Harry changed the subject quickly. For a good hour they talked of other things, old and new. Lupin remained silent, even throughout Sirius's stories of pranks Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs had played in their Hogwarts days. Harry, however, was in stitches on the floor, having fallen from the bed long ago.

"Then I cursed his voicebox, and..." Black paused for breath, trying not to laugh, "and he was on the floor...with Jelly Legs...squawking like a chicken!" The image of Severus Snape lying on the floor of the duelling arena, wiggling like gelatin and making chicken noises sent Harry into conniptions. "Wait...wait," gasped Sirius, doubled over in his chair. "Guess who walked in."

"Who?" It came out of Harry as a wheeze; he could not manage anything more.

"McGonagall! 'Mr. Snape...' " He broke off for a moment, struggling to control himself. " 'Mr. Snape, what is the meaning of this?!' And he started...he started...pointing at us...bulging eyes...going 'bawk, bawk, bawk...!' " Black trailed off, unable to speak any longer, clutching at his stomach in silent laughter. After a while Harry managed to recover enough to talk.

"Did you...did you get away?" He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

Sirius nodded. "We nearly tripped over ourselves under the invisibility cloak, trying to run, but we made it." Black chuckled. "I'm sure McGonagall knew, of course, but she couldn't prove it. Snape got detention for a week for being out of his room. He was glaring daggers at us for months."

"You didn't get in any trouble at all?"

"No." Black grinned. "That's usually how it went, when Snape was involved."

"Rather unfair, wasn't it?" Lupin said suddenly.

Black stared at him. "Oh, come on, Remus. It was Snape." His lip curled slightly.

Harry felt an abrupt chill run down his spine. "Please. It's Malfoy."

"He took all the blame and then some. The teachers favored us for sure. It wasn't fair, Sirius."

"Are you repenting for little school pranks now?" said Sirius incredulously, but something in his eyes flickered. Harry saw some of the sparkle and cheer leave his godfather's expression.

"Maybe they weren't so little," retorted Lupin.

Harry decided not to share Malfoy's exploits as a ferret. It didn't seem to matter so much anymore, belittling his rival. Not so for Sirius, if the strange look lurking in his gaze was anything to go by. Harry had only a moment to wonder how deep those 'schoolboy grudges' of old ran before the door of the room opened and Dumbledore stepped in.

"It's time, Sirius," he said gently, glancing quickly and Lupin. The werewolf stiffened and looked away, any remaining color draining from his face. His knuckled turned white as he gripped the bedsheets.

"You have to go?" cried Harry in dismay, springing to his feet.

"Yes, and now. We can't delay." Black crossed the room and pulled Harry into a short but tight embrace, one that couldn't have expressed more fatherly concern and love. "Take care of yourself, Harry, and tell Ron and Hermione goodbye for me." His godfather held him back at arm's length. "God, you've grown."

Something in the way Sirius said this made it clear he was not referring to Harry's height alone. Sensing that the quiver in his voice betrayed him, Black turned away abruptly and helped Lupin (who was fully robed) up from the bed. "Come on."

The werewolf slowly stood and followed Sirius out, his eyes downcast and body tense, as if expecting to be dealt a blow at any moment. The absence of the quiet assurance and easy-going nature that Harry had come to admire so much in his former teacher was too much to bear. Harry grabbed Lupin's shoulder as he passed. "Remus."

The older man stiffened. "Goodbye, Harry," he murmured.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Harry threw his arms about Lupin and embraced him closely. For a moment Remus resisted before clinging on to Harry as if for dear life, his relief at being accepted by one more person almost palpable. Harry clapped a hand between Lupin's painfully thin shoulders before stepping away. Lupin's eyes were suspiciously bright as he stared at Harry for a while before turning and walking to Sirius, who stood waiting at the door.

Then they were gone. Only Dumbledore lingered at the threshold. "Ready for classes tomorrow, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," he muttered, turning around to smooth the rumpled bed for lack of something else to do, then just as suddenly turned back. "Where are they? Where are they going to be?"

Dumbledore's wise eyes regarded him in a strange mixture of amusement, deep pride and, for a moment, sorrow. "Safe, Harry. Safe."

"For now."

The Headmaster sighed. "Alas, yes. Only for now."

Forgive me. The words, inaudible when they had been spoken but crystal clear in Harry's mind, echoed in his ears. Forgive me. His eyes closed, but Cedric Diggory's crumpled body burned into the back of his eyelids, then his father and mother, then the red snow, a flash of green light...

Harry's jaw suddenly tightened as he lifted his chin and looked at Dumbledore. "Headmaster, what time is it?"

