Chapter 12

That summer was either the longest or shortest month of his life, Harry decided. The days had blurred one into the next until finally fading away to September.

The Death Eater attacks had stopped, but the Ministry . . . who knew what the Ministry was anymore? Who was actually in charge? The Daily Prophet articles were ambiguous at best, blatantly supportive of Malfoy at worst. It was easy to see how the man had such power over the community; he made an impressive public figure. Politics are a strange sort of ballet under normal circumstances, and in this performance, some of the dancers were deadly. Now, the curtain seemed to have fallen on the intermission and not even Harry was sure what was happening backstage. Whatever it was, he didn't like it.

September 1st dawned warm and humid. The sky had a yellow tinge and London itself seemed suspended in the thick haze as the Weasleys and Harry made their way from the Leaky Cauldron to King's Cross Station. Mr. Weasley had not joined them, once again being far too busy and far too tired to do anything extra. Without him, and of course, Percy's usual tirade of lectures, everything seemed too quiet. In fact, it wasn't just the Weasleys who seemed quiet. The crowds on the platforms were subdued as though something in the air forbade the usual cacophony. It was just as well; Harry didn't feel much like talking anyway.

Mrs. Weasley was issuing hushed lectures to her flock as they approached Platform 9 ¾. "Now Fred, George, this is not the year to be over-burdening Professor Dumbledore, do you hear me? I don't want to have any more letters home about hexed cauldrons and exploding toilet seats."

"But mum!" Fred protested, "We didn't hex that cauldron!"

"We just enhanced it!" George agreed.

Mrs. Weasley rounded on the twins just in front of the barrier. "I doubt Professor Snape thought that toads randomly hopping out of his cauldron were an enhancement."

"No, but the whole class sure did," Fred winked at his brother.

Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes. "You two had best pay attention to your studies. After your performance on the O.W.L.'s, you had best make a good show of yourselves on the N.E.W.T's. You need to make something of yourselves." The ice in her glare let the twins know without any question that this was not the time to argue. They nodded mutely.

As other students from Hogwarts began to slowly trickle their way through the barrier, Mrs. Weasley continued her lecture with next in line. "Ginny dear, you be careful, remember everything your father and I told you. Good luck in your Arithmancy class. I know you'll do well."

"Yeah," Ron interjected. "And if you have trouble, just ask Hermione. She probably knows it better than the professors." A year ago, that remark might have sounded snide, but this time, Harry noted, it didn't.

"Ask me what?" asked a friendly voice approaching from the far end of the platform. Hermione waved over her shoulder at her parents then resumed pushing her trolley to where the Weasleys were standing.

"Hi Hermione!" Harry greeted her as she pulled her trolley alongside his and Ron's.

Mrs. Weasley gave Ginny a small push towards the barrier. "Go on through with Fred and George, Ginny. There are too many of us, we're making a scene. Off you go, now. Hello Hermione, dear."

"Hi Harry, hi Mrs. Weasley," she returned the greeting then faced Ron. "Ask me what?"

"Ginny's taking Arithmancy this year, and you did so well last year, she'd be able to ask you questions." Ron paused, looking at Hermione as though trying to figure out what to say next.

She gave him an exasperated sort of smile. "And hello to you too, Ron."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Hi, Hermione." Ron blushed almost imperceptibly. He seemed to be deciding whether or not to make a mad dash for the barrier then and there.

"I've got something to show you two when we get on the train." Hermione flicked her eyes at Harry. "Two things, actually."

"Have you got good news?" he asked hopefully. Hermione had been working on Voldemort's book all month, and had refused to say anything until they got to the train. "Owl post is too risky," she had written.

She pressed her lips together. "I'll tell you on the train."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Well, let's work at getting on the train then." Pulling his trolley and pushing Hermione's, Ron started towards the barrier when Mrs. Weasley caught the edge of his shirt.

"And you, Ronald Weasley, don't think you can get away without your fair warning." Ron swallowed and peered meekly at his mum as she continued her sermon. "You had best not spend so much time on Quidditch that you ruin your O.W.L.'s. I expect much better than what Fred and George did. You have to set an example for your sister."

"But mum," he moaned, "Ginny does fine anyway."

"That's not the point, young man. Quidditch is excellent, but your classes come first." Her expression softened and she beamed at him for a moment. "I am still so proud of you though." She patted Ron on the arm and he and Hermione took off through the barrier.

Harry made a move to follow his friends when Mrs. Weasley caught him short. "Harry, one moment, please."

Harry almost didn't want to listen to what might be coming. Every time someone wanted to speak with him, the conversation usually left him more worried than anything else. He eyed the steady flow of students systematically sneaking through the barrier at odd intervals, wanting a chance to escape, but at the same time, knowing he didn't have a choice. Besides, Mrs. Weasley had done nothing but care for him as a mother. He had to listen. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Harry dear, I just wanted to wish you luck at school this year. It's going to be an interesting term, and I wanted to remind you that it is still ok to have fun. Enjoy your Quidditch, pay attention to your classes." She sighed. "Trust Dumbledore. There's no safer place than Hogwarts, and you'll be absolutely fine. You might even find some things to be a pleasant surprise."

Why was it that whenever someone told him that Hogwarts was perfectly safe, he found himself almost being killed? "What kind of surprises?"

"Oh, I'm certain you'll see when you get there. Just . . ." she hesitated. "Do be careful, dear, but do have fun. Now, run along. I'm sure everyone is waiting for you." She smiled sweetly at him as she gave him a soft but firm push towards the barrier.

