"Are we the only Gryffindors in this class?" Ron looked around the Ancient Runes classroom, aghast. Harry took note of the lack of red and gold accessories – there were four Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and two Slytherins. So… last time Hermione had taken this class, she'd been all alone. Terry Boot, Padma Patil, and two other Ravenclaw third years (girls) that Harry did not recognize sat close together in a show of solidarity. Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones were directly in front of them. Blaise Zabini (Harry stifled a groan – Zabini was an annoying little git) and Daphne Greengrass, meanwhile, sat as far away from each other as possible.

"Looks like it," Harry said. "Neville decided to take Divination."

"An utterly useless class, if you ask me," Hermione said scathingly. "I'm sure this class will be much more interesting."

Hermione looked at Harry oddly when, instead of joining the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to band together in an anti-Slytherin group, he sat across from Daphne. Harry still had some residual antipathy for most Slytherins (most would fight with Voldemort, and a lot of them sold out students from other houses to do so), but Daphne was all right.

"Hi," Harry said. "You're Daphne Greengrass, right?"

She nodded and raised an eyebrow at him. "That's me. What's your name again? Harold Porter… no, that's not it… Harvey?"

Ron laughed, and Daphne shot him a startled look.

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said. "And the laughing git is Ron Weasley."

"Do you really think I don't know who you are?" Daphne asked, puzzled. "Harvey here is famous. And we've had classes together since first year."

"Sorry for trying to be polite," Hermione said waspishly. Harry grinned at Ron over her head. He should have known that Hermione and Daphne would clash even more than Hermione and Luna did. Not that he had known Daphne well at all – he only really had vague memories of her, but by the time they had left school to hunt Horcruxes, Harry had known enough about her that the biting sarcasm came as no surprise. How she and Dean Thomas had ever fallen in love, Harry had no idea. They had both died before Dean could tell him, and Astoria had refused to talk about it.

Daphne turned away from them with a roll of her eyes. A tall, broad man wearing long blue robes and a look reminiscent of Professor McGonagall entered the room, putting an end to any further discussion."

"Ancient Runes," he said, "is the study of a system of writing that is long dead, although it is rooted in the very first witches and wizards to live in Britain. My name, for those of you who do not know me, is Professor Octavius, and I am here to teach you the subtle intricacies of rune lore. Can anyone tell me why studying runes – even though many believe it to be a fanciful waste of time – is important?"

Hermione immediately raised her hand. "Ancient runes are more connected with the source of our power, sir."

"Very good," he said approvingly. "Anyone care to venture a guess as to why this is so?"

Hermione raised her hand again, but Padma Patil answered first. "Is it because it has… I don't know… more pictures instead of symbols like the alphabet?"

"Indeed," he said. "Runes, like the hieroglyphs of the ancient Egyptian wizards, can be used to strengthen your own magic. Not because it will increase your power, I'm afraid," he said when he noticed that several students' faces brightened. "It will, however, increase your focus. Students who have studied runes generally notice that their ability to master spells in other classes – especially Charms and Potions. This is because reading runes requires much more focus than simply reading. They can be very confusing, especially when we begin to read sentences and even ancient texts written in runes instead of English. That won't be for a while, however…"

Harry pulled his quill and several sheets of parchment out of his bag. He and Ron had chosen to take Ancient Runes instead of Arithmancy because they most certainly did not want to take Divination, and Arithmancy sounded too much like maths. He had a feeling that Ancient Runs would not be as easy as they thought it would be.

"My head hurts," Ron moaned as they walked down to Hagrid's hut after lunch. He carried his copy of Monster Book of Monsters in a vise-like grip. It kept threatening to tear through the Spellotape that bound it.

"I thought it was brilliant," Hermione said ecstatically. "I can't wait until we actually start learning runes. Professor Octavius is such a good teacher, isn't he? You two ought to be glad you aren't taking Divination; Professor Trelawney is the complete opposite. She reminds me a bit of Luna, although Luna isn't nearly as aggravating."

Harry wondered if Hermione would ever tell them that she was using the Time-Turner to attend so many classes. He and Ron had loitered outside the classroom for several minutes so she could attend Arithmancy; neither had mentioned to Hermione that her disappearance had been noted.

"I liked it too," Harry said, surprised to find that it was true. "It's not going to be as easy as I thought it would be, but I like the increased focus thing."

Hermione turned her head this way and that, making sure that nobody was listening. "Speaking of increased focus… are we still meeting in the Room of Requirement this year?" she asked in a low voice.

