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Chapter Text

Night enveloped the town of Godric's Hollow, the houses only dimly lit by the streetlamps. The still, quiet night was abruptly shattered when a motorcycle with a sidecar came tearing down a street, finally screeching to a halt in front of one of the houses. The rider, a dark-haired and grey-eyed main, practically leapt off and ran towards the house. His name was Sirius Black and he was a wizard.

"PRONGS!" Sirius called out, "PRONGS!" Then, as he got closer, he noticed that the front door had been blown off its hinges "Oh, no! NO!"

Sirius stopped suddenly when a veritable giant of a man emerged from the house, carrying a small bundle.

"Hagrid?" Sirius said, wondering how the half-giant had managed to get here so quickly; Sirius had tried apparating but had bounced off an anti-apparition spell, placed by whom he didn't know though he suspected Voldemort. That had forced him to use his motorcycle the rest of the way. There was no way that Hagrid, who didn't even know how to apparate, should have gotten here sooner, or for that matter even known to go here in the first place. Sirius only knew that something was up because he'd checked Pettigrew's hiding spot and found him missing with no signs of a struggle. Sirius had immediately tried to contact James—both by Patronus and by mirror—but had gotten no response.

"What's happened? Are they—?"

"'fraid so, Sirius," Hagrid said, "Both Lily an' James are dead, only little Harry here survived."

Sirius felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "No..." he said softly and Hagrid wrapped an arm around Sirius as he mourned "No, they can't—this is my—no..." Sirius finally got ahold of himself and turned toward Harry, still peacefully sleeping. "Give Harry to me, Hagrid."

Hagrid pulled back. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

"I'm his godfather," Sirius protested, "It's my responsibility to take care of him."

"Professor Dumbledore says otherwise," Hagrid replied, "I'm to take Harry ter his muggle relatives."

"Petunia?" Sirius blinked. What was Dumbledore thinking? Sirius had only met her once, at Lily and James' wedding, but once was enough. "But why? She hates magic."

"I'm sorry, but I have my orders," Hagrid said. Sirius scowled. Lily and James' bodies hadn't even cooled yet and Dumbledore had already decided where Harry was going to live?

That was…suspiciously fast, especially for Dumbledore. But there was no point in arguing with Hagrid for as far as the half-giant was concerned, Albus Dumbledore's word was gospel and woe to anyone who dared disagree. Sirius was guiltily aware that up until a few months ago both he and his wife Karen as well as Lily and James hadn't been all that different, but Dumbledore's recent hiring of Snape of all people to replace old Slughorn as Potions Master—coupled with his refusal to return the Potter Invisibility Cloak—had caused them to start questioning the headmaster's judgment. Those were the reasons, in fact, that they hadn't told him the truth about the Secret-Keeper situation.

"Go ahead and take my motorcycle, then," Sirius said, "I won't be needing it anymore."

Hagrid nodded. "Thank you, Sirius," he said, "I'll be sure to return it to you after I'm done."

After they were gone, Sirius turned and started walking. He didn't know exactly where Lily's relatives lived, but he did know the town; it shouldn't take him long to narrow it down. He sent a Patronus message off to his wife, Karen, to bring her up to speed and so she wouldn't get worried.

The following evening Sirius finally found Harry sleeping on the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive, in Little Whinging. Sirius, who had watched in his animagus form as Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid just abandoned the baby with a letter, changed back and hurried over after the others had left.

"Any last illusions I might have had about trusting you, Dumbledore," Sirius muttered to himself as he picked up the basket containing his sleeping godson, "are definitely gone now. How could you be this careless?"

Sirius spun his heel and apparated back home. Karen was waiting for him; she was a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and sea-blue eyes.

"You're finally back," she said, "I see you managed to convince Dumbledore."

Sirius shook his head and set the basket down on the kitchen table. Karen picked up Harry and began cuddling their godson. "Not...exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"Dumbledore," Sirius spat the name, "had Hagrid pick Harry up and then just abandoned him on the doorstep of Lily's muggle relatives."

"What?" Karen exclaimed, "he truly has lost his mind. What kind of a person abandons a baby on a doorstep? Especially at this time of year?"

"The same person who sees no problem with hiring a Death Eater to teach children." They both scowled at this.

The next morning after breakfast Sirius left to go rat hunting. After hours of searching, Sirius finally caught up with Wormtail on a muggle street near the Leaky Cauldron.

Sirius drew his wand and approached the traitor. "Did you really think you could hide from me, you rat!"

Wormtail looked briefly panicked for a moment but then he yelled out, "You're the traitor, you betrayed Lily and James." Sirius open his mouth but then was knocked off his feet when the street in front of him suddenly blew up. Sirius hit the ground awkwardly and felt his wand snap; he had finally managed to get back on his feet when a group of Ministry Hit-Wizards arrived and stunned him.

While Sirius was out rat hunting, Karen dropped her own daughter, Elizabeth, off at the Tonks and took Harry to St. Mungo's hospital for a full checkup. Finally after hours of waiting, far longer than should have been necessary, Karen's name was finally called to meet with the Healers. The Healer who called her up was an older man with the nametag "Winston".

"Is everything alright?" Karen asked Healer Winston, who'd been conducting the checkup.

"In almost every way," Winston replied, "your godson is the perfect model of health for a child his age. But there is one potential problem."

"Problem?" Karen frowned. "What problem?"

"We found an unhealthy amount of dark magic concentrated in that odd scar on his forehead," Winston explained, "We finally had to bring in a cursebreaker specialist to figure out what it was."

"And?" Karen asked, starting to get concerned.

"And we believe that Harry's scar may contain a…soul fragment."

"A soul fragment?" Karen repeated, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"The cursebreaker described it as an ancient and obscure piece of dark magic called a 'horcrux', apparently it was first invented by the ancient Egyptians as a method of cheating death."

"Can this...'horcrux' be safely removed?"

"Well that's the real problem." Winston sighed. "According to our cursebreaker, most normal methods of destroying a horcrux are very dangerous to use on a living person. However, there may be a solution but it isn't exactly...safe. There's a specialized spell known only to cursebreakers that could remove the soul fragment, but's it's never been used on a living person before and so carries some element of risk. As the boy's guardian, we will need your consent before we can proceed."

Karen thought about it but quickly decided that carrying around a horcrux in his head could not possibly be safe or healthy for Harry in the long term, and she nodded, "I'll take the risk, do what you can to remove it."

"Very well," said Winston. "Please wait here, this shouldn't take long." And indeed it didn't for ten minutes later, Winston emerged with a sleeping Harry and gave him to Karen. Cradling him in her arms, Karen took a really close look at him and noticed that the scar on Harry's forehead had faded a bit from the last time she saw it. "It's done," said Winston," the fragment was removed safely and Harry is, by all appearances, perfectly healthy and no worse off.
Karen nodded, thanked Winston for the excellent work and left to pick up Elizabeth at the Tonks. It was there she found out about Sirius' arrest.

"NO!" Karen slammed her fist down on Mr. Crouch's desk. "I swear, Sirius is innocent. He was not the Potter's Secret-Keeper, that was Pettigrew." Crouch's only response was to sneer at her.

"Even if I believed you, which I don't, he's still guilty of thirteen murders."

"I can't believe that Sirius would do that," Karen said, "it's just not him."

"I've got a score of muggle witness who all swear that Sirius was pointing his wand at Pettigrew at the time of the explosion and even in the very unlikely event that you are telling the truth, that merely gives Sirius a different motive."

"What about his wand? Have you even bothered testing it?"

"We can't test it," Crouch retorted, "it was broken in the explosion, but it doesn't matter; the eyewitness testimony alone will put your husband behind bars for the rest of his life."

"Will you at least give him a trial, then?"

"Trial?" Crouch snorted. "And give you the chance to find some technicality to get him off, I don't think so. Sirius Black has been detained under the Dark Wizard Containment Act, which means that trials aren't necessary in his case."

Karen's scowl darkened. The Dark Wizard Containment Act had been passed in the aftermath of the Hogsmeade Massacre of 1979 and allowed suspected dark wizards to be detained indefinitely by the DMLE. But it had never been intended to be used to circumvent trials entirely.

"I won't let you get away with this!" She snarled

"Give it up, missy," Crouch sneered. "Your husband is as dark as his name, you're just in denial."

"No," Karen repeated, "I will find a way to fight this; that is a promise!" And with that she turned and stormed out. Once outside the Ministry, Karen apparated to the Tonks house.

"I take it," Andromeda said, "that you didn't succeed."

"No, I didn't," Karen sighed. But she had meant every word she'd said to Mr. Crouch. Somehow, Karen thought as she held the two babies in her arms, feeling her daughter's dark

hair and looking into her blue eyes, I'll find a way to get your daddy out of prison.

Alastor Moody sat next to Albus Dumbledore in the Wizengamot court room, watching as Igor Karkaroff reeled off the names of every other Death Eater he knew in a desperate attempt to buy his own freedom, and occasionally interjecting his own comments to Dumbledore about various names. Nearly all of them were Death Eater's who'd already been captured or killed, though Karkaroff did finally hit gold when he mentioned Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries. The last name Karkaroff provided was Severus Snape, which got Albus rising to defend Snape, claiming that he'd "turned spy for us, at great personal risk" and was "now no more a Death Eater than I am." Moody scowled and grunted skeptically at this; he didn't believe that, not for one moment, mainly because—from the rough timeline he'd worked out from Albus's hints—it seemed that Snape had turned "spy" at about the same time that the Order's casualties suddenly started climbing dramatically, which couldn't possibly be just a coincidence.

"Why did you vouch for that filth, Snape?" Alastor asked Albus as Karkaroff was taken away, "It just doesn't feel right to have him walking about free, and teaching children, with only your word that he was secretly helping us. And meanwhile Sirius Black sits in Azkaban without even so much as a trial."

"Sirius Black is a traitor," Albus insisted, "He betrayed the Potters to Voldemort and murdered thirteen people, including Peter Pettigrew. The evidence against him is clear."

"His wife continues to insist otherwise," Alastor retorted.

"She is an unreliable source," Albus replied, "or do you think that she wouldn't lie to get her husband off, even if she knew that he was guilty?"

"No doubt she would," Alastor agreed, "but it's still odd that you went out of your way to clear Snape, but you won't even talk to Sirius."

"The situations are different."

"Oh, of course they are," Alastor said promptly, "Completely different. Because while Snape joined the Death Eaters right out of Hogwarts, Sirius Black joined us. And whereas Snape spent the last several years torturing and murdering muggleborns, Sirius Black married one and has spent the same amount of time fighting against the Death Eaters. So, obviously, Snape deserves a second chance while Sirius Black does not."

"I do see your point," Albus admitted with obvious reluctance, but then shook his head, "But it's too risky. Too many other accused Death Eaters have managed to get off on claims of the Imperius curse and, though we can't prove it, a few well- placed bribes. If Sirius Black is brought to trial, I have no doubt that he and his wife would try the same tactic; and even if they didn't get that idea, one or both of his grandfathers might."

Alastor stared blankly at Albus. "Sirius Black was disowned from his family."

"Or so we were told," said Albus, "It may even have been true at one point in time, but Sirius is now his family's only remaining male heir. That combined with certain…youthful indiscretions of his has left me with little faith in him, his judgment, or his loyalties."

If Sirius Black was guilty, then Albus simply could not afford to take any chances that he might get off; and if in the very unlikely event that he was innocent, well it was still in Harry's best interests to be raised by his muggle relatives. It was unfortunate that Harry would have to be raised by muggles—and Albus knew full well from what had happened to Arianna that the Dursley's were unlikely to truly love the boy, however grudgingly they might take him in—but the need to ensure Harry's safety trumped all other concerns and in the long run a harsh upbringing would keep the boy's inevitable fame from going to his head as well as build the character Harry would need to play his part in fulfilling the prophecy. Moreover, the taint of being married to a traitor would also prevent Karen Black from gaining custody of the boy.

Little did Dumbledore know that at that very moment, Harry Potter was nowhere near Little Whinging or his hateful muggle relatives who barely even knew that he existed. And because of Dumbledore's three full-time jobs—Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW—it would be many, many years before Dumbledore even realized that his plans for Harry Potter had gone off the rails before they'd even begun.

Chapter Text

Nearly ten years had passed since Harry Potter had been rescued from the Dursley's front step, and Harry's life had taken a very different turn than it would have if he'd been left there. Instead of being neglected and forced to live in a cupboard under the stairs, Harry grew up loved with his godmother and godsister, knowing about magic and having his abilities encouraged. But life was still far from perfect as Sirius Black unjustly imprisoned despite numerous challenges and appeals by Karen's barrister.

Outwardly their house appeared to be a perfectly ordinary house in a perfectly ordinary muggle suburban neighborhood in South East England, with neighbors who were all perfectly ordinary people with no idea that the three of them had magical powers. Which is not to say that they weren't considered just a bit odd by those neighbors, as Karen never seemed at a loss for money despite being—for almost all intents and purposes—a full-time single mother, never asked for help babysitting, rarely socialized and almost never had company. But the reason for the latter two was blatantly obvious once you went inside as all the pictures on the walls were not muggle stills, but animated with magic. Some of those pictures showed a wiry raven-haired boy with green eyes, and a slender dark-haired girl with sea-blue eyes—showed them riding bikes, playing at the fair, and being hugged and kissed by Karen; others showed Sirius Black and Harry's dead parents—at their weddings and with their newborns.

Today it was festooned with banners and balloons as it was a special occasion. Karen, Elizabeth, and the Tonks stood around Harry singing an age-old song:

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday Dear Harry! Happy Birthday to you!" Harry grinned and turned his attention to the cake in front of him with eleven candles.

"Go on," Nymphadora said, "Make a wish and blow it out." Harry hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and blew out the candles to a chorus of applause. Karen removed the candles and set to cutting and serving the cake.

While they were eating Elizabeth started setting presents in front of Harry. His present from his godmother was a two-way mirror so they could stay in contact when he and Lizzie went off to Hogwarts in another month. From Lizzie he received a dragonhide wand holster and belt. Andromeda gave him a book titled 'Curses and Countercurses by Professor Vindictus Viridian' and Ted gave him a Mokeskin Pouch with a belt attachment. Nymphadora, who had just graduated from Hogwarts and was about to start her Auror training, gave him a book whose title he read aloud, "Book of Potions by Zygmunt Budge?" Harry was familiar with the name for he was listed on a Chocolate Frog Card as a famous and notorious Potioneer and Alchemist who had invented, among other things, Felix Felicas.

"I just spent seven years taking Potions from Snape," Nymphadora explained, "although it's not on the book list, there's no way I would have even gotten into Snape's N.E.W.T level course—let alone actually passed—without that book and from what I hear every Slytherin student owl-orders a copy the day after their Sorting."

"It used to be on the book list," Andromeda added, "when old Slughorn was the Potions Master, because half of it is about brewing and safety procedures—information that the Jigger book mostly omits because its assumes that the reader already knows all that."

"I see," Harry said though he did not understand why Snape would drop the book if it was that important, especially if he was apparently still expecting his students to know it's information.

(*)

Diagon Alley was, Harry decided, a very odd looking place as many buildings had bizarre architecture that only stood because of magic. Their first stop was Madam Malkins and in the back also being fitted was a boy with a pale, pointed face.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," Harry and Elizabeth said.

"My father's next door buying books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy in a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own brooms?"

"No," said Harry. They lived in a muggle neighborhood and so that wasn't advisable.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry repeated.

"I do," the boy claimed, "Father says it'll be a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"I'm hoping for Gryffindor," Harry said.

The boy's eyed widened slightly and turned slightly towards Elizabeth, who said, "Also Gryffindor."

"I'll be in Slytherin," the boy said, "all my family has been. Can't imagine being in Hufflepuff, I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"My mum was a Hufflepuff," Elizabeth snapped "And I hope that you do leave just so that we don't have to deal with a spoiled brat like you."

The boy sneered. "Who are to dare speak to me like that? What's your surnames?"

Thankfully they were saved from answering when Madam Malkin said. "That's you done, my dears," and they hopped down from the footstools and left with their clothes.

At another clothing shop they bought dragonhide gloves, parchment from still another shop but not quills or ink.

"It's not on the list," said Karen, "I certainly don't expect you to learn calligraphy and I'll make sure you have lots of pens."

They each got a "Pewter cauldron, size 2" from the cauldron shop, trunks from the trunk shop, collapsible telescopes, scales and crystal phials from the generic equipment shop, a basic selection of potion ingredients from the Apothecary, and their books at Flourish and Botts.

Finally they arrived at Ollivander's wandshop.

As they stepped inside a tinkling bell rang from somewhere deeper inside the shop. It was very small place, with only a single spindly chair; Harry had the strange sensation of having entered a very strict library. Thousands of narrow boxes were piled behind the counter, neatly right up to the ceiling.

An old man stepped out from behind the stacks of boxes and walked over.

"Karen Hayes Black; I remember you. Rowan and Unicorn hair, 11 and ½ inches, pliant. And…ahh yes, I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes; it seems only yesterday she was in here herself buying her wand. Willow and unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches, swishy; good for charm work." Ollivander moved closer to Harry, who felt a but unnerved by his silver eyes. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand, dragon heartstring core, eleven inches, pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard of course." They were almost nose to nose now. "And that's where…" Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger and Harry drew back several steps.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a half inches, Yew and phoenix feather; a powerful wand, very powerful, and one that did so many terrible things." Ollivander shook his head, straightened up and moved on, "And you must be Mrs. Blacks' daughter…Elizabeth, that's the name isn't it?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said quietly, unusually subdued, "How did you know my name?"

"Everyone in Diagon Alley heard the news of your birth," Ollivander replied, "Your father was quite ecstatic. Dogwood and Unicorn hair, thirteen and a quarter inches; a very playful wand. I never would have expected him to do what he did."

"He didn't!" Karen hissed. Mr. Ollivander merely shrugged and pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket.

"What are your wand arms?"

"I'm right-handed," Harry said.

"As am I," said Elizabeth.

"Hold out your arms please." They did so and Ollivander set the tape measure to measure beach of them in turn, from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to knee, knee to armpit and then around their heads. As it did so, Ollivander started flitting around the shelves taking down boxes, saying: "Every Ollivander wand uses one of three cores: unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are the same; and, of course, you will never get as good results from another wizard's wand. That will do." The tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor and Ollivander set some boxes on the counter. "Right then, Ms. Black, try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring, nine inches, nice and flexible."

Elizabeth took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once. "Maple and Phoenix feather, seven inches, quite whippy, try—," Elizabeth tried and had hardly raised it when it too was snatched back. "no, no, here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and half inches, springy." She tried, and tried and tried; the pile of rejected wands mounted higher and higher, but the more Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become. "A tricky customer, eh? Well, hmm…here we go, Cedar and Unicorn hair, unbending, 11 inches, give it a try.

Elizabeth took and this time there was a response; the wand shot off red sparks and Ollivander clapped. "Excellent, excellent. Now, your turn Mr. Potter. Go ahead, grab one from the pile, might as well start there." Harry grabbed one at random and waved it around; when nothing happened, he set it down again and tried another. And another. And another. Mr. Olliander started getting excited all over again.

Ollivander thrust another at him, "here try this, unusual combination—Holly and Phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." Harry took the wand and again nothing happened. Ollivander got down two more boxes and set them on the counter "Yew and Phoenix feather, 11 inches, unbending." Harry tried it and again got response at all; Ollivander snatched it back and handed over another wand, this one the color of ivory: "Aspen and Phoenix Feather, Reasonably Supple, 10 inches.

Harry took this wand and immediately felt a sudden warmth in his fingers; he raised the wand above his head and sent forth a stream of red and gold sparks.

"Oh bravo," Ollivander cried, "Very good and also…very curious."

"What's curious?" Harry asked. Ollivander held up the holly wand and said, "The phoenix whose feather is in this wand only gave one other feather, and that feather was in the wand which gave you that scar. While this wand," Ollivander held up the Yew wand, "is made from wood of the same tree; yet both rejected you. And that it is an aspen wand instead that chose you is most interesting, for they are quite well suited to martial magic. In fact, your Grandfather Fleamont also used an Aspen wand and with it became one of the best duelists of his day."

"I'm not surprised," Harry replied, "With a name like that almost everyone he met would have made fun of him."

"Unfortunately yes," said Ollivander.

They each paid seven galleons for their wands, then slipped them into their wand holsters.

"But we haven't been to the pet store," Elizabeth protested when her mother started leading them back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Pets are not required," Karen replied firmly.

"Not even owls?" Harry asked.

"Hogwarts has an entire parliament of owls," said Karen, "And you have your two-way mirrors. How much mail do you really expect to receive? Or do you have penpals I don't know about?"

"What about if we make friends and want to keep in touch next summer?" Elizabeth persisted.

"If and when that happens," Karen said, "then I may get you your own owls. Right now, however, you don't need them and pets are a major responsibility."

Her tone made it amply clear that the discussion was over; both Harry and Elizabeth sighed but accepted her decision.

(*)

August flew by surprisingly fast. Harry spent much of it reading and rereading his books, especially Budge's book but also his parent's copies of their textbooks—comparing the differences between editions. Some of the time there was more information in his versions, those times when there was less Harry copied the missing information down on a piece of parchment and stuck it into the book at the relevant page. Harry also noticed and copied annotations and edits that his parents had made to their own books, none of which was in the later edition; his mother's potion books were particularly marked up and also included several spells that Harry copied down separately.

Finally September 1st came and they Flooed to Platform 9 ¾. Pushing their way through the chattering crowd toward the scarlet train, they finally paused at the edge of the platform. "Well, this is it," Karen said. She gave Harry and Elizabeth each a hug and a kiss on the cheek, "Good luck, study hard, and stay safe. I love you both.

"Love you too, mum," Harry and Elizabeth replied. With their trunks having been already shrunken by her and placed in their pockets, they climbed aboard the train, found an empty compartment and sat down.

The compartment door soon opened, a red-haired boy stood just outside.

"Can I sit here?" he asked, "Everywhere else is full."

"Sure," Harry replied and the boy came inside and sat down opposite of Harry and Elizabeth.

"I'm Harry, this is Elizabeth," Harry introduced and Ron nodded.

"Nice to meet you," he said, "First time at Hogwarts?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yeah, you?"

"Yeah, but I've got three older brothers at Hogwarts—Percy who's a prefect and the twins Fred and George, plus two brothers who have already left—Bill's graduated and Charlie is finishing his studies abroad—and a younger sister, Ginny, who will be starting next year."

"Must be nice to have lots of siblings," Harry mused.

Ron shrugged, looking a bit gloomy. "Sometimes, I guess," he admitted.

They were interrupted twice during the trip; first by the trolley lady from whom Harry and Elizabeth bought a variety of sweets; the second time was by a girl with bushy brown hair, brown eyes and rather large front teeth; she was already wearing her school uniform.

"Excuse me," she said, "have any of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one."

"No, we haven't," Ron said. "Now go away."

"I was only asking," the girl snapped at him.

"Sorry," Elizabeth said with a smile. "We haven't seen a toad, but we'll keep an eye out."

The girl returned her smile. "Thank you, you'd better get into your robes, we're nearly at Hogwarts." Harry and Elizabeth nodded and the girl left; they turned to glare at Ron.

"What?"

"Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" Elizabeth snipped before leaving. Harry sighed and also left to get changed.

The train shuddered as it came to a halt at the Hogsmeade Station. A large man named Hagrid, who was holding a lantern, called over all the first year students to the boats and took them across the lake to the castle where they were met by a stern looking older witch who introduced herself as the Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "When you enter the Great Hall you will be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. This is a very important ceremony because while you are here, your houses will be like your family; you will have classes with them, sleep in your house dormitories and spend free time in your house common rooms. Each house has a noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While at Hogwarts your triumphs will earn house points, while rule breaking will lose points; at the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup—a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. Please wait here for a moment." She left them on the steps for a minute or two, then returned, "Please follow me."

McGonagall led them into the Great Hall.

It was a magnificent place, lit by thousands of floating candles, with four long tables that had the rest of the students as well as a one higher table at the front that had the faculty. Sitting in the middle of that table was an old man in garish purple robes, with a long beard. Harry recognized him from the Chocolate Frog card as Albus Dumbledore.

The ceiling was dotted with stars; the bushy-haired brunette from before whispered behind him that it was enchanted to look like the sky outside, something she had read in Hogwarts, A History. They stopped in front of a battered looking wizard hat.

Professor McGonagall stepped aside and unrolled a scroll. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbot, Hannah."
A pink-faced girl with blond pigtails stumbled to the front, put on the hat and sat down. After a moment it shouted: "Hufflepuff."

The Hufflepuff table cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down there.

"Black, Elizabeth." McGonagall did a double take and there as much muttering throughout the great hall as the Elizabeth walked forward with a smirk on her face. She ignored the muttering and put the hat on. Another moment and then: "Gryffindor!"

Now it was the Gryffindor table's turn to applaud, though with varying levels of enthusiasm, as she walked over and took a seat.

"Bones, Susan."
"Hufflepuff."
"Boot, Terry."
"Ravenclaw."
"Brocklehurst, Mandy."
"Ravenclaw."
"Brown, Lavender."
"Gryffindor."
"Bulstrode, Millicent."
"Slytherin."
"Corner, Michael."
"Ravenclaw."
"Cornfoot, Stephen."
"Hufflepuff."
"Crabbe, Vincent."
"Slytherin."
"Davis, Tracey."
"Slytherin."
"Dunbar, Fay."
"Gryffindor."
"Entwhistle, Kevin."
"Ravenclaw."

Harry began to notice that the amount of time each Sorting took varied. "Finch-Fletchley, Justin" went to "Hufflepuff" almost immediately while "Finnegan, Seamus" sat on the stool for almost a full minute before the Hat shouted: "Gryffindor."

"Goldstein, Anthony."
"Ravenclaw."
"Goyle, Gregory."
"Slytherin."
"Granger, Hermione."

The bushy-haired brunette almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"Gryffindor," the hat shouted.
"Greengrass, Daphne."
"Slytherin."
"Hopkins, Wayne."
"Hufflepuff."
"Jones, Megan."
"Hufflepuff."
"Li, Su."
"Ravenclaw."

"Longbottom, Neville." Neville's Sorting took the longest so far and when the hat finally shouted "Gryffindor," Neville ran off still wearing it and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag," who went to "Ravenclaw."

"Macmillan, Ernie."
"Hufflepuff."

"Malfoy, Draco." The pale boy from Madam Malkin's swaggered forward and the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed: "Slytherin." Malfoy went to join Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

"Malon, Roger."
"Ravenclaw."
"Moon, Lillian."
"Hufflepuff."
"Nott, Theodore."
"Slytherin."
"Parkinson, Pansy."
"Slytherin."
"Patil, Padma."
"Ravenclaw."
"Patil, Parvati."
"Gryffindor."
"Perks, Sally-Anne."
"Hufflepuff."

"Potter, Harry." Harry stepped, ignoring the whisperings that suddenly broke out all over the hall.
'Well, well,' said a small voice in his ear, 'this is difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage, yes, but also a keen mind, there's talent and a nice thirst to prove yourself; yet I also see in you the potential to be utterly ruthless in the protection of those you care about. What would you say to Slytherin, hmm?'
'If it has people like Draco Malfoy, no thank you.'
'Hmm, yes, that would be a problem I see. Very well then, better be GRYFFINDOR!" Harry took off the hat and walked toward the Gryffindor table, receiving the loudest cheer yet. Harry sat down next to Elizabeth and turned his gaze toward and across the High Table as the Sorting continued.

"Prewett, Mafalda." Mafalda had barely placed the hat on her head when it screamed out, "Slytherin."
"Rivers, Oliver."
"Hufflepuff."
"Roper, Sophie."
"Gryffindor."
"Runcorn, Andromache."
"Slytherin."
"Smith, Zacharias."
"Hufflepuff."
"Spinks, Ashley."
"Hufflepuff."
"Thomas, Dean."
"Gryffindor."
"Turpin, Lisa."
"Ravenclaw."
"Weasley, Ronald." Ron took a seat and put the hat on his head, and it shouted out, "Gryffindor." Harry clapped with the rest as Ron took a seat across from him.
"Zabini, Blaise."
"Slytherin."

Professor McGonagall rolled up the scroll and took the Sorting Hat and stool away.

Professor Dumbledore stood. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I have only a few announcements: First years should take note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors and that there is a long list of banned items on the door to his office. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term; anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. Finally, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is under renovation and is thus out of bounds. Now, let us eat." Dumbledore clapped his hands and food appeared on the tables, much to the amazement of the first years.

"Why didn't you tell me that you're Harry Potter?" Ron asked. Harry just shrugged.

"I didn't want to," he said and started piling food on his plate.

"So, you're Harry Potter," Hermione said. "I've read a lot about you."

(*)

Albus Dumbledore took a sip of his glass, using the gesture to inconspicuously look at Harry, who was sitting between Miss Black and Miss Granger, chatting animatedly with them and laughing at something one of them had said. In some distant corner of his mind an alarm was going off, insisting that something was somehow subtly wrong with the way Harry was interacting with Miss Black considering that they shouldn't have known each other prior to today. He also knew that something odd had happened a month ago but it was hard to remember because he had neglected to write it down and, to his perspective, it had actually been three months ago due to his use of a time-turner to repeat every day twice. It was the only way to keep up with all of his jobs and that wore away at a person.

More than once he had considered stepping down from the other two jobs and just being the Headmaster, which was the only one of those jobs he truly enjoyed, yet he feared what would happen if he stepped out of politics—keeping the bigots in check was a herculean and largely thankless task for they never ceased looking for new ways to subtly undermine muggleborn rights. Never anything blatantly obvious of course, just a constant slow drip often cloaked in other agendas or masked by patronizing expressions of false concern.

British muggleborns had no idea just how great they had it compared to the rest of the world; in so many other countries they were blatantly second-class citizens and barely tolerated. The situation was worst in the United States of America as despite the repeal of Rappaport's Law in 1965, muggles-or No-Majs as they were called across the pond-were still viewed as the outright enemy due to the Scourers and thus muggleborns were taken from their families after their first accidental magic incident and raised as wards of the magical government, with their muggle families and friends getting Obliviated.

If not for Dumbledore's tireless efforts, that situation would have been gradually mirrored here as well in the ten years since Voldemort's defeat. No, he could not step down now or anytime soon.

(*)

After the feast Percy led the Gryffindor first years up several flights of stairs, until they reached the seventh level; at the end of the corridor was a portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress.

"Password?" she asked.

"Caput Draconis," Percy said and the portrait swung open to reveal a round hole in the wall. They scrambled inside to a cozy round room full of squashy armchairs. The girls went up one flight of stairs, the boys another. At the top of the spiral staircase was door marked for first years, with four-poster beds hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up.

Too tired to talk much, Harry pulled on his pajamas, climbed into bed and was asleep at once.

Chapter Text

The next morning at breakfast McGonagall handed out course schedules; the first-years, Harry noted, had the first period of every day free. McGonagall explained this as being an allowance so that they could learn their way around the castle. But when she came around to Harry and Elizabeth, she said to them:

"Mister Potter, Miss Black, the Headmaster would like to see you in his office, right after breakfast."

"Did he say why, Professor?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, he did not," McGonagall replied. "Come to me when you are finished and I will escort you there."

Harry was suddenly filled with dread. What reason could Professor Dumbledore possibly have for wanting to see them on the first day? He remembered his godmother telling them that Dumbledore had wanted him to be raised his mother's muggle relatives, the Dursley's, and that as far as she knew he still thought he had been.

McGonagall led them up to the seventh floor. As they approached the gargoyle outside of Dumbledore's office, Harry's sense of dread started to increase but he forced himself to keep walking.

"Sherbert Lemon," McGonagall said. The gargoyle moved aside and McGonagall led them up a moving spiral staircase, and knocked on the oak door to Dumbledore's voice.

"Enter."

The oak door opened into a large circular room; there was window facing east with a view of some of the nearby mountains and also the Quidditch Pitch. Most of the wall space, however, was taken up by portraits of previous Headmasters; there was also a shelf behind the Headmaster's desk that had the Sorting Hat. Another wall had a fireplace. The desk itself was enormous and claw-footed, its polished surface almost completely covered with papers and folders, though there was also a silver inkpot with a phoenix-feather quill.

In addition to the chair behind the desk, two more were in front of it. Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his chair and up close he looked even older than Harry had thought, with an ancient-looking and heavily worn face with deep creases.

"Thank you Minerva," Dumbledore said, "Mister Potter, Miss Black, please be seated."

"What is this about, Professor?" Harry asked as they sat in the chairs.

"I noticed last night that you seemed quite friendly with Miss Black, Mister Potter."

"So what if I am?" Harry asked.

"I fail to see how that is any business of yours, Headmaster," Elizabeth snapped.

"It is my business, Miss Black," Dumbledore said, "because I am concerned about Mister Potter's safety."

"Good for you," Elizabeth retorted, "but what that has to do with anything?"

"Mister Potter, are you aware that Miss Black's father betrayed your parents to Voldemort."

Elizabeth crossed her arms and scowled at the Headmaster. Harry sat up, crossed his own arms, and said, "I am aware that he is accused of having done so," Harry said neutrally, "I personally, however, do not believe it."

McGonagall looked at Harry incredulously, almost unable to believe what she was hearing.

"Mister Potter," Dumbledore said, "I spoke with your parents only days before they went into hiding and they told me that they had chosen Sirius Black to be their Secret-Keeper. Do you know what that means? Are you familiar with the Fidelius Charm?"

Harry simply nodded.

"Well my mum tells me," Elizabeth snapped, "that the Potters were running a double bluff and deliberately kept you out of the loop because you'd replaced Professor Slughorn with a Death Eater."

"Professor Snape is no longer a Death Eater," said Dumbledore, "I trust him with my life."

"My mum doesn't trust him," said Elizabeth, "and according to her, neither does my dad nor did Harry's parents. After all, weren't they huge enemies while they were all students? I remember her saying something to that effect."

"And who does your mother claim was the Potter's Secret Keeper, Miss Black?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Oh, of course," Dumbledore said with a confident smile. "How convenient to blame a dead man. Even if all you have said is true, which I have no reason to believe, your father is still a mass murder. You are aware of this, Mister Potter, that he killed thirteen people with a single curse?"

"He is accused of killing thirteen people with a single curse," Harry corrected.

"Unfortunately," Elizabeth said, "all the witnesses had their memories altered to preserve the Statute of Secrecy, so now no one knows what they really saw."

"You know all this, Mister Potter, and still you trust her?"

"Funny, I could ask you the same question about Snape."

"Professor Snape, Mister Potter."

"I fail to understand how you can sit there and on the one hand insist that I respect a man whom even you has admitted was a Death Eater, and yet on the other hand insist that I cannot trust the daughter of a man who has merely been accused of being a Death Eater. Whatever Sirius Black did or didn't do, she cannot be held responsible for it. But Snape, on the other hand, has not been held accountable for any of his crimes."

"You should nonetheless strive to find it in yourself to forgive Professor Snape for his actions and respect at least his position," said Dumbledore.

Harry and Elizabeth suddenly smirked.

"So let me get this straight, Headmaster," Elizabeth said, "You want us to forgive Snape for the crimes he definitely committed, and yet you aren't willing to be forgiving toward my father for crimes that he only might have committed."

"The situations are not parallel," Dumbledore insisted.

"All hypocrites say that," Elizabeth sneered.

"Miss Black!" McGonagall exclaimed, shocked that anyone would have such daring and nerve to speak to Albus Dumbledore that way.

"And as long as my father is unjustly imprisoned in Azkaban," Elizabeth continued, "I will show Snape only as much respect as he shows me." And if even half of what her mother had said proved to be true, that would be 'none at all'.

"May we go to our first classes now, Professor?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore let out sigh, then nodded.

They got up and headed down the staircase. Only when they were safely out of earshot of the gargoyle did they finally burst into laughter.

"He doesn't know," Harry said, "He still doesn't know anything. We were all worried about nothing."

Back in his office, Dumbledore placed the memory of the recent conversation into his pensieve and replayed it to see if he had missed anything. Miss Black had a lot of pent-up anger and clearly didn't care about her father's crimes, only that he'd been taken away from her; that was plainly evident with that ridiculous scenario she'd presented. Dumbledore did not believe for a moment that Lily and James would actually have left him out of the loop, regardless of their personal feelings about his hiring of Severus; that was utterly preposterous. Then there was Mister Potter's attitude-unusually mature for a boy of his age, though it probably stemmed from an unwillingness to treat others the way the Dursley's had undoubtedly treated him. That was probably why they'd seemed so unusually familiar with each other and also why they had been so defensive, Dumbledore decided, she'd taken the risk and been completely honest with Harry from the start and had been deeply touched when he'd nonetheless accepted her and had also been deeply touched by her honesty and her willingness to risk being alienated. So, this wouldn't be a problem just yet, though Dumbledore would have to make sure to talk with them again before the next summer break. Harry probably wouldn't want to go back to the Dursley's now that he'd met someone else willing and eager to take him in; Dumbledore would just have to explain when the time came why it was necessary. His suspicions now comfortably eased, Dumbledore buried himself in his work.

(*)

Hogwarts, Harry noticed, operated very much on the "sink or swim, throw 'em into the deep section' mindset. Even with the free period, it was hard enough leanring your way around without shifting staircases, trick steps, and doors that either didn't always open when you wanted or that weren't really doors at all; the ghosts, Peeves, Filch and his cat Mrs. Norris just made it even worse. And in Harry's case it was harder still because everywhere he went people gawked and whispered.

Their first classes, Double Charms before Lunch and Double Transfiguration afterward, each opened with a long and mostly dry lecture about the nature of magic and the theory behind spellcasting. Harry was wasn't the only student who'd brought pens, and it almost got them into trouble on the first day.

"Mister Potter, Miss Black, Miss Granger, Mister Thomas, Mister Finnegan, Miss Roper," McGonagall said, naming fully half of the fourteen Gryffindor first years who were either muggleborn, muggle raised, or who'd had a mixed upbringing; that was a deceptive and atypical ratio, however, as there only 8 other students out of the 53 total students in their year—all muggleborn and split evenly between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—who would even know what a pen was. "Why are you using muggle pens?"

There was a chorus of answers.

"I don't know how to use quills," said Sophie Roper, a short girl with red hair worn in plaits, blue eyes, light skin, and a very neatly-kept uniform.

"Yeah, neither do I," Dean Thomas agreed.

"My mum never bothered to teach me," said Seamus Finnegan.

"Nor did mine," Elizabeth added.

"Muggle schools don't teach calligraphy," Hermione said.

"I don't care," said McGonagall. "You are not at a muggle school anymore, you are at Hogwarts; you will use quills or you won't write. And I had better not receive any assignments written in pen."

Later in the class McGonagall set them to trying to turn a match into a needle. Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewett were the first students to make the change, almost at the same time, earning points for Gryffindor and Slytherin respectively—though Harry and Elizabeth managed soon afterward.

"That's just outrageous," Hermione ranted afterwards once they were safely outside the classroom. "It's unfair and backwards. They didn't even put it on the shopping list, just expected us to know. Quills, what nonsense."

"It's not nonsense," Ron interjected. "It's part of our culture; it's tradition."

"It's stupid and a bloody waste of time."

"You're daft," Ron exclaimed. He was not, Harry noticed, the only one uncomfortable about Hermione's attitude. Neville, Lavender, Parvati, and Fay were each giving them odd looks. Without even really intending to, the Gryffindor students split apart into two groups-the purebloods and the muggle-raised, with the latter lagging behind a few paces.

"My parents could barely afford all of the other supplies," Sophie Roper said quietly, "This is just absurd."

"Let me guess," a new voice chimed in. The six Gryffindors turned to see an older Gryffindor boy approaching them, holding a box under one arm. "McGonagall caught you using pens and read you the riot act."

"It's not the first time?" Harry asked.

"Happens every year," the boy replied. "But fortunately, there is another solution."

"Which is?" Elizabeth asked the question that was on all of their tongues.

The boy opened the box; at first glance, the contents appeared to be six ordinary quills.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Hermione asked.

"No joke," the boy replied, taking one out to show them. "Don't let appearances fool you; these may look like quills, but they are actually calligraphy pens; you can use them just like pens and no one can tell them or the result apart from a normal quill, especially if you use that cursive we all hated learning. They're made and sold by Seltman's Writing Tools in Diagon Alley, created and owned by a muggleborn like yourself who refused to see future generations subjected to quills."

"But won't Professor McGonagall be...suspicious?" Hermione asked, taking one of the quillpens to examine more closely. "I mean we just told her we didn't know how to use quills."

"No she won't," the boy assured them "Not unless you are foolish enough to remind her; that's the real trick. She's got three hundred students to worry about and, like I said, this happens every year; by your next class with her she will have forgotten completely."

"Okay, I'm sold," Elizabeth said, taking a quillpen. The others all did likewise.

"Remember," the boy said, holding up his index finger. "Don't say anything about this to anyone who isn't also muggle-raised, not even your pureblood friends; they might tattle and ruin it for us." The six first-years all solemnly nodded, remembering Ron's reaction and the weird looks the others had been giving them.

Astronomy class met on Wednesdays and on Friday night for stargazing. Herbology was three times a week for first years, in the greenhouses behind the castle. History of Magic was easily the most boring classes; it didn't have to be, but it's teacher—a ghost named Professor Binns—somehow managed to make even bloody wars sound totally boring. Indeed, the school legend was that Professor Binns had actually bored himself to death and then gotten up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind. Were it not for the fact that Binns appeared through the blackboard at the start of every class, students would have suspected that Binns didn't even realize that he was dead.

One of the two classes Harry had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was taught by Professor Quirrel; although he wore a turban and made the classroom smell strongly of garlic, Harry was nonetheless fascinated by Quirrel's opening lecture.

"Before you can be taught how to defend yourselves against the Dark Arts, you must first understand what the Dark Arts even are. Who can tell me Trimble's definition of the Dark Arts without referring to the book?"

Hermione's hand shot straight up; so did Mafalda's, Harry's and Elizabeth's.

"Miss Granger," Quirrel said.

"Trimble defines the Dark Arts as 'any magics that harm others as their sole purpose."

"Correct," said Quirrel, "take five points for Gryffindor; now take note class, although this definition may seem broad, it is actually quite narrow as there many magics that can be used to harm others without that being their only or even their main use. Miss Prewett, can you give me an example?"

"In Transfiguration we are learning to turn matchsticks into needles; by itself that it is fairly harmless, but a skilled enough wizard or witch could turn dozens of matchsticks into needles and then banish them at a person; that would harm them but it would not be considered dark magic."

"An excellent example, Miss Prewett, take five points for Slytherin. Almost any spell or potion can be turned to harm others but only a select group of magics have that as their one and only purpose; now, another question: is the use of the Dark Arts inherently evil? Mafalda, Harry, Hermione, Elizabeth, Ron and Neville all raised their hands at this.

"Mister Weasley."

"Yes, they are."

"Could you elaborate on that please?"

"Well…" Ron furrowed his brow, "They're intended to harm people and harming people is wrong so…er…"

"Mister Potter," Quirrel said, "Could you help him out?"

"We have learned in our classes that many spells have an emotional component, so only those spells requiring the use of negative emotions like hate could really be considered evil."

"Precisely," said Quirrel, "Many of the spells classified as 'Dark Arts' have no emotional component at all and could be legally used to defend oneself, though that is still generally frowned upon by the Ministry. However, as you are merely first years we will be focusing on defensive magic, specifically on understanding the principles of using magic defensively, how to recognize situations where magic can be legally used to defend yourselves, and placing the use of defensive magic in a practical context. In later years you will move up to learning about the use of magic offensively because, as the old saying goes, the best defense is often a good offense."

That afternoon in Herbology Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewett started engaging in one-upmanship, each seeking to outdo with their knowledge and smarts; this happened again the next morning in Charms, became even more intense in Transfiguration and by the time the lunch bell rang the two girls looked almost ready to strangle each other.

Ron was about the only person who found the budding rivalry even remotely hilarious.

"I mean come on," he said to the other Gryffindors when Hermione was out of earshot on her way to the library, "they're getting all bent out of shape over grades, how is that not funny?"

"Grades are important, Ron," Elizabeth snapped.

"Whatever for?" Now everyone looked at Ron, momentarily rendered speechless.

"What do you intend to be when you graduate, Ron?" Harry finally asked

Ron just shrugged and said, "The Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, of course," Everyone except the muggleborns snickered. Ron flushed angrily, "What the bloody hell is so funny about that?"

Fay Dunbar replied, "Well, if you want to play for those losers—,"

"—the Cannons are not losers!" Ron exclaimed heatedly.

Neville said "they're the worst team in the league, everyone knows it."

"I think it's safe to say," Elizabeth finished, "that the rest of us have much higher ambitions than that, and to achieve them we'll need better than merely passing grades." Ron just looked dumbfounded at the notion of working any harder than was absolutely necessary.

The other class Harry was looking forward to was Potions which was a double period with Slytherin on Friday morning. Harry got his first piece of mail that morning and from a most unexpected source.

"Well?" Elizabeth asked.

"It's from Hagrid," Harry said, "he's invited me to tea this afternoon to talk about my first week at school."

"Why would the groundskeeper invite a first-year—or any student for that matter—over for tea?" Hermione asked.

"How should I know?" Harry shrugged and held up his hands. He did have a theory, however as his godmother had told him about Hagrid's involvement in Dumbledore's plan to have him raised by his mother's magic-hating muggle relatives.

"Are you going to go?" Elizabeth asked. Harry thought about then, then nodded. "I want to come along."

"Sure, why not?" Harry got out a pen and wrote 'okay' on the note and gave it back to the owl. He was admittedly curious as to what Hagrid wanted to talk about, but knew that he would have to be careful with what he said.

In Potions it was obvious by the end of the class that Snape hated Harry.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," Snape began in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word, "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Elizabeth exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewettt were on the edge of their seats and looked desperate to start proving that they weren't dunderheads.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hermione and Mafalda's hands shot into the air.

Harry was suddenly very grateful for having read not only Budge's book but also his mother's annotated textbooks, for that study allowed him to say: "Absolutely nothing by itself, but if you also added a sloth brain, the juice from 13 sopophorus beans, valerian root, and stirred the mixture properly, you'd get the Draught of Living Death."

Hermione and Mafalda's hands dropped and the girls both turned to stare at him for providing an answer that was far more complete than what either of them had been prepared to give.

"And can you explain the purposes of each of those ingredients?"

"All except the sloth brain have sedative properties; the sloth brain is there as a sympathetic thickener." Now even Hermione was staring at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide.

"And how is the Draught of Living Death reversed?"

"With the Wiggenweld Potion," Harry said calmly. 'I can do this all day, Snivellus'.

Snape's face turned so red that for a moment Harry thought he was going to have a stroke, but then Snape snarled to the rest of the class: "Well why aren't you writing all that down?" There was a sudden rummaging for parchment and writing implements.

Things did not improve as the Potions lesson continued. Snape set them to mixing a Boil Cure Potion, then started sweeping around watching the students weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except for Malfoy.

Neville somehow managed to melt his cauldron and flood the classroom—forcing the whole class to stand on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched by the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" Neville just whimpered as boils continued to pop up on his face. "Take him to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Elizabeth. "You—Potter and Black—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong did you? That's five points you've lost Gryffindor. Each!"

"That's not fair!" Elizabeth angrily retorted, "You can't blame us for someone else's mistake!"

"Your cheek just lost Gryffindor ten additional points, Miss Black." Snape sneered.

"Cheek?!" she exclaimed, "Why you—," She cut off abruptly when Harry kicked her shins from behind the cauldron. She closed her mouth, sat down and settled for just glaring at Snape. Once he was out of earshot, she whispered to Harry, "Well I guess we now know why our dads called him 'Snivellus'."

Harry snorted in agreement. Karen hadn't told them the full story of what had happened between Snape and their fathers, though it must have been nasty. And it still wasn't over yet; at the end of the class, Harry's Boil Cure Potion matched the textbook description almost perfectly but Snape took one look and pronounced it "barely passable"

Harry bit his tongue to hold back an angry retort of his own that would Snape would surely use as an excuse to flunk him instead; but it was hard, especially when Snape walked past Malfoy's potion without comment even though it was much too thin and giving off red smoke instead of the pink from Harry's cauldron, which Budge and Jigger both said was the ideal color of the potion for maximum effectiveness.

"I don't understand," Hermione said after they were safely out of earshot of the dungeon, "First he asks you a series of N.E.W.T level questions only to get angry when you know the answers, then he blames you for Neville's mistake and finally he pronounces your potion—which easily deserved an 'O'— 'barely passable'. What is his problem?"

"My and Lizzie's dads were his classmates," Harry replied. "and enemies."

"Bitter enemies," Elizabeth elaborated. "And he's obviously still holding a grudge." Even though James was dead and Sirius was in Azkaban.

Harry was determined not to let Snape ruin an entire subject for him, especially not one that had not only been his mother's favorite but that Harry had enjoyed reading about almost as much as Defense. 'No,' Harry thought, 'you want to blame me for the sins of my father, you bring it on Snivellus. I am going to be the best student in your class. My brewing is going to be so meticulous, so perfect, that you will have no choice but to give me an 'O'. And if you so much as sneeze into my cauldron, I will find an excuse to get you arrested and sent to Azkaban where you belong! In fact, I might as well start looking for one to have ready. And if I can't do that, I will use every bit of fame I have to get you sacked even if I have to bribe the Minister of Magic himself!'

"So, Harry," Hermione said "What is a 'sympathetic thickener', how do you know about them, and why isn't it mentioned in 'Magical Drafts and Potions'?"

"Because the author of that book," Harry said, "assumes that you also know all the information in," Harry reached into his bag and pulled out Budge's book, "this book."

"Book of Potions by Zygmunt Budge," Hermione said. She tried to grab it out of Harry's hand but he held it firm and returned it to his bag.

"There's a Flourish and Botts catalogue in the Common Room, order your own copy."

"Why isn't it on the book list?"

"It used to be," said Elizabeth, "before Snape came along."

Hermione frowned. "Why would he drop that book from the class list but still expect his students know everything in it?"

"Do you want to turn around and ask him?" Harry replied.

"On second thought," said Hermione. "I'll just order the book." There was a general murmur of agreement from everyone except Ron.

"Want to go meet Hagrid, Hermione?" Elizabeth asked that afternoon.

"Sure, why not," Hermione replied.

Ron also tagged along for some reason even though both Elizabeth and Hermione disliked him. They made their way across the grounds towards a small wooden house on the edge of the forest; Harry noted a crossbow and a pair of galoshes near the front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside, following by several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice called out, "Back, Fang, back." Hagrid's face appeared in the crack as the pulled the door open. "Come on in," he said. "Back, Fang." The door opened wider to let them in as Hagrid pulled back an enormous black boarhound by the collar.

It was a one-room house, with hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle boiling on an open fire, and a massive bed with a patchwork quilt in a corner.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, finally letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at them and started licking their ears—clearly not as fierce as he looked or sounded.

They took seats and introduced themselves as Hagrid poured the boiling into a teapot to stoop, then set rock cakes in front of them on a plate—which proved to be just as hard as their namesake.

"Yer Sirius Black's daughter, aren't you?" Hagrid said to Elizabeth, tone darkening slightly. Ron suddenly moved as far away from her as possible.

"Yes, I am," Elizabeth said defiantly. "I know what everyone thinks of my father; personally I think its bollocks but my opinion obviously carries no weight with anyone, so can we just agree to disagree and move on?"

"Fair enough," Hagrid admitted, then poured their tea.

In between sips Harry started talking about their first lessons; he was delighted to hear Filch referred to as "that old git" and Hagrid wanting to introduce Fang to Mrs. Norris brought a chuckle to both of them. Then Harry started talking about Snape's lesson.

"Best not to worry about it," Hagrid said, "Snape doesn't like anybody, 'cept maybe his Slytherins."

"But he seemed to really hate me," Harry replied.

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

"I heard that it's because he hated my dad," Harry said.

"Where'd you hear that?" Hagrid asked. Harry just shrugged. He didn't want to lie to Hagrid, mostly because he wasn't that good at it. "There was bad blood between 'em, true enough," Hagrid finally said, "But I don't think he'd take it out on ye."

"He asked Harry N.E.W.T. level questions and then punished us for somehow not being omniscient enough to stop Neville from making a mistake in his own potion," Elizabeth exclaimed. "I mean, how can we be held responsible for his mistakes? How does that even make sense? If that's not carrying a grudge too far, then what is?"

Hagrid looked away slightly, having no answer to that. Then, in an obvious and deliberate change of subject, Hagrid engaged Ron in a conversation about his brothers—especially Charlie who was in Romania studying dragons, something Hagrid was apparently very interested in.

Harry noticed a cutting from the Daily Prophet lying on the table:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

"Some idiot broke into Gringotts?" Harry frowned. 'And on my birthday while we were in Diagon Alley no less; now what are the odds of that?'

"Yeah," Hagrid said just a bit too casually, "Amazing the crazy things some people do, isn't it?"

'He knows something' Harry realized. 'He's involved somehow...' A sideways glance at Lizzie confirmed that she had reached the same conclusion.

They talked about it as they walked back to the castle after finishing their tea.

"It's not anything personal to him," Elizabeth said, "That house probably contains everything he owns and whatever his salary is, it wouldn't be worth breaking into Gringotts over."

"Agreed," Harry said. But that still left them with a mystery.

Chapter Text

"Okay, Harry," Hermione said as the two of them and Elizabeth left the Gryffindor Common Room to head towards the library. "I've ordered that book, now you've got some explaining to do."

"Excuse me?" Harry said.

"First, give me the cliffnotes version on sympathetic thickeners."

"In our very first Transfiguration class," Harry said, "what did Professor McGonagall say was one of the cornerstones of Transfiguration magic?"

Hermione thought back for a moment, then her eyes widened and she smacked her forehead. "Of course, the Law of Sympathy. It's one of the reasons why we started with turning matchsticks into needles. The more similar two things are, the easier it is to transform one into the other."

"The Law of Sympathy also applies to many potions, where ingredients with similar effects with reinforce one another; the first one or two ingredients in any potion are the base, the rest either strengthen the intended effect, counteract an undesirable effect, or ensure that it will have the proper consistency—or some combination of those things." said Harry, "Take the Draught of Living Death, for example; all but one of the ingredients is a natural sedative but each of them has one or more undesirable side-effects that the others counteract while still strengthening the intended effect, so why do we then add a brain taken from some poor sloth?"

"Because the sloth is the laziest animal in the world," Hermione agreed, "in fact it's so lazy that its very name became a synonym for laziness. And that would be a very sympathetic effect for a sleeping potion."

"It thickens the potion to the proper consistency without detracting from the intended effect," Harry agreed. "Whereas if we used some other thickener—like say shredded ginger—the potion would be weakened and also cause unwanted side-effects."

"Yes, that would make sense," said Hermione. "Now question two: I skimmed through the library copy of 'Advanced Potion Making' and the recipe there for Draught of Living Death only mentions twelve sopophorus beans, but you said thirteen and Snape didn't correct you. Why?"

"My mum was, if I may say so, an extremely smart woman," Harry said. "while she was a student she discovered a number of improvements to various potions, most of them only minor changes that nonetheless significantly improve their quality. If Voldemort hadn't killed her, I expect she would have eventually published a new potions textbook for all Hogwarts years that combined the three other books with her own discoveries."

"And because Snape was a classmate with your parents, he would have heard about her discoveries."

"Most likely, yes."

"Potter!" Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy standing in front of them, flanking on either side by Crabbe and Goyle."

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"That was very impressive in Potions."

"So glad you think so," Harry said dryly, wondering what this was about.

"But fame and skill can only take you so far," said Malfoy, "if you truly want to get ahead, you don't want to be making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you with that." Malfoy held out his hand.

"The wrong sort?" Harry asked. "And what exactly is the 'wrong sort' in your opinion?"

Malfoy gave Hermione a sneer. "Mudbloods—" Malfoy didn't get a chance to say any more, for the moment he spoke the word Elizabeth's right first came up and socked Malfoy in the nose, knocking him backwards into Crabbe and Goyle.

"We don't want anything to do with people who use foul language like that," Elizabeth declared.

Harry said, "You just insulted Hermione, my mother, and Lizzie's mother. So why don't you snakes slither back down into whatever hole you crawled out of?"

"You'd better watch yourselves," Malfoy snarled, "You just made a terrible mistake. My father will hear about this!"

"Oooh, I quiver with fear," Elizabeth sneered.

After the Slytherins had left Hermione asked, "What was that word he used? Why did it set you off like that?"

"It's our equivalent of the 'N' word," Harry explained.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh." That explained everything.

(*)

The second week of classes was no better than the first; although they had finally learned their way around, now they needed the extra time just to stay on top of all their work. As they started to move out of the purely theoretical work, Harry began reading and practicing the movements and incantations for the spells in 'Curses and Countercurses'. Most of them were beyond the reach of a first year but some of them he managed to make work.