"Thank you Mrs. Weasley. I will," he promised. A short moment and a few steps later, Harry emerged into the throng of students standing before the Hogwarts Express. He scanned the crowd. It seemed that there were fewer people this year than last. It was no surprise, although he breathed a deep sigh of relief when he caught sight of Cho in the middle of a cluster of Ravenclaws. There were Dean and Seamus standing not to far from Cho's group. Neville seemed to be frantically searching his robes for something as his grandmother hovered over him looking none too happy. He probably misplaced his wand, Harry chuckled to himself. Finally, he caught site of Ron's shock of red hair sticking out over the crowd. He started weaving his way towards them when he overheard a snippet of conversation.

". . . a good thing that Lucius Malfoy finally has matters under control. Father would never have let me come otherwise. The Ministry is handling things perfectly well, I'm sure." The girl's voice was confident.

Harry snuck a sideways glance and saw a small group of third year Ravenclaws talking amongst themselves in a tight circle.

"Do you really think things are safe now?" asked a gawky blonde boy whose voice cracked several times in the short sentence.

"Of course I do." The girl was small with dark hair, an upturned nose, and the look of someone who hadn't lifted a finger for herself her entire life. "The attacks have stopped, haven't they? All we needed was for someone like Malfoy to step up and catch the wizards who were raising hell."

Harry grimaced to himself and kept walking. He had seen the articles in the Daily Prophet, but this felt a lot more real. It wasn't even a Slytherin who was siding with Malfoy, although in that girl's case, she probably just didn't know any better. Of course, in the long run, it might not make a difference.

"Ah good, Harry, you're here," George announced his arrival to the group. "Here, let's get your luggage into the storage compartment."

"Thanks," Harry helped unload the few items from his trolley. Hedwig chattered in her cage as Harry swung the cage unceremoniously from the top of the luggage pile. "Sorry about that, Hedwig." Harry finished shoving his trunk into storage with George's help and checked back over his shoulder at Ron and Hermione who were talking quietly. Ginny was standing a few meters away with some of the Gryffindor fourth years. "Where's Fred?"

George burst with a short laugh, then recovered. "He's already on the train with Angelina. They're saving the compartment, but I wonder if they're saving it just for themselves."

Harry's mouth formed a small, silent "o." George continued. "What about you, Harry? Maybe you should save a compartment for Cho."

"No," Harry replied stoutly.

The train whistle sounded and the few remaining students piled aboard. As Harry was stepping into the car, he saw a flash of silver-blond hair boarding the train several cars down. He gritted his teeth. Of all the people he had hoped would not return, why couldn't Draco have stayed with his father to help him in his attempt to take over the world? Harry pulled his head into the car as quickly as he could so that Draco wouldn't see him. One thing he did not want was a confrontation.

Harry finally found the cabin where Ron was waiting. "Where's Hermione?" he asked as he settled down across from Ron.

"She ran to the bathroom to change into her robes."

The train jolted into motion at the stroke of 11:00 and Harry and Ron glanced out the window to watch the platform begin to pull away from them. Turning back to Ron, Harry cocked his head. "Why would she want to change so early?"

Ron shrugged. "Not a bloody clue. Who understands girls anyway?"

"I certainly don't." Harry leaned against the window and gazed out through the corner of his eye. "It'll be a wonder if I manage to avoid any disasters like the Yule Ball last year. At least there won't be one this year."

"Well, if you had gotten started on it early enough instead of waiting until the last minute," Ron egged at him.

"And you were no better!" Harry smirked in return. "If you could have seen the look on your face when Hermione walked into the room . . ."

"Are you going to talk to Cho this year or not?" Ron cut him off.

Harry slumped slightly against the window. "I don't know Ron. After last spring, I still don't think I could face her." He still didn't much feel like discussing the whole event again.

Ron nodded his understanding. "You know," he said softly, "I think she's gotten over that more than you have."

"You don't have to remind me, Ron. I know." He gazed back out the window, craning his neck to catch a last glimpse of the city fading into the horizon.

"Hermione!" Ron's exclamation caused Harry to sit bolt upright and his head to snap around.

Hermione was already dressed in her Hogwarts robes, which were adorned by a shiny Prefect badge perched just above her heart. "What do you think?" she asked softly, but her smile was glowing with pride.

"Why didn't you just tell us?" Ron stuttered, flabbergasted.

Harry laughed. "Congratulations, Hermione." He looked at Ron, who was still staring in surprise, and gave him a swift kick to the knee.

"Oh, er, yes, congratulations," he muttered. "Now why didn't you tell us?"

Hermione sat down next to Ron with a flourish. "I had wanted to surprise you."

Harry leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees. "It wasn't that much of a surprise. Who else were they going to pick? I'm happy for you though. Nobody deserved it more."

Hermione beamed, "Thanks," then reached under the seat and slid out a large basket and removed the lid. An enormous ginger-coloured ball of fur emerged and hopped up on the seat between Hermione and Ron. Crookshanks turned once in place and curled into a ball against Hermione's leg and began purring like an old motor.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Always have to have that cat, don't you?"

"Don't tell me Crookshanks still bothers you," Hermione said in disbelief. "I thought you were over that ages ago."

"No no!" Ron said in a rush. "It's just that, I, er . . ."

"We wanted to know what else you had to tell us," Harry covered for him. "From the train platform."

"Oh! Of course, let me get it." She reached back under the seat and began rummaging in her schoolbag.

While Hermione had her head down, Ron motioned to Harry with a look of utmost relief and mouthed, "Thank you."

"Here it is." Hermione sat up, pulling not one, but two large books from her bag. The first Harry recognized as being the book Mrs. Figg had given him during the summer. The other one . . .

"What book is that?" Harry asked, pointing at the second book.

"This," she said, reaching over and dropping it unceremoniously in his lap, "Is 'Hogwarts: A History.' Honestly, after all this time you still haven't read it?"

