Harry awoke the next morning with a firm goal in his mind, and the determination to see it through immediately.

He wandered down to breakfast after Ron, Neville and Hermione, and broached the subject with them easily, bluntly.

He turned to Ron as he reached over for the bacon. "Hey mate, have you seen a diary like this?"

Ron glanced at the little black book that Harry slapped down on the table. Harry had conjured it carefully before he left the tower, just now. "Morning Harry. Nope. Why?"

"No reason," Harry turned to his left. "Nev?"

"Not me either, I'm afraid."

"Hermione?"

"Sorry Harry. Lavender has one, but it's purple." There. Nice and easy. Harry was hugely relieved to find none of his friends gave him shifty glances or showed a guilty conscience. But Hermione continued talking. "Does this have anything to do with that book you burned last night?"

"Uh, no," Harry replied, and slipped it back into his pocket. "Not at all. Nope, totally different book." He smiled widely at Hermione, at least partly in relief that none of them were possessed, and hoped she believed his lies.

There, three potential suspects easily crossed off his list. He glanced around the table.

Percy was somewhat disturbed shortly thereafter when Harry made a point of moving to sit with the older boy, to try the same trick.

"So, Percy," Harry began completely non-confrontationally. "I don't suppose you have any correspondence you wish to share with me?"

"I beg your pardon?" Harry's sharp gaze missed nothing, and when he noted Percy's nervous twitch and darting eyes, he pulled out the fake diary and then stayed to ask more.

Harry leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "Any new experiences that perhaps you've been keeping to yourself?"

Worryingly, Percy seemed flustered, eyeing the diary with some alarm. "No, no, not at all. What makes you think that? Just the usual study, I have to say, Harry. Er…why? Do you know something?"

Harry shared a significant glance with the older boy and raised an eyebrow significantly.

"Well," he said, speaking soft enough that only Percy could hear him at the loud and boisterous breakfast table, "there's knowing and then there's knowing, of course. What are you willing to share?"

Percy fiddled with his fork for a moment, and somehow dropped his scrambled egg back onto the plate.

Harry was feeling more and more concerned. "Percy? You know I'll help you out if I can, right?"

"Goodness," Percy muttered, clumsily reaching out to take a sip of juice. "Goodness, I must confess you have caught me somewhat by surprise, Harry."

Harry frowned in concern. "I've had a feeling something's up for a while now," he insinuated, rather not wanting to spread panic throughout Hogwarts at the thought of Lord Voldemort possessing a student. "I wouldn't want you to feel isolated or alone, if you need help."

Percy glanced at him with surprise. "Oh, that's right. You did have your own special circumstances earlier this year, didn't you?"

Harry couldn't quite remember which special circumstance of his he had told Percy about. He'd kept Dobby's visit a secret, the Weasleys hadn't been posting him food this timeline, no one knew about the Basilisk yet...

"Sure," he agreed vaguely, moving the conversation along. "Look, are things going alright for you?"

Percy took a quick glance up and down the Gryffindor table, and then turned to Harry cautiously.

"Do you think now is really the right time and place?"

"You have a point." Harry agreed, repocketing the diary. "Perhaps, later today?"

When lunch time came around, Harry and Percy both avoided the Great Hall, instead pinching some food straight from the kitchens and settling down to eat in an empty classroom on the second floor.

Percy looked surprisingly comfortable sprawled on the dusty, cold stone floor, and it struck Harry all over again that he was older than Percy, mentally speaking. Beneath all his pomposity and responsibility, Percy was really just a kid.

Harry's heart went out to him a little bit more.

But Percy, to Harry's surprise, breached the topic first. "I was somewhat astonished when you approached me over breakfast this morning, Harry," Percy admitted, licking crumbs off his fingers. "I really had been under the impression that my actions have been rather…discrete."

Harry hastened to reassure the poor kid. "I think I'm the only one who's noticed," he admitted kindly. "I'm in something of a special situation myself."

