2/?

Harry woke up early; it was barely light out when he stretched and rolled out of his bed. He had to kick his sheets away, as he wasn't used to so many. He climbed down the spiral stairs from his dormitory to the large common room and sat down in one of the overstuffed maroon chairs. Just as Harry was getting comfortable, he realized he wasn't alone. Neville was sitting in another one of the chairs, watching the fireplace.

"Neville?"

"Hullo, Harry." Neville was holding his potter Devil's Snare much as one might hold a teddy bear. "Couldn't sleep?"

"It's seven in the morning, Neville. I just got up. Couldn't you sleep?"

"No." The round boy tightened his grip on the pot. "I'm worried. I know that I'm not good at much of anything. What if they decide I'm not good enough to stay here? My Gran would be really mad, and...well, I've been looking forward-"

"Don't worry," Harry said. "None of us know this stuff yet. You might surprise us. After all, if you're so good at knowing plants and stuff, you might be good at other stuff. And besides, you met Hermione. I bet she's got extra brains lying around she could loan you if you're having trouble." He glanced at his watch, and then back up at the other boy. "Come on, how about breakfast? I don't relish fighting with anyone for food this early." Neville assented, and the two new Gryffindors headed down to the Great Hall. Once there, Harry was not surprised to see it mostly empty. There were a few students at each table, and one or two teachers. Harry recognized the woman briefly introduced as their Herbology teacher, a plump woman named Professor Sprout (the coincidence had indeed struck him regarding this). And sitting near her were two more teachers; Professor McGonagall, the woman who had first met them in the front of the castle, and Remus, who, for some inexplicable reason, was wearing something remotely fashionable: very dark red robes that appeared to be silk. Harry had to double-check to decide whether he was actually looking at *Remus*, Remus, who never bought something in fashion if he could find 'perfectly serviceable robes' at a lower cost.

He supposed he must have looked odd, staring at one of their professors for such a long time, but Harry had to say it was an immense shock. It was Neville who broke the moment, however, when he spoke.

"Harry?" Harry turned, surprised, to meet Neville's eyes. "Is something the matter?" Although Neville seemed serious enough, there was an odd, amused glint in his eyes.

"No; I just thought that Rem-Professor Lupin, looks different now that he's a teacher. He's one of my dad's friends, and he never wears robes that nice." Neville nodded at Harry's response, but gave him a rather thoughtful look before he sat down and grabbed a plate of eggs and toast. Harry joined him at the table, filling his own plate.

"I guess you're not worried, are you, Harry? I mean, everyone knows your mum was brilliant here, and your dad tried his best to make up new magic to get back at Slytherins. Some of that talent must have rubbed off?"

"And what about you?" Harry demanded. "Neville, we've both got the same thing going for us, parent-wise. Except your dad got in less trouble than mine."

Neville shrugged in response. He then leaned closer over his plate to eat, and it took Harry a few moments to realize that Neville was trying to hide his forehead. It was at that point that Harry heard the few students in the Great Hall whispering in small groups, and he supposed Neville had at least one suspicion on the topic of conversation.

"We'll both do fine, Neville. After all, how hard could it be?"

*

"My god, are they all insane?" Ron demanded, throwing himself onto the bench at the Gryffindor table at lunch. "We've had two classes, and we already have to write an essay on the theory of Transfiguration and research levitation charms. Well, at least Potions and History of Magic can't be that bad, right?" He gave Harry a pleading look, only to replace it with a pained one. Harry turned to see Professor Snape, the Potions teacher and head of Slytherin house. Snape was smiling very malevolently, pleased with...something.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Weasley, that you will find Potions one of the most subtle and difficult of the magical arts. In fact, I will be very surprised if more than half of you even pass this year."

Turning, Professor Snape stalked up to the staff table. When he got to the steps, he paused and *glared* at Harry. When Harry turned to Ron and Neville to ask if they'd seen the look, they had already sat down and begun to eat. Harry, shivering, sat down next to Ron, who gave him a brief nod. That was weird. He'd heard his dad talk about Professor Snape, usually about his days in school; he had no reason why the teacher would be giving him a death glare.

