4/?

*

That morning, Harry found that Ron and Hermione were both watching him very carefully, as if he were about to sprout horns or something. Neville must have told them what Harry had been worried about, and that made him feel worse. They seemed to believe that Harry had lost his mind, even though Ron had first suggested that Remus was trying to steal what the dog was guarding.

So they didn't trust him. Harry was determined to go through the whole day and not talk to either of them; that would definitely show that he was upset, and might make them understand how much it hurt to be treated so...callously.

However, he needed help on a History of Magic essay, on current events, and he knew that Hermione would be likely to have old 'Daily Prophets' to look through. So he tried to talk to her without bringing up any of the topics that would remind her that she was supposed to be thinking he was crazy.

"Hermione. I need old 'Daily Prophets' that talk about the pro-vampire movement," Harry mentioned over lunch. Hermione glanced up at him, startled.

"I thought you weren't talking to us today."

"I wasn't, but I need to pass History of Magic," Harry retorted. "So do you have any or not?"

"Well, of course, but it'll take a while. I haven't gotten around to sorting all of the articles yet. Come along to the common room, and I'll show you." He followed Hermione through the corridors, trying to look normal (how did someone do that? He didn't really know how a non-crazy person was supposed to act), and flopped into a chair as Hermione headed upstairs to her dorms (apparently, boys could not climb the stairs to the girls' dorms, but the reverse was not true. Harry tried to bring it up during a conversation about sexism, and had vowed never to mention it again). Hermione returned five minutes later holding about a dozen newspapers.

"All right, Harry. Here they are. Newest on the top." Harry took the newspapers and removed the first one from the pile. It was dated August 5, which Harry noted only because he'd been at Diagon Alley with Sirius the day before. He checked the index on the front page, but another piece of information caught his eye. It was a headline.

'GRINGOTTS ROBBED! NOTHING TAKEN, BUT SECURITY TIGHT'

"Hermione, did you see this?"

"What?" Hermione asked, distracted by an article in another copy of a paper. Harry pointed at the headline he had seen, and Hermione gave him a worried look. "Harry, this doesn't-"

"Listen to this! 'Although nothing was stolen from the vault which was broken into, the Gringotts goblins said it was only because the vault had been emptied that very day. They also said that only a master of Dark magic could have achieved this'...and here: 'the goblins would not say what was in the vault, but they did say that it was very rare, and one goblin, off the record, said, "I'm just glad the old coot took it first; it wasn't supposed to be lying around."' Look, Hermione, I..."

"Harry, I think you should talk to Madam Pomfrey. I know that you're under a lot of pressure, what with Quidditch, and homework-"

"I'm not crazy, Hermione!"

"But Harry, you're talking about things that make no sense. You're insisting Professor Lupin is betraying Dumbledore's trust, that he's trying to steal something from the third-floor corridor, and that the thing is the Philosopher's Stone!"

"Dumbledore told us it was being stored in Gringotts," Harry argued, desperate to get his point across. Hermione sighed, and gathered the papers in her lap.

"Harry...Neville told us about last night, and I think that you're just upset, and stressed, and you need someone to talk to." Hermione stood up, walking around behind Harry. She placed a light hand on his shoulder. "Harry, please. Even if you just talk to Professor McGonagall, just consider it."

"Talk? You really think I'm nuts, don't you?"

"Harry, what you're talking about is bridging the gap from improbable to ridiculous. I...look, I saw Professor McGonagall this morning, and she can fit you in tomorrow afternoon. Please, Harry."

Harry let his head slump, demonstrating just how he felt. He did, however, nod in assent.

"Thanks, Harry. Look, we're only doing this to help you. Please tell me you're not mad."

"I'm not mad, Hermione." He turned away. Hurt would be a better word to use. Hermione, grinning thankfully, threw her arms around Harry's neck.

"Thanks, Harry."

"Yeah, thanks."

*

"Dear Harry," the letter read, "Since your mother and I won't be around for Christmas, I thought it would be nice to send you a gift a little early. Actually...your mother doesn't know about this; we've gotten you another gift that will arrive in time. This is just...something extra. Keep it secret except to those you trust, and use it well. Love, Your Favorite Father. P.S. Would you write to Sirius and tell him how Remus is? They didn't leave on the best terms, and we haven't heard much from Moony, and...we're worried. Don't worry too much, just a quick note. Thanks!"

