I wanted to thank all of you for your reviews last chapter, they cheered me up a lot :) It wasn't my intention to make anyone think I was going to drop the story, I only meant to say I was losing some enthusiasm to write, but I am NOT abandoning this story. I've put a lot of effort into it and have a lot of things planned that I really want to write, so don't worry about that :)

I've been in such a good mood that I've already written this chapter, and I wanted to post it already as a thank you for all the nice comments you've all left me :) I hope you enjoy it.

Contrary to the previous two chapters, this one has been beta read by The Red Harlequin On The Luna :D

Chapter 21: The things we forgot

Ron groaned under the spray of hot water from one of the showers in the locker room of the set of rooms —Harry had called them a 'gym'— that the Room of Requirement had provided for training. He rubbed at his sore legs, sure that he had sprained something. He had expected to get a little tired, of course, but this had been way too much.

Today had been his and Hermione's first day of training with Harry and Marco, and they had spent it starting on the basics and working a schedule for what they would do. Or, more accurately, Marco had said they would work on the basics, but there was no way that what they had done could be called 'basic'. They had been at it barely an hour, and by the time they were done Ron and Hermione were barely able to drag themselves to the showers. Ron had fallen on his ass so much he doubted he would be able to feel anything for a week.

They would spend the rest of the afternoon practicing some spells, which Ron thought was much more useful.

What he didn't see the point of were those… workout routines Marco had given them for morning and night. It was true that they were only fifteen minutes and nothing in comparison to what they had just gone through, but Harry had said it would take some time for it to show results, and that was what Ron didn't understand. The muggle ways of doing things were always so slow… He was sure there must be potions to get in shape quick, but when he had mentioned them Marco had shaken his head and muttered something about lazy idiots, addiction and after-effects. Hermione had nodded along with him, saying something about 'drugs' —another muggle term, Ron guessed, and he was starting to get tired of not understanding half of what was being said around him— and Harry, noticing Ron's dubiousness about the whole thing, had said they would do the workouts together.

That was when Ron remembered that Harry had always been awake before him since last year, and that he did something in the morning and nights that Ron had never paid much attention to.

He hoped they were right about this helping him duel in the future. Marco was strong, Ron could admit that much easily, and both he and Harry —even Hermione— were convinced this was useful. Ron would still be much more amenable to the whole thing if he at least was allowed to take some potions for the cramps, but when he had asked for one Marco had just smirked and told him to stop being such a crybaby.

Monday arrived, and with it so did a strange occurrence.

When Harry and Ron descended into the Gryffindor common room, they found a group of students talking. It seemed a girl hadn't been able to find her cat and had asked around, which had resulted in more students realizing their cats weren't anywhere to be found either.

"I haven't seen Crookshanks," Hermione told Ron and Hermione when she saw them walk down the stairs.

"Good riddance," muttered Ron, and yelped when Harry kicked him.

"Don't worry, I'm sure there is a reason for this," Harry reassured Hermione, who by now was glaring angrily at Ron, and threw an arm over her shoulders and led her out through the portrait hole before she could start another argument with Ron over their pets.

As it turned out, they had their answer to the mystery of the cats' absence as soon as they reached the Great Hall. What looked like every single cat in the school was there. They were around the staff table, or, more accurately, Professor McGonagall. All of the cats were trying to get to her, and the ones who managed it rubbed themselves happily against her clothes before being pushed away by another cat who did just the same.

The staff had moved away from her, their table magically lengthened so they could all sit without being swarmed by cats, and they looked visibly amused —even Snape had what seemed like the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his lips. The students didn't seem to be doing any better, everyone present glancing at McGonagall and laughing more or less discreetly: many people tried to conceal it behind their hands or cover it with coughs, but some, mostly in the Slytherin table, were laughing openly.

McGonagall herself didn't look amused at all. Her lips were pulled so thin they were white, and she had her wand out, trying to mutter spells to shoo the cats away without success. She would probably have managed it if she had used a strong spell, but Harry —in between his own bout of laughter at the scene— could guess she didn't want to hurt the cats.