"Sorry Professor Granger."

Ron snickered and Hermione caught him sharply wish her elbow before responding to Harry's tease. "Harry, this is important," she snapped, sounding very much the part of a professor. "I marked the page I want you to read."

Harry looked from Hermione to the book in his lap warily. His fingers found the bookmark and he flipped it open to the selected page. A section had been neatly underlined, and he began to read aloud.

"Although the traditions of Avalon and Anglesey had been closed to those with no magical ability, it had long been known that the heritage of the apprentice mattered not. Some of the greatest witches and wizards of the tradition had been born of non-pure magical parentage. Hufflepuff had championed this cause, promoting an emphasis on effort and ability over reliance on heritage. Gryffindor in turn took up this vanguard himself, deciding that Slytherin's selectiveness in the student body was too extreme. The confrontation between Gryffindor and Slytherin led to irreconcilable differences amongst the founders. Even in the face of the inevitable onslaught of the Norman Invasion which threatened to erase the organized magical community from the face of Britain, the Founders' mutual purpose in protecting the traditions of magic was not enough. Slytherin left the school of his own accord with the promise that he had ensured a means by which the school would serve only the pure-blooded when his heir returned."

Harry lifted his eyes from the book. "They're talking about the Chamber of Secrets."

Hermione huffed at him. "Is that all you got from that?"

"Well," Ron cut in, "the rest of it is common knowledge. Nothing special."

Hermione actually nodded. "It's common knowledge, alright. Trouble is, it's wrong."

"It's wrong?" Harry and Ron echoed at the same time.

Harry felt a chill creeping up his spine. "Are you going to tell me the great 'Hogwarts: A History' is incorrect?"

She nodded again. Harry threw up his hands. "And how did you come to that stellar conclusion?"

Instead of replying, she handed him the familiar book bound in green leather. "The page is marked."

Harry felt the chill along his spine increase as he accepted the book. He found the edge of the parchment sticking out somewhere in the middle and flipped it open to the proper page. Nothing was underlined, so he began to read from the top.

"The Mudblood, Gryffindor, called a council of the Founders in response to the now open animosity between his apprentices and those of Slytherin's house. They never arrived at the council room. Gryffindor encountered Slytherin in the hallway on the way to the council and they became engaged in an open confrontation. Hufflepuff arrived moments later and could only look on as the debate became vicious. The argument went on for several minutes, neither wizard gaining the upper hand. Matters almost came to an open duel. Slytherin had begun to pull his wand from its scabbard when he apparently lost all will to fight. Ravenclaw arrived just then, and all three Mudblood-loving founders were present when Salazar Slytherin conceded to leave Hogwarts."

"Stop there," Hermione cut him off. "Slytherin mysteriously looses the will to fight and concedes. That doesn't sound like the Slytherin I've been reading about, and it also doesn't sound much like leaving the school of his own accord."

"Well then, what does it sound like, Hermione?" Ron asked, a touch of his old sarcasm returning.

"Somebody caused him to give up," she said, as though the fact were blatantly obvious.

"Well, then who?" Harry asked, bewildered.

She tipped her head towards the book with a sly grin. "Read that last sentence again."

"Ravenclaw arrived just then . . ."

"Stop," Hermione said for a second time, the sly grin spreading broadly across her face.

Harry let his jaw drop. "How did you . . . that's just . . . my god." He sagged back against the window and let the new information sift through his head.

"There's more, but it's scattered throughout the book. You-Know-Who must have discovered some very interesting source of information, but it all makes perfect sense when you think of it. Did you ever hear the original mottos or mission statements of each of the houses?"

Harry shook his head.

"Gryffindor's was 'Courage in the face of adversity.' Hufflepuff's was 'Success through blood and sweat.'"

"That sort of makes you look at Hufflepuff differently, doesn't it?" Ron muttered.

Hermione nodded and continued, "Slytherin's was 'Victory at all costs,' and Ravenclaw's . . ." She paused, dropping her tone slightly. "Ravenclaw's mission statement was "Cultivate the power of the mind."

She eyes Harry carefully, who was now alternating between vaguely nodding and shaking his head.

"So it was Ravenclaw," Ron stated plainly. "You're saying that she had the Mind Touch, Voldemort found out, discovered how much power it had, and went looking for it."

Hermione beamed at Ron. "I'm impressed. That's exactly it. Somehow, he was hoping to find an heir of Ravenclaw, someone who might have carried that trait."

Ron's eyebrows knitted together. "But Ravenclaw didn't have any children. She couldn't have an heir."

Now it was Hermione's turn to let he jaw drop. "Ron! I . . . I'm really impressed!

Realizing that he'd struck gold, Ron folded his arms across his chest and lifted his chin. "Not completely unaware, am I?"

"Apparently not," Harry mused. "How did you know that? History of Magic?"

"Ron hasn't stayed awake through more than ten cumulative minutes of History of Magic since I've known him," Hermione said skeptically.

Ron unfolded his arms, appearing mildly sheepish. "I overheard my father saying something about it last week. Something to do with one of the meetings he'd gone to with Dumbledore. He said there was no way Ravenclaw could have an heir." He scratched the back of his head. "Why would they be searching for Ravenclaw's heir?"

Harry stifled a short laugh as Hermione elbowed Ron sharply. "And you were doing so well," she chided.

Ron rubbed his arm. "Watch the elbows! When did you get so violent? I'm going to have a permanent bruise there."

Hermione ignored the second question and carried on with her thought. "Obviously, Dumbledore is looking for the person with the Mind Touch, the person You-Know-Who had mistaken for Harry. It might not have been Ravenclaw's bloodline, but there can't be too many other possibilities. It's a rare trait."

