For rules see the beginning of the prologue or visit PadyandMoony's page. None of the characters are mine and any and all mistakes are mine (d'oh!)

NB: Yeah, the usual, whatever, read it now.

Chapter Thirteen: Of Surprises and Singing

Severus stared at the letter in his hands in utter astonishment.

How long had it been since he'd been anything more than reluctantly civil to anyone? How long had it been since he'd been anything less than spiteful to anyone other than his colleagues? How long had it been since he'd received mail that was not a bill or a Howler or a newspaper or journal?

As of now, about ten seconds. Before that? Ten years. Not since Lily had been alive.

And yet here, piled neatly on top of his monthly Potions Journal, was a letter that was quite certainly handwritten, if the address on the outside was any indication and quite possibly friendly, if the owl that had stayed and amiably nipped him on the ear was any indication. Severus wondered if the students had taken their pranks a step further and were now booby trapping his mail. It was not, after one of the Weasley twins had quite calmly walked up to him and dumped a glass of water over his head, impossible.

So, it was perfectly sensible for him to open it using his wand and behind several fairly powerful magical shields to protect him from bodily harm, should it have been booby trapped. It was not. Severus refused to feel foolish about his precautions. Although that refusal was hard to keep when a letter from Remus fell out of the envelope, followed by a couple of black and white photographs.

Hesitantly and scolding himself for the hope that jumped up and slammed his heart against his ribcage and tightened around his throat he opened the letter, putting the photos to one side for a moment, not looking at them. He would never admit it, but he felt a strange irrational fear about what the images might be of.

Dear Severus,

I hope I am not too presumptuous in writing to you, but during our meeting over the Easter Holidays you expressed an interest in Harry's infancy and so I took the liberty of copying some of our photographs of him as a child, when he did not look quite so much like James.

I apologise for the length of time it took to procure these images, but as you can imagine, there are no magical photograph developers that would agree to serve a werewolf, even if that werewolf is looking after their so called hero. And I'm sure you recall that it was not I of the four of us who was gifted in Charms. It took some time to look up the right spell and, even then, I could not find the right one for including colour. If you wish to view the originals and the rest of our collection, feel free to owl me.

Hoping that you are well,

Remus Lupin

Amazed that Remus might go to such lengths for him, Severus carefully folded the letter up and tucked it into the inside of his teaching robes. Then he flipped the images back over to take a long look at them. There were only five in total, but each was a tiny snippet of Lily's baby boy's life and to be treasured.

The first showed Harry at about four years of age, earnest eyes blinking largely up at the camera, a crooked grin already settled nervously across his lips. He was dressed in plain black trousers, a white shirt and a light-coloured v-neck jumper with an emblem of some kind over his left breast. In his hands he clutched a collection of stationery equipment and what appeared to be a satchel containing his lunch. His features had too much baby fat still to remind Severus of James too much, although the messy black mop of hair even then could not be tamed. This must be his first day of school, Severus summarised and allowed a tiny smile to flicker across his own lips, making the child in the photo lose a little of his nervousness and wave timidly up.

The next photo was another classic. Harry was at some kind of birthday party, his face flushed and his eyes bright. He was a little older in this one and surrounded by others of the same age, all with the same excited look. The children smiled up at the camera like someone holding their breathe, and when that breathe was released they flew everywhere, laughing and playing, chasing each other about the room before coming to a stand still and smiling at the camera again. Food and toys and wrapping paper were flying everywhere and nothing seemed to stand still. It was then that Severus realised why he did not mind Harry at all at this age - he had yet to start wearing the glasses that were such a trademark of his father.

The third was sweet but not something that Severus could have imagined including in the small pack, if he had been the one sending the photos. This was a picture of Remus and Harry during what appeared to be a Christmas celebration. Remus was asleep across the sofa, his head resting at an awkward angle against one arm rest, his ankles crossed on the other. One arm was flopped over the side, the back of his fingers lightly grazing the floor. The other arm was curled around the figure on his chest.