"You're taking a lot of classes this year," Ron pointed out. "More than me and Harry and the others, anyway. Do you think you'll be able to find time for it?"

Hermione was silent for a long minute as they trotted down the steep hill. "I still think it's really important," she said.

"More important than homework?" Ron asked slyly.

"Just as," Hermione admitted. "I'll find time for it."

"I got some interesting books in Egypt," Ron said, "that have a lot of Charms stuff in it. I don't understand half of it, but I reckon there are some books in the library that'll explain it."

"What kind of charms?" Hermione asked curiously. "I thought we were mainly focusing on Defense Against the Dark Arts – hexes and jinxes and stuff like that."

"Charms have got a lot of power," Ron said. "Curse Breakers use them, Bill says. And one of those Egyptian books talked about how a lot of wars were won because they knew some good protection charms."

Hermione sighed blissfully. "I really love our study group."

Ron and Harry grinned. "I reckon we should explore transfiguration, too," Ron said.

"I don't think we'll need Herbology, though," Harry said.

"Tell that to Neville," Hermione said.

"Tell what to Neville?" Neville asked. They had come up upon him without even noticing.

"We're branching out with our study group," Harry said in a low voice. "Ron's going to try to find some good charms we can use. And I thought I'd focus a bit more energy on transfiguration."

His brows knit together. "There are loads of useful plants!" he said indignantly. "You wouldn't believe the kinds of things you can do – I heard Uncle Algie talk about a plant that can even help you breathe underwater."

"All right," Ron said. "You're in charge of the plant stuff."

Neville grinned, but it slid from his face and was replaced with a look of pure horror. "What on earth are those?"

The small paddock outside Hagrid's hut was now home to several hippogriffs of different colors. Harry thought they looked quite beautiful in a dangerous sort of way. His eyes fell on Buckbeak, who was flapping his wings agitatedly as he watched, with sharp eyes, the approach of more and more students. His beak, which was as sharp as his talons, clacked open and shut rather menacingly.

"Hippogriffs?" Hermione said weakly. "Hagrid brought hippogriffs? To his first lesson?"

Indeed he had, and by the way his chest was out and his faced appeared to be about to split from his grin, Harry knew that Hagrid was quite pleased with himself.

"Gather roun', everyone!" Hagrid boomed. Surrounded by third years, he seemed even taller than normal. "We're workin' with hippogriffs today, an' they can be tricky little blighters. Very proud, they are, an' you got to bow to 'em, an' treat 'em with respect, else they'll attack."

Several students stepped back, including Neville. Harry gripped his arm and dragged him back. "You were ready to fight a basilisk last year, Neville, and helped save the Philosopher's Stone our first year. What's a hippogriff compared to that?"

Neville swallowed, but remained where he was.

"Any volunteers?" Hagrid asked. Harry stepped forward immediately. "Good fer you, Harry. Now remember wha' I said about treatin' him with respect."

Harry stepped toward Buckbeak, and stopped before he came too close. Buckbeak regarded him imperiously, as though he were a king and Harry one of his subjects. Harry bowed low, maintaining eye contact. He thought of the last time he had seen the hippogriff; he had slashed the throat of one of the giants that had been fighting for Voldemort, and Harry felt real respect for the beast. It was still tense, however, when Buckbeak didn't bow for several moments.

Five minutes later, Harry was in the air, seated atop Buckbeak, and gazing down at the students below. He still preferred his broom – he planned to spend several hours with the Weasleys later this afternoon enjoying his new Firebolt – but there was something definitely wonderful about Buckbeak, and his strong, magnificent wings. Harry was reluctant to get off when Buckbeak made a jarring landing in front of Hagrid.

"Go on, Neville," Harry said. Ron was already bowing to a dun colored hippogriff, and Hermione had followed him. "Buckbeak isn't so bad, really."

"He can't be that scary," Malfoy said snidely, "if Potter can do it. Longbottom might have to change his pants after this lesson, though."

Draco Malfoy walked arrogantly toward Buckbeak, an ugly smirk on his face. "Filthy beast, probably as stupid as our new professor."

Harry was very tempted to let Malfoy get slashed. But Hagrid's job might be in jeopardy… Harry did not know if they would be able to arrange events so that Buckbeak would not be executed.

