In the last chapter: Harry receives a letter from Ginny, explaining a mighty fight between Arthur and Percy. Fudge if making an enemy out of Dumbledore and anyone affiliated with him. Fudge is also targeting Harry and slandering him in the papers. Harry discovered the person who sent the Dementors if Umbridge. Sirius and Lucius begin working on taking care of the Daily Prophet. Dumbledore is trying to reorganize the Order. Harry meets with Tom, gives him back the vessels for his Horcruxes, Tom gives Harry Slytherin's locket. They hug goodbye and are generally heart-achy-losers.


Harry pulled back from Remus' warm embrace, giving the man a soft smile as the older soothed his hands over his son's glossy black curls to brush down any wildly out of place locks from their recent apparition. Settling on the soft porcelain cheeks that weren't nearly soft and squishy enough for the fretful father, having formed into harder and more mature plains—pulling his son further and further from adolescence.

Remus pursed his lips in a slight frown for a moment before teasingly pinching one of Harry's cheeks. He laughed at the disgruntled expression on the young man's face. Remus released Harry, but not before his fingers brushed proudly over the gleaming silver badge pinned to the front of the robes Harry had to put on before they left since he had a meeting to attend as soon as the train started moving.

When Harry had received his Hogwarts letter over the summer, he'd been surprised by the extra letter folded inside along with his list of required textbooks and school supplies. Also, inside the envelope had been a small silver badge with an elegantly engraved "P" on it and his house colors of blue and bronze, meant to go on the front of his robes to signify him as the male fifth-year Prefect for Ravenclaw that year.

He had the chance to turn the position down, but Harry had not minded taking it on, at least for that year. In his house alone, there would be five other prefects—two from each year, fifth through seventh—and then there were three other houses. So, in total, there were twenty-four prefects at Hogwarts at all times, plus the head boy and head girl. Which meant that he would not be swamped with duties each day and would just have a little more authority and ability to watch over the students around the school. He didn't care much for bullies and being able to take away house points was a fairly effective and easy way of diffusing a situation instead of trying to threaten and intimidate someone into backing down.

"I'll write to you once I've settled in after the feast." Harry promised as he's become accustomed to doing, since his immediate letter after leaving for the school year seemed to work wonders in alleviating some of the strain and ache his parents felt parting with him each year. Of course, he couldn't send them a letter every single day, but he'd been told that his letter waiting for them first thing in the morning the day after they drop him off at the station made them feel worlds better. Who was he to deny them any sort of comfort when he knew there wasn't much else he could do about not being able to see them so much.

Honestly, even though there was usually not much at all to put in that first letter, Harry also felt good being able to reestablish his connection with his parents so soon.

As his parents shooed him off towards that Hogwarts Express with twin smiles hiding the familiar reluctance to part, Harry didn't check his stray thoughts and tried not to linger on one that said he would also want to send an additional letter that night to the recent captive of his internal affections. And he certainly didn't allow himself to linger on that thought and question which letter he might be more eager to send.

As he was stepping onto the train, he almost ran right into the other fifth-year Ravenclaw Prefect. He gave a polite dip of his head when the timid but undeniably capable young Patil stepped back from his personal space with stuttered words.

Padma instantly grew flustered as she tried to apologize to the beautiful, brilliant boy she'd shared a house with for the past four years. Harry had only ever been kind—if not a touch impersonal and distant—but Padma had never the courage to approach and try to befriend the boy. Even though her sister had spent so much of their time together outside of classes lamenting about the 'sinfully handsome trio' comprised of Draco Malfoy, Anthony Goldstein, and of course, Harry Potter (who was undoubtedly the most prominent of the three).

Due to her sister's outgoing tendencies—being a Gryffindor through and through—Padma also had a pretty good foot in the group of girls, spanning all of the houses and from every year, that seemed particularly keen on those boys. Unlike some of the other boys from their years who slowly grew out of their soft cheeks and endearing quirks into awkward teens whose features were no longer 'cute' and just seemed odd on their stubbly and unfortunately hormone riddled faces; those three friends seemed to only refine and grow more enchanting each day. It truly wasn't fair.

