"You okay, Hermione?" asked Neville as they entered the common room.
"I guess. . . . My memory's been acting up, but Madame Pomphrey says it won't be permanent."
She lingered in the door way, glancing around the crowded common room nervously.
The round-faced boy nodded sympathetically. "It must be awful. It's bad enough being forgetful, but to not be able to remember major things. . . ."
She gave a slight nod. "I can't say it doesn't scare me."
There was silence for a moment. Neville didn't seem sure quite what to say, but there was a look behind his eyes that seemed almost haunted. It'd always been obvious he was rather sensitive. . .
"You can come over and study with me, if you'd like. There's probably a lot for you to catch up with, and relearn. I'm not much good at most subjects, but at least I can give you a bit of company."
"I'll help." Harry added abruptly. "Hey Dean, want to join us?"
Dean looked up from where he'd been talking to Seamus Finnegan.
"Sure, Harry. I'll be right over."
"Urgh. I'm sick of studying," Seamus grumbled, "I'll be on the Quidditich pitch," he added to Dean."
"I'll go with you," suggested the twins' younger brother, Ron, following him out the portrait hole.
The following day found Harry attending all the first year Gryffindor classes, much to Fred and George's chagrin. Harry assured them, however, that there would been plenty of time for them to drag him around to shock people after classes.
"It's probably best for you to attend the first year classes anyway," Fred admitted, "you'll learn more."
"Which'll make our job easier." added George, winking.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, as you obviously have my best interests at heart. . . ."
"Of course."
"Undoubtably."
"Right. See you after classes."
He floated towards the portrait hole, following several students who were leaving the tower. His departure was almost soon enough to miss Fred's last remark on the subject, but not quite. In a fake sob, the redhead announced, "Our ickle Harry-kins is all grown up and going to classes without us."
He wasn't sure whether he was more inclined to laugh or to hex the pair of them.
Harry and Hermione were the first to arrive for Charms, followed shortly after by Neville, who sat down next to them. Dean, seeing Harry, made his way over to sit by them.
"We still need to organize that soccer tournament."
It was the sort of half joking statement that broke the ice a little, and Harry nodded in agreement.
Seamus and Ron, when they arrived, sat on the fringes of the group, Seamus on the other side of Dean. Class went rather smoothly until Seamus managed to light the feather he was supposed to be levitating on fire.
"Finnegan!" Professor Flitwick squeaked. It obviously wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with this sort of incident.
"Aw, come on," Harry interrupted, "what's the point of something that doesn't explode or catch on fire?"
The Irish boy threw Harry a grateful look.
It was on the second day of Harry attending all classes with the first years that they ran into trouble. They had double-potions with the Slytherins that day, and Harry, Hermione, and Neville and started heading towards the potions dungeon slightly early to ensure that they wouldn't be late when they had the misfortune of running into Draco Malfoy, as well as his two tag-alongs, Crabbe and Goyle.
"Longbottom," sneered the blond, "it seems you've sunk even lower, if possible. It was pathetic enough that you'd only managed to make a friend of a mere ghost, but a pureblood like you associating with a filthy little mudblood? Of course, we've always known that if brains were galleons you'd be poorer than the Weasleys, but still, it's shocking how pathetic-"
Unfortunately, he was unable to finish his sentence, as he was interrupted by Hermione's fist connecting with his jaw.
Crabbe attempted to move towards the blond where he now lay sprawled on the floor, but found Neville standing in his way.
"Call off the body-guards, Malfoy." The ghost-boy spoke in a cool, calm tone that immediately captured his attention. "I don't particularly appreciate you baiting my friends. You'd do well to remember that although I can't hex you, I can still talk."
"And you really think they're going to get away with this," Malfoy snarled, blood streaming from his broken nose.
"Oh, I think they will. Are you going to tell Snape the eleven-year-old mudblood beat you up? Or would you prefer to tell you father."
"And what would you do if I don't call off my 'body guards,' Ghost-Boy?"
"I could make sure your father hears of this," Harry answered, shrugging, "not to mention have Seamus hex you. Hey, Seamus!"
The Irish boy, who had just entered the corridor, had no qualms about threatening Malfoy at wand-point.
"You couldn't successfully cast a spell if your life depended on it, Finnegan. Most of the time you just explode whatever you're trying to enchant," Malfoy sneered.
"All the worse for you, Malfoy, all the worse for you." Harry retorted, smiling.
Malfoy paled.
"Crabbe, Goyle, quit messing around with this riff-raff, or we'll be late to class."
Hermione and Neville, who'd been hard pressed with the two of them closing in, were clearly relieved. They headed down the corridor towards the potions classroom. Harry hung back for a moment, watching Malfoy climb to his feet.
"You don't want me as your enemy, Malfoy. Pull many more stunts like that, and you'll have no choice," he whispered in the aristocrat's ear, carefully making sure he was just close enough for the cold-spell he'd set to send a shiver down the blonde's spine.
"You'd have been one hell of a person to deal with if you'd managed to survive this long," muttered Malfoy, but the ghost-boy had already started floating after the others, and was soon out of sight.
For the next few months, life fell into a steady pattern. Classes continued. Dean took to hanging out with Hermione, Neville, and Harry during classes and while studying, with Seamus often hanging out nearby. Malfoy didn't bother them again. Hermione still had memory issues, which slowed her down a little, and made her a bit nervous in regard to classes, but overall life continued without incident.
It was not classes, or the first years, Fred and George, or even the careful maintenance of his ghost-cover that earned first place among Harry's concerns, however. He had to keep an eye on Quirrel. The not-so-talented Defense Professor's mannerisms had remained consistent for the most part so far, as had the intensity with which he was watched by Snape. As far as Harry's calculations went, that meant it wasn't time. Not yet.
The Christmas holidays were approaching fast, much to the delight of almost all of Hogwarts's occupants, whether they were going home or staying at the school over break. The decorations were already being assembled, including twelve large Christmas trees that were brought in and decorated. Set up beneath the sparkling sky of the Great Hall, it was a sight such as none Harry had ever seen.
The Weasleys would be staying, since their parents were on vacation, and Hermione would be staying, because of her memory issues. Harry looked forward to the holidays in an idle, curious way that was mixed in with a fair bit of apprehension. The constant feeling of trouble on the way was hanging over his head, and he wasn't sure when it would arrive.