Percy grinned that surprising, lop-sided grin of his again. It transformed his face. "I had suspected as much when we had that discussion in September," he shared.

Harry paused in the chewing of his own smoked chicken sandwich to think, and then swallowed hastily. The sandwich seemed to scratch his throat on the way down. "Oh? We spoke about it? I…I honestly don't remember the conversation."

Percy shrugged. "Perhaps it would be more accurate to say we alluded to it."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Wow. I didn't realise I'd given that much away. I'm glad I can trust you with…well, you know."

After checking that his hands were clean, Percy leaned over and ruffled Harry's hair much as he always did to Ron.

"Anytime, Harry." Then Percy paused awkwardly and continued. "So I – I do hope I'm not overstepping my bounds here – I assume you would like some advice, then?"

"…What's that?"

To Harry's astonishment, Percy didn't seem worried about the diary at all. In fact, to Harry's incredulous confusion, Percy seemed worried about him.

"My deepest apologies," Percy muttered, and Harry's disbelieving eyes watched as the older boy flushed a deep, deep red and…were his hands fluttering?

Sweet Merlin, Harry realised with horror, something was seriously wrong with Percy.

"My deepest apologies," Percy repeated, "but I realised…I began to believe that something was wrong on the train to Hogwarts this year."

Harry practically snapped to attention. The boy had finally reached the point.

"I…when you called me to help with Hermione's…er, little problem, and I realised that, in fact, you did not realise…of course, it really isn't my place to say…"

Once again, Harry was lost. He wasn't quite sure how this led to Percy finding the diary – had Hermione had it? Harry suddenly panicked.

But Percy continued speaking, blinking very fast and rubbing his hands on his knees while he did so. "Look, Harry. I really am very honoured you came to me with this problem, so I will do my best. Look," Percy finally met Harry's eyes, "just to give me a starting point: you said you were raised by your aunt and uncle? Are you close?"

Harry blinked at the segue. "Er…normal," he blurted. "Like, not close really, no. I wouldn't say that, but um…not in a weird way, just a normal way. A normal, not close way. You see?"

The stone floor seemed very hard and cold to Harry at that moment, and he shifted awkwardly as he sat. Strangely, despite being about to find out about the diary, he felt very uncomfortable. Harry wondered if he had mayonnaise caught on his lip, and spent some time trying to scrub it off.

For some reason, Percy seemed to deflate a little. "Right, the beginning then. Okay…"

Harry realised that Percy was probably finding the conversation hard, and did his best to settle in and support the boy.

Percy began. "Well, I don't know what it's like with muggles, but…uh…when witches and wizards decided that they like each other very much, they…um…can decide to get to know each other better."

Harry stared.

Percy clarified. "Physically, I mean. Oh dear, I am not doing this very well at all, am I?"

Harry was out of his depth. "Uh…do your best?"

"Thanks. Right, well, when a witch and a wizard decide to know each other better, uh, they need to know that…um, their bodies are different."

As if from a great distance, Harry began to realise that there had been a terrible misunderstanding.

"A wizard," continued Percy, his face growing more red and tinging towards purple, "a wizard, um – how's your herbology? – a wizard has a stamen, and might eventually, if he decides he likes the witch very much, he might decide he wants to pollinate her, uh, pistil."

Mortified, Harry could not utter a word.

"Uh, the mechanics are pretty simple to figure out, I'm sure your dormmates can loan you some books in a couple of years," Percy continued, staring fixedly at a distant spot on the ceiling. "But this is where it is important to know that male and female bodies are different."

"…" Harry might have squeaked, a very small and uncomfortable noise. But Percy was too wrapped up in his arduous task to notice. He had heard about the mechanics, of course. He didn't really think he needed anything more from Percy, but to Harry's dismay, Percy was dedicated to his task.

"If the, er, witch's pistil receives her wizard's, um, pollen, then it is possible for fertilization to occur."

