight to Dumbledore, who’d
admitted he’d been thinking of Voldemort
as well. “-and Harry is also at Hogwarts,
and Moony too. And Harry’s not ready-
he can’t- he’s too young to have to wor-

- 1132 -
ry about- I don’t want that monster any-
where near Lily and James’ son, not if I
can help it… and at the moment, I can’t.
I’m one step behind, and I’m terrified I’ll
miss something, and that’ll be it-”

“Sirius…” Marlene said, looking shocked.

Sirius just shook his head wearily, and
pulled her hands away from his face. She
frowned at that, then dragged him into a
standing position so that she could wrap
her arms around him. Sirius rested his
face against her neck, letting her short hair
tickle his cheek, and hoped she couldn’t
feel how badly he was shaking, from fear
and stress and anger and frustration. He
took several deep breaths, and focused on
how her hand felt, rubbing circles into his
back.

When he thought he was feeling a bit bet-

ter, he gently slipped out of her hug, and

- 1133 -
sat down again. Marlene, still perched on
the desk, watched him, looking troubled.

“You should go and find Robards,” Sirius

said finally, shuffling papers on his desk.
Usually it was him hugging her, after some
event or the other, and even then, most
of those times had been during the war.
They weren’t even at war, or not yet, and
Sirius thought of ice water to stop himself
from flushing out of embarrassment. “He’ll
probably want to help you revise.” The
trainees had their final exams in just over
a month, and all of the Aurors were work-
ing hard to make sure they were ready.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. Sir-

ius dragged the Quirrell-troll-Voldemort-
Gringotts-Remus case file toward him and
flipped it open. Marlene pursed her lips.

“Can you recite that without looking, yet?”

- 1134 -
she asked, rolling her eyes.

Yes, Sirius thought. “No,” he said aloud.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said, running her

hand through his hair once more.

“See you,” Sirius said, nodding at the parch-

ment in front of him. Marlene stalked out,
and as soon as she was gone, Sirius buried
his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes
with his palms. Harry could handle him-
self, certainly, but prophecy child or not, he
wasn’t ready to deal with Voldemort yet.
And Voldemort… obviously he was near
the school, but none of the charms Siri-
us or Dumbledore had done had revealed
him, and Sirius didn’t like that at all. He’d
grown confident as an Auror, and got used
to stupid and unprepared criminals, rath-
er than people that knew what they were

- 1135 -
doing, and liked it even less when Harry –
along with the stone - was the target.

Harry knew, of course, that Voldemort

was – potentially – coming back, but he
didn’t know everything. The prophecy was
enough for him to deal with at the mo-
ment, and Sirius didn’t want to stress him
by telling him Voldemort was still near
the school. He doubted Harry would, but
a small part of Sirius feared Harry would
try to find Voldemort and stop him, and
Sirius didn’t want to put Harry – or Har-
ry’s friends – in that position.

Sirius’ mirror burned in his pocket, and

he jumped and then pulled it out quick-
ly. Thankfully, it was Harry’s face in the
mirror, and not Remus or Ron, to tell him
about some accident or other. Harry’d only
been back at school for two days, but Sirius
had learned not to underestimate Harry’s

- 1136 -
luck (which seemed to put him in harm’s
way on a regular basis, but had, thus far,
kept him from being hurt too badly).

“Harry?” he asked sharply.

“Padfoot,” Harry said hoarsely. He didn’t

look well. “Padfoot, I think- A unicorn died
here, at school. Hagrid told me-”

“I heard from Remus,” Sirius said. “Kiddo

what’s wrong?” Harry looked like he was
about to be sick.

“Padfoot, I think- I think it might be- I

think it’s Voldemort. I think he’s here
again, or at least, he was. I looked at uni-
corns- I mean, at why they’d try to kill
them, and I know their horns and tails are
valuable, but Hagrid would have said… I
think they killed it for blood. Do you- do
you know what unicorn blood does?”

- 1137 -
“Yes, I know,” Sirius said, mind racing.
What was he supposed to say now?

“I think Voldemort’s trying to use it so that

he- to get stronger-”

“I think you might be right,” Sirius said.

Harry paled a little, but didn’t seem sur-
prised.

“Padfoot,” Harry said. “What do I do?”

“Nothing,” Sirius said at once. “Dumb-

ledore and the teachers think the same
thing, and they’re keeping an eye out. In
fact, I’m patrolling the forest on Friday
night, with Dumbledore, to make sure
he’s not hiding somewhere in there.” Siri-
us swallowed. “It’ll all be fine; we’re man-
aging it, all right?”

- 1138 -
“All right,” Harry said.

“Good,” Sirius said.

“So that’s what he wants?” Harry asked.

“Unicorns?”

“For the moment,” Sirius said. “Unicorns

are- they’re temporary. Their blood’ll last
for about a week, and then he’ll be weak
again… need something else. That’s why
we’ll be out there on Friday.”

“So then- what does he want? If he’s this

close to the school, he could have-” Har-
ry swallowed. “-killed me, if he wanted.
Couldn’t he? Because no one knows where
he is, or what he looks like, he could just-”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius said firmly, but

Harry didn’t appear to have heard.

- 1139 -
“So he wants something else… he’s wait-
ing.” Harry’s eyes, brilliantly, piercingly
green, stared through the mirror and at
Sirius. Lily was there, in the shape and
colour and warmth of the eyes, but there
was a lot there that was stubborn and re-
signed and alert and entirely Harry. “Isn’t
he?” Sirius nodded. “What for?”

Sirius hesitated for the briefest moment,

and then figured Harry was taking every-
thing well so far, and that telling Harry
the truth was yet to backfire horribly...
Please don’t let this be the time it does.

“The Philosopher’s Stone,” Sirius said in a

low voice.

“The wha-”

“That’s all I can say,” Sirius said. “But you

can work it out from there. Harry.” Harry

- 1140 -
looked at him, frowning. “Promise me you
won’t go looking for the stone, or Volde-
mort, or do anything silly. Promise.”

“I promise,” Harry said easily, but there

was something in his expression that
made Sirius uneasy. He frowned. “I prom-
ise,” Harry said again. There was a pause,
and then Harry’s expression twisted. “Do
you want to hear something else silly,
though?”

Sirius listened exasperatedly as Harry

told him about Hagrid’s new dragon, with
interest as Harry explained about Morton
and frowned when Harry told him – rather
unhappily – about Snape docking them so
many points. Then, he listened thought-
fully as Harry told him about Charlie’s re-
sponse, and their plans to get the dragon
out of Hogwarts.

- 1141 -
“It’s a good plan,” Sirius said, “or as good
as it can be, given the circumstances…
But kiddo, I think there might be a slight-
ly better, slightly less risky way to do it.”

“How?” Harry asked, his eyes lighting up

with curiosity.

“Here it is,” Hermione said. “The Philoso-

pher’s Stone.” They’d met up with Draco in
Potions and the four of them had returned
straight to the library afterward. “The
stone,” Hermione read, “can turn any met-
al into pure gold-” Harry didn’t miss the
awed look on Ron’s face. “-and it produces
the Elixir of Life.”

“Does it bring people back from the dead?”

Harry guessed.

“No,” Hermione said, “but it makes the

drinker immortal.”

- 1142 -
Voldemort, settled into Harry’s mind with
complete certainty.

“Why the sudden interest?” Draco asked.

“That’s what Fluffy’s guarding,” Harry

said. Three startled pairs of eyes stared
back at him.

“What?!” Hermione asked. “Are you sure?”

“How do you know?” Draco demanded. Ron

just looked stunned.

“Shh,” Harry said, waving his hands to

keep them quiet. “Firstly, yes, I’m sure;
Padfoot told me…”

“Oh, brilliant; your godfather tells you

things,” Draco said, looking put out.

- 1143 -
“Secondly,” Harry continued in a slightly
louder, but still quiet voice, “it’s in dan-
ger.” Harry stared at his friends’ faces.
“Voldemort’s after it.” All three of the oth-
ers flinched – Hermione’s was more out of
surprise, but both Ron and Draco twitched
as if they’d been hit with a stinging hex.

“Harry…” Ron said, looking troubled, but

Harry put up a hand, and started to talk.
He told them Padfoot’s thoughts about
his poisoning in November (but kept the
prophecy to himself), what he’d guessed
about the unicorn, and what Padfoot had
told him through the mirror that after-
noon.

“But-” Draco looked frightened. “Won’t

he come after you, then? He already has
once- well, twice if you include when you
were a baby.”

- 1144 -
“It’s possible,” Harry said.

“No wonder Snape was angry we were out-

side last night!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Still didn’t need to take that many

points…” Ron muttered.

“What are you going to do?” Draco asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said. Ron and Draco ex-

changed skeptical looks. Hermione just
looked worried. “Dumbledore knows, and
Padfoot knows, and they’re… managing
things.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered.

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “I just- I’ll under-

stand if you want to keep your distance
until we know for certain where he is and
what he’s planning-”

- 1145 -
“Don’t be silly,” Hermione said.

“We’re with you, mate,” Ron said, with a

nervous, but sincere smile. Harry glanced
at Draco, worried.

“You’re the least observant person I’ve

ever had the misfortune to meet,” Dra-
co drawled. Harry bit his lip. “The Dark
Lord could be standing right next to you
and you wouldn’t even notice, and I for
one, don’t think that’s safe at all.” He of-
fered Harry the tiniest smile Harry had
ever seen. “I think you’ll need someone ob-
servant around to make sure that doesn’t
happen, and since Granger’s usually got
her head in a book, and Weasley’s just as
oblivious as you, I suppose it’ll have to be
me.” Harry stared at him, and a slow an-
swering smile spread across his face. Ron
was grinning, and Hermione looked like

- 1146 -
she might cry.

“Thanks,” Harry said thickly. Draco just

shrugged. Harry composed himself. “The
other thing,” Harry said, “I talked to Pad-
foot about, was meeting Charlie’s friends.”

“You heard back?” Draco asked sharply.

Ron pulled the letter – which they’d re-
ceived shortly before Potions, from an ab-
solutely exhausted Hedwig – out of his
pocket. Draco read it and passed it back.
“Friday?”

“Friday,” Ron said, nodding. “What did Mr

Black-”

“He thinks Moony should take Norbert,”

Harry said. Hermione looked relieved.
“Moony’s a teacher, so he won’t get in trou-
ble if he’s caught, and I can give him the
cloak to cover Norbert, and the map, so he

- 1147 -
can be quick about it.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Hermione

said at once. “We’ll be in so much trouble
if we’re caught, after what happened with
Snape…”

Harry exchanged a long-suffering look

with Ron, and the four of them set about
deciding the best way to ask Moony about
Friday.

Remus was just wondering how to get the

contents of the phial in his sleeve into Mc-
Gonagall’s goblet at breakfast, when the
Hufflepuff table vanished under a cloud of
gold glitter. Every teacher snapped to at-
tention, and with a quick flick of his wrist,
Remus’ work was done.

Harry – who was eyeing him from Gryffin-

dor’s table – raised an eyebrow, and Remus

- 1148 -
nodded back. Harry grinned and turned
to Draco, who was receiving enthusias-
tic back-pats from Ron. Remus shook his
head.

“-can handle it, not to worry,” Professor

Sprout said, getting to her feet with a sigh.

“And I expect I know where I’ll find the

perpetrators,” McGonagall said angrily.
“Poor Molly; if she’s had one letter from
me this year, she’s had one thousand!”

“Leave them,” Remus said, fairly sure

that Fred and George – for once – were
blameless. “Everyone’s been so stressed
lately… the children might not know why,
but they’re not blind. It might be good for
everyone to have a laugh, and Gryffindor
really can’t afford to lose any more points.”
McGonagall glanced at the tables, and her
nostrils ceased their flaring.

- 1149 -
“I suppose,” she said stiffly, but her face
softened; Gryffindor table was laughing,
as were most of the Slytherins, and more
Ravenclaws were laughing than not. And,
the beauty of the target having been Huf-
flepuff was that most of them were laugh-
ing too; all of the other Hufflepuffs were
in the same situation, and Hufflepuffs
weren’t proud or tetchy enough to flare up
over something that hadn’t actually hurt
or embarrassed them. McGonagall took
a sip from her goblet, and Remus looked
away from her, and focused on his plate
instead.

At lunchtime, that same day, Remus was

again next to McGonagall, and the Huf-
flepuffs were slightly less shimmery –
having trailed their glitter all over the
castle during the morning. Remus almost,
but not quite, felt a pang of sympathy for

- 1150 -
Filch.

“You don’t look well,” Remus said to Mc-

Gonagall, at lunch. It was true; she looked
tired and pale, and her nose was red and
runny. He tried not to look too pleased
with himself.

“I seem to have- I have the most frightful

headache,” she admitted.

“Did you have the twins this afternoon?”

Remus joked. McGonagall managed a
weak smile, and took a small sip of water.
Then she shook her head.

“About an hour after breakfast I just start-

ed to feel… well, feel ill,” she decided.

“Have the afternoon off,” Remus suggest-

ed. “Get the house elves to bring you din-
ner, and-”

- 1151 -
“I have classes this afternoon, and then I’m
on patrol tonight,” she said. “I’ll manage,
don’t you worry about that.” Remus made
an apologetic gesture, and went back to
his lunch.

At dinner time, McGonagall was looking

utterly miserable, and Remus, who’d once
again claimed the seat next to her, cast a
pitying look in her direction. Sirius, who’d
showed up to have dinner before heading
out into the forest to patrol with Dumble-
dore, glanced at her, concerned.

“I’m sick, not dying,” she snapped at him,

and blew her nose loudly in a tartan hand-
kerchief.

“All right,” Sirius said, leaning away from

her. “Sorry for showing concern for your
health, like a decent person.” McGonagall

- 1152 -
gave him a look of utter loathing, and Siri-
us hastily turned around to talk to Snape.

“Let me take your rounds tonight,” Remus

offered. McGonagall turned drowsy eyes
on him. “I’ll be sick myself in a few days-”
They both glanced at the enchanted ceil-
ing, which was adorned with a nearly full
moon. “-so you can just cover for me then.”

“Would you?” she asked, grimacing. “I- I

don’t know what’s come over me, I just-”

“Not to worry,” Remus said. “Maybe go and

see Madam Pomfrey, and take something
to help you sleep before bed.”

“An early night,” McGonagall agreed, look-

ing relieved. She played with her soup for a
few more minutes before she stood and left
the hall. Remus saw Hermione watching
her, and then watched Hermione nudge

- 1153 -
Harry. Harry gave Remus a thumbs up.

“Nice work,” Sirius said. Remus heard

him, but Sirius had spoken so softly that
Snape didn’t even pause.

“I wasn’t a Marauder for nothing,” Remus

muttered back.

- 1154 -
Chapter 29:
A night gone wrong

“… proclivity for causing trouble as his

father, but I suppose, with you as a god-
father, that was to be expected.” Sirius
grinned despite himself.

“He hasn’t really pranked anyone yet,

though, sir,” he said. Dumbledore swept
his wand in an arc to clear a fallen log out
of their path, and smiled.

“I suppose I misspoke,” Dumbledore said.

- 1155 -
“While both of the Potter boys seem to
have an affinity with trouble, James pre-
ferred to cause it, while poor Harry just
seems to find it.” His eyes twinkled in the
gloom. “Better?”

“Sounds about right, yeah,” Sirius said.

“Poor Harry.” He squinted as a silvery light
raced toward them, but it was only Dumb-
ledore’s probe spell returning. Dumble-
dore frowned and shook his head.

“Nothing yet,” he said and sent the probe

off with another wave of his wand. “I have
been meaning to apologise to you, Sirius,”
he continued. Sirius slowed, growing wary.
Dumbledore appeared oblivious, but Siri-
us doubted he was. “I have been watch-
ing Harry closely since November, and it
seems the-” Dumbledore’s eyes swept over
the dark spaces between the trees. “-infor-
mation you bestowed upon him has been

- 1156 -
as well received as you told me it would
be.”

Sirius nodded stiffly.

“I underestimated you,” Dumbledore said,

his tone growing sad. “Both of you. Again.”
He sighed. “Age is a wonderful thing, and
provides us with so many chances to learn
and to obtain wisdom. But, age is also
blinding. Too often I have found myself be-
lieving other people less capable, or clever
than myself because they are not as old-”

“Not many people are cleverer than you,

though,” Sirius pointed out.

“But there are some, and most of them

younger.” Dumbledore chuckled. “Truly it
is difficult to find someone older than my-
self, these days.” Sirius couldn’t help but
grin at that. “With age comes wisdom, but

- 1157 -
also foolishness, Sirius; remember that.”

“Sure,” Sirius said, sticking his hands in

his pockets. Dumbledore’s probe came back
again, reporting nothing, and so they sent
it off again. They walked until the trees
were so thick they couldn’t see the lights
from the school anymore, and the leaves
were so dense they couldn’t see the stars.
Sirius, despite his familiarity with the for-
est – thanks to years spent chasing Moo-
ny and Prongs around – couldn’t help but
feel uneasy. The air seemed thicker, and it
was very quiet. Birds and the forest’s larg-
er inhabitants would be asleep, but none
of the forest’s thousands of little spiders
were around either, and they were usually
active during the night. Sirius couldn’t see
or hear them.

“Sirius?” Dumbledore said, and Sirius saw

his hand tighten around his wand. “Can

- 1158 -
you see or hear something?”

“Nothing,” Sirius said, looking around.

Shivers ran up his spine and he swallowed.
“Sir, I think something’s wrong.” As if on
cue, the probe returned, no longer silver,
but a deep, glowing red. Sirius’ stomach
twisted, and he automatically put his
back to Dumbledore, so that he could look
through the trees. Something moved, and
Sirius heard a twig snap. “There,” he said,
pointing, and glanced at Dumbledore.

The Headmaster no longer looked as affa-

ble as he had before; his eyes were hard be-
hind his half-moon glasses, and his mouth
set in a stern line above his beard. He’d
also drawn himself up to his full height –
several inches taller than Sirius – and has
his wand out before him, ready.

“Lead the way,” he said gravely. A rustle,

- 1159 -
several metres to the left of the source of
the first noise, caught Sirius’ attention.

“They’re moving.” Another rustle. “Quick-

ly, I think.”

“Lead the way,” Dumbledore repeated,

in a harder voice. “I can keep up.” Sirius
hurried toward the noise, which picked
up the pace at once, crashing through the
trees. Dumbledore swept along behind
him, leaping over logs, and dodging roots
and branches with surprising agility. Sir-
ius caught a glimpse of silver moving in
one direction at the same time as another
twig snapped, and someone cursed. Dumb-
ledore waved Sirius on, turning toward
the second source. “The usual messaging
method,” he called, as he disappeared into
the trees.

Sirius didn’t have time to wonder wheth-

- 1160 -
er separating was a good idea; he plunged
after his own target. After several min-
utes of chasing – which Sirius had had to
spend as Padfoot, to keep up – the reason
for his target’s inhuman speed and endur-
ance became apparent.

The unicorn had found a clearing – quite

a nice place, really, with the moon visi-
ble through a crack in the treetops, and
a small stream that glimmered in the
starlight – to rest, and was standing on
the grass, sides heaving, head bowed. Its
hooves were covered in silver blood; three
of its legs had been mangled by whoever –
likely Voldemort – had been trying to take
its blood. Sirius moved forward, holding
his wand and other hand up, in a form of
surrender.

The unicorn startled and backed away,

tossing its head. Unicorns, Sirius remem-

- 1161 -
bered, didn’t like men much, and this one
would be particularly mistrustful. It braced
itself, as if preparing to run, but its legs
were shaking and it sank to the ground
instead, eyes rolling around in fear. Sirius
glanced at its horn – which was very long
and sharp – and stopped advancing.

Ideally, he’d take it to Hagrid, but Sirius

didn’t have the time to try to lead it out
of the forest, or to wait for Hagrid to ar-
rive. So, Sirius lifted his wand and started
to murmur the few, non-human healing
charms he knew. There weren’t many, but
those he did know had been used on Moo-
ny, Wormtail or Prongs, and unicorns and
stags weren’t too different. In the end, all
he was able to do was stop the bleeding
and get the wounds to scab over, before he
turned, leaving the unicorn, and went to
find Dumbledore.

- 1162 -
Sirius tracked his own scent through the
forest as Padfoot, to the place where they’d
separated, and then followed Dumbledore’s
instead. There was another scent there –
a vaguely familiar one, that he knew must
be Quirrell’s – and it made Padfoot wrin-
kle his nose. There was something unde-
finably… dark about it. It made his canine
side jittery.

Padfoot shook that off and leaped over

a set of tree roots, into another clearing.
Something moved on his right, and he
could hear breathing and a heartbeat. He
turned away, trying to escape, but too late;
his attacker’s spell hit him in the side, and
Sirius knew no more.

Remus couldn’t help but feel like a sev-

enth year again, as he strolled through

- 1163 -
the halls with the cloak at his side – cov-
ering Norbert’s hovering crate – and their
old map clutched in his fist.

There were, of course, a few key differenc-

es; for one, he didn’t have as guilty an ex-
pression as he might have all those years
ago, and for two, he wasn’t off to meet up
with the other Marauders. He also wasn’t
worried about being caught, at all; Mc-
Gonagall was probably tucked up in bed,
nursing her headache, Dumbledore was
out on the grounds with Sirius, and Snape
rarely ventured out of the dungeons after
dinner.

That, and Remus was a teacher himself.

He smiled to himself, and twisted his wand
to keep the crate gliding forward. Techni-
cally, he wasn’t breaking any rules either
(he was exempt from a fair few these days
anyway), and he was also doing his job;

- 1164 -
he was protecting his students (four first
year Gryffindors, in particular, who’d be
in trouble if they were caught), he was
helping a colleague (Remus was fairly
sure Hagrid’s role as gamekeeper allowed
him to be counted as a colleague) and he
was protecting the school (from a dragon
that would grow quickly and be difficult to
control).

Feeling pleased with himself, Remus nod-

ded and continued on his way up to the
Astronomy tower.

“… rude,” Severus muttered to himself.

“The very least you could do is open the
door, Lupin!” he added, in a louder voice,
taking no care to stop his irritation slip-
ping into his tone. Severus rolled his eyes,
pulled his wand out with his spare hand,

- 1165 -
and unlocked the door. Lupin’s office was
empty, and a quick spell revealed the
quarters behind it were also empty, which
did nothing to alleviate Severus’ mood;
Draco had, somehow, seen through his lie
about the trapdoor, and all of Gryffindor
had been particularly troublesome that
week after learning he was the one that
had taken points.

If it had been McGonagall or one of the

other teachers, the anger would have been
taken out on Draco and the others, but be-
cause it was Severus who had taken the
points, it was his fault, and by associa-
tion, his House’s fault. The Weasley twins
had hexed Hydrus Malfoy on Tuesday (not
that that was unusual), Parvati Patil and
Pansy Parkinson had reduced each other
to tears on Tuesday night, McLaggen and
his cronies had put Pucey and Higgs in
the Hospital Wing on Thursday, and the

- 1166 -
someone – Severus suspected the Weasley
twins, but wasn’t sure how they’d man-
aged it, when they’d have been in class-
es – had broken into his office that very
afternoon and thrown the contents of his
desk and desk drawers around the room.,
and Severus had been too busy brewing to
right it.

He placed the smoking goblet of Wolfsbane

potion down on the desk with enough force
to leave a mark in the polished wood, and
then scrawled a note on the nearest piece
of parchment.

You’re welcome, he wrote, practically stab-

bing the parchment with the quill, and
slipped it under the goblet.

Severus’ anger settled just enough for him

to wonder what in Merlin’s name would
require Lupin to be out of bed at eleven at

- 1167 -
night, but returned in full force a moment
later.

“Would have thought this would be his top

priority,” Severus muttered angrily, as he
turned to leave. “Selfish is what it is, put-
ting the rest of us at risk because he’s too
busy off doing Merlin knows what to take
the potion he requested.” Severus stepped
out into the corridor and slammed the
door shut behind him. He was just head-
ing down the corridor, when the alarm in
Lupin’s office started to trill.

“Nice to meet you, Tom,” Remus said,

shaking the hand of the cheery young man
who’d just finished harnessing Norbert’s
crate between his broomstick, and that of
his companion. “You too, Kate.” The wom-
an nodded, and offered Remus a small

- 1168 -
smile.

“Thanks for helping out with this; Charlie

wasn’t keen for his little brother to haul a
dragon around the castle.” Remus smiled.
“He would have let him if it was the only
way, obviously, but-”

“It was my pleasure,” Remus said. “Give

Charlie a greeting from Dora, as well. She
was sorry not to be able to help, but if she’d
been caught, it would have cost her job-”

“Dora?” Tom asked, and then blinked.

“Wait, what did you say your name was?”

“Remus Lupin,” Remus replied. Tom’s

mouth fell open, and his eyes sharpened.
Remus shifted under the scrutiny.

“It is you,” he said, and shook Remus’

hand again. “It really has been a pleasure

- 1169 -
to meet you; name to a face, and all.”

“Erm…” Remus said, but Tom had already

moved away and hopped onto his broom.
With a sly smile, he waved at Remus, and
he and Kate launched into the sky.

Remus watched them until they were out

of the Hogwarts grounds, and then turned
away from the tower. He patted his pock-
et – an old habit that had returned with
having the cloak – to make sure the cloak
was there, and then pulled the map out
of his other pocket. He scanned the forest
area of the map, but couldn’t see Sirius or
Dumbledore – clearly, they were too deep
to register – and then checked Gryffindor
tower to make sure Harry, Ron, Hermione
and Draco were all where they were sup-
posed to be.

Thankfully, they were, and feeling guilty

- 1170 -
that he was surprised at that fact, Remus
set off toward his office.

He didn’t encounter anyone one the way

- it was almost one in the morning, and
even teachers were usually asleep by then
– but when he reached the second floor
– his floor – an irritating ringing noise
caught his attention. Remus recognised it
at once. He spun on his heel and hurried
back upstairs, to the third floor corridor.

Fluffy’s door was ajar, and Remus burst

in, wand aloft. Fluffy was going mental,
straining against the chain that bound
him to the far wall as he tried to reach the
man slumped against the wall closest to
the door. It wasn’t Voldemort or Quirrell
there, though. It was Snape. He was un-
conscious, and a rather sickening amount
of blood was pooled on the floor around
him. A quick wave of Remus’ wand told

- 1171 -
him the trapdoor hadn’t been breached,
and he calmed a little.

“Back,” he told Fluffy in a stern voice.

Fluffy snapped at him, and Remus growled
right back. Fluffy’s ears pricked up with
interest, and Remus sighed and conjured
a small set of drums that put the dog
straight to sleep. Only then did Remus ap-
proach Snape.

“Rennervate,” he murmured. Snape

stirred, but his expression was vacant; in-
stead, he pressed a hand to his head, and
winced.

“Where are you hurt?” Remus asked him.

Snape blinked, apparently considering
the question, and then waved the hand
that wasn’t clutching his temple at his leg.
Remus pulled Snape’s trouser up to the
knee, and, had he been anyone else, prob-

- 1172 -
ably would have been sick at the mangled
sight that met his eyes. Snape glanced at
it and slumped back against the wall, look-
ing very pale. “Did Fluffy do that?” Remus
asked. Mutely, Snape nodded. “Here, let
me-”

“Don’t touch me,” Snape said, shaking his

head.

“But your leg-” Remus cut off as Snape

tried and failed to stand; he slid down the
wall again, leaving a bloody streak behind.
“Sit down, Severus, and let me help-”

“No,” Snape snapped, and pushed Remus’

wand away from him.

“Why did Fluffy attack you?” Remus asked.

Snape opened his mouth and closed it,
looking – for the first time since Remus
had nearly killed him in the Shrieking

- 1173 -
Shack all those years ago – scared. “Sever-
us?” Snape just shook his head. “Snape?”

“I was-” Snape licked his pale lips, and his

eyes flicked to the trapdoor. Remus had
his wand levelled at the other man in a
moment.

“Were you trying to get the stone?” he

asked warily. Snape just looked stunned.

“Ye- I mean, no, no I-” He pressed his hand

to his head again, and Remus smelled pan-
ic rising off him, and also a scent that told
him Snape was lying. Snape had tried to
take the stone? Remus had never seen him
so confused, or vulnerable, but perhaps it
was an act… and nothing, not even Volde-
mort could get through Snape’s mental de-
fences, else Snape would have died in the
war… and Voldemort certainly wouldn’t
have attacked Snape, he would have want-

- 1174 -
ed his help… “I’m going to take you to the
Headmaster,” Remus said, mind racing.

“He’s not here,” Snape said woodenly.

“Then McGonagall,” Remus said.

“No,” Snape told him. He stripped off his

outer robe and tied it around his leg to
stop the bleeding. Remus hesitated, and
while he did, Snape tried to stand again.
Remus suspected it was sheer stubborn-
ness that allowed him to do it; his face was
white with the effort, and he was swaying
dangerously, but he managed. “I’ll be in
my office.”

“I can’t let you just walk off after you’ve

practically admitted to trying to steal-”

“Move, Lupin,” Snape said, in a rather

dangerous voice.

- 1175 -
“I- no,” Remus said. He lifted his wand
again. “We’re going to see McGonag-”
Sharp, stabbing pain lanced through
Remus’ forehead, and he bent over, clutch-
ing his head. Snape limped past him, and
Remus found he couldn’t move. Physical
pain was something Remus had a ridicu-
lous tolerance for, but this was different,
this was mental, and it was excruciating.
By the time the sensation stopped, Snape
was – somehow, despite being barely able
to walk – gone.

Remus spent the next hour in a mad rush;

he tried to get to Dumbledore’s office, but
the gargoyle was – for the first time ever,
in Remus’ memory – asleep, or unrespon-
sive. Then, Remus remembered the Map
and found Dumbledore wasn’t in his office
anyway… in fact, it appeared – since he
couldn’t see them anywhere – that Dumb-

- 1176 -
ledore and Remus were both still in the for-
est. Remus’ stomach twisted. Snape was,
as he had said, in his office, but Remus
still thought it prudent to wake McGona-
gall. She was not impressed at being awo-
ken, but allowed Remus to tell her what
had happened.

