Many thanks again for the reviews and for the favourites/follows- just hit 100/250! Yes, I am doing something about widening the usual circle of friends past the Golden Trio, not sure exactly how but I'll get there and Neville will certainly be part of it without losing Ron. Where the Dursley's have disappeared to will be explored in the next couple of chapters... I don't know whether I'll put in a Snape POV; a large part of me thinks that if I was going to do that I ought to have done one chapter each from the beginning. Hopefully you enjoy anyway...

Chapter 10: Father's Footsteps

In all honesty this year is already making me extremely edgy and uncomfortable, and we are less than a month in. Even before Potter turned up there was too much going on and too many secrets, then the boy turned up and things took an even stranger turn. Albus' plans for this year had always unsettled me, but I'd let them slide past me in the belief that he always knew what he was doing. Now I'm not so sure. We have a school of children between the ages of eleven and eighteen; that in itself is a bubbling pit of chaos, hormones and confusion. Except Albus has added the Philosopher's Stone into the equation. Of all things to keep in the castle we are harbouring the stone that gives eternal life let alone eternal wealth. I'll be the first to admit that the majority of students wouldn't know what it is even if they held it in their own two hands but still, it's the principle of the thing.

Then to make matters worse, in his attempts to protect the Stone, Albus has 'borrowed' a three-headed dog from Hagrid which is one of the most vicious, ill-mannered and dangerous creatures I have ever had the misfortune of seeing. Not only do we have a huge killing machine in the castle but for some reason beyond my comprehension it is kept behind a single door on a third floor corridor which can be opened with a simple alohomora spell; it beggars belief. Any competent first year could get through that door if they wanted to and then find themselves met with a monstrosity that will kill them as soon as look at them with one of its three heads. Albus hasn't even bothered to put the counter charm in place, seemingly naively believing his warning at the beginning of term will stop the students from exploring. He appears to have forgotten that we have the Weasley twins who are repeatedly found in the Forbidden Forest very possibly simply because it's forbidden.

But most worrying of all is that thought that the stone can bring everlasting life. I haven't forgotten my conversation with Severus, not by a long shot. "He's a shadow of himself but he is not gone." "Trust me Minerva, sources say he is currently hiding in Albania but how long he'll stay there is another matter entirely. He is going to come back." He's a shadow of himself. Could the Philosopher's Stone be enough to bring He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back? Is that why Albus is so desperate to hide the Stone here? Is that why he wanted us to set up that ridiculous set of tasks in front of the Stone? In that case the one thing that You-Know-Who will want more than anything else in the world at this moment in time is ensconced here at Hogwarts. It is here, surrounded by innocent children and defended with a series of challenges that would keep an average witch or wizard out, but certainly would be no match for that particular challenger. It's mind boggling.

But despite all of these concerns I don't seem to be able to shake the look in Albus' eyes before I left his office. His obvious weariness and grief is haunting me like some kind of phantom. My gut instinct is that it was genuine, that I wasn't meant to observe his breakdown. But for the first time in many years I find myself second guessing myself and my interpretations, I am unsure as to how much of my own instincts I can believe. If I have been so wrong for so many years then all of my dealings with Albus need to be carefully scrutinised, I cannot afford to make the same mistakes again. Ignorance is my only excuse for my failures so far, it is a poor enough excuse to begin with and it cannot be used twice.

My meandering walk has taken me into the castle grounds without even realising where my feet were heading; I was far too lost in my thoughts to pay a great deal of attention to the surroundings around me. But the sight of three forms in the air catches my attention; there is not enough of them for it to be a Quidditch practice and if I am not mistaken it's the first year flying practices this afternoon. But why are only three of them in the air? And why are they so high? Madam Hooch ensures that first year classes don't do much more than hover at this point in the year; much to the purebloods annoyance as they have often been on broomsticks since before they can walk. But as far as Rolanda is concerned it's the only way to keep a level playing field between the muggle born and those born to well-known families, as well as an easy way to weed out all the bad habits that they have taught themselves. Sensible as far as I'm concerned. But something is wrong and I find my pace has now quickened and become purposeful.

