** I wasn't sure if there was any point posting this today, as the fifth book comes out tomorrow and more than likely no one will get round to reading it until next week. Then I figured I'd rather finish and post this chapter instead of having half of it on my conscience.

As promised, I did a lot of writing while I was away. I have a house and a school in Victoria, and I'm moving there halfway through July. In the meantime, I'm going to do my utmost best to post as much and as often as I can. Thanks for the feedback, and more is of course welcomed. **

Harry usually woke early, but this time someone was taking it to extremes. His head was being buffeted by something soft and strong.

"Wha? Whass goin' on? Hedwig?"

The white owl fluttered up to his head and started to viciously tear at his hair.

"All right, all right, I'm up!"

"Harry? It's three o'clock in the morning," Dean's sleepy voice said from the other bed.

"Sorry," Harry whispered. At least Ron wasn't disturbed, as shown rather providently by his audible snores.

He dressed quickly, hustled along by his owl, who seemed to be in some distress, left Ron a note, and made his way as quietly as he could down to the Gryffindor Common room.

"What's wrong, girl?" he asked when they were out of earshot of anyone sane enough to be trying to sleep.

Hedwig flew over to land on the windowsill, firmly suggesting that he follow her.

Privately thinking that it was too early to try and bring forth the effort to transform, Harry obeyed his owl. In a way, he didn't own Hedwig, it was the other way around.

"Where are we going?" he asked. Hedwig hooted impatiently. "All right, all right," Harry mumbled, spreading his arms in preparation for the acquisition of wings. This had better not be like last time, he thought, just a little bitterly.

Two days had passed since he had accosted Peter Pettigrew in the Entrance Hall, and it was now the early hours of Sunday morning. Harry was decidedly not in the best of moods.

Potions yesterday had been a complete disaster. Snape hated him even more than he had before; it seemed, for humiliating him in front of the class.

Care of Magical Creatures too, was still not one of Harry's favourite lessons.

Xera had returned to her mountain home, but the class were still working on the particular ways of the Dryad. Hagrid hinted that there would be a new live specimen to work with soon.

Hagrid had been extremely worried when he'd seen Harry on Friday morning. Wendy had assured him that everything was fine, but he gave Harry a trademark bone-crushing hug all the same.

Wendy had been very careful around Harry since Thursday. She seemed to guess that something was going on that she didn't know about, and, although she was right, Harry was a little hurt that she didn't fully trust him anymore.

Remus had demanded to know what Peter had said before Justin had turned up. Harry told him about the communication spell with Malfoy that had taken place, and also about what Peter had told him.

He thought it best not to let Remus know all that he himself had said to Peter. Harry was sure it wouldn't exactly offend Remus, but he couldn't be sure of his reaction.

The rest of the school were treating him in two different ways, adoration or fear. This was nothing new – Slytherins always hated him and the other houses regarded him as a hero.

Justin, of course, had apologised profoundly and thanked Harry at length for saving his neck. This seemed to have taken some of the sting off Hermione's irritation with him. Harry, on the other hand, could have done without it.

Ron had not once mentioned what had happened when he'd lent Harry strength when he was half drowned, except to suggest that they remember it for future emergencies.

Being unconscious at the time, Harry couldn't remember what he'd said to his best friend, but was sure it had been something fairly offensive – or selfish. Either way, the two had made an unspoken agreement to put the matter behind them – as best they could.

Harry had not been questioned about the Death Eater he had seen – probably on Dumbledore's insistence.

He had thought that Snape would demand a description, until he remembered that Snape already knew of Wormtail from Death Eater meetings.

It was hard to keep things straight after having watched so many of those meetings, every masked face exactly the same…

Lord Voldemort had not been pleased at Wormtail's failure. Harry and Ron both had been jerked out of sleep by a particularly unpleasant dream on Thursday night.

Ron was noticeably shaken, and neither of them got much more sleep after that. They spoke by mind, trying to evade any subject involving Voldemort or Peter Pettigrew.

Snape, however, was a rather popular subject.

Sleeve and Zedik were now Harry's constant companions, if only out of sight. Zedik hid on his wrist, Sleeve, his school bag.

The other snakes stayed in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom except to survey the school, searching for other snakes or students who were marked.

They had already identified two Slytherin seventh years, whom Harry was watching closely as often as he could, with the help of his 'eyes', namely the small horde of death fangs he had hiding in the girl's loo.