“There must be a mistake,” she said faint-

ly.

“I don’t want to believe it,” Remus said

honestly, “but he practically confessed,
Professor.”

“Severus… working with Voldemort again,

though…” McGonagall shook her head. “I
don’t…”

“I don’t want to believe it either,” Remus

said again. “But until we know, until we
can get a proper answer out of him, we

- 1177 -
need to keep him here, in the school. Es-
pecially since he’s injured.” After a mo-
ment’s thought, McGonagall nodded; she
shut down the Floo network, banned the
house elves from interacting with Snape,
and reinforced the Apparition and Port-
key wards.

“I’d like to see him get through that,”

she said. She wrapped her cloak over her
dressing gown. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,
I’m going to speak with him.”

“Do you want me to-”

“Go to bed, Remus,” she said, almost kind-

ly. “I can handle Severus Snape, as a Death
Eater, or just as a grumpy man.” With that,
she marched off. “And I’ll let you know if
I hear anything from the Headmaster and
Black!” she called.

- 1178 -
Remus wandered back to his office, deep
in thought; Dumbledore trusted Snape,
and oddly, so did Sirius. But would they if
they’d seen what Remus had seen? Remus’
instincts were saying Snape hadn’t done
it, but the facts were pointing right at him,
and this wasn’t like Sirius and Peter… no
one had been there to frame Snape, and
he’d admitted it himself… which was odd,
because Snape was a good liar, or meant
to be.

Remus pushed open the door of his office

and frowned because it smelled like Snape.
What had Snape been doing in his office?
He quickly worked it out, however; there
was a cold goblet of Wolfsbane Potion sit-
ting in the desk, with a grumpy note be-
neath it. Remus grimaced and carried it
to the bathroom. He wasn’t going to drink
anything from Snape until he knew what
was going on.

- 1179 -
He glanced at the clock – it was now three
in the morning – had another look at the
map, and couldn’t find Dumbledore or Sir-
ius anywhere, so he flicked Sirius a Patro-
nus message, paced for ten minutes, and
then flopped down into his desk chair to
write a letter to Dora.

Dear Dora, he wrote.

How’ve you been since Wednesday? Hope-

fully study’s going all right, though I hope
you’ve had some time to yourself as well;
too much study’s never a good thing.

I met your friend Tom; he came to get

Norbert tonight. That all worked out well,
thankfully, and they’re on their way home.

Unfortunately, that’s the only thing that’s

gone right tonight. I would say more, but

- 1180 -
I don’t know how much I’m able to put in
a letter. I know you of all people under-
stand that. What are you doing tomorrow?
Could you visit? Or even get a spare half-
hour alone with your Sidekick; I’ll try to
get my hands on Sirius’, if that’s the case.
Remus just hoped Sirius was all right.

This is sort of a pointless letter, sorry.

Remus sucked on the end of his quill. I’m
just… worried, I suppose, and would wel-
come your opinion on a few matters…

I miss you, and I love you,

Remus.

Remus re-read it, shook his head, and then

threw the letter in the dying fire. He went
back to his desk to attempt to write a let-
ter that didn’t sound quite as panicky, but
didn’t get much further than Dear Dora,

- 1181 -
before he slipped into sleep.

Remus was awoken only an hour later, by

a cat Patronus – McGonagall’s – pacing
impatiently on his desk.

“All teachers,” it was saying in a rather

thick voice, “report to the staff room im-
mediately.”

- 1182 -
Chapter 30:
A memorable morning

When Remus stumbled, half-asleep, into

the staff room, he was just about the last
teacher to arrive; the only staff members
missing were Snape and Kettleburn, and,
though he didn’t usually come to staff
meetings, Dumbledore. Remus couldn’t
see Sirius among those gathered, either.

“Minerva?” Professor Sprout asked, from

over by the wardrobe. “It’s not-”

- 1183 -
“You Know Who is here,” McGonagall said
grimly. Trelawney gasped from the corner,
and made a superstitious sign, and pan-
icked whispers broke out amongst most of
the others. Flitwick and Sprout looked un-
surprised; obviously they’d been aware of
that for a while, like Remus. “The Head-
master was attacked in the forest tonight-”

“Is he-” Flitwick began, looking worried.

“Professor,” Remus said loudly over the

top of everyone else. “Was-”

“They were not badly hurt,” McGonagall

assured him. Remus almost fainted from
sheer relief. “Unfortunately, that attack
appears to have been a distraction.” Mc-
Gonagall swallowed, and smoothed her
robes. Her hands trembled, and Remus
felt his own worry peak. “The school has
been compromised.”

- 1184 -
“The- he’s inside? You Know Who is here-
?”

“There was another attempt made on the

third floor,” McGonagall said thickly. “Un-
til Dumbledore has had time to speak with
him, I ask that you keep your distance
from- from Professor Snape.” The teach-
ers all began to talk at once.

“Snape?!” Sprout cried, pressing her hands

to her mouth. “But he wouldn’t- he’s help-
ing us protect it-”

“Well, I can believe it,” Professor Sinistra

sighed. “I know Dumbledore trusts him,
but I’ve never been able to work out why…
Merlin knows he was right in with the
rest of You Know Who’s followers when
we were at school.” Professor Burbage and
Madam Hooch nodded.

- 1185 -
“Yes, but the servant has betrayed the
master,” Professor Trelawney murmured
to herself, and sighed. Remus glanced at
her.

“Severus wouldn’t betray Dumbledore,”

Flitwick squeaked. “There must be anoth-
er explanation!”

“No, the other master,” Trelawney said.

“With luck, no one has betrayed anyone!”

McGonagall said firmly, with an irritated
look at the Divination teacher. “We will
investigate the matter thoroughly, but
I thought you all ought to know where
things stand at the moment.”

“So where’s Snape now?”

“Confined to his quarters,” McGonagall

- 1186 -
said. She dabbed at her eyes with her
handkerchief. “He has agreed to stay put
until Dumbledore can speak with him.”

“Agreed? If he has tried to get through the

trapdoor, then he can’t be trusted, sure-
ly?!” Professor Burbage protested. Remus
was ashamed of himself for agreeing with
her.

“Severus has given us no reason - until

now - not to trust him,” McGonagall said
stiffly.

“So when will Dumbledore speak with

him?” Sprout asked anxiously.

“In the morning,” McGonagall said heavi-

ly. “The forest and the third floor weren’t
the only targets of the night; the Head-
master’s office was broken into as well.”

- 1187 -
 §

“You must remember something,” Sirius

pressed. “Anything. A name, a descrip-
tion-” The gargoyle that guarded the en-
trance to Dumbledore’s office pressed a
stone hand to its head.

“It was a boy or a man,” it groaned. “Not

very tall-”

“Did you recognise the voice?” Sirius asked.

“I don’t know,” the gargoyle said, shifting

in a restless sort of manner. “Maybe, may-
be not; I hear a lot of voices, you know.”

Every other question of Sirius’ remained

unanswered; the gargoyle couldn’t tell
him what the intruder looked like, how
old they might have been, whether they
were a member of the school, what House

- 1188 -
they were in, or used to be in, or anything
else useful. All it remembered was being
approached, and then nothing; whoever
had attacked it had not Stunned or Con-
funded the office’s guardian, but actually
undone the anthropomorphic charm that
animated the gargoyle. It was very high
level magic, and showed a rather impres-
sive knowledge of how the school actual-
ly worked. Sirius didn’t think he himself
would have thought of it.

Rubbing the bruise that was coming up

where Dumbledore had Stunned him in
the forest, Sirius asked the gargoyle to
step aside so that he could head back up-
stairs.

Dumbledore and Kettleburn were where

they’d been when he left; standing over
the desk, where Fawkes was resting, his
leg and wing twisted at unnatural angles.

- 1189 -
The feathers around his eyes were damp,
and Sirius privately suspected that was
the reason for the attack; Sirius hadn’t
noticed anything else in the office missing
or misplaced touched, except for the Sort-
ing hat, which had been Stunned, and the
portraits, which had been blindfolded.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Sirius

asked.

“No, Sirius, thank you,” Dumbledore said,

waving a hand. “Perhaps you can join the
other Aurors in ensuring the school is se-
cure, or even just go home-”

“You know I can’t do that, sir,” Sirius said.

“Do as you will,” Dumbledore told him,

without looking up from his maimed phoe-
nix. Dumbledore’s face was just as wet as
his bird’s.

- 1190 -
 §

Severus didn’t have the words to express

his relief when the soft knock on his door
announced Dumbledore’s arrival. Late
was better than never, and Severus had
been beginning to think the Headmaster
wouldn’t come, that he’d just condemned
Severus and decided to leave him in his
office indefinitely.

Severus manoeuvred himself away from

the pensieve he’d had a house elf summon
from Dumbledore’s office before McGona-
gall had ordered the house elves not to
speak with him, and limped to the door,
dragging his leg behind him. He’d never
admit it, but he was beginning to think
refusing Lupin’s offer of healing was one
of the stupidest things he’d ever done. Po-
tions were useful – he’d replaced a fair bit
of the blood he’d lost, and he’d cleaned his

- 1191 -
wounds and put Dittany on them – but for
bad injuries, spells were better and Sever-
us’ healing abilities were very limited.

It wasn’t Dumbledore, though. Severus

pulled open the door, and it was Black’s
stupid face that stared back. Severus
slammed the door shut, and then caught
the handle to keep himself upright.

“Snape!” Black called.

“Come to arrest me, have you?” Severus

sneered, casting locking charms on his
door. “Well, you can go away; I’m not leav-
ing.”

“I’m not here to arrest you,” Black said im-

patiently. “Let me in.”

“No,” Severus said. “I’m not allowed to be

in other people’s company. Apparently, I

- 1192 -
might be a danger.”

“Let me rephrase,” Black said, in that ar-

rogant tone he’d always used at school.
“Let me in, as Black, or I’ll come in, as Au-
ror Black.” Severus’ snarky retort was lost
in the small gasp that resulted from his
trouser leg brushing over one of the poorly
bandaged bite marks. “Snape!”

“Fine,” Severus spat, not very loudly, but

he was leaning against the door and Black
had reasonable hearing. Wordlessly, he
removed his locking charms, and limped
away from the door. Black burst in at
once, looking smug, but a moment later,
that expression had replaced itself with
worry. He flicked his wand and there was
a thump. Severus span in time to see his
leather desk chair zooming toward him.
It didn’t stop; in fact, it knocked his legs
out from under him – making him wince

- 1193 -
and swear – and forced him to sit. Then it
skidded into the corner, with him still on
it. Black followed him over, wand aloft.

“No one said you were hurt,” he said,

frowning.

“Who says I am?” Severus sneered.

“You can hardly stand, you reek of pain

and fear and blood, and there are healing
potions all over your desk,” Black said,
matter of factly. Severus just grunted, not
wanting to give the other man the satis-
faction of an admission. “Would you like
me to take a look at it?”

“No,” Severus said. “I’d like to know why

you’re here, and not Dumbledore!”

“His office was broken into last night, and

Fawkes is hurt,” Black said, his calm voice

- 1194 -
completely the opposite of Severus’ an-
gry one. He flicked his wand and Severus’
trouser leg rolled itself up neatly. Black
made a face at the messy bandaging, caus-
ing Severus to shift, embarrassed. “He’s a
little busy at the moment.”

“Too busy to come and find out why his

trusted Potions Master tried to steal the
Philosopher’s stone last night?” Severus
snapped.

“Exactly,” Black said. Severus’ anger fad-

ed with his confusion.

“What?”

“You’re trusted. He’s not going to waste

time coming down here to ask you about
last night when he knows you didn’t do it,”
Black said, rolling his eyes. “He’s got to
look into things he doesn’t know about.”

- 1195 -
“He still- he trusts me?” Severus asked,
flabbergasted.

“Dumbledore takes the school and the safe-

ty of its occupants rather seriously,” Black
told him in a dry voice. “If he thought there
was any real problem, he’d have broken
your door down hours ago, or handed you
straight over to the Aurors.”

Severus wasn’t surprised that the Aurors

had been summoned, but he was surprised
he hadn’t seen any of them until now.

“And you? You still haven’t said why you’re

here-”

“Dumbledore still trusts you,” Black said,

shrugging. He was examining the bandag-
es, apparently trying to work out the least
painful way to get them off. “I still don’t

- 1196 -
know why, but it was a good enough rea-
son to get you a trial when even I didn’t
get one-”

“I’m not-”

“I’m not asking for the reason,” Black as-

sured him. “I’m just saying what my rea-
soning is. I’ve spent time and far too much
effort trying not to hate you for the last
few years, and I don’t really want that to
be for nothing, either.”

“I’m touched,” Snape said sarcastically.

“Surely, though, your wolfy friend has
tried to convince you I’ve betrayed every-
one-”

“Remus is… troubled,” Black admitted,

peeling back the corner of a bandage.
Severus hissed and Black hastily released
it and looked up. “He says you confessed-”

- 1197 -
“I did try to take the stone,” Severus said,
folding his arms.

“You’re not lying,” Black said, sounding

interested. “So why now, then?”

“I don’t know,” Severus said honestly. “It

was a- spur of the moment decision.” Why
he’d made that decision, he didn’t know.
He’d been down in his office, brewing or
marking – he wasn’t sure – and then he’d
gone to try to get the stone, been attacked
by Hagrid’s brutish dog, and awoken when
Lupin arrived.

“Strange,” Black said. “Why, though? You

don’t serve Voldemort- it’s just a name, for
Merlin’s sake – anymore, and unless you
want to terrorise first year Gryffindors for
eternity, I don’t know why you’d want the
stone. It doesn’t make sense.”

- 1198 -
“I’m aware,” Severus said.

“So explain it to me,” Black said, trying

the bandages again. Severus kicked with
his good leg, when a scab tore, and Black
apologised and tried a different section.

“I can’t. I approached the trapdoor and

was attacked, that’s all there is to it.”
That was what confused Severus the most.
While he was no Dumbledore, Severus still
thought rather highly of his own intellect
and common sense. Going after the stone
was not only foolish, but didn’t – as Black
had pointed out – make sense, because he
didn’t want it for anything.

These thoughts had kept him awake since

he returned to his office a few hours ago;
Severus didn’t want the stone, couldn’t
think of a reason for taking it, and yet,

- 1199 -
he remembered trying to do so, so it must
have happened.

“Why not take it when it was between

Gringotts and the school, or before it was
properly protected? Why not cancel the
alarm in Remus’ office before you tried to
break in? Why not put Fluffy to sleep be-
fore entering, because I know you know
how.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t,” Severus said,

frustrated. “It could have saved a lot of dis-
comfort.” Black was slowly peeling back
the sticky bandages now, and the sight
that lay beneath was too much for Sever-
us to look at. Severus clenched his teeth
so he wouldn’t do something foolish, like
whimper.

“And here I was thinking Moony could be

messy,” Black muttered to himself. He

- 1200 -
touched one of the bite marks – which
Severus noticed was still oozing blood -
with his wand tip, and Severus snarled at
him. “Sorry,” Black said, making a gesture
for him to sit still.

Severus shifted uncomfortably, and

glanced at Black, who still hadn’t tried to
arrest him, or started shouting accusa-
tions. Was it possible that Black truly was
on Severus’ side in this?

“I don’t think I did it,” Severus said. “I re-

member- I remember it, but I don’t- the
memory may not be mine. As you’ve said,
the reasoning is… lacking, to say the
least.”

“The memory may not be yours?” Black

asked.

“It is,” Severus said stiffly, “possible to

- 1201 -
implant a memory in a subject’s mind…
difficult, but possible. It requires talent in
Legillimency – significant talent – as well
as an understanding of the subject’s mind,
but it can be done.”

“Of course,” Black murmured. “I was going

to suggest a memory charm, along with
the Imperius curse, but-”

“Imperius curse,” Severus said derisively.

He’d been able to throw that off since he
was seventeen.

“But that would make sense,” Black con-

tinued. “Voldemort- oh, for Merlin’s sake,
sit still,” he said, for Severus had flinched
and jostled his leg. “Voldemort’s a power-
ful Legillimens… if anyone could do it, it
would be him, and it’s not like he’s never
seen into your head; you worked for the
man!” Severus had reached those conclu-

- 1202 -
sions hours ago, but was no closer to re-
moving the memory than he was to finding
out what had really happened. He sighed.

“I’ve done nothing to displease him,” Sever-

us said.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve done nothing to merit being fed to a

dog,” Severus snapped. He didn’t trust the
Dark Lord at all, but he was shaken to re-
alise the Dark Lord might not trust him ei-
ther, or might even view him as an enemy.
Severus thought he’d played his role bet-
ter than that, and didn’t like what would
happen if the Dark Lord truly thought
Severus had betrayed him. What would it
mean for him? And, just as unsettling was
what would it mean for Draco, if Severus’
training wasn’t as effective as he’d hoped?
“As far as he knows, I am still faithful, I-”

- 1203 -
“To be honest,” Black said, “it was probably
a matter of wrong place, wrong time. He
knows I’m on his trail, knows I’m getting
close to finding him – we almost caught
him last night… this is how he works…
he’ll turn the attention onto someone else
so he can slip away into the background in
all of the confusion.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Severus said.

He’d thought it was some sort of punish-
ment, and had been revising memory af-
ter memory to try to work out where he’d
slipped up.

“I will catch him,” Black said conversation-

ally. Severus snorted. “I will,” Black said.
“And I think you’re the key; this is the first
time he’s interacted with anyone, and ob-
viously for long enough to mess around in
your head… chances are, you saw him in

- 1204 -
his disguise-”

“I don’t remember, though, Black,” Sever-

us said, frustrated.

“The memory’ll be hidden somewhere…

buried, but it has to be there.” Black ac-
tually looked excited. “He can remove the
memory of him tampering with you memo-
ry, but you’ll still have the memory of him
removing the memory of the tampering.
Do you follow?”

“Not at all,” Severus said.

“No, listen,” Black said, “if he tried to re-

move the memory of him removing the
memory of him tampering, then you’ll
have the memory of him removing the
memory of removing the memory of him
tampering!” Severus gave him a blank
look. “There’s a memory of him in there,

- 1205 -
somewhere,” Black said. “We just have to
find it. Or you do.”

“Have you got any idea how many mem-

ories I have stored, and how abstractly?”
Severus snarled.

“Nope,” Black said. “But you do, and you

know your head better than anyone.”
Severus curled his lip, but didn’t deny it.
After all, how could he, when Black was
right. He decided he’d start once he’d slept.
“Now, do you mind if I have a look at this?”
Black gestured to Severus’ leg. “A favour
for a favour and all that?

“Go ahead,” Severus told him.

After several minutes, Black spoke again.

“Would you believe I’ve dealt with a man-

gled throat, more bites and scratches than

- 1206 -
I can count, and hundreds of broken bones,
but have no idea where to start on this?”

“Your bedside manner could afford the in-

jection of some optimism,” Severus told
him.

“I thought you’d prefer the honest ap-

proach,” Black said. Severus felt his ex-
pression sour.

“So, nothing? You, who’ve arguably seen

and dealt with more monster attacks than
most trained Healers, can do nothing?”
It was meant to injure Black’s pride, but
Severus also actually wanted to know his
prognosis. Surely he wasn’t going to lose
his leg?

“Healing’s easier when the injury is fresh.

This-” Black gestured to Severus’ leg. “-is
sort of half-healed, but I can’t be sure every-

- 1207 -
thing’s properly sealed… you just poured
Dittany over the whole thing, didn’t you?”

“And if I did?” Severus asked stiffly, after

several moments.

“Usually that’s okay, but with an injury

this bad, there’s an order you have to fol-
low… blood vessels first, then muscle lay-
ers, then fat and skin- bones are done with
spells, obvio-” Severus rather suspected it
was the look on his face that made Black
stop talking. “Things might not be healed
properly, is all I’m saying. It’s hard to tell
through all the blood and bruising and
swelling-”

“Can you help, or not?” Severus growled

at him.

“Maybe,” Black said, shrugging.

- 1208 -
“Then kindly get on with it,” Severus
snapped. “The fresher the better, you said,
and now you’re wasting time.” Black’s
mouth twitched, and Severus promised
himself that if Black laughed or smiled, he
would strangle him. Black didn’t, though,
just turned his attention to Severus’ leg.
Severus lowered his hands and clenched
them into fists, so he wouldn’t be tempted
to strangle Black just for the sake of it.

“He said what?!” Hermione demanded,

while a stunned Ron offered Harry the
plate of toast. Draco had frozen with his
spoon of porridge suspended between his
mouth and his bowl.

“Shh!” Harry said, gesturing for her to be

quiet. “I don’t know how much we’re sup-
posed to know.” Moony had said they’d

- 1209 -
make an announcement at breakfast, but
so far, the only teachers in the Hall were
Sinistra, the Muggle Studies teacher Har-
ry didn’t know, and Flitwick… And a few
Aurors and trainees Harry recognised
from Padfoot’s trial, like Shacklebolt, Wel-
lington, Yaxley, Finch, Prewett, and Dawl-
ish. Even Moony wasn’t there; he’d come
to talk to Harry, and then vanished again.

“You can’t say You-Know-Who attacked

Dumbledore who attacked Mr Black, and
then Snape might have tried to steal the
stone while You-Know-Who broke into
Dumbledore’s office and attacked his pet,
and not expect a reaction,” Ron pointed
out, rather fairly.

Harry sighed and said, “Do you want to

hear the rest, or what?” Draco and Ron
nodded quickly and shifted closer. Hermi-
one just rolled her eyes, looking impatient.

- 1210 -
When Harry had finished explaining, Ron
and Hermione were exchanging troubled
looks, and Draco stood.

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked.

“To Snape; isn’t it obvious?” Ron said.

“But Harry said no one was allowed-”

“And when’s that ever stopped any of us

from doing anything?” Draco drawled, but
Harry could smell he was only just man-
aging to keep his panic under control. “I’ll
see you all back in the common room.”
Hermione opened her mouth again, but
Ron elbowed her and shook his head. Har-
ry had a few pieces of sausage and then
gave up trying to eat, in favour of watch-
ing the doors for Padfoot. According to
Moony, Padfoot had gone to Snape’s office
at about five that morning and still wasn’t

- 1211 -
back. Harry hoped nothing was wrong.
He didn’t like Snape, but for him to have
betrayed them all…? Surely he couldn’t
have. Could he?

“A word?” someone hissed from behind

Harry, and he and turned in time to see
Morton disappearing through the Hall
door. Confused, Harry got up and followed
him out, and didn’t have to look behind
him to see that both Ron and Hermione
had got up too; Ron made a loud and un-
convincing comment about making a start
on their weekend homework.

Morton was lurking over by the hourglass-

es, and looked up, chewing his lip, as the
three of them approached.

“He was caught, wasn’t he?” he said breath-

lessly.

- 1212 -
“Pardon?” Harry asked.

“Lupin, Potter,” Morton cried. “Is Hagrid

in trouble? Where’s the dragon? At the
Ministry?” It took Harry a moment to work
out what Morton was talking about. He’d
completely forgotten about Norbert with
everything else that had been going on.

“No,” Harry said, “Moony got Norbert

away safely, that’s all fine.”

“But he’s not at breakfast… and neither

are any of the other teachers, and there
are Aurors… If it’s not Lupin and the drag-
on- What’s going on?” Morton gave Harry
a sharp look, and Harry took a step back.

“There were- things happened last night,”

Hermione said, looking at Harry.

“What things?” Morton pressed, looking

- 1213 -
interested. Hermione shook her head, and
Ron glanced at Harry, apparently uncom-
fortable.

“I can’t-” Harry shook his head. “I’m not

supposed to-”

“Come on, Potter,” Morton whined. “We’re-

er- companionable now, after all of this
dragon business, right? You can tell me.”
Harry didn’t point out that Morton hadn’t
done anything except tell them about the
dragon, and listen when Harry told him
the night’s plans after Potions yesterday.
But, Morton was right; after Blaise, Mor-
ton was probably the first year Slytherin
Harry thought he trusted the most.

But, if he mentioned the third floor, Mor-

ton would want to know why anyone would
want to break in there, and Harry defi-
nitely wasn’t allowed to share that sort of

- 1214 -
information.

“There’ll be an announcement,” Harry said

finally. “At the end of breakfast.” Morton
scrunched his face up.

“Well,” he said, “you really are a good lit-

tle Gryffindor, aren’t you, what with do-
ing what you’re told and all that.” Despite
the bite in his words, Morton looked dis-
appointed.

“Sorry,” Harry felt obliged to say, and

hoped this wouldn’t cause Morton to re-
vert to disliking Harry again.

“Yeah, sure you are. See you around, Pot-

ter.”

“I wonder what they’ll say when they do

announce it,” Ron said.

- 1215 -
“Is it worth staying to find out? Or should
we- Malfoy!” Hermione said. “Did you-”

“They’re gone,” Draco panted, looking wor-

ried. “Severus isn’t there, and Black’s not
around either.”

- 1216 -
Chapter 31:
King and Croaker

“Are-”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t-”

“Don’t,” Snape said hollowly, staring at his

left leg, which now ended at the knee. Siri-
us shut his mouth and clasped his hands in
his lap. Fun as annoying Snape was, now
really wasn’t the time. He couldn’t begin to

- 1217 -
imagine how Snape must be feeling, other
than very sore. Sirius had a multitude of
leg-related jokes he could have used, but
didn’t think Snape would appreciate any
of them, the way Remus or Harry would,
or the way James would have. “Leave,”
Snape said.

“I can’t,” Sirius said. The only reason

Snape was even allowed out of his quar-
ters was because Sirius was with him.
Despite the school’s best efforts to keep
Snape’s supposed role in the previous
night’s events, the news had been leaked,
and it was only Sirius’s presence that had
stopped him from being arrested when the
Aurors tracked them to St Mungo’s, think-
ing Snape had made a run for it.

Snape, though, wouldn’t be running for a

very long time. Sirius glanced at him out
of the corner of his eye, and looked away

- 1218 -
again quickly, and unluckily for him,
Snape noticed.

“Would you stop staring at me like I’m

some sort of cripple?” Snape snapped. Sir-
ius opened his mouth and then thought
better of it. Snape just went back to star-
ing at his knee.

They were discharged around lunch time

that same day, when the various potions
Snape had taken had worn off. Snape was
given a prosthetic leg – a flesh coloured
one ending in a large, fake foot – which
he viewed with utmost dislike but allowed
the Healers to help him put on. He was
also given a pair of crutches.

With Sirius trailing behind, ready to try

to help if Snape slipped or fell, Sirius,
Snape and the Healer made their slow
way down the corridor of the Creature In-

- 1219 -
duced Injuries ward, to the fireplace, and
then Flooed back to Hogwarts; Sirius had
re-opened the Floo network from Snape’s
fireplace before they left, and thankfully,
it was still open.

Sirius went through after Snape, which

was, in hindsight, a bad idea; when he
stepped out of the fireplace into Snape’s of-
fice, it was to find the other man sprawled
on the floor, looking angry. Sirius offered
him a hand up, which he refused, and
Sirius watched, grimacing, for two whole
minutes while Snape worked out how to
stand.

“Now,” Snape said, dragging himself into

his desk chair, “you may leave, Black.”

“Are you-”

“Get out,” Snape said, and not kindly. He

- 1220 -
propped the crutches against the side of
the desk, with an expression of loathing.

“All right,” Sirius said, putting his hands

up in a gesture of surrender.

“Spread the news that I am not to be dis-

turbed by anyone but the Headmaster
himself-” Snape pulled a large, basin-look-
ing thing toward himself. “-until I give my
say-so.” It was clear without him adding
it that Sirius was included in the ‘anyone’.

“What’s that?” Sirius asked instead, point-

ing at the bowl, which contained a strange,
silvery looking substance that didn’t ap-
pear to be a gas or a liquid.

“A pensieve. Should Dumbledore be look-

ing for it, it’s here,” Snape said, without
looking up. There was a long pause, and
Snape poked the surface of the silvery sub-

- 1221 -
stance with his wand tip and murmured,
“I have some mental searching to do.”
Trusting Snape would tell him if or when
he discovered anything important, Sirius
headed for the door, and had just laid a
hand on the doorknob when a soft knock
sounded on the other side. “Tell them to go
away,” Snape said.

Sighing, Sirius pulled open the door, and

wasn’t entirely surprised to see Dumble-
dore standing there.

“May I?” Dumbledore asked mildly, ges-

turing into the room.

“All yours,” Sirius said, and slipped past

him into the cool dungeon corridor.

At four o’clock that afternoon, a mere

- 1222 -
twelve hours after the first one, a sec-
ond staff meeting was called. This time,
Dumbledore and Kettleburn were present
but Snape, Remus noted, was still absent,
as was Sirius.

“What news, Albus?” McGonagall asked.

“Snape’s still not here,” Sinistra said, fold-

ing her arms. “Is-”

“I believe Professor Snape is innocent,”

Dumbledore said, “and I expect him to be
treated accordingly.” Sinistra looked a lit-
tle sheepish, but the other teachers looked
relieved. “He will, however, remain in his
office during the near future. I have ar-
ranged for his lessons to be taken by a
temporary teacher from the Ministry, and
the Slytherin Prefects will be performing
Severus’ Head of House duties.” Confused
murmurs ran through the assembled

- 1223 -
teachers.

“Sir?” Sprout asked.

“Severus has lost his leg,” Dumbledore

said. Remus’ mouth fell open, and Flit-
wick gasped from the corner of the room.
“I have given him some time off, while he
adjusts. I ask that he be disturbed as lit-
tle as possible.” There were a few more
questions after that – some about Snape,
others about how long the Aurors were ex-
pected to remain in the castle and wheth-
er they’d be disturbing lessons once the
weekend was over. Dumbledore assured
them the Aurors would be leaving in the
next few hours.

