Chapter 34 – Back to School

After a—thankfully—uneventful conclusion to the holidays, it was time for the return to Hogwarts, and Harry was extremely grateful that he would be allowed to once again immerse himself in his studies and forget about his problems for a while. Or perhaps that was not completely accurate. With what he had learned over the previous week, Harry seriously doubted that there would ever be any forgetting of the circumstances. The return to school did provide a nice distraction, however, along with the ability to lose himself in the familiar routines of classes, study, Quidditch practice, and the camaraderie and unconditional support of his friends.

As Harry sat in the Great Hall that evening after disembarking from the Express, he listened to his friends chatter back and forth, and for the first time in a week, felt his spirits lifting in response. It had been just what he needed, he reflected—not all of his life was doom and gloom, regardless how often it seemed that way.

In truth, Harry had not felt this way in several months—since Jean-Sebastian and Apolline had taken his guardianship and helped him during the trial. He had always been somewhat of a moody person, though that was likely due to his upbringing as a member of the Dursley household—one the other members generally wished to pretend never existed, if they could manage it. But the prophecy and especially the horcrux had shaken him, sending him back into that spiral of gloom, no matter how his friends had attempted to pull him from it. He had spent a considerable amount of time in the past few days studying his scar in the mirror. It was silly, he knew, but he could not help it, now that he knew what it contained. He had finally made himself stop doing it—it was not as though it would appear any different now that he knew the truth, anyway.

The simple fact was that Harry did not wish to be that person any more, and he recognized that at times, even after Jean-Sebastian had taken him in, that he had still slipped into his own habits of assuming every bad thing in the world would happen to him. He more than anything wanted to be happy and contented in his life, and he had spent the past day promising himself that he would—Voldemort's horcrux be damned!

Having so decided, he had appeared from his room that morning, forcing himself into a happier mood, and as the day went on in the company of his friends, he had spent less effort to make it so. Now, though the matter was still on his mind—it would never truly leave him as long as the horcrux remained—it was blunted and had lost its urgency. Professor Dumbledore was investigating the matter and if anyone could find an answer, Harry was certain he could. It was now nothing more than a waiting game.

The trip on the express had been quiet that morning. In fact, it had been extremely unusual in that Malfoy had for once kept his big mouth shut and had not invaded Harry's compartment looking to cause trouble. Harry could not remember a single trip on the Express where Malfoy had not made his appearance. They had only seen the ferret once throughout the course of the entire journey, and even then it had only been an instant as they were boarding the train at King's Cross Station. He had met Harry's gaze for an instant with his usual sneer before Harry had entered the train. Not sure what to make of his sudden decision to back off, Harry vowed to watch him closely.

The only other thing of note to happen on the Express had been Daphne approaching him for a private talk. Harry had almost forgotten about her father's cryptic remarks the night of the ball, and when Hermione had mentioned that Daphne wanted to speak to him about something her father had said, he had had to think about it for several moments before he understood her meaning. The conversation, however, had not been anything he had expected.

"Thanks for meeting with me, Harry," Daphne said.

Indicating it was no trouble, Harry studied his friend, noting the fact that she appeared to be somewhat nervous, if her surreptitious glances at him and her slight fidgeting were any indication at all. Harry had never known the normally calm and unflappable girl to behave in such a manner, suggesting that whatever was troubling her was serious. He was not sure how he could help, but she was a friend, so he would do what he could.

"I wanted to explain something to you about what my father said at your betrothal ball," she indicated.

"I take it there's more to what he said than just getting to know me?"

"There is." Daphne's words were firm, but she still displayed the nervousness she had at the start. "In fact, it's a little complicated."

"I can do complicated," Harry replied with an encouraging grin. "Lay it on me."

Daphne's answering smile was brief before she once focused on whatever was troubling her. "How much do you know of the factions of the first Wizarding War?"

Confused by her seeming non sequitur, Harry answered as honestly as he could. "Well, I know that the Ministry fought against the Death Eaters, supported by Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, though the Order generally kept a low profile. I'm not certain I could say reliably who actually made up those factions, but I do know most of the obvious major players."

"That is all correct, Harry, but there was another faction." Daphne paused for a moment, before a wry smile came over her face. "Or perhaps it's more correct to say that there was a group who did not choose one side over the other. They came to be known as neutrals, though there really wasn't much in the way of organization or even affiliation between them. The neutrals, though they never sided, gained a reputation with both sides—the forces of light considered them with suspicion, like they clandestinely supported the Death Eaters—which was not entirely untrue in many respects—while the Death Eaters considered them to be faint of heart, unwilling to risk fighting for the Pureblood cause. Some of the more fanatical among them considered them to be closet Blood Traitors. And again, in many cases, the Death Eaters were not incorrect in their assumptions."

"Okay, let's back up a little, Daphne," Harry said holding up a hand. "So some of these neutrals did help the Death Eaters, and some supported the Ministry?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. Most were truly not interested at all in choosing sides, but to a certain extent sides were chosen regardless. Many paid people like Lucius Malfoy," she spat the name like a curse, "off in exchange for being left alone, while many did support one side or another surreptitiously. It was a dangerous time—whole families were being wiped out by the Death Eaters, and many felt that this was the only way to keep their families safe. The Cornfoots, the Macmillans, and the Browns all fit into this category, just among those in our year at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, indicating his understanding. Daphne appeared even more nervous now than she had earlier, but she sighed and then visibly plucked up her courage before she continued to speak. "The Greengrasses were also considered to be a neutral family, though we never paid any sort of tribute to keep the Death Eaters at bay. My family is rather important in the potions trade, specifically for supplying rare and expensive ingredients. The Death Eaters realized our importance and left us alone as long as we continued to sell needed ingredients to them. You could say that we supported the Death Eaters after a fashion, though Greengrasses by and large have never supported You-Know-Who's ideology."