The sharp-tongued and equally sharp-faced Draco had caught quite a few growth spurts, growing tall and filling with just enough definition to give his features a less pointed and more fearsome intensity. Coupled with his naturally white-blonde hair and piercing cold-grey eyes, body long and lanky, and always fitted in only the most luxurious and expensive clothing and he looked exactly like one of those famous models that graced both muggle and magical magazine covers.

Anthony had grown as well. Sprouting up almost to the height of the Slytherin but also becoming much broader than his lanky, high-end friend. Anthony had grown into a more traditionally handsome young man—with natural and firm muscle filling out his frame nicely, fierce bone structure, and a smoldering gaze that seemed to shroud his alluring light hazel eyes whenever he lost himself in thought, which happened a lot.

Most of the girls in their unofficial 'group' swooned over Goldstein on a regular basis. Some of them even seemed like the more jealous and obsessive type, so Padma was truly grateful that he never showed any interest in someone outside of his group and instead seemed to exert all of his attention on Harry (who everyone was more than alright with, since they certainly understood the feeling). Otherwise, she feared for the poor unfortunate soul who caught his attention with the fanbase he'd already unintentionally acquired. The same went for the other two as well. Draco had flirted with a few girls and perhaps a boy or two, but nothing serious as far as they knew, though the ones who admired Draco were far laxer. Harry never showed interest in anybody and that was a saving grace, considering his rather rabid admires who stretched far and wide, from every demographic and reached well beyond the walls of Hogwarts.

That brought it around to Harry, who had just offered the still fumbling Padma a charmingly pleasant and unassuming smile as he suggested they walk to the special Prefect's carriage at the front of the express where their first official meeting would be held. Harry's looks had always been prominent and enchanting.

Soft and perfect with smooth fair skin any girl would be envious of if it belonged to anyone else and not Harry Potter, who seemed not of this world. Plush, peach-pink lips that were never chapped or torn from being nervously bitten, looking so soft that they might bruise if you even so much as tried to kiss them. Haunting pale green eyes that were obviously the genetic lottery for having been possibly produced in one human. Harry's looks had refined, losing just a bit of the softness from his youth but still looking impossibly gorgeous, otherworldly, and as though his features would never know age.

Harry had grown as well, not quite bringing him to the height of the other two fifth-years, but still average-height, if not on a bit of the taller side. Harry did not gain as much muscle definition nor shoulder-width as Anthony, but he wasn't quite as lanky and narrow-shouldered as Draco. He was slim, perfectly proportioned, with an elegant frame but one that also spoke of hidden strength and capability. Overall, Harry was the most intimidatingly beautiful of the three—of the whole school, in fact—in a way that was mesmerizing, though almost hard to fully comprehend, and also absolutely unobtainable. At least with Draco and Anthony, they could see themselves having a chance if they were lucky; with Harry, it was better to only look and not attempt to touch. They knew that their wax wings would never hold up against his brilliance and if they flew too close, they would melt and drown in the tumulus seas below.

Which is why Padma was already dreading the year ahead now that she knew who the other Prefect would be. Why had Morgana cursed her to such a torturous fate?!

Harry walked with Padma in silence, stepping back and behind her whenever another student came down the narrow halls of the train and had to slip past them. Perhaps the silence would be considered uncomfortable to others, but Harry didn't really know Padma and didn't feel the need or urge to try to make small talk with the furiously blushing girl as they made their way.

Originally, Hermione had been offered the position as Prefect instead of Padma, but his friend had also taken more classes than were strictly allowed and knew that she wouldn't be able to take on any extra duties just yet. At least, that is what she had told Harry in the letters they had exchanged after Hogwarts letters had been sent out. Secretly, Harry knew that Hermione had gotten more wrapped up in independent study. He knew she spent nearly all of her free time either revising or picking up new areas of study to obsess over until she'd had her fill and could move on to the next. Which led her to hastily turning down the position when it came her way.