Harry wished a sudden earthquake would erupt and swallow the castle. Or perhaps Voldemort, he thought with sudden hope, Voldemort liked attacking, didn't he?

To Harry's everlasting dismay, Percy appeared to be still only starting. "Uh, so the witch's body needs to, erm, prepare for fertilization and as such, um, has a process under which it goes – you're sure your uncle never told you any of this? Your aunt, maybe?"

Wordlessly, Harry shook his head.

Percy swallowed hard. "It's closely related with the lunar cycle, and um…some very feminine small magics…Arithmancy is very useful for predicting this too!" Percy added brightly, before, "So, er, in Hermione's case, for example, her body was ready for, um, fertilization – you'll never tell her I told you this, will you?"

Harry's face drained of blood. "Merlin no!"

"Thank Morgana," Percy muttered, then fixed his gaze back on that spot on the ceiling. Harry distantly noticed he was still rubbing his hands nervously on his knees.

Harry identified. He himself was currently suffering from an auditory illusion that there was an oncoming train. The thunderous rushing sound was growing louder and louder, and Percy's voice was drifting towards from very far away.

"So, um, her body was ready for fertilization, but – obviously – Hermione has not yet – ohsweetMerlin – um, isn't pregnant," Percy blurted, "so her body was, um, preparing for another lunar cycle of, er, preparation."

Harry wished vaguely that a Basilisk under the school was the worst thing to happen to him this year.

"Blood!" Percy blurted. "It involves blood. Just don't ask me about that bit, okay?"

He swallowed again, forcefully, and continued. "Uh, she…was caught by surprise, and – I always did think there needed to be better education about this for muggleborns – um, it being her first experience with…things – that's why she was panicking in the end, she was unprepared for anything – and because of this process, a wizard has to be aware of some facts before he, uh, becomes acquainted with a witch in a, um, carna– physical," Percy rushed to say, "a physical way."

Somewhere deep in his mind, beyond the mindless internal screaming, Harry wondered how he had never learned any of this when he was still dating Ginny. Of course, there had been jokes, of course, about that 'time of month', and strange emotional shifts. He had somehow taken to mean that deep in their souls, women identified with the viciousness of werewolves.*1

He knew Ginny and Hermione quite well, by that stage, and both of them could be ferocious when they wanted to be. It had seemed like harmless humour at the time.

But Percy was relentlessly continuing to enlighten him.

"And emotionally, of course, because of these, this process, and, um, the symptoms of this process," Percy was choosing his words slowly, and with great care, "a wizard needs to be gentle and uh, delicate when dealing with a witch's sensitivities because quite frankly, we're a bit daft about them sometimes and I've been told we miss a lot.

"It is possible for a wizard's, uh, stamen to, erm, reach a witch's pistil without…give me a moment, um…without any pollen reaching the…Look, you can just…Fertilization can be avoided if you're careful, alright? I'll…I'll write you a note, okay? I'll find you the spells."

Percy sighed heavily.

"And the potions too. You can take potions a few hours before...um...pollination if you don't want your...the, um, pollen to...to fertilize anything. Penelope – the prefect who eventually solved Hermione's little problem? – she's my girlfriend, which you know about obviously and, well, I've found that exchanging letters is a good way to get to know her without blurting out thoughtless things that, quite frankly, young wizards often do. I, err, don't recommend you ask about this stuff early on in your relationship. You know, if you're thinking about it. Just don't."

Absolutely desperately, Harry searched for words to interrupt this torture.

Percy continued. "In regards to your own situation, well – I really can't say for sure, but I'd suggest that you take things very slowly and show your young witch a lot of respect. You're very young of course, so you can take some things very slowly indeed, and being who you are there is a lot of potential for being taken advantage of." Harry was almost amused to find that, as Percy met his eyes, the older boy was equally desperate for his mouth to stop moving. "Dare I, can I confirm, Harry, that you are not dating an older witch? You're very young, and I know their, um, endowments can be enchanting…" Percy closed his eyes in absolute horror. "Oh Merlin, ah, so when a witch or wizard wants to attract a partner, it is possible for them to use actual enchantments, um, for example, there is –"

"Hold it, hold it, hold it!" Harry finally managed. He pulled the conjured diary out of his robe pocket and dropped it in front of the lobster-red Percy. "Have you ever seen a diary like this?"