Ron nodded meekly, but Harry wasn't responding. Instead, he was staring intently out the window.

"Harry," Ron prodded, "you don't think it's you, do you?"

Harry slowly shook his head. "Not at all."

"Harry's right, of course," Hermione said thoughtfully. "It was obvious his parents didn't have it, and it if was Harry, why would they still be searching for someone else?"

Harry barely heard them. His eyes focused away from the countryside rolling past the train to the surface of the window pane. He saw the faint outline of his own face, but knew he was searching for something else. When he spoke, his voice was hardly above a whisper. "What if they've already found her?"

"Huh?" Ron cocked his head.

"What did you say?" Hermione dug.

Harry finally turned away from the window and stood quickly. "I'll be right back."

Ron started to get out of his seat. "Where are you going?"

Harry looked over his shoulder from the door of the compartment. "I'm going to the little wizard's room, nosey."

Harry ran his hand along the wall of the aisle for support as the train swayed along the track. The abrasive touch of the rough paneling also did a measure to keep him grounded in reality, which more and more felt as though it were rapidly slipping away from his grasp. If Hermione's "Hogwarts: A History" was incorrect, and the magical community thought Malfoy was their savior from Voldemort, what could he trust anymore? He pulled open the door to the small restroom and locked it behind him.

He turned on the cold water tap and let the water flow over his hands. Removing his glasses and placing them on the edge of the sink, he cupped his hands and let them fill with water. He held his head over the basin and poured the frigid water over his head and the back of his neck. It was chilling, but it was real, and he quickly poured several more handfuls of water through his hair in rapid succession. If nothing else, it made his head stop spinning.

Harry straightened up and let the water drip down his face and neck, soaking the collar of his t-shirt. He'd be changing into robes soon anyway, so it didn't much matter. Creeping up on him from the back of his mind was an unshakable feeling that something was going to burst wide open very soon. What that was, he had no idea, but he was sure he would go crashing headlong into it, just like everything else.

He gripped the handle of the bathroom door and let himself into the hall . . . only to crash headlong into Draco Malfoy.

"What were you doing in there, Potter?" he sneered. "Doing the world a favour and trying to drown yourself? It's a toilet, not a bathtub. Although hanging out with the Weasel all the time, you might have trouble telling the difference."

It took every shred of control Harry had not to launch himself on Draco. The veins along the sides of his neck bulged unnaturally. "He's worth ten of you, Malfoy."

"Really?" Draco's drawling voice grated on Harry ears. "His whole family is probably worth half a sickle amongst the lot of them. Heh. And Weasel senior likes to think he's got any say in Ministry affairs. My father certainly seems to have matters well in hand."

"You mean your father is well in Voldemort's hand." The slick blonde- haired boy seemed caught off guard by this comment. Whether it was because Malfoy wasn't accustomed to hearing Voldemort's actual name spoken aloud, or because it was the first time someone, especially Harry, had spoken that accusation to Malfoy's face, Harry didn't know, but he sure wasn't about to back down. "Don't think people don't know, Malfoy. Your father is as much a slimy git as you are, and he's not going to keep people fooled forever."

Draco took a threatening step towards Harry, closing the gap between them. His eyes narrowed into icy grey slits. "What do you know, Potter? Look around. Listen. Everyone is hailing my father as the hero who saved them from the Death Eaters. He's got his foot in every organization in the magical community, and more influence than you could possibly understand."

"Try me," Harry challenged. "Your father is an underhanded snake, and you're more than willing to hide under his robes. You're a coward, Malfoy, and so is your father. You can't exist without someone bigger and stronger to hide behind."

"Is that the renowned Gryffindor bravery we all hear about? It's not hiding, Potter. It's playing for the winning team. Let's see how brave you are when you're in the line of fire, alone."

Harry tipped his head up and nailed Draco with a confident glare. "I already did that, Malfoy. A couple of times, actually. Your team lost."

To Harry's surprise, for a split second, Draco actually seemed to choke on the thought, giving it actual consideration, but the moment passed as quickly as it had come. Draco's tone became low, sharp, and cold. "How can we have lost when the game has just begun?"

"Harry?" a hesitant voice asked from down the hall. Harry turned his head and saw Neville standing just inside the door at the end of the car. "What's going on?"

"Oh look, Potter!" Draco snorted. "Rescued by Longbottom. How embarrassing." He turned back to Harry and hissed, "It's not over Potter. This is a game you can't win." With that, Draco stormed off down the hallway.

Harry shook his head. Couldn't Malfoy just go do Voldemort's bidding somewhere else? "Hiya Neville."

"Harry, what was that all about?" Neville walked up to him, plainly concerned. The boy had grown almost four inches over the summer, Harry noted, and his face had lost some of its roundness. Harry hadn't noticed back at the platform. It was . . . surprising. "That was just Malfoy being Malfoy. You know how he is. Can't miss an opportunity to prove how annoying he is."

Neville seemed partially convinced. "What was he saying about a game?"

"Quidditch," Harry lied. ""He was just pulling scare tactics, saying there was no way I could win this year. He's just a cocky prat."

Neville leaned against the wall as the train swayed, pressing his lips together in disgust. "The whole lot of them are like that, the Malfoys. I can't believe what his father is trying to pull."

Harry turned sharply and stared Neville in the face. "You don't trust Mr. Malfoy? You don't believe the Daily Prophet?"

"I may be a bit of a mug, but I'm not that slow. I've seen him at St. Mungo's." Neville shrank back a bit. "Er, I have family there, so I've been often enough. Mr. Malfoy's been there quite a few of the times I visited. He always looks at me funny." He shuddered. "Gives me the creeps."

Harry sighed in relief. "Well, you're one of the few left who doesn't trust him. I'm glad though." Harry gave Neville a quick look up and down. "You've grown."