Harry also greatly valued his free time, but a lot of his time had cleared up now that he was no longer constantly preparing for Voldemort's resurrection. Now, Harry could practice Necromancy at his leisure and explore it more thoroughly and not with a set purpose. Though, he'd probably still practice it just as much if not more, his necromancy had started to feel like breathing to him and it had fast become the first time in his life that he'd felt . . . passionate about something. Not in the way he had needed to bring Tom back as that had always had an end in which he would either succeed or fail, but in that way he felt a bottomless well in his stomach of that seemed like it would never empty and always fuel him forward in his endeavors. Necromancy was something he knew he would do for the rest of his life. That sort of thing.

However, even with him still planning to practice Necromancy in private, he knew that his Prefect duties would not be so time-consuming as to interfere drastically with it. Hell, he'd even managed it while taking part in the Triwizard Tournament. Besides, being a Prefect would allow him a lot more freedom in that he could be out after curfew without risk of being caught and reprimanded and would have other privileges that would allow him more time to himself and even more trust from the staff of Hogwarts.

They arrived at the Prefect's cabin as the Express was slowly gliding out of Kings Cross Station and gradually gaining momentum each passing moment. They also seemed to be the last to arrive. Seeing Draco—as the chosen Prefect for Slytherin—Harry easily slid over and took the vacant seat next to him, while Padma—seeing Parvati, as the Gryffindor Prefect—sought out her sister. A quick glance around the full carriage told him who the other Prefects of his year were.

In Slytherin, it was Draco and Pansy (much to Draco's ire as the girl still seemed to harbor quite a flame for the young Malfoy). In Hufflepuff, there was Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott. If he remembered correctly, Macmillan was a decent enough fellow and his family was included in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. For Gryffindor, the prefects were Parvati Patil and Ronald Weasley. From what he knew of Ronald, he was quite surprised to see that he had been picked for Prefect over perhaps Dean Thomas—according to Ginny, Ronald's grades were atrocious. Prefects were a joint decision between the Headmaster and the Head of House, so maybe McGonagall just had one hell of a soft spot for the boy.

After a few moments, two seventh-years—Angelina Johnson from Gryffindor and Roger Davies from Ravenclaw—stood up, introduced themselves as the Head Boy and Head girl for that year and began to go through explaining to them just what their duties would be. Most of it, Harry had gleaned from over the years of just being in Hogwarts. Duties such as, patrolling the corridors of Hogwarts at night to make sure students didn't break curfew, aiding in preparations and decorations for holidays and events, and most notably: keeping students in line, helping them when they need it and doling out punishment when necessary.

The last part, Johnson and Davies spent the most time going through, since abuse of ones' power would immediately cause said student to be stripped of their position as well as any other consequences seen fit. To keep Prefects from deliberately taking away points from other houses to help their own house, a Prefect was only allowed to take points from students of their own house and couldn't take any from other prefects. Points could only be given by staff as well, too keep them from giving out points carelessly. However, they could give out detention to a student from any house. Though, a professor or the Head Boy and Girl always had the ability to nullify it if it wasn't deserved.

There were of course other things, like how they were expected to take up responsibility in various situations and watch over the other students. If the professor or staff in charge had to leave the students unattended, if there was a prefect in the class, they would watch over things until they returned. If the students needed protecting and an adult wasn't there, they would also take on the job. Prefects could also be asked by staff to run errands—within reason, Angelina affirmed.

They were also considered the liaison between students and their Head of House. If something happened in the dorms, or if a student had an issue that they didn't wish to go to their Head of House with directly, the Prefects would either handle it themselves or find and talk to their Head of House for the student.

Overall, it didn't sound like anything Harry couldn't handle and although he knew he wasn't the most approachable person, there had been times throughout the years that he had taken up the mantle of protecting other students or helping them with their studies and what not. Case in point, during his second year, with Lockhart, Harry had worked with many different students when they soon realized how useless the man's lessons would be for their exams and practical knowledge.

Angelina finally got to the end of the meeting and brought about the last piece of business before she could release the Prefects—the ones who had been Prefects last year and maybe even the year before looking bored out of their minds.

"Now, since the only 'staff' on the Express is the trolley lady and train conductor, it is our jobs to patrol the halls during the trip and make sure nobody blows chunks or curses another student's head off." She intoned flatly.

They were quickly dismissed after being numbered off to determine the order of shifts to patrol. Since he wasn't first, Harry moved down the train until he located the compartment with his friends and settled in until Hannah Abbott came looking for him in a few hours.


