Part Six:

Harry was more distracted then ever when he returned to school for the next term. Ginny's coldness towards him, and Tom's increasingly bad attitude, were keeping his thoughts distracted.

One early Febuary afternoon, two weeks before the Quidditch match against Slytherin, Harry was sitting in his office. He didn't have a class right then, and he needed some time to think by himself. But a sharp knock on the door prevented this. With a sigh, Harry got up from his desk and shuffled to the door, opening it.

To his disapointment, there stood his least favorite person at the magical school: Professor Severus Snape. And with him, looking really mad, was Thomas Weasley. "Professor Snape, what can I do for you?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice light. He didn't call his colleague by his first name: that would be asking for trouble. He just tried to steer clear of him and be formal whenever they had a run in.

"Potter," Snape said sharply, pushing past him. "I've had it. The rest of us have had it."

Harry shot a lot at Tom, who looked down at the floor. "Tom? What happened?"

"Yes, Weasley, why don't you tell Professor Potter how you made Miss Turner's cauldron explode, covering everyone in sight with a dangerous growing potion?" As Snape said "Professor Potter", it almost sounded sarcastic.

"Um..." Harry cleared his throat. "Why don't you both have a seat."

"I'm not staying," Snape said sharply, heading out of the office. "I just wanted to deliver him to his head of house for punishment." Snape's face suddenly turned dangerous. "But be warned, Potter: it had better be a fair one, or I will punish him myself." With a swish of his robes, Snape left the room. Harry, filled with a bit of rage, slammed it behind him.

He turned around to find Tom, still standing and staring at him. "Well? I told you to have a seat." Tom flinched at the harshness in his favorite professor's tone, and took a seat. Harry went to his desk and sat across from him. He stared into the boy's blue eyes. "Explain yourself."

"Snape's a dick."

Harry didn't argue, and he held back a smile. "That's not a good excuse for making Amanda Turner's cauldron explode."

"It was the closest one to his desk."

Harry sighed. "Tom, this is the fifth offense you've had in Potions."

"Yeah, but-"

"And then there's your other classes." Harry looked at his student, his friend's nephew, carefully. "I gave you the chance to tell me what was wrong, but now I'm going to have to punish you."

"Professor Potter, that's not-"

"Don't say it's not fair, Tom. It is."

Tom scowled. "I thought you were cool."

"Oh, come on," Harry snapped, causing Tom to jump. "What d'you expect me to do, eh? Laugh at your little pranks? Tom, I am your teacher, and your head of house. And I'm going to have to punish you." Harry swallowed: he knew what he had to do, but he seriously didn't want to do it. "I'm going to pull you from the next Quidditch game."

Tom gapped at him in disbelief. Harry knew how much Quidditch meant to the boy: his adopted father had been playing it with him for years, and he was an excellent Beater, like his uncles. "But Professor, you can't!"

"I have to, Tom."

"No! Please, I'll do anything!"

Harry stared at the boy's face. Maybe he was being too harsh. He knew how devastated he'd be if it were him. He sighed. "Alright, Tom. Here's the deal: if you tell me what's going on, you can play. I'll just have you...clean bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic."

Tom gave a small smile: he remembered a story about his Uncle Ron having that same punishment his third year. But his smile faded. He sighed. "Okay, Professor. It's just...the twins."

Harry knew that he wasn't talking about his uncles Fred and George. He meant his little half sisters, Victoria and Vanessa. "What about them?"

"Didn't you hear my mom and dad over the holiday?" Tom exploded. "It was 'Oh, look! Tori said "dada"!' or 'Nessa used the potty all by herself!'"

Harry smiled a little again. He remembered how proud Ella had been when little Vanessa didn't pee her pants for once. "Tom, they're just little kids. Of course your parents are gonna make a fuss over them. When they're older, they'll start ignoring them, just like you and Renee." This earned Harry small smile, but he suspected that Tom was holding back. "That's not all, is it?"

"Well...no."

"What is it, then?"

Tom looked down in his lap. "My dad...I mean, my real dad...died six years ago, on November 2." He looked up at his professor, who nodded to encourage him to continue. Tom looked back at his lap. "Well, Mum always did something to remember it. Back before I went to school, she'd, I dunno, light some candles or something. And when I started school, she'd send me a letter." Tom looked at his professor again. "But this year...nothing. She didn't even aknowledge it. It's like she doesn't even care anymore."

Harry suddenly remembered something from the holiday: Charlie had been asking Tom what he wanted for his birthday in March. "Wow, at least someone is good at remembering dates," Tom had snapped, giving his mother a pointed look. Ella had looked startled when Tom suddenly stormed out of the room.

"Is that what you've been so upset about?"

Tom nodded. "I mean, it was so easy for her to replace him. But...I can't. Charlie's really great, but...he's not my dad."

"Look, maybe you should talk to your mum about this..."

Tom gave his professor a sharp look. "Don't tell her. You won't...will you?"

"No." Harry sighed and stood up. "Tom, if you want to talk about anything...well, you know I'm here for you."

"Okay," Tom said, following suit.

"Now, try to behave in your classes. At least in Defense Against the Dark Arts: Professor Lupin is an old friend of mine." Tom smiled, nodded, and walked out of the room. "Good luck with those bedpans!" he called after his student, who waved. Chuckling, Harry sat back down.

Well, that problem was sort of taken care of.

Now, he would be forced to deal with is own...