A/N: Insert usual disclaimer here.
Enjoy.

Chapter 3 – To Hogwarts We Go

Harry sat down in the empty compartment with a tired thud. He stretched with a groan, not minding, for once, that Ginny Weasley, who had followed him just as tiredly into the compartment, could see him. At least, he didn't mind until she stretched in the chair next to him as well, both their trunks safely tucked away.

It was just so distracting, watching her – no, Harry told himself sharply, turning his eyes from the fascinating form of the girl beside him. Keep your eyes to yourself – don't be caught staring... His traitorous eyes found their way back, and met, instead of a condemning glare, the slightly sleepy smile of Ginny. Harry relaxed even more, allowing a small smile to come forth. It had been supremely embarrassing early that morning, barging into the toilet yelling at someone who he'd thought was a water-hogging Ron, and found in his best mate's place, the frighteningly entrancing, near-naked form of his best friend's sister.

Harry blushed anew, slewing his eyes forcefully away from Ginny, who was now curling up beside him. He'd run, blushing fit to burst, but not before he stammered an apology at her and received a sleepy – and rather naughty, now he thought about it – giggle in return. Sitting back a little and keeping a blank cast to his face, he let himself see her lithe, partially towel-covered form again. For some reason, he was able to maintain his façade of tired disinterest while his mind ran over the rather pleasing spectre.

Harry sighed now, flexing his too-long fingers, raking them through his hair. Ginny was Ron's sister, and could be nothing else. Or was it really that way? Hopelessly, he tried to think back to their last conversation on this same steadily chugging train – had she really meant what she'd said about Dean? Harry found himself hoping, rather violently, that she hadn't, and that maybe –

Stop it, he told himself firmly, shaking his head.

"Harry?" Ginny's concerned, still sleepy voice startled him from his reverie. "Are you alright?" Harry gulped, feeling guilty about what he was about to do. Again.

"Yeah," he answered, hunching his shoulders a bit, hoping that his tone wavered as much as it should. Ginny's brown eyes pierced him for a moment, then closed as she started to drift asleep. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, guilt and grief lancing through him at the same time. He'd done that far too many times for his own comfort – passing off his seeming melancholy or introspection as grief over Sirius' death. While he still ached over the horrible sight of his godfather's fall through the veil, it was not as bad as he'd let his friends believe. Rather, he worried more about the strange changes in his body, which had, undeterred by his horror, continued. Harry snorted lightly to himself. He even worried about Ginny occasionally – about whether she'd thought him weak and useless after the two awful attacks on his mind in the last seven days.

Shuddering at the memory of that insidious monster shouldering his way into his mind, Harry chanced a quick glance at his hands again.

Still the same. He repeated the same inward litany to himself, examining the new, paler skin on his arms, which had become more pronounced that very morning. He'd thought about casting a glamour on himself, just to keep the slightly narrowed, puzzled looks everyone had been giving him lately until he solved the mystery, but had rejected the idea, as casting such a transformative spell on himself might speed up the changes, turning him into a miniature Potions professor that much more quickly.

For, two days ago, after a covert hour of examination done in the early hours of the morning, Harry had been forced to decide that he, indeed, looked a lot like Professor Snape if he carried himself just so, and set his face into the dour man's usual sneer. In fact, if his still rapidly lengthening hair fell into his eyes – it's almost at my chin now, Harry thought, letting it fall forward – he looked remarkably like – he shuddered further – the son of the professor. It amazed Harry that no one had really referred to it apart from Hermione, whose reaction earlier on the platform had been to exclaim over how thin he was and remark at his height, and suppose under her breath that it must be because he was growing quickly.

Harry's shoulders hunched more, involuntarily, as he thought of Hermione. He'd wanted to tell her for a long, hard moment, before Ron had stepped forward and given her an extraordinarily long (and tight) hug. They'd both emerged from it as red as lobsters, shooting him and each other furtive looks as he talked loudly of his quidditch ban being lifted.

Harry sneered bitterly to himself, feeling decidedly annoyed. His two best friends didn't even trust him with the clear information that they'd gotten over their silly arguing and decided to go out with each other, like he'd been secretly urging Ron to do over the summer. It was simply irritating, seeing them trying to hide something like that from him, and had made him equally determined not to say a thing about the mystery that had been dogging his heels.