"You going to eat that?" Ron asked, pointing to a heap of potatoes on Harry's plate. Harry shook his head, mute. Hermione Granger appeared across the table, chatting with a tall fourth-year student. Harry started when he saw the boy's red hair; when he noticed the other similarities between the older boy and Ron, he remembered the boy's face from the train station.

"Hey, is that your brother?" Ron snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Yes. Prefect Percy. He's just a long line of perfect Weasleys, you know. Even Fred and George-the twins, you know, have their humor going for them." Ron sighed. "I don't think I can possibly live up to my brothers...Bill and Charlie were Head Boys, Percy's a prefect, Fred and George are really popular..."

"So? What if you're good at Potions or something?" Harry stabbed his fork down on his plate, startled when there were no potatoes there. "What happened-?" He froze. Ron glanced up as well.

A transparent man had just drifted up through the table, a young, bearded man dressed in Gryffindor red. He glanced at Harry, and his expression brightened. "Ah, hello! My name's Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington. It's a pleasure to meet you both. Wait a minute, let me guess. Red hair...freckles, you're a Weasley! Ran?"

"Ron," Ron replied. Sir Nicholas nodded, and turned to Harry.

"And let's see...oh, if I'm right, you're the spitting image of your father! Except for the eyes...you're Potter's boy, right? I do hope you've learned some manners from your mother. I'm afraid your father could be a bit of a prat at times..."

Ron, who had been sitting quietly with a look of concentration on his face, finally concluded, "That's what it was! You're Nearly-Headless Nick!"

The ghost glared a bit at Ron, but Hermione had heard the statement and decided that she needed to be involved. "Nearly Headless? How is that possible? I mean, you're either completely headless, or not. It's a logical impossibility."

"Is that what you think?" the ghost demanded. "Then look at this!" Gripping his ear [A/N: Anyone know which one?], Sir Nicholas pulled, nearly yanking his head from his neck. "One half of one inch of skin holds my head to my body. Forty-five strokes of an axe, and you'd think they could pull off a proper beheading. But that is too much to ask, isn't it?" With a loud huff, Sir Nicholas vanished, leaving the immediate area around the table. Percy leaned over the table, narrowing his eyes at Ron behind his spectacles.

"Ronald, I warned you about disrespecting the ghosts. They're the most respected members of each House's community. If I could take away points from you, Ron, I would. Now, if you keep making trouble, Mom's going to hear about your behavior."

"You see?" Ron hissed as Percy wandered away, "If I even try to get away from them, Percy shows up to remind me how I'm supposed to be acting! It's a nightmare."

"Yeah, it must be nice to have siblings," Harry responded.

"Or people looking out for you at school," Neville added from the other side of Ron. Ron glanced between the two of them, and then got up, shaking his head.

"You're nutters, the both of you! Honestly, wishing you had *Percy* around! Who in their right mind would actually *want* to have Percy around pestering them?" [A/N: I'm not telling!] Ron fled the Great Hall, still muttering about older siblings, when Harry and Neville decided to join him, so they wouldn't be late for History of Magic. Harry, especially, was looking forward to it. When he wasn't too busy playing with his dad or Sirius, Remus would often try to tell him about the world, and he had long ago decided his parents' friend would have made a great teacher. However, Remus was essentially a shy person. Being in crowds made him tend to lose his concentration. So if anything else, it would be an interesting class.

*

"Good afternoon, class. I hope you are enjoying your first day at Hogwarts." Remus Lupin stood in front of the dusty classroom, clutching a very reedy wand in his hands. Despite his calm exterior, Harry could see Remus was nervous. Not nervous, he realized. Remus was shaken by something. "I had hoped that today we could begin talking about the goals and overview of wizarding history in Europe. However...I just don't feel well today. I...please consider this as a study hall, and we'll begin class as normal tomorrow." Remus crossed behind his desk and collapsed into his chair. The class immediately broke into conversation; Harry, however, got up from his seat and approached Remus carefully. Neville trailed nervously after him; Ron was engaged in conversation with other boys from their year.

"Re-Professor Lupin? Is everything all right?"

"I'm just tired, Harry. I've got this horrible headache-"

"Oh, I've got something for that," Neville announced, rummaging through his pockets. "My Gran taught me how to make it; it's a simple headache remedy. Just some feverfew, peppermint, winter aconite, and milk thistle." Remus, who had been about to take the small packet Neville finally produced from his pockets, recoiled, his eyes wide. "Professor?"

