As Harry stepped into the Hospital Wing, he couldn't help but grimace at the familiar smell of antiseptic and the tang of untold potions. It was bright, early morning, and most of the students and faculty were busy in the Great Hall, wolfing down what food they could before heading off to their first lessons.

He'd made an effort to get up before the rest of the students. He'd gone down to the Great Hall alone for the first time in, well, ever, with a hastily written note to Hermione and Neville to look after Astoria while he wasn't there – he had some business to take care of.

The Hall had been empty, save for two dozen staff and the three students that had crawled out of bed around the same time he had – all three were in the upper years of the school, and already had their noses buried in books as they spooned warm porridge into their mouths.

He'd paused only long enough to shovel two pieces of toast, with a thin helping of strawberry jam before hurrying over to Professor McGonagall, who'd been watching him from her seat next to Dumbledore's throne with, what he could only assume, fond exasperation.

It had taken him only a few seconds to hurry up the steps to her seat and ask for his timetable – which had been handed to him with a certain look that he couldn't quite decipher, even now. It had been somewhere between chiding and bemused,

He'd bowed politely and hurried from the room after that, rushing through the halls that were slowly beginning to fill up, toward the Hospital Wing, and, before he knew it, he was there – a little winded from his rush, but there, nonetheless.

Andromeda turned and regarded him with a fond smile, and he wasted no time at all in rushing to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and giving her a loving squeeze, just as she wrapped her arms around him. Her laugh echoed in the vaulted ceiling, and she leaned back, her hands gently cupping either side of his face as she swept her gaze over him.

"You're up and about earlier than usual." She said, one eyebrow curving elegantly. "You're not up to some mischief, are you?"

"What gave you that idea?" He grinned, impishly. "Remus told me you were working here now." He said, dropping his hands to his sides.

"Did he now? Well, I'd better not see you in here very often, is that understood?" She hummed, pursing her lips as she looked at him.

He grimaced, shifting on his feet. "Yes, Andromeda." He muttered, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks.

She tapped him on the end of his nose, causing him to scrunch it up on reflex. "Good." She smiled, slipping her arm around his shoulders as she guided him off to the side to a pair of chairs, intended for visitors, no doubt. "Now, why don't you tell me what classes you have today, hm?"

He fumbled with the folded parchment in his hand as he sat down, his right leg bobbing up and down. "I have Care of Familiars first thing with Hagrid… Oh, I have double Defence right after – do you think I've got Moony?"

Andromeda chuckled as she stroked the back of his head, her fingers combing through his loose locks. "Possibly – I wouldn't be at all surprised."

Harry groaned, his eyes falling to the two classes in the afternoon. "I have History and then Potions – oh, Gods, I have Astronomy tonight as well!"

"You certainly have a full day, that's for sure." Andromeda chuckled, folding her legs as she sat back in the chair. "You make sure you get a good night's sleep after Astronomy – I know how grumpy you can be in a morning."

"Not as grumpy as Dora." He huffed, folding the parchment, and slipping it into an inside pocket in his coat.

"No, there's none quite so grumpy as Nymphadora in the morning." Andromeda hummed, smirking as her eyes took on a distant look. "You should've heard her as a baby – always crying when she woke up; it's a wonder Ted and I ever got some sleep."

Harry grinned as Andromeda bumped her shoulder into his, though his amusement faded into curiosity when another witch, with long, blonde hair that was pulled over one shoulder, a heart-shaped face with a mischievous, lopsided smile, walked down the centre-aisle between the beds, a clipboard and quill in hand.

She paused as she caught sight of the two of them – she flashed her teeth in a friendly smile as she walked over to them. Up close, he noticed her eyes were almond-shaped, and a curious mix of green and blue, framed by dark eyelashes. "Healer Tonks – I wasn't expecting you in so early; and who might this young man be?" She asked, curiously.

"Healer Dew, meet my nephew, Harry Potter." Andromeda said, inclining her head. Harry rushed to his feet and swallowed nervously, bow slightly at the waist.

"My, such a gentleman!" Healer Dew chuckled, placing her free hand over her heart, and sharing a conspiratorial wink with Andromeda behind him. "To think that Sirius Black had any hand in raising him…"

"You know Sirius?" He asked, dumbly, with wide eyes.

