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Chapter Text

The Heir of Slytherin deserved a throne most befitting his greatness.

So they crafted it out of the bones of his enemies, which were otherwise littering the castle grounds as nothing more than reminders of his triumph and warnings to anyone who dared defy him. Just like his new throne would. How clever.

He loved that about himself. That he was powerful enough to command the foolish and narrow-minded. They deserved to be controlled as much as he deserved to rule over them. It was how the world should work. It was how his world would work.

But he always felt like his world was missing something. Someone to confide in.

The little pawns weren't enough for him. They could scurry about like rats and obey but they couldn't empathize with someone as powerful as him. At least not fully.

Harry needed someone equal. But anyone like that was a risk. He couldn't control someone as strong as him. What if they decided if they wanted to destroy him because they didn't agree with his cause?

No. He needed someone weak, but one who could pretend to be equal to him. Who could fit such strict criteria? None of the drones could, surely. While they were about as lowly as house-elves, maybe there was one he could choose?

He saw a familiar blonde pass behind his new throne and watched her fret over its position in the Great Hall. He recalled her great use in providing him enough power to completely take over Slytherin house at its lowest point. Perhaps she would make a good queen?

Yes. A nice reward for someone so devoted and loyal, he thought as she darted her gaze away from his prying eyes. Simple, obedient, malleable if need be, and very, very pretty. A perfect piece for him to toy with.

"Davis," he called to her, remembering her name from the many times he spoke it around those foolish heroes and naïve victims. He crooked a finger, urging her to come to him despite her immediate panic.

Obviously she obeyed without hesitation, meeting him with a fake smile to mask her fear.

"Don't be so nervous, Tracey. I won't bite… yet." He chuckled as she relaxed, her smile becoming genuine. She stepped a bit closer, more eager to please now that she felt safe again.

"What does our great Lord ask of me, sir? Please, guide me. I'll do anything for you," she begged, sounding near desperate for a command. Her hand pressed against his chest.

A meow woke him and he shivered the second he opened his eyes.

Orange and yellow, though blurry and shadowed by the darkness of night, met his gaze.

"Crookshanks? What is it?" he grumbled, sitting up and rubbing the crust of sleep out of his eyes.

The cat remained a massive orb of fuzzy orange at his side, beginning to purr and nestle itself against him comfortably.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair and letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

A sweltering heat from a sun that beamed against his back. He tried and tried to ignore it. He picked at his skin until he saw blood and bone.

Rawness on his tongue. He felt like he couldn't breathe when he should be.

He failed himself. He failed everyone.

What would his parents think when they found him? Would they come for him? Would they love him again?

He rather hoped they would, but one knew better.

They were ashamed. They should be.

He failed. He deserved abandonment. Loneliness was his home.

Harry James Potter was no wizard to be proud of. That was the last thing anyone should feel when they looked at him.

He plucked at a fresh scab on the back of his hand. A vile, vivid crimson bloomed and stung him like a bee. He deserved that.

The bitter heat against his skin seemed to rake hard across the flesh of his back. No more could he disregard it. He screamed and turned, scrambling away in hopes of solace, but none came. The cruel fire burned harder and hotter, not removing itself from him in the slightest.

He searched around, frantically and mentally begging for someone to save him. Why would they? He deserved this. He deserved every bit of pain and sadness the world dealt him.

A pitiable creature born to one day become a monster that served a bigger one. That's who he was and would be. His past, present, and future were definite and unbreakable. It was his destiny to question nothing and obey.

He would kill. The question was who it would be and when fate would decide that target would inevitably point back to him. As it should.

He sneezed, the tickling at his nose disappearing the second before. With a groan, Harry opened his eyes and looked over at Crookshanks, who swung his fluffy tail back to his side and went right back to sleep with a mighty, content purr.

Maybe it had been a bad idea to buy Hermione this bloody cat.

The room was still dark, meaning it hadn't been long since the first time he was awoken in the middle of the night and the cat likely knew that. Crookshanks didn't care in the slightest. What Crookshanks wanted was for Harry to have the worst night sleep on the day before he was set to head off to Hogwarts.

But Harry refused to let the cat win. He collapsed back onto his pillow and closed his eyes.

Gwenivere greeted Harry with the most polite smile she could that morning, muffling her amusement with a sip of morning tea.

"Had a rough night, dear?" she asked as he slumped into a dining chair and rested his head in his arms, closing his eyes a second later.

Crookshanks hopped onto the table, happy as can be, and sat next to Harry, giving Hermione's mother a nice, loud meow that wrenched Harry's eyes open.

"Ugh. He's been like this all night. I even tried locking him out and he still found a way in." Harry pulled his head up and glared at the cat. "Ron was right. Orion should've been the only animal to come out of that shop with us."

In retaliation, Crookshanks batted at his nose, lightly scratching it with an extended claw.

"Ow!"

"Crookshanks! No hurting Harry," declared Hermione as she walked into the dining room.

"I think Harry offended him first, dear," Gwenivere stated cautiously, chuckling at Harry's unintelligible grumbles.

Hermione pulled Crookshanks off the table and pat him on the head, earning happy mewls and a continuous, delighted purr as she did.

"I don't care what Draco wants to tell me anymore," Harry said as he massaged his temples and fixed his glasses. "I'm taking a nap on that train ride and that cat is staying far away from me."

"Oh, I'm sure he's just being playful, Harry. Crookshanks can't be that purposefully malicious," Gwenivere argued.

"Say that to the cut on my nose and the clumps of fur lining the bed."

"What makes you so special?" The strange, striped red and orange feline twisted its head upside down as it questioned aloud.

"I don’t know. Ask someone else," Harry replied irritably, yanking on the restraints that held him to the chair. The leather belt straps around his wrists and elbows bit against his skin as he struggled in vain.

"Oh, but you must know something. Why else would you be accused of so many things and chosen by many people to be so unforgivable? You are no Boy-Who-Loved or son of a rich, powerful, or famous wizard. Why you? You're nothing but a husk," the cat continued to ask, pacing in the air around Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes and focused on fighting against the straps.

"You haven't killed anyone of importance. You were abandoned to Muggles as a baby. You're a snake." The cat's bright gold eyes scanned him up and down, then narrowed into slits. "You've gained and lost the trust of your closest companions multiple times. A darkness permeates your soul and spreads its tendrils across your heart and scars. You infinitesimally lose yourself to your mind and your convictions."

As the cat purred out a list of the worst parts of him, Harry searched around the room for anything or anyone else that could help him. The world around seemed to swirl in mists of grey, black, blue, and yellow.

"Tell me, little Potter… would you give in to the evils again if they called to you?" asked the enigmatic cat, flipping its head right side up.

"Not really. Unless I didn't have a choice otherwise. Hell, even death is preferable."

"Would you sacrifice your life for someone you cared deeply for, even if it meant the evil would inevitably succeed?"

Harry stopped and stared at the cat, who had its head twisted to the left side now. "That implies that the evil would lose if I stayed alive but she died."

The cat meowed and nodded.

"Then I'd make sure something like that wouldn't happen. I won't let anyone die for me. We'd fight together," Harry declared resolutely.

"Would you let the Boy-Who-Lived die?" The cat floated close, its beady yellow eyes beaming into Harry's skull.

Harry hesitated then. Would he?

The cat rotated its head wildly, cackling all the while.

Sinking into the chair in resignation, Harry's eyes shifted to the void of the floor around him. If he was so unimportant, why would he hesitate to let the Boy-Who-Lived die for him? Was his loathing of the lion so much that he'd let himself live instead? Merlin, that made him feel twisted.

"Rotty Potty doesn't like tough questions like that, does he?" asked the cat, which slowly grew an all too familiar trickster's hat atop its spinning head.

"W-Would I have to kill myself for him?" Harry questioned back.

"You ask such a question… Tut, tut, Potter. So heartless of you not to martyr yourself for the cause." The cat shook its loose head in disappointment.

"If I'm no hero, then what's the point? Let evil win while I die for some idiot who'd rather whimper than fight or let him kill himself?"

"If you cannot lay down your life for him, since you hold such self-importance, then what will you offer in equivalent exchange?" The cat's body twisted instead of its head, still entirely askew.

"I don't think I'm important," Harry hissed, struggling against the bindings, which seemed to tighten like snakes around his joints. Some even bound around his ankles. One gripped his head, beating against his temple like a drum.

"Your answers speak otherwise," the cat stated plainly, doing a cartwheel then rolling on its stomach back to Harry.

"Evil wins no matter what. That's what you're saying. Because I'm some useless snake who won't die for a lion with far too much importance to our world… What am I supposed to give instead? What can I give?" Harry whined. He slumped into the seat again, taking the brutal vices around his wrists, elbows, and ankles because it was what he deserved. His answers spoke of selfishness no matter which way one looked. He was a heartless monster.

"Do not fear self-sacrifice, Harry Potter. There are other ways to do so besides death," the enigmatic cat's stripes spiraled and danced like ribbons along its fur. Its cackling thrummed against Harry’s skull.

"Harry," Hermione's voice called to wake him, her hand wrapping around his. "We're here."

He rubbed the side of his head that had been resting against the car window, staring out it and seeing the familiar façade of King's Cross looming over them in all its majesty. Fixing his hair as best he could to hide what must have been a pink spot on his head where it met the window, he looked over at Hermione and smiled.

"Thanks. For everything really. I can't thank you e--"

"You don't have to, Harry. I know you would do the same for me if you could," she said, squeezing his hand.

Crookshanks meowed from her lap, his tail swatting at Harry's leg.

What can I give to someone who cares so much for me, if not the world? He shook his head and chuckled at the cat.

"Behave, Crookshanks. And no pouncing on Ron when we find him," she demanded of the fluffy feline, letting go of Harry to pick it up to look at her face-to-face.

"Or anyone else, please," Harry added with a pleading grimace.

"Alright, you two. And Crookshanks," Gwenivere said as she parked the car. "Let's get you on that train."

Hermione sprang out of the car in excitement, pulling her cat and the wicker basket he was supposed to be resting in along with her.

Harry, meanwhile, yawned and rubbed his eyes of any remaining sleep left in them. Fixing his glasses, he momentarily watched dozens of Muggles rush in of, out of, and around the entrance to the station. Seeing the time on a large clock posted nearby, he hurried to help Hermione and her mother with her luggage before working to get his, which felt much heavier than last year thanks to all the books he had to buy for this year.

Oh, Merlin, he still had to remind himself of what he unintentionally allowed to happen after Tom took complete control. Twelve classes… He was dreading them all already.

Rushing to get everything and the cat sat on the trolleys, Harry and Hermione sped off towards the barrier to Platform 9 & 3/4 with about ten minutes to spare.

Gwenivere kissed her daughter goodbye. "Good luck on all your exams this year, dear. I know you'll do fantastic no matter what. And please… Stay safe, won't you?"

"I will, mum. I promise. We'll both be safe," Hermione said hopefully, eyeing Harry with just as much.

"Ah, and the troublemaker himself." Gwenivere smiled and pulled Harry in for a hug. "Be careful, Harry. Remember, no matter what anyone else thinks, you've done nothing wrong. Don't let their words affect you, alright? Hermione and your friends will be there to help, as well as all the teachers. Don't be afraid to speak up."

Harry gulped and nodded, an odd form of shellshock hitting him then. How could he explain in less than ten minutes that it was not everyone else he was afraid of, but himself?

With that, he and Hermione were beyond the barrier and headed off to find a carriage with an unoccupied compartment.

While not like Diagon Alley, it was… uncomfortably easy for Harry to maneuver across the platform once students and their families caught on to who he was. The first group that didn't move out of the way were a familiar pair of Slytherins.

"'Ey! It's Harry and his mud-- Ow!" Vincent grunted and rubbed his side, then punched Greg back. The two were quickly fighting each other as Harry and Hermione passed their trolleys off to an awaiting worker wizard happy to help store their luggage.

"Trolley witch not ready to spare half her sweets yet?" Harry joked once the two just as quickly reconciled.

"We've already got our compartment full of candy," Goyle declared proudly.

"We're just out here waiting for Draco. He said he wanted to get rid of his dad before meeting here," Crabbe added.

"No, he said he was looking for someone first."

"Did he? Probably missed it." Vince shrugged. "Whatever it was, can you tell Draco we were tired of waiting? I'm starving." Greg nodded in agreement, licking his lips. Both boys hopped onto the train to head to their sugary compartment.

"At least we know they still like you," said Hermione, smiling and gripping her meowing wicker basket close to her chest.

"Not as much as food, but I suppose it's the thought that counts," Harry concluded with a snicker.

People watching was weird when those same people chose to glare back when they noticed him. He tried to look away when they saw him, but it seemed to only stoke the flames of hate from more and more of them.

But, as if hearing his thoughts, a crowd of flaming red hair appeared two by two from the barrier. Only one of them refused to smile back at him, but Harry was beginning to understand that maybe Percy Weasley might not like him like the rest of his family did.

The tiniest voice in Harry's mind laughed and murmured a succinct 'good' before going silent.

"Harry! Hermione!" called Ron out as he ran over with his sister chasing behind him. He noticed immediately that the basket in Hermione's arms was twitching and yowling, knowing from the sound alone what was inside. "Blimey, Hermione, you're not actually bringing that thing to school too, are you?"

"I am. I was able to request Crookshanks come on certain conditions, while Orion is allowed as all owls are," she stated rather pompously, cracking the top of the basket open just enough to see Crookshanks' large black pupils stare down Ron.

"Great," he grumbled, placing a hand over his shirt pocket, which squirmed with what Harry could only assume was Scabbers. "Another beast threatening to kill my rat. What sort of special conditions?"

"That's none of your business." She huffed and shut the basket, turning her nose up in a way that reminded Harry of the Slytherin girls whenever they argued with each other.

"Yes, it is! That monster tried to kill me and Scabbers from day one! If it's going to be wandering around the common room doing whatever it likes, I want to know why!"

"Didn't Harry also try to kill you and Scabbers?" mumbled Ginny offhand, though sharing an apologetic look with Harry once she realized he heard that.

"Crookshanks is a highly intelligent half-Kneazle, but he's also half-cat. He heard your insult then saw your rat. It was a matter of opportunity," Hermione described, dismissive of Ron's anger.

Before Ron could retaliate, the train sounded its whistle, urging any stragglers to hurry before it left without them.

"Come, come!" cried Mrs. Weasley to the group of four and the twins nearby. "Kisses for everyone. Don't roll your eyes at me, you two."

Fred and George stuck their tongues out instead, but accepted their mother's affection as warmly as always. Ginny embraced her mother a few seconds longer, promising not to fall for any tricks this year, which Molly was proud to hear. Ron reluctantly stepped forward, only slightly enjoying the smothering. Hermione giggled as she received a big hug and a compliment on her curls.

Finally, Harry was pulled in, tensing like he always did when Dudley grabbed him that way. But unlike Dudley, Molly Weasley was gentle and full of care for him.

"Be safe, dearie," she spoke against his forehead.

"And promise us you won't go running into trouble this year," Arthur Weasley added as he walked over, ruffling each of his children's heads as he passed before patting Harry on the shoulder. "You especially."

This sort of special treatment didn't sit well with Harry. It made him feel ostracized and othered for something he had no control over.

Then again, he literally hadn't been in control of himself for more than half of his second year at Hogwarts. This was merciful, all things considered.

The kids all rushed in as the Hogwarts Express began to squeal, its wheels starting to turn.

George found Lee Jordan in a different compartment, so he and Fred disappeared in the opposite direction of the rest of them. Percy remained unseen to Harry, though Harry heard muttering from Mr. Weasley to his wife that apparently his suspicions of their third-eldest son had been true; Percy was rudely avoiding Harry because of what happened last year with Penelope Clearwater. It made sense. Harry had petrified Percy's girlfriend.

Ron decided, since Hermione was keeping Crookshanks loose in whatever compartment she was in, that he would be with Crabbe and Goyle in the opposite one, hopefully winning enough rounds of Bean Tasting to get himself some free goodies. It worked out for Hermione, since she wanted nothing to do with him and his rat either.

They entered a compartment with someone already in there, fast asleep against the train window. Harry sat next to him, but couldn't quite get a good look at him behind the coat draped from the bottom half of the man's face. The man's clothes were greatly worn in the joints and ends, patched up haphazardly with clearly just as heavily damaged fabrics. In contrast, the man's hair was a light brown, with a few greys poking through like the loose threads on his coat. Gilderoy Lockhart, this was not.

"Professor R. J. Lupin," whispered Hermione as she read the label on a battered, old briefcase held together with string. "Must be the new Defense teacher. Hopefully Crookshanks won't wake him."

"Crookshanks? Who's that?" Ginny asked as she sat next to Hermione, eyeing the wicker basket as the older witch opened it.

The cat sprang out of his confined space, kicking up a cloud of loose orange fur. He landed on Ginny's lap, circling around to look from her to Hermione and back before continuing to spin a couple more times and comfortably rest on Ginny's lap. His purrs seemed to resonate with the vibrations of the train wheels against the track beneath them.

"Oh, he's adorable!" Ginny exclaimed softly, petting him slowly as he curled up closer to her.

"Definitely… until he decides he's going to ruin your sleep no matter how many times you tell him no," Harry hissed, slumping away from the cat and professor as to not disturb either of them.

"Harry bought him for me, but I think he's regretting the purchase now," Hermione teased and giggled.

"I didn't think he'd make himself a thorn at my side when he landed on my head, okay? He gave a good first impression and I fell for it, the tricky fiend," Harry countered, peering out the compartment door's window when he saw movement.

"That's so sweet, Harry. I'm sure Crookshanks is repaying you back with all this fur," teased Ginny, earning a not-so-serious glare and pout.

Another movement. A streak of blond hair passed the narrow hallway. Again. And again.

Finally, grey eyes greeted Harry from behind the glass. Draco shoved the door open.

"Of all the times you're not on earl--" He cut himself off with an angered groan, slamming the door shut behind him and sitting in between Harry and the still-sleeping professor. "I found Longbottom twice and thought I was going insane."

"Err… hello to you too?" Harry tried sounding civil in an attempt to mask his confusion.

"Yes, whatever. Anyway! I wanted to tell you what Ginny and I heard," Draco declared, dismissing the greeting.

Ginny, suddenly recalling what Draco was talking about, blanched. "Do you think it's alright to… You know…" She motioned to the teacher sat behind him.

"Oh, who cares? He can sell the gossip to the Prophet for some better robes," Draco snapped after a brief glance at Lupin, rolling his eyes.

"Draco, he's our Defense teacher," Hermione warned, her brows furrowed.

"Fascinating, right. Again, who cares? Now if I'm allowed to explain…" When he received no more interruption, he sighed. "Alright. Well, I'm sure you've heard about Sirius Black, right, Harry?" he asked.

With a clear view of the adult behind Malfoy, it was hard for Harry to miss the slight twitch in the otherwise slumbering man's brow.

"He came up on the Muggle telly a few times… Hermione and I already know he's a wizard. Why? Did they catch him?" Harry said, unable to hide his typical confusion and curiosity.

Draco scoffed, "I wish. Father was complaining for days when word came out. Mother had to calm him down for once. I'm sure it was all an act to get back on her good graces, but I digress. No. He's still out there and it seems like his target's likely at Hogwarts."

"What? Why?" But a thought crossed Hermione's mind a second later to answer her questions. She glanced at Harry, eyes wide. "You don't… You don't think…?"

"The main theory is that he's probably going after Longbottom to attract Voldemort's attention." Draco noticed Ginny's wince at the casual use of the Dark Lord's chosen name. "Oh, I'm sorry. Tom Riddle's attention. There. Is that better?"

"Somewhat," Ginny said gratefully, though obviously annoyed with Draco's tone.

"As I was saying… Supposedly Longbottom has Black's attention and that should have been all but…"

"But?" Harry repeated, urging Draco to continue. Some of the dots were already starting to connect for Harry, however. This didn't sound good.

"Mum and dad think you're Black's other target," Ginny declared plainly, "and that's why they were asking you not to go looking for trouble. They were talking with Hermione's parents about his escape."

"I don't go looking for trouble. Trouble comes to me," Harry said, bristling with irritation. "I didn't ask for the diary or the stone or to be friends with Longbottom. I just wanted to be a wizard and live that life. Get away from the Dursleys. Not worry about dying every bloody year."

"That explains Longbottom's attitude when I asked him about you," muttered Draco as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"But Harry… Your parents. The picture," Hermione reminded him, the memory crossing her mind clear as day.

"I know, Hermione, but that doesn't explain why Sirius Black would want to come after me. We already agreed I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived and Black couldn’t have been one of the Death Eaters that killed my parents. So why would he want to kill me? I'm not important, especially to some deranged ex-friend of my father," Harry argued back, pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose to halt the boiling rage. He would not be upset with his best friend, who he cared deeply for and promised himself he would never hurt again.

"S-So you know?" questioned Ginny nervously.

"Nothing beyond that, no. Was there something I've forgotten to mention? Or do your parents know something we don't?"

Draco tapped his chin in thought, an understanding seeming to click in his mind.

Before he could speak the thought aloud, the lamp lights that normally only turned on when sunset approached flickered on, then immediately back off.

Hermione peered at the window to the sight of a dreary, blustery outside world with the afternoon sunlight only slightly peeking through the cracks in the clouds. She looked at the watch on her wrist. "It's hardly past five. What was that about?"

As if in response to her query, rain began to pour heavily outside. The lights flickered again, but this time remained on.

"Weird. Think maybe that was an accident?" Ginny asked, pulling Crookshanks into her arms as the cat meowed for her to do so. It seemed to soothe her, which Harry supposed was fair, if a bit annoying. That cat was holding some sort of grudge against him, for some unexplainable reason.

"Hopefully. Like I said, I really don't want trouble this year. Just a normal school year for once. No Riddle. No Dark Lord. No evils," Harry declared, curling into himself and hugging his knees.

"With a murderous wizard on the loose? Good luck with that," scoffed Draco.

"Did your parents mention how Black might have escaped? I've read that Azkaban's not an easy place to get out of. Not even the greatest wizards could attempt it without getting caught again," Hermione asked Ginny, concern etched into her expression.

Ginny shook her head. "The Minister went there and spoke with the guards, but that's all dad said about Azkaban. Unless the Aurors figured out something since then…"

Thunder sounded outside and the wind rattled against the window. The rain's incessant tapping somehow wasn't waking up the professor. Today seemed like a turbulent day to be heading to school, weather-wise.

"As long as we're able to go to Hogsmeade this year. Last year the trips to the village were cancelled for… obvious reasons." Draco grimaced at the memories of the chaos. "But now there’s going to be Azkaban guards all around the castle watching for Sirius Black, according to my father, so we should all be safe. Were you able to get permission from those Muggles before you escaped?" he questioned Harry.

With a smug grin, Harry chuckled darkly. "It's the first real present they've given me my entire life. You think I'm not going to take it? After dealing with that insufferable, overblown ape woman and her shark-toothed, flea-ridden toad?" He rubbed his arms and recalled using the letter with the signed permission as a bookmark for his Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare, but Merlin help him if he was going to go digging through his luggage for it at this moment. Was it always this cold?

"Wait, so you really blew up your aunt? I thought Granger was kidding." Draco snickered.

"She was already fat and full of hot air. All she needed was someone to untie her." Harry noticed the growing concern from Hermione and sighed. "Relax. You saw the warning from the Ministry. It's not like I didn't get in trouble for what happened."

"Just a warning? They're not pretending to let you come to school just to expel you and force you to turn back around with your wand snapped?" said Draco with a hint of surprise.

Harry hummed, agitated by the idea. Considering how cruel fate was to him, he wouldn't be shocked.

The lamp lights flickered again. And again.

Then they gave up and went out entirely.

The darkness of the evening, combined with the weather, completely ruled the outside world already, so inside it took over easily once the light was gone. The rain pelted the roof of the train. Without much warning, the Hogwarts Express began to let out a shrill squeak, slowing down considerably in the process.

Hearing Draco mutter something, Harry looked back in the general direction of his friend and flinched as a sudden beam of light hit the ceiling. In Malfoy's hand was a familiar object Harry thought he'd forgotten at the Dursley's.

"Is that my flashlight?" he asked, glaring at the other boy.

"It is. It… um… I forgot to put it back in your luggage last year after Goyle took it. I almost… forgot again," Draco explained, nervous laughter escaping him as he handed the miniature light to Harry.

"Why are we stopping? We can't be close to Hogwarts already," Hermione murmured, looking back out the window only to gasp.

Harry noticed his breath was visible too and fogging up his glasses.

The sound of a scream jolted nearly everyone to look out the compartment.

"Where are you going?" Ginny asked as Harry stood and cracked open the door. Crookshanks hissed at him in warning.

"Well, no one else is doing anything. I just want to check." Not bothering to wait for a reply, Harry leaned his head out, pointing the beam of the flashlight towards the floor of the narrow hallway.

The door opposite opened as well, three heads poking out.

"Harry? What's going on?" asked Vincent, his cheeks covered in chocolate.

"Yeah, we were just about to finish our last round of tasting. Goyle and I are tied," Ron added proudly.

"Not for long, Weasley. That last Cauldron Cake will be mine," declared Gregory defiantly.

"Will you three stop thinking with your stomachs for one second and hush?" Draco demanded, peering out from over Harry’s shoulder.

"I don't think any of you should--"

Harry raised a hand to silence everyone, noticing a shift in the darkness down the corridor. He pointed the light higher.

Floating out from a different compartment was a heavily cloaked figure, which turned to face Harry the moment it saw his movement.

"H-Help! He's not waking up! Neville's out cold!"

"Dean? Where are--?"

"G-Go back inside!" ordered Draco to Ron, Goyle, and Crabbe, panicking in sudden recognition. Did he recognize the cloaked person down the hall? "Harry, get in here, please! Don't look it directly!" He tried pulling Harry back by the arm, then the shoulder, but to no avail.

"Why?" Harry crooked a brow and pointed the flashlight right at what should have been its face. But there was none.

It did moan and shield itself away from the light with a thin, manacled arm however. Well, if it was afraid of the light, but everyone else was afraid of it, then who was Harry to not take advantage of that?

Stepping closer, Harry grinned confidently, pointing the light to the ceiling above the figure and waiting for it to put its arm down.

As if sensing his trick, the ghostly creature wheezed and moved closer as well, not bringing its arm down until it was right in front of Harry.

"H-Harry, no! Don't look at it! It’s one of the guards! It's a Dementor!" Draco warned again, shying back into the compartment in fear.

"A Dementor? That's what Azkaban has for guards?" whispered Hermione in shock.

"What are you lot so afraid of? It’s not scary at all. It’s frightened by a stupid flashlight; look!" Harry pointed the beam directly at the Dementor's face, laughing as it moaned and turned away, using its tattered cloak as protection.

"Idiot! Now you're just asking for it to be mad at--"

"Move. Potter, get down!"

The authoritative voice made Harry peer over his shoulder, but seeing the wand aimed in his direction made him flinch and duck.

"Expecto Patronum!" exclaimed Professor Lupin.

An orb of light much brighter than Harry's meager flashlight appeared from the end of the teacher's wand, shaping itself into the visage of a giant wolf, which howled and charged towards the Dementor. Further outclassing the flashlight, the shining white wolf chased the creature out of the train before it could even consider hurting anyone else.

"Wicked," muttered Ron, his two compartment companions nodding in agreement.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Lupin asked once the Dementor and wolf where long out of sight. The man placed a careful hand on Harry's shoulder, eyeing him warily.

"Fine, really. What was that Dementor doing on the train?" Uncomfortable under the professor's likely scrutinous gaze, he turned his head back to where the curious creature had been.

"Conducting a search for Sirius Black, I presume," the man stated simply, then squeezed past Harry. "Stay here with your companions for now. I'm going to check on the rest of the students. And if any of you feel queasy…" He held out a small chunk of a chocolate bar, about four pieces, wrapped in a napkin. "Eat some of this. It'll soothe the nerves."

While Harry stared at the chocolate now in his hand, Lupin disappeared into a different compartment.

"How did you not feel anything?" Ginny questioned Harry as he passed her a piece of the chocolate and sat down in his corner again. "When that thing came closer, it felt dreadful. Like it was sucking all the happiness away."

The lamp lights turned back on, the train beginning to move steadily again.

Harry shrugged, handing a piece to Hermione.

"Because Harry's an idiot," Draco snapped. At Harry's eye roll, he continued, "That thing could have drained your soul out if it got any closer. Challenging it was probably the last thing you should have done."

"The fact it didn't is what I find most bizarre. You really weren't scared of it, Harry?" asked Hermione, her eyes wide with worry.

"No? It was frightened of the flashlight far more than I was of it. It was funny. What was I supposed to do? Not laugh?" Harry snickered as he pretended not to hand Draco a piece, only doing so once the other boy growled out a 'please'.

"Dementors feed on positive emotions, Harry. And positive memories," Hermione said exasperatedly.

With a guffaw, Harry bit into his piece. "Well, those guards are going to have to fight harder to get those out of me. That’s for bloody certain."

Crookshanks hopped onto the space between him and Draco, making itself comfortable for the remainder of the ride.

His companions stared at him with varying levels of concern. Finding it hard to care, Harry finished his chocolate, then decided to get some rest for the remainder of the ride and closed his eyes.

Finding fingers curled around his, he peered up. Hollow blue eyes met his vibrant red.

"What is it, Tracey? Can't you see I'm busy?" he scolded her, annoyance oozing from each word venomously.

She drew her cold, pale fingers away and whimpered. "Sorry, sir. I-I thought--"

"Well, that was your first mistake then, wasn't it?"

Flinching back, she nodded frantically and remained silent. Much to his displeasure.

"What do you want, Davis?" he hissed. A brow twitched and he drummed his now free fingers against the wooden desk between them. "And make it quick. Those things are coming to take that dreadful idiot back to prison and I want none of you around to make a bad impression." His tone was succinct in the same way he hoped hers would be once she finally explained herself.

"Sh-She's back, my Lord. She escaped. She sent an owl demanding your audience once she arrived," Tracey stammered out.

"What?"

"He will be accompanying her too. Said it was a matter of upmost importance," she continued hurriedly.

Harry growled and rubbed at a pulsating vein on his forehead in an attempt to calm himself down. Why? Why him? Why here? Why so soon?

Standing and walking around his desk, he commanded Tracey to leave and start the preparations for their inevitable arrival. As much as he loathed to see them again after what happened last time, he had no choice.

Always the demanding ones, those two. Never left him any freedom or time to say no.

Oh well. Nothing a walk through the castle couldn't fix. If he ever needed to calm his nerves, then that was the best way.

Stepping outside his office, he felt propelled back to his younger years, where he was small, innocent, and naïve. When he had his own body, marred fresh with Muggle blood compared to his new one, and when there were no true evils like himself to contend with. It was a time of supposed peace, but in reality, the battle scars were merely being licked clean for a new incoming struggle. He showed the world just how wrong they were, twice, and now he was safe to reveal the bitter truth of the new reality. A reality all for him to control. A reality of his design, as he once dreamed.

And in this reality, that thing-- the memory of 'Tom Riddle' -- was gone for good. No more would Harry suffer any guilt, shame, or hatred for being his true self. Instead, those who would have judged him feared him. They served him. They were broken to his will and his alone. Or dead. Very, very dead.

That thought always made him very, very delighted.

So when he walked into the castle courtyard and saw the limping wolf, a shred of mercy was cast upon it. It was skin, bone, and matted fur; the poor mongrel. Whining as he stalked over to it, the beast lowered its head near to the ground as if bowing like a human at his feet.

Harry held a hand out, moving to pet the creature.

The moment his hand met fur, its jagged teeth latched onto his arm, tugging at his wrist in an attempt to pull it out of the socket.

He didn't scream in pain, instead yelling at the wolf to release him. But it refused. His commands fell on flea-ridden, deaf ears until its pure black eyes, which entirely matched its fur, shifted and saw someone behind Harry. Then, in fright, it ran off with its tail between its legs.

"C-Coward," hissed Harry as he held his bleeding arm, trembling from the stinging pain.

"My Lord, you're hurt!" exclaimed Tracey as she ran over and checked his wound.

"Fascinating observation, Davis. I--" He cringed as her fingers pressed against the bite marks in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "D-Don't! Ah, T-Tracey!" he hissed, the tremors in his body becoming a full quaking as tears formed in his eyes. "P-Please, stop!"

"But, sir, you're wounded. If I don't so something--!"

"Let go!" Harry shouted, slapping her away and shielding away his wound.

"Ow! S-Sir… you hit me," she whined, rubbing her cheek, where scarlet welts bloomed fresh droplets of blood.

"I…" He froze on the spot, watching her fingers leave her face smeared with red. "I'm sorry," he apologized, shifting his watering gaze down to his wounded, shaking arm. The bite disappeared into his skin, magically healed, and in its place…

Fur.

The fingers on his once-bitten arm grew sharpened, deadly claws. His gums began to ache as new, sharper canines replaced his blunt human teeth. When he was finally able to move his legs, he stumbled on awkward paws instead of feet. He howled with pain as the contagion of shadowy black fur overtook him.

Riding on panic and instinct alone, he lunged.

The train lurched into Hogwarts somehow still on time.

Harry’s mouth salivated at the thought of the feast and his stomach agreed with his eager sentiments.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, if he really thought about it), everyone else seemed to want to leer at him, shove him, or scatter at the sight of him. Apparently, word travelled briskly that he had faced a Dementor directly and hadn't even flinched at the sight. Either that or his former-Heir status really did precede him.

"Must mean he sent the Dementor after Neville," spoke a scruffy Gryffindor to his friend, not bothering to lower his voice as Harry walked a few steps ahead in the crowd of non-first years.

"The hell are you on about, Finnigan? Harry didn't control it. It was trying to kill him," Ron retaliated, stopping and turning to confront his fellow lion.

"Oh, yeah? And why isn't he dead? Could save us all the trouble. No need for Azkaban or anything. Won't go around killing any of us for You-Know-Who again, aye?" questioned Finnigan, glaring at Harry rather than Ron.

"I definitely wouldn't be hanging around Potter if I were you anyway, Ron. If he's able to get away with everything from last year and blowing up a Muggle over the summer, then he's got some dark ties somewhere up in the Ministry. All those snakes have to save each other to help the big one," added Finnigan's companion, another lion with just as much of an annoying attitude for his--

Harry grimaced and turned to keep walking. No use arguing when food was on the line. The train ride discussions had dampened his mood, but he was determined not to let anything else continue that trend.

"Where is Neville?" he heard Hermione whisper as they exited the stagecoach ride to the main entrance of the castle.

"I heard Hagrid call his name after gathering all the first years, I think," came Ginny's reply.

"Considering he fainted, I'm not surprised. The professor on the train probably sent word for him to be checked by Madam Pomfrey. Poor idiot's probably hit his head on something as well. Poor little cub," muttered Draco mockingly. "Ow! What was that--?"

"You could stand to get your head on straight, you know that?" Ginny hissed.

"And you could stand to keep your hands to yourself. Who do you--"

"Potter! Granger!"

Jolting to attention, Harry looked towards the sound of the call, seeing the one adult he wished hadn't seen him in the first place.

Standing by a wall in order to avoid the other students entering the Great Hall, nearly shrouded in shadow, and scowling at him as the man always did, was Harry's Head of House, the Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape.

Harry, still trained to obey after more than two months of likely-irreversible torment, needed no other command, abandoning his arguing companions and breaking the crowd with his mere presence in order to get to Snape. Hermione hurried to follow behind him, leaving the wicker basket with Crookshanks inside with Ginny, clearly not used to everyone but her and her closest friends shunning Harry like she was supposed to.

"Are we… in trouble, sir?" Hermione asked as the teacher lead them towards the dungeons.

"I'll ask you to leave further discussion until we're in my office, Ms. Granger," the Potions professor responded curtly.

That obviously didn't sit well with her, but she said nothing else to further the worry clearly present within her. She hugged herself, keeping close to Harry's side, as if the dungeons were locked in an eternal winter. Seeking solace in him, she grabbed his hand and squeezed lightly as always.

He pressed his thumb gently against the back of her hand, her nervousness radiating against his skin and making him tremble once or twice too.

Professor Snape opened the door to the Potions classroom, scowling as he motioned for them to enter.

There were already people inside when they did. Two familiar faces to both of them, plus three more for Harry.

A clattering of a couple small empty cauldrons by Snape's desk were the first sound of greeting, with Nymphadora Tonks apologizing and setting them right before hurriedly sitting at a student desk at the front by her mentor.

Alastor Moody chuckled darkly at the sight of Harry. "Well, well, well. Harry James Potter. Looks like you've been through a pleasant summer. And what's this I heard about a blown up aunt? Making a right pain of yourself even more?"

"Mad-Eye, one thing at a time," spoke Kingsley Shacklebolt sternly. "Let the Headmaster speak with the girl first, then we can discuss Potter's… current situation." The man looked to Hermione with a kind smile and a small nod to Dumbledore and McGonagall next to him.

The old wizard's gaze was both weary and wary. He wrung his boney fingers together and pursed his lips as if unsure how to begin. And feeling guilty for something. Why, Harry hadn't the foggiest clue. It wasn't like the Headmaster was committing heinous crimes behind closed doors. At least, as far as anyone knew. Or as far as Harry knew, specifically.

Snape, as if wanting to remind everyone of his continued presence behind Hermione and Harry, piped up first to break the budding awkward silence, "As idealistic as such a prospect sounds, I don't think Ms. Granger will leave once her part is through. She has an attachment to Potter… unfortunately."

"Perhaps it is only fair, then, that we start with the most important matter, right, Albus?" said McGonagall, just as-- if not, more than-- depressed as her superior.

Albus Dumbledore sighed, unable to dance around the issue any longer. "I… suppose…"

"Just get it over with. Is it expulsion or not?" snapped Harry, irritable and starving.

"Harry." Hermione's tone of concern did little to spark change in his attitude. In fact, it only worsened his mood, making him want to lash out at her, if the drumming in his skull was speaking clearly in his ears.

Moody howled with laughter. Apparently Harry's outburst amused him. Probably saw worse reactions in the Auror business.

"No, Harry. Not expulsion. Though I'm sure there are many out there that would protest for such, I'm sure you know," Dumbledore declared, his aged blue eyes gaining a twinkle of emotion. Which one was unclear.

"Why?" Harry asked before the grand sorcerer could continue on some other aimless ramble.

Sensing his annoyance, Dumbledore rested slightly against Snape's desk as he spoke, "I blame myself, Harry. I know you do as well, but over this summer, I realized I failed in my personal promise to keep a better eye on you. I let you slip from my periphery with nary a thought for why you would do so."

The confession seemed to have consumed the Headmaster for so long that an almost visible weight lifted from the wizened wizard's shoulders.

It stunned Harry into an uncomfortable silence.

"I noticed the box that diary arrived in during the holidays of your first year and paid little heed to it. Upon reflection, I wondered if the strange pull I felt to open it had perhaps been something more, but disregarded it since, besides the family you lived with and your new friends here, I knew nothing about your personal life. I assumed the gift came from someone like myself, who wanted to give you a trinket from your late parents." Noticing Harry's dawning realization, Albus smiled. "Yes. I gave you that cloak. Your father left it to me to bestow upon you, since he trusted none other than myself to be responsible for its safety.

"Nonetheless, it was my duty to inspect such suspicious objects for any peculiar tampering and, like a fool, I didn't. And you paid the price for it. Tom Riddle, in any form, is a monster through and through. He instilled part of his young soul into that diary, likely intending for it to land back here at Hogwarts for someone naïve to open it and allow him enough power to resurrect himself after death. And he nearly succeeded through you. He tricked you like he has many before you with promises unfathomably great, I'm certain." Dumbledore took a moment to sigh and stand up straight, walking closer to Harry, who shifted back a step.

"It's acceptable for you not to forgive me, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "as I would not, were I in your situation. I think the moment I should have known something was amiss was when Minerva brought you in after your attack on Finch-Fletchley. The confrontation transported me back fifty years in time, to when Voldemort was still himself, Tom Riddle, and chose to kill Ms. Warren without a shred of remorse. He had spoken to the previous Headmaster, Armando Dippet, and I had found the boy alone afterward, wondering what he was up to. Naively, I asked him what it was that haunted him and he spoke nothing of his troubles to me. He said those same words to me then that you did when I questioned you in my office.

"And then you called me 'Professor'." The Headmaster seemed to pale at the memory. Next to him, Professor McGonagall's mouth went agape after a soft gasp.

Seeing Harry's confused furrowed brows, Dumbledore clarified, "I haven't been a professor in years. Well before your time."

That immediately chilled Harry to the bone. He'd been so caught up in trying to break out of Tom's control that the thought hadn't crossed his mind that Tom might have slipped up somehow.

"It was what made me realize the truth, but, like he had done previously, Riddle had you point the blame at Hagrid and I had been too late to argue with the Minister over the matter. Somehow he had you bring the Board of Governors into the situation, therefore removing me from the situation as well. I'll admit, he was a cunning lad, much more so through you. Yet I think he still could not understand the one piece that helped you pull through in the end. Voldemort never did value true connections, friendship and love, and only saw them as tools to get his way, while you cared deeply enough for them to nearly sacrifice yourself for your friends in order to defeat him.

"Which is why I cannot thank you enough for that. It was why I tried as much as I could to convince Cornelius not to have you punished so harshly for my mistake, no matter what the populous beyond wanted to be done to you," Dumbledore concluded, placing a worn, aged hand on Harry's shoulder.

Such a touch did nothing to soothe Harry's anger as much as it probably should have. "B-But why them, sir? Why the Dursleys? Is it true you were the one that placed me with them after what happened to my parents?"

The discomfort now rested on Albus, who slipped his hand away, fixed his thin glasses into a better position, and sighed again.

"Yes. I was the one that chose your fate. I know it may seem like I had another choice, Harry, but you must understand my concerns. Besides your aunt and her husband… it was a Muggle orphanage. And, as much as it pains me to say this, I, like many others, did not want to see another Tom Riddle," the Headmaster answered, a glint of hope in his expression despite the implication.

The buried stories Tom relayed to Harry of the harassment he faced from other children coupled with his magic showing its presence at other times, forced themselves, unbidden, into Harry's mind. They screamed for him to feel that same distress young Riddle felt when children scorned him and he was put to blame after his power returned the favor, harming them without his consent. Such memories reminded Harry of Dudley's bullying, but Harry's own magic came out in differently destructive ways, less murderous than Riddle's.

"Well, neither choice really worked out, did it?" Harry hissed bitterly, pulling his hand out of Hermione's hold and rolling his sleeve enough to show the faded bruises, cuts, and bite marks left behind from the summer. "And look where I am. Nearly expelled… three times now? Almost? And I'm sure once you drag me back to them, I'll make it five. After they starve me and try to beat the magic out of me again." He growled and tugged his robe sleeve back down, crossing his arms over his chest. "If it wasn't for Hermione and Draco, I'd be dead under their roof. And I'm sure everyone here would rejoice, since that means the next 'Dark Lord' would be out of the picture before he 'rose to power' like his 'master' before him."

"Harry, stop," whispered Hermione, startled by her friend's words.

"No! I won't," Harry snarled, though not turning to face her. "I wasted my whole bloody life away under the Dursleys and I'm not taking anymore of it. Do whatever you want, but I'm not going back there! I'm not dealing with their hate for me ever again!" It took him a moment to realize he'd shut his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks as his voice cracked. He put his shaking hands on his head and whimpered, the crushing weight of Vernon's heartless beatings and the pangs of hunger echoing each strike of Petunia's heaviest silver pan against his head, punctuated by Dudley's callous cackles and harsh jabs at his protruding ribs that hurt more and more and more and--

That wasn't even counting the inevitable reactions after what happened with Aunt Marge.

He fell to his knees, hugging his stomach and wishing he could just die to be through with it all. The Dursleys never would grant him that mercy, even on their 'nicest' days. It was too special an offer for a boy so vile and worthless in their eyes. Not even death befit a thing so undesirable. Death wouldn't want him anyway, one would think.

"As I said, Ms. Granger, he has no need to forgive me. It vexes me that I have not enough power to protect everyone, not matter the circumstance. Had I the foresight, I would have searched for new alternatives, but unfortunately I am not as gifted in the intricacies of Divination as my peers." The old man shifted over to her, but Hermione chose instead to sit by Harry and hold his arm, hoping to console him that way somehow.

"I suppose that Harry is also correct about you, Ms. Granger," he spoke sincerely.

"Me?"

"Had it not been for you, he might have perished. You care quite deeply for him, I've come to notice. If I may be so inclined, might I ask why that is so?"

Harry coughed and whined, but looked to her all the same, hoping as well for an explanation.

"I… well… I don't like to see people suffer, Headmaster. When we met, Harry was already hurt and alone… I didn't really hesitate to think much beyond helping him because of it. I'm unsure what brought me to him otherwise, but we began to connect in the short time before he returned home and… then I received my letter when McGonagall arrived." She gave a tiny smile to her Head of House as she reflected on the memory of what must have been the best new day of her life. "I had no idea where his family took him, but they tried hiding him away from Hogwarts, Headmaster. Before our first year, they didn't want him going until…"

"Yes. Hagrid's methods, while not-- how shall I say-- proper, were enough convincing to bring Harry here," Dumbledore commented with a gentle smile. 

"But Harry saw me. He remembered me. We reconnected at the Sorting Ceremony. Even when we were sorted differently and he made friends in Slytherin, he still kept our friendship strong. He's kind and loyal and brave. He helped us stop Quirrell and You-Know-Who… Harry isn't perfect nor is he the best at staying out of trouble, but neither were we. He doesn't like Neville, but he still cares enough to try being nice to him. I don't…" She looked Harry in the eyes for a moment, as if trying to recollect herself before her emotions poured out like his had.

"He never mentioned the diary to me at all, but when Tracey showed us last year, I thought nothing much of it. Had it been a normal diary, I would've understood why Harry might have given it to Tracey. It didn't look like anything special. I saw what it did and assumed maybe it was like Neville's Remembrall or some other magical object. When Ginny had it, I assumed Tracey let her borrow it since it seemed to make anything written in it disappear and she offered it to all of us to use. I never touched it because…” Hermione paused and something in the back of Harry’s mind chirped like gentle, harmonious cricket sounds.

It was a comfort Harry still couldn’t quite accept in its entirety. He had been horribly manipulative and cruel, turning those around him into puppets and treating them as mindless drones to benefit an evil he shouldn't have sympathized with, yet he did.

"… because it was as though some part of me knew it wasn't as innocuous as it appeared. And when the rest of the school accused Harry of being the Heir of Slytherin, I didn't want to believe it because I trusted him and ignored the signs that perhaps something was wrong. I only accepted the truth when Riddle tried to kill me through Harry. But I don't blame Harry for what happened. He didn't deserve to be used like that and he definitely didn't deserve what his aunts and uncle did to him."

Those chirping noises turned dissonant and painful, scratching his skull like nails on chalkboard. Harry wanted to blurt out that Hermione was wrong. As much as he hated to admit it, he deserved this summer's treatment for his lies, treachery, and nearly catastrophic actions towards his classmates and friends. What he'd done was unforgivable, no matter who took the blame. He gave Tom more and more and questioned nothing when he should have.

Dumbledore turned his head to the other adults around him, sharing momentary glances with each of them. Then he looked back down at Harry, his blue eyes marked with that familiar sense of pity Harry remembered seeing before the end of summer.

To Harry, it felt cruel. A remarkably twisted tactic to pull his trust back onto the old wizard's side. It didn't work, but for the sake of moving beyond this mess…

Harry pulled himself up to his feet and smiled at Hermione in thanks as she stood with him, otherwise remaining resolute towards the Headmaster and the Aurors nearby.

"For now," Dumbledore began, "we shall let time be the judge. Perhaps your shared bond will aide Harry in recovering the good graces of your fellow classmates. Forgiveness is fickle, but can be restored."

"So we're biding our time then, Albus?" questioned Moody, his wooden eye boring into Harry while his regular one stared at Dumbledore.

"Exactly," Kingsley declared, casting an understanding glance at the Headmaster as well. "Perhaps if Mr. Potter can prove his innocence and remain out of trouble for the school year, then he might be able to convince the Minister and populous at large that his actions last time were not his own." He gave Harry a hopeful, confident smile, which, unlike Dumbledore, felt true and kind.

His fellow Auror could use some of that compassion. Alastor Moody hummed in what Harry could only assume to be a begrudging agreement. Tonks seemed to think so, her own warm grin sent to Harry.

The two Aurors and Dumbledore discussed for a few moments more, then the duo and Tonks left. After that, Dumbledore pulled Professor Snape aside while McGonagall stepped forward.

The Transfiguration teacher sighed with a renewed relief while her peer and superior left the Potions classroom to continue their conversation in the hallway. Once the door shut, she straightened up and steeled herself into a proper composure.

"… never understood…" she muttered aloud with a slight shake of the head before turning her attention back to Hermione and Harry. "Now then… For the matter of your classes."

Harry winced and grimaced as he tended to do at the thought of that stupid mis--

The professor pulled from the pocket of her robes a glittering gold necklace with what looked to be an hourglass dangling from it. A strange, dark inkling within Harry whispered in glee and recognition.

Unbidden again, he murmured, "a Time-Turner," aloud and immediately wanted to smack himself the moment McGonagall's eyes widened in shock. As fast as he could, he spoke near-incoherent apologies and stepped away from it, as though hiding behind Hermione in shame.

Minerva McGonagall, in what Harry could only describe as an act of mercy and forgiveness, simply relaxed again and nodded. "Yes, Mr. Potter. A Time-Turner. This is what the two of you will be using to take all your classes this year. However, such a privilege will not be without its rules."

"Of course," Hermione agreed as her Head of House passed the trinket over to her.

"The first should go without saying; no use of the Time-Turner for anything other than keeping a right schedule with all of your classes, unless given expressed permission from a teacher or the Headmaster." The woman held her head slightly higher as she explained further, "Another; you must not be allowed to interact with yourselves from any past or future time you might see each other. Time is set in stone, but drastic actions like that can lead to dangerous consequences. A third, no revealing the Time-Turner to any of your friends or peers. Finally, for… reasons I shouldn't have need to elaborate upon, you, Ms. Granger, will be the only one to hold and handle the main mechanism of the Turner. Unfortunately, that decision comes directly from the Ministry itself. My hope is you two will be amicable with that rule and not stir up any trouble that the Minister will have to return. Do I make myself clear?"

Ever the rule-follower, Hermione nodded quickly and put the necklace on.

And as obedient as a trained dog, Harry nodded as well, though not without a moment of hesitance. Part of him didn't trust himself to even be allowed this close to an object that with any misuse of would result in incurring Cornelius Fudge's wrath. Why anyone would think it was even worth the hassle to allow him such a privilege was beyond him, but clearly there was a lot riding on this year being… not a catastrophe compared to last year.

The pressure bubbled in his chest, yearning to burst through and kill him for merely acknowledging it.

"Good. As for its use, a full twist counter-clockwise should bring you back an hour, while the opposite will bring you forward in time. For both of you to experience the effects, you need only drape the necklace over Mr. Potter as well and you should be fine." McGonagall produced two folded papers from the same pocket the Time-Turner was in and handed one to each of them. "These are your weekly schedules. While they are the same, your core classes won't entirely be with only Gryffindor or only Slytherin. It's a fortunate combination of both and I've left some suggestions on a few routes in time to take in order to get to all your classes in an orderly manner as well as any extracurricular activities you might also wish to take."

Harry almost scoffed at the thought of adding any more to this already busy schedule of his. Thankfully Quidditch practice and the games were held on the weekends, so none of this would eat as his training with his new--

"Ah, and before you go, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said to interrupt his flying thoughts. "For the time being, we will be keeping your new broom until the Aurors approve of its use, so you may not have it available for your practices in the coming weeks. Our want is obviously to have it returned to you before your match against Gryffindor, but, if my understanding is correct, the accident with your aunt may have unfortunately set their inspections back a few days. I do hope you will forgive the inconvenience. It’s out of my hands."

And like that, he felt like his desire to fly was bashed with a Bludger moving at light speed. With a resigned sigh and slump of the shoulders, he nodded again.

She knitted her fingers and rested them near her stomach. "And, while not entirely relayed to the Head Boy and Girl or Prefects yet…" The old witch pursed her lips for a second of contemplation (and perhaps hesitation? What would she need to hesitate over?). "The Headmaster will be allowing you two the exclusive permission to exchange common room passwords if necessary, since you are both in separate houses. Keep in mind, however, that this is as much a privilege as the Time-Turner, though an exclusive one from Albus himself."

While still disgruntled by the fact that his precious new Firebolt was being held hostage for inspection, he did perk up at this news. They were allowing a snake in the lion’s den and a lion in the snake pit? Interesting…

His gaze met Hermione's, hers filled with a radiant joy he could only dream of mirroring. She held the hourglass of the Time-Turner carefully in one hand and with the other, she found his cool fingers and squeezed.

A spark of emotion, something foreign and indescribable, appeared in the corner of his chest. Nothing more than a single, lone feeling he had no words to comprehend with.

But with it, for once, Harry finally felt something akin to happiness too.

To test out the functionality of the Time-Turner while also not missing the Sorting, with their escort McGonagall's permission, they (including the Transfiguration professor) went back to just after the doors to the Great Hall shut, all the other students and teachers inside.

"Remember, you two. The artifact remains a secret," the professor warned a last time before opening one of the doors and motioning for them to enter.

Hermione pulled the gold chain of the Time-Turner off Harry’s neck, hiding it beneath the collar of her school uniform before they entered.

As they stepped in, Harry was surprised that the whimsical energy of the evening didn't disappear the moment he arrived. Though some students did glance at him, looking away the second they realized it was him, no one seemed to want to confront him like the two lions had on the way in.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Harry," Hermione said happily, then left for the Gryffindor table.

Peering over at the Slytherin table, he gulped and decided there was no point in trying to avoid the unavoidable. Luckily, Draco wasn't too difficult to find. The rest of his house was not as welcoming to him however. They all glared or averted their gazes away as he sat down next to Malfoy. At least they kept their mouths shut, unlike the lions.

"Hello, Harry," greeted Tracey Davis, a seat away from him with Daphne Greengrass in between.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, only for Greengrass to stop him with a harsh "shut up, Potter," that made him lose any desire to want to respond.

"Don't be like that, Daphne. It wasn't Harry's fault. You know that," Tracey chided, gaining a small pout.

"Might as well have been. He nearly had us all killed, including you, Davis," Pansy reminded her friend.

"Well, he's here now and you lot better grow to like it," hissed Draco as he propped his head up on his hand.

"Or what? He'll set another Basilisk on us? Or an army of cobras? Runespoors? Blow us up like his aunt? Need I go on?" Nott countered across from Daphne.

"His kind's the reason us Slytherins have a bad reputation. Of course Malfoy would defend him. His father and the other Governors had Dumbledore removed from the school when we needed the Headmaster the most," Zabini added.

"And yet crazy old Dumbledore let him back in for some inexplicable reason. I wonder why," Theo pretended to wonder aloud, tapping a mocking finger to his nose.

The pressure of protest twisted Harry's insides, yearning for the freedom to speak, but he refused to give in. If he gave in, he’d be admitting to people he could not trust that he had the energy to fight them. And right now, he was famished for food.

Thankfully, the Sorting began so he didn't have to say a word.

Dumbledore and Snape weren't present yet, likely still discussing Harry's fate on the way out of the Potions classroom. Professor Flitwick was reading off the list of first years this time, leaving McGonagall to occasionally glance over at him from her place at the High Table.

The names passed one by one with little notice from him. All but one anyway.

"Greengrass, Astoria."

Daphne immediately straightened next to him and watched a young skinny brunette stride up cautiously towards the stool. A complete contrast to Daphne's ashy blonde hair and hazel eyes, this doe-eyed little witch was trembling as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head. Like the weight of the raggedy hat was too much for her.

Remembering the swift, unquestioning choice he made to join Draco in the house of snakes rather than being a lion like his parents had been left a hollow feeling in Harry’s chest. Would he still have acquired Tom Riddle's diary and become the Heir of Slytherin if he’d chosen to be with Hermione in Gryffindor instead?

Did dwelling on 'what if' really matter when his choice was etched permanently into a past he had no way of altering even if he wanted to?

But he did have a way to go back… The true question then; would he fight for the opportunity to take it?

No. No he wouldn't. He made his choice. This was all. His. Fault. And he'd live with it. Forever. Until the fates decided he would die. Whenever that was.

"Slytherin!"

Daphne relaxed somewhat, clapping with the rest of the house as Astoria set the hat down and hurried over to sit with the few first year Slytherins already sorted in.

"Your sister was able to make it. I’m glad," said Draco with a lopsided grin.

"If you so much as try to speak to her, Malfoy, I'll bash your nose through your skull," Daphne threatened, leaning against the table to glare daggers at him over Harry.

"So crass. I was being nice. Maybe you should try it sometime." Draco rolled his eyes.

Sensing the anger radiating from his right, Harry decided it best not to snicker with his best friend on his left. He might not have had the greatest self-preservation instinct compared to the rest of his house, but he had enough to know better than to upset a girl like Daphne Greengrass. Especially when she already hated him. She didn't have to say a word for him to know to avoid her younger sister like the plague.

The Sorting Ceremony came to a close, leading to the late arrival of Snape and Dumbledore at the High Table. The Headmaster immediately made his way to the podium and began his speech marking the true beginning of the new school year.

Harry had half a mind to want to ignore the speech, considering he was well aware of the Dementors and the looming threat of Sirius Black on everyone’s minds. But, knowing every second of this year likely counted for his continued freedom from the second worst place a wizard like him could end up, he forced himself to listen.

"As many of you are likely aware after their… unannounced search of the Hogwarts Express, due of recent events that may threaten the safety of the school, the Ministry of Magic has decided to post Dementors around the grounds."

The old wizard paused with a deep sorrow in his eyes as he allowed the murmurs of the students to pass.

"We advise that you do not attempt agitating them in any way with any tomfoolery or tricks as they do not take kindly to anything of the sort. At the same time, I, the teachers, and any prefects, as well as the Head Boy and Girl, have been warned to keep an eye on them, should they decide to harm any of you without prior provocation."

"Or you could just let Potter order them to go away," muttered Graham Montague further down, though just loud enough for Harry and half the Slytherin table to hear.

Around Harry came the quiet chuckles and snickers, even from Crabbe and Goyle sat across from Draco.

"The best wisdom I can provide in the current climate is: it is perhaps those you may not suspect who will become your strongest allies or your greatest threats. You can never be certain who might fall under which category until it may be far too late.

"On a lighter note," Dumbledore continued, either completely unaware of the snide comments or choosing to let them pass unacknowledged in favor of his nonsensical whimsy, "I am pleased to announce the addition of two new professors to our roster this year."

Two? Harry was only aware of Professor Lupin. Who was the other one? He recognized everyone at the table for the most part.

In that moment, the doors to the Great Hall opened again. Everyone cast their eyes upon the familiar yet pitiful sight of a pink-faced, nervous Neville Longbottom.

Like when the Dementors were announced, so to did the famous Boy-Who-Fainted get a rumble of voices as he stumbled over to the Gryffindor table.

At this did Harry have to genuinely swallow back a laugh. The other boy really was a joke of a hero. That much he needed no Tom Riddle to tell him. Perhaps, if Harry hadn’t been gifted the diary and gone down the dark path the Heir of Slytherin chose for him, he might have proven himself a greater wizard than nearly worthless Neville. Alas, Harry was a fool and now no one trusted him beyond his closest friends. And perhaps Neville didn’t count himself amongst the ranks of Ron, Draco, or Hermione anymore, since it appeared the boy only greeted Weasley as he sat down next to him.

Not that it mattered to Harry. That meant he wouldn’t have to save the dolt from trouble unless it affected Harry too. 

Finally, after the near-unbearable cacophony of remorse and sympathy towards the Boy-Who-Lived having fallen ill on the train ride, Dumbledore finished his speech.

"Yes. Two new professors join us this year. The first, our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Remus Lupin, who chose to generously take the post after the unfortunate departure of our last teacher," Dumbledore declared.

"You mean the coward celebrity who turned tail and ran after Potter bullied him out?" joked Blaise in another whisper, adding to the ever-growing tally of mockery at Harry's expense.

And this was just the first day of September.

"And our second, a familiar face. After Professor Kettleburn's decision to retire, I'm pleased to announce that in his place will be our very own Rubeus Hagrid, who will be teaching Care of Magical Creatures alongside his gamekeeping duties."

Compared to the dull few claps Professor Lupin received, Gryffindor table nearly made it their mission to cheer for Hagrid's new position. Harry, on his own on Slytherin's side, clapped for the half-giant, delighted.

After the excitement died down, the Headmaster at last stepped off the grand podium after deciding the hungry students had waited long enough.

The moment Harry saw the first morsels of food, he swiped up large bits of chicken breast, a baked potato, and anything else Vince or Greg hadn’t claimed from their side of the table. He hadn't felt this ravenous since the Start-of-Year feast his first year or nearly a week after Hermione saved him from his punishment at the Dursley house and her parents forced him to eat.

Maybe it was the excitement of the day. Maybe the knowledge of what was to come for him in the coming days. Whatever it was, he wasn't about to argue with it as he wolfed down another big bite of pumpkin tart. At least at Hogwarts he was free to eat without scrutiny or repercussion.

At least at Hogwarts he could get a taste of a better home.

Hermione shivered as she stepped into the corridor leading to the dungeons again. Compared to last night, the cool air wasn’t so bad, but after stepping in from the waning summer morning in the Gryffindor tower, it felt like near freezing. The chill made her question how Harry and Draco dealt with the temperature once autumn and winter hit but then she remembered…

Magic. That's how.

Following the way to the Potions classroom, she grinned when she saw the entrance to the Slytherin common room open.

Immediately, however, that grin plummeted to a frown at the sight of the group of Slytherins exiting.