"I understand, Daphne," Harry replied, trying to put the girl at ease. "Your family made a decision which kept them safe and they had to continue to supply Voldemort in order to do so. I assume that things have now changed?"

"They have," Daphne said with a sigh. "When we got home, my father appeared to be agitated and worried. He took me aside a few days after we returned, primarily due to my letters home which said that I had become your friend this past term."

As she stopped and looked at him expectantly, Harry thought on the situation for a moment. Clearly she wanted something from him—likely alliance or protection, or something of that nature. He was not truly in a position to protect anyone, being only fifteen years of age. However, those he associated with on a regular basis were powerful adults, who would be able to offer something more. And of course the support of the Boy-Who-Lived was not an insignificant thing, much though he found the thought of his fame, undeserved as he felt it was, distasteful.

"I presume this has to do with what Malfoy was trying to pull before we left school?" Harry asked. First things first, after all; Malfoy would only be an opening sally in Voldemort's offense—threaten the children as a warning to the adults. "Have the Death Eaters started pressuring your family?"

"In a word, yes," Daphne confirmed. "Malfoy is nothing more than a little prick who thinks he's king of the hill. We can handle him just fine. It's You-Know-Who and his ilk we can't handle."

"Tell me what happened, Daphne."

"It started back in the fall. Father told me that he had been approached by several high level Death Eaters—he does business with them from time to time. They began making hints about how their lord had returned and would expect more than just potions ingredients this time, and how father would have to choose a side. Oh, they said nothing in such an overt way, but the meaning was clear.

"But then during the hols another Death Eater came to our house." Daphne shuddered and turned away for a moment. "It was awful. He was more than a thug than anything, and he wasn't one I recognized as being one of You-Know-Who's typical front men. He was scruffy and unkempt and looked like he hadn't bathed in several years. We heard raised voices from my father's study, and the man stormed out a while later, leaving my father looking shaken. It was not precisely an ultimatum according to my father—though my guess is that it was intended as one—but he was told that his support for the Pureblood movement was required and that he would fall in line. The inference, of course, was that things would become very unpleasant for us if he didn't."

"And what did your father say?" Harry asked in a quiet tone. His upbringing with Dudley had instilled him with a healthy dislike for bullies of all colors, and that was precisely what this man—whoever he was—had done. In fact, if he thought of it in that manner, Voldemort himself was nothing more than a bully—a bully who could back his words up with deadly curses and the will to use them, but a bully still.

"He didn't respond one way or another. That's why the Death Eater raised his voice. It's clear that You-Know-Who tried to be subtle first, and as that didn't get immediate results, he's now resorted to threats.

"And what's more, apparently pressure has been put on many of the other families too. Some will undoubtedly choose to side with You-Know-Who, especially those who at least passively support his ideals anyway. Others may try to pay lip service to him to protect their families. My father has tried to get a read of his associates, but it's difficult to get a true idea of who will end up doing what."

"That's a really bad idea, Daphne," Harry interjected. "I don't think the Dark Mark allows that kind of attitude."

"Father has made the same argument," Daphne agreed.

They fell silent as the door behind them opened and a number of younger students—second and third years from their looks—moved through the area. The place they had chosen for their conversation was the compartment between cars and Harry was surprised they had not been interrupted before then.

Once they were alone again, Harry fixed his gaze on his friend. "I assume you want some sort of alliance or protection?"

"Yes," Daphne said, seeming a little relieved. She likely knew enough about him to know that he would not have mentioned something like that at all if he had not intended to go through with it.

"I should remind you that I'm only fifteen," Harry said with a wink of his eye. "I'm not sure I really have the means to protect anyone."

Daphne merely rolled her eyes. "A fifteen-year-old who is also the Boy-Who-Lived. Besides, you have the Delacours and Blacks as guardians, you're Dumbledore's protégé, and even the Weasley name, while not politically powerful, is old and respected, though the current head is considered to be somewhat eccentric. Your godfather especially is shaking things up. The resources of the Black family—a family steeped in centuries of darkness—suddenly turned to the support of the light is not an insignificant matter."

"I suppose it isn't," was Harry's absent reply. "So I presume that your father wants to speak to me about a possible alliance?"

"Essentially, though he's not the only one," Daphne replied. "There are a group of neutrals—I'm not sure who is involved, to be honest—who don't want to get pulled into You-Know-Who's fight, but are afraid that they will be left defenseless if they defy him openly without protecting themselves. If we can negotiate an alliance, they will throw their support in against Death Eaters in exchange for protection."

"Will they openly oppose him?" Harry asked bluntly. "Will they actually take part in any action against him?"

"I can't say." Daphne chewed her lip nervously, clearly agitated at the thought that this may affect the level of support she could gain for her family. "I think my parents might if it was required, but I should tell you that is not exactly their strength."

Harry smiled at her. "Don't worry about it. I doubt Dumbledore would turn you away because you're not very good fighters."

"I'll have you know that I am a very good fighter!" Daphne replied, raising her nose in the air in a snooty manner.

Laughing, Harry shook his head. "It will be fine. I think it would be better if Dumbledore and J.S. spoke directly with your father—they'll understand the finer points of negotiating an alliance like this. I'll speak to Dumbledore and arrange it when we get to school."

Again Daphne appeared nervous, as she fidgeted with the cuff of her shirt. She seemed to gather herself and take a deep breath before she peered up into Harry's eyes.