"I'm sorry," Remus whispered, "Terrible allergy to thistle." Neville glanced from his hand to Remus', frowning. He gave Harry a speculative look, and then slipped the packet back into his robes.

"Professor Lupin, do you need anything?" Harry asked. He knew he'd get at least three yeallings-at if his family heard Remus was sick and he'd ignored it. "Because you're part of my family, you know, and..." Remus brought his head up from its slumped position, a pleased, sort of shocked smile on his face.

"I...thanks, Harry. It's really nothing. I just feel like it's been a very long day. Why don't you sit down and talk with your friends?" Harry nodded, leading Neville back to their seats. Hermione was just getting into a medium-volume argument with Ron as Harry sat down, so he had to almost immediately change gears, focus on something new, namely, how to convince Hermione Granger not to kill Ron Weasley over a spilt bottle of ink, even though the ink did destroy half a day's worth of notes and three pages from her copy of 'Hogwarts, a History'.

When that crisis, was over, though, Neville took a chance to say something. "You know, I don't think Professor Lupin's being honest with us."

"He shouldn't have to," Hermione said crisply. "He's a teacher, and we don't have a right to be worrying about his personal life. Look, Neville, I know you want to help, but Professor Lupin has his own problems, which he will deal with on his own." Neville nodded in response; he did, though, still appear doubtful.

"Well, I have no desire to meddle in a professor's personal life," Ron announced. "The last time I worried about what was going on around me, I ended up with a faceful of spider." At the questioning looks, he blushed, glancing away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Very well. Ron's unpleasant childhood aside," Hermione interrupted, "I want to know if anyone's given any thoughts to their homework for tonight. I wanted to check out the library to see if there's any useful resources, but also to figure out where everything is. I mean, I'm sure that wizards don't use the Dewey Decimal system, so it'll be very helpful to figure out how the books are organized. Anyone want to join me during our break before Potions?" There was a distinct lack of positive response. Hermione glared at the gathered boys. "Now come on; how do you expect to do well if you won't even go into the library? Neville, how about you come with me?"

Neville gave Harry a panicked look, but Ron, next to him, shrugged. 'Human sacrifice,' Ron mouthed, and nudged Harry.

"Ron, honestly," Harry snapped. "Don't force Neville to go if you're afraid to. We'd be happy to go with you, Hermione." The girl grinned at him, but Ron folded his arms, obviously pouting.

"Traitor."

*

"Okay, I understand organizing alphabetically by primary topic," Hermione said, peering at the shelves of books in the library. "But I can't figure these things out. What's TF stand for? And what about CM? And DN?"

"Transfiguration, Charms, and Divination," Neville responded. "PD is periodicals. HB is Herbology...I'll be over there if you want me." He vanished off towards a set of bookcases decorated in wooden vines. Ron slunk away, heading for the stacks labeled 'QD'. And Hermione dragged Harry towards the hopeless maze of the Hogwarts library.

"Well, as odd as this is, Harry, you have to admit it's amazing, all these books here in one place. I suppose they have books on every topic, if you know where to look. Hmm...you wait here, Harry. I'm going to get a few books for light reading." Something about that phrase struck Harry as fundamentally wrong, but by the time he realized that Hermione was not the type of person one usually associated with the phrase 'light reading', she had entered the stacks. Now alone in the library, Harry sat down at one of the tables.

There was a brief burst of chatter as some students entered the library from the halls; Harry didn't look in that direction, and was thus startled when one of the new arrivals sat next to him.

"Harry Potter...funny finding you here." Draco Malfoy's soft drawl drifted from Harry's left, bringing him to full attention. The boy gave Harry a smug grin, leaning back on his chair. "I wouldn't expect you to be in the library this early in the school year. Or are you hiding to avoid going to Potions? You've got it with Slytherin, you know."

"Why would I try to get out of Potions?" Harry asked. Malfoy jerked backward in surprise, letting out a muffled scream as his chair thudded into the carpet of the library.