Harry looked over the package that had arrived around lunchtime with an errant owl, and then pulled it open. If his father had sent it early, he meant Harry to open it early, he reasoned. Harry felt a gasp rise in his throat as he recognized the shimmering, almost silver fabric in his lap.

"Dad, you didn't!" His father's Invisibility Cloak lay in Harry's lap, winking in the almost-darkness. Sirius had told Harry about the sorts of exploits one could get up to in an Invisibility Cloak (and Remus had interrupted just as Sirius was about to tell him about the most interesting ones), and at the moment, Harry was realizing just how valuable the Cloak could be. If he could go to his meeting with Professor McGonagall with *proof* that Remus and possibly Snape were trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, no one would believe he was crazy.

He took a moment to listen to the room; regular breathing all around him told him that everyone else was asleep, and it would be safe. A phrase came unbidden to his mind. 'Snooping around never hurts...as long as no one sees you.' And no one would see him as long as he wore the Cloak.

Harry let the cloak drape over him, and slipped out of bed. He tiptoed across the room. Even though everyone was asleep, he'd learned early on that Ron was a light sleeper. It made sense, given who his brothers were. If Harry lived in the same house as Fred and George Weasley, he would learn to wake up at the slightest noise, too. He paused at the entrance to glance in the full-length mirror that was stuck to the door, and grinned at the realization that there was no reflection looking back at him. With that, he left the room, climbing down the stairs to the common room. He had a slight worry that Percy might be there, but the redheaded prefect was nowhere to be seen. And as long as no one saw-or heard him, Harry would be fine. He supposed the portrait that guarded their common room, a chubby woman with an eternal grin, might have questions about why shy was pushed open at midnight, but that was the least of Harry's concerns. He walked through the maze-like corridors, following a path he had composed in his head, whose end was Remus' bedroom. It was a tense fifteen minutes, each step shadowed by the worry of Mrs. Norris, the cat of the building's caretaker, Argus Filch. And finally, Harry reached the door of his teacher and friend. He hated doing this, but he needed proof, needed something to confirm his worries.

"Hershey," he muttered to the door, which slid aside soundlessly. He slipped into the room, trying to stay as far away from the bed as possible, in the hopes of not waking Remus. But there was no body in the bed, and no sign that Remus had even gone to sleep. Thankfully, Harry slipped off the cloak and headed to Remus' desk. Remus was a researcher, so the desk should have everything important to Remus. As a result, the top drawer was stuffed full of Muggle chocolate bars. From Switzerland. And California. The next drawer held class notes, mostly, lesson plans and papers still in the process of being graded. And the bottom drawer...was locked.

No standard unlocking spell was going to do it; Remus was too bright for that. So Harry reopened the top drawer, and rooted around until he found what he remembered from years ago. A small box cleverly disguised as a Chocolate Frog contained a gold key, and with it, Harry opened the bottom drawer. And found the letters.

"Moony," began one. "I'm sorry about the way we left things. I was upset, I suppose. I've had a lot of time to think, and I realize that I was unfair. What Snape wanted wasn't his to take, or mine to lose. It belongs to you, whatever anyone else says. I...I know the hell you're going through right now, and I'm sorry I can't make it better. But maybe you can find something to help, from what I've heard about Dumbledore. If it's true, please tell me, Moony. Rem...I'm sorry. Penitently, Sirius."

Nothing. Harry flipped to the next letter, and skimmed through the next few. They were mostly letters from Sirius, becoming more and more frantic and desperate from letter to letter. And then the last one he read...

"Lupin, I don't know what's going on up there, but I have a good idea. I got a letter from Severus Snape yesterday, making it painstakingly clear how you're doing. Why? Was this job an excuse, or did one month with a full moon make you desperate enough to fuck Snape? I don't know what he offered you, or if you're even getting anything out of it, but I'm sick and tired of this. Just...I hope you're happy there, because you're not welcome home anymore. Sincerely, Sirius Black."