Neville actually crouched down somewhat in reaction to this comment as though still not altogether comfortable with his new height. "Oh, thanks. I get it from my father. Gran says she wishes I got the rest of it too, magic that is. I don't know how I'm going to do with the O.W.L.'s this year."

Harry chuckled. "Don't worry, Neville. You can study with Hermione, Ron, and me. With Hermione helping, you can't fail."

Neville's face became hopeful again. "Do you really think so?"

"I'm positive. Now come on. The snack trolley should be along any time."

When they arrived back at Harry's compartment, they found that the snack trolley had already been there, and also that George had joined the party.

"It's about bloody time," said the solitary twin. "I got here to find Ron and Hermione all alone, so as the big brother, it was my responsibility to keep an eye on things until you came back."

Ron looked like he was about to strangle George. Hermione was blushing furiously.

"Er, yeah, right," Harry muttered. "Where's Fred?"

"Oh, well, I was just trying to keep an eye on him and Angelina . . . a boy's got to watch out for his twin . . . but for some strange reason, he didn't seem to like that idea."

"I wonder why," Ron snapped.

"Hi Neville!" George greeted him cheerfully, completely ignoring Ron.

Neville seemed quite glad that the uncomfortable topic had been averted. "Hi George, Ron, Hermione. How have you been?" he asked cautiously.

"Absolutely spiffing," Ron replied, rolling his eyes.

"Now Ron," George chided. "That's no way to welcome someone into a room. Come in, Neville!" he said joyfully, coming to his feet and making a grand sweeping gesture. "Sit down! Have a Bertie Botts!"

Neville looked at George suspiciously, then peered into the box. It looked harmless enough. "Alright, one can't hurt. Lemon-lime should be safe." He selected a bright yellow-green bean, popped it in his mouth, and sighed in relief. "Wow, that one was actually lemon-lime. Hey, what's so funny?"

He brought his hands to his face, searching for feathers or anything else that might have sprouted there. Nothing, but now, everyone was laughing. He held out his hands in front of him. His skin had turned the most gaudy shade of chartreuse he had ever seen. "George! My face too?"

George nodded, grinning evilly. "So is everything else too, if you dare to look. What do you think?"

"These . . . these aren't Bertie Botts!"

"Yes, actually, they are. Fred and I sold then the idea. 'Bertie Botts Every Colour Beans; A Hue for Every Taste Bud.'" He held out the package, bursting with pride. It was indeed labeled as he'd said. "Fred and I will be making a percentage from every sale. Mum and dad don't know about it yet because we didn't know how well it would do. If it works, we'll be getting a foot in the door for the market, making some money, and still have time to do a proper job on the N.E.W.T's so mum doesn't kill us." He eyed Neville. "Looks like we've got the green light."

The colour on Neville's faced faded away to reveal that he was blushing with embarrassment. "I may not have the best memory, but that's one thing I never should have forgotten."

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"Never accept food from Fred or George."

***********************************************************************

"I'm hungry. When are they going to get here so they can get this show on the road?" Ron thudded his head softly onto the table in front of him and rolled it back and forth, moaning.

"Ron," Hermione assumed her lecture mode, "melodrama will get you nowhere.

Without picking up his head, he rolled his face towards Hermione. "It's getting a rise out of you. I'd say that's somewhere."

"Ron . . ." she said threateningly. "What kind of example do you intend to set for the first years?"

"Well, if they were here, I might worry about setting an example." He turned his forehead back onto the table. "As it is, they're late, and I'm hungry." He resumed rolling his head back and forth.

Harry laughed quietly at his friends, then continued surveying the Great Hall. It hadn't been his imagination back at Platform 9 ¾; there were fewer students than in previous years. The most striking difference was at the Slytherin table. Striking, but not surprising. There seemed to be nearly a full quarter fewer students at the Slytherin table than at any of the others. Of course, Malfoy was still there with his hunkering cronies flanking him. Pansy Parkinson was sitting across the table from Malfoy, partially blocking Harry's view of him, and the group of them were huddled in a tight conversation. Pansy shifted slightly, and Harry caught a view of something that made him feel like gagging. Perched on the breast of Malfoy's robes was a bright, shiny Prefect badge. Harry felt himself blanch.

"Hermione. Psst, Hermione!" he hissed out the corner of his mouth.

"What, Harry?" she asked, still distracted by Ron's behavior.

"Malfoy."

"What about him?"

"He's a prefect."

Ron whipped upright. "What?" He snapped his head towards the Slytherin table, cussing. "Bollocks! That bloody bast . . ."

Hermione grabbed him sharply and yanked him back around. "Shh! Try to be a little bit discreet!"

As Harry watched, Malfoy's head came up and for a brief moment, they made eye contact. Harry had to force himself not to recoil from the gaze. He waited until Malfoy moved to whisper something to Goyle before he turned back to his own friends.

Ron didn't look too healthy. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Ron, it can't be that bad." Hermione folded her arms definitively below her own Prefect badge.

"That's because you're a Prefect and he can't do anything to you. He hates me. I can see it now."

"He can't do anything to you either," Hermione explained in a more rational tone than seemed natural. "There are rules for the Prefects too, you know."

Ron frowned. "Percy never mentioned that he had to follow any rules. He just liked flaunting them." He looked away quickly, as though speaking casually about his brother was improper.

Hermione gave Ron a quick sympathetic glance. "Percy was a walking rule book. He lived by the rules. The rules were just so much a part of him that it was sometimes hard to see the line between."

Ron's glanced back, but his head stayed bowed. He replied softly, "You're probably right." He raised his eyes without lifting his head. "But I still don't trust Malfoy."