From his vantage point on the floor, the Slytherin boy grinned knowingly at Harry. "No reason. It only makes me wish I had a Penseive, so I could record the memory of your first day in Potions and watch it whenever I want. Because, Harry, there's going to be...fireworks. So long; I'll see you in a few minutes! Dead man walking...hee hee hee..." Harry watched the blond boy rise (with the greatest dignity he could manage after falling to the ground backwards from a chair) and glide from the library, still chuckling. He must have spent at least five minutes like that, watching the entrance to the library, because Hermione returned with a stack of at least fifteen books, only one shorter than 500 pages (although it made up for it by being twice the size as the others).

"Harry? Are you-?"

"That had to be the most frightening thing I've ever seen," Harry muttered. "Well, except for the time Sirius almost choked to death."

"What? What are you talking about?" Hermione asked. Harry shrugged.

"One day Re-Professor Lupin and Sirius, my godfather, were taking care of me. And Sirius choked on a pretzel; I came in when Remus was giving him mouth-to-mouth." He suddenly glanced at Hermione's stack of books, doing a double-take. "What do you call 'heavy reading'?"

Hermione gave Harry a quiet 'hmph', and hurried over to Madam Pince, the librarian, to check out her books.

In a few minutes, Ron drifted back, followed soon by Neville (who was carrying a thick book entitled 'The Properties of Poisonous Herbs and Plants'. As they all gathered to head for Potions, held in one of the dungeon-like rooms near the bottom of the castle, Ron asked a question.

"What was Malfoy doing in here, Harry? He didn't give you any trouble, did he? I could tell my brothers to give him a little 'surprise-"

"It's all right Ron," Harry responded. "He was just talking. He seemed to think that Professor Snape doesn't like me, or something." An image of Snape, fixating a hateful glare directly at him, took that inopportune moment to re-enter Harry's mind, and his cheerful demeanor slipped. "But that's ridiculous, right?"

"Of course. Why would Professor Snape hate you? He barely knows you," Hermione answered.

As they left the library, heading down a pair of steps that-hopefully-led to the dungeons, Harry's mind picked up on something. How long had Ron been watching him, and for what purpose? Hadn't he been in the stacks?

*

"Today, we begin our study of one of the most revered arts in the wizarding world: the art of potion-making. Since time immemorial, the skill of creating magic through the careful mixture of...apparently, mundane ingredients, has been one of the greatest skills available to our world. But in here, you will learn that not everyone has the skills to work as a potions-master, that it is not only the mixing of the ingredients, but an intangible skill that regulates how well...or badly...you will do in my class. Let us see, though, whether you know anything of use before I attempt to teach you. Malfoy! What would you add to a draught to help a man suffering from the bite of the basilisk?"

"I don't know, sir." Professor Severus Snape's lips curled in a smile.

"Of course you wouldn't; there is no cure for the poison found in a basilisk's fangs. Longbottom! What three herbs are combined to make the most effective potion to guard against nightmares?"

"Valerian root, chamomile, and goatweed," Neville snapped out, as if this response was wired into his brain. Professor Snape nodded tightly.

"Very good. Although most people call goatweed 'St. John's Wory'." He paused, glancing around the classroom, and his gaze fell on Harry. "Ah! Mr. Potter. Your father fancied himself a fair hand at Potions. Let's see if you measure up." Professor Snape picked up a textbook from his cluttered desk, and flipped through, finally pausing at a page near the back. "What one common plant is one of the key ingredients in a liquidation potion?"

The class fell silent. Harry, his eyes on notes he had been taking, turned his gaze to the teacher. No one spoke as Snape watched him, eyes glittering. "Don't know the answer, do you, Potter? Perhaps you should take Mr. Longbottom as an example. He obviously has spent time studying *before* he came to my class. It seems that fame has not been wasted on him; he knows very well what is expected of him. *You*, Mr. Potter, would be an embarrassment to all who knew you if you were in Mr. Longbottom's position, I am sure. Five points from Gryffindor for your abysmal demonstration of your knowledge in Potions, keeping in mind, of course, my temporary allowance of a very liberal bending of the definition of 'knowledge'. Now QUILLS OUT! Today we will be discussing the theory of Potions, so that when I actually ask you to actually attempt to create potions, you might have something resembling a chance of actually succeeding."

It was the longest hour of Harry's life.

When Snape finally released them, Harry was miserable; his attitude was reflected by Ron, who had spent the entire class drawing pictures of Professor Snape being strangled by Neville's Devil's Snare, and Hermione, who was indignant at both Snape's treatment of Harry and the fact that he hadn't asked her the question.