He sighed, and followed Malfoy, and broke into a run when Buckbeak reared up. His talons flashed in the sunlight—

"You fool," Harry said viciously, and he yanked Malfoy out of the way, sending him sprawling on the grass, just as a deadly sharp talon came down and sliced Harry's arm. Hermione screamed as Harry fell to the ground. Harry rolled over, gasping from the pain, used his right hand to try to staunch the alarmingly fast flow of blood.

Through a haze of pain, Harry said, "Hagrid… I think I need the hospital wing."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry winced as his injured arm – still a bit sore from when he had pulled Malfoy away from Buckbeak's talons and had been slashed for his efforts – gave a painful throb. If Hagrid's job wouldn't have been in jeopardy, I would've let the slimy git suffer, he thought sourly. Buckbeak had ripped Harry's arm open from shoulder to elbow, causing him to spend a few nights in the Hospital Wing with a disapproving, hovering Madam Pomfrey. To add insult to injury, Harry had missed Quidditch trials, and thus had to wait another two years before he could fly again.

His dark mood had pushed him into skipping the Hogsmeade trip (for which Ron was very grateful, as he would have Hermione all to himself since Neville had detention with Snape that afternoon), and he had left Ginny with Luna, promising to meet her in an hour or so in the Room of Requirement. Now he stood just outside the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and was feeling unaccountably nervous about initiating a conversation with Remus Lupin.

"Harry?"

He turned and managed a weak smile. Remus had not been in his office after all, but had snuck up behind him, leaving Harry no alternative. "Hi, Professor," he said.

"I thought you'd be in Hogsmeade," Remus said.

"Er," Harry said. "My arm still hurts a little. I'll probably go next time."

Remus smiled, but his eyes were questioning; he had to be wondering why Harry had been standing outside his door. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Um," Harry said. Now that he was here, it suddenly did not seem like such a good idea. "I was wondering… I heard you had a lesson about a boggart? Ron and Hermione told me. I…"

"You want to know what shape your fear takes," Remus finished for him when Harry's voice trailed away. "That's very admirable, Harry, but… wouldn't it show you Lord Voldemort?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he said firmly. The boggart had shown him a dementor the first time around; he'd be damned if he was more frightened of Voldemort than he was of fear. But a sneaking suspicion that the boggart would show him something different had prompted him to seek out Remus.

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise, though he when he spoke, he did not mention it. "There is, in fact, another boggart. It was found in the dungeons this morning by Argus Filch, and I thought I would take care of it today, but I would be happy to allow you to do it instead."

"Thanks, Professor," Harry said quietly. "The charm… it's Ridikulus, isn't it?"

"Yes," Remus said. "But you have to try to make what you fear funny. Laughter is the best way to defeat a boggart – they can't abide the sound. To be perfectly honest, Harry, if you had been in class the day we covered the boggart, I probably would not have wanted you to face it. I think what you fear is probably stronger and more terrifying than the other students, who do not have such horrors in their pasts as you do. They were sufficiently shocked by your friend Ron's."

Ron had, in fact, told Harry this morning that he had had a nightmare just last night about what the boggart had shown him. It had been almost exactly what his mother had seen at Grimmauld Place. Dead Hermione, dead Ginny, dead family… a month later, and Ron's voice still shook when he mentioned it.

"I notice that you didn't fear my death," Harry had teased him when Ron had first confessed what had happened.

"Because I'm not afraid of you dying," Ron had shrugged. "Killing Curses don't seem to work on you."

"Ah," Severus Snape said, cutting into Harry's thoughts. He looked around and noticed, with a jolt of surprise, that they were already at the entrance to the stairs that led to the dungeons. Snape had stopped on the last stair, and he held a steaming mug of what Harry knew to be Wolfsbane Potion. "Professor Lupin, and Potter," he put a hostile emphasis on Harry's last name, "what brings the two of you down here? Shouldn't you be with your little friends in Hogsmeade?" he asked Harry.

"No," Harry said shortly. "My arm hurts. You know, because I saved one of your own stupid students from being mauled by a hippogriff."

"Mind your tone, Potter," Snape said sleekly.

Remus put a hand on Harry's shoulder, as though worried that things might escalate. "We're about to find a boggart, Professor Snape," he said courteously. "Harry wanted to face one."

"I have the potion you requested of me," Snape said. "But it will hold until after Potter shows us what the little Chosen Boy fears."