All three of them are flying purposefully, two of them apparently stalking the third figure and there's none of the hesitation you would expect to see from first years. There is no way this is part of the planned lesson. Then suddenly the smallest of the three figures starts a completely horizontal dive and I've broken into a run, but I know instinctively that I have no chance of reaching them before he hits the ground and I know just as well that there is no way a first year could pull off the dive that is unfolding in front of me. He is going to hit the ground head first; he's going too quickly with too little control and I can hear the screams from the first year group in front of me. This is going to end in disaster and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I wouldn't trust a sixth year to complete that manoeuvre and I've seen enough of them try, but on the old school brooms it is effectively a suicidal gesture. But no matter how fast I run, regardless of how far outstretched my wand is there is no way I can get there in time.

My heart is thudding against my chest, I'm yelling without even knowing what words are coming out of my mouth and I barely care as I have just realised which first year is making that suicidal dive. There isn't another student that small, and I can see the red hair of his companion from here. The realisation makes my chest tighter than I thought possible and I find myself running faster than anyone of my age should be capable of, wand outstretched in a desperate yet completely ineffectual bid to stop that child from hitting the ground at the speed he's going at. And then I stop. Because despite all the logic, despite the complete impossibility of the feat, the broom has slowed and turned upwards allowing the boy to roll lightly off it and scramble to his feet holding something glinting slightly in the sunlight up for everyone to see as his classmates cheer. Part of me wants to scream at him and part of me wants to hug him. That doesn't stop me from breaking back into a more leisurely run as I approach the group.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!" It doesn't surprise me to see the Weasley boy land carefully beside Potter, nor does the fact that both of them are shaking like a leaf. Closely following him is Draco Malfoy, which doesn't surprise me either; that child has a knack for causing trouble and creating followers. His two giant friends are living proof of that. I'm going to do something about him as well before he gets out of hand.

"Never – in all my time at Hogwarts…" I can barely speak past my thudding heart and pure shock. I can't believe the boy is still in one piece, and the relief mingling with the realisation of what could have just happened leaves me speechless. Speechless and furious. "What in heaven and earth possessed you…" I spit out venomously. "How dare you!? You could have broken your neck with that foolhardy dive! I don't how you didn't…"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor…"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil. I notice you had the sense to stay on the ground in the absence of Madam Hooch.

"But Malfoy –"

"As for you," I turn to face the youngest Weasley sharply, "you have an equal amount of explaining to do."

He withers before my glare and I glance at Malfoy who has separated himself from the two Gryffindor's and is looking unbearably smug. The instigator of this incident is clear, although he at least had the brains not to attempt a fifty foot dive. Looking back at Potter I begin to regret my tone of voice though as once again that look of absolute terror has overtaken his features and he's doing everything he can to seem as small as possible. He's not one to disobey the rules, whatever had him up in the air against orders, and there's no way Rolanda would have left them without strict orders, must have seemed important at the time.

"I followed Malfoy, Professor," Weasley stuttered and stammered, shaking almost as hard as Potter. "He'd taken Neville's Remembrall, and Neville is in the Hospital Wing 'cause he broke his wrist…"

"So you decided to recover it yourself rather than fetching a Professor?" I remark snidely.

"I told you that you'd get us all into trouble," the voice of Granger is unmistakable even without turning around. I hear it enough in class nearly enough to start hearing it in my dreams. "I warned you."

"That's enough from you as well, Miss Granger. Your input is not necessary." Harsh, but the sooner she learns to stop acting as if she's better than the rest of the class, the sooner she might actually make some friends. "Continue, Mr Weasley."

"Well, umm, yeah. I grabbed the broom and followed him. But I couldn't get it back on my own, so I yelled for Harry to come up and join me…" I roll my eyes at the joint stupidity of children. "But Malfoy threw the Remembrall and there was no way I could have caught it but Harry…" he stops and looks at his feet.