"Five minutes before lunch, Harry, if I'm not mistaken," replied Dumbledore mildly, but his merry eyes were studying him hard.

"Didn't our schedules get changed? I have Potions after lunch now." A knowing look flickered over the Headmaster's face as he nodded. "Sir, I want to go back to classes today. All the homework I have is done...the stuff that's due tomorrow, anyway. I want to go back today."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure you feel up to it, Harry?"

Under the old wizard's piercing blue gaze Harry felt himself falter a bit. "Well...well...we have to get on with our lives, don't we? Sir. We have to carry on..."

Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment. "Very well. I will have a word with Madam Pomfrey." He smiled faintly. "You do look fit enough to work mischief in this school again."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry with a grin.

The Headmaster turned to go, but stopped and glanced back. He spoke strangely, heavily, and it sent a chill up Harry's spine. "Sirius was right, Harry--you have grown."

He was left staring at where Dumbledore had been. Yes, he had grown; he had changed. He only wondered which of them knew it better.

****

"Harry!" exclaimed Ron as he walked into the dungeon. Hermione shot to her feet, nearly upsetting her chair.

"What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow...however did you talk Madam Pomfrey into--"

"Dumbledore," muttered Harry, hiding a wide smile as he set his books next to his two friends. He was aware of a crowd of Gryffindors forming around him, many greeting him and others beginning to ask questions (Neville was one of these, surprisingly).

"Sit. Down."

The entire room fell silent as students scurried back to their seats, neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin eager to attract the wrath of Professor Snape, especially today. Harry could see why: the Potions master's face with pale, drawn, exhausted, and terribly, terribly dangerous. He stood behind his desk, not glaring as usual, simply staring with his cold, black eyes. More than one unfortunate in the front row slunk down in his or her seat. Snape slowly looked over to Harry, who met his gaze squarely, although it was not easy, for the loathing that had always been in Snape's eyes had been rekindled tenfold. "If Mr. Potter will not be signing any parchments, we will begin class," he said softly, malice and contempt curling through his voice.

"By all means, Professor," Harry heard himself say, just as quietly. His eyes widened and he fought the urge to clap a hand over his mouth as several muffled gasps sounded out.

Snape's eyes flashed fire. "Detention, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor." He whirled to face the Slytherin side, his robes swirling. "Get out your review packets."

They spent the class partnered and going over their reviews. Snape was surprisingly (or perhaps not so) remote from their activities. He lashed out once more at Harry by pairing him with Malfoy, then sat at his desk and watched them all sharply. The class had murmured a bit, finding it strange that Snape had not prepared a potion for them to sweat over today. No one complained, though, relishing the chance to bow their heads together over their parchments and whisper while pretending to work. However, Draco Malfoy kept his head as far from Harry's as possible. "Just work on yours, Potter," he drawled coldly, sitting down and turning away from him.

Harry picked up his quill but found himself studying Malfoy, who wore all black in mourning of his father. His rival seemed subdued somehow, sullen. With a glance at Snape he quickly scrawled a few answers down on his review, but continued to sneak glances at Malfoy. A strange pity was stirring in Harry, pity he would not have felt before that night in the Alps. He knew what it was like to lose a father, but he had never known James Potter, not as Malfoy might have known Lucius.

He was a Death Eater, thought Harry to himself viciously, writing with a bit more force than necessary. And he's the son of a Death Eater. Malfoy struck the desk half-heartedly as he continued to stare at a question that remained blank. Harry stared the other's forearm, unblemished by the Dark Mark, as Rysk's had been. Harry blinked as his teachers words in Hogsmeade, which felt so long ago, came back: What does that prove?

"Nothing," he whispered under his breath. Malfoy turned to him sharply.

"What'd you say, Potter?"

Harry leaned slightly to glance at Malfoy's parchment. "What did you get for number thirty-seven?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he quickly moved his arm to cover the blank space he had been pondering over for the last ten minutes. "Don't go trying to copy my answers, Potter," he sneered. "Go ask Weasel and his girlfriend."

"I think," said Harry gently "that it's dragon's blood and gillyweed." Malfoy's head snapped up; he stared at Harry uncertainly for a moment before his disdainful, cold expression slipped back into place. He glanced at number thirty-seven, then to Harry suspiciously, before writing 'gillyweed and dragon's blood' grudgingly and moving on to the next one. "Malfoy. I'm sorry about your father." The blonde boy froze and stiffened. "I really am."