Remus looked taken aback. "I don't think –"

Snape interrupted him. "Unless you don't want this potion…"

"Harry, we can wait until later," Remus said, brows knit with worry. "It doesn't have to be public."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe it'll show me Professor Snape in a dress, like Neville's did," Harry said. "I've regretted missing that since I heard about it. A long pink one, I think… with little roses on the collar." He did not particularly like the way that Snape had practically blackmailed Remus, so he quite enjoyed the look of anger on Snape's face.

"Very well," Remus sighed after a moment; he had stepped in front of Harry as if to protect him from Snape's wrath. But Snape's mouth had merely twisted into a grimace, and he had not drawn his wand. Not that Harry had thought he would, but Remus had no idea that Snape had been an ally since Harry's second day at Hogwarts.

They walked silently. Remus opened his mouth several times to speak, Harry noticed, but whatever the other man wished to say, he did not want to do so in front of Snape, who followed behind them like an overgrown bat. The trunk that held the boggart was in a small room that apparently was used for storage. It was halfway between the Potions classroom and the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and the air inside was stuffy and was rather warmer than was typical in the dungeons.

Harry immediately looked at the trunk that was partially obscured by a broken table laying on its side and a holey chintz lounge. It quivered a little. Harry stared at it with narrowed eyes. What are you going to show me? He asked it. The ones I love lying dead on the floor? A dementor? He wondered if he might see the Weasleys, with angry faces and hatred pointed directly at him. He hoped he didn't; that would be very selfish of him.

"Ready, Harry?" Remus asked easily. "Remember the charm?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Alohamora," Remus pointed his wand at the trunk, staying well behind Harry. It sprang open with a creaking groan and a squeal of rusted hinges.

The boggart could not recreate the scene of Harry's worst fear, for which he was extremely grateful. Looking at himself, splattered with blood and gore was bad enough without having to see everything else. The boggart had taken the form of Harry at his absolute worst moment, right before he had killed Voldemort. His own eyes glittered with rage and madness, and Harry realized why Arthur Weasley had been concerned about the look in Harry's eyes after Umbridge's insinuation. I should have realized what my worst fear would be, Harry thought critically. Of course it would be that the future is going to fall out the way it did, that I would be the last one standing.

"Ridikulus," Harry said firmly. He did not waste time trying to find something funny; he didn't think that he could. Instead of the boggart-Harry being put in witches' robes, or growing an extra arm, there was a small pop indicating that he had successfully enchanted it, and Harry saw himself lying spread-eagle on the floor, obviously dead. It felt like a promise.

Remus shoved him aside before the fist that had wrapped around Harry's stomach had eased up a bit, enough to allow him to laugh. Boggart-Harry disappeared, and a boggart moon hung low in the classroom, full and shiny yet ominous, because Harry knew what it represented. All three watched as the moon faded away, and the boggart was destroyed.

Remus whirled around, drawing a shaky breath, and gripped Harry's arm tightly. "Harry…" he said weakly. "That won't happen. You're a good person, I know you are, and you know it too. Don't let stupid suppositions make you believe otherwise."

His words felt like a benediction, and Harry swallowed, feeling a great lump in his throat that had not been there moments before. Remus had guessed wrong about the boggart. He obviously thought that Harry was afraid that he would become something twisted and evil, another Voldemort. But Harry saw that the other man was perfectly sincere; he was not afraid of what Harry would become, not like the Weasleys. He had faith, and it eased a little of the hurt Harry had felt since Arthur Weasley had rebuffed him.

"I know," Harry said finally. "It won't happen."

He felt the sudden urge to tell Remus everything. He glanced over at Snape, who had said nothing since they had met. He was staring back at Harry with the strangest expression, and Harry could not possibly tell what Snape was thinking. Harry took a deep breath, and opened his mouth—

"Professor?" Neville stood in the open doorway, white-faced and trembling. Though the other boy could just be nervous around Snape, Harry was certain that Neville had seen the boggart. This was confirmed when Neville's round eyes met Harry's.

"Hi, Neville," Harry said. "We were just… I wanted to fight a boggart, since I missed that class."

Neville tried to smile. Please don't be afraid of me, Neville, please?

"Mine wasn't as good as yours was," Harry said. "Isn't that right, Professor Snape?" Neville squeaked. Try to set him at ease, Snape.

Snape sighed, but Harry thought he was the only one who heard it. "I must admit that Potter has a point. However, just because it is flattering to be the worst nightmare of a thirteen year old boy, you still have detention. You will be disemboweling toads, Longbottom, and I am glad to see you did not bring gloves. You won't need them."

"Good luck, Neville," Harry said sincerely. "It's not that bad, though, once you get past the slime. And the smell."