What the hell? Harry stared at the letter for a full five minutes. He could understand the anger in the letter, but one of his major problems was his inability to comprehend one of the words in it. He felt it was important to understanding a lot of the reasons behind the incendiary words, but for the moment, it offered fresh insight, so he stuffed it into his pocket. He closed the drawer, locked it, and turned to the door. However, the moment he stepped out, he realized he'd forgotten the Invisibility Cloak. And that was a mistake, because Mrs. Norris was sitting right outside of Remus' bedroom. Harry lunged back inside for the cloak, even as Mrs. Norris began to screech, loudly.

"Mrs. Norris? Oh, you say there's a student in here? Trying to hide from old Filch? Ha! Come on, let's get in here, take a look...Hershey!" Harry struggled to pull the last edge of the cloak over him just as the door opened. Filch inhaled sharply as he examined the room. "No one here...they must be somewhere else. Well, we'll find them, my dear, won't we? Come along."

Harry felt relief touch him as the door closed; he drifted to the door, listening. When he was convinced that Filch was not going to jump at him when he opened the door, Harry slipped through. However, Harry didn't have time to waste getting back; Filch was notorious for making things very difficult for students, and he didn't have time for difficulty. Harry began running, taking turns whenever he came, heading right for the Gryffindor entrance. The results of that hurried flight were not the common room; Harry suddenly found himself at a dead end, staring at an open classroom. The sounds of Filch muttering quietly were behind him, so Harry flew towards the open door, closing it behind him. The door locked of its own accord, leaving Harry alone in the empty room. He let the cloak slip for a moment, to give him some breathing room, and when he turned to face the window, he saw something that took his breath away.

He saw...himself. He was in his parents' living room, reading a book. Sirius and Remus, as they often did, had draped themselves over the couch, Remus reading some obscure tome and Sirius taking in the world around him, occasionally letting his gaze rest on Harry or Remus. The room was quiet, comfortable, and Harry felt warm just looking at it. There was something intangible in the scene that was nagging at his mind, but for the moment...

His parents weren't there. Harry realized with a start that his parents were absent from the picture, that the room in fact contained very few pieces of evidence that Harry even had parents. He reached for the mirror, wondering, until he saw the inscription.

"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," it read, carved in flowing, sharply-marked letters. Harry frowned at them, wondering what language they were written in. Only the word 'Erised' looked like it might be a real word in another language; the rest looked like someone had run random letters together, or made some sort of cipher.

"Erised," he muttered. "Heh. 'Desire' backward-" He suddenly ran to a desk and pulled out a quill, and pulled Sirius' letter from his robe. He scribbled down the words, and then...

"I show not your face but your heart's desire..."

"Indeed." Harry whirled, coming face-to-face with an aged, cheerful face with shining black eyes. "Hello, Mr. Potter."

"Professor Dumbledore..."

"Yes, Harry. I won't ask you what you're doing here, if you don't ask me what *I'm* doing here; are we in agreement?"

"Ah...yes, Professor."

"Good. I'm surprised you figured out the mirror. Very few realize what the inscription means." Dumbledore sat in one of the desks, and made an odd grunt. "Hm. It's been such a long time since I've sat in the desk of a student. But...well, I'm the student now, Harry, which makes you the teacher. So tell me. What does the mirror do?"

"Er...it shows you whatever you want?"

"Ah...more than that, Harry. There are a few people...some precious people who would not see the magic in the Mirror of Erised. Some people, who are content with their lives, would see only themselves in the mirror. So. What does it do?"

"It shows...it..." Harry stopped, and *thought*. If you were really happy, you had everything you could ever want. Which meant-

"It shows the thing you want the most, doesn't it?" Dumbledore nodded, once. A surge of anger suddenly hit Harry, and he stormed toward the headmaster. "So why does it show me without my parents? With Sirius and Remus, but not Mom and Dad?" Dumbledore gave Harry a sad smile, and then pushed himself to his feet.

"Alas. It seems I am, once again a teacher. Harry...the mirror shows you with the one thing that you do not possess which you would most like. You have your parents, and I believe are very happy with them. To see them in the mirror would indicate a part of your life in which you are lacking. To see Sirius and Remus...perhaps in your relationship with them, there is something missing; perhaps there is an element you wish with them. I cannot explain..." Professor Dumbledore suddenly sobered. "However, I must warn you, Harry, of the dangers of the mirror. Even men who understand its power...they cannot be drawn away from the mirror. For them, the image of that which they most desire is...more attractive than reality. And...I would advise against telling others what the mirror holds for you. The knowledge it holds is a double-edged sword, you see."