Harry was far younger in this photo and Severus imagined that it could not have been long after Voldemort's downfall, if not shortly before. He lay on his front on Remus' chest, chubby hands curled and clutching at the front of the werewolf's shirt and facing the camera. This photo didn't move a lot, Harry only lay there and smiled towards him, blinking every once in a while and wriggling closer to his foster-father every time the man drew a deeper breath, letting out snuffly snores.

Severus felt as though he could stare at this photo for the rest of eternity if he was given the opportunity. He could imagine that it was he who took it. That he could claim the man in that photo as his lover, the babe in his arms his foster-child. Bringing Lily's child up as his and Remus' own. What a future that might have been. And so he quickly moved that photograph to the back of the pile and turned to the next.

This one was not of a specific event or celebration, it was simply a photograph of Harry. The child was standing and grinning widely at the camera, face and hands smeared with flour and butter and various other cooking ingredients. He looked younger in this than the first photo and there was no nervousness in his expression, only a quieter version of the excitement from the party photo. He held a wooden spoon in one hand that he occasionally brought to his mouth and sucked at enthusiastically, eyes glowing with mischief. Severus smiled softly at the boy and the image responded by pulling the spoon from his mouth and offering him a broad, sticky grin in response.

When he turned to the final photo he thought he might weep. He had very few photos that meant anything personal to him for many of those that had once meant something were now only a harsh reminder of things he could not have. He had only ever had three photos of Lily. His sister in everything but blood they were around one another constantly, why should he need a photograph of her when he had her? Of course, once she died, he had regretted not taking more photos.

This last brought that number up to four, at least. It was an image of Lily balancing Harry on her hip, both of them grinning the same, wild grin up at him. Her hair was tied back in the same, sloppy bun that she despaired of ever holding her hair back, but always used anyway. Harry had stretched a hand up and had a handful of loose strands clutched in one first, his face lighting up and sudden giggles bursting forth at sporadic moments as Lily tried to fight it back off him before giving up and ruffling his hair in response. It was a perfect photo.

With trembling hands Severus laid the images back on his table and stood, bracing himself against the hard work surface. Then he moved to fetch ink and parchment, setting them before him carefully. He dipped his quill into the ink and then moved to start writing.

He could think of no suitable reply. So, instead, he sat and watched as the ink dripped slowly, steadily, onto the parchment and soaked into the paper, spreading and splashing as he wondered how any response could ever make up for the precious gift he had been given.

Harry had gone a little stir crazy by the time something actually happened. The problem was that he didn't have anything to distract himself with other than Potions lessons and Quidditch. Neither of which, at the moment, were topics that Harry wanted to think about.

Potions lessons, after Snape had met his dad, had gone from terrible to horrific. It had taken very little persuasion to find out that the topic his Dad and Snape had settled on to talk about during his and Kevin's absence. His own childhood. It was odd, really, that the teacher who despised him so much might be so interested in his childhood, but then he remembered that Snape used to be friends with his Mum, so maybe there was some sense behind it.

Harry was starting to think that Snape had fancied his Mum and had been jealous of his Dad James and that was why he hated Harry so much. The number of times he had been told that he was the spitting image of his father… but with Lily's eyes. And he had not been quite so recognisably his father's son when he was younger. That, at least, would explain why he had talked about Harry as a child, but his attitude towards him himself was becoming progressively worse.

The only satisfaction that Harry could gain from Potions lately was the fact that he had achieved perfect marks on the exams that had been set after the Easter Holidays. The exams were all marked by the teachers themselves, of course, but to create an unbiased scoring system, handwriting charms were used and the teachers were not allowed to read the student's name. And so, Harry had received and Outstanding with several bonus points for his extended knowledge.

Lessons under Snape's critical eye had become intolerable. Harry could perform no less than perfectly every single lesson or face in numerous points taken from Ravenclaw and several nights' worth of detentions. Never mind sneezing, Harry could no longer breathe without it being criticised by Snape. He had written twice to Remus about this treatment, but his Dad had only passed it off as the usual childish exaggerations and not done anything about it. Harry could not tell Pads without running the risk of Pads storming straight into the castle and killing the basta- git. And he absolutely refused, just because of the principle of the thing, to ask his other teachers or, Merlin forbid, the Headmaster to stop Snape's behaviour.

