Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.

Reminder: I know this chapter will be a little boring, but please still do review! Down below, you will see Neville Longbottom briefly for the first time, and you'll hear about what has happened to Harry's parents.

Aside from that, feel free to proceed.

"Madam Pomfrey? Madam Pomfrey!" shouted a Ravenclaw boy at the top of his lungs. He was supporting Hermione Granger who was half slumped over him with a pained expression.

Harry was glad one of the Ravenclaws came with him. He wouldn't know how to explain the incident and his part in it.

A witch hurried out from behind one of the screen doors. She had her lips pursed disapprovingly.

"With on earth is it with youngsters shouting these –?" Madam Pomfrey suddenly broke off.

Looking immensely shocked as if seeing them for the first time, Madam Pomfrey crossed the room at an incredible speed and snatched Hermione from the Ravenclaw boy before lowering her onto one of the white beds.

"What happened?" came the question.

"Cruciatus," Harry croaked.

Pomfrey's face paled. "Poor dear. The contemptible excuses for human beings that take the liberty to call themselves Professors… I can't believe the nerve of them."

Harry didn't answer, as the female nurse ran a wand over Hermione.

"Is it bad?" he hardly dared to ask.

"Depends on what your definition of 'bad' is. By a student's standards, very. By the Headmistress' standards, not really."

Harry's throat felt dry.

Beside him, the Ravenclaw boy stirred, "Surely she can be fixed."

"Of course. All I'll have to do is give her a potion for the pain, and a Calming Draught," replied Pomfrey, not even pausing to take a breath. "It's not too bad, I guess. Not like what Carrow usually does."

Harry could barely contain a sigh of relief. Hermione hadn't been hurt as bad as she would have been if Carrow had performed it. He felt a little bit of guilt ease from his shoulders.

"Headmistress Carrow said Cruciatus Curses were cast on the students who seriously misbehaved," started Harry. "Is Hermione one of the better cases, or…?"

To Harry's surprise, the nurse snorted. "Headmistress Carrow may speak like that, but the majority of the students around here have been punished with the Cruciatus at least once… not the First Years, though… The girl's definitely one of the better cases."

Harry traded a relieved glance with the other Ravenclaw boy.

"In fact, I'm surprised Headmistress Carrow went so easy on the girl."

Swallowing nervously, Harry cleared his throat. "It wasn't actually her…you see, it was me."

Madam Pomfrey could scarcely contain her scandalized look. "It was you," she repeated.

"Yes." He was beginning to wish he'd never spoken. It would have been better.

"You are a First Year?" she questioned incredulously.

"Yeah…" came the awkward reply.

Harry felt a blush coming on.

"I cannot believe it. You didn't look like you'd practised the Dark Arts before coming to Hogwarts. If only you had seen yourself, dear, you were as pale as a sheet when you came in."

"I haven't ever practised the Dark Arts," cried Harry. "I'm muggleborn!"

Madam Pomfrey suddenly squinted at Harry with a puzzled expression. Without warning, she gave a start.

Harry then found himself under a pair of searching eyes which seemed determined to burn holes into his own, emerald orbs.

"Your hair…" said Madam Pomfrey without warning, "Can you ever tame it?"

Harry reddened instantly, feeling the heat creep up his cheeks. "Um, no. Not really. It's…very annoying."

The Ravenclaw boy looked at the school nurse as if she was mad. Harry would have supposed she was if it wasn't for the intelligible way the nurse spoke and held herself.

"In spite of myself," said Madam Pomfrey slowly, "I'd say you have a natural – some would call it talent – for the Dark Arts. However… Just wait while I get the girl her potions. Will you come to my office after lunch?"

"Sure, Madam Pomfrey," stuttered Harry, feeling unsettled.

As Madam Pomfrey darted around the cupboards, collecting the potions, Harry leaned over Hermione's bed.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine!" she said, exasperatedly. "I had a bit of a shock, that's all. My first-ever Cruciatus."

That was when Madam Pomfrey came back with the potions. She gave then to Hermione. After one glance at the thick, puce-colour, Hermione downed them without a word.

"My," Madam Pomfrey marvelled, "most students complain about the taste."

"Whatever for?" Hermione asked, put out. "It's good for you, isn't it?"

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "If only everyone thinks like you, dear."

"Typical Hermione," Harry muttered underneath his breath.

"Do you feel better, dear?" Pomfrey asked.