Dumbledore also informed them that, in

light of the previous night’s events, there
would be three teachers assigned patrol
duty each night on top of the Prefects and

- 1224 -
Heads, that no students would be allowed
outside the common room after nine in the
evening, and that no students would be al-
lowed out on the grounds after dark, with-
out supervision.

Remus left the staff room feeling thought-

ful and rather concerned. While Dumble-
dore cared for the safety of his school and
students, Hogwarts was notorious for be-
ing- well, for being a bit dangerous. When
a group of young, untrained magic users
were kept in the same building, there were
bound to be accidents and strange inju-
ries. But for Dumbledore to be announc-
ing a stricter curfew… Clearly he wasn’t
as calm as he’d seemed in the meeting.

Remus was so deep in thought that he

didn’t even notice the figure in front of
him, until they’d collided.

- 1225 -
“Sorry,” Remus said, and looked up to
see that it was Sirius. “You’re still here-
I thought since you weren’t at the staff
meeting, you must have gone ho-”

“It’s a staff meeting, Moony,” Sirius said.

“Aurors aren’t invited.”

“You’re here so often you might as well be

staff,” Remus said. “Where have you been
all day?”

“Snape,” Sirius said tiredly. “I assume

Dumbledore told you-”

“About his leg, yes,” Remus said. “I knew

it was bad, but not- You couldn’t fix it?”

“Obviously not,” Sirius sighed. “I’d have

taken him to Dumbledore’s office to try to
get Fawkes to help, but they had to kill
Fawkes this morning, and he won’t be

- 1226 -
able to cry until he’s at least a month old
again.”

“Merlin, what a mess,” Remus murmured.

“You’re telling me,” Sirius said.

“Are you staying tonight? There’s a couch

on offer if you-”

“I have to get back to London,” Sirius said,

shaking his head.

“Tonight?” Remus asked, arching an eye-

brow. “Have you even slept-?”

“All afternoon,” Sirius assured him. “Har-

ry’s been hiding from people that want
news – they figure he knows everything
because he knows us-”

“They’re not wrong,” Remus pointed out.

- 1227 -
Sirius grinned briefly and said, “True. But
he and the others were at Hagrid’s, mak-
ing sure he’s not missing the dragon too
much, so I stayed with them-”

“Stole Fang’s bed, did you?” Remus asked,

amused.

“Nah, just curled up by the fire,” Sirius

said, and then his eyebrows drew togeth-
er.

“Black,” someone said, and Remus turned

to see Dawlish approaching them. “Are
you ready? The rest of them are making
their way to Dumbledore’s office-”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in a minute,” Sirius said

tiredly. Dawlish gave the pair of them a
curious look, and made no effort to move.
“I’ll meet you up there,” Sirius said, rath-

- 1228 -
er pointedly. Dawlish glanced at Sirius
again, frowned, and then swept back the
way he’d come.

“Sirius, just quickly,” Remus said, “do you-

Dumbledore said he’s sure Snape is inno-
cent, but I- What do you think?”

“I think he’s innocent too,” Sirius said, and

Remus gave him a helpless look.

“But he admitted-”

“I know. He thinks, and I agree, that Volde-

mort’s tampered with his memories.”

“Like a memory charm? But Snape’s an

Occlumens-”

“No, like he put a memory in there with

Legillimency,” Sirius said in a low voice.
“A fake one, to make Snape think he’d

- 1229 -
tried to take the stone.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Snape thinks so,” Sirius said, shrugging.

“But Snape-”

“Could be lying to cover it up, I know,”

Sirius said, nodding. “I’m watching out for
that too.” Remus was relieved at that, at
least. “But he didn’t smell like he was ly-
ing,” Sirius said thoughtfully. Remus nod-
ded. “And that’s good, because it means
Voldemort’s finally slipped up; it means,
somewhere in Snape’s head, there’s a
memory of Voldemort and chances are,
Snape’ll recognise his disguise.”

“If he didn’t make one for the occasion,”

Remus said.

- 1230 -
“He might have,” Sirius said. “But think
about it; if he’s moving around the school in
the middle of the night, he’ll have to blend
in. He can’t just wear a black cloak… He’ll
have a tie, or a school robe, or a teacher’s
hat or glasses or something that wouldn’t
immediately make people suspicious of
him, and if he’s got anything like that,
we’re one step closer to working out where
he might have been, or who could be help-
ing him from inside the school.”

While Dumbledore had explained about

Snape’s leg and his resulting absence at
dinner on Saturday, Harry didn’t make
the connection between that absence, and
Fred and George and other older students
talking about a Professor King, until the
first Potions lesson of the week, on Tues-
day.

- 1231 -
Harry and Draco were running a few
minutes late; Draco had, once again, at-
tempted to visit Snape, and been ignored,
and so, after a few minutes, they had as-
sumed Snape would already be in the
lesson – Dumbledore, after all, had said
Snape wouldn’t be around much, not that
he wouldn’t be teaching. And since Har-
ry was with Draco, had assumed Snape
would glower at them, and tell them to sit
down, but not be too angry because it was
him they’d been looking for.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t Snape that

looked up from the textbook he was hold-
ing and frowned at them, but a tall, thin
man, with dark, neatly combed hair and
a dark, pointed goatee. Harry glanced at
Ron – who was beside Hermione – who
shrugged, and at Draco, who’d also frozen.

- 1232 -
“Well, if it isn’t Harry Potter,” the man
said softly, his dark eyes resting with un-
nerving focus on Harry’s face and fringe.
After a moment, Harry realised he was
expecting the man to comment on how
much he looked like James, or how he had
Lily’s eyes, but the man did neither. “And
you must be a Malfoy.” The man’s eyes
lingered on Draco’s tie. “Interesting,” he
said, and his eyes flicked to Hydrus. Har-
ry was sure he was looking at Hydrus’ tie
as well. “Very interesting.” Harry shared
a helpless look with Draco, whose face was
a rather unflattering pink colour. “Take a
seat, please,” he said, waving a hand at an
empty desk. Harry and Draco didn’t hesi-
tate to do so.

“I,” the man said, “am Professor King.” He

smiled around at them all, but it didn’t
reach his eyes. Ron shifted uncomfortably.
King picked up a piece of chalk, and then

- 1233 -
wrote KING on the blackboard. “I was in
Ravenclaw when I attended Hogwarts,
and when I graduated, I spent some time
in the Department of Mysteries before I de-
cided to pursue my other interests. Since
then, I have worked in the Department of
Magical Discoveries, and my specialty is
poisons.”

Harry rubbed his forehead; he’d had a

headache for most of the day, and the smell
of the dungeons didn’t seem to be helping.

King went through the class list. Har-

ry, Ron, Draco and Neville were the only
Gryffindors with last names that he rec-
ognised, but he knew the last names of ev-
eryone in Slytherin except for Davis and
Morton, and Daphne and Nadia both knew
of King through their fathers, who appar-
ently worked in the same department.

- 1234 -
“Well, he knows what he’s talking about,”
Hermione said, at the end of the first les-
son.

“Yeah, I s’pose,” Ron said.

“You don’t like him?” Harry asked, recog-

nising Ron’s scent. He pressed a hand to
his head again.

“I- maybe,” Ron said. “He just seems- I

dunno. I mean, did you see him smile?”

“His smile?” Hermione asked incredulous-

ly.

“Yeah, it was all- I dunno. And he’s too po-

lite.”

“Believe it or not, Weasley,” Draco said,

“manners are generally a good thing.”

- 1235 -
“Oh, shove off,” Ron said. “Harry agrees
with me, right Harry?”

“I wasn’t paying much attention,” Harry

said honestly.

“Is your head still hurting?” Hermione

asked sharply. “Perhaps you should see
Madam Pomfrey-”

‘It’ll go away eventually,” Harry said. “It’s

just… annoying in the meantime.”

At Ron’s insistence however, Harry paid

closer attention to their new teacher over
the next few weeks. He watched as King in-
teracted with both the Gryffindors and Sly-
therins in an unbiased manner, watched
how Neville’s brewing improved without
Snape breathing down his neck, and how
Hermione glowed when she received her
first “well done” in Potions. Harry also

- 1236 -
noticed, though, how King’s smile never
seemed to reach his eyes, and how his eyes
had a tendency to rest on people for longer
than King probably intended. One lesson,
Harry caught him staring at Neville for a
full minute, with a thoughtful look in his
face, before he was interrupted by Daph-
ne’s hand in the air.

And, as they got used to him, some of

King’s less appropriate side came out; in
their fourth lesson with him, he comment-
ed that Hermione’s brewing was quite
advanced for someone of her breeding,
which Harry didn’t think was as much of
a compliment as King had tried to make
it sound. In that same lesson, he asked
Draco what everyone thought of Snape,
and got a rather curt answer back; it had
been two weeks since Snape first secluded
himself to adjust or do Merlin-knew-what,
and he was still yet to talk to Draco, who’d

- 1237 -
tried visiting in person, sending letters,
talking via Floo and Flooing directly in
(from Moony’s office).

Snape wasn’t in his office, however; he

was in his quarters, and it seemed he’d
blocked the Floo, locked and warded the
door, and, because there were no windows
in the dungeons, no owls could get through,
and Draco couldn’t fly around to try to get
in through a window. Draco was growing
incredibly frustrated and unpleasant, and
Harry suspected it was only a matter of
time before he had Fred and George help
him blast the door down.

“I like you better than Professor Snape,”

Daphne said, overhearing King and Dra-
co’s conversation. Draco made a strange
movement, and Harry grabbed his arm
before he could go for his wand. “Hydrus,
your father’s on the Board of Governors,

- 1238 -
isn’t he? Why don’t you ask if Professor
King can replace Snape? You wouldn’t
mind being our teacher all the time, would
you?”

“Not at all, my dear,” King said, with an-

other cold smile. Harry moved away from
his and Draco’s cauldron; the fumes were
starting to make his head hurt again. “But
really, I have no need to usurp Professor
Snape’s position, when I already have it.”
He smiled at Daphne. “I hear Professor
Snape still hasn’t been able to leave his
room, and if he continues at this rate, I ex-
pect I’ll be here until the end of the year.”

Draco ground his teeth next to Harry, and

Harry rubbed his temples and tried to
work out why he felt so on edge.

- 1239 -
“Black!” Croaker said, mopping his fore-
head with his sleeve. “Thank you for com-
ing.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Sirius said, giving the

air a curious sniff; Croaker smelled ner-
vous and sweaty, and it was putting Sir-
ius on edge. “You said you needed to tell
me something?”

“Yes,” Croaker said, “tell you something.

Yes.” He made a twitchy gesture for Sir-
ius to follow him, and Sirius did, curious
now. “I haven’t heard anything from you
in quite some time,” Croaker said, glanc-
ing at Sirius with his large blue eyes. “You
owe me some information about Inferi, I
seem to recall.”

“I’d forgotten,” Sirius said honestly.

“Quite all right, quite all right. I had too,”

- 1240 -
Croaker said, wringing his hands. “I as-
sume, since I haven’t heard from you, that
you’ve made no progress finding- finding
Quirinus?”

“None,” Sirius said. “Traces here and there,

but nothing solid.” He sighed. “And- I’m
sorry to have to tell you this, but I think
you’re right about him being caught up in
something… dark.”

“O-oh?” Croaker stammered.

“Are you all right?” Sirius asked.

“I need to tell you something,” Croaker

squeaked, reminding Sirius of Peter of all
people for a moment. “But not here; any-
one could be listening!” Croaker led Siri-
us through the Department of Mysteries,
giving jerky nods to the other Unspeak-
ables they passed. “I’m the only one in

- 1241 -
here today,” Croaker whispered, guiding
Sirius into the Chamber of Death. It had
changed significantly since Sirius was last
there. No longer was it an excavation site,
but now it was a large, round pit, probably
twenty feet deep, and its walls and floor
were etched with symbols.

In the very centre of the pit was a large,

cracked archway, over which rested a tat-
tered black curtain. Sirius couldn’t feel
any wind in the room, but the curtain rip-
pled gently all the same.

“It’s- what is it?” Sirius asked.

“We call it the Veil,” Croaker said, and

Sirius vaguely remembered him mention-
ing the Veil on Sirius’ last visit. “It’s one of
seven we know of in the world. It’s a door-
way into death.” Croaker seemed calmer
now that they were alone, and deep with-

- 1242 -
in the department that he knew so well.

“Death? What, so you walk through and

that’s it?” Sirius shivered.

“No one has ever come back through alive…

that we know of.” Croaker made a small,
respectful gesture. “Can you hear them?”

“Hear them?”

“Come closer,” Croaker said, moving down

the stairs carved into the wall of the pit.
“Listen.” Sirius followed him, and then
paused as he heard what he could have
sworn was his name. He gave the curtain
a sharp glance.

“Who are they?” Sirius asked.

“They are the dead,” Croaker said simply,

but there was something pleased in his

- 1243 -
expression; Sirius supposed he was enjoy-
ing the chance to show off his work. Un-
speakables didn’t often get that opportu-
nity. “They can feel you. Our best guess
– guess, because no one has come back to
confirm it – is that they come to carry you
into- well, into the afterlife, or whatever
else you’d like to call it. In theory, if you
enter in a corporeal form, you can come
back through – it’s a door, is it not? – but
no one has ever managed to do so here, or
at any of the other six sites.”

“Sirius,” a voice whispered, and Sirius

took a step forward. He was only a few feet
from the Veil now

“Not too close, Auror Black,” Croaker said.

“You wouldn’t want to slip.”

“No,” Sirius said, taking a step back. “Sor-

ry.” With an effort, he pulled his attention

- 1244 -
away from the Veil, and back to Croaker.
“So, now that we’re here, what did you
want to talk to me about?” Croaker’s ex-
pression changed from thoughtful to anx-
ious in less than a second.

“Ah,” he said, “yes.” He wrung his hands,

and then pulled a piece of parchment out
of his pocket.

“Sirius,” a voice said from the Veil, but

Sirius ignored it.

“What’s that?” Sirius asked.

“A letter,” Croaker said, swallowing.

“From- from Quirinus.” He held it out to
Sirius. “I didn’t know what to- I wrote to
him after I first met with you asking him
to contact me, to let me know if he was
all right… or to contact you, so that you
could stop searching for him… I thought-

- 1245 -
He wrote back, yesterday.” Sirius’ heart
thudded in his chest.

“May I?” Sirius asked, shakily, gesturing

to the letter. Croaker nodded jerkily and
passed it to him.

Saul, it said in handwriting Sirius rec-

ognised from his case files.

Thank you for your letter, and I’m awfully

sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to
you. I’ve been very busy this past year, as
you’ve likely guessed, but things with my
current job are about to finish up.

In fact, I’m in London for the day, taking

some time off for myself, and was wonder-
ing if you’re available to meet up for din-
ner. I’ve learned so much this past year,
and would delight at the opportunity to
share some of those things with you. I’ll be

- 1246 -
at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, between
eight and ten, if you’re interested.

I hope to see you there,

Quirinus.

“You said you got this yesterday?” Sirius

asked shakily. And you couldn’t have told
me earlier?! Sirius wanted to say. If only…
he could have gone, perhaps disguised as
Croaker, to meet with Quirrell, to find out
what he knew, where he was hiding-

“I went,” Croaker added, looking nervous

again.

“Pardon?” Sirius asked, staring up at him.

“Sirius!” the Veil cried, and Sirius glanced

at it out of the corner of his eye, before re-
turning his attention to Croaker.

- 1247 -
“I met with him.”

“How did he look? Normal? Like himself?

Did-”

“Oh, yes, normal enough,” Croaker said,

not sounding like himself for a moment.
“Why wouldn’t he, Black?”

“I- because he-” Sirius bit his lip, not sure

how much to say. “-I just-”

“SIRIUS!” the Veil called. Sirius jumped

and turned toward it. He shook his head
and glanced at the letter again.

About to finish up, he read. So he’s about

to get the stone? How? Why now? The
Veil was still shouting at him, but it was
Croaker who Sirius looked at; Croaker
made an odd, shuddering movement, and

- 1248 -
his head snapped toward Sirius. Just for a
moment, Sirius could have sworn his eyes
flashed red. Sirius was confused, but is in-
stincts were screaming – along with the
Veil – and Sirius could usually rely on his
instincts.

“Croaker-” Sirius began, reaching for his

wand, but Croaker’s own wand was al-
ready in his hand.

“Avada Kedavra,” he said, in a voice that

wasn’t Croaker’s at all. Sirius leapt out
of the way, still fumbling for his wand.
“Bombarda Maxima,” Croaker said, only
a second later, and the floor of the pit ex-
ploded. Sirius stepped back instinctively,
releasing his wand so that he could throw
his hands up to protect his head from the
shards of stone and the heat. He still felt
his cheeks burning, though, and the light
burned his eyes.

- 1249 -
He could hear Croaker moving around
behind the cloud of dust, but was star-
tled when he appeared only a few inches
in front of Sirius. This time, his blue eyes
were definitely a reddish colour, and Sirius
finally realised what – or rather who – he
was dealing with. He took another small
step back, wary of how close he was to the
Veil, and reached for his wand again.

It wasn’t a spell that came toward Sirius,

though. It was a hand, moving quickly and
forcefully. The curtain tickled Sirius’ neck
– startling him with how cold it was – as
he fell through the Veil and into nothing.

Just once, Tonks thought she’d love to be

able to creep into Remus’ bedroom to wake
him up with good news, or better yet, not

- 1250 -
have to wake him up at all. The last time
she’d done anything like this, it had been
years ago, to tell him his friend Matt had
been attacked by Greyback.

Tonks tripped on the rug that rested on the

carpet in front of the fireplace, and land-
ed on the end of the bed. Remus mumbled
something incoherent and sat up.

“Remus,” she whispered, “it’s me.”

“Dora?” he asked blearily, squinting at her.

Then a sleepy, goofy smile spread across
his face, and he opened his arms for her.
Tonks just shook her head.

“Remus- I- Sirius is- he’s missing.”

“What?” Remus asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Missing,” Tonks sniffed. “And he- they

- 1251 -
think they’ve found his wand, but they
need help identifying it. Eric from wand
security isn’t in yet, and the Department
of Magical Records won’t be open for an-
other few hours, and McKinnon’s working
a job with Robards and can’t be in before
morning either-”

“What?” Remus said again.

“Just get up!” Tonks said, tugging on the

sheet. “Get up- we have to- Scrimgeour’s
asked me to come and find you.” Remus
mumbled something else, but to Tonks’ re-
lief, stood and went to pull robes on over
the top of his pyjamas. Tonks Summoned
his shoes from by the desk and passed
them to him, and he pulled them on. As he
woke up, what she’d said seemed to sink
in.

“How long- I need to tell Dumbledore-”

- 1252 -
“Dumbledore knows,” Tonks said. “Mad-
Eye sent him a message before I came
through to fetch you.” She wiped her eyes
impatiently and Remus caught her hand,
kissed it, and then gave it a squeeze. Tonks
didn’t look at him then, because if she did,
she thought she’d cry. She steeled herself,
and put on her best Auror face. Remus
looked a little hurt and confused. “Ready?”
she asked him briskly.

“So they found his wand, you said?” Remus

asked. Tonks held up a hand, ushering
him toward the fire, which she lit with a
flick of her wand. Then she pulled out her
Sidekick.

“Mad-Eye, it’s Tonks,” she said, “I have

Remus, we’ll be through in a moment.
Aiming for Scrimgeour’s office, I think.”

- 1253 -
“We’re waiting,” Mad-Eye said, and then
Tonks snapped her Sidekick shut.

“Scrimgeour’s office,” she told Remus, who

climbed into the fireplace and repeated
just that. Tonks took a deep breath and
followed.

Severus eyed the tray on his bedside ta-

ble, and then sat up and pulled it into his
lap, appreciating the smell. There was a
piece of bread with butter, roast beef and
vegetables kept warm by a spell, and a
steaming chocolate pudding for dessert.
He wolfed it down hungrily, and then fol-
lowed it with a large goblet of water, that
he conjured himself.

He was conscious of the false leg resting

against the bedside table, and of the dif-

- 1254 -
ferent length outlines of his legs under
the bedding, but he locked those thoughts
away before they could bother him. His
mind mattered to him more than his body,
and so he’d deal with his memories before
he dealt with his leg, or lack of. He sighed
and settled back into his pillows.

He’d spent almost all of the past two weeks

in bed – except for when he’d limped to the
toilet or shower - either sleeping or medi-
tating so that he could search his mind –
his entire mind – for the true events of that
fateful Friday night. So far, he’d managed
to unravel the false memory, and remove
it, but he was yet to find any memory of
him interacting with the Dark Lord.

He was convinced, however, that the Dark

Lord could not have hidden it; Severus’
memories were so well stored that any
attempts by the Dark Lord to hide such

- 1255 -
a memory would have been clumsy and
stood out. Severus could only conclude
that he himself hidden it, or rather, his
mind had; just as a well trained Quidditch
player would gain instincts from practice,
Severus’ mind had gained reflexes from
the long years he’d spent conditioning and
maintaining it. Memories would be tucked
away safely behind his defences, whether
he meant for it to happen or not.

Severus took a deep breath and closed his

eyes, because it was easier to see the men-
tal world when he was away from visual
distractions of the physical one.

The dungeons, much like the ones out-

side his office, appeared before him. In his
mind, Severus still had both legs – wheth-
er that meant he was mentally whole, or
meant that he hadn’t accepted his lack of
a leg, Severus wasn’t sure – but he didn’t

- 1256 -
question it, because it was easier and fast-
er to move around.

He made his way through the maze of cor-

ridors with all the ease of practice, and
passed by the doors with glowing white
marks on them; they were the ones he’d
checked. There were only three doors left,
thankfully, and Severus picked the one at
the end of the corridor. Inside was much
like the others, resembling a full but neat
storeroom, and Severus nodded to himself
as he shut the door behind himself.

He opened a jar of thorns, and a memory

of James Potter and a stinging spell rose
up around him. Severus wrinkled his nose
and screwed the lid back on. The next ob-
ject was a box of teabags; the tea was a
powerful restorative, but was horrendous-
ly bitter. Severus rifled through those and
found the memory of Black appearing at

- 1257 -
his office door to apologise, and call a truce
between them. Severus made a face and
put those aside as well.

The next item he examined, was a scroll

containing the instructions for the Wolfs-
bane Potion. Severus almost put it down,
assuming it would be the memory of Lupin
in the Shack in their school days – which
was not a happy memory for Severus –
but that wasn’t the memory that rose up
around him.

- 1258 -
Chapter 32:
Aches and pains

“Can I get you anything?” Remus looked

up from Sirius’ wand, which was sitting in
his lap, and shook his head. Eric, the man
who ran the wand checkpoint, sighed and
went back to his desk. Remus appreciated
the concern, he did, but as he’d told Dora
and Marlene, and Mad-Eye, he’d much
rather they were out looking for Sirius
than wasting their time trying to make
him feel better.

- 1259 -
Remus had spent the whole morning on
Level Two, answering questions, helping
Dora and a few others research various
concepts, and pacing to try to clear his own
head. Then, the investigation had moved
to the Department of Mysteries, and, while
the Unspeakables had very reluctantly al-
lowed the Aurors in, they’d put their foot
down when it came to Remus.

So, instead of sitting in Sirius’ horrendous-

ly empty cubicle on Level Two, or pacing
around outside the Department of Mys-
teries and being trampled by Aurors that
had to come and go, and by nosy Prophet
reporters, Remus had moved himself to
the Atrium. He’d used the Floo to get back
to Hogwarts for about an hour, which he’d
spent talking to Harry, telling him what
had been found.

He told him Sirius’ wand had been found

- 1260 -
next to Unspeakable Croaker in a heavily
damaged room. He’d told him Croaker was
dead, and that his body was in St Mungo’s
to pinpoint the cause. Remus knew it was
being treated as suspicious, with Sirius as
a suspect, but Remus hadn’t been able to
get any more information than that.

There were three main theories regard-

ing Sirius’ disappearance; the first was
that Sirius had killed Croaker and made
a run for it, the second was that Sirius
had gone through the Veil that everyone
who’d been into the Department of Mys-
teries was talking about, and the third
was that Sirius had worked out who was
responsible and had gone after them, ap-
parently without his wand. Remus hadn’t
shared any of those theories with Harry,
and had instead told him Sirius was miss-
ing, and that he’d keep him posted. He’d
told Harry how to get into his office, and

- 1261 -
given him permission to sleep in there to-
night, so that he could be near the Floo
and on hand as soon as Remus had news.

Remus twirled Sirius’ wand in his hands,

and sighed.

“Nothing yet, Harry, I’m sorry,” Remus said

into the fire. Harry’s shoulders slumped,
and the three first-year shaped outlines on
the couch behind Harry slumped as well.
“You haven’t- the mirror?”

“Nothing,” Harry said, shaking his head.

He looked exhausted, though Remus didn’t
think he’d been crying. His lower lip was
swollen though – obviously he’d been bit-
ing it all day – and his hair was messi-
er than usual; James had played with his
hair to look cool, but Harry seemed to do it

- 1262 -
when he was nervous or worried.

“How’s everything there?” Remus asked.

“What did you do after lessons?”

“Not much,” Harry said. “Everyone stud-

ied, but I had Quidditch training this af-
ternoon-”

“And you went and saw Madam Pomfrey,”

Hermione’s voice said from behind Harry.

“Only because you made him,” Draco’s

voice added, rather pointedly.

“I know you’re not feeling well at the mo-

ment-” How could he be, when he was
stressing about Sirius? “-but are you actu-
ally unwell, or-”

“Just my head,” Harry muttered. “It start-

ed- this morning-”

- 1263 -
“Yesterday,” Draco’s voice said. One of the
other figures on the couch turned toward
him, but Remus couldn’t tell if it was Ron
or Hermione. “It was; I noticed.”

“Fine,” Harry said, “Yesterday, then.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Remus

asked. “We had a lesson yesterday, you
could have-”

“I didn’t think anything of it,” Harry said.

“It was just a headache until Potions, and
then it was a bit better last night-”

“What do you mean by ‘just a headache’?”

Remus asked warily. Harry looked very
young and scared all of a sudden, and
Remus was all too aware he was only
eleven. Harry reached up and brushed his
fringe back to reveal his rather red and

- 1264 -
inflamed scar.

“I think it was Voldemort- I think I felt

when Padfoot- But that’s silly, right?”
Harry babbled. “I can’t have, because that
would mean-”

That Sirius is dead, Remus finished for

him.

“I don’t know, Harry,” was all Remus could

say. “I’ll- I’ll have to look into it. Some-
one here will know, I’m sure.” And if they
didn’t, Remus would ask questions until
he was directed to someone that did. With
Sirius gone – and, though Remus hated
to think it, possibly permanently gone –
it would fall to him to take care of Har-
ry now. Surely if he was allowed to teach
hundreds of children, he’d be allowed to
have custody of one. It would feel wrong,
though. Remus was like an uncle, not a

- 1265 -
parent or a cool older brother like Sirius.
Harry needed Sirius a lot more than he
needed Remus.

Don’t be dead, Remus thought. Please,

please don’t be dead.

He bade Harry and the others good-

bye a few minutes later, leaving them to
sleep; they had lessons tomorrow after
all, though Remus expected Harry would
be exempt from them if he so desired it.
Then again, they’d only have half a day,
because the first year Gryffindor-Slyther-
in Defence class was on Thursdays, and
unless Sirius showed up in the next few
hours, Remus wouldn’t be there to teach
it. The N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. classes were
being covered by the other teachers, but
with exams approaching, and Snape out
of action and Remus away, the staff were
too busy to worry about the first to fourth

- 1266 -
years.

As Remus pulled out of the fire, and back

into the Atrium, Dora’s scent washed over
him. He turned, opening his arms, and she
stepped into the hug at once.

“How are you holding up?” she asked, rub-

bing his back. He wasn’t sure where her
composure had come from – the last few
emergencies they’d dealt with had had
her in tears – but he was grateful for it.
Her strength gave him something to draw
from.

“I’ve been better,” he replied, stroking her

hip. “You’re not worried?” He reached up to
tug on a lock of her bob of pink hair. Some-
thing in her expression softened, and her
hair flickered and grew and shrank and
flashed through a number of dark, scared
colours, before she set her mouth and it

- 1267 -
returned to its pink curls.

“I’m worried,” she said, squeezing his el-

bow. “Just better at hiding it these days.”
They spent a long moment looking at each
other, and then someone off to the side
cleared their throat. Remus and Dora both
looked over to see Marlene. She looked
even more composed than Dora – almost
too composed.

“Mad-Eye sent me to ask if you wanted to

come up for a late dinner. Those of us still
at the Ministry are having food brought
up from the café.”

“Oh, good,” Dora said.

“I’m not really hungry,” Remus said.

“You’re not doing anyone any good mop-

ing around down here, starving yourself,”

- 1268 -
Marlene said firmly. “Everyone’s talking
about things over food, so it’s a chance for
you to listen in-”

“On Auror business?”

“It’s me, Robards, Mad-Eye, Hemsley,

Brown, Scrimgeour and hopefully you
two,” she said. “None of that lot will mind
you being there, I assure you. In fact, we’d
welcome your input on a few things; we’re
trying to put a timeline together-”

“I can help with that,” Remus said at once,

despite the fact that the only thing he had
to offer was that Harry’s scar had started
hurting yesterday afternoon.

“You’d better come then,” Marlene said,

and turned silently on her heel to march
back toward the lifts. Clearly, they were
expected to follow.

- 1269 -
If Sirius had been there, he’d probably
have said Marlene was being bossy, and
pulled a face at her back. Only Sirius
wasn’t there – that was the whole prob-
lem – and so Dora just tugged gently on
Remus’ hand to lead him after Marlene.

Harry woke up sore and confused on

Thursday morning; sore, because his scar
was still aching, and confused, because
he wasn’t in his dormitory. It took him a
moment to remember he and the others
had slept in Moony’s quarters that night
– Hermione on the bed, Ron and Draco on
the two couches, and Harry himself curled
up in his bedding from Gryffindor tower
in front of the fireplace, hoping for good
news.

