The days following the discovery of the petrified Penelope Clearwater had been fraught with tension. Everywhere, students whispered in small huddles and proposed ideas of just who had attacked her in such a vicious manner.

That the poor girl hadn't even been able to draw her wand to defend herself was bad enough – that many in the castle already seemed to have made up their minds that he had petrified her was just the icing on the proverbial cake.

The first he'd heard the whispering had been the following morning as he'd arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast alongside Hermione and Neville – the two pillars in his life at the moment. The twins were the only ones from Gryffindor that associated with him openly. In his darker moments, he couldn't help but think that was more because of their role with House Black than him as a person.

He had sat there, absently nibbling at a bowl of fruit with Neville and Hermione on either side of him, both equally as quiet, while those on Gryffindor table and the other nearby tables openly stared at him and whispered – sometimes, they didn't even bother to whisper.

He understood their initial fear with what he had done to Draco – but he'd had nothing to do with Penelope. Not that it seemed to matter any to Ravenclaw House. Of all the students he'd had to deal with over the last week, it had been the Ravenclaws that had been the most openly hostile. He didn't blame them – not really – one of their own had been attacked and hospitalised until the cure could be brewed. In a way, he admired how they had come together – he just wished it hadn't been against him.

Harry sighed as he leaned back on the trunk of the tree behind him and ran a hand down his face, trying to push the memories of breakfast out of his mind and stared out at the Black Lake. Neville was perched on a branch above him, while Hermione was perched comfortably on a dry patch of grass, her cloak neatly tucked under her to protect her uniform.

His breath fogged before his eyes in a fine mist, and his nose scrunched a little as the cold breeze tickled it. On the far side of the lake, a large tentacle burst from the water before slapping the surface playfully.

"What do you think it eats in there?" Neville asked, pulling his cloak around him a little tighter as the wind picked up for a moment. The two of them had forgone their uniform coats, instead pulling their usual cloaks out for the better protection against the cold – though Harry had debated simply having Clara set him alight, if only to warm his fingers.

"Not sure – what do squid eat?" Harry shrugged; his voice soft.

"Fish, crabs, crustaceans – though, I'm not sure what a giant squid would eat." Hermione replied, not looking up from the book she was reading. Harry glanced at her and pursed his lips a little as he nodded.

"Big fish?" Neville offered, leaning back against the trunk of the tree as he pulled his right knee to his chest and allowed his left leg to swing back and forth lazily.

"I doubt there's a population large enough for the squid to survive on indefinitely – Hogwarts: A History mentions the Giant Squid being here for centuries. Perhaps it has access to the ocean?" Hermione replied, glancing up from her book to the boy in the tree.

"Or it could feed on magic – Hogwarts and the grounds are steeped in it." Harry suggested, turning back to look at the lake.

"It's possible." Hermione nodded, turning to look at her book once again.

As they settled into a comfortable, if lacklustre, silence, Harry allowed his mind to wander. There were two missing members of their group – Daphne and Tracey. Both had avoided the three Gryffindors for the last week, despite the best efforts of both Hermione and Neville.

Harry had simply allowed them their space, despite how much it bothered him. It was the first true distance that had appeared between himself and Daphne in all the time they had known one another. Ever since they were six, and he and Neville had been beaten by Daphne and that stick of hers, they had all been as thick as thieves – they weren't friends, they were family.

He missed Daphne's quiet presence, and the way Tracey would hum as she thought about whatever was on her mind. He missed how Daphne would scold him and roll her eyes at something he'd say, and how Tracey would try to stifle her giggles behind her hands.

While his friends would sit in their usual seats, Harry had retreated to the rear of the classes. He had wanted to disappear into the sea of faces, hidden away from student and professor alike – something that had led to a small argument between himself and Neville.

Neville believed in confronting the issue and getting it sorted in short order, but that wouldn't help the situation. Daphne had flinched from him – for the first time in her life, she was afraid of him.

The Longbottom heir wouldn't understand that, couldn't understand that. The way Neville viewed the world was too clear cut for either Harry or Daphne – once Neville befriended you, he was with you until the end, no matter what. Harry treasured the faith Neville had in him, but it wasn't the same for Daphne.

Daphne was far more cynical – something he'd always attributed to being the heir to House Greengrass. As she had no brother, the title would one day fall to her, and there were far too many opportunistic men and women who would see their second or third sons usurp what was rightfully hers.

He knew of just how many suitors had approached Castor and even Daphne herself over the years, some far too old to be approaching her in the first place, he thought. As much as he detested the thought of it, Daphne would only remain a friend of anyone for as long as it suited her.

That she would one day distance herself from him had never once entered his mind. They had been through so much together over the years, and he had come to rely on her in a way he couldn't rely on Neville. Neville was brave, and courageous, but he often acted without thinking things through – the whole incident at the end of first year was enough of an example of that. Daphne was his caution. She tempered his hot head at times and allowed him to see things from another perspective.

He had imagined the two of them at his side for the rest of his life – Sirius had even suggested a betrothal between himself and Daphne just after his tenth birthday. Daphne would have passed the title on to Astoria, but Harry wouldn't have any of it. Harry would marry for love, and while he did love Daphne – he didn't love her in that way.

That she wasn't at his side now hurt. The betrayal of her distance stung worse than the cutting curse he had suffered at the hands of Voldemort – it was like there was a gaping wound that just wouldn't close. Perhaps, in time she would come around, or maybe she wouldn't – perhaps the last conversation he would ever have with Daphne was the talk on Animagi.

He sighed and pulled his cloak around him a little tighter. How Hermione was sat so comfortable and unaffected by the weather like she was, was beyond his understanding.

"Do you think if you stare at the lake any longer, that it might burst into flame?" Neville asked from above him.

"It's worth a try." He replied, his jaw twitching as he breathed in the frigid air deeply. The air was at its freshest in the winter – everything felt so clean, particularly this far into the north. It was hard not to appreciate it.

"Thinking about Daphne?"

"Aye – it's hard not to." Harry sighed, closing his eyes briefly.

"She'll come around."

"And what if she doesn't?" He snapped, glaring up at the boy in the tree. After a moment, he glanced away, his shoulders sagging beneath the cloak. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"I'd rather you did sometimes, honestly." Neville snorted as he hopped down from the thick branch. "Reminds me you're human, just like the rest of us."

"Of course I'm human." Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shifted to his left against the trunk a little. Neville took the invitation for what it was and joined him.

"It's hard to remember that sometimes, you know." Hermione said, the dull thud of her thick book slamming shut as she stood slowly, tucking her book into her bag as she did so.

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to respond, only for the words to die in his throat.

"You're Harry to us, but to so many people, you're Harry Potter – this larger than life figure straight out of the modern history books!" Hermione continued, carefully placing her bag against the tree, and taking up position next to him on his left – it was a tight fit, but they managed it.

"You're more than a little intimidating at times." Neville chuckled, causing Harry to look at him. "Oh, don't give me that look – everyone felt just how powerful you were last year in Introduction to Magic."

"I'm not-"

"He's right, you know." Hermione breathed, her soft voice interrupting him. "You were the first person I felt when I meditated in class. You were everywhere, all at once! It was a little overwhelming."

"What's this got to do with anything?" He demanded, closing his eyes as a pressure began to build at the back of his head. How many times had he had this conversation with Neville or Daphne over the years?

"What I'm trying to tell you is just how easy it is to forget you're just a person sometimes – Merlin, Harry, I've never known anyone else in our year to pick up spells like you do, besides Hermione, and we both know neither of us can compete with her!" Neville said, pushing off the tree and pacing away a few steps. Hermione snorted quietly to his left but made no motion to move.

"What's so funny?" He asked, looking at her.

She shook her head, a tiny smirk on her lips, which were pursed a little – a habit she had when she was thinking of something. "Nothing – Neville getting himself worked up is always rather funny."

Harry snorted quietly – she wasn't wrong.

"He's right – Neville, I mean." Hermione muttered, resting her head on his shoulder. For a moment, he went as still as a rock, before relaxing and letting out the breath that had caught in his throat. "You'll be a great wizard someday-"

"Books and cleverness?" Harry snorted, gently nudging her in the ribs as a small grin split his face.

She shoved him slightly, but it had no real force behind it. "That's not what I mean." She sighed, though as he glanced down at her, he could see the small smile. "You'll go down in history, you know – and not just because of what happened all those years ago."

"You're awfully certain."