"Loads," Hermione answered. "Thank you so much. But I think I'll be fine now. We have herbology next. I was looking forward to it, and they're probably half-way through the lesson already!"

"Are you quite sure you do not want to stay and rest, dear?" asked Pomfrey, with a stern expression.

Hermione shook her head vigorously. "I'd miss out on herbology if I stay. Thank you so much, Madam Pomfrey."

"You should be fine now. Lucky for you, the Cruciatus doesn't have too many side-effects. The potions you took probably are already in your system. If everything goes right, you'll be right as rain after an hour," said Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione thanked her again.

After that they left.

However, even after closing the door to the hospital wing behind him, Harry still couldn't forget the look of shock Madam Pomfrey had worn when she had stared into his eyes.

Professor Sprout was definitely a nice change after Carrow, Harry decided.

Herbology had been pleasant, even if it wasn't particularly suited to his tastes. The stifling air in the greenhouse had made Harry feel slightly woozy, but it had the same effect on all of the students.

According to Professor Sprouts, it affected the plants as well. That was the main reason why the air was so muggy.

The plants, called Leopard Leaflets, were especially vicious compared to many other species. The plants clawed savagely at anything they could wrap themselves around. Harry himself was horrified at the snarling sounds they made while doing so.

The muggy air was to ensue the plants became dazed and stayed dazed.

He had taken immense care to touch any of them on the edges after seeing a Slytherin's arm nearly slit open by the razor-sharp sides of the leaves.

It had left a huge bloody gash on the student's arm, and Professor Sprout had immediately ordered him to the hospital wing.

True to its name, the Leopard Leaflets did have leopard spots. Harry would have actually considered them beautiful if it wasn't for the danger they proved.

Professor Sprout, on the other hand, despite telling them to be careful, had seemed to love the plants unconditionally.

Their mission that day had been to retrieve the oil that leaked out from under the leaves when they were squeezed softly.

It had proved to be a bit of a disaster for many, and even Hermione had seemed considerably less enthusiastic about herbology when they finally came out, but the whole lesson was pleasant.

In spite of the fact that Harry couldn't understand why, he was happy to see at least a few students took delight in spending time with the plants.

Though he and the plants hadn't exactly become best pals, Harry did take a liking towards a student Professor Sprout had called to help them.

He was a fifth year Hufflepuff, and it was rather obvious Professor Sprout doted on him. Blatant favouritism, but nobody minded because the Professor was extraordinarily nice to everyone.

It was easy to see, after only several minutes, that Professor Sprout's favouritism wasn't unfounded. The Hufflepuff student's somewhat chubby hands moved with agile skill when it came to handling the plants.

His eyes would sparkle with passion every time he talked about them, and he had not seemed to mind that he was talking to a bunch of First Years that had no idea what he was going on about.

Instead of being grateful that they weren't looked down on by an older year, the Slytherins seemed to deem the boy 'pathetic'.

Professor Sprout had introduced the boy as 'Neville Longbottom', and Harry wasn't sure if she was joking. Professor Sprout didn't seem like the sort who joked about people's last names, though.

To his embarrassment, his House-mates whispered the name 'Longbottom' every time Professor Sprout's back was turned.

Neville's face would turn a faint shade of pink, but he never said anything.

When Neville eventually approached Harry, Harry could see the boy was reluctant. Most likely, it was due to his Slytherin tie. Harry really didn't blame him.
Slytherins did seem to give him a hard time.

Whatever it was, Harry could see Neville only approached him because his hand was holding the leaf tightly as if clinging on for dear life while the leaf thrashed about, yanking him left and right.

It was obvious, even to a fool, that Harry needed help.

So Neville had offered a helping hand.

"You need some help?" Neville had asked.

"Yeah." Harry panted.

Like aiming for the neck of a venomous snake, Neville dove for the bit of empty space just below the leaf. It instantly let go of Harry.

Try as it might, it was unable to get at the hand that pinned its stem.
With his free hand, Neville gently squeezed the leaf.
Oil came out, and Harry hurriedly collected it with the given bowl.

"Thanks," he had said afterwards.

Neville had brushed it aside with a shy smile. "It's fine. I'm glad to help."

"Thanks anyway," said Harry.

"You're not like the other Slytherins."

"They hate me."

"Black sheep, eh? Anyway, if you want other help, advice, homework aid, whatever, I'll be happy to assist you. The Professors here are too busy…and I hardly think you'll want the Headmistress to help you."