"See you at dinner, Harry," Neville said glumly.

"Remember to take your potion, Lupin," Snape said as he swept past them. "I wouldn't like to see the consequences if you do not."

After doing his (admittedly small) part in setting Neville at ease, Snape apparently had to reassert his nastiness by trying to torment Remus. Harry turned away to hide a smile, glad that some things never changed completely.

The momentary urge to confess everything to Remus had passed. It was a big decision, and Ron and Ginny had every right to be a part of it. Not that Harry thought that they would disagree, but the three of them were in this together. With that in mind, Harry sighed.

"Listen," Remus said. He held the smoking goblet in both hands as they turned to leave the dungeons. "I have to admit that what you saw concerns me – I did not wish to say this in front of Professor Snape, but"—Harry felt a sinking in his stomach; did Remus decide not to trust him after all?—"what frightens you most disturbs me. Harry, your father was one of my best friends at Hogwarts, and to think that you're burdened with something most thirteen year olds should never be burdened with… if you should ever feel the need to – to talk, Harry, my office door is always open."

Something squeezed Harry's heart so tightly that it was hard for him to breathe. Remus had only known Harry for one month, and yet he was already willing to trust him. He was not afraid of getting too close to Harry, did not think that Harry was tainted… He pushed that thought out of his mind.

"Thank you," Harry said finally. The walk from the dungeons to the Entrance Hall had never seemed shorter.

"Ah," Remus said. He grimaced at the potion and then smiled at Harry. "I've got to get back to work, Harry. Just remember what I said."

"I will," Harry promised. Then, when Remus turned to leave, "Professor Lupin? I'll definitely be coming to your office. Just not yet."

"Any time."

Harry went the opposite direction, heading straight for the Room of Requirement. He did not pay very much attention to his surroundings, but was replaying what had just happened in the dungeons. This was the first time that he had encountered a boggart – not counting the time he had seen Mrs. Weasley's worst fears at Grimmauld Place – since his fourth year, during the final task in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He wondered when his own worst fear had shifted, and suspected that it had after Sirius had died, when that loss had struck him like a physical blow. It had definitely happened by the time he fell in love with Ginny during his sixth year.

While fearing fear itself was perhaps wise, as Remus had said during one of their first discussions, Harry could not stop himself from breaking out into a cold sweat when he thought of fate repeating itself. Not that it will, Harry told himself sternly. You know what to do now.

His thoughts carried him to the door of the Room of Requirement. It was cracked open, and a pair of bright brown eyes peeked out at him. He smiled.

"Hey, bright eyes," he said, stepping into the room. He looked around, expecting to see Luna, but realized, with a sinking sensation, that she was not there. He and Ginny were quite alone. He eyed her warily, and she responded with a slow, sly smile. He backed away from her, and her smile widened.

"Hi, Harry," she said.

"Er," Harry said, watching her walk over to a chair. It was big enough for two… barely. It sat in front of a roaring fire, and on top of a large rug that looked quite soft and even more comfortable than the chair. "Where's"—his voice cracked and he cleared his throat—"Where's Luna?"

"She decided that she needed to write the essay we have due for potions," she replied. She was curled up on the chair like a cat. "We only have two more weeks to write it."

Harry swallowed and, searching for a distraction, decided to warm his hands by the fire. He watched her out of the corner of his eye (he couldn't help himself), and she stared at him almost without blinking. She adjusted herself so that her long hair draped over the arm of the chair. Sweat beaded on his brow.

"You're torturing me," Harry said hoarsely.

She didn't even bother to deny it. "I'm enjoying myself immensely."

Harry was too. "That note you left under my pillow… Seamus asked why I had to go wash again when I just had."

She laughed. It was such an open and delighted sound that it made Harry want to kiss that laughing mouth. "You started it," Ginny pointed out. "Or did I just imagine what your Patronus said while I was having my bath the other night?"

"That was after you did that thing you do," Harry said. "You know. Your blazing look."

"The one I get when I'm thinking about how much I love you?" she asked. "I can't help that. You, however, knew exactly what you were doing when you sent the message. I almost drowned."

"Me too," Harry said dryly. Without his volition, his feet brought him closer and closer to her, and he sat down with a sigh. She automatically curled up under his arm, and placed her hand over Harry's heart. He played with strands of her hair, and it slipped through his fingers like silk. How many times had they sat like this? Too many to count. Usually, it led to other things. But sometimes it hadn't and on those occasions Harry had—

He grinned when he noticed that a silver hairbrush had materialized out of nowhere. "Sit up, bright eyes, come on." She started to protest, until she saw that he held the brush in one hand. She got up, and sat down again on the rug and leaned against Harry's legs. She sighed with utter contentment as he gently pulled the brush through her hair.