His own two shadows, Sleeve and Zedik, whom Ron had been informed about after Harry's reasoning that he couldn't really keep anything from his Blood Brother anymore, were currently sleeping in the nest Harry had made for them under his bed.

He wished he were still up there now.

And to top it all off, he had spoken to Sirius to check that he was coming straight to Hogwarts after he left Scotland that evening, and his Godfather had proved decidedly vague and evasive. It wasn't until afterwards that Harry realised Sirius hadn't even given him a straight answer.

Harry thought that what he really wanted to do was avoid the issue of trying to explain to his twin sister that he wasn't guilty. He couldn't quite blame him for that, though he felt that Sirius had something on his mind.

It only took a few moments to transform into faithful Quill, and then he was in the air. Suddenly all his weariness was forgotten in the joy and the glory of flight. 

Hedwig circled round him in a way that clearly said – This is not the time to mess around. Then she flew up to the high, open windows of the owlery.

Harry started to guess what this was about. He'd almost forgotten! How could he have?

Hedwig hooted loudly as they entered the tall room. Several other owls were huddled around Hedwig's nest, trying to see what was going on.

They scattered at her insistence. Flash was there, but he stayed out of Hedwig's way.

It was at this point that Harry realised just how different owls with wizard partners were than those without them.

Normal male owls, he was sure, were not normally there at the scene of the birth, and other owls surely would not react like this to the hatching of a fellow owl's eggs.

All right there, Flash?

Remus' owl hooted in surprise. Harry saw a questioning image, a fifteen-year-old boy with black hair and emerald eyes.

Yes, It's me.

Hedwig squawked, a most unattractive noise.

All right, all right.

Hedwig had moved her eggs from the top perch to one that could be reached from the floor. Since Harry couldn't see properly with all the other owls crowding around, he floated gently to the floor, made a decidedly ungraceful landing, and changed back into himself.

This almost instantaneous movement scared nearly all of the owls back to their perches, and Harry got a clear view by leaning in, gently stroking his owl as he did so.

"Are you sure about this, Hedwig?" he asked, when they'd waited for five minutes and the three perfect brown eggs had made no sign of movement.

Before she could give him any sort of recognition that she'd heard him, a small crack appeared in the egg closest to Flash, who jumped – an odd-looking feat for an owl.

The crack widened, and a miniscule beak popped out. In the next second, the other two eggs cracked almost simultaneously.

Harry watched in awed silence as the three baby owls made their way out of their hard shell casing, helped along a little by their mother, who pecked at the gaps they made as they clawed their way free.

"Wow," said Harry when they were all out, and Hedwig was brushing them off almost frantically. Two of them were coffee coloured, a blend of white and brown inherited from both parents.

The third was a brilliant snowy white, and Harry knew even without thinking that this was the one he was going to keep.

He had a feeling that Hedwig didn't really need his help, so he left her to do the remaining work on her new brood. Flash hooted appreciatively as he transformed back into the pitch-black owl, and glided out of the window into the night.

Harry knew that he would never be able to sleep now, so he made his way softly down to the Quidditch changing rooms. Now he came to think of it, today was also the day they were 'approving' the new member of the Gryffindor team.

Well, it wouldn't hurt to get some practise in beforehand, he reasoned, as he shrugged off his jumper and got his Firebolt.  

It being Sunday, he wasn't wearing school robes, and he couldn't see the point in transforming his perfectly good clothes into Quidditch robes at the moment, so he made his way onto the pitch in jeans and T-shirt, with practise ball-box in hand.

He decided against letting either the Bludgers or the Snitch out. He'd never be able to see either in this light, and he'd either lose a valuable piece of equipment or get his face smashed in. He wasn't in the mood for either.

He grabbed a Quaffle and soared up to the goalposts.

Flying with wings was glorious, but there was something decidedly different about the sheer exhilaration of flying with a broomstick.

For a few minutes, he simply left the Quaffle levitated in mid-air while he zoomed up and around the goalposts.

When he got back to the Quaffle, he decided that throwing it around wouldn't be enough to vent his frustration. He went back to the changing rooms to borrow George's Beater's bat for the purpose.

First he tried knocking the ball upwards as hard as he could, waiting until it came down and then hitting it up again.

When he got bored with that he hit the Quaffle sideways and amused himself by speeding after him, and whacking it into a different place.

Each time he imagined the large red ball to have the face of someone he hated – Wormtail, Voldemort, Snape. He was so caught up in his game that he started yelling things like "take that, you dirty traitor!" whenever he scored a hit.