The train ride had always been a long and tiring endeavor, but this one felt especially taxing. Just so many hours cooped up in an enclosed space would ware on anyone's mind, but Harry found it worse because he kept slipping back into himself, loosing himself to staring out the large window at the rapidly passing greenery, hills, and trees. Every time his attention began to fray, he was submerged in his memories of the night before.

Somber dark blue eyes and an embrace that had carved its claim into his bones, forbidding them to every forget. Soft baritone words hushed into his ear, bidding him farewell and promising him reunion at the same time. Sometimes his eyes would slip closed as he leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, chasing his memories so he could find comfort in the phantom thread of long fingers in his hair or warm breath against his temple. All too soon, though, conversation around him would snap him back out of his mind and he would try to refocus on his surroundings so that the others wouldn't take notice.

However, despite his attempts at stay engaged, he could see in a few subtle looks cast his way that a few of the others had noticed his absent-mindedness and seemed slightly worried. Anthony, who knew the most of anyone about his situation and Tom, seemed keen on offering little comforts to his friend. Taking his hand, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, or shifting closer to press their arms together. Harry was grateful he didn't push him—especially in front of the others—but it was not enough to keep his mind from traitorously wandering off once more.

From what he'd shared in his letters, Anthony knew that he had met with Tom again after the resurrection and that the older wizard was worlds away from the insane and bloodthirsty creature he had been before. Anthony still seemed quite uncertain about Tom—especially since the two had yet to meet—but he thankfully trusted Harry enough to not attempt to intervene when he shared that he and Tom were meeting on a regular basis and he even considered Tom to be somewhat of a friend.

Harry knew that his friend was quite uncomfortable with the prospect of him growing close with Tom, but he also knew that Anthony understood that this was a matter that was out of his depth. When it came to Harry, the rule book was usually thrown out.

His other friends of course didn't know about Tom yet. Harry hadn't really thought much about telling them either. Could he really explain everything about Tom's complicated past and their new developing relationship without also revealing his abilities and subsequent friendship with Death? It was one thing to tell Anthony—who he confided almost every little hidden part of himself to and knew his friend would always be unfailingly loyal to him—and it was a whole entirely different thing to tell the others. The others, who knew nothing of his secret life. And although he trusted them all and cared for them deeply, a part of him—perhaps the part that had yet to let go of the guarded and paranoid side of him in order to survive resentful relatives—was reluctant to share this part of himself.

It wasn't that he wasn't close with the others, there was just a definite security to those he had told. Anthony, Tom, his parents, Phil. They were all clutched so tightly to his chest, and he knew without a doubt that anything he told them would be guarded and protected to the best of their ability. Not to mention, all of the people he told were well versed in occlumency—Anthony having received help from both Harry and his father—so he was assured that his secret couldn't be pried from any of their heads forcefully.

His friends were gifted in many ways, but most of them hadn't even heard of occlumency, much less having practiced it. Also, Harry knew for a fact that any attempt that Lucius had made at teaching Draco had been thwarted by his son's flippant attitude towards anything he didn't find interest in first.

That is not even to mention how his friends might react to discovering Harry had . . . intentions towards the former mighty Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry was suddenly grateful that the name 'Tom Riddle' was never affiliated with Voldemort. If anything ever really did come of his feelings for Tom, he did not intend to keep his friends in the dark completely. He just might have to fib a few details pertaining to Tom's past, is all.

Harry's fingers absently sought out the ridges of the warm locket hidden under his clothing, finding a surge of comfort in the familiar blazing heat of Tom's magic. It wasn't nearly as strong as it had been when the locket was a horcrux, but it was certainly better than nothing.

The remaining hours of the train ride passed in blur.

Eventually, the overcast sky slowly dimmed to a muted haze of night and they pulled into Hogsmeade Station. Detachedly, Harry followed his group of friends onto a carriage and up to the impressive stone castle for yet another year of his magical education.

Perhaps it was just Harry's dower mood, but as they made their way through the castle and towards the Great Hall, he couldn't help but pick up on something . . . off in the air. It wasn't the sense of 'danger' necessarily, just off. As if all of the decor had been shifted one foot to the left, or there was a slight tilt to the floor that was just barely noticeable. Something felt out of place, and it was beginning to pick at Harry's nerves as he walked.