"We could formalize the alliance and bind us together more firmly, you know. My father would offer a marriage contract if you need a more substantial gesture in order to trust us."

Though Harry was completely shocked at her sudden suggestion, he thought he managed his reaction rather admirably as he only raised an eyebrow at her. Inside, however, his mind was a maelstrom of furious thoughts. He had only actually known the girl for less than two months, and now she was proposing a marriage contract. Of course, he'd not known Fleur for much longer—and had actually spent less time in her company—before finding himself in a contract with her. Why should Daphne be any different?

"You do know I'm already bound under a marriage contract, right?" Though he knew that she knew he was, it seemed like a sensible way to deflect, and perhaps gain a little more information from her.

Unfortunately, in this matter he was to be disappointed, as Daphne merely rolled her eyes before replying with some exasperation, "Of course I know. Don't be obtuse, Harry—I know you are aware of the possibility of having more than one wife. Fleur and Hermione have almost hit you over the head with it."

Harry smiled wryly—she presumed far too much when it came to the actions of his two closest friends. Harry knew that though there had been signs before he had inadvertently overheard their conversation, they had not been that blatant. As she had deflected his parry, Harry decided that it was best to go for the truth of the matter.

"I do know that. What I don't know is whether it's something that you want."

Daphne sighed and leaned back against the door, her eyes studying his face. "I will admit that I don't really know you and that makes me hesitate. But I do know you—and know of you—well enough to know that you would make a good husband, and that I'd never be mistreated. My father would agree if he could be assured of that."

"But that's not what you want."

"I don't know for certain," Daphne admitted. "Like I said, I like you well enough, but as for the rest? We've only known each other for two months or so. Normally I wouldn't be this forward, but I'll do it if it will help my family."

The firm manner in which she stated her reason reassured Harry that while she was not suggesting it because she felt something for him, at least she was doing it with good intentions. It also clarified things for Harry.

"We don't need to go that far," Harry said firmly. "I think that if you trust me enough to know that I would treat you well in marriage, you can trust me to do everything I can to protect you and your family. There's no need for you to offer yourself like that—I'd prefer to know that you want something between us because you want it, not because of some alliance."

Tilting her head to the side, Daphne peered at him with an unreadable expression on her face. "You are a rare breed, Harry. A lot of boys would have jumped at the chance. I'm pretty sure that I'm not unattractive."

"No you're not," Harry agreed with a grin. "But I don't think it's a necessary requirement to create an alliance between us. Let's not rush into anything. If you feel you'd like to explore it further for yourself, we can revisit it then. For now, I have enough keeping up with one fiancée, never mind having to worry about a second. Let's think about this some more before we jump in head first."

"Agreed," Daphne replied with a bright smile.

Even now more than six hours later, Harry could hardly believe that she had suggested a marriage contract with him. To be honest, he was not certain how he felt about it. Daphne was attractive—that much even a blind man could see—but this marrying for nothing more than political expedience did not seem right to him. Sure he already had such a betrothal in place, but he was very glad that he seemed to be approaching a union of minds and hearts with Fleur. Much better that than simply a cold union for other reasons. He was certain that Fleur would not be happy in such an arrangement, and he suspected that he would not either.

Across the room out of the corner of his eye, he could see Daphne sitting beside Tracey, both with their backs to him, the light of the hall highlighting her dark hair. As he had thought before, she certainly was attractive, and given the right chance, he though he could easily develop feelings for her. But what about Fleur and his growing feelings for her? And what about Hermione who had already admitted to having feelings for him? Two women seemed a little much—and now he was considering a third? At that moment, Harry wished for a little more normality in the Wizarding world. Then maybe he would not have to deal with all of this.

As he looked toward Daphne again, Harry realized that someone else was apparently watching the beautiful girl. A little to her right, Malfoy was sitting perhaps fifteen feet away from them on the other side of the table. The expression he was directing at them—or more especially at Daphne, Harry thought—was sour and almost petulant. Underneath it, however, Harry thought he could detect a hint of possessiveness, the way he watched her like a hawk and almost seemed to lean forward to hear what she was saying. Malfoy would bear watching—Daphne may not be betrothed to Harry, but he would be certain to put Malfoy in his place if the little creep tried anything.

At that point Harry's thoughts were broken when the Headmaster stood at the head table and motioned the gathering for silence. To the man's side there was still an empty chair—no doubt it was reserved for the new Defense Professor, who still had not been announced. Harry was curious; he expected the announcement was imminent.

"Thank you all, and welcome back to Hogwarts," Dumbledore exclaimed in his usual flamboyant style. "Usually, I leave the announcements for the opening feast of the year, but this year we have an unusual occurrence. No doubt you are all waiting to learn the identity of your new professor, and I will not keep you waiting."

He gazed out over the room theatrically, and smiling—Harry fancied that the Headmaster was looking directly at him—he raised his hand and directed it to the anteroom where the champions had gathered following the announcement of the participants of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

"Please welcome your new Defense Professor, Sirius Black!"

Torn between disbelief and delight, Harry watched as Sirius stepped into the Great Hall and grinned at the assembled students while bowing impudently. His reception was, as was to be expected, somewhat lukewarm—from what Harry could see, the Gryffindor table was largely supportive and enthusiastic, while Slytherin was, of course, the opposite. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were mixed, with those friendly to Harry generally supportive, while others were less so. Sirius, in keeping with the Marauder spirit, acted as though he had been greeted with the kind of cheers reserved for Merlin himself, bowing and grinning as he made his way up to the head table.

Once there, he shook hands with Dumbledore and took his place at the table. Only then did he look directly at Harry, and with deliberate good humor, flipped him an impudent salute, laughing at what Harry's incredulous—and likely comical—expression.