In every class that Gryffindor and Slytherin shared, which was half of them, Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewett continued to compete to see how many points each could earn in for their respective houses. In Transfiguration Hermione earned extra points for knowing about Switching Spells. In Charms Mafalda earned points for be able to describe the differences between pre-modern sorcery and modern wizardry and why the shift was made from staves to wands. Quirrel's subsequent Defense classes weren't nearly as interesting as the first one, mainly because Quirrel seemed quite timid and nervous—especially around Harry for some reason. In Potions Snape set them to brewing a simple Sleeping Potion; even though it wasn't a potion that tended to blow up when misbrewed, Harry still took even greater care at every step of process and did his best to simply ignore Snape as he prowled about the classroom. That didn't stop his phial of completed potion from somehow sliding off Snape's desk as Harry turned to leave but thankfully it was made of crystal instead of glass and so it just bounced instead of smashing. Harry spun around, glared at Snape for a moment, then picked up the phial and placed it back on the desk.

Friday afternoon had the first flying lesson and naturally it was Gryffindor and Slytherin paired together again. Harry had never expected to meet a boy he'd despise as much as Draco Malfoy who—when he wasn't being a spoiled brat, a bully, a foul-mouthed bigot or complaining about first-years not being allowed on the house Quidditch teams—told long and boastful stories about his prowess with a broom and he was not the only on to do so, Ron and Seamus did so as well.

Neville and Hermione were both exceptionally nervous about flying and Hermione managed to bore almost everyone stupid with flying tips she'd read about in books—except for Neville who hung on her every word, desperate for every scrap of help—but her lecture was finally interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Neville received a Remembrall from his grandmother, which promptly turned red indicating that he'd forgotten something. While he was trying to remember what he'd forgotten, Draco Malfoy walked by and grabbed the Remembrall out of his hands. Harry, Elizabeth and Ron all jumped to their feet, half-hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall was there in a flash and forced Malfoy to give it back.

That afternoon the Gryffindors and Slytherins were outside in front of twenty-two broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Madam Hooch, the flying instructor and Quidditch referee, watched them like a hawk as she taught them how to properly mount their brooms without sliding off the end. Harry, Elizabeth and Ron were delighted when Hooch told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now," said Hooch, "when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down." Hooch started a countdown but Neville accidentally pushed off early, sending him straight up like a bottle cork; then he slipped off of his broom and fell to the ground with a thump. Madam Hooch went and looked Neville over. "Broken wrist, I'd better take you to the Hospital wing." She rounded on the other students. "The rest of you had better stay on the ground, or I'll have you in detention faster than you can say 'Quidditch'."

After Hooch and Neville were gone, Draco Malfoy walked over and picked up the Remembrall. "Look what the clumsy lug dropped."

"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry demanded.

"I think I'll hide it somewhere—maybe up a tree—."

"Give it here," Harry repeated but Malfoy had already leapt on his broom and took off. Harry mounted his own broom, ignoring Hermione's protests, and went after Malfoy. "Give it here," Harry called out as he faced a stunned Malfoy in midair. "Or I'll knock you off that broom."

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry leaned forward and shot towards Malfoy, who only barely got out of the way in time. "No Crabbe and Goyle to save your neck up here, Malfoy."

"Well, if you care so much, then catch it!" Malfoy threw the Remembrall high into the air and then zipped back to the ground.

Harry saw the Remembrall rise and then start to fall; he went into a steep dive, racing the ball—the wind whistling in his ears and mingling with the screams from the people below. Harry stretched out his hand and grabbed the Remembrall just barely in time to level out and land before hitting the ground.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Everyone spun around to see McGonagall bearing down on them. "Never in all of my time at Hogwarts have I ever see…" She shook her head. "Follow me now."

Harry gave the Remembrall to Hermione, then followed McGonagall inside, up the marble staircase and through the corridors, finally stopping outside of a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

A burly fifth-year boy came out of the Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Wood, this is Harry Potter; Potter, is this Oliver Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Wood, I have found you a Seeker." McGonagall's voice now bubbled with excitement. Harry's eyes widened. Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

(*)

"Seeker?" Elizabeth squealed and Harry nodded. "but this makes you the youngest Seeker—,"

"—in about a century," Harry said.

"But I thought first years weren't normally allowed to play Quidditch," Hermione said.

"Normally they aren't," said Harry, "But McGonagall decided to bend the rule in my case." According to her and Wood, the Gryffindor team hadn't won the Quidditch Cup since Charlie Weasley had left to study dragons midway through the previous school year.

"Your dad would be proud of you," said Elizabeth.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked

"My dad played Chaser," Harry said, "but he'd wanted to be Seeker and frequently played with a Snitch; drove my mum bonkers I'm told. Which reminds me," Harry fished out his two-way mirror, "Lady Snuffles," Harry said. Within seconds Karen's face appeared in the mirror.

"Harry," she said, "Good to see you. What's up?" Harry quickly relayed what had happened and, like Lizzie, Karen was quite exuberant at the news, finally asking. "What broomstick do you want?"

"A Nimbus 2000 please," Harry replied.

"I'll order you one tomorrow," Karen promised,

"Thank you."

"Just do your best and make us proud."

"I will."

They talked for a few more minutes about their classes and then about Snape.

"Sounds like he hasn't changed a bit," Karen said, "Don't let him push you around."

"Believe me," said Harry, "I don't intend to."

(*)

Harry eating dinner in the Great Hall when Malfoy approached, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter?"

"You're a lot braver now that you are back on the ground with Tweedledee and Tweedledum," Harry said.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only - no contact." Harry's eyes narrowed at Malfoy, trying to decide how best to reply. Malfoy, however, took Harry's silence for confusion and continued: "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," Ron blurted out. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

"Excuse me?" said Elizabeth. Ron and Malfoy both ignored her. Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

"Ron," Elizabeth said after Malfoy had left. "you are an idiot."

Ron's face turned red and he angrily replied, "What do you say that for?"

"First of all," Harry said. "I only met you last week, so what makes you think that you can speak for me like that—or that I would choose you as my second?"

Ron just gaped at him. "Well who else would you choose mate?"

Elizabeth reached over and smacked Ron. "Me, of course, you prick!"

"Secondly," Harry continued, "in any true Wizard Duel it's the challenged party that always sets the terms, and yet you just let him—the challenger—dictate all the terms. Someone like Malfoy should already know that he's not allowed to do that, so the fact that he even tried means that he's up to something."

"Most likely," Hermione chimed in, startling them as she'd silently walked up behind them, "it means that he's planning to set you up."

"My thoughts as well," Harry agreed.

"So...you're just not going to show up?" Ron asked incredulously. "You can't just not show, not after you agreed to it—,"

"He didn't agree to it, you dolt," Elizabeth snarled. "You did!"

"Stop insulting me," Ron demanded.

"Oh bite me," Elizabeth retorted.

Ron let a growl, then got up so fast that he bumped the table, spilling several of his neighbors drinks, and stalked out of the Great Hall.

When Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room he found Ron sitting on a chair with a Wizard's Chess set on a table in front him; his pet rat, Scabbers, was on his shoulder.

"Harry," Ron called. "Fancy a game of Wizard's Chess?

Harry was surprised that Ron of all people was challenging him, especially after their recent argument. Ron did not at all seem like the kind of person who played chess but Harry soon got his answer when they actually played. Ron played what Harry called 'Rambo Chess', that is he attacked aggressively and frequently to clear the board as fast as possible. Both Harry and Elizabeth, on the other hand, preferred a more subtle and indirect approach, what they called 'Finesse Chess'. But as AI chess programs—both computer programs and the Wizard's Chess pieces during solo mode—also played Rambo Chess, they had learned long ago how to adjust against a Rambo player.

Ron opened their first game by attempting to set up a Scholars Mate; Harry allowed Ron to think that he'd had him fooled and then, right after Ron brought out his queen, Harry brought out his Kings Knight, blocking Ron's queen from finishing the gambit; the look on Ron's face was priceless. Ron switched to a more typical Rambo approach, bringing out his other pieces to attack aggressively. Harry responded accordingly, countering many threats by forcing Ron to move his queen out of danger—thus buying him an extra turn to respond to the threat—and also developed a pawn structure through quiet moves that frequently put Ron into zugzwang—forcing him to move when he didn't want to. At first Ron didn't seem to know what to make of Harry's strategy, at least until Harry had backed Ron's queen into a corner such that Harry was able to take it without losing a piece. From there things rapidly went downhill for Ron.

"You play like Loony Lovegood," Ron complained after finally being checkmated.

"Like who?"

Fred and George had chanced to walk up just at that moment; George reached over and smacked Ron's head.

"What our brother means to say," Fred said, "is that he thinks you play like Luna Lovegood, our neighbor; she's a girl about the same age as our sister Ginny; they'll start Hogwarts next year."

"Does this Luna often beat Ron?" Harry asked and George smiled.

"Only every time, which is why Ron doesn't play her anymore."

"Well then," Harry grinned. "I'll take being compared to her as a compliment."

Ron crossed his arms and sulked.

"So, you're really just not going to show up? Ron asked after his brothers had left. "What if Malfoy does show?"

"He won't."

"But what if he does?"

"He won't!"

"You can't know that for sure," said Ron.

Harry buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes as he let out a groan; although he'd never say it aloud, he was starting to wish that he and Lizzie had met Hermione first on the train not Ron; for all of her own flaws, Harry could at least carry on an intelligent conversation with Hermione. Not so with Ron and it was starting to irritate him. Ron clearly was quite prepared to go out after curfew even knowing that it might be a set up, just because it would be an adventure. Truth be told, Harry wouldn't have minded a bit of excitement—but this didn't sound like it would be exciting, it sounded like it would be pointless and end with them getting in detention.

"You want to get detention, Ron," Harry finally said, looking up at him. "You go ahead. I'm going to go upstairs and get some sleep."

Chapter Text

"Harry," Hermione asked him, intercepting him on his way to the stairs. "I am curious, how do you know so much about dueling?"

Harry grinned. "Because I am a fan of the Professional Dueling Circuit."

Hermione blinked. "That's actually a sport? How you can anyone earn money by fighting duels?"

"The same way some muggles earn money boxing or wrestling," Harry replied. "Only dueling is way more refined than those sports, at least in my opinion anyway. My favorite duelist in the circuit currently is Erik Lee; he's a bit young, but he's quite good. Rumor has it that he'd originally wanted to be an Auror but wasn't able to get into Snape's N.E.W.T level Potions course, so he became a Duelist instead." Harry started to launch into an explanation of the sport but Hermione quickly held up her hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay, I get it," she said. "Though I would have thought you'd be eager to go fight Malfoy even knowing it might be a set up."

"I do want to fight him," Harry said. "But I don't want to take the risk of losing Gryffindor points if I am caught sneaking around after curfew."

(*)

That evening Harry hung up his wand holster on one of his bedposts but slid his wand into his bathrobe's pocket as he headed to the showers. When he returned after showering, Harry paused and did a double take. His wand holster was now missing. Doing a quick count of his dormmates, Harry noticed that both Ron and Neville were missing.

Harry tightened up his bathrobe, drew his wand and darted down the stairs where he was met by Hermione, who was wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

"Harry," she said, "Ron just left, I tried to stop him—,"

"Did he have my wand holster?"

"Yes," said Hermione. Harry headed towards the portrait door. "Wait, where are you going?"

"I'm getting my holster back."

Hermione went after Harry through the door. "Then I'm coming with you!"

Outside they found Neville, curled up on the ground at first but he jerked awake as they approached and explained that he'd forgotten the new password. Harry turned back towards the portrait door—only to pause when he saw that the Fat Lady's portrait was empty. She must have left on a nighttime visit but it meant that they were all locked out of Gryffindor tower for the time being.

"Where would Ron go?"

"The trophy room," Harry growled.

They were lucky and did not run into Filch or Mrs. Norris on their way to the trophy room on the third floor. The trophy room was filled with cups, shields, plates and statues that winked silver and gold in the darkness. Ron, who was already there and had Harry's wand holster slung over a shoulder, turned towards them with a grin.

"Harry, he whispered, "You made it—!,"

Harry's fist came up and socked Ron in the face, knocking him to the floor. Harry snatched up his wand holster from Ron and put it on.

"Okay," Ron groaned as he got back to his feet. "I suppose I deserved that."

"That's the smartest thing you've ever said," Harry hissed. He didn't often lose his temper, but when he did Harry was considerably more venomous than Elizabeth; Lily had been much the same way, according to Karen. "What were you—," Hermione abruptly slammed one of her hands over his mouth while placing the index finger of her other hand over her mouth. Her hand had a faint flowery smell. Then Harry heard a familiar and unwelcome voice:

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris, Harry realized with horror. He waved madly at the other three to follow him; they silently scurried toward the door, away from Filch's voice. They'd barely managed to turn a corner when Filch entered the trophy room, muttering:

"They're in here somewhere, probably hiding."

They crept down a long corridor full of suits of armor; they could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly squeaked, broke into a run—and tripped, grabbing Ron as he fell causing the two of them to topple right into a suit of armor, which fell to the floor with a crash loud enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harry yelled. They sprinted down the corridor, not looking back; rounding a corner and galloping down another corridor, then another, they finally ripped through a tapestry, through a secret passageway, and came out near their Charms classroom.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted; he leaned against a cold wall and wiped his forehead. Neville was bent double wheezing and sputtering while Hermione clutched at the stich in her chest and gasped out "I told you so's" to Ron, who ignored her and said:

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower, quickly."

But they hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when Peeves shot out of a classroom in front of them and gave a squeal of delight. "What is this?" he cackled, "Ickle Firsties wandering around at midnight? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caught."

"Not if you don't give us away, please," Harry asked.

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves, managing to sound quite saintly even with wickedly glittering eyes. "For your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," Ron snapped as he took a swipe at Peeves. That proved to be a huge mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

They took off running again, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a locked door.

"This is it!" Ron moaned helplessly. "We're done for! This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps as Filch ran fast towards Peeves shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered. "Alohomora!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open; they piled through, shut it quickly and pressed their ears against it, listening intently. Neville started tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe but Harry ignored him.

"Peeves, where did they go?" Filch asked.

"Say 'please'," Peeves taunted him.

"Don't mess with me, where did they go?"

"I shan't say nothing if you don't say please," Peeves said in an annoying singsong.

"All right, please."

"NOTHING!" Peeves broke into laughter. "Ha, I only said I wouldn't say nothing." He wooshed away, continuing to cackle as Filch angrily cursed him. As the sound of Filch's voice faded, Harry finally turned around to ask Neville why he was still tugging on Harry's bathrobe sleeve—and suddenly froze for now he knew the real reason why this corridor was off-limits.

A monstrous three-headed dog, one that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor, was staring at them and starting to growl. It hadn't attacked them yet as it had been asleep and surprised by their arrival but now it was starting to growl.

Harry groped for the doorknob and the four Gryffindors fell backwards through it. Harry slammed the door shut, then looked at Hermione who was still holding his wand.

"Know the locking spell? Harry asked her. They did NOT want anyone else opening this door. Hermione nodded and raised his wand, tapping the lock again.

"Colloportus," she said, then handed Harry back his wand. Then they practically flew back down the corridor, wanting to put as much space between them and the monstrous dog as possible. They only stopped running when the reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, noticing their bathrobes and their flushed and sweaty faces.

"Never mind, that," Harry panted. "Pig snout, pig snout." The portrait swung forward and they scrambled into the common room, finally collapsing into several armchairs. A long time passed before any of them said anything; Neville looked like he'd never speak again.

"Why is a thing like that doing locked up in a school?" Ron finally asked.

Hermione got back both her breath and her bad temper. "Did you use your eyes, Weasley? Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"I was too busy watching its three heads," Ron fired back.

"It was standing on a trapdoor," Hermione snapped, glaring at Ron. "It's obviously guarding something; which makes sense, being a Cerberus and all." She stood up. "Well, I hope you're pleased with yourself, Weasley. We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled! Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron just stared at her, mouth open, as she stalked up the stairs to her dormitory.

"I think she needs to adjust her priorities," Ron muttered once she was out of earshot.

"I think you're the one who needs an adjustment," Harry snapped at him. "This only happened because of you and don't think I'll ever forget what you did….Weasley!"

Ron stared at him, mouth open and eyes widening.

"But—but—,"

"You stole my wand holster," Harry said, "That crossed a line I cannot forget. Consider our friendship over." With that Harry turned away from Ron and headed up to his dormitory. As he climbed into bed Harry pondered what Hermione had said; it seemed too much to be a coincidence that someone would try to rob Gringotts, that Hagrid would somehow be involved…and that a Cerberus would be at this school guarding something.

(*)

Elizabeth was upset the next morning at breakfast that they'd had an adventure without her and demanded that they tell her everything. Harry paused halfway through the tale when McGonagall came over to the Gryffindor table and said:

"Mr. Longbottom, I must talk with you in private; please follow me."

Neville, looking both confused and a bit scared, stood and followed McGonagall out of the Great Hall, up several flights of staircases and to McGonagall's office. To Neville's surprise Professor Flitwick was also there.

"Now, Mister Longbottom, Professor Flitwick and I are concerned about your lack of practical aspects of our classes." Neville was suddenly overcome with nervousness.

Flitwick reassured him: "You have the wand movements and incantations down properly, Mister Longbottom, but you are not actually casting the spells. Is your wand properly matched to you?"

Neville shook his head. "No, it was my dad's."

McGonagall's lips firmed. "That would explain it. Although legacy wands usually work for other family members, they will never give as good results. I will write to your grandmother and urge her to come by and pick you up for a quick trip to Ollivanders. I am sure she will understand once I explain the circumstances."

Neville, however, wasn't so sure his Gran would listen. He was therefore quite surprised when she did show up to take him to Diagon Alley; half an hour later Neville was the proud owner of a Cherry and Unicorn hair wand.

Several days later a package containing a brand-new Nimbus 2000 arrived for Harry, though he knew better than to open it at the table. Harry began training with the Gryffindor team and struggling with an ever increasing load of homework. Oliver Wood, who rumor had it he was already being scouted by professional Quidditch teams, was just as obsessed with the sport as Harry was with dueling, though he nonetheless took it on himself to become a kind of mentor for Harry, helping him to organize his schedule and prioritize so that Harry no longer felt like he was juggling so many competing demands on time.

As the rest of September flew by and then October the rivalry between Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewett picked up speed with each continually seeking to outdo the other. Despite Harry's work in potions being nearly as good as those two girls, Snape continued to find any excuse and even—Harry was convinced—invented a few just to mark him down. Neville's performance in Charms and Transfiguration improved dramatically, and with it his self-confidence—at least when Snape wasn't around. Inspired by the way Oliver Wood was mentoring him, Harry made a point of taking the time to study and partner with Neville, especially during Potions, and there too he started to show an improvement. With Harry now ignoring him, Ron's grades took a nosedive as did his social standing and his already fragile self-esteem.

(*)

Harry had never liked Halloween; it always reminded him of his parents deaths and neither the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors, nor the news in Charms that they were ready to start practicing the Hover Charm, could lighten his mood. Flitwick put them into pairs to practice. Harry partnered with Neville and Elizabeth with Seamus. Hermione had the bad luck to be partnered with Ron and it was hard to tell which of them was angrier about this.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing," Professor Flitwick squeaked from his perch on top of a pile of books, "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And the incantation is important too, never forget the wizard Baruffio who said "s" instead of "f" and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Ron was not having much luck. "Wingardium Leviosa," he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione snapped, "It's Wing-gar-dium—make the 'gar' nice and long—and it's Levi-o-sa, not Levio-sa."

"You do it then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione flicked her wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done Miss Granger!" Flitwick cried.

Ron just sulked and was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no one can stand her," Ron said loudly as they pushed their way into the crowed corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione.

Harry caught a glimpse of her face – and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"I think she heard you." Harry stared after her.

"So?" Ron sneered. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Harry gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes, started to his clench his fists—POW! Harry blinked and saw Ron fall backwards to the ground, with Elizabeth standing over him with a furious expression on her face.

"You are a jerk and an idiot," Elizabeth announced. Then she turned and stalked off after Hermione.

Hermione and Elizabeth were not seen in Transfiguration, nor at lunch, nor at Herbology, nor for the rest of the afternoon. Finally, on the way to the Halloween Feast, Harry heard Parvati Patil telling Lavender that they were in the first floor girls bathroom. Harry stepped inside just long enough to make three plates of food and three sets of utensils.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Neville asked.

"I'm getting food for Lizzie and Hermione," Harry replied. "No doubt they'll be starving by now." Neville nodded.

Harry carried them out of the Great Hall, up a flight of stairs, down a deserted side corridor towards the girls toilets.

"Oh, bless you, Harry," Elizabeth said when Harry elbowed his way into the bathroom with the food; she took one of the plates and Harry walked over to Hermione.

Hermione's face was wet from tears but she was no longer actively crying. She took a plate hesitantly and they sat down on the floor and began to eat.

"Why?" her voice croaked.

"You skipped lunch, so you must be hungry," Harry said, "Oh, and I'll let you copy my notes for Transfiguration and Herbology.

"But—why?" Hermione repeated. "Why do you even care about me? I know that you think I'm a bossy know-it-all too."

"I don't see you as a bossy know-it-all," Harry said. "I see you as an incredibly smart and passionate girl, one who I want to know better and who I wish I had met under better circumstances."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You—you really mean that?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Ron was way out of line and if Lizzie hadn't decked him first, I would have. I would like very much to have you as a friend, Hermione."

"So would I," Elizabeth agreed.

"Friends?" Hermione said quietly, "Really?"

Harry and Elizabeth both smiled. "Really."

Hermione started to return their smile as the door opened again behind them.

Neville burst in out of breath and said, "Harry, there's a troll in the castle; we need to—"

A massive troll lumbered into the bathroom behind Neville and raised its club; the kids scattered in different directions to avoid it and the club smashed into the sinks, causing them to start leaking water. The next swing of the club narrowly missed Elizabeth and instead smash up several stalls. The troll turned its attention to Hermione, who was backed into a corner and paralyzed with fear; the troll raised its club again.

Harry drew his wand and cast the first spell that came to mind: "Wingardium Levioso!" The troll's club floated out of its hands and briefly hovered above its head. The troll stupidly looked up at it and Harry let it fall on him, which caused the troll to fall to the ground with a massive 'thump'. Only unconscious but no longer a threat.

Harry went over to Hermione and grabbed her arm, helping up out of the wreckage.

"Let's get out of here," Elizabeth said, "before—too late…."

Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall step into the ruined bathroom.

"My goodness," McGonagall exclaimed "What happened in here?

"I was about to ask the same question," Elizabeth retorted, "how the bloody hell did a troll get into the castle?"

"I assure you, Miss Black," McGonagall said, "that will be investigated. Now, why are none of you in the Great Hall?"

"Hermione was upset," Elizabeth began, "Ron had made fun of her; I was trying to calm her down, then Harry came in with dinner and we were just about to leave when Neville arrived, followed by the troll."

"The troll was about to hurt Hermione," Harry finished, "when I used a hover charm on its club and knocked it out."

McGonagall was momentarily speechless, finally she said, "that was very noble and courageous of you, Mister Potter. Very few first years could defeat a fully-grown mountain troll. Fifty points to Gryffindor."

McGonagall escorted them back to the Great Hall where they took seats at the Gryffindor table and finished eating dinner. From that day forward the four of them were best friends.

(*)

November saw the weather turn chilly; the mountains around the school became icy gray, the lake almost freezing cold, and the ground became covered in frost every morning. It also marked the start of Quidditch season. The first match was Gryffindor vs. Slytherin and as the day of the match drew nearer, tension mounted between the two houses. Harry's dormmates even made a banner for him that Hermione then charmed to flash the Gryffindor colors.

Finally, at 11 o'clock on a Saturday, the match began. The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, did the commentary; aside from a few early complements toward Angelina Johnson, Jordan kept his commentary neutral—at least until Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, deliberately collided with Harry during his initial pursuit of the Snitch, nearly causing him to fall off of his broom and also resulting in him losing sight of it.

Harry managed to get back on his broom; after a few minutes he caught sight of the Snitch again and sped towards the ground, racing Terence Higgs the Slytherin Seeker. With the Snitch out of reach, Harry tried to lean forward but this caused the broom to tip. Harry went flying and landed on the ground, clutching his mouth as though he was going to be sick; he coughed and the Snitch fell into his hand. Harry held it up, waving it around his head, and the game ended in confusion. Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.

After the match Harry, Hermione, Elizabeth and Neville visited Hagrid for tea. Harry asked him: "Why is there a Cerberus in the castle?"

Hagrid dropped the teapot. "How do you know about Fluffy?"

"The Cerberus is named Fluffy?" Elizabeth said.

"Yeah—he's mine," said Hagrid, "bought him off a Greek chappie I met in a pub las' year; lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—,"

"Yes?" Harry said eagerly

"No, that's top secret, that is." Hagrid said.

"But Snape's trying to steal it," said Harry.

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again, "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort. Now listen to me, all of yeh. You forget that dog; what it's guardin' is no concern for yeh, that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel—,"

"Nicholas Flamel?" Elizabeth said "Thank you so much."

"Shouldn'ta said that," Hagrid furiously said. "Shouldn'ta said that, you forget it now, yeh hear?"

"Nicholas Flamel," Harry muttered as they walked back to the castle, "that sounds very familiar but I can't quite place it."

They started searching the library intermittently for that name during their breaks, though Harry had even less time than them because Wood was working the team harder than ever.

Chapter Text

The rest of November saw Elizabeth and Harry fighting losing battles with their tempers in Potions Class; Snape was just so horrible and actually seemed to go out of his way to provoke them just so that he could give them detention. Elizabeth, who had a much shorter temper than Harry, ended up going for it far more than Harry did but seeing her singled out invariably led to him jumping in and getting punished as well.

November gave into December and by mid-month the grounds were covered in snow, the lake was frozen solid, and the castle corridors became drafty and chilly. The Weasley twins were punished for throwing snowballs at Quirrel's turban. As the holiday break neared, decorations began to appear all through the castle. Professor McGonagall came around a week before the break with a signup sheet for those students wishing to stay, though almost no did.

Although Hogwarts had become almost like a second home for Harry and Elizabeth, still they were quite happy to see Karen and the Tonks again. While at home they did some last minute Christmas shopping; Elizabeth sent Hermione some sugar-free sweets (her parents were dentists after all) and Harry got her a wand holster (she had asked about them). For Neville Elizabeth gave him a wand holster while Harry got him some Chocolate Frogs. On Christmas Eve Karen had them open their presents from her early and they soon found out why for she had gotten each of them an owl. Harry's was a snowy-white owl that he named Hedwig. Elizabeth got a dark-feathered owl whom she insisted on dubbing 'Vader'.

On Christmas morning Harry awoke to find a small pile of presents at the foot of his bed. The Tonks sent him a wand cleaning kit. Elizabeth gave him a new pair of long underwear, which he was earnestly grateful for. Hermione and Neville had each sent him a box of candy, mostly Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans with a selection of others. From Hagrid Harry got a roughly-carved wooden flute. The last present Harry opened was a very lightweight parcel with the note, written in a narrow loopy handwriting Harry had never seen before, only saying: "Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you."

Harry slipped the note into his pajama pocket, unwrapped the parcel and found inside a slivery gray cloak. It felt very strange to touch, almost like water. Harry tried it on and then realized what it was when most of his reflection from the mirror.

'An Invisibility Cloak!' He thought 'Oh, I am going to have so much fun with this.'.

Feeling a sudden surge of mischievousness, Harry pulled the hood over his head, slid open his bedroom door and walked out as quietly as he could. Downstairs Harry saw that Karen was already up and making hot chocolate. Harry stepped aside to let Elizabeth walk past.

"Where's Harry?" Karen asked

"I haven't seen him," Elizabeth replied, "I'll go see if he's up yet." She walked back upstairs, but then a minute later came running back down. "Mom! Harry's not in his bed or the bathroom."

"What?" Karen said, "What do you mean he's not there? Where could he possibly be?" Harry lowered his hood and laughed when Karen and Elizabeth both almost jumped out of their skins.

Elizabeth sputtered incoherently, "What are you—how did you—is that an Invisibility Cloak?"

Karen stalked over and snatched it off of Harry. "This is James' cloak, how did you get this?" Harry simply grinned and handed over the note. Karen scrutinized it carefully. "This is Dumbledore's handwriting, and it figures he'd tell you a half-truth."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked

"I mean that James lent Dumbledore this cloak after joining the Order and then Dumbledore refused to return it when Lily and James decided to go into hiding a few years later." Karen's eyes narrowed ferociously. "If they'd had this cloak, Harry, Lily at least might have survived and you probably wouldn't have that scar."

Harry's eyes watered, his previous sense of mischief now all but a memory.

"Why didn't Dumbledore return it?" Elizabeth asked, having finally recovered from her shock.

"You'd have to ask him that," Karen said and then gave the cloak back to Harry. "This is rightfully yours, Harry, but please don't you ever scare me like that again!"

Harry nodded and carefully folded the cloak back up; he took it up to his room and put it inside his mokeskin pouch, then returned to the kitchen for some hot chocolate.

Christmas Dinner was, as always, bittersweet; the food was excellent: a fat roasted turkey with roasted potatoes, buttered peas, and gravy. Yet, as was their tradition for ten years now, an extra place setting was set aside for Sirius who still languished unjustly in Azkaban despite all of Karen's appeals and challenges. Karen lightened the mood a bit by telling some stories about pranks James and Sirius had pulled while students.

"I remember one year," Karen was saying, "they charmed all the suits of armor in the castle to start singing the school song when someone walked by—in the most annoying tune naturally." Harry clutched his stomach as he laughed; Elizabeth actually fell of her chair, she was laughing so hard.

(*)

Neville was grinning when Harry, Hermione, and Elizabeth met him on the train back to Hogwarts and he explained excitedly: "I found Flamel."

"What?" Hermione said, "Where?"

"It was last night. I opened one of the Chocolate Frogs that Harry sent me; look here." Neville held up a Chocolate Frog card:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Hermione let out a squeal of excitement, startling her friends as she jumped up and started rummaging through her trunk, finally pulling out an enormous old book.

"I got this out of the library for some light reading over the holidays," she said. "I never thought to look in here." She started to flicking through the book with frantic speed, muttering to herself, and at least found what she was looking for: I knew it! I knew it!"

"Knew what?" Elizabeth asked.

"Nicholas Flamel," Hermione announced dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!" She showed them the page.

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone known to exist belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

"Wow," said Harry. "So that must be what Fluffy what is guarding."

Elizabeth frowned. "Wait a minute," she said. "If Flamel is that old, then he would have made the Stone long before Dumbledore was born."

"And?" Neville asked

"If that is the case," Elizabeth said. "Just what did Dumbledore work on in alchemy with Flamel that was so notable it's mentioned in his Chocolate Frog card?"

None of them, not even Hermione, had an answer for that.

"Well," Hermione finally said. "I think we have a new mystery to research in the library. Knowing that it's related to alchemy narrows our search considerably."

With the term started up again Wood began working the team harder than ever, even though endless rain had replaced the snow. Harry had always intended to use his Invisibility Cloak to explore the castle unhindered and perhaps even check out the Restricted Section but Quidditch practice always tired him out so much that he went right to sleep. Although they did catch a few minutes here and there in the library in the Alchemy section, there seemed to be nothing there about Dumbledore. Yet for all the preparation that Wood put into preparing the team for the game with Hufflepuff, the actual match was an anticlimax, with Harry spotting and catching the Snitch mere minutes into the game.

Hermione got them to start reviewing for exams a full fourteen weeks early and, unfortunately, it seemed that the teachers were thinking along the same lines for they piled on an every increasing amount of homework, such that they had to spend the entire Easter break in the library getting caught up. While taking a stretch break Harry noticed Hagrid leaving the library looking like he was hiding something. Too far away to call out to him without disrupting the library, Harry shrugged it off and went back to studying. Harry didn't think much of it until the following month, on the day before the Slytherin-Hufflepuff Quidditch game, when Hedwig delivered a letter from Hagrid asking to see him.

The inside of Hagrid's hut was stiflingly hot, with a fire burning away in the grill in spite of the warming temperatures outside, and a cauldron sitting on the fire.

"Open a window, already," Elizabeth said.

"I can't," said Hagrid. And then they saw why when Hagrid removed from the cauldron a large black egg and set it on the table in front of them.

"Is that..." Neville began

"...a dragon egg?" Harry finished.

"Where did you get it?" Hermione asked

"How did you get it?" Neville asked. "These things are illegal."

"Oh look," said Hagrid, "it's starting." Cracks were starting to appear in the shell and as they watched the shell finally split in half and the dragon emerged.

"It's a Norwegian Ridgeback," Neville gasped.

To Harry it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella; it had spiny wings that looked huge compared to its skinny jet body, a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns, and bulging orange eyes; from its neck all the way to its tail was the line of spikes that had given this species of dragon its name. It sneezed and a couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured and he reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head; it snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?" But Hagrid was too absorbed in the baby dragon to answer.

"I'm going to call him Norbert," Hagrid said.

Elizabeth said, "Hagrid, you can't keep Norbert; not only is it illegal, but you live in a wooden house."

It took a week to make Hagrid see reason, during which time the dragon grew three times its original length and Hagrid's duties were neglected as the dragon kept him so busy.

"Give it another two weeks," Harry said. "And he'll be as long as your house."

Hagrid bit his lip. "I — I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't."

"And what do you think the Ministry is going to do when they find out you have an illegal dragon?" Neville asked him

"They're willing to put my dad away indefinitely for crimes he didn't commit," Elizabeth said. "What do you think they'll do to you?"

In the end, however, it was when Harry remembered that Charlie Weasley was a dragon keeper in Romania and offered to send Norbert there that Hagrid finally relented. Harry sent Hedwig off with a letter to Charlie Weasley that night and the following week seemed to drag on forever. In that time Norbert grew even larger and switched from eating chicken's blood and brandy to dead rats by the crate. Neville got bitten by Norbert, whose fangs proved to be venomous, and so was forced to spend several days in the hospital wing. The letter finally came from Charlie Weasley asking to meet at the top of the Astronomy Tower on Saturday night with the dragon. Elizabeth originally planned to help them but found herself in detention (again) that night for having talked back to Snape (again), leaving it to just Harry and Hermione to sneak out under Harry's cloak after curfew.

"I packed him extra food and brandy," said Hagrid, "And his teddy bear." Hermione winced at the sounds coming from within the crate; no doubt the poor teddy had just been ripped to shreds. Those sounds made her realize something they'd overlooked until now:

"Even if we can fit this under the Cloak, Norbert's making enough of a racket to wake up half the castle."

"Can't you do something about that?"

"Harry," Hermione said very patiently. "The Silencing Charm is a fifth year spell, even I don't study that far ahead." But then she muttered, "Though if we get out of this, I am so going to learn it."

"Okay," said Harry. "I guess I'll have to try the next best thing." Harry pointed his wand at the cage and said "Muffliato." It was one of the spells from his mother's notes.

"What was that supposed to do?" Hermione asked when the racket didn't fade.

"If I'm remembering correctly, it should prevent anyone else from hearing it or us."

"Where did you even find a spell like that?"

"Long story, I'll tell you later," Harry said. "Let's just get this over with."

"Right," said Hermione with a nod.

It was a very tight fit under the Invisibility Cloak, but they managed to cart the crate with Norbert into the castle and up several flights of stairs. They were nearly to the door to the Astronomy Tower when they encountered Filch. They tried to sneak past him but for some reason Filch kept looking in their direction, almost as if he was hearing something, even though Harry knew that shouldn't be possible. They slipped inside the Astronomy Tower and hurried up to the top where Harry finally took off the Cloak and put it in his mokeskin pouch.

For ten minutes they waited and when they finally spotted four broomsticks descending out of the darkness, Harry cancelled the Muffliato spell. Charlie and his friends were a cheerful lot; they showed Harry and Hermione the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry and Hermione shook hands with the others and gave them profuse thanks. Then at last Norbert was gone.

But their profound sense of relief and lightened hearts suddenly died when they turned towards the door just in time to see it open. Filch stood on the other side.

"Well, well," he said with a cackle. "A pair of first years out of bed after curfew, and in the Astronomy Tower no less."

(*)

Filch took them to McGonagall's office; all the way there a wide variety of excuses, alibies and wild stories rushed through Harry's head, each less believable than the last. Hermione was trembling and biting her lip as they waited. McGonagall finally arrived wearing a pink bathrobe and a hairnet.

"Never have I been so disappointed in a pair of my students," McGonagall exclaimed. "Do you have anything to say for yourselves?" Hermione, for the first time, refused to answer a professor; she just stared at her shoes. Harry placed his arms behind his back and bit his tongue. There was nothing to say, nothing they could say. "Never in all my years have a pair of first-years been discovered after curfew in the Astronomy Tower and I never would have expected it one of the students to be you, Miss Granger. You are normally so very sensible." Hermione's cheeks flushed. "I have no choice but to take fifty points from Gryffindor. Each." Harry's face fell; a hundred points would drop them from first to last in the House Cup. "You will also each serve a detention. Now, get back to your dormitories."

"Yes, Professor," Harry and Hermione mumbled together.

They next morning the Gryffindor's were quite confused at the point glasses in the Entrance Hall and initially thought that there must be some mistake for how could they have lost a hundred points overnight? Harry and Hermione kept their heads down and focused on their breakfast as rumors and accusations began to fly at the Gryffindor table. Finally someone noticed that they were being unusually quiet and although they didn't say anything, it was soon quickly deduced by the rest of Gryffindor that the two of them were somehow responsible. In almost the blink of an eye Harry saw his popularity evaporate; even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him as they had been looking forward to Slytherin losing for once. The Slytherins, instead, took to congratulating them in the halls. Wood, meanwhile started drilling the Gryffindor Quidditch team ever harder, especially when Slytherin increased their lead even further when their team flattened Ravenclaw that Saturday.

"I found out what went wrong," Harry said quietly to Hermione in the common room that night, showing her a page from his mother's notes.

"It creates a buzzing sound in the ears of nearby people," Hermione said with a sigh. "Useful if you don't want someone overhearing a private conversation, but not so much if you are under an Invisibility Cloak." She paused for a moment. "So where did you get this spell anyway?"

"My mum invented it, I think," he replied "It was handwritten into one of her textbooks."

Hermione made a face at the notion of defacing a book like that, then slid over a parchment on which she'd copied the Silencing Charm from the library copy of 'Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5: "Next time we're under the Cloak, for any reason, we use this instead." They spent the entire next week practicing that spell whenever they had a free moment, Elizabeth and Neville joined them as they often used Trevor as a target. As the spell was meant for fifth years, it was not easy to learn as a first year even for Hermione, but by the time of Harry, Hermione and Elizabeth's detention on Saturday the four of them had finally gotten it down.

But whereas McGonagall took Harry and Hermione to an empty classroom where they would spend the entire afternoon writing endless lines, "I will not sneak out after curfew", Elizabeth was led out of the castle by Filch.

"Wait a minute," she said. "Where are we going?"

Filch sneered at her. "Professor Snape has requested something special for you, Miss Black, in light of your repeated defiance and disrespect towards him."

Elizabeth's heart rose when she saw Hagrid. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all. Her relief must have shown on her face as Filch said:

"I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, girl — it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll come out in one piece."

"The forest?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Isn't that, like, forbidden and full of dangerous creatures?"

"That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. "Should've thought of that before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Hagrid strode towards them, with Fang at his heel; he carried a large crossbow and quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Elizabeth?"

"I shouldn't be too friendly to her, Hagrid," said Filch coldly, "she's here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' her, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dark," said Filch, "for what's left of her," he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle.

"I'm not going in that forest," Elizabeth said, starting to sound a bit panicky.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"Can't I just copy lines or something, if my mum knew about this, she'd—"

"— tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines! That's obviously not done yeh any good, has it? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer mum'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!"

Elizabeth didn't move, just glared at Hagrid; she couldn't be certain, but she was pretty sure that Hagrid was wrong about how her mother would react to hearing about this.

"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do, an' I don' want yeh takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."

He led her to the very edge of the forest and pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted her hair as
they looked into the forest.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time this week. I found one dead on Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Elizabeth unable to keep the fear out her voice. Bravery was one thing, but she was only a first year. There wasn't much she could do against something capable of hurting unicorns.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid.

"Except for whatever's hunting unicorns," Elizabeth retorted.

"Yeh'll be fine as long as yer with Fang," Hagrid replied. "We're gonna split up an' follow the trail in diff 'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least. Yeh'll take Fang and go one way, I'll go another. If yeh find the unicorn, send up green sparks; if yeh find trouble, send up red sparks an' I'll come an' find yeh— so, be careful — let's go."

The forest was so thick and blocked out so much light that Elizabeth soon got out her and said. "Lumos." The tip lit up with a wan light, allowing her to see the trail better as well as the spots of blood. The trail finally split off; Hagrid took the left path while Elizabeth and Fang took the right path. Every now and then she would see a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves. For nearly an hour she walked with the dog until the trail became almost impossible to follow as the trees were so thick. Finally she spotted a clearing through the tangled branches of an ancient oak. Inside the clearing lay a dead unicorn; Elizabeth had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Elizabeth started forward again only to freeze at a slithering sound. Out of the shadows came a cloaked figure that lowered its head over the wound in the animals side and began to drink its blood. Fang started barking but then bolted when the cloaked figure raised his head and looked straight at them. As it came forward, Elizabeth took a step back and tripped over a root. She fell backwards onto her back and raised her wand as the figure drew near and said the first spell that came to her. "Locomotor Mortis!" The figure's legs locked together and he fell down face first. Elizabeth stood and took off running.

She hadn't gotten far from the clearing when she nearly ran into something that caused her to stop and fall back down; looking up she realized that it was a centaur with white-blond hair, blue eyes like sapphires and a palomino body.

"Are you all right?" said the centaur, pulling Elizabeth to her feet.

"There's something back there," Elizabeth said gasping for air. "Do you know what it is?"

The centaur hesitated and looked carefully at her. "Who are you?"

"Oh forgive me," said Elizabeth, "My name is Elizabeth Black."

"My name is Firenze," the centaur replied. "And you had best get back to Hagrid, the forest is not safe for one as young as you."

As if that was a cue Hagrid came bursting through the trees with two more centaurs.

"What's happen'd," Hagrid asked.

"The unicorn is dead," Elizabeth said. "It's in the clearing over there." The other two centaurs went galloping towards it. "What is going on here?"

Firenze hesitated for a moment, then said. "Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"No," said Ellizabeth, startled by the odd question. "We've only used the horn and tail hair in Potions."

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but you will have a cursed life from the moment the blood touches your lips."

Elizabeth stared at Firenze in shock. "Cursed?"

"Yes," he said, "you live but you are no longer capable of feeling love or compassion, or any of the things that make life worth living; all of that becomes meaningless and you are left with only avarice and greed. The one who slays a unicorn puts themselves beyond any hope of redemption."

"Who would do that to themselves?" Elizabeth asked. "Wouldn't death be better?"

"It is," Firenze agreed, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else — something that will mean you can never die."

"The Sorcerer's Stone! Of course — the Elixir of Life! But who would—"

"Can you think of nobody who would be this desperate? Someone who does not see such a curse as a drawback because they have already done even worse?"

Elizabeth felt as though an iron fist had suddenly clenched her heart. "Voldemort," she whispered.

"Do not say that name here," Firenze snapped. "Even names have power. Now you must go."

Chapter Text

Elizabeth deliberately looked away from Hagrid as they walked out of the forest. When he tried to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, she wriggled out of his grasp.

"What's gotten into yeh?" Hagrid asked.

"What you mean aside from the fact that I was almost killed back there!?"

"Yeh're fine," Hagrid said, trying to sound reassuring.

"No thanks to you or your cowardly dog." Elizabeth snapped. "What would you have told my mother if I'd been killed?" She deepened her voice as much as her feminine vocal chords allowed. "'Oh, I'm sorry Mrs. Black but your daughter was murdered by a unicorn poacher, who turned out to be Voldemort himself, because I sent her off into the forbidden forest with just my dog. But don't worry, that's how things are at Hogwarts, you know'." Elizabeth rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Oh yes, that would have gone over really well."

"I wasn't expectin' anythin' would actually hurt yeh—,"

"You sent me in search of a unicorn poacher, what were you expecting?"

"I didn' think—,"

"No, you didn't."

"I had ter do somthin' tough fer yeh," Hagrid said. "Professor Snape tells me that yeh been real disrespectful ter him fer months and that regular detentions weren't working fer yeh."

Elizabeth blinked. 'Tough? I almost got killed and that was his idea of tough'? "Did Snape also mention that he deliberately provokes me?"

"He's a professor," said Hagrid, sounding defensive all of a sudden. "Professor Dumbledore trusts him. He wouldn't do anything like that."

"In our very first class Neville made a mistake in his potion; Snape blamed Harry and I for it, even though we had nothing to do with it, and even took away points from us for it." When Hagrid was silent, Elizabeth added. "You can ask Harry and Neville and all the other Gryffindors; they'll back me up."

As they approached the castle she spotted Snape coming their way. Elizabeth noted that although they stopped, Hagrid didn't ask Snape if anything she'd said was true.

"What is the news, Hagrid?" Snape asked.

"There's another dead unicorn," Hagrid said sadly.

"I'll take care of like last time," Snape replied, then turned his beady gaze on Elizabeth. "And you, Black, will learn to respect your teachers." Elizabeth had to bite her tongue to stop the instinctive retort that would only get her another 'special detention' and settled for just crossing her arms and glaring at Snape. Then she hurried inside.

Harry, Hermione, and Neville were waiting for her in the entrance hall.

"What happened," Harry asked. "You look terrible."

Elizabeth raised her wand and cast, "Muffliato. I will explain everything soon, but first I need you to do me a favor, Harry."

"What?"

"While Snape is in the forest, I want you to break into his private stores and see if there's anything...suspicious there. Something related to unicorns, perhaps."

"Unicorns?" The other three chorused.

"What—,"

"How—,"

"Why—,"

"Just trust me Harry and do it," said Elizabeth. "I'll explain everything when you get back, and I really only want to tell the story once."

Harry gave Elizabeth a careful look, then nodded. He cast "Silencio" on his feet, jumped up and down a bit to prove that it was working, then donned his Invisibility Cloak. He left radius of the Muffliato spell and headed down to the dungeons. Snape's office was adjacent to his classroom and the door was locked. Harry pointed his wand at it. "Alohomora!" The door opened and Harry went inside and headed straight for the next door, the one that had Snape's private store of ingredients. Another Alohomora opened that door as well and then Harry said, "Lumos". The light of his wand cast shadows all around the room; most of the shelves of ingredients seemed fairly innocuous but one shelf had jars containing silvery organs... Bingo!... "Nox," Harry whispered and hurried out, closing the doors behind him.

Hermione, Neville, and Elizabeth were still standing in the Entrance Hall when Harry returned and took off his Invisibility Cloak.

"What did you find Harry?" Elizabeth asked.

"You were right," Harry said sadly. "Snape has unicorn organs."

Neville and Hermione gasped.

"That's illegal!" Neville exclaimed.

Hermione nodded furiously. "Even possessing unicorn organs is illegal, and any potion that uses them is also illegal." She turned to Elizabeth. "How did you know Snape would have them?"

"Let's start walking," she replied. As they headed up the stairs she began: "Hagrid took me and his dog into the Forbidden Forrest because someone has been killing unicorns."

"Snape?"

"You'd think so, but no," said Elizabeth, "Voldemort."

"Voldemort's dead." Harry replied.

"Apparently not," Elizabeth replied. "He's been strengthening himself drinking unicorn blood and intends to steal the Sorcerer's Stone."

"So Snape's not killing the unicorns," said Hermione. "He's just profiting from Voldemort killing the unicorns—and that sounds even worse."

Elizabeth's sea-blue eyes narrowed with dangerous glint to them. "It is! And I say we should bust him!"

The others are all nodded in agreement. They changed directions to go the Owlery where Elizabeth sent her owl 'Vader' off with a letter addressed directly to Amelia Bones, the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"When do you think they'll come," Hermione asked the next morning at breakfast.

"It's Sunday," Neville reminded her. "So probably not until tomorrow at the earliest."0

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the post owls. One of them landed in front of Harry, who paid it and took his Sunday Prophet. As was his weekly ritual for almost as long as he could read, Harry went straight to the sporting section then folded it back so that he could read the latest listings in the Professional Dueling Circuit. While he was reading he didn't notice Fred and George taking seats across from him.

"Erik Lee lost to Thomas O'Neill?" Harry muttered to himself with a frown. "Totally didn't see that coming. What? The odds-on favorite for Dunstable is Hugo Park? Puh-leeze, how in Merlin's name did he make it that far?" Harry spent a full ten minutes going down the page critiquing every single listing and then some. "The 'All-Britain' is going to have a lousy lineup this year," Harry finally concluded, folding the paper back to read over the Quidditch section.

"You sound so much like Wood," Fred pointed out.

"It's scary," George added.

"I bet he's already got you picked out as a future Captain."

Harry snorted a bit, though they weren't that far off. Even though Wood would be on the team for two more years, he was already grooming both Angelina and Harry himself to succeed him. Harry was profoundly grateful to Wood for his mentorship over the past year as it was thanks in large part to him that Harry had learned to channel the passion he already felt for dueling into other things. Although Harry didn't follow Quidditch with the same intensity, it had still captured his attention once he'd expanded his horizons. It helped that he not only enjoyed flying, but it felt almost as natural as walking.

(*)

Harry, Hermione, Elizabeth and Neville spent the entire week waiting with baited breath, expecting Ministry Hit-Wizards to arrive at any moment, but no one came to arrest Snape. Then exams arrived, accompanied by a sweltering heat, and they were suddenly so busy with studying that he didn't have much time to fret about the Ministry, Snape or Voldemort. All of their classes had written exams and Defense, Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions also each had a practical exam; for Flitwick they had to make a pineapple tap dance across a desk, for McGonagall they had to turn a mouse into a snuffbox and were graded based on the completeness of the transformation, for Snape they had to brew a Forgetfulness potion, and for Quirrel they had to demonstrate a variety of defensive spells, including the Leg-Locker Jinx, the Full-Body-Bind, and the Knockback and Knockdown Jinxes. The very last exam was also the most boring, History of Magic: an entire hour of answering questions about goblin rebellions and batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons.

But after the exams were over Harry was left with a nagging feeling that he'd forgotten to do something; Hermione put it down to just stress about the exams. As Harry watched an owl flutter towards the school, he suddenly realized it was and jumped to his feet.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Elizabeth asked

"I've just thought of something," said Harry, turning pale, "We have to go see Hagrid, now."

"Why?" Hermione panted.

"Hagrid never told us how he got the dragon egg," Harry said. "Don't you think it's bit weird how that happened? I mean how many people walk around with dragon eggs? It's against the law, for starters."

"They found Hagrid sitting in an armchair outside of his house, sleeves rolled up as he shelled peas into a large bowl.

"Hey, kids," Hagrid said, smiling, "Got yer exams finished?"

"Yeah, listen," Harry said, "You know that time you won Norbert? What did the stranger look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "He kept his hood up."

They nodded, having expected this. "What did you talk about?"

"He asked a bit about what I did, an' then about the sorta creatures I look after. I said I'd always really wanted a dragon and then…let's see, yes, he asked if I could take care of it. So I told him that after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy."

"Did he seem interested in Fluffy?"

"Well—yeah—, yeh don't see many three-headed dogs around. So I told, Fluffy's real easy, just play a bit o'music and he'll go straight off ter sleep—,"

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified as he realized what he'd given away. "I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey–where're yeh goin'?"

"I am such an idiot," Hermione blurted out as they headed back towards the castle.

"Why do you say that?" Harry wondered. "I think you're quite smart."

"But I should have thought of that on my own," Hermione replied "It's a Cerberus so of course it would fall asleep to music."

"I don't follow," said Neville.

"In Greek mythology the underworld was guarded by a Cerberus, but Orpheus was able to get past it using music."

"Of course," Harry and Elizabeth echoed.

They entered the castle only to abruptly halt as an argument broke out; Hermione and Neville were adamant about telling Professor Dumbledore but they didn't know where his office was even if Harry or Elizabeth had been inclined to trust him.

"What are you four doing inside?" It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione bravely ventured.

"Why do you want to know?" McGonagall frowned.

"It's about the Sorcerer's Stone," Harry finally said

The books McGonagall was carrying tumbled out of arms and splattered all over the floor. "How do you know—,"

"It doesn't matter," said Elizabeth, "We think someone is going to try and steal it."

McGonagall eyed them with a mixture of shock and suspicion. "I don't know how you found out about the Stone but rest assured, it is perfectly safe."

"But Professor—,"

"I do not want to take more points from my own House," McGonagall, "The Stone is safe, so go out and enjoy the sunshine."

They left her but didn't outside.

"It'll be tonight," said Harry, once McGonagall was out of earshot. Hermione and Elizabeth only nodded.

"But can we—,"

"Well, well," Snape's voice said from behind them; they whirled about to face him, "What do we have here? Four Gryffindors inside on a day like this. What are you up to, I wonder?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Elizabeth retorted. "So leave us alone."

"Twenty points for your cheek, Miss Black." Snape sneered before walking away.

"What are we going to do?" Hermione asked.

"We should keep an eye on the corridor," Harry said. "If someone goes in, we get help."

"But what if we get caught?" Neville worried.

"We'll be using my Cloak," Harry reminded him.

All the rest of the day they took turns standing near the door under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. That night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Neville came back to the Common Room looking quite disturbed.

"Someone's gone inside," Neville said.

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Couldn't get a good look at him," Neville said. "What are we going to do? If we go to McGonagall, even if she believes us, she'll still punish us for being out after curfew."

"Then we'll have to go after whoever it is," Harry said.

"I almost can't believe that we're actually going to do this," Hermione said quietly.

"Mum's probably going to freak," Elizabeth said with a sigh.

Under the Invisibility Cloak the four them crept through the castle to the third floor corridor. On the way they had a near-encounter with Peeves but thankfully Harry was able to pretend to be an invisible Bloody Baron and Peeves left them.

Hermione raised her wand, tapped the lock and whispered, 'Alohomora'. The door opened. Fluffy's three heads immediately started growling and sniffing in their direction even though he couldn't see them. At the dog's feet was a conjured harp, though it was no longer playing any music.

"Here goes nothing," Harry whispered. He took out Hagrid's flute, put it to his lips and started to blow. It wasn't much of a tune but Fluffy's growls ceased and he fell fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Elizabeth warned as they slipped out of the cloak. She stuffed it into Harry's mokeskin pouch as they crept toward the trapdoor. She pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open. Down below they could see nothing, not even stairs, just black. Elizabeth jumped down first, then Neville, then Hermione, then finally Harry stopped playing and jumped down.

Harry landed with a funny sort of muffled thump onto something soft; if felt like some sort of plant. He tried to stand up only to realize that the plant's long creepers had somehow bound his legs. The more he struggled, the more tightly it wound him. Elizabeth was bound too.

"Stop struggling," Neville said; he and Hermione had managed to free themselves from the plant. "This is Devil's Snare, the harder you struggle, the faster it kills you." They stopped moving and Neville raised his Cherry wand. "Incendio!" Flames shot out from his wand at the plant. In a matter of seconds it had loosened its grip, allowing Harry and Elizabeth to pull free.

They lit their wands and headed down a dark stone passageway; at the end was a brilliantly lit chamber full of winged keys, with three brooms and a door that would not open even for four simultaneous Alohomora charms. Harry spot a large silver key with a damaged wing, that had to be it. "I'm a Seeker, I got this." Harry mounted a broom and went after it; the moment he did, the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch on. But Harry was the youngest Seeker in a century for a reason. He spotted and snatched the key, then landed quickly, rammed it into the lock, and turned. It worked. The moment the lock clicked open, the key took flight again—now very battered looking.

"Ready?" Harry asked the others and they nodded. He pulled the door open. The next chamber was at first so dark that they couldn't see anything at all. But the moment they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded into the room, revealing a huge chessboard with larger than life chess pieces. They were standing behind the black chessmen.

"What now?" Harry asked

"I think we'll have to play our way across," Elizabeth said.

"But how?"

"We might have to replace four Black pieces, hold on." She walked up to the Black King and tapped the base. It sprang to life and turned to look down at her, "Do we…er…have to join you to get across?" The black king nodded and she turned back towards them. "Harry, do you mind if I take the lead here, I beat you at chess last time we played."

"Yes, go ahead."

"Okay, Harry you replace the King, Hermione, the Queen, Neville and I will be the Rooks." The pieces she had named all stepped off the board and they replaced him.

It was the most sensible arrangement, Harry knew. The whole point of the game was to protect the King while the Queen, being the most powerful piece, was almost never sacrificed and both it and the Rooks tended to be late game pieces, which again reduced the chance of being taken. Pieces like the Knight and the Bishop, on the other hand, were quite prone to being lost and sacrificed. Knowing what Wizard's Chess did to the pieces, they didn't want to think about what might happen if one of them was captured.

The white queen's pawn moved forward two spaces. At Elizabeth's order, the black queen's pawn did likewise. The white queen's bishop pawn moved up two spaces to threaten it and Elizabeth countered by ordering their own pawn to take it. Now the white kings pawn moved forward two spaces. Elizabeth countered with their king's side knight. The white king's bishop swooped down and took their undefended pawn and Elizabeth responded by ordering their knight to capture the similarly undefended white king's pawn.