Harry was small and skinny and not usually strong, but today, for some reason, that didn't seem to matter. His anger knew no bounds.

~ Haaaaarreeee ~

What? Harry asked irritably, catching the ball at the last second instead of hitting it.

~They're watching you from the wiiiiiiindoooooow…~

Who are? Harry asked. And you can just say it, you don't have to sing it to me.

~Someone's touchy this morning. ~

So would you be if you'd been woken up at three o'clock in the morning by a mad mother owl. So who's watching me?

~Only about the whole of Gryffindor. Dean spotted you out the window and nothing would do for him but to yell the tower down to come and see. Interesting workout, by the way. ~

Thanks, said Harry sarcastically. He had half a mind to march straight back to the changing rooms, but then realised how vain that would look – and he had something much more fun in mind.

All right, he thought. They want a show; I'll give them a show.

~ Sorry? ~ said Ron. ~ I didn't quite catch that. ~

Never mind, said Harry, and went into a dive.

On the second day of his summer holiday at Hogwarts, he'd spent hours trying to get the Wronski Feint just the way he wanted it.

Then, he hadn't been able to get less than three feet above ground before having to jerk out of the streamlined, completely vertical position.

This time, he was going to win.

He knew it, even before he'd reached ten feet, with the Quaffle under his arm.

Five feet.

Three, two, one –

…

Ron watched in terror as his best friend plummeted towards the earth.

The Gryffindor, who had previously been laughing and joking at Harry's antics from their window seat in the common room stared with their mouths wide open.

Some first year girls screamed. Hermione was clutching at Ron's arm again, and she buried her face in his shirt, as Harry became a blur.

"Oh my God!" said Angelina.

--------

"He's done it!" yelled Fred.

"He's out of it!" yelled George. "That was even better than Krum!"

"Oliver's going to wet himself!" shrieked Katie.

"I'll kill him," Hermione hissed to Harry through clenched teeth, still clinging to him like a sloth. "I'll just – kill him."

Ron relayed this news to Harry.

Oh well, his friend replied. I guess it was exciting while it lasted.

…

When Harry re-entered the changing rooms, his nerves were so full of triumphant adrenaline that he could barely breathe.

They couldn't say he was showing off, because they hadn't known that he'd known they were watching. The sheer irony of it made him want to giggle uncontrollably, but he restrained himself.

The exhilaration when he'd pulled out of the dive was overwhelming, and he pulled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt in a misty haze of a daydream.

"Oh! I'm sorry – I didn't realise anyone else was in here."

Harry whirled round, half-naked, to face the tiny, black-haired girl in the doorway. It was Sarah Pordell.  In one hand she carried an old school broom – a Comet 260, as far as he could make out.

For a moment they simply stood there, looking at each other. Then Sarah's eyes lowered, and widened at the scars and old bruises she saw on Harry's dangerously skinny chest.

Catching his breath, blushing furiously, Harry turned to pick up the T-shirt he'd so carelessly tossed on the floor.

She gasped then, a watery, frightened gasp, and Harry groaned inwardly. In turning his chest away from her he'd exposed her to the only thing that was even worse.

His back, besides being more scarred and more bruised, also bore the remains of belt marks.

He grabbed the shirt and held it to him as he turned back to face her, unable to stop his eyes flashing angrily.

"Who did that to you?" she stammered, then gasped and put her hand to her mouth.

"I'm sorry - I shouldn't have -"

"What are you doing down here?" said Harry snapping more out of shock than irritation.

"I –" she seemed to be choking on her words. "I was – I was just going to play Quidditch, I guess –"

"Oh," said Harry, calming a little at the confirmation that she hadn't been deliberately invading his privacy. He quickly shrugged his T-shirt back on, however.

"I'm really sorry…"

"That's ok," Harry told her. "Listen – you want me to help you with your work out?"

Her eyes widened. "You're joking!"

"No, serious. It's the least I can do for yelling at you."

She blushed. "I'm the one who came in when you were changing."

"You weren't to know. Come on, let's go play!"

She smiled.

…

It didn't take Harry five minutes to realise that Sarah wasn't half bad. They tossed the Quaffle back and forth between them as they flew neck and neck from one goalpost to the other, and then the tiny girl pulled off a spectacular goal – every time.

It's a shame first years aren't allowed on the Quidditch teams, Harry thought. She'd be a valuable asset.

As he was thinking, the ball shot past his ear and he sped after it. He pulled off another vertical dive in the process, and when he came back up to his partner, grinning happily, she stared at him in shock.