Harry sat down next to Fred Weasley, who was busy admiring the spectacle with George and speculating about how it had been done. Harry had no idea, but he knew he had spotted the culprit the moment he saw Marco perched on Dumbledore's seat, obviously laughing in his bird way. He pointed him out at Ron —who hadn't started eating yet because he would probably choke— and Hermione —who couldn't manage to look disapproving because she was trying too hard not to laugh.

They met Marco in a deserted corridor during their unexpectedly free third period that day. They were supposed to have Transfiguration at that hour, but the rumour mill had it that McGonagall still hadn't managed to get rid of the cats, and after snapping at her students early during the second period class she had decided to take the rest of the day off to try to solve the problem.

"Why did you do that?" Hermione asked even before Marco had finished his transformation. She had composed herself enough to sound disapproving in the hours that had passed.

Marco smiled, amused.

"Do I need a reason?" he asked, amused. Harry knew that yes, he needed a reason, as Marco had never been one to prank someone without motive, but he didn't point it out. He had a feeling Marco wouldn't tell, or he would have done it already.

Hermione's disapproving frown, that didn't seem to have any effect on Marco, deepened.

"What did you do to the cats?"

"Nothing." At Hermione's incredulous look, he elaborated. "I didn't do anything to them. They're fine, and won't experience any ill effects for this. They like Minerva a lot right now, but that's all." He smirked, and Hermione crossed her arms.

"Whatever you did, undo it," Hermione demanded.

"No."

Harry placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder before she could say anything else.

"Don't bother, you can't out-stubborn him." Hermione's glare was directed at him now. "Seriously, not even I can do it most of the time."

"But it's not fair," Hermione complained. "You saw Professor McGonagall's face. This is more than a prank, it's humiliating!" She turned back to Marco, as if those words should be enough to convince him to undo whatever he had done.

He just shrugged.

"Trust me on this, she had it coming."

"Why?" Ron, who had stayed silent so far —he was having too much fun to really want the prank undone, but was smart enough not to say it where Hermione could hear him— asked.

"She just did," Marco said, and right then Harry knew they wouldn't get him to elaborate any more. "And look at it this way: you got a free period."

Those words incensed Hermione all over again.

"And there's that! You're messing with our education!"

"It's just a class, you'll be fine," Marco waved her off, and Hermione huffed.

Puffing out indignantly, she turned around and marched off. Harry was unsure whether she had decided she wouldn't get Marco to change his mind, was just too exasperated and knew hexing him was useless, or was going to the library to try to recover her lost class.

"Seriously, how did you do it?" Ron asked, admiration clear in his voice now that Hermione was out of sight and earshot.

Marco gave them a speculative look before answering.

"If I tell you, I want to make it very clear that if I even suspect either of you gave it away, you will regret it. Am I clear?" he said with the voice Harry identified as the first division commander giving orders.

They both nodded, and Harry could hear Ron gulping. He didn't blame him.

"I used bleach."

"Bleach?" they both asked at the same time, looking at one another in puzzlement.

"Yes. The magical, instant-drying kind that doesn't alter the colour of the clothes. Cats love it, as you've seen."

"Yeah, okay," Ron started dubiously. "That'd explain that a cat seeing McGonagall would go to her, but why were all the cats there?"

Marco smirked.

"I took them there, of course."

As it turned out, as Dumbledore's trusted phoenix, Marco was keyed into every single ward of the school, and could enter everywhere —be it a common room or a professor's rooms— without a password or someone letting him in, and he had used this to his advantage. It soon became clear that he had passed all of McGonagall's clothes through the bleach, but things calmed a little when people started to get over the initial amusement and went to retrieve their cats. From them on, even though there was no army of cats following her around, whenever Harry saw McGonagall there were always a couple of cats walking at her feet, and they became a more or less permanent fixture for the next few weeks. There were days without cats, when Harry guessed McGonagall was wearing a set of clothes that Harry guessed had been cleaned again after the bleach, and it was hilarious to see her subtle relief only for exasperation to return when the next day the cats were back without an apparent explanation.