She shrugged against him. "It's what I believe – you're not quite like any other person I've ever met. Yes, what you did to Draco was terrible, but like I told you – you're a good person. I believe you'll do great things both, before and after we graduate."

"Well, if you believe it, I suppose it must be true."

"It's not just me that thinks it. All of us do, even Daphne, and Tracey."

Harry frowned at the mention of the two girls. "They've got an odd way of showing they believe in me." He sighed, leaning his head against the oak behind him.

"People deal with things differently – it was one of the first things I remember my parents telling me when I was little."

"Little-er." Harry chuckled, his eyes watching the clouds pass overhead through the bare branches of the tree.

"I'm not that much smaller than you!" Hermione protested, poking his ribs with her finger. "You're barely half a forehead taller." She sniffed.

"It still counts."

"You're trying to change the conversation."

"Just noticed that one, did you?"

"You have the subtlety of a brick." Hermione snorted. Neville wandered back over to the two of them, an apologetic smile on his face as he scratched at his cheek.

"Sorry, Harry."

"Nothing to apologise for." He replied, shrugging. "We've had that conversation plenty of times over the years though, don't you think?" He asked, cocking a brow.

"Aye – but one day you'll stop being so bloody stubborn." Neville muttered, kicking a small stone. "Sirius always said perseverance is key."

"Merlin, Neville – he was talking about women." Harry groaned, and Hermione gasped quietly before she tried to stifle her giggles with her hand. "Not about trying to tell me how much power I have at my fingertips."

"What's the difference?" Neville grinned. "A good woman by your side, and you'd conquer the world!"

"I'd rather let the world rot for now." He chuckled, adjusting his grip on the inside of his cloak – the wolf pelt around his shoulders tickled his chin as the few loose strands of hair flowed gently in the breeze.

"You don't mean that." Hermione chided, slapping his arm lightly. "You're one of the most selfless people I know."

"If this week has been anything to go by, I'd rather leave them to it, I think." He muttered, quickly stifling a yawn.

He'd barely gotten a single night's sleep all week. Each night, he was visited by the spectre of Clara Appleton – she would lay there in his dreams, staring up at him blankly with her remaining eye. Chunks of her brain and fragments of her skull were all around and blood matted her dark hair. No matter how much he tried, he could never look away.

Sometimes, it was just Clara haunting his dreams, other times, it was the Troll. The Troll would come storming in, and there was nothing that he could do as it tossed him bodily around and beat him bloody with its giant club.

There were other dreams, of course – some that hadn't even had the opportunity to fade away for any period of time. These were a little easier to deal with, yet just as unpleasant. Ever since the end of the last year, he would dream of the face protruding from the back of Quirrell's head, hissing for the man to kill him.

Occasionally, he would survive, only to be crushed by the inescapable weight of the ceiling collapsing atop of him as the dust choked him. It was these dreams that had him waking in a cold sweat, panting, and stumbling from his bed as he scrambled to a corner of his room, his wand clutched painfully in his hand.

More often than not, he spent the restless nights curled around Clara and Hedwig, both birds fluttering from their perches over to his bed or the corner he was cowering in. Clara would wrap herself around him, one of her powerful wings spread over his trembling body like a blanket; Hedwig would nestle herself into his chest. Sometimes, he would be able to drift back off to sleep, still clutching his wand like it was his only lifeline. Other times, he would remain awake for the rest of the night, his eyes darting this way and that, every shadow a new terror.

He'd had nightmares for so many years, it was almost strange to think of a time when he had mostly pleasant dreams consistently. The dreams of Clara were terrifying, and he would feel ill in the following morning, but he could deal with them. The dreams of the Troll were equally as terrifying, but he'd beaten it – it couldn't harm him, or anyone else, anymore.

The dreams where he stood looking down the wand of Voldemort were different. Voldemort was the architect of all of the misery in his life – he was the sole reason for being an orphan, and he was supposed to have been dead for a decade.

Even now, with the Black Lake stretching out before him, he could remember the conversation with Sirius and Remus perfectly, where they'd promised him that he was gone – that he'd never have to worry about him ever again.

It wasn't their fault, he knew that, but there was a steadily growing pit of cold dread that had been forming in his gut ever since he woke up to Hermione reading to him, and his following conversation with Dumbledore. Eventually, in some way or another, Voldemort would come for him – and the very idea of that terrified him.

He closed his eyes as he allowed his head to loll back against the tree, the messy bun at the back of his head offering a little padding against the rough bark. He breathed deeply, knowing it would help calm him – already, he could feel his heart pumping faster at the thought of Voldemort.

All around him, he could feel the presence of students – their magic mixing together and saturating the soil and the stone around them. There were so many that it was almost impossible to distinguish who was who, though a few stood out. While he knew Hermione was to his immediate left, her magic was like a small sun and he felt warmed by its presence.

Neville was also one he could make out from the magic around him – his magic was wild and fierce. In their younger years, Neville had initially struggled to get a grasp on his magic, and for a time, it had made him a nervous wreck – he had been terrified of being named a Squib, especially as the last heir to the Longbottom family.

He could feel Daphne in the castle somewhere, and he tentatively reached out and brushed her magic. It was a mistake, he knew, even as he felt her initial happiness, only for her to withdraw into herself and effectively shield herself against his magic.

Rebuffed, he sank further into the ocean of magic around him – just like they'd been taught to do from the very first lesson of Introduction to Magic in first year. All around, he could feel the insects flitting through the air, and the small fish darting about the lake. He could feel the plants growing, and the roots of the trees burrowing deeper.

High above, he could feel Clara soaring through the sky as she wove between the clouds, singing her song to the world. While he couldn't physically hear it, he could feel the magic it was seeped in, and allowed himself to bask in it, if only for a moment. It was relaxing and helped to ease the burdens on his mind – for now, at the very least.

He brushed his mind against Clara, and he could feel her joy as she rolled through the air, tucking her wings tightly into her body as her tail-feathers burst into powerful flames. If he could have grinned, he would have. Her elation was almost palpable – it had been too long since the two of them had played in the air and pushed themselves to their limits.

Harry would have laughed if he could – he watched her as she pushed her body to its limit as she dived and banked, eventually breaking through the bottom layer of the clouds and diving toward a lush forest of evergreen trees by one of the nearby mountains around Hogwarts.

He could feel the wind as it rustled Clara's feathers, and he could see the prey that she had spotted – it was a young deer. It stood in a clearing, and through Clara's powerful eyes, he could even see the grass it chewed lazily.

He left Clara to her meal and instead continued to move along the currents of magic, allowing it to direct where he went without a care. It was so much better to be in this state than his physical body by the lake – for a moment, he thought never to return – content to simply drift for the rest of eternity.

Time had no meaning when one was immersed in magic, you simply were. It was a hard concept for him to wrap his mind around throughout the last year at Hogwarts, but eventually he managed it. There was nothing quite like reaching out with his mind and feeling everything around him. Some were more gifted with the ability than others, such as Padma and Parvati Patil – their connection to Wild Magic was stunning to behold. It had been no surprise that they had grasped the concept first.

He allowed himself to drift closer to the mountain – it was the one on the far side of the Black Lake, and already he could feel the city of Dwarves that occupied its hollow centre. He passed through dirt and stone and was immediately assaulted with the magic and emotions of the denizens before him.

He couldn't see them, of course – there was no sight when immersed in magic. Sight was a physical concept. Instead, he had to rely on the feel and the magic of the environment to tell him what it could.

Dwarves were interesting beings – genius architects and craftsmen. They were short – never growing past five feet and corded with hard muscle. Their bodies, while smaller than a human's, were tough, and their sense of direction was unparalleled.

All around him, he could feel them as they went about their day – some were, no doubt, selling their wares, others toiling with the stone, while others laughed and drank among companions. It was the latter that he felt himself the most drawn to.

He wove his consciousness between the corridors and the halls that spiderwebbed the mountain until he found the largest gathering of joy that he could find. He hovered above them all, drinking the emotion in – it was like its own form of magic – while the Dwarves were completely unaware of it all.

He basked in the warmth of their laughter, and their raucous jokes. It was like a balm to his soul. Dwarves were incredibly social creatures within their own species – it was rare outside of their own cities to find a Dwarf with a smile on its face. There was something about the unhinged joy from the crowd around him that soothed him and made him forget his worries, if only for a moment.