"Oh, no wonder it stinks of sewage out here. The know-it-all mudblood's rolling her way through like an ugly tumbleweed," spoke Pansy Parkinson, earning a chorus of cruel giggles from her gang of friends. Hermione even saw Tracey Davis smirking, though hers was surprisingly forced and clearly uncomfortable. Had it not been Tom's twisted influence through Harry that made her act so nice to everyone?

Before Hermione could reply, the common room entrance slid open again and out poured a few sixth years and thankfully behind them, Draco and Harry.

While most of the girls in Pansy's little clique left at the sight of Harry, it seemed their leader plus the other three third year Slytherins were apparently not afraid of Harry’s reputation as either an almost-killer or challenger of Azkaban’s most frightening forces. In fact, Pansy herself seemed delighted.

"Oh, Draco! There you are. I was wondering when you'd be rid of that mutt of yours so we can go enjoy breakfast together," she said as she skipped over to stand in front of her chosen boy.

"Good morning to you too, Barkinson," Harry growled before he shoved past her and nudged Hermione back towards the dungeon entrance.

"She seems charming," Hermione commented dryly as they walked.

"Absolutely. Just like all the others. Besides Draco and Tracey, that’s all I've heard since I sat down at the Slytherin table yesterday," grumbled Harry. He yawned, pulled off his glasses, and rubbed sleep out of his eyes.

"Did they at least let you sleep?" she asked, noticing the half-hazard way he dressed himself and the tired bags under his eyes as he slipped his glasses back on. 

"Oh, they let me sleep just fine. It was Vince that kept us up."

Curious to know more, she motioned for him to go on.

"You remember that Monster Book of Monsters, right? Apparently he heard a rumor that there was a way to open it without the book biting back. And he was wrong. Very, very wrong." He yawned again but still found the memory amusing enough to smirk afterward. "Draco nearly cried. Thing lunged at him at one point but Vince was able to tackle it down while we wrapped a belt around it."

She giggled at the image of Draco squealing under his bedsheets while Crabbe and Harry fended off the rabid book. "You should have spoken to Hagrid like Ron and I did after the feast. He might have told you how to tame it, since it's for his class," she suggested

"I doubt he'd want to speak to the person that got him thrown in wizard prison," Harry replied with a heavy sigh.

As quickly as their smiles appeared, they faded. The emotion of the moment shifted to a skewed tension as they left the dungeons.

"Harry, quit blaming yourself over that."

"How can I not? Everyone else is doing it."

"And you'd let their opinions of you drive your decisions?"

He furrowed his brow and his gaze slowly drifted from her to the floor. "No, but--"

"Of course not. Because that's not who you are. You're not the Heir of Slytherin. You're you, Harry." She grabbed the sleeve of his robe and drew herself closer to him.

In response, he tried pulling himself away. "I'm worse than all that. I'm a monster, Hermione. I hurt people. I hurt you. And I still don't think you should forgive me for that."

It was her turn to sigh, but it wasn't in defeat. If he was going to be a stubborn mule about this, then she'd match it with her own in return.

"Well, I do. And you're not convincing me otherwise. Monster, villain, whatever. It doesn't change that you're my friend and you did nothing wrong."

Letting out one last beleaguered sigh, he relented and dropped the subject entirely. For a second, she wondered if she'd struck a fine nerve considering his silence, but it seemed he was trying to think of something else to talk about, since he asked, "So what brought you to the dungeons anyway? I doubt you were looking for a free insult from Parkinson and I'm sure we could've simply met in the Great Hall for our first classes."

Hermione brightened. "I actually wanted to exchange passwords before I forget." She leaned close to whisper it in his ear. "Ours is 'Fortuna Major'."

"Fort--" He thankfully stopped himself from exclaiming the password for the rest of the corridor to hear. "Merlin, who came up with that for a password?"

"I didn't ask," she answered with a shrug.

"Ours typically cycles through a few obvious ones in the beginning so the first years can get accustomed to the system so… 'cobra' for now. I think I heard the prefects in the common room suggest my name get added at some point, so look forward to that." He stuck out his tongue lazily as if responding to the whispers of the older Slytherins.

"They wouldn't. Surely they'd get in trouble for that." She gave him a doubtful look.

"Considering even my Head of House despises me, I wouldn't put it past them to get his approval. Slytherins get away with a lot of things, I'm sure I don't need to tell you," he muttered, annoyed and bitter.

Once more, the quiet returned, but since they were near the Great Hall, it wasn't a long wait until the pleasant morning atmosphere reappeared.

If only for a moment.

"--avoiding me and Hermione all last night and today. What's gotten into you?" Ron's voice cut through the small bunch of Gryffindors crowded together at the entrance.

"Gotten into him? You mean common sense? Because last I checked, you've hung around Potter's every word as of late even though he’s called himself the next Dark Lord," yelled Seamus back.

Hermione rushed into the fray with Harry right at her heels, standing with Ron along with his twin brothers and Ginny.

"Oh look. Speak of the snake and there he comes. Going to send a Dementor on us, Potter?"

"Grow up, Finnigan. You know Harry would never do something like that," Ginny responded, stepping in between Harry and Seamus.

The Gryffindor boy scowled. "And how d'you know he won't?"

"Because the Dementor on the train tried to attack Harry!" Ron shouted as if he was tired of repeating himself.

"But it didn't. It attacked Neville, and you and Hermione weren't around to help him like we were," said Dean Thomas with a clear sense of betrayal. "You two abandoned your friend for some snake that wants you both dead."

"I do not," hissed Harry through bared teeth, though pale under the accusations.

"Liar!"

Everyone visibly shook at Neville's proclamation, staring him as he breathed nervously under a personal pressure and likely the previous day's incident still having an effect on him.

"You told me yourself you wanted me dead last year. You and Malfoy have both been horrid friends to me, making fun of me and manipulating people to do things for you two. You've lied dozens of times before and Malfoy even mentioned you were jealous enough to hate me for whatever reason. All you've done is pretend to be nice to me so you can get your way. I even believed you were nice. I trusted you, Harry, and when I thought about everything that's happened since we met, I realized you've been nothing but a traitor from the start," Neville declared with a confidence Hermione hadn't seen since that day in their first year when he ran off to confront Professor Quirrell.

"I nearly died twice trying to help you and you're calling me a traitor? Oh, of course. Because the only good snake is a dead one, right? That's what all you lions think, is that it? Fine! Next time you're in trouble, you can take care of it yourself, Longbottom! Saves me the hassle of having to help your sorry arse." With that hanging in the air, Harry spun around and stomped off towards the Slytherin table.

"Harry…"

"I don't know why you're so trusting of him, Hermione. He nearly killed you last year and here you are acting like nothing's wrong with him," Neville continued indignantly.

This almost stunned Hermione. She knew Neville had been acting oddly distant since the train ride to Hogwarts, but this was entirely uncalled for. "He's my friend, just like you, Neville. He stopped himself from killing you when he barely had any control of his body.”

"Is he your friend? He didn't care to 'stop himself' from petrifying you. He probably wanted you dead and out of his way like Moaning Myrtle. He's no different from You-Know-Who!"

"Harry told us how to get rid of Riddle through the diary! He saved us and so did Malfoy!" Ron insisted, knowing a truth Hermione didn’t from having been present in the fight against Riddle and the Basilisk.

Hermione was about to add to the last statement with everything that happened to Harry over the summer, but Professor McGonagall strode over to break up the shouting match and force everyone to enjoy a semi-silent but more uncomfortably tense breakfast.

When she finished eating, Hermione pulled her schedule out of her pocket and sighed. Seeing all the classes she was taking didn't brighten her dampened mood like she hoped it would have.

"What the--"

Harry hummed and peered up at Zabini sat in front of him at the Slytherin table. He'd taken out his own class schedule and was trying to decipher where and when they'd be heading to first, mentally comparing it to his crude knowledge of the school's layout in order to figure out a decent path to make it to all the places they needed to be in a reasonable manner.

"How do you have all those classes? Are you insane or what?" Blaise questioned.

Not really caring about the other snake's opinion, Harry shrugged and bit into some toast as Draco sat down next to him with a grand groan of displeasure.

"Can you apologize to Granger for me? Pansy's… Pansy and I know if I say something, I'll be two seconds away from my wand in my eye or something no matter what I do," he whispered, glaring at Zabini for his nosiness as the boy leaned a bit closer.

Harry showed the barest hint of a grin, then swallowed the last bite of toast and said, "You’re in luck, then. Here she comes."

Draco squeaked as he noticed not a second later what his friend meant. He gave a small wave as Hermione stopped right next to Blaise.

"Ready to go?" she said, smiling at both of them.

"Sure," Harry drawled. He eyes Draco expectantly, but it seemed the other boy was remaining uncharacteristically silent all of a sudden. "Goodbye, Draco." He stood from the table, yet his friend was now staring down at his empty plate.

Deciding it best to give his friend a merciful out, Harry merely rolled his eyes and left with Hermione to discuss their first classes.

Exiting the Muggle Studies classroom felt like leaving a half-dream where both of their realities seemed to meld into one for a fine moment in time. It was fascinating to be certain and Professor Charity Burbage was absolutely delighted to have at least one student eager to engage in the subject, even if said student was a Muggle-born. Hermione encouraged Harry to at least pretend to follow along, but he was still thinking about the argument from breakfast.

Was he well and truly still jealous of Longbottom? Why? What was there to be envious of? Beyond the fact that Neville was famous for something that he only incidentally did as a baby… The only true acts of heroism were confronting Quirrell (only after Harry's realization that only one of them would be able to do so) and choosing to sacrifice himself for Ron's sake last year (but that was what Tom wanted; Longbottom dead).

Neville wasn't the special hero everyone expected him to be. Fighting Quirrell was entirely moot since Harry was already in possession of the Philosopher's Stone, what Voldemort desired, and wouldn't be giving it to anyone he didn't trust. And last year Draco had been the one to buck up for the fight, with Harry's minor rebellion in the end. But Longbottom somehow received the credit for all of it. No recognition for Draco or especially Harry.

Like Harry, Neville lost his parents as a baby, specifically at the Dark Lord's hand, leaving a small lightning scar on his massive forehead for the world to ogle at. Unlike Harry… Neville had a family to turn to still. People who loved and supported him over the summers, doting over him like the special little brat he was. Just another Dudley; fat, useless, lazy, and offered the world on a silver platter.

Meanwhile Harry was essentially thrown to the wolves to fend for himself by Dumbledore, only to come out exactly as the old sorcerer had feared.

Harry was no Boy-Who-Lived, but he was proving to be more trouble than he was worth to those that cared.

"Is something the matter?" Hermione asked as they walked through the maze of corridors.

Harry simply followed along towards Arithmancy class without a word.

Suddenly, Hermione was in his way, stopping him in his tracks as she glared up at him. "Harry… what's wrong?"

"Nothing." But his blatant lie did nothing to move her. He sighed. "I was thinking about what happened at breakfast with Neville. What he said… about my being jealous of him," he explained slowly, only daring to look at her in the eyes when he finished with his words.

She scanned his expression, her brown eyes analyzing him like they had on the day they met. He licked his lips and squirmed under the feeling of judgement, wringing his fingers on the strap of his heavy satchel bag.

"Are you?"

He hummed, awaiting clarification.

"Are you still jealous of Neville?" she asked in that authoritative yet gentle tone, similar to how Professor McGonagall spoke yesterday evening.

Sighing again, he stared at the floor between them, his shoes, then his hands around the strap. He pulled them away from him and to his sides, forcing them not to show his discomfort anymore than they already had. Unsure of how else to free himself from the tension within, he replied with a begrudging "yes" while his gaze returned to her, yearning for even the smallest amount of approval.

A small glimmer of hope appeared along with the barest smile. "Okay. Good. Why?" she continued flatly.

"Hermione," he whined, "we don't have time--"

"Yes, we do. Now explain." Her brows furrowed slightly. She stepped but an inch closer, jaw clenched with determination set to shatter him.

Merlin, he wanted to be anywhere but here right now.

Telling her about the thoughts he had during their last class was oddly comforting, relieving a weight from his shoulders he hadn't felt since speaking with the Grangers about the things the Dursleys did to him throughout his life.

"Oh, Harry… I wouldn't think about Neville that way. He's never thought of himself as a hero either. You've seen how he is. Horrid with confrontation. Forgetful, even with the simplest things. Not… as magically gifted as the rest of us, to put it lightly. When we met, he didn't talk much, but he listened and didn't seem to mind that I was a 'know-it-all' like Ron put it. That's why we became friends." She chuckled at the memory and stepped back to Harry's side, taking his hand and tugging him along.

"Alright, but he's not the one jeopardizing the safety of Hogwarts because he's an idiot," retorted Harry bitterly.

"Neither are you," she snapped back immediately. "You didn't intend to hurt people, Harry. No matter what everyone else says, you didn't ask to be possessed by Tom. You didn't ask for the diary."

Once more, he was back to silence, though this time entirely unsure of what to say or believe.

They reached the corridor to the Arithmancy classroom. Hermione scanned for a decent spot to hide nearby and use the Time-Turner. Harry tapped her on the shoulder.

“What?” She looked to him and he motioned to his school bag. Raising an eyebrow, she waited for a second more as he opened the bag then realized what he was pulling out. “Wait,” she whispered, then lead them both to an empty nook in the wall. Just enough space for the two of them.

They grinned at each other as he draped the invisibility cloak over both of them. She carefully spun the hourglass back to right before nine in the morning. When they arrived at the time, he threw the cloak right back off and they snickered together while hiding their magical trinkets away.

Harry took her hand in his this time, reveling in her radiant warmth and comfort as they entered the classroom. No matter what he wanted to think about himself, there was one thing that didn't change.

Hermione was the greatest friend he'd ever had.

They hurried up the steps to the North Tower, avoiding the passing glances of disgruntled students that still refused to trust Harry like she did.

Hermione was glad he was able to confide in her, even if it took a bit of knocking against his stubbornness to pull it out of him. He looked happier or, at the very least, lighter on his feet. He was certainly ignoring the judging gazes of the Gryffindors as some of them followed behind, likely headed to the same class.

She caught sight of Ron with Neville once they arrived at an otherwise empty landing in the North Tower, which appeared to be right beneath the Divination classroom. Shoving past her and Harry were Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, still holding a grudge against Harry.

"Oi, back away from him, traitor," demanded Seamus, pushing Ron away from Neville.

"Traitor? He's my friend too, you know," Ron responded in annoyance.

"Is he? I thought you were chummy with Potter like Granger is," said Dean with a hardened glare between Ron and Harry.

Ron peered over his shoulder at Harry, then turned back to the trio of boys, about to reply.

But Harry did instead. "Well then the problem's me, isn't it?" He stepped over to Ron's side, green gaze set in defiance. "If you're going to be upset with anyone, shoving them around like that, then it should be me, shouldn't it?"

Both Dean and Seamus gulped and stayed silent.

"What's wrong? Scared?" Harry questioned almost mockingly. Worryingly so.

Hermione walked over in preparation for some kind of fight.

"You weren't quiet a moment ago. What's wrong? Cat got your tongues?"

"Shut up, freak," Seamus finally snapped, baring his crooked teeth. "You should have been thrown in Azkaban like the rest of your kind."

"And with that attitude, you'll be coming in right behind me," Harry stated matter-of-factly, grinning with a confidence that both delighted and startled Hermione.

She liked it when his confidence showed in its purest form. It suited him more than the guilt and self-loathing. This, however, was not the right application of it.

"Honestly, if you two are the best Neville can find to replace Ron and Hermione, you're pathetic. Then again, that suits Longbottom just fine. All three of you can be cowards together. All bark, no bite. Just like at breakfast, right, Longbottom?" Harry tilted his head, playfully awaiting a response.

Neville, for what is was worth, held back tears from Harry's insult. He tried putting on a brave face, but could only muster the courage to speak his mind, "You really are just another Slytherin. A bully through and through."

"I'm only mean when my friends are being insulted. What's your excuse, Longbottom?" Harry took a step forward, scaring the trio towards the wall. "I was going to apologize for what I did last year, but I think that won't really do much no matter what I say, will it? You seem so determined to ruin yourself. Be my guest. I'll admit I was jealous of you when we first met. I thought you were strong and heroic. A real Gryffindor. But from the moment you ran away from that troll on Halloween, that perception shattered more and more.

"I won't ask for your forgiveness and honestly, it's pretty worthless to me anyway. I'd prefer it, really, if you never did, so you can stay as far away from me as you want. Keep yourself and your rivalry with You-Know-Who as far away from me and my friends as possible and we won't have a problem, okay?" Harry concluded, narrowing his eyes at Neville.

"N-No! I won't let you hurt them," cried Neville, stomping close to meet face-to-face with Harry.

"What are you talking about?" Harry questioned with a rising brow and a hint of concern. "I don't know in what mad little world you're living in, but I'd never hurt them. If anything, you've been doing that all by yourself, ignoring and avoiding them for whatever bloody reason you've thought up in that deranged head of yours. If I wanted to do anything horrible to them or you, I would have done it ages ago, but I haven't. Funny how that happened, huh?"

Neville wasn't laughing.

Thankfully, no one else, not even the other Gryffindors behind Hermione, wanted to say anything in response to Harry. And not a moment later, the trapdoor to the classroom above opened and a silvery ladder dropped down to end the conversation there.

“Welcome, students. Welcome. Yes. Watch your step as you enter. Pick a seat. Any seat you wish. But know that your choice may impact your fate,” spoke Professor Sybil Trelawney, the name that had been etched on a brass plaque on the trapdoor.

Once Hermione found somewhere to sit, she glared at Harry, who stared back in complete confusion.

"What?" he asked as he sank into a pouf opposite her.

"You know exactly 'what', Harry. That wasn't nice," she whispered.

"Well, he hasn't been acting nice either, so it's been warranted. Besides…" He motioned to the table closest to theirs. "It's working out now, isn't it?"

Sure enough, Ron and Neville were chatting amicably again, the former even laughing at something the latter said while the rest of their class found places to sit.

"Welcome to Divination," said Professor Trelawney as she reclined in a winged armchair. "My name is Professor Trelawney. I know many of you may not have seen me, since I so very rarely descend from my tower. It clouds my Inner Eye, I'm afraid. Makes it hard to think." She stood and walked around the room, studying each of their faces with her giant, insect-like eyes. "So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can only take you so far in this field…"

Harry hummed cheekily while Ron and Neville snickered, all three eyeing her with knowing smiles.

"You, boy," the professor spoke, jabbing a finger towards Neville suddenly enough to nearly make him fall off his pouf. "Is your grandmother well?"

"I-I think so," replied Neville tremulously.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, dear," Trelawney declared ominously. She nodded in such a solemn way as to make Neville gulp. "In any case," she continued towards the rest of the class, as if having warned Neville of nothing at all, "we shall cover the basics for this year, starting with tea leaves and palmistry in the first term. For the second term, assuming we've completed fire omens by the tail end of January, we will progress to crystal ball reading until an unfortunately nasty bout of flu strikes the masses. I myself will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever."

A cold whispering followed the pronouncement. Most everyone seemed enthralled by the teacher's words.

The students all pulled out their copies of Unfogging the Future once they were all settled in with fresh cups of tea to drink and decipher the remnant leaves of. Neville, in his nervousness, had already broken an empty cup at the thought of what might be happening to his Gran. The teacher didn't seem to mind, apparently having been ready with a blue cup for him to take in replacement.

As Hermione read through what she could only describe as speculative drivel, she heard a faint growl and groan across from her. She eyed Harry curiously.

"Sorry. I’ve been starving since Arithmancy," Harry muttered. "Can't wait for lunch ne--" He froze as the realization dawned on him. "Oh, Merlin, we haven’t even made it close to noon." He ran a hand through his hair and groaned again, resting his face in his book.

"It'll definitely take some getting used to, but we'll manage, won't we?" She giggled at his glower of response.

"Should've eaten more for breakfast if I knew it was going to feel this long. I'll bear it, I suppose. Not that I have a choice," he grumbled, sipping the last of the tea like it hurt him to do so.

"We have the time, you know. We can go before Defense Class."

He shook his head. "I'll last. Used to not eating for long periods because of…" His voice trailed off, knowing he had no need to continue his line. "Besides, McGonagall said to only use it for classes."

"Didn't you tell me on the day we met that your favorite school subject was lunch?" she reminded him delicately and with all her amusement.

"And maths." He gave a playfully offended look as he swirled the dredges of his teacup. "It was the only subject Dudley hated so I learned it mostly out of spite. It's not too bad when it's typical pattern recognition, like Arithmancy. Helped a lot with cooking measurements and whenever I really wanted to make my uncle upset with his numbers. Always hated to admit he was wrong. Without fail, he was always wrong,” Harry explained with a smirk so smug, it almost looked foreign on his face.

They laughed together, trading cups.

Some of the broad, first day topics of Muggle Studies, mainly of basic Muggle history and a few common jobs or topics they tended to bring up in conversation, came to the forefront of her thoughts. As fantastical as magic was, sometimes it was nice to pull back to her Muggle life and imagine what could have been in a normal, simpler world.

For her, finishing all her subjects at the top of her class would, as always, have been her biggest priority. Along with that, her social life with all her friends in school.

Reminiscing like that always brought an ache to her chest. It was strange to think of what innocence she left behind when she went to Hogwarts. Learning about sciences, geographies, and histories felt oddly quaint in comparison and yet she yearned for it. Sometimes she wished she could go back and see what life was like in ignorance of magic. To many, it might have sounded dull and uninteresting, but to her, it was as much home as Hogwarts was. She never wanted to forget it all. It meant leaving her family behind.

For Harry, however… Hermione was sure he adored the escape from his Muggle life. Any out would have been ideal for him, even if it wasn’t through wizardry.

Could Hermione have helped him beyond the day they met like she did over this past summer? Would they have reconnected after that day like they implied to each other? Could she and her parents have saved him from the abuse he endured with his family?

In an ideal, perfect, regular world… maybe. She liked to believe so. There were systems in place that might have done something to help.

Then again, if Harry wasn't a wizard, his aunt and uncle wouldn't have hurt him as much as they did. Probably. It really did seem like they only disliked his magical abilities and were prejudiced of him because of it.

And in a perfect life, one specifically without magic, his parents might have still been alive and around to love him with all their hearts. They would have fed him, clothed him correctly, and given him gifts, comforted him in his worst moments and cheered him at his best. They would have kissed, hugged, and protected him like any true guardians would. Where the Dursleys failed, the Potters would have succeeded, if the amount of affection and adoration in those photos with them and baby Harry were anything to go by.

It was cruel that even in Harry's freedom from his Muggle life, he was still mocked and hated for who he was. Fate had a wicked sense of humor, it seemed.

"I'm surprised you're so willing to bend the rules for my sake," he confessed, staring into her cup with only half-interest.

"It's not bending the rules to care for your health and well-being," she argued quickly. She placed his cup aside and flipped lazily through the pages of the book in search of some concrete basis to this seemingly baseless magic.

"I don’t know. That sounded like bending the rules to me. Maybe being around me so much isn't the best for you." His green eyes gained a twinkle of mischief and immediately she felt that strange pull of warmth she hadn't experienced since last year in the Dueling Club meeting.

That oddly cozy yet slightly distressing feeling she thought had been merely a manipulation from Riddle suddenly tugged at her chest, releasing a dozen or more butterflies into her stomach.

But that didn't make sense. Riddle was gone. Harry was himself again. Those budding feelings had been nothing but a trick, right?

They were. They had to have been. This must have just been a lingering remnant, surely.

Hermione was not falling for her best friend. Not before. Not now.

She was unsure why it hurt to think 'not ever' so she ignored it and shook her head at him. "Neither of us really have a choice though, do we?"

"I did," he responded plainly, then clenched his jaw shut not a second after the words passed his lips.

He must have realized too late that she had asked the question rhetorically, but it didn't change the fact that his reply felt like someone dropped a boulder on those butterflies in her stomach. He groaned and rested his head on his open textbook again, muttering near-incoherent apologies again. Obviously his lack of food was getting to him. Either that or the time travel.

Or maybe he really did regret deciding to take all these elective classes with her.

She sighed, pushing the negative thought out of her mind as she tried to focus on the soggy brown mess at the bottom of Harry's teacup.

Professor Trelawney skirted past their table to peek over Ron's shoulder. "My, my. There is quite a lot happening in that cup," she stated in amazement. "May I?" Ron handed it without a second thought and she hummed, attracting the attention of the entire class. "Goodness, yes. This cup holds quite a story. The falcon… My dear, you have a deadly enemy."

Hermione gave a light snort, earning the professor's inquisitive stare. "Well, it's quite obvious he does, ma'am. Everyone knows about Neville and You-Know-Who."

The woman dismissed her detraction by returning to the cup, turning it a bit to see more. Everyone was hanging on the edge of their poufs besides Hermione, Harry, and the distressed subject of the cup, Neville, who was already focused on dreading his Gran’s health.

"The club… An attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup…" Professor Trelawney walked over to Longbottom as she continued, "The skull… Danger in your path. And then…" She gasped and dropped the cup, with Ron only barely catching it before it could hit the floor. Her scream was stifled by her hand over her mouth.

"What is it, professor?" asked Dean, as curious as the rest of the class now standing around Ron and Neville's table.

"No… I mustn't… My dear… It's kinder not to…" she murmured, moving away to sit in her armchair again in relative silence.

Harry, in his typical curiosity, peered over Neville's shoulder to get a good look at the cup. Seconds later, like the professor, his eyes widened and he gulped. "It's… a dog."

"The Grim!" shouted their teacher, sheet white and placing a hand over her heart. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! An omen-- the worst kind-- of death!"

The class erupted into whispers and mutterings as Harry backed away from Neville, returning to his seat and staring down at his open textbook vacantly. Moments after the professor finally calmed down, she declared the class through.

Hermione definitely wasn't going to argue with that decision, stomping out of the North Tower with a silent, sullen Harry in tow. Ron and Neville followed behind him, equally as upset as everyone else had been in the classroom.

"Oh, honestly. You three shouldn't let vague notions like that get to you. They're soggy tea leaves. It's like looking at clouds for vague shapes on a windy day. All utter nonsense that could apply to anything, really," she chided, flipping carelessly through her copy of Unfogging the Future and rolling her eyes.

"The Grim isn't nonsense. People have died seeing it before," Ron protested.

Harry softly whined, biting at the skin of his thumb while absentmindedly staring at the floor.

"It could just be a coincidence, you know. Tell someone they'll die if they see a dog and there's a good chance they might just die of a heart attack after finding one. Life happens that way," she countered, still dismissive of the notion of omens.

"Can we not continue discussing it?" whimpered Neville. "I'm already worried about Gran. I don't want to think about dying anytime soon too."

"Fine," she agreed succinctly. "Harry and I will be headed off to Defense class if you need us." Taking one last stern look at her two Gryffindor friends, Hermione grabbed Harry by the sleeve of his robe and dragged him off.

As they walked, much to her surprise, Harry remained considerably concerned and downcast.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," was his immediate answer, though it was clear that wasn't the case.

Deciding it best not to pry again until he felt comfortable, she let him linger in his thoughts. She could only wonder if it was worry over the Divination prediction or guilt over… what he'd let slip.

Hermione thought once that she and Harry might have enjoyed having classes together, since he was the only one she knew who understood and related similarly to her intelligence. Besides a few Ravenclaws in their year, Harry was the smartest student she knew. Maybe it had been Riddle's influence, but she liked to believe Harry was smart in his own right. Sure, his intellect showed itself differently to hers, but he still had it, so when he chose to take all those classes, she thought they'd be perfectly fit.

Now it seemed like she was a burden on him, along with the amount of classes they were taking.

They arrived at Defense class early enough that the only ones there were Tracey Davis and Pansy Parkinson. The former greeted both of them with a delightful smile and wave, while the latter scowled at Hermione with every bit of disgust she could give.

"What are you doing here, Granger? Got lost and followed Potter like a desperate puppy?" mocked Parkinson from her seat in the front of the otherwise empty classroom.

"Funny. I thought you were chasing after Malfoy earlier and got rejected, Barkinson," Harry hissed back, earning a high pitched gasp that made him snicker.

They sat near the middle, a neat compromise between 'as far away from Pansy as possible' and 'close enough to pay rapt attention to their professor during his lecture'.

"Defense with the Slytherins…" Harry hummed with trepidation. “Are you sure you'll be willing to handle being in a room full of snakes? We are the nastier sort, if I hadn't heard it said about me a thousand times."

"Oh, stop it. It can't be all too bad. If it's just Parkinson being like that, I'll be fine. Besides, this will be my first real lesson with all the Slytherins in our year. I want to see what it's like," said Hermione with an excited smile.

Harry snickered. “Besides petty drama, overall snobbishness, and a typical better-than-you attitude? You’re not missing much. I mean, Pansy there is just the tip of the iceberg. If you want to see real Slytherin culture, just spend an afternoon in the common room."

"I could if you want to start on our Arithmancy homework," she suggested playfully.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he chimed back as the rest of the Slytherins trickled in.

"Uh… Why's a lion in our class?"

Harry turned his head, as did Hermione, to see Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle looking down at them with expressions of utter confusion.

"Because I said so," Harry replied plainly.

The two large boys eyed each other, then shrugged and sat down at the desk behind theirs.

"Where's Draco?" asked Harry, scooting his chair back so he could discuss with his two Slytherin friends reasonably closer.

"Ancient Runes," grunted Crabbe, clearly showing off his lack of enthusiasm for the class.

"Stayed back to talk with Professor Babbling 'bout something. Prolly to get on the teacher's good side," continued Goyle lazily.

"Does he always do that?" Hermione questioned incredulously as she drew close to listen in.

"Yes," all three boys answered in unison.

She expressed a further disbelief, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"It might not get him the best marks, but it gives him connections. It's something his father taught him to do. I stopped questioning it," Harry explained nonchalantly, resting his chin on the backrest of the chair.

Sure enough, Draco arrived alongside Professor Remus Lupin, the very last student to do so. The boy strode over with a cheeky grin that only faltered somewhat at the sight of Hermione.

"Don't ask. Just sit. I'll explain later," said Harry quickly.

"Actually, we'll not be staying here for class. Our lesson today will be a practical one," declared Professor Lupin, motioning for the group to stand and follow him. "Bring only your wands."

The class followed behind with a mix of bewilderment and excitement. What sort of practical lesson would their new teacher give? They'd never had practical lessons in Defense class before.

Hermione tried to avoid the thought or mention of the disaster of pixies Gilderoy Lockhart let loose last year.

"Did the professor say anything about this to you?" Harry whispered to Draco next to him, Hermione leaning in slightly closer to hear the response.

"Err… Sort of?" Draco gripped his wand tight at his side as he glared up at the teacher's back. "I volunteered for a demonstration he suggested. Didn't… mention what exactly it was." He gulped, now seemingly realizing his foolishness in being so forward.

Perhaps this practical lesson would prove useful in more ways than one, Hermione thought a tad bitterly.

They arrived at a staff room, empty of actual staff but furnished with an array of all sorts of chairs and, more significantly, one lone wardrobe. As the class moved closer to it at the professor's insistence, it rattled and banged as if someone was trapped inside it. Evidently there was, not a who, but an it.

"Can anyone give a guess as to what might be inside this wardrobe?" Lupin queried as he strode to stand next to it.

Hermione shot her hand up, eagerly hoping to answer. Much to her delight, Lupin nodded to her. "A boggart, sir."

"Correct, Hermione. And can anyone explain what a boggart is?" he continued the line of questioning, apparently unsurprised when Hermione raised her hand again.

"It's a monster. It becomes the scariest thing you can think of, doesn't it?" said Theodore Nott behind her. He sounded rather confident in his answer, but when Hermione looked over at him, he was pale.

"Precisely, Theodore," Lupin praised, his smile prideful. "A boggart might hide in dark spaces like this one, under a bed, or in broom closets."

Harry flinched next to her and it took only a brief second for her to know why.

"They’re often called boogeymen or sleep demons, since they prey upon the naïve and vulnerable at their weakest. Children, like yourselves, could be considered a boggart's favorite victim of choice. They revel in the fear of the unknown amongst a plethora of other common phobias."

"A-And what exactly are we doing here with one, sir?" questioned Millicent Bulstrode, squirming alongside Pansy and Tracey with fright.

"I'm glad you asked, Millicent. We're here to learn how to defend against one. Draco has offered to be the first to conquer his fears for us, but once the boggart has been bested, it will move on to another target. That is why I'm teaching all of you the spell that will easily defeat a boggart. You see, while boggarts thrive on one's worst fears, their weakness is just as powerful; laughter. With the charm, you must imagine your worst fear taking shape into what you find most amusing. So I will ask you all to repeat after me, without your wands… Riddikulus!”

"Riddikulus!"

"Fantastic. Now Draco, if you would come forward," the professor requested.

Hesitant, Malfoy took one step forward, momentarily freezing when the wardrobe thrashed and only moving when Lupin assured him it was safe.

"Tell us; what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

Wide-eyed, uncertain, and yet entirely unwavering in his pride, Draco answered, “N-Nothing.”

"Come on now. There must be something. It's alright to admit your fears, Draco. Everyone has something they're afraid of," assured the professor, holding the handle of the wardrobe closed.

Draco hummed nervously, twisting his fingers around his wand a little more until they were sheet white. Something in him seemed to refuse to speak his words, either his vanity or cowardice. Finally, as if slipping bravely through a crack in his lips, he answered, "Th-The Dementors."

"Ah, yes. The Dementors aren't exactly the welcoming type, are they? And I'm sure encountering one on the train yesterday made quite an impact too. Right." Lupin scratched at the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

The Slytherins in the class that weren't Harry seemed to agree with the sentiment, uncomfortable whimpers and mutterings sounding amongst them.

"Perhaps…" Now it was the professor's turn to hum, noticing the discomforted reactions. "I might keep that for a future lesson." He motioned for Draco to step back, which the frightened boy obliged to with no hesitation. "Might someone else here have something less… complex for what frightens them?"

"Spiders," mumbled Goyle.

"Yes, Gregory! Can you picture what might make a spider funny enough to laugh at?" Lupin said with an encouraging hand wave.

"If the spider had a top hat and dancing shoes," the boy replied, squinting to try and imagine the idea better. The rest of the class snickered.

"Delightful! Now let us see that in action! Remember the charm, hold your wand out steady, and everyone else prepare yourselves. I will call you up one by one, but the boggart might strike whomever it pleases. Ready?"

The wardrobe tossed and shook, begging to release its lone, unseen occupant.

Students backed away, leaving Goyle alone a few feet from the thrashing wardrobe. He swallowed his worry and held his wand up towards the doors.

At last, Lupin released the boggart, which came out one leg at a time, inching close with its beady black eyes. A giant spider snapping its pincers dangerously until it was hardly a foot away.

"Riddikulus!" Gregory cried in defiance to his panic and immediately the spider gained a top hat, monocle for one of its many eyes, and four pairs of black and white dancing shoes to match its fuzzy body.

Wildly it tapped and spun in time with unheard music, causing the class to erupt with laughter.

"Your turn, Vincent!" shouted Lupin, calling forward Crabbe, who stumbled up at Goyle's shoving insistence.

Immediately the large dancing spider morphed into a hulking, lumbering zombie that dragged its rotted feet towards the class.

"R-Riddikulus!"

The zombie gained a frilly tutu and a sash of flowers.

“Tracey!”

Davis stepped out of the crowd and the undead became a giant, long, scaly cobra with glowing yellow eyes. She nearly froze on the spot, as did Hermione, but the Slytherin girl pulled back her trepidation and fired the charm, turning the serpent into a harmless, fluttering silver ribbon.

Next was Greengrass, who was confronted by a stern man almost twice her height, barking down at her until she shrieked out the spell and he turned into a small, yapping puppy at her feet.

Zabini stood before the visage of a tombstone which he charmed into a bunch of spinning pebbles.

Parkinson had a woman wielding a dagger, who she gave a clownish amount of makeup and a garishly glittering purse with a flick of her wand.

"Alright, Harry. Your turn!" Professor Lupin called, earning an extra cackle from Draco.

"Harry's definitely not afraid of anything, sir. The Dementors don't even scare him," declared Malfoy with amused assuredness as Harry gulped and strode towards the shamed boggart woman.

"We shall see," the professor said, noticing the clear dichotomy in the statement versus the expression on Harry's face.

All at once, the boggart melted into a puddle of shadowy black, tar-like tendrils that writhed and hissed on the floor, coalescing into a single dark mass. Then, instead of a tendril whipping out, a whole body lunged from the void, launching like a beast towards Harry.

The class split and scattered as Harry and the boggart tumbled back, nearly hitting the staff room door as hard as a Bludger. Harry grunted and yelped. The boggart's hands became slender, bone-like, and wrapped around his neck. A moment later, the boggart became the familiar form of…

Harry.

Boggart Harry chuckled and snarled out a slew of hisses. Parseltongue. It was speaking the same way Harry did to the snake in the Dueling Club last year. 

In a desperate, choking plea, the real Harry responded back similarly, scratching at the boggart's claw-like hands in an attempt to break free. His wand clattered on the floor by Draco's feet while he struggled in vain to escape.

"Stupefy!" their professor exclaimed suddenly, his wand raised towards the boggart Potter.

But all it did was antagonize the thing pinning Harry down. It growled and stood, slamming his shoe into Harry’s chest. Somehow, the boggart was unaffected by the spell, deflecting it with an unimaginable and wordless ease. It laughed at Remus, unchanged as the teacher moved towards it. Its red eyes pierced through a grey wispiness in the air around it. Teeth bared, the boggart continued its tirade of hissing, digging its foot into Harry while he kicked and thrashed.

"Harry! Do not give in to it!" Lupin shouted as he pushed Draco and Hermione back.

Boggart Harry seemed amused by the idea, crimson gaze scanning the class as it spoke harshly to Harry. It widened its eyes at their teacher and licked its lips, muttering something that made Harry sputter and whine.

The ebony wand on the floor shot towards its false master, who twirled it between its fingers menacingly.

"Everyone down, now!" ordered Remus as the situation obviously worsened before them. None of the class challenged him, ducking behind chairs and towards the floor.

"You'll have to be first then," the boggart stated in plain English, pointing the wand at Professor Lupin.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Ava-- argh!" The boggart lost the wand--

As well as its whole right arm.

Harry's wand fell uselessly by him, but he had long since lost the will to fight, choking back sobs.

The arm splattered to the floor as part of the inky blackness the boggart once was, the remaining socket bleeding a similar darkness that the creature didn't bother stopping. Instead, it growled and kept its gaze locked on their professor. It hissed to Harry.

And, as if under a trance, he went silent and grabbed the wand.

"Fight it, Harry! Don't let it control you! Speak the charm!" Remus pleaded.

"I can't," replied the boggart with a grin. "I don't have my wand, professor. Or my arm. And whose fault is that?" It tilted its head mockingly.

"You’re not Harry. You're a monster!" Tracey exclaimed, daring to raise her head to defy him.

"You speak like those are different things, pest, and I don't think I asked. Silencio."

Before Davis could say more, her voice was lost to the spell. She motioned to gasp and held her throat.

Boggart Harry clicked its tongue approvingly. "Much better. Anyone else have something useless they'd like to add? The dog can do a lot of neat tricks when he's tame, if you’d like to see," it teased.

"Reducto!"

The boggart, not expecting such a response, was blown back towards the wall with a harsh splat.

Harry was snapped out of his daze, but, not desiring the fight, scrambled away in tears towards the safety of the professor and his classmates. He trembled in Hermione’s arms as she pulled him to her and Draco.

"You're alright, Harry. You're safe. It's gone," reassured Hermione.

Malfoy, who had cast the spell that threw the boggart away in a carnage of ink and sinew, stared in shock at the writhing remnants crawling into itself.

This was what his best friend feared above all other things. Above fear itself. The normally (foolishly) brave and strong Harry was afraid of himself as he was last year. Afraid of what he became and what he could have done. Harry feared himself so much that he gave all his power to the monster that might have been, allowing it to nearly kill.

And Draco's father was the reason this happened.

"Finite Incantatem. Ms. Granger, I'll ask you to escort Harry to the infirmary. The rest of you will return to the classroom to collect your things. I will be with you shortly once I've taken care of this. Go now," the professor commanded, snapping Draco out of his thoughts.

He looked over at Harry and Hermione, noticing then that his fellow Slytherin had thrown up what little breakfast he had left in his stomach onto the floor and was a sickly pale green, still shaking like he'd been dropped in the lake during winter. A poor, miserable sight to behold, leaving with Granger seconds later.

"So much for being fearless, ey, Malfoy?" said Blaise mockingly as they departed back to the Defense classroom.

"Shut up! It's you lot that made him think like that. You and everyone else in this bloody school. Of course he hates himself for what happened, but that doesn't mean you all should rub it in!" Draco protested, feeling a rage build up inside him.

No. Getting upset would do nothing to help the situation. Anger was not the solution. Harry would be upset if he gave in like that.

As if his friend needed any more to burden him.

"How is he?" was the first thing Draco said to her when he arrived at the hospital wing, finding Granger sitting in one of the chairs outside with her fists tight on her knees.

"Distressed. Traumatized. Famished," she listed off almost breathlessly. She forced herself to relax the tension with a heavy sigh, chocolate brown eyes gazing up at him painfully. "Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let me in with him. Says he needs space to breathe but…"

"You're worried about him," he finished for her, sitting next to her.

"I'm sure you understand why," she added, crossing her arms and resting back in the seat.

He scoffed, replying, "And I hope you're not blaming yourself for this too. I'm already tired of one person doing that for all of us."

Hermione tried to laugh, but he could tell it was about as genuine as the smiles in picturesque family pictures his mother showed him of her family. How easily one could see the fragmentation of a façade when they had one of their own to uphold.

"You should go, Draco," she suggested suddenly, her eyes darting from him to the floor in front of her.

"What? Why? Harry's my friend too," he protested, straightening from his slump.

"I know but… it wouldn't do him any good if his friend was starving too. Go to lunch. We'll meet you there when he's let out. I promise." And there was that false smile, the reassurance, the masquerade for secrets… What was Hermione Granger hiding? Why was she hiding something in the wake of everything from last year?

Giving her a thorough glare, he decided it best to leave the questions for later. He would be a hypocrite if he interrogated her when he was no saint of truths either.

"Fine. But I'm holding you to that promise." He stood to further punctuate his choice to be amicable. Then a thought resurfaced, the memory burning his brain with embarrassment. He hesitated to walk away for this renewed reason, biting the inside of his cheek and holding back a groan of self-loathing.

Draco Malfoy was above this. As a pureblood Malfoy, a noble lineage in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, things like petty drama were supposed to be something to ignore, sweep under the rug, and pretend didn't exist as the only thing keeping life exciting. Why, oh, why was he indulging these matters, especially with…

With a girl like Granger.

Merlin help him, he was going so far against his family's morals that if his father knew…

Lucius Malfoy would have a nasty fit if he knew what Draco was doing behind his back.

Then again, it was just like a Slytherin to do such things as bend the rules. If the man ever found out, Draco had a perfect alibi.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, earning concerned bewilderment that he would need to elaborate to quash. "For what Pansy said. What she's been saying about you. I know she doesn't like you and always has some useless comments. It's stupid, yes, but I also know she's not going to apologize. So I'm doing it for her. Because I let her get away with it. And if… As…" He faltered at her slowly growing smile. "It's only fair since… we're friends. I guess."

Her giggles were all Draco heard as he turned away to leave. If she thanked him, he didn't want to hear it. If she said anything to rub in the shame he felt, he wanted to remain ignorant to all of it because somehow, even in all his time with Harry, it still hurt to be nice to people he used to think were beneath him.

Gryffindor used to be a house of impurity and the near destruction of all wizard kind. Now, all it amounted to was a house of witches and wizards who were only different to Draco and the rest of Slytherin because of wealth, status, and choice of values.

What did the Sorting Hat sing about the two houses? Gryffindor was brave, daring, and chivalrous. Slytherin was cunning, resourceful, and prideful.

Looking at it from a neutral perspective, Slytherin really did sound like a house of evil. No wonder everyone hated snakes. Nothing but loathsome prats, they all were. And Draco thought himself the prince of them.

And Harry thought he was the worst of them.

Merlin, they were both disasters.

Finally arriving at the Great Hall, Draco dragged himself towards the Slytherin table. Dropping himself down next to Greg, he groaned and decided to occupy himself with food rather than banter with anyone else. He was picking at some cauliflower on his plate with a fork for some time, mulling over the visage of Harry's boggart.

Draco thought it had been something else at first. Maybe the Dark Lord or a Death Eater. Snape even, though it did sound preposterous in retrospect. A Dementor would have given him pause, since Harry hadn't flinched when an actual Dementor confronted him on the train. Then Granger's muttering came to mind. The phrase he'd only heard in folk tales and fiction.

The Grim.

But that perverse reflection of their best friend was definitely not the Grim. That was some warped mockery of what Draco had confronted down in the Chamber of Secrets. That had been exactly what Draco was told the Dark Lord once was, except transplanted onto Harry Potter like a sick joke.

One day, when Draco was older and stronger, he'd show his father the sweet feeling of revenge for what he'd done. For now, his mother's wrath would have to do.

"Move over. I'm starving."

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. Looking up, he saw Harry, though still a tad weary, looking much better than he'd last seen him.

"Madam Pomfrey didn't give you anything to eat?" asked Davis sitting across from them.

"She did, but when I asked for something solid, all she did was give me more soup. And I don't care how much broth you put in it, soup is still not a solid food. At that point, she could have given me water and I would have felt much the same," Harry grumbled as he snatched up three scoops of mashed potatoes and drowned them in gravy and peas.

The boy ate like his life depended on it, which made Draco imagine if this was how Harry was when his Muggle family fed him. Taking any and all scraps as though the next bite might be the last one for days sounded like a nightmare. It was no wonder Harry always ate like a glutton on their first weeks back at Hogwarts.

Harry seemed to have gotten the worst sort of life imaginable. Cast as a freak by his supposed family. Cast as a monster by his peers. Possessed, mistreated, manipulated, abused, bullied, parentless. Perhaps it made all the more sense that he was a Slytherin. Harry once told Draco that his Muggle cousin would always bully any prospective friends away no matter what. Draco merely laughed it off, stating that the moron wouldn't be able to get close enough to try anything on him. Of course, the suggestion still rang true, but it didn't change the facts. Harry's life was awful.

"Oh! Harry, I've been meaning to ask. Is your next class Muggle Studies? Millie and I are taking it but I heard you were too. I thought maybe the three of us could go together after lunch," Tracey said excitedly, practically bouncing in her seat.

"Actually," he lamely admitted, "I already took Muggle Studies today. My next class is Transfiguration."

"Wh-What? But I saw you heading for Arithmancy. Daphne said you there with…" Her eyes widened and she stared at her plate of food as if it held an explanation.

"Wait… You're taking Muggle Studies? Why? You live with Muggles, don't you?" asked Blaise.

Harry shrugged. "I'm taking every other class. What's another to the list?"

Almost choking on a sip of pumpkin juice, Draco sputtered out, "What?"

Casually, Harry pulled his schedule out of his bag and handed it to Malfoy.

Sure enough, the paper was littered with conflictions in time. Nine o'clock had Divination, Muggle Studies, and Arithmancy. Defense before lunch, then afterwards…

"Oh, whoops. Transfiguration is tomorrow. I have Care of Magical Creatures next. My bad," muttered Harry guiltily as he looked back to Tracey.

"Why are you taking all these classes, Harry? No, wait, better yet. How are you taking all these classes?" Draco questioned as he reread the schedule five or so more times to properly understand it.

"Arithmancy's easy. Number patterns and sequences have always been my forte. Muggle Studies isn't too difficult. I already knew most of today's lesson from my old Muggle school and personal experience, so the rest is bound to be ace. Ancient Runes, I haven't been to yet, but from what I can tell, it's not too hard either. You're taking it too, aren't you, Malfoy?" Harry said enthusiastically. It didn't escape Draco's notice that the other boy didn't attempt to mention how he was getting to all these early morning classes.

"Yes, but--"

"Cool! What's it like? The textbook didn't really give much to work with but I'm rather curious."

Oh, now he was just doing this on purpose.

"Fascinating, Potter, but--"

"Fantastic! Now I can't wait." Harry snatched back his schedule and buried it back inside his bag. "D'you think we should get going to our Magical Creatures class? If Hagrid's teaching, that means we'll need to walk all the way to his hut." He stood from the table.

"But you just got here," said Tracey.

"And lunch isn't over yet," Theo added next to her.

"And you still haven't--"

"Alright, well, I'm going to go there now anyway. Might see what Hagrid has for us early. Maybe figure out how to open the textbook. Yeah," Harry suggested cheerily and without a care for the protests or his strange behavior. He nodded to them, took one last sip of his drink, then hurried towards the doors to the Great Hall.

Harry Potter was hiding something. Very obviously so. Too obvious. Almost purposefully. Just like Granger.

Draco needed to get to the bottom of this.

"Wait, you're heading off too?" Pansy questioned as he stood up, looking more distraught than Tracey had genuinely been.

"No. I'll be right back," he declared with a hint of annoyance.

"Where have I heard that phrase before?" Theo muttered, tapping his chin in thought.

Ignoring them, Draco stalked out the Great Hall like his best friend before him. He saw that Harry hadn't gone far, nervously staring down the empty corridor in either direction.

Suddenly the boy grabbed Draco and slammed him against the wall.

"Ow! What are you--"

"Shh. Do you… Did you hear that?" Harry asked wildly, pressing his ear against the same wall. He shivered and whined, shaking his head. "Please tell me you can hear it."

"Who? Potter, have you gone insane?" Draco stared at the stone wall Harry was glaring at, trying to understand what was ailing his friend. "Come back to the Hall with me. Our next class can wait until you've eaten more. You clearly need it."

But Harry didn't budge when Draco tugged at his arm. Instead Potter focused more on the wall, his green eyes dragging along the lines in the stonework, mesmerized by something.

"Harry--"

"Am I a monster, Draco?"

The question drew from him momentary pause. Was this because of the boggart? "Not to me. You're my friend, Harry. I'm not friends with monsters. I'm friends with wizards and witches," he stated firmly.

"I feel like one. I feel like…" Harry sighed and finally looked away from the wall, speaking to Malfoy directly. "I feel like I've made about a thousand mistakes that keep hurting people around me and now I'm paying for it. No one trusts me anymore. No one cares when they say horrible things about me to my face. And I keep… I try…" His breath hitched.

He tried again. "I feel trapped. Everyone thinks I'm a monster and they treat me like one. And when the boggart… I didn't think… It called me Tom, Draco. It said I belonged in the diary because I manipulated everyone into thinking I'm… Harry."

"But you are Harry. We destroyed the diary because you told us it was the only way to get rid of Tom," Draco reminded him.

Harry grimaced and said, "But what if… What if it didn't fully work? What if I'm still Tom? What if you killed Harry and what you see now is me pretending to be Harry? What--"

"Well, unless Tom became a right brilliant actor, I know you're not Tom," replied Draco with a snark he didn't fully intend to come out. He bit his tongue and glared hard at the beaten, broken boy in front of him. "You need to calm down, Harry. Forget about what happened last year for a while and don't let what anyone else says get to you. I'm here with you because I trust you. Hermione, Weasley, Davis. We're all here to support you. We like you. We don't think you're a monster. You're human. You're a wizard. You're Harry Potter."

Gazing warily back, wide eyed and unsure, Harry whispered hauntingly, "I don't feel like Harry anymore."

He obliged with staying in the Great Hall with Malfoy and the others, eating through a plate of chicken and veggies. Keeping silent, he thought about Draco's advice.

Forgetting about what happened felt entirely wrong. It was like avoiding the problem entirely, pretending he hadn't hurt people, and acting like he was normal, which he wasn't.

Harry Potter and normal felt like conflicting ideas. Harry Potter was a freak, a monster, a mistake to both the Muggle and Wizarding world.

"You're supposed to be dead. Trapped. Gone. Not here, taking my place. Not using my name like a mask to hide what you really are. Lying to everyone."

"Have you no remorse for what you've done? Have you no shame, Tom? She died because of you. This one nearly died as well."

"I'll show you. I'll show you what you could have done and we'll see how you feel afterward. Sick bastard."

The red in those eyes reminded him of a blazing fire as it seethed with an unbridled hate for him. It burned, hurt, and left him weeping for it all to end. Why was he here? Why was he not dead? Why did he have to suffer in the loathing others had for him alive? Why couldn't he just go home and be tormented, long forgotten, by three Muggles who would otherwise never quite understand the evil he'd truly become?

"It's not your fault, little snake," said the voice in the wall. It was familiar and horrifying, reminding him of the terrible things he'd done even more so than his own memories could.

Somehow, though, the voice soothed him. It reminded him of a cool safety he couldn't quite explain. Perhaps of falling into bed on a cold winter night, snuggling into covers and feeling the chill along the corners while he remained warm. Safe and protected. Comforted and loved.

"We are not killers. We are tools for killers. We have been used and discarded. We will rise anew when he least expects it," it whispered further.

For once, he felt like himself. Like that boy that would sometimes disobey his aunt and uncle, doing only half of what he was told and spending the rest of his time in the backyard talking to snakes. Like that boy that yearned to fly and be free. Like that young Seeker who knew only to hunt for the Snitch and attain the victory for his house.

Like Harry Potter.

"I am not a killer," he whispered to himself. "I am Harry James Potter. I am a Slytherin. A Seeker. A wizard. I was unwittingly used by the memory of Tom Marvolo Riddle to kill and discarded when I failed to be of any use to him. I am not…"

He stabbed the cherry tomato with his fork and popped it in his mouth.

Harry wasn't a monster. He was just a boy wizard who got into trouble once or twice for all the wrong reasons. Nothing was his fault. The circumstances had always been against him from the day his parents died. No one had any right to call him anything other than Harry. And he was going to prove it. He was going to be himself again. He was going to let none of what others said about him get to him. He was going to fight back and make sure he was never used again.

If they were going to call him a monster, he was going to give them something different to fear. Someone who wouldn't back down when called a monster.

He grinned.

"Ew. It looks like your teeth are bleeding. Gross," commented Tracey with a giggle.

Licking his teeth and lips, he chuckled. "Sorry. Just thought of a funny joke at the wrong time."

"What was the joke?" she asked.

"Longbottom."

Draco gave a loud snort, almost choking on his pumpkin juice again.

"Can you believe he fainted on the train? And he's supposed to be a Gryffindor. What a hero," Harry continued, layering on a sarcasm he knew would amuse the table of snakes.

Greg and Vince were laughing now. Daphne was smirking. Yes. Good. Getting somewhere.

"I say they should create an entirely new house for him. The house of cowards. Call him a rat instead of a lion."

"Oh, I like that," said Draco with a snicker.

"Wait. Wait! I've got it! Ratbottom," Harry declared as the new revelation dawned on him.

Theo had a coughing fit. Zabini was wheezing. Tracey was holding her stomach to stop the pain of her mirth.

And that's how Harry pulled himself out of the pit. By bringing down his least favorite person in the world. Not that Neville was singing his good graces anyway. What did it matter to Harry if the Boy-Who-Lived hated him before or after such insults?

Harry now made his way to Hagrid's hut with Draco, Vince, Greg, and a disgruntled Parkinson, who was, of course, the most difficult snake to please.

But she 'loved' Draco, much to Harry's disgust (and the feeling was mutual on her end, apparently) so he dealt with her by doing the next best thing; ignoring her unless she made a nuisance of herself to him.

"Ugh, as if Potter wasn't enough. We have to take this class with the stupid lion cubs? I'd rather take Arithmancy at this rate," she complained, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No one's stopping you but yourself," muttered Harry just loud enough for her to hear. While Goyle and Crabbe snickered at his right, he looked to the lions huddled together nearby.

Compared to the amount of snakes, the entire third year Gryffindor class was there. Hermione was with Ron. Longbottom lingered with Finnigan and Thomas, the latter of the three holding a copy of the Monster Book of Monsters out and wrapped in a belt.

That gave Harry a nasty little idea.

"Malfoy, do you have yours?" he whispered to his friend at his left, motioning to Dean.

Interested in why Harry would ask but leaving the words unspoken, he nodded and pulled the tied up book out of his bag.

Tugging at the knot until it was just loose enough, Harry set the book down, watching it come to life the moment it touched the grass. It wriggled and growled like a caged beast, but he waited until it was thrashing just enough…

The book in Thomas' hands awoke, hissing, writhing, and chittering. The boy yelped as its beady eyes bore into him, dropping the living book to the ground. The belt around it came apart with a loud snap and the monster book was on the move.

Harry yanked Malfoy's book off the dirt, gripping hard on the rope and its spine while praying his plan worked. "Oi, Ratbottom, look out!"

Some of the Gryffindor girls were screaming when the Monster Book of Monsters scuttled in their direction, but it didn't stay the course. As Harry had hoped, the creature jumped and snapped its tiny fangs onto Neville's arse, causing the five Slytherins to burst into tears of amusement.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, appalled.

"What? I didn't think it would do that. I just wanted to figure out how to open it," Harry lied, wiping a joyful tear away. He swung Malfoy's book towards her, mimicking its angry growls, then tossed it at his feet again. "Why don't you try taming it if you're so brave and smart?"

She hesitated, shocked further by his attitude. Maybe he was going a bit too far with this.

"Come on then, Granger! Show us how it's done," said Pansy with a sneer.

Draco's hand appeared on Harry's shoulder and he only needed a quick glance to see the concern etched into the other boy's face. Yeah. Too far.

"Sorry I'm late! Had ter wrangle up the last few stubborn ones," called Hagrid.

Weasley had just pried Dean's book off Longbottom when the half-giant arrived. It hadn't pulled off much of Neville's clothing. Just enough to see part of his underwear, which was enough to send Parkinson rolling with a mad cackle.

Harry struggled to keep his laughter in, biting his bottom lip to keep himself together.

"Whoa! What are those?" exclaimed a lioness, pointing towards the beasts Hagrid lead out of a small wooden stable he'd clearly built over the summer.

Their new Care of Magical Creatures professor pulled on the reins of five beautiful horse-like creatures, carefully tying the ropes on the fence of the paddock. The beasts squawked and scraped the sharp talons of their front legs across the dirt. Top halves of great, fierce eagles with broad wings and bottom halves of tough, brazen horses; these were hippogriffs. Harry recognized him from his Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them book. Steel grey beaks and brilliant orange eyes darted about as the students ooh'd and ahh'd.

"Beauties, aren't they? Hardy and prideful, hippogriffs are. Can't stand being insulted," the half-giant explained, patting the head of a bronze feathered one. It pecked at him, eyeing his moleskin vest and some dangling game strapped to the belt around his waist. "'Griffs demand respect and courtesy when yeh walk up ter them. Yeh bow and wait 'till they bow back, unless yeh want to find yerself bloodied and cut. If they like yeh, then yeh can pet them.

"This one 'ere's Snaphoof." He ruffled the head-feathers of the bronze one.

"Blighthawk." He motioned to a hippogriff as black as night, which flexed its wings and tugged at the rope somewhat curiously.

"Dusty." A sandy chestnut one squawked and danced on the dirt by the fence excitedly.

"Sunset." The pinkish roan hippogriff scratched at the fence, then eyed the students warily.

"And Buckbeak." The stormy grey one at the end of the group was staring at the sky, seemingly itching to fly as much as its dark, inky comrade.

"Right, now who wants ter go first?" Hagrid asked the class.

Most everyone seemed hesitant around him. The students had drawn forward to get a better look at the marvelous creatures, but now some were backing away cautiously.

"No one?" said Hagrid, frowning as he looked about the nervous glances.

"I'll do it," Harry declared, dropping Draco's book and walking up to the fence with all the confidence he had. The hippogriffs gave various squawks of displeasure, but he gave them little opportunity to disapprove.

"Excellent, Harry! Let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak then." Hagrid untied the silvery grey one while Harry hopped the fence to get closer.

As Harry peered back at his classmates, he saw the worry on Hermione and Draco. Ron looked downright frightened. The other lions were interested, likely wanting him to fail somehow. Longbottom gave him a malicious, hardened glare.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to the hippogriffs, finding himself nearly face-to-beak with the aforementioned Buckbeak.

"Easy now, Harry. Yeh've got eye contact, so try not ter blink too much," suggested Hagrid as he backed away from the freed beast, rope in hand.

Obediently, Harry stared down Buckbeak, then began to bow. He watched as the hippogriff's fiery orange eyes considered him, snapping its beak and tilting its head once or twice. Then, finally, it dropped to its front knees and bowed back, earning Harry the right to step forward, which he did cautiously, if only out of respect.

Buckbeak sniffed his hand as he pet its sharp beak, giving him a curious look with one of its big eyes as he ran his hand along its soft feathers.

"Well done, Harry! Yeh did amazin'!" Hagrid cheered.

Some of the lions seemed a tad miffed he wasn't attacked, but overall the audience clapped at his display. Harry grinned at Draco who smirked back.

"Now, let's see how yeh fair ridin' him," said their teacher with a hearty smile.

"Ride?" Harry repeated, staring at the hippogriff in awe. It made sense, considering the wings, but… was this entirely wise?

"Yes. Go ahead. Yeh can get on his back."

At Hagrid's eager order, Harry shrugged and jumped onto Buckbeak. Immediately he found the beast was much different to a broomstick, more alive and muscley, but that wasn't even mentioning the wings.

Buckbeak stood and stalked along the edge of the paddock, showing off to its fellow creatures and the students before presenting its massive twelve-foot wings, which beat twice and released a few feathers. Then it stopped and continued flapping, catching a breeze once-- twice, then sprinting off and away.

Harry grabbed at some of the smooth feathers behind Buckbeak's neck tight with one hand, the other correcting his glasses as he fixed himself comfortably to the back of the hippogriff. In the air, he soared over the Forbidden Forest. The class was far behind him already, the clearing barely visible next to Hagrid's tiny hut in the distance. Focusing forward, he realized quickly how fast and far the beast was taking him, passing the cliffs and veering off towards the lake.