"That… that cheeky bugger!" Harry exclaimed to his friends. "He knew he was coming to Hogwarts, but he didn't tell us. He pranked us!"

Sitting by his side, Fleur nodded her head and with a devious look in her eye, said, "Well then, we should prank him back. Isn't that a Marauders' code or something?"

"Did someone say something about a prank?" one of the twins asked from further down the table.

"Yes, do tell," chimed in the other.

Harry smirked at them. "I think we might put your talents to use, gentlemen. Padfoot of the Marauders has just pranked us. Honor demands we return the favor."

The twin Weasleys looked at each other and laughed, but it was Ron who responded. "Well, we should get to it, don't you think?"

Laughing, Harry agreed, and he leaned forward, beginning to discuss the situation earnestly with his nearby friends. During the course of their discussions, Harry glanced up at the head table and smirked at Sirius, and his godfather, no doubt knowing that they were planning retribution, merely grinned back at him and gave him the thumbs up.

However, something else caught Harry's attention. Sitting a ways down on the other side of Dumbledore from Sirius, Snape sat glaring down at the assembly, with an expression which was more than usually poisonous. When he noticed Harry watching him, his express became even blacker. Their eyes only met for a moment, but Harry got the distinct impression that Snape would have incinerated him on the spot, had he had the power to do so. It was only an instant and then Snape turned to one of the professors beside him and began to converse with her, as though trying to deny Harry's very existence.

"What's his problem?" Hermione asked from his side.

He turned to look at her. "You noticed it too?"

"Noticed what?" Fleur asked.

"Just Snape looking fouler then I've ever seen him before."

Almost as one, everyone nearby turned to look at the potions master who, if he noticed their scrutiny, ignored them in favor of his conversation.

"Does Snape really need a reason to look at you like that?" Ron asked. "He's probably just got indigestion or something.

Laughing, Harry shrugged the unpleasant man's attitude off. They had some serious pranking to do, and Harry was not about to allow Snape to affect his good mood.

Their revenge for Sirius's prank took shape the following morning. Those involved—namely Harry, Hermione, Fleur, Ron, and the Weasley twins—made certain to arrive at breakfast early so that they could see the show. As it turned out, they did not have long to wait as Sirius sauntered into the hall a few moments after they had taken their seats. He made his way between the benches, stopping to have a few words with Harry before he smiled and indicated that he was looking forward to seeing all the fifth years in Defense later that afternoon. He then turned and made his way to the staff table.

Harry and his friends watched Sirius like hawks as he sat down and began to dish himself some food from the nearby platters. He then stopped and, after glancing up at Harry, exaggeratedly cast a detection spell of some kind on his food. He waved his wand again, with a sly glance up at Harry, before picking up his fork and digging in to his meal.

The effects were instantaneous. The moment fork touched his lips, his skin turned a brilliant shade of blue with white and black bands on his upper cheeks. From behind his head a brilliant plumage of blue and green feathers sprouted, surrounding his head and stretching out a meter or more in each direction. He looked absurd, especially with the comical expression of surprise which instantly spread over his features. Shock quickly turned to a sly grin, however, and he excused himself—the Headmaster merely watched him with gleaming eyes—and stood up. He made his way toward Harry and his friends, though he did have to turn himself sideways in several places to be able to squeeze his feathers through the narrow pathways.

By this time the entire hall had noticed his predicament and had begun to laugh, but Sirius took their laughter with no sense of embarrassment—instead, ever the showman, he bowed to all and sundry and continued to make his way toward Harry and his friends.

"Nice plumage, Sirius," Harry said as he arrived, prompting further gales of laughter from those who were close enough to hear his quip.

"Well, yes," Sirius said, playing it up by stroking some of his feathers. "But I was wondering—you and your cohorts wouldn't know anything about this, would you?"

"Us?" one of the twins demanded. "Why would we know anything?"

"Call it an inspired guess," Sirius replied in a droll tone. "In fact, if I'm not very much mistaken, I believe that even our straitlaced Hermione was involved. Quite the accomplishment, I must say."

Hermione turned innocent eyes on the new, feathered, Defense Professor. "I can assure you, professor, that I was not involved at all." She frowned and began chewing on her lip, seemingly thinking hard about something. "I may have mentioned how I would go about getting revenge, if I were so inclined, but it's not my fault if someone used my random musings to actually do so."

"Nice," Sirius replied with a grin. "The only thing I can't understand is how you managed to do it. I figured you might try something like this, after I showed up… unexpectedly last night, so I used a detection spell on my food. I did notice something and dispelled it, but I've still ended up with feathers." The group snickered, but Sirius ignored them. "Would any of you know how it was accomplished?"

A chorus of "no" met his query, though Harry did smirk at him instead. "Well, if I was planning a prank—not to say I had anything to do with your… predicament—I don't think I'd use anything so obvious as the food—especially when one of the other professors might take food from the platter. Did you try detecting anything else in the area? Like maybe your fork? You never know what might be contaminated."

Sirius let out a great guffaw. "Well, I admit it then—I've been had."

"Sure looks that way," Harry said smugly. "I guess whoever pranked you thought that since you acted like a peacock last night, that you should become one."

"You remind me more of James every day, Harry," Sirius said, while laying one hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry had to blink back a few tears at such a pronouncement and he settled for grinning broadly at his godfather.

Turning, Sirius started back toward the head table, but he stopped after a few steps and looked back at Harry and his friends. "Can I assume that we are even for my little prank of not telling you I would be teaching here?"

Harry exchanged looks with all of his friends. "What? Is the mighty Padfoot of the Marauders overmatched by a few amateurs?"