Dumbledore pressed a hand against the glass, and then glanced at Harry.

"And, Harry? It might be a good idea to not look for this mirror again. It is to be moved...elsewhere in the castle, and finding it again could be very dangerous. Because one's dreams change, and if you were to find an image which you could not escape...please, promise me you will not look for the mirror again."

"I, of course, Professor." Dumbledore nodded, and then picked the Invisibility Cloak from the floor. When the headmaster handed Harry the cloak, he had an inspiration. "Professor? What-what's in the third floor corridor? Other than-the dog?"

Other people might have looked shocked, or angry, at the prospect that a student would be probing into this. But Dumbledore only tilted his head, and then shook it. "You know I can't tell you, Harry. The third-floor corridor is off-limits for a reason. But you're smart, Harry. I believe you already know what's there." He winked, and then glanced toward the door. "Argus has left the area, Harry, if you would like to get back to your common room. And I would certainly advise that you get some rest. After all, you have a final exam in Potions tomorrow." He patted Harry on the back, and pushed him towards the door, which swung open without a sound. "And don't worry so much, Harry. It may not seem the case, but as long as I am in this school, everything is under control." He gave a final wink, and Harry left the room.

*

When Harry woke up the next day, he felt...well, calmer than he'd been in nearly a week. He found the letter stuffed in his robe's pocket, and upon seeing it, he felt a rush of shame. He'd taken something very personal, and for what? To support his own wild theories. He read the letter over again, and then remembered his father's request. Tell Sirius how Remus was doing. The letter made it painfully clear that Sirius didn't care, but-

Harry wanted to write his godfather anyway. He no longer felt the need to go home; it would be too tense, painful to be there, with Sirius angry at Remus, his parents gone, and Peter was never good company, even on good days. He folded the letter and headed down to the common room to write a quick note.

"Dear Sirius..." After that note, he ran out of ideas. Harry frowned at the empty parchment, feeling lost. What could he write that wouldn't make him sound crazy? 'I've been snooping around the school trying to prove that Remus is trying to use the Philosopher's Stone for his own nefarious purposes, and by the way, Professor Snape is in on the action, too'. He doubted Sirius would take it any differently than Hermione and Ron. Harry crumpled the note and tossed it into the fireplace.

"It's no use." A quiet sound behind him brought Harry's attention back to the world around him, and he turned to see Professor McGonagall.

"Good morning, Harry," she said simply, taking a seat next to him. "I'm glad to see you're up and about. Are you having a problem?" He knew very well why she was there, but was tired and frustrated and didn't care a whit about it.

"Yes. Ron, Hermione and Neville all think I'm crazy. *You* think I'm crazy. And there's just so many things going on that I don't understand. I'm trying to make sense of it all, but...no one will listen to me."

"Well, then, Harry. What if I listen to you? Come along; you can talk as we walk."

So Harry followed McGonagall, and he told her most of everything. How he'd run into the three-headed dog. The conversations he'd overheard. Even about the letters, although he claimed he was visiting Remus, and they'd been lying out. When he finished, they had reached McGonagall's office and were seated on opposite sides of her desk. She looked worried, and somewhat annoyed, and after a moment or two of silence, spoke.

"Harry, I will not lie to you and say you are imagining all of what you've concluded. There is a great deal of truth to some of your assumptions. However, I am afraid that in some things, you are leaping at shadows. Harry, no teacher at this school would try and steal...well, you know anyway; it won't do any harm. No one in this school is going to steal the Philosopher's Stone, much less the teachers. They've all contributed to protect it, and *that* is why the corridor is off-limits. I would be wary of entering it, and I believe that even Dumbledore...

"Harry, Dumbledore has everything under control. He knows a great deal more than he lets on to, and if there is a threat, he is ready to take care of it. I would advise that you try to forget what you have seen and heard in regard to the Stone, however. Focus on your schoolwork, perhaps, and try to relax. If someone tells me that you're behaving like this again, Harry, I will have to take measures to reduce the stress in your life." She held up a hand before Harry could ask a question. "And no, I will not reduce your homework. There is, in fact, only one activity you are involved in which I could cut back on. And I do want us to win the Quidditch Cup this year, Harry, so please try to get some more rest. If you're having problems, talk to Madam Pomfrey, and she can whip up something to help." She gave Harry a surprisingly warm smile, and pushed a plate of chocolate biscuits at him. "Here. These work wonders when I'm under stress. And I *do* hope that you won't have any more problems. You're a bright boy, and you shouldn't have to worry about things beyond your control."