Percy blinked and stared at the little black book in front of him, mouth working silently for a while. "Not at all," he finally managed. "Is this how you communicate with her?"

"Thank Maeve, Morgana and Merlin," Harry uttered, with what was possibly the most feeling he had ever expressed. "I really think that's enough information for now, Percy," he rushed out, catching the older boy before he began speaking more of that vile torture.

"No, no, you've been magnificent," Harry assured Percy. "I've, ugh, learned so much! Thank you, really." Harry scrambled to his feet and inched awkwardly towards the door. "It's really all feeling so overwhelming," Harry admitted to Percy as he backed slowly away. "I think I need some time to, yes, to think about it on my own."

Percy looked pathetically hopeful. "You think?"

"Definitely!" Harry shot out. "Very overwhelming. I definitely need some time to process this, um, on my own. Without hearing more." Harry nodded. "Definitely without hearing more just yet. I'll…I'll just be going then, yeah?"

He dashed out the door.

Oliver Wood, of all people, came up to Harry the next Saturday with a look of deep apprehension on his face.

"Look, Potter, are you okay?" the Keeper asked with rough concern in his voice.

"What? Yup! Fine!" Harry grinned, and skittered two steps back just in case Wood decided to share any personal insights into 'pollination'. He grasped his broom firmly between his hands, just in case Wood took any untoward steps forward towards conversation. He was year mates with Percy, wasn't he? You never knew…

The Keeper paused where he was, and looked at him carefully.

"Potter?" He tried again, "Is your head in the game? You've been staring at our Chasers for a solid ten minutes without blinking, and Madam Hooch is about to blow the whistle."

Startled, Harry refocused his eyes and looked around him. Katie, Alicia, and Angelica were all looking back at him in some concern and defensiveness. Alicia had her arms crossed in front of her chest. Harry had the most horrible impression he had just been very rude.

He blinked, and his astonishingly dry eyes felt scratchy and painful.

"Mmm," Harry's brain rebooted, and his gaze roved slowly around the Quidditch pitch. Distant cheering and boos sounded in his ears, and Harry suddenly realised that the wind was fresh and snapping.

The spectators were in the stands. He was on the pitch.

"Okay now?" Wood tried again, and looked reassured when Harry managed to focus his eyes on him.

"Sure," Harry spoke apologetically.

Wood raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Look, we'll be relying on you for this game," he spoke quietly, and stepped closer to Harry so that their teammates couldn't hear. "Fred and George have been off form for a while, so expect the Slytherin's Beaters to have a real impact on our girls."

Harry shot an evaluative eye towards the looming Slytherin team, who did indeed look very intimidating.

"We'll need a short game," Oliver pushed on. "You reckon you can give that to us?"

"I got it." Harry nodded reassuringly, and clenched his jaw. He needed this win, Harry thought manfully. He'd been out of it for days – Hermione also kept complaining he was staring at her, and Neville had mentioned something about Harry's eyes being the reason Ginny was less coordinated than usual – so a rousing game of Quidditch was just what he needed.

Oliver Wood accepted Harry's words at face value, backing away with only a remnant of worry remaining, before he turned to talk to the Chasers. Harry must have zoned out all through the pep-talk, he realised with resignation. No wonder Wood was worried about him.

The Madam Hooch was standing there, her robes fluttering in the breeze, whistle in her mouth, and they were off.

For about seventeen glorious minutes in the air, Harry forgot all about his problems, time pressures, and the deathly threat hanging over Hogwarts' entire student body.