"Oh, heavens, no!" Healer Dew tittered, her hand moving to cover her mouth. "Though, his reputation is known even to the likes of me."

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Andromeda, who nodded her head slightly. "That makes sense." He shrugged. "So, you work here as well?"

"Oh yes – there's four of us now, your aunt, Madame Pomfrey, of course, then there's me, and one more; Healer Worner, who will be on shift this afternoon."

"That's… more than I thought there would be." He muttered, his brow creasing slightly.

"Yes, well, after the number of incidents in the last few years, the Board of Governors thought it best to have a few of us available at all times." Andromeda hummed, pinning him with a look. He cringed and ducked his head before he could stop himself. "Speaking of, I heard that you had an encounter with a Dementor last night – why didn't you come straight here?"

"Oh my, a Dementor? I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree with Healer Tonks – you should've been with the rest of the poor souls that were brought straight here." Healer Dew sighed, placing her clipboard on the seat he'd vacated and whipping out her wand.

Harry's eyes traced the movements she made – they were tight, and efficient, and only a heartbeat later, warm, orange mist swirled around him, dipping in and out of his skin at irregular intervals, leaving a strange, tingling sensation in its wake.

The magic continued to swirl, even as Andromeda moved to stand next to her colleague – Harry narrowed his eyes at the woman, though she paid it no mind. He fidgeted on the spot, biting back the urge to tell the two women that Remus hadn't said anything about him going to the Hospital Ward, and resisted the urge to heave a put-upon sigh. He felt completely fine – his limbs had felt a little sluggish as they got into the carriages last night, but after that, everything had been perfectly normal.

"I don't see anything." Healer Dew sighed, swiping the tip of her wand through the orange mist. "In the future, you make sure to come here if anything like that should happen again, okay?"

Harry nodded, his hands flexing open and closed at his sides before he clasped them at the small of his back. He glanced between the two Healers and nibbled his bottom lip. "How are the others doing?"

"They'll all be set to leave in an hour or two." Andromeda smiled, kindly. "It was a brave thing you did, Harry."

He shrugged. "I didn't do much."

"I'll get back to it and leave the two of you to the rest of your talk." Healer Dew smiled, quickly picking her clipboard and quill back up and stepping back. "It was lovely to meet you, Harry, though I do hope we don't see one another too often."

"It was nice to meet you too." He smiled, bowing slightly again. She offered a short wave before hurrying further into the Wing, where he could distantly hear the quiet murmur of voices – he glanced at Andromeda, who was looking at him with a smirk, her hazel eyes dancing in the early morning light. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." Andromeda hummed, hooking her arm through his left and guiding him back toward the main aisle – further in, he could see Healer Dew at the foot of someone's bed, and the partitions that separated the students from one another. It was all a lot more organised than he was used to seeing. "So, what brings you here so early, other than my company?"

"I came to check on someone." He muttered, rolling his eyes as she pinned him with a look. "There's a Lovegood in here."

"Ah, Luna – delightful girl." Andromeda nodded, coming to a stop. "She's perfectly fine. Third bed on the right over there; I believe she already has one visitor this morning, but I don't see the harm in letting you make sure she's alright."

"Thanks." He breathed, wrapping his arms around Andromeda once again. The woman gave him one last squeeze before making a shooing motion with both of her hands. He nodded and hurried to the bed, clearing his throat at the partition, just in case. "Excuse me? Luna Lovegood?"

"It's okay, I'm decent." Came the airy, almost dream-like response. He pushed open the partition and stepped through – Luna was much the same as the previous year; a slight girl with pale skin and dirty-blonde hair that was splayed around her on the pillow like a halo. Her pale-silver eyes looked at him, and for a moment, he had to resist the urge to shiver beneath her gaze.

He tore his eyes away from Luna and inclined his head politely to the boy at her bedside – a Ravenclaw, dressed in the Muggle-born uniform and cloak with shoulder-length, straight black hair; his skin had a healthy tan, and his dark brown eyes were almost black.

"Hello, Harry." Luna smiled, dreamily. "I was wondering when you would appear – did you have trouble with the Nargles again?"