*

Professor McGonagall was right. Harry pushed all the worries and theories to the back of his mind and focused on his last day of classes. His Potions test went well, he thought. The essay about wolfsbane and its applications in common potions threw him a bit, but he thought he'd done well. In History of Magic, he breezed through Remus' essay about persecution of non-humans in European history, and in Transfiguration, he managed to turn his teacup into a goblet with little trouble, even though the goblet still had a handle and was lily-patterned. And by dinner, he was reasonably more relaxed, and far less worried about the Stone. His friends were visibly relaxed, too, to see him not worried about Remus and Snape any more. [A/N: 'Remus' and 'Snape' should *never* be that close together in a sentence, and I promise it will not happen again. Well, maybe.]

Christmas holidays started, and more than half the students vanished to their homes, families. Ron and Harry were left alone in their dorm, taking care of one of Neville's plants. It was one of the carnivorous ones, which meant you had to be a little careful when feeding it, or you might lose a bit of a finger. The first day of the vacation was quiet, comfortable, but that night...

Harry had more strange dreams on Christmas Eve, more vivid than the ones the night Neville had drugged him. And more frightening.

There was a dark, dank room he didn't recognize, and soft voices whispering.

'-told you I can help you, if you'll just give me what I want.' There was a growl that suddenly turned into a shocked moan. And then a short gasp.

'Stop it. I'm not going to-'

'But you want to.'

There was an open clearing in a dark forest, and two men were arguing. The words were indistinct, but one quavering voice was unmistakably Quirrel's. But then the other voice, the unpleasantly high-pitched one, rose its volume just enough.

'-and Snape has been pushing you, hasn't he? Bad enough that he's gotten to Lupin-'

A huge stone chamber, at least twice as large as the Potions room, and containing only one thing. A body sprawled on the ground, unmoving, lifeless. And Harry moved closer, trying to see beyond the shadows, to know who was-

And behind him there was the sound of something cutting through the air, and a sharp pain-

*

"Harry!" Ron's voice pulled Harry out of his nightmare, and immediately upon waking, he realized his right hand felt like it was on fire. Ron was shaking him, his face etched with worry, and his skin pale. "Harry, are you all right? You were moaning and shaking and-shit! Your arm!" Harry glanced at his arm, and froze. It was so much like the last time this had happened, except that the wand was still clutched in his hand, and the heat was trailing slowly up his arm. With a shout, Harry flung the wand away from him, watching as it hit Neville's flowerpot. The plant tried to eat the stick of wood, but recoiled, its mouth steaming.

Ron grabbed Harry's good arm, pulling him up from his bed. "Come on; we need to get you to Madam Pomfrey. That burn looks nasty!"

Harry yanked his arm away, shaking his head. "No; I'll be fine. I...I'll be fine in a few hours. It's happened before."

"It-this has happened before? So why the hell didn't you go to Madam Pomfrey?"

"Because I can't explain why it happened. All I remember are dreams about teachers, nightmares about my friends dying, and I wake up with my hand burning and my wand halfway across the room. Does that sound like the sort of thing that happens to a normal person, Ron?"

"No, but-"

"Look, Ron, I've already worried you all when you thought I was nuts. This is-this is weird, and I'm not going to tell someone else and let them decide that I belong at St. Mungo's. Just...let it go, okay? I'll be fine." Ron stepped away from Harry a step or two, and Harry sighed. "Look, don't worry about me, okay? Why don't we go open Christmas presents, huh?" Ron nodded uncertainly, and Harry, grinning, led him back upstairs.

Ron opened his present, growling at the sight of a maroon jumper, hand-sewed, and marked with an embroidered 'R'. "Mum gives me one every year; she knows I hate maroon." To cheer him up, Harry nudged his own present towards Ron, knowing the boy would appreciate it. Ron nearly choked when he saw the marble chess pieces. "Harry- can't-!"