Harry thought back to his own encounter with the Slytherin on the train. "Neither do I, Ron. Neither do I."

He resumed scanning the room, his attention now on the front of the hall. The Sorting Hat was sitting placidly on the four-legged stool in front of the table, and seated behind it, the professors were talking quietly amongst themselves. Dumbledore seemed almost subdued, a stark contrast with his usually energetic start-of-term self. He was speaking intently with Snape. If Snape had been pale before, it was nothing compared to the ghastly undertone of grey that graced his features now. Harry remembered that Dumbledore had sent him on a mission of sorts after the third task, and when he had come back before the end of the year, he had been looking tired and pale then, too. Had he been at it all summer? Harry momentarily felt a flash of sympathy for the man, then horrified at the thought, shook it off.

Professor Sprout was chatting with Professor Flitwick, and . . . Harry did a double-take. Mrs. Figg and Lupin were seated at the far left end of the table, chatting as though they'd known each other for years. "Ron, Hermione, it's . . . it's Lupin and Mrs. Figg!"

"Professor Lupin is back?" Ron's distress over Malfoy's new status seemed temporarily forgotten. "Think he's teaching again?"

"Wait, Harry," Hermione cut in, "is that the same Mrs. Figg who you told us about earlier this summer.

Harry nodded, still surprised at this new discovery. "The very same."

Lupin finally noticed him staring and smiled a greeting across the room. With a sly wink, he pointed down at the table. Lying low under the edge of the table cloth, Harry could see a long black nose and two bright eyes pointed right at him. A great toothy grin spread underneath the nose, and a few feet away, a wagging tail briefly ruffled the edge of the cloth. "And Snuffles," Harry smiled. "Snuffles is here too."

"Aw, Harry, that's great," Ron said.

They had no more time to discuss it before the main door emitted a loud bang and slowly swung open. Professor McGonagall stepped through, leading the traditional flock of dazed, scared, and excited first years. Hagrid slipped in behind them and made his way to the head table, pulling a seat between Mrs. Figg and Professor Sprout.

There were fewer new students this year as well as the shortage of returning students. As they walked past, Harry could make out evidence of raindrops on their robes. He caught a quick glimpse of the ceiling to see that the stars had been blocked by thick clouds and rain was indeed starting to fall, breaking the oppressively still air that had hung over the landscape all day.

The gaggle of first years clustered around in front of the tattered Sorting Hat, huddling close and exchanging nervous and confused glances at each other.

"I wonder what the hat has to say this year," Ron mumbled to himself. He didn't have long to wait. The tear in the front of the hat spread into a mouth, and the hat began to sing its yearly greeting.

"It was a time of fear and strife
When Hogwarts School was born
The world of magic threatened,
And the Land of Britain torn.
The Founders four proposed a plot,
To protect the history
And to carry on their brilliant plan,
Great Godric thought of me.
Each year throughout the ages,
Come new students to this hall.
With one quick look inside their heads,
I can sort them all.
The Gryffindors, in Godric's name
Have courage to stand strong.
A Gryffindor defends the truth,
When all else has gone wrong.
The commitment of a Hufflepuff
Through times of toil and unrest,
Will carry through the worst defeat,
Persist in life and death.
The clever minds of Ravenclaws
Are a strength of great regard.
With Ravenclaw intelligence
No challenge is too hard.
Cunning and resourcefulness
A Slytherin will wield.
To any end that one sees fit,
A Slytherin's strength will yield.
So sit right down and put me on.
I'll look between your ears.
I see it all, I'm never wrong,
So never doubt or fear.
Each house has a merit,
Each student has a part.
But welcomed here, within these walls
All are Hogwarts, true, at heart."

"That was different," Harry observed aloud as he joined the traditional applause.

Hermione shrugged. "Times are different now, too. Troubled."

Ron didn't seem terribly keen on the Hat's choice of words. "It's all fine and good, but that's a bit, er, depressing. I can't believe the verse for Hufflepuff. I know it's just a hat, but that was tactless."

Harry looked over his shoulder to the Hufflepuff table. They didn't seem shocked, nor were they behaving differently than any of the other tables in response to the song, save perhaps for their expressions. All along the Hufflepuff table, he could see them exchanging looks of support, smiling with jaws set determinedly. They weren't flashy, but true to their founder's motto, they were tougher than they looked. Observing them now, it was obvious that the Sorting Hat had known exactly what it was doing.

Harry checked Ron's still-flustered expression against those being passed along the Hufflepuff table. "Ron, I think you're reacting harder to it than they are. They seem to be doing just fine. Dumbledore is not someone taken to giving empty comfort. The Sorting Hat sits in his office all year. I suppose it makes sense."

"ANDERSON, SOPHIE." A small, towheaded girl stepped up.

"I wonder why they think scaring kids is the best way to comfort them, the hat and Dumbledore, that is," Ron said out the corner of his mouth.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Well," Harry said thoughtfully, "Would you rather be lied to?"

"No! Not at all, it's just that . . ."

"BARTON, EDWARD."

". . . the younger kids are scared enough. I'd reckon a little bit of sugar-coating won't hurt."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Maybe," Harry's tone was edged with bitterness, "but I know I wouldn't want that. I wouldn't want to insult them that way either."

"BROWN, BERNADETTE."

"I suppose," Ron conceded.

Harry didn't hear him. "Hey, where's Snuffles going?" Harry had just barely caught the shaggy black hindquarters and tail slipping through the partially opened door behind the head table. Ron shrugged in reply.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry continued to watch the door intently, completely ignoring the sorting from "Burnham, Veronica," a new Slytherin through "Martin, Laynie," in Hufflepuff. If Harry had been feeling edgy before, the unexplained disappearance of his godfather during the sorting ceremony cemented the condition. He was left with the baffling sense that Sirius had gone for a reason, as though someone were waiting for him.