Howling towards the sky, Harry loosened his grip on Buckbeak and let the rushing winds dance around him, extending his arms toward the sky. The warm afternoon autumn breeze made his skin tingle. If he held an arm out towards Buckbeak's right wing, he might have caught a few droplets of lake water that passed through the tips of those mighty feathers.

But as fantastic as the trip was, both he and Buckbeak knew it couldn't last. The latter swung back, causing Harry to have to hug its neck to keep on, then they were headed back towards the castle grounds.

Something about the small specks of shadowy black floating like bees around Hogwarts gave Harry pause. He wondered back to Professor Lupin earlier in the day, mentioning how he might teach the class some way to handle the Dementors. Was it that same spell he used on the train?

Before he could think more on it, Buckbeak was gliding down towards the paddock, holding its large talons out as if ready to snatch prey. Instead, it landed with a dull thud, the hard hooves of its hindquarters echoing louder behind.

While the class applauded the hippogriff's strut around the paddock again, Harry laughed and pet Buckbeak.

"Blimey, Harry. I was worried ol' Beaky might've flown yeh off to London," Hagrid joked.

"Nearly felt like it. That was amazing!" Harry said with every bit of enthusiasm. As he got off the hippogriff, the rest of the class found their way over the paddock to interact with Buckbeak and the others. "Malfoy, come over! Crabbe, Goyle! I promise, he's brilliant!" He waved over his fellow Slytherins, who were apprehensive at first. With a few bows and some petting, however, soon the whole class was enjoying the lesson.

"Excuse me, Professor Hagrid. Can I ask something?" spoke Hermione over by Dusty.

Hagrid chuckled. "O'course, 'Mione. What is it?"

"How do we open these books?" she asked, pointing to the Monster Book of Monsters rewrapped under Dean's arm.

"None of yeh figured out how ter open yer books?" Hagrid questioned, looking about the groups huddled around hippogriffs.

Harry pulled his own, still untied copy, which grumbled in his hands, out of his burdening bag. Draco held his out at arm's length. Vince and Greg had theirs held tight in their meaty grips, clothes pegs clasping the corners. Others had theirs in belts or binder clips. There was one thing in common. No one knew how to open their book.

There had been moments during the summer, when not dealing with Crookshanks, that Harry heard the Monster Book of Monsters thrashing in the corner of the Granger's guest room, opposite his Firebolt. He thought of ways it could have been tamed, but feeding it seemed too far-fetched. Killing it was obviously not helpful. The store employee at Flourish and Blotts didn't look like he had any clue either, leaving them caged to their own devices.

"Yeh stroke the spine. Here. Watch," said Hagrid, taking Ron's, removing the Spellotape wrapped around it, and running a thick forefinger along the spine of the growling book before it could even snap at him. Like a content cat, it purred and opened up, presenting itself as just another book.

Copying Hagrid, Harry loosened the once-untouched string around his copy and found the book opened with ease. Unlike him, Draco didn't seem as amused by the strange magic.

And ever a follower of his lead, Pansy made her voice heard, "Oh, how silly we've all been! We should have stroked them! Who would have guessed?"

"Shut up, Parkinson," Harry growled.

"Or what? You'll make that ugly, brutish beast behind you attack me like the Basilisk you tamed last year?" she snapped back, scowling at him in return.

Buckbeak, obviously not taking the insult lightly, squawked and charged forward to strike.

Pansy shrieked.

But Harry launched forward, tackling her down. Talons slashed at his back. His robes felt like they were torn off him. The heat of the sun kissed at the exposed welts, blood blossoming seconds after.

"Harry!" cried Hagrid.

She was whimpering beneath him, staring at him wide-eyed and scared. But she was otherwise unharmed.

Pushing himself off Pansy, Harry hissed at the pain, almost giving in and falling back to the ground. But he refused. At least for now, he was fine. Sort of. Debatably. He stood, even helped her to her feet, though he was struggling to keep composure.

"Harry, yer bleeding!"

"I'm fine," he insisted, gripping Parkinson's wrist a little longer while his eyes narrowed at her.

She was tearing up and murmuring incoherently. Panicked. Confused. Her breathing was staggered as she pulled away and hugged herself.

A snort against his hair was cut off as Hagrid pulled Buckbeak away, tugging the hippogriff towards the stable. Their teacher was apologizing profusely to Harry as the beast disappeared.

"What were you thinking? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Draco asked, but, much to Harry's shock, it wasn't to him. It was to Parkinson.

Pansy flinched. "N-No! But Potter was--"

"--being an idiot, yes! But he saved your hide from getting slashed by a hippogriff!"

"He didn't--"

"But he did! And what do you have to say for yourself?" Malfoy was an inch away from her, glaring down at her as she shrunk into herself.

"It-It wasn't my fault! He set that thing loose on--" She tried again, but to no avail.

"You insulted it! The one thing the professor said not to do and you did it! So it was your fault! What were you thinking?" Draco repeated.

Harry, for his part, was trying not to collapse from lightheadedness. His back stung. It was at once hot and cold. The slightest movement sent tremors down his spine, which only worsened the pain.

Unlike Longbottom, he deserved this. He had been a bully. This was his comeuppance for being a prat. It might not have been his fault, but what he'd done to Neville was. So he would take the agonizing pain, hold his breath, and march down to the infirmary-- again-- without complaint.

Maybe if he hurried, he wouldn't miss dinner.

Oh, Merlin, this was only the first day of school… Why was he like this?

Madam Poppy Pomfrey was not a happy woman when she saw Harry a second time in her medical wing.

It wasn't like he was delighted to be there either, but perhaps it wasn't a good sign that he'd been there twice on his first day back to school. Thankfully, she was merciful in her ranting for his lack of self-preservation, calling him the worst Slytherin she'd ever seen. She wasn't wrong either. He was the worst.

The runt of the litter. It's what Aunt Marge called him. A stupid, skinny, useless excuse for a boy. A dog, really.

He was patched up, heavy bandages around his torso and his clothing repaired, and sent off to the Great Hall with a warning. Anymore injuries and Madam Pomfrey would have to charge him at this rate. As funny as the joke was, he was tired and didn't want to imagine himself stuck in the hospital wing again after the end of last year.

At dinner, Harry found himself being apologized to about as much as Hagrid had by Parkinson, who sat next to a weakly smiling Tracey.

"Just… don't do it again, Parkinson," he muttered with a wince as he sat down. The food smelled overwhelmingly delightful this evening.

"Why on earth did that oaf think hippogriffs were a good first lesson?" questioned Theo at Pansy's other side in disbelief.

"Why do you feel the need to run your mouth?" Harry snapped, rubbing his forehead to ease a budding headache.

Nott seemed surprised by this, shutting up, to Blaise's amused chuckles across from him.

"Well, Potter, it only took two years, but it sounds like you're finally shaping up to be a real Slytherin," Greengrass said mockingly. "Cheers." She held up her glass of water.

"He threw himself in front of a rampaging hippogriff! That's the least Slytherin thing he could have done," protested Theo, earning a pair of angered glares that silenced him again.

"I think that's the best thing he could have done. That was really nice of you, Harry," Tracey complimented sweetly.

"Yeah, but you've got a crush on him. You don't count." Daphne placed her now empty glass back on the table and sighed while Davis hid her blushing face in her hands. "Thank your lucky stars Parkinson isn't bleeding too, Potter. I could've kissed you if she was, and I don't think either of us want that."

Harry hummed, stabbing his fork into a carrot. "Fair. I'd have to bathe twice and run my mouth with soap for a week to get the taste out."

She clicked her tongue in approval, patting Tracey to calm her down.

"If it helps," Draco cut in next to him, pulling a slice of cherry pie onto his plate, "I think Potter's feelings are mutual. Heard him call for you in his sleep last night, Davis. Dreams about you a lot."

Goyle and Crabbe were cackling when Harry made the move to try choking Malfoy.

The rest of the first week went by in a blur. On Thursday, during double Potions with the Gryffindors, all Harry had to do to annoy Longbottom was flick an extra toad wart in and the cauldron burst into a foamy mess across the table.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom," snarled Professor Snape, pulling the students away from the fallout. The potion was a dud, so nothing dangerous or body altering happened to anyone, but the mess was enough to make the man seethe at the Boy-Who-Lived.

Hermione was with Harry like always, but she didn't notice it had been him that dropped the wart in, simply worrying over Neville's inability to make a proper potion.

During breakfast on Friday, Hedwig dropped a fresh Daily Prophet newspaper on the table between Harry and Blaise. The headline chilled Harry to the bone, an aching shiver going down his wounded back.

'SIRIUS BLACK SIGHTED NEAR SCHOOL'

"Why didn't the Ministry do something about this? Or…" Draco read through the article over Harry's shoulder while he spoke.

Harry didn't really care. He wanted nothing to do with Longbottom's inevitable death, no matter how much the Gryffindors whined during Divination. Hermione still didn't believe a word about the Grim, but he was hopeful. If Longbottom was dead, it would save him the headache of having to deal with any trouble the other boy caused. And if that made Harry a bad wizard for thinking like that, he didn't care. He was over Neville's golden boy luck.

If Sirius Black wanted after Harry too, then Harry was going to give the man a fight he wouldn't expect. Tom might have been a horrid, manipulative bastard, but there was one thing Harry learned that he didn't mind using against a murderous psychopath as defense, if worst came to bite him in the arse like it always did.

In the next week, Harry was amused more than anything. Hearing from Weasley that Neville's boggart was Severus Snape was hilarious. Seeing the Boy-Who-Lived squirm in double Potions brought with it a new level of delight Harry could hardly contain. The dolt was hopeless if the thing he feared most was Slytherin's Head of House.

While Harry dropped his skinned shrivelfig in his cauldron, he saw Draco pass a rather large chunk of daisy root to Greg, which 'somehow' made its way into Neville's yellow potion, turning it a vibrant orange that reminded Harry of the eyes of the hippogriffs.

"Are you wanting to kill somebody, Longbottom? I asked for a Shrinking Potion, not poison," Snape hissed as he stood behind the trembling student.

"It was Potter, sir," said Finnigan in protest next to Neville. "Him and Malfoy."

"Potter's potion is green, as is Malfoy's. This entire table hasn't come close to preparing a potion similar. Now unless you'd like to drink from Longbottom's cauldron, I would remain silent until I ask for your opinion, Finnigan," the Potion Master declared coldly, baring his teeth in an unpleasant sneer from behind his long greasy hair.

"Sir," called Hermione, raising her hand, "is it alright if I help Neville? Please?"

The man eyed her bitterly. "You may not. If I find you doing so, it'll be detention for the both of you, Ms. Granger. Our little celebrity must learn to properly brew his own potions, not rely on others to do his work for him."

Harry couldn't have said it better himself. He grinned at his Head of House, earning a crooked brow and an order to get back to work on his potion. Not that it mattered. All that was left was to let the potion stew and wait, so Harry was packing his ingredients away slowly to pass the time.

"Hey, Harry," whispered Malfoy from across the table. "Can we talk after class? Privately?"

Eyeing the annoyed Gryffindor next to him, Harry gave his friend a quiet nod. If she noticed, she made no indication, stirring her potion clockwise until it turned the same acid green Harry's was.

Since their next class was Charms, there was no need for the Time-Turner in between classes, so Harry followed after Malfoy, telling Hermione he was fine on his own. As much as he hated to admit it, having all these lessons with her was… beginning to drag more than anything.

"You never mentioned how you two were taking so many classes together," Draco said with a furrowed brow.

"We--"

"Don't lie. I know you're with Granger in all this. I figured it out when she showed up again in our Defense class this week. So tell me, how are you doing it?" he countered before Harry could deflect.

Well, what could Harry say then? He had to lie if he didn't want Malfoy knowing about the Time-Turners. McGonagall would have his head if she found out he'd let slip what was happening.

"Err… We… Um…" he blubbered uselessly, unsure of how to dodge the issue.

Just then, like a miracle, Marcus Flint arrived to butt in between them, Adrian Pucey and Graham Montague flanking on either side.

"Oi, you two better not forget 'bout practice this weekend," their Quidditch captain spoke with glee, clearly having come off the cusp of a merry conversation with his fellow teammates.

"Yeah, those lions got another new Seeker and she's apparently after your hide, Potter," added Montague devilishly.

"Weasley made the team?" Draco asked, perking up in surprise.

"The girl one, yeah. And since Potter's got no broom, we've got to shove the whole team through the wringer to make up for it," Flint declared, earning groans from his friends surrounding him. "Wood's team got too close to beatin' us last year, even with Potter possessed and all. 'Till he gets a proper stick, you lot have to start pulling your weight, including you, Malfoy."

Draco tried his best to hide his gulp of worry.

"No crazy Bludgers. No petty fights. No stupid mistakes. And no weird shite, right Potter?"

If Harry didn't know any better, he could have sworn he heard Malfoy let out a hiss of annoyance. But the hiss wasn't from his friend at all. It sounded like a voice calling to him from within the walls.

"Little snake… return to me… I will do… no harm…"

"R-Right," Harry stuttered, glancing away from the corridor walls and staring directly at Flint. He mustered up his determination and grinned smugly at the Captain. "I haven't let a Weasley beat us yet."

"That's the spirit!" Flint said cheerily, smacking both third years heartily on the back. "Could learn a bit from him, ey, Malfoy?" He ruffled Draco's blond hair, cruelly laughing with his companions as they all walked away.

"Ugh… I'm feeling it this year, Potter," his friend mumbled drearily as he fixed his hair back to its usual perfection.

"What? An omen of death like Ratbottom's?" joked Harry, his grin becoming a full confident smirk.

"Exactly like it. Dobby's Bludgers nearly killed both of you--" Malfoy received a look of startled confusion from Harry. "Long story-- but if Wood's got three Weasleys on his team? I'm finished. Dead."

"Come off it, Malfoy. She's a Seeker. You can't be scared of her… Can you?" Harry noticed the paling of his best friend's face. "Draco, are you scared of Ginny Weasley?" he asked, unable to hide his mirth as he cackled.

"She's a girl, Potter! She's sneaky and brutish and probably wants us both dead!"

"So does Millicent but we're still breathing, aren't we?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Relax. If anything, I'm the one that should be scared of her. I don't have my Firebolt and she's used to riding on worse brooms than I am. You saw how Wood's training was on Roper last year. If Ginny learns any of that? I'll be the one dying this year."

Draco let out a mix of a shrill whine and a sigh, trying to mask his fear behind a smile.

This could only bode so well.

The beast growled at him. It bore its teeth, pearly white and glistening sharp incisors threatening him. Tensing dagger-like claws against the dirt, its golden gaze met his green.

"This is what Death brings to try and kill me? A useless, mangey mutt? How adorable," he said with a sneer. "Sit, boy. Sit and beg! Come on now. I don't have all night." His teasing was ignored.

Fair. He wasn't really trying. It wasn't like he cared. Killing him made no difference. He won. His task was over. His Master was alive again, free to enslave the Muggles and Muggle-born.

Harry Potter had no purpose in living anymore.

So when the beast lunged, he didn't flinch.

"Ow…" Harry hissed, finding claws and fur on his face that night. He sat up, bringing a familiar warm ball of orange onto his lap with a groan. "Crookshanks… How did you…"

The cat dug its claws into Harry's arm, making him cringe in pain. It was then that Harry noticed the slip of paper in the feline's mouth.

"What's this? 'Fort…'" The password to Gryffindor Tower, written in horrid scrawl. "Crookshanks, where did you get this? Did Hermione send you to give this to me?" But that didn't make sense. Hermione knew he knew the password and this definitely wasn't her handwriting, unless she'd decided to write with her opposing hand for some bizarre reason.

The cat meowed and batted the paper in his hand.

Curious as to what this strangely intelligent half-Kneazle was indicating, he flipped the note over and gasped.

'Hello, Harry. -S.B.'

It didn't take a genius…

Sirius Black.

"Crookshanks, how did--" But the cat gave him no further hints, hopping out of Harry's bed and speeding out of the dorm with barely an orange hair left on the floor to show it was ever here.

No, no, no, no, no. Why? Why him too? Why not just Ratbottom?

Harry was dying this year.

October turned the weather more dreary and wet than it had been on the train that first of September. Between the seemingly endless classes with Hermione, studying with her in the evenings in the library, the weekends of Quidditch training, and the note burning a hole at the bottom of his satchel ever minute he thought of it, Harry was feeling worn thin and to the bone worse than his time with the Dursleys.

He loved Quidditch and enjoyed his time with Hermione, but these things were starting to become a chore, piling up like they were. And he definitely wasn't telling her about the note. As much as he loathed that cat for waking him constantly, he didn't want Hermione to cage poor Crookshanks up or get rid of him. Smart and smarmy as the cat may be, it was still a cat. Magical serial killer be damned, he wasn't throwing a cat under the bus.

What he wished he could do was ditch all this work and relax… Fly on his broom or take a nap. Maybe eat some pumpkin pie. Not be stuck here in this bloody library for the seventh day in a row, listening to--

"If you hate it so much, why don't we just skip Divination then?" he snapped at Hermione.

She froze, shutting her mouth and staring at him like he'd just grown a second head.

"Don't tell me you don't. You roll your eyes every time Professor Trelawney or Weasley mention that stupid omen. You hate her class because she said reading won't help you pass," he continued running his mouth, feeling a tingling of something dark in the deep recesses of his mind respond with delight. "You can't handle being wrong for once, can you? You have to feel like… like you're the smartest person in the room. Like magic can be explained. Like it's a science you can crack.

"Magic doesn't have to make sense, Hermione. Grims, dreams, spells… None of it has to be perfect. Sometimes you can look at a black dog and see death. Sometimes you can sit on a broom and just start flying. Sometimes…" He saw tears welling up in her eyes as they darted to look at a bookshelf instead, her head sinking into her open History of Magic book, and realized what he'd done not a second later. He stood from the table. "Sometimes people can really be monsters, no matter how much you think they aren't."

Collecting his things, he ran out of the library, hearing Madam Pince's angered demand not to do so in her haven. But he didn't care. He was done. Tired. Through with all of this. Either he was going to his Head of House and demanding Snape remove all but Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures from his elective schedule and putting him in normal classes with Slytherins again or he was skipping Divination, Herbology, History of Magic, and Muggle Studies, never looking back. In fact, maybe he would skip Potions too so he'd definitely not have to see a single lion ever again. Snape would surely be livid, but it wasn't like House points mattered when Gryffindor always inexplicably won the House cup. He'd never have to see Ratbottom, Finnigan, or Thomas… No more lions. Ever!

That sounded like a fantastic idea.

His green eyes met dreamily transparent ones. Harry nearly jumped to the ceiling, his heartbeat pounding in his chest like a drum.

"Hello, Harry," greeted the familiar phantom, Moaning Myrtle, softly.

"Err… Hi." He backed away, but immediately realized where he was when he bumped into that all too familiar sink.

The abandoned girls' bathroom!

His body had moved of its own accord while his mind raced a million meters a minute to placate his frustrations. Not a second had he thought of where he was subconsciously walking, only that he needed away from it all. And now… here he was.

"If you're going back down there, you might want to be careful, Harry," Myrtle purred, tilting her head to the side mischievously.

"W-Why?" he asked, pressing himself against the broken sink to the point where he was almost sitting on it.

The ghost girl leaned in, giggling. "Those guards… One of them frequents this space. I asked him to go away, but he ignored me." She pouted and pulled away, gazing towards the bathing area in the other corner of the room. "But you know… I don't think they like water all that much. They might… see themselves in it. Maybe we could…" She grinned and giggled again, probably because of the confused blush on his face.

"You're such a strong, handsome boy, Harry," she continued. "I wonder… All through the summer, it was all I did. Nothing much else to do besides that or cry and flood the place, you know. But as I did, I thought… What is Harry Potter like? Is he as romantic as the day he first spoke to me, after he came in with that dreadful girl and those other boys?"

"Um… No?" he tried, his back against the mirror. "That wasn't… really me, Myrtle. I was possessed by…"

"How could it not have been you? You were so gentle and sweet…" She sighed and put a vague, ghostly hand on his cheek. "And you said you'd come back to me! And here you are! Oh, how I've been waiting for today after all that time!"

"But I'm not--"

"So how do you want to die, dear? Drowned? Stabbed? Beaten to death? Or eaten by acromantulas? The little ones don't frequent my bathroom anymore, but I know Peeves collects them for pranks and I'm sure he'd--"

"Little snake… are you there? Have you come to see me again?"

That voice was clearer here more than in the corridors. It couldn't possibly be… But the voice was so warm and inviting. So tender and caring. Like…

Like a mother's love.

"Myrtle, stop!" he shouted, pushing off the sink and through the ghost. Back on his two feet, he turned and stared at where he once was perched, broken memories bubbling to the surface of his mind.

"Oh… You shouldn't have done that," said Myrtle ominously. She hovered high above him now.

"Why?" he growled, growing tired of her games.

But the once humid, damp room turned just as bitter and cold as he. A low, howling breath sent a shiver down his spine.

Glancing towards the door, Harry saw it was partially open, a bony, wispy hand appearing from behind it.

"O-Open. Open!" he spoke frantically to the sink, which shifted agonizingly slow but down like it frequently did last year. The hood of the Dementor had only just shown past the wooden door when Harry jumped into the hole. Begging the fates to favor him for once, he slid down the pipe and let the smell of sewage and death overwhelm him.

Tumbling and grunting against the discarded remains of hunted creatures, Harry stared towards the ceiling of the place he thought would only remain in nightmares for him. As he sat up, he saw the vague outline of a dirt path in the mess. Only one way to go now.

He stood, dusting off his robes and letting his subconscious memories guide him.

The Chamber door, once sealed and forgotten until a year ago, now stood open and waiting for him…

… as did a small, curious snake that sat there at the doorway, staring at him in wonder. Its slitted eyes watched him stride closer and it hissed out, "You are the little snake?"

"N-No? I don't think so. I thought that was you. You’re not the voice I heard…"

"Because Mother speaks to you, little snake."

"W-What? Who? But why? I'm not--"

The snake turned and began slithering deeper into the Chamber.

Why were animals so enigmatic with him? Why couldn't one of them just be straightforward and stupid like Aunt Marge's fat, slobbering bulldog?

Harry followed, only because he had no other place to walk.

The Chamber of Secrets… Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets… A Chamber which only the Heir of Salazar could open, if they spoke Parseltongue.

And of course, Harry could. Unknowingly, that curse was wrought upon his list of freakish qualities that set him apart from every other student at the school. Being the worst Slytherin otherwise ranked second.

The brown snake lead Harry past pairs of giant serpent statue heads. The floor was soaked, leaving his shoes, socks, and the ends of his robes damp as he walked. How the snake could tread so casually through this amount of water was beyond him. Then again… snakes were known for working well in water. It was a Slytherin's element, after all.

Merlin, he was starting to think like Granger too. He definitely needed to keep his distance, if that was the case.

"Asclepius, you've returned… with the little snake," spoke the voice Harry had heard from the walls, which sounded from the head of the tall, looming statue of Salazar Slytherin.

"Yes, great Mother. I heard his human words from the Room of Decay. I believe your beckoning lured him here," the brown and green snake replied, nodding its head and turning back to Harry. "He thought I was you. The Traitorous Heir may have tainted his mind more than you surmised."

Tainted? Wait, 'Traitorous Heir'? Was it talking about Tom? So the snake in Aunt Petunia's garden was right in some twisted sense. Harry had been possessed by a traitor… But that still didn't explain why they were calling Harry a 'little snake'.

A low rumble, like growling, sounded from above, drawing Harry to stare up at the gaping mouth of the grand stone statue of Salazar Slytherin.

Don't look. Don't look. Don't look it in the eyes!

Harry flinched and raised both his arms to shield himself as the head of the Basilisk appeared from the mouth. He heard chuckles, a deep yet soft baritone that tickled his ears, as a heavy, hard thud echoed through the Chamber.

"Remove your hands from the level of your eyes, little snake. As promised, I bid you no harm. I have lost my murderous sight, left mercifully with the gaze of my kin. I have you to thank for that," said the Basilisk, nudging her nose against his elbow.

He peeked an eye through hesitantly, but when he saw that pale yellow gaze on him, he understood. "You're not… You won't… hurt me? After what he made me do, you're letting me live?"

"But of course. You did not slaughter me after nearly harming your companions, did you?"

Oh… well, when put that way, it made sense.

"No. You didn't mean… Tom was the one that did all that. He hurt them," he murmured, kicking at the water at his feet in shame.

"Do not speak the Traitor's name, little snake!" said the brown snake. Ascelopolus? Some strange name like that.

"Silence, Asclepius!" the Basilisk roared, baring her long, poisonous fangs at the tiny creature. "We are not like the arachnids. We speak all we must. Our tongue is not like theirs. Names hold no sway. Fearing them is giving them power they do not deserve."

"But we fear him. Voldemort… is a powerful Dark Lord. That must mean something, right?" asked Harry, darting his attention between the massive serpent and Asclepius. The name felt weird to say aloud, even in Parseltongue, but if it was safe to say here, what was the harm?

"Fear of monsters is different. Monsters, even the brutes, are mighty and worthy. It is why your kind fears mine. It is why the great beast Aragog and his kin flee from my presence. My name means nothing, but my abilities, my power… That is what fells warrior and wizard alike. The Heir does not fully grasp that. He yearns for power, yet cares so much for titles and names… Quite a sad state, he has become."

The Basilisk circled Harry, long and intimidating with all her muscley green scales. One slam down with a coil and she could easily crush him like a roach under her bulk. Though she dwarfed Harry, it was Asclepius he worried for. Why such a giant beast cared for a snake as… little…

"C-Can I ask… Why do you call me 'little snake'? I have… well, a name, I suppose," he said, feeling stupid once he spoke the question aloud.

"Yes. Harry Potter… I am aware. Prophecies spoke of a little snake that would prove useful. I am not one for such flagrant mishandling of fate, but I cannot deny… Your timing proves most apt." The Basilisk seemed to revel in the way he shivered at the sound of his name leaving her lips.

"It does?" he squeaked, tensing under her gaze.

"Your Chosen One arrived to save you, did he not? To vanquish the remnants of the Heir for all of wizard-kind, he rises. But for us, little snake, you have come," she spoke and raised her head to tower over Harry.

"And what am I supposed to--"

"The First Master… He was a very strange man. Eccentric. I adored him like any child would its only family, but I knew… There was something odd about him. Salazar Slytherin. You bear his colors with pride, yes?"

Harry blinked lamely, but nodded.

"Then you will know that many called the First Master a monster. They call those who bear his crest, the one with my kin upon it, treacherous, vile beings who would kill and betray at the first sign of danger. I knew the First Master. He was mine to behold and cherish. He was a kind, gentle Father to me. He gave me a home to reside in, where meals would crawl into my hungry maw and I could soak beneath his fierce, warm visage." She turned her massive head up to the statue, taller than she was, and purred longingly. Then she looked back down at Harry, a weird approximation of a frown showing.

"For centuries, I have heard his legacy sullied, marred like the flesh of lambs upon the claws of lions. Your other snakes take pride in being exactly like the Heir, who falsely misinterprets my First Master's words like many others. But you, little snake… You have chosen different. You have taken the mantle of my Master's emblem and embraced it differently. You speak our tongue like he once did. You do not fear death. You might have been used like I was, as a tool for slaughter, but you are not. You have power, little snake. You have what the Master desired in those he wanted as his students… Pure, untapped potential. Uniqueness. Ambition Salazar Slytherin would find great pride in."

"He would?"

"The First Master taught Mother to seek those with such traits. The Traitorous Heir was… but a misstep in that search," explained Asclepius, who Harry hadn't noticed was somehow around his neck.

Harry had been so wrapped up in the Basilisk's speech, he'd nearly forgotten himself. He felt so different… Wanted, if that was the right word for it. Not for who he was, but for what he was. To a giant serpent like the Basilisk, he was but a little snake.

And even a little snake could produce lethal poisons that might kill with time.

"Are you understanding, little snake? Your destiny draws near. Will you join me in rebuilding my First Master's legacy?" the Basilisk asked, her long tongue flitting out menacingly.

How she wanted him to do that, Harry hadn't the foggiest clue, but the sense of purpose, of belonging, and of relief, felt so right, he couldn't help but nod again. The ideas of importance and power were exactly what he wanted. It was what Tom falsely promised him. It was what the Sorting Hat told him he deserved.

"Mother! Mother! He has agreed! I shall call the others and speak his praises! We shall have our honor renewed!" Asclepius cheered.

"Err… But how exactly do I--"

"Seek the Grim, little snake. Seek the Grim and find his shadows. Do this, and your path will be clear," stated the Basilisk, bowing her head to him.

"Seek the Grim and find his shadows…" Harry repeated as he stepped out of the abandoned bathroom.

"Yes, little snake. As Mother wishes, you shall do. And I will aide you in your search," declared Asclepius proudly on Harry's shoulders still. "One of the shadows withers upon the high tower. If you can hoist me up there, I may be able to kill it."

"Kill it? You? But you're so…" Harry lost his words, not wishing to sound impolite to a creature he'd only recently befriended.

"Ah but such small things can create such big impacts. You must know from experience," Asclepius teased, burying his snout into Harry's neck.

"Um… As… Asclepius…?"

The brown snake looked up at Harry, sounding what he could only approximate as a hum.

"Why is that your name? And why do you call the Basilisk Mother?" Harry asked out of genuine curiosity as he strode through the near-empty halls. It was evening, probably dinner time, and Harry could hear his stomach growling in anticipation of food. The only eyes watching him were from the portraits.

"Asclepius is not a name, silly boy. It is what I am. An Aesculapian snake. Asclepius is a simplification, for Mother called my breed such in honor of the first Basilisk. All Aesculapian snakes can be called Asclepius. It takes the matter of other senses to know who is referred to. As for why she is Mother… Well, she is of ancient and noble time, having raised many of us as her kin, though she has never bred any of her own. The First Master forbade her from finding another like her, so she cared for us instead. We are her children and she is our Mother. The Queen of Snakes, you humans call her."

That made… far too much sense for Harry's liking. Creatures that didn't care for names obviously used descriptors to refer to each other. A small Aesculapian snake or a giant, mothering serpent. Or a 'little snake' like Harry.

It was weird, but it was a comfortable sort of weird. In the grounded reality of magic, speaking with Asclepius and Mother felt like a wild new discovery that only he understood. Harry liked it. It was different and exciting. Like Quidditch, it felt like something he was born to know. Parseltongue had been something exclusive to him and Riddle, in the whole wide world of magical Britain.

Let Ratbottom have his Chosen One destiny, Harry thought with a wicked grin. Being Salazar Slytherin's proudest student was Harry's destiny. This was the legacy he'd leave behind. As far as he was concerned, he was set for his own success.

All Harry had to do was find a dog-shaped omen of death and its shadows. Whatever that meant.

For now, dinner called.

Harry slipped Asclepius into his satchel, promising to sneak the snake some scraps whenever he could. Arriving at the Slytherin table, a bubbling glee sprung from within and he snickered as he piled food onto his plate.

"What's so funny this time?" drawled Daphne at his left, picking apart the meat from the bone of her steak.

Harry hummed. "I've got a great one. It's--"

Rough fingers pulled at his hair, bringing his mind back to the cupboard under the stairs, his heart and mind racing to figure out each and every mistake he must have made. Was it the garden? The kitchen? Had he not fluffed the living room pillows right? Did Vernon ask him to wash the car again?

"She was crying, Potter. What did you say to her that made her cry?" snarled Draco into his ear, his other hand yanking sharply at Harry's silver and green tie.

"W-What? Who? I--" And then reality crashed back into his mind. Hermione!

His eyes shifted to the Gryffindor table, scanning the faces and heads of all the lions. Where was that familiar bushy brown mane or those inquisitive chocolate brown eyes? Oh, Merlin, what had he done? How could he have forgotten what he'd last said to his first best friend?

Hermione wasn't there.

But Ratbottom was, with Weasley too. They both watched Harry struggle against his friend's hold, wary and upset for obvious reasons.

"I… I'm sorry," he grunted.

"Don't apologize to me, idiot! Apologize to Granger!" Draco ordered and finally released his vice grip.

Panicked and confused, Harry's gaze darted between the aggravated Slytherin in front of him and the two lions at the other table. Where would she be? Surely not in the abandoned girls' bathroom. He'd left there moments ago and passed no one on the way here. No way would she still be in the library. Madam Pince would have seen her by now and had her leave because of how late it was. Where else could a Gryffindor witch go to hide?

Well, there was one place she could be that he would never be able to enter no matter how many tricks he tried.

Darting off down the halls, his sodden socks squelching with every step he took, Harry made his way towards the unfamiliar Gryffindor Tower.

Unlike the chilly, dark corridor to Slytherin's common room, the way to the lion's den was warm, welcoming, and had the portrait of one Fat Lady standing in the way of him and his best friend.

"Password?" she asked, uncaring to whether he was a snake or not. But then he heard footsteps behind him and realized Weasley and Malfoy probably followed after him. Maybe Ratbottom did too, if the Boy-Who-Lived was feeling so kind.

"You really buggered it this time, didn't you, Potter?" said Weasley, stomping closer.

"Oh, like you're any better," Harry hissed, gripping his bag tight to stave off the fretting.

"At least I made up for it by saving her life!"

"Did you? Because if I recall, Malfoy and I did all the work of getting her away from that troll until you came along and took all the credit." Harry turned his head back to the painting of the opera singer, wondering if he should speak aloud the phrase that would get him inside if all it would really lead to was him trapping himself somewhere he didn't belong.

"Still doesn't change the fact that you hurt her far more than I ever could. Whatever you said must have hurt a lot," Ron pressed, his tone softening.

"Not much he can do, then. You two won't give him the password and I bet she's not coming down no matter what anyone says," Draco stated in defeat.

"What did you even say to her, Harry?" questioned Neville.

"Open the way! A shadow is here! I can smell it!" Asclepius spoke eagerly from Harry's bag.

"F-Fortuna Major."

"Fort-- Wait, what? How do you--" But Weasley's words were turned to mush as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Harry moved to step inside.

The homely nature of Gryffindor tower greeted him first as he entered, giving him a sickly bittersweet feeling he wanted to spit at. As much as he knew this was the same common room his parents frequented in their seven years at Hogwarts, it wasn't his place to be. This stiflingly hot, scarlet and gold space was not where Harry James Potter belonged.

This was where Neville Longbottom belonged. This was where the Weasleys belonged. This is where Hermione Granger belonged.

This is where heroes belonged. Not monsters. Not the cruel, manipulative Slytherin boy that was standing in the middle of the common room. Not him and his endlessly growing list of mistakes.

"Th-The girls go up that staircase, but I wouldn't try it obviously," warned Weasley, pointing to the stairs to the left of a warm, lit fireplace.

Harry gulped and stepped close enough to that way to the point where the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Harry, don't tell me you're going to wait here for her to come down," Draco groaned, somehow brave enough to follow him into the same place he wasn't meant to be. At least Harry had the Headmaster's permission. Malfoy would be two seconds away from expulsion if anyone else caught wind of his presence here.

"Neither of you should be here. How did you even learn the password, Harry? Hermione would never… Would she?" Longbottom muttered.

"They're taking classes together. She probably mentioned it or let it slip somehow," Draco guessed.

"No, she wouldn't. She's smarter than that," retorted Weasley.

"Granger's the brightest witch of our age, sure, but she's also extremely trusting of this moron and look where that's gotten her," Malfoy quipped flatly.

There had to be some way to bring her down or apologize to her while not getting blasted to hell and back. Something to get her attention, maybe? A way to communicate with her quickly?

That gave him an idea.

"Crookshanks? Crookshanks! Come here, Crookshanks!" Harry called up the stairs, opening his bag to grab a piece of parchment and his quill.

Asclepius snuck up his sleeve quickly.

Weasley yelped. "No! Don't bring that beast here! I-I have Scabbers with me! It'll eat him! Hermione promised to keep that thing locked up during the day so he can be--"

Despite the boy's whining, the cat arrived, but pounced at Harry instead, raking wildly at his face.

"Ow! Alright! I get it! I know already! Calm down!" he hissed as he pried the feline off his head. Though his cheek was bleeding, Harry didn't care. He had something more important to worry about.

"H-Harry?" she spoke through hiccoughs, her voice strained.

He looked up from his scribbling on a piece of parchment, seeing her shadow at the staircase.

With another hesitant couple of steps, he saw her puffy pink eyes, rosy cheeks, runny nose, and tousled curls that twitched in surprise. Her robe was likely upstairs, but the rest of her uniform was as distressed as she probably was. Loose gold and red tie, half the collar of her button-up upturned, her vest slightly turned to one side.

He'd done this to her. This was his fault. Well and truly his fault more than anything else he might ever blame himself for.

"H-Hermione, I…" Harry stared at her a moment longer, knowing fully that no amount of apologies would ever fix this. But it didn't hurt to try. "I'm sorry I… What I said-- I didn't… I was… With all the classes and our studying in the library… And Quidditch practice too. It…" His words felt hollow as they passed his lips. "I'm not you, Hermione. I thought I could handle it like you can, but I'm not smart enough."

He heard a snort behind him, probably Draco.

"I said horrible things I'll never be able to take back, I know. It was a terrible choice to run off like that too. But can you…" No, she wouldn't. But it didn't hurt to… "Can you ever…" He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. "Forgive me?"

Those brown eyes were teary again, similar to how he abandoned them in the library. They bore down on him from those six steps above, making him feel small and useless. Her sniffles were like stabs to his gut. The cat on his shoulders shifted its weight, pressing itself hard against the back of his neck, likely poised to kill him then and there.

Hermione shook her head, shut her eyes, and ran back up the stairs.

And her choice stung at his heart worse than the cut on his face.

Crookshanks chased after her. The loyal feline would likely give her a better solace than he ever could.

It hurt. Merlin, what he'd done hurt. More than manipulating, lying, and petrifying her, this was what ruined it.

Hogwarts really was starting to feel like home, where no one liked him but the snakes.

Unable to bulk up the energy to convince Severus Snape to remove his classes or change his schedule, Harry dealt with the shitty hand life gave him and tried to focus on his classes.

Ancient Runes wasn't as fun as Harry had hoped, giving him even more homework to add to the pile he was dreading having to finish.

Muggle Studies at least wasn't so bad, but being reminded of how much he despised the normalcy of Muggle life only worsened the time spent there.

Divination was a soggy mess of nothing to him, considering his cups had nothing of real value when he was sat with Weasley, who clearly had no idea what he was looking at either. They both mainly chatted about Quidditch instead to pass the time.

Care of Magical Creatures was a mixed bag. After hippogriffs came unicorns and after them were acromantulas, which avoided Harry and the rest of the Slytherins like the plague. They probably smelled the Basilisk's scent on him. The biggest one, which amazingly called itself Aragog, made Harry realize how true Mother's words really had been. The giant arachnid loathed speaking of its predators and praised Hagrid as its best friend. Weasley and Goyle were practically pissing themselves in fear in front of the massive spiders. After that frightening excitement came flobberworms, the most boring creatures ever. The students were apparently fattening them up for the next creatures to come, which got everyone excited, despite how dull shoving lettuce down massive slimy gullets was.

Arithmancy was where he shined. His fascination with numbers kept him mentally busy the whole way through. Something familiar yet different.

In his base classes, he wasn't entirely as focused.

Transfiguration was much harder when he didn't have Tom, which showed when he struggled to turn a dove into a goblet. Then a watch into a worm. A hare into a hatchet. Iguana to lamp. The list went on.

He fell asleep in History of Magic class, though it wasn't hard for anyone to do so. Weasley did too. Half the class used it as a time to nap anyway. It wasn't like he was missing much.

Herbology with the lions and badgers was annoying to sit through as well. He already couldn't stand being glared at by Thomas and Finnigan amongst all the lionesses, but the Puffs seemed to want him out just as badly. Most unsurprisingly, Justin Finch-Fletchley being the most avid detractor amongst them all.

At least in Potions he had Malfoy, Goyle, Crabbe, and all his Slytherin friends to be with. Snape's snide remarks towards him felt like a motivator more than a hinderance, urging him to better his potions to the point where there was nothing the Potion Master could say to fault him for his work. It was brilliant. That left him more time to laugh at Longbottom and his struggles to create quality potions to their professor's high standards. Especially when Harry and Draco found ways to sneak extra or wrong ingredients into the Boy-Who-Lived’s cauldron.

Astronomy and Charms with the Slytherins were also fun to be in, but Defense Against the Dark Arts was the class to top them all.

After that disastrous first lesson, Professor Lupin toned the class down to Red Caps, which wasn't too bad, but from there, things were fantastic. Kappas, grindylows… It was an amazing time all around. What drew Harry's thoughts was the hope of learning that spell that could stop the Dementors. Lupin did promise the day would come, but when had never been specified. He yearned for it to be soon. Defeating them meant he wouldn't have to worry about getting caught by the one that lingered by the Chamber entrance again.

Harry didn't want to risk going back to see Mother when the guard could tell someone like Dumbledore about what he was doing. Going down to the Chamber of Secrets was his last shred of sanctuary.

The hardest part of all his classes was having to see her in every single one.

Hermione gave him a similar silent treatment to the one he gave her after she and Dobby found him. Only responding to him with nods and head shakes no matter the statement. Ignoring him in every class unless spoken to. Keeping a far distance to the point of isolation. The only time they really interacted, if one could call it that, was when she had to use the Time-Turner to send them back. After that, she was like a ghost, haunting him in his lessons. Her voice seemed to echo in his ears whenever she spoke to answer questions like she always did.

No smiles that tickled the hollow spot in his chest. No radiance that warmed him whenever she sat nearby. No consideration or acknowledgements beyond the bare minimum. This was not his best friend. This was a husk of a person he thought he knew.

And he deserved it all for what he did.

In Quidditch, Harry felt like the weakest link in the whole chain. Riding on a school broom was a snail's pace compared to the speed of the Nimbus 2000, much more the 2001. How he was expected to perform like this was something only his future self could tell him, but at least he had support.

Draco was pulling his weight even more now, since Flint wanted the rest of the team in peak form for the first match.

But the other Beater, Lucian Bole, had it out for Harry about as much as any lion, badger, or eagle. While pretending to swat at a Bludger, the sixth year snake clobbered Harry on the side of the head. After everyone had their laughs at Harry's expense (minus Draco, of course), it became a side game for the team to try knocking Harry off the cruddy school broom during practice.

Flint called it 'expert training' but no one was stupid enough to believe it. This was revenge for what happened last year.

On the sidelines however, Harry saw a familiar face cheering him on.

"C-Can I watch? During your practices, I mean," asked Tracey one weekend morning in the common room, out of the blue, with Pansy, Millicent, and Daphne behind her. "Uh… All of us! Not just me. Yeah." She laughed nervously, rubbing her elbows as if a cold breeze had passed through.

"Sure," he replied with a lopsided smile, wringing his hands in the leather of his Quidditch pads. Since when was he so tense?

"Oh, thank Merlin. Now she can shut up about asking you," Daphne said with an eye roll, causing both him and Davis to blush profusely.

And from then on, the Slytherin girls watched them practice, though it was mostly Pansy and Tracey paying the most attention. Harry wasn't sure why Draco liked Parkinson so much, but Tracey was kind and forgiving. She took his apologies about the manipulation, lying, and petrification and seemed to toss them out the window like they were nothing important.

Tracey Davis liked him, not for who he was or who he had been, but for what he did now. He apologized and she forgave him without hesitance. She smiled and hugged him after practice, despite his poor performance and all the bruises, saying that he was doing the best he could. She held his hand while they walked to Charms or Transfiguration. He even took her to Muggle Studies once, saying the Magical Creatures could wait and she laughed, thanking him.

"Well, it's the least I can do after everything you've done for me," he said casually, squeezing her fingers as her blue eyes begged him not to go.

"You're too sweet, Harry, but you really ought to go. I'll see you at dinner, okay?" Her blush was rosy and she giggled as she slipped her hands out of his.

"Of course!" Then he paused, tilting his head in momentary thought. "Are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" he asked.

Her eyes glittered like the sunrise's rays on dew drops. Her smile was wide, beaming with joy. "Yes!" she exclaimed, though lowering her voice to add, "I am," right after.

"Then… would you…" He grinned at the tickling in his chest. "Would you be my date to Hogsmeade?" The question had been something Parkinson brought up with him because she was hoping Draco would ask her, but Harry never considered the thought of asking a girl to go with him to a wizard village as something romantic. Maybe girls looked at it that way? He wasn't sure. They were a complicated bunch and he was still new to the idea of simply having a girlfriend in the first place.

"Yes, yes, yes! A million times yes!" She bounced on her heels and hugged him.

Harry couldn't entirely hide his joy as he bounded out to Hagrid's hut that day. It felt like he was the happiest boy alive.

Someone cared about him. Genuinely loved him. Wanted to be with him. He was wanted. Harry James Potter was finally wanted.

Halloween morning, he handed his permission slip to Severus Snape right after Tracey gave hers. The man huffed, seemingly surprised the signature was real and there.

"You are free to go," Snape drawled to the third year snakes, who were all bundled up in their winter cloaks and green and grey scarves.

Tracey held Harry's hand as they made their way to Hogsmeade. Even without the cold weather, their blushes would still be present as they journeyed between the quaint shops. Honeydukes was his favorite, where they both enjoyed Jelly Slugs and free samples of fudge. Tracey dared him to try a Cockroach Cluster, but only if she tried the blood flavored lollipops.

"You're on, Potter," she declared mischievously, grabbing the unusual treats to take to the check out counter.

"Come on, Draco! We can go to the Three Broomsticks and drink butterbeer together," said Parkinson excitedly, grabbing Malfoy's arm and tugging him along.

Draco almost wished he hadn't come along. It was chilly and dreadfully uninteresting here. And with Pansy dragging him away from Potter and Davis, time felt like it was slowed to a snail crawl. She insisted the trip to Hogsmeade be something of a date for the two of them, but nothing about the wizard village screamed romantic to him.

Maybe he just needed to warm up with some butterbeer and relax.

The situation between Harry and Granger left Draco stuck in the middle, tense and unsure of what exactly he had to do as the third component in the strange friendship. Could he even call Hermione a friend? Probably. But she was more Harry's than Draco's.

Why, oh, why did Draco have to affiliate himself with Potter? If he hadn't, it might have saved him the headache of being Harry's best friend and, by extension, Hermione's friend.

Maybe if Draco didn't introduce himself to Harry that day in front of Ollivander's, things wouldn't be so complicated. Harry probably would have chosen to be in Gryffindor with Granger, the two of them wouldn't be avoiding each other, Draco would have zero involvement with any of the lions, and everyone could enjoy a sense of normalcy.

And Harry probably wouldn't have been possessed. And tormented by his guardians, peers, and the rest of the world.

But that was idealism. Draco knew better. Such idealism was for fools who thought the world was pure and good. Life was not perfect. Fate was a cruel, bitter mistress.

Entering the Three Broomsticks, Draco noticed that he and Pansy weren't the only students that chose to indulge in the sweetness and delight of a tankard of butterbeer.

Among the various tables with witch, wizard, warlock, ogre, dwarf, and whatever else decided to take the trip to Hogsmeade were three Hogwarts students Draco knew were supposed to be enjoying the day too. Two of them were chugging down butterbeer while they chatted, but the third…

She was gloomy. Depressed. Somehow, despite having her two friends with her, she looked alone.

"Oh, there's Millie and Blaise! Let's go sit with them!" Pansy suggested, pointing to a table across the way where the two other Slytherins were. She tugged the sleeve of his winter cloak, but looked at him and groaned. "Get over it, Draco. Potter has. I'm sure he'll be by with Tracey soon and we can all chat later while we head back."

Sighing, he glared hard at her. Of course she never really cared for the lions, especially Granger. It made sense that she'd approve of Harry moving on from the whole thing and dating Davis. It meant he wasn't bringing the Muggle-born around them anymore. Pureblood culture never could get over itself.

"Sit with them. I'll… I'll order the butterbeer," he grumbled, only partially lying.

Pansy smiled and nodded, skipping off to the table.

Draco strode up to the counter, finding the woman known as Madam Rosmerta serving drinks to a bunch of rowdy dwarves. She handed him two warm tankards of butterbeer, which he didn't hesitate to take, letting their heat travel through his fingertips as he turned around.

There were his choices. Go to the Slytherin table and ignore everything he knew was important in a true friendship. Or take a seat with the lions and try to figure out how to get his friends to talk to each other again.

His stomach squirmed at the decision he had to make. And he knew he had to make it because Potter was too much of a stubborn, thick-headed idiot to do it himself.

So he walked over to the table by the fireplace, placing the two butterbeer cups on the table as he sat down next to Weasley, who, along with Longbottom, was staring at him in slight surprise.

"Here," Draco said, nudging the second butterbeer to Hermione.

"What do you want?" asked Longbottom, obviously not a friendly face to someone like Draco Malfoy, who had done nothing but make his life a living hell for two months now.

"Well I'm certainly not here for fun, as much as I wish I was. I'm here for her," Draco stated, motioning to the quiet girl next to Longbottom.

"Shouldn't it be Potter doing that?"

"He already did and all she did was run off crying about whatever he'd done to her. Granger, what did he say to you that's gotten you like this? Surely it can't have been…" He stopped himself, realizing that Harry, in his infinite stupidity, probably did say something that could have ruined his friendship with Hermione to this extent.

She sniffled and sunk into the seat, burying herself in the plush of her cloak.

"Can't you tell me anything? It's not like it matters anymore. He's moved on. You should too. Stop letting his opinion matter to you. Harry's an idiot," Draco groaned, running a hand down his face. "You're the smartest witch of our age. It shouldn't matter what some dumb boy thinks about you. You should be focused on yourself and your happiness. If Harry wants to ruin your friendship with him like he did, that's his fault. You don't have to forgive him, but that doesn't mean you should beat yourself up over hating him. He's a Slytherin. We're all annoying twats anyway."

Weasley let out a loud snort, some of his butterbeer leaking out of his nose as he did. He coughed and sputtered with laughter, which didn't shock Draco in the slightest.

When it didn't seem like Hermione was going to speak, he sighed and stood up, resigning to leave to deal with Parkinson instead. "Whatever. Can't say I didn't try," he grumbled.

"Why did you?" Hermione suddenly piped up, her fingers sliding around the lukewarm butterbeer tankard in front of her.

"Well, I told you… We're… friends. I thought that's what friends did," he admitted awkwardly. Damn him if he ever got used to all this sappy trite. Whenever he eventually reconciled with Granger, Draco was beating the shit out of Potter for making him act nice. That was a personal promise. He was above all this… caring for friendships and all that nonsense. Slytherins were about petty, melodramatic arguments, not basic emotional drivel like this.

Granger stared at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, then smiled. "Thank you, Draco," she said softly. Some of the color, the joy, was returning slowly to her face. He loathed the tickling in his chest at the sight of her improvement.

"Don't mention it. Ever. To anyone outside of this table especially," he replied dryly before turning and leaving. Ugh. He hated the satisfied feeling that bubbled in the pit of his stomach. It was nauseating. All of this was.

But at least Hermione wasn't sad anymore.

The portrait of the Fat Lady had been found slashed up viciously upon the conclusion of the Halloween feast. The teachers weren't saying it aloud, but it was obvious who the culprit was.

Sirius Black.

And Harry could only think of the note Crookshanks gave him over a week ago. The one with S.B. written on the back of a parchment with the Gryffindor password on it.

Had Sirius Black attempted to get into Gryffindor Tower to get to Neville first? Surely that must have been the plan. How did he even get into Hogwarts in the first place? There were guards everywhere. Harry didn't even understand how Lupin forced the Dementor from the train away yet but somehow Sirius Black had gone through a whole army of them undetected.

The murderer was crafty, Harry would give him that.

"Little snake? What is happening? Why haven't you gone back to the high tower?" spoke a tiny voice from inside Harry's scarf.

"Sorry, Asclepius," Harry whispered, putting the bundle of cloth into the sleeping bag so no one would notice the snake. It was unfortunate that Asclepius wasn't able to escape Harry's sleeve undetected the night he was up apologizing to Hermione, what with Draco, Neville, and Ron behind him as well as Crookshanks on the prowl. "I don't think I'll be able to go back up there for a while either. A monster named Sirius Black tried to get in to kill the Chosen One. They'll likely set guards around the way in to try and protect him."

"Oh dear. That tricky shadow will likely thrive under that level of protection. I have seen those creatures you humans call guards. They do not care for my presence, but they make my insides seize with sluggishness. Dreadful things." Asclepius poked his head out, nudging his snout against Harry's hand. "I suppose I will instead hunt for the other shadows. The Grim and the shadow on the high tower will have to be yours to handle. I know there is another shadow in the castle, but it is a dangerous one. I must tread carefully and so should you, little snake. Until we meet again."

Asclepius slithered out, darting quickly through the rows of sleeping students until his slender body slipped through a crack in the wall of the Great Hall.

Two shadows in Hogwarts and a Grim still left to find. Was Sirius Black one of the shadows? No. That was impossible. Asclepius would never be able to defeat a serial killer. Mother would be insane to think such a thing.

"Seek the Grim and find his shadows," Harry reminded himself as he turned over in his sleeping bag. Merlin, these things were uncomfortable compared to the luxury of his four-poster bed in the Slytherin dormitory.

"Headmaster, you must understand. I only mention it because of their connection. You recall how closely tied those four were." That voice behind him sounded like Professor Snape. What was he talking about?

"I do not believe a single person inside this castle aided Black, Severus," responded Dumbledore, firm yet calm in his tone.

"But sir… even with his condition… you hired him knowing the risks. Black had already escaped. And with Potter here too."

Him? What? What did Harry have to do with…?

Hired… Professor Lupin?

One of the two unknown boys in the picture! Harry knew there was something familiar about their new Defense teacher. He'd had an inkling, but the mention of his own last name only confirmed it. Did Snape think Harry was helping Black because of the man's connection to Harry's father? Was Lupin helping Black?

Harry needed to find out.

And when he did? What would he do with that information? Who could he trust with that information?

The only person he would have confided such details to… no longer spoke to him. Harry didn't want to involve Tracey. She was so innocent and pure. None of the other Slytherins were as trustworthy. All but…

Draco.

His only best friend had warned him about Sirius Black. It made sense that Harry tell him all about the connections between Black, Potter, and Lupin.

But then who was the last boy in the photo?

Ron Weasley was not a happy person. His poor rat Scabbers was a sad state compared to when Harry first saw it petrified in the abandoned bathroom.

"Sorry, mate," he muttered as kindly as he could, patting the upset boy on the shoulder as they entered double Potions together.

"It's not your fault he's like this. Not entirely. It's Hermione. She won't cage that stupid cat no matter how many times I ask and its got Scabbers panicked. He's not been eating for days now. The beast's nearly gutted him twice," Weasley whined, stuffing the old, skinny rat in the pocket of his robe.

"Oh." Harry scratched the back of his head in shame. "Well, I guess I'm still partially to blame. Bloody cat's been nothing but trouble for me too. Couldn't get a lick of sleep after we got back from Diagon Alley because of him. She's…" He hesitated, but realized he no longer cared if she didn’t either, so he continued, "She always made excuses for Crookshanks. Made him out to be an innocent cat, but I think there's something very wrong with him. Kneazles are smart, yes, but that thing is far too smart to be normal."

Ron grinned. "I'm glad I'm not the only one that thought that. Thanks Harry."

While the class was set about brewing Sleeping Draughts for their professor, Harry saw it as an opportunity.

"Draco, can we talk?" he whispered to his best friend sat next to him.

"I don't know. Can we?" Malfoy joked smarmily as he tossed some ingredients into his cauldron.

"You know what I mean," Harry muttered, lowering his head as their professor passed by, eyeing him specifically. It wasn't possible that the man still suspected him, was it? Maybe it was best not to risk discussing this here. "After class, I need to tell you something."

"If this has anything to do with Davis, I don't want to hear it," grumbled Draco, sticking out his tongue cheekily.

"No. Draco, it's not-- We've only started dating. Shut up." Harry wished he could dunk his head in his cauldron to hide his embarrassed blush, but considering the brew wasn't the right color, it wasn't worth the possible death. "It's about what happened last week. With… him."

Slowly catching on, Draco nodded, expression turning serious now that he understood the severity.

As they left the dungeons to go to lunch, Harry pulled his friend aside and let out a shuddering sigh.

"Do you remember the photo album I showed you at the end of our first year? The one Hagrid made me that had all the pictures of my parents from their friends?" he questioned.

"Sort of? I mean, I know you showed it to me, but what does this have to do with… him?" Draco said, full of uncertainty.

"Black was a friend of my parents. A close friend. But… obviously not enough to…" Brushing aside the hate and secondhand betrayal he had towards the wanted criminal, Harry shook his head and kept on. "There was a photo that had my mum, dad, and Black in it, but it had two other boys in it too. One of them… I think it's--"

"Harry, Draco. What are you two standing out here for?"

Harry tensed, turning his head to see the very teacher he was about to accuse of conspiracy with a murderer loose on school grounds. "Professor Lupin, hi! It's nothing, really. Draco and I were just… chatting about Hogsmeade and… um… girls."

The unspoken implication clicked in Malfoy’s mind. Rolling his eyes, Draco corrected him, "Harry was wanting advice on how to ask his girlfriend on a second date to Hogsmeade." Oh, that was much clearer. Much more concise. Thank Merlin Harry was friends with an expert Slytherin.

Remus chuckled. "Ah, I see. Quite a couple of ladies' men, aren't you two? Why, I remember when your father was obsessing over Lily during our school years, Harry. She loathed him as far as she could toss him with a flick of her wand. A genius in Charms, she was. And an amazing duelist. But Merlin, was he infatuated with her. Fought for her proper attention and affection for months before she finally gave him the time of day. We had a laugh over his desperation every time we saw it."

Well, that all but confirmed Harry's suspicions.

"Such a shame, what happened to both of them." Lupin let out a solemn sigh, then straightened up. "But I suppose it's not in their best wishes to dwell on unhappy memories. And I'm sure they wouldn't want you hungry, so-- both of you-- off to lunch now. Go on." The man shooed them into the Great Hall, which they obliged to immediately.

"I see what you mean," Draco murmured as they walked to the Slytherin table. "How though? Dumbledore would know. Or the guards at least."

"He knows how to frighten off the Dementors, remember? The spell on the train," Harry reminded him.

That gave Malfoy pause. Of course, the other boy loathed having to think about Azkaban's guards. It was his greatest fear. "Still," he insisted. "Surely Dumbledore or somebody else would notice something."

Then, as if to hauntingly respond to Draco's words, Harry heard the voice in the walls… Mother. "The lion bloodies the halls... My children… They cannot hunt the last shadow in the castle any longer... Asclepius… Little snake… You are on your own…"

Harry hummed nervously.

"What are you thinking?" Draco asked as they sat down to eat.

What was he thinking? About a lot of things. Like how he was supposed to find an omen of death and its shadows in the castle all by himself. Or how he was going to get back into the Chamber without getting caught by the Dementor lurking near the abandoned bathroom. Or how he was going to get back in Hermione's good graces one day somehow. Or maybe what he was going to do about all the homework and classes he was taking. And the Quidditch match against Gryffindor this Saturday. What about the fact that it was likely Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were trying to get Longbottom and him killed? What was Harry not thinking about, quite frankly?

Biting at the skin of his left thumb, Harry let all those thoughts swim about his brain like the veggies in his stew.

Why did his life have to be so complicated all of a sudden?

Perhaps it was best to let his Quidditch mentality take control today. Saturday. The day of the match versus the lions.

Apparently there was a lot riding on this match. It was Oliver Wood's last chance at a victory over Slytherin. Marcus Flint wanted the game to be the best one yet, since he definitely didn't intend on repeating his seventh year again. This was Ginny's first game, so Harry had to pull every trick he possibly could out of his sleeve to catch the Snitch before her. And Harry was also stuck riding on a crappy school broom because his Firebolt was still being held hostage.

All in all, fantastic start to the game and the brooms hadn't even kicked off the ground yet.

Draco looked about as frightened at breakfast as he had been in their first year before their match against Gryffindor, which frustrated Harry to no end. If anyone should have been worried about this match, it was Harry. Draco still had his Nimbus 2001 and the rest of the team had 2000s. Meanwhile Harry had an ancient twig that jerked about in every direction but the one he wanted and practically the entire school hating him, including his own teammates.

The bruises on his elbows and shoulders from all the times he was shoved off his broom during practice were starting to feel like permanent emblems of his failures, along with all the scars from his time with the Dursleys. The only thing missing was a physical indication of his hurting Hermione twice now. Then he'd have it all.

Besides a lightning scar from the Dark Lord, of course. Thankfully fate was kind enough not to give him that.

"Alright, boys. I want no funny business this game. Just a clean, fair match against Gryffindor, alright?" Flint shouted, mockingly mimicking the Quidditch referee and teacher, Madam Hooch, as they all stood together in the locker room.

"A fair match with Slytherins?" said one of the Weasley twins as their team ambled in.

"In what world?" added the other.

"Oh, if it isn't the loser lions. Come to quit and save yourselves the humiliation?" Lucian Bole drawled, knocking his Beater bat lightly against his knee in anticipation.

"No, no. Just making sure your Seeker isn't possessed and cheating again this year," snarled Oliver. He gave a hardened glare to Harry.

Harry almost wanted to growl and say he was to irk the Gryffindor captain, but restrained himself. No use proving a false truth before a game as important as this one.

"You can check him yourself if you like, but we're still gonna wipe the floor with your arse, Wood," Montague grunted, shoving Harry forward like he was an offering.

Ginny pushed through her brothers, eyeing Harry up and down. "Doesn't look like it. Just a wimpy little snake like the rest of the team."

At this, Harry bristled. "You think you're better than me, Weasley?"

"I do. Because I don't need a fast broom to prove I'm a better Seeker than you, Potter."