"Ron, it's a gift. You're supposed to take it. Look, I thought you'd like a really good set of pieces, you know...you're really good at playing. And hey, when you become a chess...well, whatever the best chess player is-"

"Grand master," Ron said dully.

"Right. When you become a chess grand master, you can say, 'my friend Harry gave me this set, and I've never lost a game with it.' Huh?"

Ron looked vaguely uncomfortable, but he nodded, awkwardly. "Uh...thanks. Here's your present." He dropped a package wrapped in brown paper at Harry's feet and retreated to his own bed. Harry tore open the paper, and suddenly grinned at Ron.

"What's this?" Ron glanced away, blushing.

"Tarot deck. 's old, but I thought...well, I thought it wouldn't hurt to give it to you. Maybe you can use it, 'cause it doesn't make any sense to me..." He stopped talking when Harry embraced him heartily, giving Ron a pat on the back.

"Hey, thanks." He glanced down at the deck, smiling. "Look, this is really cool. My mum doesn't think Divinations is worth much, but it's always sounded like something I might want to try. Do you really think I can see into the future with this?" Ron shrugged, still looking embarrassed.

"'Dunno."

"Well, anyway, it's a great gift, Ron. Thanks." Ron nodded, slowly, looking a little flushed. Harry turned to his own gifts as Ron looked through the rest of his. Harry got a pair of dress robes from his mother, a book of very suspicious potions and spells 'for fun and profit' from his father, a book of protective enchantments from Peter ("He's paranoid; thinks everyone's out to get him," Harry explained), and...nothing from Sirius or Remus. He might understand the lack of gift from Remus, who was busy with teaching, and might want to squelch any notions of favoritism, but Sirius took every possible opportunity to give Harry gifts. And the lack of anything, even a card-

"Something's wrong," Harry murmured. "Sirius didn't even send a note. I...you don't think he's in trouble, do you?" Ron glanced up, startled, and shook his head.

"Look, your godfather's probably...distracted. He hasn't forgotten about you, and I'm sure that nothing drastic has happened. I know that you're worried, Harry, but things just happen to be different this year, and you have to get used to change."

Harry nodded, but found himself unconvinced. Sirius never forgot about the important things in life; he told Harry that in his life, there were two things that came before everything else: his family, and his 'heart'. Harry knew he was considered part of Sirius' family, and that Mrs. Black, the horrid woman who sent Sirius Howlers, was not. Which meant that if Sirius was ignoring Harry, it was because something was wrong with his heart. Harry stared at the pile of wrapping paper, and suddenly noticed a package he'd missed the first time around.

"I'd forgotten about this," he muttered, picking up Malfoy's gift. He pulled off the silklike paper cautiously, and stared at the small box. It was covered in felt, the sort of outside you'd find on a box containing an engagement ring, but much longer, and flatter.

"Hey, Harry, who gave you jewelry?" Ron hurried to Harry's side, watching the box excitedly.

"I doubt it's jewelry," Harry responded, snapping the box open, "because it's from Mal-oh Merlin!" He dropped the open box onto the floor, still reeling from what he'd seen. Ron picked up the box, and then glanced back up at his friend.

"So, is there a note, or is this just an unprecedented gift from Mr. Malfoy?" Ron asked, a mischievous grin on his face. Harry dug through the now-empty wrapping paper, and managed to find a scrap that had writing on it.

"Potter, My overtures on the train were sincere, if not of the purest intentions. After a week in Slytherin, I discovered exactly what you meant. I admit I like you a good deal more than I do my Slytherin classmates, and I feel that you at least find me not wholly detestable. Thus, I offer a gift in reconciliation. This is a necklace my father gave me, but you might benefit more from it. Wear it as much as possible, and you may someday be thankful for it. –Draco Malfoy." Ron, the moment Harry was done reading the letter, snatched up the box from the floor and made to hurl it out the window.

"Hey! Ron, what are you-?"

"I'm getting rid of this! If you'd even think about keeping a present from a *Slytherin*, Harry, you're an idiot! Slytherins can't be trusted!"

"Slytherins do what they have to to get what they want, Ron. That doesn't mean you can't trust them. Maybe Draco really wants my friendship. Maybe he...well, I doubt we're going to be good chums, but maybe he thinks I make a better friend than enemy. I'm willing to trust him, Ron. You don't have to." Harry pried the box from Ron's hands and slipped the silver necklace over his head. Its shape resembled a shield, save for the gap in its bottom half. The center held a circular hole, and the bottom ended in two spiked points. Harry slipped the pendant under his robes, and then gave Ron a bright smile. "You see? Nothing happened. Now, how about breakfast?"