"No," was Sirius's reply. "I'll engage in a prank war until the unicorns come home if you like. But I'm supposed to be a professor now, and Dumbledore would likely consider it bad form if I did. It's probably something about showing the proper example to the students, though personally, I think this place could do with a little more humor."

"Then you're safe from us," Harry replied.

"We'd never do anything to our great and noble Defense Professor," added one of the twins.

"Of course not," chimed in the other. "And don't worry about the plumage. These things usually wear off in a short time. Say, by the end of breakfast."

"Very well," Sirius replied with a broad grin. "And by the way—five points to Gryffindor for providing the morning's amusement for the entire school."

With that, Sirius returned to the head table and sat next to the Headmaster. He continued on with his breakfast with an air of studied nonchalance, as though nothing was out of place. The Headmaster sported a smile of his own, and his eyes twinkled merrily, though he appeared to say nothing to Sirius about the prank.

"Mischief managed," Harry said, looking at his friends, and they all burst out laughing in response. They finished their meal quickly and then made their way from the hall, heading toward Gryffindor tower to get their supplies for the day's classes. Once out in the entrance hallway, Harry looked around and seeing no one, said, "Dobby."

With a pop, a small house-elf appeared next to him, bouncing up and down excitedly on his heels. "Yes, Master Harry Potter, Sir!"

"Thank you Dobby, you did great!"

"Dobby dids well?"

"Perfect. You placed the fork in exactly the right place. Thank you for your help."

"Dobby is beings very happy to be helping the great Master Harry Potter sir prank his dogfather."

And with that, the excitable house-elf popped away, and the friends continued on their way, laughing as they went.

After suffering through a mind-numbingly boring history class—not that it would ever be different with Binns teaching the class—Harry and his fifth year friends made their way to the dungeons and the first potions class of the year. Though Snape's behavior had almost been proper for most of the previous term, his poisonous expression from the previous night's feast seemed to belie his newly discovered tolerance for Harry and, indeed, anyone from Gryffindor. Within moments of his arrival in class, Harry suspicions were confirmed; it appeared that the kinder, gentler Snape was a thing of the past.

It started when he stalked into the classroom, his face a mask of displeasure, cloak billowing behind him, and flicked his wand at the blackboard, causing a set of instructions to appear. "There are your instructions," he barked. "Begin now!"

Even though he was half expecting it, Harry was surprised at the professor's sudden change in demeanor and hesitated. Apparently, that was enough to earn—or perhaps more accurately, deepen—Snape's ire. "What, you can't follow simple instructions, Potter?" he snarled. "Five points from Gryffindor for being an obtuse dunderhead. Now move!"

Harry glared at the man with equal ferocity, but he did not move immediately. Instead he stood with an exaggerated slowness, and turned toward the ingredients cabinet. Before he made his way there, he turned back to Snape and said in the most disparaging voice he could muster, "I guess a leopard can't change its spots, can it?"

Snape's face spasmed with fury. "A further five points for disrespecting a professor."

"That's kind of hard, when I didn't have any respect for you in the first place," Harry muttered. By now Snape's face was almost turning purple in his rage, but when he did not immediately speak, Harry addressed him again. "Go ahead and take points," he said dismissively. "Take a thousand for all I care. It doesn't matter, as I'll just appeal them."

"Your arrogance seems to be making a full return, Potter."

"As does your petulance."

"Get to work before I expel you from my classroom!"

Shrugging, Harry turned and walked to the cabinet. Hermione had already retrieved his ingredients and, after thanking her for her help, returned with her to their tables to begin preparing to brew their potions.

Thus began what ended up being the most uncomfortable potions class that Harry had ever attended, which was saying quite a lot, considering the times he had spent in this classroom. Snape hovered about the Gryffindors and Harry in particular, and nothing seemed to be beyond his ability to criticize. He found fault with everything Harry did, not limited to how he chopped his ingredients, the flame he set to his cauldron, and even the motions he used to add the potion taking shape.

Keeping his cool with difficulty, Harry chose the simple expedient of ignoring the man, concentrating instead upon what he was doing. It did not seem to matter—though he expounded upon Harry's mistakes with vigor, Snape never bothered to actually correct what Harry was doing, and seemed not to notice that nothing he said made Harry alter his methods in any way. He was obviously angry about something, but given how Harry had not exchanged two words with the man since the last potions class the previous year, he was at a loss to explain exactly what he had done to arouse Snape's ire. And given the effort he put into ignoring Snape's criticisms, ignoring Malfoy's gleeful jabs was nothing more than child's play.

Through it all Harry was grateful for the willingness of his friends to back him over Snape's unjustified and unwarranted attacks. More than once he was required to intervene when he felt that one of his friends was about to take Snape to task for his behavior. Since he had not done anything to warrant Snape's persecution, he knew he could get Dumbledore to reverse the man's decrees with little difficulty; getting his friends off for any disrespect—deserved or not—would be more difficult. Surprisingly, it was the Slytherin girls who seemed to be the most affronted over Snape's persecution, though Ron's scowls and Hermione's affronted glares bespoke their displeasure as well. It seemed that Daphne was as protective of him as though a betrothal did exist, as he had had to pull her aside and ask her not to say anything before she was able to hold her disgust for the potions master in check. It would not do for Snape to go after members of his own house; they had to put up with the man as their head of house—at least Harry did not have to carry that particular cross.

At the end of the class, Harry was surprised when he actually received an Exceeds for his potion, given how Snape had criticized him throughout the lesson. He guessed that the punishment for a mis-graded potion would be much more severe than simply taking points away spitefully.

It was a relieved Harry who stepped from the classroom and began making his way toward the Great Hall for lunch, his friends following in his wake.