- 1270 -
None of the others were awake yet; Draco
was still drooling on the couch, Ron was
snoring and Hermione’s bushy hair was
the only thing visible of her in a large pile
of bedding. Despite Ron, it was quiet; the
windows were closed, the fire had gone
out and so wasn’t crackling, and Moony’s
office was far enough from the common
rooms, and far enough from the Hall to
not be noisy in the morning.

Harry didn’t like the quiet, or at least, not

that morning; he had too many things on
his mind, and none that he particular-
ly wanted to think about. Fun though it
would have been to wake his friends by
jumping on them as his wolf-self, he re-
ally couldn’t find the energy to try to ex-
plain all things Animagus to them at the
moment, and so settled for more mundane
methods; while Ron was not a morning
person, he was easy to wake – Harry sus-

- 1271 -
pected growing up in a large family that
included Fred and George would do that
to a person – and so Harry just tapped him
on the shoulder and Ron stirred sleepily.

Harry shook Draco awake, and then ap-

proached Hermione. Stymied for a moment,
because he’d never had to wake Hermione
before, Harry settled for shaking her too,
and sure enough, she emerged from her
bedding, yawning. Hermione changed in
the bathroom while the boys changed in
the main room, and then the four of them
made their way down to breakfast in si-
lence.

Harry didn’t eat much, but he had about

four goblets of pumpkin juice and figured
that ought to get him through Transfig-
uration. McGonagall looked surprised to
see them there – which Harry thought
was odd – and drew Hermione aside be-

- 1272 -
fore they could even sit down. They went
to speak in the corridor, and while Har-
ry couldn’t quite hear them – he supposed
McGonagall accounted for Animagus hear-
ing ranges without even thinking about it,
given she was one herself – he gathered
from the glances in his direction that they
were talking about him.

“She wanted to know why we weren’t in

the tower last night,” Hermione said, as
soon as she sat down. “And make sure you
were all right, of course.” Harry glanced
up at McGonagall, but she wasn’t look-
ing at him; she was telling Lavender off
about the length of her skirt, and getting
ready to start the class. Thankful that she
wasn’t going to hassle him, Harry settled
into his seat and could almost ignore the
ache in his head, and the swirling worry
in his stomach.

- 1273 -
 §

“Is it true?” Florence sneezed, because the

excitement pulsing out of every single one
of Umbridge’s pores was overwhelming.

“Is what true?” she choked.

“Black!” Umbridge said impatiently. “Is

he dead?” Florence didn’t think she’d ever
seen the woman looking so happy, and that
was saying something, because Umbridge
was the most sickeningly happy person
she’d ever met. “I heard from Dawlish-”
Florence stored that away at once. “-that
he’s missing.”

“Missing isn’t dead,” Florence pointed out.

“Which is why I’m asking you, silly girl,”

Umbridge said, with a giggle. Florence
arched an eyebrow. “Well?”

- 1274 -
“I don’t know,” Florence said honestly.
“The investigation’s ongoing, and I’m not
involved in it.” Umbridge’s expression
soured at once.

“Why not? Didn’t it occur to you that I

might want you there, so that you would
have access to information I might be in-
terested in-”

“I’m a trainee,” Florence said. But not for

long, she thought gleefully. Once she was
a fully-fledged Auror, she’d be able to work
her own hours, and not have to worry as
much about the rest of the Aurors guessing
about her condition. “I don’t get to choose
my own cases; I go where my mentor is
assigned, and Finch was assigned Croak-
er’s case.” She didn’t mention how much
she’d influenced Finch’s decision; obvious-
ly she’d known exactly what Umbridge

- 1275 -
would want, and so had placed herself in
the least helpful place.

“Oh,” Umbridge said, looking put out. Then

she brightened. “Odd though, that Black’s
involved in another death this year, isn’t
it? First Paul Morton, and now- what did
you say his name was?”

“Croaker,” Florence replied. She’d known

him at Hogwarts, though he’d been years
older.

“Yes, Croaker. Suspicious, isn’t it? Are the

Aurors looking into the possibility that
Black might have murdered him, and then
run?”

Obviously; if you can think of it, minds like

Scrimgeour’s and Moody’s would have,
Florence thought, but Umbridge’s words
had just triggered a thought process.

- 1276 -
“I wouldn’t know, Madam,” she said sweet-
ly. Umbridge harrumphed. “I’ll ask around
though, if you’d like?” Umbridge made an
affirmative grunting sound. “I’ll go and do
that now, in fact.”

“Yes, do that,” Umbridge said. “And let me

know what you find out, right away, if you
don’t mind. I’m sick of having to send peo-
ple to find you, Prewett.”

I’m sick of having to come to you, Florence

thought, and exerted significant effort to
stop herself from rolling her eyes. She dis-
missed herself and stepped out into the
corridor, but didn’t go to Level Two as she’d
suggested she might. Instead, she went
down the corridor to where Tonks’ friend
– and the boy that often came to fetch her
for Umbridge – worked, in a large, shared
office.

- 1277 -
“Booth,” she said.

“Er, hi, Prewett,” he said. He did not look

pleased to see her. “Does she want-”

“No, I was just wondering if I could use

your fireplace,” she said. Booth brightened
considerably.

“For-”

“For Auror business,” she said, waving her

Sidekick at him. “May I?”

“I- Yeah, I suppose,” he said, scratching

his chin. “The Floo-” Florence spied the
Floo powder and helped herself to a pinch.
Booth’s expression spasmed. “Or you could
just help yourself,” he muttered, obvious-
ly thinking she couldn’t hear him. “Sure,
that’s fine, go ahead.”

- 1278 -
“Thank you, Booth,” she called loudly, as
she stepped into the fireplace and said, “St
Mungo’s.”

Ten minutes, some pointed questions, two

deliberate omissions of the fact that she
was a trainee, and four showings of her
Sidekick later, Florence was standing be-
fore the Healer that had examined Croak-
er’s body.

“How can I help you, Auror Prewett?” she

asked in a dry, wheezy voice.

“I was wondering if you could tell me how

Saul Croaker died,” she said.

Harry and his friends slept in Moony’s

quarters again on Thursday night, and

- 1279 -
only spoke with him briefly early on Fri-
day morning; Harry couldn’t contact Moo-
ny, because he moved around the Ministry
so much, and so had to wait for Moony to
contact him instead. In the end, the con-
versation was disappointing; Moony knew
nothing about the scar pain, and more im-
portantly, there were no developments on
Padfoot’s case, but Harry knew the fact
that no one had seen or heard anything
didn’t bode well; he knew better than any-
one how good at avoiding detection Pad-
foot was, but Marlene was watching the
house, Remus had spoken to Kreacher,
and even if Padfoot had wanted to avoid
everyone, he’d have still contacted Harry
or Moony.

It wasn’t like him to be unreachable for

this long, for no reason, and the grim lines
around Moony’s mouth meant he was
thinking the same thing, Harry knew.

- 1280 -
Draco, Hermione and Ron seemed to have
worked that out too; Harry heard them
whispering to each other through the bath-
room door when he was doing his teeth,
and was of half a mind to tell them to go
and do productive things – like study – in-
stead of mope around with him.

Unfortunately, the other half of his mind

knew that they were the only thing keep-
ing him sane at the moment, with Padfoot
gone and Moony busy at the Ministry, and
his head threatening to explode at any
moment. The pain in Harry’s scar seemed
to have grown overnight.

“Juice, Potter?” Draco asked, lifting the

jug.

“Thanks,” Harry said. Draco filled his gob-

let and passed it to him, and Harry set it
down and stared at it. On the other side of

- 1281 -
the table, Harry saw Ron and Hermione
exchange a look. Exams were a mere two
weeks away, and Hermione, who’d had
her head in a book at every spare opportu-
nity for weeks now, hadn’t even bothered
to take it out that morning.

“You’re supposed to drink it, Potter,” Dra-

co told him. Hermione looked horrified and
opened her mouth – probably to tell him
off – but Harry just shook his head at her,
and forced himself to swallow a mouthful.

“Happy?” he asked.

“Not really,” Draco said, giving him a

sad look. Harry went back to pushing his
breakfast around with his fork, and trying
to ignore his head, and then gave up and
threw his fork down, and let his head fall
into his hands. He sensed rather than saw
his friends exchanging glances across the

- 1282 -
table.

“Do you want to go to lessons today?” Her-

mione asked gently.

“You’re joking, right?” Ron said, and Har-

ry peeked through his fingers to see him
looking at Hermione like she was mad.
“Hermione, you heard Professor Lupin
this morning. No one’s heard-”

“Don’t,” Harry said, and Ron fell silent at

once. “I’m going to lessons.”

“What?” This time it was Draco that spoke.

“Potter, are you su-”

“The alternative is sitting in Moony’s office

all day with a sore head,” Harry told them.
And he didn’t think Moony would appre-
ciate it if wolf-Harry tore his office apart
while he was waiting for news. “At least

- 1283 -
Potions can be a distraction.” Distractions
wouldn’t last long, he knew; sooner or lat-
er, the Aurors would find something more
definite than a wand, and Harry would
know – for better or worse, where Padfoot
was. He’d take distractions while he could
get them.

They made sure they arrived early – King

didn’t appreciate it when people were late
– and claimed seats. Blaise and Nott and
Morton and Tracey, as well as Lavender
and Parvati and Neville had already ar-
rived, and were all talking quietly, but
Harry wasn’t in the mood to join in. He
just rubbed his forehead, pulled out his
things, and was grateful when it was Ron
that sat down next to him.

Hermione would fuss, Draco would alter-

nate between being his normal self and
pretending nothing was wrong and then

- 1284 -
asking questions that Harry didn’t want
to think about, while Ron would be sub-
dued, but normal, other than a few wor-
ried looks. Worried looks, at least, Harry
could deal with.

King, who’d been writing on the black-

board, turned around. His eyes landed on
Harry, and, in that moment, Harry’s fore-
head split open.

Not literally, but it certainly felt that way.

It was all Harry could do not to clap his
hands to his scar and howl with pain. He
wanted to turn into his wolf and hide un-
der his bed in Gryffindor tower.

You’ve had worse, Harry told himself,

you’ve had worse, stay calm. Harry took
several slow, deep breaths, and the pain
in his head faded a little; King had turned
back to the board. Harry stared at the

- 1285 -
man’s back for almost a minute, mind
racing despite the pain, and then his at-
tention was drawn away by Ron clearing
his throat gently; Harry turned to see him
looking worried, and then Blaise, who was
at the desk behind Harry, kicked his chair
and arched an eyebrow. Morton and Nott
were watching him too, looking confused,
and Draco threw a piece of parchment at
him and made a concerned gesture.

Unfortunately, King had noticed where

everyone’s attention was too.

“Is everything all right, Mr Potter?”

“It’s nothing,” Harry muttered. Harry was

impressed he could string even two words
together with the pain in his head. A hor-
rible idea had presented itself to him,
though, clear, despite the burning, swirl-
ing confusion in Harry’s head.

- 1286 -
“It’s not nothing, poor boy; I heard about
Sirius Black,” King said. His tone would
have been sympathetic if his eyes hadn’t
been gleaming so much. Harry clenched
his hands under his desk. “If you need
anything, Harry, feel free to-”

“Can we just get on with the lesson?” Ron

asked loudly. King gave him a disapprov-
ing look.

“What are we doing today, Professor?”

Hermione asked from the desk next to
theirs, sounding eager. Only seconds later
Draco’s cauldron toppled off his desk with
a deafening clang for no apparent reason,
and while he muttered an apology, the
Slytherins sniggered, and King sighed and
asked them all to settle down.

“You all right, mate?” Ron murmured.

- 1287 -
“Fine,” Harry said shortly, rubbing his
forehead again.

Ron, thankfully, was happy to do all of the

chopping and adding and stirring for their
potion, without even needing an explana-
tion. Harry just read him the instructions
and stared at King’s back with a mixture
of fear and disbelief, and, by the end of the
lesson, they had a decent potion. Harry’s
scar started to ache again right at the end,
and he practically fled the room as soon as
King dismissed them.

“Harry?!” Ron said, confused, following

him. Hermione and Draco were only a few
steps behind, both looking worried.

“Potter, what th-” Draco began, but was

cut off by Morton.

- 1288 -
“Potter, are you all right?” Morton asked.
“You look like you’re about to be sick. And
what was King saying about Black?” Most
of the class was out of the room now, ei-
ther watching Harry with concern, or tell-
ing him to stop being dramatic and stop
blocking the corridor.

“Shut up, Hydrus!” Draco snapped, before

Ron could.

“Then move!” Goyle grunted.

“Potter?” Blaise said, in a neutral tone,

but Harry could tell from his expression
that he was worried too.

“I’m not feeling well,” Harry said, rubbing

his forehead. “I- I’m going to go and lie
down. Sorry,” he added to the rest of the
class, and hurried down the hallway. He
could hear his friends running along be-

- 1289 -
hind him.

“Potter?” That was Draco, looking wary.

“It’s my scar,” Harry said, wincing as it

prickled. “It just- in Potions, it-”

“Potions again?” Draco asked.

“Exactly,” Harry said. “It’s been sore for

days, but it’s been worst during Potions-
I think it’s King,” Harry said. “When he
looked at me- I thought it was- it’s King. I
think it’s King. I have to talk to-” Padfoot’s
name turned to ash in his mouth, and he
found he couldn’t speak.

“King- you mean- Harry, you don’t think

King is- is You Know Who?” Ron whis-
pered.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Maybe- I know

- 1290 -
he hasn’t been here all year, but King was
a student. He’d know ways in and out of
the grounds. It doesn’t explain the troll,
but- Of course!”

“What?” Draco asked.

“King works with poisons!” Harry said.

“The snitch in your first match!” Hermi-

one exclaimed.

“So maybe he’s been trying to get closer to

the school,” Harry said.

“So he attacked Severus,” Draco said, his

expression darkening. Harry wasn’t sure
whether it was to do with the fact that
Snape had been attacked, or whether it
was because Snape was still locked away
in his rooms.

- 1291 -
“And got the teaching position,” Ron said.

“Then why wouldn’t he have gone after

the stone right away?”

“Because everyone was so worried,” Har-

ry said slowly. “I’ll bet the teachers were
keeping an eye on things, so he had to
wait, earn their trust, or at least, get ev-
eryone to stop thinking of him as the new
bloke. We have to talk to- to-” Harry ran
through a quick mental list of people that
were still around, and – since he couldn’t
be guaranteed to get through to Moony -
figured McGonagall would have to do.

Hermione had always looked up to Pro-

fessor McGonagall – clever, capable witch
that she was – but even she was frowning
when McGonagall gave Harry a gentle pat

- 1292 -
on the shoulder.

“Black and Lupin tell you far too much, Mr

Potter,” she said. “And with things as they
are, I can hardly blame you for wanting to
make sure everything else is in order, but-
” McGonagall blinked, and if Hermione
hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn the
Professor had been about to get teary. “-I
assure you, the Stone is very well protect-
ed.”

“Yes,” Harry said, “but-”

“But nothing,” McGonagall said. “If you’re

aware of the Stone, you’re doubtless aware
that there have been-” She hesitated. “-at-
tempts to obtain it this year.”

“Yes, but with Padfoot-”

“Black was involved in trying to catch the

- 1293 -
person after the Stone, not in protecting it
directly,” McGonagall said, and Hermione
was glad her voice was gentle, or Harry’s
temper might have gone off.

“And now he’s missing,” Draco said hotly,

“and Lupin is away, and Severus is-”

“Everyone is feeling unsettled by current

events,” McGonagall said. “But I assure
you, we have taken measures to ensure
the school and its students and its proper-
ty are protected.” Hermione nodded. She’d
assumed such measures were in play, but
it was nice to hear it from someone in a
position of authority.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said, before

either Harry or Ron or Draco could fire up
again. “Sorry for bothering you-”

“It was not a bother,” McGonagall said, re-

- 1294 -
turning to her normal, brisk self. In doing
so, she seemed to remember something,
and frowned. “I also spoke to Poppy Pom-
frey this morning; she wanted to know if
you needed another anti-ache potion, Mr
Potter… might I ask what for?”

“He’s been having headaches,” Hermione

offered, because Harry’d got that cagey
look he always did when he was thinking
about lying, or omitting something. He
shot her a look, and Hermione bit her lip.

“Stress-related?” McGonagall asked him.

The look Harry was giving Hermione
sharpened a bit, in a look what you’ve done
now sort of way. Hermione just gave him
an Honestly, Harry look in return.

“It’s not a headache,” Harry said, and Her-

mione was relieved he hadn’t tried to lie.
“It’s my scar,” Harry said, glowering at

- 1295 -
Hermione the whole time, as if knowing
she’d call him on it if he lied. She frowned
at him, because she was only trying to
help, and a teacher was going to have more
idea than she, a twelve-year-old, did. “It’s
just been sore, and I thought it might have
something to do with the Stone.”

“I see,” McGonagall said after a moment.

She didn’t look worried though, just
thoughtful, and Hermione drew comfort
from that. “I cannot pretend to understand
magical scars, Mr Potter, but I have some
understanding of regular ones-” McGona-
gall’s hands fluttered over her ribs for a
moment, and Hermione wondered what
had happened to her. “-and often they ache
with remembered pain-”

“Maybe,” Harry said, though Hermione

could tell from the way his mouth was set
that he didn’t believe that was the case.

- 1296 -
 §

Severus had left the Wolfsbane Potion

on Lupin’s desk and was running up the
stairs to the third floor. He was so caught
up in the memory that he only briefly con-
sidered this would be his last memory of
running anywhere, ever again.

The door to the Cerberus’ room was al-

ready open, and Severus armed himself
with his wand before he nudged it open
with his foot and stepped inside. The room
was empty, except for the dog which had
fallen asleep – thankfully – on top of the
trapdoor. Severus cast several spells on
the room, but he and the dog were alone,
and the wards were all intact. With a last
glance at the snoring dog, Severus stepped
out of the room and closed and locked the
door.

- 1297 -
Then, there was a wooden clatter at the
end of the corridor, and Severus saw the
outline of someone move to pick something
up off the ground.

“Who’s there?” Severus called, and the fig-

ure froze. Severus moved toward them un-
til their face was lit by his wandlight, and
frowned. “And what, might I ask, are you
doing here?”

- 1298 -
Chapter 33:
News in the night

It was a good thing they had the afternoon

off; Harry didn’t think he’d have been able
to make it through lessons after his rev-
elation about King. All he could think
about was getting through to Moony, since
talking to McGonagall had been a waste
of time. He and Draco played chess – and
Draco trounced him with ease – while Ron
and Hermione studied at Moony’s large
desk, and later, Draco went to join them
while Harry scribbled a note to Moony

- 1299 -
that Draco took to Hedwig.

Ron and Hermione went to collect dinner

from the Great Hall – and returned with
all sorts of things wrapped in napkins –
because Harry didn’t want to leave the
room and risk missing Moony, and Draco
had missed dinner to go to the Owlery on
Harry’s behalf. They studied Potions that
night, by the fire – Harry wasn’t letting
himself think about Padfoot, and since
King was consuming his and the others’
thoughts, they’d figured they might as well
try to learn something out of it. It was sur-
prisingly effective; Harry didn’t think he
could forget anything King had said if he
tried.

How could he have been sitting in a class-

room with Voldemort for weeks and have
not realised? How could he have been
stupid enough to ignore his scar? If he’d

- 1300 -
worked it out sooner-

Don’t think that, Harry told himself, know-

ing it wouldn’t help anything, and would
only make him feel worse.

By ten that evening, Ron and Draco had

given up on study and were playing a qui-
et – well, as quiet as it could be – game
of Exploding Snap, and Hermione had al-
ready taken herself off to bed.

By eleven, Harry was the only one still

awake; Draco had consciously decided to
sleep, and was sprawled on the couch, but
Ron had tried to stay awake with Harry.
He was slumped against the couch, and
Harry was sure he’d have a sore neck in
the morning if he didn’t move at some
point.

Harry yawned so widely his jaw almost

- 1301 -
cracked, and eyed the woodpile. He almost
got up, but he was so comfortable where
he was and so he shrugged, pulled out his
wand, and decided to practice his Charms
work since he was awake anyway.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” he whispered.

The door of Mad-Eye’s office burst open,

and Prewett, a trainee Remus had met a
few times, and who Dora had mixed feel-
ings about – Remus could smell it on her
every time Prewett was around, but hadn’t
yet asked why – strode in. Her scent was all
over the place, and Remus rather thought
that meant her mind was too.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“I’ve been looking into the Morton case on

- 1302 -
my own,” she said. Dora opened her mouth.
“Don’t ask me why, because I’m not go-
ing to tell you,” Prewett continued. Dora
frowned at her. “I’ve also been involved in
Croaker’s case.”

“Fantastic,” Remus said, too tired and too

scared to be polite. “And how precisely,
does this help us?” Prewett gave him a
flinty look.

“They died the same way,” she said. “I’ve

been through all of the records, and spo-
ken to the Healers, and I’m sure of it. And
then I did some further research. I went
and spoke to a friend of mine, who works
in-” For the first time, Prewett hesitated.
“Erm, alternative research, I suppose you
could say.”

“Lovegood,” Dora said sharply.

- 1303 -
“Yes,” Prewett said, almost defensively.
The two women stared at each other for
several long seconds, and then a look of
understanding – which Remus didn’t un-
derstand at all – passed between them. “I
gave him the files to look over-”

“But that’s-”

“Illegal, yes. Not the first time I’ve broken

a law, Tonks, and it probably won’t be the
last,” Prewett said, sounding bored. Dora
frowned at her. “Anyway, he told me what
causes it. The deaths in that manner, I
mean.”

“What does this have to do with Sirius?”

Remus asked.

“Everything,” Prewett said, eyes bright.

“They died from being possessed, or rath-
er, died when whatever was possessing

- 1304 -
them left their bodies. It’s interesting, ac-
tually. If a body spends too long support-
ing two souls, and then one of them leaves,
the brain can’t cope and it-”

“Florence!” Dora cried. “Sirius!”

“Right,” Prewett said. “Well, Black was

there, when both of them died, right? Or
at least we think he was with Croaker.”

“And,” Remus said impatiently.

“And so whatever was possessing them

can’t just vanish into the air or it gets
trapped in a sort of between world for ages
– or at least that’s what the theory is, it
hasn’t been confirmed, because posses-
sion’s so rare, and most things that possess
you won’t tell you-” Remus was about to
stand up and shake her until she got back
to the point, and Prewett obviously sensed

- 1305 -
it. “Point is, when it leaves one vessel, it
needs to go into another or it gets… well,
lost for a bit. And what - or rather who –
was there the whole time?” Remus knew
what she was suggesting, but it made no
sense at all.

“Sirius, possessed by Voldemort?” Dora

asked, sounding skeptical. “I’ll believe you
about the possession, but Sirius-”

“He’s not possessed,” Remus said. “He

can’t be; we’d have noticed.”

“Depends how strong the possession is,”

Prewet replied, shrugging. “It’s possible
Black could have been possessed without
knowing it. Has he been tired?”

“Every time I’ve seen him,” Remus said,

annoyed, “but that’s because he’s been
working so hard.”

- 1306 -
“And he’s been himself?”

“I’d have noticed if my best friend was pos-

sessed,” Remus snapped.

“All right,” Prewett said, putting her

hands up. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I
just thought you’d like to know about a po-
tential development.”

“A stupid development,” Remus muttered.

Prewett rolled her eyes, and Remus sensed

rather than saw Dora send the other train-
ee an apologetic look; Remus was too busy
scowling at his shoes.

“I’m going to talk to the others,” Prewett

said, and tossed her dark ponytail over her
shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”

- 1307 -
“Thankyou, Florence,” Dora murmured.
Prewett left, and then Dora got up and
sat down in Remus’ lap. He stared at her,
puzzled. “Just because,” she said, sound-
ing annoyed, “you’re scared and sleep-de-
prived doesn’t give you the right to be rude.
Everyone’s trying to help, or at least work
out what might have happened-”

“I know,” Remus sighed, already feeling

guilty. “I’ll apologise when I next see her.
I just-”

“I know,” Dora said gently, running her

hand through his hair. “I know. I want him
back too, or at least want to know what’s
happened… Have you spoken to Harry to-
night?”

“No,” Remus said. “I- I’m supposed to be

keeping it together for his sake, except I’m
not. I’m terrified I’ll say something sarcas-

- 1308 -
tic, or snap, or just start crying, and that’s
not going to- we don’t know anything for
certain yet, so-”

“Shh,” Dora said, hugging his shoulders.

“I know.” Remus hugged her back desper-
ately.

“-and I want to be there for him, obvious-

ly, but I can’t help but feel I’m- it’s Sirius’
job, and I don’t want to just- take over. I’m
not Sirius, I can’t be, and I know I’ll fall
short compared to him-”

“I thought we were past these silly, self-de-

preciating comparisons-”

“Sirius is a fantastic godfather,” Remus

said. “I can’t compare to that.”

“Well, if it comes to it, you’ll just have to

do the best you can,” Dora said, cupping

- 1309 -
his cheek.

“She might be right.”

Tonks pushed her head off the desk it was

resting on, and yawned. The small, an-
noying clock by her elbow told her it was
almost midnight. She’d only managed to
sleep for an hour, but it brought her total
to ten hours of sleep in three days.

“What?” she asked, utterly confused.

Remus was pacing on the other side of the
desk, and didn’t appear to have slept at
all. Tonks rubbed her eyes and frowned at
him.

“Prewett. I don’t think- but she could be.

She could be right.”

- 1310 -
“About Sirius?” Tonks asked. “Remus, you
said it yourself; you’d have noticed if your
best friend was possessed.”

“I’ve been at Hogwarts.”

“So’s Sirius,” Tonks pointed out. “For full

moons, and the Morton stuff, and to watch
Quidditch-”

“But she’s right; he was there when Mor-

ton died, and – we think - when Croaker
died. And the troll… Sirius is an Auror, he
has contacts-”

“And you think he poisoned Harry?” Tonks

asked. “His own godson, Remus?”

“He had the book,” Remus said helpless-

ly. “The one with the poison in it, and he
wasn’t at the match.”

- 1311 -
“But it’s Harry… Sirius would do anything
for Harry-”

“But he might not even know he’s pos-

sessed!” Remus said. “Voldemort managed
to change Snape’s memory – apparently –
and so why couldn’t he just do the same?
And we’ve been wondering how he’s been
getting in and out of the school, but an
Auror would be the perfect cover. And he
was there the night Dumbledore was at-
tacked-”

“And they were separated when the ac-

tual attack came,” Tonks said, biting her
lip. “Oh, Remus, do you really think that’s
what’s happened?” Tonks wasn’t sure
which was more horrible to consider; Sir-
ius irreversibly dead, or Sirius sharing a
body with Voldemort. “Surely if that was-
surely someone would have seen him?”

- 1312 -
“Maybe,” Remus said helplessly. “May-
be not. We know Quirrell’s working with
Voldemort, and no one’s found him yet ei-
ther.”

“Then we need to get back to Hogwarts,”

Tonks said.

“What? Why?”

“Because if you think it’s even remote-

ly possible, then we need to warn people;
Harry and Dumbledore to start with, and
probably others. If he is possessed, then
we’re not going to do any good waiting
here, for a body, or for him to show up in
St Mungo’s, or wander into his office. He’s
got the attention here, on Sirius, and that
means Hogwarts is open to him.”

- 1313 -
Minerva hadn’t been lying when she’d told
her first year Gryffindors that she wasn’t
worried about the Stone, and that it was
well protected, but something about the
whole thing was still niggling at her.

Perhaps it was the fact that Granger – one

of the most logical people Minerva had
ever met, irrelevant of age – had agreed
with Potter, and so had the Malfoy boy
and Weasley – though they were both rea-
sonably easy to influence, and had a ten-
dency to get caught up in whatever Pot-
ter was up to at any given time. Minerva
shuddered, thinking about the troll.

Or, perhaps it was the fact that Potter had

come to her at all. She’d had conversations
with Potter throughout the year of course,
like she did with all of her students, but
she couldn’t remember him ever seeking
her out before. Longbottom had sought

- 1314 -
her out to double-check the tower pass-
words, and Brown had, to tell her Pansy
Parkinson was being nasty, and Patil had,
to ask if she could visit Ravenclaw with
her twin sister. Even Potter’s friends had
sought her out; Granger to ask about les-
sons, Weasley to ask if he could Floo his
family during a bout of homesickness, and
Malfoy had to let her know his plans for
the holidays.

But Potter… Despite being at school, Pot-

ter had continued to rely on Black; he, like
his father, seemed to have some sort of se-
cret method to communicate with Black
no matter how far apart they were, and
Minerva was certain it wasn’t the Floo or
talking through owl post. And, Potter had
relied on Remus, who, as a member of the
staff was more than capable of handling
any of Potter’s problems with authority.
And, it made sense for it to be that way,

- 1315 -
since Remus had had a lot more involve-
ment with Potter than Minerva had.

Would he have believed Potter? she won-

dered, and knew that yes, Remus probably
would have believed Potter, and probably
right away. But why? Potter’s evidence
was his scar-pain, which Minerva didn’t
think was far-fetched – certainly it was
believable – but rather thought that he
was misinterpreting the signs. When stu-
dents wobbled on their broomsticks during
Quidditch matches, Minerva’s side started
to hurt, regardless of whether they stayed
on, or fell off, like she had all those years
ago.

All evening, Minerva had been telling her-

self she’d look silly for going to Albus to
tell him that Potter was worried, but by
eleven that evening, she’d decided she’d
feel far sillier and far guiltier if something

- 1316 -
did happen, and she ignored the warning.
And, with everything that poor boy had
going on at the moment, she thought it
might calm him to hear that she’d told the
Headmaster about his concerns.

Minerva sighed loudly and went to fetch

her dressing gown.

The halls were completely deserted, and

Minerva rather liked it that way. The
moonlight shone through the windows,
bathing the corridors in silvery light, and
shadows moved gently across the floor as
clouds passed by. Her cat-self wanted to
sit by the window and watch the shapes
in the sky, but Minerva was too practiced
to give in; she was up for a reason, and
the sooner she’d seen the Headmaster, the
sooner she could go back to her warm bed.