Also, McGonagall wasn't the only professor Marco had deemed deserved a prank or two. In the first astronomy class, they discovered that all the telescopes had been recalibrated, which became a common occurrence for every Astronomy lesson for every year during weeks, more or less the same amount of time in which the pile of books Professor Flitwick used to stand on top of and see over his desk wouldn't stay in place. Flitwick spent a week falling a couple of times each class before deciding to move to stand on his desk, only for the desk to turn so slippery not even a sheet of parchment could remain on it.

Not all the professors were targeted, but Harry heard rumours about other occurrences. One of them said that one of the greenhouses not used for classes had had to be closed temporarily because the plants there had decided that eating one another would be fun and Professor Sprout couldn't get them to stop, but Harry wasn't sure how much of that was true and how much had been exaggerated. What he did know for a fact was that the first years' flying lessons had to be postponed for two weeks because all the school brooms had mysteriously disappeared, only to be found one at a time spread through different places of the school. The first years had complained loudly about it, and Filch had been even grumpier than usual because he had been forced to scout the entire school to find the missing brooms.

Marco also showed up almost daily with large bags of sweets. They were Dumbledore's, it seemed, because, as there was no way of humiliating a man who thought lime green tunics with moving purple stars were decent clothes, Marco had decided to annoy him by stealing his sweets every time a new shipment arrived to replace the latest missing one. Harry, of course, was more than happy to help dispose of them.

Hermione was extremely angry at Marco for all of this. Harry was sure he would have left the afternoon lessons if it wasn't because they were lessons, but she spent the whole time in the Room of Requirement glaring at him, and she never failed to demand that Marco stopped with what he was doing. Marco had told Harry he would stop once McGonagall spent a week with no cats following her around, but he didn't mention that detail to Hermione, and neither did Harry.

It didn't help out Hermione's mood that they had started with Harry's extra lessons, even less when they decided to do one of them on a Saturday afternoon. They were working on lock-picking now, and it was harder than Harry had imagined. Smashing and burning things had been much easier than carefully trying to pry the lock open. It was hard enough to manage it with a picklock, and he really didn't want to think about when he mastered it and they moved on to other less accurate tools.

The only thing Harry disapproved of about Marco's pranks was that, for some reason, they didn't extend to Trelawney. Her constant predictions of his death, her pitying looks and soft words, as if he was going to die at any time, and how some students —also known as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil— copied her behaviour around him grated on Harry's nerves. She managed to turn everything that appeared in his tea leaves into an omen of his imminent death, even the one time the leaves simply said he had forgotten something, the professor had twisted it to mean that there was something he still hadn't solved before his death, and Harry had spent the remainder of the day fending off questions and repeating that he didn't have to get his affairs in order because he wasn't going to die.

Half the class was still convinced he would die, though, and the story had already spread through the school, earning him pitying looks from those who believed Trelawney and amused ones from those who didn't. There were jokes, too, of course. There were always jokes and mocking comments about anything that happened to him, courtesy of Malfoy and his cronies.

The first of October brought with it the start of the season's Quidditch practices. This year Oliver Wood was even more desperate than ever to win, because this was his last year in school and they still hadn't managed to win the cup even though they should have won the previous two years. Harry didn't like to lose, and he considered Oliver, despite last year's horrible schedule for practices, a good friend. He decided he would do everything he could to win this year, just as everybody else in the team did. Even Fred and George had been serious about it when they saw how desperate Oliver was to win the cup.

Quidditch practices would be three days a week, on the afternoons of Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, which meant Harry had to reschedule some of his training sessions with Marco.

Portgas D. Ace, despite what many might think due to his random bouts of sleep, was an early riser. He had never slept in as a kid, an habit that had carried to his days as pirate captain and that had only solidified further during his months of failed attempts on Whitebeard's life, when he would barely sleep three or four hours at most due to his paranoia about what the crew might do if they caught him asleep. Waking up early had many advantages, amongst which was the fact that this way he had more time to eat as much as he wanted during breakfast.

Today, he woke up even earlier than usual, dressed and left the cabin and a sleeping Marco behind. He didn't have to bother to be silent, because it was already a routine of theirs that Ace woke up first, and Marco didn't even twitch unless Ace made an effort to wake him up. Marco wasn't a late riser, but he didn't see the point of being at the mess hall the moment the food came out, because he didn't have, as he put it, a bottomless pit for a stomach.