Now the white queen came out and put Harry into checkmate. Elizabeth blocked it with their queen's bishop. The deployed white bishop swooped down and took a pawn, putting Harry in check and forcing him to take it. The white queen moved back to threaten their knight. Elizabeth moved a bishop out to protect it. The white queen again checked Harry and forced him to move back. Now the white pawn moved forward one step to threaten their bishop and Elizabeth had the threatened bishop take it, leading to it threatening the queen while being protected by Hermione. Again the white queen moved to check Harry and this time Elizabeth blocked it with a pawn. The white queen retreated.

Finally having a moment of breathing room, Elizabeth brought out their other knight. White responded by deploying one of their knights to threaten their first knight. Elizabeth took the trade, then sent their active bishop to take a white pawn, threatening their kings rook. The white queen countered by moving to threaten Hermione, offering Queen's Trade. Elizabeth declined the trade and had Hermione move aside. Again the white queen moved to offer a trade and this time Elizabeth moved a pawn to intercept. The white queen moved back to threaten their bishop, which was finally free to take the white rook.

The other white bishop moved out. Elizabeth pulled their active bishop back next to their pawn. The white knight moved in front of their king. Elizabeth responded by moving their own knight. White moved its remaining rook to threaten their active bishop but, as it was protected by a pawn, Elizabeth ignored the threat and moved their knight to check the white king and also threaten their bishop. The white king moved out of check and Elizabeth traded their knight for the white bishop, then brought out their other bishop. The white queen moved back to its previous position and Elizabeth advanced a pawn so one of their bishops could threaten it. The white queen retreated a square.

Elizabeth walked over next to Harry to threaten the pawn in front of the white king. The white knight moved to threaten a pawn and a bishop. Ignoring the threat for the moment, as that bishop was guarded by a pawn, Elizabeth moved their other bishop to place more pressure on the white pawn in front of their king. The white queen again moved to offer a trade with Hermione. Elizabeth countered by moving their threatened bishop out of danger so that it could check the white king. The white knight blocked it. Elizabeth had Hermione move in front of Harry. The white queen fell back a step. Elizabeth had Hermione move again, this time to threaten the white pawn even more. The white queen took a black pawn and checked Harry and Elizabeth had Hermione take the now unprotected white queen. Now the white rook swooped down to check Harry and was taken by Neville, who looked glad at finally having something to do.

A white pawn moved forward two spaces, a quiet move but all that white could do at this point. At Elizabeth's order Hermione moved forward to take the white knight, placing the white king in check. The white king moved aside. Neville moved down to check the king and he moved up and aside. Hermione took the white pawn next to her, checking the white king again and again it moved aside and up. Neville moved across to check the white king again and again it moved up and aside. Elizabeth moved down next to the white king and it moved in front of the active pawn. Hermione moved to take the pawn and declared: "Checkmate!"

The white king took off his crown and threw it down at her feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. They charged ahead thought he door and up the next passageway. The next room had a dead troll, one even larger than the one Harry had knocked out.

"I'm glad we don't have to fight that one," Harry said.

The next room had a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing in a line. As they stepped over the threshold, a purple fire sprang up behind them while a black fire sprang up ahead of them. They were trapped.

Hermione spotted and picked up a roll of paper lying next to the bottles; she read it through, then let out a sigh and smiled. "This is brilliant," she said, "this isn't magic, this is a puzzle. Most wizards don't have an ounce of logic. Give a few minutes to think." She read the paper several times, pacing back and forth as she muttered to herself pointed at the bottles. At last she said, "Got it, the smallest bottle will get us through the black fire."

Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough there for one of us," he said, "Which one will get us back through the purple flames?" Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the light. "Okay, I'll go ahead, the rest of you go back; get the brooms from the key room and get help."

"But what if Voldemort is there?" Hermione asked, her lip trembling. Harry tapped his scar.

"I've survived him once before," Harry reassured her. "With any luck whatever happened then is still working."

Hermione suddenly dashed at Harry, throwing her arms around him.

"You're a great wizard you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry.

"Me!" said Hermione. "Books and cleverness. There are more important things—friendship and bravery and—oh Harry, be careful."

She stepped back and now Elizabeth briefly embraced him.

"You take care of yourself, you here? You're not allowed to die!"

Harry grinned and gave her a jaunty salute, then turned to Neville. "Good luck, Harry," he said.

Neville and the girls drank first and went through the purple fire. Harry took a deep breath, picked up the smallest bottle, and drained it one gulp. An icy feeling flooded his body; bracing himself, he walked through the black flame not even feeling the heat. On the other side, in the last chamber, was the very last person Harry had expected to meet.

(*)

A/N: The revelation about Snape and unicorns is borrowed with permission from "Faery Heroes" by SilentlyWatches. If you are wondering about my detailed description of the chess game, it is a match that I played on my IPad while writing this chapter, set on a difficulty way below my skill level but adequate for an eleven-year-old. I also drew out the endgame to reflect that, as checkmate could have been achieved a few moves earlier without Neville or Elizabeth having to move.

Chapter Text

"Professor Quirrel?"

"I was wondering whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter," Quirrel replied.

"I never would have expected you," Harry said. "I thought-Snape..."

Quirrel laughed. "Yes, Snape does seem like the type, doesn't he; next to him, who would possibly suspect me?" Quirrel raised his wand and shot ropes at Harry that bound him tightly.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. You and that Black girl, scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in?"

"Certainly, I have a special gift for tolls—,"

"Let me guess," Harry said, "it's because you're as dumb as them?"

"Quiet," Quirrel snapped and turned back to face the enormous mirror behind him; the inscription over the top was gibberish. "This mirror is the key to finding the Stone, of course Dumbledore would come up with something like this…"

Harry decided to keep Quirrel talking so that he couldn't concentrate on the mirror. "So it was you that attacked Lizzie in the forest? You were the one killing the unicorns? You tried to rob Gringotts?"

"Yes, yes," Quirrel said, sounding somewhat distracted.

"But why?" Harry pressed. "I know why Snape would want to steal the Stone, but you?"

"I need it for the Dark Lord, of course," said Quirrel, now sounding a bit impatient. "My master, I met him a few years ago while I was traveling the world. I was a foolish young man at the time, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it. Since then, I have served him faithfully." Quirrel stared hungrily into the mirror, "I see the Stone, I am presenting it to my master, but where is it?" Quirrel cursed under his breath, "I don't understand..is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry's mind raced.

'If Quirrel is looking for the stone, then the very last thing I want to do is find it.'

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master?"

To Harry's horror, a voice answered—seeming to come from Quirrel himself.

"Use the boy," the voice hissed.

Quirrel rounded on Harry. "Yes—Potter, come here." Quirrel raised his wand and released Harry from the bindings; when Harry refused to do anything more than stand up, Quirrel drew his wand back in a dragging motion and Harry found himself being pulled by an unseen force toward the mirror. Harry closed his eyes, thinking over and over again: 'I don't want to find it, I don't want to find it, I don't want to find it'.

Quirrel's turban smelled of garlic. Harry opened his eyes and then they widened at what he saw. He saw his parents and grandparents, his great-uncle Charlus, great-aunt Dorea and cousin William, he saw Sirius standing with Karen and Elizabeth, several young children—one a girl with Lily's hair, one a boy with Sirius' grey eyes—and the Tonks. Harry's reflection grinned at him, removed a reddish stone from his pocket, and then put it back in. Harry felt a thud in his own pocket; somehow, despite not wanting it, he had somehow retrieved the Sorcerer's Stone.

"Well?" Quirrel "What do you see?"

Harry just grinned and spoke the utter truth: "I see my parents and grandparents, and my great-uncle and great-aunt, alive and well; I see my godfather, free and happy. I see my siblings and cousins—both the ones I have and the ones that I will never have. I see that the family that your master has denied me!"

Quirrel cursed again. "Get out of the way." Harry gladly stepped aside from the mirror.

"Let me speak to him, face to voice," the voice hissed.

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough... for this..."

Harry felt petrified as Quirrel reached up and unwrapped the turban. It fell away and Quirrel turned his back towards Harry. Harry gasped; there was a face in the back of Quirrel's head, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen—chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils like a snake.

"Harry Potter," it whispered. "You see what I have become? Mere shadow and vapor, less than even a ghost. I have form only when I share another's body. Unicorn blood has strengthened but I need the Elixer of Life to truly live again. You will give me the Stone that... that is in your pocket!"

"Go to hell!" Harry declared.

"Don't be a fool," Voldemort snarled, "Better to save your own life and join me, or you'll meet the same ends as your parents…they died begging for mercy."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted.

Quirrel walked backwards toward him, bring Voldemort closer. Voldemort was smiling.

"Yes, boy, your parents were brave. I killed your father first, he put up a courageous fight, but your mother needn't have died. She was trying to protect you and died begging for your life. Now, you will give me the Stone or her death will have been in vain."

"NEVER!"

Harry sprang towards the black flames, but Voldemort screamed: "GET THE STONE!"

Quirrel whirled about with his wand pointed at Harry. "Accio!"

Harry threw himself to the side and on the ground, grabbing the Stone as it left his pocket and held it close to his chest.

"Expelliarmus!" Quirrel said.

"Everte!" Harry cast.

A purple beam came out of Quirrel's wand and collided with the orange beam from Harry's wand; the backlash knocked both of them backwards.

"KILL HIM!" Voldemort screamed. Quirrel stood and cried out: "Avada Kedavra!"

Without thinking Harry held up the Sorcerer's Stone just in time for it to intercept the green jet from Quirrel's wand. The reddish Stone was briefly illuminated by green light, then it shattered into a million fragments.

"No!" Quirrel exclaimed. "No, no, no, no!"

"Flipendo!" Harry cast and Quirrel was knocked backwards into the Mirror, which teetered and fell on top of him.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" Quirrel turned his and the Mirror suddenly went flying off of him and into the wall.

"Locomotor Mortis!" Harry cast as Quirrel tried to stand but Quirrel jerked his wand, casting a silvery shield that blocked the spell. A stab of Quirrel's wand sent more ropes at him that bound Harry once again.

"Avada Kedavra!" Another jet of green light came out of Quirrel's wand and this time Harry could only watch helplessly as it hit his chest...and rebounded back towards a disbelieving Quirrel.

Quirrel's body fell down and then a black vapor emerged from it and then floated through the floor.

'I killed him! I killed him! Somehow, I killed him!' The ropes broke and vanished but for a long moment Harry just lay there, too stunned and horrified to move. But at last he started to get up when he heard the black flames in the doorway sputter and die out.

Professor McGonagall came rushing into the room with a speed that belied her age. She took in the room with a single glance, then turned to Harry.

"Come with me Mister Potter, I will take you back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Waiting there for him was Hermione, Elizabeth, and Neville, who all enfolded him in a hug when he entered.

"What happened?"

"You look terrible."

"Are you all right?"

McGonagall cleared her throat to remind them of her presence.

"Mister Potter, what exactly happened?"

"What's happened here, Mister Potter?"

"It was Quirrel," Harry said. The others inhaled sharply in surprise. "He was the one trying to steal the Stone. He tried to kill me and…and somehow the curse rebounded and killed him instead." McGonagall's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I see," she said. "You should know, however, that that was not the true Stone."

"What?" Four young voices echoed

"It was a fake?" Harry exclaimed in shock.

"Of course," said McGonagall. "That is why I was sure that there was no danger. Now, what you have done is not in doubt; the four of you were out after curfew in a restricted area. Ten points from Gryffindor, each." They looked at her with crestfallen gazes and lowered their heads. "However," McGonagall continued and they looked back up at her, "Even though the Stone was never in danger and even though you broke the rules, you nonetheless displayed courage in the true spirit of Gryffindor, doing what you believed was right regardless of the consequences. For that I award the four of you fifty points for Gryffindor." Hermione, Elizabeth and Neville's eyes widened but McGonagall held up a warning finger. "But take heed, I do not want to hear about anything like this from you ever again. Is that understood."

They nodded. "Yes, Professor McGonagall."

"Very well, now I suggest you all get to bed." McGonagall turned and left.

"It was all for nothing." Harry said glumly once the portrait door was shut. "I became a murderer for no reason!"

"You're not a murderer, Harry," Hermione said; both girls hugged him tightly.

"Quirrel's dead because of me."

"But from what you say," Elizabeth said. "You didn't actually do anything. It was his own curse that killed him, not you."

"Because of me," Harry replied.

"Because of Voldemort," Elizabeth retorted. "Don't blame yourself for his actions."

"How did that happen anyway?" Neville wondered. "No one's supposed to survive that Curse, but you've done it twice now?"

"I have no idea."

"Well you said it yourself," Hermione said. "Whatever protected you as a baby is still protecting you."

"I saw a man die," said Harry. "And..." Harry trailed off uncertainly. Despite what they were telling him he still couldn't help but feel guilty...and worse.

(*)

The last Quidditch game was Gryffindor verses Ravenclaw. Wood told Harry right before they started. "Don't catch the Snitch unless have at least 70 points, otherwise Slytherin will win the House Cup." Yet even the thrill of flight couldn't take Harry's mind off of what had happened and he could barely concentrate on the game.

The Ravenclaw Seeker, a second-year girl named Cho Chang, suddenly went diving towards to Gryffindor goalposts and Harry went after her, suddenly entirely focused on her and the Snitch she had spotted. Harry bent forward, urging his faster Nimbus to catch up with her. He had to roll and dodge the Bludgers that both Ravenclaw Beaters suddenly sent in his direction, trying to slow him down. Fred and George sent the Bludgers towards two Ravenclaw Chasers. Harry zoomed down, cutting the chord of a sharp turn Chang made as she was reaching out her hand toward the Snitch; Harry cut in front of her and grabbed the Snitch just as she was about to touch it with her fingertips. That had been too close. Harry held up the Snitch but then noticed that the Chaser score counter for Gryffindor was only 50 points.

Wood was, to say the least, not happy. "Harry, I told you not to catch the Snitch until we had 70 points. We've lost the House Cup."

Harry retorted angrily: "If I hadn't caught it when I did we would have lost this game and both the Cups."

Wood sighed but nodded, conceding the point; they'd still won the Quidditch Cup after all, which was prestigious enough in its own right. Even so the taste of victory was bittersweet days later when the Great Hall was decked out in green and silver banners.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said. "Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff with three-hundred and fifty-two points; in third place, Ravenclaw with four-hundred and twenty-six, in second place Gryffindor with four hundred and sixty-two, and in first place is Slytherin with four hundred and seventy-two." A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry was sickened seeing Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. "Therefore, Slytherin wins the House Cup." The Slytherins broke into more clapping and cheering as they were presented with the House Cup.

The celebration was abruptly interrupted when the doors to the Great Hall were flung open and a squad of five Hit-Wizards in crimson robes marched in with wands drawn.

"What is this meaning of this?" Dumbledore demanded, rising to his feet.

The lead Hit-Wizard replied. "Two weeks ago the Ministry of Magic received an anonymous tip that Severus Snape has been trafficking in illegal unicorn parts." The silence was deadening. Snape's face went pasty white and then he stormed to his feet, glaring at Elizabeth—obviously suspecting that she was responsible. "Raids of his personal residence and of his private stores here in the castle have uncovered not only a large quantity of illegal unicorn organs, but also numerous other proscribed items as well as evidence of other recent crimes." The Hit-Wizards raised their wands. "Severus Tobias Snape, you are under arrest. Please surrender your wand, or we will use force."

Snape whirled to look at Dumbledore...who had collapsed back into his chair, looking weary and almost defeated. Snape went for his wand...and was hit by five silent Stunning Spells from the Hit-Wizards.

As Snape's unconscious form was levitated away someone, Harry never found out who but it had to be a muggleborn, started singing: "Ding dong the git is gone! Which old git? The Wicked Git! Ding dong the Wicked Git is gone!" Every other muggleborn and muggle-raised student joined in the chorus and it quickly spread; by the time the Hit-Wizards left with Snape, all of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff were singing it and either clapping or banging their goblets on the tables. The faculty, and in particular Dumbledore, did not know what to think as they had never seen three-quarters of the student body so united about anything.

(*)

Dumbledore entered his office and collapsed into his chair. For a moment he couldn't move at all but finally he managed to pull himself up and open a drawer full of phials of a golden liquid. Dumbledore grabbed one and downed it in a single gulp; a bit of color and strength returned to his body. Dumbledore carefully sealed it, returned it to the drawer and shut it with the utmost care. A large portion of his work on Alchemy with Nicholas had been the creation of his own Sorcerer's Stone, though he had kept it a secret and carefully hidden it. Nicholas had only given him the knowledge to make it, however; true immortality, he insisted, had to be earned.

Up until ten years ago, however, Dumbledore had used the Elixer only sparingly. He had no choice now. The Ministry-recommended guideline for timer-turner usage was that it only be used for periods of up to five hours per day and Dumbledore had been exceeding that for years. That was why he needed the Elixer of Life as his frequent time-turning was rapidly aging him.

It was most unfortunate that Severus had been arrested but although the unicorn poaching laws were seldom enforced, it would be politically unfeasible to fight this because the general public did not know that those laws were seldom enforced and there was no doubt that Bones would exploit that and make a huge public stink if anyone was dumb enough to try and defend Severus. And once people like Rita Skeeter started shining bright lights into dark places...

'But if Severus goes to Azkaban, especially if I don't defend him, I cannot count on him still being loyal to me if and when Voldemort finally returns'. That would make doing what needed to be done when the time came a lot harder.

Dumbledore shook his head to send away such dark thoughts as it wasn't the time for that yet and instead got to thinking about whom to hire to replace Severus and Quirrel. 'I should have little difficulty persuading Horace to return, he was always fond of Lily.' But that still left him needing a Defense teacher; Dumbledore began rifling through the papers on desk, hoping that somewhere in there was an application for the Defense position. With the position apparently cursed it had become progressively harder to find not just applicants but qualified applicants.

A knock on the door briefly interrupted him.

"Enter."

Minerva McGonagall entered. "You wanted to see me, Albus?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "It's about Harry Potter."

"What about him?"

"I want you to speak to him before he leaves," said Dumbledore. "Make sure that he knows he has to spend the summers with his relatives just as before." Dumbledore was prepared for her to protest and was relieved when she simply nodded.

"Very well, is that all?"

"Yes."

McGonagall left and once she was out of earshot of the gargoyle her usually stern expression soften into a giggle that her students would never have thought her capable of. But McGonagall, for all that she played the strict disciplinarian for her students, was still a Gryffindor at heart.

Albus still didn't know. Somehow, he still hadn't figured it out. McGonagall had realized that there was more than friendship between Harry James Potter and Elizabeth Iris Black within their first month of classes. Even more so than the previous pair of students named Potter and Black she'd taught, Harry and Elizabeth acted more like siblings than friends. And if Albus still hadn't figured it out, then Minerva McGonagall was not about to enlighten him. She wasn't sure how it had happened, but given the choice between trusting Karen Black or trusting the Dursley's…well that wasn't really a choice at all. From what she remembered from observing them, the Dursley's were the worst sort of muggles and not fit to raise a puppy let alone a child and certainly not a wizard child. And especially not Harry Potter.

(*)

From within his holding cell at the Ministry of Magic, Severus Snape scowled at Amelia Bones, who stood outside smirking.

"Why did you have me arrested?" Snape asked. "We both know that St. Mungo's occasionally orders 'questionable potions' from anonymous brewers and the Ministry has always looked the other way."

"True," said Bones. "But if I had known that you were one of those anonymous brewers, I would have dropped the hammer on you years ago and so would have Barty."

"I don't understand."

"Well let me enlighten you," said Bones. "Hogwarts is the only magical school in Britain. Which means that it is the only source of N.E.W.T level potions brewers. Ever since you took over the Potions Master position there was a steady decline in the number of Hogwarts graduates who passed N.E.W.T. Potions. In your entire tenure at Hogwarts, only forty Hogwarts students passed N.E.W.T level potions. If old Slughorn had still been teaching it would have been more than three times that many. Aurors, Healers and many other careers require N.E.W.T level potions, which means that because of you the Aurors are severely understrength." Nymphadora Tonks was their most recent recruit and there were no prospects in the latest Hogwarts class. Throughout her entire rant Snape just stared her at, blinking. "It is almost as if you want the Ministry to be weak if your master were to ever return. And that is why I dropped the hammer on you. I hope you enjoy Azkaban, you'll have lots of time to get caught up with your 'old buddies' from the war."

The reasons it had taken so long to arrest Snape after receiving the anonymous tip were threefold: partly because it took a while for the wheels of bureaucracy to turn, partly because Bones had insisted that the searches be as thorough as humanly and magically possible, but mostly because she'd had to do all of that very quietly and carefully in order to avoid tipping off Dumbledore. Every single one of the Hit-Wizards assigned to the job had been someone who had wanted to be an Auror but who had only gotten an E on their Potions O.W.L and thus had been forced to settle for becoming a Hit-Wizard.

The distinctions between the two were often lost on outsiders, but Aurors were the elite of the Ministry who hunted actual dark wizards who used the Dark Arts while Hit-Wizards merely hunted dangerous criminals. Hit-Wizards were trained to incapacitate and only use potentially lethal force as a last resort; although Aurors were also only expected to kill as a last resort, they were trained for situations where the opposition could only be defeated with potentially lethal force.

(*)

Exam grades came out three days after the feast. Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewett, of course, were tied for the top slot in the first years, but Harry and Elizabeth also got good marks and even Neville did reasonably well with his high Herbology grade making up for his poor Potions one. Ron Weasley, however, failed all of his classes and so became the first Hogwarts student in living memory to be held back a year.

Harry was like an automaton as he boarded the Hogwarts Express the next day, paying no attention to anyone or anything. All throughout the trip Harry stared out the window at the countryside; a part of him didn't want it to end at all. Going home would mean telling his godmother what had happened and Harry was not at all sure how she would react. It would also mean facing what had happened. Elizabeth and Hermione sat on either side of him, holding him tightly and warmly; they had swapped phone numbers so as to keep in touch over the summer but even that prospect, even the possibility of seeing the Dunstable Dueling Championship which would be held in a few weeks, none of that excited him as he kept replaying in his mind what had happened with Quirrel.

Even though he hadn't meant to do it, even though he hadn't actually done anything, he still felt dirty...as if he actually had done it. What had he been thinking anyway? Rushing off like that, dragging his friends along, in spite of the danger. All for nothing.

At last they arrived at Kings Cross and Harry had no choice but to get off onto Platform 9 3/4. There waiting for them was Karen; she greeted them with a warm grin that quickly faded when she saw Harry's despondent expression. She pulled him into a hug and then asked the question Harry had been dreading the entire trip:

"What's wrong?"

Chapter Text

The terrible, livid face of Voldemort, with wide, mad, red eyes and snake nostrils, glared at him.

"Give me the Stone!"

"Go to hell!" Harry declared.

"Don't be a fool," Voldemort snarled, "Better to save your own life and join me, or you'll meet the same ends as your parents…they died begging for mercy."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted.

Quirrel walked backwards toward him, bring Voldemort closer. Voldemort was smiling.

"Yes, boy, your parents were brave. I killed your father first, he put up a courageous fight, but your mother needn't have died. She was trying to protect you and died begging for your life. Now, you will give me the Stone or her death will have been in vain."

"NEVER!"

Harry sprang towards the black flames, but Voldemort screamed: "Kill him!"

Quirrel whirled about with his wand pointed at Harry. "Avada Kedavra!" A jet of green light came out of Quirrel's wand Harry could only watch helplessly as it hit his chest…

"NO!" Harry Potter woke up in a cold sweat. He rubbed his forehead and his fingers brushed lightly against his lightning bolt scar; his room was still dark and he fumbled about for his glasses, finally finding them and putting them on. The clock by his bedside mocked him with its display: 2:59 A.M.

Harry pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes. Last month he had faced Voldemort and survived again, yet although Quirrel had died from the rebounded curse, his master still lived and every time Harry had one of these nightmares—which was to say every night for the past few weeks—he had woken up drenched in a cold sweat and wondering where Voldemort might be now.

Karen's reaction to what had happened the previous year had been entirely predictable; she had been shocked and horrified by the facts that Voldemort had possessed a teacher with seemingly no one realizing it, that Elizabeth had been sent into the Forbidden Forest for a detention, and that Voldemort had tried to kill him. In fact, she had been almost as upset at him for going into danger as she had been at Dumbledore, and she had threatened to ground them—literally as well as figuratively—if they ever pulled a stunt like that again.

She'd tried to get him counseling but that unfortunately was one of many areas where the Wizarding World lagged far behind the muggle one. While Mind Healers existed, they only treated people who had been subjected to a mind-affecting magic like the Memory Charm or the Confundus Charm. Even the concept of psychiatric counseling was completely foreign to the Wizarding World; if it couldn't be cured with a potion or spell, then it wasn't considered a problem. Muggle counseling was of course out of the question because of the Statute of Secrecy.

He was slowly coming to terms with the fact that Quirrel's death was not really his fault. Quirrel's possession had been slowly killing him anyway—that was why he'd had to drink the unicorn blood: not for Voldemort directly, but to give himself strength which Voldemort could absorb. And it had been Quirrel's own curse which killed him, and Harry himself hadn't actually done anything—just as he hadn't actually done anything to Voldemort to the first time around. Quirrel had been dead, one way or the other, the moment he'd allowed himself to be possessed by Voldemort. Yet even though Harry knew those things on an intellectual level, emotionally he still felt responsible. It was easy for someone to say in the abstract that they weren't going to feel guilt over the guilty getting what they deserved; actually seeing someone die because of you was entirely different. Especially when you knew your own involvement had been pointless.

Harry lay there on his bed, trying to go back to sleep, but it seemed that just as he drifted off he was rudely pulled back into the world of the waking by his alarm clock. Harry reached over and jammed his fist down on the snooze button with far more force than was necessary, then turned over and curled up in his bed. Five minutes later it went off again. Harry rolled over, winced at the sunlight coming from the window, unplugged his clock, and then rolled back over and pulled his sheets and comforter over his head. He had just drifted off again when a loud knocking came on his door.

Harry sighed and Elizabeth opened his bedroom door; unlike him, she was already fully dressed in a blue skirt and a black-strapped top.

"Why are you still in bed? Did you forget what today is?"

"Friday?" Harry said blankly, his mind feeling like it was made of clay.

"Hermione comes over today."

In a flash Harry sat straight up, no longer feeling tired. "Really? She is? When?"

"Soon," Elizabeth replied with a smirk. "Now get yourself showered and dressed, loverboy."

Harry flushed at term 'loverboy' and Elizabeth walked out, closing the door behind her. Harry had talked to Hermione on the phone almost every day since getting back and Elizabeth couldn't resist teasing him about it. Harry grabbed his clothes and toiletries and went to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he was showered and dressed in jeans and a shirt.

"Is she here yet?" Harry asked as he dug into his breakfast.

"Relax, Harry," Karen said. "She's not coming over until dinner."

Harry scowled and turned to glare at Elizabeth, who grinned shamelessly.

"Why did you tell me she'd be here soon?"

"So that you'd get up, of course."

Harry sighed. "Still no mail from Neville?" He asked.

"Nothing," Karen replied.

"He mentioned his grandmother was a strict lady," Harry said. "But I didn't imagine she'd be this strict."

Most of the day was spent cleaning the house and preparing dinner. Harry found the mindless chores a refreshing diversion. At 5pm the doorbell rang; Harry darted over to the door and opened it; three people stood in the doorway but Harry only had eyes for the girl in front, who was carrying an overnight bag.

"Hermione!"

"Hi, Harry."

She stepped inside, dropped her bag and they briefly embraced. As the others entered Karen and Elizabeth arrived.

"These are my parents," Hermione said as everyone shook hands.

"I'm Karen, it's good to meet you, this is my daughter Elizabeth and my godson Harry."

"I'm Richard, good to meet too." said Mr. Granger.

"Helen, a pleasure," Mrs. Granger said, then turned to Harry. "We've heard so much about you, Harry, Hermione can't seem to stop talking about you."

"Mum!" Hermione's face turned bright red. Her father just mussed up her hair.

"You know it's true, dear," he said. Harry closed the door, took their coats and hung them up.

Karen led them into the dining room, which she had set with their good dishes, and they took a seat. While the meal was served conversation flowed freely.

"So, Harry," Mr. Granger. "Hermione tells me that you play a game called 'Quidditch' that involves flying around on broomsticks?"

Harry smiled. "That's right, there are four balls and seven positions. The balls are called the Quaffle, the Bludgers and the Snitch. Three of the players are Chasers and it is their job to score points by putting the Quaffle through one of three goalhoops; each goal is worth 10 points. The hoops are guarded by another player, the Keeper. Then there are the Beaters who use bats to hit the two Bludgers, which fly around randomly attacking players. Don't worry," Harry quickly added at Mr. and Mrs. Granger's suddenly concerned expressions, "We all wear padded armor and the Bludger's are programmed to not inflict lethal or potentially lethal injuries, their purpose is simply to add an element of chaos to the game. The Beaters job is to keep the bludgers away from their team and hit them toward the opposing team. Then there's my position, the Seeker. It's my job to find and catch the fourth ball, the Snitch, which is very small and fast. Catching the Snitch is worth a hundred and fifty points and also immediately ends the game."

Mr. Granger frowned. "That sounds a bit unfair, though, if one player can provide such a substantial gain over the others and win the game single-handedly."

"Actually the team that catches the Snitch isn't always the winning team," Harry explained. "Depending on how long it takes to find the Snitch, it's possible for the other's side's Chasers to build up a big enough lead that they still win even if the other side catches the Snitch. It's happened a lot actually, and some teams even have that as their standard strategy because while pretty much anyone can become a Chaser, Beater, or Keeper with sufficient practice, Seeker is a much more specialized position and requires a certain amount of innate talent."

"Of course," Elizabeth added, "there have been times when that is a valid criticism, like against Hufflepuff where you caught the Snitch within seconds."

"Yeah, that was a bit of an anti-climax," Harry admitted, "especially after how hard Wood had drilled us in the weeks leading up to the game."

"Wood?"

"My Quidditch Captain," Harry explained. "Oliver Wood, a rising 6th year and a very good Keeper, but also a fanatical taskmaster."

"Hermione also mentioned," Mrs. Granger added. "That tomorrow you'll be going to see a different sport?"

"The Dunstable Dueling Championship, yes," Harry said. "Dueling is also a sport, you can think of as roughly equivalent to say, boxing or wrestling."

"Interested in that too, are you?" Mr. Granger asked.

"In dueling, yes," said Harry. "A long time ago the custom of dueling was also as widely practiced among wizards as it was among muggles, but attitudes changed and today it's very rare among wizards to settle a dispute with a duel. Of course, since both sides have magic, wizard duels often last a lot longer and are almost never lethal."

The conversation moved to discussing classes and their other classmates, though finally they went down to the basement so that Hermione's parents could see what she'd learned.

"I must say," Helen observed as they headed down the stairs. "This 'Trace' seems quite unfair to students like Hermione."

"That's probably the point," Karen admitted with a sigh. The Trace was absurdly easy to get around; not only was it fooled by the same Masking Spells that one could use to make oneself unfindable by owls, but any kind of area ward like a Fidelius Charm or an Anti-Apparition spell also interfered with it. "Unfortunately, there is a lot of discrimination against first-generation mages; it's stupid, but at the moment there's not much that can be done."

"Could you cast these 'wards' on our house?" Arthur asked.

"I wish I could, but I'm not a certified ward-caster, so I would hesitate at trying." The basement was divided into two unevenly sized rooms, separated by a door near the staircase. The smaller room was finished and full of bookshelves; the larger was carpeted but otherwise unfinished. "Here we go," Karen said.

Hermione drew her wand from her holster; unlike Harry and Elizabeth, who wore their holsters on their belts, Hermione had a wrist holster that could be concealed by a sleeve. Karen conjured up chairs for herself and Hermione's parents, and Hermione started the demonstration. She began with Transfiguration, starting by turning matchsticks into needles and working her way through the first year curriculum until she briefly turned Harry's glasses case into a snuffbox. Then she switched to Charms and showed off all the different things you could do with the Hover Charm.

Finally, when she moved on to Defense, Karen put up Cushioning Charms on the floor and walls so that Hermione could use Harry and Elizabeth as mostly good-humored test subjects for the Leg-Locker, Full-Body-Bind, Knockback and Knockdown Jinxes. They then took turns showing off the slightly more advanced jinxes and curses from Harry's 'Curses and Countercurses' book and from his mother's notes, using conjured dummies for most of them.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry finally said. "Do you want to see our library?"

"You know me too well, Harry," Hermione said with a grin. She linked arms with him and he led her and Elizabeth to the other room. It had a door to the outside, rugs on the floor, and bookshelves lining every wall along with a few chairs and a desk in the middle. He flicked on the lights and Hermione started scanning the shelves.

"So," Harry said to Hermione. "What do you think?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," Hermione said. "But I was expecting it to be bigger. I was expecting your whole house to be much bigger."

Elizabeth snorted. "What? Like some huge country mansion with more rooms than anyone could practically use, a library with more books than anyone could ever read, a garden out front and a Quidditch pitch in the back?"

"I know, I know, it sounds totally ridiculous," Hermione acknowledged. "But still, you're both from old and well-to-do families, so I just figured..."

Harry chuckled. "Actually only the Blacks are old money; although my parents were reasonably well off, that's only because my ancestors earned that money the hard way. The only house that I 'own' is the one in Godric's Hollow where my parents were murdered, but that's been condemned and turned into a memorial." Only in his great-grandfather's time had the Potter's reached roughly the same social status as the Black's, which was why Great-Auntie Dorea hadn't been disowned for marrying Great-Uncle Charlus, though Great-Grampa Henry's outspokenly pro-muggle politics was why there was only a 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' instead of a 'Sacred Twenty-Nine'. Great-Grampa Henry had also been only the second Potter to sit on the Wizengamot, with the first having been Ralston Potter back in the 1600's. "

"And while my extended family does come from old money," Elizabeth said. "The Black Family has regrettably fallen on hard times and currently has this house, plus a decrepit one in London currently haunted by doxies, mad portraits and a nutter house-elf. All of the decent people on my family tree are either dead or cast out, most of them both. The only reason I even have access to what's left of the family fortune is because there's literally no one else left to claim it."

Harry continued, "So, no, neither of us has any properties in France, the Caribbean, or anywhere else in the world. There aren't any titles of nobility in the Wizarding World; no one calls themselves 'Lord' except for Voldemort. I'm not the secret heir to Atlantis, Avalon, Merlin, or any of the Four Founders."

"We each only have one vault in Gringotts." Elizabeth chimed in.

"The only ring I'm ever going to wear is my wedding ring. My only notable ancestors are an eccentric herbalist named Linfred of Stinchcombe, Ignotus Peverell who created my Invisibility Cloak, and my grandpa Fleamont who invented Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and dueled everyone who made fun his name."

"Darn," Hermione said dramatically. "There go my plans for world domination."

And then the three of them burst out laughing.

After Hermione's parents had left Karen had them all change into their pajamas. Harry, wearing long green bottoms and a red top, took a seat on the sofa in the living room. Hermione, wearing pink, took a seat on one side of Harry while Elizabeth, wearing blue, sat on his other side. By acclamation they decided to watch the Back to the Future trilogy. When Karen came to check on them at midnight she found all three of them asleep, with Hermione resting her head on Harry's chest. Smiling, she tugged a blanket over all three of them and went to her bedroom.

Harry's eyes blinked open the next morning and he was immediately aware of three things: one that the sun was shining in his face through the window, second that he hadn't had any nightmares, and third that was some kind of weight on his chest. Blinking and looking around, he noticed that it was Hermione, still asleep; she looked so peaceful and content in that moment, almost angelic. At last she stirred and looked sleepily into his eyes.

"Good morning," she said, straightening up and rubbing her eyes. Harry took the moment to the rub the sand out of his eyes as well.

"It is a good morning," Harry said. "Haven't slept that well in a while."

"You make a very nice pillow, if a bit lumpy," Hermione replied.

Elizabeth came in already dressed. "Well, now that you two lovebirds are up, we can have breakfast." Harry and Hermione both flushed at her comment and stammered incoherent protests that they were just friends.

(*)

"Okay, Mister Potter," Hermione said hours later after they crawled out of the Floo at Dunstable. "You dragged me along to this, so you might as well start explaining what exactly I'll be seeing."

Harry grinned at her, then said. "Okay. Dueling as a sport has two types. The first is formal dueling, this is the oldest style and also requires incredible amounts of patience: both on the participants and for the viewers, because it is very slow paced. One person attacks with a single spell, the other defends with a single spell, then they alternate. Lots of rules about what can be cast, how fast you can cast, what you are and aren't allowed to use, lots of different fouls and penalties, lots of different variants depending on what both participants agree to. It's a very rigid and, well, formal style of fighting and the duel ends when someone is disarmed, immobilized or otherwise incapacitated, or drops their wand in surrender."

"How very civilized," Hermione quipped.

"But these days formal dueling has mostly fallen by the wayside, save for its occasional use as a tool to settle disputes. This is probably what Malfoy was thinking off when he was challenging me. The second type, which is what I prefer, is called Freestyle Dueling. Unlike Formal Dueling, Freestyle Dueling has far fewer rules, which all basically boil down to: No killing and no illegal magics."

"What's an illegal magic?" Hermione asked

"Any magic whose use is proscribed or restricted by the Ministry," Harry said.

"So basically," Karen added, "Anything that the Ministry has classified as 'dark magic' or a 'Dark Art'."

"Makes sense, I suppose," Hermione said with a nod.

"No, not really," Karen replied. "The vast majority of magic is morally neutral, there are only a handful of truly dark magics like the Unforgivables; most of the stuff given that label is just magics that the Ministry doesn't want the general public to know about or use."

Hermione blinked, then asked. "Why?"

"Control," Elizabeth answered with a snort. "Why else?"

"So anyway," Harry continued as they arrived at the private box Karen had managed to reserve by invoking the name of one of the prospective occupants. "In addition to the two types of dueling, there are also different ways of fighting. Not all spells are created equally and where you hold your wand in relation to your body—and how you hold it— determines which spells are easier to cast and which are harder."

Karen got Hermione a set of Omnioculars, she, Harry and Elizabeth already each had one. The preliminary matches started; Hermione split her attention between actually watching the action through the Omnioculars and listening to Harry's excited commentary, with Elizabeth and Karen also occasionally chiming in. Hermione soon noticed what Harry had mentioned about different ways of holding the wand because almost none of them used the standard pose they were learning in schools. Most, instead of holding their wand out in front, held it back at chest level and led with their body though the exact grip still varied widely; a few held their wand over their head like a scorpion tail. Those latter, Hermione noticed, were the ones who tended to cast the most destructive spells that were on the edge of legality.

Unfortunately, Harry's favorite duelist, Erik Lee, did not make the cut for the finalists—doing fairly good against most of his competition and much better in a rematch against the Irish Thomas O'Neill but still getting edged out in the final ratings. The final match pitted O'Neill against Hugo Park—a duelist whom, Hermione recalled, Harry did not have a high opinion of. She soon realized why as Park had a tendency to push against the bounds of even the relatively permissive Freestyle rules, and had a very simplistic approach to fighting—holding his wand in the scorpion tail stance she had observed in other duelists and going straight to blasting away with as much power as possible with little attempt at style, subtlety, or variation.

"He's like a sledgehammer," Harry opined. "All brute force, nothing else."

"It's carried him this far," Elizabeth pointed out. "It may be simple, but it's obviously been effective for him."

"Power has its place," Harry admitted. "But so does strategy and subtlety as O'Neill is about to demonstrate." As if Harry's words had been a cue, O'Neill took advantage of all the rubble that Park's blasting spells were creating by starting to transfigure them into animals, mostly dogs and snakes. Park switched his focus to attacking O'Neill's creations, while O'Neill focused on countering Park's spells and protecting his creatures as they advanced, using spell-chains of counter-curses and Breaker Curses. Spell-chains used nonverbal and point-casting to chain together multiple spells so that they could be cast in a single wand movement, which made them a great time-saver in fights.

Finally, at a critical moment when Park was distracted blowing apart the creatures, O'Neill cracked Park's shield and snuck in a spell-chain known as the Dueler's Hello, so called because it was often the first set of spells cast by duelists—it consisted of a Silencing Charm, a Full-Body-Bind and an Incarceration Spell. All three spells hit Park and he suddenly stopped moving. O'Neill was breathing heavily but still standing, and so was swiftly declared the winner.

"I still don't like Thomas O'Neill for defeating Erik Lee," Harry announced as they left. "But at least he beat that idiot Park."

On their way out they stopped at a stall selling books; Harry immediately spotted three books that he wanted to get, two were the first two books in the best-selling "Duelist's Arsenal Series": 'Fighting Fundamentals' and 'Speed Tricks and Cunning Combinations'. The third was the Dunstable Dueling Championship Almanac, with a complete history of the event and all the major statistics for the past fifty years. Seeing the first two books, Elizabeth and Hermione decided that they wanted their own copies. Karen gave them a long-suffering look but got the books anyway.

"But these are your birthday presents, you hear me?" She told Harry and Elizabeth. "Don't expect anything else except clothes."

"Yes, okay," Harry said, in a much better mood than he had been yesterday morning.

Yes, mum," Elizabeth agreed.

Chapter Text

"Have you finally lost your rocker, Albus?" Minerva McGonagall wanted to know. She and all the other (living) Hogwarts teachers stood in Dumbledore's office facing his desk. "Gilderoy Lockhart? Please tell me this is a joke."

"He was the only applicant." Albus Dumbledore replied.

"Do you remember what he was like as a student?" McGonagall asked.

"Lockhart was a disgrace to my House," Flitwick said. "He was like a slightly cleverer Ron Weasley, no offense Minerva."

"None taken, Filius," McGonagall replied. She considered the youngest Weasley boy a disgrace to her House.

"Smart enough to excel when he wanted to, but very lazy and obnoxious; always wanting to be first and always looking for short-cuts and attention."

"Not to mention," McGonagall added, "all those ridiculous stunts he pulled; even the Weasley Twins have never carved their names into the Quidditch Pitch in twenty-foot letters."

"Or modified the Dark Mark spell to project their own face," Professor Vector said

"Or shut down breakfast on Valentine's Day by sending themselves eight-hundred cards," Professor Sinistra said.

"Or arrogantly boasted that they would make a Sorcerer's Stone while still a student," said Professor Babbling.

"And then lead England to victory in the Quidditch World Cub," said Professor Kettleburn.

"And then become the youngest Minister of Magic," said Professor Burbage, "none of which he ever did, of course."

Professor Trelawney dramatically announced: "Death will stalk the halls of the school if Gilderoy Lockhart becomes a teacher." As usual all of her colleagues ignored her pronouncement.

The newest Hogwarts Professor, and the new Head of Slytherin, clasped his hands over his large belly and added. "None of us believe for a moment that he's actually done any of the things in his books, and some of my sources suspect fraud."

In fact, Dumbledore had no doubt that Lockhart was a fraud as he personally knew two of the wizards for whose life work Lockhart had taken credit. Bringing him back into an ordinary school setting would expose Lockhart as the charlatan and fraud he was in short order; though, like with the new Head of Slytherin, Dumbledore had had to sweeten the pot a bit by dangling the promise of Harry Potter over Lockhart's fame-hungry head.

"He's put his entire collected works on the book list for all years," Sprout said. "And his books are expensive, our less well-off students may not be able to afford them."

"Not to mention the example he'll set as a teacher," said Flitwick.

"What do you think our students will learn from such a vain, celebrity-hungry man?" McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore replied. "There is plenty to be learned even from a bad teacher: what not to do, how not to be."

"Oh really?" McGonagall said. "Is that also why you kept Snape around for so long?" Now that he was no longer a teacher, McGonagall no longer felt compelled to pay him any respect.

"Partly," Albus admitted.

"Well that backfired," the Head of Slytherin replied. "And now the Ministry is at an all-time low for Aurors—with so many war veterans retiring and so little new blood. Not having a proper Defense teacher will only exacerbate that problem."

"I understand all of your concerns," said Albus. "But let me repeat myself: He was the only applicant for the position. Quirrel's death scared off a lot of people."

"So call in a favor from the old crowd," McGonagall said. "I know for a fact that Remus Lupin is always needing a new job, and even with his condition he'd be a darn sight better than Lockhart."

"Unfortunately, as you say, Lupin's condition makes employing him difficult and politically tricky."

(*)

Harry opened the door to his bedroom and was about to collapse on his bed when he spotted a house-elf already on it.

And then he blinked. A house-elf? They didn't have any house-elves as Karen refused to be a party to enslavement, even seemingly willing enslavement.

"Who are you and why are you in my bedroom?" Harry asked

The house-elf slid off his bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. "Dobby is sorry for startling you, Harry Potter, sir...Dobby was not meaning to do so..but Dobby has come to tell you, sir…it is difficult, sir…Dobby wonders where to begin."

"Sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at the bed.

The house-elf burst into noisy tears. "Sit…sit down? Never…never ever…never has Dobby been asked to sit down by a wizard—like an equal—"

Harry managed to get the house-elf to sit on the bed with him but Dobby stared at him with an expression of watery adoration.

"You must not have a decent family," Harry said.

Dobby shook his head. Then, suddenly, he leaped up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Don't—what are you doing? Stop." Harry sprang up and pulled Dobby back onto the bed.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," the elf said, looking slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir…"

"Do they know you're here?" asked Harry curiously.

Dobby shuddered. "Oh, no, sir, no . . . Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir —"

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments..."

"Can't anyone help you? Can't I?"

Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude. "Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby...Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew..."

Harry's face started to heat and he said, "Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I haven't done anything great yet—,"

"Harry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—"

"That was my mum, not me," Harry said. "I was a fifteen-month old baby."

"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago...that Harry Potter escaped yet again."

Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.

"Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later... Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

"What? Not go back? What are you talking about? Of course I'm going back."

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?"

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall.

"All right!" cried Harry, grabbing the elf 's arm to stop him. "You can't tell me. I understand. But why are you warning me?" A sudden, unpleasant thought struck him. "Hang on — this hasn't got anything to do with Voldemort, has it? You could just shake or nod," he added hastily as Dobby's head tilted worryingly close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

"Not — not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir, but...but —" Dobby's eyes were wide as he tried to give Harry a hint.

"One of his followers?" Dobby trembled for a moment, then slammed his head into the wall again. Harry jerked him back. "Well I can't just stay here; my friends will still be in danger."

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" said Dobby slyly.

Harry frowned. "So you're the one who's been interfering in my mail!"

Dobby shuffled his feet. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best—"

"Where are the letters?"

"Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry's reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Nevile's scrawl, and Hagrid's scribble. Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry... Dobby hoped ... if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him ... Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir..." Harry made a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach. "Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No," said Harry angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!" He drew his wand and pointed it at Dobby. He'd had time to learn many more of the spells from 'Curses and Countercurses' over the summer, all of them in fact.

"Dobby knows that Harry Potter is still underage," Dobby said, though he still cringed.

"This is house is warded against the Trace," Harry said, "Like all wizarding dwellings are, as you no doubt know."

Dobby held up his free hand as he continued to cringe and cower. "Dobby does not want to fight Harry Potter."

"Well I don't want to fight you," Harry replied. "So please, just give me those letters."

"What's going on in here?" Elizabeth and Karen walked in wearing their dressing gowns. Dobby, startled, dropped the letters and disappeared with a loud 'crack'.

"Was that a house-elf?"

"I found out the problem with our mail," Harry said, scooping up the envelopes.

"Why was someone's house-elf interfering with our mail?" Karen frowned.

"He wasn't able to say much," Harry said. "But I was able to piece together that he belongs to a Death Eater who is planning to do something horrible at Hogwarts next term."

"Well isn't that delightfully vague," Elizabeth observed. "But that still doesn't explain the mail."

"He thought that if I was isolated from my friends, that I wouldn't go back to Hogwarts." Harry snorted.

"Well obviously he's from a family that doesn't know about the telephone," Elizabeth replied.

"If it's a Death Eater family, that's hardly surprising," Karen explained.

"A Death Eater, hmm?" Elizabeth said. "Well it can't be Snape, he's now in an eight-by-eight cell surrounded by dementors. Has to be one of the others who got free."

Karen furrowed her brow and started checking off her fingers. "Let's see, there's Karkaroff—though last I heard he's the Headmaster of Durmstrang….hmm, there's…Avery…Nott…the Carrows… Macnair…Selwyn…Yaxley…Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy…" Karen's eyes suddenly widened.

"What?" Harry and Elizabeth asked.

"I just remembered that Fenrir Greyback is also still at large, though only because he was never captured; no amount of bribes could keep him out of Azkaban."

"The name sounds vaguely familiar," said Elizabeth and Harry nodded.

"It should," Karen replied. "Greyback is a monster even by Death Eater standards. He's a werewolf who deliberately infects others with lycanthropy. One of our best friends, Remus Lupin, was one of his victims."

"Really?" Harry and Elizabeth said.

"But there is little chance that the house-elf belongs to Greyback," Karen said. "Not only is he on the lam, not only are werewolves not even allowed to own house-elves, but someone like him would never want one anyway."

"So, still nine possibilities," Harry said.

"Ten," Karen corrected. "The Carrows are siblings."

"Fine ten suspects," said Harry. "Any way to narrow it down?"

"Crabbe and Goyle are idiots, they couldn't organize a drinking contest in a brewery," Karen said.

"Like father, like son," Harry observed.

"Macnair works for the Department for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures—,"

"—so he's an executioner, in other words—," Elizabeth said with distaste.

"The point is, he's also a follower not a schemer," Karen said. "Much the same can be said for the Carrows. That leaves Avery, Nott, Selwyn, Yaxley, and Malfoy. They're all from old pureblood families that would own house-elves, and they're all cunning, powerful and well-connected."

"But what could be so dangerous that one of their house-elves would try to warn Harry?" Elizabeth frowned.

"It is odd," Karen agreed. "House elves would normally never even think of betraying their families, so for this one to try that, it would have to…well, dislike his family…"

"I also gathered that much," Harry interjected. "Not surprising if they're a Death Eater family."

"Yes," Karen continued. "But even so, for one of their house-elves to do this, they would also have to convince themselves that the family itself…or at least one family member…is in danger."

"Well if there's really a plan to do something dangerous at Hogwarts," Harry said. "It's possible that the family's own child or children would also be at risk."

"Or at least," Karen added, "he was able to convince himself that they would be in danger, house-elves can be very clever at interpreting things when they want to be.

"Unfortunately," said Elizabeth. "Even if that is true, that still doesn't narrow down the possibilities any further."

Harry sorted through the envelopes Dobby had dropped. Half of them were addressed to Elizabeth and so Harry handed them to her and they started reading through their missing letters.

"What did Neville write you?" Elizabeth asked.

"Most of its fairly normal stuff," Harry said. "News, his grandmother's reaction to our little stunt, that sort of thing; the most recent ones are filled with concern at our lack of replies.

"Same here more or less," Elizabeth agreed. "We should send him a letter to make sure he knows that we're all right and haven't forgotten him…Ha!"

"What?" Harry said.

"Hagrid's letter," Elizabeth said. "It rambles on here and there, but it's basically an apology for the whole forest detention thing. Apparently, someone…" Elizabeth grinned at her mother, who smirked "…sent him a Howler that ripped him a new one, and now that Snape's in Azkaban for unicorn poaching, Hagrid is profusely apologizing, saying that since Dumbledore trusted Snape, he never imagined that Snape might actually lie to him." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "After all, who could imagine that Albus Dumbledore might hire and trust someone who is untrustworthy."

"That could also be said about Quirrel," Harry noted.

"Exactly," Elizabeth agreed.

A week after Dobby's visit Hogwarts letters arrived. Harry frowned when he read the book list for this year:

Second-year students will require:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk

Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart

Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart

Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart

Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart

Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

"Who the frack is Gilderoy Lockhart?" Elizabeth wondered.

"Never heard of him," Harry said.

"I have," said Karen. "He's some kind of author, though I've never read his books."

"Our new teacher must be a fan," Harry noted.

That Saturday Karen, Harry and Elizabeth went to Diagon Alley where they got their books and restocked their other supplies. Harry started reading Lockhart's books and was very quickly disappointed for they simply dragged on and on, obscuring the plot with so much purple prose, pointless fluff, useless tangents and frequent pauses for narcissistic self-descriptions. If not for all that Harry rather thought they'd be over in just fifty pages. At one point, simply out of boredom, Harry set two of the books side by side and started comparing them; he found that many of the parts where Lockhart departed from the plot to talk about himself looked like they had been transcribed almost verbatim.

'How can anyone find this drivel entertaining or think that it has any educational value at all?' Any muggle literature critic would have taken one look at the books and promptly declared Lockhart a Mary Sue of the worst degree; everything about him and the things he supposedly did was just too perfect to be real. It was like those ridiculous children's storybooks, the so-called "Adventures of Harry Potter" which had him doing all sorts of absurd things like fighting werewolves as a toddler and while still a child having adventures which rivaled those of Indiana Jones and James Bond. One of them was even so similar to 'Temple of Doom' that Harry suspected plagiarism. Those books also severely exaggerated his abilities; his fantasy counterpart possessed—among other preposterous talents—deliberate wandless magic on a par with wand magic. Harry, even with only a first-years knowledge of magical theory, knew that was impossible with modern wizardry. Ancient sorcery had been different but those methods had been discarded for very good reasons: they were extremely haphazard and dangerous to the user, both physically and mentally. That had been the whole reason for the invention of the staff and later the wand.

Tonks had given Harry a few of those books several years ago as a joke and one of the worst parts about them, in Harry's opinion, was their universal and bizarre attempts to link his genealogy to some other famous wizard or witch, usually Merlin or one (or more) of the Four Founders, but Morgana Le Fay and Nimue were also popular. As far as Harry knew the only connection he had to any of the Four Founders was the fact that one of Cadmus Peverell's descendants had married one of Salazar Slytherin's descendants; as Harry was a descendant of Ignotus Peverell, that connection was both very indirect and extremely remote.

Even worse, in Harry's opinion, were the claims that Lily must have had at least one squib in her family tree. While it was true that many muggleborns were the descendants of squibs, many of them weren't and frankly Harry found the presumption insulting and demeaning to his mother's memory. Almost as popular (and even more absurd) was the claim that Lily must have been adopted and was actually a pureblood orphan who'd been placed with a muggle family—often as part of some nefarious conspiracy that fantasy-Harry would find himself caught up in and have to defeat and expose—while still a child. And, of course, fantasy-Harry never had nightmares or self-doubts.

It was, Harry reflected, amazing the kind of contortions people were willing to undergo just to avoid admitting that Lily had proved them wrong; they looked for any excuse (no matter how implausible) to take that from her and instead claim that she was really one of them and thus proof that they were actually right instead.

(*)

Three weeks later Karen took them to Kings Cross. Karen and Elizabeth walked through the barrier but when Harry tried to go through, his foot hit a solid wall. "What the hell?" Harry said. He pressed his hand to barrier. It was completely solid. He kicked it and his foot came away hurting. After a few minutes of pounding away at the barrier completely uselessly a 'crack' caused him to turn around and see Karen, who had apparated back to the muggle side of the platform.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

"It won't let me through for some reason," Harry said. Karen pressed her hand to the barrier and it was solid.

"Very well, take my hand," she said. Harry did so and then felt a squeezing sensation like going through a too narrow tube. The next thing he knew he was standing inside the platform. "There we go. I don't know what the problem was, but we're here."

She hugged and kissed each of them goodbye and then they boarded the train, quickly finding the compartment where Hermione and Neville were waiting for them. Looking out the window, Harry saw the Weasleys arrive and board the train barely a minute before it left.

"So," Harry said. "Any idea why we had to buy all those Lockhart books?"

"Lockhart is so amazing, isn't he?" Hermione gushed.

Harry and Elizabeth blinked at her.

"Uhh..." Harry said. "That is not the first word I'd used to describe him."

"Or the second," said Elizabeth.

"Or the third," Neville said.

"Or at all for that matter," Harry finished.

Hermione frowned at them. "What are you talking about? He's done so many things!"

"Correction," said Elizabeth. "Lockhart has books that claim he's done those things."

"But that doesn't mean anything," said Harry, "because so do I."

"You mean all those 'Adventures of Harry Potter' books?" Neville said. "Yeah, those were a bit over the top."

"Those are just children stories," Hermione said with a snort. "They're obviously fiction, but Lockhart's the real deal."

"But...why?" Elizabeth asked.

"Why?" Hermione said. "Didn't you read his books?"

"Yes, we did," Harry said. "And in my considered opinion, every single one of Lockhart's books is about two-hundred and fifty pages of pointless fluff and fifty pages of actual plot. It can't actually be real because he's too perfect."

"Some of his claims are really implausible," Neville said. "Trapping a chameleon ghoul with a tea-strainer? Are you kidding me?"

"Well I disagree," said Hermione. "And I actually saw him while I was buying my books, and I think he is really is that good."

"No one is that good," Elizabeth retorted.

"Lockhart is."

"Just because they're in books doesn't make them true." Harry replied, crossing his arms.

"You sound like you're jealous," Hermione said.

Harry's eyes widened. "I'm not jealous, I'm just dumbfounded that someone as smart as you actually believes Lockhart."

Hermione harrumphed and buried herself in Voyages with Vampires. Harry sighed and pressed his head to the window. This felt like the start of a long year. The train ride certainly lasted long enough without their usual conversation. Finally the train arrived at Hogwarts and they disembarked and headed over towards the carriages that would take them to the castle, but Harry suddenly stopped short when they reached one, and stared in shock at the creatures which were in front of each of them.