"Nargles?" He blinked, quickly glancing at the boy at her side. "Uh, I don't think so?"

"That's good." She sighed, pulling the quilt up to her chin, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Harry looked at the boy and offered his hand. "Sorry – I'm Harry Potter."

"Arlo Reyes." The boy replied with a thick American accent. "Second year with Luna." Arlo added, hooking a thumb at the girl in question.

"Were you exposed to the Dementor too?"

Arlo shook his head and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "Nah – I'd gone to the bathroom. When I came back, the Auror had already run it off and was bringing this one back around."

Harry's eyes found Luna again, and he smiled to himself – Luna had her eyes open once again, and was looking mischievously between the two of them, her pale-silver eyes were almost glowing as the sunlight hit them, and her white teeth flashed as she settled her gaze upon him. "You seem to be better."

"Better is a matter of perception." Luna answered airily. "I'd feel truly better if I could go and apologise to the Thestrals – they get awfully lonely, you see, out in the forest."

"You see them too?" Harry blinked, his eyes flickering to Arlo briefly, who just looked confused.

"Since I was young – there's a herd of them at Uncle Phon's castle. He lets me feed them."

"I'm sorry." He muttered, swallowing.

"Oh, it's really very alright." She answered with a smile. "He's really very worried about you, you know."

"Who?"

"Uncle Phon." Luna replied, shifting in the bed until she was sat up against her pillows; her hair fell in thick tresses down over her shoulders, and she linked her fingers together in her lap. "He says you almost gave him a heart attack this year, but he's not really very upset about it – I'm not sure why; I'd be quite annoyed if my heart attacked me."

He winced and shifted on the spot, ignoring the quiet snickering of Arlo. "Could you tell him I'm sorry? If you see him before I get chance to, I mean."

"Of course." Luna smiled, blinking slowly, and inclining her head. "You're Lord Potter, after all. An important person."

"Could you just call me Harry?"

Luna blinked and tipped her head to the side. "Are you not Lord Potter? If not, it's a very good disguise."

"No, I am, it's just-" He sighed and ran his hand down his face tiredly.

"A Lord?" Arlo hummed, arching a dark eyebrow. "Isn't it a bit old fashioned?"

"A bit." Harry mumbled with a blush. "Look – here, I'm Harry; just Harry."

"Very well, Just Harry." Luna smiled, her eyes focusing on him with a strange intensity for a moment. "Your magic quite likes mine."

He blinked, and immediately felt his magic stirring beneath his skin. It ebbed and flowed with a strangeness that disconcerted him – he couldn't quite tell what was different, but the familiar feeling of it railing against his fierce control was… absent. "I hadn't even noticed." He muttered, flexing his hands as he stared at them. It… tickled.

"Most people don't." Luna answered, tipping her head to the side again. "Most people are content to ignore the things they don't notice."

"She… does this." Arlo shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry."

"No, there's no need to apologise." He muttered, shaking himself physically. He cleared his throat, and ignored the tingling feeling running down his spine. "Well, seeing as you're obviously alright, would the two of you like to join my friends and I for lunch?"

Arlo glanced at Luna, who nodded enthusiastically and clapped her hands. "I guess that settles it." The boy grinned, nodding at Harry. "We'll see you at lunch."

"Brilliant – I'll leave you two to it then. I'll see you both later." He smiled, ducking out of the partition. He shook himself again as the feeling of Luna's magic danced along his spine – her magic was interesting; wild and free, but soothing and gentle at the same time. It was a strange paradox that, he thought, oddly suited the Ravenclaw girl.

He began making his way from the Hospital Wing and was just about to slip through the large doors when they opened and revealed Susan with a boy he recognised vaguely from the Wizengamot sessions. He was of Asian descent, with short, thick, messy black hair on the top of his head, and equally dark eyes. The boy was tall – almost the same size as Neville, and had a lean figure, even with his uniform on.

"Oh, Harry!" Susan gasped, holding a hand to her chest as she tucked her hair behind an ear. "You scared me."

"Sorry." He apologised. He looked at the boy. "I'm Harry."

"Bushijima, Isao." The boy smiled politely, bowing at the waist. "Please, call me Isao – I understand our names can be a little confusing."