He was up in the air, his arm muscles straining as he took his broomstick through tight corners and a couple of test dives just to get his game-sense in. Cold, damp wind rushed through Harry's hair.

If felt like freedom from all the pressure Harry had faced for years. It was glorious.

Below him, unfortunately, the Gryffindor team was not doing as well as he was. The Chasers, Katie, Angelina, and Alicia, were doing their best; their teamwork was as amazing as always, but the Slytherin Beaters were coming on strong and had a very physical presence on the pitch.

Although Gryffindor rapidly scored four goals, Slytherin was keeping the score very close, and the only thing stopping the green and silver team from racing ahead in points was the magnificence that was Oliver Wood.

Despite looking for the snitch, Harry was once again impressed at Wood's skill and passion for the game. If anyone, he pondered as he searched the pitch in his Seeker patterns, deserved to go professional in the Quidditch league, it was Oliver Wood.

Then the bludgers happened.

Harry ducked the first one, automatically, just as he always did, as it hooned away from the quaffle-catchers and spun out towards him instead.

When it changed directions and came charging back at him, Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach, and within ten minutes Harry was battling for his life with the Weasley twins orbiting around him like comets.

"What the heck?" asked one Weasley twin, moving to receive the bludger and smashing it with all his might down towards the game below.

"I don't get it," the other mumbled, as it reversed course on its own and came shooting back towards Harry.

"Got it," Weasley on the left bellowed and Harry took advantage of the gap in the air to shoot forward a few feet and scan the pitch for the snitch again.

"Incoming!" It didn't sound like either of the twins, but Harry heard a whistle close to his ear, and sped up and spun with finesse just to miss the barrelling metal ball that shot through the space where he had been. Then he swore, because the other bludger was already with the Beaters behind him, and now there were two deadly hunks of metal trying to knock him out of the air.

This was worse than he had expected.

Now he had six satellites revolving chaotically around him: two bludgers, two Weasleys, and two Slytherin Beaters who looked baffled to be spending so much time with Harry Potter of Gryffindor.

"Right," Harry muttered absently, feeling intensely alive as the adrenaline flushed through his system. "Okay. Right."

After the fact, spectators of the day said it was the most exciting flying seen at Hogwarts in living memory. The contributions of his teammates were barely ever mentioned, even though without the beaters' interference, the Gryffindor chasers scored goal after goal.

Occasionally, Harry would flash past Malfoy – his first Quidditch game, the poor fool – and he always looked slightly stunned and horrified as Harry's entourage would then barrel by in Harry's wake: Two bludgers, fast and powerful, ignoring every other player on the field except Harry; two Weasleys, who despite their recent bad form had no need for good coordination. Instead, they only needed to watch for each bludger to reach maximum distance from Harry, and then insert themselves between Harry and the approaching projectile. Even the two Slytherin Beaters ended up working hard to protect Harry from the barrelling balls. Not on purpose, of course, but they persistently tried to send the bludgers down towards where the Gryffindor chasers were still scoring, and so they raced after Harry too.

Harry was resolutely glad that he was as little and light as he was for this game. Avoiding the chaos in his wake was hard enough, but he still hadn't given up his search for the snitch. He had to use all his speed and manoeuvrability to keep the space ahead of him clear.

Zipping past Wood at high speed, he motioned for the boy not to call for a time out. Harry was fine: he was focused, he was engaged, he was feeling better than he had in months – just on the edge of life and death, feeling the thrill.

He wondered if this was how his father and Sirius had felt when they fought Death Eaters. An idle thought flittered past his mind: this explained so much about Sirius.

Harry shot past a gaggle of teachers at the base of the stands, looking worried. Harry nodded significantly their way.

Occasionally, just to add to his team unity, Harry rode straight through the cluster of Slytherin Chasers whenever they happened to grab the quaffle. The cluster of chaos in his wake never failed to disrupt their passes.