If he had had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither—vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gathering gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Those—those—what are those things?" Although he hadn't been paying much attention, he was pretty sure that he would have remembered seeing those creatures last spring.

"What things?" Neville said.

"Those...those creatures in front of the carriages."

"Harry," Hermione said. "There's nothing in front of the carriages."

"Yes, there are, I can see them."

"I don't see anything, Harry," Elizabeth said.

"Neither do I," said Neville.

"What do you mean you can't see them?" Harry exclaimed. "They're right there!"

"There's nothing there, Harry," Hermione insisted.

"I'll prove it to you," Harry said. He grabbed Hermione's arm and half-dragged her over to the creatures; Harry placed Hermione's arm onto the side of the creature and she almost immediately yanked her hand back in shock.

"What...what was that? I felt something. There's nothing there, but I felt it...it felt...really weird. What is that?"

"They're called Thestrals," a dreamy voice said from behind them. Harry, Hermione, Elizabeth, and Neville turned to see a first-year girl with dirty-blonde hair and silvery eyes; she had a very absent-minded expression, wore a necklace made of butterbeer caps and radish earings, and was a holding a copy of the Quibbler magazine upside down. "They're quite gentle, really. But people avoid them because they're a bit..."

"Different," Harry said. "But why can't the others see them?"

"They can only be seen by people who've seen death and accepted its reality," the girl said. "Oh, forgive me, my name is Luna Lovegood. Excuse me, the half-giant groundskeeper is calling for the first years. Goodbye."

Harry watched the odd-looking girl walk over to Hagrid, then turned back toward the carriage. Even having only just met her, Harry could tell that Luna Lovegood was someone who marched to beat of their own drum.

"Well," Neville said as they piled into the carriage. "She certainly looks..."

"Unique?" Harry supplied.

"Eccentric," Neville finished.

When they entered the Great Hall Harry immediately noticed two things, one of which made him glad and the other of which made him groan. Horace Slughorn, whom Harry recognized from his parent's photo albums, was sitting where Snape used to. That was what made Harry happy as, from what Karen said, Slughorn was a good and fair teacher. But what made Harry groan was seeing Gilderoy Lockhart, unmistakable from the photos on his books, sitting where Quirrrel had used to.

In case anyone had had any doubts, after the Sorting Ceremony—in which Luna Lovegood went to Ravenclaw—Professor Dumbledore announced that Horace Slughorn had returned to Hogwarts to resume the posts of Head of Slytherin and Potions Professor, while Gilderoy Lockhart was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

After the feast the prefects led the students to their dormitories. The new password, "Wattlebird", got them into Gryffindor Tower. As Ron had been held back, the second-year boys dormitory had one less bed and thus a little more room for the other boys. Harry changed, climbed into his bed and went to sleep smiling. It was good to be back.

Chapter Text

Normally Elizabeth Black would have waited for Hermione to get up; their recent argument over Lockhart, however, had left them a bit at odds. So this morning Elizabeth was alone as she headed down the stairs only to suddenly find a red-haired first year blocking her path. Elizabeth recalled her name was Ginny Weasley, mostly because she'd been the last one to be Sorted last night.

"Are you really Elizabeth Black," Ginny asked. "As in the daughter of the traitor Sirius Black?"

"My father is not a traitor!" Elizabeth declared, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Ginny continued as if she hadn't spoken. "My brothers tell me that you've become friends with Harry Potter. Is that true?"

Elizabeth crossed her arms. "My relationship with Harry is none of your business."

"You stay away from him! I won't let you do anything to hurt him or corrupt him!"

Now Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Stay away from him!"

"You have no right to tell me who I can and can't be friends with," Elizabeth retorted. "Not that there's anything you can do anyway."

"I can tell him all about what your father did!"

Elizabeth snorted. "Harry already knows what my father is accused of having done, so go ahead and get him angry at you for trying to meddle in his personal life."

Ginny gaped at her for a moment, then narrowed her eyes. "You do not want me as an enemy, Black. I may only be a first year, but I already know the Bat-Boogey Hex!"

"So you can attack me with boogers," Elizabeth said drolly, rolling her eyes. "Oooh, I quiver with fear." What an utterly pathetic-sounding spell. And with that she pushed her way past the red-haired fan girl.

(*)

At breakfast Harry read over the schedule McGonagall had given him. Today was Wednesday, so they had Astronomy and Potions in the morning, then History of Magic after lunch. Tomorrow would be the real challenge: Double Herbology with Hufflepuff, followed by Transfiguration; then, after lunch, Defense Against the Dark Arts, followed by Double Potions. Friday had Charms and Herbology in the morning and Transfiguration after lunch. Monday had Charms and Herbology in the morning and DADA after lunch, while Tuesday had Transfiguration before lunch and Charms right after it.

"Oh great," Harry groaned. "Transfiguration, Defense, and Potions with Slytherin. Why do we always have so many classes with Slytherin?"

"Never thought I'd say this," Elizabeth noted, "but I almost miss Quirrel; he may have been possessed by Voldemort, but at least he wasn't a fraud."

"Stop calling Lockhart a fraud," Hermione insisted. "You haven't even had a class with him yet."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as they got up to leave.

Astronomy was a theoretical class that had little practical use, at least as far as Harry was concerned. It was also a subject where the muggle world was far ahead of the wizarding one due to advances in stargazing technology. The class Harry was really looking forward to was Potions; after taking roll call, Slughorn announced:

"It seems, based on my first class this morning, that my predecessor severely neglected the topics of safety and proper ingredient preparation procedures and none of them had Zygmunt Budge's 'Book of Potions' which explains that information, as my predecessor had apparently removed it from the book list for some reason. Do any of you own that book?" Slughorn looked visibly surprised but also relieved when every single student lifted up their copy of that book. "Well, that's one class that won't need the review; however, starting in this year you will begin working with more reactive ingredients, ones that will require a more delicate touch and that can cause potentially harmful fumes. To avoid that as well as to minimize the risk of cross-contamination, I will teach you the Bubblehead Charm as well as some cleaning and cosmetic spells that you will all be expected to use."

The Slytherin's seemed to already know the spells—which led Harry to suspect that Snape had already taught them. Hermione, naturally, was the first Gryffindor to get the Bubblehead Charm. "Excellent work, Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor." The class was left in astonished silence as Gryffindor had never gotten points in Potions before.

"I can't believe this," Harry heard Malfoy complaining after the class as the group of students walked to the Great Hall for lunch. "Where did Dumbledore did up that old fossil?"

Elizabeth turned and fired off at him. "You're just angry because you're no longer getting unfairly favored."

"Shut up, no one asked for your opinion you filthy blood-traitor!"

"At least I'm not a cowardly, inbred cretin," Elizabeth retorted.

The crowd around them stilled to silence. Malfoy's ears flushed red and he went for his wand only to hestitate when the four Gryffindors each produced their wands. Malfoy finally turned and walked off.

History of Magic was, as usual, boring in the extreme; Binns launched into a dry lecture that managed to make even bloodthirsty wars sound totally uninteresting. Within 30 minutes all of Binns' students—except Hermione of course—were half-asleep.

The next morning after breakfast, Professor Sprout took them to Greenhouse 3. About thirty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. "Today," said Sprout. "We'll be repotting Mandrakes. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

To nobody's surprise, Hermione was the first to raise her hand. "Mandrake, or Mandragora," Hermione said, sounding as usual as though she'd swallowed the textbook, "is a powerful restorative; it is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand shot up again, narrowly missing Harry's glasses. "The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said promptly.

"Precisely. Take another ten points," Sprout said. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young." Sprout pointed to a row of deep trays with a hundred tufty little plants, purplish green in color, that looked quite unremarkable. "Now, everyone take a pair of earmuffs." There was a scramble as everyone tried to get a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy. "When I tell you to put them on, make sure that your ears are completely covered. When it is safe to remove your earmuffs, I will give you a thumbs-up. Now, earmuffs on!"

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears, which shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout donned the pink, fluffy pair, rolled up her sleeves, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled. Harry and many other students gasped as the plant did not roots, but instead a small, muddy and extremely ugly baby with green, mottle skin that was clearly bawling at the top of its lungs. Professor Sprout plunged the Mandrake into a new, larger pot, and buried it in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Then she dusted off her hands, gave them the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As you can see," she said calmly, "our Mandrakes are only seedlings; their cries won't kill yet. However, they will knock you out for several hours, so make sure that your earmuffs are securely placed while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up." Sprout split them up into five groups of four and two groups of three, with the former having two students of each House. By chance or design, Harry and Hermione ended up as one of the odd groups out and so were joined by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy Harry knew by sight but had never spoken to.

They didn't get much time to talk before putting their earmuffs on but Justin Finch-Fletchley, they learned, was a muggleborn who'd been down for Eton before getting his letter and—like Hermione—had been sucked in by Gilderoy Lockhart's fame. The Mandrakes proved far more difficult than Sprout had made it look as they didn't like coming out of the dirt but didn't want to go back in either, squirming, flailing and gnashing. One particularly fat one had Harry squashing away for a good ten minutes and by the end of the class everyone was sweaty, aching and covered in dirt.

The students traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors went to Transfiguration where McGonagall set them and the Slytherins to turning beetles into buttons. Mafalda and Hermione got it done first and then immediately started competing to see who could get as many done before the class ended. Harry, meanwhile, was still tired from Herbology and so found it difficult to concentrate but finally managed to get it done just before the bell. Hermione, he noted, snuck in one last spell just as the bell rang and won her impromptu contest with Mafalda.

After lunch, they went into the courtyard; the skies above were overcast. Hermione had her nose buried in Voyages with Vampires again. A sudden flash of bright light startled them, Hermione dropped her book and four wands came out; blinking furiously, Elizabeth advanced on a small, mousy-haired boy—Harry vaguely recognized him as Colin Creevey, though only because he'd been sorted into Gryffindor—and snatched the camera out of his hands.

"Sorry," the boy started speaking rapidly. "I didn't mean to startle you, I just wanted a picture of Harry Potter that I can send home to my family."

Elizabeth handed the camera back as they lowered their wands. "Ask first, next time."

"Uhh…right," said Colin. "Er…after I get developed it, Harry, could you sign it?"

Harry raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed across the courtyard, loud and scathing.

"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?" Malfoy came up behind Colin, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle. "Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"

"No, I'm not," Harry declared. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin.

"Jealous?" said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore as half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself." Crabbe and Goyle sniggered stupidly.

Harry then surprised almost everyone in the crowd by suddenly grinning. "You know what, Malfoy, that may be the very first thing you and I actually agree on."

Malfoy blinked in confusion. So did many others in the crowd. "What are you talking about, Potter?"

"I was only one-year-old at the time, so of course I couldn't have done anything. The true hero of that night was my mother—a muggleborn witch who gave her life to defeat Voldemort." Many in the crowd shuddered at hearing the name. "I am proud to be her son and I hope to live up to her memory."

Malfoy looked like he'd just bitten into a cockroach. "I never thought I'd see the day when anyone, even you Potter, actually boasted about being the son of a mudblood whore—,"

"Scourgify!"

"Furnuculus!"

Malfoy collapsed to his knees, choking on soapy bubbles as large boils appeared on his face. Crabbe and Goyle took one step forward each, only to be stopped when Neville and Hermione cast:

"Locomotor Mortis!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "What's going on here?"

"Malfoy called my mum a whore and the 'M'-word," Harry explained.

"Oh, my gracious," Lockhart exclaimed. He looked around at the crowd, who were all nodding in agreement, then turned back to the gasping Malfoy, who was starting to get back up. "Ten points from Slytherin for inappropriate language, now break it up everyone, time to get to classes."

"I told you, Harry," Hermione whispered to him as the four of them hurried away. "Lockhart's the real deal."

"The only thing that proves is that he's not a bigot," Harry retorted.

"Or at least," Elizabeth interjected. "Not an overt, negative bigot. It doesn't prove anything else."

Now Hermione rolled her eyes. They reached the Defense classroom where Harry, contrary to his normal tendencies, took a seat at the very back and piled all seven of Lockhart's books in front of him so that he wouldn't have to look at the real thing. The rest of the class came clattering in, and once everyone was seated Lockhart picked up Seamus Finnegan's copy of 'Travels with Trolls' and held it up to show the winking portrait of himself on the front.

"Me," he said, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in —" When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes — start —now!"

Harry looked down at his paper and read:

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?

Harry briefly wondered what the hell this had to do with anything, before shrugging and writing 'White, like his shiny teeth'.

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

Harry frowned. Well if it was 'secret', then how could anyone know it. Harry's eyes gleamed as he got an idea and he wrote: 'To get rich by making everyone buy his books'.

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

Harry started to get into the flow of things. 'Becoming a teacher at Hogwarts so that all the students are forced to buy his books.'

4. How many times has Gilderoy Lockhart won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award?

Harry knew from Lockhart's introductory spiel that it was 'five' but how was that important to the topic of Defense Against the Dark Arts? So instead he wrote: 'Who cares?'

5. In his book "Break With A Banshee" how did Gilderoy Lockhart bravely banish the Bandon Banshee?

'He blinded her with his smile.'

6. Which is Gilderoy Lockhart's best side for photographs?

'None.'

7. Has Gilderoy Lockhart ever won the Dunstable Dueling Championship for Wizards, or just been pipped at the post?

Harry's pen slipped out of his fingers and his fists briefly clenched. Oh, hell no! Now this was personal. He picked the pen back up and wrote in large letters: 'NO!'

8. Which product does Gilderoy Lockhart clean his teeth with to achieve his famous dazzling white smile?

'Toothpaste.'

9. Which is the person name which Gilderoy Lockhart has given to his broomstick?

'Mini-Me.'

10. What is the exact shade of Gilderoy Lockhart's eyes?

'Pink'

11. How tall is Gilderoy Lockhart?

'Too tall'

12. What would you consider the greatest challenge or obstacle that Gilderoy Lockhart has overcome in all his achievements?

'Tricking the Headmaster into hiring him.'

13. What would you consider the scariest moment in all of Gilderoy Lockhart's adventures?

'The moment that Lockhart was actually hired.'

14. What honor do you think that Gilderoy Lockhart should receive for all his accomplishments?

'Exactly what he deserves: Nothing!'

15. What color robes do you think best compliments Gilderoy Lockhart's looks?

'None at all.'

16. Name fifteen different adjectives to describe Gilderoy Lockhart?

'Stupid, arrogant, lying, pompous, moronic, idiotic, retarded, attention-seeking, glory-hog, greedy, narcissistic, fraudulent, selfish, lazy, foolish.

On and on Harry went for three pages giving outlandish or smart-ass answers, finally ending with:

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

'April Fool's Day, a picture of himself.'

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut — hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully — I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples — though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogdens Old Firewhisky!"

He gave them another roguish wink. Neville was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Elizabeth had her head buried in her arms, while Sophie Roper just sat in her desk with her arms crossed and glared at Lockhart. But Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Fay Dunbar, and Hermione—on the other hand—were listening to Lockhart with rapt attention. Hermione gave a start when he mentioned her name.

"… but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions — good girl! In fact" — he flipped her paper over — "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand. Elizabeth groaned.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor!"

"Stun me, maim me, kill me," Elizabeth muttered, slouching further in her desk. "Just let it end."

Lockhart suddenly paused when he reached the next test, and his face blanched for just a moment; but he quickly recovered and set the tests aside. "And so — to business —"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not — they're not very —dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

Pandemonium erupted as the pixies shot in every direction like missiles. Several of them seized Neville and lifted him into the air, others went straight through the window, showing the back row of desks with broken class, while the rest proceeded to wreck the classroom—spraying the students with ink bottles, shredding books, tearing pictures off the walls, upending the waste basket, and throwing books and bags out of the windows. Poor Neville found himself swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling, while his classmates were all huddling under the desks.

"Come on now — round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Bem who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit.

"Can you believe him?" Harry declared, outside the classroom after the mob of students had slowed down and then scattered; those Gryffindors who'd had their things tossed out the windows went scrambling down the stairs. "He couldn't even handle pixies, and he's supposed to be our Defense teacher."

"He just wanted to give us some hands-on experience," Hermione protested.

"Hands on?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he was doing—,"

"Rubbish. You've read his books—look at all those amazing things he's done—,"

"That he says he's done," Neville muttered.

"Tell me one thing, Hermione," Harry said. "You got full marks on the quiz, so what was the 'correct' answer to question seven?"

Hermione furrowed her brow for a moment. "Question seven…" Then her eyes widened. "Oh, the one about the Dunstable Championship."

"Yes," Harry said tightly. "What was the 'correct' answer?" Harry made air-quotes with his fingers.

"I put down 'yes'," Hermione said.

Harry's eyebrows arched. "Oh, really?" He reached into his book bag and withdrew his now battered Dunstable almanac.

"You just happened to be carrying that?"

Harry thrust it into Hermione's arms. "Prove it!"

"What?"

"Every wizard who's ever won or been pipped at the post at the Dunstable in the last fifty years is in that book," Harry explained. "So, find me Lockhart."

"Harry," Hermione said tightly. "I don't have time for this, I'm busy—,"

"You weren't busy enough to read all of Lockhart's books well enough to ace his completely self-serving test," Harry pointed out. "So, prove to me that Lockhart isn't a fraud."

When Hermione still hesitated, Elizabeth decided to up the ante: "Hermione, if you can find Lockhart anywhere in that almanac, Harry and I will each buy you a book of your choice."

Hermione's knees buckled. "Any two books I want?"

"Any two books you want," Harry confirmed.

Hermione's brow furrowed and she bit her lip. "And…and if I can't?"

"If you can't," Elizabeth continued, "then you have to burn every one of our Lockhart books."

Hermione briefly winced, but then straightened up. "Fine," she declared and stuffed the almanac into her book bag. "You're on."

Chapter Text

Harry spent a lot of time over the course of the next week trying—and mostly failing—to avoid Colin Creevey, who seemed to have Harry's schedule memorized and seemed also take delight in greeting Harry six or seven times a day, no matter how exasperated Harry's reply sounded.

Even worse was Ginny Weasley, who at times seemed like she had nothing better to do than to hover around a corner or just at the edge of earshot whenever Harry went anywhere. Lockhart also appeared to be going out of his way to try and encounter Harry as many times as possible.

Following the disastrous episode with the pixies, Lockhart fell back on just reading parts of his books and forcing students—usually Harry—to reenact parts of them. Slughorn, on the other hand, was proving to be a much more competent teacher than Snape ever had been; whereas Snape's teaching method had been 'sink or swim', Slughorn had the class go over each ingredient and procedure step by step to ensure that there were no misunderstandings so that everyone not only knew what to do but also—more importantly—what not to do and why. While it was admittedly a slower pace than Snape, which some of the more advanced students found frustrating, the less advanced students made far fewer mistakes and almost everyone was producing potions that were at least passable.

Harry was quite unprepared when he woke on Saturday far earlier than he would have liked to Oliver Wood shaking him.

"Whassamatter?" Harry asked, rubbing his eyes groggily.

"Quidditch practice! Come on!"

Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn't understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

"Oliver," Harry croaked. "It's the crack of dawn."

"Exactly," said Wood, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. "It's part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go," said Wood heartily. Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed, put on his glasses, and tried to find his Quidditch robes. "Good man," said Wood. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes."

When he'd found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry wrote a quick note to Neville explaining where he'd gone, then went down the spiral staircase towards the Common Room with his Nimbus 2000 broomstick on his shoulder. Then, on hearing two unwelcome voices coming from the Common Room—those of Colin Creevey and Ginny Weasley—Harry paused and hurried back up to his dormitory.

'What are they doing up at this hour?' He wondered. Harry got out his Invisibility Cloak, and put it on. Then Harry grabbed his wand and Silenced his feet. Finally, he started back down the stairs. Colin Creevey and Ginny Weasley were still there in the Common Room; Colin was showing a photograph to Ginny. Great, just what he needed, a bloody fanclub.

"—just need to get him alone for a few minutes," Ginny was saying. "I can't believe that he would really associate with Black if he knew the truth about her father."

"Are you sure?" Colin frowned. "I mean, she stood up for me when Malfoy dropped the 'M-word'…"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "That doesn't mean anything, she could have just been doing what was expected of her as Harry's 'friend', but the entire Black Family has always been as dark as their name."

Harry's teeth clenched but he resisted the urge to whip off the cloak and start lecturing her; but his plan to sneak out undetected hit a slight snag, however, when he came up against the bane of all invisible people everywhere—a closed door. Damnit, why couldn't Wood have left it open?

'Oh, who am I kidding, Wood's probably the reason why they're up in the first place.' Harry shook his head. Oh well. He advanced close enough to the doorknob that he could grab it without his hand leaving the Cloak and pulled the door open just a bit.

Ginny and Colin both turned immediately to look at the door, initial excitement turning to confusion as they saw no one.

"Hello?" Colin said. "Whose there?" Harry slipped through the door and when he glanced back, saw Colin poking his head out in bafflement. "Hello? Is someone there?"

"There's no one out here," the portrait of the Fat Lady said. "Go back to bed, child."

Harry turned and headed down to the Quidditch field, belatedly remembering to remove his Cloak and stuff it back into his Mokeskin pouch right before he stepped into the changing room. The rest of the team was already there, though only Wood looked truly awake.

Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, next to fourth-year Alicia Spinnet, who looked read to nod off against the wall behind her. Her fellow Chasers—the third-year Katie Bell and fourth-year Angelina Johnson—were yawning side-by-side opposite of them.

"There you are, Harry," said Wood briskly. "Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program."

Wood held up a large diagram of a Quidditch pitch, on which were many drawn lines, arrows, and crosses in differently colored inks; a tap to the board with his wand sent the arrows wriggling like caterpillars. Wood then launched into a speech about his new tactics. Fred Weasley's head drooped onto Alicia Spinnet's shoulder and he started snoring.

After twenty minutes Wood switched to a second board, and after that a third one; Harry felt himself sinking into a stupor as Wood kept droning on.

"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from his wistful daydreams of breakfast. "Is that clear? Any questions?"

"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"

"Now, listen here, you lot," Wood said, glowering at them all. "Just because we won the Quidditch Cup last year is no reason to rest on our laurels; if we're going to hold onto it, and perhaps also gain the House Cup, we need to not only keep our edge but get sharper than ever. We all know how Slytherin likes to play dirty, and the only way to counter that is to be that much better. So this year, we train harder than ever before. Now, let's get to it!" Wood finished, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stiff-legged and still yawning, his team followed.

They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Neville, Elizabeth and Hermione sitting in the stands; Colin Creevey and Ginny Weasley were also there, though they were sitting in the highest seats.

"Aren't you finished yet?" called Neville incredulously.

"Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade they had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. The cool morning air whipped his face, waking him far more effectively than Wood's long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they hurtled around the corner.

Harry looked into the stands. Colin had his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

"Look this way, Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward Harry. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program."

"Don't worry, he's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly

"Well who is he and why is here?"

"He's one of my personal stalkers," Harry said with a sigh. "Though he's not nearly as annoying as Fred and George's sister. No offense," he quickly added, glancing at the red-haired twins.

"None taken," Fred said.

"Ginny's always been obsessed with you," George agreed.

"Ever since she was four," said Fred, "she's got into her head that you would make a 'perfect husband.'"

Harry was suddenly glad that he hadn't had anything to eat. "What? But I don't know her, I've never even spoken to her."

"We know that," said George. "But you couldn't tell just by listening to her."

"She may not have said anything to you, but she's given both of us quite an earful and then some."

Harry let out a disbelieving sigh and they got back to practice; for hours Wood ran them through his new program. Last year Harry hadn't had much to do except practice catching Snitches; this year, however, Wood had him act almost like a third Bludger or an opposing Chaser, weaving in and around the girls as they went through their new moves. This was to prepare them, Wood explained, for the Slytherin's inevitable cheating and fouling.

It was nearly noon when the Gryffindors finally halted and descended to the ground—both because it was the end of their allotted practice team and because they had spotted seven people in green robes approaching the stadium with broomsticks in hand; apparently the Slytherins had booked the next slot. Harry then frowned when he noticed the absence of Terrence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker from last year; and that was when he spotted Draco Malfoy and almost groaned.

"Look at that," the blonde-haired git called out to the Gryffindors as they passed by, "A pair of Cleansweep Fives, I bet a museum would pay good coin for them." The Slytherin team howled in laughter. "Not even Potter's old Two Thousand could keep up with our new brooms."

Harry frowned and looked at them more closely; the seven Slytherins were clutching seven identical brooms, all with the same label in gold lettering: Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

"Very latest model," Marcus Flint bragged. "Only came out last month. Oh look, a field invasion." The five Gryffindors in the stadiums were coming over.

"What's going on?" Elizabeth asked.

"Oh, everyone was just admiring our new brooms, Black," Malfoy said.

Elizabeth looked at them, then frowned. "I didn't think Professor Slughorn was the type to accept such blatant bribery from someone like your father."

"Oh of course he didn't," Malfoy said, still looking as smug as ever. "But he can't stop my father from just so happening to give each of the students on the team a new broom as an early birthday or early Christmas present."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Oh of course not," she said sardonically. "But the Gryffindors still all got in on pure talent."

"So did I," Malfoy claimed. "After Higgs left, I was the best flyer to apply for his position."

"I'm sure you also 'just so happened' to be the only student to apply for the position."

Malfoy's smug look finally flickered.

"Ahh, Malfoy," Harry said in a patronizing tone, "Always dishing out what you can't take yourself."

"Shut up, you filthy blood traitors."

"And so unimaginative too," Hermione added loftily.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," Malfoy spat.

The insult produced an instant uproar; Flint darted in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George from jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, "How dare you!", Harry and nine other Gryffindors all went for their wands and the seven Slytherins followed suit. Two dozen multicolored flashes of light later and almost everyone was laid out on the ground under a wide variety of curses and jinxes. Harry, one of the few who wasn't down, went over to his friends and godsister. Neville was on the ground puking slugs, Elizabeth was bleeding from a gash on her right cheek, and Hermione was hanging upside down in mid-air—exposing her undergarments to everyone.

Harry, recognizing that latter spell, immediately pointed his wand at her and said, "Liberacorpus!"

Hermione dropped back down to the ground and looked up at him with a flood of relief showing on her reddened face. Together they helped Neville up and the four of them started walking back inside. Behind them the other students were all picking themselves up—the Slytherins retreated to the changing rooms while the remaining Gryffindors followed Harry back into the castle and up to the Hospital ward. After Madam Pomfrey had cured their various ills, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team went down to the Great Hall where they had a large lunch due to having skipped breakfast.

September flew by in a blur and an ever-mounting weight of homework, which Hermione used as an excuse every time he asked her how she was coming along reading the almanac. October brought with it both a spate of colds among the students and staff and also thunderstorms that lasted for days on end. But the rain did not diminish Oliver Wood's enthusiasm, which is why Harry found himself one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

Even aside from the rain and wind, the session had not been a happy one; Fred and George had been spying on the Slytherin team and had reported on the speed of their new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones—which made the Slytherin team like seven greenish blurs shooting through the air like rockets.

Ginny Weasley was standing there waiting for him when Harry re-entered the castle; Harry sighed in resignation as she approached.

"Hi Harry," she said, her face flushed but looking determined.

"Hello, Ginny," Harry replied politely, not pausing as he walked past. Ginny turned and fell into step beside him as he squelched along.

"I need to ask you, Harry, why are you friends with Black? Don't you know what her father did to your parents?"

Harry's eyes flashed with a spurt of anger. "I know what he is accused of having done," Harry said firmly. "But I don't believe it."

Ginny blinked, stumbled on the stairs, then hurried to catch up. "What? What do you mean you don't believe it?"

"Sirius Black was my parents' best friend."

"And the Ministry sent him to Azkaban; they wouldn't do that if they weren't certain that he was guilty."

"So certain that they didn't even bother to give him a trial," Harry said darkly. They passed the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, who was staring morosely out a window and muttering under his breath.

"They didn't need one, Professor Dumbledore himself said that Sirius Black betrayed your parents to You-Know-Who."

"Dumbledore isn't infallible and all-knowing," Harry retorted.

"Well of course not, but nonetheless if Dumbledore says that someone can't be trusted, that's good enough for me—,"

"Well, it isn't good enough for me."

"It—what? It isn't? It isn't? Why not? Doesn't a great man like Dumbledore deserve a little trust?"

"Trust has to be earned," Harry said.

"And you—you don't think that Dumbledore has earned your trust?"

"No, I don't."

"Why not?"

"Well, for starters, he's let my godfather rot in Azkaban for ten years without even—"

"Besides that."

Harry paused, turned and shot Ginny a dark look. "Try this on for size, then; last school year, Dumbledore lured Voldemort into this very castle—endangering everyone here—using a fake Sorcerer's Stone."

"I heard something to that effect from my brothers, but you can't have all the facts, whatever Dumbledore was doing, he must have had a good reason for it."

Harry scowled. "Whatever that reason is, I doubt that it was a good one, as it led to me becoming a murderer at age eleven."

Ginny's eyes went very wide and she blinked rapidly. "You—you don't mean—,"

"Professor Quirrel, the previous Defense teacher, was possessed by Voldemort; now he's dead, because of me."

"If he was a follower of You-Know-Who, he got what he deserved."

Harry snorted. "Easy for you to say, you've never had to look someone in the eye as they died."

Harry turned away from her but a high-pitched mewling sound suddenly drew Harry's attention down to his ankles. There was Mrs. Norris, Filch's gray cat, staring at him with a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. Harry started picking up his pace but not fast enough as Argus Flich suddenly burst through a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking around wildly; Flich had a thick tartan scarf bound around his head and his nose looked unusually purple.

"Filth!" he snarled, jowls quivering and eyes popping as he pointed at the muddy tracks Harry had left behind and the mud and water that were continuing to drip from Harry's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!"

With a resigned groan, Harry followed Filch downstairs to his office; the room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single lamp and faintly smelling of fried fish. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls, with the details of every student Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly-polished collection of chains and manacles hung behind Filch's desk.

Filch grabbed a quill form a pot on his desk as well as a large roll of parchment from a desk drawer. "Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies… frog brains… rat intestines… I've had enough of it…time to make an example…"

"It's only a bit of mud," Harry said.

"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "Name… Harry Potter. Crime…befouling the castle… suggested sentence…" Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall. "Detention, trophy room cleaning duty. Date of suggested sentence…October 31st, 1992." Filch looked up at Harry. "I'll see you on Halloween, Potter, now skedaddle! And get yourself cleaned up!"

Harry glumly stood and walked out of Filch's office.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth Iris Black entered the North Wing, which was a large study area for students of all years and houses; Neville had invited her to join his Herbology study group but as she drew nearer to the table where Neville was sitting with a bunch of Hufflepuffs she heard them talking and ducked out of sight when she realized it was about her.

"—understand how you and Harry Potter can be friends with her," Ernie Macmillan was saying. "I mean, considering her family's reputation—especially her father…"

"Elizabeth is not her father," Neville replied.

"Neither is Draco Malfoy," said Hannah Abbot. "But that doesn't mean that I'll ever trust him any further than I could throw him. And I don't trust Black either."

"What has she ever done to deserve that?"

"Nothing…yet," Justin Finch-Fletchley admitted. "But what if You-Know-Who comes back again and frees his followers from Azkaban? Whose side would she really pick?"

Elizabeth felt like someone had clenched her heart; her fists tightened.

"She insists that her father is innocent," Neville said.

"Well of course she would," said Ernie, "But they don't send people to Azkaban for littering; he was caught red-handed, with witnesses.

"But isn't it possible that he was set up? I mean he was their best friend."

Susan Bones snorted. "Anything is possible, but it would take a heaping pile of new evidence to convince my auntie of that."

Elizabeth growled, then turned and nearly collided with an out of breath first year girl, Emily Cook wasn't it?

"Oh…er…I'm so sorry to bother you but…er…"

"What do you want?"

"Professor Slughorn wants to see Hermione Granger in his office."

"What for?"

"He didn't say."

Elizabeth let out a sigh. "Okay, I'll go find her."

(*)

Hermione found the Gryffindor Common Room unusually full for a Sunday morning; bookbag on her shoulder she started across towards the door. She had decided to head to the library in order to revise an essay for Transfiguration; it probably wasn't necessary since she'd already rewritten this particular essay several times but it gave her an excuse to hold off on reading Harry's almanac. Not because she didn't want to find out the truth, but because she was afraid of what would happen if she did…and they were right. Because even if they were right, Hermione could not see herself deliberately destroying a book.

It just was not done.

She knew in retrospect that she should never have agreed to it, should have at least tried to get them to compromise on it, but it had been totally impulsive on her part and it was too late now. But while Hermione walked through the crowded Common Room she could not help but overhear the conversations around her.

"—your problem with Lockhart anyway?" Fay Dunbar was asking Sophie Roper. "All you do is sit and glare at him. Why?"

"Lockhart's books are expensive," Sophie Roper replied. "And my parents aren't well off."

"Luna told me," Ginny Weasley was saying to another girl her age, "that she's just going to start skipping Defense, and I'm tempted to join her; after all, it's not like we're actually learning anything."

"Seriously," a fifth-year girl was complaining. "What was Dumbledore thinking? Lockhart's even worse than batty old Desmond, and he could barely even hold a wand."

"Yeah," a fifth-year boy agreed. "Never thought I'd be sentimental for that senile geezer, but at least he actually knew stuff; a first-year could wipe the floor with Lockhart. How are we supposed to prepare for O.W.L.'s?"

"—absolutely ridiculous," a seventh-year boy was griping to his friends. "How are any of us supposed to get a decent score in our Defense N.E.W.T.s with someone like Lockhart as the teacher?"

"Yeah, tell me about it," a seventh-year girl replied. "Our future careers are on the line here, and we're not being taught squat."

Hermione reached the portrait door and hesitated. She bit her lip, then was on the verge of turning around when the door opened and Elizabeth came in.

"What's up?"

"Professor Slughorn wants to see you; don't ask me why, I don't know."

"Alright, I'll go talk to him.

(*)

Harry Potter was not at all looking forward to Halloween and not just because it meant he would be spending a Saturday afternoon polishing the trophy room; he had never liked Halloween as it was the day his parents had been murdered. Harry had just left the changing rooms after Quidditch practice when he met Colin Creevey, who for some reason looked even more excited than normal.

"Oh, Harry," he said, "There you are, Professor Slughorn wants to see you."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know," Colin said.

"Okay, I'll go see him."

Harry changed course towards Slughorn's office, though thankfully Colin didn't follow him. On arriving he noticed that he wasn't the only one who'd been summoned: Mafalda Prewett and Hermione were there too.

"Ahh, Harry, good you've arrived."

"What's this about?" Harry asked.

"It has nothing to do with your performance in class; or rather, it does but not in the way you may think," Slughorn began. "The three of you have shown that you are by far the best of my second years, which is why—starting now and until I tell you otherwise—I would like you to no longer raise your hands in my class unless you have a genuine question. I may still call on you from time to time, but otherwise I want you to refrain from volunteering the answers."

"Sir?" Hermione frowned. Mafalda blinked. Harry raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"Your passion for and knowledge of my subject do you credit, and I wish that all of my students were like you; but, unfortunately, they are not, and the only way I can determine if they really are learning is if I am able to get them engaged; and they won't be motivated to engage if they know that one of you will always be the one with the answers anyway. Do not take this as a slight, instead see it as having earned my trust. Do you understand me?"

"I…think so," Harry said. Hermione nodded as did Mafalda, albeit grudgingly.

(*)

In the days leading up to Halloween, the Great Hall was decorated as usual for the holiday. Hagrid's pumpkins were carved into lanterns, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment. Which, of course, was ridiculous because Necromancy was illegal and a Dark Art.

Neville Longbottom could scarcely believe at times just how much his life had changed in so little a time; he had first arrived at Hogwarts a nervous and clumsy boy who kept forgetting and losing things, and who struggled with his spells due to using an unmatched wand. And then had come that first Halloween at Hogwarts where everything had changed: Harry Potter had accepted him into his circle as if he had always belonged there, had even started tutoring him, and Professor McGonagall had somehow convinced his grandmother to get him a proper wand. As a result, Neville had seen his practical results in most classes suddenly soar above most of his other classmates; although that had done wonders for his self-esteem, it was still a frail reed against a lifetime of being compared—always to his detriment—to his father.

Neville no longer considered himself as the worst student in his year, yet he still found that he was still always the last among his friends to get a new spell right and some of the theoretical stuff that came so easily to them often seemed to just go right over his head and nowhere was that better demonstrated than in Potions; Hermione seemed to have the textbooks memorized and Harry...Harry didn't just follow the instructions he seemed to truly understand them as more than just a set of directions to follow in a certain order. Even Elizabeth did better than him, and Potions was hardly her best subject. Only in Herbology did Neville ever truly feel like he was in their league, and that was hardly surprising as his mother's greenhouse had been his refuge for as long as he could walk, and he'd been helping his family's elves take care of it ever since.

Wednesday morning's Potions class started out innocuously enough with Slughorn delivering one of his combination lecture and pop quiz on the potion they were going to be brewing in the Thursday afternoon double class.

"Now," Slughorn said, "Without opening your books, can anyone describe the synergistic effect created by the combination of these first two ingredients?"

In his mind's eye Neville could already see Hermione's hand raised and turned to look at her to hear her answer and he was hardly the only student to do so…only to see Hermione just sitting there attentively with both arms on the table. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head slightly, as if asking why they were all looking at her.

Neville suddenly felt almost…ill, as if the whole world had just turned topsy-turvey on him. Didn't she know? How could she not know? She was Hermione Granger! And why didn't Harry have his arm raised? Or Prewett for that matter? That last one was the most unnerving, for Neville could not imagine Prewett willingly forgoing any opportunity to one-up her rival. Even Elizabeth was just sitting there calmly, as if there was nothing at all wrong in the world, which only further increased his sense of the unreal.

"Mr. Longbottom," Slughorn's voice startled him so much that he literally jumped in his seat.

"Professor?"

"Can you answer the question.

Neville furrowed his brow. "Er…it's because of…the Law of Sympathy, sir…"

"Are you asking me or telling me?

"Er…telling, sir."

Slughorn let out a sigh. "You are on the right track, this does concern the Law of Sympathy, but there is more to it than that. Any other takers?" Slughorn looked out over the class. "No? Alright, Miss Granger, please enlighten your classmates."

Hermione immediately launched into a detailed theoretical description of the interaction between the two ingredients, most of which caused his eyes to glaze over, but Harry, Elizabeth, and Prewett were all nodding along and that caused him—along with rest of the class—to suddenly relax. The world had not in fact suddenly gone mad on them, the three class prodigies hadn't been stumped at all; they'd simply all declined to volunteer. And now Neville suddenly tensed up again as he wondered why. Harry he could see stepping back. But not Hermione, and most definitely not Prewett.

What was going on?

As the lesson continued Neville realized that whatever it was wasn't a one-time thing; Slughorn was now only ever calling on one of those three when no one else could answer, and by the end of the class the Slytherin's had racked up far more points than the Gryffindor's had.

"Alright Hermione," Parvati Patil asked as they walked to lunch. "What was that all about?"

"Hmm?" Hermione looked at the Indian girl as if she didn't have the faintest clue what the problem was.

"Don't play ignorant with me, that has to be the first class ever in which you've never raised your hand despite knowing the answer."

"Yes, I suppose it was," Hermione replied. "It was almost…refreshing actually, at least as a change in pace."

"Why didn't you?" Lavender asked. "We got creamed back there."

"Yes we did," Hermione admitted, "I suppose you'll just have to start doing better."

"What?" Parvati said, "What are you talking about?"

"Oh come on Parvati," Hermione said. "Prewett and I might be currently tied for first in our year, but your sister isn't really that far behind us."

"And as much as I love Padma," replied Parvati, "I'm not in her league academically."

"You could be."

"And what does this have to do with anything?" Parvati wanted to know "We've got the House Cup to worry about."

"Yes, we do," Hermione replied.

"As in," Harry chimed in, "it's supposed to be a House effort, which means that everyone has to pitch in."

"And just how are we supposed to do that?" Seamus challenged him. "

"Well maybe you should start by spending more time preparing for class."

"Just like that, huh?" Dean interjected.

"Yes," said Harry. "Just like that."

"But I don't have the time," Lavender protested.

"Yes, you do," said Hermione. "You just don't use it properly."

"Now just you wait a minute—," Lavender started to get all heated at the accusation but now Elizabeth interrupted.

"Hey, I've got an idea; if you need more time to study, just skip Defense tomorrow. It's not like Lockhart's ever going to teach us anything anyway."

Hermione tripped and almost fell but Harry managed to catch her just in time. But although she looked very put out by the suggestion, she didn't say anything except a muttered "Thanks" to Harry.

Harry took it as a positive sign that she was at least starting to come around on the issue of Lockhart.

"Who knows," Harry said, "if enough students start skipping his class, maybe Lockhart will get fired."

"Oh, that would make my week, at least," Elizabeth agreed.

But despite her suggestion, the following afternoon it was obvious that none of their classmates were actually bold enough to just skip a class entirely; or at least not one with an actual living professor who might actually take roll—though Lockhart had yet to ever do so.

Saturday morning after breakfast was another Quidditch practice; Wood was really driving them hard now as their first game with Slytherin would be next week.

After cleaning up Harry went to lunch; he still felt tired from practice.

"Why the freaking trophy room?" Harry complained. "I tracked in a little mud on a rainy day, and so he makes me clean the trophy room!"

"Be sure to pay extra attention to the Special Services awards," Elizabeth advised Harry as he got up, seeing McGonagall coming over. "Filch won't let you go until they're shiny enough to see your own reflection."

Harry rolled his eyes for a moment, then nodded; she would know considering all the detentions she'd had to serve last year because of Snape. Professor McGonagall led Harry up several flights of stairs, but he soon realized that they were not heading towards the trophy room.

"Er…Professor, where are we going? I thought I was assigned to the trophy room?"

"Originally you were, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, "But then yesterday Argus Filch caught the Weasley Twins trying to stuff a pumpkin lantern into a suit of armor; they are now going to be cleaning the trophy room. You are going to be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail."

Harry groaned and pushed up his glasses, rubbing his eyes; suddenly the notion of polishing the trophies didn't seem nearly so bad.

"Are you sure that I can't swap with them?"

"No, Mr. Potter. Professor Lockhart specifically requested you once he found out that you were scheduled for a detention."

"Oh, joy."

All too soon Harry was standing outside Lockhart's office; he gritted his teeth and knocked.

The door flew open at once, revealing a beaming Lockhart.

"Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in —"

Illuminated on the walls by the light from the windows were countless framed photographs of Lockhart; he'd even signed a few of them and another large pile lay on his desk, next to a pile of envelopes.

I know I put down 'a photo of himself' as his 'ideal birthday gift', but that was a joke; this…this is just absurd.'

"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though this was a huge treat.

"This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her — huge fan of mine —"

Harry suppressed a groan. Someone kill me now, he silently begged.

(*)

A fifth-year Gryffindor girl with long straight strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes walked through the hallway on her way to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. Her name was Kitty Sharp and she was a muggleborn; her entire time at Hogwarts she had faced anti-muggle bigotry and bullying. Her older sister Scarlett had tried to help her as much as she could, but couldn't do anything more as she had graduated last year and although her grades should have made her a shoe-in for the Hit-Wizards—Snape and a string of barely competent Defense teachers like batty old Desmond had ruined any chances Scarlett might have had to become an Auror—she had been passed over in favor a wizard with lesser grades but a more exalted heritage; the only job she'd been able to get was a low-paying one in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, working for some inbred idiot who didn't have the first clue about the Muggle world.

A foretaste of the problems that she herself would have to deal with in a few more years.

In some respects, Kitty thought, it was the people didn't hate her that were even worse than the people did. At least the people who hated her were honest about it; but what really disgusted her were the smug, condescending purebloods who so frequently patted themselves on the back about how of course they would never hold the fact that she was a muggleborn against her, why they were treating her just like a real person, and oh how terrible it must have been not growing up without magic. Technology was merely how muggles 'got by without magic', and oh weren't they so clever inventing all those quaint machines to substitute for not having magic? That was all problem all purebloods seemed to have: a bone-deep assumption that magic was superior to muggle, so deeply engraved that they never even thought about it.

Not that there weren't things that magic actually did better than technology; Kitty had wondered when she was younger how there could even be a functional economy with magic. She'd learned over the years that the wizarding economy largely ran on superfluous magic: cosmetic potions and spells, clothing enchantments, charmed household items, building wards—runes needed to be made and enchanted, spells needed to be maintained, replaced, and upgraded. That much she had no problems with.

But that 'Muggle Protection Act' of Scarlett's boss—especially when combined with the short-sided knuckle-draggers on the Committee for Experimental Charms—made it damn-near impossible to legally experiment with finding ways to way combine magic and technology in ways that would actually benefit Wizarding society, never mind the sheer hypocrisy of that due to the existence of things like the Hogwarts Express. Because Merlin forbid that muggleborns actually be allowed to make a name for themselves and build their own legacy to pass on to future generations, like the purebloods had. Or maybe that was the point. Integrating magic with devices like milling machines might well be able to automate a lot of the things currently done by hand and improve the process tremendously—possibly even making certain things currently impossible suddenly feasible—but it might also put a lot of people out of a job.

The way that purebloods talked about Harry Potter and his parents was another example that hypocrisy; in all the conversations she'd ever heard about them, Lily Potter was almost never talked about as an individual except as part of some (ultimately futile) attempt to disprove that she was a true muggleborn instead the descendant of squibs, or a foundling orphan, or some philandering pureblood's bastard. And didn't that itself explain a lot about the pureblood's attitude towards muggleborns, because a lot of them were actually one of those things?

Harry Potter's recent speech where he'd held up his mother as the true heroine of the war, as well as the ideal he aspired to, had caused quite a stir, almost verging on scandalous to some purebloods. But even thinking about it made her smile.

Then she heard a voice speak from behind her…and all her thoughts were wiped away.

(*)

Elizabeth ignored the pangs of hanger in her stomach as she walked towards the trophy room. She wasn't going to the feast without Harry.

"Okay," she began as she stepped inside, "It's—," her voice abruptly cut off as she took in the scene before her.

Fred and George were on their knees holding sponges and crouched in front of one of the Special Services Awards—the one to some guy named T.M. Riddle, which Elizabeth recognized too well from her own detentions the previous year—but they weren't moving at all. It was as if time had suddenly…stopped.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood up and then—

"Stupefy!"

Elizabeth immediately ducked and rolled to her left, turning as she did so and drawing her wand. A red jet of light arced through the air where she'd been standing and hit the wall instead, dissipating harmless. She looked around for her attacker and spotted an older Gryffindor girl holding a wand, her eyes were glazed over.

"Stupefy!" Her voice was a monotone as she fired another red jet of light towards Elizabeth and she once again rolled out of his way, this one taking her out into the corridor, which was also conveniently the Armor Gallery.

"Petrificus Totalus!" she cried

"Protego." The older girl raised a shield with a casual gesture, turned to face her, "Stupefy!" and fired off another jet of red.

In between dodging and ducking behind and among the suits of armor lined up in the hallway Elizabeth fired off every offensive spell in her repertoire.

"Everte! Flipendo! Rictusempra! Tarrantellagera! Titillando! Offendo! Locomotor Wibbly! Ictus! Locomotor Mortis! Deprimo!"

All of her spells dissipated harmlessly against her attacker's shield, who continued to relentlessly assault her.

(*)

Harry was finding it harder and harder to even keep his head up, let alone continue responding to Lockhart's inane babble of things like: "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that'.

The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Harry moved his aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley's address. It must be nearly time to leave, Harry thought miserably, please let it be nearly time…

BANG!

Harry bolted up out of his chair, suddenly wide awake as the first crashing noise sounded from above them.

Lockhart—and his photographic doppelgangers—were also startled and looking around frantically. "My word, what was that?"

More crashing noises started coming, in faster succession, and Harry ran for the staircase. Lockhart was right on his heels. As they went up the noises became louder and louder and Harry started to also hear the sounds of fighting. Up on the third floor in the Armor Gallery Harry found a chilling sight.

Elizabeth was being attacked by some older Gryffindor girl, whose spells had started knocking the armor suits down—the source of the crashing noises—and was jumping, ducking, and ducking around them, and occasionally firing back to no effect. Lockhart started saying something, but Harry didn't hear it; he'd already drawn his wand and charged into the fray, firing off his own spells though at first he seemed to have no better luck. Watching helplessly as the girl approached them, stepping over the fallen suits of armor, Harry suddenly got an idea.

"Levicorpus!" he cast, targeting not the girl but the suit of armor she was currently stepping over. There was a flash of light as the suit of armor was suddenly jerked upwards, which caused it to hit their attacker, sending her stumbling to the ground.

"Everte!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The girl was knocked down just as she was standing up again and then completely immobilized. Harry turned and caught Elizabeth just before she collapsed; she was breathing heavily, sweat dripped down her face, which was drawn with fatigue and shock. Several times her mouth moved as if was trying to say something but the words just wouldn't come.

"By the stars," Lockhart exclaimed, emerging out from behind one of the few suits of armor still standing, "What happened here?"

"She—she—,"

Lockhart peeked into the Trophy Room, then abruptly let out a high-pitched squeal and went running away in a blind panic, tripping over several suits of armor in the process but that barely seemed to slow him down as he hustled back to the staircase.

"What's going on?" Harry asked. He walked to the Trophy Room, still holding Elizabeth tightly, and then froze at the door, his blood chilled to the bone at Fred and George's immobile forms, frozen in mid-action and stiff as a board. Harry knew, intellectually, they should be going, that they needed to leave now, but he just couldn't tear himself away from the sight.

He didn't know how long they stood there, but soon enough he heard approaching rumble of footsteps.

A lot of them.

Chapter Text

Students crowded around the trophy room, pressing forward to try and see what was going on; questions flew about from those in the back who couldn't make it forward.

"Coming through, make way, coming through," McGonagall's voice cut through the chattering and students parted to allow the Deputy Headmistress through. Professors Slughorn and Lockhart followed her. After a brief examination of the girl, Slughorn headed into the trophy room to do likewise to the twins while McGonagall turned to face the crowd. "Everyone disperse, back to your common rooms until further notice." As the crowd broke apart, Slughorn levitated the twins and the girl while McGonagall turned to Harry and Elizabeth. "Come with me."

"You are in serious trouble, young lady," Lockhart said to Elizabeth.

"But I didn't—," Elizabeth began

"Professor Lockhart," McGonagall interjected "I am the Deputy Headmistress and the head of Gryffindor House; I will make that determination, if and when it should be necessary."

"But—," Lockhart's sputtering protest was cut off by a sharp look from McGonagall.

"Now, come with me."

They followed McGonagall and Slughorn down a flight of stairs past Lockhart's office. Rounding a corner their progress towards the Hospital Wing came to a halt outside a girl's bathroom; a pool of water was on the floor and on the wall above it were foot-high letters written in red:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

THE UNWORTHY WILL BE PURGED.

"Do either of you know anything about this?" McGonagall asked Harry and Elizabeth; they both shook their heads and they continued on to the infirmary; on arriving Pomfrey and Slughorn began examining the twins; the girl remained immobilized. Lockhart stood over them and started babbling in his usual manner. Finally they looked up, Pomfrey raised her hand to silence Lockhart, and McGonagall cancelled the spell on the girl, then said, "Kitty Sharp, what happened?"

Kitty Sharp immediately stood up, her eyes no longer looking glazed over; now she just looked around in confusion.

"I—I don't know; I don't remember anything; I was walking along and then—nothing."

Elizabeth suddenly found everyone's gaze on her and she said:

"I was walking to the trophy room, I thought I would find Harry there; instead I found Fred and George already like that, and then she attacked me. I held her off as best as I could, then Harry arrived, and we stopped her."

"I swear," said Kitty, shaking her head. "I don't remember anything."

"I was in my detention with Professor Lockhart," Harry continued, "We heard crashing noises and went to investigate." Lockhart nodded along.

"Well," said Pomfrey, "whoever or whatever did this did not kill them." ("What? Not kill them? said Lockhart) "They have been Petrified." ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart).

"I will have to brew a Mandrake Restorative Draught," said Slughorn, "unfortunately, though, it requires fresh mandrake which we don't currently have; we'll have to wait for Sprout's mandrake's to mature."

"Wait, what?" Harry started. "You mean to tell me that you have no mandrake in your stores at all?"

"Of course I have mandrake," Slughorn said. "I have jars full of powdered mandrake and stewed mandrake, but I don't have fresh mandrake, which is what this recipe requires; there's no way to safely preserve fresh mandrake and so it's not easy to come by."

Harry turned to Madam Pomfrey. "And you don't have any of this potion already made?"

"This is a school, young man," Pomfrey replied. "Petrification is not a common ailment, so I have no reason to stockpile the cure for it. Even St. Mungo's Hospital doesn't stockpile it; there simply isn't enough of a demand, because magic that causes petrification is rare and difficult on top of being illegal."

"Well if it's that hard to do," Harry wondered, "Then who could have done this?"

"Ask her!" Lockhart abruptly interjected, pointing at Elizabeth.

"No second year could have done this," said McGonagall firmly. "this is clearly Dark Magic of the most advanced —"

"She did it, she did it!" Lockhart spat frantically. "She's Sirius Black's daughter; she must know loads of Dark Magic—,"

"I never touched them!" Elizabeth said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at her.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Gilderoy," McGonagall said firmly.

Elizabeth just couldn't help herself. "Well, it's nice to know someone is familiar with that concept."

"Mind your tongue, Ms. Black," said McGonagall. "You and Mr. Potter may go, Ms. Sharp, remain here."

They left as quickly as they could without actually running. They were almost at the Great Hall when they ran into Hermione and Neville; they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harry squinted at his friends' darkened faces.

"Harry, I—," Elizabeth began but Harry cut off her.

"I believe you," Harry said, "How could I not?" Elizabeth's eyes watered and she nodded, then embraced him.

"What happened?" Hermione asked and they explained. "I believe you too," Hermione continued after they had finished.

"As do I," Neville agreed.

"Thank you, both of you."

"Hey," said Hermione "What are friends for?"

"Why would that Sharp girl do this?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well it sounds like she doesn't know either," Harry replied.

"You believe her?"

"I don't know what to believe," Harry admitted. "But we shouldn't automatically dismiss what she said, or else we'll be no different than Lockhart."

"Fine," Elizabeth grudgingly admitted with a sigh.

The Great Hall was alive with chatter, gossip, and rumors; but as they entered the noise suddenly started to die away in an expanding bubble of silence as more and more people spotted Elizabeth. The air suddenly felt thick with tension and the silent accusations she could see on so many faces made her want to start yelling. Harry took her arm, caught her gaze, shook his head.

They took seats at the Gryffindor table and space suddenly opened up around them as if they had leprosy. The chatter abruptly resumed again, as if that had somehow been a signal, but quieted down when McGonagall arrived and formally announced what had happened to Fred and George. A shadow fell over the general mood, sapping all joy from the Halloween feast.

After a desultory meal, Harry stood and followed his fellow Quidditch teammates to the Hospital Wing; of them all, he was closest to Katie Bell as they'd joined the team at the same time. Angelina, Alicia, and the twins tended to treat him more as an annoying kid brother than as a friend, while Wood was more of a mentor—at least when he wasn't being a taskmaster running drills in the rain.

They arrived to find the Hospital Wing full of Weasleys: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were fussing over their petrified sons, while Percy, Ron, and Ginny looked on in various states of shock. Pomfrey bustled over.

"This place is crowded enough, family members only, please leave."

Harry heard footsteps approaching from behind. Mafalda Prewett walked past unchallenged.

"Hey," said Wood, "How come she gets to be here?"

Mafalda turned back to face them. "Because I am family," she said. "Even if they spend most of their time pretending otherwise."

"Is that because you're a Slytherin?" Harry wondered.

"No," said Malfada, "It's my father's a squib and my mother's a muggle."

"I didn't think the Weasley's were—," Angelina trailed off uncertainly, unwilling to actually say it.

"Oh they aren't," Mafalda said, obviously seeing what Angelina had been alluding to; it seemed like a familiar subject to her. "At least not like that. But every family has skeletons in their closet." And with that she turned and walked into the infirmary.

Harry and the others turned to leave.

"Do you know anything at all, Harry?" Wood asked him.

"Only that Mandrake Restorative Draught is apparently a very finicky potion," Harry replied. "It needs fresh mandrake, which they said isn't easy to come by; so they plan to wait for Professor Sprout's mandrakes to mature."

"What?" said Angelina, "But that won't be until May or June of next term; we can't just leave them like that for the better part of a year! What's going to happen to their educations?"

"What's going to happen with our Quidditch team?" Wood asked rhetorically. "Our first game is next week, we'll have to hold emergency tryouts for interim Beaters and then extra practices…" The others all groaned.

Over the next few days the school could talk of little else but the attack. Filch was frequently seen scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. The other students had always been wary of Elizabeth before but now they practically fled at the sight of her; even many of their fellow Gryffindors were now actively shunning her. The only exception was the Slytherin Quidditch team, who were now complimenting her whenever she crossed paths with one of them and whenever she tried to tell them off, they simply smiled and winked as if it was part of some game. The only other student who seemed to be taking everything in stride was Malfoy, who was overheard several times telling various muggleborn students that "they would be next".