"But Mister Potter successfully caught it after a dive that even your brother couldn't have managed?"

The power of speech appears to have completely deserted him and I look across the three boys. One grinning as though his Christmas had come early, one close to being a trembling wreck on the floor and one quite clearly terrified of what he'd gotten his friend into.

"Do not think I have forgotten your part in this, Mister Malfoy," I say without turning and I sense rather than see his smirk disappearing. "An immediate punishment of ten points from Slytherin for being on a broom without permission as well as another ten points for taking another students property without their permission and attempting to destroy it."

"But, Professor! That's not –"

"I would stop there, Mister Malfoy. It is perfectly reasonable and I will also be taking ten points from Gryffindor. You will report to Professor Snape for detention tomorrow, he will set the time. As for you two…" I glance at my two Gryffindor's, my hot-headed and foolhardy Gryffindor's. "…follow me."

I start walking back towards the castle, firmly expectant that neither boy will disobey that order. In reality I should have taken points from both of them, but considering the Malfoy boy was clearly the one to start it I don't have the heart. I catch the whispered conversation from behind me, or at least the one sided whispers from the Weasley.

"If she was going to expel us, we'd already be out and she wouldn't have taken points from Gryffindor, Harry. She took half as many from us anyway. Don't know what she's gonna do instead though…do you think they allow physical punishments…Fred and George have never said though and they've done loads of stuff whilst they've been here, I'm sure they'd have mentioned it. They brag enough about their detentions… Harry, why have you stopped? Come on, we don't want to get in any more trouble."

As he spoke I had already realised that the footsteps behind me had stopped and I could guess the reason. Mister Potter more than remembered the beatings and the injuries he had received from his relatives and the thought that I might do the same would be more than enough to stop him in his tracks. I turned back both expecting and dreading the tears I'd see glistening in his eyes as all his fears came back to the surface.

"Mister Weasley, we do not live in the dark ages anymore." I can see the relief shining in his own eyes; it had clearly been a valid fear despite his protests. I smile slightly. "I can assure you, you will not appreciate the alternative either though, your mother will be hearing of your exploits today."

A punishment I've discovered even works on the Weasley twins. He pales significantly and I smile grimly.

"But Mister Potter has no reason to fear corporal punishment, that I promise you." His green eyes fix on mine and I can see both the fear and the hope there. "I don't make promises lightly, Mister Potter. You can trust me."

We continue through the castle as I consider my options. My initial wave of fury has long since passed, although my heart is still beating faster than ordinarily but I have had a little time to think. He caught that darn thing from a straight fifty foot dive and I wasn't exaggerating when I said that Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it. One of the best Quidditch players Hogwarts has seen in recent years could not have caught it, and yet a first year with no flying experience managed it. More than that, if I can find a loophole to the first year Quidditch rule it might just give Potter a certain amount of confidence in his own abilities and a new friendship group…as well as giving Gryffindor a chance in this year's Quidditch tournament.

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

I see Potter's head fly up again with that same terror and I give him an encouraging smile. He calms down as the fifth year steps out of the door looking just as confused and concerned as the young Weasley does. It's not every day your Head of House summons you out of a class without warning and I can almost see his thoughts as he tries to figure out what he's done wrong.

I bring the baffled group into an empty classroom and banish Peeves without even thinking. Flicking my wand to wipe the blackboard of the obscenities Peeve's had been writing on it, I wonder vaguely how he came to have such a wide and varied vocabulary of swear words when swearing isn't a regular occurrence in public unless a student wishes to lose house points quickly. Particularly when the rest of his vocabulary is nowhere near as varied. One of life's many mysteries I suppose. I turn back to the boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood . Wood – I've found you a Seeker."