"You can keep doing that forever," she murmured.

Harry finally stopped, and she leaned her head up against his leg. He reached over and laid his palm over one of the spots where he most liked to kiss Ginny, where her shoulder met her long, pretty neck.

"Ginny…" he said softly. He didn't want to ruin this moment, but as more time passed, he grew increasingly aware that there was a certain subject that they avoided, all three of them. He probably wanted to talk about it least of all, but it seemed irresponsible.

"No, Harry," she said. "Not yet. Just… not yet."

"We have to think about it soon," Harry pointed out.

"Hopefully not for a while," she said. "If at all."

"All right," Harry conceded. He was only too willing to put off the discussion about her parents, a discussion that they had never dreamed, during the years of planning and painstakingly creating the potion that had required so much else of them. He remembered the vow he'd made in the kitchen at the Burrow, and renewed it to himself. "Tell me about the sword again?"

She stiffened. Ginny's anger toward Lockhart had not abated one whit, and she fully understood how violated Harry still felt about being Obliviated. Despite the fact that Harry had viewed those memories again and again in Dumbledore's Pensieve, she never tired of telling it.

Dumbledore had tried to reconstruct his memories, and whatever he had done had only worked a little. Harry no longer felt disoriented when they spoke of it, and sometimes he thought that a little wisp of memory had returned. But whenever he reached for it, it slipped away. The horrible holes in his mind were gone, but they were filled with mist and shadowy shapes, and not clarity. Lockhart, all evidence to the contrary, actually did have one good talent; unfortunately, thinking about it made Harry want to kill him. Dumbledore had told him, regretfully, that if he forced it anymore, he was in danger of doing permanent damage. Harry, remembering what Voldemort had said about Bertha Jorkins being useless because he had broken through the memory charm that Mr. Crouch had placed on her, had reluctantly let it go.

"You didn't know that the sword was impregnated with basilisk venom until –"

But the appearance of Ron's Patronus interrupted her. It didn't say anything – Harry assumed that Ron did not want to risk them being in a public place – but it moved agitatedly. Harry watched it, fully alert, brain working very quickly. If Hogsmeade was being attacked and he genuinely needed help, Ron would not have hesitated to make it speak.

"What the hell?" Ginny said blankly.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry and Ginny returned to the Gryffindor common room immediately, and waited for long anxious minutes for Ron. Neville tried to distract them by telling them how horrible his detention had been, and how he might vomit if he ever had to see the insides of a frog again.

Ron finally entered through the portrait hole, Hermione following him. They both were white-faced with fury, and Ron held what looked like a magazine in a death grip.

"Lockhart," he growled, and he threw the copy of the latest edition of Witch Weekly on Harry's lap. He sat down on an empty chair with a snarl.

Harry was not sure that he wanted to read it. Ginny grabbed it.

Ginny hissed when she saw the headline, and began to read aloud.

LOCKHART TELLS THE TRUTH ABOUT THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS

By Raven Hubble

Witch Weekly is delighted to present to all loyal readers a new interview with our favorite wizard. He has just recovered from a horrible injury, which caused him to require several months of care at St. Mungo's, but he graciously agreed to the interview, especially as he has learned that he has won the annual 'Best Smile' award.

RH: Thank you so much for agreeing to speak with me today, Mr. Lockhart. Everyone at Witch Weekly – and all our readers – is thrilled that you've had a complete recovery.

GL: I always enjoy getting in touch with my fans, Raven. And please, call me Gilderoy. We've corresponded so often over the years that it seems silly for you to be so formal.

RH: I see that your injuries haven't dimmed that smile one bit!

"I'll think of that next time," Ron said darkly.

GL: Thank you, my dear Raven. To be perfectly honest, my Order of Merlin, Third Class, seems paltry compared to the honor of being so beloved by my fans at Witch Weekly.

RH: You flatter us, Gilderoy! We merely appreciate your bravery… and your good looks. Now, before I say this, you have the staunchest support of the rest of the writers at our humble publication. But there have been the most distressing rumors going around.

GL: Ah, yes. One of the Healers at St. Mungo's – a truly delightful witch – told me about them.