Not many Gryffindors showed up to Wood's emergency Beater tryouts; Lee Jordan, longtime friend of Fred and George, managed to secure one of the spots; the other went to an arrogant third-year named Cormac MacLaggen. Everyone else on the team disliked him at once, but unfortunately MacLaggen was head and shoulders better than any of the other contenders.

(*)

The Monday after the attacks found Arthur Weasley back in his office at the Ministry, though he was finding it hard to concentrate on his work—

A knock sounded on his door.

"Enter," Arthur said in a tired voice.

The wizard who entered had brown hair, blue eyes, and was very immaculately tailored, with expensive and heavily enchanted robes and white gloves on his hands. Even the way he walked showed a degree of refinement often seen in the upper-class. Although they hardly moved in the same circles, Arthur still recognized him.

"Argo Pyrites?" Arthur wondered. "What brings you to my office?"

"First," Argo said; even his voice sounded refined, cultured, and posh. "I would like to express my condolences for the attack on your sons."

"Thank you," Arthur said with a nod. This was hardly the first time someone had said it since the event, but he'd hardly expected Argo Pyrites of all people to do so considering how often they were at odds politically.

"Second," Argo continued, "As I am sure you are aware, as a result of certain recent events your Muggle Protection Act has stalled in the Wizengamot."

Arthur nodded again. The act had been on track to getting approved in the spring when the scandals at Hogwarts—the death of Quirrel and the arrest of Snape—had lost Dumbledore a lot of support and forced him to burn quite a few favors; it had also stalled his act since Dumbledore was it's biggest supporter. The latest complaints coming in from all quarters about Lockhart weren't helping at all.

"I have discussed the matter with my allies," Argo said, "And we are prepared to withdraw our opposition in return for two favors."

"What favors?" Arthur asked cautiously.

"First, an amendment to the act granting a 30-day amnesty period for the new contraband."

Arthur grimaced but nodded. He didn't like it, but it was too reasonable an offer to refuse; not if it meant getting his act passed. "And the second is that when you do start organizing your raids, put Karen Black at the top of your list."

Now Arthur blinked. "Karen Black? Why, she's a muggleborn."

"A muggleborn married to a notorious dark wizard," Pyrites reminded him. "And one whose daughter may have been involved in the attack on your sons."

"That has not been proven yet." Arthur said, though Ginny and even Molly were already convinced of it.

"Oh of course not," Pyrites agreed, "But it also hasn't been disproven, and considering that family's reputation…"

Arthur frowned and settled down into his chair. Little though he liked to admit, Pyrites had made an excellent point. Was it possible that Karen Black was getting desperate enough to try and blackmail people into supporting her? And that she'd found some way—some artifact or spell perhaps—that enabled her daughter to open the Chamber of Secrets and control whatever it was that had attacked Fred and George? If any family knew of a way to do that, it was certainly the Black Family; their knowledge of the Dark Arts was second to none, except maybe the Dark Lord himself.

"Perhaps you are right," Arthur admitted, "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to make sure she isn't up to anything. Better safe than sorry, yes?"

Now Argo Pyrites smiled. "Yes, indeed."

(*)

On Wednesday, after days of doing little else but reading and not saying why, Harry, Elizabeth, and Neville finally were able to meet Hermione in the library to find out what she had been up to; she looked irritated.

"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," she said, sitting down next to Harry. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books."

"Why do you want it?" said Harry.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's that?" said Harry quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else —"

"Perhaps I can help," an ethereal voice said from behind them. They turned to see Luna Lovegood holding a copy of Hogwarts, A History; she set it down in front of them and opened it. "Ahh, here we go; the Chamber of Secrets."

They all gathered around to read the section.

'Not long after the school was formally opened an argument broke out between the four founders regarding the admittance of students born to muggles. Slytherin opposed it but was outvoted by the other three; this disagreement eventually led to Slytherin leaving the school entirely. Rumors began circulating almost immediately thereafter that Slytherin had left behind a hidden room called 'the Chamber of Secrets' wherein lay a monster of some sort that only Slytherin and his heirs could control. But despite a thorough search of the castle, no such secret chamber has ever been found'.

"That's it?" Hermione said, looking disappointed.

"What do you mean 'that's it'," Harry asked, "What were you expecting to find?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Hermione, "A little more detail, perhaps."

"Thanks for sharing this with us, Luna," Neville said and the others promptly echoed their own belated apologies.

"You are quite welcome," said Luna. "Knowledge is meant to be shared, not hidden away."

(*)

History of Magic remained as boring as it had ever been, with the ghost Professor Binns reading his notes in a droning tone that sounded like an old vacuum cleaner, quickly putting almost everyone into a stupor. But half an hour into the class something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the midst of his lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed. "Miss — er —?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance. Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms. Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped off his desk. Seamus Finnegan sat up with a jolt. Parvati Patil straightened in her chair. Sophie Roper awoke with a start. Fay Dunbar abruptly perked up. Elizabeth was suddenly wide awake.

Professor Binns blinked. "My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk slipping and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers —" He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again. "Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Harry was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead. "Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale —"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest. "Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets…

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago — the precise date is uncertain — by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy and at a high risk of becoming Obscurials. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school after his own proposal to the problem—that muggleborns be removed from their families as soon as they are identified—was rejected by the other three. At least one of Slytherin's descendants is known to have migrated to America where they helped to establish Ilvermony."

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise. "Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it either to defend the school from attackers or to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic—depending on which version of the legend you read."

There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns' classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed. "The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Lavender's hand was in the air. "What do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice. The class exchanged nervous looks. "I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing —"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it —"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore —"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't —" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Neville told Harry and Hermione as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner. "But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his house if you paid me."

Elizabeth and Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn't say anything. His stomach had just dropped unpleasantly.

Harry had never told anyone that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting him in Slytherin. He could remember, as though it were yesterday, the small voice that had spoken in his ear when he'd placed the hat on his head a year before: 'yet I also see in you the potential to be utterly ruthless in the protection of those you care about. What would you say to Slytherin, hmm?' Harry had refused to be in the same house as Draco Malfoy but now he started to wonder if that had been the only reason the Hat had gone along with him. If he hadn't met Malfoy before the Sorting, would it still have put him in Gryffindor—with Elizabeth—if he had asked…or would it have insisted on Slytherin?

"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Neville asked Hermione.

"I don't know," she said, frowning. They turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the corridor with the message. They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry and they split up to look for clues.

"Come and look at this!" said Hermione. "This is funny…"

The others crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione wonderingly.

"No," said Harry, "have you, Neville?"

"No," he said.

"Nope," said Elizabeth, "Quite odd."

Harry said, "There was water on the floor, but now it's been mopped up."

"It was about here," said Elizabeth, pointing. "Level with this door."

Neville reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"Can't go in there," said Neville gruffly. "That's a girls' toilet."

"Oh, Neville, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione standing up and coming over.

"Yeah," Elizabeth agreed. "This is Moaning Myrtle's place."

"Who's Moaning Myrtle?" Harry asked

"I'll show you," said Hermione. And ignoring the large OUT OF ORDER sign, she opened the door.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

The others went to look. A young-looking female ghost—Moaning Myrtle Harry assumed—was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

"This is a girls' bathroom," she said, eyeing Neville and Harry suspiciously. "They're not girls."

"No," Hermione agreed. "I just wanted to show them how er —"

"—how nice it is in here." Elizabeth supplied, waving vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

"Did you see anything out of the ordinary on Halloween night?" Harry asked "A message was written right outside your door and two people were attacked."

"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle. "I was at Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party and then Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm — that I'm —"

"Already dead," said Neville helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Neville stood with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said, "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle…"

"No kidding," said Elizabeth. "Come on, let's go."

Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all four of them jump.

"What is going on here?" Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face. "That's a girls' bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you two doing in there?" He asked Harry and Neville.

"Just having a look around," Harry shrugged. "There might be clues, you know —"

Percy swelled up and said. "No, absolutely not; we lost the House Cup last year because of your mischief, I won't have any more of it; you stay away from here and let the teachers handle this." He was striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. "Don't ever let me catch you here again!"

"Or what?" Elizabeth challenged.

"Go!" Percy retorted. "Don't ever come back here!"

They chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night.

Elizabeth abruptly slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To Harry's surprise, Hermione followed suit.

"Who can it be, though?" Hermione said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation they had just been having. "Who'd want to attack Fred and George?"

"Well, let's see, hmm," said Elizabeth in mock puzzlement. "Who's been strutting about the past few days telling people 'you'll be next, mudbloods!'?"

"If you're talking about Malfoy—"

"Of course I am!" said Elizabeth. "We already know that his dad was a Death Eater back in the day."

"That doesn't mean that he's the Heir of Slytherin," said Hermione skeptically.

"True," said Neville. "But they could still be involved; my gran told me that You-Know-Who always claimed to be descended from Slytherin, and we know he's still around."

Harry felt a sudden coldness in the pit of his stomach as he once again mentally relived his encounter with Voldemort earlier that year. And then he remembered that house-elf, Dobby, who'd tried to warn him about some plot. And how Karen had named the Malfoy's as among the likely suspects.

"Even if Malfoy's not the heir," Harry finally said. "He could still know something."

"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible…"

"But how do we prove it?" said Elizabeth.

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect —"

"And since when has that ever stopped us?" Harry asked.

"We must have broken at least that many last year," Elizabeth quipped.

"What we'd need to do," Hermione said "is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it's us."

"But that's impossible," Neville said.

"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."

"What's that?" Neville asked.

"Professor Slughorn mentioned it in class a few weeks ago," said Hermione.

Harry furrowed his brow as he searched his memory. "Oh you're brilliant Hermione; Polyjuice Potion turns you into someone else."

"For about an hour per dose, yes," said Hermione, her cheeks heating a bit.

"That is brilliant," said Elizabeth, "We could change into Slytherins, get close to Malfoy in their common room, and listen to him boasting."

"But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult," said Hermione, "Slughorn said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library." There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a teacher."

"But how do we get that?" Harry asked.

"Well aren't you two Slughorn's star pupils?" Elizabeth asked, looking at him and Hermione.

Harry shook his head. "As much as Slughorn likes us, I don't think he's gonna buy that 'we're just interested in the theory' or any kind of lame excuse like that."

Hermione smirked. "I have an idea."

Chapter Text

After the disaster with the pixies, Professor Lockhart had taken to just reading passages from his books to them; today Lockhart had announced that he was going to give them a "sneak peek" at his latest book, "Adventures with Acromantulas" which had not yet been published. It had been—like all of Lockhart's other books—just a bunch of mindless drivel that sounded even worse when read aloud. It was hard to believe that anyone could take it seriously and, had they not needed to be here, Harry would have seriously considering cutting the class entirely.

"Er, Professor Lockhart," Hermione said, as she approached him after the bell. Between her gushing tone and the way she batted her eyelashes, Hermione looked and sounded for all the world like a typical starstruck fan girl; in fact, if he hadn't known better, Harry knew he would have bought it. "There's a book I'd like to get out of the library, only it's in the Restricted Section; I think it would help me better understand what you were just saying about acromantulas and slow-acting venoms."

"Ahh, of course," said Lockhart, "Anything to help my best student." Lockhart took the form, produced one of his extravagant quills and fancily signed his name, not even glancing at the book title.

"Quite a performance there," Elizabeth commented once they were safely out of the classroom. "And since it was all your idea, does that mean—"

"No," said Hermione. "I'm not ready to concede just yet."

Their conversation cut off as they entered the library. Hermione gave the note to the librarian, Madam Pince.

"Moste Potente Potions?" Pince repeated suspiciously as she held up the note to the light as if trying to detect a forgery; then she stalked away into the Restricted Section and returned several minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left as nonchalantly as they could; much as Harry wanted to look at the book immediately, they had—appropriately enough—a Double Potions class next. It was not until after class that they were able to look over the book, using Myrtle's bathroom in spite of Neville's objections as it really was the last place anyone would look for them. Luckily for them a Silencing Charm and a Muffliato spell eliminated the sounds for Myrtle's crying, so they could study the book in relative quiet.

It was immediately obvious why this book had been in the Restricted Section as some of the potions described within it had effects almost too gruesome to think about, with some very unpleasant illustrations.

"Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed The Polyjuice Potion, which was decorated with drawings of people in mid-transformation with looks of excruciating pain on their faces.

"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione as they scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves… Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn — don't know where we're going to get that — shredded skin of a boomslang — that'll be tricky, too and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into."

"I hope you realize," Harry began, "that we'll have to break into Slughorn's private stores for the bicorn and boomslang."

"Well you broke into Snape's private stores last year," Hermione reminded him. "And Slughorn actually likes you, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"I don't know…" Elizabeth trailed off.

Hermione shut the book with a snap. "Well, if you are going to chicken out, then fine," she said, "I don't like breaking rules either, you know, but finding out what Malfoy knows is more important. But if you don't want to do it, then fine; I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in.'

"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be persuading us to break the rules," said Elizabeth.

"So, how long does it say this will take?" Harry asked. Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.

"Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days… I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."

"A month?" said Neville. "Isn't there any way to speed things up?"

"No, there isn't," said Hermione.

"She's right," Harry agreed when Neville turned to him, he scanned over the pages. "We really don't want to try taking shortcuts with a potion this complicated; one mistake and the best you could hope for would be several weeks in the infirmary." Neville's face turned pale as Harry showed him some of the more grotesque pictures. "Best to just play it safe."

Elizabeth snorted. "So says the person who plays a sport that involves flying hundreds of feet up in the air while dodging metal balls."

(*)

Harry couldn't remember ever feeling so nervous before a Quidditch Game, though it probably had something to do with the fact that his team's entire playstyle had been thrown out of kilter by the loss of Fred and George. Lee Jordan had proved adequate in the short time they'd had to prepare but Harry was surprised that Cormac McLaggen could even get off the ground with a head as big as his. He kept questioning and disrupting Wood's plays, always thinking that he knew better and almost invariably being proven wrong. Had it been up to him, Harry would have rather gone into the game short a player than to have to suffer a lousy one but Wood seemed to have the opposite opinion—though Harry and the girls had a bet going on just how much longer Wood's patience would last.

"Do whatever you have to, Harry," said Wood to Harry just before they entered the field. "Get that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we've got to win today, we've got to."." Harry nodded. After the customary handshake—which Flint and Wood did while each giving the other threatening stares and griping hands far harder than was necessary—Hooch gave the countdown and blew her whistle to start the game.

All fourteen players rose upward, and Harry zoomed on ahead, looking around for the Snitch.

"Hey, watch this, Scarhead," Malfoy yelled as he shot underneath him, showing off the speed of his new broom.

Harry started to reply but then noticed a Bludger coming at him and rolled, avoiding it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as he passed. Lee Jordan came up and whacked the Bludger in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger abruptly changed direction in midair and shot back towards Harry. Harry once again rolled to avoid it and Lee gave it another whack, this time towards Malfoy. But once again, like a boomerang, the Bludger swerved and shot back towards Harry's head.

Harry put on a burst of speed, heading towards the other end of the pitch; he could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. 'What's going on?' Bludger's were not supposed to concentrate on a single player like this. Harry was abruptly jerked out of his thoughts when he saw the other Bludger heading towards him, being pursued by Cormac, who kept whacking at it trying to divert it but all to no avail.

Harry rolled to evade the oncoming Bludger and it abruptly changed direction to come back at him, and Harry was forced to go up to full speed.

And then it started to rain; as the drops started falling onto his face, splattering onto his glasses, Harry cursed not putting an Impervious charm on them, but it was too late to worry about that now. He distantly heard the commentator mention that Slytherin was in the lead, 50-10. The Slytherins were clearly getting good use out of their superior brooms and meanwhile Harry was having to dodge both Bludgers, and with Lee and Cormac flying so close to him now—struggling to keep the Bludgers at bay—he couldn't even look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.

Wood had apparently finally noticed for he abruptly called a timeout. "What's going on?" He asked after they huddled together, ignoring the jeers from the Slytherin's in the crowd.

"Something's wrong with the Bludgers," said Lee, "They're both fixating on Harry."

"Someone must have tampered with them," Cormac added. "Probably one of the Slytherins."

"How is that even possible?" Wood asked. "All the balls were locked in Hooch's office—,"

"How they got to them doesn't matter," Harry interjected. "What matters is that they did, somehow. But I can't look for the Snitch with you two flying around me all the time; so just back off and run interference for the others, let me deal with them myself."

"Harry, don't be daft," said Lee,

"This is insane," said Alicia, "We should stop the game, call for an inquiry—,"

"We can't," Harry replied. "If we stop the game, we forfeit the match. We are not going to lose just because the Slytherins cheated. Come on, Oliver; tell them to let me handle this."

"I blame you for this, Oliver," Katie said angrily. "'Catch the snitch or die trying', what a stupid thing to say."

Wood sighed and rubbed his eyes. Madam Hooch came over to them.

"Ready to resume play?" she asked.

Wood make his decision. "All right," he said. "Lee, Cormac, you heard Harry—let him deal with the Bludgers on his own. Harry, don't worry about the score anymore, just find that Snitch and end the game as quickly as you can."

No sooner had Harry taken to the skies again after Hooch's whistle than did he hear the telltale whooshes of the two Bludgers, each coming at him from a different angle. Harry flew like he'd never flown before, climbing higher and higher, looping and swopping, spiraling and zigzagging, rolling and turning, and twirling. He knew he must look ridiculous, but survival quashed all other concerns.

Harry heard Malfoy say something, though he couldn't catch what, and then heard him start laughing. He risked a glance toward the Slytherin Seeker—and suddenly got an idea. Harry turned towards Malfoy, flying in his direction in as straight a line as his evasive maneuvers would permit. Thankfully—perhaps because of his constant weaving—Malfoy didn't seem to catch on to what he was up to. After several failed tries, Harry finally managed to fly past and underneath Malfoy, who turned to keep looking at him—and as a result didn't see the Bludger that smashed into Malfoy's right arm and then continued into his side, unseating the Slytherin Seeker from his broom. But Harry didn't have time to watch Malfoy fall, indeed he'd barely even had time to watch the collision before just narrowly avoiding a similar fate from the other Bludger.

At last Harry spotted the Snitch flitting around the Gryffindor goalposts and kicked his broom into top speed, still being pursued by the Bludgers. The Snitch led on a Harry on a mad pursuit all around the stadium as every time one of the Bludgers forced him to slow down to evade, the Snitch pulled ahead and forced Harry to accelerate again. For a while it seemed like an endless, vicious cycle, but at last Harry managed to maneuver one of the Bludgers into crashing into the side of the stadium, which slowed it down just enough for Harry to put enough speed to finally catch the Snitch.

Only then—after Hooch's whistle stopped the bludgers for good—did Harry look at the scoreboard and his heart plummeted:

SLYTHERIN: 200

GRYFFINDOR: 200

Tied. He'd ended the game in a tie.

"What the hell was that Potter?" McLaggen asked the team gathered around him. "You couldn't have waited for us to score another goal?"

"Us?" Angelina asked Cormac. "And just how exactly were you contributing up there? Alicia, Katie and I were the ones scoring goals, you were just flying around being useless."

McLaggen puffed up but Wood immediately interjected: "Enough. I told Harry to end the game at the first opportunity, and that's what he did. The fact that this game was a tie means that we'll have to replay it, but that won't happen until after all the other games in this season. Hopefully by then we'll have figured out what happened to those Bludgers so this won't happen again."

"Oh speaking of which," Lee exclaimed. "Did you see what happened to Malfoy after you unseated him with that Bludger?"

"No," Harry said. "What happened?"

"One of the professors managed to slow his descent, but his right arm was still broken—either by the Bludger or the fall, if not both together. Professor Lockhart tried to fix the damage, but instead he somehow managed to vanish all the bones in the arm."

"What?" Harry asked. "You're kidding me."

"Nope," said Lee, "And it looks like Malfoy's injuries might be even more severe than that, because last I saw, he was being carried off the field by his teammates."

"Well," said Harry, "I guess that's what he gets for not paying attention."

Most of the students in the stands—regardless of House—were leaving the stands now. The Gryffindors and Slytherins both looked dejected, while the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs seemed completely apathetic.

But a group of students were approaching them and Harry was nearly tackled by Hermione and Elizabeth; for a time Hermione's bush hair completely blocked his sight but strangely he didn't seem to mind at all. Her hair actually smelled good to him. Then she finally pulled back a bit. Hermione's face looked flushed, and from the way her cheeks looked he could tell that she'd been clutching them for a while.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered to him. "You had us so worried."

"I'm just glad that it's over," said Elizabeth.

Harry held Hermione gaze for a moment but then Ginny abruptly ruined the moment.

"Ooh, Harry," she cooed, "That was incredible flying there, I don't think that I've ever seen anyone maneuver a broom like that, not even my brother Charlie—,"

Harry, still holding Hermione in one arm and Elizabeth in the other, deliberately started walking away, desperately trying to escape the gushing fangirl, and finally reached the relative—though temporary—safety of the locker room.

(*)

After Harry had left them outside of the locker room, Hermione turned to Ginny and said: "You really need to back off, you are only annoying Harry."

"Says you," Ginny retorted. "But I am not going to leave him alone with her." She gestured at Elizabeth, who just rolled her eyes.

"Oh and what am I? Chopped liver?"

"No, you're her friend, so you can't be trusted either."

"Excuse me?" Hermione began hotly.

"Now, now," Elizabeth interjected, "If she wants to stay here and wait for Harry, then I say we should let her."

Hermione raised her eyebrows for a moment. And then she understood. "You're absolutely right," she said, "There's going to be an 'at least we didn't lose' party in the Common Room, and we don't want to miss that, do we?"

"Definitely not," Elizabeth agreed. "There's going to be games, food, candy, kegs of butterbeer—and we might even score a few bottles of the real stuff." She said that last part in a while leaning towards Hermione and holding her hand up to the side of her mouth, palm facing outward and towards Ginny—ostensibly excluding her but still speaking just loud enough to be overheard anyway.

Ginny looked back and forth between them suspiciously. "You're up to something," she declared. "You're trying to trick me, aren't you? Well it's not going to work. I'm not leaving here until Harry comes out."

Elizabeth just shrugged and said "Suit yourself," and walked off arm-in-arm with Hermione, the two of them trying their best not to laugh or even smile. Deadpan delivery was the key.

Ginny started pacing anxiously, wondering what they had been talking about, and checking her watch compulsively. About 30 minutes later the locker room doors opened again and the Gryffindor team filed outward: Wood in the lead, followed by Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, then Lee, and finally Cormac. Harry was nowhere in sight, so he must have still been in the locker room. She would not let him avoid her, she would wait him out and sooner or later Harry would give in, come out and have no choice but to let her talk to him. But thirty minutes turned into an hour, and an hour became two and still no sight of Harry. After three hours Ginny finally gave up and walked back to Gryffindor tower.

The party Hermione and Elizabeth had talked about was in full swing, with the kegs of butterbeer and tables of snacks and sweets; while picking her way through the crowd, Ginny was stunned to see Harry surrounded by a crowd of Gryffindors using his hands to reenact his mid-air acrobatics.

"Oh there you are," Elizabeth said, startling Ginny as the dark-haired girl came up behind her. Hermione and I had a bet going on just how long you were going to stand there, and I must say; you lasted longer than I thought.

"It's not possible," Ginny said. "I was watching the door the whole, he wasn't with the team when they left; how did he get here?"

"Magic," Elizabeth smirked, then held out a mug of butterbeer, "Drink?" Ginny just scowled, then turned and stalked away and up the stairs. "Her loss," Elizabeth said with a shrug and took a gulp.

(*)

Harry and his dormmates were startled awake the following morning by loud screams and shouts; hurrying down the stairs it soon became obvious what all the commotion was about for there, in the middle of the Common Room, were Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater, Petrified while in the midst of an intimate embrace; clutched in Penelope's outstretched hand was a small circular mirror.

The portrait door abruptly opened and McGonagall marched in, which almost instantly silenced the assembled Gryffindors.

"Alright, that's enough gawking," McGonagall said, "Clear the room, so I can get them to the hospital wing."

Harry suddenly found Hermione standing on one side of him, clasping his hand tightly, and Elizabeth on the other side. As he watched the two Petrified Prefects being levitated away, Harry felt a chill creep up his spine. It was one thing to be attacked in the Trophy Room; it was quite another for an attack to go down in the Gryffindor Common Room. How was that even possible? And if they could strike even here, then they could strike anywhere.

And who would be targeted next?

They had to get the Polyjuice Potion done soon, so they could find out what Malfoy knew.

(*)

It could no longer be put off. Ever since Professor Quirrel's as yet unexplained (at least publicly) death, Albus Dumbledore had been evading questions and burning favors from the school governors; now, in the wake of this latest attack, he could no longer avoid meeting with them. The Hogwarts Board of Governors consisted of ten people, with the chairman—Ambrosius Flume—only voting to break ties; the other members were Lucius Malfoy, Paxton Parkinson, Argo Pyrites, Gareth Greengrass, Damien Woodcroft, James Smith, Abigail Wenlock, Capern Fawley, and Hagen Harkiss. The latter five were normally his allies but you could hardly tell that today from the looks some of them were giving him.

Argo Pyrites was the first to speak after Dumbledore had sat himself down; a bad sign that as normally Flume conducted the meetings.

"We are very concerned about recent events," Pyrites began. "The death of Professor Quirrel—which you have still failed to adequately explain—raises concerns about the safety of this school; the deluge of complaints we have been receiving about Lockhart has raised questions about your judgement and hiring practices; these mysterious attacks on the students—,"

"The rogue Bludgers that nearly killed Harry Potter," Malfoy interjected, "and that did wound my son, injuries that were then compounded by Lockhart's incompetence."

"Taken all together," Pyrites continued, "Many of us are starting to wonder if you have spread yourself too thin, that perhaps your…other responsibilities are distracting you too much from your duties here."

"What do you want?" Dumbledore asked, cutting straight to the point; he had little patience at the moment for all this beating around the bush that Pyrites was so fond of.

"We would ask you to strongly consider resigning from the Wizengamot and the ICW in order to refocus your attention to where they truly belong," Pyrites said, "Although we cannot compel you to do so, I must remind you that your contract is subject to annual renewal and that we would have grave reservations about your remaining at Hogwarts if your attention continues to be so divided. Especially if additional attacks were to occur on your watch."

Dumbledore considered the faces of his nominal allies and then visibly sighed and sat back in the chair; whereas almost all of them would have to flip to remove him during the school year, only two of them would have to flip to terminate his contract at the annual renewal; the fact that none of them had yet said anything meant that they were all concerned enough to at least be considering it. And so Dumbledore made the decision with a much more surprising ease than he would have expected just a year earlier.

"Very well, then," Dumbledore said. "If it would reassure the governors, then of course I will step down my other responsibilities so that I can focus my energies on stopping these attacks."

The ICW position was easiest to do without; in the absence of any threat to the Statute of Secrecy, they spent the majority of their time debating such trivial nonsense as cauldron bottom thickness and import tariffs; that was a boredom he would not miss. The Wizengamot was more problematic as Karen Black's barrister—Bethsemane Free—still periodically filed motions to get Sirius Black's case reopened; but there Dumbledore knew that he could count on three things to keep it quashed: sheer governmental inertia, the automatic reflex that politicians and bureaucrats had to cover their ass, and the by now almost ingrained distrust evoked by the mere mention of the name 'Sirius Black', whom many now believed to have been Voldemort's second-in-command. With the rest of Black's relatives now safely dead, there was really no need to keep pressing his thumb on that scale. By long tradition a retiring Chief Warlock could endorse a successor and usually get them approved with little debate; it was time to let one of his allies—Doge perhaps—carry the load there, so that he could focus on what was really important. Even better, it would mean that he could finally stop using a time-turner and get caught up on all of the little things that he'd been letting slide for far too long.

For the first time in far in far too long Dumbledore felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"And what do you intend to do about Lockhart," Malfoy continued.

"Unfortunately," Dumbledore replied, "Lockhart is by contract committed to a single year, and as I am sure you well know the terms of those contracts do not permit to prematurely terminate a Hogwarts professor for anything short of a criminal arrest."

"Be that as it may," said Flume. "Something must at least be done to help the fifth and seventh years."

"I am open to suggestions, Governors," Dumbledore said.

"As I am sure you aware," said Pyrites, "Hogwarts once had an interhouse dueling competition, an event that lapsed over the years due to the inconsistent and often barely competent Defense teaching. Since, as you say, Lockhart cannot just be terminated, I propose instead hiring someone new to reorganize, oversee and teach the Hogwarts Dueling Club."

"The idea has merit," Dumbledore admitted. "May I assume that you also have an idea as to whom should do this?"

"Indeed," said Pyrites. "In the distant mists of my youth, I was a duelist of some modest renown; thus, until a better long-term candidate has been found, I shall attend to this matter personally."

Something about the way he said this made Dumbledore instantly wary. Something was wrong. Something just wasn't adding up, especially after the way Pyrites and Malfoy had abruptly ceased all opposition to Arthur Weasley's Muggle Protection Act in return for just one small amendment. Something was brewing, something else besides these attacks—and that three of the four victims were Arthur's children set all kinds of alarm bells ringing. Something more was going on; Dumbledore could feel that in his bones.

But what was it?

Chapter Text

The evening after the latest attack Harry lay on his bed; he knew that he had to sleep, but he just did not feel tired and could not go to sleep. The latest attack still worried him, and more than that they still had not found out what kind of monster petrified people. But perhaps that was because they weren't looking in the right place. Harry sat up on his bed, carefully; he didn't want to risk waking up his dormmates. Harry grabbed his wand holster and mokeskin pouch, donned on his father's Invisibility Cloak, whispered a Silencing Charm to muffle his footsteps, and then headed down the stairs and slipped out of the Common Room.

He always felt a special thrill doing this, being able to go out at night whenever he wanted and go almost anywhere he wanted. But tonight he knew exactly where he wanted to go. Ever since getting this cloak he had always meant to explore the Restricted Section but something else had always been going on to keep him busy, and his schedule each day invariably ended with him tired every night.

But not tonight. Now he was still wide awake, and with something specific to look for.

By the dim light of his wand, held with the point just barely exposed, Harry made his way to the library and entered the Restricted Section. There he shucked the Invisibility Cloak, folding it loosely so that it hung over his left shoulder, and then held up his wand higher, risking a little more light as he did so. For some of the books, at least, it was obvious why they were restricted.

Spirits and Demons, by Ewell Dammed

Magick Moste Evile, by Godelot

Secrets of the Darkest Art, by Owle Bullock

Breeding Monsters, by Dunn Derhead

The Art of Necromancy, by Kritanta Mortis

Famous Fire-eaters, by Jeye Bellered

Fifteenth Century Fiends, by Triste Mallory

Rituals: The Path to True Power, by Gowan Dark

Harry turned a corner and was startled to realize that he was not alone in here: two goggling tennis-ball eyes were peering at him from the darkness. Harry brought his wand over and immediately recognized the source.

"Dobby? What are you doing here?"

"Harry Potter came back to Hogwarts," Dobby said. "Dobby tried to warn Harry Potter, but you did not listen. Dobby tried to make Harry Potter miss the train but had not reckoned with Mrs. Black."

"You sealed the barrier?" Harry asked

"Oh yes, indeed, sir," said Dobby. "Even though Dobby had to iron his hands afterwards." Dobby showed Harry ten long bandaged fingers. "Dobby was so upset at failing that he burned master's dinner. Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir…"

"But why?"

"Because Harry Potter must go home where it is safe. Dobby thought that he could make Harry see reason with his Bludgers, but—,"

"Wait a minute," said Harry. "You made the Bludgers go rogue and try to kill me?"

"Oh no sir," Dobby replied, looking shocked. "Not kill you, Dobby never meant to kill Harry Potter, only to injure him, so that he would realize that Hogwarts was not safe for him. But Dobby did not know that Harry Potter was such a good flier, oh no."

"But why are you so concerned about me that you would risk hurting me?"

"Does Harry Potter not know what he means to us?" Tears dripped down Dobby's face and onto his ragged pillowcase. "Dobby remembers what it was like when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir. We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir. Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir," he admitted, trying to dry his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since your triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter has shone like a beacon of hope for those like me. And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are happening, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more."

Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then slammed his head into a nearby bookshelf, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby…"

"So there is a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry whispered. "And did you say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!" He seized the elf's bony wrist as Dobby inched back toward the bookshelf. "How am I danger from the Chamber?"

"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen — go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, 'tis too dangerous —"

"Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby's wrist to stop him from hurting himself again. "Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?"

"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"

"I'm not going anywhere!" said Harry fiercely. "One of my best friends is Muggle-born; she'll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened —"

"Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!" Dobby exclaimed. "He is so noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not —"

The sound of a creaking door opening startled them. Dobby abruptly vanished in a loud 'crack'. Harry ducked behind a bookshelf and put his Invisibility Cloak back on, and doused his wand with a whispered "Nox." From out of the dark library, Harry spotted Filch holding a lantern and muttering to himself.

"Door's open, someone must be in here, student out of bed most likely." Then Filch's voice became much louder. "Where are you? I know you're in here. Come out, where are you? Sniff around my sweet, we'll find them."

Harry crept toward the door and froze when he spotted Mrs. Norris standing near the doorway to the Restricted Section. Harry tried to sneak around her but the cat-even though she could not possibly see or hear him—kept turning to look at him. Could she be smelling him? Mrs. Norris meowed. Harry heard Filch's thundering steps and immediately picked up the pace to as much of a hustle as he could manage while still remaining under the cloak, and didn't slow down until he was almost at Gryffindor tower, panting heavily. After checking in several directions to see that the coast was clear, Harry removed the cloak and headed back through the portrait door, safe at last.

(*)

By Monday morning the whole school had heard about the latest attack; the air was now thick with tension, suspicion, and rumors. Students moved about furtively in groups, with wands drawn as they looked around for any possible threat; almost everyone seemed to be on a hair-trigger and more than few fights broke out in the corridors. And behind the scenes was a roaring black market trade in fake protective talismans. Nobody seemed to feel safe anymore.

That evening at dinner Harry noticed someone new sitting at the head table: a wizard with brown hair, blue eyes, and wearing expensive looking green robes; he had white gloves on his hands and held a white cane topped with a golden griffin.

Dumbledore stood up, clicking his glass with his fork for attention. "My students, in light of…recent events, one of our very own governors, Argo Pyrites," Dumbledore gestured at the new wizard, who stood, and Harry let out a gasp. Argo Pyrites? Really? What was he here for? "—has graciously volunteered to help revive an old Hogwarts tradition," Dumbledore continued, then paused for dramatic effect. "the Interhouse Dueling Tournament."

Whispers erupted throughout the Great Hall but then Pyrites held up his hands, calling for silence. "Each House," Pyrites began in a clipped, upper-class accent, "will be forming their own dueling club and the best seven students from that club—one for each year—shall form their Houses' dueling teams. The tournament itself shall take place in the spring, exact date to be determined. Over the course of the next few weeks I shall be visiting each house to oversee the organization of their club."

"And now," Dumbledore said, "let us eat."

Dumbledore and Pyrites sat down again and, as if on cue, food appeared on the tables.

Harry started filling his plate; all around them their classmates were chatting, the basic sentiment for most people, as expressed by Dean Thomas, was: "Well it's about time we got some decent instruction in how to defend ourselves."

Of course, there were some exceptions.

"Who does that guy think he is?" Elizabeth opined. "I mean, just look at him. He could give Lockhart lessons in how to look like an overdressed fop."

"He may look like that," Harry interjected. "But I can tell you, Pyrites is no Lockhart."

"What makes you so certain of that?"

"Because," Harry explained. "Argo Pyrites was the national dueling champion for five years straight and never actually lost that title in the dueling ring as after his fifth victory he retired from the sport to pursue a career in politics. And even though that was years ago, he's still a legend in the dueling community."

"Well I still don't like the way he talks," said Elizabeth. Harry brushed it off and looked at Hermione, who was being unusually quiet. He raised an eyebrow at her and she just shrugged and continued eating; something was clearly up with her but she didn't seem to want to talk about whatever it was.

The next morning the dueling club meeting schedule for the coming weeks were posted on the bulletin boards in the Common Rooms. Harry tried to make his way through the crowd to examine it:

Slytherin: November 10th: 7th years; November 11th: 6th years; November 12th: 5th years; November 13th: 4th and 3rd years; November 14th: 2nd and 1st years.

Ravenclaw: November 16th: 7th years; November 17th: 6th years; November 18th: 5th years; November 19th: 4th and 3rd years; November 20th: 2nd and 1st years.

Hufflepuff: November 23rd: 7th years; November 24th: 6th years; November 25th: 5th years; November 26th: 4th and 3rd years; November 27th: 2nd and 1st years.

Gryffindor: November 30th: 7th years; December 1st: 6th years; December 2nd: 5th years; December 3rd: 4th and 3rd years; December 4th: 2nd and 1st years.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Elizabeth wondered aloud. "Three of the four victims are Gryffindors, and yet we're last; but Slytherin—which hasn't been targeted at all—gets to be first? What is that guy thinking?"

And for once, Harry didn't know what to say.

November passed with no more attacks or incidents at Hogwarts, though there were plenty of rumors; from what Harry could glean while listening to the Hufflepuffs in Herbology, Pyrites certainly seemed to live up to his reputation—certainly far better than Lockhart, though Elizabeth was still sour about the wait. Harry wasn't too thrilled about it either but hoped that he would at least have the opportunity to ask about it when the time came.

(*)

Karen Black sat in the office of her barrister, Bethsemane Free. Aside from the animated portraits on the wall and the moving pictures in the newspaper on his desk, it could have easily passed for any muggle lawyer's office. Free was bringing her up to speed on his latest efforts.

"Dumbledore's resignation has opened a few doors for us," Free was explaining, "it's taking longer than I'd like, but thankfully the new Chief Warlock—Ephias Doge—simply doesn't command the same respect that Dumbledore enjoys. Off the record, I can tell you that there are warlocks of all political alignments—each for their own reasons— who have always been just a bit nervous about Crouch's overreach of the DWCA in this case; it probably contributed at least as much to his lateral transfer as his more public disgrace. No one is yet ready to openly support an inquiry, but I am making progress. However, I have also noticed something…odd in my conversations with certain warlocks and Ministry officials; nothing substantive, just a strange sense that they know something I don't."

Karen frowned but before she could ask him to try and elaborate, the door was suddenly thrown open and an out-of-breath Andromeda Tonks came running in, with Free's secretary hot on her heels.

"I'm sorry, sir," the secretary was saying, "I tried to tell her that you were busy, but she was insistent—,"

Karen stood, turned to face Andromeda, and said. "What is going on, Andi?"

"You know that Nymphadora is an Auror trainee, yes, well she's been hearing things—watercooler stuff, you know; Karen, I think that the Ministry is about to move against you."

"What?" Karen blinked. "When? How? Whatever for? I haven't done anything!"

"Well Sirius didn't do anything either," Free said. "Except be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you've been an annoying thorn in the Ministry's side for over a decade."

"Yes, exactly," Andromeda said. "It's Arthur Weasley's new Muggle Protection Act; he's going to start the raids in a few days and Nymphadora has heard that you might be one of the first."

"The Muggle Protection Act?" Karen repeated. "But why would they—," she slapped her forehead. "Oh of course, they believe that Sirius is a dark wizard, so obviously my house must be stuffed full of all kinds of nasty artifacts."

"It isn't, of course," said Andromeda, "But it does have lots of pictures of Harry Potter on the walls, and Weasley is one of Dumbledore's cronies."

Bethseneme Free frowned. "Dumbledore may no longer have an official position, but he still has a lot of soft power; he could easily lean on Child Services and he might not even have to considering your husband's 'well known reputation as a dark wizard' and all that nonsense. And although I can't see Bones doing a Crouch, I can see Minister Fudge doing it if he was leaned on hard enough."

"And if you go to prison," Andromeda continued, "Harry would be sent to the Dursley's, while custody of Elizabeth would pass to—,"

"You—," Karen finished.

"Well, maybe," said Andromeda nervously, "Yes, your will says so, and I am next of kin…but Narcissa is just as close and has a lot more money than I do."

Karen blanched and fell back into the chair as her feet gave way; Harry being sent to the Dursley's would be bad enough, but there was no doubt in her mind of what would happen to Elizabeth if she fell into the custody of the Malfoys. She could not allow that to happen. She would not!

"You can stay with Ted and me for a while," Andromeda continued. "But if the Ministry starts actively looking for you, it won't be long before they turn up at my doorstep; there is a place where you will be safe long term, but we will need Elizabeth's help getting in there. I've already tried but the door won't accept me."

"You—you don't mean—,"

"Yes," said Andromeda. "Grimmauld Place."

(*)

Elizabeth was with Harry in the Owlery, giving some much-needed attention to their familiars, when the mirror in her pocket grew warm.

"Harry," she announced, fishing the mirror out as she did so. "Mum's calling." Harry came over as she said. "Lady Snuffles."

Karen's face appeared instantly; she looked pale and quite concerned. "Elizabeth," she began without prelude. "I know that you asked to stay at Hogwarts this winter, but I need you to come home instead."

"What? Why?" Elizabeth asked. "What is going on?"

"I can't say," Karen replied. "Not because I don't trust you, but because what you don't know you can't accidentally reveal; all I can tell you, is that I need you—and only you Elizabeth—to come back this winter. Harry, you stay at Hogwarts; this is as much for your protection as mine."

"Mother, what is happening?" Elizabeth repeated, while Harry frowned.

"I told you, I can't say, not now; it's…complicated, I'll be able to tell you more once I see you."

"But—,"

"This is important," Karen said, in a firm tone that brooked no disagreement.

Elizabeth let out a sigh, then nodded. "Okay, mum; I understand. I'll see you in a few weeks." The mirror clouded for a moment, then became blank. Elizabeth looked over at Harry.

"Any idea what that was all about?"

Harry shrugged, "Not a clue, you?"

"No," said Elizabeth. "And that worries me. Something bad has happened."

"Or is about to happen." Harry let out a sigh of his own. "And Neville just told me this morning that his grandfather is deathly ill, so I guess it'll just be Hermione and me using the potion."

"Maybe that's for the better," Elizabeth admitted, "With my temper, I'd be more likely to knock Malfoy's teeth out the first time he dropped the 'M' word, and that would blow the whole thing."

(*)

Arnie Peasgood, Ministry Hit-Wizard, blasted open the door and Arthur Weasley rushed inside, shouting: "Ministry of Magic, we have a…warrant." His loud, authoritative tone abruptly trailed off into uncertainty as he looked around. Not only was no one there but the house seemed strangely…empty somehow, or at least very unlived in.

Arthur rounded on his colleagues and coworkers from the Ministry who made up the rest of the raid.

"Are you sure that we have the right address?"

Arnie slipped back outside, checked the address of the house against their warrant, then said. "Yes, this is the right place."

"Search the whole place, top to bottom," Arthur ordered. But after an hour of careful searching, it was clear that the house was completely empty. All the furniture was gone, the walls bare, the rooms empty and barren. The only thing that the search had found was a single red envelope on the floor of the master bedroom. After making sure that it had no other magic on it besides the usual for a Howler, Arthur reluctantly opened it.

"So," said the voice of Karen Black in a calm tone. "The Ministry is not content with taking my husband away, now you seek to persecute me as well, when all I have ever demanded is due process; but apparently that doesn't mean anything to you people anymore. You may have managed to keep my husband imprisoned without a trial, but you are a day late and a galleon short this time. You are welcome to search for me, of course, but you will only find me if I choose to be found. Because I am a muggleborn; I know the normal world in ways that you inbred idiots never will. And know this," the voice became colder and firmer. "If you ever go anywhere near my daughter, I will make you regret it. You think that Sirius is a dark wizard? You haven't me yet; pray that you never do."

The envelope burst into flames, then curled into ashes.

"Well that went well," said Perkins. "I mean, all things considered, we could have found a lot worse here than a Howler."

"This whole thing was still a waste of time."

"What's going to happen now? To her, I mean?"

"Way above my pay grade," said Arthur. A part of him was wondering just what Pyrites and his allies had been up to with this…and another part of him was relieved that they wouldn't get whatever they wanted. And, best of all, it wasn't even his fault; he'd held up his end, no one could say that he hadn't. Obviously she'd found out somehow, and although Arthur didn't know how, he also knew that it definitely wasn't his job to find out.

(*)

December 4th, a Friday, finally arrived. After Transfiguration class that afternoon Harry and the rest of his classmates walked to the Great Hall, meeting up with the first years on the way. Harry did his best to ignore Ginny, who was trying to push through the crowd towards him; his eyes briefly fell on Ron, who seemed to be standing just a bit straighter than usual and who didn't even seem to have noticed him.

Argo Pyrites was waiting for them in the Great Hall, tapping on his cane.; the long tables and their chairs were gone, replaced by a long blue stage decorated with the phases of the moon-with the empty spaces at either end obviously representing the new moon.

"Welcome, Gryffindor first and second years," Pyrites began. "I am Argo Pyrites, Warlock of the Wizengamot and Dueling Champion. I am glad that you have all decided to attend; know how to defend yourself is the most important thing you will ever learn." He began to pace in front of the stage. "First, I am going to teach you two spells-one to attack with and one to defend with. Although you may well know many more spells that would be useful in a duel, these two are the most basic in any duelers arsenal. Then I will pair you off based on your grades to date. Each pair will duel until and the winner of each duel will progress to the next round, and the duels will continue until one second year and one first year each is remaining and those will be your representatives on the Gryffindor Dueling Team. Are there any questions?" He paused for a moment but no one said anything. "Very well, then. The first spell that you will be learning to day, is the Disarming Charm. This spell causes whatever an opponent is holding-usually their wand-to fly out of their hand, though if enough power is put into it, it can also send an opponent flying backwards and possibly even render them unconscious if they impact a sufficiently solid object in the process. The incantation is Expelliarmus. Repeat that now, all of you."

"Expelliarmus." The students echoed, though not all at once.

"Again, with emphasis."

"Expelliarmus." The students echoed, a bit more in unison this time.

"And now for the wand movement, pay very close attention." Argo Pyrites stepped up onto the stage, drew his wand, and conjured a dueling dummy-complete with a fake wand. Pyrites settled into the Scorpion Tail stance, paused for a moment, then brought his wand down and around, taking a step forward as he did so; his wand completed another, tighter loop, and finished with a jab forward. He demonstrated the movement several more times before finally casting, "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and the dummy was knocked down while it's wand went flying away from it.

"Now you will pair off and take turns casting that spell, and only that spell; if I hear any other spell besides the Disarming Charm, you will be out of this club."

Harry found himself paired with Neville, Hermione with Elizabeth; the cries of the spell rang throughout the Great Hall. Harry went first and got it right on the first try, knocking Neville backwards. Neville retrieved his wand began his attempt; it took him three tries to get the movements down precisely but then produced a red bolt of light that sent Harry's wand flying. The other spell they learned that day, the Shield Charm, was much harder to learn; even Hermione needed several tries before getting it down, and Harry needed one more try after her before succeeding. Most of the other students—including almost all of the first-years—couldn't even get that much.

Pyrites told those students who were struggling to continue practicing on their own time and then started the duels on the stage, proceeding from worst to best, and this time all spells they knew could be used. The first duels were very anticlimactic, with the winner often being determined as much by luck as skill; the one exception, of course, was Ron—who steamrolled over all of his opponents and finally defeated his sister. Something seemed to be different about Ron, though Harry couldn't quite pin it down. The second year duels were a bit more interesting but still mostly anticlimactic—at least until it was time for Elizabeth and Neville's duel.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego, Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

Back and forth they cast, initially seeming at a deadlock. Harry quickly noticed key differences in their casting. Neville was rotating through just three offensive spells: The Disarming Charm, the Kneelocker Jinx, and the Tripping Jinx, and almost always in that order. Elizabeth, in contrast, was casting a wide variety of spells with no discernable pattern and Harry recognized many of them as prank spells. And then Elizabeth finally cracked Neville's shield with a well-placed Stinging Hex, followed it up with a Tickling Charm that sent Neville to his knees-laughing and wheezing-and finished up with a Disarming Charm.

After cancelling the spells on Neville, Pyrites said. "Excellent combination, Miss Black," and turned to the rest of the students. "Although it may seem unsporting to bewitch your opponents while they are on the ground, you must discard all such notions and never hesitate as that could well mean the difference between success and failure. And in a real fight, failure can mean death. Now, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger; according to your grades, you are the top two students in Gryffindor and two of the top three students in your year. Lets see what you can do."

It started out in much the same way, with the trade of Disarming Charms and Shield Charms:

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego, Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

But then Harry reverted to his current favorite spell, the Throwback Hex, Everte; cast correctly it produced an orange light that would both knock an opponent back and cause them pain-as opposed to the Knockback Jinx, Flipendo, which would normally only do one or the other. Adapting ideas from both Neville and Elizabeth, Harry fell into a pattern of using Everte and then a random spell, and then Everte again, rinse and repeat. Hermione, in contrast, seemed to think that Elizabeth hadn't been nearly random enough; Harry didn't even recognize half the spells she was throwing at him. He made a snap decision and mixed it up, casting an Expelliarmus instead of his usual Everte. Hermione abandoned her assault as she visibly strained to hold her shield and that was when Harry unleashed the Dueler's Hello: A Silencing Charm, a Full-Body-Bind, and an Incarceration Spell. Hermione's shield withstood the first, then cracked after the second one and left her vulnerable to the ropes from the third one, which bound her where she stood.

Pyrites once again stepped in to cancel the spells on Hermione, then said. "Nicely done, Mr. Potter; you set a pattern to lure your opponent into a false sense of security, forced her onto the defensive when you ended it, and then finished with the Dueler's Hello. Very well done." The next round passed much faster and Harry finally edged out Elizabeth in the last duel to secure the second year slot.

"Now that is what defense class should be like," Harry announced as they were leaving.

"He knows his stuff," Elizabeth admitted, "But his voice still annoys me for some reason."

(*)

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall began collecting the names of those students who would be staying at the castle over the winter break. The vast majority of the students did not, desperate to escape—even if only temporarily—the danger in the castle. Harry had been half-hoping that Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle wouldn't sign up, but they did and so he and Hermione did as well. The holidays would be the perfect opportunity to use the Polyjuice potion to question him.

Unfortunately, the potion was still only half-finished; they needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang and the only way that they were going to get that would be from Slughorn's private stores. Fortunately, though, breaking into Slughorn's private stores was as easy as flicking a puffer-fish eye into Goyle's cauldron. Harry knew from his textbooks, and the previous day's lecture, that too many puffer-fish eyes added to a Swelling Solution would cause it to explode, which is exactly what happened. In the midst of all the ensuing chaos—with half of the class suffering from overinflated body parts, including for some of the girls grossly swollen breasts that had many of the boys whistling and cat-calling (and then getting slapped)—no one noticed Hermione slipping out and back in. And, best of all, the sabotaged potion was immediately dismissed by Slughorn as simple incompetence; Goyle was so stupid that it was really more of a wonder that he hadn't caused more accidents. Once they were in Myrtle's bathroom, Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir it feverishly.

"It'll be ready in two weeks," she announced happily.

Chapter Text

"You really didn't have to come with me," Harry said to his friends, one week later, as they made the very circuitous journey from Gryffindor Tower to the old DADA classroom near the Clock Tower Entrance, which Pyrites had repurposed into a smaller training room for the Gryffindor Dueling Team (the regular one, Classroom 3C on the third floor, had been out of bounds last year).

"Yes, we did," Hermione replied.

"No one should be traveling alone these days," Neville added

"And I needed some time away from the Common Room," Elizabeth chimed in as they rounded a corner. "It's just so frustrating that you get to learn all the good stuff, Harry, while Hermione and I stuck trying to teach our classmates how to cast a Shield Charm. Or Hermione is, anyway; I've tried to help, but a lot people seem to think that I'm some kind of dark lady-in training." She snorted. "The fools. If I wanted to kill them, it wouldn't be all that hard considering that the lot of them still can't cast a decent shield."

They passed through a corridor that opened out into one of the castle's many courtyards. Snow was lightly falling but despite that a crowd was gathering. Slipping through the crowd, Harry found the source of the commotion: three older Slytherin boys were accosting Justin Finch-Fletchley. The Hufflepuff boy was hanging upside down in mid-air; there were large boils all over his face and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. Harry and Elizabeth drew their wands, followed quickly by Hermione.

"—be long now," one of the Slytherins was taunting; he was tall, with short-cropped hair. "It's filth like you who are gonna be next when the Heir strikes again."

Harry cast. "Liberacorpus!" There was a flash of light and Justin was dropped back down to the ground. The Slytherin boys started looking around for the caster of the spell.

"Ohh, lookie here, Cassius," one of the other boys said. "It's Potter and Black."

The other two boys turned to face them and the first boy said. "Ahh, yes, Miles," Cassius replied. "And look Ross, they also brought along their squib Longbottom and their pet Mudblood…"

"Everte!" Harry cast with a snarl.

"Flipendo!" Elizabeth cast.

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione cast.

Taken by surprise, Cassius was knocked off his feet and flung backwards into a pillar as all three spells hit him; his wand went flying and landed at Hermione's feet. But this gave his two friends, Miles and Ross, time to collect their wits and respond.

"Stupefy!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Protego!" Harry, Hermione, and Elizabeth cast almost in unison; the red stunner hit Harry's shield and ricocheted off, while the Impediment Jinx zoomed past them and hit Neville, who had just drawn his wand, freezing him in mid-motion. Spells of many different colors began flying back and forth between as the fight intensified.

The crowd around them was watching with interest, with some people even placing bets, when the loud voice Gilderoy Lockhart sounded through the hubbub.

"What is going on here? Coming through, one side, coming through." Lockhart finally forced his way to the front of the crowd. "Oh my stars, stop! Stop! Stop!" When his cries went unheard, Lockhart drew his wand. "Volate Ascendare!"

Harry was now standing alone against the three Slytherins—Cassius had by now recovered from the initial attack and one of his cronies having summoned his wand back, while Elizabeth and Hermione had both been immobilized like Neville—when Lockhart's spell hit him in the back. Harry felt himself being flung upwards through the falling snow, a sudden chill now biting at him as butterflies mated in his belly. And then he began falling; and as the ground grew closer and closer, fear grabbed at Harry. Dread and panic chased away the butterflies in his stomach; oh, now, what was he going to do. He didn't want to get hurt. He didn't.

Harry felt a jolt, almost like an electric shock, and then—his descent abruptly slowed. Harry managed to right himself so that he landed lightly on his feet but when he took stock of those around him, he found their expressions unnerving: shock, disbelief, and even...was that fear coming from the Slytherin boys?

Cassius, Miles, and Ross all had their hands up as they stepped away from him; they definitely looked afraid.

"Look, Potter," Cassius said, his voice now trembling without even a hint of his prior meanness and arrogance. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry; I didn't mean nothing by it." And then the three Slytherin boys actually turned and almost ran out of the courtyard, as the crowd around them now whispered and murmured.

What was going on?

Harry started over towards Elizabeth, Hermione, and Neville and noticed a group of Hufflepuffs—Cedric Diggory, Ernie McMillan, Hannah Abbot, and Susan Bones —all gathering around Justin and giving Harry nervous glances as they fussed over their classmate.

"Finite Incantatum!" Harry cast, freeing the others from their immobilization, and they immediately swarmed around him.

"Harry, what was that?" Elizabeth practically hissed at him in a low tone.

"You were flying," Hermione explained, her voice also dropping.

"What? No! I wasn't flying, I was falling."

"It didn't look like falling."

"I was falling slowly."

"When wizard's fall from a height, Harry," Neville explained, looking unusually serious. "They don't 'fall slowly'. Look, I know that I'm behind you in almost every subject, but on this I know what I am talking about."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"You noticed that they called me a Squib?"

"But you aren't."

"No, but for the longest time my family believed that I was. They kept trying to catch me off guard and force some magic out of me, but nothing ever worked, not even when my Great Uncle Algie pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once and I nearly drowned. Finally, when I was eight, Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and held me out of an upstairs window by the ankles. Then my Great Aunt Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go of me. I fell, hit the ground and bounced all the way down the garden and into the road. All of my relatives—especially my Gran—were so happy that I wasn't a Squib. But in the moment right before I bounced...I was terrified; I don't think I've ever been as scared of anything as I was in those seconds while I was falling. If I could have been given a choice between bouncing or falling slowly, believe me I would have picked the latter. What you did—whatever that was—was different, and there's only one other wizard in history who has ever demonstrated the ability to fly without a broom: The Dark Lord."

Harry felt a chill creep up his spine. That would explain everyone else's reactions to this—especially those of Cassius and the other Slytherins. But Harry knew that, however it might have looked, he hadn't been flying. He had only been falling and then he'd had an episode of accidental magic that had slowed him down. That was not flying, so why did everyone seem to think that it was?

From an open corridor on the next floor, Argo Pyrites stood in the snowfall watching the courtyard below. Stood, watched and smiled, then turned and left.

(*)

"You are certain that you didn't know what you were doing?" Elizabeth asked Harry; they had made it out of the courtyard and into the corridors of Hogwarts.

"Yes," Harry replied, irritated by having to constantly repeat himself. "I am certain."