He continued to puzzle over the sensation until they meandered into the Great Hall and a few of them had to splinter off to sit with their own houses for the welcome feast. The vague air of unease was then overshadowed by the feeling of eyes on his profile. Frowning, Harry skimmed the sea of faces until his eyes caught on a particularly ghastly splotch of bubble-gum-pink that had been dulled by a few too many chews, amongst the usual line of professors and other staff. The woman looked away the moment he glanced in her direction, but even from a distance it was hard to displace the flash of disdain he saw in her wide-set eyes.

Clad in an itchy-looking set of pink robes with short hair curled and styled so stiffly Harry doubted even a rogue bludger could withstand hitting it, the woman sat with the straightest spine he'd ever seen. The constant pert curl of her lips, rosy roundness of her cheeks, and glittering alertness of her eyes made her look artificially joyful. Harry got the impression that this expression only slipped away in times of true distress. He also felt like beneath all the pink tweed and nectarous smiles lay something bitter and spitting like a furious viper.

Unfortunately, that suspicion was confirmed when his companion drifted forward and whispered to him that the woman he was looking at was indeed Dolores Umbridge, the very same woman who worked closely with Fudge and had sent two Dementors after him not too long ago. The fact that she was the only new face at the head table also brought him to the conclusion that she must be the Ministry's choice for their new DADA professor. There was an ominous tightening in his gut at the thought and he felt confident that he'd just found what had made him feel so ill at ease earlier.

The new batch of first years were led in by McGonagall and they all listened to the song of the sorting hat. Unlike previous years, this time around, the song was much longer than before. It spoke of how the Founders of Hogwarts decided who would be taught here and how their differences led them to dividing not only themselves, but their students as well almost causing Hogwarts to close down before it even really started. It spoke of the Founders' ruin and how they ended up passing on without sorting their differences. The hat spoke of how it had to sort students every year but was conflicted over whether it was right to divide students in such a way and how dividing everyone only led to pain and fighting. It ended its song by warning them that these divisions would one day lead to their ultimate end.

It was a foreboding and grim song that had more than one professor frowning and looking concerned—all except for Umbridge, who seemed unfazed by its warning. A murmur swept through the students, as they had never heard the hat speak of such things, and the group of first years looked positively petrified. Not even the sorting of the first-years could bring everyone's minds away from the song. Everyone was seated. A few moments—too long—later, Dumbledore stood and began to pull everyone's thoughts from the dark places they were venturing by beginning his customary start-of-year-speech. It mostly worked.

However, Dumbledore was only about halfway through his light-hearted musings about getting the giant squid several pairs of wool socks for the upcoming winter, when a sharp—and certainly rude—cough interrupted him and drew everyone's attention to the witch at the head table who was primly rising from her seat.

"Ah yes, let me introduce to you, Dolores Umbridge, the new Professor to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm sure that you will all join me in welcoming and wishing the Professor good luck." Dumbledore announced with a sweeping hand and just a flicker of a smile that didn't reach his eyes before it fell away. The Headmaster's attention was clearly elsewhere as he sat back down and stared into the depths of his cup.

The curl of Umbridge's lips almost seemed to hide a grimace just beneath it and her gaze guided over the students without really seeing them. When she spoke, her voice rang like out of tune bells that pierced the eardrum. Harry felt tense in his seat and the others had picked up on it rather quickly, Anthony giving him a concerned glance and Draco's gaze flickering between his friend and Dolores, and then back again. Draco was sitting at his own table, but since the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables were right next to each other, they still had a good view of each other.

"Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome." She began, stepping out from around the table and moving to the center of the dais the head table was on, turning to face the still disgruntled and impassive student body, addressing the students now. "And how lovely, to have all your bright, happy faces smiling up at me." Her eyes continued to slide over the tables before her, the disconnected cheer in her gaze once again making Harry feel as though she wasn't really looking at anyone, not seeing them.