It felt a bit petulant, but that didn't matter, he decided again, extracting his leather-bound duelling book from the schoolbag beside him, untangling it from the robes he'd stuffed in on top of the book during the frantic rush of the morning. Soon enough, he was bent over the book, thumbing through it and adding a few spells he'd thought of, and a few uses for them. The scenery sped by, his absorbed reading (and Ginny's even breathing) occasionally disturbed by the entrance and departure of the Aurors, who, at the insistence of the new Minister, were making very sure that the children of the wizarding world were safe. As unnerving as it was to see their hard, penetrating gazes flitting round the compartment and asking sharp questions, it made Harry feel considerably relieved – Voldemort wouldn't waste his resources trying to get through twenty aurors and hundreds of students just to get his skeletal hands on Harry.

Ron and Hermione returned to the carriage with the advent of the snack trolley, which carried one new offering: Fizzwhistle's Lemonade. Harry bought a bottle of it more enthusiastically than usual, wanting to hide his pensive state from Hermione's sharp eyes. She watched him almost nervously as he, Ron, and later on, Neville, argued their chances at the Quidditch cup this year and complained lightly about the Auror guard. Neville eagerly showed off his new wand to them all, and Ginny woke up with a start when Harry poked his wand in her ear. They started a mock duel then, pretending to be Draco Malfoy (who had not made his customary appearance) and Harry fighting to the death.

Just after Harry-Malfoy died a dramatically whiny death, covered in Fizzwhistle's, the voice announcing their nearness to Hogwarts burst through the hysterical laughter of those in the carriage.

"Attention, students: please be warned that there is to be a rapid search of all excepting the first years on the train at Hogsmeade station." The voice went on, making most of the passengers of Harry's compartment raise their eyebrows in slight surprise. The Minister must've pushed for that – it did not seem to fit Dumbledore's rather trusting policy with the school students, but –

"Let's get changed, everyone – we won't have much time," Hermione said sensibly, pulling out her neatly pressed robes. Harry followed suit, ignoring the looks Hermione gave his crumpled robes, but rather casting a quick pressing spell on them before he put them on. He felt slightly peeved by her approving nod – what did she think he was, stupid? He'd told her about all the research and studying he'd done over the summer…

"Get in line, you there!" ordered a stern voice from in front of the small group as they stepped off the train. "In line – quick as you can – no pushing, there…"

And so the students of Hogwarts greeted their new year of study, shuffling through long lines to be thoroughly searched by the grim Aurors. It was a rather gloomy gathering, despite the chatter of the students, and filled Harry with a sense of foreboding.

A few stern questions and flicks from the searching Auror's wand sent Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna – who joined them at the last minute – into a carriage. Harry could not help but pause, dropping the contents of his arms, to pat the head of the nearest thestral attached to the carriage – it was much less than they deserved, for helping him so much last term, even if it was on what amounted to fool's errand. Ignoring the pointed looks the others exchanged, he murmured his thanks to the great beast, which shuffled a little, silently, and tossed its head in acknowledgement. Smiling bitterly, Harry entered the carriage and shut the door, accepting the burden of Hedwig from Luna, who had retrieved it from where he set it on the ground on seeing the thestral.

"Harry…" Hermione sighed. Harry felt justified in letting a sneer form on his face, but stopped abruptly when he remembered his looks. He settled for a strained look instead, turning his head to watch the grounds around Hogwarts go by.

"All I was doing was telling it thank you, Hermione," he volunteered tightly, tamping down the urge to ask her if she snogged Ron in a toilet on the way there. They'd think he was being angry again, and that would just cause more problems. As it was, they just gave each other looks. That was fine by Harry.

Ginny haltingly supplied a conversation, and Harry threw himself into it, chattering away about the repairs on Grimmauld Place, where the Weasleys had come to floo together with Harry to a specially created station very near King's Cross, like all Hogwarts students except for first years, who would get on the usual platform the same way. They'd all woken ridiculously early to make the nauseating journey by Floo, so as to get through the first layer of security before arriving on the platform and boarding the Hogwarts Express. Harry had not had any time at all to show them the repairs he and Remus (and, occasionally, Tonks) had made, and he told them now.