Harry had looked up in surprise only to see a knowing look on Neville's grim face.

"Oh yes, I know. I've been here when they've just begun. I was only in third year, then. Keeping my head low is the advice I've received for two whole years."

Somehow, as Harry sat down at the Ravenclaw table beside Hermione for lunch, he knew he could trust the older boy.

There was a haunted look behind Neville's eyes, as if he had seen too much. And Harry had a feeling that there was more to Neville than timid softness.

"Harry!" Hermione trilled. "You're playing with your food."

"Don't feel much like eating," he muttered.

"You have to get some down, at the very least," insisted Hermione in a disapproving tone. "Here…"

Harry choked as Hermione began piling mountains and mountains of vegetables onto his plate, before finally balancing a chicken drumstick on top.

"Are you joking, Hermione?" he asked, gesturing helplessly at his plate. "There's no possible way I can eat all of that."

"Honesty?" Hermione snapped. "I do not joke around when it comes to health."

"Look, Hermione…I can't possibly eat all of this…" Harry begun in a reasonable voice, "ask any clever Ravenclaw if it's good for one's health to eat so much."

"Fine!" Hermione barked.

And Harry had thought she'd given up when she turned haughtily to the Ravenclaw girl next to her and asked in an imperious voice, "What do you think causes someone to die quicker – to eat nothing or to eat a lot?"

The poor girl looked confused for a while before finally answering, "To starve."

Hermione turned triumphantly back towards Harry and shoved the plate he was slowly inching away from right under his nose again. "Eat up!" she demanded.

"I have to go for now, Hermione. I've an appointment with Madam Pomfrey. She wanted something," said Harry, remembering all of a sudden. "Sorry, catch you up later."

He seized his chance and jumped as far away from that particular plate of vegetables as he could before bolting for the hospital wing.

"Madam Pomfrey?" he asked. "You wanted to see me."

"Ah, hello, dear. Step inside my humble little office, quickly."

Harry obeyed.

Inside the cosy little room, Madam Pomfrey offered him a chair which he accepted graciously.

"…so…" he said, watching curiously as the nurse stood up, took out her wand, and cast several spells on the door.

"Privacy and muffling spells," explained Pomfrey.

By now, Harry's inquisitiveness was starting to get the better of him. "You wanted to tell me something?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "But let's not hurry it. Here, I've made tea."

She handed Harry a china cup. He took it and held it between his two hands.

"Drink up," she urged.

Harry took a small sip. It was the taste of jasmine. He looked up again, only to see Madam Pomfrey gesturing at his cup.

Only after he had downed the whole cup did Pomfrey open her mouth to talk.

"It really actually isn't my place to tell you all of this. Perhaps it is better if you know nothing, but…" Madam Pomfrey trailed off. "I've never been a master chess player. I cannot predict moves and make the correct decision. If I tell you this… your life may turn out for the better or worse."

Harry remained silent, though his heart was beginning to race.
He sensed that this was something important.

"Minerva must have seen you at the sorting… I don't understand why she didn't tell you," said Madam Pomfrey, looking unexpectedly drained. "Harry, did she say anything…personal to you?"

Harry gave a start. "I've never told you my name."

Madam Pomfrey gave a tired smile. "You never did. Harry Potter. Your name is Harry Potter. The thing is… you see…" – she sighed – "I knew your parents."

For a moment, Harry thought he had misheard. Then, his heart stopped.

Swallowing, Harry looked up at the nurse excitedly.
"Are they alive?" were his first words.

Madam Pomfrey's expression became such a crushing picture of sadness that Harry knew instantly they were not.

"Yes, I know," he said miserably, "they died in a car crash."

"They did not!"

It wasn't Madam Pomfrey who had spoken.

The magically padlocked doors flew open to reveal one severe-looking Minerva McGonagall.

Ignoring Harry, she marched up fiercely towards Madam Pomfrey, nostrils flaring.

"Poppy, are you insane?!" Professor McGonagall questioned brusquely. She slapped her hand harshly down on the desk in front of Madam Pomfrey. "Are you an idiot?"

Harry recoiled, intimidated by the Gryffindor Head's austere use of words.

Madam Pomfrey, however, only looked up and gave a small smile. "How did you get in, Minerva?"

The Professor closed her eyes for a moment and attempted to calm herself down before gritting her teeth.