"I'm sorry, but it's just—well from the way everyone else was looking at you, especially Cedric and the other Hufflepuffs?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Cedric, eh? And since when are you on a first-name basis with Diggory?"

Elizabeth's face flushed at her slip. "Err—yes, Diggory, of course—Diggory, I meant to say Diggory and the other Hufflepuffs."

Harry watched his stammering godsister for a moment—and then he understood; he just couldn't resist, not after all the teasing that she'd given him over the summer. "Awww, does the big bad dark lady fancy pretty-boy Diggory?" Elizabeth's face became even redder. "I'm sure he'd love to be the tragic hero seduced by the mistress of all evil, or is it the noble hero who redeems the wicked witch—,"

"S-shut up you prat!" Elizabeth finally managed to say.

Hermione covered a smile with her hand, while Neville just looked awkward.

"So, uh... anyway," Neville said briskly.

"Right," said Harry, "I'll talk to Justin tomorrow during Herbology, try to set things straight."

But the next day the earlier light snowfall had become a blizzard so thick that Herbology class was cancelled. Harry decided to use the free period to look for Justin; thinking that Justin might have decided to use the free period to get caught up on some work, Harry decided to check the library first. Sure enough, he found Ernie McMillan, Hannah Abbot, and Susan Bones huddled around a table in conversation; but he couldn't see whether Justin was among them. He was walking toward them when he started to catch what they were saying and he paused in the Invisibility section.

"So anyway," Ernie was saying, "I told Justin to hide out in our dormitory, just in case Potter's marked him as the next victim. Can't be too careful these days, not after what we saw yesterday."

"You really think that it's Potter, then?" Hannah Abbot asked anxiously.

"I do," said Ernie solemnly. "We all saw him fly without a broomstick; there's only one other wizard in living memory who has ever had that power...the Dark Lord. We've all seen how he's close friends with Black, and we all know that her father was You-Know-Who's right hand; that whole stinking family has always been as dark as their name, up to their eyebrows in the Dark Arts. He used to be friends with Ronald Weasley but then they had some kind of falling out, and Ginny Weasley's been practically stalking him since the start of the year, and now three of their brothers are Petrified? That can't be a coincidence."

"He always seems so nice, though," said Hannah uncertainly, "and, well, he's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can't be all bad, can he?"

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie's words.

"No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that." He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, "That's probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's been hiding?"

Harry had heard enough. Forcing his fists to unclench, he loudly cleared his throat before stepping out from behind the bookshelf. If he hadn't been so angry, he might have laughed: Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been Petrified by the sight of him, and the color was draining out of Ernie's face.

"Hello," said Harry. "I'm looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley."

The Hufflepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie.

"What do you want with him?" said Ernie in a quavering voice.

"I just want to clear the air," Harry said, "Explain what really happened."

Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, "We were all there. We saw what happened."

"Did you, now? Then you noticed that I stopped Warrington from hurting Justin?"

"All I saw," said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, "was you flying through the air without a broom or carpet; that's unnatural, that is, that's something only the Dark Lord could do."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Harry declared, his voice shaking with anger. "I didn't—I wasn't—,"

"And in case you're getting ideas," Ernie added hastily, "I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so —"

"— I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" said Harry fiercely. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"

But the three Hufflepuffs had already gotten up and fled from him, so all that Harry could do was pound his clenched fist on the table. He hadn't done anything wrong, so why was everyone acting like he had?

(*)

A week later Elizabeth Black stepped off the Hogwarts Express with her trunk and was almost immediately accosted by Auntie Andi; of course, Andromeda Tonks was actually her cousin, not her aunt, but Elizabeth had always thought of her as Auntie Andi.

"What is going on?" Elizabeth asked as she was hustled out of the platform's muggle entrance after her trunk was lightened, shrunken and returned to her. "Where's my mum?"

"Hush," Andromeda said. "All will be explained very soon, just be patient." They entered a woman's bathroom where Andromeda took her hand. Elizabeth felt the familiar squeezing sensation of apparition and then found herself standing on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. All around them were grimy-looking muggle houses, some of them with broken windows and peeling paint, while others had heaps of rubbish outside.

"There you are."

Elizabeth whirled about at the familiar voice, then ran to embrace her mother.

"What's going on?" Elizabeth repeated. "Why am I here but not Harry?"

"You'll see in a minute," Karen assured, then looked at Andromeda.

"This way."

Andromeda led them across the road and on to the sidewalk. Elizabeth could hear the muffled pounding of a stereo from a nearby house and her nose twitched at the pungent smell of rotting rubbish just inside the broken gate. Andromeda led her up to the battered door of number 12, which had a silver doorknocker in the form of a twisted serpent, but there was no keyhole or letterbox.

"Get out your wand and tap the door once," Andromeda instructed. Elizabeth did so and heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. Then the door creaked open. "Oh, thank Merlin." Andromeda breathed a sigh of relief and continued. "Get in but don't go too far inside and don't touch anything."

Elizabeth stepped over the threshold into almost total darkness, though she could smell damp, dust, and rot; whatever this place was, it had the feeling of a derelict building. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Andromeda and Karen file in behind her and close the door, making the darkness complete.

"Now," Andromeda said, "Let me give us a bit of light."

Her hushed voice gave Elizabeth an odd feeling of foreboding, almost as if they had entered a haunted house. There was a soft hissing noise and then old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over peeling wallpaper and a threadbare carpet that stretched down a gloomy hallway. A cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls—as did the heads of house-elves; both the chandelier and the candelabra on a nearby rickety table were shaped like serpents. An umbrella stand that looked like a troll's leg stood by the door. To her left she could see an open room with two sofas, a table and a fireplace; down the hall were three sets of closed doors and in front of her was an upwards staircase.

"Welcome," Andromeda said, somehow managing to sound both hushed and dramatic at the same time. "To the ancient and noble house of Black."

"You and dad grew up here?"

"Me, your father, my sisters, our parents and grandparents, and their parents and grandparents before them."

"But why did I have to open the door? Couldn't you or Nymphadora have done it?"

"We've tried, but the door rejected us, no doubt because I was disowned, but it's an entailed estate; that means that Sirius'—and therefore yours—inheritance of it cannot be prevented by disinheritance or any other legal means, and there's a similar trust arrangement for the Black Family Fortune."

"So, why are we here instead of at home?"

"I've sold our old house," Karen said softly, "I didn't want to, but I had no choice; the Ministry was about to raid us and I was afraid that they would want to take Harry away. But we'll be safe here."

"We will?"

"Oh yes," Andromeda confirmed. "My family wasn't good for much else, but our home has almost every protective enchantment known to wizard-kind and—," A horrible scream drowned out the rest of her words.

Elizabeth started looking around for the source. So were Andromeda and Karen.

"FILTH! SCUM! BEFOULING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS! ROBBERS AND THIEVES, HERE TO PLUNDER THE HEIRLOOMS OF THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK! THE HOUSE-ELF WON'T LET YOU ESCAPE!"

It was coming from one of the portraits on the walls, this one was life-size and featured an old woman who was drooling and rolling her eyes as she screamed, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed; and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits awoke and began to holler as well, the noise became so much that Elizabeth knelt down and screwed up her eyes as she clapped her hands over her ears.

Karen and Andromeda drew their wands.

"Silencio!" Karen cast but to no effect.

"Stupefy!" Andromeda cast; a jet of fiery red light came out of her wand and hit the portrait, stunning it. Again and again Karen and Andromeda cast the Stunning Spell as they walked up and down the hallway until the yelling finally stopped.

Elizabeth straightened as they returned.

"Well that was fun," Andromeda announced in an unexpectedly light tone. "No, really it was," she continued when the others gave her an odd look. "Most of those people hated me when they were alive and I finally got a little payback; it was most cathartic. Elizabeth," Andromeda called her over to the portrait of the woman who'd started the screaming: "Meet your grandmother, Walburga Black."

Elizabeth gave the portrait another once-over, then snorted. "If she was that crazy while she was alive, then it's no wonder dad ran away."

"Indeed, she was," Andromeda confirmed. "Now, where's that—," Once again she was interrupted, this time by an elf appearing in front of them; he looked really old. "Oh, there you are, Kreacher."

"Filthy blood traitors and mudbloods," the elf began ranting.

"Shut up," Andromeda commanded but the elf ignored her.

"You are not welcome here; old Mistress would be so unhappy—,"

"Shut up!" Elizabeth declared. Kreacher recoiled as his babble abruptly cut off. Andromeda passed her a notecard; she glanced it over, then looked up at Kreacher. "Okay, Kreacher; you will not leave this house without my express and specific permission, you will not reveal to anyone that Andromeda, my mother, or myself have been to or are living in this house. And finally, you will start cleaning this place up."

Kreacher seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then finally said in a much more dejected tone. "Yes…Mistress."

"You are dismissed," Elizabeth said and Kreacher vanished.

"Even though you can command him," Andromeda quietly told her. "You should be wary around him at all times. House-elves can be very cunning when it comes to interpreting an order; especially when it comes from someone they don't like." Then she brightened up again. "Now, let's show you around."

The tour started off interestingly enough, the open room with the sofas was the Sitting Room, and next was the dining room, and then down the corridor was the Black Family Library, which seemed to be full of all manner of tomes-many of them about the Dark Arts. Across from the library, and underneath the staircase, was a combination office/study. The basement had the kitchen, the pantry, the boiler room, Kreacher's room, a potions lab, and a one-half bathroom. The first floor had the drawing room-which included a tapestry that showed the Black Family Tree-two more bedrooms, and a full bathroom. The second and third floors were almost identical in content if not in layout: two bedrooms and a full bathroom. The fourth floor had two bedrooms and 2 full bathrooms; one of these bedrooms was specifically labeled as belong to a 'Regulus Black', whom Andromeda explained had been her uncle and a Death Eater, while the other bedroom had belong to her father. Finally there was the attic, which had the master bedroom with a walk-in closet, the master bathroom, and a storage room.

It was obvious, though, that the house hadn't been properly cleaned in months and of all the things that Elizabeth Black had been expecting to do over winter break, house-cleaning was definitely not even on the list.

(*)

With the end of the term and almost all of the students gone, Hogwarts was filled with a silence as deep as the snow that had covered the grounds. Some might have found that gloomy and even a bit creepy, but Harry enjoyed the peace and quiet that gave him and Hermione the run of Gryffindor tower. They could read and study without being interrupted and practice dueling in the Common Room without bothering anyone. More than once the two of them had even fallen asleep while sitting on a couch by the fire, and Harry had come to enjoy those few rare moments when he awoke before she did and saw her still sleeping by his side.

Christmas morning, though, saw him abruptly startled awake by an already dressed Hermione who was holding some presents.

"Whaa-?" Harry's brain was still foggy from sleep.

"The potion is ready."

Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake. "So, tonight?"

"Tonight," Hermione agreed, then smiled. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."

At that moment, Hedwig swooped into the room, carrying a package with a note attached.

"Hello," said Harry happily as she landed on his bed. She nibbled his ear in an affectionate sort of way as Harry untied the package. He immediately recognized the handwriting as his godmothers.

'Harry, call me when you get this'.

Harry put the note in his pocket for later and began opening his presents. Hagrid had sent him a large tin of treacle fudge, which Harry decided to soften by the fire before eating; Hermione had bought him a luxurious eagle-feather quillpen. Neville had sent him a box of candy; Elizabeth had sent him the first six issues of a popular comic book: The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle, while Karen had sent him a new sweater in Gryffindor colors.

After Hermione finished with her own presents, they gathered around Harry's mirror and he said "Lady Snuffles." The mirror fogged and then the faces of both his godmother and godsister appeared on it.

"Hey, there, Merry Christmas," Elizabeth said.

"Yes, Merry Christmas," Karen added.

"Merry Christmas," Harry replied. "Now, what's up?" After she had explained what had happened and where they were now, he said: "And you're all doing fine?"

"Yes, we're both okay," said Karen. "Andromeda checks up on us regularly."

"I've been bored," Elizabeth said. "We've spent weeks cleaning and even with magic, we only just finally got this place livable. The library here is pretty cool, though."

"There's a library?" Hermione abruptly perked up.

Elizabeth smiled. "Yes, and after checking it out, I can say with certainty that my family's reputation for the Dark Arts is thoroughly deserved; you wouldn't believe the kinds of things that they've done."

"You haven't thrown anything away, have you?" Hermione asked, sounding alarmed at the very thought.

"No, no, of course not," Karen said. "Just a bit of organizing by topic and to keep the more...mature books separate from the rest."

The conversations shifted more pleasant things and then it was time for the Christmas feast.

The Great Hall was festively decorated—with a frost-covered Christmas tree, thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the walls, and enchanted snow falling from the ceiling—but only sparsely populated. Aside from the teachers and staff, Harry counted only four other students besides himself and Hermione: Mafalda Prewett, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. The latter three seemed cheerful enough, but the attacks had cast a pall over everyone else's mood.

Finally, after dessert, Hermione ushered Harry out of the Great Hall and smoothly filled him in on her plan to incapacitate Crabbe and Goyle with two cupcakes that she'd spiked with a Sleeping Draught. That part of the plan went down without a hitch and after taking their shoes and a few of their hairs, they hid the two Slytherin boys in a broom closet, then hurried to Myrtle's bathroom where the Polyjuice Potion was oozing out black smoke; there were also two sets of robes which Hermione had stolen from the laundry, as their own clothes wouldn't fit after they transformed.

Hermione measured out two doses of Polyjuice and they each added their hairs; Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned the khaki color of a booger, Crabbe's a dark, murky brown. They were about to go into separate stalls when they heard the door open and footsteps enter. Harry felt a sudden sense of dread. If a teacher had caught them—

"Well, well," a familiar voice said. Harry and Hermione spun around to see Mafalda Prewett clapping slowly, her long dark red hair swept behind her shoulders. "What do we have here?" She bent down over the cauldron and studied it for a moment. "Ahh, just as I suspected: Polyjuice Potion. Clever, very clever I must say."

Hermione fixed Mafalda with a steely glare not unlike the one Professor McGonagall had sometimes. "I don't know what you are talking about, Prewett."

"And you can lie with a straight face," Mafalda continued unabated. "Maybe you could actually pull this off."

"What makes you so certain that you know what we are up to?" Harry pressed and Mafalda just rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please, just drop the act already. Look, I'm not an idiot. Two weeks ago, I saw you," she pointed at him, "sabotage Goyle's potion, and then I saw you," she shifted to Hermione, "sneak into Slughorn's office, and then just a few minutes ago, I see you...deal with Crabbe and Goyle. And now you've got their shoes, their spare clothes, and a Polyjuice Potion. It is obvious what you are up to. So tell me: how exactly were you planning to get into the Slytherin Common Room. Do you even know where it is?" Harry and Hermione both froze with a 'deer-in-the-headlights' kind of look and Mafalda smirked. "Ha, you don't, do you?" She continued, now gloating. "How is it that you can be clever enough to do all this, but never consider that little detail?"

Hermione finally recovered herself. "Well, since you're here and didn't bring McGonagall and Slughorn with you, you have something in mind, don't you?"

"Ahh, so you aren't completely hopeless," Mafalda observed, "That's promising, yes, I am willing to lead you to the Slytherin Common Room and I'll even help you in your questioning of Malfoy, but you are going to owe me a favor. A big one."

"What favor?" Harry asked.'

"Nothing that will offend your sensibilities," Mafalda reassured him. "I'll tell you the rest when the time comes."

Harry didn't like it and could tell that Hermione didn't either, but they didn't have a choice. "Agreed."

"Good, now get your game faces on and we can be off before Malfoy starts wondering where his goons wandered off to."

Five minutes later Mafalda exited Myrtle's bathroom, trailed by Crabbe and Goyle, leading them back towards the Great Hall.

"Now listen carefully," she told them. "Never ever challenge or correct Malfoy on anything, and especially don't react at all when he drops the 'M-word' or starts to insult either of you, your friends, or Professor Dumbledore—,"

"—I don't care what he says about Dumbledore," Harry said in Goyle's voice.

"Now that's probably an interesting story, but now isn't the time," Mafalda continued. "Laugh at all of Malfoy's jokes, no matter how bad or cruel they are, and it's okay if you're a little slow on the uptake because they are too. Now, Malfoy has probably already talked about this topic to them so act like you've just forgotten; he'll buy that."

They found Malfoy near the entrance to the dungeons.

"Ahh, there you are," he drawled, looking at them. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, I found them in the Great Hall," Mafalda smoothly lied.

"Haven't you two pigged out enough already?" Malfoy asked rhetorically, "Come, I want to show you something really funny." Malfoy led them down into the dungeons until they reached a stretch of bare, damp stone wall. "Pure blood," Malfoy said and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it, and they followed him through.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and there sofas and high-backed chairs scattered throughout the room. Malfoy led them over to where two chairs and a sofa had been arranged near the fire as well as two tables on either side of the sofa. A folded newspaper was on one of the tables and Malfoy sat down at the chair next to it, gesturing at the sofa. Harry and Hermione sat down at the sofa, while Mafalda took the other chair, and Malfoy tossed Hermione the newspaper.

"There," Malfoy said, "Check it out."

Hermione held out the newspaper so that they could read it together; thankfully they didn't have to hunt around for the article because Malfoy had already marked it:

INQUIRY AT HOGWARTS?

Over the past few months both the Hogwarts Governors and the Ministry of Magic have been receiving an increasing number of complaints from concerned parents about the recently hiring of Gilderoy Lockhart by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. According to letters written by students of all years, Lockhart's curriculum is entirely self-serving and does not in any way prepare the students for their final exams—especially not their OWL's or NEWTS.

Although one of the Governors, Argo Pyrites, has personally intervened and brought back the Hogwarts Dueling Club as a way to instruct students in the necessary spells for the practical side of their exams, Dumbledore's hiring of Lockhart as well as his apparent inability to stop the recent mysterious attacks has raised concerns about whether he is still even capable of executing the job of Headmaster.

Although Headmaster Dumbledore has recently stepped down from his other positions in the Wizengamot and the ICW, a gesture intended to reassure the governors that he will devoting his full attention to these concerns, there are still many who are concerned about Headmaster Dumbledore's mental competency given his advanced age.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy, another Hogwarts Governor, had this to say: "In my opinion, recent events have shown that Albus Dumbledore is clearly losing his grip and perhaps even is on the verge of senility: first there was the death of Professor Quirrel, which has still not been adequately explained to the Governors, then this Lockhart scandal, and now these recent attacks: four students have already been Petrified, how many more of our children must become victims before we say enough?"

Headmaster Dumbledore was not available for comment.

Harry didn't have to fake it; he broke out into a genuine laugh. Hermione's laugh didn't sound too forced either. It did feel strange, though, to be in agreement with Malfoy's father on something.

"Father says that Dumbledore's going to be sacked if the attacks don't stop soon, and Pyrites is gonna make sure it sticks."

"Your father knows Argo Pyrites?" Harry asked, hoping that this hadn't been discussed already. The very possibility of a link between Pyrites and Malfoy left him feeling uneasy.

"Of course he does," Malfoy said. "They're old friends, they go way back and were in the same class in Slytherin. They both say that old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. A decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in." Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera while doing a cruel but accurate impression of Colin. Harry and Hermione forced themselves to laugh.

"And that Black girl, who does she think she is, brawling like a filthy muggle?" Malfoy rubbed his nose, it appeared to be an almost subconscious gesture; apparently, he still remembered the time Lizzie had socked him. Harry had to restrain himself from smiling at the memory. "Mother says that the Black Family fortune would have been mine if not for her. I don't know what Potter sees in her, what with all that business with her father."

"Potter," Malfoy repeated slowly, lowering his hand. "Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend; he's another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he's Slytherin's heir!"

Harry and Hermione waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely seconds away from telling them it was him—but then "I wish I knew who it is," said Malfoy petulantly. "I could help them."

Harry's jaw dropped so that Goyle looked even more clueless than usual. Fortunately, Malfoy didn't notice. Hermione, thinking fast, said, "You must have some idea who's behind it all…"

"You know I haven't, Crabbe, how many times do I have to tell you?" snapped Malfoy. "And Father won't tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing—last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time… I hope it's Granger," he said with relish.

Hermione was clenching Crabbe's gigantic fists. Feeling that it would be a bit of a giveaway if she punched Malfoy, Harry shot her a warning look and said, "D'you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?"

"Oh, yeah… whoever it was got expelled," said Malfoy. "They're probably still in Azkaban." Malfoy shifted restlessly in his chair and said, "Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?"

Harry tried to force Goyle's dull face into a look of concern.

"Yeah…" said Malfoy. "Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing-room floor—."

Prewett caught Harry's eye and then subtly tapped her watch. That must be a signal that the hour was almost up. Harry stood, "Sorry, I need to use the bathroom."

Hermione stood. "Yeah, so do I."

And with that they hurried out of the Slytherin Common Room and just barely made it back to Myrtle's bathroom before the Polyjuice Potion wore off completely.

"Well at least it wasn't a complete waste of time," Hermione finally said as they re-emerged from their stalls in their own clothes. "We've got a new lead to look into anyway."

"Yeah," Harry replied dully as they left the bathroom.

"What's the matter? Hermione asked. "Sore about learning that your dueling hero is working with Malfoy's father?"

"Well, yes, but—well that newspaper article that Malfoy showed us. It's feels...strange to agree with Malfoy on anything. Like I've just stepped into the Twilight Zone, or something."

Hermione had no reply to that but she looked pained as well.

Chapter Text

Twas the night before New Years, when all through Hogwarts Castle quite a few creatures were stirring, even many that were no longer living. The banners were hung in the Great Hall with care, though the hall outside was quite bare. The drinks flowed freely to youth and adult, butterbeer, whiskey, and chocolate malt; no one was thinking of a nice winter nap, not with so many tasty drinks on tap. But away and above there was a loud crash, and then out of his office came Argus Filch in a flash. Scampering off to see what had been broken, he left his office door quite open. And out from under an Invisibility Cloak did two youth appear, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were here. Wands of aspen and vine came out, then with the room secured and silenced, they began to look about.

"You know," Harry commented as they began scouring Filch's records, looking for the oldest entries. "For someone who supposedly abhors rulebreaking, you've certainly got the mind for it: the Polyjuice Potion, convincing Peeves to drop that cabinet so we could break into Filch's office…"

Hermione's face flushed and her mouth quirked into a cute little smile. "You and Lizzie have been a bad influence on—oh, damn I was wrong."

"What?" Harry asked. "Wrong about what?"

"Filch's records only go back to 1968."

Harry frowned; that was only 25 years ago. "Well so much for that idea." The library certainly hadn't been helpful in their search for students who had been expelled 50 years ago; Hogwarts didn't even have yearbooks it seemed. "Let's get out here."

They left Filch's office under the cloak, just barely avoiding the squib caretaker as he returned, huffing and cursing the poltergeist under his breath. On the way to the Great Hall they came upon a most perplexing sight—an argument between Hagrid and Argo Pyrites:

"—this request of yours to put spells around your chicken coop," Pyrites was saying. "To what end?"

"Somethin's bin killing the roosters," Hagrid replied. "Foxes or a Blood-Suckin Bugbear, I think. Why do you care about it?"

"I am a governor, lest you have forgotten," said Pyrites, suddenly looking much more menacing. "And something else you may have forgotten is the fact, as a consequence of your expulsion, you are no longer permitted to use magic." Hagrid started looking around uneasily. "And I certainly have not forgotten what happened that day."

"I had nuthin' ter do with—,"

"Excuse me, am I interrupting something?" Professor Slughorn's voice said from right behind Harry and Hermione. Harry grabbed Hermione's arm as they dashed aside just barely in time to avoid an untimely collision.

"Ahh, Horace," Pryites said as he turned, his voice suddenly very ingratiating. "So good to see you tonight."

"The feeling is not mutual," Slughorn replied gruffly.

"Well then," said Pyrites. "I shall not tarry here, I was done anyway."

Pyrites turned and left.

"Are you alright, Hagrid," Slughorn asked.

"I don' wan' ter talk abou' it," Hagrid replied gruffly, looking a bit awkward. He turned and left as well.

Harry and Hermione arrived back in the Gryffindor Common Room just as the clock began to strike twelve. They collapsed on a sofa together where Hermione leaned her head against Harry's shoulder.

"Happy New Year, Harry," Hermione said as she fought a yawn.

"Happy New Year," Harry replied, extending his arm around her and resting his head against hers.

They were both asleep within minutes.

(*)

Sunday January 3rd found Harry and Hermione, bundled up in their winter coats, at Hogsmeade Station watching as the just-arrived Hogwarts Express began disgorging students. Finally, just as the flow seemed to be dying down, two students they were waiting for emerged from the train: Elizabeth Black and Neville Longbottom, both also heavily bundled up.

"Harry," Elizabeth exclaimed and hurried forward. The two god-siblings hugged, then Elizabeth clasped Hermione's arm and pulled her in for almost as enthusiastic a greeting. Neville trundled up behind her and Harry greeted him in turn, then said:

"We'd better hurry if we want to get our own carriage. We'll fill you in then."

"Not that there's really all that much to say," Hermione admitted.

They found an empty carriage near the end of the line and as they walked over Harry saw Neville suddenly halt and do a double take; following the other boy's gaze, Harry realized what he was staring at.

"You see them now too, don't you?" Harry asked. "The thestrals."

Neville nodded. "My granddad, I told you he was sick…well, we—my Gran and I—were visiting him at St. Mungo's when he—I watched him die. It was horrible." Neville let out a shudder that could not be entirely explained by the cold.

"So," Elizabeth asked after they had all settled down inside carriage. "You used the Polyjuice Potion? How did it go?"

"The plan itself went off without a hitch," Harry began.

"Though we now owe Mafalda a favor." Hermione practically spat the name of her rival.

"Mafalda?" Elizabeth blinked. "What happened with her?"

"She somehow figured out what we were up to," Hermione said.

"Not turning us in, leading us to the Slytherin common room, and then warning us when the potion was about to expire is why we owe her a favor." Harry elaborated.

"What kind of favor?"

"She hasn't said yet," Hermione huffed. "Probably plans to hold this over us for as long as she can."

"But what did you find out?" Neville wanted to know. "Is Malfoy the heir?"

"No," Harry said. "And he doesn't know who is, though his father apparently does."

"But it wasn't a complete bust," Hermione continued. "We confirmed that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened before, about fifty years ago: one student was killed and another one was expelled."

"Any idea who those students might have been?"

"I checked the library," Hermione said. "But there's no section for old student yearbooks or anything like that. Unfortunately."

"We did learn something, though," Harry said. "Several things in fact: Pyrites is a friend of Malfoy Sr. and although neither of them is the Heir, they are both still involved somehow in what is happening."

"Also," Hermione added, "We don't know if this is connected, but something's apparently been killing Hagrid's roosters. And Hagrid never graduated Hogwarts but was in fact expelled for some reason so serious that it led to his wand being snapped."

"And you haven't asked him about it?" Elizabeth wanted to know.

"Well, no," Harry said. "Not yet, anyway."

(*)

As January gave way to February and there were no more attacks, the mood at Hogwarts became a bit more hopeful, especially after Professor Sprout reported that the mandrakes were getting closer to full maturity. Harry wondered about the sudden pause; had the heir simply given up, or was he simply being more cautious now that everyone in the school was on alert?

Ernie Macmillan was one of the students who did not share in the generally improved mood; he was still convinced that Harry was guilty. Peeves wasn't exactly helping things; the poltergeist could be frequently heard singing "Oh Potter, you rotter…"

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think that he had been the one who'd made the attacks stop; Harry overheard him bragging to that effect to Professor McGonagall and then walking while mentioning something about doing something to "boost the student's morale".

What Lockhart's idea of a 'morale-booster' became evident at breakfast on Sunday, February 14th; Harry was a bit late getting up that morning because Quidditch practice had run long the previous night. Harry rubbed his eyes and blinked but the scene did not change.

The Great Hall's normal decorations had been replaced with lurid pink banners and flowers; heart-shaped confetti was falling from the ceiling and onto the food. Harry went over to the Gryffindor, where Neville looked sickened while Hermione couldn't seem to stop giggling.

"Someone pinch me," Elizabeth groaned, her head buried in her hands. "At this very moment I'm upstairs in my bed having a nightmare."

"What's going on?" Harry asked as he sat down and began wiping confetti off his bacon but then, as if that had been a cue, Lockhart stood from the teacher's table. He was wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations and waved for silence. The other teacher's all looked stony-faced.

"Happy Valentines Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards."

"Oh, please tell me you weren't one of them, Hermione?" Elizabeth asked. Hermione suddenly seemed unusually interested in her breakfast.

"And," Lockhart continued. "I have arranged a special surprise for you all: singing valentines!"

A veritable parliament of owls flew into the great hall and began dropping envelopes in front of people. Harry noticed that these envelopes all looked exactly like Howlers—except that they were pink instead of red.

"Oh, kill me now, kill me now," Elizabeth chanted under her breath as the envelopes started falling around them.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "Afraid that Cedric didn't send you one?"

Almost involuntarily, Elizabeth flushed and glanced over towards the Hufflepuff table where Diggory was sitting; she turned back to Harry with a blazing glare but then a bright pink envelope landed on Harry's plate. Harry caught Hermione's eye, she noticed the envelope and silently shook her head; he then spotted Ginny Weasley looking at him expectantly.

Harry decided that it was time to answer a call of nature; it wasn't urgent but right now it offered him a convenient excuse to leave and he made his way out of the Great Hall and up to the second floor. The red writing was still on the wall, having continued to resist all of Filch's efforts to remove it.

Harry had just finished washing up when he heard Filch start yelling.

"AIIEE! THAT'S IT!" Harry heard the sounds of someone walking through water as Filch continued. "Mop, mop, mop, like I have nothing else to do; this is the last straw!"

Filch's voice was getting fainter now; Harry poked his head out of the boy's room and immediately saw what had aroused the caretaker's ire: over half the corridor was now covered in water and more was still coming out from under the door to Myrtle's bathroom and he could now hear Myrtle's wailing.

Stepping into her bathroom, Harry found Myrtle in her usual toilet crying much louder than usual.

"What's up, Myrtle?" said Harry.

"Who's that?" Myrtle asked miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Harry waded across to her stall and said, "Why would I throw something at you?"

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me…"

"Who would do something like that?"

"I don't know… I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle, glaring at them. "It's over there, it got washed out…"

Harry looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harry picked it up and examined it; it was a diary of some kind, and the faded year on the cover told him it was fifty years old. He opened it eagerly. On the first page he could just make out the name "T M. Riddle" in smudged ink. Harry peeled the wet pages apart only to find them completely blank. Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.

"Hmm," Harry thought to himself. Now this was strange. Who would buy a diary and not use it? And why would anyone then throw it away?

(*)

"Harry, I expected better from you," Elizabeth chided him later as the four of them sat at their favorite table in the North Wing. "This thing could be dangerous."

"Oh come on," Harry asked. "How dangerous could a book be?"

"You'd be surprised," Neville interjected, looking apprehensively at the book that was lying on the table in front of them. "I've heard stories from my Gran about dangerous books that have been confiscated by the Ministry—books that can burn your eyes out or make you speak in limericks for the rest of your life, or that keep you from ever putting it down—,"

"Okay, I get the picture—,"

Elizabeth got out her wand and opened the book to the first page. "Wait a minute…T. M. Riddle? T.M. Riddle got a Special Services Award fifty years ago; I had to polish his shield for an hour the last time I had detention with Filch."

Hermione suddenly looked very excited. "That matches up both with the age of the book and with the last time that the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Do you realize what this means?"

"What are you talking about?" Neville asked.

"It could be more than just coincidence," Hermione said. "Riddle might have gotten the award for catching whoever opened it last time? And if so his diary would tell us everything!"

"Except for the fact that it's blank," Harry reminded her.

"It might be just be concealed," Hermione said, getting out her own wand.

"Wait," said Elizabeth, "Let me check it; I learned a few useful spells over the break for detecting dangerous items." She tapped the book smartly. "Specialis Revelio!" Nothing happened and she frowned for a moment, then continued casting: "Magicae Revelare! Magicae Exponere!" Finally she sat back. "Nothing, but none of these spells are completely reliable; some curses can be especially hard to detect, but the fact that nothing seems to have happened so far—," She shook herself.

"Now let's see if there's any concealed writing," Hermione took over and tapped the diary three times with her own wand. "Aparecium!" Still nothing happened, but Hermione was undeterred. "I have a Revealer," She said and pulled out what looked like a bright red eraser. Hermione rubbed it over the first page but had no better luck. "Well this is interesting."

A tapping on the window startled them. Outside on the ledge was an owl with a pink envelope addressed to Harry.

"Okay," said Harry, getting to his feet and grabbing his school bag. "I think that I'll do my studying somewhere without a window."

"You can't escape from it forever, Harry," Neville said.

"Watch me."

But Neville's warning proved prophetic less than an hour later. Harry was walking through a crowded hallway when he spotted an open window; at first he thought nothing of it but then that owl he'd seen earlier came flying through it and headed straight for him. Harry turned around and started running, turned a corner and unexpectedly collided with Ronald Weasley. As they fell to the floor, both of their bags flew open and their books, parchment, and quills spilled out onto the floor; Ron's ink bottle smashed over everything.

"Watch where's you're going, Potter," Ron snapped irritably. Both boys straightened up but then the owl caught up with Harry and dropped a now-smoking pink envelope, which exploded before it even reached the ground. A feminine voice began to speak:

His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard,

I wish he was mine,

he's really divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord

Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot, especially after people around them started laughing; he did his best to ignore the jeers and snickers as he and Ron repacked their bags. They had just about finished when their hands both landed on Riddle's diary for a second. Ron's hand recoiled in shock. Harry snatched the diary and shoved into his still ink-drenched bag, stood and walked off.

Harry headed to the nearest boy's bathroom to clean up, but when he dumped out his bag he noticed something strange: all of the other books were drenched in ink, but Riddle's diary was completely dry. Harry examined the diary again for a moment, then opened it to the first page, snatched up his quillpen, and drew a jagged line in the same shape as his scar. He watched as the ink was absorbed into the book and then wrote: "My name is Harry Potter."

The words vanished and then were replaced by new ones:

"Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?"

"Someone tried to flush it down the toilet." Harry wrote back. The words vanished again but Harry continued writing. "Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?

"Of course I know, I was there when it happened; in fact, I caught the person responsible. I can show you, if you want."

Harry paused for a moment, then wrote: "OK".

The pages of the diary suddenly began turning rapidly, finally stopping on the day of June 13th. The rest of the page seemed to have turn into a miniature television screen and when Harry raised the book closer there was a sudden flash of light and he suddenly felt himself being sucked into the book in a whirl of color and shadow.

Harry felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus.

He was standing in a torch-lit corridor in front of a set of stairs. Standing on the middle landing was a tall dark-haired boy in Hogwarts robes, with prefect badge pinned to his chest, whose attention was fixed on something that was happening further up. Harry rushed over to see what the boy was looking at—just in time to see a group of wizards carrying a covered stretcher. A hand fell out as they made the turn and Harry suddenly understood. This must have been the person who'd died when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened fifty years ago.

"Riddle," a familiar voice said. Both Harry and Riddle turned toward the voice. It was a much younger looking Albus Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore," Riddle said.

"It is not wise to be wandering around this late, Tom."

"I know," said Riddle, "But I had to see for myself. Is it—is it true that Hogwarts is going to be closed?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Dumbledore replied. "Unless the perpetrator is caught, and soon, Headmaster Dippet does not believe that he has any choice.'

"I—I understand, sir."

"Very well, hurry along then."

Harry followed Riddle down the stairs and into the dungeons, finally arriving at a room; Riddle drew his wand and forced the door open with a silent flick. Inside Harry was surprised to see a much younger Hagrid standing over a very large box; strange sounds were coming from it.

"It's over, Hagrid; your monster has killed a student. They're going to close Hogwarts unless the attacks stop. I'm going to have to turn you in."

"No, yeh don't understand—,"

"I know you didn't mean for anything to be hurt," said Riddle, moving closer. "But the dead girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered…"

"It wasn' him!" roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. "Aragag wouldn' kill no one! He'd never!"

"Monsters don't make good pets, Hagrid," Riddle said. "Now stand aside." And then Riddle flicked his wand again. The box shattered and what emerged was something that made Harry scream.

It was vast, low-slung, and hairy, with a tangle of black legs, many gleaming eyes, and a pair of razor-sharp pincers.

"Aranea Exumai!" Riddle cast but the thing was too fast, already scuttling away, up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle turned and went after it while Hagrid starting wailing behind him.

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Harry felt himself falling and, with a crash, he landed back in the bathroom. Harry stood back up, shaken to his core at what he'd just seen.

(*)

"I hate to be the one to say it," Elizabeth said with a sigh; the four of them were sitting by the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. "But, unfortunately, this fits everything we know about Hagrid. I mean, he thinks that dragons and cerberuses make cute pets for crying out loud; show him a monstrous spider sealed up in a chamber and he'd want to put a leash and collar on it and take it out for exercise."

"But I've never heard of a spider that could petrify people," said Hermione with a frown.

"You've never been to Australia, then," Neville replied. "If even half of the rumors I've heard are true, a thing like that wouldn't even be in the top ten of the strangest monsters down there."

"But that still doesn't explain who is up to it this time around, what if Riddle got the wrong person and the true murderer is still at large?"

"Well if that was the case, then why did the attacks stop after Hagrid was expelled?" Harry asked. No one had an answer for that and then Hermione finally voiced the question that all of them were thinking in a hesitant voice:

"Should we ask Hagrid about this?"

"Oh what a delightful conversation that would be," Elizabeth said in a fake cheerful voice "Hey Hagrid, you wouldn't happen to have any more monsters on the loose, would you?"

In the end they decided not to talk to Hagrid unless there was another attack. Days turned into weeks and then a whole month with no new attacks, and the general mood of the castle lightened considerably. Peeves tired of his stupid song, Ernie politely asked him to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology, and Professor Sprout announced that the Mandrakes were nearly ready for cutting. The Dueling class moved on to basic tactics, often involving movement and cover.

The Easter holiday gave the second-years something new to think about: it was time for them to sign up for their new electives that would be added to their schedule in the next term. Each of the Gryffindor second-years met with Professor McGonagall in turn to discuss the new classes and their long-term career prospects; all of them gathered outside of McGonagall's office to wait. One-by-one, starting with Elizabeth, they went in for their meeting with McGonagall.

Chapter Text

"So, what did you pick, Harry?" Elizabeth asked him as they, Hermione, and Neville, made their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Arithmancy and Runes," Harry said. "You?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Arithmancy and Runes." She turned to Hermione. "And you."

Now it was Hermione's turn to smile. "At first I wanted to take everything, but Professor McGonagall explained that that was simply impossible as they have deliberately conflicting schedules, so I picked just the two that interested me the most: Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

Elizabeth pumped her hand into the air. "Hah, yes!."

Hermione turned to Neville. "And what about you, Neville," she asked. "What classes did you pick?"

Neville suddenly looked a bit abashed; finally he said,"Divination and Muggle Studies."

There was an awkward moment of silence, one that was finally broken by Hermione. "Oh, I see."

Neville's face flushed brighter. "Look, I'm sorry, but—,"

"No, don't apologize," Harry said. "You have to play to your own strengths and interests, you have nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to apologize for. You are your own wizard, Neville, you're not us—and you're not your parents." They'd all heard, by now, of the tragedy of Alice and Frank Longbottom, once-renowned Aurors who had been tortured into insanity by Death Eaters shortly after that fateful Halloween.

Neville let go of the breath he'd been holding, looking quite relieved. "Thank you for that, Harry," he said. "I'm glad to have such understanding friends."

But their good mood did not last, for Harry and Neville arrived back at their dormitory to find that Harry's trunk had been ransacked. His school cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress.

Treading on the loose pages of 'Travels with Trolls', Harry walked over to his bed and started to put everything back where it belonged; only after he was finished did Harry realize what it was that whoever had done this had been looking for.

"Riddle's diary," Harry said to Neville. "It's gone."

Neville gasped. They hurried down to the Common Room where Harry told Hermione and Elizabeth what had happened. Both of the girls looked aghast at the news.

"But — only a Gryffindor could have done this," Elizabeth said, "— nobody else knows our password —".

"Exactly," said Harry.

"I can't help but feel that we are missing a big piece of the puzzle," Hermione mused aloud. "Because assuming for the moment that whoever stole Riddle's diary is also responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets, the question then becomes: Why? What is the connection between the two?"

(*)

Although Hermione had urged him to report the theft, Harry knew that he couldn't—not without causing more trouble for Hagrid. But he didn't have much time to speculate about who may have stolen it, for the very next morning Harry and the others were barely halfway to the Great Hall for breakfast when they heard McGonagall's magically enhanced voice echoing throughout the corridors: "ALL STUDENTS ARE DIRECTED TO RETURN TO THEIR HOUSE COMMON ROOMS AT ONCE! BREAKFAST SHALL BE SERVED TO ALL STUDENTS THERE DIRECTLY. I REPEAT, ALL STUDENTS RETURN TO THEIR HOUSE COMMON ROOMS AT ONCE!"

"What's going on?" Harry wondered as the other Gryffindors turned around. "You don't think—,"

"—there's been another attack?" Elizabeth finished. "Yes, that's exactly what I think. What do you say we find out?"'

Harry started getting out his Invisibility Cloak. "I agree."

"Wait a minute," said Neville. "We'll find out soon enough, they're going to make some kind of announcement soon."

"Sure, they will," Hermione said. "But it won't be the whole story."

Neville grimaced. "Fine, I'll try to cover for you," he said, then hurried to catch up to the other Gryffindors.

Safely under the Invisibility Cloak—they had figured out a while ago that it would never cover all four of them—Harry, Hermione, and Elizabeth continued onward to the infirmary. Walking past the Petrified forms of Fred, George, and Percy Weasley, and Penelope Clearwater, they quickly spotted the latest victims. Hermione inhaled sharply. Elizabeth gasped and clasped her chest, eyes watering and visibly choked up, for there was Cedric Diggory, rigid and cold with a look of shock frozen on his face as he stared blankly at the ceiling. And next to him was the strangest sight Harry had ever seen: the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff House ghost, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor and with an expression of shock identical to Cedric's.

And that sent a fresh chill up Harry's spine; a monster attacking students was one thing, but what could possibly hurt a ghost?

Harry grabbed ahold of Elizabeth with one arm and Hermione with the other, then gently steered them away from the horrific sight; they made their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room in shocked silence and managed to slip through the portrait door right behind Professor McGonagall; after she had quieted everyone down, McGonagall unfurled from a scroll and began to read from it:

"Classes today have been cancelled. Students may only travel in groups of three or more and must return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher or prefect. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a prefect or teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. The Dueling Tournament has also been postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

The Gryffindors in the packed common room listened quietly to Professor McGonagall; she rolled up the parchment and went in on a choked voice, "It is likely that the school will be closed soon unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."

She climbed awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately.

"So that's three Gryffindors down," Lee Jordan started counting on his fingers, "not counting whatever was done Kitty Sharp, plus one Ravenclaw, and now one Hufflepuff, and a Hufflepuff ghost. Haven't any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn't it obvious all this stuff's coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin — why don't they just chuck all the Slytherins out?" he roared, to nods and scattered applause.

With all of the other conversations going on in the packed room, nobody noticed Harry taking off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffing it into his mokeskin pouch. Harry then slumped into a chair, hands tightly grasping the armrests. Hermione sat in the chair next to him and began flipping through Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them. Elizabeth and Neville went to the sofa on the other side. Elizabeth curled up and held her knees with her hands as she stared off at the ceiling with a slightly dazed expression and moistened eyes.

Harry made a mental note to never again tease his godsister about her crush on Diggory; he'd never before seen her this badly affected by anything.

Neville finally broke the silence. "What are we going to do? Do you think they suspect Hagrid?"

"We've got to go and talk to him," said Harry, making up his mind. "I can't believe it's him this time, but if he set the monster lose last time he'll know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that's a start."

"But wait a minute, McGonagall said—"

"I know what she said," Harry said. "But I have my dad's cloak." There was a long pause, then he continued. "Are you going to be alright?" Harry asked Elizabeth.

"Hmm, what?" Elizabeth jerked, startled.

"I said, are you going to be alright?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "I'll be fine, I just...I just feel so guilty."

"Why? You had nothing to do with what happened."

"No, but this one attack has affected me so much more than all the others did. Does that mean that there's something wrong with me?"

"No," said Hermione. "Everyone is affected more deeply when it's someone they care about who has been hurt."

With classes cancelled and the student body more or less on lockdown, the day seemed to drag on forever. But at last they were alone in the Common Room. As an extra precaution, Harry put his Nimbus in his mokeskin pouch.

The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors wasn't enjoyable. Harry, who had wandered the castle at night several times before, had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teachers, prefects, and ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity. Thankfully, they'd remembered to cast Silencing charms on their feet before leaving and so they were not exposed when Elizabeth stubbed her toe only yards apart from Professor Slughorn. It was with relief that they reached the oak front doors and eased them open. It was a clear, starry night. They hurried toward the lit windows of Hagrid's house and pulled off the cloak only when they were right outside his front door.

Seconds after they had knocked, Hagrid flung it open. They found themselves face-to-face with him aiming a crossbow at them. Fang the boarhound barked loudly behind him.

"Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them. "What're you three doin' here?"

"We need to talk," Elizabeth said and they stepped aside. But they barely had time to start asking questions before there was a knock on the door and they were forced back under the Invisibility Cloak; they retreated into a corner. Hagrid checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once more.

"Good evening, Hagrid."

It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said, looking pale and sweaty. "Minister Fudge, what is this all about?"

"Bad business, Hagrid," said Fudge in rather clipped tones. "Very bad business. Had to come. All these attacks. Things've gone far enough. Ministry's got to act."

"I never," said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. "You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir —"

"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.

"Look, Albus," said Fudge, uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record's against him and the public is screaming for action, the Ministry's got to do something — the school governors have been in touch —"

"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest," said Dumbledore with a steely-eyed look.

"Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn't Hagrid, he'll be back and no more said. But I've got to take him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty —"

"Take me?" said Hagrid, who was trembling. "Take me where?"

"For a short stretch only," said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid's eyes. "Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you'll be let out with a full apology —"

"Not Azkaban?" croaked Hagrid.

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door. Dumbledore answered it.

A man entered who could only be Draco Malfoy's father, he had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes; he had a cold, satisfied smile on his face. Fang started to growl.

"Already here, Fudge," Mr. Malfoy said approvingly. "Good, good…"

"What're you doin' here?" said Hagrid furiously. "Get outta my house!"

"Oh don't concern yourself," Mr. Malfoy replied. "I take no pleasure in being inside your...house; I have come here only to deliver this." Malfoy took out a long roll of parchment and handed it to Dumbledore. "Argo and I have met with the other governors and we have decided that it is time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension — you'll find all twelve signatures on it. In light of this latest attack, we feel that you have lost your touch."

"Oh, now, see here," said Fudge, looking alarmed, "Dumbledore suspended — no, no — last thing we want just now."

"The appointment — or suspension — of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. "And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks —"

"But...if Dumbledore can't stop them..." said Fudge, his upper lip sweating, "I mean to say, who can?"

"That remains to be seen," said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty smile. "But as all twelve of us have voted —"

Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling.

'An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they agreed, eh?" he roared.

"Oh dear, I fear that temper of yours shall lead you into trouble," said Mr. Malfoy. "It would not be wise to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They wouldn't like that."

"Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" yelled Hagrid, making Fang the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. "Take him away, an' the students won' stand a chance! There'll be killin' next!"

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Argo Pyrites.

"If the governors want my removal, I shall of course step aside —"

"But —" stuttered Fudge.

"No!" growled Hagrid.

Dumbledore was still staring fiercely at Pyrites.

"However," said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, "you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me."

"Admirable sentiments," said Mr. Malfoy, bowing. "We shall all miss your...highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope your successor will manage to prevent any — ah — killins."

He strode to the cabin door, opened it, and followed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath, and said carefully, "If, uh, if anybody was looking ter find out some stuff, all they'd have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. Yup! That'd lead' em right. Oh, and someone'll need ter feed Fang while I'm away."

Hagrid pulled on his moleskin overcoat and followed Fudge out, banging the door shut behind him. Fang started howling, scratching at the closed door.

They pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, which Harry stuffed into his mokeskin pouch.

"Oh we're in trouble now," Elizabeth said quietly. "As much as I may dislike Dumbledore, I have to admit that his mere presence might have been a deterrent to whoever is doing the attacks. But now that he's gone they'll be an attack a day, I'd wager."

"Well," said Harry. "Be that as it may—wait, look!" At the windowsill they could see a trail of spiders escaping through a crack in the glass. Harry drew and lit his wand. "Come on, let's check it out." Hermione and Elizabeth drew and lit their wands too.

As they followed the trail of fleeing spiders it soon became apparent that they were fleeing into the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione was muttering to herself. "Spiders...spiders...fleeing spiders..., I remember reading something about...wait a minute, that's it! Harry, give me the Cloak, I need to go to the library and check something."

"What, now?"

"Yes, now." Hermione's tone was most insistent. "Give me the cloak and I'll be back here within an hour."

"Fine," Harry said, and handed the cloak over. "But take care of yourself. One hour!"

Hermione nodded and disappeared under the cloak. Harry turned to Elizabeth. "Well you've been into the forest before, so...lead on."

"Chivalry is so dead," Elizabeth muttered.

Deeper and deeper they headed into the forest and despite their wand-lights, the night around them only seemed to be getting darker. The trail of spiders finally led them to a hollow, where a thick white spiderweb blocked their path even as it allowed the smaller spiders to flee under it.

"So," Harry said, "Burn an opening?"

"No," replied Elizabeth. "I was thinking of those penknifes Tonks gave us for Christmas."

"Ahh, yes," Harry agreed. They each drew their enchanted penknifes, extended the primary blade and quickly cut their way through the spiderweb. Putting their penknifes away again, they slipped into the hollow where they noticed that the tall trees around them were festooned with white webs and spiders could be seen all around them. And not the tiny ones they'd been following, these spiders were as big as horses. A clicking sound came from a dark cavern in front of them.

"Hagrid," an ancient creaking voice said. "Hagrid, is that you?"

"We're friends of Hagrid," Harry called out. For a moment there was silence, then a massive spider—easily the size of a small elephant—emerged from the cavern. "You—you're Aragog, aren't you?"

"Hagrid has never sent others into our hollow before," Aragog replied.

"Hagrid's in trouble," Harry said. "There have been attacks at the school and they think that Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets. Like before."

"That is a lie," Aragog clicked furiously. "Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets."

"So," Elizabeth said. "You're not the monster?"

"No," Aragog said. "The monster was born in the castle. I am from a distant land, brought here in the pocket of a traveler."

"But if you're not the monster," Harry said. "Then who or what killed that girl fifty years ago."

"We do not speak of it," said Aragog, looking irritated. "It is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others."

"But have you seen it?" Elizabeth asked.

"I never saw any part of the castle except for the cupboard in which Hagrid kept me. The girl was discovered in a bathroom. When I was accused, Hagrid brought me here."

"Oh, well, thank you," Harry said. "We'll just go..."

"Go?" Aragog said. "No, I think not. My children do not harm Hagrid at my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Goodbye, friends of Hagrid." Aragog turned and disappeared back into the cavern. The spiders began closing in on Harry and Elizabeth as they stood back to back.

"Aranea Exumai!" Harry cast, sending the closest spider backwards. But it only bought them a few seconds as the others continued to advance.

"Harry, close one of your eyes," Elizabeth said, doing so at once. "Aranea Exumai!"

"What?" Harry asked distractedly in between casting again and again.

"Close one of your eyes," she repeated in between her own casting.

"Okay," Harry said as he did so.

"Solaris!" The light from Elizabeth's wand suddenly became much brighter for just one moment and then Harry couldn't see anymore. He opened his other eye and saw the spiders were all scuttling about, disoriented. "Broom." Elizabeth said, having also opened her eye.

"Broom, yes, broom." Harry got out his Nimbus, they quickly mounted and flew off. Harry gained some altitude but stayed within the forest, dodging around the tree trunks. "Nice spell there."

"Learned it over the break," Elizabeth replied, holding him tightly. "From my family library. Meant to be used against vampires."

They emerged from the forest and touched down outside Hagrid's hut. Harry checked his watch. They'd easily been gone at least an hour, but there was no sight of Hermione.

"Follow the spiders, he said," Elizabeth sighed. "If Hagrid ever gets out of Azkaban, I'll kill him myself."

"But at least we know now that he's innocent," Harry said.

"For all the good that does us," said Elizabeth. "We're still no closer to—wait a minute, Aragog said that the dead girl was found in a bathroom. Who does that remind you of?"

"You don't mean…"

"Yes, Moaning Myrtle."

"We'll have to talk to her some time," Harry said reluctantly and checked his watch again. "Where's Hermione?"

"She might be running late," Elizabeth said, "You know how she is."

"Yes, I do. Let's check the library." They mounted up again and flew over to the castle.

It took a few minutes to find the right floor and the right window on that floor, but once they'd landed inside, Harry returned his broom to his mokeskin pouch and they began to creep along the corridors. Harry felt vulnerable and exposed without his Cloak. They turned a corner and nearly ran into Professor Slughorn, who was wearing pajamas instead of his normal robes.

"Well, well," said Slughorn, with a disapproving look. "What are you two doing out of bed at this hour?"

"Er—," Harry began but Elizabeth quickly took over.

"We're looking for Hermione, Professor," she said. "She's not in her dormitory."

Slughorn's stern expression softened just a bit and, for just a moment, Harry would have sworn that he saw a trace of guilt on his face. "Ahh, I see; follow me, there is something you need to see." Slughorn turned and they followed. "I suppose it is for the best that you find out now instead of...later," Slughorn said as they neared the infirmary.

"Wait, what?" Harry asked. "What's going on?"

"There's been another attack," Slughorn explained.

Harry felt his insides do a horrible somersault; a stone dropped into his stomach. Slughorn pushed the door open, they entered and saw Hermione on one of the beds, utterly still—her eyes open and glassy. The Invisibility Cloak was folded neatly on the table beside her.

"She was found near the library about 20 minutes ago," Slughorn said. "Half-covered with that Invisibility Cloak and holding this," Slughorn held up a small circular mirror. "I don't suppose you can explain what your friend was up to?"

Harry and Elizabeth both shook their heads, then Harry said. "That Cloak is mine—it's all I have left of my father."

"Ahh, I see," said Slughorn quietly. "Well, I do believe that Invisibility Cloaks are not actually on the banned list, presumably because no student has ever been caught with one before. See to it that you are more careful in the future."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, though he couldn't take his eyes off of Hermione.

"Now, off you go, unless you want Professor McGonagall to find you here."

Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, and he and Elizabeth disappeared under it and returned to the Gryffindor Common Room. On arriving, Harry returned the Cloak to his mokeskin pouch and then touched Elizabeth's shoulder.

"I think I understand what you were talking about earlier, about how the attack on Diggory affected you more than the others. Because I now feel much the same way..."

"Because of the attack on Hermione," Elizabeth said quietly.

The two godsiblings embraced for a moment, seeking what comfort they could provide each other with their shared grief. When they finally parted, Harry turned to stare into the fire; he clenched his fists, set his jaw, and his green eyes flared.

"They picked the wrong target this time," Harry declared. "Whoever has done this, I will make them pay."

Chapter Text

Chapter 20:  The Heir, the Monster, and the Minion.

Harry, Elizabeth and Neville tried to visit Hermione in the infirmary but to no avail; Pomfrey had banned all visitors, for fear that someone would try to finish off the victims. Of course that was only a minor inconvenience to Harry thanks to his Invisibility Cloak and he made a point of visiting Hermione every night. Although there also always someone on guard duty outside the infirmary, Harry didn't need to talk or even take off his Cloak for this.

Not having Hermione around had left Harry feeling like there was a gaping hole in his life, as if he'd lost something indescribably precious. But as he sat by Hermione's side one night Harry took Hermione's right hand in his own and immediately realized that it was holding something, a crumpled piece of paper. It took a great deal of work but Harry finally managed to wiggle it out without ripping it; the paper looked like it had been ripped out of an old library book but, knowing Hermione, it was much more likely that she'd just used magic to make a copy of the page.

Harry eagerly smoothed it out and, by the light of his wand, read it:

"Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it."

Harry let out the breath he'd been holding; he felt a 'click' in his mind as if pieces were now falling into place; he hurried back to Gryffindor tower and, early the next morning, showed it to Elizabeth and Neville in the Common Room while they were waiting for their escort to breakfast.

"Yes, yes, of course," Elizabeth said in a hushed tone. "It all makes sense now. The basilisk kills with its stare, but no one's actually looked it straight in the eye: Fred and George Weasley saw the reflection in the trophy, Percy Weasley, Penelope Clearwater, and Hermione all saw it through a mirror, Cedric saw it through the Fat Friar, the Friar got the full blast but he's already dead. It's a snake and thus can be commanded by a Parselmouth, which Slytherin was, it's vulnerable to roosters and all of Hagrid's have been killed, and Aragog's spiders are afraid of it, yes it all fits."

"But how has it been getting around the castle?" Neville wondered. "I mean, there surely would have been more victims—and probably some dead ones—if a huge snake was seen wandering the halls."

