Shiba, Angel Princess, and Chib: Whassap, y'all:-) Thank you so much for reviewing. Wow! You guys are like, actual fans, I think. Now I know how rock stars feel. LOL Angel, thanks for pointing out the "early bird" thing in chapter one. I know you were kidding. I fixed it anyway.

A quick note to Crucified Chinchilla, who is trapped in the bio lab: endometriosis macrophage patella nucleus. Here's more.

CHAPTER TWO: Clear

"You were wondering …" Ron stopped talking but his mouth hung open like a fish.

Hermione was annoyed. Ron was always so slow on the uptake, particularly when it came to Harry. She couldn't figure it out. The two of them were best friends. They played Quidditch together. They slept in the same room, for heaven's sake! How could he not see something was wrong?

"Ron, close your mouth. You look like an idiot."

She was quite pleased with Ron's response: the sharp snap of teeth on teeth and suddenly closed lips.

"Yes," she continued, "I've noticed things. Changes. Of course, after June he hasn't been quite himself, but … I don't know. After everything that's happened, he's not acted the way I thought he would."

Ron nodded. He seemed to understand, finally. "What have you seen?" he asked.

Hermione leaned back and crossed her arms again, wondering what to say. After Sirius's death at the end of last year, she had expected Harry to fall apart – have a crying jag, maybe a violent outburst or two (and the "secret" one in Dumbledore's office didn't count). But her green-eyed friend had done neither. Of course, she couldn't be quite certain what he had been up to while she and Ron were cooped up in the hospital wing, but whenever he came to visit he was pleasant, if taciturn.

She knew the summer had been hard on Harry. The Dursleys were horrific as usual although the threats from the Order had made them back off considerably. But Harry had not been allowed to go to the Burrow this year, (on Dumbledore's orders, she suspected). She'd pictured him often while she wrote to him, trapped in his room or working hard outside. Either way, he looked lost and alone, with no one to talk to. The gaunt, tired person she saw on the platform September 1st confirmed all her fears.

Hermione had wondered for two months if Harry had been able to come to terms with what happened to Sirius. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if he had really grieved at all.

The thought disturbed her.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"You sort of spaced out. Are you all right?"

Hermione sighed. Ron was looking at her anxiously. She had to tell him something. There was a little knot in her stomach telling her that she was going to have to be the adult in this situation.

"No, I'm not all right," she began. "Something's definitely going on with Harry. He is acting odd, and I think we need to figure out why."

Ron gave her a sort of queer glance. It indicated that the conversation was either not going in the direction he wanted, or he was simply out of his element.

"You know, Hermione, Harry's acted odd before, and it all turned out okay. I mean, remember last year in August … all the screaming? I think that counts as odd, and that all cleared right up."

"Oh, yes," Hermione parried dryly. "He stopped acting like a damn lunatic the minute someone let him into the loop, there's a shock. Ron, you have to admit he's been very down ever since the Department of Mysteries fiasco. And I know he spoke to Dumbledore at the end of the year, just not about what. He wrote me in a letter."

"He did?" Ron said, sounding surprised and slightly hurt. "He didn't tell me that."

"Did you ask?" Hermione asked.

"Well, no, I got a bit carried away writing about Quidditch, but still! He's my best mate!"

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "All right, never mind that. How long have you noticed he's been acting weird?"

Ron scratched his head. "Dunno, about a week, I think."

"Try two," Hermione replied, tucking a strand of bushy brown hair behind her ear.

"Excuse me?"

Hermione licked her lips. How could she clarify that?

With school back in session, everyone's mind was primarily on revision, and for the first two weeks of term Harry had been acting mostly like, well, Harry … quiet, polite, with that adorable tendency to stare at his trainers when he knew he was in trouble.

But two weeks ago, he started smiling a lot, for no apparent reason at all. Indeed, a fortnight ago to the day, he'd walked by her in the corridor, snatched her up gently and twirled her, apparently just for the fun of it, even though he'd told her a while back that he "didn't dance." And a few days after that he smiled cheerfully at her, right after Professor McGonagall had passed out enough homework to crush a small dog.

It was so "not Harry" that a week ago Ron had actually shouted at him to "stop looking so bloody cheerful," and ever since then, he'd been smiling less and less, but he was still looking a little too … happy.

How ironic that she'd come to associate Harry, arguably one of the strongest, most quietly positive people she knew, with chronic depression.

"He danced with me," she said finally. "It was two weeks ago on Monday. I remember it perfectly. I was walking to Arithmancy, and he came up behind me, took me in his arms, and twirled me in the corridor. Then he put his hands in his pockets and walked away, and he was actually whistling!"

All the color left Ron's face. "Harry doesn't whistle."

He said this with such gravitas that Hermione almost snorted. But at least Ron had a sense of the situation, now. And they were both thinking the same thing. Something was up, and knowing Harry's talent for attracting trouble, the something could not possibly be something good.