Malfoy made no reply; no sneer nor sarcastic remark. It would not have mattered to Harry, though, if he had: things as trivial as children's bickering had to be left behind. Harry looked at Snape, marking a student's parchment on his desk. But I have to stop it before it becomes more than that. Before, well...before one of us tries to kill the other.

Harry and Malfoy worked in silence until the bell rang. Ron and Hermione walked over and waited as Harry gathered his things. "Bloody git," muttered Ron under his breath after Malfoy as they walked out together. "He didn't give you a hard time, did he?"

"No," said Harry mildly. "Other way around, actually." Hermione laughed under her breath. Harry saw the large burden of books in her arms and instantly remembered. "Wait!" He grabbed Ron's arm by the door to Snape's dungeon and spoke quietly as the other students passed them noisily. "I need your help. Hermione, do you know what Soulsbane is?"

"Of course," said Hermione. "It's a kind of drug. Extremely difficult to make, you know, but it's so powerful that--"

"What's it made of?"

"I don't know that, Harry. It's illegal; only a few even know its major ingredients."

"Harry, what in bloody hell are you getting at?" demanded Ron.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "Listen, I need to know what's in Soulsbane. Do you think you could find it in the library?"

"In the Restricted Section, maybe," replied Ron with a grin.

Hermione shifted her books as her eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"

"It has something to do with Rysk," said Harry, trying to stick as close to the truth as possible, and indirectly it did have something to do with strange witch: if he could figure out what Soulsbane did and why Snape was taking it, he might also find out why Rysk was snooping in the dungeons in the first place. He leaned forward with an air of conspiracy. "I asked Sirius, and he told me a bit more about her, but not much. Look, I'm going to be late; I'll tell you more later. Hermione, you have a free period, don't you?" She nodded. "Good. Take my cloak and research Soulsbane. Can you do that?"

"Nah, she's too Prefect," teased Ron. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

"I'll try."

"Thanks." Harry smiled. Hermione turned and walked off, blowing a kiss at Ron over her shoulder. Harry smirked as Ron blushed and started in the opposite direction.

"Come on, Harry, we'll be late...what do we have next? Flying, isn't it? Damn these half-year courses and their schedule changes...Harry?" Ron started and spun about, having walked a few meters before realizing Harry wasn't beside him.

"Go on," he said, waving to his friend before pulling the dungeon door open and slipping back into Snape's classroom, not even waiting for an answer.

Professor Snape glanced up sharply at Harry's entrance. "What are you doing here, Potter?" he snapped, standing a bit too quickly: he swayed on his feet and clutched at the desk's edge for a moment.

"Are you all right, sir?" said Harry, genuinely startled.

"What are you doing here?" snarled Snape again when he had recovered.

Harry leaned back against the door, setting his books on a nearby desk. "Do you know what happened?"

Snape stared at him. "If you're referring to your little fiasco in the Alps, Potter, yes, I know. I know everything. If you've come back to simply ask me simple-minded, pointless questions--"

"You're not taking it anymore, are you?"

The Potions master fell silent. His dark eyes burned dangerously. "What, Potter?"

"The Soulsbane. You're not still taking it, are you?"

Snape advanced on him, breathing hard. "HOW DARE YOU COME INTO THIS ROOM AND MEDDLE IN MY AFFAIRS! I WILL NOT TOLERATE SUCH CHEEK! Twenty points from Gryffindor! Thirty! Fifty!"

Harry crossed his arms and waited until the older man was done. "I'm only worried about you, Professor."

Snape barked out a laugh, cold and mirthless. "Worried about me. You are worried about me?! Of course! Why didn't I think of it before? Harry Potter's pity, what a gift!" His voice suddenly softened and sharpened to a hiss. "Go on, get out; get out and tell all your House about it. Get out!"

Harry desperately hoped that Snape couldn't see his legs shaking. "No, Professor. I haven't told anyone. And I won't." The Potions master stared at Harry inscrutably. "I'm worried about you, sir, and I meant it." He felt a wry smile pull at his lips. "It's not worth taking it."

"Don't talk about what you don't understand, fool boy," hissed Snape. He turned away. "No, Potter, I'm not taking it anymore. The Headmaster has seen to that."

"Good," said Harry quietly. He hesitated. "You know, Professor, I don't hate you." Snape whirled around. Harry gathered his books and walked out of the room without another word. A cacophony of noise greeted him as he stepped out into the dungeon halls, all of the bells and squawks and various other sounds used by teachers to mark students tardy exploding throughout the school. He was late, but Harry took his time walking out to the Quidditch field. Hooch did favor him, after all.