"Secret passages," Harry said.

"What?" Neville asked.

"Hogwarts is riddled with secret passages," Harry explained, looking at Elizabeth straight in the eye. "You remember some of the stories that mum told us about what our dads got up to when they were students?"

"Yes, of course," Elizabeth agreed. "She said that they knew all kinds of secret shortcuts and even ways to get into Hogsmeade. Yes, that make sense; the basilisk must be using some kind of secret passage system to move about the castle unnoticed."

"Should we take this to the teachers?" Neville wondered.

"Yes," Harry said. "But not yet, not until we've talked with Myrtle. Even if we are believed, right now all this would do is cause a panic and probably lead to Hogwarts being closed; but if Myrtle can show us roughly where the entrance is, then they might be able to do something about it and keep Hogwarts open."

Ever since connecting Myrtle with the original attack, Harry had kept meaning to go talk to her but with the teachers and prefects escorting groups of students between classes and to and from the dormitories, it was much harder to just quietly slip away during the day. And at night, although Professor Slughorn didn't seem to have told anyone about his Invisibility Cloak, the area around Myrtle's Bathroom always had at least one person standing guard: it would be impossible to have a conversation with Myrtle without being overheard and caught.

Summer was starting to creep in, turning both sky and lake blue and sending flowers into bloom. But a grim and fearful mood had settled over most of Hogwarts castle. Now, more than ever, genuine laughter had become a scarcity; now, more than ever, people traveled in packs and seemed to expect an attacker to be lurking around any corner. In Herbology class Ernie had actually apologized for his earlier behavior and now, ironically, seemed to have set his suspicions on Malfoy; Malfoy seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the current atmosphere of suspicion and terror, and strutted about the school as if he had just been appointed Head Boy, all the while loudly wondering when the muggleborn students would finally be packing their bags.

And whereas the other teachers were looking even grimmer than usual, Lockhart seemed to be quite buoyant.

"Come now," Lockhart exclaimed, beaming at the students around him as he bounded into class. "Why all these long faces?"

The students exchanged exasperated looks, but no one answered.

"There's nothing more to worry about," Lockhart continued slowly, as if they were all a bit dim, "the danger has passed. The culprit has been taken away—,"

"Says who?" Dean Thomas asked loudly.

"My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn't have taken Hagrid if he hadn't been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty," said Lockhart, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one made two.

At this Elizabeth abruptly stood up, grabbed her bag, and started for the exit.

"And where are you going young lady?" Lockhart wanted to know.

Elizabeth didn't even slow down. "I'm leaving before I punch you in the face."

Lockhart recoiled as if she had actually done that, obviously unused to anyone talking to him like that. Harry stood and followed her out.

"Are you alight?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," Elizabeth snapped, then sighed. "Yes, I'm fine," she said in a softer tone, rubbing her eyes.

"It's alright," Harry said, trying his best to sound reassuring and knowing that he failed. "Everything will be alright."

"I hope so," she replied, then straightened up. "Come on, we've got a free moment now, we might as well question Myrtle now."

But they had scarcely taken five steps towards the nearest staircase down to the second floor before Professor McGonagall's magically-amplified voice came echoing throughout the hallways: "All students return to your House common rooms at once! Faculty, please report to the staffroom. Immediately!"

Harry felt dread start to seep in. Oh no! There must have been another attack.

"Harry, cloak, now," Elizabeth snapped and Harry recovered himself.

"Ahh, yes, of course. The staffroom first?"

"Yes," Elizabeth agreed. "We must find out what has happened now."

(*)

Hogwarts Castle has many strange wonders, but one of the strangest was the Swiveling Staircase: located inside the Marble Tower—so-named because of the Marble Staircase that connected the Entrance Hall with the Swiveling Staircase—there were hundreds of portraits all along the interior of the tower and dozens of landings that were connected by an ever-changing network of moving staircases. Some of those portraits concealed secret passages to other areas of the castle. And because these staircases were frequently changing position, there was always the very real possibility that students using them would become lost or separated—usually by accident but this time deliberately. Neville deliberately lingered a few steps too far back from his fellow Gryffindor second years and was quickly separated from them between the third and fourth floors, ending up on a completely different landing. He hurried to find another way down to the ground-floor; he had to find his friends, fast.

(*)

On arriving in the staffroom, Harry put away his Invisibility Cloak so that he and Elizabeth could hide in the wardrobe, which was full of musty cloaks. One by one the teachers arrived: most looked confused, but some looked scared. Finally McGonagall walked in.

"My friends, I fear that the worst has happened. One or more students may have been taken by the monster. Into the very Chamber itself.

Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. Slughorn gripped the back of a chair very hard and said, "You are sure of this?"

"The Heir of Slytherin has left a new message on the wall, right underneath the first one: Their bones will lie in the Chamber forever."

Flitwick burst into tears. Madam Hooch sunk into a chair, then asked the question that hung on all of their minds: "Who has been taken?"

"I don't know, not yet. That is why I called you all here; I need an immediate headcount: find out who is missing and unaccounted for."

She had just finished splitting up assigments between the different Houses when the door was flung open and Gilderoy Lockhart sauntered in without a care in the world.

"So sorry I'm late," Lockhart joyfully announced. "What did I miss?"

"Ahh, Gilderoy," Slughorn said. "Just the man we were looking for, it seem that your moment has come."

Lockhart blinked in confusion. "My—my moment?"

"Yes," said McGonagall. "We have students missing, they've been taken by the monster into the Chamber of Secrets. We need you to go rescue them."

Lockhart blanched. "M—me?"

"Now, now don't be shy," Sprout spoke up. "Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"

Lockhart sputtered incoherently. "I — well, I —"

"Yes," Flitwick chimed in, "didn't you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?"

"D-did I? I don't recall —"

"I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," said Slughorn. "Didn't you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should have been given a free rein from the first?"

Lockhart frantically looked around, searching for any sympathy from his colleagues, and seeing only stony faces and stern glares. "I — I really never — you may have misunderstood —"

"Well that settles it, then, Gilderoy," McGonagall finished. "We will leave this matter entirely in your capable hands and ensure that everyone else is out of your way."

Lockhart was visibly trembling now, a far cry from his usual handsome appearance. Now he looked weak and feeble, almost pathetic. "V-very well," he said. "I'll — I'll be in my office, getting — getting ready."

Lockhart hastened out of the room.

"Well, now that he is out of the way," McGonagall continued. "Leave and conduct the headcount; return here once it is done and then we will decide what must be done."

Once the staffroom was empty again, Harry and Elizabeth emerged from the wardrobe. "Lockhart may be a brainless git," Harry said as he got out his Invisibility Cloak again, "but his office is on the way to Myrtle's bathroom, so we might as well stop by and see what he's planning to do."

"Fine," Elizabeth agreed. "Let's go."

(*)

"Mister Longbottom!" McGonagall's stern voice nearly caused Neville to jump out of his skin. "What are you doing wandering the halls like this? You're supposed to be in the Gryffindor common room!"

"They're not there," Neville said. "Harry and Elizabeth, I mean. Professor Lockhart said something that upset them and they left his class, and then there was your announcement, but I don't think that they returned. Knowing them as I do, I mean."

McGonagall's lips thinned; she wanted to be surprised but really wasn't. This was Potter and Black, after all. "And where would they have gone, Mr. Longbottom?"

"Myrtle's bathroom," Neville said. McGonagall blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. "We think that the monster is a basilisk," Neville hurried on. "And that Myrtle was the original victim, fifty years ago."

And then McGonagall understood. She remembered Myrtle from her own time as a student. She remembered Hagrid being expelled...and who it was who'd 'caught him'. And now she understood. "I take it, then, Mr. Longbottom, that it would be a waste of time to tell you to get back to the Common Room?"

"Yes, Professor," Neville replied. "My friends may be in danger and I won't abandon them."

McGonagall favored Neville with the merest hint of a smile. "Your loyalty is most commendable." She drew her wand and sent a large silvery cat flying out of it. "Very well then, come with me and stay close."

(*)

Harry and Elizabeth found Lockhart's office in the process of being stripped bare; Lockhart was in a tizzy, frantically throwing his possessions into his trunk—his gaudy clothes, his self-autographed framed photos, posters, books, quills, and parchment—in one huge disorganized mess.

"Going somewhere," Harry said.

Lockhart jumped, finally noticing them. "What—oh—ah—yes. I can't stay here—urgent call—unavoidable—so sorry—got to go."

"And here I thought you were supposed to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Elizabeth snidely observed.

"Well when I took the job," Lockhart muttered as he tried to stuff his socks into the overflowing trunk, "there was nothing in the job description about fighting monsters."

"So, that's it then," Harry said. "You're just going to run away. What about all that stuff in your books?"

"Books can be misleading," said Lockhart delicately.

"Hah, I knew it," Harry said. "You're just a fraud, aren't you? You made it all up, didn't you?"

"Oh no," said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning at them. "The events in my books really happened—more or less—but no one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He'd look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a harelip—"

"So you've just been taking credit for things that other people did?" Elizabeth asked incredulously. "I'd have thought that someone would have caught on to you by now."

"No, no," said Lockhart, shaking his head impatiently, "it's not nearly as simple as that. There was work involved. I had to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn't remember doing it. If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's my Memory Charms. No, it's been a lot of work. Fame—it's not all book signings and publicity photos, you know. It's a long and hard slog."

Lockhart slammed the lid of his trunk shut and locked it. "Let's see," he said. "I think that's everything. Yes. Only one thing left." He pulled out his wand and turned to them.

"Awfully sorry, but I'll have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can't have you blabbing my secrets all over the place. I'd never sell another book —"

But Harry and Elizabeth reached their wands just in had just barely raised his wand when they bellowed:

"Expelliarmus!" Elizabeth cast.

"Stupefy!" Harry cast.

Lockhart was blasted backward, falling over his trunk; his wand flew high into the air; Harry caught it and tossed it out the window.

"Petrificus Totalus."

"Incarcerous!"

"What a useless waste of space," Elizabeth observed; they left Lockhart's office, leaving behind the bound, rigid, and unconscious body of their fraudulent professor. "But at least we can finally bring Hermione to her senses after she's revived."

Harry smiled. The mandrakes were maturing and would be ready any day now.

"Isn't the stunner a fourth-year spell?" Elizabeth commented as they headed to Myrtle's bathroom.

"So is," Harry said. "But my dueling teammates have been really pushing me to reach beyond the second-year curriculum; in our last meeting, I actually managed to beat Pickering." He finished, naming the 4th year member of the Gryffindor team. Silent casting was sadly still beyond his grasp, but many other things had not been.

"Now that's impressive," ELizabeth admitted.

They found Moaning Myrtle sitting in her usual stall at the end.

"Oh, it's you," she said. "What do you want this time?"

"To ask how you died," said Harry. He wasn't sure how the mercurial ghost would react to such a sensitive question, but Myrtle lit up as if she'd never been more flattered.

"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said dramatically. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then —I died."

"How?" said Harry.

"No idea," Myrtle continued in a hushed tone. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away…" She looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" Harry asked.

"Somewhere there," said Myrtle, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.

Harry and Elizabeth examined it; it appeared at first to be any other sink but then Harry spotted a tiny snake engraved on one of the copper taps.

"That's taps never worked," Myrtle explained when Harry tried to turn it.

"This must be it, then," Elizabeth said, drawing her wand. "The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Too bad neither of us is a Parselmouth."

"Yeah," Harry agreed as he got out his own wand. "So, decision time: blow it up now and investigate, or go find McGonagall first?"

"There's no time," Elizabeth said. "The monster could attack again at any moment."

But then, seemingly of its own accord, the sink—quite literally—sink out of sight, exposing a large pipe. And then something huge and serpentine began to emerge from within.

"Get down, cover up," Elizabeth declared, raising her wand and covering one eye. Harry looked away and covered his eyes. "Solaris!"

Even with both eyes covered, the sudden flash of light was almost blinding.

"Run!"

They ran back the way they'd come and Harry heard a loud SMASH; he risked a glance back and saw that the creature had collided with the wall near the writing; it was even bigger than he'd feared. Harry quickly looked away when it began to turn towards him and took off running around the corner. Distantly, Harry could hear Elizabeth calling his name and screaming; his heart was pounding and he was breathing heavily. Behind him he could hear the basilisk hitting the walls as it careened around the turn and down the corridor in pursuit of him. What was he going to do? He'd trained to fight other wizards, not monstrously huge snakes that could kill you with a look.

What was he going to do?

What could he do?

(*)

Elizabeth's heart was racing as she exited the bathroom; the huge snake collided with the wall near the writing, then she spotted it turning away from her. Wait a minute, away from her? Why would it be—she looked frantically around but could not see Harry.

"Harry!?" She called out. "Harry!? No, no—Harry—!"

She brought her wand up again. Maybe she could distract it, or—,

"Crucio!"

Elizabeth collapsed on the ground as she screamed and writhed in pain; it felt like a hundred hot knives were digging into her flesh. When the pain finally ended, she rolled towards her attacker and saw—

—Ron Weasley?

She barely had time to process that thought before the pain started up again.

(*)

It was the collisions, the way that the basilisk kept veering back and forth between the walls on either side of the corridor as it went after him, that gave Harry an idea. It was something he'd read in one of his dueling books:

"When faced with an opponent whom you cannot directly overcome, look for ways to attack them indirectly, such as by finding ways to use the environment to your advantage."

Up ahead Harry could see one of the landings of the Swiveling Staircase, and the stairs began to detach; he just barely managed to make the leap before the gap became too great—catching the edge of the staircase with his hands. With a great effort Harry managed to pull himself up—just in time to see the basilisk go off the ledge and down, down, down, through the air all the way to the bottom. It hit the ground face first, flopped about and spun as the rest of its body came down, and then it moved no more.

"Hah, yes!" Relief flooded through Harry and he started to pump his fist but then—'oh no!' What had happened to Elizabeth? His heart began thudding again as panic set in.

The staircase deposited Harry on the third floor; he rushed down the hall, around a corner, cut through the armor gallery and past the trophy room, took another staircase back down to the second floor, coming out near Lockhart's office, and hurried back to Myrtle's bathroom—hoping beyond hope that Elizabeth was alright, that he wouldn't be too late—

There! Just outside the bathroom and in front of the writing on the wall, was Elizabeth—squirming on the ground and bound and gagged with ropes; standing over her was…Ron Weasley? No, there was something…different about Ron, something…wrong. He was standing differently, and his eyes had turned red; and when he turned to look at Harry, he spoke in a voice that was definitely not Ron's—but one that Harry still recognized.

"Ahh, there you are, Harry Potter," said Tom Riddle. "I see you've escaped my basilisk."

Harry felt like his brain had suddenly gone into overdrive; the deductions came rapidly one after another, like a freight train. The pieces were coming together and yet the final picture still didn't make any sense.

"You," Harry said. "You opened the Chamber of Secrets—both the first time and this time."

"Oh bravo, Harry, well done," Tom smirked and clapped in an exaggerated manner. "You've figured it out, have you? Yes, Dippet might have bought my capture of that oaf Hagrid, but Dumbledore didn't and so I knew that it wouldn't be safe to continue. So I left behind my diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self, so that one day I could return and complete Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

"But you haven't," Harry retorted. "No one's died this time."

"Because that is no longer my objective, no, my interest is now in you and you thank this idiot for that. Ronald Weasley has told me all about you, Harry Potter, about how you defeated Lord Voldemort as a baby, surviving with merely a scar. How is that possible?"

"What do you care?" Harry asked. "Voldemort was after your time."

"Voldemort," said Riddle softly, raising Ron's wand, "is my past, present, and future." Riddle traced the wand through the air, writing fiery letters:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Then, Riddle twitched the wand and the letters rearranged themselves:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

All of a sudden the last piece clicked into place in Harry's mind. Now it all made sense.

"Don't you see now?" Riddle said. "It was a name I was already using, though only among my most intimate friends of course. Did you think I was born with that name? Or that I would use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry — I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

"You're not." Harry declared, his voice filled with both confidence and defiance.

"Not what?" Riddle looked annoyed.

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world. Because you weren't defeated by me; as you noted, I was just a baby. You were defeated by my mother, and that means that she—a common Muggleborn witch—was a greater sorcerer than you ever were. Even when you were strong, it took you four tries to kill my parents and your final attempt resulted in your own defeat. I've seen the real you, you're a wreck, barely alive and practically a ghost, that's where all your power got you, that's your fate: an ugly, foul wraith hiding in the shadows, surviving off of unicorn blood." Riddle's smirk became a very ugly look. Harry drew his own wand. "I've just turned your precious basilisk into jelly, and now I'm going to do the same to you."

Riddle smirked again. "I think not."

Suddenly Harry felt ropes coiling around him, holding him immobile. And then Argo Pyrites, looking dapper as ever and brandishing his own wand, stepped into view, taking Harry's wand as he walked past. Harry noticed that Pyrites was also holding Elizabeth's wand.

"Ahh, Argo, my old friend," Riddle said. "Your sense of timing is, as always, impeccable."

Argo Pyrites gave a slight bow. "And I am, as always, at your service my master. We must perform the ritual soon, and Lucius needs the girl dead."

"All in due time," said Riddle. "But first I have questions, questions that must be answered before I am reborn lest I unwittingly repeat the mistakes of my older self." Riddle pointed Ron's wand at Elizabeth—who had stopped squirming but still seemed to be straining against the ropes that bound her—and said. " Harry Potter, you will now tell me how it is that my older self was defeated, or I shall hurt your friend."

"Go to hell."

"Perhaps you require a demonstration of the threat I am making," Riddle said. "Crucio!"

Even though she was gagged, Harry could still hear Elizabeth's cries as her body twitched and moved in obvious pain. Harry's heart and brain alike screamed at him to do something, but what could he do while bound like this. Elizabeth's body finally stopped its contortions and Harry caught a glimpse of metal near her back before it was covered up again. He realized what it must be and began trying to get out his own penknife, though he had to be less obvious about it.

"I ask again," Riddle said. "How was my older self defeated?"

"I don't know," said Harry. And it wasn't even a lie, for he didn't actually know what Lily had done. Riddle's wand twitched again. "I don't, I really don't. Nobody knows, except maybe your older self; nobody else was there to witness what happened."

"You must have some idea," Riddle asked. "Dumbledore must have some idea."

"I'm not exactly on speaking terms with Dumbledore," Harry deliberately spat the name, infusing into it all of his genuine dislike for the old Headmaster who had sat by and allowed his godfather—Elizabeth's father—to be wrongfully imprisoned for over a decade.

"Ahh, yes, of course." Riddle's smirk returned. "Weasley here had quite a few nasty things to say about your friend here; his obsession with you pales only in comparison to his dislike for her. Most curious that you would pick her over him—and over Dumbledore, when all too many people worship the very ground that he walks on. Crucio!"

Once again Harry was forced to endure hearing Elizabeth's muffled screams and watching her painful contortions, but still he said nothing.

"Very well, then," Riddle continued, turning the wand on Harry. "If her pain will not make you talk, then perhaps your own pain will. Crucio!" Riddle twisted the wand at Harry but then doubled over, dropping the wand as he did so and clutching Ron's head as he fell to the ground, twitching in pain.

Argo Pyrites rushed to his side and knelt down. "What is it, master, are you alright?"

In that moment, Elizabeth finally finishing cutting the ropes with her magical penknife and broke free of them, rolling over to grab Ron's fallen wand and casting "Expelliarmus!"

The red jet of light hit Pyrites and hurled him backwards even as it sent Harry and Elizabeth's wands flying into her open hand, though Pyrites managed to keep hold of his own wand.

"Diffindo!" Elizabeth cast with her own wand as she stood, cutting Harry's ropes open. She tossed Harry his wand, then brandished her own wand in one hand as her other hand snapped Ron's wand into two pieces and discarded them. Harry immediately stepped into a dueling stance.

"Stupefy!" Harry cast.

"Everte!" Elizabeth cast.

Pyrites waved his wand in a broad stroke as he stood back up and a large almost invisible barrier appeared between them, deflecting both spells.

"Your spare, Argo," Tom said, getting to his feet again, and Pyrite's free hand made a strange gesture. Another wand leapt into it from within Pyrites's sleeve and he passed it over. Tom brandished his new wand and stepped into a Scorpion Tail stance. "And now, Harry Potter, you will die."

"Not today!" A new voice announced.

It was Professor McGonagall. She had arrived from around the corner, accompanied by Professors Slughorn and Flitwick; all three of them were brandishing their wands and had a fierce look on their faces. Trailing behind them, almost as an afterthought, was Neville Longbottom.

Later Harry would only ever be able to describe the ensuing battle as the most brilliant display of magic he had ever seen; it was almost like a work of art. Not another word was spoken by other side, but the spells flew back and forth with incredible speed. So many spells. McGonagall was in her element, her wand practically a blur of motion as she transfigured the ever increasing amounts of debris from the battle into either animals—to attack with—or shields—to block spells with. Pyrites and Riddle seemed to have an endless variety of Dark Arts spells to call upon, but Professors Slugorn and Flitwick nonetheless seemed to know the counters for many of them.

Pyrites and Riddle gave quite a good account for themselves, conjuring and replacing shields as fast as they were destroyed and blasting apart McGonagall's constructs almost as fast as she created them, but they were still only outnumbered; slowly, methodically, they were boxed into a corner until they were finally overwhelmed and subdued by a combination of McGonagall's constructs and multiple stunning spells.

"There should be a diary on Ron's body," Harry finally called out, drawing all attention to himself. "Look for a diary."

"A diary?" Slughorn said with a frown, then turned towards Ron's unconscious form. "Accio diary!" From within Ron's robes, the diary of Tom Riddle flew into Slughorn's hand; the Potion's professor's frown deepened as he examined it. "Well, well, so he did make at least one after all."

"One what?" Harry asked. "What are you talking about, sir?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," Slughorn replied a bit too hastily, slipping the diary into a pocket within his own robes.

"The monster," McGonagall said. "Have you seen the basilisk emerge, Mr. Potter?"

"Check the bottom of the Marble Tower," Harry said.

"The Marble Tower?" McGonagall repeated, looking confused. Harry and Elizabeth then gave a brief summary of what had happened before the teacher's arrival and then Harry took McGonagall and Slughorn to the Swiveling Staircase—Flitwick remained behind to guard Pyrites—where they began descending to where the basilisk had fallen. It looked even bigger up close.

"Bloody hell," McGonagall swore when they reached the bottom. "This—this—this thing has been underneath the school the whole time? A thousand years and no one suspected a thing? I think I need a drink."

"I think we all need a good drink," Slughorn agreed. "After we call the Ministry, of course; the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures is going to want to take a look at this."

"And a few Aurors to arrest Pyrites, I think," McGonagall added. Then she turned to the students. "But first there are a few formalities to attend to. Harry Potter and Elizabeth Black, both of you walked out of a class without permission. Five points each from Gryffindor. You also courageously faced and defeated a Basilisk, exposed who was controlling it, and uncovered a threat from within the ranks of our own Governors: Fifty points to Gryffindor, each. And Mr. Longbottom, for your display of exceptional loyalty to your friends, ten points to Gryffindor. Now, off you go, all of you, to the Common Room."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said; Elizabeth and Neville echoed him, then they turned and left. It was over at last.

Well, almost over, Harry thought, remembering Hermione and the other victims again.

The next morning at breakfast Professor McGonagall stood up and announced the good news that the monster of Slytherin had been found and dealt with and that that the mandrakes were finally ready for cutting; the Petrified would all be restored by that evening. Most of the student body—though unsurprisingly not Malfoy—greeted this with much cheering.

Students and teachers alike were reading from the latest issue of the Daily Prophet: a front page article with a picture of Argo Pyrites in struggling in chains, his normally genteel manner gone and replaced by a fierce snarl. The headline ran: Attacks Thwarted At Hogwarts, Plot Exposed.

All of our readers are no doubt well aware of the recent attacks on students at Hogwarts, but now we can all rest easy as the culprit has been found and arrested. Argo Pyrites, a warlock of the Wizengamot, dueling champion and one of Hogwart's governors, has been arrested and charged on multiple counts of attempted murder. According to a joint statement by Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall and Potions Master Horace Slughorn, Argo Pyrites is a previously unsuspected follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and who had used an artifact left by the Dark Lord to control the monster of Slytherin, a basilisk, and unleashed it upon the students as part of some twisted scheme of revenge against the one who defeated his master, Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived.

Director Amelia Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has stated that she intends to see to it that Argo Pyrites is prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge has stated: "This is shocking, simply shocking; one of our most prominent and esteemed citizens a Death Eater who had escaped justice for so long? Rest assured, I will not allow it to happen again."

Full story continues on Page 3.

Harry didn't quite feel comfortable with how certain details had been changed while others had been omitted entirely, but Professors McGonagall and Slughorn had informed him that those details would either not be believed, would overly complicate things, or would cause a panic. Harry still didn't know exactly how many fingers the elder Malfoy had had in this pie, but he knew in his bones that Malfoy Sr. had been involved in this. Pyrites had all but said as much and Harry knew why for Malfoy Jr. had already spilled the beans on the obvious motive: the Black Family Fortune, which Draco Malfoy would only inherit if Elizabeth and her father were both dead. Harry still didn't understand how exactly Malfoy Sr. had convinced Pyrites to take the risk of being exposed like this, but it was always possible that that had been the diary's idea. Harry didn't think that he would ever piece together all that must have been going on behind the scenes and that irked him; he didn't like it when things weren't neatly wrapped up, but he would just have to accept that the world wasn't like that.

Harry turned the page and smiled again; page 2 had a picture of Lockhart being arrested and a lengthy discussion of his fraud. He was really looking forward to Hermione being revived now, and not just so that he could share this with her. No, she had been gone from his side for too long; he missed her company, her voice, her laughter, and...and...well, he missed everything about her.

"Hermione'll go spare when she finds out how much work she's missed and that she only has three days to study for exams," Harry said fondly, to no one in particular.

"That sounds so boring." Ginny's voice jolted Harry back to reality. "There's more to life than studying, you know."

Harry's voice turned cold and he glared at Ginny. "Studying is Hermione's passion; I like it when she gets excited about studying or learning something new. She wouldn't be Hermione without that and I look forward to seeing that passion again."

Ginny flinched, her eyes watered up and she looked away, clearly taken aback by his rebuke. Good, maybe she would finally give up this obsession that she seemed to have with him. It was becoming an annoyance.

Chapter Text

Harry looked down at the paper and frowned thoughtfully. Page 3 had an article about the Ministry's latest series of raids. Apparently, in response to an anonymous tip, both Malfoy and Pyrites houses had been among the targets and a large quantity of dark artifacts had been recovered from both. Malfoy had managed to skate by with just a fine, but it looked like Pyrites wasn't going to be so lucky. Harry knew that neither he nor Elizabeth nor their friends had sent in any anonymous tips this time, and there was only one other person besides himself and Hermione who had been present when Draco Malfoy had talked about his father's secret stash of artifacts.

Harry looked up over his paper at the Slytherin table where Mafalda Prewett was sitting with her own newspaper—just in time to see her stand and leave the Great Hall. Harry looked back down at the paper, hunting for the dueling listings, but was interrupted again when Hedwig came zooming down and landed on his shoulder. Harry turned to pet his familiar and saw that a note was tied to her leg; he unwrapped and read it:

Meet me in the Owlery, we have something to discuss. Come alone.

MP

Harry crumpled up the note and stood. So, Mafalda had decided to cash in on the favor that he and Hermione owed her. Idly wondering what it could be, and then dismissing the question as pointless since he was about to find out, Harry started for the exit.

"Wait, where are you going, Harry?" Elizabeth asked, getting to her feet. Something about her seemed…wrong somehow; she looked tired and more subdued than normal.

"I'm taking Hedwig to the Owlery," Harry quickly said. "I think that she thinks I've not been spending enough time with her." It was a handy excuse; Hedwig even gave a little bark and tightened her talons around his shoulders a bit. "Are you alright? You look a bit…peaky."

"I—I think I need to see Madam Pomfrey," Elizabeth replied, her voice also sounding hurried. She glanced over at Neville, then back at Harry. "It's a…girl thing."

Neville instantly looked just as awkward as Harry now felt; he was reminded of when Karen had finally decided to give the two of them 'The Talk'.

"Oh, ah, say no more," Harry said as he held up his hands for a moment, then quickly turned away and walked out of the Great Hall; Hedwig was still clutched tightly to his shoulder.

(*)

Harry was just walking past Professor Slughorn's office on the sixth-floor, on his way to the West Tower where the Owelry was located, when the door to the office was abruptly flung open, startling both him and Hedwig. Harry ducked into a shadowy corner and watched as Molly and Arthur Weasley emerged from within the office, followed by Ginny and Ron. Molly had one of her hands on Ron's earlobe and was berating him:

"—honestly, Ron," Molly said. "How many times have we told you not to trust anything that thinks for itself if you can't see where it keeps it's brain?" The Weasleys disappeared around a corner.

Harry crept closer towards Slughorn's office and began to hear muffled voices coming from within. At least two other people were still in there. Harry poked his head into the doorway.

Unlike Snape's office—which had been in the dungeons near the Potions classrooms and Slytherin common room, little bigger than a water closet, and quite austere in furnishings—Professor Slughorn's office was on the sixth floor, quite roomy, and expensively furnished: in addition to the usual desk and bookshelves, there was also a fireplace, two sofas, a round dinner table with ten chairs and a private balcony.

At the desk, Dumbledore and Slughorn were standing over the diary and speaking; Harry strained his ears to hear them:

"—knew he talked about making them," Slughorn was saying. "But I never imagined that he would actually go through with it."

"How many, Horace," Dumbledore replied. "How many did he talk about making?"

"Six," Slughorn said, looking somewhat resigned.

"Ahh, of course," said Dumbledore. "With six plus himself—seven is a magically powerful number."

"Whatever you are planning to do with this," Slughorn continued. "I want nothing more to with it; I've already told you everything I know."

"Yes, of course, I understand," Dumbledore replied.

Harry didn't have time to wonder what they were talking about as just then felt Hedwig nip his ear, pulled his head back, and donned his invisibility cloak—just in time to spot Lucius Malfoy stomping down the corridor towards the office. Harry took a few steps back, but the elder Malfoy didn't seem to have even noticed him.

Dumbledore and Slughorn emerged from the office and Malfoy stopped right in front of them, looking furious and clutching a long cane that was topped with a silver snake. And cowering behind Malfoy, looking terrified and considerably worse for the wear, was Dobby. The house-elf was holding a dirty rag, he'd apparently been in the middle of shining Malfoy's shoes when his master had left and was now attempting to finish the task.

Another piece of the puzzle suddenly slid into place. Malfoy had to have been involved now, somehow, as otherwise how could Dobby have known to warn him. He began softly creeping towards the door, mindful of his feet because in his haste he'd neglected to silence them.

"Ahh, Lucius," Dumbledore said pleasantly, "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

"So," Lucius Malfoy began, "You have seen fit to return to Hogwarts, despite the terms of your suspension."

"Well," said Dumbledore, "I have spoken with the other ten governors and it seems that in the wake of recent events, they have seen fit to lift my suspension."

"The culprit has been caught, then?" Lucius Malfoy sneered.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "The culprit was the same as last time: Voldemort. But this time, by means of a diary planted on one of our students and assisted by your friend Mr. Pyrites. I trust you have heard by now about his arrest."

Harry finally slipped past them and into the office; he found the diary still on the desk; the diary was no longer completely intact, but instead now looked as though some sharp object had stabbed it and the exposed pages now looked slightly burned. Harry grabbed and headed back towards the door.

"Indeed," Lucius Malfoy said.

"A most clever plan," Dumbledore said, then his voice became a touch colder. "It would be most unfortunate if any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things were to find their way into innocent hands. The consequences would be most…unpleasant."

Lucius Malfoy continued glaring at Dumbledore; from the way that Malfoy's hand twitched, Harry could tell that he was on the verge of drawing his wand. But then—Malfoy turned away.

"Come, Dobby," he said. "We're leaving."

Harry went after Malfoy; once he was sure that Dumbledore was out of sight, Harry took off his invisibility cloak, returning it to his mokeskin pouch, then paused just long enough to remove one of his socks and stuff the diary into it. Then he hurried along and finally caught up with Malfoy near a staircase.

"Ahem, Mister Malfoy," Harry called out. "I believe this is yours." Harry shoved the sock into Malfoy's hands when the older man turned to face him.

"What are you—," Lucius Malfoy ripped off the sock and tossed it aside, then glared at Harry as his free hand fiddled with the top of his cane. "And why would you think that I had anything to do with this? After all, it was Argo Pyrites who has been arrested and charged."

"Yes, and I might have almost bought that this was all his doing, except for one thing: Pyrites told me that you want Elizabeth Black dead. And it doesn't take a genius to figure out why." It certainly put the events of Halloween—specifically Kitty Sharp being somehow forced to attack Elizabeth—into an entirely new light.

"Oh?" Malfoy's eyebrows arched, then his voice became very cold. "Please then, boy, enlighten me."

"Elizabeth currently controls the Black Family fortune; but if she dies, it passes to Draco."

Malfoy's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. "You've a lot nerve, Potter, and one of these days you will come to the same end as your parents."

"Well at least then I'd be in good company," Harry retorted, "Which is more than I can say right now."

Lucius Malfoy's hand tightened into a fist for a moment, then he turned to leave. "Come, Dobby."

But Dobby just stood there, clutching Harry's sock as though it were a priceless treasure. "Master has given Dobby clothes. Lucius Malfoy paused and turned back.

"What?"

"Master threw this sock, and Dobby caught it," the excited house-elf cried. "Dobby is now free!"

Harry smirked and lifted up his robe to show his missing sock. Lucius Malfoy scowled.

"You've lost me my servant!" Lucius Malfoy dropped the diary as he advanced in a rage, drawing his wand from the top of his cane and pointing it at Harry. Hedwig took off flying into the air and Harry drew his own wand.

But then Dobby lunged in between them, hands up. "You will not harm, Harry Potter!"

And with a BANG and a flash of blue light, Lucius Malfoy was flung backwards and down the stairs. He got up and advanced back towards them, only to pause when he saw Dobby still standing there, arms raised.

"You will pay for this one day, Potter, mark my words!" And with that, Lucius Malfoy turned and stormed off.

Dobby turned to Harry, his large eyes beaming and leaking tears. "Harry Potter has freed Dobby. Dobby does not know how he can ever repay him."

"Just promise that you'll never send bludgers after me again," Harry asked.

Dobby grinned, then snapped his fingers and vanished.

Hedwig landed back on Harry's shoulder; Harry returned the diary to Slughorn's office, then resumed his walk to the owelry.

(*)

"What is it, Miss Black?" Madam Pomfrey asked Elizabeth as she entered the infirmary. "If you have come to check on Miss Granger, the draught is still brewing."

"No, no, it's not that," Elizabeth said. "I just—I just need a pain relief potion. And a Pepper-Up too while you're at it."

Pomfrey's eyes narrowed, and when she spoke again her voice had become completely clinical and professional. "What are your exact symptoms?"

"My whole body feels sore, down even into my bones; I feel listless, withdrawn, and tired, even though I got a full night's sleep."

"And when did you first notice these symptoms?"

"Yesterday, after the…confrontation with Argo Pyrites and the…uh…the Heir of Slytherin. I was, uh, I was repeatedly cursed during the event, the curse—it felt like white-hot knives were digging into my skin, no, even worse than that, it felt— I feel so…so wrong."

"This curse," Pomfrey asked, a bit more softly, "was the incantation 'Crucio'?"

"Yes, it was," Elizabeth replied.

Pomfrey inhaled sharply, then sighed. "Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do for you."

"What?" Elizabeth was taken aback. "What do you mean there's nothing you can do; I know that there are potions that can alleviate the symptoms of dark curses."

"There are, but they won't help you; not for this. The curse used on you, the Cruciatus Curse, is one of the Unforgivables. The malady that you are currently suffering from cannot be alleviated by any known potion or spell, that is one reason why the Cruciatus is classified as Unforgivable. Time and bedrest will be your remedies, I'm afraid."

"Couldn't you at least give me a Pepper-Up Potion?" Elizabeth asked. "I feel like I'm about to fall asleep on my feet."

"I'm sorry, but Pepper-Up won't help you either. Fatigue like that is another common after-effect of the Cruciatus Curse."

Elizabeth sighed and turned to leave.

(*)

The moment Harry entered the Owelry, Hedwig swooped up and flew off into the rafters.

Harry found Mafalda Prewett fussing over a tawny barn owl, finally sent it off, then turned towards him.

"Ahh, Harry," she said. "It's about time."

"I came as quickly as I could," Harry replied. "Now, what do you want?"

"Only that you find a way to punish Lucius Malfoy for his involvement in recent events."

Harry tilted his head at Mafalda and regarded her for a moment. "I know I have my own reasons to suspect the elder Malfoy of being involved in this, but you seem to more than suspect."

"Yes," Mafalda said. "Last summer at Flourish and Botts in Diagon Alley, the Malfoy's and the Weasleys just so happened to be there at the same time. Words were exchanged between the two fathers that quickly escalated into a brawl. At the time I thought nothing of it, but now I suspect that moment was when that enchanted diary was planted on Ron."

"I see," Harry said. "Well I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. And, as it happens, I have already found a way to punish the Malfoy's."

"Oh?" It was Mafalda's turn to tilt her head. "Do tell."

"I freed their house-elf." Harry said proudly.

Mafalda did a double take. "How in Merlin's name did you manage that?" Harry told her of his confrontation with Lucius Malfoy in the hallway. Mafalda placed her hands over her mouth and giggled. "Oh, that was deliciously cunning of you." Then she straightened up. "Though I'm sure that only worked because Malfoy's house-elf hated him; in most other wizard households that have them, the house-elves are treated like family and thus have no desire to be free."

"Ah, I see," Harry said. "And I take it that you were the one who sent Director Bones that anonymous tip about Malfoy's secret stash?"

"Indeed, I did," Mafalda replied with another grin. "Well, never let it be said that I am not a witch of my word," she continued. "Freeing their house-elf is far more than I could have ever expected from either you or Granger, so a deal is a deal: We're even, and you can tell Granger the same once she's awake"

And with that Mafalda Prewett walked out of the Owelry without so much as backwards glance.

Hedwig landed back on his shoulder. Harry gave her an owl treat and began petting his snowy familiar.

(*)

That evening the Great Hall was abuzz with excitement and anticipation; finally, about halfway through dinner, the formerly petrified victims walked into the Great Hall to very enthusiastic applause. The Weasley brothers were heartily greeted by Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Wood, and Lee Jordan, while the Hufflepuffs jubilantly welcomed back Cedric Diggory and the Fat Friar, and the Ravenclaws likewise for Penelope Clearwater. And then—

"Hermione!" Harry said, standing up. Seeing her walking around again, healthy and hale—it almost took his breath away.

Hermione spotted Harry, ran towards him, and threw her arms around him. Harry didn't know how long they stood there but at last he felt whole and complete again. Elizabeth greeted Hermione with her own friendly hug, while Neville gave a greeting that was half-handshake and half-hug.

"So have you heard yet," Neville asked Hermione as they sat back down.

"Heard what?" Hermione said, taking the seat next to Harry. Harry wrapped an arm around her.

"Lockhart confessed to being a fraud," Neville said. "He's been arrested and everything."

"You may have noticed his absence from the head table," Elizabeth added. "Which means that—,"

"—I win the bet," Hermione finished. Her friends all did a double take.

"Huh, what?" said Harry.

"How do you figure that?" Elizabeth wanted to know.

In answer, Hermione reached into her book bag, got out Harry's dog-eared almanac, opened it and pointed.

Harry read, then gave Hermione an incredulous look. "The donor's page? Seriously?"

Now Hermione gave him a smug look that still managed to be cute. "The bet wasn't to prove that Lockhart was a dueling champion, it was to find him, and I quote, 'anywhere in this book'. I did, which means that I win!" She gave a little satisfied huff and then all four of them started laughing. This was one bet Harry didn't mind losing at all; his friends were alive and safe, that was all that mattered.

Near the end of the feast Dumbledore stood and called for everyone's attention. Once everyone had quieted down, the Headmaster began. "First, I expect many of you will be pleased to hear that the Wizarding Examinations Authority has agreed to delay all final exams—including O.W.L.'s and N.E.W.T.'s—until July." (Oh what a relief," Hermione said.) "Towards that end, Minister Fudge has agreed to suspend enforcement of the Trace until August 1st," Many students, particularly the muggleborns, cheered at this, "though all of you are reminded that the Statute of Secrecy still stands and that any magic use around unaware Muggles will still be investigated and punished accordingly. Also towards that end, I have decided to end this term early; the Hogwarts Express will be taking you all back tomorrow. With the cancellation of Quidditch, the Quidditch Cup will remain with Slytherin until the following term. And as for the House Cup, the current point totals are: Slytherin—two hundred and fifty, Hufflepuff—two hundred and seventy, Ravenclaw—two hundred and eighty, and Gryffindor—three hundred. So once again, Gryffindor wins the House Cup."

The Gryffindors rejoiced, the Slytherins grumbled, while the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws politely clapped.

"Now for some other news," Dumbledore continued after everyone had settled down again. "it seems that we are once again in need of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, after Professor Lockhart was arrested on multiple counts of fraud and assault and thus will be unable to return to us in the fall." Quite a few of the teachers and staff joined in the cheering at this news. "And on a completely unrelated note, in case you missed the news, both Argo Pyrites and Lucius Malfoy have been removed from the Hogwarts board of governors and Mr. Pyrites is also now a guest of the Ministry." The Slytherins were stoically silent at this news, a stark contrast to the cheering or polite clapping from the other three tables. Malfoy in particular looked resentful and sulky. "And in one last piece of news before I dismiss you, I am pleased to welcome back our groundskeeper, Hagrid." More cheering from everyone but the Slytherins as Hagrid briefly rose from his seat at the head table. "And now, I bid you all a very good night.

(*)

The train ride back the following morning passed surprisingly quickly. Harry, Neville, and Elizabeth spent the first half of it bringing Hermione up to speed on all the things that had happened while she was Petrified; the second half was spent playing Exploding Snap. All too soon they pulled into King's Cross, departed the train, said one last goodbye, and went their separate ways: Hermione to her parents, Neville to his grandmother, and Harry and Elizabeth to Andromeda Tonks.

"Is it still not safe for my mum?" Elizabeth asked, concerned.

"We're not sure," Andromeda replied as they turned toward the barrier out into the muggle side of the station. "Better safe than sorry. Come, it is time you see what we've done to the place."

"Done?" Elizabeth asked.

"Oh yes," said Andromeda, "Karen's been cooped up at Grimmauld Place for months, so she took to redecorating it just to pass the time." Andromeda led them to a nearby restroom and then, one at a time, apparated them to outside of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Then she bid them goodbye and left.

Based on what Elizabeth had told him earlier about Grimmauld Place, Harry would have expected the place to be have Slytherinish decor. He could still see hints of that in the snake-shaped door knocker and doorknobs, and in the Black Family Tree tapestry in the drawing room, but now most of the décor was much more Gryffindorish and Hufflepuffian: the portraits on the walls were gone, replaced by the pictures that had once adorned their old home; the carpets were now gold-colored, and the walls were painted brown and red; the troll-leg umbrella stand was gone, replaced by a more muggle-looking one.

Only two rooms had been left completely unchanged: the two on the fourth floor that had belonged to Sirius and his brother Regulus. Regulus's room remained quintessentially Slytherin, while Sirius' old bedroom was decorated with pictures of motorcycles and biker girls, which amused Harry. Karen had moved into the master bedroom in the attic; Elizabeth claimed the bedroom on the first floor while Harry took the almost identical one on the second floor.

Once Harry was settled in, he sought out the library on the ground floor. A pair of heavy wooden doors opened into a room that was large enough that it had obviously been magically expanded. Within the room were row upon row of shelves, all stuffed full of books; at a closer look, most of them looked unworn. Harry didn't know how long he spent wandering the room, scanning the titles on the books. As expected from a family with this one's reputation, the vast majority dealt with magic that was less than legal and a lot that was outright dark arts judging by the titles. It was like the Hogwarts library, except with no Restricted Section.

Harry smiled as he pictured setting Hermione loose in this room—she'd already more than hinted that she wanted to visit just to see this. All this knowledge, lost for so many years, he'd probably never see her again. That or she'd demand to move in with them. He could hardly wait to see her again.

(*)

Albus Dumbledore was feeling every year of his long life as he plowed through the mounds of paperwork in his office; most of it was a backlog from his absence—or things that he had been putting off even before then—but a lot of it was more recent: who would have thought that the sacking of two governors and the arrest of one would have caused him such hassle? Not to mention that he now needed to replace not just one but two professors: Lockhart's arrest opened up Defense Against the Dark Arts yet again, while Professor Kettleburn—the Care of Magical Creatures Professor—had just given notice that he intended to retire before losing what few limbs he had left. Even with only one job it still seemed at times that there were too few hours in a day. But—no, he was not going back to using the Time-Turner. He'd used it too much already; contrary to what many thought, the Elixir of Life only kept you alive: it didn't keep you from aging and although regular drinking could provide some semblance of youthful vitality, it wasn't a panacea.

The fireplace in his office abruptly lit up with a green fire, startling Dumbledore out of his thoughts; he stood and bent over to it. There in the green flames was the face of Saul Croaker, an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries.

"Albus," Croaker began without preamble. "There is something I need to show you; this is a matter of some urgency."

What now? Dumbledore thought. What new crisis could have possibly come up overnight with no notice? He sighed. "Very well, come on through." Croaker's face vanished, then the Unspeakable stepped through the fire, clad in a hooded grey robe. "What is this about?"

Croaker produced from a mokeskin pouch a goblet and placed it on his desk; Dumbledore examined it and was taken aback, for he had been attempting to locate this for some time: the goblet had the crest of Helga Hufflepuff on it.

"Where did you find this?

"It was among the dark artifacts confiscated in the raid on the house of Argo Pyrites," Croaker explained. "Once I realized what it was, I thought you might be interested."

"What it…was?" Dumbledore straightened up. There was something in Croaker's voice that hinted at more than just the obvious. "This is a horcrux?"

"It was," Croaker said. "But fortunately all Unspeakables are given Cursebreaker training as a matter of course, so it was no problem to deal with. Curious that you were already expecting that, though; even more curious is which dark wizard created it."

"I think we both know answer to that," Dumbledore replied.

"I see," said Croaker. "And you think that he has others?"

"At least four," said Dumbledore.

"Four, eh?" Croaker said. "Well then, I suppose we have our work cut out for us."

"Just keep the loop on this as small as possible," Dumbledore asked. "Remember Rookwood?"

Croaker scowled but nodded. "Very well, it will remain between the two of us. For now." And with that Croaker vanished back into the floo.

Dumbledore sat back down in his chair. He didn't like that someone else now knew the secret to Voldemort's immortality—the more people that knew, the greater the risk that the information would eventually find its way back to Voldemort—but Croaker was an Unspeakable: he'd sooner slit his own throat than talk about his work to anyone without a compelling need to know.

And he was quite relieved to have something good come out of this debacle. Now it was time to get back to work.

(*)

Summer wasn't nearly as fun for Harry and Elizabeth as it was normally, and not just because they were cooped up in a house with Victorian-era amenities and no electricity. The Wizarding Examinations Authority had sent out study guidelines for each subject and while for most subjects it was just review, Defense Against the Dark Arts was another matter entirely. Thanks to their experience in the Dueling Club, Harry and Elizabeth already knew all the spells that they would be required to cast for the practical part of the examination, but the written part was all new material—things that Lockhart should have taught but hadn't. It included having to learn about notorious dark wizards and witches of the past. And, although it wasn't been tested on, Lockhart had been supposed to give them a basic overview of possible careers that required an OWL or NEWT in DADA; all the other professors had done likewise for their classes right before the Easter break. Looking over the pamphlets that had been sent out with the study guidelines, Harry immediately tossed all the Ministry-related careers. He could never work for a government that saw no problem tossing innocents into Azkaban. Cursebreaking and the Dueling Circuit both sounded exciting, though.

The Black Family Library proved to be quite the lifesaver as it turned out to also contain a few historical texts that discussed various notorious dark wizards and witches—from Herpo the Foul and Emeric the Evil to Godelot and Ekrizidis; there was no book mentioning Grindelwald in the Black Family Library, though at least the mandatory textbook he'd purchased for first year included a brief overview of the Grindelwald War. And Harry knew from looking into his own family history that his great-uncle Charlus and great-aunt Dorea had fought in the conflict.

July came sooner than expected and the Wizarding Examination Authority sent out exam times by year and subject. The first and second years had theirs assigned for the last week of July. For their exam days they flooed to Hogsmeade and walked up to the castle where they were led to one of the classrooms on the ground floor for the exams. Harry felt very confident after his Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense exams.

On the morning of July 29^th, the day of the first and second year Potions exams, Harry picked up the Daily Prophet over breakfast. One of the articles on the front page mentioned that the Weasley family had just won the Daily Prophet Galleon Draw and that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were planning to take family vacation to Egypt in August, and the article included a picture of the entire Weasley family waving. Ron even had his pet rat Scabbers on his shoulder. Harry turned the page, looking for the dueling listings.  

(*)

If there was one part of his job that Minister Fudge disliked more than any other, it was the annual inspection of Azkaban. Although it was the one day of the year when the dementors were removed from the grounds, Fudge still hated coming here because of one prisoner: Sirius Black.

Most prisoners were reduced to catatonic shells within months but somehow Sirius Black was different.

"Hello Minister," Black called out to him, sounding quite bored. "Has it really been a year already? Time sure flies, doesn't it? How long has it been anyway?"

Fudge stopped and turned to face Black, unnerved by how…normal Black sounded. "Twelve years," Fudge said. "Twelve years you've been here, in the high-security ward with dementors outside your door day and night. How are you still sane?"

Black shrugged. "I'm innocent. Are you done with that newspaper? I do so miss the crossword." Black was eying the newspaper sticking out of Fudge's briefcase. Fudge, figuring that there was no harm in giving it to him and that it would definitely shut him up, pulled out the newspaper and slipped it through the cell bars, then hurried away to continue his inspection.

Sirius Black took in the date on the newspaper. It really had been twelve years. Twelve long years in the dark, for crimes he hadn’t committed and without even a trial. Sirius unrolled the newspaper and immediately froze when he saw the picture on the front page. It was of a family of redheads, the Weasley's, who'd apparently won the Daily Prophet's Annual Galleon Drawing but Sirius' attention was immediately drawn to the youngest boy in the picture as on that boy's shoulder was a rat…a rat that Sirius recognized, a rat missing one toe.

'Wormtail!'

Somehow, the traitor was still alive; not only alive, but hiding out in a wizard family. Aside from Wormtail himself, there were only two people still alive who would recognize that rat: himself and Remus Lupin. And given Lupin's condition, there was no guarantee that he would even see this. Harry was in danger. Karen and Elizabeth were in danger. Sirius knew what he had to do.  

(*)

On the morning of July 30th Harry and Elizabeth stepped into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place to find breakfast unmade, and Karen sitting at the table with her attention absolutely riveted on the paper in front of her. Tears were starting to stream down her cheeks.

"Mum?" Elizabeth asked as they approached. "Is everything alright? What's wrong?"

Karen looked up, startled at their voices. Then she simply turned the paper around. It was the Daily Prophet and on it was a prison mugshot of Sirius Black. The headline announced in bold letters: SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN!

Chapter Text

Sat behind the desk in his office, Albus Dumbledore paid the post owl, picked up his Daily Prophet, and his heart skipped a beat. For a long time he could only just stare at it. How? How could this have possibly happened. Azkaban prison was a large stone tower on an island in the North Sea, guarded a swarm of dementors—the mere presence of which drained all happiness from a person. And Sirius Black had been placed in the high security ward. So how could he have possibly escaped? And why? Even more important than the why was the why now? If Sirius Black could have escaped earlier, he certainly would have—no one would ever willingly remain in Azkaban, even if the alternative was a life on the run. So what had changed? And what was he going to do now?

Dumbledore let out a sigh, placed the paper down on his desk, and sat back in his chair. With the arrest of Gilderoy Lockhart, Hogwarts was once again in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor; but it might be possible for Dumbledore to use his problem to solve this new problem. For if Sirius Black could break out of Azkaban, then it would be trivially simple for him to break into Hogwarts. So Hogwarts’ new DADA professor would need to be someone who would know how that might be accomplished, someone who knew Sirius Black personally but would not help him. Someone who was both currently unemployed and qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.

How fortunate, then, that Albus Dumbledore knew one such person.

Dumbledore stood up and started pacing as he considered his next course of action. Whatever he did to keep Harry safe from Sirius Black, he would have to be very careful about it considering Harry Potter’s friendship with Elizabeth Black…Dumbledore’s thought train was abruptly derailed as if he’d hit a brick; he was missing something there, he could feel that he had missed something or had overlooked something. Or had he forgotten something…

Dumbledore began ripping open each of the drawers in his office, not even sure what exactly he was looking for just that there was something that he needed to look for. During his time-turning he had been in habit of writing notes to himself to help him remember things that came up in prior loops that he couldn’t deal with right away. Where would he have put it? Where would it be? Where could it be?

Finally, in the very top drawer that could pull out into a writing surface, Dumbledore finally found something he hadn’t remembered putting there: a pair of wrapped pieces of parchment. He grabbed one and opened it; it was written in his handwriting and dated to eight years ago:

‘Investigate why Araballa Figg has not sent any updates since moving to Little Whinging; investigate urgently.’  Dumbledore felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he reached for the other note, this dated to two years ago: ‘Harry Potter’ and Elizabeth Black’s acceptance letters arrived on the same owl; investigate urgently.’

Oh damn. Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn, oh damn, oh damn!

Without further hesitation, Dumbledore got on his knees and floo-called Araballa Figg.

“Oh, I see you finally decided to check up on me, Albus.” Araballa curtly answered.

“Araballa, what’s going on?” Albus addressed her image in the fire, “Is Harry Potter at the Dursley’s?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Dumbledore reared back. “What do you mean you don’t know? Don’t you live in the same neighborhood?”

“Yes, but the closest house I could find was several streets away; I’ve tried my best to keep an eye on them without being too obvious about it, but you were very clear that I couldn’t break cover for anything less than a life-or-death emergency.”

“This is a life-or-death emergency,” Albus declared. “To the blazes with your cover; I need you to find out, now.”

“Okay, okay,” said Araballa. “I’ll call back within the hour.”

Dumbledore stood, feeling very shaken, and began to pace about his office as he waited. All this time he had been so confident that Araballa would call him if there were any problems…and all this time she’d been just sitting there, constrained from doing her job by his own instructions. Hopefully, this was just a false alarm and there was another possible explanation for this—he could think of three or four possibilities right off the top of his head.

Araballa finally called back. “Albus, I’ve just spoken with Petunia; she didn’t even know that Lily and James were dead and she was most insistent that that she’s never even seen Harry.”

Oh damn. This was bad, it was very, very bad; not quite the worst-case scenario, but very close to it.

“And moreover,” Araballa continued, “she told me that she has absolutely interest at all in even meeting Harry, let alone taking him in.”

Twelve years ago that possibility hadn’t worried Dumbledore; but now, on the other hand, with Harry a teenager and already knowledgeable of the Wizarding World…

This was terrible.

“What do you want me to do now, Albus?”

“I—I don’t know,” Albus admitted, “I’ll get back to you.”

Araballa closed the floo connection and Dumbledore sank into his chair, rubbing his eyes as he did.

Well now, at least, he’d solved those two mysteries and answered his lingering question of how Harry Potter and Elizabeth could be so close. He’d been a fool not to see it earlier. No, he realized, not a fool. Just too damn busy. Either Karen Black or her husband must have snatched Harry Potter from the Dursley’s after Dumbledore had left him there. But he’d had no choice. He couldn’t have afforded to visit at an hour when the Dursley’s were actually awake, due to the very possibility that Petunia would tell him exactly what she’d apparently just told Araballa. That reaction had to have been avoided by any means necessary as it was the only way to ensure that Lily’s blood protection would be sustained. The Dursley’s had been absolutely necessary for Dumbledore’s plan to prepare Harry to face his inevitable destiny.

And now he had to face the reality that Harry Potter had been running around for years without that protection, being raised by the wife of the man who’d betrayed his parents, being taught to distrust him and to believe some conspiracy theory about Black not really being the Secret-Keeper—as if Lily and James would have ever lied to him!—and having a sibling relationship with Black’s daughter.

It was a disaster.

And the worst part was that Dumbledore couldn’t see any way to fix it.

(*)

Elizabeth grabbed the newspaper from her mother and started reading the article underneath the shocking headline:  SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN! Harry peered over her shoulder to also read it.

Sirius Black, long believed to have been a supporter of You-Know-Who, has escaped from Azkaban fortress. Black was incarcerated in Azkaban twelve years ago after his betrayal of the Potters and his murder of thirteen people with a single curse. The exact method of Black’s escape is still unknown, as is the reason for it, but Minister Fudge wishes to assure the public that all necessary measures are being taken both to find and recapture Black, and to ensure that there are no additional escapes from Azkaban. Black is to be considered armed and dangerous, and any sightings should be reported to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement immediately. 