"You may be an excellent mediwitch, Poppy, but you are still lacking at charms," McGonagall snapped angrily. "Do you know what this means? If I can get in, so can the Headmistress!"

"I doubt it," answered Madam Pomfrey. "While the Headmistress may hold more power in the school, she is hardly an equal to you when it comes to magic."

McGonagall huffed in an argumentative way. "That may be so," she said grimly. "But what if the Dark Lord comes in? These fragile spells are not even going to endure one second if he puts his mind to opening the door."

Madam Pomfrey smiled gently again. "Minerva, the day the Dark Lord comes into the hospital wing is the day I turn into a deatheater."

"You don't know that."

Harry felt oddly like an intruder as the two adults argued.

"Oh, Minerva. Paranoid, after all these years," said Pomfrey softly.

"It's called caution," retorted McGonagall.

"Call it what you want, Minerva," answered Madam Pomfrey. "But will you please dismiss yourself while I tend to my guest?"

"Poppy!" Professor McGonagall cried out in exasperation. "Do be sensible. What is it that makes you so desperate to tell him? Do really you think it'll make him happier knowing his father is a dea –?"

"Knowing my father is a what?" asked Harry.

McGonagall bit her lip anxiously. "Knowing your father is a dead man. I'm sorry, Potter – I should have been more considerate with my words."

Madam Pomfrey shot Professor McGonagall a glare and mouthed something Harry couldn't make out.

"Truth, Minerva. He deserves to know the truth. It's easier if he finds out earlier rather than later," said Madam Pomfrey.

"It's better if he never finds out!" McGonagall snapped, her spectacles nearly falling off in her vehemence. "You're putting yourself in unnecessary danger, Poppy. The Dark Lord will not be happy!"

"Don't kid yourself, Minerva. It isn't as if you care about what Lord Voldemort thinks. Besides, we three are the only witnesses. It isn't as if you or I are going to tell the Dark Lord."

McGonagall's hands found Madam Pomfrey's shoulders and gripped them tightly. "What about Potter, Poppy? What if his tongue somehow slips? Poppy, think about it! You're entrusting your safety in the hands of an eleven year old child!"

"I'm not a child!" protested Harry softly, but neither Pomfrey nor the Gryffindor Head paid him any attention.

"Minerva, of course I trust him with my life! He's Lily's son!" Madam Pomfrey defended. "And so should you."

"He's still a child!"

"Lily's child!"

"You've forgotten, Poppy. He's also Potter's!"

There was a long-lasting silence.
Madam Pomfrey let out a sigh. "Minerva, you're stepping over the line."

To Harry's surprise, the Professor did not retaliate but relented with a guilty look.
"I'm sorry," breathed Professor McGonagall. "I didn't mean it…"

Madam Pomfrey waved it aside.
"We have to tell him, Minerva. Besides, he already knows too much. It's better if we tell him than let him figure out for himself."

"There's no reason why we shouldn't use a memory charm," said McGonagall quietly.

Harry jumped up abruptly.
"No!" he shouted fervently. "They're my parents!"

"You know –" McGonagall began.

"If both your parents were dead, wouldn't you want to hear the truth?" said Harry. "No matter how much the truth hurts. Because not knowing would hurt so much more."

Harry purposely threw in the last part based on what he had heard from the argument.

Perhaps it was the last part that chased away the remaining bits of Professor McGonagall's stubbornness and made her surrender.

"Fine, Poppy," McGonagall glared. "You win. But I tell Potter, and I decide how much he hears."

"That's bringing danger to you, Minerva," objected Madam Pomfrey, unsmilingly.

"It's either that or nothing," said the House Head determinedly.

"If you're sure," conceded the nurse.

"You better take a seat, Potter," said Professor McGonagall grimly. "It's a long story, and we don't want you fainting."

"I won't," promised Harry eagerly. He sat down as Madam Pomfrey poured him more of the jasmine tea.

"You see, Harry, your parents did not die in a car crash…" was the Professor's first sentence. "There was no possible way a car crash could have killed Lily and James Potter, for they were magical."

The shock hit Harry like a huge wave. From listening to the adults' argument, Harry had suspected something of the sort – but the same thing being said by Minerva McGonagall was a whole different experience.

His parents, magical! Harry couldn't believe it. He couldn't help but wonder what his childhood would have been like if his parents had been alive.

What he also didn't expect was that Uncle Vernon lied.