“Cauldron cake,” she said, and the gar-

- 1317 -
goyle squinted at her – the way it did at
everyone since it had been attacked a few
weeks ago – and then the wall behind it
rumbled. Minerva swept up the staircase
and was a little disconcerted when Albus
didn’t invite her in before she could knock.
Feeling odd, she did knock, and then heard
movement inside.

“Come in, Minerva,” Albus said, and Min-

erva made sure she had a tight grip on her
wand before she did. As soon as she was
inside, though, she let her wand fall back
into her dressing gown pocket.

“Albus?” The Headmaster was sitting at

his desk, his head bowed over a piece of
parchment. There was an owl on the edge
of his desk, hooting at Fawkes, but Fawkes
wasn’t paying it any attention; he was
crooning softly and ruffling his adolescent
plumage.

- 1318 -
“Sirius’s body was found,” he said heavi-
ly, and several tears ran into his already
damp beard. Minerva’s clenched her
hands in the fabric of her dressing gown,
and fought to keep her lips from quivering.
The news wasn’t unexpected, given every-
thing that had happened, but Minerva
had been clinging to the hope that Sirius
would somehow pull through, despite the
appearances, like he always seemed to. It
seemed, though, like James’, Sirius’ luck
was finite. “The Aurors are keeping it qui-
et, but the Prophet will know by morning
nonetheless. They need me to go in to as-
sist with the early discussions regarding
Harry’s custody-”

“But surely Sirius had a Will-”

“Remus was named,” Albus said, unsur-

prisingly. “With young Nymphadora to

- 1319 -
help him. But you know as well as I how
the Ministry views Remus…”

“He’d do well with the boy,” Minerva said

fiercely. “As well as anyone could, except
for Sirius or the Potters, at least-”

“Precisely. I have some influence, still, and

I intend to use to it ensure that some good
– or at least, less bad - comes out of all
of this. I’ve made so many mistakes with
Harry and Sirius, but failing to adhere to
his Will will not be one of them.” Another
tear trickled down his nose.

“When will you leave?”

“Within the hour, I should think.”

“And Potter?” Minerva asked. “Should we

wake him-”

- 1320 -
“No,” Albus said. “Let him sleep while he
can – I fear sleep will be hard to come by
for him after tonight.” He removed his
spectacles, wiped them clean, and then
stood to retrieve his travelling cloak.

Harry’s eyes flew open as Lily screamed,

and the green light from Voldemort’s
wand brightened into the softer orange
of the fire. Someone was still screaming,
though. He could hear his friends stirring
around him, and then clapped his hands
over his ears to protect them; thanks to
his wolf-hearing, the sound was painfully
loud.

“Wassgoinon?” he shouted over the noise

while he cursed himself for falling asleep.
“Did Moony-”

- 1321 -
“I don’t know!” Hermione shouted back.
“It just started-”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Draco snapped.

“Finite.” The wailing stopped at once, and
Harry wished his scar would stop hurting
just as easily, but it continued to burn.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron

asked, removing his hands from his ears.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “Did some-

one set an alar- Harry?!” Harry had just
doubled over, clutching his head, as sharp
pain shot through his head. Ron was at
his side in a moment, looking pale.

“Yes,” Draco said. There was something in

his voice that made Harry look at him, de-
spite the pain. “Lupin set the alarm.”

“What?” Hermione asked.

- 1322 -
“You were there,” Draco said, looking at
Harry and Ron. “He set the alarm so that
he’d know-”

“The trapdoor,” Ron whispered, and Har-

ry’s scar wasn’t burning anymore, because
he was fairly sure he’d turned to ice.

Draco wasn’t even slightly surprised when

Potter leapt to his feet, and didn’t think
the others were either; Weasley looked
grim, and Granger looked nervous, but de-
termined.

“What are you doing?” Potter asked, when

Granger and Weasley stood.

“Going with you, of course,” Granger said,

and her voice only shook a little.

“You do understand that Voldemort is go-

- 1323 -
ing to be down there,” Potter said, “right?”

“We know.” Weasley looked slightly green,

but his wand was in his hand, and he
hadn’t sat down yet. Potter gave them both
a helpless look; Draco knew he was torn
between arguing with them, and wanting
to get to the third floor as quickly as pos-
sible.

“Are you coming?” Weasley asked Draco.

“I-” Draco stared at his hands. “Maybe we

should try to talk to-”

“There isn’t time,” Potter said. He was

practically rocking on the spot, obviously
struggling to keep himself from running
out of the office… into danger… like usual.

Really, what is it with Gryffindors? Dra-

co couldn’t help but wonder. He was also

- 1324 -
a little horrified that he himself, was toy-
ing with the idea of accompanying them.
If the Dark Lord or Voldemort, or whatev-
er they were going to call him, was down
there, Draco really didn’t think they stood
much of a chance… Potter might, being
the boy-who-lived and all, but Potter was
only marginally better than Draco in their
subjects – except for maybe Transfigura-
tion – and Draco didn’t like his own chanc-
es either.

He can’t go alone, though, Draco told him-

self. Perhaps sheer numbers could make
up for their lesser experience…

He’s got Granger and Weasley, another

voice in his head – one that sounded like
Hydrus – said.

“Malfoy?” Weasley said, frowning at him.

Obviously, the expectation was for him to

- 1325 -
go too; Potter was wincing now, and rub-
bing his head – that gesture had grown fa-
miliar over the past weeks – and Granger
had folded her arms while she waited.

“Leaving it all alone’s not an option, is it?”

Draco asked weakly. None of the other
three answered, but the answer was clear
anyway. Potter was going, and the other
two would follow. And if Draco didn’t de-
cide soon, he’d be left behind. Some part of
him rebelled at the thought, while a larg-
er portion of him was relieved.

Draco wished Severus was there, to coun-

sel him, but he wasn’t, and he hadn’t been
for weeks. Draco’s stomach churned an-
grily.

“Draco- your family,” Potter said awk-

wardly, “I won’t- I know you can’t-”

- 1326 -
My family. Draco hadn’t even thought
about them. He was a Malfoy, and they
had – once – served the Dark Lord. Father
had been highly ranked, as had Draco’s
Aunt Bella. It was in his blood.

So was Slytherin, and you didn’t make it

there, a snide voice told him.

And look how unsettled everything’s been,

a soft voice said. This is your chance to
make things right, don’t you see. Leave
Potter to his own devices, and go back to
your dormitory. The Dark Lord will re-
turn, and Father will be so pleased that
he’ll likely forget-

That I’m a blood traitor? Draco’s own voice

thought, sadly. My own family struggle to
look past my House… The Dark Lord will
probably kill me for it.

- 1327 -
Fear settled over Draco. He didn’t want to
die. He wasn’t even twelve yet! Potter had
talked about the Dark Lord, and about how
Black and Dumbledore would stop him…
only Black was dead, and they didn’t have
time to find Dumbledore, and now Draco
was involved. Draco had to choose, rather
than just watch things unfold, and it was
looking a lot like Draco would die, regard-
less of what he chose. He laughed, then,
because only a few hours ago, his biggest
worry had been Severus and his exams,
and both now seemed rather insignificant.

“What’s funny?” Granger asked, chewing

her lip.

“Nothing,” Draco said at once.

“Stay,” Potter said. “Your dad would be fu-

rious with you if you helped us-”

- 1328 -
“But you’re not-” Weasley turned confused,
hurt eyes on Draco. “You can’t- you don’t
want Him to come back, do you?”

“But his family, Ron,” Granger said quiet-

ly.

“Stay,” Potter told him more firmly. “We’ll

see you later, when this is all over.”

It wouldn’t ever be over, though, Draco

knew. If Potter, Weasley and Granger suc-
ceeded, the Dark Lord would be stopped,
certainly, but not killed… Draco knew kill-
ers; lots of the Slytherins’ parents were-
Merlin, his own Father had probably killed
people, and Severus surely had. Potter
wasn’t a killer. Even if Potter succeeded,
the Dark Lord would still be back another
time. And if Potter and the others failed,
the Dark Lord would return, and every-
thing would change. Draco’s eyes went to

- 1329 -
the red and gold tie draped over the arm
of the couch, the tie he’d so loathed once
upon a time, and he couldn’t be sure that
he wanted things to change. He put the tie
into the pocket of his dressing gown, and
reached for his wand, which was resting
on the coffee table.

“And when, Potter,” Draco said, with an

embarrassingly obvious tremble in his
voice, “have I ever let you tell me what to
do?”

- 1330 -
Chapter 34:
Passing through

The door to Fluffy’s room was, unsurpris-

ingly, ajar. Harry tightened his grip on his
wand and pulled the door open. The other
three slipped in behind him, and the dog,
which appeared to be asleep just next to
the trapdoor, twitched. Harry closed the
door – it wouldn’t do for Fluffy to get out,
after all – and then held up a hand. Every-
one stopped moving at once.

The dog started to stir anyway, and it oc-

- 1331 -
curred to Harry that they should, at some
point, have endeavoured to find a way to
subdue the dog, as King had obviously
managed to do. One of the heads yawned,
and blinked, and Harry and the others
crept forward toward the trapdoor and out
of its line of sight.

“Quickly,” Draco mouthed, pointing to the

trapdoor.

“I’ll go first,” Harry breathed back. He lift-

ed the trapdoor and stared down. It was
completely dark, and he supposed he’d
just have to jump and hope for the best.
He gestured for the others to come closer
– which they did with wary looks at the
dog, whose giant paw was sheltering them
from its sight. “If anything happens, leave
me,” Harry said.

“Yeah, right,” Ron hissed.

- 1332 -
“Seriously,” Harry said, holding Ron’s eyes
with his own. “Get out of here, and get Mc-
Gonagall or Dumbledore or someone. Oth-
erwise, watch for sparks, then follow.” Ron
was scowling at him, but Hermione nod-
ded. Draco was just watching him, with a
hard-to-read expression.

“Here goes,” Harry muttered, and lowered

himself through the trapdoor.

Air, cold and damp - despite the fact that it

was the first day of June – ruffled Harry’s
hair. He kept a tight grip on his wand as
he fell, further than he thought he should
have. Just as he was beginning to wonder
if this really was a trap, and he’d fall to
his death, he was caught by a Cushion-
ing Charm. He flicked his wand, sending
sparks out, and a dark shape obscured the
tiny light that was the trapdoor.

- 1333 -
A moment later, Hermione landed next to
him with a whimper. Draco dropped down
next, and then there was barking up above.
For a moment, Harry’s heart stopped, be-
cause Ron hadn’t appeared yet, but then
he did, tumbling rather than jumping.
Fluffy’s teeth tore at the stone and wood
above, and must eventually have knocked
the trapdoor shut, because everything
plunged into darkness.

Harry heard rather than saw Ron land.

“Ron?” he asked urgently.

“Yeah?” Ron asked, his voice unsteady.

“Are you-” Harry’s stomach flopped as he

smelled blood. His scar burned for a mo-
ment, and Harry swallowed, trying to ig-
nore it. “Are you hurt?”

- 1334 -
“Just my hand,” Ron said, sucking in a
breath. As he and the others stood and
straightened themselves, Harry made his
way over to Ron. Ron’s hand had two large
punctures in it – obviously teeth marks
– which were quite deep and bloody, but
thankfully, Harry didn’t think they’d bro-
ken anything.

“Has anyone got anything to cover-”

“Here.” Draco pulled a Gryffindor tie out of

the pocket of his dressing gown and passed
it to Harry, who stared at it. Draco shifted
and wouldn’t make eye contact with him,
and so Harry returned his attention to
Ron, and wrapped the tie around his hand
the way he’d seen Padfoot do with Moo-
ny’s bandages.

“Better?” Hermione asked. Ron shrugged

- 1335 -
and tucked his hand against his chest,
obviously embarrassed by the attention.
Draco had moved away from them, and
down a passageway which seemed to be
the only way to get anywhere. With a look
at the other two, Harry followed.

They’d only taken a few steps when Harry

started to hear a soft, whispering sound,
accompanied every now and then by clinks.

“Can you hear that?” Harry asked, rub-

bing his scar.

“Hear what?” Ron asked.

“Listen,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“It sounds like wings,” Draco whispered,

as they drew closer to an archway at the
end of the passage.

- 1336 -
“Like birds?” Hermione asked. She was
right; when they reached the archway,
they found themselves in a tall-ceilinged,
very bright room filled with glittering
birds.

“Do you think they’re dangerous?” Ron

asked.

“Probably,” Harry replied

“There are broomsticks over there,” Dra-

co said. Harry followed his gaze, and sure
enough, there were seven rather heavy
looking broomsticks resting against a far
wall. “Do you think we have to fly to the
next part?”

“But there’s a door,” Hermione said. Keep-

ing close to the wall, in case any of the birds
attacked, she made her way to the other
door and tried an Unlocking Charm – the

- 1337 -
same one Draco had done on the night they
first saw Fluffy, and then huffed. “It’s still
locked.”

“Is there a key?” Ron asked.

“Lots, actually,” Draco replied, his voice

shaking. “They’re not birds; look.” Harry
did look, squinting up at what, upon clos-
er inspection, appeared to be winged keys.

“So we have to catch it,” Harry said, step-

ping into the room. Draco had crossed the
room to join Hermione, and was examin-
ing the door.

“It’ll be silver, and probably old fashioned,”

he said. Harry looked up and groaned;
there were hundreds of keys up there, and
a significant number of them were silver.
Still, he’d been flying for years now, and
Wood wouldn’t have kept him on as Seek-

- 1338 -
er if he wasn’t any good.

“Up,” he said, holding his hand out to a

broom, which sped into it with a woody
thump. Harry kicked off the ground and
went spinning into the air. Ron had caught
up a broom as well and was flying confi-
dently, despite his injured hand, Hermi-
one was ascending somewhat shakily, and
Draco shot up into the air as easily as Har-
ry and Ron had.

Harry spotted the key within ten seconds

of being in the air – it had a crushed wing -
but catching it was a whole other issue; the
key was more agile than a snitch, moved
faster through the pillars which he and
the others had to dodge, and while he only
had one other Seeker to compete against
in Quidditch, he had three with him now;
while they were all trying to help each
other, more often than not, they seemed

- 1339 -
to just get in each other’s ways.

“It’d be easier if they weren’t flying,” Her-

mione panted, clutching her side with one
hand and her wand with the other, while
her knees were clamped tightly around
her broom. “And it must be charms that
make these fly, right? Finite Incantatem.”

The keys stopped in mid-air – even the

one that they were after. But, before any
of them could fly toward it, it, and the oth-
er keys started to tremble. Their wings
popped out of existence, and at the exact
same time, every key changed to resem-
ble their target key. Then, as one, several
hundred identical keys started to fall.

Harry didn’t even think; he still had his

eye on their key, and sped toward it, urg-
ing the broom faster and faster. Other keys
hit him on the arm and back and face as

- 1340 -
he flew, but he forced the broom forward.
If the key hit the ground, it would be lost
amongst the others, and they’d have no
way to follow King.

Harry’s hand closed around it when it was

only a foot above the ground. He tumbled
off the broom, landing painfully hard on
his side, and stopped sharply when he
skidded into a thick, stone pillar.

“Harry!” Hermione cried. She was bleed-

ing from several cuts on her forehead and
chin, and had a rather swollen lip. “Oh,
I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise-”

“You didn’t know,” Harry said, trying to

sit upright. He imagined that was what it
must feel like to be stabbed, but he man-
aged. He winced and pressed a hand to
his side, and when he pulled up his pyja-
ma tshirt, his side had already turned an

- 1341 -
ugly, mottled purple colour. Oddly, Harry
found himself thinking of Uncle Vernon.
“Here,” he said, shaking his head to clear
it, and passed Hermione the key.

She bit her lip, obviously wanting to apol-

ogise again, but Ron shooed her over to
the door – which she had to wade through
keys to get to - and offered Harry his good
hand. Draco came to help as well, and Har-
ry was grateful for that, because he wasn’t
sure that he’d have been able to stand on
his own. Both Draco and Ron were cut and
bruised as well.

“Oh my…” Hermione said in a very small

voice. Draco went over to investigate at
once, while Ron hovered by Harry, mak-
ing sure he could walk.

“I’ll manage,” Harry told him. Ron stayed

nearby anyway, and caught Harry’s arm

- 1342 -
when he slipped on a pile of keys. Harry
was grateful that he didn’t comment, but
he could smell how worried Ron was.

He and Ron reached Hermione and Draco,

who’d entered the next room, and stopped.

They were standing at the edge of a huge

chessboard, behind the black chessmen.
Draco stared up at the imposing looking
queen - who was almost twice their height
- and Harry saw him shiver. The faceless
white chessmen glared at them from the
other side of the room.

“Now what?” Harry whispered, clutching

his side.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Ron, looking

genuinely confused that they didn’t un-
derstand.

- 1343 -
“Not to the rest of us,” Draco said snippily.
“Tell us, would you?”

“We have to play our way across the room,”

Ron said, rolling his eyes.

“How do we do that?” Hermione asked, her

brown eyes darting from one piece to the
next.

“I think we’re going to have to be chess-

men,” said Ron. Harry’s stomach twisted
unpleasantly as Ron walked over to one of
the black knights and laid his good hand
on the horse’s flank. The stone sprang to
life. The horse tossed its huge head and
shifted restlessly while its rider turned his
helmeted head. “Do we... er... have to join
you to get across?” The knight nodded.

“Brilliant,” Draco muttered looking paler

than usual.

- 1344 -
“Right,” Ron said. “Just let me think…”
He glanced around. “I guess we have to be
four of the black pieces…?” Ron looked at
the knight. “Oi! Do we all have to play?”
The knight nodded.

“Okay,” Hermione said. “So-”

“Don’t be offended or anything,” Ron said,

grimacing, “but none of you are that good
at chess-”

“We’re not offended-” Harry said quickly,

over Draco’s “Now wait just a moment,
Weasley!” “-just tell us what to do.”

“Harry, you take the place of the Bishop-”

“Bishop?” Draco scoffed. “You are joking,

right, Weasley? Potter, you’ll be King.”

- 1345 -
“Harry you’ll play Bishop,” Ron said shoot-
ing Draco a look.

“No, Potter should play as King,” Draco

said, crossing his arms. Curious blue eyes
met grey, but Harry didn’t care about that.

“If you think I’m going to stand in the back

somewhere while you all risk your lives
for me-”

“Don’t interrupt, Potter, it’s rude,” Draco

said, waving a hand at him. Harry scowled
at Hermione; though she was hiding it, he
could still smell her smile.

“Explain,” Ron said to Draco.

“Potter’s the only one of us with any real

chance in there,” Draco said.

“That’s-”

- 1346 -
“Quiet, Potter,” Draco said again, and
sounded so much like Snape that Harry
subsided with a grumble. “So, who do we
need to protect through this, no matter
what?”

“Harry,” Ron said, nodding, as if he was

understanding.

“Yes, but you’re both forgetting that all

sixteen of them-” Hermione, frowning,
pointed toward the white chessmen “-will
be trying to get to Harry if he’s King.”

“He’ll still be safest,” Ron said, and Dra-

co nodded along with him. “You aren’t
allowed to move the King into a position
where he can be taken- The other side put-
ting the King into Check or Checkmate is
different,” he said overriding Hermione’s
protest.

- 1347 -
“If Potter’s King - no matter what happens
to us - he’ll be the last piece standing,”
Draco added.

“And Kings aren’t actually ever taken,”

Hermione whispered. “Clever,” she said
looking at Draco.

“If you’ve all finished discussing-” Harry

said irritably.

“I think we’re done,” Draco said. “Potter,

you’ll be playing King.”

“I gathered,” Harry growled.

“Hermione, you’ll be a Castle,” Ron said.

“Draco, you’re a Bishop.”

“What about you?” Hermione asked.

- 1348 -
“I’m going to be a Knight.”

The black chessmen seemed to have been

listening; the King, the Bishop beside it,
the Knight Ron had talked to and the
Castle all walked off the board. Harry
took a deep breath and gingerly made his
way over to the square that had been the
King’s. The others took their positions.

“White always plays first in chess... yeah,

there we go...” Ron murmured as a white
pawn moved two squares closer. “You
there,” Ron said.

“Me?” Hermione asked timidly.

“No, the- you- no, the pawn- No, the oth-

er one- Yes, you!” Ron began to direct the
black pieces. “Malfoy, go four squares to
your right.”

- 1349 -
The first piece they lost was a pawn. He
was knocked down by a white Castle and
dragged off the board where he lay unmov-
ing.

“You had to let that happen,” Draco said,

his voice trembling slightly.

“I know,” Ron said. “Take him, would you?”

Draco nodded and tapped the Castle which
fell over with a crash that made him yelp.

“Do I carry it off?” he asked.

“You’d be better trying to levitate it,” Her-

mione said, staring at the huge piece. Dra-
co pulled out his wand but before he could
cast the spell, the Bishop he was replacing
came to drag it away. The game resumed,
with Ron and Draco discussing moves with
each other across the board, Hermione
barely breathing, and Harry himself try-

- 1350 -
ing not to breathe either, because it hurt
so much.

Harry was feeling nervous - he had Hermi-

one to his right, and while it was good to
have her there, he couldn’t help but notice
that the white chessmen were using her
to block him in. Ron and Draco were busy
coordinating an attack on white - Ron had
just narrowly avoided being taken by a
white Bishop, but he had managed to cor-
ner the white King on the other side of the
board.

A white Knight, which had been sitting

near Draco, moved to take one of their
Pawns. Ron frowned, looking around at
the chessboard and then - despite the dis-
tance between them - Harry saw him go
abruptly pale under his freckles.

“What?” Harry asked, scanning the board.

- 1351 -
Draco, who was off to Harry’s left, glanced
at the white Queen and swore quietly,
pressing his eyes shut for a moment. He
made to take a step.

“No!” Ron called. “Malfoy, wait!”

“For what?” Draco snapped. Harry could

hear his heartbeat, and it was racing. Ron
didn’t seem to have anything to say but
his scared scent was enough to make Har-
ry worry.

“What’s happening?” Hermione whis-

pered.

“Dunno,” Harry muttered. “Doesn’t sound

good, though.” Hermione chewed her lip,
eyes flicking from piece to piece. Then she
gasped.

- 1352 -
“We’ve been set up!” And then Harry no-
ticed the Queen, set to slide onto the
square on his immediate left, where she
would be protected by the Knight that had
moved moments before. And he would be
in Checkmate, since Hermione barred him
in on his right and he couldn’t escape di-
agonally since there was a Bishop behind
the Queen...

“So we’ve lost?” he said flatly.

“No,” Ron and Draco said together.

“Then how...?” Hermione asked.

“I take that Pawn,” Draco said, nodding

toward the centre of the board, “the one
behind the white Queen.”

“But the Queen...” Harry murmured after

realising that the square was not, in fact,

- 1353 -
protected. “NO!” he and Hermione shout-
ed together.

“I don’t particularly want to be taken,”

Draco said scathingly, “but I really don’t
have a lot of choice. It’s this or we lose.”

“But-” Hermione began.

“It’s chess, Granger,” Draco said haughti-

ly. “Their Queen has to take me, since the
King’ll be in Checkmate. Then our Queen
takes their Queen, and that puts their
King in Checkmate and you, Weasley and
Potter keep going.”

“Malfoy-”

“Do you want to stop King or not, Weas-

ley?” Draco demanded.

“Yes,” Harry said, “but not if it means-”

- 1354 -
Draco ignored him.

“Weasley, if this were a normal game of

chess, if we weren’t pieces, would you
move me - the Bishop - there?” Ron nodded
without hesitation. “Then,” Draco said,
his voice shaking, “I’m flattered you hesi-
tated.” He swallowed. “Good luck.” Draco
swallowed again, squared his shoulders
and walked across the board to take the
Pawn. “Check,” he said, his voice cracking.

No sooner than the Pawn was off the board

did the Queen turn and crack her hand
across Draco’s face. Hermione screamed,
clapping her hands to her mouth as he
crumpled without a sound.

“No one move,” Ron said, his voice trem-

bling. Hermione rocked on her heels, and
Harry continued to hold his stinging side.
All three of them watched as the Queen

- 1355 -
dragged Draco off and dumped him with
the other taken pieces. “Take her,” Ron
said shakily, directing their Queen to the
white Queen. “And Check,” he said, as
the white Queen crashed to the ground. A
white Bishop slid down between the King
and the black Queen. “Take it,” Ron said
again.

“Checkmate.”

The white King took his crown off and

threw it at the Queen’s feet. The rest of
the pieces bowed and parted, clearing the
way to the door.

That was not the direction they headed,

though; they ran away from the door – or
rather, limped, in Harry’s case – toward
Draco, who still hadn’t moved. His temple
was swollen, and steadily dripping blood.

- 1356 -
“He’s breathing,” Hermione said, holding
her hand under Draco’s nose.

“Harry, you need to keep going, or he’ll

already have the Stone,” Ron said. Harry
glanced at Draco, reluctant to leave him
alone and unconscious. “I’ll stay with Mal-
foy,” Ron said. “Hermione’s better at spells
and stuff anyway.” Harry swallowed and
nodded, and he and Hermione headed for
the other door, Hermione with a worried
look over her shoulder at Ron and Draco.

“He’ll be all right,” Harry said, trying to

convince himself. Hermione bit her lip,
but nodded.

“Flitwick and McGonagall,” Hermione

muttered. “So that leaves Sprout, Snape-”

“And Moony,” Harry added. She nodded

distractedly.

- 1357 -
“And maybe one of the other teachers,”
Hermione said. “Percy said the older
years have divination and ancient runes
and care of magical creatures and muggle
studies and arithmancy.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, wincing and patting

his ribs.

The corridor led them into near darkness

– there was a large, full moon above them,
probably enchanted like the ceiling in
the Great Hall - and Harry stopped when
freezing water sloshed into his trainers.
It smelled like they were outdoors – obvi-
ously, that couldn’t be possible – but Har-
ry’s wolf-nose hadn’t been wrong yet. He
looked over to where he thought Hermi-
one was, and then lit his wand. The light
did little good – the room seemed to swal-
low the light – but Harry was able to see

- 1358 -
water, and gnarled trees and reeds that
were almost as tall as they were.

“Moony,” Harry murmured. Hermione

bobbed her head, stepping up onto a log
to try to keep her pyjamas dry. A warm
orange light flickered in the distance.

“Is it Him?” Hermione whispered, tugging

on Harry’s sleeve. A sharp scent of fear
burst out of her, and Harry buried his face
in his arm so he wouldn’t give them away
with a sneeze.

“Must be,” Harry said, swallowing as he

drew her into the shadows and extin-
guished his wand. It took a few moments,
but his eyes adjusted eventually, or at
least enough to make out the outline of
Hermione, and what he was standing on.
“Don’t light your wand; that way, he can’t
see us coming.”

- 1359 -
“Okay,” Hermione squeaked. She seized
Harry’s hand, and the pair of them stepped
out into the marsh, toward the small, wa-
vering light in the distance. It wasn’t an
easy journey. Harry wasn’t sure if King
knew they were there, or if he was just
lost, but his light was constantly moving,
and would regularly go out, and then re-
appear a fair way from where it had been
a few seconds later. If that didn’t make it
bad enough, there was the mud, which was
constantly sucking them in to knee depth
– and Harry’s side was so sore it was a
struggle to get out again – and the reeds
were spiky, and the tree branches too low,
and the water too cold, and it seemed the
plants in the area were constantly trying
to trip them or hit them or grab them.

“We s-should have taken the b-brooms,”

Hermione said, dragging her feet out of

- 1360 -
a particularly boggy part. Harry glanced
back at the doorway they’d come through,
which was still completely visible, lit by
the light from the passageway.

“We’re close t-though,” Harry murmured,

and they were. King’s light was only a
few metres away, and Harry could hear
squelching up ahead. “Watch that vine.”
Hermione swatted it away, and then
grabbed Harry’s arm for support as anoth-
er one tried to trip her.

“How’s your s-side?” she asked, teeth chat-

tering.

“Sore,” Harry mouthed, and crouched

down, dragging Hermione with him.
King’s light was right there, just through
the reeds, and he’d be able to see them if
they weren’t careful. Harry’s palms were
sweating so much that he could hardly

- 1361 -
hold his wand. Hermione’s knuckles were
white around hers, and her heart was rac-
ing.

Only a few feet away, a foggy shape moved.

“Petrificus totalus!” Harry breathed, and

his spell soared, perfectly on target, toward
King… and then passed right through him.

“Is it a g-ghost?” Hermione asked, trying

to unwind a vine that had fastened around
her wrist.

“No,” Harry said, backing away. “I don’t

think that’s King at all. Lumos!” There
was a startled grunt, and a squat, lumpy,
one-legged creature materialised. One of
its long fingered hands was clutching a
lantern.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

- 1362 -
“N-no idea,” Harry said, dimming his
wand, because it seemed to have star-
tled the creature. The creature’s outline
blurred until it was looking rather smoky
again, and its lantern shone a little bright-
er.

Then, fire burst out of the lantern, and

Harry had time to put a hand up to shield
his face from the heat and sudden light,
but that was it. He winced as he felt his
neck and arm burn, and Hermione cried
out next to him. The fire vanished almost
as soon as it had come, and Harry dragged
Hermione away, not really caring where
they went, as long as they were away from
that creature.

“Ow,” Hermione said, holding her hand

in the chilly water. “Ow, ow, ow.” The fire
had burned away most of her sleeve and

- 1363 -
her arm was red and sore underneath.
Her hair was singed – and Harry thought
his probably was as well – and she had a
rather painful looking burn on her jawline.
Harry’s own hand was sore but not bad-
ly hurt, and he held it in the water while
Hermione splashed water on her face and
sniffled.

Then – and afterwards, Harry would only

be grateful that it had hit his thigh and
not his side – something smacked him.
Hermione screeched and leapt out of the
way only seconds later, shielding her head
from-

“I hate plants!” Hermione declared, sob-

bing. “Or at least these plants!” Harry
dodged another blow, and turned to look
at their attacker.