RH: So you know that Harry Potter is claiming that you Obliviated him?

"Claiming?" Harry said loudly. "He did! And I still haven't got all my memories back."

"We know, Harry," Neville said. "I can't believe he's denying it."

GL: I heard, yes. Utterly preposterous. I have never had the need to use a memory charm.

Ron snorted. "I'll bet that he's lied about half the stuff he's done, and used a memory charm to cover his tracks."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised," Hermione said.

RH: We thought so. So what did really happen in the Chamber of Secrets last year?

GL: I don't remember very much of it – only bits and pieces –

RH: Do you think that you were the one to be Obliviated, then?

GL: I have no idea. The Healers… they've alluded to certain things. But they claim not to be able to tell, because the damage done to my brain was so vast. It may only be that the injuries I received caused this to happen.

"He's only saying that because he can't make a direct accusation without proof," Hermione said shrewdly. "If he did, Harry, you could be put on trial. He doesn't want that, since the truth would have to come out."

Harry nodded grimly.

RH: That's awful, Gilderoy! If it distresses you, we can talk about other things…

GL: No, no. My duty to my fans supercedes any discomfort I might feel. But I can only offer hazy memories.

RH: Not to worry.

GL: It began when young Ginevra Weasley was taken down into the Chamber of Secrets. I had been working on the mystery all year, you know, because as soon as Argus Filch's cat was petrified, I knew exactly what that meant. I didn't alert the other teachers because I did not want them placed in unnecessary danger.

RH: I'm sure they're very appreciative, Gilderoy.

GL: So when Ginevra Weasley disappeared, I knew that I had to save her.

"Had to run away, you mean," Ginny said viciously. "Bastard."

RH: How did you run into Harry Potter, then?

GL: I met them – Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom – just before I was about to enter. They demanded to come with me. They threatened to hex me if I did not allow it.

RH: I'm surprised you didn't force them to stay behind. They ought to have known that only a powerful wizard like you could have been safe.

GL: I'm afraid that they were quite overwrought about young Ginevra's predicament. I allowed them to come, knowing that I could easily handle the basilisk. I regret that now – I had no idea that they would turn on me once we entered the Chamber.

RH: It was Ronald Weasley that caused your injuries, was it not?

"He's lucky Ron didn't kill him," Neville said, not looking at either Ron or Harry.

"Yeah, he is," Ron agreed.

GL: It was. I'm afraid that the young man became quite hysterical when we came upon the gigantic skin from the basilisk. I believe that he did not have any idea what he was doing.

RH: You have a soft heart, Gilderoy. I wouldn't be half so understanding, and I'm sure our readers won't either!

GL: I've always known that I am unusually brave. It seems arrogant to assume that others will be the same. I do not blame Ron Weasley, really. He was terrified.

RH: Will you be pressing charges?

GL: No, no, no. Of course not. He's just a little boy!

For a moment, Harry thought that a small tiger had entered the room with them. Ron was snarling. Crookshanks, who had settled on Hermione's lap just after Ginny started reading, watched Ron with an approving look.

"Ron," Hermione said. "We talked about this on the way back from Hogsmeade, remember? You can't do anything about this, and anger won't help."

"It's making me feel better," Ron grumped. But when Hermione reached over and clasped his hand, the expression on his face immediately softened. Despite Harry's rather large desire to throttle Gilderoy Lockhart, he smiled.

RH: He's a little boy that attacked you. Don't you want some sort of justice?

GL: No. I've managed to set it aside, and I hope you and everyone reading this will be able to as well. There was no lasting harm done; soon enough I'll be saving people from dangerous creatures once more.

RH: Oh, Gilderoy… you're such an inspiration. Do you remember anything more?

GL: No. I immediately asked after the children upon waking up, though, and was immensely relieved that Ron Weasley's hysterics did not end in tragedy.

RH: It disturbs me that Harry Potter falsely accused you of Obliviating him.

GL: As to that, I have no idea. I do not have any hard feelings for the boy. I often gave him advice in dealing with fame, as he does not have a father to turn to. But… I will say that I've noticed certain tendencies for him to seek even more fame. He has quite a following of awestruck students, you know. He allows them to photograph him.

"Only when I can't avoid it!" Harry said loudly. "Stupid – lying – arse."

RH: Gilderoy, I know it makes you uncomfortable to speak ill of anyone. But what if you were actually the one to save Ginevra Weasley from the basilisk? Do you think there's any possibility that he Obliviated you in order to take credit for it?