And so he endured in silence, watching as both his own house mates and those in Hufflepuff started to fume about the Potions Master's treatment of Harry. He knew that they would not say anything either, because both houses, for different reasons, believed it was up to Harry to make that decision for or against action, but it was nice to know that Snape had so thoroughly alienated his students.

Quidditch, unfortunately, was also driving Harry batty. Ravenclaw had played several more games, of course, and they had, ultimately, lost. Not by losing any of their games - oh, no, Harry's speed and accuracy were too great for that - but because they had one their games so quickly that the only points they scored during the matches were when Harry caught the snitch. Because he always, without fail, caught the snitch within moments of the beginning of the game.

The captain had told Harry - told him and told him - not to go after it if he saw it that soon into the game. He told Harry to tease his opponents, to lead them in the wrong direction or to draw them into the path of a bludger. He had told Harry not to catch the snitch. And that was a task that Harry had found impossible.

He did not doubt that there were many people who were laughing at his idiocy at the moment, for having caught the snitch too soon again, but that flash of gold in his peripheral vision was like a siren call to Harry - one that he didn't know how to resist.

Which was why he was now spending an hour each and every evening being taught how not to catch the snitch. Which, without question, was more frustrating than just sitting around waiting for Quirrell to do something. Something that was looking increasingly like it was not going to happen whilst the students were still in school, and there was no way Harry and his resistance could remain in school after the Summer Holidays began.

But then, on the last Monday evening before the end of term, Dumbledore left the school and Quirrell made his move.

Harry felt a tiny bit ashamed of how surprised he was at how quickly The Resistance sprung into action. For even if Quirrell's inaction had caused unrest, it gave them time to become properly organised - more than it had been during the first, rushed meeting. The students who were involved were no longer limited to Year or House boundaries, as that seemed to disappear at the thought of doing something worthwhile towards the protection of the school.

Fred and George now headed a small, fairly elite group of students from all of the first three years that had become the spy network for The Resistance. The second years Harry had spoken to about ways of contacting one another - the leader of whom Harry had learnt was a Slytherin by the name of Charlie Warrington who, despite his bullish looks, had an incredible recall for facts - now also ran a group of intelligence gatherers, although this intelligence was found in books and then promptly put to use in various inventions that might or might not help The Resistance. Their founding had sparked a new wave of pranks across the school, for which Harry was grateful for as it drew the teacher's attention away from him.

On top of the spies and the inventors there were the guards - led by Justin, Ernie and Seamus, as Harry had requested - and, of course, Harry's elite group of seven, plus himself, who each put their efforts towards each of the other sections and also worked together to improve their own spell knowledge. The name "The Resistance" hadn't been thought up by any one person, it had simply come into existence. Even though no one knew entirely what it was they were resisting. Either way the project - the thought of being part of something bigger and more important than themselves, sent shivers of excitement down a lot of backs until everyone was on tenterhooks by the time action finally arrived.

It was thrilling in many ways to see an organisation he'd spent the last two months setting up and putting into action - no matter how unplanned it had all been - finally doing what it had been made to do. The response of the spy network was so fast that Harry and the rest of his elite actually watched as Dumbledore took the last step off of Hogwarts' grounds and disapparated. It was not so fast as to stop Quirrell from entering the third floor corridor where Fluffy resided, but it only took one prank of the twins for McGonagall to inform them that Dumbledore had left the building and that they should think themselves lucky for not having to face that consequence.

A little of their usual insolence and they knew that Dumbledore had received an urgent owl from the "Ministry". Judging by the speed in which Quirrell had acted, no one needed to be told that it was he and not the Ministry who had sent it.

Very promptly the guards were at their stations around the third floor corridor and Charlie was setting Harry and his team up with the various devices that had been created over the past two months, along with old classics.

'Dung bombs, smoke bombs, fireworks,' Charlie had said, pointing to each of the items on the utility belts as he handed them over. 'Expanding nets that'll sense what you want to trap, but probably aren't strong enough to hold a grown man, unfortunately. Blister bombs that you throw at someone and they come up in blisters and, uh, blobs.'