How long he remained there, he didn't know. While his mind was buried deep within a mountain on the far side of the lake, his body was still resting against a thick oak tree in the early November air in Northern Scotland, so it was little surprise when he felt something pushing his arm.

It was an odd sensation, to feel your body jostled from well over a mile away.

He snapped back to his body with a gasp, and for a few moments, he could see nothing but two sources of blinding light as he blinked at the lake. Slowly, figures formed, and he could see Neville and Hermione looking at him worriedly – Neville was shifting his weight from foot to foot, while Hermione was gripping his arms and shaking him.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, and for a moment, he had to resist burying his face into the palms of his hands. His head throbbed, and his eyes were sore. All of the exhaustion and the weight of the last few months came rushing back to him in a single instant, and he found himself gasping for breath.

He sank to the cold, hard ground beneath him – the grass crunched under his weight, and he ignored the inevitable damp that the lingering frost would leave on his cloak. Hermione sank with him, slowing his descent as best she could, and Neville was at his side as quick as anything.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide and shiny.

He continued to suck in as much air into his lungs as he could, but the short gasps that he managed did nothing to help calm his racing heart. Something was wrong, and he didn't know what it was.

His fingers gripped the cloak that had pooled around him, and he clung to it, anchoring himself. He closed his eyes, scrunching them shut as he forced his breathing to even out – he breathed deeply through his mouth, before exhaling through his nose. Something tickled his top lip, and with a quick swipe of the back of his hand, he wiped it away – only for Hermione to gasp.

Harry snapped his eyes open at the sound and followed her eyes to the bloody back of his hand. He grimaced – that was all he needed on top of everything else – a damn nosebleed of all things. A groan slipped through his lips, and he felt his head roll back against the tree.

His breath was shaky as his eyes flickered between his two friends – Neville's face was flushed, and he looked a little panicked, while Hermione looked worried beyond all rational thought.

"I'm fine." He croaked – his throat felt dry, and his voice was scratchy. His teeth ground themselves together, while his limbs twitched sporadically.

"What happened?" Neville asked, the panicked look melting away into a piercing stare that Harry hadn't been the victim of for years. "You were fine one minute, and then Hermione tried to say something to you, and the next you're gasping and dropping to the floor."

"It was nothing."

"Harry James Potter, it was not nothing!" Hermione snapped, scowling at him. "You can't just collapse and start bleeding and call it nothing!"

There was nothing but the gentle sounds of the waves of the lake lapping at the nearby shoreline for a few moments. Neville and Hermione continued to stare – glare, in Hermione's case – at him. Neville was on his knees, his cloak with the brown bear-pelt around his shoulders was pooled at his feet, and Hermione was busy placing the back of her hand against both of his cheeks and forehead.

"I meditated a little." He sighed after he could take their looks no longer. He shifted awkwardly against the roots of the oak tree behind him.

"Meditating did that to you?" Neville scoffed. "What could you have been meditating on that gave you a nosebleed?"

"I don't know!" He ground out. "One minute I'm in that mountain over there-" He began, pointing at the mountain in the distance. "and the next I'm back here."

"You were in the mountain?" Hermione murmured, rocking back on her heels as her mouth fell open. "Harry, that's…"

"Mad." Neville muttered, nodding his head slowly. "Completely mad."

"Why did you bring me out of it?" He grouched; his voice more petulant than he'd meant to be.

"People are beginning to head toward the building they set up by the Quidditch Pitch." Hermione answered him, pointing to where there was a steady stream of students moving along the path.

He'd forgotten about the damn club that had been made mandatory. How he had managed to let it slip from his mind was beyond him – Dumbledore had organised its construction immediately following the discovery of Penelope Clearwater, and building had begun the following day.

It was a large temporary structure that had been built on the grounds next to the Quidditch Pitch. It looked so out of place alongside the tall, colourful wooden stands and large flags. It was a squat building, with smooth granite walls and large windows all around, with the occasional large, double door. He'd seen Dwarves erecting it during the Quidditch Practice on Tuesday night, when Wood had been putting him through his paces – though the directions had been short and clipped.

Not even the Quidditch team interacted with him beyond the bare minimum.

He sighed as he pushed himself to his feet, groaning a little at how stiff and sore his muscles felt. "Well, I suppose we'd better make a move then."

"Woah, woah – are we just brushing off the fact you let yourself wander so far?" Neville demanded, holding a hand to Harry's chest as he stepped around Hermione.

"I don't see what the damn problem is, Neville." Harry growled, narrowing his eyes on his best friend.

Neville, unperturbed by his stare, glanced at Hermione. "Can you go on ahead? We'll meet you there."

"If you're sure?" She asked, wringing her hands a little as Neville nodded. "I'll see about saving you both a spot." She murmured, glancing worriedly between the two of them. Harry watched as she bent down to pick her bag up before she slung it over her shoulder and hurried off toward the path.

Neville rounded on him instantly, his eyes furious. "What in Avalon do you think you were doing?" Neville demanded, shoving Harry in the chest a little. "Do you have any idea how dangerous something like that is?"

"I know just as well as you." He snapped in return, scowling. "I'm sorry if I enjoyed the peace and quiet for a little bit."

"This isn't about that and you damn-well know that!"

"Well maybe I don't – because all I'm hearing at the moment is that you're pissed I meditated and let my mind wander." Harry scowled, shoving Neville's arm away.

"You could have died, Harry! Don't you see that? Do you even care? Because right now, you're acting like a right prick."

"I'm a prick?" He demanded, his scowl becoming a glower. "I'm an arse for wanting to get away from the stares and the whispers? Neville, it's been a week – how the fuck am I supposed to deal with this for the rest of the year?"

"Aye, it's been a week – but the Harry I know would care about the effect he has on those around him. How do you think Hermione would have reacted, or I would have reacted, to you losing your mind because you took a stroll around a mountain?" Neville snapped, shoving Harry's shoulder – his face red and contorted with a fierce scowl. There were few things that could get Neville's temper going, but when it did… "How do you think Daphne would have felt, Tracey? How about Sirius or Remus?"

"I wouldn't know much of how Daphne and Tracey would feel these days, now would I?"

"Is that what this is about?"

"What what is about, Neville? Am I pissed that Daphne and Tracey aren't here? You're damn right I am!" Harry snapped, shoving Neville back a step. "She flinched from me – they both did. Tracey I could understand, but Daphne? Now they've abandoned me!"

Neville remained where he was, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "So Daphne disappears for a week and suddenly you're willing to risk your mind? Harry, you could have killed yourself!"

"Maybe I'm just tired of it all – have you thought about that? I know how most people have seen me since the Troll, Neville. I know what they're saying now – they're not exactly being subtle about it."

Harry shoved his way past his best friend and pulled his cloak around himself a little tighter as the breeze threatened to blow it open. Away from the shelter of the bare tree, the wind was stronger and far more biting – and he had to walk to the far side of the Quidditch Pitch before he could get some shelter.

The sound of Neville's hurried steps as he raced to catch up was the only thing he could hear above the wind, and he winced as a gust blew directly into his face, making the corners of his eyes water.

The two continued in silence – Harry wasn't truly angry at Neville, he wasn't even sure such a thing was actually possible, and he knew Neville wasn't angry with him.

"I can hear you at night, you know." Neville said as the Quidditch Pitch came into view. The wind was a little less biting, and the gravel path crunched beneath their boots.

"What?" Harry frowned, snapping his eyes to Neville.

"Your nightmares – you call out in your sleep before you wake up."

"You can hear me?" Harry blinked, shocked. He had assumed, wrongly, that the walls were thick enough that his secret would remain just that – a secret.

"Every night of the year so far." Neville replied without looking at him – the boy just continued to stare directly ahead, the muscles in his jaw twitching steadily.

"It's nothing." He muttered, returning his eyes to the path ahead. "I'm fine."

"It's not nothing." Neville groaned, wiping his hands down his face. "It's okay to not be fine, Harry – Merlin, you've been through more than most in only a year. I'd be going insane in your shoes!"

"Drop it, Neville."

"No."

"What?" He snapped, scowling at the boy. "What is so difficult about respecting my privacy?"

"Because I bloody well care about you, you idiot – would you pull your head out of your arse for just a minute?" Neville demanded, grabbing Harry's arm, and stopping in the middle of the path. "You're as good as my brother – if I see or hear something bothering you, you know I'm going to try and fix it if I can."