Ace had different plans for this morning, though. As they had agreed, Thatch was waiting for him at a table with two giant baskets by his side. Ace grinned at seeing them. It might not be as much food as he would eat if he stayed here, but it would do.

"Remember, you only have until before lunch. After that, we want him too," Thatch told him so solemnly that he made it sound like they were talking about something very serious.

Ace grinned.

"I know, I know. I'm sure he won't want to miss his party," he said, taking the two baskets in his hands. Their weights suggested they had been filled to full capacity.

"Of course he won't. We've got something special this year," Thatch said with a grin and a glint in his eyes that Ace had learned to recognize in the few months he had been an official member of the crew.

Ace shook his head in amusement.

"Whatever it is, it's your funeral, not mine." Which didn't mean Ace wasn't curious to see what brilliant idea Thatch had come up with this time.

When Ace returned to the cabin, he found Marco was still asleep, hugging the pillow now that he was alone. Another thing people wouldn't guess, Ace had soon discovered, was that Marco was a cuddler. He had a too terrifying reputation for anybody to ever entertain the idea. Ace found it cute, if he was honest, and thanks to his powers he never heated up too much from it even during the summer weather.

He bent down to place the baskets against the wall and closed the door carefully not to make any unnecessary noises. He undressed as he walked back to the bed, barely resisting the urge to humble. His eyes zeroed in on Marco's naked midsection.

Time to wake up the sleeping beauty.

With everything that had happened the previous year, Harry had eventually forgotten that he had asked Marco to show him where the school's kitchens were, and now he had to solve this lack of knowledge. He cornered Fred and George at the Gryffindor lockers after Monday's practice, having muttered to them to stay behind once the practice was over.

"Where are the kitchens?" he asked as soon as the three of them were alone.

Fred and George looked at one another.

"What makes you think..." Fred started.

"...That we know?" finished George.

Harry didn't even bother to snort.

"Everybody knows you do. That's where you get the food for the parties."

"Yes, well..." George started, looking at Fred.

"We can't tell you."

"Why not?" Harry asked, crossing his arms. They better not come up with some stupid excuse about keeping it a secret or he was going to curse them.

"Because, dear Harry," Fred started solemnly, "we cannot risk it."

"You would leave the school out of food in a week," George added, nodding sagely.

Harry glared at them. Their reasoning may be amusing, but he was in serious need of the kitchens. And he needed them now.

"If you don't tell me, I'll curse you," he threatened.

"We're fifth years," George pointed out.

"I killed a basilisk last year." That wasn't true, but they didn't know, and he could have killed that basilisk of Marco hadn't wanted it for himself.

Dobby, Harry decided after his visit to the kitchens, was probably an oddity amongst house elves. The elves that worked in the school, and there were lots of them, had been more than pleased to assist Harry, and had offered even more than he had asked for, which Harry had of course accepted. There had been only one demand that they had been unable to satisfy due to the school's rules, and the poor guys had looked so depressed —even ready to start bashing their heads against the walls— that Harry had reassured them it was of no importance, though it kind of was, and had distracted them by asking about sweets.

Now it was Tuesday, and because of his long visit to the kitchens last night he hadn't slept much. Both Hermione and Ron noticed, but he reassured them he was fine. That turned the worry, at least on Hermione's part, into suspicion, probably because Harry hadn't given them any explanation about why he hadn't slept.

Deciding that it wasn't worth the suspicious looks and that he didn't want to distract Hermione when for once there was no reason for her to worry, he slowed his pace down when they were returning to the castle after Care of Magical Creatures —which had become extremely boring after Malfoy's not-accident, and they now spent the classes taking care of flobberworms, the most boring creatures to ever inhabit the earth— and waited until he was sure they were too far from the group for anybody to overhear before speaking.

"Alright, guys, I was gonna tell you later after Potions, but Hermione's going to kill me with her glares if I wait that long." He ignored her new glare at this comment. "I'm not planning anything bad, honestly. It's just... today is Marco's birthday."

That made both Ron and Hermione stop. Harry did, too.

"Really?" Ron asked.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner? I don't have anything for him!" Hermione scolded him.