Harry blinked, and returned the bow. "I'll call you by whatever you ask me to." He replied, straightening himself. "Are you a friend of Susan's?"

"I have that honour, yes. You're her… cousin, correct? By marriage?" Isao frowned, tilting his head slightly, though the smile remained.

"Kind of – it's a little complicated." Susan grinned, nudging Harry's elbow with her own. He returned the grin with one of his own.

"I see – I've seen you at the Wizengamot. My father speaks of your Lord Black very highly."

"Bushijima… Your father is Lord Bushijima, correct?"

Isao nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Yes – we came from Japan. It took some time to get used to, but your country is fascinating, and the people wonderful."

"Thank you." Harry said, glancing at Susan. "Sorry, I'm sure you're here to check on your friends – I'll let the two of you get to it. I'm sure Hannah's looking forward to seeing you."

The two of them nodded, and Harry smiled at the two of them as he stepped around them and headed through the door, the dull thud of it closing behind him echoing down the long corridor. He cast a quick Tempus and frowned at the time – if he didn't get a move on, he was going to be late for his first class.


Unlike the night before, the weather for their first day was bright, sunny, and warm enough that most of their class had shed their stuffy coats and heavy cloaks. Harry had been one of them, carefully draping the long, dragonhide coat over a nearby boulder.

Neville, like he, had also removed his coat, laying it over the top of his own, and offering a cheeky grin, and a pair of waggling eyebrows when Harry let out a huff of annoyance – if he got so much as a crumb of soil somewhere in his coat, he was going to murder the boy.

The girls, strangely, opted to keep their outerwear on. Daphne didn't seem the least bit bothered about the bulky, leather coat, while Tracey and Hermione looked as natural as ever – though, he thought, privately, that Hermione wore hers a little better.

His eyes had a habit of wandering towards his Gryffindor friend when she would fuss over Crookshanks, who seemed less than pleased to be out of the castle and away from the roaring fire of Gryffindor Tower, where Harry had caught him lounging on his way down to the Hall earlier.

There was an openness to Hermione when she fussed with Crookshanks that rarely showed itself – oh, he knew Hermione was always earnest in her dealings with him, and they'd never even had so much as a heated debate since the two of them had become friends, but there was something about her, in these quiet moments in class, where she just looked so… happy.

Perhaps happy wasn't quite the right word – there was a joy to her face that he'd only really ever seen when she was in her element in the Library; the last time he'd seen it had been when they'd been in Madame Pince's domain, researching the Founders before she'd been petrified.

He swallowed as the momentary memory of seeing her so incredibly still and pale, flashed before his eyes. His magic flared, and he clenched his fist quickly and grit his teeth. His chest tightened, and the muscles running up to his shoulder twitched uncomfortably.

Hagrid had set them all up at the edge of the forest for the day's lesson, now that the Acromantula's had been removed by the Ministry and Amelia. Beyond the far edge of the class, in a small clearing lit up by the warm rays of sunlight that peeked through the canopy, a fallen log exploded into splinters.

He blinked at the sudden noise and unclenched his fist and relaxed his body as the rest of the class gave startled yelps, and one girl shrieked – when he glanced over, he recognised the dark dreadlocks of Lisa Turpin as she dove behind Hagrid, her Diricawl Familiar hurrying after her, its pink and blue feathers fluttering at the sudden noise.

Hermione was at his side in a heartbeat, Crookshanks cradled to her chest as her eyes danced over his face – none of the class, except for his friends, seemed to have noticed it had been him. "What's wrong?" She asked, settling on the log beside him, bumping her shoulder into his. On his other side, Clara fluttered her wings and gave a soft trill.

"Oh, nothing." He shrugged, shaking his head at the looks from the other three. "I'm fine – just had a memory catch me by surprise, is all."

"Are you sure?" Hermione hummed, her fingers scratching Crookshanks behind the ears absently – the Kneazle purring in pleasure.

"Yeah, I just need a minute." Harry sighed, pressing his lips tightly together. His eyes dropped to the Kneazle. "What's it like actually having a Familiar, then?"

"Oh, it's wonderful!" She gushed, leaning back, and poking the mossy ground with the toe of her shoe. "I had no idea that it was like this for you, Clara, and Hedwig."