"I can't believe him!" Daphne fumed as they walked. "I don't know how you've put up with him for this long, Harry. I'd have hexed him to Hogsmeade and back by now!"

"Snape's not that bad," Harry replied with a mischievous grin. "He's nothing to Dudley—at least Dumbledore's got Snape neutered."

A range of guffaws broke out at that comment, though Daphne remained unimpressed. "That did not look neutered to me."

"Don't worry, Daphne," Harry reassured her. "Dumbledore will reverse the points, scold Snape again, and everything will likely be back to normal by next potions class."

"I don't know why Dumbledore even puts up with the git," Ron grumbled. "He's pants as a teacher, and has all the personality of a starving nundu."

"I couldn't tell you, Ron," Harry commiserated. "But until Dumbledore decides to sack him, we're stuck with him."

Though he was sanguine about the whole thing on the outside, Harry was anything but on the inside. He had—foolishly, it appeared—thought that the worst of the problems with Snape were behind him, leaving him with one less thing to worry about. And while that problem had apparently resurfaced, Harry was not about to allow it to continue.

Unfortunately, once he had entered the hall, he looked up to the head table to see that Dumbledore was not there, as he would usually be at lunch. A quick query later, and he found that the Headmaster was away dealing with ICW business and was not expected to return until Thursday. It was annoying, but Harry figured that he would have to put up with the greasy bat until Dumbledore returned.

Sirius's first day as a professor at Hogwarts was turning out to be a very enjoyable experience, an interesting occurrence, considering his history of making life difficult for the fraternity he had just joined. In fact, Sirius would have given much to see the look on James's face, had he seen Sirius now as a respectable—the very thought made Sirius snicker—professor and a compass for the minds of young children. Moony's snort of laughter when he had heard of Sirius's new job would likely have been echoed to an even greater degree by James. Even the thought that the ever-immature Padfoot would be placed in a position of authority seemed ludicrous even now!

The funny thing was that Sirius found himself enjoying the experience very much. Though he imagined that he would soon become bored, Sirius thought that he could continue to do this for some time yet—at least, perhaps, until Harry got his NEWTs, for example. It would give him a chance to remain closer to Harry, and still pursue other interests once Harry left school. The more he thought about it, the better the plan seemed. Of course, this was all contingent on whether Dumbledore wanted him to return—likely, considering the difficulty the Headmaster had had retaining Defense professors.

The children were strangely easy with him, considering his reputation and the rather lukewarm welcome he had been given the previous evening. He attributed it completely to the prank Harry and his friends had hit him with that morning—it was difficult to be afraid of someone who sprouted peacock feathers from the back of his head. In that, Sirius considered the friends' actions to be inspired and happily for him, made it easier to work with the children.

Another assisting factor had been the fact that his first class on Monday had been with the sixth years—the lesser number of sixth years actually taking defense meant that the houses were all combined into one class—and as they were an older age group, they were not as likely to be as intimidated by the mere sight of him as a group of firsties would have been. All in all, it was a fortunate bit of scheduling, in Sirius's opinion.

Thus, his classes had been mostly sedate affairs, with him trying to get a feel for the students, while they, in turn, did the same with him. Harry's combined Gryffindor and Hufflepuff class had been a joy to teach—Sirius was aware that Harry was considered somewhat of a prodigy in Defense, but the intelligence and skill of his godson was still surprising regardless of how he'd heard of—and witnessed—Harry's prowess.

And he had to admit that those of Harry's friends who he knew were members of his Defense club also impressed him, though whether that was due to the fact that Harry was teaching them, or because he had purposefully chosen the best, Sirius was not certain. Knowing his godson, Sirius suspected the former, but until he witnessed them in action, he could not be certain. Fortunately, however, it appeared that he would have the chance to observe them, as Harry had invited him to sit in on the next club meeting.

The class was beginning to break up after Sirius dismissed them, and Sirius was at his desk putting away some papers when Harry approached him, with Hermione in tow.

"Great class, Sirius!" he enthused.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Sirius replied with a grin. "I'm sort of new to this teaching thing, and I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"You're doing fine," Hermione assured him with a smile.

"Yeah, well it's not like you have very big shoes to fill. Umbridge wasn't exactly the world's premier expert on the subject." Harry's grin turned sly. "In fact, other than Moony, I'd say you'd have to work pretty hard to be worse than the Defense professors we've had around here."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence again, cub," was Sirius's sarcastic reply. It was good to banter with Harry, Sirius decided—it was at times like these that the son most reminded him of the father. And this was how James would have wanted to be remembered—with an emphasis on the good, rather than an obsession with the fact that he was no longer with them.

"No problem, Paddy." The grin was becoming a full blown smirk by now. "Think of the bright side; you can be less than competent in teaching the class, and the students will all still think that you're almost the best they ever had!"

"All right, you," Sirius said, stifling a laugh, "I think you had better run off to dinner before you give me a complex!"

"Sure thing, Sirius," Harry responded, the smirk never leaving his face. "Before we go we wanted to invite you to the next club meeting. I think you could help us, being the Defense Professor, and all."

"I'd like that, Harry," Sirius replied, feeling a little choked up.

"Good. We'll expect you on Wednesday then."

The two teens then wished Sirius good bye and turned to make their way from the room. It was apparent, however, that Harry was his father's son, as he was unable to leave without making one last mischievous comment.

"By the way—I'm glad you've removed the feathers from your wardrobe. They are so last year, after all, and you want to keep up on fashion!"