"But Uncle Vernon said that –"

"Don't listen to your relatives in the future, then," said McGonagall curtly. "They're the worst kind of muggles."

"If Mum and Dad had magic, then I am a pureblood, right?" asked Harry.

"A halfblood," corrected McGonagall. "Lily was a muggleborn and James was from a long line of purebloods."

"Then why shouldn't people te –"

"If you keep on interrupting me, Mr Potter –"

"Sorry! I won't anymore, Professor."

McGonagall cleared her throat critically. "Lily and James went to school together. I taught them. Lily was a marvellous student, very bright. She used to love Potions and Charms. Lily was obsessed with books, much like a dedicated Ravenclaw. She was sorted into Gryffindor, however.
I remember Lily didn't quite fit into Gryffindor. She never got used to the Gryffindors 'tactlessly' saying what they thought of one another. She also didn't like seeing them fight 'like a bunch of stray cats'.
She and Severus were the best of friends. They knew each other even before they came to Hogwarts."

"Professor Snape and my mother were friends?" Harry asked disbelievingly.

Somehow his mother being friends with the snarky bat seemed impossible to him.

"Yes. And don't you go and bother Professor Snape about it.
Anyway, although James was a rogue running wild, playing tricks on the Slytherins with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, he was also very talented. A natural at Transfigurations. Together, he and his friends – Sirius, Remus and Peter – formed a group and called themselves the Marauders. The Marauders were very popular at Hogwarts, even amongst the girls. For James, on the other hand, there was only one girl he had a crush on."

Here, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat awkwardly.

Harry could see she wasn't into all the romantic things.
"My mother," he said.

"Your mother," McGonagall agreed. "Unfortunately for him, Lily didn't exactly have the same ideas about him."

For the first time since Harry had seen her, Professor McGonagall let a small grin waft across her face.

"James was a little too keen to show off at that time, like all other boys. Lily was sick of him. She called him a stupid sod in front of a whole crowd of students and Professors.
It was quite a few years later that Lily finally started dating him. James truly loved her. Sometime after they graduated from Hogwarts, they married. That was when things started going wrong."

Harry listened, entranced, as McGonagall continued her story.

"At that time, the whole wizarding world was in chaos. The Dark Lord and his team of deatheaters were fighting Dumbledore, the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry."

"Who's Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

"A brilliant man. Dumbledore was dubbed the nickname 'Leader of the Light'. He did all he could to vanquish Lord Voldemort and the prejudices against muggleborns. He led the Order of the Phoenix, a group of people volunteering to join his cause," said Professor McGonagall. "Both Lily and James joined the Order."

Harry nodded. He could imagine it all; his parents fighting beside Dumbledore to bring Voldemort down.

"Drink your tea!" called Madam Pomfrey from the corner of the room.

Obeying, Harry lifted the cup to his lips and sipped at the calming fluid.

"Lily, a clever young woman, did the Order credit. She would research tirelessly for hours in the library, trying to find whatever Dumbledore asked her to find. She was close friends with many other female members – Alice Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon, and Molly Weasley," recalled Professor McGonagall.

Harry jerked. "Alice Longbottom?"

He'd recognise that last name anywhere. "Is she related to Neville Longbottom?"

"Where did you learn of him?" said McGonagall. "She is Mr Longbottom's mother."

"Is she still alive?" asked Harry.

Professor McGonagall shook her head, no.

"What happened to her?"

"It is not my place to say. You'd have to ask Neville if you want to know."

Harry nodded understandingly.

"As for your father, James," Professor McGonagall continued, "he remained friends with the rest of the Marauders, who all joined the Order. But one Marauder, his name was Peter Pettigrew, stepped across the line between good and evil. He joined Lord Voldemort."

"That's awful," said Harry.

"It is," McGonagall agreed. "What's even –"

She broke off, looking hesitantly towards Madam Pomfrey who gestured at her to continue. McGonagall shook her head quickly at Madam Pomfrey.

"You have to tell him, Minerva. He has to know," said the mediwitch.

Exhaling, McGonagall turned back towards Harry. "What is even worse than that is that…" she trailed off again.

Harry looked at her desperately. "What's even worse?"

"He…" McGonagall looked Harry dead in the eye. "Peter Pettigrew dragged James to the dark side with him. James Potter became a deatheater."

Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.

Reminder: Review, please.
More on Harry's parents in the next chapter and there's a bit of Harry/Voldemort interaction which you have all been waiting for.