"I am sure we are all going to be very good friends." From the table next to Harry's, he heard the Weasley twins lean into each other and muse a mocking 'that's likely' in unison. It was a little too loud in the near silent room and Harry saw a waver in the woman's false grin as her gaze flickered over to the pair, before she carried on as if they hadn't said a thing.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. Although each Headmaster has brought something . . . new to this historic school," Dolores paused and turned to give Dumbledore a shallow dip of her head, though the gesture felt more like it had been scripted and rehersed than any real show of respect. "Progress for the sake of progress, must be discouraged. Let us preserve, what must be preserved. Perfect, what can be perfected. And prune practices that ought to be . . . prohibited." The last word was squeezed out in a faux-conspiratorial whisper as she scrunched her pointed upturned nose as if talking to very young children. Her words held an ominous ring to them, though.

The noise that bubbled from her lips after her little speech could only be described as a cross between a snicker and a squeal. The laughter was obnoxiously 'dainty' and unquestionably false. After a few beats too long, a few hesitant claps followed the speech and died a quick death before the woman had even sat down.

Finally, with a few grand words and the wave of Albus' hand, endless platters and bowls of food appeared on their tables, commencing the feast. Conversation shakily picked up after that and everyone slowly began to settle back in to the celebration of the starting school year. Trying to get his mind off of his troublesome thoughts, Harry engrossed himself in the conversation around him. Draco had moved over to their table to join them as soon as the food appeared.

"Did you hear? Since this is our fifth year, we're going to have our first Career Advisory Sessions with our Head of House." Anthony announced, looking brighter and with an excited gleam in his eye. Draco pursed his lips and Hermione perked up a bit.

"Right! Because they need to know what classes we have to take next year so we have all of the ones necessary for the job we take on." Hermione filled in with what she had read about.

It made sense. Next year they would prepare for their N.E.W.T.'s in their seventh year. Their O.W.L.'s later on that spring would test them on their merits of basic magical education—just enough for them to legally keep their wands—but the N.E.W.T.'s tested their secondary education, which took place over their sixth and seventh years.

For their sixth and seventh years, they could pick and choose which classes to take, a plethora of independent study courses and smaller, more detailed and challenging courses opening up as they weren't available before. Usually, people took most of their core subjects—if they tested well enough on their O.W.L.'s—and then a few auxiliary courses more focused on their chosen career in the future.

If you left school and wanted to enter a certain field but didn't have the N.E.W.T. credit for it, you would have to take classes at the Ministry or learn on your own and then test at the Ministry. In short, if you didn't take the correct classes while at Hogwarts, it would be one hell of a headache for you later on. The Career-Advice sessions were very important.

"What do you guys want to do after Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, eyes curiously flitting from person to person.

Like the others, Harry had known vaguely about the sessions and that they would come around during the spring of his fifth year. However, the whole point of the meeting with his Head of House was for him to tell them what he wished to do after school and have them suggest the classes he take in order to achieve it.

The problem was . . . Harry had never given any thought to what he wished to do after graduation. . .

The goals he always had in front of him had never really involved his distant future. It had been things like getting Sirius out of Azkaban, or collecting the Horcruxes, or learning Necromancy, or resurrecting Voldemort. Not whether he preferred politics over private business or being an Auror over the chef at a restaurant. He was rather accomplished academically, but nothing had really caught his attention other than Necromancy. Nothing else challenged him or evoked a sort of passion within him.

He had wealth, stature, fame. He could probably go into any field he wished, but the moment he actually started thinking about it and what he wished to do, his mind went completely blank. So, intrigued, Harry focused on his friends' answers instead.

"I'll probably either take over the family business or start up my own. I've had a few ideas spinning around in my head for a while of what I might do." Anthony shrugged, though from the sound of his voice, they knew he was actually quite serious and excited about the prospect.

Draco sagged dejectedly in his seat.

"Well I'm definitely going to be following in my father's footsteps. Not that I don't want to, it's just my father's been pestering me for months to start going with him to work to learn about his job—especially over the summer—and all I want to do is continue what I've always done: being a rich heir that goes to parties, sleeps through the day, and only has to answer to my parents and not a blasted boss!" Draco whined, an infamous pout to his lips that had grown out of 'cute' and into 'ridiculous' the moment the teen shot up in height to tower over most seventh-years.

