"And I think that Percy just wants us to- Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry snapped his head up to look at the freckled, fourteen-year-old boy in front of him. His hair was a red mop, falling down in what would be very light blue eyes. The boy's name was Ron Weasley, and he was one of Harry's best friends.

They had been extremely close ever since they met in first year, both extremely small and excited at the prospect of going to Hogwarts, and Harry felt a cliché pang of nostalgia as he recalled their younger years. They had found the Sorcerer's Stone back in first year, had aided Harry in his attempt to find the Chamber of Secrets in second, and just last year, had helped Harry reveal the truth behind his godfather, Sirius Black.

His days at Hogwarts were filled with excitement, horror, and adventure- not in that order. Just then, Harry had been thinking about his so-called father. His luck would probably find him staring at Snape's sneering face, as he uttered the words, "You are no son of mine…"

"Harry- Harry, are you feeling alright?" said Hermione Granger, Harry's other best friend. She was a pretty girl, he supposed, even with her bushy brown hair, and he knew that Ron fancied her- he had been tempted to grab a knife from the Hogwarts' kitchen to cut the sexual tension between the two ever since third year. "You look a bit pale- is your scar hurting again?"

She anxiously peered into his face, her brown eyes filled with worry, like that of a mother's. He just shrugged and turned away, glancing out the snowy window with uninterested eyes. He knew he should've told his friends, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He was certain that Ron would instantly throw him out of the compartment, yelling curses about being a slimy git's son, and Hermione would just give him a dumbfounded look.

"I'm fine, Hermione, stop staring at me!" He yelled. She flinched, as though he had hit her. He sighed and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window, a strong barrier amongst the snow pattering at it impatiently.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. His breath made fog against the window, and he traced a little smiley face with one pale, trembling finger. "It's just… I discovered something over the summer. I-"

But then the compartment door slid open, and in came Ginny Weasley, Ron's little (and only) sister. Ginny blushed beet red at the sight of Harry and took a seat next to her brother, avoiding her brown eyes in fear they would find Harry's green ones. Harry only glanced at her indifferently and looked back out the window.

The rest of the ride was uneventful; mostly Ron chattered on about the delicious feast that was in a moments' time going to be warm in their stomachs, which ached from all the candy Harry had bought them. Harry tuned him out, until he finally realized Hermione was talking about the Death Eaters that had disturbed the World Cup just a few weeks ago.

"It's really quite horrible, isn't it? Poor Winky; I heard she didn't even get a fair trial! And it was all because of that filthy, no-good Crouch…" Hermione was muttering angrily. Ron threw her a dark look.

"Don't let Percy hear you say that," He warned in a low voice. "He acts like a lovesick puppy around Crouch, it's positively sick…"

Soon, it was time for them to don their school robes and exit the train, wind and rain beating against their faces. Harry shuddered and tugged at his school robes, grateful that he was not one of the many first years crossing the boats with Hagrid, the kind-hearted Gatekeeper that Harry had come to know and love over the many years he had spent at Hogwarts.

They rode in the carriages, pulled by the frightening winged creatures, grandly called Threstrals, that only Harry seemed to be able to see. They had chattered eagerly about whom was to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry promising that no matter what, nobody could take Remus Lupin's place as the greatest D.A.D.A. professor Hogwarts has ever seen- or would ever see again, for that matter.

They took their seats at the Gryffindor Table, laughing and talking amongst the chatter. The new D.A.D.A. teacher, whoever he was, was missing at the teacher's table. Harry flicked his eyes a little to the right, and instantly they met Professor Snape's oily black ones.

Crap, Harry thought miserably as he tried to look away (without success), crapcrapcrapcrap! Why did his mum love Professor Snape, of all people? Why on earth would she be attracted by that hooked nose, those cruel black eyes, that sallow pale skin? Why would she adore the way the grass stopped growing after he walked outside (Harry only wished he was kidding), or the way he would drawl out his words like a poor imitation of an Southern drawl?

But most of all- why, oh why, would his mother think that Harry might be a result of their lovemaking? Why would she think that the worst man alive was Harry's father? And why- oh, dear God why- was he staring at Harry like he knew his secret?

Sorry for the delay of a new chapter, guys! And sorry it's so short, but I'll write up another chapter as soon as I can, alright?

Yours,

The_Quirkster