"I thought you'd fallen," she said, breathing heavily. "Don't ever do that to me again."

"Why not?" he said, still grinning like a maniac, pulling himself upside down and hanging on to his broom with his legs.

"You're impossible," she said, and gestured for him to pass the ball again.  

When they had finished, they were both hot, sweaty and out of breath. They showered separately and met up again in the main room.

"We'll have to hurry if we want any breakfast," Harry remarked as they started up the stars, looking at his watch.

Sarah squealed and stared running. "I'm starving!" she called back over her shoulder.

Harry smiled and ran to catch up with her.

The Great Hall was more or less empty when they entered. Hermione, Ron and Juliet, however, launched themselves on them.

"Where have you been?" Juliet demanded of her friend.

"What does it look like?" said Sarah loftily, shaking out her soaking wet tresses that looked odd out of her usual plaits. "I'm famished." She wandered over to the Gryffindor table to attack the remains of breakfast.

Juliet stared after her in shock, then looked accusingly at Harry. "What did you do to her?" she asked accusingly, bringing herself up to her full height, which was not much smaller than Harry.

"We were only playing Quidditch," said Harry with a smile and a shrug. "Don't blame me if she gained some confidence as well as tips on Chaser moves." 

Juliet stomped off to join her friend.

"Nice one," said Ron reflectively. "Now she'll be impossible."

"Which one?" asked Harry.

"Both, probably," said Ron.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Hermione. "I'm pleased for Sarah. Now Harry, about that stunt you pulled earlier…"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry.

"That dangerous… that… that…"

"Wronski Feint?" Ron suggested.

"Shut up Ron. Yes, I suppose if that's what you want to call it…"

"Why Hermione," said Harry. "I didn't know you were watching that. If I had known, I never would have done it."

"So you only try to kill yourself when no one's watching?" said Hermione, oblivious to the subtle hint that she'd been spying.

"Well I certainly wouldn't want to if someone was there who could stop me," said Harry, and then, at the look on Hermione's face, "I'm kidding, Hermione, I'm kidding. I wasn't trying to kill myself – its just Quidditch."

And she had to be satisfied with that.

…

About an hour after breakfast Harry was almost regretting the morning's double exercise when he realised that he had to be back on the pitch in half an hour.

As Ron pulled out his chess set and Hermione resigned herself to a Sunday morning without O.W.L.s revision, Harry grabbed his broom and made his way out of the common room with Fred and George.

The twins kept banging him on the back and congratulating him on his Wronski Feint. Harry was contemplating flying out of a window when they saw Angelina and two others up ahead.

One of the others was very familiar.

"Oliver!" said Fred. The three turned around.

Oliver Wood had not changed. He greeted them all with a sportsman's one-armed hug around the head, and then introduced the third member of their party.

"This is Anneka," he said. "My girlfriend. She's here to see her cousin."

"Hi," said the girl. She was a few inches shorter than Oliver, with a pretty friendly face, short brown hair, grey-blue eyes and straight features, as if drawn with a ruler.

"Hi," said Harry, then turned to Angelina. "Where's this new Keeper, then?"

"On the pitch with the others," she said. "Anneka, are you going to see your cousin now or do you want to watch the practise?"

"Oh," I'll watch," said Anneka. "It ought to be interesting. We didn't have a pitch at my old school."

"What?" said Oliver, sounding scandalized. "You never told me that!"

"We used the one at the village, you psycho," she told him, but she was smiling.

"I heard about your performance this morning, Harry," Oliver said. "Wish I could have seen it."

"I'm sure Harry will be glad to repeat it for you," said George, grinning outrageously. Harry punched him.

They met Katie and Alicia on the Pitch outside, after changing into their Quidditch robes at Angelina's insistence. With them was a girl; shorter than the average first year, with huge green eyes and wavy brown hair to her shoulders.

She held her broom with confidence, and shook Oliver's hand as if meeting a celebrity. 

"Kate, this is Oliver Wood," said Angelina. "You've met Katie and Alicia, and I'm sure you know Fred and George Weasley, our Beaters, and of course, Harry Potter, seeker and vice-captain."

"I've seen him around," said the girl, her eyes twinkling, and she giggled as Harry made a face.

"Everyone, this is Kate de Loor," Angelina continued. "She –"

"It's de Leur," moaned Kate, as if people got this wrong often.

"Sorry," said Angelina.