Hermione nodded and pressed her lips together, patting Draco's shoulder in faux-comfort for a moment before giving an answer of her own.

"Well, I've always thought I'd go into some form of research, so I was quite interested in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry." Hermione mused looking wistful, a little smile on her face as she scooped another forkful of potatoes into her mouth. An Unspeakable. Undoubtedly an interesting job, but Harry wasn't really fond of the thought of working so tightly under the Ministry's thumb. Harry might not know what he wanted to do just yet, but politics didn't really appeal to him and working as an Unspeakable would mean that red-tape was a daily occurrence.

As he was thinking this, three pairs of expecting eyes turned on him, waiting for his own answer. Harry about to explain that he didn't know yet but was saved from having to by a quick shadow passing overhead before they looked up just as a beautiful Eurasian Eagle Owl began to descend on their section of the table. Quickly shuffling plates and drinks out of the way, Harry watched with wide, blinking green eyes as the creature landed right in front of him. The bird had fearsome scowling amber eyes, a sharp black beak, and the flick of horn feathers slicked up from its head. Over two feet high and a wingspan that had to be six feet long, it was a massive bird.

Unafraid, Harry reached out thin, nimble fingers to brush over the cream and brown spotted plumage of the bird's chest. Then, while feeding the owl some food from the table, Harry used his other hand to swiftly and carefully untether the letter from the bird's ankle. The creature nudged his fingers twice before spreading its enormous wings and taking off from the table.

It was only after the owl was gone and plates were moved back into their places that Harry inspected the letter in his hand. He heard his friends around him inquire as to who it was from, but Harry didn't pay them much mind. The elegant, sweeping letters of his name on the front caused a shower of sparks and full bloom of warmth to erupt inside his chest. He could feel his lips pulling into a wide and free smile because the person who sent this must have sent it not long after he stepped onto the train for it to have arrived just now.

Tom.

It seemed he wasn't the only one needlessly and foolishly yearning for the presence of the other when such little time had passed since they'd seen each other last. Remaining scraps of dinner forgotten, Harry stood from his seat and left the Great Hall with an absent-minded 'good night' thrown over his shoulder. He didn't run to the dorms—he wasn't a child—but he did find he made it there much faster than usual. He was also only one of six prefects from his house, so he definitely didn't have to worry about walking the first-years up after dinner.

In his wake, two Ravenclaws and a Slytherin blinked at the odd behavior of their friend. Draco leaned over to whisper to the others.

"Think Harry's been hexed or something?" Hermione elbowed the blonde playfully in the ribs for his lack of tact.

"Hardly, Draco. Either that letter contained a whole bunch of new and rare spells for him to learn, or . . ." The girl's lips curled in a knowing, teasing manner, "Or Harry's found himself one hell of a pen-pal!" She finished with a burble of laughter, but there was also a note of hope in her words. Her friend had always been a bit . . . unreachable, so for someone to have made him that excited with just a letter, she was really hoping that things worked out for them.

Anthony smiled, looking back at the empty doorway where Harry had disappeared from moments ago. He hoped so. He'd gotten past his own feelings for Harry back in fourth-year and in the end, he'd come out of it with only a stronger sense of friendship and love—platonic now, he swears—for the smaller raven-haired boy. More than anything, he wanted Harry to be happy. Though, that being said, if it was more than just friendship between Harry and the sender of that letter then Anthony knew he wouldn't be able to hold back an enormous amount of scrutiny for whoever it was. There simply was no equivalent to Harry, so he knew it would be quite tough to find someone deserving of him.

However, Anthony thought with a sudden flicker of apprehension, he knew of only one person Harry had been meeting and writing to regularly and if the sender of the letter was who he was now thinking it might be . . . Anthony just might not make it out of 'scrutinizing' them with his life. He felt a wave of fear at the thought of trying to intimidate the Dark Lord into treating Harry respectfully, but he knew his affection for his friend would drag him even to such lengths.

Anthony wasn't even legally an adult but suddenly . . . he was seriously considering taking out a life insurance policy. . .

Back up in the dorms, Harry was already drafting a letter of his own before the first boy came up to bed.