The look on Wood's face is an absolute picture. He goes from puzzled, to astonished to delighted in less than a couple of seconds. No wonder, our Seeker last year was dreadful; didn't manage to catch a single snitch. I'd agree having a decent set of Chasers and Beaters is important, and no one is going to deny the effectiveness of the Weasley twins as Beaters; they're effectively a pair of human bludgers themselves. Unfortunately, without a decent Seeker you are losing from the word go.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

I refrain from rolling my eyes. He's almost bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet like an overexcited toddler with a new toy just out of reach. Weasley's jaw has dropped so far he might as well be catching flies; I refrain from pointing this out to him.

"Absolutely," I remark sharply. 'The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?'

Potter just looks at me blankly, clearly not understanding how the situation has changed so quickly. I'm reassured by the fact that the majority of the fear has left his eyes though. Eventually he nods slightly silently.

"He caught this thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," I say with an edge of pride to my voice that I can't seem to hide as I hold the Remembrall up for Wood to see. His eyes widen unmistakably as they flicker between the clear fist sized ball and the under sized first year in front of him. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Immediately Wood starts circling the poor lad and eyeing him as if he were a new broomstick out on the market. Potter had regained that cornered look and I could tell he was desperately trying to find a way out of this so I step between the two boys purposefully.

"That's enough for now, Wood," I remark sharply but let a slight smile soften my words. That lad lives and breathes for Quidditch. "I believe we are overwhelming Mister Potter here, this conversation can wait till tomorrow. I am certain Mister Weasley can fill him in on the intricacies of Quidditch in their dormitories."

I look directly at the youngest Weasley and watch a grin take over his face; clearly Quidditch runs just as much in this one's blood as it seems to in the majority of that family.

"Youngest Quidditch player in a century!" I hear Wood muttering. "We'll be the stuff of legends!"

"If it means I can look Professor Snape in the eye at the end of this year's matches," I comment drily, "I will do everything in my power to bend the first-year rule. Do try not to get flattened again though." And turning back to Potter I smile again as I say, "Your father would be proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

With that I lead the two boys down to the Hospital Wing so they can reunite the lost Remembrall with its rightful owner. With any luck Weasley will be that excited about this turn of events he'll bring Longbottom in on it, heaven knows that boy needs to find some friends and his confidence for that matter. At best guess Augusta has spent the last last ten years comparing him unfavourably to his parents, which would explain a great deal of his reticence and nervousness. I've even heard him comparing himself to a Squib…something needs to be done about that. I'm just not quite sure what yet. I might give him wand a glance over once he's recovered though, there's every chance that Augusta has followed the pureblood tradition and given him his father's wand. Nothing wrong with the inheritance of wands of course, but usually you are given a choice and a chance to see if any of the other ancestral wands fit as well. It would not surprise me if the boy has never laid hands on a different wand and as Ollivander is more than known for saying; the wand choses the wizard not the other way round…and sons do not automatically follow in their father's footsteps.

Leaving the two boys at the Hospital Wing entrance I start walking back down to the dungeons. Severus is correct, I am spending far too much time down there…but I have several things I need to take care of. Firstly, the defences for the Philosopher's Stone need improving with or without Albus' permission or for that matter knowledge. And I'll ask Flitwick to put the counter charm on that door; three-headed dogs should not be hidden behind a simple locked door, particularly not with the Weasley twins in attendance. Secondly, I need to bypass the first year rule about Quidditch and owning a broomstick…that will probably be easier, but warning Severus in advance may well prevent the complete meltdown that is otherwise highly probable. Finally, I need to persuade Severus to do something about one Draco Malfoy; favouritism or not that boy has the chance to go completely off the rails and we do not need a second Lucius Malfoy; one is more than enough. As I go I summon a couple of house-elves to take hastily scribbled summons to Filius and Pomona, once again I need a full meeting of the Heads of House.

Tense and highly strung though this year has proven to be so far, it's certainly proven to be the most interesting in quite a while.

With any luck the drama will stop now.

Why do I think that's unlikely?