Ron nodded, and headed for the door. But as Harry moved to follow, he was reminded of Sirius, who had sent no message to anyone save Remus, who sounded bitter and depressed.

"Go ahead, Ron. I need to write a letter; I'll be just a minute." Harry sat on his bed with a new sheet of parchment as Ron left. This time, no block hindered his words; he wrote, saying what came to his mind.

"Dear Sirius, I'm not sure I understand what's happened, but I know your heart is in trouble...pained. It's the only reason you'd be making your family worry so much. I'm not as old as you, and I can't understand why you'd drive away friends this close, but please, Sirius, talk to someone about it. I...wasn't feeling good earlier this year, and some of my friends made me talk to Professor McGonagall, and it helped. A lot.

"Also...I get the feeling you're upset with Remus-" Harry paused, scratched out the word 'Remus' and replaced it with 'someone.' "-and I think it might help if you tried talking to this person and figure things out. I really don't want you to be unhappy, and even if it isn't my fault, I feel responsible for making you feel better. Love, Your Godson, Harry Potter." Harry looked at the letter, satisfied. It was *not* perfect, but he hoped Sirius would take the hint. He was worried about him, and wanted his godfather to be happy. And that obviously wasn't happening. He rolled up the letter and headed for the Owlery, ready to send it to Sirius' house.

*

Christmas vacation was largely uneventful after that, with Harry spending a lot of time being reminded just how good Ron was at chess, even with a new set that argued continuously with both of them.

And once Christmas was over, Hermione returned, armed with dozens of pages of review sheets and studying schedules, 'tailored to fit Harry and Ron's habits and needs'. Upon their protestations, she retorted that they had to pass 70% of their exams in order to pass to the next year of school. So against his will, Harry was dragged into study sessions that took up every free moment of time that *didn't* involve Quidditch. And so by March, he was exhausted. But just before Easter holidays, something happened that reminded Harry not only what was happening within the school, but just how much he had somehow become involved in it.

It was a horrible Potions class just before vacation, and Harry and Draco were trying to make a Pinkeye Potion, which, in addition to relaxing the taker, turned his eyes a bright, vibrant red. Harry believed he may have used too much mandrake root, but Draco later agreed the mistake may have been in adding the powdered vervain before the sage. In any case, the disastrous result left twelve students drenched in red dye and Snape's dungeon painted a vivid hot pink. While the color would wear off in a week, Snape had angrily given both boys a detention, due to the fact that he could not prove that Harry alone was at fault.

So that very night, both Harry and Draco headed down to the Forbidden Forest for a detention with Hagrid, the groundskeeper. Upon reaching the hut, the boys found the huge man standing outside with a large dog by his side.

"Ah, 'ello, boys. Glad t'see yer. Shame about yer detention, but it's not so bad. Come along, now. We're headed into the Forest."

"What? Into the Forbidden-?" Draco folded his arms. "No. Absolutely not. There's terrible things in there. Giant snakes! Spiders! Werewolves!"

"Ah, there's only ever been one werewolf in this forest, and it's not even a full moon now," Hagrid retorted. "The only thing I'd worry about is the centaurs; they're not too friendly t'outsiders. Come along, now." They followed Hagrid through dark pathways into the forest, both boys trying to keep the large dog, who went by the name Fang, behind them, so they were protected at both sides. Draco moved quickly through a stage of terror and settled on muttering a mantra of, "This is *your* fault, Potter." Too soon, however, the path parted into a small clearing with two paths branching from it.

"A'right; we gotta split up here. Malfoy, why don't you come with me, Harry, you go with Fang here." He suddenly paused. "Oh, forgot to tell you what we're doing 'ere. Now, look here. There's a creature in the Forest's been killing unicorns. You look for something looks like a silver puddle, and follow it."