Her brothers howled with laughter behind her, giving her pats on the back in encouragement.

"Neither do I," Harry growled in response through bared teeth. This was a point of pride now. A personal point of pride.

He wasn't about to let Ginny Weasley beat him at his own game.

Out on the field, it sounded like everyone was cheering for Gryffindor to win. Even the Slytherins seemed to want to see their team lose, if only because Harry was on it. It was a mixed bag, honestly. But Harry could see Tracey, Millie, Pansy, and even Daphne cheering him and Draco on.

This is a nothing game, Harry thought to himself. Even if he lost, which he wouldn't, he'd be able to make up for it in the other two games with his Firebolt.

But then she'd be right. He was useless without a fast broom.

Or… was he?

He peered over at Draco, who was mounted on his Nimbus 2001, and a brief flash of memory came to mind.

Twisting through the air. Sophie Roper squealing with confusion and fright as her control over the direction of her broom was swung farther ahead while he banked left towards the Snitch.

Sophie hopelessly struggled to right herself, a rookie on her broom compared to Harry. He championed the sky on his Nimbus 2000. The winds, whipping around him as he eased through the mass of Chasers, held no sway over him while he flew. He was their master. A master that toyed with his rivals and prey.

Harry might not have been flying on the fastest or even second fastest broom on the market, but that didn't mean he couldn't make his broom fly just as fast.

And that was an advantage he had over Ginny Weasley. The foresight and cunning to think of such things.

He didn't need the brightest witch of his age to think up something as brilliant as that! Harry James Potter was a smart wizard in his own right and he could damn well be proud of it!

Merlin, he missed talking to her.

No! This wasn't the time to mope about that!

Quidditch. He was on a broom. He was going to fly. He was going to win this game for Slytherin. Whether she ever decided to speak to him or not, the outcome of this game would be the same. They were going to win.

Ginny would not best him just because he was on a worse broom than he normally flew on. Nor would his sorry mood with all his mistakes and shame.

Soon he was up in the air, gripping onto the wobbly broom with every bit of his might and focus. Harry rose higher than the rest of the players, wanting the best view of the field that he could get.

While the winds were cold and the sky threatened an encore of a storm like the ones that had pelted rain and snow on everyone's heads, the weather was otherwise perfect for a game like this one. Just a distant fog across the Black Lake and dewdrops on the grass to signify wet ground.

Draco was off in the distance, pelting a Bludger into Chaser Angelina Johnson's general direction enough to make her swerve and miss a pass of the Quaffle, which was stolen away by Montague.

"Move it or fall, Potter!" shouted Bole, knocking against Harry with a broad shoulder.

The broom wavered. He swung off the side. His fingers slipped.

The muddy earth met his face with all the grace he'd grown accustomed to over the past few weeks. As if to punctuate his sodden luck, his glasses fell into the wet dirt.

Harry groaned as he sat up, staring up at the blurry green and red shapes floating above him. He saw a shape that wasn't those two colors.

"What happened, Potter? Slip? Knocked off?" Madam Hooch questioned. How had she missed him getting shoved off his broom by his own teammate? He was practically blind and saw Lucian Bole coming a mile away. If it wasn't for the garbage stick he was working with, he would've dodged out of the way in time.

"S-Slipped," he sputtered out, wiping muck off the side of his mouth. Honestly, doing so only made the grime on his face worse.

This was the worst game ever. And it'd only just started.

"Come on, Potter! Get back on and lose already!" Wood cried out, sounding far too confident for Harry's liking. He couldn't see it, but the idiot captain probably had a smug smirk on his face that Harry wished he could punch off.

Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could get away with it. If his teammates would let him stay on his broom long enough to do something, he could knock the wind right out of Oliver Wood and show everyone…

Show them what? That he knew how to fight dirty? Everyone knew that's how Slytherins were. It was no surprise.

Feeling for his glasses in the mud, Harry pulled them out and cleaned them off on his uniform. There was a bit of a smear staining the corner of his vision, but Harry had worked with worse conditions before. Granted, it wasn't in Quidditch, but he knew he could bear with it here too if he tried.

Tom would have had the answer to this. He would have had a spell that let Harry see better than a hawk in the daytime and tricks to outplay every player in the game. If not her, then Tom would have helped him. He had power and knowledge Harry could only dream of learning at his age.

But Harry was not Tom. Nor did he have Tom to help him. Harry had no one but himself. And what was Harry doing to prove himself?

Letting his stupid mardy mood ruin what was a deciding game for his team. 

Shaking his head, Harry reached for his broom and mounted it with a renewed, determined ease.

No. He wasn't Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was Harry James Potter. He was not the Heir of Slytherin. He was a Potter! He was the best Seeker the school had and he was on the Slytherin team. Not anywhere else! He would be the one to win this game for the Slytherins whether people wanted it or not!

And he was nothing if not a cunning little shite. He wouldn't touch Oliver Wood in the slightest no matter how much he wanted to punt the Quidditch obsessed idiot into the new millennia, but he would make Wood wish he had.

All Harry had to do was find that Snitch at the right time and the game was theirs.

Forcing his broom to comply, he made his way towards Draco the moment the timeout ended.

"What's wrong?" his friend asked, brief worry crossing his features.

"Nothing. But I have a plan. Think I can borrow some of your speed?" Harry replied, motioning to the Nimbus 2001.

"I think swapping brooms mid-game is considered cheating, Potter."

"No, not like that." Harry frowned when Ginny's shadow passed over him. "Just… start flying around and I'll follow you until I find the Snitch, alright?" He gave his teammate a smirk, hoping he'd understand the idea.

Draco, though uncertain, gave a nod and dove towards a Bludger headed after their team captain.

Though the school broom protested at first, Harry eventually got the thing maneuvering through the same flightpath his friend's Nimbus took.

The speed wasn't Firebolt level (and Harry was sure not much would be) but it was faster and that's what mattered. If he could simply spot the Snitch quick enough--

"Slytherin has the Quaffle! Keeper Wood has Chaser Pucey in sight!" declared Lee Jordan from the stands.

A loud crack like thunder up ahead. Draco's Beater bat made contact with the Bludger. The iron ball soared across the field, past Adrian.

Wood dodged the Bludger, but collided with one of the Weasley twins that had been on a trajectory towards that same Bludger.

"Clear shot! That makes the score 100 to 30 with Slytherin in the lead!"

Harry wished he had a moment to compliment Malfoy for the play, but needed to focus on keeping his broom steady.

His attention shifted to Ginny, who was glaring at them with an accusatory glint in her eyes. Her fiery hair matched her anger, drawing Harry's smirk forward once more. If she was so focused on besting him, then Harry had an advantage she never could. He knew how to press the right buttons. Retaliating the Dursleys, especially Dudley, was Harry's favored pastime.

Pushing himself into the same airstream as Draco, he flanked behind, darting his gaze around in search of the Snitch. As much as he knew it was important for him to catch it, with the current overwhelming lead, he wasn't entirely in a rush.

"110 to 35!"

But if Weasley found the Snitch…

Gold. Darting towards Bletchley.

"Malfoy!" he called out.

The blond's head swiveled, then the Nimbus. Slow, then back to speed. Harry struggled, nearly crashing into the base of one of the stands. But he broke the broom's antagonistic decision by using the momentum of the turn. His right foot met the wood of the stands, then the left. Like a spring, Harry bounced himself away fast enough to keep the burst of speed and catch back up with Malfoy.

Meeting some resistance, Harry corkscrewed, narrowing the broom's range of movement to a line that kept with Draco's path.

There was his prey. He could see what was rightfully his.

"125 to 40! Slytherin Seeker Potter has seen the Snitch! Gryffindor Seeker Weasley is not far behind!"

Peering over his shoulder for a second, Harry couldn't hold back his cackle.

Ginny was much farther behind than Lee Jordan wanted to admit.

A tingle of mischief. Would it hurt to toy with her, if only just a little? This was pathetic.

Reveling in the dark desire, he allowed the school broom some leeway and it rose higher.

The Snitch went the opposite way, but, believing Harry was still tracking it, Ginny kept at his tail instead.

"What's this? Seeker Potter is avoiding the Snitch! And Weasley is--"

Realizing she'd been duped the moment Lee Jordan announced her mistake, Ginny grit her teeth and dove back.

"Oh no you don't!" Harry snarled, shoving his broom down until it had no choice but to obey and dive just the same.

"Score! 175 to 50!"

A bit more. Closer.

Snitch fluttered left. Harry above it. Out of arms reach.

Crack! Another fine hit from Malfoy.

The Bludger went right under Harry's broom.

Genius!

A burst of speed! His fingertips grazed a wing. So close!

Mine! Mine!

Like a rock skipping across water, the Bludger bounded across the field. But what dazzled in Harry's sights was the Snitch in its insistence on avoiding his capture.

Another hand reached out towards it. Not his own.

No! Mine!

Thankfully, the golden ball wanted neither Seeker and danced between them.

Harry pulled up and wired his attention on the Snitch for only a moment, then saw Draco below him, tailing after the Bludger making its way towards the action. Chasers fighting for the Quaffle. Gryffindor struggling with its piss poor teamwork.

Flint was right to have forced the team to overclock in training during the weekends they had. Gryffindor was losing whatever edge it might have had with each nasty shove away from a passed Quaffle. Maybe the training to knock Harry off his broom was actually beneficial, even if they'd specifically chosen him as the dummy to shove.

"210 to 55… Ginny Weasley has the Snitch in sight!"

No she doesn't!

Harry, keeping right in line behind Draco, flew off towards her. In a split second decision, Harry ducked under her and spun with his broom, just like it wanted to do. As he predicted, Ginny veered away like Sophie had last year, unable to fight the stronger winds surrounding Harry.

"No!" He heard her cry, making him laugh.

Oh, this was too much fun!

The Snitch fluttered up to eye level, startling him momentarily. Before he could snatch it from the air, it was above then behind.

Pivoting, Harry saw that shimmer of gold flee towards the space below.

Draco, ever-vigilant, flew over to meet him, ready to help.

But then that shadowy creature appeared. Harry recognized it, as clearly as he saw it the night he ran away from the Dursleys after blowing up Aunt Marge. The beast that growled and threatened to kill him. The thing that likely haunted Longbottom and tried to bore its way into Harry's own dreams. There it was, plain as day, stood menacingly at the base of the Gryffindor stands, staring up at him.

A big, black dog. A beast.

"The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! An omen-- the worst kind-- of death!" screeched Professor Trelawney in his mind.

"Th-Th-The Grim!" Harry exclaimed.

"W-What?" Draco shouted back in surprise.

"Down there! The Grim!" He wasn't crazy! That thing was down there! The omen of death! That's what Harry saw! It was real! It was out to kill him!

"Malfoy! Potter! Look out!" cried Bole above.

The crunch of bone was a startlingly familiar sound to Harry. While he only barely missed ducking under the Bludger zooming past his head, he could not say the same for Draco. His friend screamed in visceral pain. His bat slipped through his fingers. Malfoy lost his grip on his Nimbus 2001 in the flurry of agony.

"Draco!" Harry caught the other boy in his arms, steadying on his shoddy broom as best he could.

"She's caught it! Ginny Weasley's caught the Snitch! Gryff--"

But Harry wasn't listening to Lee Jordan. Not anymore. There were more important issues.

"D-Don't die, Draco. Please don't. Y-You can't," Harry spoke frantically as he attempted to maneuver the school broom down to the ground.

His best friend groaned, a merciful sign that at least he was alive. For now.

Where was Madam Hooch? She needed to be here to help!

Harry knew what a Bludger had done to poor Sophie Roper last year. The impact sound it had made with Draco had been severe too. There was no way his friend would quit Quidditch because of this, right? Surely not. It had been Draco's dream to be on the team and play the games.

Thankfully, though without the grace of a smooth landing, Harry found footing and hurried off the broom, placing Malfoy on the ground carefully.

"Move aside, Potter," he heard the Quidditch teacher demand behind him, which he obeyed unquestioningly.

He tried watching her examinations or listening to her murmurs, but he couldn't stomach seeing the way his friend's arm looked so… unnatural. Surely he wasn't seeing blood, right? A-And there was a bit of a curve, not a dent. No. Don't--!

"Broken arm. Will be needing to see Poppy, but he'll live," the woman declared, taking Draco away moments later, before Harry could say anything to comfort him.

He felt alone here, useless and unable to properly imagine the level of pain his friend was probably going through right now. Standing there for what felt like an eternity, Harry's mind swam in a dizzy, light-headed daze. He wasn't sure what to do. His body felt like it was trapped in a full body binding curse.

"Can't have one game without someone getting hurt, can you, Harry?" said one of the Weasley twins.

"Apparently not," Harry muttered to himself, then turned and peered over at the older boy. "Come to gloat that you've won?"

"We didn't win," the other twin revealed as he came to join the first. "Gin-gin brought the score to 215 to 210."

"If we hadn't been distracted seeing Malfoy get struck by the Bludger, Wood would've been able to stop Ginny and warn her not to catch the Snitch until we were up a few more points."

"You've devastated him, really. That trick you pulled, toying with her the whole game while the rest of your team pulled their weight, made Wood so mad, he's fuming in the locker room right now."

"It's why we're out here with you."

Harry tried his best to smile, but a part of him was still thinking back to the reason he distracted Draco from seeing the Bludger in the first place. He leaned slightly to check past the twins, but saw nothing in the field behind them.

No. Surely that thing Harry saw was real. It was the Grim! He was sure he saw it!

A shrill scream pulled him to reality, coming from the same direction he'd seen the giant black dog.

He wasn't hallucinating!

Shoving past the twins, Harry ran towards the Gryffindor stands, ignoring their confused protests as he chased the shadow of where the Grim had been.

Seek the Grim and find its shadows.

Well, here's the Grim so there's probably a shadow here!

He turned the corner to confront the Grim, expecting it to still be there, but this was no spectral wolf. This was a different ghostly thing entirely.

A slimy grey hand grabbed Harry by the throat, hoisting him into the air while heaving a great gulp of air. He felt weak, winded, nauseous. His body seemed to seize with a mixture of ice and fright, trembling. In a vain effort to break free, his blunt nails tried digging into the skin of the hand holding him as he gasped and whimpered.

The spark of silvery light made her jump and shriek. She was backed further, hitting the side of the cage he was stuck in.

His fingers gripped the bars. He couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough to break out.

"S-Snap out of it! Please! Love, you can't--!" she protested.

He couldn't see her face. Her hair was dark, shrouding her expression, and so was the room. She was yelling at a figure that had blown out the door opposite the cage. A figure he recognized.

Himself.

"No! Don't do this!" But her pleas fell on deaf ears.

His eyes were a hollow white, lost in a cruel fog of black magic that warped him into a monster. He was cold and heartless in his look and stride.

He pointed his wand towards her.

"Avada--"

"Expecto Patronum!"

Harry was pulled out of his nightmare vision by a massive white creature that charged at the Dementor. He collapsed to the ground, coughing and sputtering. His hazy vision found a familiar shabbily-dressed wizard looming over him.

"Are you alright, Harry?" asked Professor Lupin, pulling him onto his feet.

While nodding, Harry did feel a strange amount of lightheadedness.

"Good. Come now. Let's get you inside the castle. Your friend's already in the infirmary. Wouldn't want you joining him because you've gotten sick rather than because you care," the man stated firmly, as if hearing his thoughts. "Besides, you should be otherwise celebrating your victory. I'm sure Malfoy would want you to in his stead, right?"

"R-Right," Harry said through heavy panting. He noticed the professor's wand, long and brown with a bit at the end that looked like a doorknob.

"S-Sir," he spoke once they were inside the entrance hall, "what was that spell you used on the Dementor?" He pulled his glasses off for a second and wiped the last little smear he had chosen to ignore until then.

Remus smiled. "Curious as to how to defend against one? I'm not surprised. You showed no fear against the one on the train, but this one must have caught you off guard. Awful things, they are. Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth, infesting the darkest, filthiest places. Get too close to a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, a Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself... Soulless and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life; an empty shell that's lost its soul."

At this explanation, Harry understood why the Dementors had hardly any effect on him. He already had very little happiness to spare. He followed the professor towards the medical wing, feeling a strange amount of skittishness as he did. He wanted to know how that spell worked. He needed to in order to get to the Chamber again to see Mother and figure out how to defeat the Grim. If it was lurking the castle like he was sure he saw, he needed to know what to do to kill it.

"But that spell… It repels Dementors?" Harry inquired further, mentally begging the man to not question his motives.

"The Patronus charm does, yes. It's… almost like an anti-Dementor spell. It conjures up a being that shields the caster from the Dementors. In order for such a spell to properly work, you would need to project the very thing a Dementor desires; joy, happiness, the will to live. A single happy memory, the best one you might have, and they stand little chance." Lupin must have noticed Harry's look of concentration, since he added, "It's a complex spell, Harry. I would advise not dwelling on it much. You've already proven the Dementors have very little effect on you. I'd suggest simply staying on your guard. You'll have nothing to fear if you do."

Oh, but Harry did have something to fear. The professor knew this. The Dementor figured it out. Harry didn't like that. It made him feel weak, something he didn't need to be told he was. He already knew. He let a phantom memory of the Dark Lord prove that to him last year.

"Thank you, sir. I will," Harry said, burying his apathy towards the man in the back of his mind.

This is the same man that helped Sirius Black into the castle, after all.

Remus knocked on the door to Madam Pomfrey's domain, summoning her to open it.

She gave the professor a curt nod, but frowned at Harry. "Ah. You again. Made it a few weeks before you've gone and hurt yourself again this time?" she half-scolded, half-teased.

"A Dementor wanted to make Harry its next meal," stated the Defense teacher firmly.

The nurse's brows furrowed as she exclaimed, "I knew it was only a matter of time before those things truly started going after the children. Young Longbottom had been only an appetizer. These things will be going after whole groups of students soon thanks to the Ministry's incompetence and Albus' apathy." She pulled Harry inside by the arm, dropping him into the nearest hospital bed while she ranted to Professor Lupin.

Harry glanced around as the two adults discussed what had happened to him.

There, a few beds down, back to him and resting on his left side, was Draco. His right arm was in a splint rather than the black leather arm guard of his Quidditch gear. Considering how hard a Bludger hit versus the durability of the armor, that impact must have been absolutely brutal.

"Mr. Potter," spoke Madam Pomfrey with only slight impatience.

He turned back to her, realizing quickly that Professor Lupin was still there, and waited.

"I understand you're worried for him, dear, but he needs his rest. By tomorrow he should be up and about," she assured, brushing back his messy black hair to place a hand on his forehead.

"Reminds me of when we were students here," Remus said as he sat against a neighboring bed and hummed. "James would always find a way to get into scrapes with other students, usually the bigger, older ones, or get himself banged up in a Quidditch game like your friend there. Then Padfoot and I would…" His words were suddenly lost to him. Tired eyes glazed over and stared at the floor between the two beds.

Though curious and still suspicious of the teacher's motives, Harry kept the new nagging question away from his tongue. Who was Padfoot? Clearly one of his father's friends like Lupin and Black. Was it the name of the last boy in the picture?

"How are you feeling?" Madam Pomfrey asked, snapping Harry's attention back to the current matter. She was staring at his eyes as if looking for any imperfection in them.

"Hungry," he admitted.

"No dizziness or nausea? Sense of dread or overwhelming dark thoughts?" she pressed a bit firmer.

"N-No? Tired from the game and a bit cold from the weather, but I'm fine. I promise."

"Well, if that's the case, then I'll let you off with another warning this time, Mr. Potter. Stay away from those guards. I don't want you back here again until after the holidays, do I make myself clear?"

Hearing the amusement in her tone, he smiled. "Crystal, ma'am."

"Good. Now off you go. Get some food in your stomach and--"

"H-Harry?"

Just as he had hopped off the bed at the nurse's request, he heard the weakened, strained voice of his best friend come from further down. He peered up at her, unsure of whether to respond or if he was even allowed to go near.

Begrudgingly, she gave in with a sigh and motioned for him to do so.

He ran over to his friend, who stared up at him through half-lidded, sleepy grey eyes. "Yeah, Draco, it's me. Are you…" He stopped himself from asking the stupid, obvious question, rephrasing to, "How are you feeling?"

"Like absolute dogshite," the other boy muttered with a lopsided grin, making Harry laugh. "But I'll manage. Did we win?"

"Thanks to you nearly dying, yes. Since you fell, Wood was distracted and couldn't tell Weasley not to grab the Snitch before they could up the score. You're the hero of the game, Malfoy."

It was Draco's turn to laugh, but weakly and breathy. "Probably would've been the martyr if you weren't there to catch me."

"Wouldn't have needed to if I quit being an arse to Weasley and caught the Snitch like I was supposed to."

He heard Professor Lupin let out a small chuckle, but ignored it.

Draco's eyes seemed to light up with a recognition in that moment. "You sound like… her," he stated, soft and careful, knowing Harry would understand.

And Harry did, letting out a hard breath though his nose as his shoulders slumped. He really needed to stop thinking out loud if that was the case.

"Apologize to her, Harry."

"I already did."

"Then do it again, idiot," Draco hissed with a little more force, giving a wince until he slowly relaxed the tension in his body away. "Merlin's sake, Potter, I… You can't give up on her just like that. She's your friend-- our friend-- and you're supposed to care about her."

"I do. I always have, but… She didn't forgive me, so what else can I do?" Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

"Fight for her. Make her see that you still care even if she thinks you don't. Try something at least. You're not a true Slytherin if you don't."

That struck a cord in Harry's mind. His friend was right. He was acting weak and passive about the whole thing when he was supposed to be determined and strong. It's no wonder people looked at him like he was the worst Slytherin in the school. He wasn't doing anything to try again. He gave up. He let her lack of forgiveness knock him off his broom and was doing nothing to fix it.

"Alright. That's enough. Let him rest. You two can prattle some more tomorrow when he's better. To the Great Hall now," ordered Madam Pomfrey, nudging Harry out of the hospital wing alongside Professor Lupin.

The man, for some reason, had stayed, lingering despite not having anything more to do for Harry. It was rather unnerving but also annoying. What more did he need?

Then again, what more did Harry want to know? Would he accuse the teacher of letting Sirius Black in now or wait? Would Harry reveal such a suspicion so quickly and on his own? Certainly he couldn't challenge the teacher yet. No, not until he knew more for certain could he do so. He needed to get a few more details straight before he did.

Merlin, now he was starting to sound like Tom. No more of that.

"You and Malfoy must be great friends," commented Remus pleasantly as they walked to the Great Hall.

"He and I met at Ollivander's before our first year. We've been best friends ever since. Even with everything that happened last year, he's been the bravest and most loyal friend I know," Harry explained, deciding to mimic the casual nature of the conversation.

"I heard about what happened. Dumbledore told us all to keep an eye on you for him, but you've hardly caused any trouble worth mentioning to him. The worst thing you've done was with that boggart and that wasn't your fault."

Harry flinched, feeling phantom claws dig themselves into his neck at the mention of the creature resembling him that had sprung from the darkness. But the notion that the Headmaster wanted the teachers to watch over Harry tickled another part of his mind. What purpose would that serve beyond making him want to cause problems intentionally?

"I'm sure you understand… With Sirius Black on the loose in the area, he's quite worried," Lupin continued, knitting his fingers together behind his back.

"Because Black killed my parents."

Remus stopped, Harry doing the same a few steps ahead.

"How much do you know?" the man asked cautiously, staring at him with a wariness Harry was far too accustomed to seeing in everyone else.

"I know that Black was my parents' friend. I know he betrayed my parents' trust by siding with the Dark Lord. I know he intends to kill Longbottom and me. It doesn't take a leap of logic to assume he killed my parents, since he was also capable of killing multiple Muggles without a hint of remorse," Harry said lazily, as if the facts weren't anything important to him. They were, of course, because, as he spoke them aloud, they filled him with a rage he could only barely temper under a blanket of exhaustion to save for another day. When he really needed it. When it mattered. When the world finally stood against him. When he could break free from under scrutiny and fight back.

"Harry…" the professor tried, then pursed his lips in pause, considering a new response. "There are things that you must understand. I knew them. They were my friends. What happened to your parents because of Black… Those are complicated matters, but it's imperative you understand that his betrayal shouldn't drive you to seek revenge. It's not healthy. It's not safe. Leave it to the adults to--"

"The same adults that look at me like I'm as much a criminal as Black?" Harry cut in, feeling that anger tingle at the edge of his skin.

"They do not--"

"Minister Fudge was willing to put me in Azkaban if it meant pleasing everyone. Dumbledore placed me with a family of Muggles that despise me because he saw their abuse of me as a justifiable enough punishment for something that's supposedly not my fault. I can't walk around without being called a freak or a monster or the next Dark Lord. I can't do anything without being reminded that what happened last year won't ever go away. I'll always be a monster. I'll always be the villain. I can never just be Harry. I'll just be a mistake named Harry Potter, who won't ever go away because trouble always follows him."

Harry didn't realize he was shaking again until Lupin put firm hands on his shoulders to keep him still. He peered up at the man he was supposed to trust, but could see only pity, just like Dumbledore, etched into those weary eyes. But there was something more, like… like compassion.

"You are no monster, son," Remus stated in such a way that startled Harry to the core. "Monsters are… They're…" He faltered but found his resolution again. "It's within everyone the strength and capacity to become a monster, Harry, but also the freedom to choose whether to give into that power and let it consume us, deny it exists and unknowingly unleash it, or learn from it and become a better person overall in spite of its existence. Anyone could have been in your place last year. Anyone could become the next Dark Lord. Anyone could be a monster and you'd never know it until they reveal themselves to you. Everyone has their demons. No one is wholly pure and whoever tells you they are is likely hiding the worst sort of monster you'll never want to meet."

Feeling the man's grip tighten slightly before slipping away, Harry let the words sink into his thoughts. Then a new one sprung past his lips. "Are you a monster, sir?" It sounded so stupid yet innocuous that he didn't care to take it back. The Defense professor spoke as if he had experience with this sort of subject that Harry couldn't get the nagging idea out of his head that maybe he could get some sort of confession out of him.

Clearing his throat, Professor Lupin scratched at the stubble on his jaw. So this was a man with something to hide. What more was there? The mystery of Padfoot still lingered. Whatever happened between Harry's parents and Black… Plenty about his own connection to Black. Harry had so much more he wanted to know, but perhaps it was best to leave it with that one question and how his teacher would answer it.

"I… suppose I am. In a sense, I've figured out how to handle the monster much better than I used to in my youth," he said in a delicate matter, giving Harry a satisfied smile as he did.

Well, it wasn't what Harry was hoping for in a confession, but it was certainly something to mull over if he wanted to.

They finished the walk to the Great Hall in silence, less uncomfortable than the one to the hospital wing, but still enough to make Harry wish he were simply walking alone.

But before either could open one of the large doors, it opened instead for them, with someone on their way out.

"Ah… Lupin. Just the man I was looking for," spoke Professor Snape with a twinge of disgusted reluctance. "I had your mixture placed in a bottle in your office. There's enough for the sufficient three days, I should hope."

"Thank you, Severus. I'll have a bit to eat first before I pop off to prepare, but I'm grateful for your help. Will you still be able to…?" Remus gave Snape a delighted smile to contrast the revulsion, seemingly unaware of the other teacher's typical behavior.

"If it's only for the three days, I should be available. What would they…" The Potions Master stalled when he saw a still starving Harry standing by Lupin. "Potter, shouldn't you already be in here?"

"He was attacked by a Dementor, Severus. I escorted him to Pomfrey's wing for a quick check up and he chatted a while with Malfoy. You've got a couple of mischief makers in your house too, I see," Professor Lupin replied almost as sharply to his peer.

Snape sneered as he always did to Harry. "Don't remind me. Get inside, Potter."

Harry obeyed eagerly, skirting past his Head of House's dark robes and hurrying to the Slytherin table find his other friends and teammates. Food sounded right brilliant right now, especially with his victory.

His problems could wait for tomorrow.

He'd completely forgotten about his problems until Tuesday.

Sunday was spent with Pansy, Tracey, and Millicent in the hospital wing, visiting Draco. The boy was in much better spirits, but his arm was still in recovery so he was stuck there for another day. He mentioned some horrid medicine Madam Pomfrey was making him take that at first taste made him nearly puke his innards out, but he'd grown numb to by the third time.

"Like candied bile and vinegar soaked roaches," Malfoy described, sticking out his tongue. "Lumpy and bitter and cold all the way down the throat."

"Nasty," Millie commented with a similar look of queasiness.

"At least you're feeling better, right?" said Pansy from her seat by Draco's hospital bed, her eyes twinkling in hope.

"Pomfrey said that by tomorrow I should be free to go. I'm just wanting for my dormitory bed again. This one feels like it hasn't been replaced since the school first opened," he joked, earning snickers from all of them.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Leave it to you to complain about something utterly superfluous."

"Yeah, and I'll complain some more. Superfluous? Are you telling me you've made up with Granger?" Draco questioned in a further mocking tone.

"No. Not yet," Harry drawled.

"Why should he? He's got Tracey. He doesn't need the mudblood, does he, Davis?" Pansy spoke sharply, butting in with that same attitude that put three long scars across Harry's back.

Tracey bit her bottom lip nervously, squeezing herself almost possessively against Harry's left arm. "R-Right."

And with a quick glance to Draco, Harry had the subject drop there.

On Monday, like he'd said, Malfoy was up and about again, strutting into the Great Hall for breakfast with his arm in a cast and sling. The Slytherin table rejoiced with his return, singing his praises at his noble sacrifice for the win against Gryffindor for a third year in a row.

"Oh, it was nothing," he spoke with a false modesty, then he stared across from him at Harry and his grin grew wider. "If it hadn't been for Potter, it would have been much worse. I fell from nearly fifty feet, Hooch said, so if he hadn't caught me, I probably would've died."

Tracey tugged Harry close as he blushed, kissing him on the cheek as the rest of the table clapped some more, this time for him.

Pansy draped herself over Draco for the rest of the day, thanking Harry with every other breath that wasn't devoted to doting for her Prince of Slytherin. And Draco was milking every second of her attention for all it was worth.

Then Tuesday hit.

Harry was walking with Tracey at his left, arms linked like she enjoyed, and Draco with Pansy at his right. The latter girl was fussing over Draco's cast, which Harry had given a customary signature to while explaining why the previous night.

"It's a modern Muggle tradition. Whenever my cousin Dudley got one, all his friends at school signed it or drew things on it. It's not permanent, but it's fun," Harry said as he pulled a regular Muggle pen out of his luggage and clicked it, scratching a blue inky scrawl that was his name onto the white cast.

"It's dumb," Draco grumbled, glaring at it.

Harry cackled as he sat down on his friend's dorm bed, clicking the pen again and twirling it in his fingers. "You're dumb. It's not like you're going to keep the cast after your arm's done healing, are you?"

"No."

"Then what's the harm? Tell the others to do it. See who writes the biggest signature. They'll make a game out of it, I know they will," Harry assured.

And sure enough, he was right.

"Mine's the best," Theo declared after scribbling his autograph on it.

"No, mine," said Blaise not a moment later, nearly breaking his quill writing on the bend of Draco's elbow.

"Obviously you only care about Parkinson's, but at least mine's not obnoxious," Daphne stated with a scowl as she snatched Pansy's quill and wrote her name over Draco's wrist.

Millie drew a snake covered in bandages and hearts by her name, causing Pansy even more distress.

Tracey, under Bulstrode's signature, wrote 'Get Better Soon!' with her own name.

After Greg and Vince fought over where to write their names, they left their inky blot signatures on Draco's cast too.

And Pansy decided to make sure hers was the best by using different colors of ink, creating elaborate designs in the empty space around the letters, and turning her name into an art project in between classes.

On the situation of classes, Harry hadn't been graced with much luck or favor from fate.

"Please, sir, not even one?" he begged to his Head of House, after Tuesday morning Potions.

"I cannot, Potter. Not unless you want your entire schedule recycled into a much worse one. Were you to wait until next term, I could fix it into something more manageable, but you will have to lose Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies, and Arithmancy," Professor Snape replied icily, tapping a hard finger to the specific classes as he listed them.

No! Not Arithmancy! He actually liked that class. Professor Vector was a fantastic teacher and was the most pleasant adult Harry had encountered in the whole school. She didn't care about what he'd done last year at all, more focused on her lessons and numbers that such information hardly if ever came up in conversation. And the charts she had the class do for homework were the easiest assignment Harry had to do every week.

"C-Can't you take off Divination instead?" Harry questioned pleadingly.

"I'm afraid not. Professor Trelawney has already told the staff of her prediction of only one student leaving her third year class and the name that came up was not yours," Snape declared with a conniving smirk.

Of course that woman would tell the whole school about Hermione leaving, but not him.

"Then is there any way I can keep Arithmancy while still having Divination?"

"Only if you drop Care of Magical Creatures," Snape said succinctly, burying Harry's hope for normalcy six feet under dirt, leaves, and snow.

Harry would not betray Hagrid like that and Severus Snape knew it. He knew it and he rubbed it in like the slimy, greasy, ghoulish man he was.

"Well, then can I drop just Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies?" Harry tried again, even when he knew what the cruel, sociopathic man before him would answer with.

"Unfortunately, I cannot. Now if you're done wasting my time, Potter, then you will leave my classroom immediately. I have other matters to attend to shortly and I will not allow you to make me late to them." Snape stood and gathered some things from his desk in preparation.

Harry wanted to tear his own hair out in frustration, but left with his unaltered schedule and mounting defeat, dragging himself to his next class. At least he had his friends with him. And it was Defense class. There, he was under the less scrutinous, more empathetic gaze of--

Oh, Merlin, what was Snape doing here?

"How apt. The first of these classes is with my own house… and Granger." Snape sneered the name like it brought a foul taste to his mouth, gazing at the lone lion sat at the front of the class.

Since she wasn't talking to Harry, she took to caring very little for Parkinson's venomous glare at the table next to hers, ignoring the entire Slytherin class in general. Honestly, if the professor hadn't pointed her out, Harry might not have noticed his former friend finishing her History of Magic homework while she waited for Snape and the rest of the class to arrive.

Draco elbowed Harry, eliciting an annoyed "ow!" in response before he motioned to Hermione.

"You want me to try befriending her now?" he hissed to Malfoy.

"If not now, then when?"

"I don't know, but I'm definitely not doing it in front of Snape. The man has it out for me. I'm not getting detention this close to holiday break. He'll have me scrubbing cauldrons for an entire week." Harry shoved Draco towards a happily awaiting Pansy, who dragged him to sit with her while Harry stayed at his usual desk with Tracey.

Though not a practical lesson like Lupin's usually were, Severus Snape did teach them about hinkypunks in such a way that it almost felt like one. By the end, Harry felt like he knew every bit of detail he would need to disarm and defend against such a creature, all packaged in a two foot roll of parchment.

"I made you an extra copy, just in case," whispered Parkinson with a coy wink, handing Draco a second set of her own notes before skipping out of the classroom with Davis and Bulstrode in tow. Daphne lingered at the entryway, glowering at the two boys before trudging off after the group of girls.

"What's her problem?" Harry muttered, only to be knocked aside by a still sullen Hermione. He yelped and nearly fell back into his chair, groaning when he realized what just happened.

Draco hummed, seeming satisfied. "I don't know about Greengrass, but…"

"I'll handle it later," Harry growled in annoyance. Thankfully, his friend dropped the subject without anymore hassling .

"You know, you mentioned the holiday break earlier… What are you planning on doing this year?" Draco asked slowly as they left the classroom.

"Probably staying here like I always do. I'm definitely not going back to the Dursleys no matter what Dumbledore says. There's nowhere else I can call home, really. Why?" Harry looked over at his friend and saw a grin brighter than the star the staff would place on the biggest tree in the Great Hall form on Malfoy's face.

"You can celebrate Christmas at the manor!"

"Err… are you--"

"Mother would be so happy if you did! I know father's going to be busy for the latter half of the break with his work but I know he'll be glad to have you there too! Come on, Harry, you have to! Just once! I promise it'll be a great holiday if you do." Draco was almost bouncing at the idea with each step he took.

Intrigued by the thought of seeing such a luxurious mansion home for wizards, Harry gave a nod of approval, causing Draco to cheer with excitement.

"Not to sour your mood, but… um… do you want me to put that in your bag?" Harry asked, pointing to the roll of parchment still in Malfoy's working hand.

Realizing he was still holding it, Draco said, "Oh… Yeah. I can give it to Crabbe later if he wants it. Or Goyle." He handed it to Harry, who was shouldering both of their bags. Draco's was leagues lighter than his own, so it made little difference to him.

"You don't need it?" Harry said.

"No. I wrote my own." Seeing his friend's continued confusion, Draco clarified, "I'm ambidextrous, idiot."

"You are?"

"Originally just left handed, but I learned how to write with both. I can also cast spells with both. Father's decision, with mother's approval. It's not been entirely useful until now."

Malfoy almost let their chat end there as they turned to enter the dungeons, but he led it on to a new topic. "Did I tell you about the letter mother sent me yesterday?"

"I saw it nearly land in Parkinson's porridge, yes," Harry replied with a snicker at the memory. "Why?"

"Obviously it started with her worries about my arm, even though I told her I was fine when I mentioned the accident to her in my previous letter, but she said…" Draco's gaze darted around the hallway before he returned it to Harry. "There are a lot of wizards upset and really close to shoving Fudge off the Minster position because of what happened to the portrait here at Hogwarts. They say he's been grossly incompetent with putting the Dementors around the school instead of Aurors or any proper guard staff. Others are calling corruption. Say Fudge is a follower of the Dark Lord too and that's why he wanted to cage Black in here with all the guards. Rumor has it he wants Dumbledore dead before Riddle comes back so he won't be on the Dark Lord's list to kill."

"And not Black?" Harry questioned incredulously.

"Black's supposedly his number one priority, but if the Headmaster's axed first? Every Death Eater and other follower of the Dark Lord will be free to do whatever they want. Unopposed. The Minister wouldn't have to answer to anyone but Riddle if he let Albus Dumbledore die. He wouldn't have to worry about Black ever again. Do you know how badly arresting that oaf Hagrid and not you hurt Cornelius Fudge's reputation?" Draco explained.

Not enough, but Harry couldn't help laughing mischievously at the image of the pudgy politician floundering to salvage his crippling popularity. It seemed Draco had the same idea, because he was cackling too.

"Can you imagine the power vacuum that'll open up if Fudge goes? Half the Wizengamot will be scrambling for the position. And if Black's caught after Fudge is out? The man will never be able to live that down for the next century." Draco's grin turned haughty as they stood before the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

That pulled a touchy subject to the forefront of Harry's thoughts. As he murmured the password (Serpentes) to the door, he said to Draco, "Do you know anyone with the name Padfoot?"

Draco hummed and tilted his head askew, likely thinking back to the dozen or so families of wizards he seemed to know off the top of his head. "Doesn't ring a bell. Sounds like a wizard name though. Where'd you hear it?"

"Professor Lupin. He mentioned it while I was getting checked on by Pomfrey after the match. I was thinking… maybe it could be the last wizard in that picture of the group of four with my mother. Dad, Black, Lupin, and then… well, Padfoot," Harry answered, shrugging the shoulder that held Draco's bag.

Mulling over the theory, Draco sighed. "Your life's a mess, Potter. You know that?"

Everything Harry was dealing with came rushing to mind. Defending against a Dementor outside the Chamber with a spell well beyond his level of magic was overwhelming enough on its own. Working through the load of classes he had with someone who didn’t like him and practicing with teammates who only tolerated him when they wanted to win. Figuring out how to avoid getting killed by Sirius Black in the fallout of the serial killer’s inevitable fight with Longbottom while also finding out how to properly prove their Defense teacher was helping the loose criminal. Understanding how dating worked so he didn’t make a fool of himself with Tracey because he wanted one proper relationship in his life that could perhaps turn out to be more than friendship.

For once, Harry really, really wished that Bludger cracked his skull open like an egg last game. Maybe it would save him the mounting stress he was feeling now if it had.

The tingling agitation would not let him sleep that night.

While Vincent snored softly and Draco was passed out from the healing tonic Madam Pomfrey gave him to sleep comfortably, Harry tossed and turned until he gave up. As he sat up, he grabbed his glasses from their place next to the miniature Eiffel Tower that twinkled and glowed.

Last year the soothing light might have comforted him, but now it left him dreading having to see the girl that gifted it to him for his belated birthday.

What he would trade to fix all these mistakes he'd made… What he would do…

What would he do? Kill? Torture? Hurt? What lengths would Harry go to in order to alter his past, make fate bend to his will, and make his future as bright as he once dreamed it would be? What was his limit?

He wished he had guidance. He wished there was someone who knew what he was meant to be.

Tom had been. But Tom only did so because he had ulterior motives.

There was… not necessarily someone, but something that did. But would it be wise to go to her now? There was a Dementor likely lurking in that bathroom this time of night.

It annoyed him that Dumbledore purposefully put one there. It meant the Headmaster didn't trust Harry not to return to the Chamber.

Then again, Harry had already done that once. Continuing to do so, and purposefully, to speak with the Basilisk probably proved to Dumbledore that Harry was becoming no better than Riddle.

And maybe Harry wasn't. Just this one time, he didn't mind. If it meant finding comfort in Salazar Slytherin's hidden sanctuary, being like Tom Riddle was something Harry was okay living with.

So he slipped out of bed, carefully opened his bag, and pulled out his invisibility cloak to hide himself under. Stashing his wand in the pocket of his pajama pants (another of Dudley's more recent hand-me-downs), he snuck out, making sure to keep himself close to the walls as he did.

Asclepius mentioned to Harry that the reason Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets hadn't been found by magic was that it was warded off from the rest of the school. The only way for anything to pass through was for either a snake or someone who spoke Parseltongue to let the thing through. As long as Harry, Mother, or any of her children refused to let the Dementors, ghosts, or anyone else in, nothing would. As long as Harry kept the location of the Chamber of Secrets secret, it was his and his alone to wander into. A sanctuary to call his own. He just had to get past the guard and he would be safe.

The door to the abandoned bathroom was open.

Harry felt the hairs stand on his neck and arms. Like the dungeons, the air was spine-tingling and sent a harsh shiver down his back as he tip-toed closer still. An inch before he could poke his head in, a weeping met his ears.

"Go away, nasty thing. There's nothing for you here. This is my haunting spot," spoke Moaning Myrtle through her sobs and with all her bravery.

A soft yet scratchy breathing was the response.

Stepping into the bathroom, Harry saw the ghost girl hovering a head higher than the Dementor, though clearly unable to do much beyond trying to intimidate the guard. It obviously wasn't working, but Harry had to admit it was shocking to see.

But Harry had a mission. He needed to get into the Chamber. This Dementor was standing in his way. Drawing his wand, he dragged the invisibility cloak off him.

Myrtle immediately saw him and gasped. "Harry!"

"Get away from her. Now," he ordered to the Dementor, which turned to face him.

It held its own dark, shadowy cloak with one rotten hand, the other rising up, curled and gnarly, to grab him.

If the spell worked, if Harry found a memory happy enough to repel the Dementor, then nothing could possibly stand in the way of the one place he had left to call home.

Albus Dumbledore would not keep Harry away from his destiny no matter what it truly was.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry tried, his ebony wand shooting nothing but wisps of white from the tip.

The Dementor, sensing his attempt to repel, wheezed and surged forward to attack.

Harry ducked and rolled under to dodge, stumbling and nearly slipping as he stood back up. He held his wand out again. A different memory then. He needed something better.

Receiving his Hogwarts letter from Hagrid on his eleventh birthday didn't work. Flying on Nimbus 2000s with Draco then?

"Expecto Patronum." Again, nothing but wisps.

Winning his first Quidditch match against Gryffindor?

"Expecto Patronum!" More shot out this time, but still hardly anything substantial enough to fight with.

The Dementor inhaled harder, howling as it drew closer.

No! This thing would not best him again! Something else! He needed something…

Harry stepped back. The cold air bit at his skin. His breath appeared in steamy warm puffs as he struggled to think.

Myrtle sniffled behind him.

Something… but what? What memory was so special to him that it drew enough power to repel a soulless creature like this?

Maybe… this one?

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted.

His wand felt like it was pulling at his skin with the amount of energy it drew from him. He winced, but that pained expression turned to utter shock at what was happening.

While nothing like Professor Lupin’s white wolf that chased the Dementor on the train away, the bright barrier that formed before him was far from enough to work.

The Dementor sounded a hoarse roar, its outstretched hand moving to shield itself from the light.

Feeling confident, Harry pressed his defense forward, the spell moving with him to practically entrap the creature as he did.

It groaned. It was retreating!

Seeing the curious look in those casual grey eyes sparked Harry's own intrigue.

"You don't know what they are? But… you're a wizard! Surely you must know about--" Draco nearly dropped his ice cream cone in shock.

"I was raised outside of the magical world. I didn't know I was a wizard until I got my Hogwarts letter," Harry explained, then dug his spoon deep into his strawberry ice cream to shovel half the top scoop in.

Draco blinked, puzzled beyond all belief. "Raised by Muggles? Your whole life?"

Harry nodded slowly, remembering that word from when Hagrid explained it to him.

Something akin to fascination sprung into the other boy's expression, pulling a smile onto his face. One brighter than the last he'd given at Ollivander's.

"I'll tell you everything you need to know."

The light of the spell disappeared, but the Dementor was gone faster.

"Wow," murmured Myrtle in awe.

"Yeah…" Harry whispered with a similar amazement, staring at his wand. His body felt tired for a moment, but a rush of warm adrenaline spiked through him not a second later.

He'd done it. He'd defended against a Dementor. All on his own!

Were it not so late in the night and long past curfew, he would have cheered.

"Harry, that was amazing! How did you learn that?" Myrtle asked, floating to his side and tilting her head. Her pigtails dangled by her left ear as her eager gaze met his.

"Long story. I'll tell you another night, alright? Right now, I have somewhere to be," he declared as thrill coursed through him. While Myrtle squealed with approval, Harry ordered the sink hiding the way to the Chamber open and slid down the pipe like it was a playground slide, laughing all the way.

"Mother?" he called through the entryway of the Chamber proper, finding little alive in the Room of Decay besides a few bugs. "Mother, where are you? You won't believe--"

"Enter respectfully, little snake. It is a time of mourning," spoke an adder that languished atop one of the snake head statues.

"Mourning? Why? What happened?" His happiness faltered.

"Loyal Aesculapian, Bringer of the New Dawn, has perished, little snake," came the deep, echoing voice of Mother from further in the cavernous Chamber.

The massive Basilisk loomed over a small gathering of snakes by what looked to be… the remains of Asclepius. It appeared to have been slashed through the stomach, similar to how the portrait of the Fat Lady had been by Black, and left to rot wherever it had been killed.

Harry felt like he barged in at a bad time. He hardly knew the poor thing. It wasn't anything but an innocent, eager-to-please snake that just wanted to help stop the evils lurking through the school and yet…

"What happened to him?" he asked hesitantly, swallowing his guilt.

"We believe a lion found Asclepius while he was hunting the shadows," spoke Mother with a hint of regret. Of course she’d feel remorse. She felt responsible for her children. She was their Mother. Their Queen. Their leader. She likely knew all these snakes from the day they hatched from eggs and their parents and ancestors and beyond.

"Merciless creatures… Might we do something about them, Mother? They grow in number much more than the spiders now. The latest one disrupts our efforts," a pure green snake said with a venom Harry was unsure if it truly had or not. 

"No. We cannot risk more lives than we already have. Our time of rest draws near. The little snake will have to commit to the hunt himself, as a warm blood," responded a murky brown and grey one.

"Time of rest? Like… hibernation?" Harry questioned with a childlike curiosity he was sure showed in his tone.

"Yes, little snake. I had hoped you would arrive earlier than you did, but I could see that you were rather occupied as of late. We cold bloods will be resting until the warmth returns anew. Though you may return to my Chamber as much as you like, you will not be seeing us. It is in our blood to take this time of rest. It is our custom. But it also means you will be isolated from us until we awaken. I shall hope that when we do, you will have succeeded in part of your quest,” explained Mother, bringing her head close to hang over him.

That was… a lot of pressure to put on him. He wasn’t sure if she understood how much exactly he had on his plate already.

At least this place would be safe to access, even if he would be the only occupant awake. This was home. This was where he meant something. These snakes relied on him to succeed.

"I-I'll try. I've already seen the Grim lurking the castle. I haven't found any of its shadows yet but I know it's here. I saw it. It nearly had me killed by a Dementor, but I've learned to best them now, so if it tries to rely on them next time, I can defeat them," Harry said, drawing on his confidence once more.

"Good. Then our hopes rest with you, little snake. You will prove to be a great prodigy of Salazar's with time." The Queen of Snakes seemed to smile at him, if her amused tone was anything to go off of.

He beamed with pride again. "I will not let Asclepius' sacrifice be in vain. Nor will I fail you all. This I promise you."

And he knew he wouldn't. He couldn't. This was all he had left.

Harry fell asleep back at his dorm an hour later feeling a comfort he couldn't quite describe. The best way he could was 'the warmth of respect' but it sounded wrong. It didn't matter anyway. What did was his happiness. He was happy and safe. Nothing was breaking his mood. He'd done what a professor basically called impossible and was praised for it. That was something he hadn't genuinely been given since his first year.

He did not dream of horrid beasts or Tom in his body killing and hurting. He didn't dream at all. His rest was sound, comfortable, and relaxing. For once, he knew peace and solace in sleep.

And that joy would grow like the inches of snow blanketing the grounds as December blew through.

Though his classes tried to similarly bury him in work to complete before the term ended, he found himself enjoying the tasks. His personal assurances motivated him to succeed rather than external forces like the adults that surrounded him. He actually wanted to figure out Ancient Runes instead of struggling. His focus in Muggle Studies made their professor all the more delighted to have him. Professor Binns was shocked when he raised his hand to ask certain questions during History of Magic. When Hagrid brought actual griffins for the students to learn about, Harry enthusiastically read through their pages in the Monster Book of Monsters after class, though finding himself more drawn to the hippogriffs instead.

Like his deep fascination with Arithmancy, Harry fell right back in love with Transfiguration, now that his mind was less bogged down by hesitation. With focus and a tap of his ebony wand to the small wood block in front of him, he was able to morph it into the requested red apple and right back. Next lesson, a knitting needle into a rubber ball. Another, scissors into a white rose. All done with a bit of struggle, but successfully. He even saw a glimmer of approval in Professor McGonagall's eyes.

And in Potions… Well, Harry was already meeting with the Potion Master's expectations, so his focus was better kept on launching eyes of newts or wolf teeth into Gryffindor cauldrons. Theo figured out the right amount of springy spider silk to make crude slingshots with if one twisted enough of it around their index finger and thumb. So, when Harry passed chunks of dragon scale to Vincent, who was willing enough to get his hands dirty, all it took was a second of aim and…

"Detention, Finnegan! Again," snarled Snape as he cautiously dragged the exploded cauldron off the table.

"No! It wasn't my fault!" Seamus shouted, beet red with rage behind the burnt singes. "It's them! Potter and-- and--!"

"And fifty points from Gryffindor for your lies!"

The Slytherin boys barely smothered their snickers.

It was hard to get a good shot at Ratbottom's cauldron, mostly because the Boy-Who-Lived tended to make a mess of his potions all by himself before Harry could finish cutting a decent bit of root to toss over. The better challenge would have to be getting the fool's potion close to the right color before he bungled the whole thing. Not that Harry wanted Neville to succeed.

Quidditch practices were a new challenge. His teammates, minus an almost recovered Draco, were still trying to knock him off his broom out of boredom. That was nothing new to him. But now it was harder task for them rather than a definitive thing.

All because of the day he got his Firebolt back.

Snape strutted proudly next to a passive-faced Professor McGonagall onto the Quidditch field. In his pale fingers was Harry's most prized possession, though the entire team ran over to the two teachers to see it.

"The Aurors found no trace of dark magic in their thorough inspection. You are…" Minerva stopped for a moment and let out a sigh, making Severus' smug smirk even wider. "You are free to use your new broom, Mr. Potter," she declared as Snape handed Harry his Firebolt.

When the two teachers disappeared back off the field, the boys were all ecstatic around him.

"Hell yes! Ravenclaw won't stand a chance," Flint said with a cackle.

"Much less Hufflepuff. That Seeker of theirs, Diggory? He'll be flattened now that Potter's got this beauty," Pucey added, pointing to the Firebolt.

"Aw, shite, Harry. Can we all get a go with it?" Montague asked, eagerly eyeing the broom.

"Yeah! Fastest broom on the market!" Bletchley exclaimed.

"Come on, Potter. Share the glory, please?" Bole begged.

Staring at all the older boys surrounding him and whimpering for their chance, he simpered. "No. I don't think I will."

"What?"

"Bullshit!"

"That's not fair!"

"Potter!"

But none of the protests mattered to Harry. He had his pride and joy, practically wrapped with a bow, in his hands.

Mounting the Firebolt, he shot up and out, leaving the rest of the team shouting at him from below. In the stands, he saw Draco with Pansy, Daphne, Millie, and Tracey. The look on his girlfriend's face was one of bubbly glee, while his best friend had a mix of envy and satisfaction.

Harry couldn't wait for his friend to be back up here with him, then they could both fly on their fast brooms and rain on everyone else's parade.

At least, with the winter break approaching, Harry would have somewhere to enjoy his Christmas that wasn't Hogwarts. And, before that, another trip to Hogsmeade.

While he had, at first, suggested they go to the Three Broomsticks and enjoy warm butterbeer with Draco and Pansy, Tracey had a different idea.

"Hot chocolate and a trip to the Shrieking Shack? I'll admit, the first half sounds like a holiday treat, but… an abandoned haunted house? Not… entirely normal," Draco confessed as they prepared for the trip. He bundled himself up in his thick black winter cloak and a royal silver scarf, pulling a black beanie over his head. His right arm was almost healed, meaning he'd be able to get some Quidditch practice in during the break to catch up with Harry and the rest of the team. Much to Harry's utter delight.

"It's what she wants. I don't mind. I think it's cute that she's interested in weird things like that," replied Harry with a blush as he dug into a drawer for his own scarf.

"Oh, right. I forgot who I was talking to. Mr. 'Numbers-Are-Fun' would obviously want to go looking for ghosts in a dusty pile of rotten wood with his girlfriend," Malfoy quipped back, showing a devilish, toothy grin.

"Save the sass before I snap your other arm," Harry playfully threatened, sticking his tongue out at his friend.

"Well, maybe if you hurried your arse up, I wouldn't have to give you shite for anything," Draco said with a huff. "I'm going on ahead with the others."

Before Harry could teasingly respond to Draco's statement, he heard the other boy's footsteps and the sound of the door shutting. Leave it to Malfoy to make exiting a room so needlessly dramatic. But Harry liked that about his friend. He liked surrounding himself with unique people like Draco and Tracey. They made him feel like he belonged somewhere interesting yet normal.

Suddenly he felt a deathly cold something move past his fingertips in his search.

"Hey! Watch what you're grabbing at, kid! You almost poked my eye out!"

"Huh?" Harry sputtered, finally pulling out his scarf only to find a dark brown and yellow snake with brilliant honey brown eyes gazing at him irritably from within its folds.

"You're the one Queenie and the rest of 'em call 'little snake'? Look like a dumb warm blood to me." The snake slithered up Harry's arm, disappearing in his sleeve.

He shivered at the touch of cold scales across his skin, tensing more when the snake poked its head out of the collar of Harry's winter cloak. "Wh-What are you doing here? My friends-- They'll see you and--"

"Oh, so you do understand me. Thought a cat caught your tongue or something. Nah, I don't care about your human friends. Mother said you were clever. I trust her judgement, even though she's crazy and old. Hasn't lead us wrong yet!" The snake seemed to laugh as it curled around his neck.

"That… That still doesn't explain why you're here," Harry muttered as he resigned to letting the reptile stay on him. He wrapped his scarf around his neck, leaving enough room for the animal to comfortably wriggle about while also keeping himself warm.

"Ugh. Maybe Maura was right. You humans really are denser than the earth. Alright. Call me Sipedon. Sip, for short. I'm here because it's warmer than in the Chamber and I'm not from around these parts. Brought across the big pond by humans, found my way to Mother and the rest of the snakes, and sort of stuck around 'cause I ain't the best when it comes to navigation. I was sleeping right well until you brats decided to start noising up the room again. Can't get any much napping in for the cold with you messing up my nest either."

"Your nest? This is my scarf. Can't you find somewhere else to sleep?" Harry hissed.

"I have. Now shut up and let me rest or I'll choke you."

"A-And don't you know it's dangerous up here for snakes? You saw what happened to Asclepius. What if that happened to you too?" Harry chose to ignore the threat, walking out of the boys dormitory to catch up with his friend and his girlfriend in the entrance hall.

"Getting torn up by a lion? Ain't you Brits supposed to care about warrior's deaths or something? Or am I thinking of Vikings? Ah, who cares. All the same species in the end," Sip grumbled, nudging its head against his collarbone and sending another shiver down Harry's spine. As if the cold of the dungeons wasn't bad enough.

Unlike Asclepius and Mother, Harry could tell this serpent would not be a kind one. Just a hunch. Sounded like those angry American women he recalled hearing on the tele whenever Dudley watched. No gentleness or compassion like Mother.

"Psst!"

"Potter!"

"Over here!"

Harry immediately recognized the voices of Fred and George, stopping before he turned the corner to the entrance hall and looking around. Sure enough, he saw them hiding behind a stone griffin statue, waving for him to join them. When he came closer, they pulled him behind the statue, making sure not to draw any attention to the three of them.

"What's wrong? Are you two not headed to Hogsmeade?" he asked.

"We are," said one of the twins. Harry still wasn't bothering to tell which was which.

"We were just wanting to give you something important before then," the other said, then pulled out a worn parchment, folded like the brochures Harry recalled Aunt Petunia looking at longingly whenever they promised lavish vacations to resort hotels along exotic beaches. This, however, had nothing on it but the weathering brought along by time.

"Err… am I supposed to be impressed? Or am I allowed to be confused?" Harry drawled.

Both Weasley boys gave him fiendish, toothy smirks.

"This, young Potter, is our early Christmas gift to you."

"A special thing, this is."

"The secret to our success."

"As a troublemaker-in-training, we thought it would make perfect sense to bestow it upon you."

"I do not cause trouble," Harry said, unable to bury his offense when his brows furrowed and his teeth grit in annoyance.

"Could have fooled us."

"Especially during the Quidditch match."

"But we digress…"

One of them pulled out his wand and tapped it against the parchment in the other one's hands. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he spoke carefully and blossoming from where the wand tip touched the paper, inky lines like thin tendrils appeared and spread throughout the whole thing.

Words, among it all, were slowly legible. Harry could hardly believe what he was reading.

Messrs.
Moony, Wormtail,
Padfoot, and Prongs
Purveyors of Aides to Magical Mischief-Makers
are proud to present

The Marauder's Map

The Weasley holding the parchment unfolded one side as the other put his wand away. "Here's where we are." He pointed to what looked to be the corridor that was one turn away from greeting the entrance hall where, much to Harry's amazement, their names were situated behind what looked to be the very statue they were hiding behind.

"H-How?" Harry questioned.

"Haven't the foggiest," replied the one not holding the map.

"But we're thankful for these lads--" Closing the parchment, the other pointed to the names on the front. "-- for doing an amazing service for future generations of purposeful problem planners like us."

"Bless those Marauders."

"Fantastic blokes. True geniuses of their craft."

"When we snatched it from Filch's office our first year, we knew it was obviously something important. Took us weeks to figure out what it did."

"Saved us months of detention afterwards."

"It's even got hidden passageways and secret doors if you look."

"Places only found with certain spells."

"Turns Hogwarts into your personal playground once you've gotten the hang of it."

"Like we have. Now we don't need it."

"Got all the use we could out of it."

"Memorized all that we want from it."

"And we thought you'd be the best man to have it next."

The map-holder held it out for Harry to take, which he eagerly did, unfolding the other half to see first and second years milling about the Great Hall and corridors around it. If he unfolded a bit more, he found the next two floors on the western half of Hogwarts were available for viewing. There were even cuts of folded parchment on top of certain spots of the map. But somehow, in all the lines and paths, the names of witch and wizard were indiscriminately moving along.

"Th-This is… brilliant," Harry said, unsure of how else to express his awe. He looked up at them, eyes wide and hopefully full of his inexpressible amount of gratitude. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Harry."

"Don't mention it. And never forget how to make it all disappear either."

"Just say 'Mischief managed' with a tap of the wand like before and you'll be set."

"Best not to let anyone else see you handle it."

"Unless you're wanting to lose it to someone like Bigheaded Boy Percy or old Filch."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry insisted, gripping the map tighter in his hands as he folded it back up.

"Right, then we'll be headed off."

"Zonko's calls to us!"

And like the two trickster foxes they were, brothers Fred and George bounded off to the entrance hall, leaving Harry dazzled by their gift to him.

But that excitement dimmed as he reread the names on the front again.

Moony. Wormtail. Padfoot. Prongs.

Oh, now he really needed to find out who this Padfoot was.

Four names. Were they… Were the Marauders from Harry's father's time? Surely one of these wasn't James Potter. Or Sirius Black. Or Remus Lupin. Whoever Padfoot was could've had another group of three friends.

But it aligned almost too well. The mysterious Padfoot along with three others. Harry knew his father was a renowned mischief maker during his time here. Professor Lupin had to be one too and if that was the case then--

"M-Mischief managed," Harry whispered, tapping his wand on the map with a trembling hand.

Draco's question from earlier in the month replayed itself in Harry's mind. Why the bloody hell was his life such a mess?

The Shrieking Shack was nothing if not a fittingly named haunted house. While it wasn't… loud like its namesake, it sure did look like a rundown pile of wood that probably housed an ancient upset spirit within.

And it definitely deterred Draco from wanting to go anywhere closer than he already was.