"I mean, he could obviously tell that Harry hadn't even *opened* a book all summer, but if he'd asked me, I could have not only told him about dandelion, I could have informed him of the other twenty-four acceptable uses of it in potions, including the fact that it can help fight internal bleeding, and-"

"Just shut up for a minute, will you, Hermione?" Ron snapped. "That guy really annoys me, and I don't want to hear another word about him. And besides, aren't you tired carrying around all those books?"

"No."

"Well, let's head to the Great Hall for dinner. I'm starved!"

"Ron, you ate three hours ago!"

"So? My family's got fast metabolisms."

"You don't even know what that means..."

"Are you insinuating that I'm ignorant? Just because my family didn't grow up in some Muggle suburb-"

It also turned out to be one of the longest nights of Harry's life.

*

The next few weeks passed quickly. Harry found, that with the brief exception of Potions, he enjoyed most of his classes. Learning was, in many respects, fun (although he forced Neville and Ron to promise never to tell Hermione; he tried to keep up an act of indifference so she could feel superior to the group of them). One of the perks was History of Magic; Remus ran the course in the style of a seminar, with readings every night. Their readings came from many different books. The textbooks, apparently, were listed before Remus got the job. Anyway, it was an exciting focus. While the first years learned about the history of the Ministry of Magic's rapid expansion and control over all aspects of magic in the UK area, rumors were that sixth and seventh-year students were debating current events, with at least one class ending in a duel that sent a Hufflepuff boy to the Infirmary with an extra arm growing out of his head.

And beginning the second week of classes, they had flying lessons once a week. Harry was disappointed not to be able to take his broom to school, but being able to fly once a week almost made up for it.

But something changed after three lessons. A notice had been posted in the Gryffindor common room about tryouts for a Quidditch Seeker, and Harry was planning on trying.

"Really, Harry, it's not like you've got much of a chance," Ron muttered over breakfast. "First-years almost *never* get on the house teams. There's never been one on the Gryffindor team in almost a century."

"Hey, stop undermining his confidence," Neville said, jabbing his fork towards Ron. "If he wants to try out, let him go for it."

"Yes, he needs to learn about disappointment first-hand," Hermione added from across the table. She suddenly glanced to her left. "Prefect coming." The conversation abruptly died as Percy Weasley walked past; when he had safely seated himself across from Oliver Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Hermione nodded. "Of course, you could try getting Percy to put in a good word for you."

"You've got to be kidding, 'Mione," Ron said, chuckling. "I can just imagine his response. 'I am not going to take advantage of my friendship with Oliver to give your little friend a slightly better opportunity at making the Quidditch team. If he can't get in on his own talent, I don't see why he should even be on it.'" Hermione looked like she was going to scold Ron; the arrival of the morning owls, however, interrupted her. As usual, a flock of owls of many different colors swarmed in through the windows to the Great Hall, holding everything from letters to five owls who were struggling under the weight of a large square package. Harry examined the cloud of owls, hopeful for a sight of Hedwig; however, there was no sign of her. A black owl swooped over Neville, though, releasing a thick envelope.

Neville snatched the package from his plate, and reverently peeled it open. He dumped out a letter and a small, paper-wrapped sphere. "Yes! It's here!"

"What is that?" Hermione asked, leaning to get a closer look.

"It's a bulb of Shadow-Weed," Neville responded. "It's wrapped in paper because it can only grow in absolute darkness. It's, well...shadow-weed is known to create a small sphere of darkness around itself, among other properties that make it very dangerous, if not treated correctly. I'd ordered some before I left to school, but it hadn't arrived yet." With that, Neville slipped the bulb into his robes' pocket.

"You know, I worry about you, Neville," Ron said. "You've got a pot of Devil's Snare in your trunk, and now you're setting out to grow a plant that deliberately makes it darker? Frankly, I'm glad my bed's across the room from yours. I always thought fame knocked a little sense out of people's heads, but this is ridiculous." Neville flushed a little at Ron's rant, but then started.

"Guys, we're going to be late for flying! Come on, let's go!"