It was – and he really shouldn’t have been

- 1364 -
surprised – a Whomping Willow. It was
smaller than the one on the Hogwarts
grounds, but it was still large enough to
be dangerous to them. Harry retreated an-
other few steps, only to have his feet swept
out from under him. He landed hard on his
back, and tears stung his eyes as his ribs
stabbed with pain. He couldn’t move or
talk for several moments, only stay where
he was, looking up at the moon-

“The moon,” he croaked to Hermione, who

was trying to help him up.

“What?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“The moon,” he repeated. “Ah- ow- it’s full.”

“Sorry?” she sniffed, finally managing to

get him to his feet.

“Can you find a stick?”

- 1365 -
“What?” she asked.

“Hermione, a stick. A long one. Please,”

Harry said. Hermione swallowed and
nodded – Harry could tell she was only
just keeping herself together – and disap-
peared. Out of sight, anyway; Harry could
still hear her moving around.

“Here,” she said thickly, a few minutes

later. Harry took it from her, and stepped
quickly toward the tree, jabbing at its
trunk. He took a hit to the shoulder, but
then, thankfully, hit the knot, and the tree
froze.

“There’ll be a hole at the base,” he told her.

“How do you-”

“Because that’s what Moony did when he

- 1366 -
was at Hogwarts on full moons,” Harry
said.

“Okay,” Hermione said. Both of them

shuffled around the tree, and then Her-
mione called, “Harry, it’s here.” Relieved
he’d been right, Harry maneuvered him-
self into the tunnel – not that it was hard,
because the adult teachers had to have
come through at some point, and Harry
was only a scrawny almost-twelve-year-
old – and then moved out of the way so
that Hermione could follow.

She looked even more battered in the

light, and Harry was sure he wasn’t much
better. The tunnel below the Willow was
stone, and only short before it came to a
door. Wand in hand, and feeling no small
amount of trepidation, Harry pushed it
open, and then braced his side with his
hand before he stepped through.

- 1367 -
“Oh, thank goodness,” Hermione sniffed.
Before them, sat a table, upon which rest-
ed seven different bottles of potions. There
were no keys, or chessmen, or strange fog
monsters, or horrible plants, just bottles.
Harry felt an odd surge of affection for
Snape. The pair of them stepped into the
room properly, and then flames burst into
life, blocking the door they’d just come
through, and the door in front of them.

“But-”

“Here, Harry,” Hermione said, and Harry

gingerly moved toward her. She was hold-
ing a long piece of parchment, covered in
Snape’s handwriting, and was muttering
to herself. “Clever,” she said, smiling. Har-
ry stared at her, because smiling was the
last thing he felt like doing.

- 1368 -
“It’s a puzzle; not magic, logic. A lot of the
greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of
logic; they’d be stuck in here forever.”

“I’m not sure that I have an ounce of log-

ic-”

“I do,” Hermione said briskly. It was fun-

ny how quickly she was able to compose
her, now that she was back in her com-
fort zone. “Everything we need to know to
work it out is written here… give me a mo-
ment.” She strode along the front of the ta-
ble, murmuring things under her breath,
and after several long minutes, she made
a pleased sound.

“The small one will get us through there-”

She pointed to the door opposite them.
“-and that one will take us back through
to the marsh.” Harry didn’t ask if she was
sure; he trusted her.

- 1369 -
“That small one’s barely a mouthful,” Har-
ry said. “Only one of us-”

“-can get through. I know,” Hermione said.

She was getting teary again.

“Drink the big one,” Harry told her. “Get

back to Ron and Draco, and get help. I’ll
need it, no matter what-” He almost said
‘the prophecy says’, but stopped himself
in time. “-Draco said about me having the
best chance.”

“Okay,” Hermione said. “Be- you’ll be care-

ful, right?”

“Careful as I ever am,” Harry said, trying

to be light-hearted about the situation.
He knew as well as Hermione that there
was a good chance he wouldn’t make it
out again. “Thanks for- you know, coming

- 1370 -
with me.”

“Harry-”

“And tell Ron and Draco thanks from me

as well-”

“But-”

“Please,” Harry said, taking a deep, shaky

breath that hurt worse than almost any-
thing he’d felt before.

Hermione’s lip trembled and she moved as

if to hug Harry, but then thought better of
it – or at least Harry assumed so, because
she glanced at his ribs – and instead snif-
fled.

“Good luck,” she said thickly.

“Thanks,” Harry said. He gestured to the

- 1371 -
larger bottle. “Drink that.” Hermione did,
and shivered, and, at Harry’s insistence,
disappeared through the flames. Harry
picked up the smaller bottle and tipped it
into his mouth, understanding why Her-
mione had shivered; it was like drinking
ice, and actually quite pleasant on his side.
He took a deep breath and strode through
the fire.

There was someone already there, and

they spun around, wand raised, before
they spotted Harry and smiled.

Remus rapped loudly on the door to Mc-

Gonagall’s office. He could hear her with-
in, making strange, sniffing sounds, and
exchanged a bewildered look with Dora.

“Professor, it’s Remus, I need to speak with

- 1372 -
you,” he called, knocking again. This time,
there was definite movement, and the door
opened. McGonagall’s face was red and
blotchy, and she had a damp handkerchief
hanging from her hand. “What’s wrong?”
Remus asked, aghast.

“You- you haven’t heard?” she hiccoughed.

“Heard what?” Remus asked. “Is it Dumb-

ledore?” His office had been empty when
they Flooed through.

“Dumbledore?” McGonagall asked, look-

ing confused. “I- no- It’s- Black’s body has
been f-found.” Remus might have fallen
over if Dora hadn’t caught him.

“Found?” he asked, and his voice cracked.

“They’re discussing custody,” McGonagall

said, dabbing her eyes. “The Headmaster

- 1373 -
has gone to put in a word- I’d assumed you
would be there-”

“Custody,” Remus breathed. “No, no, no,

no, he can’t be- Where was he found?”

“I don’t know,” McGonagall said. “The let-

ter only said-” He sniffed, wiped her eyes,
and then drew herself up. “-was there
something you needed?”

“To talk to Harry- Does he know?”

“Not yet,” McGonagall said. “And talk to

him? He’s been in your office for days.”

“We checked there on the way down,” Dora

said. “He must have gone back to Gryffin-
dor.”

“But if he’s dead, he can’t be possessed,”

Remus murmured.

- 1374 -
“Unless he died like he others, after,” Dora
replied, looking sad. “But then who-”

“If you could get Harry for us, Professor,”

Remus said, rather brokenly. Dora’s hand
wrapped around his, but Remus was too
numb to squeeze it back.

Sirius was lying on something soft – not

soft like a bed, but maybe soft like grass
– and there were hands at his neck, at
his arms, tugging on his robes. One even
squeezed his hand.

“Sirius?” Sirius felt like he should have

known the voice, but couldn’t quite place
it, and his eyes didn’t seem to be working
when he tried to open them. He wondered,
fearfully, if they’d been burned shut, and

- 1375 -
then stopped to consider that; when had
he been burned? He remembered it, but
couldn’t remember how. Sirius tried to
lift a hand to his face but is arms weren’t
working either.

“-move him,” a low voice said. “Before any-

one undesirable-”

“I’ll carry him,” the first voice said. “Help

him up?”

“He’s a bit more filled out than we are,”

the second voice grumbled. “And I’m not
the biggest- Oh, or there’s that, I suppose.”
Sirius could only assume he was hovering,
because he couldn’t feel anything touching
him anywhere, but his stomach was lurch-
ing slightly, at least until he was lain over
something warm and hairy. Sirius tried to
open his eyes again. There was a wooden
clatter, and then the second person gasped.

- 1376 -
“Look! Look at this; it’s a wand!”

The thing Sirius was lying on made a rest-

less sort of movement, and huffed, and
then started to move at a strained but
more regular pace. After a few long min-
utes, Sirius was lying on the grass again.

“Can I see it?” the first voice, which had

been absent while Sirius was being moved,
asked. “Merlin, I’ve missed having one of
these.”

“Can I borrow it?” the second voice asked.

“While I go and keep watch? They’ll never
know what-”

“And if you’re caught, then what? Are we

supposed to send him back without it?”

Send me back? Sirius wondered. Memories

danced just out of reach, and he grasped

- 1377 -
for them, growing frustrated.

“No,” the second voice sighed. “I suppose

we’ve made it so far.” Something light
dropped onto Sirius’ chest – he suspected
it was his wand – and then a pair of foot-
steps moved out of earshot.

“Sirius,” the first voice said, and for one

absurd moment, Sirius entertained the
notion that it could be James. It certain-
ly sounded like him. Curious now, Sirius
tried to open his eyes again, and managed
to force them open just the tiniest bit. A
blurry image of thin face with glasses and
messy black hair was all that was in his
line of sight, that, and a fair bit of green.

“Harry?” Sirius croaked, trying to reach

for his godson. But the green wasn’t in
Harry’s eyes; it was in the tree line above
him, and Harry’s eyes were brown, his

- 1378 -
face older. Sirius’ eyes flew open as the
memories of Croaker, of Voldemort, of
the Veil. “James!” he said urgently. “No,
no, no, I can’t-” James put a hand on his
chest, pushing him back down, and smiled
at him with a warm, rather teary expres-
sion. Then, the second figure came crash-
ing through the trees.

“They’re coming this way,” he said urgent-

ly. He glanced at Sirius, and there were
a thousand expressions on his face, but
Sirius couldn’t try to make sense of any
of them, because the face looked like his.
Were there two of him? Then, another
piece fell into place. “Reg,” he croaked. Reg
gave him a small, nervous smile and ges-
tured urgently to James, who’d stood. It
was strange, Sirius thought, that he could
look at Harry, and see so much of James,
but that when he finally had the chance to
look at James again, all he could see was

- 1379 -
Harry.

“You know what to do,” James said, look-

ing past Sirius. Something made a small,
affirmative sound. Then, James was look-
ing at Sirius again. “Thanks Pads, for ev-
erything,” was all he said, and then he
was dashing through the trees after Reg.
Sirius spent a moment looking after them,
confused, and then something rapped him
on the head.

“Up,” it said in a firm, but squeaky voice.

This time, given that he’d already seen his
dead best friend, and dead brother, Sirius
was faster on the uptake.

“Noddy?” he asked, pushing himself up-

right. Charlus and Dorea’s little house elf,
standing there in a neat, lace-trimmed
pillowcase, beamed at him, and patted his
hand. Then, she frowned.

- 1380 -
“Up,” she said again, waggling her fingers
at him.

“Where’d they go?”

“To make time for you, Master Sirius,”

she said, tugging on his hand. Slower foot-
steps moved into Sirius’ hearing range,
and Noddy yanked on him, surely boost-
ing her own strength with magic, because
next thing Sirius knew, he was on his feet,
and being ushered behind a tree.

“… here somewhere,” a voice said, laugh-

ing. Sirius froze. He knew that voice, and
did not want to be found by that particu-
lar ghost… or spirit, or whatever it was.
He stood very still, holding Noddy’s hand
tightly in his own. “Black? Are you here,
Black? It’s been so long!”

- 1381 -
Evan Rosier, dressed in the clothes he’d
died in, walked right past where they
were hiding. Sirius reached for his wand,
and found it wasn’t in his pocket, but re-
laxed when he saw it was in Noddy’s other
hand. He gestured to her, and she shook
her head, ears flapping. Sirius frowned at
her, but didn’t dare move.

“Evan!” Sirius didn’t recognise that voice,

but Rosier obviously did, because he perked
up and went bounding through the trees,
his hands jumping to a crude knife at his
hip. Sirius wondered where his wand had
gone.

“What’s he doing here?” Sirius whispered,

stepping out of hiding.

“Waiting,” Noddy said.

“Waiting?”

- 1382 -
“Waiting,” she agreed, edging out from be-
hind the tree. “This is- We is all waiting.”

“For what?” Sirius asked. Noddy gave him

a flat look, as if it should be obvious. Siri-
us continued to stare at her.

“Family,” Noddy said. “But nasty men wait

for enemies. This place- dead people can
still die, and nasty men- They like risk.”

“Still die- but-” Sirius glanced at where

Rosier had been.

“Well, disappear-”

“But then James is in danger, and Reg-”

“They is making time,” Noddy squeaked.

“For me, yeah, you said that,” Sirius said

- 1383 -
impatiently. “But I can help-”

“The Masters will manage,” Noddy said

firmly. She took Sirius’ hand again, and
led him – slowly – through the trees.

“Speaking of Masters,” Sirius said, “Are

Charlus and Dorea-”

“Gone,” Noddy said, pushing a branch

aside. She still had Sirius’ wand in her
hand, and he didn’t think she was going
to give it to him any time soon.

“Gone?” Sirius asked.

“On,” she agreed. “But Noddy chose to stay,

to take care of Master James and Mistress
Lily-”

“Lily’s here too? I wondered why I hadn’t

seen-”

- 1384 -
“Mistress will be off, watching,” Noddy
said, with a soft smile. “Master spends
time watching too, but Master gets rest-
less-”

“Can I see her? Lily?”

“No,” Noddy said, frowning at him.

“Just quickly,” Sirius said.

“If Mistress wanted you to be seeing her,

Mistress would have come with the Mas-
ters,” Noddy told him. Sirius frowned.

“She doesn’t want-”

“Mistress wants Master Sirius to be safe.

Mistress was very worried when Master
Sirius was with the bad man in the Veil
room-”

- 1385 -
“She knew?” Sirius asked, frowning.

“Mistress watches,” Noddy repeated, and

Sirius stared at her for several long mo-
ments. “Mistress won’t distract, though.
Can’t distract, or Master Sirius will run
out of time, and Mistress wants Master
Sirius to be safe, and Mistress and Master
both wants Master Sirius to get back to
the little Master.”

“Harry,” Sirius said. Noddy bobbed her

head, and picked up the pace. “But- Nod-
dy, I’m dead,” Sirius said, and he didn’t
think any words had ever tasted as bitter
as that. “I can’t go back-”

“Dead, bah!” Noddy said. “Not for long.”

“Not for-” Sirius actually stopped walking.

“There’s a way back?” Croaker had said

- 1386 -
that might be the case, but he’d also said
no one had ever managed it. “How?” he
asked, his voice sounding raw.

“The Veil,” Noddy said.

“It’s here?” Sirius asked.

“Where does Master Sirius think he came

from?” Noddy asked, looking surprised.

“But I was- there was a forest-”

“Masters moved you when the nasty men

came,” she squeaked. “Not long ago, but
time… Noddy and Master Sirius must
move quickly.”

“Why can’t you all come back?” Sirius

asked. “You and James and Lils and Reg…
just come through the Veil with me.”

- 1387 -
“Noddy is sorry, Master Sirius,” she said,
shaking her head. “But Noddy has no
body. And Master and Mistress are bones
now, and other Master Regulus…” Sirius
knew from Kreacher what had happened
to Reg, and grimaced. “But Master Siri-
us… Master Sirius was not dead when
Master Sirius came through. Master Siri-
us has his body, and Master Sirius will go
to his body.” She nodded once, firmly.

“Not dead-” Sirius frowned. “But- I’m here,

aren’t I?”

“Master Sirius is here.” Noddy gestured to

Sirius to bend down, and then she tapped
him on the forehead. Sirius shook his head,
startled.

“I’m in my head?” Noddy ignored him, and

kept leading him through the trees. At one
point, they crossed a train track, but no

- 1388 -
matter how much Sirius asked about it,
Noddy would only say he mustn’t pay at-
tention to it because it wasn’t his time to
go ‘on’. “Why don’t you just Apparate us, if
you’re in such a hurry?” Sirius asked.

“Can’t,” Noddy said. “Only Death can ap-

pear when and where Death wants. Nod-
dy and the rest must be walking.”

“But- so can’t you do magic?” Noddy gave

him a flat look and clicked her fingers. A
tiny flame appeared at the end of her fin-
ger, making it look rather candle-ish.

“Noddy doesn’t need a wand to do magic,”

Noddy said. “But no magic for the rest, but
Master still has his Prongs-”

“I have a wand, though,” Sirius said. “How-

”

- 1389 -
“Master made it,” Noddy said, “same as
always.” She reached up to tap his head
again, and then surged forward, her
small, bare feet pattering on the dirt. They
crossed the train tracks once more, and
then came to a hill with a large archway
on it. It, like the one in the Department of
Mysteries, had a black veil draped across
it, a veil that seemed to be moving of its
own accord.

“Through now,” Noddy said, giving him a

little push. “Before there’s no time.”

Sirius turned to thank her, and maybe give

her a message for her to take to James and
Lily and Reg, but Noddy just pressed his
wand into his hand and shoved him back
through.

- 1390 -
Sirius dragged in a breath through dry lips,
and tried to push himself off the ground,
but couldn’t.

Where am I? he wondered. It was dark,

and he couldn’t feel his wand on his person
anywhere. What he could feel, were lots of
rather pointy things poking him through
his robes. As his eyes adjusted, he found
that they were bones, and that there were
a significant number of them around. How
many people have died here?

Retching, Sirius changed into Padfoot, who

was easier to move in his weakened state,
and managed to get himself into a sitting
position. He felt shaky and frail, and he
was starving and so thirsty all at once, but
not, he didn’t think, hurt. From his new,
upright position, Padfoot surveyed his
surroundings. He knew about the bones
that made up the entire floor area, but the

- 1391 -
walls…

The walls weren’t walls. They were sev-

en, large archways, all with black Veils
fluttering before them. Memories came
flooding back. He remembered Croaker
and Voldemort and falling… Sirius had
gone through the Veil, he was sure of it.
Shouldn’t he be dead? Croaker had said
that no one ever came back-

Back, I have to get back, Padfoot thought,

and with an effort, stood. How long have
I been here? His guess was at least three
days, based on how he felt. A lot can change
in three days… Everyone must think I’m
dead…

Padfoot eyed the archways – which, as far

as he could tell, were the only way out –
and took a few wobbly steps forward. He
was dead to everyone at this point, surely,

- 1392 -
and he’d die for real if he stayed… Pad-
foot stepped through the nearest one, and
came out in some sort of ruin on a rocky
outcrop that over-looked a blue ocean. The
sight of all that water made Sirius thirsty.
With effort, he transformed again.

He tried to call out, to see if anyone was

around, but his throat was so dry he
couldn’t speak.

No wand, no voice, Sirius thought, col-

lapsing onto the stone ground. The wind
played with his hair, and blew it and the
tattered ends of the Veil into his face, but
he couldn’t bring himself to care.

I have to get back, he thought. Wherever

he was, he was fairly sure it wasn’t Brit-
ain. Harry’s back home, and Moony, and
they must think I’m dead… And Marlene,
and Dora and Kreacher…

- 1393 -
Sirius couldn’t even sit up, but he did roll
over. And, while he couldn’t speak, he
could whisper.

“Kreacher!”

- 1394 -
Chapter 35:
The boy with two names

“Potter,” McGonagall sniffed. “Of course.

You say he’s in the tower?” Remus didn’t
feel up to saying anything, so Dora nod-
ded for him. The pair of them followed Mc-
Gonagall out of the office, up the still-fa-
miliar route to Remus’ old common room,
and to the very familiar guardian of the
portrait hole. With a glance at Remus and
Dora, McGonagall said, “King of the jun-
gle,” and the Fat Lady swung open. McGo-
nagall stepped through the portrait hole,

- 1395 -
and, since she hadn’t said they couldn’t,
Remus followed.

The common room was just as he remem-

bered, though much emptier, given the
time of night. Only a few students were
awake; two of Remus’ N.E.W.T. level stu-
dents, most of the Gryffindor fifth year
girls and Percy Weasley, and a cluster
of younger students. Neville was sitting
alone, chewing his lip as he pored over his
Potions notes, and nearby, the Weasley
twins, Lee Jordan and three second year
boys – McLaggen, Broder and Toggle –
were whispering to each other in a rather
suspicious manner.

All activity stopped, of course, the moment

they noticed McGonagall.

“Mr Longbottom,” McGonagall said, and

all eyes went to Neville instead. The poor

- 1396 -
boy shrank into his chair. “Could you fetch
Mr Potter for me, please.”

“He’s not here,” Neville squeaked, looking

terrified. Obviously he didn’t want to con-
tradict his Head, but he clearly knew bet-
ter than to waste her time.

“You’re sure?” Remus heard McGonagall

ask. He was only just listening, though;
if Harry wasn’t here, and he wasn’t in
Remus’ office, where could he possibly be?
Try as he might, though, Remus couldn’t
focus on anything except Sirius has been
confirmed dead. His body has been found.
Sirius is dead.

“I’ve been waiting for Hermione, so I can

ask if she’d maybe help me,” Neville said
in a small voice, his face turning red. “But
I haven’t seen her, or the others.” McGo-
nagall turned to Remus, clearly puzzled,

- 1397 -
and Remus just shook his head, still try-
ing to think.

“Dumbledore didn’t take him?” Dora asked

McGonagall, who shook her head.

“Even if he did, where would Hermione,

Ron and Draco be?” Remus asked.

“Messrs Weasley,” McGonagall said, turn-

ing to the twins with a rather hopeless ex-
pression, “have you perhaps, laid eyes on
your younger brother tonight?”

“We assumed he was sleeping in Lupin’s of-

fice again,” Fred said, frowning at Remus.

“But clearly not,” George said.

“But if he’s off with Harry, he’s probably

just doing noble deeds-”

- 1398 -
“Saving distressing maidens-”

“-and living up to a certain group’s-”

Fred’s eyes ran over Remus. “-example.”
Despite the light-hearted words, Remus
could smell that Fred and George weren’t
as calm as they seemed. Worry was prick-
ling in both of them, just below the sur-
face. Then, another scent caught Remus’
attention. It was a slowly building anger,
mixed with rather sharp fear.

“Professor?” Remus asked.

“I think,” McGonagall said, “that I may

know where they’ve got to.”

“None of you,” Professor McGonagall said

loudly, “are to leave the common room to-
night.” Fred and George exchanged grim

- 1399 -
looks with each other. “I mean it; one hun-
dred points will be taken if any of you are
found in the corridors. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” Percy assured her, with

all of his usual pomp. McGonagall nodded
at him, and gestured to Lupin and Tonks,
and the three of them hurried out of the
portrait hole.

Percy was on the floor, Stunned by Fred

and Body Bound by George before the Fat
Lady was even properly closed, and Fred
and George were on their feet at once. Sev-
eral of the fifth year girls gasped, but no
one made any move to help him.

“Where are you going?” McLaggen asked.

“None of your business,” Fred told him.

Little git.

- 1400 -
“You’re not leaving the common room,
though?” Neville asked.

“No, we Stunned Percy so he won’t stop us

from going to bed,” George said, rolling his
eyes.

“You’ll lose us the House cup!” Neville pro-

tested.

“Only if we’re caught,” Fred replied. He

made for the portrait hole – George was
already half-way there – and no one tried
to stop him. No one wanted them to lose
points, but they also knew that interfer-
ing with Fred and George could result in
life becoming very difficult for them.

“No.” Neville scrambled to his feet, ran

around Fred, then around George, and
stopped in front of the portrait hole, fling-
ing his arms wide to block it. “I won’t let

- 1401 -
you.”

“Oh ho,” George said, arching an eyebrow.

Fred twirled his wand in his hands. “Is
that right?”

“Y-yes,” Neville said, not looking over-

ly certain. “McGonagall w-wouldn’t have
asked if it wasn’t important, would she?
And a h-hundred points each-”

Neville toppled like Percy, but this time,

George caught him and laid him to the
side of the portrait hole.

“Sorry, Neville,” Fred said, “but family’s

more important than points.” He clam-
bered into the portrait hole and offered
George a hand up after him.

“Now,” he said, “let’s see what ickle Ron-

niekins has got himself into, eh?”

- 1402 -
 §

“I wish them luck getting past that,” Mc-

Gonagall said, flicking her wand over her
shoulder and then tucking it away again,
all without breaking stride.

“Them?”

“They are Gryffindors, Miss Tonks,” Mc-

Gonagall said curtly. “One of them will be
foolish enough to want to investigate, and
that ought to stop them.” Remus glanced
over his shoulder and saw the stone floor
beneath the portrait hole move sluggishly.
Despite everything, his mouth twitched,
but it didn’t last long.

“Where do you think-”

“Doing noble deeds,” McGonagall said stiff-

ly. “Potter came to see me this afternoon,

- 1403 -
suggesting the Stone was in danger… no
doubt he and the others have set up some
sort of guard outside the door.”

“What would Harry think it was in dan-

ger?” Remus asked, picking up the pace.
“Or more danger than normal, rather?”

“I haven’t the faintest,” McGonagall said,

but she too, was walking rather quickly.
Dora twitched, and Remus glanced at her.
She pulled out her Sidekick.

“They’ve found him. Or rather, a house elf

did,” Mad Eye crowed.

“Pardon?” Dora asked.

“Black! He almost killed himself with in-

tercontinental Side-Along Apparition, but
he’s in St Mungo’s and they think he’ll pull
through-”

- 1404 -
“Alive?!” Dora yelped. Remus felt like he
was floating, the feeling of relief was so
heady. McGonagall was sniffing quietly.
“He- how?”

“We’re not sure – he hasn’t been awake

long enough to talk, but Scrimgeour’s with
the elf now, so-” Dora’s scent flared sud-
denly, and when she spoke next, her voice
was as sharp as Remus had ever heard.
“Mad-Eye, I need you to find Dumbledore
now and tell him to get back to Hogwarts-”

“I thought you’d want to be here when

Black wakes, Nymphadora. And Lupin…
is he with-”

“Mad-Eye, now,” Dora said, her voice

rising. She grabbed Remus’ sleeve, and
practically towed him down the corridor.
“Dumbledore received a message tonight

- 1405 -
saying Sirius had been confirmed dead. If
Sirius is alive, that means-”

“The message was a fake,” Remus breathed.

McGonagall’s face drained of colour. Mad-
Eye was growling something in the back-
ground. “Someone wanted him out of the
way-” And somehow Harry knew it was
tonight-

“I’ve just sent him a Patronus,” Mad-Eye

said, and his voice had become entirely
business-like. “I’m on my way, too. Where
can I meet you-”

“My office,” Remus shouted. They were

running now, with McGonagall racing af-
ter them as a cat, because that was the
only way she’d be able to keep up. Remus
ducked through a secret passage that took
them down to the fourth floor, and Mad-
Eye’s end of the Sidekick went dead. They

- 1406 -
burst out into the main part of the third
floor corridor, and Mad-Eye appeared at
the bottom of the stairs, limping toward
them as quickly as he could.

“I couldn’t sleep,” came the reply, and

Severus grunted, looking at the figure with
disapproval but not suspicion. “Just- with
everything that’s happened this year, it’s
nice to find somewhere quiet-”

“Calming as you may find it,” Severus said,

cutting him off, “I suggest you relocate; the
third floor is forbidden for a reason-”

“Of course,” the figure replied, turning

away. “Sorry, Professor.” As he moved
away, his foot caught the hem of his robe,
and something landed with a clatter. At
first, Severus thought it was a wand, but,

- 1407 -
when he bent to pick it up – beating his
chagrined companion to it – he found that
the object was a small, roughly carved
flute.

Severus didn’t even wait for the rest of the

memory to play itself out. He could guess
what would happen; with his hands around
the flute, he wouldn’t be able to reach his
wand in time, and he would be stunned, or
otherwise incapacitated, his mind would
be tampered with, and he would be fed to
Fluffy. No, instead, Severus shot out of
the depths of his head, and back into the
physical world.

His head was throbbing as he sat up – he

ought to have returned at a more even
pace, he knew – but he forced himself to
dress in something more appropriate than
his pyjamas, strap his awful prosthetic
on, and ignore the new tray of food that

- 1408 -
had appeared by his bed. How long had
he been asleep for this time, he wondered?
He limped out into his office.

Four owls were sitting on his desk – which

was covered in droppings – and a quick
glance told him all of them were from Dra-
co. He felt a twinge of guilt, but decided
to deal with that later. There were more
pressing things to handle at the present
moment.

He limped out of his office and into the cor-

ridor for the first time in weeks, but didn’t
pause to take in the familiar views. What
did register, was that it was very quiet,
and he guessed it must be evening or very
early morning. Good thing, too; Severus
didn’t think he’d have been able to han-
dle students or any of his colleagues at the
moment.

- 1409 -
Except for one.

As he moved, he sent a Patronus to Dumb-

ledore, and, after a moment’s hesitation, a
Patronus to Black. Severus didn’t put his
wand away afterward, but rather kept a
tight hold on it.

Thanks to his leg, what had once been a

quick walk, took him almost ten minutes,
and Severus was embarrassingly tired by
the time he reached his destination and
demanded to be let in. He supposed spend-
ing weeks in bed probably hadn’t helped
his energy levels.

Severus burst through another door, stum-

bling on an uneven stone in the floor, and
approached the next door with far more
caution. He cursed the dull thunking sound
of his false foot on the floor, but heard no
movement within, which comforted him.

- 1410 -
Severus used his wand to open the door,
knowing it would be quieter, and crossed
the threshold, wand raised.

The bed was empty. Severus flicked his

wand to turn on the lamps in the room,
and shrieks and groans arose around him,
followed by more coherent profanities and
threats.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

“What the hell, Professor?” Zabini asked,

rubbing his eyes.

Christopher Morton watched Harry with

coolly amused eyes as Harry stopped in
the doorway, wand clenched tightly in his
hand.

- 1411 -
“Morton?” Harry asked, warily. “Where’s
King?”

“King?” Morton asked, looking more

amused than Harry had ever known him
to look. “In bed, I’d imagine.”

“But he- it’s you? You’re the one that’s been

trying to steal the Stone?” Harry didn’t
know whether to be relieved, or worried;
he’d thought King was Voldemort, and had
been prepared to face a fully-fledged wiz-
ard, but now it was just Morton? Morton,
who knew as much as he Harry did, Mor-
ton, who Harry was fairly sure he could
beat in a duel. He did make it here, alone,
Harry reminded himself. It took all four of
us. “My scar, though-”

“Yes, we did wonder about that,” Morton

said, looking thoughtful.