"So, we repainted the whole room and just got rid of the furniture inside it," he said of a particularly odd room he and Remus had battled with last of all. Ron cut him off with a statement, as if he was just remembering something.

"I can't believe I forgot this – Hermione, d'you remember if we told them about Malfoy?"

"Oh," Ginny said. "That he's not a prefect and everything? You told us that…" Hermione grinned as if recalling something wonderful.

"Blaise Zabini is it – male prefect for Slytherin and everything," she said, sharing a look with Ron. "We told you that, but we didn't tell you what we saw coming out of that carriage – with the first years in it, I think. Anyway, we saw Malfoy terrorising some third year…"

"Pritchard, by any chance?" Harry interjected, leaning forward a bit. "His parents – now, don't tell anyone this – just joined the Or – organisation of Dumbledore's against the war and…Voldemort, and they asked me to watch out for him if I could at some point last week…" All of them stared at him. "Not in the meeting – I'm still not allowed in that," he added hastily. Neville and Luna looked a bit confused, but that couldn't be helped. Ron nodded and went on.

"Might've been Pritchard, I don't know," he confessed. "But, anyway, the boy gave just as good as he got – hissing at Malfoy that his father was a "disgrace to purebloods everywhere". Zabini broke them up when Malfoy jumped on the kid, in the end, but it was still something." Hermione nodded, pleased.

"The best thing was how Blaise did it," she said, just as the carriage began to slow. "He didn't look apologetic or anything, or turn round and shout at Pritchard, like he might've done, last year. He just told Malfoy off impatiently, like he was some nuisance." Harry grinned.

"Would've liked to see his face…" They began to disembark, as Hermione finished the tale.

"True, Harry – he was absolutely livid…"

And, with that, they stepped into the Great Hall, and the sixth year had begun.


"…and, with that said, tuck in!"

The clanking and tinkling and scraping of hungry children attacking the feast before them filled the Great Hall. Ron seemed the most enthusiastic about starting the magnificent meal – at least to Harry, who was nimbly spearing sausages onto his plate, being rather hungry himself. Hermione chattered away at the new Gryffindor students nearby, while Ginny and Dean sat opposite each other, having an impromptu sort of grotesque face competition.

"That's not fair, Dean, you're not allowed to use your wand…" Ginny complained away, finally starting to fill her own plate. Dean grinned at her – sickening, really, Harry thought privately – and started in on his already heaped plate. Harry stared at his food, trying to get to grips with the enormous, sharp knives of jealousy stabbing in his stomach, trying to reason away the urge to hex Dean under the table so he dropped everything he touched…It was only Ginny – bright, smiling –

Knock it off, you, he told himself. Ron and Hermione gave him concerned stares, making him realise he'd spoken out loud. "Sorry – just – just talking to myself – s'not my scar or anything…" They shared a worried look, but nodded anyway.

"Anyway, mate," Ron said, round a mouthful of carrots, "what d'you think's wrong with Veron, eh?"

"Vampire?" Harry offered lamely, not particularly caring what he said. Ginny was busy putting her hair into her usual ponytail, always rather fascinating to –

"Too fat," Neville muttered from nearby. "Anyway, he doesn't look anything like Snape – he looks like one…" Harry agreed with the first statement heartily. Their new DADA teacher, a rather fat, jolly-looking man by the name of Romulus Veron, who seemed more like a wealthy, amiable shopkeeper than the vastly talented man Dumbledore had introduced him as, looked no more like a vampire than the Fat Friar. Right now, he was laughing – rather odd laugh, that, Harry mused absently – at a joke Hagrid had told the entire staff table. As for the second statement, Harry refused to consider the fear that he would eventually look like, as Neville stoutly attested, a vampire. Shuddering in spite of the laughter around him, he began on a slice of roast chicken, trying to cut it up without looking at his long, pale fingers.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, sharply. All eyes were on him in a moment, and it was all Harry could do not to jump up on the table and scream that he was not depressed any more, and break into a wild jig, amidst the shining platters of good food, to illustrate it. Instead, he forced down the piece of chicken – not looking at his nails, which were now an interesting, paler pink underneath – and answered.

"Just remembering I still have Potions this year," he offered, hoping they'd – Ron sighed, relieved, pausing in his rapid eating.