Harry half-smiled at that.

"I thought you were angry at him."

Hermione blushed slightly.

"Yes, I am, there still are cats following Professor McGonagall sometimes, but... he's my friend."

Harry grinned at hearing that, and he barely held back from spontaneously hugging Hermione. She probably had no idea how good it felt to hear that she thought of Marco as a friend, but Harry, who had known him as the exasperated-yet-caring older brother of the Whitebeard Pirates, knew how lonely he must feel now that he didn't have much people to interact with, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how alone Marco must have felt for all these years. Knowing that someone cared was great.

"That's good to know," he said instead. "I didn't tell you because I just remembered it two nights ago, when I had a dream." The content of which they didn't need to know but that had proven Harry's hormones were already more active than he had believed. "I've been busy preparing everything. I even got Fred and George to tell me where the kitchens are."

"A party?" Ron asked, grinning at the prospect. Aside from the banquets a couple of days during the year, there weren't really parties at Hogwarts. Even during birthdays, students didn't celebrate that way.

"At the Room of Requirement, " he confirmed. "Can you come two hours after Potions this afternoon?"

He was going to be there as soon as the class was over, and would make sure Marco came, too, but he needed a little time for the two of them alone. His friends caught on, and didn't comment on it.

"Bring Ginny, too," he added before starting to walk once more towards the school.

Marco flew into the Room of Requirement after Ace, and he froze at the sight that greeted him there.

He didn't even notice the door closing behind him, or that he had transformed until his feet touched the wooden floor. And that was what had frozen him, the wooden floor at his feet, the railings far at each side of the expanse of a deck he no longer was able to recall, the masts and folded sails, the magically created waves crashing against the vessel...

He realized he was crying when everything turned too blurry to discern any shapes.

He rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and looked around some more. Every time he laid his eyes on something, memories that had been blurry for too long grew clearer. There was the unofficial training area of the deck, where nobody walked into without being ready to dodge at any moment because fights tended to break out without previous notice; looking up, he could see the crow's nest of the main mast of the ship, their flag blowing proudly over it; behind him, the door that led to the school was the same one that would open to the bathrooms the nurses refused to enter because they almost always were too much of a mess; off to one side, there was a huge, empty chair that had Marco walk blindly to it. He couldn't see once more, but he didn't care. He placed his hands on it and rested his forehead against the seat.

Behind him, he heard soft footsteps.

"There's more," Ace said, and placed a hand on his arm. "Want a tour?"

Harry had known, even if he had never dared to ask, that Marco couldn't remember clearly most of what had happened so long ago. Events, yes, he could remind himself of those, but images, sounds, faces... all of that was bound to have started to disappear after a time.

He took him around the ship, making as many stops as Marco needed, and ended the visit at the area he knew would affect Marco the most. Now they were sitting on the floor of the mess hall, against a bench of one of the many tables, staring up at the wall covered in the wanted posters of every member and ally of the crew. Marco had staggered upon seeing it, taken a step forward and then fallen, unable to hold himself up no doubt against the onslaught of known forgotten faces.

Harry had managed to move him against the bench, where he didn't have to hold his weight up and could see every picture. Harry watched as Marco, face covered in tears he no longer bothered to try to remove, took in every face, every detail he had forgotten over the years.

Harry looked, too, even though he was able to remember them well enough that he had been able to ask the room for such an accurate recreation. He had found himself crying, too, when they had entered what had been their cabin. He had kept Luffy's first wanted poster there.

To be continued

I doubted a lot about what sort of prank Marco could play on Minerva, because she was a must here, but then Akage987 told me that little tidbit about the bleach (I didn't know) and I couldn't resist :) Thanks a lot for that ^^

I decided not to prank Lupin for two reasons: first, as Marco said, it wasn't intentional on his part, and he's not the sort of guy who would laugh a lot about it or go around telling the story to make others laugh (I don't think, at least). Also, if he was pranked, many people would suspect Severus, and Marco wouldn't want to give trouble to a friend, much less when he's sort of taking care of him with the whole thing.

Originally, the third book says Quidditch practice this year is three days a week, but doesn't specify which ones. I chose those because it fit with the plot.