- 1412 -
“We?” Harry asked, glancing at his wand.
Morton smiled in a rather grim way. Har-
ry’s scar burned for a moment, and Mor-
ton looked like he was listening – to what,
Harry had no idea – before he focused on
Harry again. Harry’s wand went soaring
out of his hand, and landed with a clatter
on the stone floor on the other side of the
chamber.

They didn’t teach us that this year, Harry

thought, eyeing Morton warily, once more.

“We,” Morton said. “Such curious magic,

that scar. It hurts, doesn’t it, when he’s
near.” Harry said nothing, but Morton
must have seen it on his face. “I was right
then; I was already using Occlumency to
keep Severus at bay, but I thought to use it
against you as well, just as a precautionary
measure. The teachers wouldn’t listen if

- 1413 -
you got suspicious about me – they’d think
it was House rivalry – but Black would, or
Lupin, and I’ve known since that business
with Umbridge that you were keeping him
informed.”

“But lately-”

“We’ve been slipping up, yes. Have you got

any idea how exhausting it is, to keep a
mental shield up all the time? With Sever-
us out of the way, we could relax a lit-
tle, and with King stepping in... You had
no reason to suspect me. After all, King
was new, King was the unknown…” Mor-
ton smiled. “Then, of course, Black went
through the Veil-” Morton looked at Har-
ry’s face, and Harry worked to make it
blank, but didn’t think he managed it all
that well. “Oh, haven’t the Aurors worked
it out, yet?”

- 1414 -
Harry said nothing.

“Oh, well, that’s what happened,” Morton

said dismissively. Harry told himself Mor-
ton was lying, but Morton smelled like
he was telling the truth. Harry’s heart
seemed to be shrivelling in his chest, and
he thought it might actually be hurting
him more than his ribs. “And with Black
dead, and Lupin running around at the
Ministry, you were on your own, so we
let the walls down completely. I imagine
you’ve had quite a headache.” He smiled
widely.

Keep him talking, was all Harry could

think. Hermione was getting help, and the
longer Harry could keep Morton talking,
the better.

“So- so the troll, and the poison, and Snape,

and Dumbledore’s phoenix-”

- 1415 -
“All me,” Morton said calmly.

“But- you talked to me- helped us with

Norbert-”

“I knew, after your run-in with Snape, that

you’d be persuaded to give the job to some-
one else. I’d hoped it would be Black, and
that I could arrange for him, an Auror, to
be caught with an illegal dragon, but you
recruited Lupin for the job instead. And
then I was spotted in the forest by Black
and Dumbledore, so I came inside, thinking
I might be able to get past Hagrid’s beast,
but I was caught by Severus, so I framed
him, and crippled him for good measure.
It was regrettable, but necessary.”

“But why go on to Dumbledore’s office?”

Harry asked.

- 1416 -
“Because I realised everything was hinged
on Black,” Morton said. “With him out of the
way, you and Lupin would be too preoccu-
pied to do anything about me, and Dumb-
ledore would, at some point, be called in
to discuss legalities.” Again, Harry stayed
silent. “I knew, if I was to stay alive, and
not end up like Paul Morton and that owl,
that I’d need the phoenix tears.”

“So- You-” Harry looked at his wand again.

“You killed Padfoot-”

“No, not me,” Morton said, smiling like he

had a secret.

“Voldemort,” Harry said. Morton twitched.

“Yes,” he said.

“But why- you’re helping him- Is it because

of your dad- Because Padfoot couldn’t save

- 1417 -
him-”

Morton clicked his tongue and said, “Where

are my manners?” He strode toward Har-
ry, hand outstretched. “My name – my
real name – is Quirinus Quirrell.” Harry
didn’t shake his hand; he was looking at
his wand. His mind was racing though, as
pieces fell into place. He’d heard the name
Quirrell from Padfoot, and knew that he
was working for Voldemort.

“But- Morton-” Quirrell sighed.

“Christopher Morton’s been dead for a

year now,” he said. His expression flick-
ered. “It was a shame… goblins and Au-
rors and half-breeds are justifiable, but a
little boy… Still, it was the only way, af-
ter I failed-” He winced. “-to get the Stone
from Gringotts, and then failed to kill your
wolfy friend. He very nearly ruined every-

- 1418 -
thing, you know.”

“Good,” Harry said, looking away from his

wand so that he could glare at Quirrell.
Quirrell smirked and snapped his fingers,
and thick ropes wound themselves around
Harry, pressing painfully on his side.
Quirrell glowered at him, then clasped his
hands together.

“No matter,” he said finally. “What Lupin

almost ruined, you’re here to repair.” Quir-
rell grabbed the ropes binding Harry and
led him over to the other side of the cham-
ber. Though they were a similar height,
Harry was injured and not in the mood to
struggle, and Quirrell moved him easily.

As they moved around a heavy stone pil-

lar, Harry saw what Quirrell was guiding
him to. It was a large, ornate, and very
familiar mirror.

- 1419 -
This is the last challenge? Harry wondered,
staring at it. Dumbledore, he thought. But
how does it work?

“Do you know how it works?” Quirrell

asked him. Harry shook his head, looking
at his wand, which was closer now that
they’d moved. There was a pause, and
then Quirrell said, “Liar. Is the Stone in-
side the mirror? Do I have to break it?” He
frowned. “This must be Dumbledore’s…
breaking it seems too harsh for Dumble-
dore… There must be some trick to it-”

“What do you see?” Harry asked him.

“When you look into it.” Quirrell shot him
a look.

“I see myself presenting the Stone to my

master… he’s very pleased with me,” Quir-
rell said. “He has his own body again.”

- 1420 -
He flinched suddenly, and Harry’s scar
burned.

So Quirrell sees something that hasn’t

happened yet, Harry thought. Last time, I
saw my family – my whole family... I saw
what could have been, but something that
can’t happen. He swallowed. Does it show
the impossible? Or just what we want?
Harry wondered what he’d see if he looked
in it now.

“Have a look, Potter. What do you see?”

Harry was pushed in front of the mirror,
and wasn’t entirely surprised to see him-
self and Padfoot occupying it, laughing and
playfully shoving each other. Tears stung
his eyes, and Harry twisted his head so
that he could wipe them on his shoulder.

Padfoot’s gone, he thought, trying to push

all of those painful feelings away. It didn’t

- 1421 -
work very well. I can miss him when I’m
safe, Harry thought, swallowing. Right
now, he’d want me to think, he’d want me
to stop Quirrell so that he didn’t- so that it
wasn’t for nothing. And I need the Stone
to stop Quirrell.

In the mirror, Padfoot smiled sadly, and

put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He pro-
duced the Stone from his pocket, pressed
it into Harry’s hand, ruffled his hair, and
disappeared.

“No,” Harry whispered, stumbling toward

the mirror. His reflection held his gaze
though, looking determined and calm, and
dropped the stone into the pocket of Har-
ry’s pyjama trousers. Harry felt the weight
of it in his real pocket, and struggled to
keep his face blank.

“What do you see?” Quirrell asked him.

- 1422 -
“I see Padfoot,” Harry said thickly, seeing
no reason to lie. ‘He’s alive again- he’s-
we’re laughing.” Quirrell snorted, and
Harry’s scar suddenly exploded with pain.
He turned toward Quirrell, whose eyes
were red, and expression slightly differ-
ent. Harry’s eyes widened.

“I am sorry about that, Harry,” he said

softly. It was Quirrell’s voice, but it was
higher and colder, somehow. “Black was a
talented wizard, and I value talent.” Har-
ry clenched his jaw again. “Your parents
were talented as well-”

“And you killed them anyway,” Harry said.

“But I alone can bring them back,” Volde-

mort said. Harry stiffened. “Your parents,
and your beloved godfather. You doubt
me, but I am powerful, Harry. It’s com-

- 1423 -
plicated, yes, and fools like Dumbledore
would never dare, but I am strong enough.
I have explored the depths of magic more
completely than any other wizard. I can
return them to you… if, you help me in
return.”

“You want me to help you get the Stone,”

Harry said flatly.

“Clever boy,” Voldemort said, and sound-

ed absurd coming out of the mouth of a
twelve year old. “Yes, Harry, I need your
help.” Harry frowned at him, trying to
think of a way out; he had the Stone now,
and the longer he stayed, the more likely
he was to be discovered with it. “I’ve done
some things that you dislike me for, but
see what I’ve been reduced to… bodiless,
weak. Forced to travel between human
vessels as an owl, forced to live as a pa-
thetic first year. Haven’t I been punished

- 1424 -
enough?”

Harry just stared at him.

“Or perhaps, you doubt me,” Voldemort

said softly. “But think, Harry, have I not
managed to bring myself back?” The word
Horcrux was on the tip of Harry’s tongue,
but he swallowed it. What was clear,
though, was that Voldemort couldn’t
bring Padfoot or his parents back. They’d
never had Horcruxes. They’d have been
as repulsed by the idea. “I can do extraor-
dinary things, Harry. I can teach you ex-
traordinary things. I’ve told you, their
deaths were regrettable,” Voldemort said.
“If there’d been any other way-”

“You laughed!” Harry said fiercely. Quir-

rell’s – or rather, Voldemort’s - expres-
sion turned ugly. “You didn’t give a damn,
about any of them-”

- 1425 -
Voldemort waved a hand and Harry went
soaring through the air. He couldn’t stop
the whimper that escaped when he land-
ed, but Voldemort wasn’t paying him any
attention. He’d turned back to the mirror,
and was looking into it, intent. Harry pat-
ted his pocket to make sure the Stone was
still there, and almost smiled to himself.

Now, Harry thought, and twisted into his

wolf-shape. As he’d hoped, the different
shape wasn’t as easily held by the ropes,
and he was able to wriggle out. He changed
back as soon as he could, and didn’t even
look to see if Voldemort had noticed him;
he moved as silently as he could to where
his wand lay, picked it up, and then ran
as quickly as he could toward the door-
way he’d entered through. Desperation
numbed he pain in his ribs.

- 1426 -
A green spell exploded just above his ear.
Harry didn’t look back. The fires had gone
out around Snape’s obstacle – after all,
they’d only gone up when he and Hermi-
one entered on the other side of the room.
Harry raced through, unable to see or hear
Voldemort behind him, but was not going
to stop to make sure.

I need to get rid of the stone, he thought,

mind racing. That way, if he catches me-
Harry’s eyes fell on the line of bottles on
the table – or, more specifically, on the larg-
est one, the one that Hermione had sipped
from. Harry yanked the cork off, pulled
the stone – which was a roughly cut, blood
red thing – out of his pyjama pocket and
dropped it inside. Harry recorked it, hop-
ing the potion inside wouldn’t damage the
stone too badly, and then kept running.

He made it all the way through the swamp

- 1427 -
– that was when he heard Voldemort,
crashing about in the water behind him,
and into the chess room, but that was
where his luck ran out. Harry noticed with
some relief, that his friends had obviously
made it out.

“W-where is it?” Voldemort had a very ugly

expression on his face, or Morton’s face, or
whoever’s face it was, that was somehow
made more terrifying by the fact that he
was out of breath. He held out a hand, and
Harry lifted his own wand.

“I don’t have it,” Harry panted, keeping

his wand trained on Voldemort. His free
hand supported his side, which was ach-
ing fiercely. “Sorry.” A strange sensation
passed over Harry – similar to being poked,
but it was somehow inside his head. It oc-
curred to Harry, that this was probably
what Legillimency felt like.

- 1428 -
Get out, Harry thought, and sent a body-
bind in Voldemort’s direction to distract
him. Voldemort stepped out of the way
without any effort, and flicked Quirrell’s
wand at Harry. An orange spell burst out,
which Harry only just managed to dodge,
and exploded on one of the black pawns.
It burst into flames – Harry’d never seen
stone catch fire before – but thankfully,
the pressure on Harry’s head had abated.

“Where is it?!”

“I don’t have it,” Harry said again. If Volde-

mort was trying to read his mind, perhaps
it was best to stick to the truth.

This time, Voldemort sent four spells, each

in quick succession. Harry ducked under
the first one, rolled to avoid the second,
and the other two hit the bishop he’d shel-

- 1429 -
tered behind. Panting, Harry looked down
at his wand. How was he supposed to beat
that? He, who knew only the spells that
he’d been taught as a first year, and a few
other ones that Padfoot had taught him at
home. He didn’t even know how to block
spells!

“Pedis Offensio,” Harry breathed, and

there was a thud as Voldemort tripped.
“Ventus,” he said, as Voldemort tried to
stand, and then ran toward the door to
the key-room. Then, Harry was flying. He
crashed into the white queen, who wrapped
her one of her cracked arms around him,
and held him in place. Harry froze from
the shock of pressure on his ribs. Then, for
the second time that night, Harry’s wand
went soaring away.

“You are a fool, Harry Potter. Eleven years

old, and you think you can play games with

- 1430 -
me? I am the most powerful wizard of our
age, and you really think you even have a
chance?”

Not really, Harry thought, but replied with.

“I wouldn’t have thought I’d have much
chance as a baby either, but I managed.”
Harry tried to wriggle out of the queen’s
grasp. Voldemort snarled, and the Queen
released Harry. Before Harry could move,
however, Voldemort had swept forward,
and seized his throat. Then, he screamed.
Voldemort’s hand, where it had touched
Harry, was red and blistered, and Harry’s
eyes widened.

“How?” Voldemort snarled. Harry didn’t

answer him, just sprang forward and
grabbed Voldemort’s wand-hand. Volde-
mort hissed and his wand clattered to the
floor. Harry stepped on it, as hard as he
could, and Voldemort stopped cradling his

- 1431 -
hand to snarl at Harry again. Harry was
already moving, though, toward his own
wand.

Armed again, Harry turned toward Volde-

mort, who was staring furiously down at
the pieces of his wand. Harry wasn’t sure
if he was aware of it, but he was also cra-
dling his burned hands. When he looked
back at Harry, he looked wary. Then, he
slumped to the ground, convulsing.

Harry took a step forward, and then

stopped. His scar was burning, and he had
the most horrible feeling-

Ostendere me omnia, he thought, and his

sight adjusted just in time for him to see a
large black mass, speckled with green and
silver, collide with him. There was shout-
ing, and then, Harry was falling.

- 1432 -
 §

McGonagall reared up into her usual

shape.

“I need to send word to the other Heads

of House,” she said sharply. “And prepare
Poppy… four first years can’t have had an
easy time down there.” She dabbed her
eyes and looked at Dora. “The chess set is
mine,” she told her, and Dora looked con-
fused, but Remus understood; other than
James, Dora was one of the most talent-
ed Transfiguration students Hogwarts
had seen (admittedly, it was a side-effect
of being a Metamorphmagus), and if any-
one could get past her obstacle quickly, it
would be Dora.

McGonagall passed Mad-Eye on the stairs,

and Remus and Dora just waved at him to
hurry up. Harry was down there, and his

- 1433 -
friends, and Merlin knew what state they
were in.

Or if they’re even alive.

Shut up, Remus told himself. The door to

Fluffy’s room was closed, and Remus won-
dered how they’d managed to get through
without triggering the alarm; his office had
been silent when he and Dora checked it.
Worry about that later.

Remus conjured drums like he had the

night he’d found Snape, and Fluffy was
asleep within seconds.

“After me,” Remus said, and prepared

himself to jump. Before he could, though,
a pillar of bright red and gold fire flared in
the centre of the room. Remus barely man-
aged to keep himself from slipping, out of
surprise, but both Mad Eye and Dora flung

- 1434 -
hexes at the person that had materialised
there.

Dumbledore deflected both with his wand,

petted Fawkes – who was perched on his
shoulder – and nodded to them. His eyes
were blazing, but Remus thought he looked
afraid.

Aren’t we all? he wondered. Dumbledore

disappeared down the trapdoor without a
word, and Remus gave him five seconds
before he jumped too.

Dora was the next one to join them; land-

ing gracefully on the Cushioning Charms,
but then tripping when she tried to get
up. Remus offered her a hand out of habit,
and she gave him a small smile that he
was too stressed to return.

Then, there was commotion at the top of the

- 1435 -
trapdoor, where Mad-Eye was still wait-
ing. At first, Remus thought Fluffy might
have awoken, but it was voices he could
hear, not growling. The cause became very
clear when it was Snape - looking thin and
paler than usual – that dropped onto the
cushioning charm.

“Professor!” Remus jumped, looking

around, and spied Hermione and Ron,
with an unconscious Draco slung between
them, coming through the far archway.
Remus hurried forward at once. Draco had
a few small scratches and cuts on his face,
and a rather large, nasty looking injury
on his temple. Ron was cradling his hand,
and his face was also cut and bruised,
but otherwise he looked all right. Hermi-
one was covered in a few more scratches
and bruises, had torn her dressing gown,
and was covered in swamp water from the
waist down.

- 1436 -
They made it that far? he wondered.
Hermione was sobbing – likely with re-
lief – and then made a noise of surprise
as Snape came to relieve them of Draco.
Then she started to cry again, and Dora
put an arm around her shoulders, saying
things Remus couldn’t hear.

“Where’s Harry?” Remus asked Ron.

“With King,” Ron said. “You have to help-”

“King?” Dumbledore asked sharply.

Fawkes made an odd movement on his
shoulder. “But Severus, your message-”

“Does it really matter who the boy is with?”

Severus snapped. He bent awkwardly on
his false leg to check Draco’s pulse, and
then conjured bandages that wrapped
themselves around Draco’s fair hair, cov-

- 1437 -
ering his temple. “Rennervate.” Draco
groaned as he awoke, and then flung his
arms around Snape. Snape asked him all
sorts of questions about pain levels, and
location, and Draco ignored them all en-
tirely, and just clung on, trembling.

“You’ll stay with them?” Dumbledore

asked, and Mad-Eye nodded, drawing Ron
away. Mad-Eye nodded, and Snape and
Dora didn’t have much choice, since both
were being held. Dumbledore inclined his
head, and then gestured to Remus.

“Be careful,” he heard Dora whisper, and

turned and nodded at her. Dumbledore
had already swept through the chamber
– with Fawkes flying ahead of him - and
into the adjacent one. Remus didn’t hesi-
tate in following.

The first room they entered had been emp-

- 1438 -
ty when he came down to create his pro-
tection. Now, however, there were keys all
over the floor, and a pile of broomsticks
in a corner. Dumbledore’s mouth turned
down, but he waded through to the open
door across the room, without any difficul-
ty at all.

He and Remus looked at each other when

they heard an odd, snarling sound – pos-
sibly a word, possibly an animal, Remus
wasn’t sure – from the next room, and then
broke into a run.

- 1439 -
Chapter 36:
The patients

The next room – which had also been emp-

ty when Remus was down – contained a
large chessboard. Pieces were scattered
everywhere – some on their sides, broken
– others standing and a little worse for
wear, and others completely fine. Remus
heard a scuffling sound, and saw a figure
drop to the hard marble floor. He started
forward, and then diverted when he caught
a familiar scent. Harry was, miraculously,
still standing, though he had his back to

- 1440 -
them. Harry took a step forward, and then
stopped.

A moment later, he jerked backward, as if

he’d been hit by something invisible.

“Harry!” Remus said, and managed to

reach him in time to stop him from crack-
ing his head open on the floor. Harry looked
very small and battered, but he was alive.
“He’s alive,” he told Dumbledore, who’d
come to kneel behind him, looking afraid.
“Oh, thank Merlin, he’s alive.”

There was another scuffling sound from

the other person, and Remus looked at
them for the first time. Christopher Morton
flailed on the ground, one hand clutching
his head, the other clutching at his pocket.
Dumbledore’s scent went from warm and
worried, to cold. Hostile, even.

- 1441 -
“Severus was right,” Dumbledore said. He
took one look at Harry, who Remus was
now trying to revive with every spell he
knew, and stood. Morton coughed blood,
and then managed to tip something down
his throat. He went still at once. Dumble-
dore flicked his wand to summon the phial
that had just dropped from Morton’s limp
hand, and raised it to his nose. He glanced
at Fawkes. “Phoenix tears,” he murmured.

“Rennervate,” Remus said. “Come on,

Harry. Please. Rennervate.” And Harry
stirred. Dumbledore was crouched over
Morton, but Remus didn’t care about that,
because Harry was awake- just.

“Moony,” Harry said, his tongue tripping

over the word.

“Harry,” Remus said. “We’re here now-”

- 1442 -
“Dead,” Harry said, closing his eyes again.
Though his face didn’t change much at all
– Remus thought he was too tired to – his
scent was sharp, and all over the place.
“Padfoot- the Veil. He’s dead.” Harry’s face
scrunched up.

“No,” Remus said, trying to help Harry

into a sitting position. His hand brushed
Harry’s side, and Harry growled at him
– probably without meaning to, and then
his head lolled back. “No, he’s been found.
He’s alive.” Harry didn’t respond to that
– he was unconscious again – but Remus
hoped Harry had heard him. “Sir, I’m tak-
ing him to- He needs Madam Pomfrey.”

“Take him,” Dumbledore said. “I’ll join you

there shortly.”

- 1443 -
“Everything all right?” Remus asked Dora,
as she walked back into the hospital wing,
tucking her Sidekick away. She cast a sad
look at the curtains – which were blocking
Harry and Madam Pomfrey from view –
and then sat down beside Remus.

“Sirius woke up and someone told him

what was happening here,” she said.

“Oh no-”

“Prat tried to break himself out of St Mun-

go’s,” Dora sighed. “And then fainted in the
hallway. They’d like someone he knows to
go down there, and talk to him when he’s
awake again; make sure he doesn’t try
anything.”

“I’ll go,” Remus said. Harry wouldn’t

be awake for a while – Madam Pomfrey
had assured him of that – and, though he

- 1444 -
knew Sirius was alive, Remus wanted to
see him, wanted to talk to him, and try to
forget those few nightmarish days where
he thought he’d never see his best friend
again.

“I’ll stay here, if that’s all right,” Dora said.

“You can get me through my Sidekick if
you ask the Aurors-”

“Are you going to keep an eye on things?”

Remus asked her. Draco was fast asleep,
and Snape was sitting in the chair by his
bed, watching over him. Hermione was
also asleep – she’d had her cuts and bruis-
es fixed up and had been dosed up with
a sleeping potion (in the hopes it would
calm her down). In the bed next to hers,
Ron was curled up and breathing deeply,
with his heavily bandaged hand resting
on the pillow beside his head. Aside from
the sounds of Madam Pomfrey working

- 1445 -
behind the curtain, and Ron’s soft snores,
the hospital wing was silent. There really
wasn’t much to keep an eye on.

“No,” Dora said. “I think everything here’s

under control, and Mad-Eye’s doing most
of the paperwork – I’ll just have to sign
it and add my account tomorrow. No, I
was thinking I might steal the bed in your
quarters, and try to get a few hours of
sleep.” Remus hadn’t realised how good
sleep sounded until she mentioned it. “If
that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Remus said, kissing her fore-

head.

“I’m glad; I’d have taken it anyway, but

it’s much nicer to have your permission,”
Dora said, with a cheeky grin. Remus
smiled back, and tilted her chin up so he
could kiss her properly. Dora’s hair was

- 1446 -
a pale pink colour when he pulled away.
“Will you be back tonight?”

“Sleep sounds good,” Remus said. “I dare-

say I’ll be curling up next to you in anoth-
er hour or two.”

Albus conjured himself a chair and sat

down a few yards away from where Chris-
topher was starting to stir. He’d already
sealed the doorways that led out of the
chess chamber, and he’d taken what re-
mained of Christopher’s wand, but it still
seemed prudent to take precautions.

“Dumbledore,” Christopher said.

“Christopher,” Albus replied, stroking

Fawkes, who was perched on the back of
his chair. “How do you feel?” he asked con-

- 1447 -
versationally.

“Better now,” Christopher replied in the

same tone. He pushed himself upright,
slowly, until he was sitting cross-legged,
facing Albus. “You might not believe it,
but I am sorry for what I did to your bird…
I can’t say I regret it, though. His tears
have saved me twice, now.”

“Indeed,” Albus said, watching Christo-

pher carefully. Fawkes shifted in a rest-
less sort of manner behind him, and Albus
reached back to calm him.

“Are you here to kill me?” Christopher

asked. Albus saw him pat his pocket, and
then saw his face spasm with what could
have been fear, or irritation. “You’re prob-
ably quite unhappy with me.”

“Murder is no way to solve the world’s prob-

- 1448 -
lems,” Albus replied. “I have you here, un-
armed, and unable to escape. I’d like some
questions answered, if that’s amenable to
you.”

“And if it’s not? You can’t make me talk

to you, because it’s illegal to use Veritase-
rum on minors, and same goes for Legilli-
mency.” Christopher smiled rather smug-
ly. “Even if you did, I could keep you out.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Albus said.

“If you couldn’t, you’d have been discov-
ered as a danger long before now.”

“I didn’t mean to be a danger,” Christo-

pher mumbled. “Things got a bit… out of
hand.”

“Things often do, when Lord Voldemort is

involved,” Albus said quietly. Christopher
didn’t flinch at the name, just sighed. “You

- 1449 -
were helping him, weren’t you, Christo-
pher?” Christopher said nothing. “And
willingly, I daresay.”

“He possessed me,” Christopher said.

“If you can keep a Legillimens out, or fight

Veritaserum, I think you’d have been able
to supress Voldemort long enough to alert
someone to the fact that he was there.”
Christopher’s expression soured. “You
may not have enjoyed it-”

“Enjoyed it?” Christopher asked. “He was

in my head. He could hear everything I
thought about. He could take control of
my body when he wanted to-”

“You may not have enjoyed it, but you al-

lowed it,” Albus said. “Didn’t you.” Chris-
topher stared at the marble floor. “So why?
What did he offer you? Power? To bring

- 1450 -
your father back?”

“Potter thought it might have been to do

with my father as well,” Christopher said.

“And was it?”

“Funny,” Christopher said, “how in try-

ing to guess my weakness, people seem to
reveal their own. Potter said he saw his
dead godfather in the mirror. Who do you
see, Dumbledore? Someone you’ve lost, I’m
certain.” This time, it wasn’t for Fawkes’
sake that Albus reached out to the phoe-
nix. He thought quickly, scouring his head
for something that could unsettle the boy
across from him.

“Sirius lives,” Albus said softly.

“I admire your faith in the man – he is

quite tenacious – but this time, Dumble-

- 1451 -
dore, there’s no returning-”

“He’s in St Mungo’s,” Albus said. “Exhaust-

ed, but quite alive, I assure you.” Christo-
pher’s expression flickered.

“How?” There was no fear in Christopher’s

tone, just curiosity. “It shouldn’t have been
possible-”

“Azkaban is supposed to be inescapable,”

Albus said, “but Sirius managed.” It was
silent for a few, long seconds, and then
Christopher sighed.

“What do you want, Dumbledore?”

“The question, Christopher, is what do

you want? Are you going to search for your
master as soon as you’re free-”

“My ‘master’ left me to die just now. The

- 1452 -
only reason I didn’t is because I thought
he might do exactly that, and came pre-
pared.” Albus watched him closely. “No,
he thinks I’m dead, and given that I’ve
failed tonight, he won’t be happy to learn
that I’m still alive.”

“I see,” Albus says.

“Isn’t this where you offer me a second

chance?” Christopher said, glowering at
Albus.

“I’m not sure,” Albus replied. “Is it?”

“Yes,” Christopher said, scowling. “I’m

not going back to Voldemort – I’ve just
explained that. So as long as I don’t hurt
anyone else, ever again, you’ll just send
me on my way, right?”

“Christopher,” Albus said sadly, “You have

- 1453 -
harboured the wizarding world’s greatest
enemy within my school for the duration
of the year, and in doing so, put hundreds
of lives at risk. You attacked Fawkes,
Severus, Harry, and even me, that night
in the forest, and you have attempted to
still one of my dearest friend’s possessions
from my care-”

“I’ve made mistakes.”

“A mistake is eating a urine flavoured

bean, rather than a lemon one,” Albus said
softly.

“Severus made the same mistakes!” Chris-

topher said. “He joined Voldemort- He
even got the Mark! He’s killed and tor-
tured people-”

“And repented before he was caught,” Al-

bus said. “He approached me.” He studied

- 1454 -
Christopher through his spectacles. “A
second chance is a privilege, not a right.”

“You don’t think I deserve it,” he said slow-

ly. “Albus Dumbledore, the kindest wizard
to ever have lived-” And there was a mock-
ing undertone in those last few words.
“-doesn’t think I’m worth saving. Doesn’t
the fact that I’m talking to you count as
some sort of gesture of goodwill? I haven’t
attacked you-”

“Even if you did, do you really think you

could win?” Albus asked. “You have no
wand, but I have mine. Even without
it, though, I am not an average wizard.”
Christopher’s expression soured. “And
yes, you have spoken to me, but not truth-
fully.”

“I have-”

- 1455 -
“You’ve not even told me your real name,”
Albus said, and Christopher’s mouth
twitched. “You’ve boasted of your Occlu-
mency skills, though, and Lord Volde-
mort, no matter how desperate, would not
spend a full year in an eleven year old’s
head. Possess them briefly, certainly, or
manipulate them into doing his bidding,
but share a mind, and a body… No. Nor
would you have accounted for the possibil-
ity of betrayal.” Albus shook his head. “I
don’t know where the real Christopher is,
but I know you are not him.”

“Clever,” Christopher sneered, but offered

nothing more on the matter. “So who am I,
then, Dumbledore?”

“Someone who has made a number of bad

decisions this past year,” Albus replied.

“That’s not a name,” Christopher said.

- 1456 -
“No, but I think a person’s actions tell you
more about them than a combination of
letters does,” Albus said. “I have no issue
with continuing to call you Christopher, if
that’s what you were worried about.”

“You’re not going to give me a second

chance, are you?” Christopher asked, look-
ing wary for the first time.

“You’ve affected far too many lives this

year for me to be able to decide that on
my own,” Albus said. “I shall speak to you
again when you wake up.”