"Right. We know that Harry's been acting weird for two weeks, and it was sudden onset," Hermione said. "So that means we have three options: either he's under a spell, or someone slipped him a powerful potion, or it's some combination of the two. I think we should examine the symptoms he's exhibiting and try and work backwards from that."

"Agreed," Ron said, as Hermione took out a leaf of parchment and her quill.

"Okay," she said. "Symptoms you've noticed?"

Ron thought for a second. "Acting weird," he pronounced, and leaned back, as though that solved the mystery.

Hermione blinked at him once, dully, and looked around. The Hogwarts library, full of books on every potion and spell in existence, was absolutely massive. And "acting weird" was hardly a specific description of Harry's symptoms; if they couldn't come up with something more helpful, this was going to be next to impossible.

"Yes, good luck to us," Hermione muttered.

The Tuesday that followed was cold and dreary, and the damp, chilly dungeons did not help matters. Harry stamped his feet quietly to keep warm in Potions class. He'd rolled up his sleeves and was slicing ginger roots.

To his utter amazement (and Professor Snape's fury), he'd gotten an O on his Potions OWL. Snape had raged quite loudly over the grade – Harry heard him shouting at Professor McGonagall that someone had fiddled with it – but he was finally forced to consent that Harry had actually earned the mark and accepted him into his class.

That didn't mean that NEWT level Potions was fun in the least. Harry often felt Snape's eyes on him while he was working and occasionally looked up to see his least favorite professor glowering from his desk. "Irate" did not do his expression justice half the time. But despite his professor's enormous attitude problem, Harry had found a way to tune out most of the insults and focus completely on his work.

It was easy … a sip at breakfast, a sip at lunch, and a sip after dinner kept him feeling fine all day.

Things were much better now than they had been in mid-September, he could personally attest. Whereas two weeks ago he'd been doing a lot of smiling (perhaps too much), he and his elixir were now working together like cogs in a well-oiled machine.

"POTTER!"

The shout made him jump. Snape was towering over him, arms crossed and looking very upset. Harry looked up and met Snape's eyes.

"Sir?" he asked. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything wrong … yet.

"What are you doing, you idiot? It's not time to add the crushed salamander tail! That comes later!"

Harry blinked at Snape, the picture of calm. He realized, with a bit of secret glee, that this would undoubtedly blow Snape's stack, and so he very slowly pointed to a small pile of orange powder in a corner of his workstation.

"But sir," he said, politely as you please, "I haven't added the salamander tail. It's sitting right there."

Snape, who had obviously been hoping to catch Harry in a mistake and make fun of him in front of the whole class, saw the little pile of powder, opened and closed his mouth a few times, made a very sour face, and finally turned and stalked away. Draco Malfoy turned and stuck his tongue out at Harry, but Harry didn't pay any attention. Hermione winked at him. He just smiled and turned back to his Restorative Draught.

It seemed that in the two weeks since he'd started his "regimen," his focus had improved, and by consequence, so had his brewing skills (much to Snape's annoyance). He was no longer an angry, bitter person in Potions class. He could feel a shield coming down around him whenever Snape started yelling and criticizing or making disparaging remarks. Something was cradling his mind, preventing him from unleashing any useless or reckless anger. In fact, he was beginning to find that he couldn't get angry at all about anything. There was just no need, he realized, and it would only lose points for his house.

Today, however, was a particularly trying day. He heard everything Snape said while they were stirring – every comment about rude Gryffindors, every blatant allusion to his father, so subtle that no one in the room but he would catch it – and even though he wasn't angry, and didn't make a mistake, the words took their toll nonetheless. He left his potion to simmer with everyone else's at the end of class, and collected his things, slightly alarmed to see that he'd broken into a sweat.

"Harry?"

Hermione was at his elbow when he picked up his bag. He turned to look at her, feeling something ache behind his eyes.

"Yes?" he said.

Hermione looked as though she wanted to say something serious, but she finally just smiled and said, "Good work today."

"Thanks," he mumbled, careful not to smile too much, and left.

While the rest of the students tromped off for morning break, Harry went the opposite direction and found the closest Boys room. He slipped into a stall, hung up his book bag, and took out his hip flask. Just in the nick of time, too. He felt dizzy, suddenly, and had to lean against the wall.

"Damn," he muttered. "I waited too long. That'll teach me."

How long had it been since breakfast? Three hours? Four? Something told him this was probably not very good, slippery slope and all that, but he needed a drink. His hands shaking, he took out his hip flask and downed a larger sip than usual.

It took a few minutes for the shakes to stop, but when they did, he realized that he didn't just feel steady on his feet. He felt completely in control. Two weeks ago, he was almost unbearably happy. The thought made him wince. Now, he was just calm. Clear. Ready for anything.

He put his flask away, picked up his bag, flushed the toilet in case anyone was listening, and wandered off to the Great Hall.

TBC