"And what if it can't be fixed? What then?" Harry snapped, yanking his arm from Neville's grip. "Not everything can be fixed – we know that better than most."

Neville blinked and almost stumbled back at step at the tone of his words – it had come out harsher than he'd meant it to, but his words were true. They did know better than most. Neville's parents were mad from torture, and his own parents were dead, buried in the dark crypt of Arpton Keep.

"Then I'll be there to help you with whatever it is – I'm your man, from this day until the end of my days. You're my friend, and you're my brother. You're the family that I chose – Daphne too. You don't have to deal with everything on your own, you pig-headed shit."

Harry couldn't help the snort that escaped him. "I'm the pig-headed one?"

"You are if I say you are." Neville shrugged, smirking. "It's my right as the eldest of the two of us."

"It's a day – it barely counts." Harry sighed, rolling his eyes.

"But it counts, nonetheless. Now, tell your big brother what's keeping you up at night." Neville grinned, wrapping an arm around Harry's neck playfully.

Harry sighed before ducking out of the grip, though not without first rolling his eyes. "Voldemort." He said, finally.

Neville stopped dead, the smile leaving his face instantly. "What about him?"

He turned to face him and had to fight the urge to tug and pull at his hair in his frustration. "I told you about the conversation Dumbledore and I had after the whole thing at the end of last year, right?" Neville nodded. "Voldemort's going to keep coming for me, he thinks. He might not – he thinks I'm the only one Voldemort fears – but there's still every chance."

Neville stepped up to him silently and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Harry-" Neville began, and Harry glanced at him. Neville's eyes were shiny, and so, so sad – he didn't think he'd ever seen Neville so melancholy before. Looking at him, with only the two of them on the path – it nearly broke the last of his strength. The corners of his eyes stung in a way which had nothing to do with the wind – he sniffed and felt his chest lurch.

He lunged at Neville and threw his arms around the boy, shaking into his shoulder as he suppressed the tears that threatened to escape. "I'm so scared – I don't want to die." He murmured, squeezing his best friend.

"You won't die." Neville whispered into his hair as he squeezed him tightly. "Wherever you go, I go. If he turns up, he'll have to deal with the both of us – I don't think he'll be able to manage that."

Harry shuddered a laugh and stepped back – his breath was shaky, and his eyes felt moist, but he hadn't turned into a mess.

"So you dream about him coming after you? Is that what I hear you calling out about?" Neville asked, his brow creasing a little.

Harry shook his head slowly and chewed on his lips. "No – I'm back in the chamber with him. Sometimes he kills me, other times I'm crushed by the ceiling."

"Harry – why haven't you said anything about this before?"

"Didn't want to bother any of you with it – it's my problem, not yours." He shrugged as he glanced at the building ahead of them. It looked so strange in comparison to the rest of the school.

"That's a load of shit, and you know it." Neville sighed before throwing his arm around Harry's shoulder. "You're the biggest pain in my arse, you know that?"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Should I remind you that the whole reason we ended up down that trapdoor was your fault?" Harry cocked a brow at the boy next to him, and the corner of his lip twitched upwards.

Neville at least had the decency to look pained at the memory of it all. "Aye, I remember – I got thrown across a chamber, remember?"

"Oh I remember – I had to bring the ceiling down on that thing."

"You make it sound like such a chore." Neville sighed, shaking his head slowly. "Come on, lets see what all the fuss is about – how much are you betting Hermione flays us for being late?"

"That's a sucker's bet, and you know it." Harry snorted as they arrived at the large double doors. Neville pulled his arm from around Harry's shoulders and pushed the door open with a shove.

The interior was spacious and open, and all around were long, thin wooden platforms – duelling platforms – that filled the spaces between the groups of students. Having stepped through the threshold, the room was a comfortable temperature, and so the two of them quickly shrugged their cloaks over their heads.

With a quiet pop, a House Elf appeared before them – its arms were outstretched as it gestured to their cloaks in their hands. Harry shrugged at Neville and gently lowered the cloak into the creature's arms, Neville following shortly after. The soft pop of it leaving without a single word had his thoughts momentarily drift to Lispy – how was she doing? He hadn't gotten a chance to spend much time with her over the Summer, and loathe as he was to admit it, he missed the way she would fuss over him.

With his cloak removed, he felt lighter. The two of them had left Madame Pomfrey's lecture that afternoon and hurried back to Gryffindor to change out of their uniform. Glancing around the room, it seemed a number of other students had shared their desire to be in something comfortable.

Harry was clad in his usual boots, breeches, and a loose, comfortable grey tunic, while Neville was dressed in boots, breeches and a fine doublet that was cinched by the belt that had become a constant addition since the wedding.

He blinked and glanced around the room – the whispers were a low rumble that echoed in the high, vaulted ceiling. It seemed most had come to the same conclusion – they were going to be learning how to duel. No doubt it had been the idea of the staff to introduce some sort of basic self-defence for everyone until Penelope was healed and the identity of her attacker was revealed.

He reached out his arm and tapped Neville on the shoulder with the back of his hand before pointing to the far side of the room. There, amongst the crowd, was a familiar bushy head of hair. The two set off immediately, weaving between the crowds until they were beside her.

"Harry! Neville! You're just in time – is everything alright?" Hermione gasped, looking between the two of them wide-eyed. She, like most of the others in the room, had removed her cloak. Why she hadn't gotten changed into something other than the shirt and jumper that she usually wore as part of her uniform, he didn't know.

"As good as can be, I suppose." Harry shrugged, clasping his hands at the small of his back as he stood next to her.

"You just missed Daphne and Tracey." Hermione murmured, wincing as she caught his brief grimace. "They'll come around, Harry – they just need time."

"I know – doesn't make it any easier, though."

"The most worthwhile things in life are rarely easy." She shrugged in reply.

"When did you get so wise? Are you hiding a long white beard somewhere?"

Hermione scoffed and swatted at his arm. "I'll have you know that one doesn't require a beard to be wise." She sniffed.

Before he could respond, something brushed against his magic and he grinned as his head snapped up toward the main platform. He caught sight of Professor Lockhart, who was pacing the length of the platform with a thin cloak hanging over his left shoulder.

"Gather round, gather round!" He called, smiling as all the students began to congregate around him. Harry noticed a lot of the girls were far more enthusiastic than the boys. "Can everybody see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent." Lockhart grinned, spinning on his heel and placing his hand on his hip.

Harry had followed the crowd, and a surprisingly sedate Hermione, who had dragged him and Neville by the wrist toward the front, ducking under elbows and weaving around bodies.

"In light of the dark events of the past week, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you up, in case you ever need to defend yourselves!" Lockhart gestured behind him, and Harry grinned excitedly when he saw the familiar head of dark hair.

"As there are so many of you, across so many levels of education, Professor Dumbledore has reached out to a number of experienced wizards and witches in an effort to ensure you have the best education possible. Please, give a large round of applause for the men and women who have so graciously given up their time!" Lockhart called as over two dozen men and women joined him on the stage, though Harry only cared about two of them.

Sirius and Remus.

Sirius caught his eye and winked playfully at him – as usual, he was adorned in his armour – the Mithril gorget glinting in the soft light of the room. Remus grinned wolfishly at him, dressed in a similar armour, though the sigil of House Black was on his breast, rather than the gorget.

"Harry, you didn't tell me Sirius and Remus were getting in on this!" Neville whispered excitedly, positively vibrating on the spot.

"I didn't know!" Harry whispered back, clapping as enthusiastically as he could.

"Oh, just think of how much they could teach us!" Hermione gushed; her smile wide.

Lockhart was busy rattling off names of the volunteers and the professors that had joined him – such as McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, Cantrill, and a few others – but when he got to his godfather and uncle, Harry made sure to cheer the loudest.

Sirius was a well-known, powerful wizard who had fought in the last war against Voldemort. While he had nearly been sent to Azkaban, he had still brought more than a few feared wizards and witches down – something Harry had first-hand experience witnessing.

Remus, while calmer and far more subtle with his magic than Sirius, was equally as powerful – though his talents lay in helping others, rather than fighting. To learn something from either of them was a dream come true – he hadn't even been able to get them to duel him at Arpton!

"Now, we shall be splitting you all into groups based on your age." Lockhart began with a clap of his hands. "However, it has been suggested that you may all benefit from witnessing a duel first-hand – if you could all give a round of applause for my lovely assistant – Professor Snape!"