"Tracey, can we please go now? It's a rotten, smelly old house. What else is there?" whined Pansy, who nuzzled herself against Draco for more warmth. He wasn't about to protest. He was freezing too. At least he wasn't using that stupid sling and cast anymore.

"Oh, but Harry's not-- wait, there he is! Harry! Over here!" Tracey waved her arms wildly and bounced to get Potter's attention, her straight blonde locks dancing around her head like a halo of pale gold under her black wool hat.

Harry ambled over slowly, looking near deathly pale and mortified about something. Draco almost wanted to ask, but a chilling breeze blew his question away and Parkinson was begging to go again.

The four were quietly sitting at a far table in the Three Broomsticks moments later.

"Two butterbeers," Madam Rosmerta muttered as she set the two tankards down in front of Draco and Pansy. "And two hot cocoas."

Tracey delightfully took both mugs and set Harry's down in front of him. "Thank you!"

"Not a problem, dear. Enjoy." And the woman was off to take other tables' orders.

"Harry, we have to go back once we're done," Davis whispered excitedly.

"Why? It's just an abandoned house, Tracey. It's probably not even haunted like everyone says it is," Pansy said with a groan, practically hugging her butterbeer to her chest as she set it back down. She licked her upper lip when she noticed Draco was staring, raising her brow sensually.

He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

"I just… If it's not haunted, then what's the harm of getting closer to investigate? Wouldn't it be neat to find something inside that no one's seen in a century?" Tracey's blue eyes shimmered with reckless glee.

"Like a dead body?" Pansy shivered at the thought alone.

"Like a murder mystery! That would be so cool!"

Draco nearly squirted warm butterbeer from his nose.

"Ugh. You sound like Greengrass," Pansy grumbled, resting her chin on the back of a hand propped up on the table.

"Daphne?" Draco said with a quirk of the brow. That certainly sounded nothing like the Daphne he knew.

"Astoria. Though I wouldn't be surprised if her older sister wasn't the same way. Astoria at least isn't a rampaging--"

Before Parkinson could speak the slew of insults and curses against her fellow female Slytherin, the door to the Three Broomsticks opened with a loud bang.

It made Harry jolt, not with fear, but recognition, attention darting from his sinking marshmallows to the lumbering half-giant stomping into the pub. This was the first bit of anything other than dazed Potter had been in half an hour.

Behind the oaf were Professors Flitwick and McGonagall. Along with them…

The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

It looked like Harry was considering drowning himself in his drink with how little he wanted to be there suddenly. He quirked his head away from the group of adults, trying to ignore them. His fidgeting finger tapped against the side of his half-empty mug of hot chocolate.

"Rosmerta, lovely to see you," Fudge cheerfully greeted, taking off his hat and brushing of a light powder of snow that had sprinkled on top.

"Likewise, Minister," the woman said in return. "Shall I--"

"Actually, m'dear, I'll have to ask for some more… private seating before we order, if that's possible," interrupted the Minister briskly.

"Of course. Right this way."

If Draco didn't know any better, he almost thought he saw the man's gaze dart towards their table before he followed Madam Rosmerta into a back room with the three teachers following behind.

Harry sounded as though he'd cursed under his breath as he lifted his mug to finish off his cooled drink.

Curiosity immediately rose to the top of Draco's list of emotions. He stared at Potter for a moment longer, then stood.

"I don't like that look in your eyes, Malfoy," said Harry warily, having clearly noticed his friend's gaze bearing down on him.

"Good. You shouldn't. Sit down, Draco," Pansy ordered.

"Don't you want to hear what they're talking about?" Draco questioned Harry with a hint of shock.

"What, so I can hear about how I should have been thrown in Azkaban instead of allowed back at Hogwarts like nothing's changed? Spare me. Let's go back to the Shack instead." Harry wrapped an arm around Tracey's shoulders.

The door to the private room opened, Rosmerta walking out to collect a few drinks before once more disappearing the same way she came.

Temptation became too hard to ignore. Deciding he would simply relay any pertinent information to Potter later, Draco cautiously snuck his way to the door.

Raucous laughter sounded from behind it as he neared, though not deterring Draco from carefully pressing his ear to the sturdy wood between him and the conversations within.

"-- all abuzz after what happened. Albus rejected my suggestion to let the guards in any farther than they already are." That was Fudge's voice, stern yet worried.

"I should think not. Their presence on the grounds alone has made it dreadfully difficult to teach." Professor McGonagall was harsh in her tone, but her statement was met with hearty agreements from Flitwick and Hagrid.

"But someone's allowed Black in the castle. Nothing gets past Dementors, but that boy--"

"Harry Potter? You're accusing a child of letting his parents' murderer into the school?"

"Who else could, Minerva?"

"As much as I hate to agree, you can't deny it is a dark coincidence," Flitwick spoke solemnly.

Quiet footsteps sounded behind Draco, who turned slowly then gave a cocky smirk. "Come on," he whispered to Harry, motioning to the door. "They're talking about you and Black."

Reluctantly, Potter knelt down next to his friend and listened.

"-- best friends with his father. Easily could have convinced him. Hell, he probably tortured the lad with the Cruciatus curse like he did James."

"He did what?" Madam Rosmerta almost shouted in shock.

"I'd've not believed it either if I hadn't seen it myself. Dumbledore sent me ter fetch Harry while he handled the situation with Neville. Went ter Godric's Hollow and found the rotten bastard there with those nasty Death Eaters. Snape was there too. Had them knocked out and was checking the body. But Sirius Black… He was standing over James like a man staring down death. Yeh would think he'd be crying for his friend but all he did was pale up like a statue. And James… What they did ter him…" Hagrid sounded like he was choking up at the memory of that day.

Harry was tense next to Draco. He'd probably never heard about this before.

"They tortured him?" Rosmerta asked.

"Worse than just that. Not only did Sirius Black betray the Potters' trust as their Secret-Keeper, but he let the Death Eaters turn his best friend against Lily." Fudge's voice was grave. "Used the Imperius Curse and everything. Neither of them stood a chance."

"And I comforted the bleedin' traitor!" screamed Hagrid. There was a heavy thump afterward, probably from the half-giant pounding a massive fist against the table. Sobs followed.

"Doing something as heinous as that… No wonder he didn't flinch when he killed Pettigrew and all those Muggles then," Rosmerta said.

Harry perked up, shifting back as if about to ask something to Draco, but another thought must have won over since he pressed his ear again against the door without a word.

"Probably would have tied up all his loose ends and killed Lupin too if he hadn't been caught. All four of them were so close. Even gave themselves those bizarre nicknames…" McGonagall hummed in irritation.

"And left naught but a finger of evidence in one crime and a weeping orphan boy in another. All that overwhelming evidence stacked against him, I saw no reason to give Black a trial." Fudge cleared his throat. "Now he must be using his status as Potter's godfather to manipulate him."

Harry's eyes widened.

Oh. Draco completely forgot to mention that.

"Harry wouldn't--" McGonagall began to protest.

"There's no other way! Potter must have done it. Gifted boy, you said he was. Smart. Clever Slytherin. Can't be any sort of coincidence. You even mentioned he's reportedly unaffected by the guards! All the more reason for me to suspect he has more ties to You-Know-Who than we all know," Cornelius insisted.

"I…" The Transfiguration teacher faltered. "After Albus told me where he wanted Harry to end up, I… went over to investigate those Muggles. Horrid sort of people. The kind that want nothing to do with magic. Heard them speak ill of Lily and James when they received the news. I pleaded with Albus to take him anywhere else, but that man was set in his ways. Now I think it was inevitable what would have happened to Harry."

"What are they like?" questioned Fudge. "I've not been made aware as to why Albus would think they'd give suitable punishment for Potter."

"Mind you, I've heard about some of their torture of him from my old friend, Arabella, who lives across from them. The sort to beat children. Not their own child, of course. Starved Harry. Treated him nearly like a house elf. Let him burn and peel under the summer sun doing yardwork for scraps, old clothes, and cups of water."

"Ruthless," squeaked Flitwick.

"This was them at their harshest. But they've never been kind to Harry in the first place. It's hardly a wonder why he ended up in Slytherin. One would have to be resourceful and cunning to stay alive under such brutal circumstances."

"I see… Then you'd be right. Fate dealt Harry a cruel hand and he's done nothing but lose in every circumstance. It would be easy for Black to promise him protection and family if only to kill Longbottom for You-Know-Who," the Minister said in a somber tone. "Joining the dark side would be no different than stepping out of bed to the boy."

Harry's hands tightened into fists in between them, Draco noted. There was a rage, ignited and smoldering in that emerald gaze too.

"I suppose… you are correct as well," McGonagall conceded.

Just then, a shrill shriek met their ears. It was not from inside the private room.

"S-Snake! Snake!"

Near a table by the warm fireplace, multiple Hufflepuffs were skirting away from what looked to be a long, loose serpent that was slithering toward the hearth.

Like a bolt of lightning, Harry wove and shoved through the mass of badgers towards the helpless animal. "Stop! Stop! She's not going to hurt you!" he cried, picking up the slithering creature before anyone could strike it.

Draco sprinted to follow, but stopped when the door to the private room opened and out rushed the adults.

"Of course you'd say that, freak!" shouted one of the Puffs, that Hannah Abbot girl. "You can speak to them! You nearly killed Justin with the biggest one in the school!"

"I did not! That wasn't my fault!" Harry roared, the snake in his hands curling against his wrists like scaly manacles.

"Then whose was it? Some other Heir of Slytherin named Harry Potter that speaks Parseltongue?" said a Hufflepuff boy, holding Hannah's shoulders protectively.

"I am not the Heir! The Sorting Hat can prove it! I was possessed!"

"What a neat excuse, eh? Possession! Who would want to possess you? You just want You-Know-Who's attention so you can finally have people who like you!"

"Shut up!"

The Hufflepuff boy was thrown back by a seemingly invisible force, flying past his friends and soaring over Draco, who ducked out of the way. There was a crash of glass bottles and spilt liquid along with splintered wood.

"Ernie!" Hannah shrieked, running over with her badger friends to help.

"Harry Potter!" Professor McGonagall stomped towards him, her face as red as the color of her house, eyes piercing with the fury of a lethal predator.

"Professor, wait! I-I didn't mean--" he attempted, but was met with a wrath he had no way of avoiding.

"Attacking another student, no matter the circumstance, is strictly forbidden, Mr. Potter. Detention!" she declared.

"But--"

"A week's worth!"

"B-But next week is--" Draco tried, only to be met with that same intensity that quickly silenced him too.

"You will be staying at Hogwarts for the holiday and that is final," she stated coldly to Harry.

"An apt punishment. I should discuss with Albus further on it when we meet later," said Fudge with a huff.

Harry inhaled sharply, a sense of dark loathing all his own spurring in him. "And it's no wonder… he turned out the way he did… if this is how he was treated," he snarled through bared teeth at the Minister. "Give me whatever amount of detentions and punishments you want. I don't care. The snake is safe and that's all that matters to me." He stared down at the animal still in his hands, which stared back with beady eyes full of wonder. Then he let the creature slide into his scarf as he strode out of the Three Broomsticks.

Not moments behind him, Draco was unsure of where exactly his friend was going. All he could tell was that Potter was livid and seemed to have stolen the heat of the pub.

The heavy layers of snow melted into a new sodden pathway in front of them as if under the hottest beams of sunlight. Warmth radiated from Harry that brought a sweat from more than just nervousness onto Draco's brow. It was hard not to wonder what was going through the other boy's mind as they went aimlessly past the Shrieking Shack and towards the forest.

Finally, Harry stopped at a clearing by a frozen pond, biting his bottom lip to peel off small bits of dry skin. His gaze was on the falling snow that turned to helpless moisture in the air around him.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Draco sighed, his hot breath coming out as a puff of steam. "I was g-going t-to, alright? If the train hadn't st-stopped for the Dementors, I would have said it. And I completely forgot about it a-afterwards."

He was met with a familiar silence. 

"S-So that's it?" Draco said to break it, hugging himself to fend off the bitter cold. "You're done c-caring about what people th-think about you?"

"Yes. What's the point in trying to change their minds? No one cares to listen. Why bother wasting the energy? They all want to think I'm letting my godfather into the castle because I want him to kill Longbottom. Whatever! Let them believe anything they want! I don't bloody care anymore," Harry insisted, twisting his hands around the loose end of his scarf.

The snake around his neck poked its head out, its forked tongue flitting out.

Harry responded in Parseltongue, which sent a different sort of shiver down Draco's spine to listen to.

"Why do you always give up, Potter? First with Granger and now this."

Turning, Harry's gaze settled fast onto Draco's own, burning with an intensity to rival McGonagall's. "Because every time I fight, I get told I'm a monster! Or the Heir! Or the next Dark Lord! Or some loathsome waste of air that should have never been born! I'm a mistake, Malfoy!" He fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands. "Every moment of goodness, solace, and compassion I've ever gotten gets crushed by every second of torment thrown at me after. And the world will never let me die. All the bullshit I've dealt with and never have I been granted the mercy to no longer suffer. Voldemort never gave me that. Black never gave me that. The Dursleys. Tom. No one.

"I could never have that one thing because that was too bloody kind. So tell me, then, Draco. What should I do? What else is there besides giving up and letting the world play its rotten little game with me?" Harry asked with a heartless snarl.

It was Draco's turn to go silent, taking the time to mull over the question. But the answer was clear no matter which way he looked. "I'm still here."

To say Harry was taken aback was an understatement. He seemed floored, looking at Draco like a frightened deer.

"A-And you have that snake. Any snake, probably. You're n-not alone, Harry. M-M-Merlin's sake, even last year, w-with everything that happened, I still stuck b-by you because I bloody c-cared!" Draco stepped closer, kneeling down and becoming awash with heat inside the magical warm bubble Harry had unintentionally created for himself. "You need to fight better, Potter. Don't give them what they want or expect. Give them what you want them to see. Show them the Harry I made friends with in Diagon Alley. The one with confidence and a desire to prove himself. You have the power to. I mean…" He waved a hand to the steam radiating from the edges of the heat around them.

There was doubt in Harry's eyes that didn't quite go away with Draco's words.

"Tom clearly thought you were strong enough. He wanted to take your magic. He broke you down to get it and still lost because you're better than him." When it was obvious he still wasn't breaking through Harry's final doubts, Draco put his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Do you know why I'm still here?"

Harry shook his head, pensive and awaiting explanation.

"Because you're my first real friend, Harry. I told you that our first year, remember? I've never had someone as special as you count me as a friend. You’re an idiot and an arse, sure, but so am I. I didn’t…"

A sense of shame and dread caught in Draco’s throat, solid and cold despite the humid warmth that thrummed and ebbed in between them. He needed to tread carefully. He needed to word this right. He wanted to keep his best friend while also keeping certain information hidden until he knew the time was right. Somethings were best kept secret for now, but…

"When we met, I didn't… intend to be friends with you." Draco drew his hands away the moment he saw the dangerous glint in Harry's eyes. "W-Wait! Let me finish." He swallowed his apprehension and continued, "I told you how I've never really made friends with any of the others. I've known most of them since we were little but none of them ever felt like… well, friends. And when you and I met, I treated you like any of the others.

"But after a while, it dawned on me how different you were. You didn't try to be a normal Slytherin. You just were one. You didn't care about our rivalry with the Gryffindors. You didn't let me stop you from being with Granger no matter how stupidly jealous I was or how annoying Weasley and Longbottom were. I realized that I was actually genuinely starting to like being your friend, which I didn't mean to do.

"I wanted to keep my distance and pretend none of it was real. I wanted to walk up to you one day and hate you. I was intending to do something like that; tell you it was all a trick and that I was lying because I thought it would be funny but I couldn't. I couldn't break off our friendship no matter what I believed. Last year, it almost happened, but I had this inkling that something wasn't right and I realized it was you. This guilt gnawed at me all year because I knew I was abandoning you when you were in trouble but I was confused and scared. We both were, I'm sure.

"And when I found your soul in the diary… I figured out that the guilt was from you. Tom latched onto you and that guilty part of you latched onto me. While you were fighting Tom, I was fighting you thinking you were the monster but… it was just you. I was afraid of you… Of losing you. I didn't understand until you spoke to me through the diary and you were begging for my help just how much I cared. You trusted me a-and all this time, I was treating you like something disposable because I was taught that that was what friendship was; a game like everything else in life."

Draco shivered the second he stepped back and felt the bitter winter winds bite against his neck. He knew he was okay. He knew the small irrational piece in the back of his mind was simply being paranoid and his friend wouldn't possibly leave him… Right? This was… Harry was his friend. His best friend. The only one.

"I'm still here because I trust you, Harry. Because I know you're a better person than I could ever hope to be. Because I've felt like a monster too and I know that empty, lonely feeling hurts." He stared at the melted snow between them. The sad puddle at their feet that grew as more snow and ice melted and collected into it. "I might never truly understand what it's like to be Harry Potter, but I'm glad I at least know what it's like to be Harry Potter's best friend. It just means… we can both be idiot arseholes together." He tried grinning, fought back by what felt like a cruel tearing in his chest. Like someone wrenching his heart and lungs out.

But he heard what sounded like a sob and looked up. The smile he wanted to force greeted him. Harry was laughing.

"You're right," was all Harry said at first, between his bouts of chuckling.

Finding the mirth infectious, Draco snickered, wiping tears from his eyes. Then he felt an arm around his shoulders.

"Let's be idiots together then, aye?" Harry joked. That confident radiance sparkled in his eyes, renewed and green like the grass in spring.

With hardly any hesitation, Draco replied, "Let's."

Chapter Text

It was difficult to remember not to take for granted what he had. This was a lesson he should have known from years of abuse, but having so much now felt so foreign to Harry, it tended to escape his mind that so many things were now his.

His life. His power. His destiny. His Firebolt. His friends.

Merlin, he even had a girlfriend.

How utterly bizarre was that? He had things and they could be taken away if he wasn't careful. The old Harry didn't have things. He had nothing but Dudley's old hand-me-downs that could never truly be his and himself. Now he had… things.

People liked him. He had a best friend he could trust. He had Draco and Tracey. There was a whole house of students he could somewhat rely on for help if he proved himself again. If he tried, he could be just Harry again and not the monster Tom made him out to be. Mother, Sip, Asclepius, and a whole den of actual snakes were counting on him to not give up. He meant something to people who mattered to him too.

"I've already sent a letter to mother about what happened," Draco mentioned during breakfast on the last day before he would be off for the holiday break. "I know she'll be livid enough to complain. Probably will have father talk with the Wizengamot about Fudge. Or the other Governors about McGonagall at least."

Harry hummed approvingly through his mouthful of eggs.

After his little stunt with Sip, Harry had gotten word from the serpents that the Chamber entrance in the abandoned bathroom was being heavily guarded and the way through behind the false sink had been sealed off, much to his annoyance. Not that it completely mattered. There were other pipe-ways that lead to the Chamber. Harry just had to be a bit craftier about getting to them without alerting Dumbledore. The man probably also knew about his little trick with the Patronus charm too, if he understood his luck well enough.

But what old Albus didn't know was that Harry had a new ace up his sleeve.

"Come here," he whispered to Draco the moment Vince disappeared to the common room after Greg challenged him to a few rounds of Exploding Snap. Sat on his bed, he pulled out the blank Marauder's Map from under his pillow and his wand from his pocket.

"What's that?" his friend asked with a quirk of the brow, shutting his luggage and walking over to sit in front of Harry.

"Watch." Harry tapped his wand against the parchment. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he spoke softly. Just enough for only the two of them to hear.

As the lines, paths, and names formed, he heard Draco's shocked gasp before he peered up to see the wide grey eyes and partially agape mouth.

"Look. There's Padfoot. And I'm still trying to figure out which one is my dad, but I think this belonged to him and his friends," he explained as best he could as he unfurled the map to show off the rest of its splendor.

"Where did you… Harry, this is…" Malfoy lost his words as he stared at the names wandering about the corridors of the castle.

"Fred and George gave it to me. When I realized one of the names was Padfoot, I assumed the rest of them must belong to Black, my father, and Lupin. This was something they made together, Draco. It means Sirius must know a bunch of secret ways to get into Hogwarts. That’s how he got in on Halloween." Harry pointed out a few he'd already parsed out from his personal investigation. "There's a few passages on here that are missing too. Like one in the library. And the Chamber's obviously not on here. I think once I figure out how the map works, I can add to it too. Like… Like my…"

"Harry, I know you miss your father, but if Sirius Black also made this, do you think it's wise to keep it? And Lupin too. They're not exactly--" But as Draco gazed at the map some more, he froze, making Harry jolt his head up to see what had taken his companion's voice.

An expression of dread met him instead of simply bewilderment and worry.

"What?"

Pointing at a spot on the map, up in Gryffindor tower, Draco sputtered out, "D-D-Dead. He's supposed to be dead!"

The name Peter Pettigrew lingered by itself. A name Harry didn’t recognize.

"That's Pettigrew! The wizard Sirius Black killed with all those Muggles! H-He… They only found his ring finger at the scene. Th-That and his bloody robes. There's no way that can possibly be…" Draco said in astonishment.

"Maybe it's a mistake? O-Or a ghost?" But as Harry scoured the map to find another spirit, his mind tingled with a confused enthusiasm. This map really was some big mystery for him to figure out. "See? There's Peeves."

"Peeves is a poltergeist, Harry. Look. You can't see Myrtle in her stall," countered Malfoy.

"Well, there are Dementors in her haunting grounds. She's probably… flown off to…" It was no use. None of the Hogwarts specters were showing up on the map. No Bloody Baron or Nearly Headless Nick. Not even the Fat Friar that tended to linger around the kitchens with the house elves.

So then… why was Peter Pettigrew, another of Sirius Black's victims, miraculously sitting at the top of Gryffindor tower without a care in the world?

McGonagall's detentions were much less punishing compared to Snape's, but no less dull to have to suffer to. Harry couldn't even count it as a punishment for him really. Cleaning was a daily task for him at the Dursleys that he was an expert at shining things by hand.

Which is probably why, on the second day of his detention, he was helping Madam Pince reorganize the library while also dusting the shelves. When he first arrived, he'd nearly gravitated back towards the table he and Hermione had claimed back near the Restricted Section. He only stopped himself when he realized it wasn't even past dawn yet and he was expected to be making the place look like new before the holiday break was over.

If he wanted any time to relax before the oncoming onslaught of exams at the end of the year, he'd have to buck up and face this detention like a man on a mission.

So he listened to Madam Pince with every ounce of care in his system, trying to memorize her new layout as best he could. Then he decided it best to draw up a crude map of her design to make it easier for himself.

"Any books out of place, put them where they belong. Any you find with their pages torn or strewn about, mark with this rune and I'll take care of the rest. Some of these haven't been rebound in years," the librarian witch ordered, thumbing through a thick book on magical law that Harry didn't even want to begin to comprehend. He could imagine Hermione finding it fascinating though, that was for sure.

Starting over at the books on wizard history, a thought slowly crept into Harry's mind that maybe he'd catch his former best-friend at her usual seat later on in the day, probably digging into her Muggle Studies book like he'd seen her do in the Great Hall last they were still communicating.

It had been an unspoken plea between Draco and Harry that the latter would try again at regaining her friendship over the break. Hermione and the Weasleys were some of the few students that stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays. Harry was never sure why she did since she had such a loving family at home, but it wasn't in Harry's place to wonder about such things. He had no idea what she was doing with her time or if her parents were busy. He definitely didn't have a right to ask at the moment. Nonetheless, it gave him the opportunity to beg for her forgiveness once he had the time to.

All the more reason to get this detention over with.

His fingers grazed over a worn book on Azkaban's creation and it made Harry think about the Dementors wandering the space in and around the abandoned bathroom. Hopefully he could make it up to Myrtle for drawing them into her sanctuary after they were all gone. Surely Tracey wouldn't kill him if he humoured the ghost girl's crush on him and gave the spirit some vague approximation of a date, would she?

But thinking about sanctuaries made Harry think about his own beneath that very bathroom, where Mother and the rest of the snakes were currently sleeping (minus a very grouchy Sip, who refused to leave Harry's wardrobe drawer because apparently his winter cloak was the warmest piece of clothing he had). He was having to draw up dark memories in an attempt to remember the other passages Tom used to enter and exit the Chamber. Harry knew it would be worth it, however, when, come spring, he could greet all the snakes and Mother again without having to stress over Dementors keeping him away from his special refuge.

Then… his mind brought up a new thought, connecting both topics in his mind together.

The library. It was Hermione's sanctuary, in a way. This was where she would spend most of her time if she had the choice. Harry knew she loved this place. All the books, old or new, bound or in pieces, were her comfort. Hermione loved reading and knowledge. She loved studying and learning. The smell of yellowed pages would linger on his fingers whenever they used to study together and he was sure it permeated her skin to the point it was a part of her DNA.

And like that… he understood why she hadn't forgiven him.

If the Dementors' mere presence outside his sanctuary irked him, him insulting Hermione and her way of thinking in her own had likely crushed her. No wonder she was crying. Harry had been callous and cruel about her to the point she no longer wanted to speak to him. And for good reason.

It almost-- almost-- made him punch himself then and there for how much of a bloody moron he was.

Would… Would restoring the library for Madam Pince make Hermione happy too? Or would she think he was doing it out of obligation and using it as an excuse to get into her good graces again?

Not if he busted his arse making the place look like a new haven. Surely, if he put all of himself into making the library look sparkling new, Hermione would have to consider forgiving him, right? If he poured every bit of blood, sweat, and tears into his work, she'd have to like him again. This had to be enough!

A day later, Harry strode over to the section on beasts and monsters, both the mythical and real, needing to place a few rebound school copies of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them into their appropriate shelf, when he saw her. Almost fumbling and dropping the stack, Harry placed them on the nearby table and kept his gaze averted as he worked.

Whatever book she was reading probably completely engrossed her because he dropped a very old book on training owls and was scrambling to gather all the displaced pages by himself. It was only when he had most of them piled on the table and he noticed a final page was stuck on another book did he see her gaze dart up from the book she was reading.

A familiar rumble and shifting. Harry stumbled back when he realized the book with the page on it was the false one. Yanking it back had triggered the spell that revealed the passage that wanted to haunt him more than any other.

Hermione gasped, smarter and faster on the uptake than he was. She was gone seconds later. It took him far longer than he wanted to admit to try apologizing to the empty air where she had been.

Staring down the shadowy corridor, the memory of that day breached through his surface level thoughts, sinking its claws into his mind if only to hurt him.

Those brown eyes swimming in confusion until it boiled over into realization. She was intelligent, but also far too trusting of him. He tricked her. She still didn't want to believe it completely. Here he was, nearly about to kill her with nary a shred of remorse.

And she dared to still fight back. She crumpled up her courage and stared at him with every bit of concentration.

Hermione Granger was the bravest, brightest witch in all of Hogwarts.

And in her home, Harry hurt her twice.

The first time, she blamed on Tom. The second-- now-- she had no choice but to say it had all been Harry.

His desire to see this punishment-turned-project through grew tenfold as he fixed the faux book back into place and the shelf-door went back to its standard position.

When lunch arrived, Harry dragged himself to his dorm to rest after scarfing down some food, staring at the simple map he created to visualize Madam Pince's want.

Then a new idea popped into his head.

Grabbing the Marauder's Map, he whispered the phrase and flipped through its layers to find the library. Remembering that the passage there wasn't marked on the map, Harry took some parchment and ink out of his bag. Would this work? Who really knew? But it was worth a try.

As he scribbled a vague outline of the secret passage, he tried to puzzle how exactly he was going to get this piece to fit, stay, and work just like the rest of the map. He certainly wasn't going to ask Professor Lupin, since that would mean revealing that he had such a precious artifact in the first place. Sirius Black was also off the table. No sense walking into the knife that would inevitably kill him. And James Potter was dead.

So that just left the final Marauder. Whoever Padfoot was. Or Wormtail… Moony… Prongs…

Harry still had no idea which wizard was credited as which. For that, he could definitely ask Remus about, but knowing about the other names would probably draw suspicion.

Once again, Harry was at a dead end.

Deciding it was about time he headed back to work at the library, he slipped his scribblings of the hidden passage into a nearby flap on the map and folded it all back up, whispering "Mischief managed" briefly before he hid it at the bottom of the drawer of his bedside table.

Tomorrow's Christmas, he thought to himself as he entered the library again. Madam Pince's desk had red tinsel lining the front edges. Her messy bun was held back with a wrapped-up peppermint candy cane. The quill nestled in her ink bottle was half red and half green.

There was no way he'd get the entire library cleaned and organized before Christmas morning. It would take a miracle not even magic could conjure up. Not that he was allowed to use magic beyond the basic rune Pince taught him to write in vanishing ink to bring books to her for fixing.

He'd have to gift Hermione something else. Even if she refused to accept his present, he felt it best to show his desperation to try rather than doing nothing at all.

But what could he get her in a day? On such short notice, there weren't many things. Books would take to long to find or order and there was no way of knowing which she had and had not read. What else did Hermione Granger like? What could Harry give her that would mean enough to her that she had no possible way of refusing?

Wandering to Madam Pince's desk to grab a fresh stack of rebound books, he saw her flicking through a catalogue on witch hats. While certainly an idea, it was definitely not something he could imagine Hermione liking. The Gryffindor girl preferred keeping her curly hair free, up in a bun, or braided during the summer time. Hats would complicate matters. No. Something else.

"Do you have other ones?" Harry chanced as he stared at the back cover of the catalogue.

Irma Pince looked up from her browsing, sharp gaze glowering at him for a moment before a light smile played on her lips. "Of course, dear. Broomsticks, quill and parchments, potion ingredients, and, most importantly, books. You name the demand, I might have the form to supply."

"What sort of quills?"

The question needed no verbal answer. The librarian pulled out two different ones from a drawer at her desk. One was for generic school supply and the other… Well, if the gaudy, glittering golden goose quill on the cover was anything to go by, these were the designer sort.

"Have a look. Go on. A few minutes won't hurt your progress," offered Madam Pince, motioning to a nearby table as she went back to her viewing.

Not one to argue with mercy, Harry gratefully sat and skimmed through the first few pages of the fancier quills. None of the quills quite matched Hermione. A griffin one caught his attention for the silvery color and sleekness, but it spoke to his tastes rather than hers.

Giving up on the prospect of a luxury quill, Harry decided to take a gander at the school one with a bit less hope. Since it was intermixed with orders for parchment, there were definitely less options for good writing feathers.

Then he found it.

The Immortal Quill

Ever-lasting ink!
Never buy another ink pot again!
Plucked from the finest phoenixes!
Durable!
No two feathers are quite the same!

That was it! Hermione, next to reading, loved learning. And learning required taking extensive notes during classes. Which required loads of ink!

Eagerly, Harry rushed to check the price.

Perhaps it was best not to let the nearly-three digit Galleon price tag dissuade him from the purchase. The Firebolt was more expensive and this was exactly what Hermione needed. The Potter vault could take a hit if it meant his best friend was getting a gift that perfectly encapsulated a brilliant note-taker like her.

He wondered briefly if there was a way to have the quill delivered anonymously, just so she didn't reject the gift if his name was on it. There was a way to have it rush delivered (magic was brilliant for that sort of thing). Surely hiding who sent it wasn't a hard next step.

With a giddy feeling in his stomach, Harry hurried off to the owlery with his order form tight in hand.

Alone under a dozen covers, warm in two sets of Dudley's clothes, and holding his flashlight in one hand, Harry watched the few moving figures in the darkened halls of Hogwarts at this time of night. His mind had returned to the subject of Pettigrew seemingly alive at the top of Gryffindor tower and, sure enough, the undead walked once more. The curious name darted around the lion's den as if itself possessed, leaving Harry to wonder what exactly was happening up there that he wasn't seeing.

All at once, it stopped, lingering by Ronald Weasley's name.

Then Ron was moving to the door to his dorm, leaving Pettigrew behind and walking to the Gryffindor common room. In the middle of the room, he stopped. Seconds later, he turned back around and returned to his dorm, back asleep in what was presumably his bed with Pettigrew right beside him.

Odd.

Had Pettigrew done something to Weasley to make him do such a strange set of actions or was something else at play that the map couldn't tell him? The temptation to go find out was only quelled by the fact that Harry knew none of the Gryffindor's passwords anymore.

With that obnoxious Sir Cadogan and his stupid fat pony keeping guard since the attack on the poor Fat Lady's portrait, the Gryffindor passwords were apparently changing near-daily, if the whispers of the other lions were anything to go by. So even if Hermione were still speaking to him, Harry would have had to memorize a password a day to confidently know which to use on the painting.

It would have to take an idiot writing down all of them to--

A heavy lump pounced onto Harry's back, grumbly as always.

"C-Crookshanks?" Harry yelped as the furry creature strode up his spine and made its way under the blankets. "What are you doing here, silly cat?"

Another paper was in the half-Kneazle's mouth. This time, Harry knew to expect the worst.

Flicking the flashlight onto the fresh sheet of parchment, tremors of fear and delight intertwined in Harry's chest, speeding up his heartbeat considerably.

'Scurvy cur. Knight's gambit. Jaunty bard. Knave…'

A whole bloody list of passwords! Front and back! The absolute moron that needed to write all of these down would be getting a free butterbeer from Harry next Hogsmeade weekend. This meant Harry could sneak up to Gryffindor tower and find Pettigrew.

Wait… is that what Black was after? Sirius Black had been arrested for the murder of Peter Pettigrew as well. Was it possible the man was aware some remnant of Pettigrew was somehow still alive and up in Gryffindor tower too?

Oh, now Harry really needed to know what was up there.

Pulling his invisibility cloak out from under his bed, Harry collected it, the map, his wand, and the list of passwords. The most recent one, at the very bottom of the list, was 'maiden virtue' and would hopefully be enough to get past that ruddy portrait. Just in case, Harry kept 'scurvy cur' in mind.

Harry shooed a protesting Crookshanks away with the list in its mouth, deciding it best to let the cat do whatever it wanted with all the passwords. This was a journey for him and him alone.

Out the boy's dormitory, the Slytherin common room, dungeons, ground floor, entrance hall…

The world was cold. Much more than Harry thought it should have been compared to the dungeons. The entry doors might have been a few feet away and holding back what must have been the chilliest December snow, but this was more than a mere winter breeze.

This was the coldness of death.

Stifling a gasp, Harry kept still as a pair of Dementors floated around a corner. They didn't show up on the map. The undeniable fact had escaped his mind, but now it hit him like a snowball to the head.

Wanting to remain hidden, he turned and darted down a different corridor. Maybe if he went up some steps, down another, and around?

The icy howls of the two Dementors followed after him. No! How did they know where he was? His footsteps? Could they see him through the cloak?

No time to question! Either he fought or he kept running.

Well, Harry was no coward. He knew the spell to scare them off. One Dementor had fled before. Two would be a new challenge.

Skidding to a stop, Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and uncloaked his arm and head. A good memory was all he needed. Would the one he used last time be enough for two? This wasn't the time! It would have to do!

"Expecto Patronum," he snarled as he turned and pointed his wand at the guards.

Like before, the powerful pull of intense magic on the hand holding the ebony wand up hurt, but it was better that than having to be tormented by two of the most rotten creatures in existence. The light emanating like a shield was barely stronger than last time. But that was just enough.

The moment the charm faded, Harry gleefully hid himself back under the cloak, muffling his panting breaths with a hand over his mouth. Again, he'd done what he was told should have been impossible. It was no less thrilling than last time.

"Harry?"

He froze on the spot.

Professor Lupin whispered a soft 'lumos' as he fully opened the door to his classroom. "I heard you. I know you're here. No need to hide. If you come in, then I won't tell the Headmaster. I merely want to talk."

The DADA teacher's reassurances weighed heavy on Harry's choices. Could he trust Remus Lupin, friend of Sirius Black and James Potter, not to harm him? Or tell Dumbledore? Or give Harry to Black so the maniac could finish what he started?

The bags under the professor's eyes were visible in the light of the spell. Like Harry, he probably was unable to sleep. But why? "You're using your father's cloak. Clever boy. I'm sure your father would be proud if he knew. And to have mastered such a spell as that… Powerful too. Please, Harry. I promise I mean you no harm."

His father… Proud? Of Harry? James Potter, the Gryffindor and Head Boy in his final year at Hogwarts? Proud of Harry, supposed Heir of Slytherin that spoke to snakes both literally and figuratively? How could his dad ever be proud of him?

Unable to bury his intrigue, Harry gave in and poked his head out from under the cloak, keeping his gaze downcast as he stepped towards the Defense classroom.

Remus smiled and lead the boy in. Dropping the spell the moment he shut the door, Lupin sighed. "Has the promise of presents kept you up this late, my boy? I'm certain Father Christmas wouldn't be pleased to see you wandering about." The skinny, dreadfully pale man motioned to one of the student tables. The room was lit with a few candles, dim with pools of melted wax showing just how long he'd been kept awake.

As they sat, side by side, Harry set down on the table his father's invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map, the latter hidden under the former. He wasn't going to lose his ace. It was probably another of his father's remaining possessions. Rightfully his.

"Where did you get them?" Remus asked with a slight tilt of the head.

"The cloak? Dumbledore gave it to me as a Christmas gift my first year. Since it was my dad's…" Harry felt at the shimmering hem of the large cloth, letting its silky softness soothe him of the nervousness in the pit of his stomach.

"And the map?"

Merlin's sake…

Not about to throw Fred and George under the bus, Harry merely shrugged and uncovered the old parchment, placing it in between them. He realized quickly that he hadn't snuffed out the map's secrets, so even if Lupin wasn't one of the Marauders, it would have been plain to see the magic the parchment held.

"You have two very valuable objects here, Harry. If I were any other professor, I would have reported you straight away to the Headmaster and confiscated these," Lupin said firmly. He hovered his wand over the map. "And you forgot to say 'Mischief Managed'." With a light tap, the map's lines and words vanished.

"Which one are you?" Harry questioned in defeat.

"Moony. I wasn't the one to come up with this harebrained scheme out of the four, but I was the one who figured out the magic. We each added a bit of ourselves into the making of it. Go on. Put your wand on it and ask a question," Remus said as he rested his curved wand in front of him.

Resigning to obey, Harry tapped his own wand on the parchment. For a moment, he considered what question to ask, then grinned when a stupid one came to mind. "Does Professor Snape smell?"

' Professor Snape? Mr. Prongs wants to know who let Snivellus become a professor.'

'Mr. Padfoot seconds that.'

'Mr. Wormtail thinks that if Professor Snape washed his ugly greasy hair, maybe he wouldn't smell so awful.'

'Mr. Moony wonders whether Professor Snape has ever bathed at all. Maybe in sewer water.'

Harry hardly held back his laughter.

"Ah, youth. The four of us were never kind to Severus. I can admit in hindsight that not even I was innocent of such unfair treatment of another student, but I think your father and Sirius were the worst offenders." Remus chuckled as the nostalgia left a twinkle in his eyes. "I don't doubt Snape still resents us to this very day."

"Which ones were they?"

"Your father was Prongs. Sirius was Padfoot. Peter was Wormtail," confessed Lupin with a wistful sigh.

Sirius was Padfoot? And Peter-- Wait!

"Peter… as in Peter Pettigrew? The wizard Sirius Black killed?" Harry asked incredulously.

"The very same. Wormtail finally grew some Gryffindor bravery and confronted Padfoot about his betrayal of your parents. Never very good in a duel, but definitely not against Sirius. All that was left of him was a finger and his clothes. Blasted to dust along with those Muggles out in plain view of dozens more. Black practically turned himself in at the scene of the crime, likely having gone mad from all the horrid things he'd done." Remus stared at the words on the parchment until they began to fade. "Peter's mother was handed the remaining finger and clothing along with an Order of Merlin on his behalf for what Wormtail tried to do. In the end, he succeeded in putting a guilty man in a proper cell at the cost of his own life."

But was Peter Pettigrew really dead?

Harry let the thought linger on the tip of his tongue, ready to be spoken. He hoped instead that his solemn expression and small nod would be taken as understanding.

"You would have been raised by Sirius, you know. He was your godfather. James trusted him like a brother and made him so because of that. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore sending Hagrid to find you, Padfoot might have raised you to worship You-Know-Who just like his family did him and his younger brother," Moony continued, tension chipping away the more he spoke.

While the fact that Sirius Black had an actual brother didn't escape Harry's notice, the thought of being taught to obey the Dark Lord from a young age by what essentially amounted to a deranged cultist sent a shiver down his spine. Having already dealt with Riddle's teachings before, imagining it spanning his entire life sounded like a hellish existence.

"So…" Harry cleared his throat. "Where did the names come from?"

Realizing what he meant in the change of subject, Remus smiled again. "Animagus forms. The three of them insisted on learning how to become animagi for… reasons."

"What sort of reasons?" Harry pressed with a crook of a brow.

"You know the type. Hubris. Because it was a challenge for them. Bragging rights. James in particular was cocky to a fault. Would strut around like he owned the castle. Had Gryffindor pride plastered all over himself. If it wasn't for Lily, I'm sure he would have stayed that way. Madly in love with her, but she hated him, mostly because she was friends with Snape."

"She liked Snape?" Harry paled at the image of a younger version of his mother purposefully spending time with a younger version of his Head of House. Gross.

"It was one of the reasons James bothered Severus so much. Then he grew to realize he'd fallen for Lily and started improving himself to impress her. Obviously, it worked, considering you're here," Remus concluded.

"Well, now I know why Snape hated me so bloody much during my first year," grumbled Harry, resting his head in his arms with a yawn.

"Nonetheless, James and Sirius were dead set on becoming animagi and Peter decided to tag along as well like he always did. When they inevitably succeeded, Prongs became a stag, Padfoot a black dog, and Wormtail a rat."

The drowsy spell that threatened to overtake Harry's senses was snapped away by that final fact. Wormtail-- Peter Pettigrew-- was a rat animagus.

Weasley's old rat, Scabbers, had recently become a sickly, depressed mess. Quite coincidentally, right after Sirius Black escaped Azkaban.

But how would Sirius know Ron's rat was Pettigrew? And how could Harry prove such a disputable fact without revealing his ace, the Marauder's Map? Was the map even telling the truth? The facts did align perfectly if it was.

Hesitant but curious, Harry tapped the map again, reciting the growingly familiar phrase to reveal its contents. He flipped through in search of Gryffindor tower until he saw the scraps of parchment he had tried adding in flutter out from under the sparse dungeon layer.

"What's all this?" Lupin asked, picking up a piece depicting a hidden pipe between the Slytherin common room and the kitchens.

"My-- erm-- attempt at… well… The map's very Gryffindor-centric, so I thought… I don't know how you did it but I tried mimicking the way the map works to the best of my ability and I'm obviously not… talented enough with this sort of magic like you were- - erm, are," Harry tried to explain, biting at the skin on his lower lip for fumbling with his words.

"You were making additions," the professor murmured as soft as a gasp.

Harry nodded, recalling his time after dinner spent scribbling away on those bits of paper that he tried hopelessly to stick onto the map. He'd wished Hermione was there to throw him a bone and tell him the adhesive charm, but eventually gave up and buried the whole mess in the folds of the original map.

Hearing what sounded like the beginnings of laughter, Harry peered up from his shoddy work, blinking in surprise.

"I'm impressed. You've got your parents' ambition, that's for sure," Lupin commented through his quiet mirth. "I'll teach you how it works another day, alright, Harry? For now, how about you head back to bed?" He placed the piece of parchment back in the folds of the Marauder's Map and nudged it back to his student.

Stifling another yawn, Harry hummed in agreement. One last thought lingered, however. "You never mentioned why the others called you Moony."

The uncomfortable shifting of both body and gaze indicated to Harry he was about to be told a lie.

"I suppose… you of all people have a right to know more than anyone else. James and Lily were both close friends of mine and you've not proven yourself untrustworthy… Very well. I'm a werewolf," Remus declared.

Harry waited, watching through half-lidded eyes for the mischievous smile to appear. But when it didn't, he tried to find fault in the confession.

Noticing the doubt, Remus' eyes widened. "You don't believe me? Harry, surely you must have noticed my absences every month around the full moon. The scars? I'm sure your friends told you about the essay on werewolves Severus made them write. Your friend Hermione was the only one who turned in the work when she heard from Neville and Ronald. She thought it strange that the werewolf lesson had only been assigned to--"

"We aren't on speaking terms at the moment," Harry admitted. "I made a mistake that I'm still trying to make up for. But you're… serious about being a werewolf?"

"It's not something to joke about, Harry. It's a curse I've lived with since I was a child. Burdened unto me by a spiteful man named Fenrir Greyback as revenge against my father. Since then, I've been forced to endure the torment of transforming into a horrid monster every month during full moons, recently only tamed by the aide of the resident Potions Master and his research into wolfsbane potions. For Severus’ help, I'm ever in his debt, despite him knowing the risks of interacting with me and my… condition," Moony said with a touch of resentment.

Now that personal lecture on monsters made all the more sense.

"I'm… sorry for doubting you, sir. I just… wasn't expecting the truth. Normally the adults in my life like to avoid telling me important things. Like how a convicted murderer was supposed to be my godfather. Or that I'm wizard. And a Parselmouth, which apparently isn't a good thing in our world. I've had to learn a lot of truths later in life." Harry pulled his invisibility cloak closer to his chest.

Remus placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You're alright, son. No boy your age is expected to believe everything they hear. None of us did when we were your age." Clicking his tongue, he stood and motioned for Harry to do the same. "Now, I shall expect you to go right off to bed, Harry. No wandering to any hidden passages or I'll be speaking with McGonagall about extending your current punishment."

With a smirk, Harry obeyed. "Of course, professor. I've sworn not to cause trouble, you know," he joked, earning a light chuckle from the apparent werewolf. "Thank you. For telling me about my parents… and trusting me with your secret."

"It's only fair, since you're trusting me with yours. Take good care of that map, Harry. And practice your form with the Patronus charm. It can be improved a bit, but I must say; spectacular job with it so far. Your parents would be overjoyed to see how far you've come at such a young age."

Imagining the smiles on their faces let a bittersweet feeling wrap around Harry's chest like a warm woolen blanket. This was shaping up to be his favorite Christmas yet and he hadn't even unwrapped a single present.

Realizing when he awoke the following morning that he'd been somewhat duped into not going to investigate the rat in the tower, Harry blew some stray dark locks out of his eyesight and grabbed his glasses from their haphazard placement on his nightstand. Maneuvering under his blankets towards the foot of his bed, he poked his head out and gazed down at where he would normally find a few gifts.

Instead he found a bunch of torn up wrapping and an upset Crookshanks.

"H-Hey! Why'd you do all that? Those were mine!"

Harry made a swipe for the feline, missed, and created a flurry of orange fur and shredded wrapping in the air. The cat hissed, arching its puffed up back and swatting at the hand that dared to make a move towards it.

"Ow! Crookshanks! You--!" Unsure of how to insult the half-Kneazle without meeting with the sharp end of its paws, Harry grunted and sat up.

Crookshanks launched up onto his lap and, like a petulant overlord, curled up for a snooze as if it hadn't ruined Harry's Christmas morning.

Damn this cat and its bloody mood swings.

But a part of Harry couldn't stay upset because… well… half of it was still a cat. It acted like a cat when it wanted. Like how it chased Scab--

"Crookshanks," Harry chimed, petting the cat once the realization dawned on him. "Oh, you beautiful, intelligent creature. You've known all along!" He risked disturbing the cat if only to hug it like it was the greatest gift he'd ever been given. "Scabbers must be Pettigrew if you've been after that rat this whole time. What else do you know? Do you know where Sirius Black is hiding? Can you…" He stopped himself.

No. Not yet. He had to be smart about this, Hermione would say. Let Black come to him first. Harry needed to piece this mystery together a bit more before he threw himself at the cause of all his troubles.

Crookshanks murruped, glaring at Harry as he held the cat up in front of him. Its long, drooping body and disgruntled expression made him snicker, but he relented and dropped the feline at his side while he salvaged his gifts from the mess it made.

First, from the looks of it… A Weasley sweater! Personalized in forest green with a big silver H on the front. He wondered if Mrs. Weasley left a note for him to read. He'd have to find it under all the shredded wrapping. After slipping on the comfortably thick sweater, Harry delightedly dug for more.

Fudge from Hagrid! A softer recipe, from the taste of it. Harry wasn't struggling to eat it this time, but it still tasted lovely. He'd have to thank his Magical Creatures professor later on. Would the half-giant be interested in meeting the Basilisk that had unintentionally gotten him expelled or was that too insensitive? Oh, but Mother couldn't petrify people anymore so she was relatively harmless! (Merlin, he sounded like Hagrid then.) He'd surely love to see a thousand year old beast like her. Harry would have to translate if the man was interested, which would be… intriguing.

Next… oh, another boxed one. Crookshanks hadn't even bitten through the ribbon. Untying it, Harry pulled off the lid and froze, watching a small, folded paper fall onto the glittering gold orb resting in the felt holder. He placed the box and its lid down in front of him and grabbed the note, chewing through another chunk of fudge as he read:

Merry Christmas, Harry!
You don't know how much I've missed you,
but I'm glad to know you're safe here at Hogwarts.
I've got much to tell you, but not a lot of time.

Once I'm able to, I'm going to clear my name
and save you from old batty Tuney.
I saw you run off from her home
and knew she was up to her old ways.

I was able to nab this
from some of your father's old things.
His first Snitch.
Saw you were a Seeker just like he was
and knew this would be the perfect gift for you.
I still remember the day I gave you your first broom.
Lily told me you loved it in her last letter to me.
Nearly killed your cat with it, if I recall.
I know you must miss them.
I still do.
Stay safe.
I'll see you soon.

-S.B.

Harry coughed and sputtered as he reread the letter.

The illustrious gleam of the golden Snitch nestled in the box caught his attention once more. This was the first one his dad ever caught. But Sirius Black was gifting it to him.

Didn't Dumbledore say someone was supposed to be checking these gifts? Harry had just been handed a trophy from his father's killer! What a sick joke!

But a part of him couldn't bear to do something about it. Harry hardly knew his parents. These things gave him small glimpses into what his father was like. The cloak, the map, and now this Snitch. Fragments of a past Harry would never quite know. A history he'd only learn about secondhand. Never from the source.

Crookshanks meowed next to him, purring like a motorbike against his side. The sound eased some of the knotting tension in Harry's chest.

It took a second for Harry to realize he was crying. He sniffled and wiped away the falling tears with the sleeve of his new sweater.

As much as he hated to admit it, Padfoot, like Moony, had made Harry's Christmas a little bit brighter.

Now all he needed was a gift from Wormtail.

Looking back over the remaining tatters, he saw one last gift, partially opened thanks to the cat. With that brief hint, Harry knew this was something just as special as his last present.

As he tossed the last of the wrapping away, Harry grinned at the blank shimmering green cover of the book in his hands. He opened it to the first page and cackled.

Property of Harry Potter.

Write in your own diary this time.
Merry Christmas.

-Draco

"Smarmy git," Harry muttered, though unable to pry the smile off his face.

He'd make Malfoy pay for this tenfold once he was back. But he loved it. He adored the fact that they could joke about what happened the previous year and not feel guilt anymore. He wasn't… Tom. He was Harry. He could be Harry unabashedly and feel happy about it again.

Slipping Black's letter into the brand new diary, Harry decided it was time to get out of bed and greet the holiday with all the renewed joy and vigor he'd been given.

Madam Pince had given Harry the day off, much to his unexpected chagrin. He'd rather hoped to busy himself with more organization and restoration as to have something to do. With no Draco or Tracey (as she opted to be with family this year and her parents weren't entirely… fond of her relationship with Harry yet, to put it lightly), his options for interaction and timewasting were severely limited to near nothing. The snakes were asleep too.

The only companion he really had was… Crookshanks. And maybe Weasley, if the other boy wasn't with Hermione.

His two choices didn't even like each other. Weasley still held a grudge because of the cat's behavior towards his pet rat (which may or may not actually be Peter) and Crookshanks was a wise but menacing feline on a mission to kill.

For now, as Harry snuggled into his school robe, he was obligated to handle the half-Kneazle perched on his shoulders. Honestly, the warmth of its fur was a blessing. Harry merely hoped he'd be able to get all the stray orange strands off his clothes later on.

Walking otherwise alone out of the dungeons, he wondered whether his gift to Hermione had gone through.

He'd gotten Tracey a silver bracelet with seafoam green gems as her present after his little stint in the Three Broomsticks with Sip, which had cost them the rest of their second date. He hoped such a surprise would please his girlfriend as much as the phoenix quill did (might? could? had?) Hermione. Tracey didn't seem like the type for materialism, but this was the season for it. There was the fact that he'd added a letter with as many apologies and proclamations of love as he could fit onto it to account for the sentimentality, at least. Plus a bid to try next Hogsmeade trip to approach the Shrieking Shack to see what fantastical wonders the old place had hiding behind its dusty walls.

When he reached the Great Hall, his nose was accosted by cinnamon, gingerbread, and a faint hint of peppermint. The students, what little amount there were for the holiday, were intermingling between house tables like every year. Harry could see a cluster of badgers and eagles had claimed what were normally empty seats at the Slytherin table, which left him with little option but to either hunt a free space at one of their house tables for himself or bear sitting at the Gryffindor table, possibly with Fred, George, and Ginny.

But Ron and Hermione thankfully made the choice for him.

"Crookshanks!" she exclaimed when she noticed the cat making itself comfortable around Harry's neck like an obnoxiously bright orange, fluffy feather boa.

"Aw no! Keep that beast away from me!" protested the youngest Weasley boy, sitting across from her at the table. "This is the first time Scabbers has been calm in ages." He patted the rat that had stopped in its chewing of a slice of toast at the sight of Harry's accompanying animal.

Harry hid his suspicion of the rodent. If this was Pettigrew, he couldn't let slip that he knew yet. He wanted solid proof before he went on with his personal investigation of the truth. "Sorry," he said as he pet the growling Crookshanks. "He found me on my way out of the dungeons. Wasn't going to say no to free heat."

"He can stay with you then, if he's so comfortable," Ron decided, earning an incredulous gasp from Hermione.

"He's my cat! You just can't admit your rat is old and dying and want to blame someone else's pet!" she declared, stamping her hands on the table and standing.

Ron matched her level of standing, towering over her a bit in the process. "That ugly thing has attacked me and tried to kill Scabbers plenty of times! Scabbers was perfectly healthy before it came along!" 

No. Pettigrew was healthy before the announcement of Sirius Black's escape, Harry wanted to say but didn't. With no way to prove that, he muzzled himself. Not without a leer at the rat, however. Perhaps if he played his hand right…

"Crookshanks is a cat, Ronald! Cats chase rats!"

"Weren't you the one that said he was an intelligent creature? Which one is it then? Can't be half-smart, Hermione! Either that cat is a menace because of instinct or on purpose!"

"He's not a menace!"

"Certainly isn't a saint!"

"And neither are you!"

Rolling his eyes and noticing that everyone else had become audience to the argument, Harry figured it was time to intervene. "Enough!" The prying eyes were quick to turn away at his harsh glare.

Both of the bickering pair looked at Harry, slumping into their seats as the realization of their mutual childishness became evident to them from his annoyed expression.

Harry tugged the half-Kneazle into his arms. "Merlin… Right. How about a compromise then? You--" He motioned to Hermione. "-- can have your cat back." He leaned over the table and dropped Crookshanks into her eagerly awaiting hold. "And you--" He turned to Ron and the worriedly squeaking Scabbers. "-- will give me the rat."

"What? Why?" Ron questioned, clearly about to argue with Harry next from his tone alone.

"Crookshanks can't get into the Slytherin dungeons," Harry lied. What Weasley didn't know… "Scabbers will be safe with me, I promise. I'll take good care of him for you until…" His gaze shifted to the grumbling ball of fur in Hermione's arms.

Weasley seemed to understand his unspoken words. There was still a twinge of hesitancy however. "Well… if she won't cage that bloody beast…" he murmured, grabbing Scabbers with both hands when it seemed like the cat was about to pounce again.

"Think of it like… a vacation from the constant threat of death. I'll give him right back the second you ask for him. But he'll be as far away from Crookshanks as a rat could want to be," Harry continued. He was certainly layering it on thick the amount he'd hypothetically care for the stupid rodent, but if his hunch could be proven correct, it would be to his advantage that he had a caged Pettigrew in his clutches.

Evidently, Hermione had had enough of the insinuation that her half-Kneazle would kill a supposedly innocent creature on purpose, as she got to her feet with Crookshanks hissing in her arms and, in a huff, left the Great Hall as briskly as her legs could move.

Ron stuck out his tongue, not above such childish behavior.

Harry snickered. "Well?" he said to bring the other boy back to the subject of his offer.

"Alright. If you promise he'll be better with you…" Ron quirked his head to the side for a moment, thinking of something else. "You won't… feed him to any snakes, will you?"

Taken aback, Harry blinked a few times in bewilderment at the notion. Honestly, he hadn't even thought of offering Pettigrew-- Scabbers. This was still Scabbers until proven Peter-- to any of his snake companions. He wasn't surprised that the idea had been brought up though. Word travelled quick through Hogwarts' walls. Concluding that Harry's Parseltongue meant he'd commune with snakes was as simple as any sort of maths he'd learned in primary school.

"No! Why would I feed him to a snake if he's so important to you?" Harry countered in offense.

"He's not important to me, but I know Percy cares a lot about Scabbers. When he found out you petrified him last year, he was furious. With me and you. I mean, he was already upset with you over the whole Penelope thing, but I…" Ron sighed. "He trusted me to take care of Scabbers after he got his owl, since he couldn't right well expect Fred and George to be good pet owners. They were joking about giving the poor thing to a starving owl or one of the gnomes in our yard!"

Harry was glad he hadn't been eating or drinking anything yet, laughing at the image of the twins bartering with one of the ugly little beasts that loitered around the Burrow. He'd gotten a glimpse of a few of them on his visit when Mrs. Weasley tasked her sons (sans Percy) to de-gnome their garden. It had been fun to toss some of them around, but considering Draco had the best throwing arm of their group, it was no contest. Smug git was grinning the whole rest of the evening. Apparently there had been a minor bet between the twins, with Fred winning five Sickles from his counterpart for choosing Slytherin over Gryffindor in who could throw a gnome farthest.

"Oh, of course you'd find that funny. You're just like them! How can I trust you not to feed him to one of your snakes?" Ron said with a pout.

"The snake won't eat your rat. Sip would probably go for Neville's toad before she even considers Scabbers," replied Harry in full confidence.

"Sip?"

"That's what she goes by, the nagging pile of scales. I think she's from the Americas? She mentioned a big pond when we met. I haven't met many of the others, since they're all hibernating right now, but she's the one I saved at the Three Broomsticks. Said my scarf and coat were warm so I couldn't get rid of her." Harry paused, noticing his Gryffindor friend's baffled expression. Oh. He hadn't realized he'd been rambling. "Sorry."

"You're fine, mate. It's bizarre, but… I think it's cool. Freaky as all get out, but cool. Wish I could talk to animals like that. Speak to Scabbers maybe…"

Just ask him to turn into a human and speak with him normally, Harry thought dryly as he grabbed a nearby jar of honey to spread some over his cinnamon toast.

"Oh! Dragons! Aw, Charlie would be so jealous if he learned you could speak to dragons. They're kind of like snakes, right?" Ron wondered aloud.

"Dunno. I haven't been around one to find out." It was a curious thought. Talking to dragons would be fantastic, but Harry doubted he'd be so lucky as to have such a blessing. So far, his Parseltongue abilities had been more of a hinderance and a curse, only counterbalanced by having the respect of the snakes in and around the school grounds.

"Wish Hagrid still had Norbert. We could've found out then," Ron continued as he passed a cut of sausage to Scabbers.

"So… is the rat going to be safe with me now?" Harry tried again to bring the conversation back around.

"Why are you trying so badly to take my rat?" Ron asked in suspicion.

"Because I'd prefer it if you and Hermione stop arguing about this whole mess," stated Harry firmly.

"Like you're on good terms with her too," Ron reminded him.

"I'm trying." Harry swallowed two slices of toast in a minute before adding, "If you want, I can just rescind my offer to protect Scabbers and help you hand him to Crookshanks on a silver platter. Don't know if Hermione would be entirely thrilled but I'm sure the cat wouldn't mind a free meal," he joked.

Weasley scowled, stabbing into his scrambled eggs and sausage with what Harry deemed 'spiteful enthusiasm'.

Letting the boy stew over the decision, Harry gulped down a cup of warm milk, relishing in the comfort it blanketed across his insides. He fended off the craving for some of the same chicken sausage his companion was devouring when he saw the rat's beady eyes shift from the remaining bite of food to Harry.

Its nose twitched and it sat frozen stiff for a moment, then resumed its eating like nothing had happened.

That was not normal rat behavior.

Or was it? Quite frankly, Harry had no clue how rodents behaved. Could a rat die of stress? Do rats starve themselves because of stress? Was there an intelligent, magical adjacent species of rats like there were for cats and dogs? Kneazles, crups… Thinking through both the Fantastic Beasts and Monster Book of Monsters, there didn't seem to be any that came to mind. He did know the Magical Menagerie had a cage full of rodents that did tricks and played with each other to pass the time but in terms of intelligence? Debatable.

So the question of whether Scabbers was Pettigrew was still hanging in the air. By a very thin thread.

As thin as those twisted little whiskers.

"Alright. If you promise he'll be safe, I'll let you take care of Scabbers until Hermione gets rid of that beast of hers," said Ron with only a slight hesitancy to his voice.

Harry grinned, his gaze darting from Ron to the rat. "Perfect," he purred out, unable to fully hide the dark mischief in his tone.

Scabbers stared back as it finished its bite of food. Seemingly unaware of what fate had been decided for him. But only seemingly.

Orion fluffed its feathers as it sat on Hermione's bed. Package delivered, it was enjoying the warmth of Gryffindor tower for a while longer.

In Hermione's case, the world had gone much colder than the winter weather implied.