It required incredible focus, managing so many things at once, but Harry felt the thrill in his bones and felt magnificent.

Then he saw that glint of gold.

It wasn't really fair for Malfoy. Harry felt guilty as he changed directions ever so slightly and dove straight towards the snitch. The poor kid had been out of his depth from the moment the budgers had focused on Harry.

It wasn't how a game of Quidditch was supposed to work, Harry admitted, as he stretched his arm out for the snitch, robes flapping in the wind.

Behind him, he heard Malfoy's yelp as he identified that his dive wasn't a feint, but he was far too late.

Harry was used to fighting for his life: all Malfoy had signed up for was a school game of Quidditch, and this wasn't what had been advertised.

Harry's arm reached full extension, his fingers grasped tightly around the fluttering snitch – it also seemed overwhelmed, the poor thing; it wasn't calibrated for professional speeds – and Harry turned into a dive that would take him right to the feet of the alert teacher group.

They saw him coming, their wands were drawn and Harry timed his dive perfectly so the bludgers behind him had to slow down to avoid plunging into the ground.

Harry flashed past, snitch clutched tightly in half a palm while he used both hands to force his broom handle up. The bludgers slowed to take the corner.

Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape drew quickly: a bunch of spells shot out.

The two cursed bludgers exploded; Harry held the snitch upright; the beaters behind him pulled up more moderately as Harry tumbled gently off his broom.

The crowd roared.

To Harry's somewhat naive astonishment, life in the castle was disrupted for days.

Someone, probably Luna, had written a very complimentary article for the Quibbler describing the game, and heavily focusing on Harry's part in it. It was accompanied by photos: Harry suspected Colin Creevey as the most likely contributor, although he wasn't aware they knew each other.

But that would have been the end of it if a dozen fan letters from people at the game hadn't mailed the Daily Prophet with letters to the editor.

Percy had discovered them first, naturally, despite him and Harry avoiding each other, sensitively, for a few days. But he had brought it to Ron's attention, who took great delight in reading snippets out loud at the breakfast table and cutting out clips to scrapbook, of all things.

"I'll be your first fan," Ron proclaimed loudly when Harry bemoaned the action. "You will play for the Cannons, won't you Harry?"

Harry was touched that the thought of being his fan had never occurred to Ron before this moment.

"I don't know…" Harry demurred.

Ron shrugged his shoulders cheerfully. "It's okay mate, I'll be your first fan no matter where you play. Merlin, look at this one: All the speed and grace of a falcon at hunt, eh? How'd you feel now, Harry?"

Harry buried his head in his hands, and Ron laughed. "I'll be your very best fan, Harry. No mistake. I'll save up my money and buy all your merchandise. This will be great!"

Harry looked up from his place on the table, eyeing Ron from between his fingers. "You don't need to be my first fan Ron," Harry whinged childishly. "You're my best mate already."

Ron was startled. "Eh? Your best mate? Me?"

"Well, yeah."

Ron beamed. "Hear that, Nev? I'm best mates with Harry! Harry thinks I'm his best mate!"

Neville pounded Ron heartily on the back. "Good on you, mate."

Ron even turned to Hermione. "I'm best mates with Harry!"

She smiled too.

Harry wasn't quite sure what the fuss was all about, but he hoped the worst was over.

It wasn't.

The influx of fan letters had obviously intrigued the Prophet, because the next day the paper came out with the original article in it: the front page spread covered the whole game, a full three columns were analyses of Harry's part in it, and a second page was a summary of the investigation into the cursed quaffles.

Somehow they even got hold of more original photographs, which were displayed on a full-page spread inside.

People were stopping him in the corridors.

Malfoy was one of them.

"Look, Potter." The Slytherin caught him one day when he was walking the corridors alone and tugged Harry to a halt by the corner of his sleeve. "I hope you know it wasn't me, okay?"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked.

Malfoy looked at him meaningfully "The bludgers. I know I was the rival Seeker in that game, but I swear I never wanted to curse you."