The room broke out into hushed whispers as the Potions professor remained where he was, while the other assistants, including Sirius and Remus, filed from the platform – though he did catch the two adults snickering to one another.

"He has sportingly agreed to help with this demonstration. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry – you'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him. Never fear" There was a snort from the far side of the room that sounded suspiciously like Sirius.

Harry watched as the two professors pulled their wands out and turned to face one another. Harry's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe – this was Christmas come early. Surely Lockhart, for all that he was an arrogant arse, could take him – after all, he'd faced far worse than Snape in his books.

The two professors stood nose to nose, their wands raised and pointed to the ceiling as the two bowed a little. Snape looked his usual dour self, and appeared as if he wished to be anywhere but on the platform – no doubt Lockhart would put him down, and Harry could remember it fondly the next time Snape threatened to destroy one of his potions.

The two wizards spun away and marched five paces away from one another as a magical shield shimmered into existence between the spectators and the fighters. The two took up their opening stances – Harry frowned a little at Lockhart's – he stood with most of his weight on his back foot, his front leg stretched before him in a wide stance, and his free hand on his waist.

Snape, on the other hand, looked like a viper ready to pounce – he was tightly coiled, and even through the dark, billowing robes, Harry could see the tension in his posture.

"One." Lockhart began, his eyes locked firmly on Snape at the far end of the platform. Harry grimaced.

"Two." Hermione gripped his wrist.

"Three!"

"Expelliarmus!" Snape bellowed, pouncing from his position. Harry watched with wide eyes as the spell shot from the tip of his wand toward the Defence professor. Lockhart looked panicked at the sight of the angry-looking mass of magical energy before he snapped a large shield up before him.

The impact of the spell was enough to knock Lockhart back a pace, and his shield wavered. Lockhart responded, however, with a series of offensive spells – most had the pronunciation slightly off, and as a result, they looked far less powerful than Snape's opening salvo.

Snape batted them aside lazily like they were mere insects, before returning fire with a number of silent spells. Harry was used to spells being cast silently – after all, that was how almost everyone fought at Arpton – his arse was still sore from Felix's lessons.

Lockhart managed to shield himself from the first two spells that impacted his shield, but the third blew it wide open and crashed into his chest. Harry winced as he watched Lockhart cartwheel through the air, only to bounce off of the shield around the platform and land in a heap upon the wood.

There was a collective groan from the students, and Harry watched a few coins be passed between students out of the corner of his eye. It seemed most of the school population had been hoping to see Snape on his arse rather than Lockhart.

The Slytherin's cheered for their Head of House, and the shield around the platform dissipated with a subtle shimmer.

"Do you think he's alright?" Hermione asked, covering her mouth with her free hand.

"Who cares? The castle will be talking about this for months." Neville snickered, causing Harry to grin.

He watched as Lockhart pushed himself to his feet slowly, groaning from the effort a little. "Good show Professor." He wheezed after a moment, briefly placing his hands on his knees, and coughing wetly. "Though," Lockhart began. "if I'd have wanted to block that last one, it would have only been too easy."

"Perhaps, it would be prudent to teach the students how to effectively defend themselves from unfriendly spells first?" Snape drawled, his trademark sneer on his sallow face.

Harry's eyes darted between the two men, watching as they stared at one another for a moment, before Lockhart blinked. "An excellent suggestion, Professor – if everyone could split into groups, your instructors will be with you shortly."

The students all broke apart at that, the rumbling of excited voices and hurried steps echoed around the room. Hermione dragged Neville and him by their wrists over to students from their year – there were already a number of Gryffindors present – Ronald Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Lauren Calvert, Lavender Brown, and Parvati Patil.

Others joined them slowly, and he recognised most faces from their classes – all having introduced themselves at some point or another. He could see their wary expressions on their faces, and how there were a few nervous glances in his direction from members of all the houses.

A loud clap rang out behind him, and Harry turned on his heel and had to fight the urge to run to Sirius, who was grinning wickedly at the group.

"So, I understand I've got you lot." Sirius smiled, placing his hands behind his back as he looked them all over – Harry made sure to stand a little taller and square his shoulders proudly. "Well then, let's get to the platform, shall we? Longbottom, and – you, what's your name?"

Harry glanced to the student that Sirius was looking at – a Slytherin girl with straight, ash-blonde hair that reached just past her shoulders, and large, hazel eyes. She looked startled for a moment, before replying, "Eirene – Eirene Taylor, Heir Black – of Slytherin." She stammered, her fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of her jumper – the Muggle-born uniform looked rather large on her slim frame.

"Please – this will all be a lot easier if you all just call me Sirius – seriously." Sirius grinned, briefly looking at Harry and Neville when they groaned loudly. "Less groaning, more moving, Longbottom. Go on, on the platform."

Neville shuffled off with a shrug, and Harry moved with the other students to the side of the platform. He knew Neville could fight – Neville had gone so far as to show him a few spells he'd learned over the Summer from his Family Library and Augusta. Harry knew better than most, however, that there was a difference between fighting and duelling – still, his money was on Neville.

"Who do you think is going to win?" He whispered to Hermione – he smiled a little to himself at how she had remained glued to his side.

"I'm not sure – Neville is powerful, and he's likely had more practice than most over the Summer, but Eirene is one of the best in the year at Charms." Hermione sighed, glancing at him. "It's hard to say."

"Right, you lot – there's nothing overly complicated about diverting a spell or raising a rudimentary shield to protect yourself." Sirius called out, stepping onto the platform between Neville and Eirene, the latter of which was standing on the far side, where the Slytherins in their group had congregated.

Sirius had his wand in his hand as he looked around at all of the students. "Most defensive spells are beyond your current capabilities, but there is a spell that can be used to protect yourself long enough to get help. Keep your eyes on my wand and repeat after me – Custodi."

Harry repeated the pronunciation of the spell with the rest of the group, and watched the way Sirius moved his wand – it was subtle, quick, and within a heartbeat, there was a shimmering wall of silvery energy sprang to life a few inches from the tip of the wand.

"Now, the spell will only last for as long as you feed it magic – so use it sparingly. Most spells will smash through it, so find some cover, and then find someone that can help you. As with most magic, the best way to learn is through experience – so you'll be taking turns to duel. Longbottom, Taylor, salute one another."

Harry watched as Neville snapped his wand up and bowed a little, with Eirene following shortly after. He saw Neville's mouth move, but not what he said – though the confident smirk on his face as he turned around and paced toward his end of the platform.

Both took up their opening stances – Neville's was a slightly wider profile than what Harry would have gone with, while Eirene was completely side-on.

"On my mark, you may begin. You are to disarm only." Sirius called, flicking his wand at the platform as he stepped off of it; the silvery shield snapping into place. "Begin!"

There was a bright flash of light, and suddenly Neville was flying through the air, spinning in a whirlwind of limbs before slamming into the platform and bouncing once. There was a stunned silence before the barking laughter of Sirius shattered it. Harry glanced at Sirius, who was doubled over, his hands on his knees as his laughter wheezed from him.

Neville, in comparison, hadn't moved. He'd landed near Harry, so his own wheezed groans were enough to settle his concern – no doubt Neville had brought it on himself with whatever it was he'd said to Eirene. On the far end of the platform, the Slytherin's cheered the victor as the shield dropped.

"Come on Neville – up you get." Sirius chuckled, hauling the boy to his feet. Neville groaned and accepted the help, swaying a little on the spot, a dazed look on his face.

"How can someone so little hit so bloody hard?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh, and for the first time in a long time, it felt real. It felt carefree and easy. Most importantly, it felt good. Hermione glanced at him and grinned, her nose crinkling a little as she did so.

"Okay!" Sirius called, the amusement on his face still quite clear as Neville moved to the side and sat down against the wall. Eirene it seemed, had been welcomed as a conquering hero among her classmates. "For laughing – you're up next, Harry."

Harry groaned as Hermione let go of his wrist, though not before giving him a small smile and one final squeeze. Harry shuffled through the crowd and took the steps up the platform two-at-a-time before flicking his wand into his hand.

He glanced down at it – the eleven inches of Blackthorn was such a contrast against the Vinewood handle, that looked almost like bone against the dark wood. He could feel Clara's tailfeather thrumming in his palm excitedly, eager to cast magic for him.

"You – what's your name, lad?"

"Finnegan – Seamus Finnegan – sir – Lord- Sirius, I mean." Seamus stammered, staring up wide-eyed and glancing nervously between himself and Sirius.