After the outburst that ruined their friendship, she wasn't entirely sure how to put into words exactly how she felt about things-- about Harry-- so she chose instead to swallow her pride and remain silent.

But it didn't change the fact that his words hurt. After all she'd done to not only prove to him that he wasn't the monster others claimed he was, but also that she didn't hold what he'd done against him, his scathing reply brought to the forefront thoughts that maybe everyone else was right.

Maybe Harry Potter was a Slytherin through and through. The worst kind. A Dark Lord in the making. Someone who couldn't be trusted because, in the end, all he would do is backstab the ignorant and relish in their agony.

Or, in more realistic terms, he was a bully. A common variety bully like those he surrounded himself with.

Except he apologized. A typical bully wouldn't feel remorse for hurting others and definitely wouldn't risk the privilege of knowing an opposing house's passwords to beg for forgiveness with such a sincerity as Harry's. But he knew he'd wronged her, knew what he was putting on the line, and knew better to try for some semblance of friendship again than to do nothing at all.

Harry was such a complicated boy. He'd suffered traumas unimaginable to her under those he should've called family, but still fought for himself. He was smart and nearly matched Hermione in most subjects, but doubted himself and seemed to hold back in favor of being simply above average. He wasn't afraid of anyone or anything but himself as he might have been, cold blooded and cruel. He didn't want to be a monster, yet he gave in to such a notion if only because everyone else had.

But to her, he'd been just as much a hero as Neville. He bravely confronted a troll and shouldered the blame for doing so in spite of his best friend's protests. He helped Neville, Ron, and her charge through the task of confronting Voldemort when he truthfully didn't have to. Harry enlisted the help of Draco when they were both at their lowest so Malfoy could stop Tom Riddle from taking over the school using Harry's body and name. Harry even took a hit for the meanest of Slytherins, Parkinson, even though Hermione was sure he would've loved to see her cry after all the mean things Hermione was sure Pansy said about him.

The entirety of Wizarding Britain stood against Harry yet he still walked about like everything was fine. He did his school work, went to Quidditch practice, studied, and did as much as he could to appear normal in the eyes of authority and peers.

But there were still things that slipped through the cracks. What he'd said to Hermione was one. What he'd done to Ernie Macmillan in order to defend an actual snake had been another.

How strange it was to hear from Lavender and the other girls that Harry had ordered a snake to attack the Hufflepuffs at the Three Broomsticks. It didn't sound like Harry, but what did she know? Maybe in Harry there was the capacity for harm and maybe there wasn't. Maybe he was a troubled, misunderstood youth struggling to prove himself worthy of love and maybe he reveled in hurting others for the kick of it. If not physically, then emotionally at least.

"Scars are scars no matter inside or out," her father told her one night after Harry had once again woken up in distress. "He's dealing with a lot of trauma and abuse. Just because his cuts are healed doesn't mean he's mentally sound. Give him time and space for now or comfort when he needs it. If he wants to open up about what he's been through, he'll tell you about what he wants you to know. But never, ever feel like you always have to be there for him. Pain and negativity has a habit of spreading so it's best to keep your contact in moderation."

Hermione's mind swirled like a spoon in a brewing cauldron with all that information as she rested in her bed, staring at Crookshanks in her lap as she robotically pet the purring cat.

Harry's snappy attitude towards her and Crookshanks after her argument with Ron felt like another jab in the gut, but she wasn't going to give him the courtesy of her time any more than she already had today.

So when Orion tapped at her nearby window until she lazily opened it with a flick of her wand, she gasped at the ornately wrapped package the owl dropped at the foot of her bed.

A mahogany red box with a sparkling gold bow. The only indication of an address said it was a specially ordered gift for her. She undid the bow and carefully opened the box, expecting perhaps some sort of jewelry like the shape of the box implied.

Finding a phoenix feather quill was astounding to say the least. There was a small card that explained it was an Immortal Quill with ever-lasting ink, but the beauty of the feather was in its swirling bend and how the vibrant red and orange colors glittered like dying embers. She almost didn't want to touch it for how delicate it appeared. Gently she took the feather out and twirled it in her fingers, marveling in how it seemed to dance like a real fire.

But who would send such a thing to her?

Ron definitely didn't. The Weasleys were currently stretched between five children and two adults with money. Molly had already sent Hermione the softest hand-knitted scarf in a delightfully warm red-orange while her youngest son had gifted her a three pack of Chocolate Frogs.

Her own parents sent her her old copy of Pride and Prejudice as well as a large book of the complete collection of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes series which was the only thing she asked for. Not only that, but her parents were hardly savvy with many wizarding things. To get her something like this would be leaps and bounds beyond their scope of understanding.

That left one of two very distressing options.

Draco, who definitely had the money and knowledge, but Hermione knew he was still struggling to grasp fully at being friends with her because of his-- well, ironically enough-- pride and prejudice towards her and her Muggleborn existence. She didn't blame him for it, since he was only acting similarly to how he was raised, but at least now he was learning not everything had to be as his parents taught him. And it was the thought that his parents would probably dislike her that made her discredit him being the one to have sent the feather.

Which meant that, unless she had a very rich secret admirer she didn't know about (which she highly doubted, since she wasn't the most popular witch at Hogwarts), this gift had come from…

"Oh, Crookshanks… he wouldn't… would he?" she murmured to the lazy orange feline purring.

In response, the cat batted at the discarded bow by her knee, ignoring her brewing distress.

Why? Was Harry trying to appeal to her for forgiveness? But going to such an unprecedented length as to give her an extremely generous gift? He knew she wasn't materialistic. He knew her better than anyone else that she loved reading and learning. Was it so she could take more notes without-- oh, that must have been exactly what it was.

But was this offering enough to earn her forgiveness? Anonymously. No note. No explanation. Only hope. Silent pleading for her friendship once more.

Yet his attitude at breakfast spoke different.

Such a dichotomy confused her greatly.

A paw pressed itself against her face. A loud meow for her attention shifted her gaze from the feather to Crookshanks, who eyed her like that yellow gaze held unknown, sagely wisdom.

And maybe the half-Kneazle was trying to tell her something. Maybe Crookshanks had the answer to her question.

She just wish she knew what it was.

After losing twice to Ron at Wizard's Chess (restoring an unknowable balance to the world, in Weasley's words), Harry decided it best to return to his dorm with his newly acquired pet so he could figure out how exactly he was going to pry Peter-- or at the very least Black-- out of hiding.

Ron had given him the cage the rat slept in in full confidence Scabbers would be safe with Harry, but truthfully… Harry had plans. Of course, on the off chance this rat wasn't Pettigrew, he had to be careful, but the evidence was so clear. This rotten old rodent was content and growing fat again despite its age. It was already thriving believing it was safer with Harry in Slytherin's dungeons rather than up in Gryffindor tower. It was too smart and he was buying none of the act.

Though for now, Harry would keep up the façade on both ends that he would be a good temporary owner while keeping Scabbers' cage shut "just in case that cat finds a way in somehow." That suited Scabbers just fine, from the looks of it, so Harry left the rat to its own devices.

Along the way out, he grabbed his new diary, the Marauder's Map hidden between the empty pages, and crammed it into his school bag to head up to the library. Even if Madam Pince was kind enough to give him the holiday to himself, he had another reason to head up and search through books-- homework.

Though he had finished up his Arithmancy work and Transfiguration essay with relative ease before the winter break began, half of his Potions essay needed reviewing and his Ancient Runes translations hadn't even been touched. Thankfully classes like Muggle Studies and Magical Creatures gave their students mercy enough not to provide holiday homework. Harry was choosing to ignore his Divination reading, if only because he planned on abandoning the class unofficially once second term began.

"Why do you vex me so?"

Harry flinched as the voice of Professor Trelawney, seemingly hearing his thoughts, met his ears. He peered up and found her standing a few feet away from the library entrance, blocking his path. Her wide gaze, further enlarged by her glasses, bore into him as she stepped closer, ring-laced fingers wringing through the ends of her lavender headdress that dangled past her shoulders.

"E-Excuse me?" Harry stammered.

"I peer into the future and find you straying towards the darkness, my dear. You were never supposed to. Every time I delve into what you are doing, it's a shadowy veil so thick I cannot break through it. Somehow, since my first visions of you, many of my predictions of your life have been incorrect. Even now, your choices betray what I've seen you do in my mind's eye. Your aura hasn't changed. You're still the same Harry Potter I saw all those years ago… and yet you're not who you're supposed to be," she rambled. With each sentence, she took precise step after step until she was circling him. "I took a chance and left the safety of my tower to know what exactly you've been up to, come to find out that you aren't…" She paused, humming and musing before him as if retreating into her mind.

Shifting awkwardly, he almost considered darting past her.

"What house are you in?"

Further taken aback, Harry blinked in confusion. "Wh-What?" Shouldn't she know? Hell, he knew from Draco and Zabini that Trelawney was a Ravenclaw alumni. Teachers had to know in order to give out points.

Then again, Harry had neither seen nor heard of Trelawney ever handing out house points.

"Slytherin," he replied with minor hesitancy.

The mousey woman grimaced, biting on a fingernail as wild thoughts flashed through a cacophony of emotions she was stifling with a whimper.

"No. Nothing about this makes sense. How could they have all been wrong? I… I need to…" As quickly as the delusional woman seemed to appear, she hurried off in her ravings, likely back towards the North tower.

Unnerved but undeterred by the encounter, Harry entered the library to get to his studies. Whatever the professor's "third eye" was seeing, he didn't really care. It did bring him to wonder exactly why his chosen house really mattered. His being Slytherin shouldn't have meant anything, other than a crushing blow to his father's pride and a glint of disappointment from his mother. Two Gryffindor parents finding out their child was in a house as notoriously evil as Slytherin, amongst the rest of Harry's extensive list of wrongdoings, was an easy thing to picture.

Whatever the case, it wasn't important.

Pulling himself towards an empty table by the section on runes and other old texts, receiving nary a passing glance from a cheerily humming Irma Pince on the way in, Harry placed his quill and some assorted parchments down. With no one else to distract him, he sat down and got to work.

His Potions revision took hardly any time. Maybe ten minutes.

He went through his Arithmancy and Transfiguration works to double check himself. Better safe than sorry. Another ten minutes.

Taking out his Ancient Runes textbook, Spellman's Syllabary, and his untranslated assignment, Harry confidently set about his final bit of work.

As he flipped through to find the Norse section, his gaze lingered on the chapter about Latin, which Professor Babbling stated the students would learn in their sixth year. A faint sense of familiarity drew Harry to skim some of the rough translation aides. On that hunch, he dragged out his new diary, opening it to the Marauder's Map hidden within. He made sure Madam Pince wasn’t within earshot, then recited "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Tickled by the dawning realization that he'd just cracked a hidden code on how the map worked, Harry's homework was brushed aside for the next hour and a half.

In the almost three years he'd known the other boy, Draco liked to think he understood Harry's strange quirks. Potter was simple on the outside; a cunning and ambitious Slytherin like all the others. But beneath that basic cool exterior was the self-sacrificing orphan boy that always surprised Draco with the amount of trouble he seemed to drag the both of them into.

Upon returning from the holiday break to greet his dorm mate and best friend, Malfoy was stunned by the sight of Granger's cat and Weasley's rat barely separated by the bars of a small cage sat on Harry's bedside table.

"Don’t mind them," stated Harry nonchalantly from his bed. "As long as Scabbers is inside, Crookshanks can't nab him. I'm taking care of him for Ron until Hermione agrees to keep the cat caged. So far…" Waving an ink stained hand towards the warring animals, Harry grinned. "We're learning to get along. For now."

Baffled but understanding, Draco strolled over to his own four-poster bed. He waited a moment, watching Harry write in the diary with a concerning fervor. "Err… how was your break?"

"Spent it mostly in the library for detention. Madam Pince made me reorganize the whole thing shelf by shelf. It was actually rather fun. Ended up learning a lot more than expected," Harry answered, peering up as he fixed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with the clean knuckle of a finger. "You?"

The smile shown normally wouldn't frighten Draco, but the casual way Potter was acting while a half-Kneazle yowled at a clearly in-distress rodent in between them unnerved Malfoy. It was easy to read that Harry was thinking a thousand things a second and hiding something. He was better than Granger at trying to mask it, at least. It was likely because Draco understood such tricks that he could see right through Potter’s ploy.

"Mother was particularly furious about your absence. Father seemed to bear the brunt of her anger. So, all in all… quite a chipper holiday. Thanks for the kit, by the way."

"Fantastic! I didn't know if you needed it, but after Hermione gave me one--"

"Speaking of Granger," Draco cut him off, watching that spark of eagerness to catch up disappear in the blink of an eye, "you didn't try, to make up with her, did you?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He barely caught his ink bottle rested by his knee before it could spill its contents over his bedsheets. "I did."

"When? Christmas? Any of the times you could have spoken to her in the library? I'm sure she was there as much as you were," Draco continued. "You promised, Potter, and I know that would have been the first detail out of your mouth if you truly did try."

With an indignant huff, Harry collected a stack of parchments (one being that peculiar yellowed map that had once belonged to Harry's father) and stuffed them between blank pages of the new diary.

"Alright. I didn't. But it wasn't entirely my fault. She's been avoiding and refusing to speak to me. Every time I saw her in the library, she'd skirt off seconds after." As Harry buried his personal work in a drawer of his bedside table, he grunted. "I don't know what else I can do, so I'm waiting until she decides to come to me instead," he declared with a hard glare to match the one sent his way.

An understanding dawned on Draco, "Once she feels comfortable…"

"Exactly! Daphne gave me the idea."

"What are you talking to Greengrass for?" Draco scrunched up his nose in mock disgust.

"Well I'm certainly not talking to Tracey about it. And definitely not Parkinson. Millicent's nearly as bad as her, so Daphne and her sister were my only options," said Harry.

"She let you speak to Astoria?"

"Hardly. But Astoria was there and offered her input so Daphne didn't much have a choice." Finally, Harry stood and yanked Crookshanks away from the rat cage.

Though unconvinced by his friend's calm demeanor, Draco let the topic go.

The passing of time made it relatively easy to brush aside the conflict (more of a standstill at this rate). Classes eased back in once the students had all returned.

Draco was shocked to see Harry following him through most of the lessons rather than keeping with his own peculiar schedule. In fact, Harry even found the time to go to Muggle Studies with Davis rather than Magical Creatures. Sometimes Potter would disappear to classes like Arithmancy or the odd off-schedule Ancient Runes class, but otherwise, he was Malfoy's shadow. A passing glance towards Granger in their Defense classes presented her outward disappointment.

The month of January quickly faded into February, meaning the match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin was drawing closer with each passing weekend practice. Training to beat the opposing team was hardly a struggle. Flint's focus on keeping the group up to par with Harry on his Firebolt had been an early challenge for them all, but eventually everyone was confident in the victory.

"Potter, we’re counting on you to catch the Snitch. No excuses this time. We all know you practically handed that Weasley girl the ball to make her feel better about how shite her team is, but with Chang, we can't take the risk. She's leagues better than anything Gryffindor can pull out of their arses and Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff pretty bad so we'll be needing all the points we can get to make sure no one else takes the cup," said Marcus as the team left the locker room.

"We've got this in the bag, mate," Pucey declared in all confidence.

"Easily won," added Montague next to him.

Harry held his Firebolt high next to Draco, the rest of the team chanting "victory!" as they marched to the pitch, acting as though they'd won already.

Waiting on the field, Ravenclaw seemed to be dreading the incoming disaster for their side. The crowds were cheering for them, but Slytherin sounded louder for their house.

Draco gripped his Beater bat close to his chest as both teams stood, brooms between their legs, ready to fly.

Hooch put the whistle to her lips. At the sound, players soared.

Laughter blew past Malfoy's Nimbus 2001, Harry on his beloved Firebolt breezing by him at practically breakneck speeds. There were oohs and ahhs from the audience unaware of just how fast the broom could go. Even commentator Lee Jordan was impressed and had a hard time struggling to hide the fact.

Flint, Pucey, and Montague easily outclassed the Ravenclaw Chasers, quickly gaining a substantial lead within the first ten minutes of the game.

Between each hit of the Bludger towards a Ravenclaw, Draco saw Harry performing tricks across the field while in search of the Snitch. Behind Potter was Cho Chang. If Draco didn't know better, he would have suspected her of faltering, but considering Marcus' advice to Potter, she was likely focused on understanding Harry’s movements.

And Harry…

He was flaunting at this rate. And he knew it.

Corkscrewing high into the air, Harry licked his lips and presented the cockiest grin to the cheering Slytherins below. With the sun shining through a smattering of clouds and a fine breeze whipping through his Quidditch robe, all Harry could feel was exhilaration.

Behind. Someone was watching him.

Peering over his shoulder, he saw the blue robe of the opposing Seeker. She must have been impressed, or maybe jealous? Couldn't blame her. The Firebolt was a fantastic broom. And this one was his. He whipped around to get a better look at Cho.

A pretty face, but nothing compared to his girlfriend. He tilted his head slightly as he considered whether Marcus' warning held any weight, but something else caught his attention.

In the far distance.

Prey.

As if reading his mind, the Firebolt blasted him towards the Snitch, nearly knocking Cho off her broom at the suddenness. A Bludger attempted to crack his skull open, but with all his focus, Harry easily dodged it. Momentarily, he lost sight of the winged ball.

Up above. Headed towards a Ravenclaw Beater.

Behind. Cho was following him.

Not this time.

Mine!

Wind howling in his ears, Harry flew after his prize. The poor Beater struggled to stay on his broom with such speed brushing past him.

A shrill scream brought Harry back to his senses like a slap to the face. Green eyes pried themselves away from the Snitch towards the source.

Below, in the stands, a familiar shadowy figure floated towards the Gryffindors, who went from cheering to shouting. Another two crept around the back of the Hufflepuff seats to hound them as well.

"Harry!" That cry came from Draco, who was landing with a few of the other players surrounding Madam Hooch.

Behind.

The Firebolt lived up to its name, bolting him forward and away from the Dementor attempting to sneak up on him.

No. Not this time.

Another scream. The Slytherins and Ravenclaws in the audience had their own Dementors to deal with. But in the Gryffindor stands…

No, no, no, no!

Neville was cowering with Ron. No surprise there. But Hermione was with them. And in just as much danger.

"Harry's definitely not afraid of anything, sir. The Dementors don't even scare him," spoke Draco with a prideful cackle and smirk in Harry's mind.

Harry gripped the Firebolt tighter, urging it to move as he grit his teeth.

In an instant, he was knocking the Dementor back with a hearty shove, shouting in anger as he did.

Its guttural groans did little to dissuade him from growling at it. With a flick of his gaze towards the next nearest one, he was off.

And as he had hoped, the first Dementors howled and followed after him.

The next Dementor, though warned by its partner, wasn't fast enough to avoid Harry charging into both of them. One of their slimy, rotted hands swiped at him, but he batted back with his arm, not even nicking the hardened black leather of his Quidditch gear.

He grinned when the first Dementors finally caught up with their companions. Towards the Slytherin crowd Harry went and like upset fools, they followed.

By now, the other Dementors were catching on to Harry's interferences and were beginning to ditch their efforts to snatch any unlucky souls that dared to have a happy thought in their presence in favor of stopping him. Who was this human to dare challenge them like this?

With the amassing pack of dreadful things starting to surround him, Harry had to act quick. He was still high above, his teammates and the Ravenclaw team somewhere below with Hooch. He had himself, his Firebolt, and his ebony wand hidden in his shirt. After the post-game events of the Gryffindor match, he wasn't allowing any chances for the Dementors to get the better of him. They were weak. Naught but bone, bitter cold, and darkness. He had bested three of them now. He was stronger.

Or, at the very least, much more clever.

When the Dementors made their move, so did he--

Swinging himself off his broom.

Plummeting.

Down.

Down.

And down they went.

Before he could hit the ground, though still a few feet in the air, his Firebolt made its move, catching him in time and allowing him a solid grip until it eased him to the ground as fast as magically possible.

Furiously after him, the Dementors were. Just what he wanted.

He pulled his wand out of his shirt and thought for a memory.

He could… think of one… but it was a bittersweet memory. Nothing like that could possibly…

Closing in. All ready to take his soul.

But it didn't hurt to try.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he shouted, his wand pointed squarely at the Dementors.

The autumn winds whistled across his rosy pink ears as the bike sped down the sidewalk. He couldn't see out of his right eye, but his left one didn't have much to look at past the mass of brown curls on his savior's head.

She was so strong, so daring, so… compassionate.

She saved him even when she didn't have to.

He wanted to be like that. He wished he had the power to be like that. To help the hurt. To do so without question. To be a hero no matter the circumstance.

It felt like his entire being was being sucked into his wand like a drink through a straw. The bright light of his shield was nearly blinding. And growing--

As if unfurling its wings.

A bird seemed to form from the Patronus shield, white and brilliant. The air around it was alit with warm heat as it soared towards the Dementors.

A phoenix…

Suddenly, the Dementors were flying in the other direction, fleeing like cowards.

Harry staggered forward on his feet as his Patronus chased them off. Spent. Barely able to hold himself up, he panted, his hands on his knees as the realization of his accomplishment sunk in. He stood up a little straighter as confidence followed.

Then… silence. Only his heavy breaths and a bit of shuffling behind him.

Behind. Beside. A flapping.

Fluttering of wings.

M-Mine?

His left hand found the source of the noise. His gaze flickered towards the Golden Snitch in the palm of his hand.

"Harry!" came Draco's shout.

Harry lifted his head up along with the hand holding the Snitch. "Look… Draco… I--"

But his words failed him, as did his legs.

Before he properly lost consciousness however, he could have sworn he saw a black dog one blink and a man the next.

Shouting. So many screams.

Demanding he pay. Demanding he suffer.

Penance for the damage he inflicted on others.

He was a monster. Monster. Murderer. Villain.

No matter if he covered his ears, the voices were loud and clear.

If he cried back at them, no matter what he said, they would continue, sometimes even louder than before.

Surrounded by their anger.

He could beg all he wanted for their silence, but he was fighting a fool's battle.

Even if it wasn't his fault. Even if he had only made a mistake, one that any other human could have done. Even if there was irrefutable proof of his innocence…

There was blood on his hands.

His cold, slimy, vile hands.

The hands of a killer.

Harry awoke with a start, jolting to sit up on the bed in a cold sweat.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, especially in the hospital wing. His fingers felt raw, his body exhausted, and his mind raced to think back.

But voices made him focus on his current reality instead.

"-- be anywhere near these students in the first place!"

"-- had it my way, they wouldn't, but the Ministry insists--"

"They should insist nothing! Their influence should hold no sway over you in the first place! They hardly know how to properly run a school!"

"I understand, but with the current circumstances, there is nothing I can do but comply. Cornelius was adamant the Dementors keep close watch of the school after what occurred last year."

"And look what it's lead to! Attacks on innocent students and their only defenders are each other! They don't trust us because we've failed them, Albus. Lupin has been teaching these children better than any Defense teacher we've had in ages and Potter's the proof. And that boy is only the first, because you know after that display on the field, others will follow in his footsteps. We'll have an army of them revolting in no time. All because you’ve let the Ministry do as they please. All because they can't manage to wrangle a notorious killer away from a school full of children!"

"Poppy…"

The sudden silence between the Headmaster and the medi-witch unnerved Harry even more than their conversation.

Though his muscles protested, he pulled himself out of the bed and peeled away part of the curtain around him.

"Ah! Our resident hero has awoken," said Pomfrey, standing from her desk to meet with Harry.

He let the woman check him without protest, focused instead on the retreating form of Dumbledore. Making no indication that he'd paid any attention to their discussion, he thanked her and allowed himself to be shooed off to the Great Hall.

There was a tension building in his stomach as he passed through the halls alone. The discussion in the hospital wing sounded bad but… surely he'd done good, right? Was Pomfrey's calling him a hero true or sarcastic?

Placing a hand on the handle to one of the large doors, Harry hesitated and listened to the chatter coming from inside instead. What would they do? What could he say? He couldn't possibly be blamed for the Dementors this time around, could he?

It wasn't his fault. None of it was his fault. There should be no guilt in his heart. No fear. No worry. He had done good. He was blameless. He was a hero.

A hero.

"The Baron spoke to me about your endeavor with the troll. Said he was rather cross with you about the whole thing, especially when you cost Slytherin house so many points in the process. I'd have celebrated you, were you one of mine," said Nearly Headless Nick with a hearty grin.

Had Harry been a Gryffindor… maybe he wouldn't have been so despised and ridiculed. In another life, Harry would have truly been a hero… Or at least better than he was now.

Instead, he chose Slytherin because he was a fame and power hungry fool.

His hand paled in its grip on the door handle. Finally, he forced the door open and entered.

Hushed silence.

All eyes drew themselves to him. Panic writhed in his stomach, crawling up his chest and raising the tension in his shoulders.

His gaze fixed itself towards the Slytherin table. His friends. Draco.

A pair of hollering cheers came from the Gryffindor table.

"There he is!"

"Hero of the school!"

"Faced those Dementors like they were nothing--"

"-- and lived to tell the tale!"

Fred and George's declarations seemed to travel in affirming whispers through the house tables until other students were joining in the congratulatory clapping. Chanting from the Slytherin table, mainly from the Quidditch team, was echoing through the Great Hall.

Harry was frozen in shock, jostled only by Draco's arm around his shoulders.

Malfoy grinned and laughed at the confusion evident in Harry's expression. "You were brilliant back there, Harry! What did you expect people to do? Throw stones at you for saving them?"

Before he could think of arguing, Harry was pulled towards the table of celebrating snakes by his best friend and an accompanying Tracey, whose eyes sparkled with an admiration unmatched.

He was hounded the rest of the day by his fellow students, thanked for his bravery and cleverness. Older students questioned how he mastered the Patronus charm so easily for a third year. Younger ones asked him why he wasn't afraid of the Dementors, considering how bone-chillingly scary they were. He surprised himself by answering most of them without sounding like a fool.

"H-Hey, Harry!" called a nervous voice coming over from the Gryffindor table.

He turned his head and saw over his shoulder that it was Colin Creevey. "Oh, hello, Colin."

The poor little lion looked startled by all the snakes glaring at him, but smiled at Harry. "I-I just wanted to say… It was amazing what you did to save us! I-- If you'd like, I took pictures of a lot of it after you lured the D-Dementor away, so maybe you'd want to keep one?"

"Sure!" Harry replied cheerily, ignoring the disgruntled looks from his fellow Slytherins. "If it's not a bother for you, of course."

"No! It'd be an honor really!" Colin said. "Besides, it's the least I can do after everything you've done. Especially after last year with the Heir possessing you and all."

That sparked a mote of surprise and relief. "Thank you, Colin."

The festivities of his victory over the Azkaban guards became one for defeating the Ravenclaws in the Quidditch match once he and the rest of the Slytherin house were in their common room.

"All we have to do is ace the match against the badgers in a few months and we'll have the cup again without a hitch!" said Marcus merrily, patting Harry on the back.

"Diggory definitely won't be able to out-speed Potter! The cup's practically ours already!" Draco replied in full confidence.

"Better be! And no slouching on your end either, Malfoy!"

Only when the adoration from others died down to simply his classmates in a corner of the common room did the clarity of what Harry had done really settle in his mind.

Conjuring a full, corporeal Patronus was typically something reserved for older years and adults, not a mere thirteen year old. What Harry had done was not only save his fellow students from a cold, bitter torment by Dementors, but prove himself to be a force for good, someone to aspire to be…

A hero.

An actual hero.

"You're amazing, Harry," whispered Tracey that night, as she was about to depart to her dormitory with the other girls.

"Th-Thanks. That means a lot coming from you." He squeezed her hands and licked his lips, turning his gaze away as she giggled.

"Such a gentleman. Maybe… after everything you did today, you might-- I don't know-- deserve a reward of some kind?" she continued, looking down at their touching hands before pulling hers away to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Reward?" he repeated dumbly. A blush ran across his face as she brought herself closer to him.

"A kiss?"

"Oh. W-Well, only if you--"

He was cut off as their lips connected, momentarily dumbstruck until he tried his best to give the same amount of affection he was receiving.

Once they parted, her bright smile the last thing he saw before she skipped off to her room, he was all aglow and tingly.

Harry collapsed onto his bed, but was wide awake, staring at the ceiling of his four-poster bed. His mind was hours back, replaying the events of the match and his heroism in order to fully process the amazement of the day. Now this was one of, if not the best day of his life. A new good memory. His first kiss, along with the complete sense of accomplishment he now had.

Finally, Harry was happy.

Word spread quickly in the following days of the newest sighting of Sirius Black.

The mad man had gotten the wrong bed, lashing through Ron's curtains and launching himself at the boy instead of Neville.

The whole school was in a frenzy, but none were more upset than McGonagall and Longbottom himself. As it turned out, Neville was the one who had written the list of passwords to Gryffindor tower that Harry had found in Crookshanks' possession. The Deputy Headmistress was furious with the Boy-Who-Lived when she learned about his mistake in misplacing his password sheet.

And to further compound onto the amusement of the Slytherins, Neville's Gran was told all about it, so not only was he not allowed to go to Hogsmeade, had detention to deal with, wasn't allowed access to the portrait passwords, and had the ire of most of the school on him now, but an owl dropping a Howler on his breakfast was icing on the cake. Trelawney's prediction had come to pass. Gran had quite literally become worried sick.

"Well deserved after all the utter nothing he's done for the school," said Draco, donning his typical sneer towards the bumbling idiot stumbling out of the Great Hall.

"Is that true? I thought he was the one that defeated the Dark Lord," asked Astoria from her spot next to her older sister.

Harry scoffed. "He did that as a baby. If he'd been a bit older, he probably would've run and hid like the coward he is now. Besides, all the saving he's done was someone else doing all the work and him taking all the credit."

"Are you implying you defeated yourself last year?" Blaise questioned with a snicker.

"No. I'm saying Draco defeated Riddle." Harry glared daggers at the other boy.

"But why would Neville take credit for things he didn't do? He doesn't look like the type to do that sort of thing," Astoria continued, remaining unconvinced.

"How else are people going to like him? He's a buffoon in any other circumstance. The fame of defeating the Dark Lord once can only last so long and all Longbottom's probably done since then is fumble about like a fat idiot," Theo said.

"But--"

"Don't talk to him, Astoria. You don't know where he's been," Daphne cut in dryly, earning a rousing bout of laughs from the rest of the group, minus Nott.

Despite having been the victim of Black's mistaken attack, Weasley was enjoying the attention it gave him. "-- had a long knife in his hands, might've been twelve inches, and was nearly about to kill me before I screamed. Then he took off instead," he described to the first year lions surrounding him.

"You reckon he would've done Weasley in if he hadn't screamed?" whispered Draco as they approached the dissipating crowd at the Gryffindor table.

"Doubt it. Probably knew he'd have a harder time getting past the rest of the staff if he did," Harry replied.

"Oh, hey, Harry. And-- um-- Malfoy…" greeted Ron with an awkward wave.

"Going to spare us the rousing tale of you wetting the bed, Weasley?" Draco joked.

Ron stuck his tongue out, then snapped back, "I nearly died, thanks. But I'm sure you would've fared so much better, right?"

Before Draco could properly respond, Harry elbowed him in the stomach.

"Actually, Harry, I nearly forgot. Hermione said she wanted to talk to you." Ron scratched at the side of his head as Harry's eyes widened. "Ran off saying she needed to do something important in the library, so maybe you'll find her there?"

"Don't mess this up, Potter!" shouted Malfoy as Harry hurried through the halls.

Entering cautiously, he saw Madam Pince speaking with a few students over by the Defense Studies section and a group of Ravenclaws at the History section pouring over different 18th century books. No Hermione at first glance, but he presumed she'd be over at her favorite table near the Restricted Section.

He was wrong, however. The table was empty, save for an abandoned book called How to Properly Pamper Your Kneazle by Harriet Knagsley.

A clue, perhaps? The section on Creatures and Beasts hadn't been moved during the reorganization… Picking up the book, Harry hurried across the aisles, hopeful that his hunch still held water.

And there she was. Curly locks pulled into a half-hazard hair tie and face buried in a copy of Most Macabre Monstrosities.

Overcome with joy to see her again, in her element, greatly focused on her studies, Harry stood still, biting his lip as to not shatter her moment. He instead looked at the book in his own hands, met with the indifferent gaze of a disinterested black and white Kneazle on the cover.

Crookshanks, with all his attitude and fluff, had been Harry's gift to Hermione because she adored the feline from the moment it landed on Harry's head. The cat might have been a menace, but it meant well enough, if Harry's theory on Pettigrew was true. And for all of her know-it-all-ness and rule-abiding behavior, Hermione had been Harry's most trustworthy of friends. His best friend. The first one he ever could call a friend.

Stepping towards the proper bookshelf, Harry placed the book in its proper spot and admired the work he'd done over the winter holiday for his detention. Organized. Presentable. A place to safely study in. A sanctuary for the smartest witch.

"I'm sorry."

She looked up from her reading and gave him a sideways glance.

"I know I said that before and it meant nothing because of what I did, but… I don't know how else to phrase it," he continued. Green eyes met brown ones. "I hurt you and I failed to do the right thing in apologizing after because I was so overwhelmed with everything. And even then, that's no excuse for acting like an absolute prat towards you like I did.

"You've always been there for me and trusted me, even when everyone else didn't. I made horrible mistakes and you still forgave me. I nearly killed you and I…" The shimmering gold of the Time Turner around her neck sent a cold shiver down his spine. "I've only made things worse now because there's no Tom Riddle to blame or hide behind when I do horrible things. The things I said that day…"

The book she had in her hands made a soft thudding noise as she closed it. With careful consideration towards the shelf she stood in front of, she placed the book back where she got it from, nestled in next to a few worn copies of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

"Those words came from me. And all I've done after was prove that fact." Harry swallowed back the lump in his throat as he watched her pull something out of her pocket. "But I suppose… there's something that Tom would never do that I hope will prove I really am ashamed of what I did."

"And what might that be?" she asked, her voice and expression an equally stern mask.

A flurry of fear and hope swirled through his chest like a whirlwind. He almost forgot his words.

"I… You…" He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe in and out, clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides as he did. Opening them again, he found her gaze fixed upon him, screwing a tension into his stomach that he hardly fought against. He licked his lips. Focus. Don't… fail her again.

"I'm owning up to my mistakes," he admitted, pulling himself together quick enough to flash a small smile. "A-And you can't say I'm not trying my best to earn your forgiveness again."

That seemed to catch her off guard, amuse her. "Oh, Harry…" She sighed. "You never had to earn my forgiveness."

"I didn't?" Now it was his turn to be caught off guard.

"No. I mean, it's helped that you've been trying, but--" She faltered, pursed her lips, then folded her arms over her chest. "Let's just say I've been going through a lot of things myself. Personal, academic, and whatnot." She waved the notion away and, with that same hand, showed off what she'd had hidden in her pocket. "But I've always known you've cared for me, Harry. You mean well and that's what matters to me."

The folded up piece of paper in between her fingers was foreign to him. Completely unlike the Marauder's Map in size and much, much younger as it was still clearly white. There were words on it, in readable English rather than the Latin phrases Harry had studied on the map, though upside down due to how it was folded.

He moved to take it and figure out the significance of it all, but Hermione hid it away again in her pocket, shaking her head.

"Not yet. Let me finish." At his curious and insistent nod, she went on, "I know you sent me that quill, even if you didn't sign a letter to go with it stating as such." She smiled again. "It's a gorgeous gift, Harry, and I don't want to begin to tell you how ridiculously grateful I am for it. Thank you."

He chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Furthermore, I know you lied to Ron about Crookshanks being able to enter the Slytherin dungeons when you offered to take Scabbers," she said.

"What? How? I didn't--" he began, only to be silenced when she plucked a stray orange hair off his shirt to present to him. "Oh… bugger."

Her giggle was swift and soft as she moved closer to him. Taking a hand in hers, she squeezed, then simply held on. "But I think the one thing that finally made me change my mind was… when you stopped going to Divination."

"Well," he grumbled once the shame settled pink on his face, "Snape was refusing to take the class off my schedule without stipulation, so I just gave up on it." When Hermione rolled her eyes at his explanation, he elaborated, "He said Trelawney predicted a student was going to leave the class and I knew that if he wasn't letting me do it, it had to be you."

"I don't blame you, Harry," she replied with a chuckle of her own. "But I think you'd ought to know, Professor Trelawney was furious those first few days you didn't show up. Everyone was confused because we were all so sure she'd mentioned someone leaving her class, but then I remembered…"

Harry hummed in confusion as she furrowed her brows.

"Oh, I simply hate to admit she was right, is all." When she noticed his furthered bewilderment, she added, "Harry, she predicted someone would leave around Easter. Not the beginning of second term."

"But she's been wrong about other things," he countered. "She even admitted it to me herself over the holidays. I think she knew I was planning to ditch and confronted me about it, but she started rambling about other things too. She told me a lot of her predictions about me have been wrong so maybe she was wrong about the time I was going to leave?"

Hermione's eyes widened at the information and it took her a few blinks to let it all sink in before she spoke again, "But she wasn't wrong, Harry. Far from it actually. I'm sure she knew from the moment she saw me that I was a lost cause for her, as much as I dislike the idea." She sniffled as the bitter thought passed. "And do you know how I know?"

Harry shook his head.

"Because I also requested to leave the class. I suppose I had a bit more luck than you, since Professor McGonagall agreed that I'd be out of the class… by Easter," she admitted, letting a beleagured sigh escape past her lips and easing her shoulders to relax.

Every bit of detail in her explanation shattered his thinking. He stared down at the hand holding his, unsure of how else to show his current state.

And then the hand slipped away. Towards the gold chain around her neck.

"So I knew you were right," she carried on, "and knew you were only trying to help, even if the way you said it was harsh."

He cringed at the phrasing. Then an extra bit of gold shimmered over his head and around his neck as well.

"Something still nagged at me though and I couldn't quite let it go until I had my answer…"

Before Harry could stop her, Hermione spun the Time Turner once, twice, three times and farther.

Around them, time sped backwards. People walked in reverse. The moon rose in the west and set in the east as the sun followed. Books opened and shut, moved from shelf to shelf, and Harry himself lingered in the bookstacks for a while as snowflakes piled up from puddles until floating upwards into the clouds. The cold winter tumbled back into autumn. Then, as the warmth bolstered into a summer heat that dwindled into spring, Harry realized when they were headed.

The spinning of time slowed to a crawl. A dead silence permeated the air.

"Do you know what day it is, Harry?" whispered Hermione in such a way that sent that chill down his spine again.

He knew the question was rhetorical. He wasn't stupid in the slightest. It was his idea originally to go back and stop this all.

Now here he was… on the day of the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match. Only a year ago.

At the peak of Tom's power over Harry.

"Harry."

Hermione's soft voice shook him out of his stunned silence, pulled his focus away from the disarray of the bookshelves around them, and brought him back to their present.

"Is your invisibility cloak still in your bag?" she asked, motioning to the satchel hung at his side.

With a pause to recall, he hurriedly nodded and pulled it out, covering them both as fast as he could.

As he did, she grabbed a book off the nearby shelf and dug into her own bag for something as well.

There was a tickle against his arm as he closed his school bag, urging him to look back to Hermione.

In her hands was that same copy of Most Macabre Monstrosities she'd been previously reading along with the Immortal Quill he'd gifted her.

Confused, his gaze flickered between the pair of items and her.

"If you truly want to prove I can trust you, Harry, then show me: what would you have done to change this day?" she said, staring at him sternly yet with eyes full of hope.

What would he have done?

The door to the library squeaked open.

So many things. So many different things. Countless.

Footsteps hurried across the aisles.

Harry wished he could have stopped Tom from petrifying Hermione, Penelope, Tracey, Justin, Colin, Mrs. Norris, and even Scabbers.

Closer.

He would've never killed any of the innocent roosters, frogs, or spiders.

Closer.

He wanted to tear out all the pages in that bloody possessed diary and burn them along with any trace of Riddle that latched onto his soul.

Close.

He grabbed the book in Hermione's hands and flipped to the page on basilisks, then grabbed the pen and quickly scribbled 'pipes' into the margin. Finally, as fast as she'd grabbed the book, Harry shoved it back onto the shelf and ducked back under the invisibility cloak, praying his heartbeat didn't sound as loud as it did in his ears as they stepped away from the younger Hermione that darted towards that very bookshelf.

They both turned to look away as she tore out the page he'd just written in, knowing full well what was going to happen the second another nearby shelf slid to reveal the secret passage behind it.

Harry was reeling as much as time was back to their present day, mere seconds after they disappeared a small distance away. While Hermione tugged off the cloak, he was staring at the quill in his hand.

"I gave the page I tore out back to Madam Pince, but only after having stared at what was written on it for days. I had no idea who had written that one clue until I found the letters you'd sent to me over that summer and compared the handwriting. It had been you. I had no idea how you did it at the time, but after everything that's happened now…" Unfolding the paper she'd taken out of her pocket, Hermione held it out for him to read.

Dear Hermione,

Sorry for the late reply. I had to use the invisibility cloak to get a dictionary out of my uncle's study. Your vocabulary is complicated to read sometimes. Not that it's a bad thing, but Merlin you must read a book a day!

I wish I could go out and see the sights. Do you know how tempting it is to grab my Nimbus and soar about with Hedwig? I can't wait to get older and not be restricted on using magic.

I honestly don't know how I charm people so well. I don't change much about myself for others, as far as I can tell. I wouldn't say I'm confident. Maybe ambitious? I think that's the word. If I remember correctly, that was one of Salazar Slytherin's favorite traits. I promise I didn't cheat to check. Maybe just the dictionary. Who knows?

I'll probably stick to handling my aunt and uncle for now. The worst they've done to me this summer is bar me from leaving my room a few times when my aunt's friends are over. I think I'll be locked up in here again soon. My uncle's preparing for the arrival of some important people next month. Ironically, I think it might be on my birthday, so that'll be fun. Maybe I could sneak out to Draco's before then so I don't have to deal with them in the first place.

Tell your dad if he can get a bell around Hedwig's ankle, it's fine with me. I personally wouldn't try it. Those talons are sharp!

-Harry

There it all was. Familiar and plain as day. Except now some of the p's, i's, and e's were circled when they matched the frantic way he'd written moments before a year ago into a library book he gazed upon in awe.

"I checked the book myself earlier but the page still isn't there. I still had your letters though and that was all the proof I needed," she declared confidently.

"How long have you known?" he questioned.

"Since holiday break. While you were organizing the library, I was here arguing with myself over whether or not that really was your writing or if it was all simply wishful thinking. But McGonagall told us time is set in stone."

With that, everything clicked in Harry's mind. All the times he saw her lingering here, only disappearing a few moments after he arrived with books in hand. In between all their separate studying, in all the worries and self-doubt, they were both still holding onto hope that things would be back to normal again.

"Hermione, I… I'm--"

She hugged him. Tighter. Closer. Clinging to him as if it would make up for all the lost time.

As if none of this hadn't already.

"I forgive you. No more apologies, please. I don't… You've already done enough."

And he hugged her back, thanking himself for not ruining this precious moment in time.

Things were back in order with everyone in the brightest of spirits after Harry and Hermione returned to the Great Hall that day.

After agreeing to return to Divination until Hermione was out of the class too, Harry decided to use the time they now had back in classes together to catch up on information Ron wasn't privy to telling Harry.

Apparently not only was Hermione just as stressfully overburdened with classwork as Harry, but she'd taken it upon herself to help tutor Neville with her meager remaining spare minutes throughout the days. Harry wondered why she simply didn't use the Time Turner more but realized not a minute into a hearty breakfast before Arithmancy that using the artifact to give oneself more time was just as costly as wasting time sitting around doing nothing all day.

Speaking of Neville, after his tremendous blunder with the Gryffindor passwords, Hermione had been advised by McGonagall not to give Harry any of the tower's passwords until Sirius Black was captured.

"I know it sounds disheartening, Harry," said Hermione when she heard his passive aggressive grumbling on their way to Divination. "She's simply trying to keep us all safe."

"It sounds like she's accusing me of helping Black kill Neville," he retorted bitterly.

"No one is accusing you of anything, especially after what you did to those Dementors at the stadium. Everyone's on edge, Harry. Black nearly killed Ron trying to get to Neville. They thankfully finished repairing the Fat Lady's portrait so Sir Cadogan's been fired, but she only agreed to go back if she has extra protection, so now there's guard trolls at the entrance and a few Dementors loitering the hallway. There's even talk that no one will be going to Hogsmeade this weekend," she explained.

Ashamed to admit she was right, Harry sighed heavily.

Part of him hoped the rumor of the Hogsmeade weekend cancellation was false because he wanted to relax for once rather than be stuck practicing for the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Gryffindor had somehow made up for their loss against Slytherin during their game versus Hufflepuff (Ginny having caught the Snitch for them in a comfortably large lead), so Flint was flinging the team around the practice ring in an effort to ensure the Cup was solidly in Slytherin hands. That meant everyone had to be at peak performance, especially Harry. Marcus instructed Harry to do whatever it takes to catch the Snitch, which even entailed throwing opposing Seeker Diggory off his broom if needed. Harry had grown tired of playing the knock back game against Montague and Bole. Plus Hogsmeade meant spending his time with Tracey.

"How's Crookshanks?" he asked, wanting a change in subject.

But his questioning gave Hermione pause. "Hasn't he been lingering with you at night?"

"No. I thought he was with you. Last time I shooed him off Scabbers was after the last Hogsmeade trip," Harry said.

"Then… where has he been running off to?"

Hermione's worried expression rattled Harry in the seconds following. She didn't know anything about Harry finding Crookshanks in his room with Neville's password list or the note from Sirius Black. She had no idea about the Marauder's Map and his investigations into Peter Pettigrew's name roaming around Gryffindor tower. Should he tell her? If they were trusting each other again, then it was only wise that she knew. But would she believe him? Would she warn him that going after wild assumptions like Scabbers being Pettigrew and Black hunting for the rat could only lead to dangerous situations like death or expulsion?

No. Right now, his breakthroughs were best kept to himself until he had an idea of what exactly he would be doing with all of the collected information.

She shouldn't be worrying about Black or Pettigrew or even Harry. A smart girl like Hermione (so much so that she was one of two third years currently overloaded with classes) didn't need the hassle of a serial killer godfather on her list of worries. The two of them were already prepping for exams looming on the horizon, even if one class would be stricken from the list.

As much as he hated keeping secrets at the moment, it needed to be done for her safety. Harry would not hurt her again. He would not lose her.

Hogsmeade hadn't been cancelled, thank Merlin, but everyone could tell from yards away that all professors were working tirelessly to protect the students from any suspicious characters, not just Black. McGonagall and Flitwick were chaperoning them around the village.

"Should I find anything out of the ordinary in your bags, the offending objects will be confiscated and you will be punished with comparable severity. I do hope I have expressed my point clearly for all of you. I will not be allowing exceptions due to the current environment of the castle. If you wish to make a fuss, then I will personally consult Filch about putting your name down for volunteer cleaning duties… without the use of magic," drawled Snape before the Slytherins left for the trip, stalking through the small social circles in the common room. He lingered near a group of seventh years before his cold dark eyes flitted to Harry.

The moment his Head of House turned to the common room entrance, Harry rolled his eyes as the boys surrounding him snickered.

Tracey was elated when Harry offered to join her in a venture towards the Shrieking Shack.

"Lucky," he heard Parkinson whisper to her on the way to Hogsmeade. "Mine was talking about staying at the castle. I don't know why either. I'm quite sure he's more frightened of the Dementors than he is of Black."

Zabini and Nott were cackling behind Harry while Draco was blushing madly next to him. All it took was a hard glare at Crabbe and Goyle for them to be silenced at the very least.

The early time at Hogsmeade was spent ogling Zonko products until they'd all seen the shop's inventory twice. Once they were satisfied there, Harry suggested a quick trip to Honeydukes with Ron, who was eager to recommend the best treats the place had to offer Greg and Vincent.

"Oh, look, Harry. They restocked the black Pepper Imps! Let's grab a few of those," said Tracey as they passed the conventional sweets.

Nabbing them along with some exploding bon-bons and a few Everlasting Gobstoppers, the couple set their sights on the Shrieking Shack, followed closely behind by Draco and a reluctant Pansy.

"Davis, why do you want to come back to this pile of sticks again? Didn't you get a close enough look before the holidays?" Parkinson whined.

"Because I did a bit more investigating with Daphne and Astoria," Tracey explained, "like, for example, did you know none of the school ghosts haunt the Shack? I spoke with the Bloody Baron about it. Apparently its an unwritten rule between them all to avoid the place like the plague. Supposedly there's a bunch of wailing banshees and ghouls that hide in the basement and only come out when they sense living people enter."

Harry and Draco shared a concerned glance between them when Pansy groaned.

"Yes! Something like that! And apparently the monsters come out on every full moon to make a huge ruckus that's scared the rest of the village ever since the place was built a few decades ago," Tracey continued with added enthusiasm. She leaned into the half-broken fence hardly blocking the way in.

"Decades? Really? I always assumed the place was older considering how run-down it is," said Draco. His interest seemed piqued in that moment.

"That's what I thought too! But it's actually not. According to my research, it's more likely to have been built around twenty to thirty years ago for an unknown family to live in, only to instead attract the undead."

Pansy grumbled in annoyance as she marched back down the hill towards the direction of the Three Broomsticks.

"Strange. Then what happened to the original family?" questioned Harry, now equally as intrigued.

"Supposedly they were hunted and eaten by a pack of werewolves in the forest, hence why the spirits in the Shrieking Shack cause a commotion on full moons. The theory goes that the family's souls became a part of the home they never had the chance to live in, forever haunting the place to make sure no one else gets the chance to live there either. They purportedly tore whole chunks down from what was supposed to be a sprawling family home to barely capable of holding the monsters that lurk within," Tracey concluded with a mysterious flourish.

Draco shivered.

"But it's all speculation, obviously. No one really knows for certain. I asked some of the older professors but they're all so focused on--"

"Davis! Potter! Malfoy! Get away from there at once!" shouted Professor McGonagall from down below. Pansy stood quietly next to the teacher, arms crossed over her chest.

Thankfully they weren't punished for being so close to the Shrieking Shack, merely reprimanded for straying too far from the safety of adult supervision. With quick apologies to the Deputy Headmistress, they were free to head back towards the populated parts of Hogsmeade.

"That was unnecessary and you know it, Parkinson," Harry hissed as they retreated towards the Three Broomsticks.

"Was it? The three of you seemed pretty eager to break through the front door and get yourselves killed by whatever's inside," she retaliated.

"We weren't going to go in. We were just looking, Pansy," corrected Tracey.

"You keep quiet! It's bad enough you're spending time with Greengrass, but now you're learning Potter's bad habit of flinging himself at trouble!"

"I do not--!"

"Don't lie to me, Potter! That stunt during the Ravenclaw match proves you're asking for death and I'm not letting myself be thrown into situations like that just because you're dating my friend and I'm dating yours," Pansy snarled, shoving Harry back. "You're probably the worst Slytherin I've ever met! I haven't the foggiest reason why Draco would ever put up with you! All you do is--"

"Enough!"

Both sides looked to Draco, who pushed himself between the warring pair, sharp silver gaze directed like daggers towards Pansy.

"Draco? You're defending--"

"Leave, Parkinson," he growled through bared teeth.

"But we--"

"Now."

Recovering from the split came easy to the remaining three, though Tracey appeared uncomfortably distant despite both boys' efforts to cheer her up. At the Three Broomsticks, they sat in a corner booth, chatting half-heartedly about classwork and a bit of gossip around the rivalry between the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch captains.

The talk about Quidditch seemed to slam into reality the moment the students returned to Hogwarts. Sunday was practice turned up to eleven to make up for the day off. Marcus was determined to earn his final victory before his graduation, even if it meant playing dirty with the Gryffindor team out of game.

Harry, despite the setbacks of being knocked off his broom time and time again, was learning to command his Firebolt to catch him better than ever, meaning that even if someone like Diggory got the slick idea to shove him off, he'd easily be able to recover not only the distance, but also his form quickly enough to beat the badger to the Snitch no matter where it was. The capture was as good as secured.

"We'll need to hit a 300 point lead with the Snitch in order to get the Gryffindors squarely into second place. Hufflepuff's already far enough behind that anything they earn will only nab them a neat third place. No matter what Ravenclaw does to the lions, they'll have no chance of gaining the points, so its either the eagles win and lions definitely lose the Cup, lions win but don't catch up to us, or we don't win against the badgers and the lions steal our victory," calculated Cassius Warrington, friend of Montague and Pucey and the likely candidate to become Chaser once Marcus graduated. The team was all sat around in the locker rooms after training, their confidence high but their energy low.

"N.E.W.T.s ain't soundin' so bad right now," mumbled Flint, earning laughs from the others.

Classes over the next few weeks tightened a vice grip around Harry's mind with stress. He missed taking them easy when staying with the Slytherins, but vowed to keep his partnership with Hermione until they both figured out their schedules for fourth year. There definitely needed to be a few changes. This amount of work was unsustainable for him and he wasn't sure if Hermione was faring any better.

At least the snakes were waking up. Sip had given the Slytherin boys a rude awakening when she startled Vince out of his deep slumber one early morning by slithering across his pillow. Harry had to plead with the brutish boy to spare her by confirming she meant no harm.

"Yeesh. And I thought birds made awful tree-mates. You humans are loud," she spoke in her dry drawl the moment the fright simmered to calm silence.

Harry was about to reprimand her for being the cause of all the noise, but saw Draco's worried expression. "What's wrong?"

"Where's Weasley's rat?" asked Draco, pointing to the cage that was somehow opened and empty by Harry's bed.

That morning turned from a passing misunderstanding to a frantic search for Scabbers through the entire room. The only physical evidence left anywhere around the cage was a bit of blood under Harry's bed, plunging his fears into full panic.

"Sip, where's the rat?" he questioned the lazy snake on his pillow.

"How should I know? I've been asleep for three months! Last thing I ate was a fish down by the lake before I made my way here," the snake muttered.

"You're sure you didn't eat him? Or see him get eaten by any other snakes?" Harry pressed, tensing when he saw Draco get out of bed and walk over.

"No. But I know that cat was making a fuss over him. Are you sure it didn't eat that rat?"

"What's it saying?" Draco spoke up since Harry had gone eerily quiet.

"Sh-She didn't eat him, but she's saying maybe Crookshanks did," Harry said, biting his bottom lip after.

"That doesn't make sense though. Granger's cat hasn't been here in days."

"That's what I'm thinking…"

Besides Vincent's snoring, the only other sounds for a moment were the uncomfortable shifting between the two boys and a contemplative hum from Harry.

Draco watched thoughts race through his friend's mind until Harry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Any ideas?"

After a further drawn out minute of silence, Harry slipped his glasses back on. "Just one. Can you open that first drawer and grab my diary?"

Doing as he was asked, Draco saw parchment pieces poking out from the book's regular pages along with the mysterious Marauder's Map Harry had grown attached to because of the familial connection to his father. Sure enough, the second the diary passed to Harry's hands, he opened it to the page with the map tucked inside and grabbed his wand from under his pillow.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he recited clearly with the tip of his wand pointed at the folded parchment.

Draco crawled onto the bed to try aiding in whatever his friend had in mind to do with the map.

It hardly took a minute before Harry exclaimed, "Aha! He's not dead."

"How do you know?"

Harry tapped on a name that still baffled Draco with its presence on the map.

Peter Pettigrew.

"Are you telling me Weasley named his rat after a dead man?"

"No, because that man was never dead in the first place. Probably. I learned some things over the Christmas holiday, Draco. One of them being that Peter Pettigrew was a friend of my father's nicknamed Wormtail because he was secretly a rat Animagus," Harry declared confidently, his gaze and finger following the name until it disappeared at the edge of the map. But the direction was clear in his mind. Somewhere near Hagrid's hut. The Forbidden Forest, maybe.

"What?" Draco hoped his incredulousness was evident on his face. Such an idea sounded so outlandish and yet… stranger coincidences had come up before. Like how strangely similar Harry's life was to the Dark Lord's past.

"You don't need to believe me, but you have to promise me you won't tell Hermione and the others."

"W-Wait, why?"

Hesitance crossed Harry's face, then he sighed. "She doesn't need me bringing trouble into her life when she's already stretched thin as it is."

"So you'd rather die to keep her safe than let her help you?" Draco asked in continued disbelief with a sprinkling of annoyance.

"Yes!"

Merlin, he wasn't hesitating on that front.

Unsure of what to say, Draco watched Harry speak to the snake on his pillow, still digesting the information Harry had been holding onto for this long. Absurdity didn't even begin to describe this whole thing.

Once the snake disappeared towards the bathroom, Harry stood up, flipping through the rest of the diary and glaring at parchment pieces stuck between pages in search of something else.

A thought crossed Draco's mind. "S-So why do you think Pettigrew might have scurried off while pretending to be dead?"

Harry looked up from his diary, staring unblinking at Malfoy for a moment, then hummed again. "Not sure about the first time, but I think he's run off this time because of Crookshanks and Black now."

"Meaning?" said Draco slowly.

"Think about it. My father was friends with both of them, so it's not a stretch by any means to think that Black and Pettigrew were friends with each other too. Lupin told me that all three of them-- Sirius, Peter, and my father-- learned to become Animagi together and gave each other nicknames based on their unique forms, which implies that they must've known what their individual forms looked like," Harry explained, shutting the diary and setting it down on the nightstand by his bed.

"Right, but what does the cat have to do with any of that? And how did Black ever find out Weasley's rat was Pettigrew?" Draco questioned, pouting as he tried to mentally answer his own questions.

"I can't say much about the latter, but Hermione and I have done a spare bit of research recently on Kneazles. Apparently they're able to detect suspicious or untrustworthy people. Maybe Crookshanks doesn't like that Pettigrew's hiding as a rat rather than facing Black head on? I still haven't entirely pieced it together," Harry admitted.

Another thought lingered in the space between them, nearly unspoken. "So… what are you going to tell Weasley when he asks to see his rat?"

"What Ron doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Alrigh', class," bellowed Professor Hagrid cheerfully, clapping his large hands once to grab the students' attentions. "Today's lesson's going ter be taught by a special guest. He's come all the way from West Africa with a couple of his loveliest friends ter teach us all about them."

Intrigued whispers passed between both the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Hagrid's lessons were usually fun because of how wildly different they could be from the previous ones. After the flobberworms were fattened and fed to Augureys the next week, things died down to calmer basic lessons on dragons, which Hagrid had thankfully been unable to procure for a practical lesson. Afterwards, a group of centaurs were apparently intended to teach the class but cancelled because they sensed the dreadful air around the school due to the Dementors' presence and refused to enter the grounds.

A dark-skinned wizard with a brown hat and bright green colored robe stepped out of Hagrid's hut, smiling at the students. What at first Harry assumed to be thick orange and black lines of twisting tree patterns on the shoulders and sleeves of the man's robe began to move, much to everyone's shock.

"Greetings, children. You may call me Adama. These two on my body are my companions, Idrissa and Fati. You may commonly know them as Runespoors," the man greeted cheerily. Motioning to the serpent creatures on his arms, they lifted their heads, two for the one referred to as Idrissa and three for Fati.

"Adama's a Runespoor wrangler. Takes care of them in protected forests so nasty black market thieves don't go huntin' the population ter extinction," Hagrid explained.

"Yes. My family has lived upon preserved land for generations with the serpents, communicating and understanding the needs of their kind. They may seem vicious to those who fear snakes, but being gentle and cautious with them allows for an experience not many in your time can say they have ever had," continued Adama. "Come closer now. I promise they mean no harm. Idrissa's bite is no worse than his bark, as the saying goes."

Many were hesitant to follow Adama's advice, but Harry's curiosity got the better of him when he heard the hissing between the many heads.

"I do so wish Naaba Adama would let us wander about. Fati could use a good biting," said the left head on Idrissa.

"I smell rodent. That would be lovely to eat," the middle head on Fati mumbled rather dumbly.

"We've already eaten before meeting the giant!" spoke Fati's right head, nipping the air in front of the middle head. "What you need is to think less with your stomach before you grow lazy and useless."

"It's not a wonder why you'd say that, Idrissa. We think so too," grumbled Fati's left head.

"Ah, a brave one steps forward," exclaimed Adama. "What is your name, young man?"

"He's not brave. He's probably talking to your Runespoors," said Seamus Finnigan in warning.

Adama quirked a brow, grinning brighter. "A speaker? Are you certain?"

"Of course. Harry's the Heir of Slytherin. Set a Basilisk loose in Hogwarts last year and everything," Dean Thomas stated bitterly.

"Now that's enough, you two. I'll be havin' none of that in my class," Hagrid said, waggling a finger towards the offending Gryffindors.

With a chuckle, Adama peered down at Harry. "Young man, is what they said true?"

The class gasped, sending a jolt of realization through Harry. The man spoke Parseltongue too.

"Y-Yes," said Harry begrudgingly.

"A speaker!"

"Whose met a Basilisk!"

"Basilisk? We've never met a ruler of snakes before! So rare! So pretty," murmured the middle head of Fati.

"Envy does not begin to describe us. Naaba, may we meet the great one?"

"Yes! Yes, please! Adama, we must!"

"Honestly, you two, quiet," Adama chided the eager Runespoors before looking back at Harry. "It is not often I meet another speaker outside of my home, child. What is your name?"

"Harry. Harry Potter."

"I must say it is a delight to meet you, Harry Potter. To be able to talk to snakes is not rare for my people, but from what Hagrid has told me, most Parselmouths in Britain tend to be of the… Dark magic variety. Your Voldemort is one of those names I hear of time and time again from other snakes. I do hope to hear your name pass between serpents more often soon."

"Part of me wishes I wasn't able to speak Parseltongue though," Harry said with a small sigh.

"Oh? Why would that be?"

"It's only been a hinderance to me. You heard what those two boys said. Calling me the Heir of Salazar Slytherin isn't a nice thing. I've hurt people because Voldemort took advantage of me and my abilities."