"It takes some getting used to." He nodded, picking at the bark between his legs idly as he squinted up at the canopy overhead. "It was the knowing where they were all the time that freaked me out to start with."

"Oh, really? I've found it quite useful, myself."

"Have you been on a hunt with him yet?" He asked, tossing the bark peeling to the ground between his boots. Hermione frowned, confused. "Dreamed you were hunting something – sometimes, you'll wake up and taste blood on your tongue, or something."

"Oh, I remember that from last year – I thought it was an exaggeration at the time, you know." She grinned, leaning into him slightly. He chuckled and rolled his eyes – of course she did. "I've only had that once – just after I bought him; he'd caught a mouse. It was horrible." She admitted with a shudder.

"It happens with Clara sometimes – my bond with her is stronger. She's highly magical, and-" He paused, letting the Phoenix hop into his lap, stroking her under the chin. "Far too clever for her own good."

"You're really close."

"She's the reason I'm here." He murmured as Clara rubbed her face against his cheek. Images of a cobbled road, with thick trees on either side flashed in his mind. A hooded figure on a log, men, and women in steel armour with crimson cloth – a woman, with dark hair and kind eyes, laying in the middle of the road, her remaining eye staring at him in shock as the rest of her skull lay strewn around her.

The feeling of someone grabbing him from behind, the cold steel pressed against his throat. The cry of the Phoenix as it forced its maturation; for him.

"It must've been awful, being down there – alone."

He blinked, and it was gone. He sucked in a shuddering breath and pressed his lips tightly together. "Yeah, it was something." He muttered, glancing at Hermione shyly. "Had to make sure you'd be alright, though."

Hermione blushed and ducked her head, running the back of a finger down Crookshanks' back, the low rumbling purr a reassuring sound in the ensuing, embarrassed, silence. He scowled to himself, focusing on the diligent task of running his own finger down the side of Clara's neck, purposefully ignoring the distant sounds of battle, of spells flying over his head, the screams of the wounded as they lay in the dirt.

He wasn't on that road – he was safe, at Hogwarts, sat on a fallen log, with his Phoenix in his lap, and Hermione sat next to him. He silently cursed himself; he hadn't meant to say what he had, but the words had just tumbled out of his mouth, and now, both of them were embarrassed.

"Hey, so-"

"I-"

He blushed again, looking away from Hermione, while she grinned – the pink in her cheeks making her look quite pretty. "Sorry," He said, clearing his throat. "You go first."

"I just wanted to say thanks." She said, nudging him with her elbow. "You know, for, well, everything."

"You don't have to keep-"

"It's not just about that." She said, hurriedly, inching a little closer and casting a surreptitious eye at the rest of the class, who, thankfully, were all busy with their own Familiars; Hagrid seemed quite focused on urging Lilith's black Jaguar down from its perch in the thick, upper branches of a nearby oak tree.

Harry frowned, confused.

"It's for, well – for being you." She mumbled, focusing her gaze on the Kneazle in her arms. "Ever since the bathroom… Well, you've been the best friend I could've asked for, so, I just wanted to say… thanks."

"Oh. Well, it was my pleasure." He replied, his voice just as soft. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Yeah, me too." She hummed, happily. "Oh, so why weren't you at breakfast? Astoria really missed you."

"I went to visit Luna Lovegood, in the Hospital – Andromeda is working there now; I think I mentioned it yesterday in the carriage from the station."

"Oh, I remember – how is she?"

"Good, I guess. Bumped into Susan down there too – she had a friend with her; a Japanese boy, Isao Bushijima. He seemed nice. Luna's friend Arlo seemed nice too. I invited Luna and her friend to have lunch with us."

"Luna's a… Vassal to your family, right?"

"Vassal, Bannerman, the terms are interchangeable, but yeah. Technically, her father should've been the Lord, but he passed it over to his younger brother."

"It's all incredibly confusing, and terribly medieval sometimes, you know."

Harry laughed, startling Clara and Hermione. "I suppose it is. It's not great by any stretch, but it's the society we have, I guess."

"Has nobody ever thought of bringing you into the modern world?" She asked, frowning in that way that he knew she was trying to work through a problem in her head.