Harry raised an eyebrow and the Second Year blushed. 'We didn't think up a proper name, so they were nicknamed "blobs" and it stuck,' he sniggered, then continued. 'You chuck them at someone and they just stick to them. And grow. And grow. They won't stop movement or restrict breathing, but they will slow down your opponent significantly.'

'Right, blobs,' Harry had agreed, then thanked Charlie and led the other seven up to where Seamus, Justin and Ernie were waiting for them, at the entrance to Fluffy's room.

'Good luck,' Harry murmured to everyone and they murmured it back.

Then he unlocked the door and strode in, wand at the ready and the incantation for a piece of music already on the tip of his lips. To find Fluffy already in a deep slumber and harp playing peacefully in one corner. Harry let out a long breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding and signalled to the others that it was safe to come into the room, they followed one by one and stood like sentries along the wall.

'Hey, I know this tune,' Seamus said, loud enough to make everyone else wince. Then, to everyone's astonishment, he lowered his voice to a more reasonable decibel and started to sing the words softly to himself, his accent more pronounced at his rendition of what was, quite obviously, a traditional Irish piece of music.

Harry shook his head in exasperation, but just shrugged at the others. 'It still counts as music, I guess,' he told the others. 'So it won't do any harm. Here, help me move her paw, will you?'

And the other First Years leapt into action and moved in closer to help move the giant paw off the trap door with as little disturbance to the Cerberus as possible.

It was only when Fluffy let out a low pitched whine and snuffled that Hermione raised her head suddenly and asked, 'Does it seem a little… quiet to you?'

They turned to look at the harp that had been playing quietly in the corner and gulped - almost as one - when they saw that the strings were no longer plucking themselves.

'Seamus, whatever you do,' Stephen muttered loud enough that the Irish boy still standing guard by the door might hear him, but not stop his tune. 'Do not stop singing.'

AN: Woot! More chapter. And so soon. You will be pleased to note that I have some time off currently (I think I mentioned that?) and thus have more time to spend on the story. I am aiming at writing one chapter a day, which I have so far kept to, but will only post every other day in the hope that, even when my current streak of inspiration does dry up the chapters won't suddenly come once a month at the most.

On a different note: I realise there are a couple of inaccuracies in this chapter in concern to it being canon, but I'm doing my best to accommodate both the original plot line and my own version. Just think of "The Resistance" as the DA come five years early. And less reluctantly. Also, I really wanted a Hufflepuff or Slytherin second year but I could find no one. The dates for C. Warrington are either first year beginning 1989 or 88, which would place him as third or fourth year instead of second year at this point but… screw that. I needed a name. And I'm rubbish at coming up with names. Thus, another Charlie. But, hey, 'Charles' is a common enough name, isn't it?

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, much love
Cal
xxx

PS. The students in the same year as Harry are as follows:
Ravenclaw: Harry Potter (m), Stephen Cornfoot (m), Kevin Entwhistle (m), Anthony Goldstein (m), Michael Corner (m), Terry Boot (m), Lisa Turpin (f), Mandy Brocklehurst (f), Su Li (f), Morag MacDougal (f), Padma Patil (f)
Slytherin: Draco Malfoy (m), Theodore Nott (m), Blaise Zabini (m, for christ's sakes, whoever thought this guy was female, even when his sex wasn't identified is daft), Gregory Goyle (m), Vincent Crabbe (m), Millicent Bulstrode (f), Daphne Greengrass (f), Pansy Parkinson (f), Tracey Davis (f)
Hufflepuff: Justin Finch-Fletchley (m), Wayne Hopkins (m), Ernie Macmillan (m), Hannah Abbott (f), Susan Bones (f), Megan Jones (f)
Gryffindor: Ron Weasley (m), Seamus Finnegan (m), Dean Thomas (m), Neville Long bottom (m), Hermione Granger (f), Parvati Patil (f), Lavender Brown (f)
34 total

There is debate about the existence of two further Gryffindor girls, but we never hear of them directly in the books, so I'm going to ignore them. All this information comes from the HP Lexicon, so feel free to check it out if you have the time and inclination.

C, x