“Mum,” Elizabeth said, placing the newspaper on the table as she approached Karen and tried to look her in the eyes. “Mum, why are you crying? Isn’t this—,”

“They’re going to kill him,” Karen sobbed. “If they catch him, they’re not just going to send him back to Azkaban, they’re going to kill him.”

Elizabeth felt her insides freeze up, felt like someone had reached inside and grabbed her heart. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. How could this be happening? And why? She felt Harry come up beside her.

“If they catch him,” Harry emphasized, “we have enough trouble to worry about without borrowing even more.”

Karen gave him a faint smile as she dried her face. “Oh, my dear,” she said. “You sound just like Lily; except that she usually said that kind of thing after James and Sirius had gone and done something incredibly reckless.”

“You mean like escaping from a supposedly escape-proof prison while being wanted for mass murder?”

“But he must have had a reason for doing it,” Elizabeth finally said. “I mean, there must be a reason why he did it now and not, say, right after he was thrown in there?” Harry noted that there was a bit of an edge in her voice, though he couldn’t really blame her for it. “After all, you told us that he’s a dog animagus, so he could have escaped this whole time, couldn’t he have?”

“Unless something was preventing him from doing it,” Karen finished. “Something that has changed.” She shrugged. “Well, there’s no point in speculating with no information; we’ll just have to bank that question for now.” She shook herself and stood. “Hurry and eat some cereal; don’t want to be late for exams.”

The last three exams were for Herbology, Astronomy, and History of Magic. But it was obvious the moment they arrived at Hogsmeade that things had changed; the mood had changed. Everyone—the townsfolk and their classmates alike—looked more subdued and furtive, looking around as if expecting to be attacked at any moment. Ministry Hit-Wizards were now there to escort all the students to and from the castle. The exams, all written, felt even more quiet than normal—like there was another shoe that everyone was waiting to hear drop. And unlike on the previous days, there was no cheerful conversation on their way back to the village; just a long, uncomfortable silence. The wizard-raised students not from Hogsmeade lined up behind the floo-point to return to either their homes or the Leaky Cauldron, while the muggle-raised students filed aboard the violently purple Knight Bus, which was waiting near the station.

“I’ll see you two in a month,” Hermione said as she hugged Harry and Elizabeth near the station.

“Enjoy France,” Harry said, half-wishing that he could go with her.

“I will,” said Hermione before joining the queue for the Knight Bus.

With Hermione on vacation with her parents, Harry’s birthday the next day and Elizabeth’s birthday in mid-August passed quietly and uneventfully—which was both a bad thing and a good thing as far as they were concerned, as it meant Sirius was still eluding his hunters; normally their birthdays were a time of cheer, but this year they no longer felt like they had much to celebrate. Hogwarts letters finally arrived the day after Elizabeth’s birthday and each of their envelopes also contained a permission slip for visiting Hogsmeade village, which Karen signed for them.

Finally, on the last day of August, Karen took Harry and Elizabeth to the Leaky Cauldron, where they met up with Hermione and entered Diagon Alley. On the way towards Gringotts to refill their moneybags, they came upon large crowd gathered outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. Curious about what they could be staring at, Harry and Elizabeth squeezed their way through the excited witches and wizards and there, in the window of the shop, was the most magnificent broom Harry had ever seen in his life. The sign beneath it read:

** THE FIREBOLT **

THIS STATE-OF-THE-ART QUIDDITCH BROOM SPORTS A STREAM-LINED, SUPERFINE HANDLE OF ASH, TREATED WITH A DIAMOND-HARD POLISH AND HAND-NUMBERED WITH ITS OWN REGISTRATION NUMBER. EACH INDIVIDUALLY SELECTED BIRCH TWIG IN THE BROOMTAIL HAS BEEN HONED TO AERODYNAMIC PERFECTION, GIVING THE FIREBOLT UNSURPASSABLE BALANCE AND PINPOINT PRECISION. THE FIREBOLT HAS AN ACCELERATION OF 150 MILES AN HOUR IN TEN SECONDS AND INCORPORATES AN UNBREAKABLE BRAKING CHARM. PRICE ON REQUEST.

 “It’s the new international standard for Quidditch,” a square-jawed wizard was telling his companion. “Irish have already put in an order, and they’re favorites for the World Cup.”

“A right beauty this is,” a brunette witch commented. “The acceleration and agility of a Quidditch broom, and enough speed to compete with the racing brooms; too bad I’ll never be able to afford one.”

There were two different standard models of broomstick used by the Wizarding World: the Quidditch broom and the racing broom; the names were pretty self-explanatory as the former was meant to be used for Quidditch while the latter was meant to be used in the sport of broom racing, and they had very different capabilities: Quidditch brooms were designed to optimize acceleration and turning ability, usually obtained at the expense of speed; racing brooms were much faster but took longer to get up to speed and, once they did, were limited to wide banking turns—which made them unsuitable for Quidditch. The Firebolt, it seemed, was an attempt to get the best of both worlds and Harry was itching to try it out.

Harry jolted as Karen placed one hand on his shoulder; Elizabeth did likewise when Karen’s other hand landed on her shoulder. Harry and Elizabeth reluctantly allowed her to steer them out of the crowd and towards where Hermione was bemusedly waiting for them just outside the crowd. 

“It is a nice broom,” Karen commented. “But you’ve already got a perfectly fine Nimbus, Harry.”

That was true, Harry conceded; in fact, he’d even managed to not only outfly Malfoy’s newer model but also a pair of renegade Bludgers. Unless something ever happened to his Nimbus, Harry doubted that he would ever be so lucky as to own a Firebolt.

They reached Gringotts just in time to see a large group of redheads emerge from it; it was the Weasley family, though none were looking in their direction.  

“…so proud of you, Ron,” Molly was saying as she patted her youngest son on the back, “passed all exams for first and second year, come on; let’s get your new wand.” Ron, for his part, looked quite pleased with himself and almost as puffed up as Percy.

“So,” Elizabeth commented once they were out of earshot of Weasley’s. “Ron’s back. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.”

After refilling their moneybags, they made their way to Flourish and Blotts to get their textbooks; it was also here that the time came for Harry and Elizabeth to make good on their bet with Hermione, who picked out two books for them to get her: “A New Theory of Numerology” and “The Mystery of the Hairy Warlock.”

“I didn’t know you liked mystery fiction,” Elizabeth observed.

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said. “Nancy Drew is one of my favorites, and I even sneaked a few of my parent’s crime novels when they weren’t looking; but you know what my absolute favorite novel is?”

“What?”

“Matilda.”

Harry snorted while Elizabeth chuckled. “That makes so much sense,” Harry said as they left the shop. After stocking up on their other school supplies; Karen and Elizabeth stopped to get ice cream at Fortescue’s, while Harry and Hermione headed over to the Magical Menagerie as Hermione wanted to get her own familiar; the story was smelly, noisy, and packed with cages filled with all manner of different animals. The witch behind the counter was talking with Ron, whose pet rat Scabbers was apparently under the weather for some reason. Ron was just about to purchase some rat tonic when something large and orange came soaring down the air, landed on his head, then jumped off again in the direction of Scabbers, hissing and spitting madly at the old rat.

“NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!” cried the witch, but Scabbers shot out from her hands, landed on the floor, and then scampered towards the door.

“Scabbers!” Ron shouted, racing out of the shop after him.

Hermione abandoned all interest in the owl cages, marched over to the counter and picked up the enormous orange cat whom the witch had called ‘Crookshanks’.  “How much?” she asked, practically glowing.

“Are you sure, young lady?” the witch asked. “Crookshanks has in been here for ages, no one’s ever wanted him.”

“Well I do,” Hermione replied. “So, how much?”

“Nine Galleons.”

“Sold,” Hermione replied. She set down Crookshanks on the counter again; he purred and nuzzled her arm as she counted out her money. She also purchased a carrier and shooed Crookshanks into it as they left.

(*)

Karen Black set the bowls of ice cream down on the table outside the ice cream parlor. Elizabeth took a seat with their shopping bags, while Karen looked up to see if Harry and Hermione had finished their errand inside the Magical Menagerie. As Karen scanned the crowd she started getting that very eerie feeling of being watched; old instincts from the war suddenly flared back to life. Right over…there, yes; that brown-haired man across the way who seemed just a bit too interested in the window display of Madam Malkin’s…and that blonde man over there, leaning against the side of Flourish and Blott’s pretending to read a book but looking up in her direction just a bit too much; although they were obviously trying to blend in, their behavior and posture screamed ‘Hit-Wizard on the job’. Those were just the two she could pick out at a glance but she was sure that there were more lurking about. Unlike Aurors, Hit-Wizard’s didn’t usually operate in just pairs.

But was their job here really just surveillance? No, that was unlikely; Hit-Wizard’s were the Ministry’s muscle, the magical equivalent of muggle SWAT; a regular surveillance job would have used Aurors instead. It could be that they were really on the lookout for Sirius--as if her husband would ever be so careless as to show up at Diagon Alley in the middle of the day, but a part of her doubted that as well. No, this a pickup job and the target was her. She hadn’t heard anything new from Andie or Nymphadora, but it could always be that someone in the Ministry was still feeling sour grapes about their botched raid on her old house months ago.

“Mum, they’re here,” Elizabeth said, startling her mother out of her thoughts.

“Hmm, what? Oh.” Harry and Hermione were approaching the table. Hermione was had a carrier containing one of the ugliest cats Karen had ever seen.

“This is Crookshanks,” Hermione said as she set the carrier on the table and took a seat behind her bowl of icecream; thankfully, cooling charms in the bowls had kept their contents from melting into a sticky mess. “Isn’t he gorgeous?” Elizabeth and Harry each took a bite of ice cream to avoid having to reply.

Movement out of the corner of her eye drew Karen’s attention back to the crowd. Those two Hit-Wizards she’d spotted earlier were now walking toward’s Fortescue’s and now they weren’t even trying to blend in with the crowd. She couldn’t see any more, though; either the others were better at concealing themselves, or there were really were only two here for some reason. She decided to err on the side of caution.

“Kids,” Karen said, not taking her eyes off the approaching Hit-Wizards. “Take your things, go inside, and hide in the loo; don’t come out or let anyone else in unless they give the safe words.”

“Mum, what’s going on?” Elizabeth asked.

“Damnit, just go,” Karen ordered. Harry and Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Mild as it was, they’d never heard her swear before. With their ice cream and the cat-carrier in tow, Harry, Elizabeth, and Hermione disappeared inside Fortescues. Moments later the two Hit-Wizards stepped into the outside dining area of Fortescues and drew their wands. Karen did likewise and started casting before the Hit-Wizard’s even reached their standard dueling stance; smoke billowed out of her wand and engulfed her completely. The two Hit-Wizards raised their wands.

“Ventus,” they both cast, causing a gush of wind that banished the smoke. But when it cleared, Karen Black was nowhere to be seen. “Damnit, she might have turned invisible,” the brown-haired Hit-Wizards said. “Hominem Revelio!” A wave of energy emitted from him but revealed nothing. “Damnit, how could she have given us the slip. She couldn’t have apparated from inside the Alley.”

“Well, Gibbon,” the blonde replied. “She must have found a way.”

“The boss is going to kill us, Stahl,” Gibbon said.

“That or assign us to protecting snot-nosed kids at Hogwarts,” Stahl replied. As they continued to search for any sign of her, neither Gibbon nor Stahl ever thought to look up; if they had, they would have seen a blue kingfisher bird perched on the rain gutter and looking down at them. After they finally left, the kingfisher took flight, darted inside the ice cream parlour through the door that someone else had just opened, and flew over towards the loo where it transformed back into Karen Black.

Wand still raised, Karen pulled open the girls loo and found herself looking at three wands.

“What’s the best Star Wars movie,” Elizabeth asked.

“Empire,” Karen replied with a smile, then said, “What is the most important part of Doc Brown’s time machine?”

“The flux capacitor,” Harry said and they all relaxed.

“Mum, what is going on?” Elizabeth asked.

“I’ll explain later,” Karen said. “But we have to leave, now.”

(*)

Hours later Hit-Wizards Gibbon and Stahl stood in the office of Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour watching him engaged in a heated argument with his boss, Director Amelia Bones. Scrimgeour was very much of the old guard, like old Barty Crouch before his lateral transfer to International Cooperation. Bones, on the other hand, was emphatically not.

“I ordered surveillance only on Karen Black,” Bones was saying, “instead you sent these two idiots on a half-arsed attempt to detain her.”

“We could have used her as leverage and bait to recapture her husband,” Scrimgeour said.

“I am not Barty,” Bones hotly replied. “As long as I am in charge here, we will not use innocents as hostages. And it’s all a moot point anyway; now she’s spooked and no doubt scurrying back down into whatever hole she’d been hiding in earlier.” Bones turned to Gibbon and Stahl. “And just what were you two thinking following her into that shop when it was an obvious sign that she’d made you?”

“It didn’t look that way to us,” Stahl claimed. “I thought that it was just where she’d been going and that we could use the closed environment to corner her.”

“You two numbskulls better hope that you never manage to put Karen Black in a corner,” Bones retorted, “because, whatever else she might be, Karen Black is a veteran of the Blood War. If she’d decided to make a fight of it, half the Alley would look like a warzone and we’d be cleaning up your remains with a mop right about now.”

“She’s really that dangerous?” Gibbon asked, throat turning dry.

“Did you really expect a wizard like Sirius Black to marry some shrinking violet wallflower?” Bones asked rhetorically.

Chapter Text

"Oh wow," Hermione exclaimed as she followed Harry and Elizabeth into the Black Family Library. "This is incredible." Her neck turned from side to side and her mind raced as she tried to process how much knowledge this room must contain. She was glad that her parents had decided to save themselves a second trip to London and allow her to spend the night with Harry and Elizabeth again. When Hermione had first arrived she'd almost headed straight here and had only reluctantly allowed her friends to first show her to one of the bedrooms on the third floor. But after getting Crookshanks and her things squared away, she'd come right back the stairs.

"Yes, it is," said Elizabeth. She and Harry were both smiling.

The shelves had been labeled by subject and their contents sorted by relative difficulty level and Harry quickly noticed that most of the books fell into one of three categories: Martial magic, Dark spells and rituals that did not fall into the first category, and obscure magic that did not fall into either category.

"Do you think that the Dueling Club will be continued this year?" Hermione asked as they perused one of the shelves in the first category.

"I hope so," Harry said; he grabbed and opened one of the most well-worn spellbooks on the shelf in front of him, but was dismayed to discover that all of the spells within were at least fifth-year level.

"I guess it will all depend," Elizabeth added, grabbing another worn-looking spellbook, "on whether we get a competent Defense teacher this year."

(*)

When Harry, Hermione, and Elizabeth stepped out of the Floo and into Platform 9 ¾ the following morning, they found it even more packed than normal, what with Hit-Wizards posted near the entrance and roaming throughout the crowd. Not willing to risk a repeat of the previous day, Karen had lightened and shrunk their trunks, bid them farewell, then sent them on through. It was the first time they'd done it all alone, but Harry didn't feel even slightly nervous, not after all of the other things he'd survived over the past two years. Thankfully, Karen had lightened and shrunk their trunks; Hermione only had to carry Crookshanks, who was safely bundled away in his basket.

Not seeing Neville in the crowd, they quickly boarded the Hogwarts Express. The train seemed quite crowded and they finally found Neville near the back, looking almost frantic.

"Hey, guys," Neville began. "I'm sorry, but there aren't any empty compartments left."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out," Elizabeth said.

Harry took a look at the two nearest compartments. "Okay, let's see…this one has…Ron, Ginny, and a sleeping adult; pass…and over here…Luna Lovegood, sure, okay, fine, let's sit with her."

Luna Lovegood was reading the Quibbler magazine; this particular issue purported to reveal details of something called "the Rotfang Conspiracy". Luna looked up at them with a dreamy look on her face. "Oh, hello there, Harry Potter."

"Do you mind if we join you?" Harry asked

Luna shrugged as if he'd asked about the weather, but Harry would have sworn that he saw the barest hint of a smile on her face. "Sure, there's plenty of room here." As they took seats—Hermione and Elizabeth on either side of Harry, Neville next to Luna—the train started to move out of the station. Hermione let Crookshanks out of his basket.

Luna continued. "Normally I sit with Ginny, but lately she and Ronald have both developed an acute infestation of wrackspurts."

Harry blinked. "Wrackspurts?"

Now did Luna smile ever so slightly. "Oh, yes; they're tiny invisible creatures that float into your ear and make your brain go fuzzy."

On either side of him Hermione and Elizabeth both scoffed; Neville just blinked in confusion. Harry, for his part, didn't really know what to make of it.

"Can you actually prove that such things exist?" Hermione asked.

"You're a muggleborn, aren't you?" Luna observed.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Only this: four years ago, you would have said that exact same thing if anyone had ever tried to convince you that unicorns and dragons actually existed."

"But I do now have evidence that they exist," Hermione replied, "I've seen a dragon with my own eyes."

"But there are many creatures—both muggle and magical—that you've never seen, but—having read about them—you have no doubts that they exist, right?" Hermione nodded. "So, you have asked me to prove that wrackspurts exist? I ask you to prove to me that they don't exist."

"You can't prove a negative," Hermione argued.

"Can't you?" Luna disagreed. "When a court finds someone innocent of committing a crime, couldn't it be said that their barrister has in fact proven a negative—that his client didn't commit the crime?"

"Sometimes," Hermione conceded, "And sometimes someone commits a crime and gets off anyway because there isn't enough evidence to convict them."

"And sometimes someone can be caught with evidence that they committed a crime, when in fact they didn't," Luna calmly replied, briefly glancing at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth looked back at her. "You—you believe that my father is innocent?"

Luna shrugged. "I don't know what to believe, one way or the other; but I do know that you must have some kind of evidence of his innocence, or else why would you and Harry here be so close? I also know that whatever this evidence is, it won't stand up in a court, or else your father would have been exonerated years ago."

Luna calmly returned her attention to the Quibbler. The Hogwarts Express moved steadily north and the scenery outside the window became wilder and darker while the clouds overhead thickened overhead. Crookshanks settled in an empty seat. Neville finally broke the silence when he asked about Hermione's vacation in France, which she was only too happy to tell them about.

Outside the Hogwarts Express moved onward, steadily north, while the clouds overhead thickened. Hermione was halfway through a story about her father falling into a canal when the food cart arrived.

Later in the afternoon it started to rain and over the next few hours, as the train continued north, the rain thickened until you couldn't even see out the windows and then it started to become darker and darker, until lights flickered all throughout the train. And then the train started to slow.

"Why are we slowing?" Hermione asked, checking her watch. "We can't be there already."

But the train continued to slow. Harry started to get up but at that moment the train finally came to halt altogether with a jolt that knocked him off his feet. There were the distant thuds and bangs of luggage falling out of racks. And then, all of a sudden, the lights all went out, plunging them into total darkness. Harry couldn't even see his hand in front of him as he tried to find his wand by touch and memory alone.

"What's happening?" Neville asked frantically. "What's going on?"

"Lumos!" Harry's wandtip lit up but it was a pale, dim light that only seemed to make the surrounding darkness seem all the more oppressive. The others quickly followed suit and Hermione placed a glass jar containing her bluebell flames on the floor of the compartment; this finally gave them just enough light to see that the glass in the windows and door begin frosting up as the temperature suddenly dropped. Harry shivered. Though the frosted glass he could see a tall, dark…thing moving down the corridor. It suddenly paused. The door opened.

Whatever it was, it was completely covered in a black cloak and, as it drew nearer, the room became even colder. Harry felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, and the cold became even more intense. Harry could no longer feel it with just his skin, now it seemed to be in his chest, in his very heart…

Harry's eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn't see; the cold had become an ocean and he was drowning, his ears were rushing and roaring as though being dragged down through water, deeper and deeper….

In his mind's eye Harry saw Quirrelmort standing over him with wand raised…saw himself running down a corridor, the blinded basilisk careening after him…saw Pyrites and the diary-possessed Ron standing before him with wands raised….and then the screaming started; it was a woman, desperate, terrified, and pleading. And with the screaming also came laughter, a terrible and cold laughter, cruel and dismissive. Harry tried to move but couldn't. There was a flash of green light and then…

"Harry! Harry! Can you hear me? Are you all right? Harry, wake up! Harry!?"

A sharp pain across his left cheek. Then another one across his right cheek. Again and again. Someone was slapping his face.

Harry's eyes opened. "Wh-what?" He blinked and looked around. The lights were back on, the train was moving again, and he was now lying on the floor. Hermione and Elizabeth were kneeling next to him, while Neville was watching from his seat. Luna's dreamy expression was gone; now she was curled up in the corner and leaning against the window, looking to be on the verge of tears.

There was someone else standing near the door. A man who looked vaguely familiar somehow. He was wearing shabby-looking robes and looked a bit ill and tired, with light brown hair that was flecked with gray.

With some help from Hermione and Elizabeth, Harry managed to get back into his seat, but he still felt very sick and he could feel cold sweat on his forehead. Hermione picked up his wand from where it had fallen and handed it back to him.

"Are you okay?" The man asked. Harry just shook his head, still reeling inside and not trusting his voice. The man took out a large of bar of chocolate, broke it up and started handing it out, giving Harry the biggest piece. "Here, eat this; you'll feel better."

Harry took the chocolate but hesitated.

"Who are you? And what was that thing?"

"That," the man said, "was a dementor, one of the Azkaban guards. And I am Professor Remus Lupin, your—,"

"Uncle Moony!" Harry and Elizabeth said in near-unison. Harry took a bite of the chocolate and felt immediately a rush a warmth spread throughout his body, from his head to his toes.

Lupin suddenly looked very uncomfortable, while everyone else just looked confused.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked. "A moment ago you didn't even know who he was, but now you're calling him your 'uncle'?"

"I was a close friend with both of their fathers," Lupin quickly explained, giving Harry and Elizabeth a sharp glance. "'Moony' was…well, let's just call it a childish nickname. Knowing Karen as I do, you two probably have heard a great deal about many of our…youthful indiscretions. But, as I am now your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, I ask as a personal favor that you keep such knowledge to yourselves and that you only call me 'Uncle Moony' in private."

Harry and Elizabeth, their mouths both full of chocolate, simply nodded; Lupin being a werewolf was not their secret to tell. For Harry's part, he was curious about why Lupin had never visited. Karen had never talked much about it, but there was clearly some kind of problem between them. However, this was neither the time nor place to ask about such things.

"Now," Lupin continued. "I must speak with the conductor."

After he had left, Hermione spoke up. "Okay, you two; spill."

"Hmm?" Elizabeth asked.

"He was a close friend of your fathers, and probably well acquainted with your mothers too; you've heard a lot of stories about him, so start talking."

"Hermione," Harry said, "Didn't you just hear him ask us not to tell?"

"He said not to spread it around," Hermione said. "But we're your friends."

But Elizabeth just shook her head. "Sorry, but where this is concerned, it's not our place to tell."

"If you want me to leave, I will," Luna suddenly spoke up.

"No," Harry said with a slashing gesture. "Look, I'm sorry, but Lupin asked us to keep quiet about his past, and we are going to respect that."

Hermione huffed in quiet resignation. "Fine, then; I'll just have to figure out for himself whatever it is that you are reluctant to talk about."

"Good luck," Harry said. As smart as Hermione was, Harry wouldn't put it past her to eventually put the pieces together. "So, what did I miss?"

"Not much," Neville said. Thanks to the chocolate everyone was returning to normal; though "normal" in Luna's case was a relative term. "The dementor was just standing there, looking around. You went all rigid, slid out of your seat and started twitching. Then Lupin came along and shot some silvery thing at it from his wand, and it turned and glided away.

"It was horrible," Elizabeth commented. "And not just the cold, I felt—I felt like I'd never be happy again."

"And no one else…er…no one else fell out of their seat?" Harry asked.

"No," said Hermione. "Though Elizabeth and Luna were really shaking for a while."

"A scream…," Harry trailed off "I heard a scream, did someone scream?"

"Nobody screamed, Harry," Hermione told him.

"But…but I heard it, in my head I could hear it, clear as a bell, and…and…."

"Hearing voices is never a good thing," Luna quietly said from behind her magazine. "Even in the Wizarding World."

There was very little conversation for the rest of the journey, which thankfully was only about fifteen minutes. The rain had not let up by the time they pulled into Hogsmeade station, and in fact seemed to be coming down ever harder in icy sheets. The ride up to the castle in the Thestral-driven coaches brought them past two more dementors, that were standing guard on either side of the Hogwarts gates, and Harry felt a wave of sickness again as they passed.

Lupin's chocolate had helped, but Harry was still so shaken up as they sat down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall that he didn't really notice all the students con the Sorting more or less passed in a daze, the names of the new students and their houses all blurring together until it was just background noise. After a seeming eternity the Sorting finally came to an end and Professor Dumbledore rose to speak.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. As all of you have undoubtedly heard by now, there is presently a very dangerous criminal on the loose and until he has been apprehended our school is going to be guarded by some of the Dementors of Azkaban." Dumbledore paused and Harry couldn't help but swallow. "They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds and so, for as long as they are here, nobody is to leave the school without permission and an escort. Make no mistakes: Dementors cannot be fooled by tricks, disguises, or Invisibility Cloaks, and it is not in their nature to understand pleading or excuses. They will make no distinctions between the one they hunt and the one who stands in their way, so I must urge and warn you all: give them no reason to harm you. I look especially to our prefects and our new Head Boy and Girl to ensure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors."

Harry noted Percy Weasley—who had the Head Boy badge pinned on his chest—puffed up a bit at this.

"On a happier note," Dumbledore continued. "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to the faculty this year: Professor Lupin, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." There was scant applause, mostly unenthusiastic considering Hogwarts' reputation for DADA professors—especially over the last two years—but Harry, Elizabeth, Neville, and Luna all clapped quickly and loudly. Lupin's robes looked rather shabby compared to all of the other teachers. "And although the revived Dueling Tournament last year was cancelled, it has been brought back again by popular demand and will now be overseen by Professor Lupin in addition to his teaching duties."

Harry couldn't help but smile now. The way he kept landing in danger, he really needed to pick up some more tricks; he was already better than most students his age, but that was still not good enough.

"Now, as to the second new appointment," Dumbledore continued. "It saddens me to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of the previous term. His post will be filled by Professor Grubbly-Plank." An elderly witch stood; she had closely cropped grey hair and a prominent chin. The applause was only slightly less tepid this time.

"And now," Dumbledore finished. "Let the feast begin."

Later a much fuller and more relaxed Harry was on his way up to Gryffindor tower with the rest of his housemates when he heard Professor McGonagall calling him. "Potter," she said sharply. "Come with me. I need a word with you in my office. Move along now, the rest of you." Elizabeth briefly looked rebellious.

Harry followed McGonagall to her office and found Madam Pomfrey waiting there. "Professor Lupin has informed us," McGonagall began as Pomfrey began checking Harry's temperature, pulse and other vitals, "that you took ill on the train, a reaction to the dementors?"

"I'm fine," Harry insisted. "Really, I am. He gave us some chocolate and I felt right as rain."

"Well that's good news, at least," Pomfrey said. "Good to finally have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies. I'd better make sure to keep a supply, you won't be the only one to faint like that."

"If you are quite sure that you feel fine," McGonagall continued. "Then you may go, the new password is Fortuna Major."

Harry nodded; he opened the door to McGonagall's office and did a double take as he nearly walked into Elizabeth, who must have been listening at the door judging from how close she was to it.

"Miss Black," McGonagall began in a scolding tone. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry, Professor," Elizabeth replied. "I was just worried….about Harry, I mean. He reacted so badly to that dementor—much worse than any of the rest of us, and…well…"

McGonagall's stern gaze lightened considerably. "Your loyalty is commendable, Miss Black, even if your eavesdropping is not. Now, off to the tower, the both of you."

"What was that all about?" Harry asked as they resumed their walk up to Gryffindor tower.

"As I told McGonagall," Elizabeth said. "I'm worried about you. When that dementor entered I—," she bit her lip for a moment, then sighed. "I relived being tortured by Riddle and Pyrites. It wasn't just the memory, it was as if it actually happening all over again. But as bad as that was, I didn't faint from it. What happened to you?"

"I—I don't know. It started with Quirrelmort, the basilisk, and Pyrites, but then…then it got even worse."

"Worse?"

"Worse," Harry confirmed. "I heard a woman screaming fit to wake the dead, and a man laughing—a terrible, cruel laughter—and then a flash of green light."

"And then what?"

"And then I woke up to someone slapping my face."

They walked in silence for the rest of their trip.

"Fortuna Major," Harry said to the portrait of the Fat Lady and stepped inside the common room… right into the middle of a screaming match between Hermione and Ron. The two were red-faced and standing five feet away from each other in the middle of the room; Ron was holding a squirming Scabbers in both hands, while Hermione had a double armful of a struggling, hissing Crookshanks. Many other Gryffindors were standing or sitting around them—giving them a wide berth—but nonetheless intently watching the argument as if it was a Quidditch game. Fred and George were in a corner, apparently taking bets. Neville was sitting in another corner, looking completely helpless; Harry couldn't see Percy nor any of the prefects.

"YOU KEEP THAT BLOODY CAT AWAY FROM SCABBERS!" Ron was yelling. "IF I EVER SEE THAT THING IN MY DORM, I'LL—,"

"YOU'LL WHAT? YOU LAY SO MUCH AS A FINGER ON CROOKSHANKS AND I'LL—,"

Elizabeth and Harry drew their wands; Harry raised his wand up high and a loud BANG! issued from it, drowning out both Ron and Hermione and momentarily drawing everyone's attention. "I don't know how this started and I really don't care." His wand swiveled towards Ron. "You! Weasley! Dorm! Now!"

"And just who do you think you are, Potter?" Weasley retorted. "You can't order me around."

"But I can stun you. And don't think that I won't if you even think about drawing on me."

"And," Elizabeth chimed in. "If we have to haul your arse up the stairs, it'll be without your stupid rat.

Ron gave them a cold, venomous glare, then turned and headed for the stairs; the crowd quickly parted to let him through as if he had the plague. Harry sheathed his wand and headed over to Hermione. Crookshanks was settling down in her arms now.

"Thank you," Hermione told them quietly.

With the drama over, normal activity in the Common Room resumed. Harry, Elizabeth, and Hermione took a seat next to Neville. At Elizabeth's coaxing, Harry reluctantly repeated to them what he'd previously shared with her. There was long moment of silence between them.

"Harry," Hermione finally said. "Do you think that you were—I mean, could it be possible that this is your memory of—of that night?"

Harry frowned. "I don't know. On the one hand, I was only 15 months old at the time. But, on the other hand, I can't think of what else it could be as that dementor dredged up all my other bad memories. Whatever memory I have of that night would definitely rank as the worst of the lot."

(*)

When they entered the Great Hall the following morning for breakfast, every conversation seemed to halt at once and all eyes seemed to be fixed on Elizabeth as they headed for Gryffindor table.

"Hey Potter," Malfoy called out, finally breaking the silence as they passed. "Is it true you fainted on the train?" Malfoy and Parkinson started pretending to have swooning fits, to much laughter from the rest of the Slytherins.

"Ignore him, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "It's not worth it—he's not worth it, just ignore him."

For once Harry actually found himself in agreement with that sentiment; compared to everything else he'd had to deal with in the past two years, this was just beneath him. Fred and George passed over the third-year schedules as they sat down. Elizabeth looked over hers and sighed.

"Hufflepuff…Hufflepuff….Hufflepuff….Hufflepuff….every single class is with Hufflepuff!"

"Wait, what?" Harry picked up his own schedule and, sure enough, every one of their core classes was paired with Hufflepuff. This was unusual because in their first year fully half of all their classes—regardless of subject—had been paired with Slytherin, and the rest had been split between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff; while in second year House pairings had been by subject: Ravenclaw for Charms and History; Hufflepuff for Astronomy, Herbology and Transfiguration; and Slytherin for Potions and DADA. This year, however….

'I wonder who they're trying to keep apart?' Harry idly wondered. 'Malfoy and myself…or Hermione and Prewett?' It didn't even necessarily have to be one or the other, for that matter. And there could be some other reason he didn't know of.

Today was Thursday, so his first class would be Double Charms, then he was free until lunch; then Double Potions, followed by Double Runes and then dinner. Tomorrow would see him free the whole morning, Double Transfiguration right after lunch, followed by DADA and then he was free until dinner. Monday had Double DADA in the morning, then Double Arithmancy after the break, then Double Herbology after lunch, then a free period followed by Transfiguration. Tuesday had Double Runes in the morning, then nothing until Double History after lunch, followed by Herbology. And Wednesday had Double Astronomy, then Double Arithmancy after the break; and after lunch was Charms, Potions, and History.

Hermione's schedule was the same, while Neville had Muggle Studies and Divination during their free periods, and free periods during their Runes and Arithmancy classes.

"I thought you liked Hufflepuffs," Hermione teased her friend.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "A Hufflepuff. Singular. But the lot of them seem to think that I'm a dark lady in training, or something." She regretted that comment later on, though, when Fred and George started making comments like "Oh no, it's the Dark Lady!" and "Make way, make way, seriously evil witch coming through here!" every time they passed in the hall.

(*)

Charms was a revision on the Levitation Charm and also covered more advanced ways of using it, while Potions opened up a combination pop-quiz/lecture on the Shrinking Solution. But the class Harry was really looking forward to right now was Runes. Harry noticed that—aside from himself, Hermione and Elizabeth—the class seemed to be mostly Ravenclaws and Slytherins, though thankfully not Malfoy, Parkinson, Crabbe, or Goyle.

Professor Babbling was a tall and stern-looking witch with light skin, brown hair, and brown eyes.

"Ancient Runes," she began after taking attendance, "is the study of language and its importance in spellcasting; over the next three years you will learn several ancient alphabets, their uses, and why they are used—including the Futhark alphabets, Phoenician and Greek, and finally Hebrew and Arabic; the Egyptian Hieroglyphs and Sumerian are covered in the advanced NEWT class. Open your textbooks to page three, please; we will be starting with the Runa Futhark."

As she went down the list of different runes, Harry noted that his scar looked a lot like a Sowilo but inverted.

"Each rune can be written two ways: normal and reversed." Babbling continued. "When a rune is reversed, the opposite meaning is indicated. Rune writing is not only done on physical objects as many wand movements are in fact spelling out one or more runes that either mean or are sympathetic to the intended purpose of the spell."

Harry noted that the Sowilo rune normally meant "life"; his mouth suddenly felt dry and he swallowed as the implications sunk in.

"Is something bothering you, Mr. Potter," Babbling asked, interrupting Harry's thought processes. Harry suddenly felt all eyes trained on him.

"Hmm, what? Oh, sorry professor, I was just thinking about what you said about reversed runes and wand movements."

"Oh? And what of it?"

"Well…it's just that I think my scar kinda looks like a Sowilo but…reversed."

Babbling raised an eyebrow, then walked over, brushed his hair back, and examined it for a moment.

"Hmm, I think that you may be right, Mr. Potter. And, as it turns out, there is indeed a spell that uses a reversed Sowilo as its movement. It is one of the darkest curses known to wizards, the Killing Curse." She headed back to the front of the class. "But," she continued in a much lighter tone, relieving much of the tension in the class "runes also have uses in enchanting magical items."

The lecture continued but Harry was only half-listening. What did it mean that he had a reversed Sowilo embedded into his forehead? Was it just a side-effect of him surviving the spell meant to kill him—a spell apparently designed for the sole and specific purpose of killing—or something else entirely? And then there was that partial memory the dementors had unearthed from the deepest part of his mind.

What had happened that night?

Chapter Text

“Hey,” Seamus Finnegan called out to Harry and Elizabeth as they sat down in the Great Hall for breakfast on Friday morning. Finnegan was excitedly waving around a folded Daily Prophet. “Sirius Black’s been sighted!”

“Wait? What? Give me that.” Elizabeth snatched the paper out of his hands and began to read the article. Seamus summarized for the rest of them.

“It was at a Muggle village not far from here,” he said. “Course they don’t know who he really is, they were just told that he’s a dangerous criminal; so anyway, the Muggle called the telephone hotline that the Ministry’s set up, but by the time they got there, he was gone.”

“Do you think he could be coming here?” Dean Thomas wondered aloud.

“But to what end?” Seamus asked.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Fred interjected “He wants to check up on his little girl, make sure no one’s being mean to her.”

“All hail the dark lady,” George said as he and Fred made exaggerated fake bows in her direction. Elizabeth just rolled her eyes and went back to her breakfast.

(*)

Later that morning saw Harry, Hermione, and Elizabeth hard at work in the North Wing study room creating notecards of the various runes in the Runa Futhark. They were just finishing up when Harry saw Neville arriving.

“So,” Harry began, “how was Divination?”

“Horrible,” Neville replied, sinking into an empty chair. “I wish I’d picked Care of Magical Creatures now.”

‘What happened?” Hermione asked

“Well first I got lost just finding the classroom,” Neville began. “So I was almost late. Then the teacher, Professor Trelawney, made some comment about my grandmother’s health and a bunch of other weird stuff. Then we were paired off to study tea leaves and I ended up with Ron Weasley.”

“Ouch,” Elizabeth commented.

“So there I was,” Neville said. “Looking into Ron’s teacup, turning it round and round trying to see anything in that mess of tea leaves, but I couldn’t. So Professor Trelawney comes over, examines it, and then declares that she sees a Grim—an omen of death that apparently looks like a large black dog.”

Harry and Elizabeth shared a glance at this. Due to being unregistered the Marauders had never taken—nor ever allowed anyone to take—photos of them while transformed, but she and Harry still had still been told what they were in general terms and her father’s animagus form had been described to them as “a large black dog”.

‘It’s probably just a coincidence’, she decided. Based on Neville’s description, Professor Trelawney sounded quite batty. And—all of Fred and George’s joking aside—Elizabeth rather doubted that her father would go to all the trouble of breaking out of Azkaban just to kill Ron Weasley.

(*)

A jaunty tune was playing from an old Gramaphone in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom; all the desks and chairs had been pushed up against the walls and a battered old wardrobe stood at the far end of the classroom, with students lined up to face the boggart from within.

Parvati stepped forward and the boggart became a mummy. “Riddikulus!” She cried and the mummy completely unraveled into a pile of linen. Parvati stepped aside for Justin Finch-Fletchley, and the linen transformed into a huge snake.

“Riddikulus!” He cast and the snake became a Jack-In-The-Box. Seamus stepped forward and it became a banshee. “Riddikulus!” He cast and suddenly it lost its voice. Fay Dunbar stepped forward and the Banshee became a bloody eyeball. “Riddikulus!” She cast and the eyeball became a bouncy ball. Lavender Brown stepped forward and the ball became a rat, which Lavender trapped in a cage with a hamster wheel. Then it was Dean’s turn and the rat became a severed hand, which he caught in a mouse-trap. Ron finally stepped forward and the boggart turned into an enormous spider, which he put on roller skates.

Now it was Neville’s turn; he stepped forward and the spider transformed into an elderly man who had a vague resemblance to Neville but a nasty expression on his face. The man started over towards him. “Come here you little Squib—!”

“Riddikilus!” Neville cast and the man’s shoes suddenly turned backwards so that he tripped and fell.

Elizabeth stepped forward and the boggart changed into another man, whom she and Harry recognized as her father, lying on the floor and bound in chains. A tear slid down her cheek as her breath caught, but she steadied herself and said, “Riddikulus!” The chains popped off one by one.

Harry stepped forward and the room suddenly felt much colder; a dementor now loomed in front of him and Harry was frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to think, as the terrible screaming and laughter playing itself out in his mind again. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was all over. Harry blinked and saw that Lupin had interposed himself, causing the boggart to transform into a full moon. Lupin lazily aimed his wand at the moon and said “Riddikulus!” The moon became a balloon and flew back into the wardrobe, which shut behind it.

“Okay,” Professor Lupin announced as he turned back to face them, “I think that’s enough excitement for one day; five points to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for each student who faced the Boggart. Five points each to Hermione and Harry for correctly answering my questions at the start of class; homework is to read the chapter on Boggarts and summarize it for me in your own words, due on Monday. Class dismissed.”

The classroom emptied, with many students chatting excitedly about how they’d handled the boggart. But Harry and Elizabeth lingered, as did Hermione and Neville when they realized that their friends weren’t leaving.

“I suppose you two want to talk to me now,” Lupin asked. “You don’t have any more classes today?”

“No, Professor,” Elizabeth said.

“Very well then,” said Lupin. He shooed Hermione and Neville out the door, then sealed with Colloportus and Muffliato. “I imagine one of your biggest questions for me,” said Lupin as he walked back over towards them. “Is why your ‘Uncle Mooney’ hasn’t been in your lives?”

“Do you really believe that my father is guilty?” Elizabeth asked. “How? I thought you were close friends.”

“I was,” said Lupin. “We were. James and Sirius were the best friends I ever and, the two of them were as close as brothers. But—things changed.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “What changed?”

“Well—,” Lupin drew out the word, then paused; it was obvious that something was eating him up inside, but equally obvious that he didn’t really want to talk about whatever it was. Finally he said, “I’m sure Karen has told you—at least in part—about the Order of the Phoenix?” They both nodded and he continued. “We—Karen, Lily, James, Sirius, Peter, and myself—all joined right out Hogwarts. Your parents were the best fighters and so that is what they did for the Order; Peter and myself, though, were given different assignments: I was deep undercover in the werewolf community while Peter—being a rat animagus—was often sent to snoop around in places too dangerous to send a normal undercover agent. When I started hearing rumors that the Dark Lord had been defeated, I broke cover and went to Professor Dumbledore, and he told me that Sirius had betrayed Lily and James. I didn’t want to believe it at the time—a part of me still doesn’t—”

“But you trusted him anyway?” Elizabeth said. “Over your own friends.”

Lupin stiffened. “I have my reasons,” he said. “And that’s all I have to say. For now.”

“What the hell happened between them?” Elizabeth wondered aloud in the hallway outside.

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “But it must have been something bad.”

(*)

Early Saturday morning Harry awoke to see Oliver Wood standing over him. “Come on, get up,” he said, “team meeting in 30 minutes!”

“Wha—?” Harry slurred out. “What? Already? Didn’t we only just get back?” Normally Quidditch practice didn’t start until a couple weeks after the start of term.

“Yes, and we’ve got a lot of work to do. Now get up, double time!”

Harry was still groggy and half-asleep when he stumbled into the Gryffindor locker room; to his dismay, everyone else seemed just as lively and fresh as Wood.  

“This is it! This is my last chance to lead our team to victory. Gryffindor has had some rotten luck over the years: a five-year streak where we consistently lost both Cups, then we won the Quidditch Cup but not the House Cup, and then we lost Fred and George for almost a whole year and had Qudditch cancelled,” Wood paused and swallowed, still obviously bitter about that, but then his manic glint returned. “But this year will be different, because we’re all back together: three superb Chasers, two excellent Beaters—,”

“Stop it Oliver, you’re embarrassing us,” said Fred and George together as they pretended to blush.

Wood ignored them, “And an unbeatable Seeker,” he continued with a fierce pride. “And me,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Oh yes, you’re very good too,” George said.

“A spanking good Keeper,” Fred agreed.

“The point is,” Wood went on, “is that this is going to be our year; nothing is going to stop us this time, and that is why we are starting early. Between Fred and George being Petrified and the tournament being cancelled we are all out of practice, and that is going to change.” As Wood spoke, Harry’s lingering fatigue left him and now he felt energized and determined.  “We are going to practicing at least three evenings a week, rain or shine, nothing will stop us!”

(*)

Several hours later Harry was on his way back to Gryffindor tower; rounding a corner into the Fat Lady’s Corridor, he abruptly stopped. Standing there in front of him were four older students he recognized from the Gryffindor dueling team last year: The oldest was Peter Jones, now a seventh year; he had blue eyes and brown hair and, despite being the oldest, always managed to look timid and awkward. Next was Terry Strickland; he also had blue eyes, but they were a darker shade, and his hair was blonde; a prefect badge was pinned to his robes and—despite being a Gryffindor—he’d always somehow managed to remind Harry of Draco Malfoy. Adam Pickering, now the fifth year, had brown hair and grey yes; he’d never gotten over losing to Harry last year and looked now like he had something to prove. Then there was Angus Matlock, now the fourth-year member; he had short and curly dark brown hair and brown eyes and taken his own defeat by Harry last year much more graciously. 

“Ahh, finally,” Strickland said, in a voice that somehow managed to ooze privilege. “I was starting to wonder if Wood was ever going to let you go.”

Harry felt a tingle in his spine; something about this felt wrong. “What’s up? Is the team going to be meeting again soon?”

“That’s what we are here about,” Strickland replied. “I assume you’ve read about Sirius Black’s escape and the most recent sighting?”

Harry blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” Strickland said, now sounding frustrated. “Look, your friendship with Elizabeth Black was odd but at least somewhat tolerable as long as her father remained locked up. But now that he’s on the loose, it’s become idiotic. You can no longer trust her; especially if they’re right about Black being on his way here with blood in his eye for the one who took down his master.”

Harry forced his fists to unclench and took a deep breath before replying: “Elizabeth is not just a friend; she’s like a sister to me, and I am not worried about her father.”

“Well,” Pickering interjected “You should be; he was You-Know-Who’s right hand man, everyone knows it.”

“I don’t believe that,” Harry said. “I am convinced that he’s innocent, that he was framed somehow—,”

“The Ministry doesn’t send people to Azkaban for loitering, Potter,” Strickland declared.

“But they do send people to Azkaban just for appearances sake,” Harry angrily retorted. “Or am I the only here who remembers what they did to Hagrid last spring?”

“That was different—,”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“You can’t possibly know what their reasoning was—,”

“Yes, I do,” Harry said. “I was there.” Under his father’s Invisibility Cloak, perhaps, but they didn’t need to know about that.

“One person being arrested because of a misunderstanding doesn’t mean that the whole lot in Azkaban are innocent.”

“True,” Harry admitted, “But if it happened today, then it could have happened twelve years ago.”

“Be that as it may,” Strickland continued, “You cannot know, for a fact, that he is innocent; simple prudence and common-sense demands being a bit more cautious with who you trust.” That ominous feeling returned; Harry had the sense that he’d just failed some test. “And if you are unwilling to accept that, then you have no place on this team.” And, just like that, the other shoe dropped. “The Weasley Twins might see the whole thing as a joke, but the possibility of Black using his daughter to get to you is no laughing matter, and someone so unconcerned about their safety does not belong on this team.”

Harry speared each of the boys with a cold look; Peter Jones actually seemed to wilt under his gaze but the others all remained firm. “You’re kicking me out? Me? A third-year who’s already better than half you? Who are you gonna replace me with? Weasley?”

“Ronald Weasley may not be as skilled as you are,” Pickering said. “But he’s already better than any classmate not named Potter, Black, or Granger.”

“Hah, in a duel between Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom, I’d put my money on Neville.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Strickland brushed that aside, “This discussion is over: either you distance yourself from Black, or you are off the team.”

“Then I’m off the team,” Harry said without a moment’s hesitation. “Have fun trying to beat Slytherin without me.” And with that he walked past them towards the Fat Lady.

(*)

“Arithmancy,” Professor Vector—a dark-haired witch dressed in red robes—said to her third-year class on Monday, “is a form of divination, but is taught as a separate subject because its methods and results are very different from the ‘traditional methods’ taught by Professor Trelawney; instead of the wooly and imprecise guesswork from tea leaves and such, Arithmancy is rigorous and mathematical; it is based only on that which is already known and verifiable and thus only seeks to determine what is probable.” She paused for a moment to let that sink in, looking at each of them in turn.

“Everything that exists has a numerological value associated with it,” Vector continued “and so an arithmancer can use those values to develop predictive models for estimating the probably of any given event actually happening. This has many useful applications beyond simply trying, say, to determine the probability of your favorite Quidditch team winning their next game. A curse-breaker can use arithmancy to evaluate the numerology of the curse they want to counter, the counter-curse they wish to use, and then analyze how the two would interact—thus greatly minimizing the risk of failure and/or injury. Likewise, spell discovery can be very dangerous but arithmancy can be used to greatly reduce that danger by determining and analyzing the numerological values of the intended effects of that spell and the likelihood of success.”

Harry did his best to stay focused as the lecture proceeded deeper into the theory of Arithmancy but a part of his mind kept mentally replaying his conversation with Strickland and Pickering. Just what was their problem? Why couldn’t they give Lizzie a chance? Why did they have to be so unreasonable?

Later that day Harry shared his frustrations with Wood, who just sighed and looked at him for a moment, then said:

“From their perspective it was you who was being unreasonable,” he said. “They don’t know her like you do.”

“Well, neither do you.” Harry pointed out.

“No, but I do know you,” Wood replied. “Also a lot better than they do. I admit that I was concerned at first, but not anymore; not after having seen the way she cares about you. There are some things that can’t be faked. Just give them time and I’m sure they’ll come to regret this.”

Having almost all classes with the Hufflepuffs had certainly shaken up their dynamics; Harry, Hermione, and Elizabeth were accustomed to being the ones who could always be counted on to have the answer to a question—with Mafalda as their only competition. But the Hufflepuffs—valuing as they did hard work and patience—tended to be much more prepared for classes than most of the Gryffindors.

As September gave way to October—bringing with it stormy weather—and between Quidditch training, classes and a seemingly endless flood of homework, Harry was soon so busy that Halloween snuck up and ambushed him this year. But the prospect of visiting Hogsmeade for the first time lifted his spirits a bit.

“Ginny Weasley is following us again,” Elizabeth said sotto voce; they were near the tail-end of the crowd of Gryffindors heading down to the Entrance Hall.

“So ignore her.” Harry pointedly did not look back; the last thing he wanted was to give her anything that even looked like encouragement. Hermione had a tiny smirk as she hooked her arm with Harry’s. At least Ginny was only a second year.

When they reached the Entrance Hall Neville turned to them and said. “Well, have fun.” Then he made a beeline for Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot—the latter quickly grabbed his arm. Harry couldn’t help but smile; Neville had come a long way from the nervous boy he’d first met two years ago.

It was only a short walk from the castle to the village, past the Quidditch pitch on one side and the forest on the other and, for a short time, it seemed that there was nothing at all was wrong in the world.

Their first visit was to the Three Broomsticks, which they stopped inside just long enough to buy three bottles of butterbeer. Outside they spent the day exploring the village and its many shops and other sights— Hermione practically squealed when they found the bookstore “Tomes and Scrolls”.

They finally returned to Hogwarts just in time for dinner. Ginny might not have been able to follow them to Hogsmeade yet, but she still managed to snag a seat across from Harry. “So,” Ginny said, blatantly batting her eyelashes at Harry, “have fun in Hogsmeade?”

“Indeed we did,” Harry said.

“Oh yes,” Hermione added as she and Harry shared a smile, “Loads of fun. It’s such a lovely village.”

“So,” Ginny continued, “Harry, could you please tutor me in dueling? I can’t believe that they actually kicked you off the team; it was a huge mistake.”

“I appreciate your sympathies,” Harry said, as blandly as he could, “but between homework and Quidditch, I am very busy.” Ginny slumped and sulked.

After the feast they followed the rest of the Gryffindors out of the Great Hall and found the Fat Lady’s corridor packed with students.

“What’s going on?” Percy Weasley announced as he forced his way through the crowd. “One side, one side, Head Boy, coming through, what’s the holdup?”

Harry took advantage of the gap being made for Percy to slip in behind him; Hermione, Elizabeth, and Neville right behind him.

The crowd abruptly fell silent and Percy sharply said, “Someone get Professor Dumbledore. Quick.”

“Oh my—,” Hermione exclaimed as they finally got close enough to see what was going on; she grabbed Harry’s arm.

The Fat Lady was gone from her portrait, which had been slashed and shredded.

A weary and grouchy looking Professor Dumbledore finally arrived, followed by Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn. On seeing the ruined portrait, Dumbledore grimly said:

“Find the Fat Lady and lockdown the castle.”

(*)

Hogwarts Castle had three main entrances: the main Entrance Hall, the Viaduct Entrance, and the Clock Tower Entrance; each entrance had a pair of huge oak doors and now these doors slammed shut and were then further sealed—first with numerous locking bolts and then a portcullis was lowered in front of each of them. Every window closed up and then iron spikes rose into place outside them.  

Within the castle, the Great Hall’s tables now rested against the walls, clearing the room for the students in sleeping bags on the floor. The Houses were all intermingled tonight, with most of the Gryffindors scattered throughout their Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin classmates—telling them, in hushed tones, about how the Fat Lady had finally been found in a forest painting on the fourth floor and had identified Sirius Black as her attacker.

But off to the side, a bit removed from everyone else, Harry, Hermione, and Elizabeth lay on the floor watching the night sky through the charmed ceiling.

“Dad must have had a good reason for it,” Elizabeth quietly said to the only audience she had. “He must have. He wouldn’t just—,” Her voice abruptly caught in her throat and Harry turned just in time to see a brief look of vulnerability flicker across her face—something he’d never expected to see in her; a tear trickled down her face. Harry reached over and took her hand.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, wishing that it were so. “He’ll be long gone by now; I just wish I knew what he was looking for.”

“You and me both.”

Hermione scooted over so that her sleeping bag was up against Harry’s and unzipped it just enough so that she could wrap her arms around Harry. Harry’s other arm wrapped around her and soon they were all asleep.

(*)

The school could talk of nothing else over the course of the next week, with increasingly wild theories as to how Sirius Black could have entered the castle. The Fat Lady absolutely refused to return without protection and so her ruined portrait had been replaced by one with one of a barmy knight called Sir Cadogan, who was prone to challenging people to duels and thinking up complicated passwords that he would then change at least twice a day.

Outside the weather was becoming stormy and the inside seemed at times little different, for wherever they went, Elizabeth was greeted with cold looks even from many of her fellow Gryffindors. The suspicion and hostility was beginning to grate on all of their nerves.

The weather had gotten really bad by Friday and that morning also brought unwelcome news at their last Quidditch practice before the game on Saturday.

“We aren’t going to be playing Slytherin,” Wood told them, looking quite angry. “Flint just met with me and claimed that one of his players is ill and that he doesn’t have a substitute. Of course it’s obvious that he just doesn’t want to play in this weather, but we can’t prove that. And so instead we’re going to be playing Hufflepuff.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Fred said as he and George loosened up. “For a moment I was worried there.”

“This is no joking matter,” said Wood. “We’ve been training assuming that we’re facing Slytherin, but Hufflepuff has a different playing style.”

“And the last time we played them,” George said, “Harry caught the Snitch in like five minutes.”

“That was in clear weather,” Wood replied. “And they’ve also got a new Captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory—,” Angelina, Alicia, and Katie all giggled—“and he’s put together a really good lineup, so you’ve got to take them seriously.”

“Okay, okay, Oliver, calm down” said Fred, looking a bit alarmed. “We’re taking Hufflepuff seriously.

“Very, very, seriously,” George nodded sagely.

The following morning they awoke to a full-blown thunderstorm, and one that showed no signs of abating by the time it was ready for the game.

“This is madness,” Hermione observed as she, Elizabeth and Neville made their way down to the stadium in the midst of the storm, “Why can’t they just reschedule?”

“Reschedule Quidditch?” Elizabeth replied. “Over a trifling little thing like a storm? Perish the thought.”

Not long after finding their seats the teams marched onto the field; Wood and Diggory shook hands, the teams mounted up and then Hooch blew her whistle to start the game. All too soon Hermione was clutching her cloak tightly around her face; she watched nervously as twice Harry came within a hairs breadth of being unseated by a Bludger, and two more times he nearly collided with another player.

“Something’s wrong with Harry,” Neville observed to the girls on either side of him. “It’s almost like he can’t see properly.”

“How can anyone see properly in this storm?” Hermione fired back heatedly

“Especially since Harry has—,” Elizabeth trailed off as her and Hermione’s eyes met

“Glasses!” They said in unison, and then jumped up. The first flash of lightning also brought the sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle and the players quickly descended to the ground to huddle underneath a pair of large umbrellas. Elizabeth and Hermione made it to the Gryffindor umbrella just in time to hear Wood saying.

“—up by fifty points, but unless we get the Snitch soon, we’ll be playing well into the night.”

“I’m trying,” Harry said, “But I can’t even see my hands with these.” He picked up his glasses off his face, squinting around for something vaguely dry. Then Hermione and Elizabeth came up next to him, almost startling Harry in the process.

“I’ve got it, Harry,” Hermione said and grabbed his glasses. She tapped them with her wand, saying. “Impervius!” Then she handed them back, “There you go, they’ll repel water now.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, able to see again, and smiled at her. Hermione blushed, then hugged him and kissed his cheek.

“Good luck,” Hermione said, then hurried back to the stands.

“Go get em,” Elizabeth added before following her.

But they had barely taken their seats again when there was more thunder and flashes of lightning; Hermione clutched her face again as Harry nearly collided with first another Bludger and then Diggory, only to then suddenly turn and take off after him.

And that was when it happened. Although the storm continued to rage all around them, its roar now seemed strangely muted; an eerie cold mist filled the stadium, and the rain turned to sleet.

“What? What’s happening?” Neville asked, looking around fearfully.

“Dementors!” Elizabeth exclaimed, pointing upwards. “Look!”

Hermione’s gaze turned upwards towards the swarm of dementors—just in time to see Harry fall off his broom.