GL: Ah. I am not certain, nor do I wish to be. It is enough for me that Miss Weasley is safe. But I will say this: it would be highly unusual, almost impossible, for such a young man to kill a basilisk and survive to tell the tale. But I will say no more of this.

"You can stop reading," Hermione said, although Harry noticed that the interview continued. "They went on to talk about what hair products he uses. And put your wand away, Harry, Lockhart isn't here."

"No one at school is going to believe this," Neville said bracingly, once Ginny had ripped up the magazine and thrown the pieces into the fire. "Lockhart is an idiot. He couldn't even handle Cornish Pixies."

"Seen the interview, then?" George asked. Fred was right behind him, and they had large bags full of Zonko's products and satisfied looks. "We heard about it in the pub. Everyone's laughing about the idiot."

"They don't believe it?" Harry asked.

Fred smiled slyly. "We might have had to set a few people straight. Mostly the older girls, though, who were blinded by his teeth."

Ginny laughed. "I can't believe what he's saying."

"You'll have a bit of trouble with the older witches," George advised Ron. "They love Lockhart, Merlin knows why. But the other students remember how much of a stupid git he was."

The next several hours were spent roundly abusing their former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Harry could not even bring himself to worry about it, although Ron had already claimed that he was going to check his mail very carefully to ensure that some love struck, middle-aged witch wouldn't try to curse him.

Ron was absolutely delighted to find himself the center of attention during dinner. He was asked repeatedly to describe Stunning Lockhart, and when he told them that he had snapped the professor's wand, everyone within earshot applauded. McGonagall, who was passing by at that point, had to cover her mouth to hide her smile.

Harry got out of the shower later that night – he could still hear people roaring with laughter down in the common room, and he was certain that they were still discussing Lockhart – and found Neville sitting on his bed. He was obviously waiting for Harry.

"What's up, Neville?" Harry asked.

"Er," Neville said, and then muttered something under his breath that Harry could not hear. The other boy looked desperately uncomfortable.

"What?" Harry asked, as he pulled on his pajamas. He stared at Neville until he looked up.

Neville took a deep breath. "I think… no, I know that you have a secret."

"Neville…"

"Don't deny it," Neville said firmly. "Don't worry… I'm not – I trust you. I don't think you're a madman. But I know you and Ron are hiding something, and I think Ginny is too."

Damn. Harry had absolutely no idea what to say. He flattened his hair. "Listen, Neville… you're right."

"But you aren't going to tell me," Neville said glumly. "You don't – you don't trust me?"

"I trust you," Harry told him. "I do. Please believe that."

"Then why?"

Harry thought back to his very first year – the real one, when he had known very little about anything. He'd just faced Voldemort for the first time, and he had asked Dumbledore for the truth. What was it that he had said? "Neville… someone once told me that sometimes we aren't ready for the truth. It can be a… burden."

"Is it about the prophecy?"

"In a way," Harry said honestly.

"Are you… are you preparing us for something?" Neville licked his lips. "Is that why we're practicing so much?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Listen, Neville… if you don't want to, I'd understand. You don't have to, you know, keep coming with us to the Room of Requirement."

Neville turned away, and Harry began to fear that he would say that he could not live with Harry keeping secrets from him. He'd have to talk to Ron and Ginny, but maybe it wouldn't hurt if Neville – and Hermione, because they couldn't tell Neville and not tell her – knew a little sooner. But Harry did not want to place that burden on the other boy's shoulders just yet. Nor did he want Neville to stop learning the skills that would help him survive.

"My parents," Neville said softly. Harry started. "They were tortured by You-Know-Who's followers right after you made him disappear."

Harry sat on the edge of his bed.

"I'm pretty sure… no, I know that we're learning all this stuff because of You-Know-Who," Neville continued. "So even if you can't tell me, I'm going to keep learning, because… well, because of my parents. I want to fight too if he comes back."

"When," Harry said quietly. "When he comes back."

Neville nodded. "I thought he might. My Gran told me that Dumbledore told her that it was only a matter of time."

The silence lasted for so long that Harry assumed that Neville was done talking. Suddenly exhausted, he climbed under his covers, and set his glasses on the top of his closed trunk. He yawned, wondering if he would be plagued by nightmares due to the encounter with the boggart, and raised his wand to close the bed hangings.

"Harry?"

Harry squinted at the Neville-shaped blur. "Yeah?"

"Are you ever going to tell me?"

"Yep," Harry said. "Count on it."