"Come on, up you get." Sirius nodded, gesturing to the platform. Seamus scrambled through the crowd and nearly tripped over himself on his way up the stairs as he shrugged his Gryffindor cloak off – he'd been one of the few Harry had seen that had kept their cloaks on.

Harry nodded at his Dorm-mate, a polite smile on his face – he was pleased to see Seamus nod back, though the wariness hadn't left his eyes. The two met in the middle of the platform, and raised their wands, bowing slightly at the waist.

Harry spun on his heel and paced five steps away before settling into the stance that Felix had shown him over the Summer. He kept his profile as small as possible and crouched slightly – his muscles tensed as he allowed his magic to seep into his limbs. His eyesight became sharper, and he faded the rest of the world out as he focused on Seamus opposite him.

Seamus had a penchant for fire, no matter the spell he used – there was a very real possibility of getting burned during the duel, and so, he made sure to concentrate – it could very well save him a stay under Madame Pomfrey's care.

"Begin!" Sirius called.

"Ignis Pila!" Seamus shouted, flicking his wand at him. Harry grimaced as a ball of fire the size of his head shot in his direction.

"Custodi!" Harry grunted, fuelling the spell with his magic – it had been a while since he had last had to defend against any kind of spell, and for a moment, he thought his spell was about to fail as the fireball impacted against it.

It was a strange sensation – he could feel the heat of the flame, but there was almost no physical force behind it.

"Immobulous!" He called, the sapphire bolt shooting across the platform with a thunderous crack. Harry watched as it sped toward Seamus – the other boy looking panicked before muttering his own attempt at the shield spell, only for the spell to punch through it and strike Seamus in the chest.

Seamus froze instantly, with only his eyes able to move. The shield around the platform dropped quickly afterwards, and Sirius hopped on the stage and uttered a quick Finite at Seamus before congratulating them both on their performance.

Harry was just about to turn to leave the platform when the drawling voice of Snape drew his attention, stopping him halfway to the steps.

"Black – one of my students wishes to challenge Potter. An Honour Duel in recompense for the events of the last weekend." Snape called; his arms folded across his chest – how the man could cope with such a ridiculously tight, long-sleeved tunic was beyond his comprehension.

"What did you just say?" Sirius growled, his head snapping in the direction of Snape – it was then that Harry caught the smug visage of Draco at his side, looking no worse for wear, as his grey eyes glared at him.

"An Honour Duel, Black – I would expect a man of your position to be well-versed in the practice and customs."

"I'm aware of what they are, Snape – though I question if it's at all needed in this situation." Sirius grunted as the students broke out into whispers amongst themselves. Once again, Harry found himself the centre of unwanted attention for the events of the last week and he cursed Snape under his breath. "From my understanding, your student insulted the late Lord and Lady Potter – he'd have suffered far worse if he'd said such things in front of me."

"Nevertheless, the challenge has been issued, and Potter is required to give an answer."

"He won't-" Sirius began, his wand twitching slightly in his right hand.

"I'll do it." Harry called, cutting Sirius off. His godfather spun on his heel and gripped his shoulder tightly.

"Harry, this isn't some school-yard fight if you take part in this – Houses will remember this until the day you die. Malfoy is beneath you – nobody would think less of you for declining."

"I know what it means, Sirius." Harry muttered in response, glancing at Malfoy briefly. "It's my own fault, really – I lost my temper. If I lose, I lose – but if I win, it might just help with all the whispers I've had to deal with all week."

"Harry-"

"I'm doing it, Sirius." Harry replied, looking Sirius in the eye. His dark eyes were full of worry, and for a moment, Harry considered backing out, if only to spare Sirius. "What are your terms?" Harry called, looking directly at Malfoy.

"To first blood, Potter. No other terms." Draco smirked, folding his arms over his chest.

"You can't be-" Sirius exclaimed, his voice echoing across the room as all eyes turned to their platform.

"I accept." Harry nodded, moving to the centre of the platform. Honour Duels were tricky things, depending on the terms set. Some could be lethal and to the death – others, were simply to a disarm, or to first blood. It was an old tradition, and not without consequences should he win or lose.

If Harry won, he would be expected to be humble in victory, as was expected of a scion of an Ancient and Most Noble House – but if he lost, it would tell the world that House Malfoy was better than House Potter. He couldn't allow that, would not allow that.

Malfoy hurried up the steps and shrugged his coat off – leaving it in a pile without a care in the world. The two of them stood nose-to-nose as Draco sneered at him, both of their wands raised to the ceiling.

"Scared, Potter?"

Harry simply bowed politely and spun on his heel and took up the same position he had been in when duelling Seamus. Harry felt his magic thrum with excitement, and he fed it greedily into his limbs.

Draco was a competent student, usually picking up spells and theory with the first quarter of their classes, and Harry thought him powerful enough in his own right. There was nothing that he would leave to chance.

"On my call, you are to duel until first blood." Sirius called – his voice strained to Harry's ears. The shield sprung into its shimmering existence. "Begin!"

"Everte Statum!" Draco called instantly, the mass of roiling silver magic screaming toward him.

Harry braced himself and snapped a quick Oblecto into life – a shield spell he'd learned from Felix that required no incantation – batting the spell into the shield that surrounded the platform. Distantly, he heard the startled noises of the students watching, but he ignored them.

"Diffindo!" Draco called, and Harry was forced to leap over the harsh lance of energy that had shot toward his throat. He'd channelled his magic through his limbs and had leapt over it quite easily, tucking his body into a roll at the top of his arc, and landing gracefully.

Harry snapped his wand up and levelled it at Draco, who appeared stunned at the feat Harry had just performed. A dozen violet sparks of energy burst from his wand and spread themselves in a large cone as they floated higher and higher. Draco tracked the energy warily, his wand raised and slowly waving back and forth, waiting for the first target.

They all shot toward Draco as one, however, tracking him silently as the boy began to back up in panic. Harry had to give the Malfoy heir credit, as he did at least manage to conjure a brief shield that absorbed all but four of the bolts – the ones that made it past the shield, striking Draco in the mouth and nose. The crack of Draco's nose shattering was followed by his pained cry.

"Serpensortia!" Draco called as he fell backwards, his wand flailing wildly. A Cobra flew through the air at Harry, hissing angrily as it landed in a coil on the floor, hissing at everything and nothing all at once.

Harry briefly noted the shields falling as Draco's bloody mouth and nose was revealed – the terms of the duel met, with Harry the victor. With the shields suddenly falling, many of the students scrambled away from the edge as the Cobra focused on them.

"Hungry – must feed!" The snake hissed, moving toward one of the Hufflepuff students – Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Stop!" Harry called, reaching out a hand. "Leave him! It's me that you were cast at."

"Speaker?" The snake demanded, halting immediately and quickly moving along the platform, only to halt a mere metre from him. Harry grimaced as the tongue of the snake darted out from between its fangs, its dark, beady eyes focused unnaturally on him. "This one speaks The Tongue."

"I didn't think you would understand me."

"All serpents hear the Speakers. All speak The Tongue."

"Will you attack me?" Harry asked, before motioning to those around him. "Or my friends? I would prefer that you didn't."

"Speaker has many friends." The snake hissed, inching closer. "This one will not harm a Speaker, nor their friends – Speaker is ally. Speaker is friend."

"I'm thankful, truly." Harry smiled, kneeling before the snake slowly and reaching out his hand. He had meant to simply run the back of his fingers down the gorgeous scales of the Cobra, however, quick as anything, the Cobra darted forward and coiled itself around his arm and around his shoulders – its head hovering close to his ear.

"Speaker is warm. This one is thankful to have met a Speaker." The snake hissed quietly, its voice almost purring as Harry reached out with his free hand and scratched it under the chin with a finger. "This one feels cold."

Harry was about to respond when it suddenly burned to ashes, startling him. Harry spun and caught Sirius pointing his and at him, his expression unreadable. He looked around, blinking at just how many faces were surrounding him – it appeared the whole school had watched the duel, each whispering amongst themselves.

He glanced over at Justin, the boy he had stopped the snake from feeding on. Harry blinked at the unnatural colours of the Hufflepuff's skin – there were deep reds, and even a hint of purple as he angrily glared up at him. "What do you think you're playing at? Think it was funny goading that thing into attacking me?"

"What? That's not-" Harry began, looking around wildly.