“When I wake-?”

“Dormio,” Albus said, putting as much

strength behind the word as he could.
Christopher’s eyes rolled back into his
head, and he slumped sideways onto the

- 1457 -
floor.

Draco’s eyes skimmed over the page of

the book Severus had loaned him, with-
out really taking in what was written.
Severus had been down the trapdoor, and
he’d been in the hospital wing when Dra-
co awoke, but he’d left shortly after, and
Draco hadn’t had a chance to speak with
him at all.

“You’re Draco Malfoy, aren’t you?” Draco

glanced up to see girl watching him. The
girl had red hair, freckles, bright brown
eyes, and was wearing, a rather colourful
knitted skirt, and a jumper with a large
‘G’ on it. Her appearance, coupled with the
fact that Weasley was being fussed over by
his plump mother, meant she could really
only be one person.

- 1458 -
“You must be She-Weasley,” he said. Her
eyes narrowed.

“She-Weasley?” she asked, putting her

nose in the air.

“Sure,” Draco said, setting his book down.

“There’s Weasley-” He gestured to Weas-
ley. “-Weasleys One and Two-” He gestured
to the far beds, where the twins were chat-
ting to Madam Pomfrey; they’d been dis-
covered outside Gryffindor common room,
thigh deep in the floor by the Head Girl.
They were claiming they couldn’t feel their
legs, but Draco suspected it was a ploy to
see how Weasley was. “-and Prefect Weas-
ley.” He was in the bed closest to Weasley,
and had – if Draco had overheard correct-
ly – been treated for a mild concussion.

“My real name’s Ginny,” She-Weasley of-

- 1459 -
fered.

“I know,” Draco said, shrugging. She

squinted at him, and then she shrugged as
well and her gaze moved to the curtained
bed, closest to Madam Pomfrey’s office.

“That’s where Harry is, right?” she asked.

“Right,” Draco said, lowering his book. Pot-

ter hadn’t awoken yet – in fairness, neither
had Granger, but then she’d been dosed
with a strong sleeping potion – and while
Madam Pomfrey said he’d be all right, it
worried Draco that they’d curtained him
off.

“And that must be Hermione?” She-Weas-

ley said, looking over at Granger.

“That’s Granger, yes,” Draco replied.

“Shouldn’t you be over with the rest of

- 1460 -
your family?”

“I thought you looked lonely,” she said,

seeming offended. “Everyone else is asleep,
except Ron and Mum and Percy and the
twins, so I thought I’d come and say hello.”

“You never actually said hello,” Draco

pointed out.

“Hello,” She-Weasley said in a flat voice,

and Draco couldn’t help but grin. She took
that as a cue to pull the chair over and
sit down by his bed. “How’d you hurt your
head?” she asked.

“I- I don’t know if I’m allowed to talk about

it,” Draco said, pressing a hand to the ban-
dage. “It’s probably supposed to be a se-
cret.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “I’ll just get Ron

- 1461 -
to tell me later.” Draco felt a sudden stab
of jealousy for the apparently close sib-
ling relationship Weasley and She-Weas-
ley had. If it had been Hydrus rather than
Draco down the trapdoor, Draco wouldn’t
have been told anything at all, and Dra-
co was fairly sure he wouldn’t be telling
his brother much of what had taken place.
“What’s Gryffindor like?” she continued,
oblivious. Draco stared at her for a mo-
ment, trying to focus on what she’d said.
“You don’t like it?” she said, mistaking his
silence.

“No, I do, I- It’s- the common room’s my fa-

vourite place. All of my friends are there,
and my brother and his lot can’t bother
me, and it’s so warm… very red, though. I
thought it was ghastly when I first saw it,
but it grows on you-”

“I’m hoping to go into Gryffindor,” She-Wea-

- 1462 -
sley said.

“Never would have guessed,” Draco said.

She rolled her eyes and he smiled. Then,
She-Weasley glanced at something behind
Draco.

“It was nice to meet you,” she said, looking

apologetic, and practically fled back to her
mother’s side.

Draco turned, already suspecting what –

or rather who – he might see. Severus was
there, leading Mother and Father past the
other hospital wing beds. Draco tried not
to stare at his fake leg.

“Draco,” Mother said, and Draco thought

she might have been crying.

Oops, he thought.

- 1463 -
“How do you feel?”

“Clearly not too poorly, if he’s up to mak-

ing friends,” Father said, rather coolly. He
was watching She-Weasley, who was very
obviously not watching him back. “Or per-
haps he hit his head so hard he now thinks
a Weasley is acceptable company.”

“Lucius,” Mother said quietly, putting a

hand on Father’s arm. Father glared at
her, and then sighed and looked at Draco.
His expression softened ever so slightly,
and Draco got a glimpse of more emotion
than he thought he was meant to have
seen.

“I- I am glad you’re all right,” Father said,

and Draco waited for the little voice that
usually told him ‘lie’ but it didn’t come.
Draco felt guilty for thinking so little of
Father. He glanced at him again, hoping

- 1464 -
to convey that with a look – since Father
didn’t tolerate hugs – but Father was
watching She-Weasley with a supreme-
ly unimpressed expression. Severus was
frowning at Father.

“There will be words, though,” Mother

warned, drawing Draco’s attention back
to her. “Your behaviour last night was
foolish in ways you can’t even begin to un-
derstand.” Draco opened his mouth to pro-
test, but Severus shook his head, ever so
slightly, and Draco closed it again. “You
don’t know any better-” There was an odd
look on her face when she said that, and
Draco wondered about it. “-but ignorance
is becoming dangerous – for you, but also
for us as a family – and once term ends,
I intend to sit both you and your brother
down and explain a number of things.”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco said quietly. Moth-

- 1465 -
er’s expression went from icy to gentle
in less than a second, and for a moment,
Draco thought she might hug him. She
didn’t, though; instead she turned and ap-
proached Madam Pomfrey, wanting some
sort of official report on Draco’s health. Fa-
ther was still watching the Weasleys, and
Draco watched too; Mother Weasley was
sitting on Weasley’s bed, fussing over his
bandaged hand, and peppering him with
hugs and pats and kisses, while She-Wea-
sley chatted animatedly.

Draco wanted to be hugged and looked af-

ter – he’d thought he was going to die last
night, and that his friends would too, and
then he’d been attacked by a giant chess
piece, and he’d been unconscious and
bleeding – but he didn’t like his chances
of that.

As if reading his mind, Severus reached

- 1466 -
out and put a hand on his shoulder, and
Draco – despite being angry at Severus for
ignoring him for weeks – leaned into the
contact and felt a little bit better.

“Just happy you’re all right,” Hermione

said. Harry smiled at her, and straight-
ened in bed, trying not to jostle his side.
He’d been dosed with Skele-Gro, and,
while thankfully he only had to deal with
the aftertaste, it had made his ribs quite
sore. He wished she’d just heal it with a
spell, but she probably used Skele-Gro as
a punishment for doing dangerous things,
as well as for a cure.

Harry couldn’t even bring himself to care,

though; he’d seen Moony and Dora very
briefly when he first awoke that afternoon,
and they’d told him Padfoot was alive. He’d

- 1467 -
be in St Mungo’s for a while – at least a
month, the Healers were saying, if only to
make sure he didn’t try to go back to work
until he was ready – but that he was al-
ready awake and complaining about being
stuck in bed, and that he was desperate
to see Harry. Moony had promised to take
him as soon as Madam Pomfrey gave Harry
the all clear, and had promised to retrieve
Harry’s mirror from his office (where Har-
ry had left it the night they went down the
trapdoor) in the meantime. Harry hadn’t
been able to stop smiling since.

“You were so sure that it was King, though,”

Ron said, helping himself to a chocolate
frog from the significant pile that that had
accumulated on Harry’s bedside table.

“Well yeah,” Draco said, chewing on the

end of a liquorice wand. “We’d lived with
Morton for a year, and Potter said he was

- 1468 -
doing something to keep everyone from
knowing-”

“Occlumency, dear boy,” Dumbledore said,

pulling the curtains aside.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Hermione ex-

claimed.

“How are you all feeling?”

“Better,” Ron said, and then hastily added

a, “sir.” Draco nodded.

“Much better,” Hermione said.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Dumbledore smiled

kindly around at them all, but Harry
thought he smelled tired. “Much as I’m sure
Harry would enjoy your company more
than mine, do you mind if I steal him for
a few moments?” Harry’s friends shuffled

- 1469 -
out, and Dumbledore closed the curtains
behind them, and then flicked his wand at
them. The sound of their footsteps, and of
Madam Pomfrey healing a girl with a nas-
ty cough vanished at once. “Firstly, Harry,
I must commend you on your efforts last
night.” Harry suddenly remembered what
he’d gone down there for in the first place.

“Sir, the stone! I hid it-”

“I am aware,” Dumbledore said calmly.

“And it took me two hours, but I did, even-
tually recover it, and I have since spoken
to Nicholas and we have agreed to destroy
it.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up at that, but
the stone’s destruction wasn’t the first
question on his mind.

“Two hours to find?”

“Sometimes the simplest hiding places are

- 1470 -
the best,” Dumbledore said wryly. “I spent
the majority of my time wading through
the swamp, thinking you might have
tucked it away there, or buried it.”

“Sorry-”

“No apologies are necessary, Harry. None

at all. Christopher tricked us, and had you
not been there, I have no doubt he would
have succeeded.”

“Christopher?” Harry asked. “You don’t

know?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said. “I assume at some

point during your confrontation, he intro-
duced himself properly to you?”

“It’s Quirrell,” Harry said. Dumbledore

didn’t look entirely surprised, but he didn’t
look as if he’d been expecting to hear that

- 1471 -
name either.

“A shame,” he sighed.

“Is he-”

“No, Harry, he’s alive,” Dumbledore said.

“And safely in my care for the time being.”
Something on Harry’s face must have giv-
en away his uncertainty as to how vigilant
Dumbledore’s care was (after all, Dumb-
ledore was here with Harry, and Quirrell
was nowhere in sight) because Dumble-
dore smiled and pulled a chocolate frog
card out of his pocket. Morton’s name was
on it, and Morton himself was fast asleep
inside the frame. Harry laughed, delight-
ed, but then frowned.

“I can see how he got through Flitwick’s

and McGonagall’s,” Harry said, “but I don’t
know how he knew how to get through

- 1472 -
Moony’s. I mean, that wasn’t supposed to
be- that was meant to be a secret.”

“I do not tell you this lightly, Harry, and

will be disappointed if I hear this has been
spread… but I know you of all people will
be accepting… Remus is not the last stu-
dent we’ve had to make special accommo-
dations for. When Quirinus taught here,
he was aware of the Willow arrangement,
and no doubt pieced together its origin.”

“There are other werewolves here at the

moment?” Harry asked. “Who?” Dumble-
dore just shook his head, smiling. Harry
wasn’t surprised.

“Sir, the other thing- When Quirrell, or

Voldemort, or whoever touched me, he- I
burned him.”

“Your mother died to save you, Harry, and

- 1473 -
Voldemort has never understood love, par-
ticularly not of that magnitude. Her love
for you lingers still, protecting you – it’s
how I made the wards around your aunt
and uncle’s home, all those years ago –
and is within you. Quirinus was tainted,
sharing his mind and body and soul with
Voldemort, and when he tried to touch
you, someone so innately good, someone
marked by something so good, he was un-
able to.”

“He’ll be back though, won’t he?” Harry

asked. “He didn’t manage to get the stone,
but he’ll find another way, or try to. Won’t
he?”

“Last night was a considerable setback

for him, so we must consider that a victo-
ry… unfortunately, you have won us the
battle, not the war.” Dumbledore sighed.
“Yes, Harry, he will try again.”

- 1474 -
And again and again, until the prophecy
resolves itself, one way or the other, Har-
ry thought, sighing.

“Now,” Dumbledore said after a few mo-

ments of silence. “It wouldn’t really be a
hospital visit without these, would it?” He
pulled a deck of exploding snap cards out
of his pocket with a smile. Harry grinned
back, grabbing the nearest box of bertie
botts over. “Do you have time for a few
games?”

- 1475 -
Chapter 37:
The cost of freedom

“I fail to see why you’ve called me here,

Headmaster,” Snape said stiffly. “The man
is your captive, after all-”

“And my captive, as you call him-” Dumb-

ledore said calmly, looking from Snape, to
Sirius, who felt silly sitting in his hospi-
tal bed, but was too tired to move. He was
better than he had been last night, when
Kreacher first brought him in, but he still
felt horrendous, and the Healers were in to

- 1476 -
check on him every hour. Still, his outlook
had improved considerably since Dumb-
ledore had arrived with news that Harry
was awake and well enough to play card
games. “-has caused considerable damage
to both of you; yours was personal, Sever-
us-” He glanced at Snape’s leg, and so did
Sirius. “-while Sirius, it was your godson
who bore the brunt of Quirrell’s attention.
Were Harry older, I’d take his opinions
into consideration, but given that he isn’t
yet twelve, and you are his guardian, I
thought it was appropriate to consult you
in his place.”

“Leave him to the Dark Lord,” Snape

drawled, folding his arms over his chest.
“He’ll be dead within the month.”

“If you’re prepared to have him die,” Sirius

said, propping himself up with some diffi-
culty, “then at least do it actively; hand

- 1477 -
him over to the Ministry.” Snape shift-
ed, looking a little uncomfortable. “That’s
what I thought.”

“I don’t see you advocating that choice ei-

ther,” Snape snapped. Sirius could have
snapped at him, but was both too tired,
and too… well, surprised. The first time
he’d awoken in the hospital was to find a
doe patronus, standing by his bedside. It
had told him about Morton being Snape’s
attacker… in Snape’s voice. Now, either
Snape had been very clever at concealing
his feelings for James, or, Snape’s obses-
sion with Lily during their school days
had roots in something far deeper.

“I wouldn’t wish the dementors on any-

one,” Sirius said quietly. Snape glanced at
him, and then away, but he didn’t look as
angry as he had just before. “Azkaban, I’d
be happy with, but after what he’s done,

- 1478 -
he’d be Kissed on the spot.” Snape, Siri-
us wasn’t entirely surprised to see, didn’t
look too bothered by the idea. “Still, the al-
ternatives are keeping him in your pocket
for the rest of his life, Dumbledore, or let-
ting him go, and neither of those seems…
right.”

“And so you have reached my dilemma,”

Dumbledore said, steepling his hands. “It
seems kinder to kill him, than to leave
him imprisoned… and if we free him, we
cannot – despite what he says – trust that
he will not simply return to Voldemort’s
side-”

“He wouldn’t, if values his own life,” Snape

said. “The Dark Lord loathes failure, and
Quirrell failed him, and the Dark Lord
failed to kill Quirrell. He would not take
kindly to that fact that Quirrell has sur-
vived.”

- 1479 -
“Surely he knows?” Sirius asked.

“Harry, Remus, Nymphadora, Alastor,

Minerva and the three of us are the only
ones that know, and none of us are awful-
ly likely to share that news-”

“Perhaps not with the Dark Lord, but what

about with the Ministry?” Snape asked. “If
the Ministry hears-”

“The Ministry will not hear,” Dumbledore

said.

“But how can you be certain-”

“Because I trust the people I have confid-

ed in,” Dumbledore told him, somewhat
sternly. “The Ministry will hear exactly
as much as I, or the Aurors involved-” He
nodded to Sirius. “-decide to share, and

- 1480 -
no more.” He clasped his hands together.
“That does, of course, give us some free-
dom with how we choose to handle the sit-
uation.”

“Well, if we’re sure that he won’t go run-

ning back to Voldemort,” Sirius said slow-
ly, “and the Ministry isn’t an option that
results in anything but the Kiss, or Volde-
mort finding him, then obviously we’re all
that’s left.”

“We?” Snape asked, looking wary.

“I also came to that conclusion,” Dumble-

dore sighed. “And I must confess myself
relieved that that is the case; perhaps now,
you will not find my suggested solution so
outlandish.”

“Let’s hear it,” Sirius said, grimacing as

he shifted to get comfortable.

- 1481 -
“I take it,” Dumbledore said heavily, “that
the pair of you are familiar with the con-
cept of Unbreakable Vows?”

“Will you, Quirinus, swear from this mo-

ment until the day of your death, to never
knowingly say or do anything to aid Lord
Voldemort or any of his Death Eaters?”

“I will,” Quirinus said, without hesita-

tion. Fire slithered out of Severus’ wand
and onto his hand. Aiding Voldemort had
had potential, but Quirinus was a Raven-
claw; he wasn’t too loyal to Voldemort to
refuse Dumbledore’s terms, wasn’t stub-
born enough to want to spite Dumbledore,
and wasn’t cunning enough to try to find a
loophole. He was smart. They’d given him
choices, and Quirinus was smart enough

- 1482 -
to see this was the best deal he was going
to get; anything else would end up with
him dead or in prison, and Quirinus re-
spected Dumbledore far more than he re-
spected the Ministry.

“Will you, Quirinus, swear from this mo-

ment until the day of your death, to never
knowingly say or do anything to physical-
ly or mentally hurt someone that is not
aligned with Lord Voldemort?”

“I will,” Quirinus said, again, without hesi-

tation. Severus’ expression flickered – was
that surprise, perhaps? – as fiery ropes
slid out of his wand and wound themselves
around Quirinus’ and Dumbledore’s hand.
Black shifted on the bed, as alive as Dumb-
ledore had said he would be.

“And will you, Quirinus, swear from this

moment until the day of your death, to do

- 1483 -
what you can within reason, to help and
protect those that Lord Voldemort or his
followers seek to harm?”

“I will,” Quirinus replied, bored. “Will you,

Dumbledore, swear not to turn me over to
either Voldemort or the Ministry either di-
rectly or indirectly, as long as I do adhere
to your conditions?”

“I will,” Dumbledore replied slowly, frown-

ing; usually, only one person made the
conditions in Vows, but Quirinus wasn’t
about to swear his freedom away without
ensuring his own protection beforehand.

The last strand of fire slithered out, flared,

and then all four strands were gone.
Dumbledore released Quirinus, watching
him closely.

“May I have that?” He gestured to the

- 1484 -
piece of parchment in Severus’ hands,
upon which, the conditions of the Vow
were written. Judging by the number of
scribbles, it had taken them some time to
formulate the terms. Severus glanced at
Dumbledore, who tapped the parchment
with his wand, duplicating it. Quirinus
received one, while the other was tucked
safely into Dumbledore’s robes.

“Now, Quirinus-” Dumbledore said. “If you

would-”

“I won’t be doing anything,” Quirinus said.

“I’ve agreed to your conditions, and as long
as I don’t break them, I should be free to
do as I please. I never swore to serve you,
after all.” Dumbledore frowned at him.

“And where do you intend to go?” Severus

asked stiffly, clearly torn between want-
ing to put as much space between them

- 1485 -
as possible, and wanting Quirinus close,
where he could keep an eye on him. A light
Legillimency probe brushed Quirinus’ de-
fences, which he strengthened with a mere
thought. Severus scowled.

“Wherever I want,” Quirinus said. “I’ll let

you know where you can find me, once I’ve
settled. Discretion is key though, as you
must understand; I wouldn’t want to draw
attention to myself, now would I?”

“I expect to have heard from you within

the week,” Dumbledore said.

“I’ll contact you when I’m safe,” Quirinus

corrected. “Now, if I could borrow your
wand to change my appearance so that I
can leave…” Dumbledore hesitated. “Come
now, Dumbledore; if I walk out looking like
Christopher Morton, I’ll be discovered for
sure, and you just swore-” Snape’s expres-

- 1486 -
sion could have curdled milk, but Dumble-
dore’s was inscrutable. He didn’t – regret-
tably – give Quirinus his wand. It seemed
he didn’t trust him that much yet. But he
did rap Quirinus on the head – Quirinus
went shooting up to an adult’s height - and
conjured him a mirror.

Once Quirinus deemed his appearance ac-

ceptable, he bid Severus and Dumbledore
goodbye and ignored Black (who’d fallen
asleep) and strode out into the corridor.

His hand still burned with the faint re-

minder of his Vow, but Quirinus was free.

Harry dodged a fourth year’s trolley –

Hedwig squawked in her cage, and then
clicked her beak at the girl – glanced over
his shoulder to see that he still had Ron

- 1487 -
with him, and then the pair of them made
their way over to a pillar, where several
red heads were visible together. Percy was
very obviously not talking to the twins,
nor had he for several weeks. They’d lost
points for leaving the common room (de-
spite getting trapped in the floor and not
actually making it very far) the night that
Harry and the others went after Morton.
Neville had won points (apparently, he’d
stood up to them), but despite that, the
twins had done enough damage to knock
Gryffindor into last place for the House
Cup.

“Ron!” Ginny went speeding past Harry –

Hedwig squawked for the second time –
and went to greet her brother, while Mrs
Weasley fussed over Percy, and Mr Weas-
ley talked animatedly with the twins.

“Geroff!” Ron muttered, trying to shrug

- 1488 -
Ginny off.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, frowning at

him. “I thought you said you missed me-”

“I did, but I’m back now, so it-”

“Hi, Mrs Weasley,” Harry said, leaving

them to it.

“Hello, Harry dear,” she said. “Finished

up all right?”

“Yeah, fine,” Harry said.

“Ow!” Ron exclaimed from behind him,

and then Ginny marched past Harry and
went to stand with the twins. Ron ap-
proached his mother, scowling at his sis-
ter. Mrs Weasley swept him up in a hug,
and examined his hand, which was now
well and truly healed, to Ron’s disappoint-

- 1489 -
ment. He’d hoped that he’d be able to use
his injury as an excuse to not be able to
write, and that he wouldn’t have to do his
exams.

“Is Sirius coming for you, Harry?” Mrs

Weasley asked.

“He’s meeting us at the Ministry, because

he’s not supposed to Apparate yet,” Harry
said. “Moony should be here soon, though.”

“Well, we’ll wait until he is,” Mrs Weasley

said, smiling kindly at him. Moony arrived
not long after, looking tired; the full moon
had been a few nights ago, and he’d had to
do it alone, since Padfoot was still in bed
on the Healers’ orders, and Moony had re-
fused to let Harry go with him. “All right,
you lot,” Mr Weasley said, ushering the
other Weasleys into motion. “We’d best be
off, or I might get one of those expedition

- 1490 -
notices.”

“Expiation, Arthur,” Moony said, but Mr

Weasley didn’t seem to hear him. With
cheery goodbyes, and a promise from
Ron that Harry could visit over summer,
they were gone. “Hermione’s left?” Moony
asked. “And Draco?”

“Hermione had her cousin’s birthday din-

ner to get to, so she disappeared pretty
much as soon as we got off.”

“And Draco?” Moony asked.

“With his family,” Harry said. “Hydrus

came to get him before the train even
stopped.”

“I see,” Moony said, looking troubled.

“Well, maybe they’ll let him visit.” Harry
doubted it, and could smell Moony did too.

- 1491 -
“Here, give me that, and then we can go.”
Moony took Harry’s trunk, cast a shrink-
ing spell and tucked it into his pocket,
where Harry could only assume his own
trunk was. Harry let Hedwig out of her
cage with instructions to go home, and
then Moony cast his spell again and put
the cage in with the trunks. Then, Moo-
ny offered Harry his arm, and pulled him
into Apparition.

“Tonks, Nymphadora,” Scrimgeour called,

and Tonks stood up so quickly that she
tripped. Harry laughed with the others,
and Tonks’ hair flashed a bright, embar-
rassed pink before she made her way up
onto the podium to shake hands with
Scrimgeour, and receive a certificate and
a pair of formal Auror’s robes. “Any words,
Alastor?” Scrimgeour asked Moody, who

- 1492 -
looked as grim as ever. Tonks glanced at
him, looking nervous; Finch had sobbed
her way through congratulations for her
trainees, and Robards had made a very
moving speech about Marlene graduating,
despite all the challenges she’d faced, and
Padfoot had helped Hemsley recount fun-
ny anacdotes about Brown.

“I’m very proud,” Moody said gruffly. Tonks

hurried forward to hug him, and Moody
patted her clumsily on the back, and then
ushered her back to her seat so that the
next graduate could come up. Harry dis-
tinctly heard him mutter, “Constant vigi-
lance.” The celebration that followed was
cheerful and very noisy, and Harry finally
had a chance to make his way over to Pad-
foot, who’d had to stand with the Aurors
during the presentations.

“I’ll leave you two,” Marlene said, smil-

- 1493 -
ing at Harry, and went to talk to someone
else. Padfoot pulled Harry into a hug, and
the pair of them found seats.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked him.

“Fine,” Padfoot said. “I just can’t stand up

for very long; honestly, what were they
thinking, keeping me in bed for so long?”

“Probably that you needed time to get bet-

ter,” Harry said.

“They could have taken me for walks, at

the very least,” Padfoot grumbled. Harry
grinned. “So, who won the House Cup?”

“Slytherin,” Harry said.

“Ah well,” Padfoot said. “Next year, eh?”

“As long as he can keep himself and his

- 1494 -
friends out of trouble,” Moony said, ap-
proaching them with a grin. He collapsed
into a chair with a grateful sigh.

“It’s not a matter of keeping out of trou-

ble,” Padfoot said, “it’s a matter of not get-
ting caught.” He reached back to grab a
drink off of the floating refreshments tray.

“There’s a fair chance that any trouble

caused at Hogwarts is them,” Moony said,
“or the twins.” He chuckled. “If anything
goes wrong, I think poor McGonagall
might just dock points from Gryffindor on
principle.”

“Teachers,” Padfoot said, rolling his eyes

at Harry, who laughed. “How’d exams fin-
ish up, kiddo?”

“Fine,” Harry said. “Transfiguration was

easy, and so was Defence-”

- 1495 -
“There’s a rumour going around that Har-
ry got one hundred and six percent in De-
fence,” Moony said, with a very straight
face.

“Oh, really?” Padfoot asked, with the same

expression. “Any truth to it?”

“Can’t be sure,” Moony replied seriously.

“That Defence teacher of his is a bit unre-
liable-”

“Misses a lesson or two every month,” Har-

ry said, grinning.

“And then he missed almost a week,” Moo-

ny said, clicking his tongue, “because ap-
parently, he was running around the Min-
istry, sticking his nose into Auror business,
trying to find a lost dog.”

- 1496 -
“The gall,” Padfoot said, gasping, and
then chuckled. “Ah, well. Hopefully next
year he’ll have settled a bit.” A wicked
grin crept over his face, accompanied by
a very playful scent. “Speaking of settling
down… where’s Dora got to?” Moony, for
whatever reason, flushed a bright pink co-
lour, and hissed something at Padfoot that
even Harry’s ears couldn’t pick up. Harry
glanced between Padfoot and Moony, puz-
zled.

“What-”

“It’s nothing, Harry, really,” Moony said

firmly, glowering at Padfoot all the while.
“But Dora, since you asked, Sirius, is
speaking with Mad-Eye and one of Mad-
Eye’s old friends.”

“I see,” Padfoot said, not looking discour-

aged in the slightest. Harry hoped he’d

- 1497 -
say more about whatever it was that had
antagonised Moony, but he only said, “So
what’s the plan for summer? Quidditch?
See some of your friends?” Padfoot frowned.
“Speaking of friends, I half expected you’d
have Draco with you.”

Narcissa glanced over the top of her book

and out the library window. A small smile
touched her lips as Hydrus flew past, his
face alight, and Lucius – also on a broom-
stick - threw something for him to catch.
The pair of them had plans to get Hydrus
onto the Slytherin team next term, and
Narcissa expected preparations for that
would consume the majority of the holi-
days. They were going broom shopping at
some point, or so she’d been told.

Her eyes landed on the two figures on the

- 1498 -
ground. One was Dobby, with a basket of
gardening tools hanging on his scrawny
forearm, and the other was Draco, follow-
ing him from rosebush to rosebush, looking
more than a little lost. She couldn’t help
but remember that he’d looked comfort-
able in the hospital when he was speaking
with the Weasley girl – a blood traitor –
and yet here, in his own home he looked
nervous and kept to himself.

“I am sorry, Draco,” she whispered, ab-

sently playing with the corners of the pag-
es of her book. She’d won in a way; Draco
was making his own choices and his own
friends, and when he was with them, he
was happy… But she couldn’t help but
think she’d lost. While she’d wanted him
to be free to pick a side – either Potter’s
or the Dark Lord’s – she hadn’t expect-
ed him to make it so soon, or so obvious-
ly. She hadn’t banked on the fact that in

- 1499 -
sculpting him to be independent enough
to choose things for himself, would mean
losing him.

She’d thought such a choice was years

away, and then Draco had gone off to help
Potter try to stop the Dark Lord. That was
something there would be words about.
She’d be a hypocrite if she told him of for
such a choice – bus she couldn’t risk prais-
ing him either – but she certainly need-
ed to ensure Draco could be subtle. She’d
taken these measures wit Draco to ensure
he was happy, but also that he would sur-
vive. Choosing a side so obviously and so
early was dangerous for him, but even
more dangerous for Narcissa, and the rest
of the family.

But how to explain that to him, without

being too forceful? Draco was, if the past
few years were any indication, easily influ-

- 1500 -
enced. She could change everything, with
a few gentle words. She knew she could,
and she was tempted to. She wanted him
to be happy, but she didn’t want to lose
him, and she was, even now; she only had
to look at him to see how uncomfortable
he was in his own home. Surely Narcissa
wasn’t a bad person for wanting to keep
her son close?

No, she thought, but any more meddling is

risky. I made Draco a Gryffindor, and now
he’s embraced that. I don’t have to like it,
but I have to respect it, at least… even if I
lose him.

She knew the signs; she’d watched the

Blacks struggle with Sirius. Narcissa and
Lucius weren’t quite as forceful as Wal-
burga and Orion had been, but then, Hy-
drus wasn’t as accepting of his brother as
Regulus had been.

- 1501 -
I will lose him, she thought, and was a lit-
tle surprised that no tears followed that
revelation. Perhaps not for a while, but
one day… She glanced out the window
again. At least I have him for at least one
more summer.

- 1502 -