"Once or twice – our world is…" He paused, pursing his lips as he searched for the right word. "Old."

"It just seems, I don't know, strange – like something out of one of my books. It's like every day there's something else that I don't know, and it's frustrating, because I have all of these questions, and-"

"You make more of an effort than some people do." Harry smiled. "My mother was Muggle-born; they say she was the smartest Witch of her year. I can't imagine how surprised and frustrated she must've been when she got her Hogwarts letter."

"I think I'd have liked your mum." Hermione sighed, leaning against him slightly – not much, but just enough that he could feel her hip and thigh against his own.

"I think she'd have liked you too." He answered, quietly.

"What makes you say that?"

He shrugged, the left corner of his mouth twitching upwards as he glanced at her. "I just know." He bumped her shoulder. "Besides, if I like you, she'd have to. I'd give her no choice in the matter." Harry sniffed, grinning as Hermione's cheeks flushed red.

"Shut up." She mumbled, though she continued to smile, as she nudged him back. "H-"

Whatever Hermione was about to say was cut off by the angry, shrill, chattering call of Merlin, Daphne's Merlin Hawk Familiar – usually, he was a rather quiet creature, content to observe the goings-on around him from a distance, ideally from the top of a nearby tree.

Harry's eyes darted to the source of the noise and widened considerably at the sight of the hawk diving toward Ron Weasley, who held his tufty-eared rat between his hands. Merlin collided with Ron in a flutter of powerful wings, the youngest of the Weasley boys was doubled over, his rat clutched to his chest as he cried out. Even from his spot next to Hermione, he could easily see how Merlin's talons had shredded his white shirt, though, thankfully, the bird of prey hadn't drawn any blood.

Daphne rushed over, quickly followed by Neville and Tracey, who tried to reign Merlin under control – it was unheard of, for a Familiar to lunge for another without provocation. Not even predator instincts were enough to get a Familiar to attack another; the only exception being when wizards and witches battled, and even then, Familiars were often left off of the battlefield.

Harry got to his feet, Clara swooping over and knocking Merlin out of the way when he evaded Daphne's hands and went for another attempt, the hawk backing off at the sight of the Phoenix; Clara's feathers shimmering with flames, and her onyx eyes as black as ever.

"Ron!" He called, jogging over to the boy. Seamus and Dean were huddled around him, concern etched into their faces. "Are you alright?"

"What's goin' on 'ere?" Hagrid rumbled, his eyes wide and skin pale against his dark, bushy hair. Merlin found himself a low branch in one of the nearby trees, Clara settling next to him; her sharp talons in easy striking distance.

"That bloody bird!" Ron yelled, rounding on Daphne, who blinked slowly, but otherwise remained impassive in the face of Ron's anger. "Where do you get off ordering that thing to attack me and Scabbers, eh?"

"I did no such thing, Weasley." Daphne sighed; a single brow raised as she placed her hands on her hips.

"Bollocks! Everyone knows Familiars don't attack other Familiars – it was in the first bloody lesson, you stupid snake!"

"Careful, Ron – don't say something stupid." Neville said, stepping between the two of them, his voice low and warning.

"Well," Daphne hummed, glancing at Tracey with a roll of her eyes. "Colour me surprised – Ronald has learned something."

"Daphne, that's enough." Harry said, stepping up to the group, Hermione at his side. He glanced at Ron – his face was deep crimson, the freckles on his face standing out harshly as he threatened to turn purple. "And you need to calm down."

"You're taking her side? You saw what it just tried to do!"

"I did, and right now, we don't know what happened, Ron." He glanced at Hagrid. "Is there any reason a Familiar could attack another for no reason?"

"Not tha' I could think of. I'd have to 'ave a think about it, though." Hagrid frowned, scratching the side of his face slowly.

"What about those of us with predators? Should we be worried?" Lilith asked, casting her gaze up at the Jaguar, who was still lazing the day away on the branch it had picked at the start of class, its paws dangling freely.

"No, everythin' should be fine. I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore – he'll know what to do. Great man, he is. Great man."

"We can look in the Library too." Hermione offered, Crookshanks still cradled in her arms. Hagrid nodded, thankfully, and patted her shoulder as he walked by her, his gaze returning to the Jaguar.