"It would've been nice to have had an Outstanding OWL, but honestly, I'm glad I don't have to stand any more of him." They all eyed the sullen Professor Snape, who was glaring down the table at the still merrily laughing Veron. Harry sighed, really considering the fact this time. As the discussion round him moved on to the OWLs everyone got, he thought about the crisp Hogwarts letter that he'd scanned impatiently, until he came to the portion talking about his scores.

Astronomy: A

Care of Magical Creatures: E

Charms: E

Defence Against the Dark Arts: O (With Merit)

Divination: P

Herbology: E

History of Magic: D

Potions: O

Transfiguration: E

Harry had been astounded, seeing his potions score – outstanding, he'd repeated to himself many times, forgetting the creaking of the bed he lay on in Grimmauld Place. It meant he could still be an Auror, like he'd fiercely hoped. Even now, with the threat of Snape's horrible teaching hanging over his head, the thought still brought a smile to his face.

"Still can't believe I got an O in potions, though," he replied, after laughing with Ron over his failure in Divination. Ron shook his head.

"Must've been because Snape wasn't there – I'm glad I don't have to do that, anyway…"

The feast ended soon after, and, as Harry passed through the double doors with his friends behind him, the new Head Girl, a stern-looking Ravenclaw seventh year he'd never learned the name of, stopped him.

"Here," she said shortly, thrusting a note into his hand. "The Headmaster said to give you that, and tell you to meet him after the feast," she supplied, at his questioning look. She'd stalked off before Harry could say anything. Ron and Hermione waited slightly ahead, and waited impatiently with him as he read the note.

"Just says to meet him in his office to talk about something," he offered quietly. They all looked at each other solemnly. Harry reminded himself he'd have to tell them the prophecy soon – he hadn't had a chance this summer, what with all the secrecy surrounding his stay at Grimmauld Place. "Could you tell me the password? I'll meet you two in the Tower when I'm done…"

"It's 'sciangetella', Harry," Hermione supplied just as quietly. "See you in the Tower…"

Harry nodded, thrusting the note into his pocket, and strode off in the direction of Dumbledore's office, wondering what exactly the old man wished to tell him, that was so important that it could not wait until the next day.


"Harry," Dumbledore's cheery voice greeted him as he poked his dark head round the door of his office. "Come in and sit down, if you please. I'm sorry to have missed our conversation at Grimmauld Place last night," the old man continued briskly, "there were important matters at the Ministry that needed my attention, so…" His sparkling blue eyes examined Harry critically as he sat fidgeting in the chair before him. "Your relatives should be settling back into their home at Privet Drive as we speak, and, they now believe that they took an impromptu holiday at Brighton for the two weeks they stayed with you at Number Twelve." Harry started in surprise. "I tried to make them understand the need for secrecy, but, as your uncle was most unforthcoming, I decided it would be better that they not remember their true whereabouts at all." Harry paused for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Dumbledore rose up from his chair, walking slowly over to a sleeping Fawkes, who was perched awkwardly on the golden stand that usually held him, his bright feathers glowing softly. Silence ensued for a moment, as Dumbledore stroked the gleaming feathers of his phoenix, appearing to ponder something.

"You still wish to join the Order, Harry?" came the sudden question, startling the boy in its intensity. Harry stammered an affirmative answer, hope blossoming tightly in his chest. Dumbledore nodded, continuing. "Remus told me how – how controlled and calm you were during your stay, despite the deplorable behaviour of your relatives," he paused here, glancing at Harry, "and also that you used no less than two restricted spells on Kreacher, the house elf, when he surprised you in the kitchen on your arrival. " Harry inhaled sharply, mouth opening to explain, to apologise, but was cut off by the headmaster, who was already lowering himself into his chair. "I merely state facts, Harry – I make no judgements."

The unspoken 'yet' hung heavy between them, making Harry bristle inwardly at the injustice of this, of everything that seemed to happen to him, around him. He kept his face as impassive as he could, his lip trembling slightly as he lowered his head to stare at his changed hands.