Harry was definitely becoming a cheeky bugger, and for that Sirius was grateful. He had been too moody—too somber—when Sirius had first met him, and James would never have wanted his son to be that way. James had been carefree and playful at Harry's age, and no doubt Harry would have been the same way had he grown up with James as a father. It fell to Sirius to ensure that from this point forward, that Harry was allowed to be as happy-go-lucky as the situation would allow him to be, and Sirius meant to see that that was the case.

So he continued throughout that first day of teaching, and though he often felt himself struggling to explain the material he was trying to teach in an easy to understand manner, there were very few bumps along the road. The only true event of note happened on the Tuesday of the week when he had his first class with the combined Ravenclaw and Slytherin fifth years.

Now, it must be said that Sirius had never had much affection for most of his relations, and his cousins were no different, with the exception of Andromeda, who had married a Muggleborn and subsequently been blasted from the family tree. Narcissa had been much like her name suggested as a young girl, and she had only gotten worse with age. And of Bellatrix, the less said the better.

Thus, it was not a big surprise that given his feelings about the mother—and the father, of course, though he was an altogether different story—that Sirius held Draco Malfoy in extremely low esteem. The stories from Harry about their confrontations over the years had certainly not helped, nor had the lad's manners on the occasions when he had been able to witness them. His behavior that first Defense class, therefore, was not a surprise, though it certainly did an admirable job of sinking his opinion of the little git even further than it already was.

Sirius had started each class with a rote speech which he had designed himself, with only minor changes for the year group he was teaching, in deference to the material which they would be studying. He had to admit that he was quite proud of his statements, as he felt that they were both succinct, and explained to the students exactly how he would conduct his class.

"Now, I would like you all to know that you can approach me for anything, whether it's help or suggestions I can use to more effectively teach you all," Sirius concluded his opening statements. "Though I was a Gryffindor when I attended Hogwarts, I mean to treat all of you equally, regardless of your house affiliation. I will not hesitate to praise anyone who deserves it, or punish anyone making trouble. You are all equal to me."

"Of course that rule does not apply to all," a drawling voice spoke just loud enough to be heard throughout the room.

Looking up, Sirius noted the sneer on the face of his cousin's son, and knew in an instant it was the Pureblood who had spoken. His closest cronies were all snickering at his statement, though the others did not seem to be following his lead. Many of them were involved with Harry, after all, and would not likely find the blond's antics to be amusing.

"I'm sorry, can you clarify your comments, Mr. Malfoy?"

Malfoy seemed to be caught by surprise—which was in itself a surprise, considering the volume by which the comment had been voiced—but Draco quickly recovered and plastered his sneer back on his face.

"I merely said that as his godfather and with your being a blood traitor, that Potter will undoubtedly get a free pass, much as he does from every other teacher in this school."

"And you would know all about free passes, wouldn't you, Mr. Malfoy? Considering what I've heard about your head of house's class, I'd say you're pretty familiar with preferential treatment.

"Regardless," he continued above the noise which had arisen—many were obviously surprised he would call out Malfoy in such a blatant manner, "I reiterate my comments—you will all be treated equally. Act as you should in my class, and you will have no trouble with me."

At the end of the class, Sirius asked Malfoy to stay behind, ignoring the grins that broke out on the faces of most of those who did not hold much fondness for the Pureblood. Once the rest of the class had filed from the room, he directed a withering glare at the boy and proceeded to tell him exactly what he thought of him.

"You may think that the world owes you something, but personally, I'm not impressed. Though we are related by blood, I consider you to be an exact image of your Death Eater father, Malfoy."

Draco flushed with anger. "My father is a great man!"

"Only in his own dreams," was Sirius's cutting reply. "In any case, though I strongly suspect you're following in his footsteps, I will treat you the same way I treat everyone else in this class. Keep your mouth shut and your mind on your work, and you and I will have no problems. Understood?"

Jaw flexing in his anger, Malfoy, nevertheless did not deign to respond. Instead he lifted his nose haughtily and said, "May I be excused now, professor?"

A tight nod was Sirius's only response, at which the blond turned on his heel and strode away. He was not, however, able to leave the room without a parting shot, "I'd enjoy your time as Lord Black, as I suspect you will not hold the title for long."

Sirius laughed at him. "Leaving you to inherit, I suppose you assume? Don't worry, little Dracky-poo; even if I snuff it, I've ensured that you will never be Lord Black. Now move along before I have you in detention."

With a superior sniff, Draco turned on his heel and exited the classroom. Sirius shook his head and firmly pushed the little twit from his mind. He had other things to consider after all. Things were certainly looking up. He was fully recovered—or as fully recovered as he would ever be—from his stay at Chateau Azkaban, had a good job occupying his time, and was near his godson as a bonus. All was not perfect in the world, but it was a hell of a lot better than it had been even six months ago. Sirius meant to enjoy his time to the fullest extent.

That Tuesday, after dinner, Fleur led her two friends from the Great Hall and up a few levels toward a small, unused classroom which had been allowed for their use. It was time for her first Occlumency lesson and Fleur was determined to help Harry cut off his unfortunate connection with Voldemort, and end the man's direct influence in her betrothed's life.

This did not mean that Fleur was not worried about her ability to train him, of course. Fleur herself had been practicing Occlumency for some time now, but she still did not consider herself to be an expert in any way. In fact, she was not at all certain that she could instruct him in a coherent and effective manner. On the other hand, she was aware that the only other choice was one Professor Snape—with whom Harry shared a mutual and overt level of antagonism—and she knew that she had to succeed. Perhaps it would have been better for Dumbledore to have waited until Harry's mind was protected before imparting the information he had to the young man, but Fleur could not but be happy that they had. He deserved to know, and she herself had demanded that her father not hold back.