Hermione finally noticed how distracted he was. "Harry, he probably just went to the bathroom or something.

"MURRAY, ZACHARY."

"I suppose you're right." The curiosity over Sirius's whereabouts was changing into a nagging at the back of his mind.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Of course I'm right," she said confidently. "Now relax, enjoy the sorting . . ."

"NELSON, JOYCELYN."

". . . and perhaps you might actually start cheering for the new students like everyone else." She smiled at him so that the correction didn't feel too much like a jab. He looked at her blankly, still preoccupied.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

She gave him a light push. "Harry, go on."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry Hermione," he apologized, clapping halfheartedly.

Hermione didn't seem to know whether to regard him with concern or irritation. She settled for rolling her eyes at him and going back to watching the ceremony.

Harry tried to focus; he really did, but that nagging feeling wouldn't go away. He felt like . . .

"NICHOLS, SCOTT."

. . . like he was being watched. He cast his eyes around the hall. Hermione and Ron were completely engrossed in the ceremony. At the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, they were busy greeting their new housemates.

"SLYTHERIN!

Even the Slytherins were occupied with their own business; Malfoy was still in a tight conference with his little gang, not paying the least bit of attention to the Gryffindor table, much less to Harry. At the head table, Lupin, Hagrid, Mrs. Figg, Dumbledore . . . all of them were behaving normally, casually watching and cheering the Sorting Ceremony. Still, Harry couldn't pull the heavy feel of eyes from the back of his neck.

*********************************************************************

Snuffles slipped carefully through the door behind the head table, then bolted up three sets of stairs as fast as his four feet could take him. He tore down the hall and skidded to a stop in front of an inconspicuous wooden door. He looked left and right down the empty corridor before letting himself in and pushing the door shut behind him. Holly was waiting for him inside and was on her feet at once. Sirius transformed with a faint pop.

"That never ceases to amaze me," Holly smiled lopsidedly at him. "Now, you promised. Are we going?"

"Yes. Follow me, and try to keep up." He opened the door a crack and peeked out. "Still clear. Oh, and be quiet."

"No problem. You don't have to tell me twice."

He nodded, and with another pop, Snuffles stood before her briefly before streaking out the door. Holly tore after him down the corridor and through a small doorway hidden under the main staircase. She emerged into a dimly lit room and sputtered as a cobweb caught across her mouth. Snuffles was still racing ahead. The room felt much like an enormous, dusty, old attic with stacked boxes and objects of all shapes and sizes that she couldn't identify in the shadows. She finally came to a halt behind Sirius at the far end of the room, next to the base of a short set of rickety wooden stairs. He had already transformed back.

"Hey," she gasped, catching her breath, "not fair. You have twice as many legs!"

"He laughed at her. "I'm also twice as old. That more than 200 in dog years."

Holly resisted the urge to blow a raspberry at him. "So, where can we see it?"

Sirius pointed up the stairs to a place where a small shaft of light was piercing through the wall.

"How did you find this place?" she asked as she climbed the stairs.

"Trust me, there isn't a place in this castle I don't know about."

Holly crouched down on the top step in front of the small opening. "Let me guess, another Marauder secret."

Sirius flashed a toothy grin and flexed his fingers like claws in glee at the memory. "We orchestrated one of the best pranks ever from this very spot."

"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Well, we're right above the Slytherin table here." He winked at her. "Snape never knew what hit him." Sirius was positively beaming in delight.

"You'll have to tell me about that one sometime." She leaned against the wall and pressed her eyes to the hole. "Oh, wow."

"MURRAY, ZACHARY."

There was a cluster of students around a formidable looking woman. One student separated from the group and moved to a small stool next to the woman. "I can see the Sorting Hat. That thing was so strange."

"RAVENCLAW!"

Sirius didn't reply, but let her continue to observe and comment.

"There must be a few hundred students here, at least." She looked up and down the lengths of the four tables, searching. She went quiet, and Sirius didn't have to ask what she was looking for. Everyone along the tables was clapping as the new student moved from the Sorting Hat to a table. No, not everyone.

"NELSON, JOYCELYN."

One person at one of the tables was quiet, his hands on the table in front of him. He had a shock of unruly black hair, and she could make out the rims of his glasses.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

A girl with bushy hair nudged him and he began to clap unenthusiastically. Holly watched him intently. "Harry . . ."

Another student was sorted, but again, Harry wasn't clapping. Now, he was looking around the hall somewhat frantically. She could feel waves of confusion and discomfort radiating off of him. Even in Lupin's lessons, when Holly had been concentrating, had hadn't sensed emotions with nearly this level of clarity.

Something struck her like a cold wet towel across the face. "He knows I'm looking at him."

"What?" Sirius asked, confused.

"I'm saying he knows," she repeated. "Harry knows I'm watching him. Look."

Sirius climbed the stairs, scrunched down beside Holly, and peered through the peephole. Harry was, indeed, not paying the least attention to the sorting. Instead, he was snapping his head back and forth, anxiously searching the room. Sirius sucked in a sharp breath. "Dumbledore was right."

"What are you talking about?"

Sirius looked at Holly helplessly. "I don't think I'm the person to explain it properly. I don't even really understand it myself. Dumbledore will be able to tell you soon." He braced for the inevitable following question.

"When am I going to meet Harry?"

Sirius sighed. "Dumbledore says soon."

"I'm tired of waiting. The more you keep a person from something, the more they want whatever it is, you know. Simple psychology. So . . . I'm meeting him tonight, right?" She leaned heavily against the wall and folded her arms.

"I don't know, Holly." Her glare bit into his eyes, but he swallowed and continued in a rush. "We'll talk to Dumbledore immediately after the ceremony."