"Alright – that's enough for today! Everyone, back to your Common Rooms until your meal!" McGonagall called, already ushering the students from the room.

Harry looked pleadingly at Sirius, who simply nodded once and gestured to the far side of the room where they would at least have some measure of privacy. As he turned to move toward it, Harry caught sight of a Ravenclaw staring at him with a strange expression – Lilith Kullens, if he remembered correctly.

He knew little of her, outside of her name – the Kullens were an old Ancient and Most Noble House – and that she was constantly competing with Hermione for the top spot in Magical Languages.

He shook himself slightly and broke eye-contact – her dark eyes had a strange, hypnotic quality to them that was unsettling and reminded him briefly of his encounter with the mirror last year. He shuddered as he trudged over to the far side of the room, Neville and Hermione quickly appearing at his side.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, wrapping her arms around him quickly before pulling back to look him over. "Oh Harry, you worried me to death!"

"Draco couldn't have hurt me with Sirius there." Harry replied. "I learned a few things over the Summer too."

"I saw!" Hermione said, a worried look on her face. "When were you going to tell us that you're a Parselmouth?"

"I don't know – I only found out in Magical Menagerie just before we came back to school. With everything going on, I didn't really think about it that much." Harry sighed, collapsing on a bench along the wall. "I agreed to the duel to make the looks and whispers stop – now it's going to get worse."

"Anyone with a brain will see that you stopped the snake from attacking Justin." Neville scoffed, sitting down next to him and patting him on the back. "I wasn't expecting the snake to hop on you, though."

"It called me Speaker – I think that's what they refer to Parselmouths as. That's what they called me in the store too." He murmured, rubbing his eyes tiredly – he glanced to his left as the bench shifted, and saw Hermione looking at her hands in her lap. "What's wrong?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked quietly, her eyes fixated on her fingers that were worrying the hem of her skirt.

"I told him not to tell anyone." Sirius said as he arrived, Remus at his side. Harry glanced up at the two of them and raised his eyebrows a little – he hadn't been told anything even close to that. Sirius nodded at him once and placed his hands on his hips.

Harry glanced at Hermione and saw her perk up slightly, a small smile appearing on her face. "Oh – that makes sense, I suppose."

"Harry – I have to ask – what was the snake saying? It looked like you were goading it at the start." Sirius began, holding a hand up when Harry went to open his mouth. "I know you wouldn't do that, but that's what it sounded like at the start."

"I told it not to harm Justin, and to leave everyone alone – then, it said it was thankful to have met a Speaker. It said it was cold right before you got rid of it."

"Okay – we'll let the staff know. Merlin, we probably should have told them before the year started that you were a Parselmouth." Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't even get me started on that duel." He muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear it.

"If I hadn't agreed to it, he'd have kept coming in one way or another! Arcturus always said that it's better to have an enemy that you can see – not that Malfoy is an enemy, mind you."

"Professor Snape mentioned it was an Honour Duel? What's that?" Hermione asked, frowning as she looked between everyone.

Remus stepped forward slowly, his hands behind his back as he smiled lopsidedly. "It's a duel in which the honour of one or more Houses is on the line. Harry comes from the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter – Draco is the heir to the Noble House of Malfoy. There is a hierarchy in our world, Hermione, and if Draco had won that fight, it would be known to all that House Malfoy bested House Potter."

"Like that was ever going to happen." Neville snorted.

"What would it mean – if Draco had won?" Hermione asked, and Harry noticed her fingers fiddling with her skirt once again.

"Simply put, House Potter would lose much of its power and respect – many in the Wizengamot would listen to House Malfoy over House Potter. Business opportunities would pass House Potter by, and if it continued over many generations, there is a possibility that House Potter would collapse into ruin." Remus sighed, giving Harry a pointed look that he squirmed under.

"Like Neville said – Draco was never going to win that fight, not after Felix-"

"Harry, that's enough." Sirius cut in loudly, the tone of his voice making quite clear that it was his first and only warning. Harry groaned and leaned against the wall and wiped his hands down his face.

"Who's Felix? Is that who taught you those spells? Did he teach you Parseltongue too?" Hermione asked, whipping her head to look at him.

"That's not how Parseltongue works, Hermione – you're born with it, and it's rare at that – it doesn't even pass down through bloodlines." Neville answered, leaning around him as he placed his elbows on his knees. "It's completely random, as far as we know – there's never been a Potter that's been a Parselmouth."

"Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth, wasn't he – that's why Slytherin is a silver snake, even though it's the sigil of House Black, right?" Hermione asked, her eyes darting to Sirius and Remus – both nodded. "Are there any others?"

"A few Blacks, over the years." Sirius shrugged.

"Longbottoms too." Neville added.

"Hundreds over the last two-thousand years, which isn't many when you compare it to our population." Remus nodded. "The last one – the most notable one, at least – died in eighty-one, on Halloween, in Godric's Hollow."

"You-kn-… Voldemort?" Hermione breathed, trembling a little at the name. Harry reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"Aye – he was the last well-known one." Sirius nodded. "Parseltongue is simply another language – the only benefit it can give you, really, is the ability to cast spells in a language your opponent can't understand."

"It seems rather fascinating." Hermione murmured, glancing at him briefly. "What does it mean for Harry, now that the school knows?"

"Nothing much, I would think – we'll get the whole thing with the lad cleared up. After all, it was Malfoy that cast the spell, but you can never tell with kids." Sirius said – though Harry thought the smile he offered was rather weak at best. "In any case, the three of you had best get back to your Common Room – Minerva will tan my hide if I keep you any longer."

Harry nodded and got to his feet, and wrapped Sirius in a strong hug, quickly giving one to Remus also. He smiled at the two of them weakly, though he was sure it looked more like a grimace than anything, before offering his goodbyes and moving toward the door, where the little House Elf appeared with his cloak.


In the days following the first session of the duelling club, the whispers had done anything but calm down. Everywhere he went, the looks and the muttered conversations continued – to the point where even Ronald Weasley, one of his Dorm-mates, actively hid in his room when he was in the tower.

The weekend had gone about as well as he had expected, despite the recent snow – Neville and Hermione had kept him occupied at the least. Neville had organised a game of catch between the two of them with a Quaffle he kept in his room – Hermione had opted out, choosing instead to perch herself on a nearby rock and read, while the two of them tossed a ball between them and talked about everything and anything.

That wasn't to say that Hermione hadn't chimed in on parts of the conversation – indeed, she had offered opinions on a few things that he had never quite considered, such as the idea of the definition of a curse. Harry had grown up with the belief that a curse was an innately offensive spell, while Hermione had argued that in theory, any spell cast with the intent to cause harm could be classed as a curse.

The three had discussed it between themselves for well over an hour – Hermione, still with her nose buried in her book, while Neville and Harry tossed the Quaffle back and forth – with arguments for and against both definitions. It had been a refreshing experience, and he felt all the better for it.

How long had it been since he had a conversation that had stimulated him intellectually outside of his studies and his classes? Before arriving at Hogwarts, he could often be found spending his days in the Black Library at Blackwall, and occasionally in the Rosestone Library – which was just as large.

Over the years, he had read a number of tomes and volumes that offered insightful views on magic, which he would then speak on with Arcturus, Sirius, and Remus – some were rather dark and morbid takes on magic, from both libraries, something which had initially shocked him – and he would find himself getting a better understanding of it all.

Upon their arrival to Hogwarts, Harry had attempted to discuss some topics from their classes with those around him – be they in class, where discussion was encouraged, or in the Gryffindor Common Room. It hadn't taken him long to discover that not as many people were as studious or as interested in the deep conversations he was used to – only Neville, Daphne, Tracey, and later Hermione had seemed as excited in what they were learning.

Neville and he had talked about different things as well, of course – from the latest rumour about who had been caught with who in which broom closet, to the latest machinations of whichever heir was making within the various houses of Hogwarts.

There were a couple of things that baffled Harry, and by extension Neville. The concept of sneaking into a broom closet for a snog, as Hermione had called it when she had corrected them, was more than a little confusing. It sounded painfully uncomfortable, with the tight space and the cleaning supplies no doubt digging into the back of the mischievous couple – why not simply use the boy's dorms?

Every student had their own private room that branched off from a smaller common room, and the doors could be locked – not to mention that the girls could actually enter their rooms. Hermione had woken him and Neville up on more than one occasion – she'd actually scared him half to death the first time he'd woken up to her shaking him – he'd been half nude, for Merlin's sake!