"Are you sure you're a third year?" said Fred, a little doubtfully. Kate rounded on him.

"Are you making fun of my size?" she demanded, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"No," said Fred quickly, backing away with his hands held up in surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it. What I mean is – can you keep?"

"Let's fly," she replied frostily. "I'll show you how well I can keep."

Any doubts anyone had had about Kate de Leur vanished after the first five minutes of trying to get a ball past her. After ten such minutes, Fred landed and rolled off his broom onto the ground.

"Please take her," he groaned at Angelina who had stayed on the ground, lying on his back. "I can't take it any more."

"Had enough?" Kate asked him sweetly as the rest flew down beside him.

"I know I have," said Harry, flopping down beside Fred, his heart burning and his brow sweaty. "Oliver?"

"You're certainly very talented," said Oliver, unwilling to admit that anyone might be almost as good a keeper as he was.

"Thank you," said Kate.

"Ok," said Angelina. "You're in."

Kate grinned, grabbed her broom and commenced a victory lap of the pitch.

"How can she keep going?" moaned George. "How?"

Anneka, who had been standing on the sidelines watching with Angelina and Oliver, laughed. "Oh, to be on a school team again," she joked.

"Would you like to fly with me?" Oliver asked.

Harry leant her his broom, and she joined Oliver in the air. They didn't play with balls, but instead flew together in a kind of graceful, ritual dance.

The others left after a while, but Harry, waiting for his broom, watched the whole thing.

Anneka's face was shining when she handed the Firebolt back to Harry. "What a broom," she exulted. "What a feeling."

"I've always been rather fond of it," Harry admitted.

"And I want to see you on it," said Oliver. "Come on Harry, let's see that move."

Harry made his Wronski Feint extra spectacular, just for Oliver, then somehow stood through the clapping on the back that remained to be endured from his old captain.

They made their way back up to the castle in the warn noon sun.

When they reached the Entrance Hall, they were greeted by a shrill cry – "Anneka!" – and Sarah Pordell came running down the staircase two at a time, thick black plaits flying.

She threw herself into the older girl's arms, and Harry realised that she was crying. 

Anneka smiled at Harry and Oliver from over Sarah's shoulder, and motioned for them to go on. "Let's go up to Gryffindor, Harry," said Oliver. "They've set aside a room for us."

Harry waited until they were well out of earshot before asking incredulously, "Sarah is Anneka's cousin?"

"Yes, said Oliver, looking surprised that Harry had asked. "You know her parents recently died?"

Harry nodded.

"Anneka and her parents are her only living relatives and legal guardians," Oliver continued. "Anneka is here to make sure she's all right."

There was a pause as they walked. "I hear you're a prefect," said Oliver, as if to fill the silence.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I've not done all that much yet, though. Hermione usually manages to keep peace in the common room and stuff. I give her a hand if people aren't listening to her."

"I bet they listen to you," said Oliver with a grin. "They adore you."

"They respect me," said Harry, modestly. "It's not the same thing."

Oliver laughed, just as they reached the portrait hole.

They were mobbed as soon as they got inside the common room.

Harry left Oliver with his admirers, and went up to the fifth year dormitory, where he knew that Ron was lying on his bed reading. He wasn't sure how he knew that, he just did.

"Good practise?" Ron asked when he got in.

"Brilliant," he replied. "Kate de Leur has got a temper like a hippogriff, but she's an amazing flyer."

"Good," Ron yawned. "Fancy a game of chess?"

"Ok," said Harry slowly. Something was a little wrong here. "Where's Hermione?"

Ron shrugged. "We had a fight," he said. "Nothing major. I guess she's hiding from me somewhere."

Harry felt that Ron wasn't quite telling him everything. As he grabbed some clothes to change into, he probed his mind gently. There was a thin barrier between his and Ron's minds, but he jumped it easily, and went looking for a memory. 

…

Hermione made a move – a fatal move.

Ron grinned in triumph and reached out to slide his queen into the winning position – but Hermione's arm shot out and caught his hand before he could even touch it.

He tried to pull it back, but she held it firmly, turning it so that the thin scar from thumb to little finger was clearly visible. She looked up at him, her eyes burning.

"What's this?" she asked, her voice as cold as ice.

"Broken glass," Ron mumbled, tugging his hand out of her grasp.

"I don't believe you," said Hermione. "It's too clean a cut."

"That's your problem, not mine," said Ron, moving his queen at last. "Checkmate."

"Ron, we oughtn't to have secrets from each other."