Holly didn't reply, but her disappointment was plain.

Sirius reached across and put a hand gently on her shoulder momentarily. "The Ceremony is almost over. When it is, the house elves will send up our own little welcome feast. The food here is incredible. What say we head back down?"

She shook her head. "No, I want to watch the ceremony a bit longer." She turned her face back to the hole in the wall. Sirius knew as well as she did that she wasn't staying to watch the ceremony.

***********************************************************************

"WROBBLES, DANIEL."

Harry had given up on trying to locate someone who might be watching him. It was obviously all in his mind; just another piece of reality which seemed to be eluding him at the moment.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

He applauded with the rest of his house as an athletic sprout of a boy sat down at the end of the table with a look of extreme relief. Harry only wished something could offer him some relief from the uneasiness that had settled across his own shoulders.

"ZAMARCHI, KRISTINE."

The last student took her turn under the Sorting Hat.

"It's about bloody time," Ron muttered under his breath. "I'm starved."

"RAVENCLAW!"

The girl rushed to her seat, flushed with excitement amidst the final round of applause. Dumbledore clapped for a brief moment and then stood in his place behind the head table. The assembled students hushed, all eyes now on the headmaster. Even in his tired-looking face, his eyes twinkled. "Now, I believe you are all quite hungry by now . . ."

"Famished," Ron whined.

". . . so, what are you waiting for? Tuck in!"

There wasn't a sound in the Great Hall aside from the clinking of goblets and dinnerware and the occasional grunt as someone pointed at a platter they wanted passed. Ron launched himself on a steak and kidney pie as though he would never see one again and continued to pile food onto his plate even as he consumed what he had.

"Ron!" Hermione looked mortified. "You're making a pig of yourself! What kind of example are you setting?"

Ron eyed her in annoyance at the interruption of his dinner, swallowed, and said, "A hungry example. Could you pass the boiled potatoes?"

"Ooh!" she grumbled, but eventually gave in and passed the potatoes. She caught a look at Harry's almost untouched plate. "Harry, why aren't you eating?"

"What? Oh, that. I'm just not that hungry, I suppose." He was casually rolling a potato around the rim of the plate with his fork.

Hermione twisted her lower lip in disapproval. "Why aren't you hungry? What's gotten into you tonight?"

"Tired."

"Being tired hasn't stopped you from eating before. You only loose your appetite before big Quidditch matches and things like that."

Harry conceded the point with a nod. "I'm just thinking. And I'm a little bit worried I guess."

"Oh?"

"Malfoy." It wasn't a complete lie. Malfoy's behavior earlier, combined with his new status as Prefect, were certainly cause for distress. "I had a run-in with him on the train."

With the sounds of the feast surrounding them, it was enough of an answer to temporarily placate Hermione. Harry ate more than half his plateful to make sure she didn't ask anymore questions, although the food tasted like sawdust. Nothing seemed quite real. He was grateful when the remainders of the food finally disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the spotless dishes.

The banter faded with the food, and everyone listened quietly for Dumbledore's start-of-term announcements. Well, almost everyone. Harry felt a flash of loathing as he noticed Malfoy's little bunch still whispering in their private conference cat the Slytherin table. Dumbledore ignored them entirely and began to speak.

"I wish to welcome you all back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This past summer has been difficult for many. Not a single student has been unaware of the situation outside these walls. Likewise, not a single student here is to feel alone in his or her struggles. Look to your housemates for support, lend support in return. I will reiterate, we are only as strong as we are united. I will also warn you not to underestimate the gravity of the situation. There is no safer place than Hogwarts, but I will not insult your intelligence by covering the fact that these are dangerous and troubling times. Still, I have no doubt that you will learn valuable things from these experiences. Indeed, the reason you are here is to learn. Remember this.

"Now, it is my pleasure to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Arabella Figg."

Harry heard a snort of laughter from the Slytherin table. He turned and shot a look of pure venom in the Direction of Draco Malfoy, who was pointing, snickering, and being blatantly derogatory. Once again, Dumbledore did not seem to notice.

"Professor Figg has had significant experience in applied Defense techniques, having worked extensively during the Second Muggle War in bringing about the downfall of Grindelwald's forces. Her experiences will be something from which you can al benefit.

"Finally, I will remind you that the Dark Forest is, as always, out of bounds to all students. On Hogsmeade weekends, third years and above with the properly signed permission slips are warned not to travel beyond the town and are advised to stay in groups at all times. That said, it is quite late, and you all have classes in the morning. I wish you all a good night."

There was the expected moan of complaint at the thought of early classes, but sure enough, the students all rose to their feet.

"First years!" Hermione called merrily. "Gryffindor first years, follow me! Stay together now." Hermione was beaming as she assumed her first Prefect duty and led the new Gryffindors out of the Great Hall.

Ron fell into step with Harry, rubbing his stomach painfully. "Oh, I feel stuffed."

Harry chuckled at him. "Well you should. You had three extra helpings."

Ron belched. "Ooh. No. Four."

Harry shook his head at his friend. As they walked, Harry relaxed slightly, taking in the familiar sights. They watched as Peeves barely missed a group of Ravenclaw first years with a dung bomb, sending everyone running with their noses pinched, and leaving Filch yelling and shaking his fist. They greeted Nearly Headless Nick on the stairway between the fifth and sixth floors as he swooped by in search of the Bloody Baron to control Peeves. The finally found themselves in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pigwidgeon," Hermione said clearly.

Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged, "She was having trouble coming up with a password."

The painting swung away from the wall, and the bright interior of the Gryffindor common room greeted them. As strange and unpredictable as Hogwarts could be, it was always good to be home.