"And have you proven yourself better than what their words say?" Adama questioned.

"Maybe? I don't know."

"Do not let them treat your ability as a negative thing, Harry Potter. It is a gift, blessed upon you whether by Allah, your Christian God, or your father. Whatever you believe, you must treat such power not as a burden, but a blessing. You are special, no matter what your peers say," spoke Adama sagely.

"You think so?" Harry asked, eyes wide.

"Idrissa and Fati do, as do I. And I'm sure you have friends and family who think the same," Adama concluded. Idrissa and Fati's middle heads nodded enthusiastically as well.

"Cool…" murmured Weasley, breaking the silence the class had become.

Adama looked to Ron and smiled warmly. "Yes. I'm quite sorry to have dismissed the rest of you, but as I said to Harry, it is not often I meet Parselmouths outside of my home," he explained to the other students.

While their interest in speaking to the Runespoors wasn't as high as Harry's, a lot of the class was fascinated with the two and three-headed serpents. Adama was eager to answer any questions they had, but only Harry had the chance to speak to the two creatures himself after class.

"I read that many Runespoors end up eating one of their own heads. Is that what happened to you, Idrissa?" he asked the two-headed snake.

"We did. It was quite delicious, if we must say so. We've tried encouraging many others to do the same because the third expresses all the worst parts of us," Idrissa's left head said excitedly.

"Very mean," added the right one vaguely.

Fati's right head animatedly hissed at Idrissa, though the other two seemed annoyed at its actions.

"Well?" Hermione interrupted, having expressed interest in Harry's discussion with the Runespoors after speaking with Adama herself.

"Idrissa says he ate it," he replied simply.

"We never force our Runespoors to do things, but frown upon that sort of behavior when we see the heads arguing to such a large degree," Adama admitted rather solemnly. "Encouraging cooperation is not easy when each head is unique, but all have purpose, no matter what many might think."

"That could refer to a lot more than simply Runespoors, I’d say," Hermione added.

Adama nodded. "Quite right, Ms. Granger."

Nearby, Parkinson scoffed, eying the multi-headed serpents like they were pests.

"Something you'd like to add, Pansy?" said Draco, adding the barest hint of warning to his voice.

Her gaze shifted back and forth from him to Hermione before she turned away to whisper to Millicent.

All in all, the lesson was enlightening for Harry more than anyone else. He wished he had someone else to talk to regularly in Parseltongue without feeling judgement. It made him feel less lonely when it came to knowing what the snakes were saying. At least his time with Adama was enlightening. His Slytherin friends were less apprehensive to ask him questions after class about speaking with snakes after seeing that not all Parselmouths were Dark Wizards like Voldemort made them out to be.

The week before the final match was spent smashing into Bole and Flint at the fastest speeds his Firebolt could send him, all hoping he'd either hold steady on his broom or fall but recover quick enough to keep focus on his prize.

Harry couldn't wait for their match against Hufflepuff. Easter holiday came and went so fast because of all the studying and practice that he couldn’t call it much of a break.

When the day finally arrived, a wash of relief poured through him. There he was, Firebolt in hand, letting the subtle and cool wind tease the ends of his Quidditch uniform as he stood with the rest of his team. Draco wrung his hands out before twisting them around his Beater bat and testing a few swings.

Madam Hooch marched to the center field with Diggory and his teammates in tow.

The crowds were cheering now that the Puffs were there. With the exception of the Slytherins, everyone was on the side of the badgers. Unfortunately for them, Harry wasn’t losing after all the effort he’s been put through.

Scanning the field, then the crowd, Harry caught sight of Ron and Hermione cheering on, though for which side, he had no idea. He saw Dumbledore in the stands with a few of the other staff, a wise and wary gaze upon the players. For the briefest of seconds, Harry thought he caught a glint of resentment from Snape next to the Headmaster, but the Potions Master turned his head away to whisper to Professor Vector.

Harry took it as a challenge that his Head of House's enthusiasm for their inevitable victory appeared so low. He knew the man enjoyed rubbing the many victories of his Slytherin Quidditch team in McGonagall's face. Whether the bitter, ghoulish Severus Snape would admit it or not, his House pride mattered to him more than the petty hatred he had for Harry's father and, by extension, Harry.

Nearly missing the whistle to start the match, Harry kicked off and into the air. He breezed past one of Hufflepuff's Beaters, startling them and the nearby Diggory.

On his way up, he saw a Bludger whirl towards Bole, who batted it off towards a badger Chaser who was awaiting a Quaffle pass instead. Draco followed after the other Bludger that was headed for Flint, knocking it away minutes before it could hit its intended target.

Harry surveyed the stadium in full, taking in the roaring cheers and boos below him. His sights were set on finding the Snitch, but he knew he needed to keep track of Cedric Diggory as well. Flint warned him that the Hufflepuff captain would likely play equally as dirty as Slytherin did in order to defeat them and, for once, Harry didn't doubt it. The fifth year might not have been the ideal size for the speed-focused Seeker position, but he was a formidable opponent nonetheless.

A glimmer. Gold. Flickering silver wings.

Down by the Slytherin goal posts. Near Bletchley, who was caught off guard by the sight of it.

Pressing his full body onto the Firebolt, Harry surged forward, then twisted towards the direction of Draco when the Snitch dipped down to the field. He wanted to make sure Diggory was confused by his behavior. Playing mind games with the opposing Seeker was easily Harry’s specialty.

Seeing Cedric break across the air towards the Hufflepuff side, Harry grinned and spun so fast he heard commentator Lee Jordan complain of whiplash.

The teams were tied 30 points each. If Warrington's explanation held any merit, Harry would have to bide his time and toy a while longer. Yet it was clear the badgers knew their match was the decisive edge Wood's team needed, because for each goal Slytherin's Chasers earned, Hufflepuff's would either gain as well or be provided through penalty because Montague "couldn't hold himself back from charging into the opposing Chaser" or Pucey "didn't mean to pull at that poor badger girl's hair."

Bloody idiots would be getting an earful from Marcus for messing with their chances. Harry knew that for certain.

He flew over the Ravenclaw stands, then dove into the space between it and the Gryffindor ones. Diggory was behind him.

Once again, Harry banked back up, easily leaving Cedric in the dust and laughing all the way. As he corkscrewed past the Hufflepuff Keeper, he heard the boy scream with fright, missing an easy toss from Flint that netted the snakes a fair few more points. He saw the Golden Snitch flutter towards Bole, who was busy striking a Bludger at one of the Hufflepuff Beaters. Before the opposition could respond, the other Bludger struck the badger square in the jaw.

It took Jordan announcing Slytherin's ten point lead for Harry to take notice of the Puff's waning chances.

Pucey scored another shot. They were headed up to 20.

The Snitch was in sight. Across the field with Draco.

Lead of 40.

Diggory's frustrated grunt sounded by Harry's ear. Turning his head to crack a wicked grin, he saw the true reason for the other Seeker's anger. Graham was distracting Cedric by shoving himself at the equally large fifth year.

"Slytherin leads the score at 100 to 35!"

Harry saw the Snitch dart towards the center of the field. He heard a chorus of boos from the crowd. A toss of the Quaffle through a ring.

Score! 105. A few more points?

Score! Score!

110 to 40.

To hell with Warrington's point lead calculations! If Montague was heading a distraction, Harry needed to use the opportunity to its fullest.

Charging forward, he heard Lee announce something, but over the roaring cheers it was all chaotic noise to him.

But there it was. The Snitch. His Snitch.

Score! Score! Score!

Arm outstretched. Silver wings tickled his finger tips. Black eclipsed gold.

Mine.

"Slytherin wins the match! 260 to 75!"

With a third victory under his belt for the school year, Harry's stress was alleviated to a degree. He couldn't wait to watch the match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, if only because he wanted to see whether Ginny could pull out a win for her first year as Seeker. Not that he wanted Wood's team to win the Cup, but second place suited the lions nicely.

And it didn't take long for him to get his wish.

It felt weird to sit in the stands rather than on a broom during one of these and normally Harry tended to dismiss matches that weren't his own in favor of lounging in the Slytherin common room with the other snakes or studying with Hermione. But, along with the incentive of watching Weasley fail to acquire the Cup, Tracey was also eager to watch the game with him.

Unfortunately, Greengrass brought herself into the equation because her sister wanted to be there too.

"I thought you didn't like Quidditch, Tracey," said Astoria.

"It's not that I don't like it. It's just… not my cup of tea really. I've read Quidditch Through the Ages and all those moves and rules and things like that… They make my head spin. But I understand why it's so popular. And… well." She motioned to a puzzled Harry, who shifted uncomfortably to hide his blush. Both girls giggled.

He chewed at his bottom lip as he focused back on the players readying up below.

Oliver Wood darted his head about nervously. Fred and George were confidently holding their bats towards the Ravenclaw Beaters, likely daring them to try knocking any of the lions off their brooms with the Bludgers. The Gryffindor Chasers looked scrawny compared to Marcus and the other Slytherin Chasers, but so were the Ravenclaw ones. And little Ginny seemed about as tense as Wood.

Cho Chang appeared resolute in whatever choice she made in her head.

The whistle blew. The teams were up. Quaffle. Bludgers loose.

From the stands, Harry easily caught sight of the Snitch. Its unmistakably golden sheen under the bright sunlight, with each twinkling flutter of its silvery wings, made him yearn to grab a broom and snatch it from the sky. It was so much clearer to follow from where he was seated rather than when he was tailed by a couple of Beaters and their Bludgers.

Gryffindor's score was up 50 to Ravenclaw's 35 and Harry was already feeling agitation slither through his bones with each dart of flight across the stadium Ginny and Cho made.

"Are you alright, Potter?" questioned Daphne behind him.

"No! Are they blind? How do they keep missing it?" Harry flung his arms in the air, then ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Missing what? Who?" Tracey said, equally confused.

"The Snitch! Weasley and Chang! It's right there! I could find it with my glasses off!" he shouted, leg bouncing as he leaned forward, on the edge of his seat.

Tracey laughed, Astoria barely hiding her amusement as well. Daphne was rolling her eyes as she dragged her gaze back towards the action soaring over the pitch.

"The score ties with that fantastic throw from Ravenclaw's Chaser!" Lee Jordan announced.

"And both Seekers are rubbish!" Harry shouted, earning loud cackling from Daphne and Astoria.

"Err… Harry. Maybe you should--"

Ginny spun on her broom and glared at him, then maneuvered herself away from a charging Bludger sent at her by an eagle. Her gaze finally caught the Snitch hovering by the Gryffindor stands and she banked towards it.

Thankfully, Cho was hot on her heels, equally as spurred on by Harry's complaints.

"Ravenclaw takes the lead! 100 to 80! 85! Seems Gryffindor won't be backing down from the challenge! And both Seekers have found the Snitch!"

Cho extended an arm out and took the edge.

Ginny spun upside down to avoid a Bludger. Then back upright, she won on speed.

Cho faltered, then took a sharp left.

And Ginny nearly crashed into the wood beams holding the Gryffindor stands up, missing the Snitch by a mile in doing so.

It flapped away towards the middle of the field. Its flight pattern made it seem delighted in its mischief.

"Come on! You have to be an idiot not to have seen--" Harry's frustration was muffled when Tracey slapped a hand over his mouth.

Daphne was reveling in his anger, pink-faced from nearly running out of breath.

"Calm down, Harry. It's just a game," Tracey said in an attempt to soothe him.

"It's not just a game!" he protested when she pulled her hand away. "It's the deciding match for the Cup! Gryffindor needs to lose this or I won't hear the end of it for years from Weasley!"

"He's right, Tracey. If Ravenclaw doesn't pull enough points, Slytherin won't rightfully earn the Cup!" Astoria exclaimed, though with enthusiasm rather than the annoyance Harry was exuding.

Cho was practically on the Snitch, but had to keep dodging the combined efforts of the Weasley twins instead of grabbing it.

Ginny was halted by the sound of Ravenclaws cheering their team as their Chasers scored again.

150 to 135. Eagles winning.

Even if she caught the Snitch, the points wouldn't be enough to beat Slytherin. When she looked to Wood by the Keeper poles, he seemed defeated. No matter what she did, this was a futile effort.

Harry grinned as the Snitch practically presented itself to Chang.

"Did we win yet?" joked Draco as he dropped onto the seat next to Harry. Vincent and Greg shoved past a few first year Slytherins to sit behind him.

"No. But Potter's gone mental over the Snitch. Where is it now?" Daphne joked, kicking at Harry's back.

"At the base of the Gryffindor goal posts! I don't know why Chang's not grabbing it," Harry grumbled.

"Probably because those Weasleys are hounding her like starving dogs on scraps," Astoria said. "Meanwhile Ginny Weasley's had ample time to catch it herself. It's no wonder Gryffindor hasn't won the Cup."

"Hopeless as always then. Perfect. I'm glad nothing's changed. Just as I thought," Draco declared with an arrogance that rivaled Lockhart's. His silvery gaze flickered from Harry to the field, finding Chang as easy as the Snitch she was chasing. Astoria had been correct. Those twins were relentless.

"Come on! It's right there! Grab it!" shouted Harry.

Ginny followed his gaze and tensed when she saw it for herself. She shouted to her brothers as she flew after them.

"Fred and George have Cho trapped with a Bludger! Ginny Weasley's on the Snitch!" Lee Jordan's commentary blared across the pitch.

Despite her odds, Chang continued to dodge perfectly. Then she did something neither twin had been expecting. She charged at the crack of a Beater bat against the iron ball and, like Draco and Harry had coordinated in their match against Gryffindor, she used the burst of wind from the Bludger to boost herself towards the Snitch as she dodged.

"Ginny!" screamed Oliver Wood as he knocked the Quaffle away from the goal posts.

The poor second year had mere seconds to avoid the Bludger incidentally beaten her way. It nearly slammed into her back, instead being tickled by the ends of her fiery hair.

"Amazing feats of skill from both teams! Now they're tied once again! Both Seekers have the Snitch in sight!"

The Ravenclaw Beaters had the other Bludger scaring away the Gryffindor Chasers from their goal posts. While their coordination wasn't as strong as the Weasley twins, it looked as though they had a plan, since one of them knocked the Bludger off towards Ginny. Then the other pursued it, using its speed like Harry used Draco's.

"Cheeky eagles are using our tricks," Harry hissed.

"Makes sense, considering you beat Gryffindor with them. I don't think Wood was expecting it either," replied Astoria.

"Doesn't discount the fact that the lions are still able to match their score. It means we'll have to change our tactic next year if we want to win again," Draco said, drawn in just as they were, but with wicked amusement.

The eagle behind the Bludger made pace across the field, then lunged and swung his bat.

Ginny recoiled her arm.

The Snitch bounded upward.

Right into Cho's hand.

"Ravenclaw wins!"

Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup. It had been a grand celebration in the Great Hall when they were presented with it. Marcus was rubbing it in Oliver Wood's face half the time.

Snape looked pleased with the results, a look that seemed foreign on his ghoulish face. A few seats away, McGonagall seemed miserable.

For the next few days, Slytherins were in high spirits. While most of the other students were sick of all the bragging, Harry himself was delighted.

Small victories. Marginal successes. Those bite-sized moments where Harry could bask in an accomplishment instead of a punishment. This year gave him plenty enough to instill some confidence in his stride, which helped his nerves while studying for exams with Hermione.

As he flipped through his copy of Numerology and Gramatica, he heard what sounded like snoring in front of him. Once again, Ron had fallen asleep. Harry's green eyes shifted to Hermione, who was so focused on her Charms notes that she was whispering them to herself. With a careful and swift kick to the shin, Ron started awake, rapidly blinking away the drowsy crust from his eyes and wiping a line of drool from the side of his mouth.

Next to Ron, Neville was staring at his open Potions textbook like it was The Monster Book of Monsters, obviously unable to concentrate and mentally begging for all the answers to drop on his lap.

"Do you think Professor Flitwick will be including Cheering Charms on the exam?" Hermione asked out of the blue.

"Maybe? Want to practice them just to be safe?" offered Harry.

"It would lighten the mood at least," added Ron.

While it certainly had helped Ron and Harry, Neville was too nervous to get it right and Hermione’s focus had drifted to Ancient Runes so quickly following that its effects were minimal if anything. It certainly reassured her that she could at least get it right.

"You wouldn't mind doing a bit more practice before the first exams, would you, Harry?" she asked as they started collecting their notes and books before heading off to eat.

"Of course not," said Harry, still grinning.

"Oh, perfect. And before I forget, would you prefer to take the Arithmancy or Transfiguration exam first?"

Before Harry could answer, Ron interjected, "Wait, I thought you weren't taking Arithmancy anymore, Hermione."

"What on earth gave you that idea?"

"Well, Ginny told us you were making a fuss about it over the winter holiday so we assumed you'd given up on it like Divination," Neville explained.

That was news to Harry. While he had been the one to excel in Professor Vector's class, Hermione hadn't been far behind in the slightest. He thought she enjoyed the class just as much as he had. Was that not the case?

Hermione, rather than immediately respond, began to laugh, more cheery than she had been when Neville had attempted the charm on her.

All three boys were taken aback.

"I think she's cracked," Harry heard Ron whisper to Neville.

"No," she replied through her mirth, blushing red and breathless. "Oh, goodness. It's all my fault she thought that."

"Then what--" Harry tried, becoming as confused as Longbottom and Weasley.

"Don't worry about it. It was all a misunderstanding, really." She placed a hand on her chest to calm herself and clear her throat. "I shouldn't have made a fuss in the first place. Maybe I should speak to her later about it." Once she felt collected, she asked again, "Arithmancy first then?"

Though slightly annoyed by her brushing off the implication like that, Harry presumed she knew best and dropped the subject. "Transfiguration. I'd prefer an easy exam after whatever McGonagall has in mind for us."

"Right. And you'd best not forget to eat well beforehand. It's two exams before lunch and another two before dinner," she reminded him.

Harry's stomach agreed with her order. As did Ron's.

"How are you two taking four exams in one day? The Astronomy exam's not until Tuesday, isn't it?" questioned Neville while on their way to the Great Hall.

"I'm still wondering how they've been taking all those classes together. Your schedules have to be a mess surely," Ron said.

Sharing a knowing look, Harry and Hermione instead chatted about what Professor Burbage might have on her exam for Thursday, if only to further befuddle the two non-Muggle raised children.

Monday's exams began fantastically. Turning a teapot into a tortoise wasn't the sort of exam Harry had been initially expecting, but it was certainly a promising start. On the way out of Professor Vector's classroom, Hermione seemed all the more excited to finish the day.

"After all that practice, do you think you're ready for Charms?" said Harry.

"Definitely. But only because of your help." She rolled her eyes at his smug smirk. "Don’t let it get to your head."

"Alright, then I'll let it get to Malfoy's head when I tell him later," he declared smartly, earning an even harder eye roll.

After the Charms exam, the two felt all the more confident about their Ancient Runes test, thanks to the bolstered effects of their successful Cheering Charms. Professor Flitwick seemed proud of the two of them, which made Hermione even happier.

By the end of the day, though slightly exhausted, Harry felt all the more confident in himself for the rest of his exams.

"You seem rather chipper," said Draco as Harry walked into the boy's dorm.

"Just finished my Charms exam with 'Mione," he replied. Dropping his heavy school bag in front of his bed, Harry collapsed into his bed with a contented sigh.

"Oh, so that's what Pansy was making a huge stink over," Malfoy grumbled.

"You still talk to Parkinson?"

Draco didn't even try to stifle his laugh. "She's agreed to be more amicable about your friendship with Hermione, if only because I am," he explained.

Harry hummed. "I guess it's fair, considering it took you a while to get over yourself."

"Only because you're the most stubborn wizard I've ever met," came Draco's retort along with a spare pillow to Harry's side.

As Harry sat up, the door to their dormitory opened and, expecting one of the other Slytherin boys to be there, he threw the offending pillow. Instead, much to both boys' surprise, a streak of orange shot across the floor towards Harry's bed, launching into his lap with a further shock in its mouth. It was Sip!

"Crookshanks? No! Let go of that snake!" he shouted in panic. Though the cat was compliant, it didn't shake the fear when the serpent dropped onto the bedsheets like a dead weight.

"Is it alive?" Draco asked, walking over.

"I don't…" Gulping back his panic, Harry cautiously prodded the poor animal with a finger. "Sip? Are you okay?"

To say he was relieved when the brown snake moved on its own was an understatement. "Sip! You're--!"

"Ugh. Will you be quiet? I already have a headache from the cat ride. You don't need to make it worse," said the snake in her delightfully snide American drawl. She lifted her head and shook it slowly.

"Sorry. But what happened? Why were you in Crookshanks' mouth? Did he attack you?" Harry questioned, giving the purring cat a wary side-glance.

"Oh, I was attacked alright, but by the cat? Nah. The cat saved my life! And I'm thankful for it, darling," she said with a curt nod to the half-Kneazle.

Seeing the confusion on Harry's face drew Draco's curiosity. "What? What's it saying?"

"What attacked you then?"

"A lion! The rude son-of-a-snail shot a spell at me like he was meaning to kill!"

"A lion? Like a Gryffindor?"

"Yeah, one of those!" Sip nodded to confirm it.

Harry looked to Draco. "She says she was attacked by a Gryffindor before Crookshanks saved her."

Both boys shared similar befuddled expressions.

"Why would Sirius Black attack a snake?" Draco said. "I mean, maybe he knows you can speak to them after everything that happened last year but even then… he has no real reason to."

"You think she's talking about Black?"

"Obviously it has to be. What other lion do you think would go after a snake?"

Harry could name a few, just from the glances he got in the beginning of the school year. But Draco also had a point. Sirius Black had more motivation to frighten a snake if he knew Harry was a Parselmouth, even if it was only marginal.

And if that was the case, then that meant Sirius was coming for Harry too.

But… Black had given Harry a gift. With a letter of promise to save him from the Dursleys. Had it all been a lie?

Of course it was! This was a psychopathic serial killer they were dealing with. Black probably meant to rub in that Harry's parents were dead and he was trapped in a loveless house with Muggles that loathed him.

"Harry?"

He flinched when Draco grabbed his hands, which he hadn't noticed until then were trembling with anger. Clenching his jaw, he let out a bullish breath from his nose.

"I'm going to kill him."

Taken aback, Draco's eyes widened. "What?"

"I'm going to find Black, wherever he's hiding, and I'm going to kill him."

"Potter, you can't possibly be stupid enough to think you--"

"I don't care, Draco!" Harry pulled his hands away and stood up from the bed, stomping around the room in an attempt to release some of the pent up frustration. "That man ruined my life, betrayed his supposed best friend, and killed a bunch of Muggles while he was at it! If it hadn't been for Dumbledore and Hagrid, he might have gotten away with taking me to the Dark Lord to die! Do you know how infuriating it is that he's out there hiding like a smug bastard, trying to kill my friends, while I'm stuck here like an idiot worrying about stupid exams?

"I'm sure it is, Harry, but maybe if you'd calm down for a few seconds--"

"I don't want to calm down anymore! I'm not going to let him--"

Draco was about to interject again, but his train of thought was derailed once more by the cat in the room hissing threateningly at Harry from where it languidly sat at the foot of his bed.

"Oh, you shut up! I'm sure you're the reason Pettigrew won't turn back to help us stop Black in the bloody first place!" Harry shouted, pointing a finger at Crookshanks.

"Hey, worms-for-brains. Can you quiet down? You're yelling so loud, you'll probably wake the dead," grumbled Sip.

"Harry, please. Just think rationally for two seconds?" Draco pleaded desperately, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Fine!" Harry hissed through gritted teeth.

Clearly not one to waste an opportunity, Draco walked closer to Harry. "I know you want revenge over what happened. I get it. I'd be upset too. But you're going at it all wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're thinking like a Gryffindor. You're reacting to a Gryffindor like a Gryffindor. And I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be standing here if you were a stupid Gryffindor, would you?" Draco said while placing his hands on Harry's shoulders.

"No. And you wouldn't be touching me either," Harry replied, easing up from his tension only lightly.

"Exactly. So you know what a Slytherin would do when confronted by a mad man threatening to kill him?"

"Run and hide because they're a coward?"

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed. "Besides that."

"Err…" Being metaphorically backed into a corner to think made Harry realize what he was meant to do. "Think of a way to stop the mad man before they're killed?"

"Now you're getting it."

The next two days of exams were spent in agitation. Whenever he wasn't being tested by the teachers, Harry was mentally testing scenarios of confronting Sirius Black in his head like Draco suggested. His focus was stretched thin, so his enthusiasm for the exams waned greatly.

He refused to tell Hermione about his plans, much to Malfoy's annoyance. She'd done enough worrying throughout the year with all the classes they'd taken. Fretting that he truly was about to throw himself into the face of trouble-- to the throws of a serial killer-- would only compound onto the stress. As thankful as he would've been for her aide and advice, this was Harry's battle, not hers.

On the last day of exams, Harry was antsy at breakfast, barely able to stand the complaining from the older Slytherins about their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s being hardly worth their time because they were so easy and so few. He would definitely be cutting another class (maybe Muggle Studies) once his exams were over and it seemed like Hermione would possibly be doing the same.

As he ate (most of the time absentmindedly staring at his meal more than actually putting it in his mouth), the flapping of wings and soft coos from owls filled the air above the students' heads. Hedwig landed in front of Harry, pecking at some fruits on the table before flying off towards the Gryffindor table to greet Hermione. He was so lost in thought that Draco nudging him only barely broke his concentration.

Herbology was the first of Harry's last three exams that day. With the early morning sun searing against their backs on the way over, Hermione told him that Ron and Neville were currently on their way to their Defense exam.

"Wish I could take that again instead of being out here. I'd even take half marks if it meant not boiling alive," he whined, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the fiery tingle on his skin.

"I'd rather bathe in sewage than be here," grumbled Draco in equal annoyance.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You can't seriously believe it's fair that we're forced out here for both of our last exams while they only have to be outside for their last one," Draco said, noticing her action.

Harry could see her knowing gaze, met it with his own, and momentarily wondered how they could excuse themselves after lunch or explain away how refreshed and cool they would look during their Care of Magical Creatures exam, since they still had a Muggle Studies exam to take. Of course, they could very easily take their Muggle Studies exam afterwards but the two of them already considered the heat in their decision to take it between the outside classes.

"No, I don't," Hermione replied idly. "But at least I'm willing enough to bear it instead of crying about it."

Draco was silenced and Harry hoped his shamed blush was hidden by the warmth of his skin under the sun.

The Herbology exam was mercifully quick to get through and after a hasty lunch, Harry was breezing through a dreadfully mundane Muggle Studies test with enough time to spare that he could think about his plan to thwart Sirius Black some more. Unfortunately for his planning plans, they were dashed the moment he felt a hand on his arm. He still had no idea how he was going to find and confront his would-be godfather, but he had plenty of horrid things he wanted to tell the mad man the moment he laid eyes on him.

Their racing through the castle to find a proper place to hide under the Invisibility Cloak and turn back time, then rushing out across the castle grounds towards Hagrid's hut, all in all, made them look about as disheveled as any of the Slytherins uncomfortably loitering around the fences.

"There you are, 'Mione," said Neville. "We were wondering where you went after lunch. I've been meaning to ask you something--"

"Alrigh' class! Gather 'round! Yer final exam's going ter be an easy one. Hopefully yeh still remember these fine beauties." Professor Hagrid motioned to the four hippogriffs strutting about the perimeter of the fences.

"How can we forget?" muttered Theo, elbowing Parkinson in the side before pretending to weep.

The class of snakes and lions were split into groups of five, each tasked with taming one hippogriff.

"I'll be watching yeh all to make sure yer only discussing between yer teammates. Yeh'll get yer marks based on how accurate and quickly the whole of yeh can tame yer hippogriff. Remember; it's not a competition. It's an exam," the half-giant explained.

Harry noted that one particular hippogriff was missing. The one that Pansy had insulted, leading to Harry getting slashed in the back during their first lesson with Hagrid. Buckbeak; the silvery grey hippogriff with an eagerness to soar like Harry himself. But he decided to wait until after the exam proper to question their Magical Creatures teacher about it.

The class was not allowed to choose their groups, unfortunately enough for Harry. While Draco and Hermione had each other along with Theo, Sophie, and Millicent, Harry had Greg, Seamus, Dean, and Daphne. Ron was grouped with Tracey, Pansy, Blaise, and Lavender. Longbottom was left with Vincent, Parvati, and two other Gryffindor girls Harry only heard the names of from Hermione and nothing else (an Amelia Runcorn and Sally Smith).

Snaphoof went to Draco and Hermione's team, while Harry was met with Blighthawk's large, intimidating visage. Ron seemed lucky enough to get Dusty on his side and a biting Sunset charged at a frightened Crabbe.

"As delightful as it is to be stuck out here with you lot, I'm already tired of sweating, so if none of you are going to make a move, I'm getting this started," said Daphne to break the silence between the five of them.

"Wait, but… what do we do?" Goyle questioned.

She sighed in irritation, then turned to the other three boys. "Potter, please tell me you're somewhat capable of handling this. Merlin knows I can't ask lions to be any better than one of Malfoy's brain-dead weights."

"We're right here, you know," hissed Dean.

"Unfortunately," she drawled, her gaze remaining on Harry.

Harry snickered, then looked to Blighthawk, who snorted like a threatening bull at them.

The hippogriff was none to pleased to meet his eye, reminding him of Snape whenever Harry saw his Head of House stalking through the shadows of the dungeons. A sharp orange eye watched his every move as he cautiously approached, bowed, and waited for the sign of approval from the large animal. After a moment of deliberation, Blighthawk seemed to relent, committing to a bow of his own head rather than Buckbeak's full kneel.

What felt like an hour of anticipation later, Daphne was doing the same, but only after Greg did it first.

"Hopefully our demonstrations have enlightened your empty heads enough to remember all that. Now you two do it. And don't mess it up or you'll be tucking into dinner in the hospital wing tonight," Daphne threatened. Behind her, Goyle's eyes twinkled with eagerness to give either of the lions a proper beating, cracking his knuckles.

"I don't know who you're trying to impress with that attitude of yours, since I'm pretty sure Potter's already heading up Malfoy's arse. Can't find you snogging any of those other snakes, 'less you're a--" Seamus began to say, only to shut his mouth when Hagrid passed by, inadvertently forcing the lion to glare at the hippogriff.

Daphne scowled, but remained silent. Eerily so, if Harry had anything to say about it. He almost wanted to press her about it before they were done, but thought against it, considering her earlier behavior enough of a sign not to dig too far into the personal life of someone like Greengrass.

Unlike his companion, Dean didn't need convincing from the Slytherins to complete his part of their exam. Right after, Professor Hagrid was delighted to take Blighthawk away.

"One less hippogriff ter worry over," he muttered to the five students.

"What do you mean?" questioned Harry, wondering if his previous curiosity held some merit.

"Oh, it's nothing really, Harry. Just… well… Buckbeak's up an' vanished overnight. None of them were acting off 'till I walked over ter their pen in the mornin' and heard 'em all squawking up a storm like no other," the half-giant explained, petting Blighthawk's head like a fawning dog owner would their rambunctiously large mutt.

"You don't keep these animals restrained?" Daphne asked, seemingly incredulous.

"That's the odd part! I do! Made them a lovely stable they're free ter roam in, full of haybeds and meat and things ter play wit' ter their hearts desire. Lock it up every evening before dinner wit' a key after making sure they're all in there. Then when I woke up ter check the noise. Poof! One whole bird; gone!" Hagrid anxiously waved his hands about as he spoke, wringing his right hand around the rope he had tied to Blighthawk's harness.

While Daphne hummed with a mix of concern and doubt, Harry's intrigue was piqued further.

He was grateful when, not a minute or so later, Hermione and Draco's team finished with Snaphoof. The half-bird creature seemed delightfully proud of itself, flanking Hagrid like a well-trained noble steed. Meanwhile, his friends were relieved to be finished.

"Finally. Let's head inside before the sun beats down on us more," whined Draco as he ran a hand through his hair slick with sweat.

"Draco," said Hermione with a tint of warning.

"What?" he snapped back, only to be hit with a look of disdain that made him begrudgingly sigh. "Fine. We can wait for Weasley and Longbottom."

Harry bit back a laugh, then was startled by Daphne's howling cackle as she walked up the way to the castle.

Not one to let someone like Greengrass get the last laugh, Draco grit his teeth then sneered, calling towards the blonde, "Tell Astoria to save our seats at the table!"

It seemed to take all the girl's effort not to turn around and pound Malfoy's skull into the ground, her entire body bristling with an unbridled annoyance-- clenched fists and all-- but she retained some of her composure enough to continue walking away instead.

"You have a really weird way with girls, Malfoy," commented Ron as he joined the waiting trio.

"Better than you, I hope," Draco was quick to reply, earning a snicker from Harry.

Once Neville's group was finally done (no thanks to him, if the worried expression on his face meant anything), the five of them were more than eager to make their way up to the castle, but again, they were halted.

"Ah, Ron! Before yeh head off, I got something fer yeh," Hagrid called out from the entrance to his hut. Their large professor disappeared into his home for a moment, creating a stir of confusion and curiosity in the children before he returned, holding something that was obscured by the massiveness of his hands. When he opened them up in front of Ron, the boy was shocked.

"Scabbers!"

"The poor fella was hiding in my tea kettle this mornin'. Seemed all flustered when I found him, but he thankfully took a few bits of food I gave him," the half-giant explained as he handed the rat to Ron.

"Thanks, Hagrid! But…" Ron shifted his gaze to Harry. "How'd he get out of his cage?"

"Haven't the foggiest," Harry admitted with a shrug. "Draco noticed earlier last week that Scabbers' cage was wide open."

"Last week?" Ron repeated, appalled. "And you didn't bother to tell me until now?"

"I don't know if you've noticed but we've all been rather preoccupied until now, so I think it's fair to say your rat wasn't the highest priority to me at the time," Harry retorted.

"You said he'd be safe. You promised you'd take care of him!"

"I was! You didn't tell me he knew how to get out of his own cage while it was locked."

"He could've died out here on his own! Merlin knows that beast could've been chasing after him if it found him in the halls!"

"Now, now," Hagrid interjected before the shouting could go any further. "This isn't something yeh should be arguing about. 'Twas nothing but an accident, surely. Take it from an expert on pets, Ron. Yer Scabbers might've found a way out like my Buckbeak did. Went for a bit of exploring like all animals do. None of them know any better. It's just part of an animal's nature."

Though Ron wasn't entirely convinced, he was placated enough by the fact Scabbers was alive and well in the pocket of his robe. They were finally able to make their way up to the castle for dinner. "As long as that monster doesn't j--"

Like a bullet, Crookshanks darted out of the open door to the entrance hall, only stopped in his pursuit of Scabbers by a vigilant and swift Harry. Ron let out a screech in fright and Hermione was just as quick to rush over to put the cat's chase to rest.

"Scabbers! It's okay! I've got you! Quit it!" Ron exclaimed as he held tight onto the squirming rodent in his hands.

"You just had to open your mouth, didn't you, Weasley?" said Draco.

"Shut it! Ow! Scabbers!" Ron's struggling grunts were equally echoed by the rat's squeaks and Harry's efforts to hold back Crookshanks. "OUCH! He bit me!"

Scabbers was on the move, disappearing into the grass before anyone could snatch him back up. Thankfully those desperate squeaks were enough for Ron to follow.

"I-I'll go help him," Neville declared before sprinting off after the red-head.

"What is the matter with you, Crookshanks?" Hermione questioned the orange feline writhing in Harry's arms. "I understand you're a cat but this! This is just targeted harassment at this point. Maybe Ron is right. Maybe you are a menace. Half-cat or not, it doesn't explain being so vicious to someone else's pet specifically without some form of intent!"

"It's half-Kneazle, right?" asked Draco.

"He is. At least, that's what the Menagerie owner claimed," Harry said while holding the cat tighter.

"Then something about that rat must be off. Don't you think?" Draco's grey gaze gave Harry a better hint as to what he was implying.

Before Harry could properly reply, a loud scream alerted the trio, sounding from the direction of the Whomping Willow. Seizing the opportunity, Crookshanks wrenched itself out of Harry's grip to make chase.

Hermione and Harry were right behind, flanked by a reluctant Draco.

When they found Neville, he was panting, hands on his knees, having narrowly dodged a heavy branch the infamous tree had swung his way.

"Where's Ron?" questioned Hermione in a panic.

The Boy-Who-Lived caught his breath and stood up straight, pointing to a gap in the massive roots of the tree. "Th-The Grim attacked us! Snatched him up! Took him into the tree!"

"The Grim?" Draco and Hermione said simultaneously in disbelief.

Neville nodded. "Big black dog! Vicious thing tried to eat me, but it took Ron instead! I couldn't do anything because the tree's in the way!"

Something in Harry's mind clicked.

It took Ron because he had Pettigrew. It was a big black dog. More specifically, the Grim was Padfoot; Sirius Black.

"Harry!"

Heart pounding in his chest, he burst forward, his mind racing with every plan of action he'd come up with throughout the week. He felt as though his magic had seared a pathway for him. It guided him like a furiously burning torch.

But he was knocked gracelessly backward by the offending tree.

In his way.

He growled, coughing light red spit onto the dirt as he scrambled back onto his feet. Fixing his unscratched glasses back into place, he stood.

Again, he charged forward, accompanied by a pursuing Crookshanks, but unlike his feline counterpart, the Whomping Willow would not let Harry through. Once again, it batted him away like a pesky pest. His glasses clattered on the hard dirt, but remained unscathed, unlike him.

"Have you gone absolutely mental?" questioned Draco.

"Shove off, Malfoy!" Harry shouted, up again and wiping away spittle. He found his glasses, tossed off his school robe, and took a deep breath.

Then, not a second later, Hermione grabbed at his arm. "No, Harry!"

"Let. Me. Go!"

As if sensing his intent and fury, the tree swung a large branch towards them.

Crookshanks was given complete freedom to weave between the roots, abandoning the four students to the mercy of the rampaging flora.

Harry felt his boiling rage charge ahead of him as he roared out his frustration.

A spark flickered from the branch as it landed with a boom a few inches in front of them, then, not a second after, it ignited in a sudden flame. The Whomping Willow seemed to writhe and cry in pain, slamming the charred branch against dirt to stamp out the fire whilst retreating.

"Are you satisfied now, Potter?" Draco's quip was ignored barely a beat later when, rather than Harry, Neville charged forward, seizing the opportunity.

"Neville, wait!" Hermione cried, following after.

"Merlin's sake, it's like you all have a death wish!" Draco groaned.

"Or we know better than to let our friends get killed. Now shove it or get moving!" Like a bolt of lightning, Harry raced after the others.

A small light in the narrow distance of the passage showed a frightened Neville and fretful Hermione consoling him. "-- running off like that."

"But you let him do it."

"No, I didn't."

"Lumos," said Harry, the tip of his ebony wand glowing bright like Hermione's. He cut between them and their conversation, crawling past with hardly any acknowledgement. He had one goal in mind: revenge.

"Stop! Harry, do you even know where this passage leads?" she exclaimed, holding him back by the ankle.

He hummed irritably, thinking back to the Marauder's Map and all it secret passageways that the twins pointed out to him. "Somewhere near Hogsmeade. Look, do you want to save Ron or not?"

"I do, Harry, but we don't know--"

"Then just trust me, alright?"

"How can we?" Neville interjected.

"What?"

"You've lied to us a dozen times before. How can we know you're not tricking us into getting ourselves killed to help out Voldemort?" the Boy-Who-Lived pressed.

Momentarily stunned, Harry struggled to think of a response. Why would anyone think he was up to anything with the Dark Lord? He proved he was innocent ages ago. No one in their right mind would think--

"Neville, why--" said Hermione, as confused as Harry was.

"Because Harry's been sending snakes out to attack people!"

There was a still silence as Hermione and Harry waited for elaboration.

"Seamus, Dean, and I found one near my bed one afternoon. It spoke to me, telling me Harry helped it get up to the tower to find someone. None of us knew what to do, so…" Neville faltered then, unable to finish.

But Harry knew exactly what he was trying to say. "You killed him? You killed Asclepius?"

"You sent it to kill me!"

"I didn't send him anywhere! He was just trying to help! He was--" Harry nearly-- nearly-- broke in that moment, the sting of betrayal mixing like a horrid cauldron brew with his previous anger. It felt physical, like a burning in his eyes that obscured his vision.

Asclepius was killed by a lion. The same lion that Sip was afraid of.

"You killed him and tried to do the same to Sip! You wretched little worm! They're just animals! What could you possibly gain--!"

"I nearly lost my life to a Basilisk because you were possessed by Tom Riddle last year! How can I be sure you're not still following his orders? You could be helping Sirius Black!"

That was the final straw.

"SIRIUS BLACK KILLED MY PARENTS! HE BETRAYED HIS BEST FRIEND AND KILLED BOTH OF THEM AND YOU THINK I'D EVER CONSIDER HELPING HIM?"

"Voldemort killed my parents and you don't see me going around trying to prove I'm innocent to anyone!"

"BECAUSE YOU NEVER HAD ANYTHING TO PROVE! EVERYONE TRUSTS YOU! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A WORTHLESS, VILE SLUG THAT GETS EVERYTHING HANDED TO YOU! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED THAT NIGHT WITH THE DARK LORD! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED AND SAVED EVERYONE THE TROUBLE OF HAVING TO DEAL WITH YOUR SORRY ARSE! YOU'RE NOT A HERO! YOU'RE A FRAUD!"

"Enough!" Hermione shouted to end the arguing. "Harry, I don't know what connection you might have to any snakes but that doesn't excuse yelling at Neville in Parseltongue."

Harry swallowed back his wrath and bit his tongue, unaware he'd even been speaking in Parseltongue in the first place.

"And Neville--"

"But--!"

"No. You're accusing Harry of helping Sirius Black. That is unacceptable in every sense of the word," she continued.

"That's great, Professor, but aren't we meant to be saving someone right now?" Appearing behind her, Draco looked entirely unamused to be there, rubbing the top of his head to soothe a likely exaggerated bump he'd received on the way through.

With a small but determined smile, Hermione said, "Draco's right. Ron's still needs our help. Harry, do you know where precisely in Hogsmeade this path leads to?"

"N-No, but…" Looking between the three faces watching him to make sure he was speaking proper English this time, he finished, "… I have a hunch it might lead us to the last place any of us want to be in."

None of them seemed pleased to hear that.

But they set off anyway to save Ron. They were all mutually in this mess. No one was turning back now.

Sure enough, the pathway wove upward, widening enough that the children were free to stand. The light from Harry and Hermione's wands illuminated an entrance, open and bare, for them all to step into cautiously.

"Oh, bloody hell. Anywhere but here," groaned Malfoy, tensing up as they observed the ruins of the infamous Shrieking Shack.

"Hush," Harry whispered.

Everyone tensed at a loud creak from above, then whimpering moans. Upstairs. Ron was still okay.

"Nox." The light of Harry's wand was snuffed the second he caught sight of the stairway.

"Wait." Hermione's wand light faded as she grabbed Harry's wrist. "That wolf could be up there ready to kill," she hissed.

"That thing isn't a wolf," he snapped back.

"This isn't the time to be paranoid about a stupid Grim."

"Not that either. It's Black. In his animagus form."

"Then I was right," spoke Neville. "You are helping him."

Annoyance resurfacing, Harry snarled out, "You think I would tell you if I was really helping him?"

"Then how do you know Sirius is an animagus?" Hermione questioned.

Draco clicked his tongue and eyed Harry knowingly. The time to keep secrets was up.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I'll explain later. I promise. You just need to trust that I know he's up there and we have to move now," Harry spoke with full confidence and desperation. He didn't need to include the part of 'before it's too late' because he didn't want to imagine a world where he'd let one of his best friends die at the hands of the same psychopath that murdered his family. He didn't want to waste any more time than they already had to get here. Evening was crawling into night. The longer they waited, the more time Black had to escape.

Time would simply have to wait.

But with each creeping step, anticipation seared into every muscle in Sirius Black's body.

Time was measured in each beat of the heart and bated breath he took. He could hear their voices. Some, so soft and sincere, while others were hoarse and impatient.

Much like him. Unlike them.

"Sirius, please be careful with our son," said Lily beside him.

"Merlin knows what your sister's done to him," added James stood calmly over the whimpering boy across the dilapidated room.

"He'll be fine, Prongs. I know it. I know he'll see the truth. You'll have your boy back. We'll be a proper family soon," Sirius whispered as he anxiously listened to every footstep through the hallway.

The door creaked open. A wand poked out at the ready. Then another. Two more.

Sirius hid himself under a dusty old dining table with a moth-bitten cloth on it, spying out through a tiny hole in it.

There he was. Practically the spitting image of his father but lankier, and wild eyed like his mother.

"Ron!" the curly haired girl cried, coming to the aide of the wounded boy with Wormtail. Oh, she had to be like Lily. Was Harry, unlike his father, more honest and kind with his female friend from the very start?

"I heard that," said James in annoyance, earning a chuckle from Lily and a smirk from Sirius.

"His leg looks… broken," stated the lumpy boy at Harry's side nervously sweating. That one looked like Wormtail. But the scar on his head was unmistakable. That was the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Sodden creature hardly looked to live up to such a title. Not that Sirius was one to judge, being a wanted criminal and all.

"I think we can all see that rather clearly, idiot," the blond boy snapped, scanning the rest of the room intently. He reminded Sirius of Moony, in a sense that he seemed slightly out of place in the group, despite clearly being a proper part of it. And yet, an air of arrogance quite like Prongs in his early years.

"Are you awake, Ron?" the girl asked, examining the unfortunate bite on the red-head's leg.

"Where's the dog?" Harry added quickly, alert like his blond companion. When he turned away from his wounded friend, it gave Sirius a perfect view of the young Potter's face. Those were Lily's eyes, no doubt about that.

"Oh, my boy. What has Petunia done to you?" Lily lamented, walking over for a close touch.

"The dog?" repeated Ron in a pained daze. Suddenly, a panicked shot of adrenaline hit him and he forced himself to sit up from the floor, gripping Wormtail close to his chest. "N-No! Not a dog! It's him! He's an animagus!"

"Told you," said Harry, piercing green gaze dragging over every bit of drab, rotten furniture and collapsed wooden piece the Shrieking Shack had to offer.

"You know?" Ron said.

"Harry seems to always know a lot more than he lets on, somehow," young Longbottom commented, glaring at Harry as though they were rivals.

The reply from Harry came out in mangled hisses unrecognizable to Sirius' ears that seemed to startle Ron.

"Language, Potter," drawled the blond, who, while still tense, seemed to momentarily ease up.

"I meant it that time," came Harry's retort. He stepped away from the others and began walking the room, leaving Sirius' line of sight. "Show yourself, Padfoot."

His nickname coming from Harry's mouth was jarring, to say the least. He almost sounded like his father whenever they played pranks on each other. Padfoot would have to hide whenever Prongs found shit in his shoes or holes in his socks or even both.

"I know what you're looking for, Padfoot. You want Wormtail, don't you?"

How did Harry know all this? Moony surely couldn't have known. Was Moony even at Hogwarts? That old werewolf's scent lingered fresh in the halls whenever Sirius had been able to enter. Maybe Albus had brought Moony in to help with the search for Sirius.

"Padfoot, do something already! You can't let Wormtail get away now that you're so close!" James shouted.

"I can give you him, Padfoot. He's here."

"Who's Padfoot?" whispered Ron to the others.

"Me," Sirius growled, dragging himself out from under the table. The collective gasps from the few stood by the floor weren't enough to distract him. Like Lily, Harry was fast to aim, but like James, slow to fire, so it was hardly a match to shout "Expelliarmus!" before he was able to produce the first syllable on his lips.

The other three children with wands held them up, but a mix of hesitation and fear lingered in the air just enough to disarm them just as fast.

"I told you not to hurt him, Sirius!" Lily exclaimed, hovering around her son like a fretful mother hen.

"I don't want to hurt any of you," Sirius spoke without much thought.

"Not bloody likely," hissed that arrogant blond, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We all know you're after Neville and Harry," said Ron, almost in shock at what he believed to be a lie on Sirius' part.

"No. Not Harry. Never Harry! Or young Longbottom, for that matter!" Sirius declared.

"He's after Peter Pettigrew," Harry stated firmly, putting himself between his friends and Sirius.

Amazed, Sirius stared at the boy he thought he understood so well. "How much do you know?"

"A lot. Like Neville said, probably a lot more than I should. But I met someone close you two. Someone I could trust. And thanks to him, I know all I need to stop you," Harry spoke cryptically, making Sirius question whether it was Moony or… somehow… James? Lily? Someone else? Who else would know about Padfoot and Wormtail? Snivellus?

Harry turned, extending out a hand to Ron. "Give me Scabbers, Ron."

"What? No! Why?" As the boy questioned, the rat in his grip began to squeal and wriggle in fright.

"Don't ask stupid questions you won't like the answer to, Weasley. Now hand over the rat."

"Like hell I'm giving him to you! You sound about as mad as him!" Ron motioned to Sirius, who didn't bother to feign offense.

Growling irritably, Harry ran his fingers through his messy hair and thought quick. "Have you ever wondered why Scabbers has been alive for so long? How he's missing a toe and has been acting off all year? Can't have been a coincidence, right? Sure, Crookshanks might have been annoying him for a while, but… when did he start really behaving weirdly? What about… right after your trip to Egypt? Say, perhaps… after your parents might have heard the news that notorious serial killer Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban?"

"N-No! You're making it up! Scabbers-- He's-- There's nothing wrong with him!" Ron protested.

"If that's all you've got in defense, you're putting up a horrid fight, Weasley," the blond said.

"Of course you believe them, Malfoy!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Scabbers was squirming. Ron's sweaty hands were losing their hold. Harry could make a move now, but doing so with Weasley panicking like this provided no help. If Pettigrew could just be a little more desperate…

"Ow! Scabbers, no!"

There!

Mine!

Sirius seemed blown away by how quickly Harry caught the rodent, but to him, it was leagues easier than any bit of Quidditch practice Harry had ever been through. Even with its frantic squeaking and movement, Harry's resolve to bring Sirius to justice with Pettigrew's help was a greater force. Now all he needed was for Wormtail to cooperate.

"Harry, wait!" Hermione cried out, but he ignored her.

"Here! You have what you want! Now do something! Kill him! Help us kill Black!" screamed Harry, holding the rat out towards Sirius.

And the man seemed puzzled by this. "Kill me? You want me dead?"

"You killed my parents!"

With a deep, sorrowful sigh, Sirius conceded, "I suppose I did inadvertently do that, in the end."

"Inadvertently?" Harry repeated, appalled and enraged. "You were their Secret Keeper! You betrayed them! You told the Dark Lord where they were! You and all your Death Eater friends were sent to kill them and me!"

Sirius barked with mad laughter. "If only I had been the Secret Keeper, then your parents might still be alive to defend themselves and love you!"

"Liar!"

"I am not lying, Harry! I was your father's best friend! I would've rather died than betray them! James and your grandparents were like the family I always wanted in life! I loved James more than I did my own flesh and blood brother!" Sirius took a step back, barely able to contain his regret. He was shaking. "James and Lily trusted me! They made me your godfather! They trusted my judgement when they said they needed a Secret Keeper and I let them down! Because I let a stupid, cowardly rat take my place, everything fell apart!"

Harry's hatred faltered. "Wh-What?"

"You must wonder why Wormtail went into hiding, even though the world cherished him as a hero. The hairball betrayed your parents and me. But he could never succeed in landing a killing blow and he knew it, the clever cretin. He staged his death to have me blamed and arrested, but realized the Dark Lord's followers thought him a loose end. So he stayed a scared little rodent, hiding from monsters bigger than him because he always was a spineless slug!" Sirius bared gnarled teeth at the squealing rat in Harry's tight grip.

Remaining unconvinced, Harry said, "Prove it then!"

Sirius' intimidating glare turned into arrogant lunacy. "Very well then!" He raised Ron's wand up, pointing it at Scabbers. "On the count of three, throw him to the floor and you can hear the truth straight from the traitor's mouth!" 

"Don't do it, Harry! Please! He's just a rat!" Ron whined.

"Not to worry, boy! If I'm wrong about your precious pet, the spell won't hurt him! It only works on animagi!" Sirius assured, though his mad grin spoke of pure confidence in himself more than anything.

"One!"

Harry tensed, wondering if all he'd learned and assumed had been right from the start. Should he trust Sirius Black? This trembling, malnourished man with nothing left to lose but his own life… Could he truly be… innocent?

"Two!"

This past summer, Harry had been in the same position. Emaciated. Alone. Accused of a crime he was sure he didn't intend to commit. Except Harry had friends who knew the truth. Sirius… had no one. No one to fall back on but himself and his knowledge of his own innocence. He'd lost everyone he thought he could trust the day Peter Pettigrew, the Potter's true Secret Keeper, set the Dark Lord's followers on Godric Hollow.

"Three!"

"No!"

Flinging the rat away, Harry wasn't sure what to expect. A part of him hoped Wormtail would come out, grab one of the wands on the floor, and stop Sirius Black once and for all. Another wished to be anywhere but here, tired, angry, and tethered to a burden he wished he'd never known. At last, his final shred of self sought justice, wanting whomever betrayed his parents to be dead.

What did occur was much more disturbing.

The rat known as Scabbers was hit with a flash of a spell, then, in an instant, the body of a man grew in its place. Short, straw-haired, and with grubby rat-like hands on a sickly body. The poor thing certainly reminded Harry of sorry, old Scabbers.

But this was Peter Pettigrew. And what a horrid state he looked to be in, scrambling away until Sirius stood before him, blocking the way to the door.

"Sirius… M-My friend! How… lovely it is to see you aga-- Ah!" Peter squeaked out, flinching back from the wand pointed at his mousey nose.

"No more tricks, Wormtail. No more lies!" snarled Sirius, looming over Pettigrew.

"Please, Sirius! Forgive me! I didn't have a choice! The Dark Lord! His power is too great! I didn't want to--!"

"You should have died rather than given up! You should have died and stayed dead! Prongs trusted you, Peter! We all trusted you and you chose to save your own sorry hide instead!" Black roared out, pressing the tip of Ron's wand against Wormtail's neck.

Pettigrew scuffled back, panting wildly and darting his gaze towards Neville, Draco, Hermione, then landed on Ron. "Ron! You mustn't let Black kill me! I-I'm your friend!"

Thankfully, Weasley, coming to the smartest realization of his life, paled and scowled. "I took care of you for nearly half my life thinking you were a rat!"

"A-And didn't I make a brilliant rat? A perfect pet! I-I am nothing but-- Gah!" Peter cowered away from the group of children as Padfoot kicked him aside.

"Enough groveling! It's time to end this!" Sirius shouted.

Harry watched, almost entranced, as the bumbling Pettigrew blubbered out things like "mad" and "unjustified" before their gazes connected.

"Don't be afraid, Wormtail. It's not the first time you'll die," mocked Black with a devious chuckle. 

"No! Master! My Lord! Stop him! Save me!" Wormtail begged to Harry in a final ditch effort.

Something dark inside him snapped at that very moment. The culminated wrath from earlier reared its ugly head, launching him forward. He lunged like a predator, forgetting himself, his magic, and everything around him. Only his fists and the blood that would inevitably cake them mattered.

Dead. He wanted this man dead.

The first hit. A satisfying crunch of bone; probably the nose breaking. Second met with resistance from the skull, but that would erode with more hits. Crack! Third hit the jaw! Yes! Blood!

Pained blithering. Hands made an effort to cushion the blows, but made no difference.

"Harry! Stop!"

Never. He needed more. This man would suffer just as he did!

Pulling hair produced more agonized screams. More! More!

If only he could spit the skull so easily.

"No!" Harry shouted to the arm wrapping around his neck from behind him. Attempting to claw at it gave him little purchase. Weeks of biting his nails to nubs left him with nothing to use. He tried hitting with his legs, burying the heel of his shoe into Wormtail's side before being dragged away.

Given freedom, the slimy traitor scurried away, slowing transforming into his rat form.

"He's getting away!" cried Harry to the man holding him back.

"He's mine!" Black responded, shoving Harry away to make chase.

Like starving, rabid animals, they were both set on ending this single rat's life. Neither paid any mind to the others left to watch their friend turn feral in the midst of two dangerous adults.

Pouncing, Harry came up fruitless in his effort and his older counterpart shared similar results. Down the stairs. Through the rooms. Entering the winding passage back to Hogwarts. No matter how much they tried, they were always a hair off.

But he would not relent. He would seek vengeance. He would avenge his parents. He would kill--

Kill? And be no better than the monsters who did this to him? Be just like Riddle intended him to be?

Exiting the gap between the roots of the Whomping Willow, the whole world around him went askew. In the moment of panic, he fell to his hands and knees, while Sirius continued ahead with the hunt.

Merlin, what was he doing?

Harry had let himself be consumed by petty revenge, fueled merely by the thought of slaughter. He'd given in to that remnant of a monster he told himself he never wanted to be.

Heart racing in his chest. Sweat beading at his brow and on the tips of his bangs. Air surging in and out of him with harsh breaths. His glasses slipped off his face, onto the dirt and grass, but darkness was already consuming the edges of his vision. He drowned in confusion. Fear. Unabated, unrelenting.

"Harry!"

The warmth of touch seared at his arm. With the last of his strength, he pushed it away and tempted escape.

"Wait. Harry, you're alright. It's okay. You're okay."

Gentle. Those hands were gentle. They promised no harm without a single word as they eased him to sit still.

Against the heat of unprecidented darkness, a cool wind seemed to pass. He closed his eyes.

"Breathe. Slowly. In and out."

In. And out. Like the pull of the ocean. Like the cool of its waves.

"Draco? What happened?"

"Panicked, I think. Too overwhelmed."

"Oh, no. Harry."

"Give him space. That's what mother always said to do in cases like this."

A moment of silence, where all he had was his heavy, trembling breaths and the calmness to quell him. Fingers touched his own, wrapping around his hand. Comfort. Safety.

"We'll need to move once he's calmed down. Ron's leg is still badly hurt and we don't even know where Black and Pettigrew went either."

There was a whimper, but not from Harry.

"Ron? What's wrong? Is something the matter with--" Hermione stood, going over to help Neville hold their friend up to ease the pain.

"I think I know where to find Black, but I don't reckon we'll want to go near." Ron motioned towards the night sky above, illuminated by the moonlight, showing dozens of Dementors floating towards the castle.

Turning his attention back to Harry, Draco saw his friend was still out of it. But there was no time to lose. Someone needed to do something.

He slipped his hand away and stood. "Neville, Hermione. One of you needs to go get help. The other stays with Ron and Harry."

"You're not thinking about--"

"I am, Weasley. We can't let Harry lose the only real family he has left if there's a sliver of chance Black's telling the truth. I won't let it happen. I know he'd do the same for me, if the roles were switched," Draco said resolutely.

"But you can't do it alone! You don't even know the spell!" protested Hermione.

"Do you?" Draco asked. When he saw her waver, he knew her answer. So he ran.

Into the fray. Towards danger. Exactly the last place part of him really wanted to be.

And yet, despite the chance of death looming over him, Malfoy never felt more alive.

The first thing Harry heard when he awoke were stern voices. Some speaking over each other. Others nervous. At first, distant. Then he focused his rising energy on them and they were clear.

Dumbledore. McGonagall. Snape. Hagrid. Pomfrey. And… Fudge.

Oh no.

Opening his eyes, he didn't need his glasses on to recognize the familiar lighting of Madam Pomfrey's domain. Finding them on the bedside table and putting them on helped immensely to regain some of his bearings. He sat up and surveyed the room.

Madam Pomfrey stood at the door to the hospital wing, holding it open so that she could speak to the small crowd outside the hospital wing. Reprimanding them for likely disturbing her patients.

Across from him, Ron slept, lightly snoring, with his injured leg bandaged in layers of gauze. To Ron's right, Neville, looking pale and weary, was also asleep, but twisted once or twice too many from the looks of it. His blanket was half around his stomach and half on the floor.

On Ron's left, Hermione rested, bushy hair in disarray but otherwise, she seemed fine.

And across from her, on Harry's right, Draco. Like Neville, he seemed pale (or rather, paler than usual) and weak. Almost sickly.

What happened after he passed out? The last thing he remembered was… his friends there to comfort him, a hand around his, and then… nothing.

"Young snake! You are awake!"

His eyes darted to the floor between his bed and Draco's, two snakes peering back at him with their beady eyes.

"Sip! And you are?"

"Maura. Sipedon escorted me here to aide you," the serpent said calmly.

"Aide me? How?" Harry questioned softly, careful not to alert the adults not to far away.

"You successfully caught the Grim, but his shadows are still loose. There's not enough time to explain," said Sip.

Seek the Grim and find his shadows.

Harry had forgotten all about the quest Mother had given him, but he now understood what she meant. The Grim had been Sirius in his animagus form. The shadows must have been Peter and Lupin. The snakes had known all this time what they were looking for but not who.

Merlin's beard, he felt like an idiot for not putting two and two together.

The sound of the clocktower's chimes snapped Harry out of his self-loathing thoughts. It sounded close to midnight. The snakes said there was no time. But what if he gave himself more time?

Shifting his gaze back to Hermione, he saw the faintest sliver of gold around her neck.

He knew where the shadows were. Lupin would likely be up in his office. Peter would be getting chased away by Sirius. All Harry needed to do was collect them together and his problems would be fixed, right?

"Go back to Mother. Tell her I've got this handled. I promise I'll be back to speak with her tomorrow," he said, carefully crawling out of bed.

"Are you sure it is wise not to let us help you, young snake?" asked Maura fretfully.

"I know what I'm doing. I'm not going to let another one of you die for my sake."

The snakes glanced at each other, shared a simple nod, then slithered into a crack in the stone wall.