*

"Mr. Longbottom, I must tell you something. I have been at Hogwarts for twenty years. I taught your parents, and Mr. Potter's parents, and even Professor Snape how to fly. But Mr. Longbottom, in my twenty years as a teacher of flying on brooms, I have never seen a student so markedly incompetent at it. Thank your lucky stars that passing this class is *not* a requisite for graduation." Harry resisted the urge to snicker. It was hard not to. It wasn't that Neville was bad at flying; he was so ridiculously incompetent that he managed to accomplish things seasoned fliers could only dream of accomplishing, although with less than spectacular results. Currently, he was hanging upside down from his broom, legs locked tightly around the stick of wood. Luckily, his robe had not yet managed to fall over his head, although Harry suspected it was only a matter of time. And Madam Hooch was taking this opportunity to speak with Neville about his flying ability. "Now please release your leg-lock, and I will catch you." There was a long pause, and then Neville flew downward, past the startled professor, and hit the ground with a loud 'thump'. "Well, I suppose that'll do. I'm taking Mr. Longbottom to the infirmary, class. Please do not fly while I am away; I don't want to have to make another trip back to see Madam Pomfrey."

Madam Hooch vanished, leading Neville after her. Almost immediately, Malfoy lunged onto the ground; he straightened, holding a small, paper-wrapped sphere. "Heh. Looks like Neville dropped something. Wonder what it is."

"Drop that; it's very fragile!" Hermione snapped. However, she gasped as she realized that Malfoy planned on fulfilling the command to the letter.

"Draco," Harry warned, "Give me that. It's a rare bulb, and Neville-"

"Ha! If you want it, come and get it!" Malfoy responded, leaping astride one of the school's Cleansweep Fives. He kicked up, taking to the air. And Harry, responding to his anger and the time at home spent training with Sirius and his father, grabbed the nearest broom and began to fly after the Slytherin boy.

"I don't want to have to hurt you, Malfoy," Harry growled, leaning forward to catch up to Malfoy, who seemed genuinely startled by Harry's burst of speed. "Just give me back the bulb-"

"Why don't you let Longbottom handle it himself? He defeated Voldemort single-handedly; he should be able to handle a boy his own age." Malfoy turned to fly higher, and stopped, hovering about twenty feet off the ground. "Or is that the point of it? He can't handle anything on his own? Yeah, you can be Longbottom's knight in shining armor-"

"Shut UP!" Harry screamed, forcing his broom forward in one quick jolt, that hit Malfoy's broom and sent the other boy flying off of it. Unfortunately, the jolt sent Neville's bulb soaring, as well. Ignoring Malfoy, Harry dove after the bulb, leaning close to the broom to increase his speed. But he saw that he wasn't going to make it. The broom just didn't move fast enough. Unless...Harry pointed straight at the ground, and pulled up just a moment before he would hit the ground; speeding parallel to it, he passed right under the bulb, and caught it. "Yes!"

"Mr. Potter." There was no mistaking the quiet, cold voice that spoke, breaking through the warm air. McGonagall. Harry slipped from the broom, and turned to face the Transfiguration teacher.

"Professor?"

"Come with me, Harry," Professor McGonagall said. She turned, pointing her head towards the castle, and started walking, as if she fully expected Harry to follow. Which of course he did; ignoring a direct order from Professor McGonagall was nearly a suicide wish. Harry slipped the paper-wrapped bulb to Hermione, and then miserably followed the teacher. Professor McGonagall knew that Harry had done something wrong; she had probably seen him knock Malfoy from his broom. He was going to be expelled, his wand snapped in half-

"Slatero? May I borrow Mr. Wood for a minute?" Harry abandoned his reverie at the sound of McGonagall's voice. Wood? It didn't make much sense. Why would she need Oliver Wood for this? Unless he was going to scold him for his misuse of a broomstick. He had heard rumors that Oliver kept his own broomstick in a magically-sealed box, and threatened the life of anyone who even *thought* of touching it.

The tan, muscular fifth-year student Harry had seen in Percy's company appeared at the door of Professor Quirrel's Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, giving Professor McGonagall a questioning look.