"And yet, you fought off Voldemort's attempts to possess you not once, but twice – the second time in the presence of the very same house elf, whom you could have destroyed as you wished, and passed it off as the influence of Tom." Harry's green eyes travelled slowly up to Dumbledore's piercing blue, which sparkled, now, with a fierce sort of pride. "The question is not if you are worthy of the Order – because you are, several times over – but if the Order of the Phoenix is worthy of you." Dumbledore leaned in towards him, his blue eyes seeming to take on the strength Harry had seen properly in the Department of Mysteries for the first time. "The Order will have you, no question of that – but, Harry, do you really wish to join?"

Green eyes met blue, shining, unknowingly, with the same strength that rolled off Dumbledore in waves. Harry's face seemed to harden imperceptibly before him, and he did not flinch or look away from the piercing stare that held him, Dumbledore's powerful mind seeming to wrap its fingers round his own…searching….

Harry called up the ocean almost automatically – a storm-tossed, heaving body of water that engulfed his thoughts and obscured all thoughts but one: the thought of the word 'yes'.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, severing the gaze, his blue eyes twinkling once more.

"Splendid, Harry," came the answer, filled with a pride that threatened to overwhelm Harry in its intensity. "You will join at Christmas, then, with the other new recruits."

"New…recruits?" Harry asked, eyes widening with curiosity.

"Yes, Harry – from Romania, and various parts of Britain – people that have felt shamed by their refusal to see the truth, and now wish to help us in any way they can. Some may be spies, of course – but none of them will have access to our most precious secrets until we can be absolutely sure of them." Dumbledore removed his pearly glasses, cleaning them with a flick of his wand. "There are plans…set in motion, that will not come to fruition for a while, as they depend on the information we receive of Voldemort's actions. If they concern you, or the Prophecy," he paused here, giving Harry a searching glance, "you will be informed. For now, I deem your progress in Occlumency fit to guard you from false visions from Voldemort, but," Harry's face fell, "you will need to continue your lessons with Professor Snape in a few week's time. He will also teach you the basics of Legilimency, if your progress is swift enough."

"Why can't you teach me, Professor?" Harry said, quietly, staring at his hands once more. More lessons with Snape, of all people… "I don't even think Sna – Professor Snape would be willing to teach me…"

"I am far too busy, Harry, to be here as often as is needed for your lessons," Dumbledore began. "And your Professor is really more proficient at Occlumency than I am, so he is the best instructor for you. As for his acquiescence, he agreed when I informed him of your progress, Harry," Dumbledore finished, sternly. "On the condition that you apologise for invading his memories – "

"I've already done that – " Harry began. That had been one of the first letters he'd written, this summer –

"Then it is simple – you will meet him, in two weeks' time, on Mondays, Thursdays and Sundays, in the evenings." Dumbledore finished. His eyes locked with Harry's for a moment, then looked down at his old, wrinkled hands. "I am sorry I cannot help you with this, Harry, but there are some things, difficult things, that you will have to face on your own."

Harry rose, anger bubbling inside him, but under firm control. The water seemed to swirl in his brain, shielding his building anger from notice. "May I be excused?" he offered the words, as politely as possible. Dumbledore nodded, the small action steeped in regret. Harry strode out curtly, the anger fighting to be released. Abruptly, he turned, heading for the Room of Requirement, outside which he thought hard of something, anything to let out his frustration on.

He stepped inside, to meet a blank, grim room lined with white dummies, arranged as if in combat. Harry snarled at the empty room, unleashing his fury in his mock-duel against everything within the room. Adrenaline pumped through his slim frame, directing him to cast the most horrible curses he knew – and some he didn't. And, when the room was a mess of broken, twisted dummies, some leaking their puffy filling out onto the floor, the walls blackened with spellfire, Harry sank into a ball and wept.

Dumbledore's last, searing look of useless regret occupied him till the morning hours, lying awake in his four-poster in Gryffindor tower, after an evasive, shortened conversation with Ron and Hermione in the common room below.


A/N: Hi everyone - do tell me if I've got the characterisation right and everything. Chapter 4 may be even longer than this one, as it fits in a lot, so bear with me if I take a while to update. If I take more than three or four days, know that I either have a case of writer's block, or am writing Chapters 5 and 6 as well as Chapter 4 - chapter 6 is half finished, already, as it concerns a very important letter you can all see coming. Till then...