Of course, this made the urgency all that much greater. Should Voldemort discover the connection, he would almost certainly use it, and though he had no real reason to suspect that Harry was aware of the contents of the prophecy, he also had no reason to think that Harry was not. If they were diligent in the instruction and practice, then Harry's mind should be reasonably well protected against a remote attack, though Voldemort would almost certainly overwhelm him if they were ever in close proximity. At least that was what they were basing their hopes on. It was not as though there was a lot of precedent for the kind of connection Harry shared with Voldemort, after all. A lot of it was guesswork, with no real assurance that their course was correct.

The classroom had clearly not been used in some time. Dust liberally coated the floor and every available surface, and the furniture appeared to be more antiquated than that which was available in the classrooms which were in use. The simple act of walking into the room caused such a disturbance that within a moment all three were sneezing vigorously in response. A few cleaning spells later and the room looked almost presentable—certainly enough for their needs, in any case.

They arranged three chairs facing each other and after Fleur had taken her seat, she smiled at her two companions and began—a little nervously, to be honest—to explain exactly what they were trying to accomplish.

"So, it appears that my task is to teach you to protect your mind. Do either of you have any notion as to what Occlumency is?"

"I tried looking it up," Hermione began, blushing when Fleur exchanged an amused look with Harry. "There doesn't seem to be a lot of information available on the subject."

"That's because there isn't," Fleur confirmed. "Unfortunately, the Ministry considers Legilimency to be an invasion of privacy, and therefore tries to remove all references to the mind arts."

"Well that's stupid," said Hermione, clearly upset that any kind of knowledge was being suppressed. "I mean, why wouldn't they outlaw Legilimency and teach Occlumency so that people may protect themselves?"

"No one could accuse the Ministry of being logical," Harry responded wryly. "Not if Fudge is an example."

"That is true," said Fleur with a sigh, "but unfortunately Britain is not the only Ministry to take such a view. The mind arts are regarded much the same way over much of the Wizarding world."

"Then how do you know Occlumency?"

"My father taught me," Fleur replied. "You must understand that Occlumency is discouraged, not prohibited. For that matter, Legilimency is not against the law either, but its use is heavily restricted, and it is not taught.

"In any case, I think we should concentrate on the task at hand." Fleur paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "There is not a lot of information on Occlumency, it is true, but what there is, is most likely somewhat garbled and inaccurate. First, Occlumency has nothing to do with shields or the like, so you may dismiss any thoughts of Star Trek from your mind."

At her companions' twin looks of surprise, Fleur chuckled. "You know that the Delacours are not ignorant of the Muggle world. I've seen a Star Trek movie or two in the theater, and know something about its history."

Hermione was frowning, and her response ignored any thoughts of movies. "The term 'occlude' would suggest some sort of barrier."

"It does, but it's actually a bit of a misnomer. The art of Occlumency is the art of concealing your mind from intrusion, and the skill of forcing someone out when they've made an intrusion."

"Those seem like two different skills altogether," Hermione observed.

"They are," Fleur agreed. "We will not spend as much time on expelling an attacker as we will on concealing yourself. I believe that the ability to conceal yourself will be the most important for you, Harry, as this connection you have with Voldemort is not something usual. It will be better for you if he follows the link between you and finds nothing at the end of it, than to have to expel him from your mind all the time, which takes willpower and leaves you drained.

"However, to be able to hide yourself," Fleur continued after she paused for a moment, "you need to understand what is in your mind. The first thing you need to know is that a Legilimens uses your eyes to gain entrance to your thoughts, as the eyes are like windows to the mind."

"So, given what you said, you hide your inner thoughts so that even if he tries to enter through your eyes, he can't find anything," Harry surmised.

"That is correct," Fleur said with a smile at her betrothed. "And like I said, you need to understand the contents of your mind in order to protect yourself. Our first lessons will focus on doing an… inventory of your memories, for want of a better term, so that you are familiar what's in your mind."

Harry was frowning. "But that seems a little dumb. I know what's in my mind."

"Do you?" Fleur challenged. "How many things have you forgotten over the years, and how many things are just strewn about haphazardly in your head?"

"How much will this help us remember?" Hermione asked.

"Not everything," Fleur replied. "However, it will help you to recall memories that you've forgotten, and will help you retain information in the future. Those are benefits.

"Once we've done some housecleaning, then we'll concentrate upon creating a mindscape, which is what you hide your thoughts behind. Most people just choose a black void for their mindscape, but some more adventurous people will choose other things—a mountain meadow, a windowless and doorless room, or the like. It doesn't matter what you use, as long as there is no way for an intruder to find your true thoughts once he gains access."

"What's yours?" Harry asked.

"I use my favorite clearing close to Chateau Delacour. It's the place I used to play as a girl, and one of my favorite places in the world."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, and Fleur got the impression that they had both already decided what they would use, and probably had an inkling of what the other had thought of. They were so close and in tune—Fleur felt a surge of satisfaction that her suppositions had proven correct. Now if she could just get them both to see it.

"So if you create this mindscape, then no one can get through to your thoughts?" Harry asked.

"That's the goal," Fleur affirmed. "But you must remember that no mindscape is perfect, just like no person is perfect. It takes some time to become truly proficient. An intruder will attempt to force his way past your mindscape to your thoughts behind. As you become more practiced at Occlumency, you will be able to prevent them from doing that. Enough practice, and eventually you will be able to deny all but the most powerful Legilimens. The curve is quite steep at the beginning, so we'll be able to close off your connection very quickly. You will then only be in danger if you are in the same room as your attacker."

Gazing at her earnestly, Harry nodded. "Let's get to it then."

Updated 07/29/2013