"What, are you telling us we're going to catch something that can kill a unicorn?" Malfoy demanded, nearly growling at Hagrid. "Because that's the most bloody stupid and dangerous thing-"

"No, we're not finding it. There's a wounded unicorn in here, and we're...trying t'put it out o'its misery. Jus'-Jus' send up green sparks when you find 'im, and I'll come." Hagrid took Draco and led him down the right pathway, and Harry, after a moment's hesitation, took the left path, leading Fang behind him. The path was twisted, dark, and narrow, and Harry felt his chest tightening with every step. He tightened his grip on his wand, feeling his anxiety rising. He stumbled over a tree root, shouting in surprise. Fang barked, sniffing at a pool of silvery liquid, and Harry froze. This was-

"Ow!" He dropped his wand, feeling it suddenly rise in temperature. It had to mean something important, that it kept burning him like that. He bent down to pick up his wand, but froze when he heard the sound. A choking, wheezing breath echoed in the forest, and up ahead, Harry could see a form lurking in the darkness. The robed figure was bent over a silvery-white form, but suddenly, it stood up, turning to face Harry. He grabbed his wand, terrified, and yet knowing that there was no hope. The figure slid closer, and Harry could sense fangs, glittering teeth, a low growl, and a strange, wiry strength under the robe, all of it mixing to form a horrifying figure. The creature-thing moved closer to Harry, rasping loudly. His right hand burning, Harry lifted it high in a swift moment and sent up a shower of red sparks, hoping that someone-

The sound of galloping broke apart the terrible almost-silence, forcing the strange creature to turn and glide away, faster than any mortal could move. It leapt over a tree root and was gone.

"Hello, Harry Potter." Harry whirled, surprised to see a man standing behind him. He was a little embarrassed to see the man was naked from his waist up. The man stepped forward, and his state of undress no longer seemed confusing (although he couldn't really bring up a reason to object to it), given that the lower half of his body was that of a horse.

"Ah...hello." The centaur trotted forward, and peered at Harry.

"You are lost, are you not?"

"Yes."

"This is a dangerous place to be lost, Harry. Between Aragog and the other beasts that inhabit this place...there is something worse. You met it here, tonight, Harry Potter. You sought it out."

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded. The centaur didn't speak for a minute, but when he did...

"It was feeding on unicorn blood, Harry. It is a well-known fact that a man hovering on the very edge of death can be returned to life with a draught of unicorn blood. It is said that the blood drives away Death himself, makes him unwilling to touch you. I imagine, though, that this creature has been desperate for a very long time, that before this, it has tried very long to avoid death, because unicorn blood is the last resort of those who would seek healing." The centaur bent over the dead unicorn, frowning. "Why is this?"

"Are you asking me?" Harry demanded. "I...the unicorn didn't do anything to him-it."

"Indeed. A unicorn will not harm another creature, even if attacked. It will run, it will try to dissuade you from your intentions, but it will not fight to protect its own life. And so to kill a unicorn...is to bring a curse upon you. Death will haunt your steps, waiting for the moment the blood can no longer protect you. Fate will turn her back upon you, and you will live a cursed life, for killing something so pure, so innocent, that it would not use its own magic to save itself." The centaur paused in his lecture, and gazed down upon the young human. "Only the most desperate man would drink this blood, Harry. Who do you think is desperate enough to risk his soul, just for a chance at eternal life?"

Before Harry could answer, Hagrid burst through the trees, carrying Draco under his arm, and a lantern in the other.

"I saw yer sparks, Harry, and came as fast as I could-Hello, Firenze."

"Hello, Hagrid. I trust you can see Mr. Potter safely out of this forest. Good evening."

"Right. Come along, Harry. I think we've had enough excitement for now, wouldn't you say?" Hagrid grabbed Fang's leash, and led Harry from the forest, still carrying a nervous Draco Malfoy. Harry followed silently, mulling Firenze's words over in his mind. He returned to his dorm around midnight, still completely baffled as to what the centaur had meant, and what he was supposed to understand.

However, the very next day, he got the last shock that almost pushed him over the edge. At the breakfast table, his parents' owl suddenly swooped over his head and dropped a very small note. He took the paper and unrolled it, expecting some small note about the upcoming exams, or Easter holidays, or-

The note wasn't that simple. Nor was it good news.

'Harry, Sirius has vanished and he's headed for Hogwarts. He's not the man you remember, and our only concern is getting home. Whatever you do, *don't confront him*, because due to the state he's in, we don't know if he'd remember you-or think twice about cursing you. -James'