"Come along, Oliver. You too, Harry." Oliver kept looking confused, about as much as Harry felt, until Professor McGonagall led them into an empty classroom. She led them both in, closed the door, and then turned to Oliver, beaming. "Oliver...I've found you a Seeker." Oliver gave Harry a speculative look; Harry, however, tried to find equilibrium. Seeker? He hadn't even tried out yet, and yet-

"He caught a bulb of shadow-weed after a twenty-foot dive. He could have killed himself, but he pulled out at the last moment. It was quite an impressive catch, and I dare say his father couldn't have done better." Oliver's forehead crumpled at McGonagall's words. However, after a moment of watching Harry, comprehension dawned.

"Harry Potter? James Potter's son?" He looked positively thrilled at the prospect, slightly awed, as well, with a healthy dose of pure amazement thrown in for good luck.

Harry could relate. After all, for the past few minutes, he'd thought he was going to be expelled.

*

"Honestly, you should have been expelled," Hemione snapped, carefully picking up her books. "Or at least given a detention. Malfoy ended up in the infirmary with a nasty bruise on his arm."

Ron, behind Hermione's back, however, gave Harry a thumbs-up. Apparently, he believed giving Malfoy a bruise, taking him down a notch, *and* getting onto the house Quidditch team was an acceptable conclusion to a day's work. He twirled his finger around his ear, gave a very meaningful glance towards Hermione, and winked at Harry. Laughing, Harry supposed, was not the best thing to do when Hermione was trying to lecture him.

"And what is so funny? I think you really need to take the rules more seriously. If you keep doing things like this, you're never going to get out of this school. Really. *Boys*." She stalked away, heading into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Ron rolled his eyes, still grinning.

"She's mental, Harry. That was amazing - I've never seen any kid pull off a move like that. How'd you get so good?"

"You ever play on brooms with Sirius Black, you'll understand the need for excellent control and quick reflexes," Harry responded with a wry grin.

~*~ [A/N – Flashback!]

Harry pulled the broomstick sharply to the left, holding his breath. There was a loud explosion, but it was far enough away-

"AAA!" Harry's broom jolted as someone rammed it; he tried to grab tight onto it, but callous hands pulled his away from the polished wood, forcing him from his broom, sending him spinning down into open space-

"Oof!" Harry hit the large cushion, restraining himself from cursing as he bounced. He glared up at the sky, where Sirius was gliding around on his broom, holding Harry's Nimbus 1500 triumphantly. The man's dark eyes were glittering joyfully, and Harry had to smile. But then he remembered the reason he was on the ground. "Oi, that wasn't fair, Sirius! We agreed you couldn't use a Blasting Hex. Right, Remus?" The man in question was watching the whole exchange, amused. He shifted his gaze between Harry and Sirius, and finally, letting his gaze rest on Sirius, shrugged.

"I'm sorry. I was a bit...*distracted* when you two went over the rules," Remus commented. "I can't help you two." He walked over to Harry and extended a hand to the 9-year-old boy. Harry grabbed the hand and let Remus help him up. A few feet away, Sirius landed, still grinning.

"'Distracted'? Nothing distracts you, Moony."

"Really? I can think of one thing," the other man responded, turning his head away to allow his gold-brown hair to shield his face. Harry couldn't quite figure out what was going on. It was almost like Remus and Sirius were fighting...except their tones were light, they were joking. He supposed it was a grown-up thing.

Sirius laughed and wrapped a casual arm around Remus' shoulders. "Ah, Moony, you have to learn a little control. If you can't resist a little temptation, what am I going to do with you?" Before Remus could reply, Harry tugged at Sirius' robe, frowning.

"Come on, Sirius, you said you'd play with me. And this time don't use the Blasting Hex!" Sirius pushed away from Remus, giving the other man a wink, and hurried after Harry, still holding his broom. And Remus leaned against a tree, readying his wand in order to move Lily's second-favorite cushion under Harry the next time he fell. Which would be a very short time, if Harry didn't improve his skills quickly.

"Sirius!"

~*~

"-So he seriously hexed you to improve your reflexes?" Ron and Harry were heading down to the infirmary to update Neville on their DADA homework (mostly to get out of Hermione's way; she was still ranting about responsibility and broomsticks), and Ron was spending the time trying to figure out how Harry had gotten so good on a broom.

"Well, when my mum wasn't home. He'd just try and catch up with me, *and* he was really good at the Tickling charms."