"Oh? Did somebody pass that law while I wasn't watching?"

She stood up. "I hate you, Ron!" she screamed. The entire common room looked around to watch the emerging fight.

"Hermione, you're getting hysterical."

"No I'm not!" she yelled, stamping her foot. "You and Harry are keeping something from me and I hate it!" With that, she turned and ran up the stairs.

…

The memory was wrenched from Harry's mind.

"Stop that!" Ron yelled at him from across the room.

"Sorry," Harry said. "I couldn't help it."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"You did the right thing," said Harry at last.

"Mm," said Ron, doubtfully. "How about that game?"

Harry realised that, in the end, there was nothing he could do, so he settled down to begin a game of chess, wondering, as well as other things, where Sirius had got to.

…

Much later, Harry lay asleep in bed until he was roughly awoken, by a searing pain across his left hand.

He sat up sharply and looked at it. He could see nothing in the dark, so he reached for his wand as his palm burned again.

"Lumos," he whispered.

He squinted painfully against the sudden bright light, but was eventually able to see the words flickering beneath his fingers.

'Help… pain…run…'

'Remus? Is that you?'

'Pain… run… safety…'

'Sirius? What's going on?'

'Trees… pain… help… safety…'

'Harry? It's Sirius - are you ok?'

'I'm fine. What's wrong with Remus?'

'Help… please… pain… please…'

'He's hurting! He's in trouble!'

'Harry, calm down. I don't know what's wrong, but it sounds like he's going through a transformation.'

'Now?'

'Help… pain… help… please… safety…'

'He should have had enough potion to last him this month at least. There must have been some accident.'

'Trees… safety…'

'Is he heading for the Forest? Is that what he means?'

'Harry –'

'Please… help…'

'He needs help! He's in pain!'

'Harry, I'm ordering you right now to stay where you are. Do not go after him, do you understand? I'm coming as quickly as I can.'

'But what if he –?'

'Promise me!'

'I promise.'

'Good. Stay there. I'm coming.'

Harry waited until the connection was thoroughly severed before dressing and making his way downstairs towards the portrait hole.

'Would you rather freeze to death…?'

…

Professor Dumbledore's day had not been fun. Minister Fudge – although now acknowledging the attacks on both wizards and Muggles, was not prepared to admit that the attacks in question were in anyway connected to the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore had spent most of his day filing papers and sending letters in the hope that one of his 'sparks' might start a fire somewhere in the ministry.

A rather futile issue involving the deputy headmistress and the potions master had taken up the rest of the day. It had to do with second year papers, and the never-ceasing argument had been tedious since it began.

"I still say ability is more important than effort," Professor Snape said for the thousandth time. "Those marks are needless."

"But they are earned," said Professor McGonagall. "Surely the preparation counts for something." It was also the thousandth time she had said this.

"I don't –" started Snape, but he was interrupted by a timid, yet frantic knock on the door.

"Come in," said Professor Dumbledore. Snape and McGonagall looked around as the door opened, and a house elf zoomed in.

Snape looked livid at its behaviour, but Dumbledore stood up. "What is it, Dobby?" he asked the little creature. The house-elf had on the strangest assortment of clothes any one of them had ever seen.  

"Forgive Dobby sir," it said, jumping up and down in worried excitement. "But Dobby must tell Professor Dumbledore at once, sir!"

"Go ahead, Dobby," said Dumbledore. He seemed to sense trouble, his eyes were like flints behind his half-moon spectacles, and his wand had somehow flown into his hand.

"Dobby was cleaning the floor in the Entrance Hall, sir. Dobby was nearly finished sir, but I is hearing running, so I is hiding in the cupboard, sir. But I is peeking through the keyhole, and Harry Potter is coming, sir!

"So Dobby is getting out of the cupboard and saying 'Hello!', sir. But Mr. Harry Potter is not happy sir, he is looking very angry!"

At this, even Snape stood up. "What happened then?" he demanded. Dobby flinched a little, but was too excited to hesitate in his story.

"Harry Potter said to Dobby, he said, 'Find Professor Dumbledore,' and that's what Dobby has done, sir!"

"Anything else?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Oh, yes sir!" exclaimed Dobby. "Harry Potter is opening the door," he continued. "And then," he said as his eyes grew as large as dinner plates.

"Harry Potter is turning into a huge, black stag."  

**Ah, what a charming cliffie.

As I'm sure you're aware, after tomorrow I will have to declare this fic an AU. Keep reading!

Laterose **