And so, inevitably, Harry and Neville had devolved into a debate on the subject – Neville thought it rather pointless, while Harry had played the Sorcerer's Advocate.

He had simply pointed out that there was a privacy that potentially couldn't be achieved in the boy's dorms – which Neville had scoffed at.

While Harry considered that, ordinarily, they were probably a little young to be discussing such things – especially if Hermione's crimson face was anything to go by – the two of them had been raised around Sirius Black.

Harry had argued that the dorms weren't a completely private area. If his nightmares could be heard through the wall he shared with Neville, something that the other boy had only mentioned once and only to him – thankfully, Hermione still didn't know – then there was no doubt that other, far more amorous sounds would be able to filter through.

Neville had replied with a silencing spell – it was a tough spell, one which Harry had witnessed performed by Sirius and Arcturus over the years, and was taught at fifth year, according to what he'd gathered from the OWL students. Harry had countered with the possibility of not being a fifth year, or perhaps not having mastered the spell.

Hermione had cut them off, calling them both uncouth for discussing people's relations so publicly – Neville had really put his foot in it when he'd asked Hermione which she would prefer. The barrage of snowballs that she had assaulted him with had been hilarious to witness.

The witch had pelted Neville into submission, and by the time she was through with him, his once dark cloak was now white – partly from the snowballs themselves, and partly because Neville had tripped over a small stone hidden among the snow and landed on his arse, where Hermione had continued to hit him.

After that, Hermione had turned to him – a fire in her eyes that he hadn't seen before – and he had simply held his hands up in surrender. The three of them had laughed about it all later on, though Hermione had reminded Neville that it was simply something one didn't ask a girl – it simply wasn't done.

The weekend had transitioned into the week, and classes had resumed. Magical Theory with Professor Reyne had transitioned into exploring the workings of defensive spells and various gifts. Unsurprisingly, Parseltongue had come up, and Harry had found himself the centre of attention once again.

He had fought the urge to sink into his seat, or to hide under his desk, and no doubt if it hadn't been for the stalwart presence of both Hermione and Neville, he would have done exactly that. Through a series of simple, easy to answer questions, Professor Reyne walked him, and the rest of the class, through one of the more well documented gifts in the Wizarding World.

He had answered what he could, even going so far as to repeat some of the conversation with the conjured snake – he ignored the heated glare from Justin from across the room. He hadn't had any interaction with the Hufflepuff, though he knew he was on friendly terms with Susan and was a Muggle-born, but outside of that, he knew very little else.

Indeed, Hufflepuff, at least the ones in his year, had gone out of their way to seemingly shield Justin from Harry since the fiasco with Draco's spell. It was all rather pointless and petty – at least Susan didn't seem to be one of them.

After lunch on Monday, he had been pulled to the side by Professor Dots – the man had been fascinated by his reveal of being a Parselmouth, but had lamented at the lack of being able to teach him anything on the subject – Harry found himself repeating the same information he'd shared with Professor Reyne only an hour before. Professor Dots had, in turn, shared with him that instruction in Parseltongue's benefits and control were steeped in secretive oral tradition, passed down, directly, from one Parselmouth to another.

Following the discovery of his gift at the end of the summer holiday, Arcturus had taken Harry to one side and discussed the possibility of hiring a tutor. He relayed that information to the Professor but had to admit that he didn't know the progress behind the search.

The professor had simply nodded and mentioned that he would be delighted to learn anything Harry would be willing to pass on to him – if only to learn about such a remarkable language. Harry liked the professor – he was warm, friendly, and engaging in all of their classes, and so, had agreed to tell him what he could, when he could. It was a refreshing change of pace from everyone looking at him strangely.

Potions had been exactly as he had expected it to be – uncomfortable, and full of subtle, snide comments. Snape was a clever man, there was no doubting that, and had a way of saying things that could be taken in any number of ways, while still obviously being an insult – though if you called him on it, it was still ambiguous enough to give him an out. In another life, Snape would have been a terrifying politician in the Wizengamot – it was a shame that he was simply content to be an utter bastard to students.

Monday had transitioned into Tuesday after his scheduled detention, and so it was that Harry found himself sat across from Hermione and Neville in a Transfiguration after-class study group, supervised by Professor McGonagall herself.

The woman, who appeared to have Harry in a very special place in her heart – he had even caught her smiling at him once – sat at her desk, alternating between marking essays and watching the room like a hawk.

Harry stared at the parchment in front of him – he had written a little over twenty inches on the various intricacies and practical applications of the Transfiguration Alphabet, and how it affected the Transformation Formula in regards to softening a surface with the Spongify spell they were currently studying in class. It was an assignment that had been handed out a week ago, and still had another week before it was due, but Harry wanted to get the final version of it done sooner, rather than later.

Across from him, Hermione and Neville worked on their own essays, though Hermione's was considerably longer by comparison – neater too. Harry glanced at his chicken-scratch and grimaced.

He leaned back and rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension that had built there over the hour he'd spent hunched over the parchment. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced over his shoulder – everyone was supposed to be working in silence, but the occasional quiet whisper could be heard.

He caught sight of a small group of girls staring at him eerily – all members of Ravenclaw from the blue on their uniforms. They ducked their heads as he looked at them. He turned back to the table and caught Neville and Hermione's eye as he sighed.

Hermione pursed her lips and smiled sadly, while Neville just shrugged his shoulders. Harry grimaced as his magic flared a little as Ginny Weasley walked through the door – the usual small black book that was always within arms reach of her clutched to her chest tightly. He shrugged it off – he was already exhausted from the nightmares and the stress of having the school think him some sort of freak. There was no need to worry himself over strange little girls.

There was more whispering coming from the Hufflepuff table in the far corner of the room, and Harry turned to look at them – all were looking in his direction. Most notable among them all were Hannah Abbott – a tall, blonde girl that was the daughter of Lord Thomas Abbott – and Ernie Macmillan.

He'd had enough of it and stood up from the bench. "I've had enough – I'll see you in the Common Room." He muttered as Hermione and Neville blinked up at him owlishly. He picked his satchel up and neatly rolled the parchment up and slid it inside, only to startle when Hermione and Neville moved to join him.

Blinking, he asked. "What are you two doing?"

"Coming with you, obviously." Hermione smiled, quickly throwing her books into her bag.

"Keep up, Potter." Neville winked, stepping over the bench and throwing his satchel over his shoulder.

Harry turned to glance and McGonagall, who gave him a nod and a small, but warm smile. He stepped over the bench, and with Hermione and Neville at his side, the three of them left the room together.

They moved through the corridors quickly – it wouldn't be long until curfew, and the meal he'd enjoyed in the Hall earlier had settled into his stomach and he had to stop himself from openly yawning a number of times in the short walk.

As they were passing one of the T-junctions of the castle, something on the floor caught his eye. Usually, the castle was spotless – thanks in part to the many enchantments and the diligent work of the House Elves. It was dark, shiny, and about the size of his hand, from fingertip to wrist.

He stopped and picked it up – it was rougher than he'd expected but had no idea what it could possibly be. He thought he saw something drip from it, and when he glanced down to check, there was a small speck of blood on the flagstone between his boots.

Neville and Hermione, who had both stopped just a step or two after him, looked at him curiously – Neville was frowning, while Hermione had her head tilted to the side a fraction as she eyed the object in his hand. "What's that?" She asked.

"I don't know – I just found it here. It looks like there's blood on it though." He replied, pointing to the next little drop that had formed.

"Bit odd don't you-" Neville began, stepping up next to him, only for his eyes to widen as he looked down the corridor. "Merlin!" Neville gasped, rushing past him as he dropped his bag.

Harry turned to look at what had caught Neville's attention, only for his own eyes to widen as he tore off after him. He skidded to a stop and dropped to a knee at the side of the student that stared unblinkingly up at the vaulted ceiling of the corridor.

The soft patter of shoes behind him had him on his feet in an instant. Without hesitating, he swept Hermione into his arms and held her head into his shoulder as he turned her away from the boy. There was no need for Hermione to see what he'd first witnessed all those years ago on that road surrounded by trees.

He wouldn't let Hermione look at Justin Finch-Fletchley – Harry had recognised his face in an instant, even as Neville swore to himself and ran his hands through his hair. The look of terror on the prone Hufflepuff's pale face – his eyes wide and mouth open.

Harry Potter knew a corpse when he saw one.