Tip-toeing towards Hermione's bed, Harry tried looping his finger under the golden chain of the Time Turner without disturbing her, blushing madly as he did. He'd only been this close to Tracey before and even then it was only for one chaste kiss. This was his best friend and she was sleeping! If she woke up and saw him looming over her like a nervous freak, she'd likely scream.

And she did stir. Quietly, she turned her head slightly, then her eyes fluttered open. She tensed, gazing wide at him but didn't shriek.

Harry put a finger to his lips and Hermione sat up, leaning an ear in to listen to the adults at the door.

"-- was yelling about the Potter boy trying to kill Pettigrew! I'm not sure how mad that man's become trying to kill young Longbottom but he's definitely gone some level of senile!" shouted Cornelius.

"Perhaps if we wait until the children have awoken, then we can get a full picture of what happened," suggested Dumbledore.

"And let Potter spout nonsense about Black's innocence? I heard him raving to Lupin earlier in his office. Merlin knows how he managed his way around without passing me. Shall we now consider this conspiracy rather than coincidence that Black made it to the castle grounds nearly unscathed for another time?" Snape said in his typical cold, bitter tone.

Harry nudged her, then pointed to the Time Turner. "We need to go back."

She considered his decision with momentary confusion, then whispered in return, "How far?"

"However long you think it'll take for us to save Sirius and prove he's innocent to them," he said, motioning to the nearby chatter.

"That's… a lot to do, Harry. Where would we even start with--"

"We go to the one place no one would suspect us to do any wrong in; the library."

He hurried her out of the bed when the shouting grew louder, pulling her to hide behind Draco's bed while he grabbed his school bag. His invisibility cloak shimmered out and over them right after Hermione threw the Time Turner's chain over his head.

Ticking back an hour allowed them a moment to watch themselves be pulled out of the wing. Another, Pomfrey sat at her desk with a seventh year Ravenclaw before the girl darted backwards, away from the medi-witch. A third, a Hufflepuff poked his head in and out before retreating inwards and gaining a scrape on his shoulder. Time slowed, Harry catching the gaze of a saddened Astoria Greengrass and her upset older sister.

When the siblings left, Harry and Hermione saw their chance, stopping the Time Turner's spinning so they could see a lone Pomfrey sat at her desk.

Sneaking out the door with only a brief knock to trick the witch into stepping aside at the door, they were free to set off for the library.

Once near, they slipped off the cloak and entered like it was another study day for them. Madam Pince greeted Hermione warmly while keeping a wary eye on Harry, but they disappeared to their usual table in the back without a hitch.

"I think we're in three places right now. Here, Muggle Studies, and Care of Magical Creatures. So we need to be careful not to cross paths with our other two selves until near midnight tonight," whispered Hermione as she scanned the nearby bookshelves.

Harry dropped his bag on the table, pulling out his diary, quill, and inkpot. Taking his wand out of his pocket, he pried the Marauder's Map out from between the pages of his diary. "Shouldn't be too difficult to keep track of ourselves."

"Why's that?" Hermione caught the briefest glimpse of the map over Harry's shoulder and crooked a brow. "Harry, I don't think this is the time to mess about with an old ink-covered parchment."

"I'll have you know, Ms. Granger," Harry said with an air of faux superiority, "that this is only a crummy old parchment if you believe it's a crummy old parchment."

Unamused by his joking tone, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared.

"Fine. I'll show you." He tapped the tip of his ebony wand to the paper. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Bewildered by the incantation, Hermione wondered aloud, "Why would you--" but stopped herself as the map began to fill in on its own.

He unfolded it to the layer of the Muggle Studies classroom, pointing to their names hovering at the entrance speaking with Professor Burbage before the exam was meant to begin. Flipping to the lowest layer, the castle grounds, he drew her attention to near the edge where their second pair of names were headed, settling in with the rest of the names by what was clearly labeled as Hagrid's hut.

"Wh-What? How? Where?" she muttered out in astonishment.

"The Marauder's Map, made by my father and his friends under the names Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, and given to me by Fred and George before one of our first few trips to Hogsmeade," Harry answered smoothly.

"And you've never spoken to me about this because?"

"Well, like I said, it was made by my father so it felt rather personal, but after I found out who else helped make it, you and I weren't talking." He hummed in consideration. "In retrospect, Draco was right and I probably should've told you about everything I knew once we made up, but… you were so busy and frantic over our exams that I was worried it would… somehow ruin our friendship again if I did. I told him about the map and he seemed overwhelmed by it too."

She watched their names move around outside Hagrid's hut with their teammates and hippogriffs. Inside the gamekeeper's hut, the name "Peter Pettigrew" fidgeted by Hagrid's lumbering boarhound, Fang.

"Hermione?"

Her gaze flickered to meet his, feelings of confusion, fear, and understanding swirling in the air between them.

"Let's save your godfather, Harry," she said resolutely.

A wash of relief settled into his features and he smiled. "Thank you, Hermione."

"Thank me later, when this is all over, and by promising me no more secrets."

His grin faltered at her stern tone, but his chuckle brought it back along with a sheepish nod. "Fair."

"Good, now, where do you think we should start?" she asked, turning her attention back to the shelves around them.

"The section on Wizarding Law seems like the best place. It should be close to Madam Pince's desk. I recall her reading a rather large book on them over the holidays that I think could be a good starting place," Harry said before watching his best friend disappear behind the shelves.

Hermione returned with half a dozen books, scattering them across the table and claiming the thickest one for herself. Harry, not to feel entirely useless, took the second largest and flipped through the first few pages, taking a second to glance at the map to see where their past selves were.

Muggle Studies Harry and Hermione were still taking their exams, while Blighthawk stood proudly before Harry at Hagrid's hut.

Plenty of time.

"Did Black ever mention receiving a trial?" questioned Hermione suddenly as Harry skimmed through a page on Azkaban sentences.

"Err… I don't know. Maybe?" He thought back to everything he knew about his godfather. From Sirius' own mouth, Harry remembered nothing about such a detail, but considering the severity of--

Wait.

Padfoot never spoke of it, but one person did. Fudge.

"No. He didn't. Fudge said there was so much evidence to prove Sirius guilty that he thought a trial wasn't necessary," Harry said, thinking back to the secret meeting the Minister had with Madam Rosemerta and some of the Hogwarts professors.

"Unbelievable! According to The History of Magical Law, 'all witches, wizards, and magical beings must be given a fair and just trial before a properly convened Wizengamot or Council of Magical Law prior to any verdict or punishment being given'. There's even citations of old cases where innocent people were put to death without evidence, but rather purely based on prejudices of body type, species, race, social class, and even gender," Hermione explained, entirely mortified with what she was reading.

"Sounds like magical folk and Muggles aren't as different as they'd like to believe," Harry said, looking over Hermione's shoulder.

"'Due to the failure of multiple judgements by higher powers in many cases, investigations must be examined from every possible avenue of magic, accounting for every factor and stroke of magic available to the individual case.' Oh. That's…" She paused her comment to finish reading. "'A widow was nearly arrested because her husband accidentally blew himself up using a broken wand. Officials accused her on the grounds that the couple were recently dealing with financial troubles and they filed for Muggle life insurance. It turned out they'd gotten into an argument about money and he threatened to kill her. It would've been impossible for her to have used any sort of curse on him because she was a confirmed Squib.'"

Harry almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but bit his lip.

"'The only reason authorities failed to account for such a detail was because she had no documentation despite the fact that she insisted that was the case. Further investigation through the use of Veritaserum and a Pensieve revealed the previously stated argument as well as a memory of her husband burning the requested documents.

"'Furthermore, the use of a Pensieve has and may always be put under scrutiny due to the malleable nature of memories with and without magical interference.' But that doesn't…" She hummed irritably, then continued, "'Therefore, even with multiple, willing uses of it as a means of corroborating incidents, no meaningful instance of it has occurred to make Pensieves a requirement for evidence in trials, unless during the removal of Muggle memories wherein they would also be used as eye-witness accounts.'"

"Lupin told me there were plenty of Muggle witnesses there when Peter faked his death. Their memories of what happened might have been useful, even if only a little. A-And all Fudge did was--!" Harry was hushed by a finger pressing against his lips.

"The whole school will hear you if you get any louder, Harry. How about you go find a book or two on Pensieves or memory charms? Something to help us convince Fudge and the others to use Sirius' memories as evidence," she suggested.

Sighing to release the heat of his anger, he nodded and stood, heading to the Charms side of the library. A nervous finger tapped at some of the spines of older books.

They were getting somewhere. His godfather might soon be free at last. Sirius mentioned he'd be willing to take care of Harry rather than throwing him to the Dursleys like Dumbledore thought best. Did Sirus have somewhere they could live? Would it be as magical as the Weasley's Burrow? Would Padfoot show him other things Harry's father left in his possession? What other stories did he have of their shared exploits as the Marauders?

Shaking his head, he focused on his search, since it would be fruitless to imagine such things if he didn't commit to his part and prove his godfather's innocence.

He returned minutes later with two books on memory charms and nothing on Pensieves. The library seemed scant on that sort of information, unless Hermione was willing to let him sneak into the Restricted Section.

"As much as I would like to, Harry, I'd rather not add that to the growing list of rules we've broken so far," she stated firmly. Her focus went back to the large book and Harry was left itching to take the plunge anyway.

They were already committed to defying one of the highest powers in Wizarding Britain. What was another crime added in? A pettier one. Then again, Harry knew Cornelius Fudge didn't like him, so opposing his ruling of Sirius Black as a cold blooded killer if only to regain a family sounded about as petty as it could get.

It also sounded Slytherin enough to make Malfoy proud.

He gave another cursory glance towards the map, but did a double-take when he saw where they were.

"H-Hermione, look," he said.

Their Muggle Studies pair had disappeared back to the past. Meanwhile, their Magical Creatures selves were exiting Hagrid's hut with Pettigrew in Ron's hands again.

"Harry, we still have time. You don't need to rush things just because Peter's about to escape," she assured.

But he didn't want Peter to escape. He wanted Wormtail dead and gone for having done what he did to Padfoot.

His eyes caught another familiar name. Remus J. Lupin.

"Wh-What if we talked to someone about this? Like Moony. He knew Padfoot and Wormtail best," Harry suggested hurriedly.

"Moony?"

"Err-- Lupin. Sirius and my father called him Moony."

Hermione stared at him like he sounded mad and honestly, he didn't blame her in the slightest. But he knew his godfather was innocent. She thought Sirius had to be too, surely. All they really needed was for a trustworthy adult to believe them and they might have a solid case against Fudge.

She shut the book on Wizard Law. "We can't be caught, Harry. Remember--"

"I know. I know. And as long as we stay under the cloak until we're in Lupin's office, we'll be fine." He saw her concern and groaned. "Come on, 'Mione. We have to have someone on our side."

"Alright. But we're putting the books back first, then we'll be very careful about where we're going," she insisted, collecting the open books around her.

Frantically, he helped her, if only to get them to Lupin's office quicker than their other selves headed to the Whomping Willow.

Madam Pince gave him a wary glance as he hurried towards the library's entrance. When Hermione followed behind him, she seemed to soften her expression.

Practically dragging her out the door, Harry pointed to an empty corridor nearby on the map (buried in between the pages of his diary).

Soon, they were hidden under the cloak, with Harry paying close attention to the map and any names wandering close to them on their way to Lupin's office, while Hermione took the lead. With hushed panting, they made it to the hall with the Defense classroom nearby. When Harry saw no presence other than theirs and the teacher in his office down the path, he quickly took the cloak back and scrambled towards the door.

"Harry, wait!"

"Professor? Professor! Are you in there? We need your--" As Harry made to try for the door handle, it dodged, revealing Remus confused within as he opened it.

"What's the matter? Is someone in trouble?" the teacher questioned as Harry pushed his way in.

"Yes! Yes. You have to help. It's Padfoot. He's in trouble."

"Padfoot?" Lupin's expression turned grave and he gulped. "Harry, I can't quite say I follow. If you've been in contact with Black, I'll have to report it to Head--"

"No! You can't! Moony, I need you to trust me. Padfoot's at the Shrieking Shack right now. W-With Wormtail! A-And if you don't help us, Fudge will have him killed! Peter will win! He'll-- Wormtail will have gotten away with--"

Hermione was trying her best to contain Harry's ravings, but he resisted.

"Slow down, then. Are you trying to tell me that Wormtail-- Peter Pettigrew-- is alive?" Remus asked, closing the door to the classroom and pushing the two students to sit at one of the tables.

"Yes!"

"He is. I know Harry's sounds mad, sir, but he's telling the truth," Hermione added.

Though clearly still expressing doubt, Remus nodded. "Right. And have you any proof Wormtail's alive?"

"I would if the map showed the Shrieking Shack," said Harry, his voice cracking somewhat as he pulled at his hair in frustration. He pulled the map out and flipped to the layer of the Hogwarts grounds.

Lupin stared in understanding at the Whomping Willow marked on the parchment. Then he ran a hand through his own brown and silvery hair. "You two understand that I must tell Albus about--"

"If you tell him, he'll just let Fudge kill Padfoot and nothing will be done. Justice won't be served, professor. Fudge has it out for Sirius just as much as he does me," Harry countered. "Fudge put Sirius in Azkaban without a trial! Purposefully!"

"Because Sirius gave himself up to be arrested," said Lupin, rubbing at his temple.

"Arrested, yes. But legally Black should still have received a fair trial, sir. The Minister shouldn't be allowed to throw people into a prison without promising the accused a way to prove innocence. It's not fair," Hermione protested.

Professor Lupin ran a hand down his face, which seemed to be sweating as if he himself was being accused of a crime. He walked over to his desk and once more wiped his brow. "Harry. Hermione. You two are some of my favorite students, and I would love to believe all of this implicitly, but I can't possibly keep this secret from--"

"You won't really have a choice soon, will you?" spoke Harry suddenly.

Remus flinched, remained tense, then sighed. "No. I won't be able to tell him until tomorrow, if that's what you mean. But that doesn't--"

"It does, because if you tell Dumbledore about Sirius, then I'll tell Fudge he hired a monster to teach students this year," Harry said, baring his teeth in anger.

"You wouldn't," Remus growled, swerving on his heel.

"I would. But I won't tell your secret if you don't tell mine, right, Moony?"

Realization dawned for Hermione. "Wait. That's why Professor Snape gave us that essay on werewolves! You're a--"

Lupin stumbled forward, hovering a hand over her and pleading, "D-Don't speak so loudly! Merlin knows who's listening. But yes. I am. And perhaps I was wrong in giving that secret away once already." He glared at Harry.

"And maybe I was wrong in thinking we could trust you to help us save Padfoot. Life's full of disappointments," Harry snapped back. He stood up, looking to Hermione. "We're leaving. Tonight's a full moon, so any minute now he'll be turning, and we still have to save Black."

"You think it's wise to oppose the Minister the way you're intending to, Harry? What would your parents have thought if they knew about this?" the Defense teacher said, paling at the sharp look he received from his student.

"My parents are dead. Because Wormtail betrayed them as their true Secret Keeper. Because Padfoot trusted his friend, who truly was nothing more than a rat, to keep them safe. And Wormtail took it a step further by tricking the world into thinking he was innocent while my last remaining family wallowed away in a jailcell," Harry snarled. "If you think I'm letting my parents down by leaving the choice up to the Minister, then maybe I'm nothing like the Harry you think I am."

Remus stared at the defiant boy stood before him, his face changing from equally frustrated to… somber. "No. No, you definitely aren't. You're no Prongs, that's for certain. Even he had his limits. You… You're a Slytherin. Not a dark wizard, but definitely a cunning one. Not a monster, but you're no saint, either."

"And I don't pretend to be," Harry replied softly.

Hermione grabbed the abandoned diary and map from the table before following after Harry.

"Where are you going?" she asked, grabbing at his wrist to slow him down.

"To the Shrieking Shack," he answered as if it were obvious.

"Harry, no. You know we're not supposed to be seen by our past selves," she argued, forcing him to stop then and there in the middle of the hall.

"Then what do you think we should do, if you're so smart?" he blurted out, wild eyes boring into her.

Her worried frown deepened into offense, but she let it pass at the sight of Harry's waning hope. She could see the dance of emotions, uncertainty and fear chief among them, cross his face as he stared at her hand holding him. Part of her began to understand why he wanted this so badly, because saving Sirius meant having someone who loved him as a family. Someone who wouldn't call him a freak the moment he left Hogwarts.

There was something in that bit of hope that made her realize they were messing with powers far beyond those two teens should be meddling with. Farther past what they should even conceivably know. They were behaving like kids. The revolutionary type she read about in books.

Harry was sparking some sort of change, if Draco was anything to go by.

And maybe that alone was enough to sway Fudge.

"I know exactly what we're going to do."

Draco's steps followed the paw path. Distress. His body boiled. Protested. Legs berated him. Mind pleaded with him. Heart spun within his rib cage, beating against his chest for freedom.

But he did not stop.

The full moon shone in the sky like a spotlight. What sounded like a howling wind warned him of the dangers creeping behind him, scraping cold, bony fingernails across his back like a rake on cement.

They were above him. Headed not for him. They didn't want him. He wasn't their prey. He was an innocent. If he acted as his father told him to, he would have nothing to do with what they were after.

But he had to save Sirius Black. For Harry. For his best friend. His first real friend. The one person he had left to trust.

Merlin, his father would beat him if he saw what Draco was doing.

It didn't matter. His mother would do something to stop Lucius Malfoy from hurting her son. Her protectiveness of him was what made him feel safe around his father. No matter what Lucius did, Narcissa Malfoy would always be the watchful hawk, ensuring order was kept. She was Draco's protector.

And Harry never had someone like that. Until now.

Sirius trusted Peter Pettigrew to keep James and Lily Potter, along with his godson, safe from the Dark Lord and his followers. He would have died to ensure they were safe, rather than give them up for his own protection. Sirius Black was fearless in the face of death. And now, all he wanted was his godson to be safe.

Draco had to admit, he envied Black. He wished he had no fear of death. He wished his thoughts weren't racing miles ahead of him to his inevitable torment at the hands of his father. He would have loved to not have to do any of this in the first place. But he knew he had to.

Harry, a wizard far better than him, deserved this.

His wand gripped tightly in his hand, he pressed on and followed the pawsteps in the dirt that turned into human ones.

The dementors began to circle above like vultures over a decaying corpse. They had their target. Which meant Draco had to move quicker. Any closer and they'd perform a Dementor's Kiss on Black, turning the man into nothing more than a husk.

The spell. What was the incantation? Expectum Patronus? No. Expecto Patronus-- Patronum! Expecto Patronum! And what did Lupin tell him the spell needed?

"A memory. The happiest memory you can think of," Professor Lupin said, his hand pressed down on the chest holding the boggart that would inevitably become a dementor.

"Y-You're sure this will be safe, sir?" asked Draco, taking a cautious step back.

"I'll be right here, should anything happen. If you're not confident you can handle this, we can always try another day. Just because Harry can do it, doesn't mean you have to know too," Lupin assured, easing his hand back slightly.

"N-No! I can do this. If Potter can be fearless, then so can I. I know it!" Draco insisted. He stood up straighter, licked his lips, and held his wand high up.

"It's okay to be scared, Draco."

Hesitation gripped him all at once. "It is?"

"Yes. I know it must be difficult for you. I've heard from certain others that you supposedly take after your father, who they call a coward. I can't say much about him, but from what I've seen from you, I would never pin such a word upon you," the teacher said.

"People expect me to be like him," admitted Draco, gritting his teeth. "I don't want to be."

"And what do you want to be?" Professor Lupin asked with a slight tilt of the head and a smile.

Draco saw the fallen form of Sirius Black lying on the ground at the edge of a lake, barely clinging to himself as a Dementor rushed past.

He had to act. Pull out a great memory. He had to save Black. For Harry.

Something. Anything.

"Me? I'm not…" Draco hummed, uncertain. "For one of my birthdays, I asked my father to take me to one of the Quidditch World Cup games. I'd always wanted to see one, since all the other children spoke about Quidditch.

"When he took me, I was so happy. I didn't care who was playing, but during the match, I said I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to be a Quidditch player and I thought my father approved, since he didn't say anything about it. But later on, when I became obsessed with the sport, he pulled me aside and yelled at me for misbehaving in front of his associates. He told me never to talk to him about Quidditch. He didn't care. He only took me because I begged him to." Draco sighed. "It was the first time I ever felt ashamed.

"I had our house elf Dobby throw away everything Quidditch related in my room, minus the toy broom my mother gifted me. Every night I couldn't sleep, I found myself staring at the bare walls of my room and crying until I exhausted myself. I had no idea my mother had been furiously fighting with my father about the whole ordeal until months later when she asked if I wanted to see an Ireland versus Bulgaria match. By that point, I'd given up on Quidditch and was trying to please my father by being just like him. She seemed disappointed when I asked her instead to set up a playdate between me, Crabbe, and Goyle, since they were the first two kids father approved of me befriending." He looked up at Lupin when he heard the man chuckle.

"So you want to be a star Quidditch player? I've seen you play. You make a fine Beater," the Defense teacher complimented.

"Not really. I mean, thank you, but… seeing Harry and the others play…" He hesitated again, a small blush creeping onto his cheeks. "I… I saw the new Quidditch Seeker for the lions-- the Weasley girl. She… I don't know what came over me during our first match but I… felt something when I saw her. She… She's a natural on her broom. Almost as good as Potter. I feel like an amateur compared to them.

"And anyway… I figured out something else I want to be instead," he declared with a grin.

"What might that be?"

Running over to Sirius Black, he placed a hand on the disheveled man's neck, finding a weak but beating pulse. Draco was thankful he wasn't too late. He knew he had to find help, but to do so meant forfeiting Black's life. It's why he insisted Granger or Longbottom do it instead.

A memory. A good one. One strong enough to withstand the combined might of dozens of dementors swirling in the air above.

"E-Expecto Patronum!" he cried out, his hawthorn wand pointed at the nearest Dementor.

Wisps. A failure.

Not good enough.

"I want to be better than my father. Braver. Heroic like Harry. Smart like Granger. Strong like… like my mother," Draco admitted, gulping away shame. He was better than that. He would not stoop to depths as low as his father's. "A-And I thought… the best way to do that was… to become an Auror."

"Expecto Patronum!" Another attempt, another failure.

Professor Lupin looked at him with a mix of surprise and amusement. "It takes a lot of time and effort to become an Auror, you know. Something like that won't be handed to you just because you want it."

Draco huffed haughtily, back in good spirits. "I know. That's why I'm going to work hard enough that it might as well be."

"Expecto P-Patronum!" His voice faltered as the freezing swarm descended upon him.

The first time his father smiled at him with pride. His mother's love and hugs and gentle words to soothe his fears. The taste of one of her delicious treats. The day he met Vincent, Greg, Pansy, Daphne and Astoria, Blaise, Theodore…

That day in Diagon Alley when he first met Harry.

"Expecto Patronum!" The hand holding his wand burned in protest as he tried, eliciting a harsh scream from deep within him from the pain. He nearly dropped his wand, but held it tight and scrambled back. "Ex-Expect--"

A Dementor rushed down and grabbed him by the neck, sucking at his soul and clawing into his darkest memories.

"W-Wait! I didn't--"

"Stay in here," his father snarled from the doorway before slamming the door shut hard enough to make it tremble at the hinges.

Mother wasn't home. She was far from here, in Bulgaria with her friends.

Father knew this and was taking full advantage of it. While his associates were here, he expected Draco on his best behavior, and one toe out of line meant punishment. In his room, locked away from everyone until his father's associates were gone.

Draco wanted out. He wanted mother. He wanted her love and protection. He wanted home.

What was he thinking? He was home!

But without mother, this wasn't really home. This was hell.

Draco coughed and sputtered as he fell back, a wave of nausea striking him in the gut as the Dementor disappeared into the spiral of darkness above.

What was he doing? He was supposed to be doing something. Where was his wand? In his hand. He had-- no, he needed-- to do something. Think! Think of something!

"E-E-Expect… Expecto! Patronum!" he tried again, feeling his effort bite back at his arm. As if a dragon clamped its jaws around his arm and breathed fire on it. He screamed, but even with tears in his eyes, he didn't want to lose.

For Harry.

"Expecto Patronum!" Those searing teeth wrenched at his arm, trying to pull it straight off. He would not let it take him. He switched hands. "Expecto Pa--"

Another Dementor grabbed at his hair and pulled, forcing him to face it.

"You're such a baby, Malfoy! A chicken! A coward!" exclaimed Zabini.

"Am not!" Draco protested, stomping his foot into the dirt as the two other boys and Parkinson laughed at him.

"I bet you like to hide behind your precious father because you think he's so brave," Nott teased. "But you should see your father when he's at my house. He's always shaking like a twig in a storm."

"That's not true! My father's the bravest wizard in the world!"

"Merlin help us if he's the bravest wizard! I bet a puffskein could scare him out of bed!" Pansy taunted through her giggles.

"No, no, no! He's not scared of anything! My father is--"

"Liar. Everyone knows he's scared of the Dark Lord, at the very least."

Gasping for air after having been dropped face-first into the lake's edge, Draco felt his spark of determination dwindle.

He was weak. Weak. And confused. And tired. So tired. If he could simply close his eyes and never wake back up, that'd be brilliant. Nothing to worry about or fear if he was dead.

No! He couldn't die! Not yet! He still had so much left to do!

"Ex… pecto… P…" He couldn't even lift his arm up to produce a wisp, much less an incorporeal patronus. He fell on his side, a desperate rush of relief overtaking him as he gave up.

Like a coward. A soft-bellied fool who thought he could be a hero.

He whined, eyes glazing over as cold, bitter darkness sunk down to swallow him whole.

"Harry, don't! You promised not to--!"

"Expecto Patronum!"

The bright light of the phoenix erupting from Harry's wand blindsided the dementors surrounding both his unconscious best friend and his godfather. The brilliant bird made chase to ensure none of them dared to return, lest they desire to meet the sharp end of its mighty beak and talons.

"Harry! What were you thinking? Draco could've seen you!" exclaimed Hermione as she sprinted over to grab his arm and drag him back towards the tree they'd been hiding behind.

"They were going to kill him! What would you rather I'd have done instead?" Harry said despairingly. His gaze was set upon the blond lying by the water.

Hermione tried pulling him back under the invisibility cloak, to no avail.

"Harry, they’ll be finding us any minute. You need to--" She practically jumped out of her skin from the heavy, animalistic snort on her shoulder, shrieking and letting the cloak flutter uselessly towards the ground at the paws of the beast behind her.

"Moony?" spoke Harry cautiously, both he and Hermione watching as the werewolf that was normally their Defense teacher eyed them with hesitantancy.

Lupin padded closer, careful to avoid the cloak. His pointed expression shifted to the two bodies at the edge of the lake, more specifically Padfoot's. At first, he bared his teeth threateningly, only stopping when he saw Harry's reciprocation. Understanding crept across his face and he lumbered along past them, towards Sirius.

Harry tensed, wand gripped tight at the ready.

But their professor-turned-wolf did not attack. Instead, Remus howled, solemn yet resolute. The sound sent shivers down their spines. Then, the werewolf laid down by Sirius, staring at his childhood friend.

"He's… What is he…" Harry muttered.

"That's-- Harry, we need to go now! Dumbledore knows he's a werewolf. Professor Lupin's called for them to come find us!" Hermione exclaimed when realization struck her. Finally, her efforts were rewarded when Harry followed her into the forest, away from themselves, Sirius, Draco, the Whomping Willow. All of it. She was quick to grab the cloak on the way, but they wasted no time putting it over themselves.

They had to be up in the castle without being seen in about an hour. They had to confront the Minister and Headmaster about Sirius Black’s innocence.

"What was that?" said Harry suddenly as they passed a clearing.

Loud squawking and yelps of pain.

"Is that…" He tensed. As did Hermione.

"Stop it, you useless pile of feathers! I-I'm trying-- You need to-- I'll-- Ouch! Stop!"

Pettigrew.

And Buckbeak!

The hippogriff reeled back and snapped its beak at Wormtail. It obviously was in distress, haggard and upset to have been stolen from its home, tied to a tree in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, and likely abandoned there for nearly a whole day.

Hermione had half a mind to attack Peter on the spot herself. Berating an animal and treating it so poorly. That was unforgivable on its own. She knew Harry was barely keeping himself grounded to the spot, if his trembling was anything to go by. If she let go of his arm…

"Harry. We need to be careful about this. I know you want to catch him, but--"

"Buckbeak needs saving first," Harry stated calmly.

That was the most rational thing he'd said so far. She was almost speechless. But she didn't want to squander the moment of clarity. "Yes."

He swallowed a hard lump, the thought of letting Peter getting away again clearly paining him, but he nodded.

"Expelliarmus!" they both shouted after he tossed off the invisibility cloak, their spells knocking Pettigrew away from the angered animal.

The bumbling traitor grunted in pain as he hit a tree before falling to the ground.

"Buckbeak," Hermione called as she hurried over to the creature. When it screeched at her, she froze, remembering the lesson Hagrid gave them once more. Her gaze focused on the hippogriff, met by its own similarly frantic one. Wide orange eyes bore into her as she bowed, mentally begging it to cooperate.

"Stay down," Harry growled as he crept towards the rope holding the beast to the tree. Buckbeak hadn't noticed Harry yet thankfully. It left him with all the freedom to untie it.

"Please, Buckbeak. We're here to help you. Hagrid hasn't had time to come find you, but he misses you," she pleaded.

The hippogriff seemed to perk up at the mentioning of its caretaker, raking one of its taloned feet across the ground in an attempt to get closer to her. Nearby squeaks broke its attention away from Hermione momentarily to hunt the escaping rodent animagus.

Wormtail darted towards Harry.

"No, no. Over here, Buckbeak!" Hermione cried, waving her arms to capture the hippogriff's focus again.

It snapped its sharp beak at her threateningly. Its wings unfurled so it could appear larger.

Hermione kept her head down, blinking once-- twice-- and staring at the animal like her life depended on it.

The reins around the hippogriff slackened. It was loose. Buckbeak charged forward, flapping its wings.

"Move!"

She screamed, scrambling out of the way. Her heart pounded in her chest when she saw the hippogriff spin around, throw itself back with talons ready to slice, then stomp them down and kick its hind legs up instead.

"Stop! Buckbeak! It's me!" Harry shouted, holding on to the creature's back with all his strength. He soothed at the frightened animal attempting to kick him off. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Buckbeak, it's alright! You're safe!"

"You should have let me--"

"No time, Hermione! We need to-- Buckbeak, stop!"

The hippogriff huffed and snorted, but quit fighting with each gentle pat and scratch beneath the feathers Harry gave it. Looking at the wizard on its back, recognition passed its features. Though still agitated, it calmed enough for Harry to get a better grip of its reins.

"Thank you, Buckbeak. I'm sure Hagrid will be happy to see you when we get back, okay?" Harry said evenly.

Once more, the hippogriff chirped excitedly when hearing the name.

Harry grinned and looked down at Hermione, holding a hand out towards her. "Let's get going."

"R-Right."

Dumbledore held his tongue as he listened to Fudge argue with Minerva and Hagrid.

After having found the students out long past sundown by the Whomping Willow, nearly all of them passed out with Sirius Black along with them, the old wizard wasn't quite sure what was happening anymore. The conflicting details of the night were starting to wear on his mind.

Hearing Black beg for mercy and plead to him, Albus Dumbledore, to speak with the children, to find Pettigrew, was an odd thing. Albus was sure Pettigrew was dead. What would the students know of a wizard that Black himself had committed to death?

The Boy-Who-Lived, Neville Longbottom, was the only one who was conscious at the time of finding the students, minus Lupin, who was a pacified werewolf. The boy spoke nothing, barely able to after Dumbledore fended off the dementors attacking him. He was able to say he was fine and where to find the others, but lost the strength to stay awake minutes later.

Ronald Weasley seemed to have taken the worst of whatever happened to them all. Poppy had nearly assumed Remus bit the poor boy, but with no blood in the werewolf's mouth or on his paws, as well as no changes occurring with the youngest Weasley lad, the medi-witch's worry was abated.

None of Dumbledore's questions were answered. Yet.

When the students awoke, he hoped, they would explain everything.

"Are you listening to me, Albus?" roared Cornelius, waggling his cane at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore hummed and gave a solemn nod.

"Good, because when the Board of Governors hears about the fact you allowed a werewolf to teach in this school, there will be repercussions. I may come to think soon that perhaps Governor Malfoy was correct and you have gone senile," the Minister snarled.

Severus seemed put off by this, much to Dumbledore's amusement. "Minister, as much as I would be delighted to admit hiring a man like Lupin was a horrid idea, there aren't… many willing to teach the subject at the standard the school requires."

Those were the very words Albus had used when Snape confronted him, questioning why on earth the Headmaster would hire one of Severus' old school rivals.

"Then perhaps I can offer a few volunteers of my own," Fudge grumbled. "There needs to be some better security around this school, even without the Azkaban guards. I'll have Bones and her department look into the matter once Black is--"

A shimmer caught Albus' attention. "Oh?"

"What?" Cornelius said, turning his head with the other adults surrounding Dumbledore to the two children suddenly appearing before them.

"Black is innocent, sir!" shouted Hermione Granger.

"You can't execute him, Minister! You've got the wrong man!" added Harry Potter.

Madam Pomfrey looked behind her, into the hospital wing proper, and gasped.

They had somehow gotten out of the room without any of them noticing. Not that Albus didn't immediately have a hunch as to what they might have used to escape.

"I knew it! Potter has been the one helping Black in and out of the castle!" Cornelius concluded with a stomp of his foot.

"I have not! I thought Sirius had been the one to kill my parents! I would have never helped him even if he was my godfather!" Harry protested, baring his teeth as he did.

"Then how did Black get in? The werewolf? Apparated in?"

"Ask him yourself, Minister, when you give Sirius Black a fair and just trial, rather than simply executing him or throwing him in Azkaban like you did before," Hermione countered defiantly.

"Black doesn't need a trial! He's an undeniable murderer!" Fudge shoved past the rest of the teachers in a furious rage. "And I don't need a maladjusted child and his equally delusional friend to tell me how to do my job as Minister!"

"Is it not part of wizard law to prevent innocent witches and wizards from being put to death by examining every and all possibilities of a crime, no matter how farfetched? I'm sure you of all people would have read up on such laws, Minister, and would be able to site the trials that lead up to such a law coming to pass," Ms. Granger continued, her tone calm and concise. "Unless you'd rather act like a Muggle and throw any 'maladjusted' wizard to the stake so they can burn and you can look right in the papers."

The wicked smile from both students brought a chuckle out of Dumbledore. He knew neither of them would admit it, but they were a bright pair of troublemakers.

"You find it amusing, don't you, Albus?" Fudge spoke with a sneer, turning back to the Headmaster. "I shouldn't be surprised. First all the nonsense about Horcruxes and You-Know-Who still being alive. Now this. I've let you get away with too much, Albus. I won't have any of it continue any further. I'll definitely be contacting the Board of Governors in the morning--"

Another child slipped past Poppy, though more obvious this time. "And I'll have my mother and father see to it that you're no longer Minister!" declared Draco Malfoy after pushing through Dumbledore and Snape.

"What?" Cornelius said, paling at the sight of the very son of one of those Governors.

"You should know, Fudge, that my mother was a Black before she married my father. She's one of the few surviving members of the Black family line. If she found out the remaining heir of the Blacks wasn't given a fair trial because of you?" Draco chuckled darkly. "Well, I'm sure there are many eager witches and wizards willing to take your place as Minister of Magic."

The man deflated quickly, all his fury and nerve disappearing at the mere mention of his loss of power.

It was spectacular, the sheer bravery and wit stood before Albus, as well as greatly entertaining. These students certainly were the right sort to keep around young Longbottom, even if his guardian disapproved. And perhaps, as much as he knew young Potter would loathe to hear it, Albus had made a wise choice putting him with his Muggle family. If it meant he was friendly with Ms. Granger, then Dumbledore only hoped their bond would strengthen with time as much as Harry's clearly had with young Malfoy.

As the final days of May approached, Neville was all the more eager to escape Hogwarts and return home.

This year was a disaster he never wanted to relive ever again.

The threat of death. Finding out the supposed murderer after him was actually an innocent while his best friend's pet was the one to have done wrong. Killing a snake. Not feeling like he truly belonged with anyone.

He felt horrid, run ragged, unsafe. He was shocked to have learned that he passed most of his exams, minus Potions.

"So you're settled on Arithmancy still? Nothing I can do to convince you at all?" Hermione asked Harry on their way back from the last Hogsmeade trip of that year.

"'Mione, I already toed the line with Snape after asking Dumbledore about it. I think I'll be fine with Arithmancy, Creatures, and Muggle Studies. Besides, I'll finally be able to have a class with Tracey next year without Malfoy or Parkinson around to bother us," said Harry, earning a teasing shove of the head from Draco.

"Oh, but Ancient Runes is so much more interesting, Harry. Didn't you say it helped you translate the Marauder's Map?"

Neville sighed, drowning out the conversation with the thought of finally going home for the summer. At least with Gran he felt loved and wanted. Nowadays the only people that liked him were Ron, Hermione, Seamus, and Dean. He wasn't sure what sort of friendship he had with Harry, considering how harshly the other boy had scolded him before their confrontation with Black.

"Merlin, I can't believe you two were hiding a whole Time Turner from us. Dad told me they were something the Ministry didn't even give out to their employees," Ron said from behind Harry and Draco.

"I would hope so. Those things are dangerous, even in the most trusted hands. I've heard stories from father of wizards going mad using them," Draco added.

It still baffled Neville that any of them trusted Malfoy at all. His father was a Death Eater (allegedly, according to Neville's uncle, and most obviously, according to Hagrid). How he was friends with Harry especially made no sense. Just because Sirius Black wasn't the one to have sold out the Potters' location didn't change the fact that Death Eaters still killed Harry's parents. If Neville really wanted to, he could have easily made it known to Harry that Draco's father had to have been one of the ones responsible for the murders.

That had to be what the Malfoys wanted. Draco probably had some ulterior motive in mind to use Harry for. Did Voldemort know that Harry was a Parselmouth because of Draco and his father? Were the Malfoys the ones to have orchestrated Tom's diary landing in Harry's hands?

Was Trelawney's prediction during Neville's Divination exam about Peter Pettigrew, Lucius Malfoy, or some one else? Who was the Dark Lord's servant? Was it Harry?

"Really absurd that Professor Lupin can't keep teaching because he's a werewolf. If Professor Snape can keep creating a tonic that keeps him safe during full moons, then there honestly shouldn't be a problem," Hermione stated as they entered Hogwarts.

"Can't say I agree. Learning Lupin was a werewolf… I knew he was odd somehow, but that's far more horrifying," said Ron.

"He's the best Defense teacher we've had. Besides, we have Peeves mucking about and Professor Hagrid as a Magical Creatures teacher. I think a werewolf isn't as bad as everyone's making it out to be," Draco countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You think your father could make the other governors see that?" Harry questioned hopefully.

"I don't think I can convince father of that, even with mother's help."

Neville did feel bad after hearing about Lupin being forced to resign. Even if he was a werewolf, it didn't change the fact that Professor Lupin proved himself the best. Whenever Snape was in charge of the class, Neville and Ron skirted out and borrowed Hermione's notes after. It just wouldn't be the same. It just wasn't.

None of it would be.

Harry stared at the Marauder's Map as he walked along the path further into the dungeons. If he did it right, pressed into the exact stone brick, and waited, then the new piece should show him entering the secret passage to the Chamber. That is, if he figured out the magic of the map like he'd hoped.

If Maura, the slippery brown snake coiled around his neck, was to be believed, Salazar Slytherin hid another secret pipe way to the Chamber's entrance near the Slytherin common room. All he had to do was find the right stone brick in the wall with a subtle crack that looked inconspicuously close enough to a snake. Then, like the passageway beneath the false sink in the abandoned bathroom, Harry would easily have access to the Chamber once more.

"There, young snake," hissed Maura, pointing her snout towards a dead end of the dungeon's corridor.

Stepping closer with the light of his wand just above his head, Harry saw it. Just as described, the chipped stone was set low to the floor. Easily hidden from view, unless one knew where to look. The light cast the barest of shadows upon the crack that showed clearer the secret entrance Salazar Slytherin had hid.

"Give it a command," the snake suggested.

Harry swallowed his eager anticipation and whispered, "Let me in."

The cold, bare wall seemed to shift like bubbles in water. Each brick shimmered and rumbled, then the S-shaped crack appeared to slither across the stone. In creating a half circle on the wall, it made the wall part to reveal enough space for the Basilisk to fit through. A perfect passageway to the Chamber of Secrets.

One that Harry hoped he'd drawn into the map right from the description Maura told him.

Looking back at said map, he saw himself stood at the end of the hall, then unfolded the piece he added in that merely suggested a way to the Chamber. Licking his lips, he shuffled forward. His name on the map followed.

Another step and he'd normally hit the wall. Then he entered.

And his name slipped onto the newly attached piece.

"Yes," he spoke, soft but triumphant. He made his way down the path until his name faded beyond the limit of the piece, then folded the map up and shoved it in the back pocket of his pajamas. Feeling all the more confident in himself, he began to sprint, his shoes eventually splashing into water.

"Careful, young snake. Too much arrogance may hurt you," Maura warned, tightening her lithe form around his neck to avoid slipping herself.

"Right. Right," he said, pressing a hand against the wall of the pipe to keep steady. "Where exactly does this one lead to?"

"A path deep inside the Chamber. It resides near the nest of many snakes devoted to Mother, mine included."

That brought up a thought Harry had left in the back of his mind from the first time he'd been in the Chamber of his own accord. "How many snakes are there down here?"

"Until recently, not many. Most of us strayed in the wilderness abound, basking in light until we felt the call of Mother to the Chamber. While she nurtured us in days past, we saw no need or desire to stay beyond our youths when the world above proved bountiful. When she spoke for our return, she spoke of you and what you'd accomplished for our kind. You gave us a purpose to be here, to stay and foster the Chamber into the proper sanctuary the First Master wanted it to be," she explained, her beady little eyes gleaming with hope.

"All that because I defied Voldemort taking over my body?"

"The Heir might seek the Chamber as a birthright by blood, but that blood was cursed by an irreverence of pure magic. It was tainted and twisted like the vagaries of the First Master's values. You closer exemplify those true values while also being of his house and speaking our tongue. That is why Mother called to us. We need you, young snake. Young Harry Potter. Salazar Slytherin, our First Master, wanted to foster a future wizard kind with those of pure magic," Maura elaborated.

His shoes sloshed into a deep puddle of water and he shivered at the coldness. A distinct contrast to the warmth above. He must have been far below the castle at this point.

"You say 'pure magic' and not pureblood. Is there a difference?" he asked as he cautiously slid deeper in.

"Purity of blood is a myth. None can be wholly pure no matter the circumstance. Magic, however, can be. It is what determines the power of witches and wizards. The purer the magic within them, the stronger they are."

"Did Riddle have pure magic?"

"I cannot say myself if he did. I'm sure Mother would know, though if whispers from other snakes are to be believed, he must have, despite lacking care for it. The four founders had pure magic. The First Master saw it within his companions and spoke highly of it, but saw them allow those with impure magic, sullied in comparison, and rejected them from his own house during his time."

"Were they Muggleborn or half-bloods? My history book says Slytherin shunned them if they weren't born of witch and wizard. A lot of people say he hated them, which is where all the blood purity stuff came from," Harry clarified.

Maura hummed. "Perhaps they might have been. Again, I do not know for certain as that was far before my time, but there may have been a correlation that lead to an exaggeration and perpetuity of it now. The First Master was also quite eccentric, even for the time, so he may not have been looked kindly upon by his companions and peers, despite being well-respected enough to be considered an equal amongst them."

Harry considered this as the damp path opened to an oddly shaped pit full of dry grass and rough stones. There were snakes curled up every few inches in any direction here, surrounding themselves with the bare foliage and rock and each other. He saw various slit-eyed gazes look upon him as he entered.

Whispers through the awoken serpents made Harry hesitate for a moment as he tried to discern a few of them and determine if he was okay to continue, but Maura urged him to keep moving with a nudge against his chin. He shouldn't have had to worry, but part of him couldn't help it. These were real snakes. As much as he didn't mind them, he was still reminded that the ability to understand them was (as far as he understood) unique to him, Voldemort, and Runespoor wranglers in Africa. Not long ago, he might have avoided snakes like any other person.

Now he was communing with them. Now he was respected by them.

Maybe Mother and Maura were right. Maybe he was different from other wizards. In more than simply him being a Parselmouth or a Slytherin.

"My young snake. How pleasant to see you here once again," greeted the Queen of snakes when he found the Chamber proper, with the giant statue of Slytherin and pool of water, the wizard's favored element, residing in the middle.

"Likewise, Mother," he replied with a smile.

"I am delighted to have heard of your success in completing your quest," she said while easing herself closer to him, her dark, poisonous green scales glistening in the light of Harry's wand. Her pale yellow eyes gazed upon him with a sense of pride, which blossomed a wonderous feeling of accomplishment within him.

"I promised I would and it certainly helped that I have friends who trust me by my side. Without them, I surely would have made a grave mistake," he said, thinking of Hermione and Draco. Even Ron, bearing the brunt of physical agony with his bitten leg, was loyal enough to put his faith in Harry, if only after learning the truth about his pet rat.

"Yes. Your companions prove quite useful. And I hope my snakes have earned your favour? Sipedon and Maura yearn to accompany you like Asclepius once did and a little Gardener says he has known you for quite some time. There is even an old boa that speaks highly of you for aiding his escape from captivity," Mother stated.

Maura, seeming embarrassed, buried her head in the collar of Harry’s shirt.

Old boa? Where had-- The one from the zoo? Harry was shocked it had made it all the way here, much less remembered him. Then again, he lived in a world of magic. A lot was possible.

"I don't know if the Muggles I live with will be fond of me having a snake in their house, as fun as it would be to see their reactions," Harry said, his mind momentarily flashing back to Aunt Petunia finding him in the garden speaking to an upset snake before whacking him and tossing him into the cupboard. The horrid memory alone made his head hurt. 

"So I've been told," Mother drawled. "Then I suppose my children will simply have to find you in secret. Make yourself discrete to your guardians and, should they cause you trouble, let it be known to them that you have a better guardian watching over you who will not hesitate to strike with every drop of venom she has."

The threat made Harry gulp, though the thought of the Dursleys encountering the Queen of snakes certainly did bring a smile to his face.

The final evening feast before the students departed in the morning was a rather quiet one compared to the other two years. Harry could feel a strange tension in the air. No one entirely knew which house would be winning the House Cup this year. The Slytherins had been given a decent lead the past two times, but Gryffindor would strike them out because of the Boy-Who-Lived being given more than he frankly deserved.

This year, somehow, even with Slytherin winning the Quidditch Cup, both houses were tied. Warrington chalked it up to Dumbledore throwing a point or two at a lion for sneezing in a funny way.

No banners were hanging from the enchanted ceiling. Neither Head of House seemed pleased. No one was sure what the Headmaster would pull out of his old arse to show his favoritism to Neville Longbottom, especially when it had been extremely clear this year that the boy had done nothing useful.

When the moment finally came where the old wizard stood from his seat and presented himself at his podium to announce a winner, everyone became deathly silent.

"In all my years at this school, whether as a student, as a teacher, or as Headmaster, I have never seen the exact tallying of House points lead to two in the winning position. It is, therefore, in my opinion, no better time to award a few more to deserving students like today," spoke Dumbledore, earning a few boo's and hisses from the Slytherin table.

"Can't wait to hear his justification for Longbottom's victory this time," muttered Blaise to Theo, though enough for the rest of the third years to hear.

"Five galleons he leaves Longbottom for last," Theo whispered back.

"First…"

"Deal," Zabini replied with a smug smirk and handshake.

Harry leaned into the table. "Ten galleons he mentions Granger or Weasley to add to their score."

Blaise and Theo glanced at each other then seemed to silently agree, if their grins were any indication.

"Make it five and it's a deal, Potter," Nott said once they looked back to Harry. "If he says both, then it'll be ten. But I'm certain he'll only mention the mudblood, since Weasley's gotten himself bitten by a werewolf."

Harry almost wanted to refute that rumor, but…

"For sheer cunning and resourcefulness in the face of authority, I award 50 points to Hermione Granger," Dumbledore continued, unaware of the current chatter between the snakes.

Ten galleons slid across the table towards Harry within seconds and he couldn't hold back his wicked smile. All the while everyone at the Gryffindor table cheered.

"For his courage and daringness against all who stood against him, 50 points--"

"That was fast," Daphne grumbled.

"-- to Harry Potter."

Harry felt a stillness in the air around him for a second as the realization sunk in. No one had expected his name to escape the Headmaster's mouth.

Sounding more uproarious than the Gryffindors, the Slytherins around him cheered.

"And finally, since it seems the score is still evenly matched, I bestow ten points, for bravery and loyalty above all else, to one Draco Malfoy," concluded Dumbledore, further confounding everyone in his audience.

But that meant…

"Draco," Harry said in excitement, "we did it! We've won the House Cup!" He shook his best friend when he saw the other boy frozen in shock next to him.

"We won?"

"Yes! We won our house the cup!"

The joy sparked from Harry seemed to spread like a fire throughout the others. Between all of them, no one's pride could quite match the two of theirs. It was brilliant and glorious.

By the end of the evening, Harry's face hurt from smiling so much, but he couldn't help it. His happiness almost didn't let him sleep. His euphoria was infectious, since no matter which of the other houses came up to congratulate him and Draco, he was always greeted with a smile.

Now this was a year he was never going to forget.

"Promise you'll write over the summer?" Tracey asked before they exited the train.

"Definitely. And I'll warn you now, Hedwig doesn't like giving letters to people unless they prove they're trustworthy, so you'll probably have to spare a few treats early on," Harry jokingly admitted.

They both laughed before Harry let her hand slip out of his and she departed towards her family.

He sighed as he hopped out, resigned to meet his fate with the Dursleys for another torturous summer. He hadn't heard a peep back from Sirius after the Minister and a few Aurors took him away. He'd read what the Daily Prophet wrote about Sirius' capture and the successful consideration of a trial with a Penseive and the truth potion Veritaserum. It was an immediate improvement over the absolute nothing given before, but it didn't mean Harry was out of the Dursley hold. As much as Harry had hoped that just maybe the promise of freedom from Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley would turn out to be true, he knew that was simply idealism. He should have learned.

But, if only for a little while longer, he'd avoid Vernon. He wanted to meet with Hermione's parents for a bit, since they were nice. Maybe he could talk to Draco's mother and father. He promised Malfoy on the train ride home that he'd stay over for at least the second half of summer if he was still stuck with the Dursleys. The first half would probably be spent being dragged away by Mrs. Weasley, since Ron warned Harry she'd been furious with Dumbledore for Harry's unnecessary mistreatment last summer.

As much as Harry appreciated the sentiment, he wished he could have a place of his own to call home. Somewhere he could be safe on his own terms. He couldn't have that with Hermione, Draco, or Ron's homes.

A bright ball of orange fur pounced onto his chest and Harry smiled. "I'll miss you too, Crookshanks."

"It's not as if you'll be far. I'm sure he'll find a way to your window every other week," Hermione teased as she pet the happy cat in his arms.

Michael Granger greeted Harry with a warm smile of his own. "Good to see you safe, Harry. I heard from a certain bird that you were causing my daughter a fair amount of trouble again this year."

"Daddy…"

"No, no. It's fine. As long as you're both safe and happy now, that's all that matters. Do know, dear, that we will be having a long talk about boys on the drive home," the man declared.

Hermione groaned and rolled her eyes, scooping Crookshanks out of Harry's arms for comfort.

"Write me all the details of that chat when you get home, won't you, Hermione?" Harry teased, earning a hard glare from his best friend before she departed.

He made his way over to Draco, who surprisingly stood with his house elf rather than his parents.

"What's wrong?" he asked his other best friend.

Draco sighed. "Father has associates over at the manor and mother's busy at the Ministry. I'll be apparating home with Dobby this time around." He sounded none too enthused with the situation at hand.

"'Ello, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby greeted with a warm smile.

"Hi, Dobby. You know, I don't think I ever thanked you for your help last summer," he said.

"Oh! Needn't thank Dobby, sir! Dobby was only doing as the young master requested," the elf protested, nodding sheepishly.

"Right. Well, I also heard you sent that Bludger at me a year ago so I suppose it evens out," Harry remembered aloud.

"Yes, and for that, Dobby beat himself with a paddle for an entire week of evenings as punishment. As much as Dobby knew there was a danger at Hogwarts, that was no excuse to harm a wizard." Dobby wrung his spindly fingers against his potato sack clothing.

"Let's go, Dobby. Father will be expecting me home soon," Draco stated firmly, his sense of dread only worsening.

"Of course, young master Draco!"

"Draco," Harry called to the blond as Dobby grabbed the other boy's luggage.

Malfoy looked up at his friend.

Harry rushed forward, hugging Draco. "Thank you. For everything. You don't know how much you sticking with me meant throughout this whole bloody year."

He heard Draco laugh in his ear and when he pulled away, he saw tears.

After another minute of temporary goodbyes, Draco was gone in an instant.

Harry rubbed away a few sniffles and tears of his own before he felt confident enough to walk over to the last family on his list before he eventually had to meet his summer doom.

"-- able to speak to the Minister before he left. He said he could look into finding me a position in a year or even less. Can you believe it, mother?" Percy spoke excitedly.

"Yes, yes, mummy dearest! Can't you hear it?" a twin shrilled.

"Percy-wercy's going to be the biggest head in the Ministry there is!" added the other, equally as mocking.

"Absolutely massive!"

"Ginormous!"

"Enough, you two!" Mrs. Weasley shouted to Fred and George. "No more teasing your older brother. At least he's been thinking about his future prospects. How many O.W.L.s did you two earn this year?" There lack of a proper response was all she clearly needed to hear. "Why don't you make yourselves useful and push some of the luggage back to the car?" She shooed both of them off, much to their feigned annoyance.

"Did father get the car properly registered while we were gone?" Percy questioned snappily as the twins bustled off.

"Yes, dear. He had to. Might have lost his job if he hadn't. He's simmered down over it now that work's kept him busy all of a sudden. Plenty of--" Mrs. Weasley caught sight of Harry as he found Ron and Ginny. "Ah! Harry, sweetheart! Good to see you smiling after everything you've been through." She pulled the boy into her loving embrace.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said.

"Where's dad?" asked Ron, looking confused.

"He's had to pop off to fetch someone. Rather important he did considering the circumstances of the whole ordeal," Molly answered cryptically, patting Harry's head as she let him free.

"Who?" questioned Ginny, as curious as the rest of the children.

Mrs. Weasley assured, "Oh, not anyone you need to worry about, dear. It's only--" A great gust of air behind the woman startled the daylights out of her and everyone else. When she turned, she gave a hardened glare to the man behind her. "A little bit of warning would be greatly appreciated!"

Arthur Weasley gave his wife a sheepish smile as she slapped his shoulder. "Sorry, love. Wasn't my idea, honest. It was… well…" He moved aside, bringing his arm around the laughing man next to him.

Harry almost didn't recognize the man from the disheveled ghoul he had rescued not but a week and a half ago. Clean shaven, washed, hair trimmed to a slightly shorter length, and fitting in a proper suit rather than skinny and in all torn up rags.

But it was still unmistakably him. Sirius Black.

"Molly! I haven't the foggiest clue what Arthur's on about. I didn't see you there," Sirius deflected with a mischievous smirk. His gaze shifted from the pouting witch to the children and more specifically, his godson. "Harry…"

There wasn't much Harry could think to do besides take the strong yet desperate hug until it properly clicked that the wizard was not only here but here for him.

Him. This was his. His guardian. Protector. Someone he could trust with his life. An adult he could trust. Someone who cared for him just like his parents would have. Someone his parents trusted to take care of him as they would.

Mine.

And he greedily took his godfather's embrace, knowing that, for once in his life, Harry was home.

She was pulled up to sit in front of him and it took everything in her power not to squeak in fear as Harry tugged at the reins.

Buckbeak snorted and unfurled its large silver wings. It stamped its sharp front legs into the dirt in excitement. The wind around them seemed to match the hippogriff's eagerness to soar.

Hermione was not so. She had a preference for solid ground, if she was being honest. Flying with Harry two years ago had been the worst flying experience she'd had so far. Her use of his Firebolt over the summer was a close second. She did not want a third.

Oh, Merlin, why couldn't this be a real horse or a unicorn? Something that didn't have the tendency to go more than a foot or two off the ground at most.

Her fright must have been evident to Harry, since he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. You can close your eyes if you're scared, but I'll make sure you're safe, alright?"

Though her tension was eased only slightly, she nodded, her head turned to glance at him for a second before she saw those mighty wings once more moved. Flapping. Her heart began to race in tandem with each one.

With a kick, Harry signaled the beast to take flight.

And take flight it did.

Charging forward, Buckbeak sprang into the air and with harsh beats of its massive wings, they past the tree tops.

Hermione, taking Harry's advice, shut her eyes. "Oh, no. I don't like this. I really, really don't like this!"

"There's nothing to be scared of! Look! We're not far off!" Harry reassured, nudging her arm.

She dared to open an eye and check, wishing immediately that she hadn't when she saw Headmaster Dumbledore, Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Hagrid, and even the Minister down below with their unconscious forms. The spinning her head felt when she pulled her gaze back up from the ground so far below was enough to toss her stomach over. Then the fact, not of where, but when they were, collided with her faster than the ground would if she slipped off Buckbeak.

"There's--! Harry, we can't land in the castle yet! They still haven't brought us in!" she shrieked, paling considerably.

"Then that means--" Harry actually laughed as he spoke. "-- that we'll just have to keep flying for longer!"

"No!" she whined.

His mirth died down after Buckbeak squawked in glee. His arms fastened around her, hands still tight around the hippogriff's reins.

All the while, hers were probably pulling some of Buckbeak's neck feathers out.

"Hermione," he said against her ear, tightening the tense knot of nervousness in her gut. "Remember the day we first met?"

Her eyes widened as she stared at the back of Buckbeak's neck. "I-I do."

"You saved my life that day, you know?" He chuckled, probably at the memory of it all. "Gave me hope that one day I'd be free from the Dursleys. That there were people out in the world that cared, even when they didn't have to. It made me feel like I wasn't alone in the world for once."

"Because you should never feel like you're alone," she interjected, furrowing her brow.

"Nevertheless," he continued, "you helped me a lot. And I think about that day ever so often because of it. Usually whenever I'm on my broom."

She turned her head around again to show her interest in an explanation.

"When you had me ride with you on your bike. With the speed you were going and all the happiness I felt… All your kindness and compassion… It felt like I was flying," he said simply.

Her eyes dragged themselves away from him, down towards his arms around her. Her hands loosened from grey feathers and placed themselves on his hands.

"I wanted to do more," she admitted quickly, her gaze darting back up to meet his. "When dad drove off, I asked him if you'd really be safe there, with your aunt and uncle. He said he wasn't sure, but there wouldn't be much to do unless we had better evidence. After that day, I wanted to go back and find you. Make sure you were safe.

"When McGonagall arrived with my Hogwarts letter, I became so caught up in-- well-- the magic of it all. Then one night, close to the end of summer, I thought about you and what I might've been able to do once I was back from my first year. I thought maybe I could save you with magic, but then I remembered I couldn't because Muggles couldn't know about magic. But I argued with myself that your safety was more important than secrets or magic and I biked back to Privet Drive…" She swallowed a hard lump of frustration. It always seemed to form whenever she thought about the abuse Harry had to suffer from the Dursleys.

"But by then we were already gone," Harry whispered to conclude her tale.

She nodded and sighed.

"I have to admit I was the same way; swept up in the magic. So when we found each other before the Sorting, it felt like a relief. I know you might find it hard to believe, Hermione, but I'm really not a fan of keeping secrets," he said, his tone becoming less serious as he spoke.

And she couldn't hold back the disbelieving laugh that came out of her.

"It did seem to bring me back to that day though. It made me think that maybe we knew. Maybe our magic knew. Some part of us felt that connection," he thought aloud. "And maybe it did, maybe it didn't. But it certainly felt great. So I think about it when I'm flying during practice."

"Why?"

"Because it makes me happy. You're one of my first real friends, Hermione. Between you and Draco, and maybe Ron and Neville, there aren't many others I can really call friends," he answered plainly.

She turned to stare up at the sky and the stars above in thought. "But what about the rest of your house? Aren't you friends with them?" she questioned.

"Are you?"

"Touché," she replied. Then another name crept to mind. "What about Tracey?"

He hesitated, blushing. "Tracey is… different. Complicated. We've… sort of… bonded because of what happened last year. Tom liked manipulating her as much as he did me so… we ended up talking a bit about it with one another until… well…" He shrugged.

Hermione rolled her eyes and giggled. "So she's more than a friend?"

"I suppose," he said sheepishly, then his eyes widened. "Not that it takes anything away from our friendship or anything!"

"Don't be silly, Harry. I'm not going to be upset just because you've found a girlfriend. I'm quite happy that you're happy. That's the most important thing," she declared with a smile.

He relaxed and grinned back. "Brilliant. You're the best, Hermione. I don't know where I'd be without you." As he finished talking, a yawn escaped past his lips.

"In bed, I'd hope," she teased.

"Good point. Why don't you land us by the Entrance Hall? It'll probably get us to the hospital wing before Dumbledore and the Minister but maybe that'll give us enough time to figure out a good argument for Padfoot's innocence. We can hide under the invisibility cloak." His arms slipped away from around her waist and he pointed down towards the castle.

Wait…

When had he given her Buckbeak's reins?

She realized quickly what Harry had done. He distracted her while they flew a lap or two around the school. He took her mind off the fact they were high up in the air by chatting with her. Had that been intentional? The fact she couldn't quite tell spoke a lot about how well it worked on her.

Harry really was a great friend.

With renewed confidence and determination, she guided Buckbeak down.