Harry glanced up and down the mostly empty corridors and smiled at a few curious students passing by. "I could have guessed that."

Malfoy didn't calm down. "Potter, really," he insisted. "I know people are saying I bought my way on to the team, but I'd never try to curse you out of the sky to win."

Harry looked at the kid – just a second-year – and nodded, calmingly. "I get it. You're okay. I believe you."

Malfoy looked conflicted. "You do?"

Harry took a long moment to seriously think about the position Draco Malfoy must be in now. He thought about buying or not buying his way onto the team. He also considered how Malfoy was the only second year on the team. Slowly he drew his wand and cast a silent little muffliato.

Harry shuffled a little closer to Malfoy in the corridor, and hesitantly suggested. "I really do believe you, but perhaps if you need to suggest otherwise to…certain other people…"

"I…what?" Malfoy looked at him in surprise.

"You and I have had this little conversation," Harry suggested cautiously. "But if, theoretically, you might need to…imply differently to others, I could be convinced to stay quiet about it."

"I…" Malfoy stared at him measuringly. "That would be convenient, actually."

Harry relaxed and grinned. "That's great then. We'll do that."

Curiously, inquisitively, Malfoy stared at Harry's face as they stepped further apart. "That advice you gave me earlier in the year has been very helpful too, while we're on the topic."

"Defence?"

"Yeah. I had no idea things could get so bad. My father's furious."

Harry grinned again. "If you manage to dig up any dirt on him, send it my way. I've got something in the works that doesn't rely on a Board of Governors' consensus."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows appraisingly and crossed his arms boldly. "You're not the simple Gryffindor you portray to the world, are you now?"

Harry smirked and made to move away. "You do what comes naturally, Malfoy, and so will I." Surprisingly, Harry felt no concerns about being shot in the back when he sauntered away, leaving Malfoy staring at his back.

The fuss travelled to all his classes, to a greater or lesser extent, and even disrupted his time spent with Luna as they looked for a new club to belong to.

Harry regretted suggesting the Runes club.

He'd been genuinely interested, as a matter of fact. He was definitely going to pick up Runes as soon as he could, just to vary his schooling a little, and a small taster seemed to be a brilliant idea.

Luna, Harry vaguely remembered, could already read runes so it seemed like the club would suit her too.

However, once they walked in the Runes classroom, with Professor Babbling talking animatedly to a cluster of students at the blackboard, things were obviously not going to work out.

"Harry Potter!" a number of enthusiastic quidditch fans cried out, and the instructions were interrupted by seven older students dashing over to Harry to ask about his future plans, and his quidditch broom, and did he have a girlfriend yet?

Luna was, to Harry's dismay, physically elbowed out of the way and ended up standing on the very corner of the crowd.

She didn't look like she minded much, but Harry did on her behalf. He tried to interrupt the crowd a number of times.

Harry tried a number of times to push through the crowd to reach Luna, and when that didn't work, he tried to force his way – gently – through to the front of the classroom where Professor Babbling stood with a complicated look on her face.

"'Scuse me," Harry tried, taking a tiny step towards the chalk scented blackboard. "Do you mind?"

The crowd moved with him. Did his scar hurt? Did he remember his parents? Somehow the news had spread that James Potter had been a quidditch star, and did he get his talent from his parents? Was he going to try for a place in the English team?

"I'm here about runes," Harry said loudly to nobody in particular, which might have explained why nobody paid him any attention.

When he regrouped with Luna a long while later, all she would say was that the students seemed to be limited to third years and up. Harry got the impression she hadn't been made welcome at all.

"We'll keep trying," Harry reassured her. "We'll find a good club where you're happy next time. You should choose where we try next."

Harry hoped that peak chaos had passed, and his year would improve from hereon.

*1 For real now, who on earth would have given Harry the Talk about female puberty? The poor kid has had to figure it out from clues.