Ron laughed, looking sideways at Harry. "At least he didn't hide home-brewed pranks in your cereal, Harry. Be grateful for that." Harry nodded, and turned to the door of the infirmary, not noticing Ron's gaze softening for a moment, or how Ron's hand rested close to his own.

"Neville! We got your Defense homework here," Harry announced when Madam Pomfrey finally let them into the infirmary. The chubby boy smiled at him from his hospital, the vine bulb on the table next to him.

"Hullo, Harry. Thanks for my homework...if you hadn't brought it, I'd have to get it from Professor Quirrel." Harry gave Neville a questioning glance, and the other boy shook his head. "I don't know...I hate being around him. It might be all that garlic, but being around him always gives me a headache. You know? It makes it hard to concentrate. Almost as bad as Snape watching me all the time." Neville shivered a little, so Ron jumped into the conversation.

"Don't worry, Longbottom. Snape's just annoyed to be around someone so much better than him." Ron had little love for Snape, who often paired he and Crabbe, a very stupid Slytherin student who managed to counter the little talent Ron *had* for Potions. Harry sometimes wondered why Snape seemed to want to make the two of them suffer; no other Gryffindors were treated that way. And the attention he payed Neville was...unnerving. It was if he expected something out of the boy, some reaction, talent, or something else unnamed. But Harry's thoughts were broken off when he suddenly realized that there was another occupant in the infirmary, laying on a nearby bed. Remus had been slipped under the covers, and rested, his face pale in the afternoon light. Harry held up a hand to quiet his friends, and walked to Remus' side. Madam Pomfrey appeared next to Harry, clucking softly.

"Poor dear's over-exhausted. I've been telling him to eat more, but he just doesn't listen. I just knew this whole thing would be a bad idea; ever since he took up with that Mr. Black..."

"What about Sirius?" Harry asked. He didn't understand what was happening to his parents' friend, and Madam Pomfrey wasn't being clear.

Madam Pomfrey gave him a warm smile, shaking her head. "Remus has never been good on his own. He's always done much better when others were around. Don't worry so much about it, Mr. Potter. He'll be fine by tomorrow. He just needs rest." Harry nodded slowly, trying to believe the nurse; she suddenly glanced at the clock, and tutted. "Oh! You ought to be going, Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley. Please, go on. Go! Mr. Longbottom will be fit as a fiddle by bedtime."

Following the nurse's orders, Harry dragged Ron from the infirmary; Madam Pomfrey was forcing a sleeping potion on Neville, so he'd 'rest up before he ate'. Ron took the lead after they left, chattering quietly. But Harry stopped listening after what he saw. Professor Snape entered the infirmary from the other direction, trying to look secretive.

"Hold on, Ron. I left something in there. Give me a second." Harry slipped back to the infirmary and cracked open the door. Snape's smooth voice spoke first.

"Lupin." Harry then heard Remus respond with his warm voice.

"Hello, Severus."

"Don't act like that, Lupin. I want to know what's going on." There was a sigh.

"You know what's happening, Severus. Do you need to hear me say it? Yes, I can't sleep. I can't eat. Yeah, the nightmares are pretty bad. But I can handle it. Poppy's given me some potions-"

"Why do you do this to yourself, Remus? You know you can end this with just a simple choice. Tell me what I want to hear."

"I can't do that, Severus. I...I've made promises." The room fell silent, and when Snape next spoke, it was with a hint of concern and emotion other than malicious amusement.

"Remus, you know what I want."

"And it's not mine to give, Severus. Leave me alone." Remus sounded despondent, tired. "I don't want to talk to Dumbledore over this. I don't want anyone to worry about this." Snape responded with a desperate laugh.

"Right. Our little secret, Lupin. Just remember, Lupin, exactly what I want, and that my door is always open." Harry pulled away from the door, trying to get away before Snape reappeared at the door. He hurried away from the infirmary, the conversation running through his mind. It made no sense to him, but something about it niggled in the back of his mind. Snape wanted something...Remus had access to it, but wouldn't give it up. And Dumbledore...

"Harry, did you get what you needed?" Harry narrowly avoided running into Ron, such was his concentration on his thoughts. He glanced up at the redhead, meeting the hopeful grin with his own startled expression.

"Yeah...sure. I-let's go to dinner." And so they did, Harry trying to figure out what was happening, and what it was supposed to mean.