"You've got to be joking!" Ron snapped, his eyes flickering between Daphne, who had stepped away with Tracey at her side, and Merlin, who was eyeing Clara nervously. "She should be bloody expelled for that!"

"Don't be stupid, Ron – it was an accident." Neville sighed, positioning himself between the two once again when Daphne spun to face the Gryffindor, a bored look on her face.

"He's right – you and Scabbers are fine, and Daphne will make sure it doesn't happen again." Harry added, nodding at Daphne, who inclined her head. "Right, Daphne?"

"I'll do my best, of course." She said, casting her arctic eyes at Ron.

"Like I'd trust her." Ron snapped, violently shrugging out of Dean and Seamus's hands, and stomping over to pick up his cloak and bag. Moments later, he was gone, muttering loudly to himself as he stormed off toward the castle.

"Well, this is an excellent start to the year." Neville sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Bloody birds," He said, wagging a finger at Harry. "this is why I have a toad – nice and simple."

"Neville, if there's one word to describe you," Tracey called, "it would be simple!"

"Now hang on a bloody minute-"

The class rumbled with laughter, and Neville scrambled after a cackling Tracey, the argument quickly forgotten – but still, there was something in the back of his mind, just beyond reach that niggled at his thoughts. With a shrug, he set it aside and focused on enjoying the warm day with his class.


The classroom they'd been assigned for Defence Against the Dark Arts was the same one they had studied in for the last two years. Waiting in the corridor had been a familiar chore, and many in the class had taken the opportunity to catch up with friends they had been separated from in the previous class.

With his friends around him, Harry couldn't help but feel grateful that, so far, his little group of friends hadn't been split up – something that had the distinct impression of Padfoot being up to his old tricks; not that he wasn't grateful. A class without his friends would have been agonisingly dull – although, he might be able to tolerate Herbology if Neville wasn't there.

He snorted, glancing at the boy to his right, who gave him a wary look in return. Harry shook his head and returned to resting against the cool stone behind him – his coat was bundled up and slung over the top of the satchel bag that hung from his shoulder. Hermione had finally caved and removed her own cloak, and Harry's eyes had been drawn, completely against their will, to the grey cardigan she wore.

It fit her well, and he smiled to himself a little at how everything was in its correct place. Unlike most of the students in their year, whose uniforms were slipping in appearance – many of the boys having their shirts untucked, sleeves rolled up, and ties loose – Hermione's was as proper as it had been in first year. Her collar was still done up to the top button, and her tie sat at the hollow of her neck in a perfect triangle.

Personally, he was a little jealous of the boys in the Muggle-born uniform – he couldn't very well remove his doublet and go to class in the thin tunic he wore beneath it, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he had to settle for removing the coat whenever it became too stifling.

He blew out a breath through his nose and closed his eyes. It wouldn't be long until the class opened, and he'd find out who his teacher for the year would be. Neville had his money on the large man with the white hair and yellow eyes – even now, there were a number of girls excitedly talking about him next to the door.

His eyes snapped open as the door clicked open, and he pushed off the wall to glance at the man within, grinning excitedly as he elbowed Neville and resisted the urge to run over to Remus and hug him. This year was going to be brilliant.

Remus ushered them all in with a wave of his hand, and a polite smile and nod to each student that entered, offering Harry a conspiratorial wink as he passed by. Neville grinned at him, and the two of them settled in at a desk on the third row, on the left side of the classroom – Harry took the seat next to the aisle, and Neville took the one closest to the tall window.

In front of the two of them, Tracey and Hermione slid into their own seats – Hermione opted to slide into the one next to the window, directly in front of Neville, and Tracey took the one in front of him. He glanced behind him and spotted Daphne settling in next to Padma Patil, Parvati's sister from Ravenclaw.

On the far side of the room, he caught sight of Susan sitting with Hannah, surrounded by Blaise, Eirene, Earnest, and Oliver, though the Gryffindor looked a little put out at having been separated from his friends, none of whom appeared to be in the class.

Harry quickly pulled out his books, his inkpot, and dipping pen – silently cheering as he noticed Hermione retrieve the very one he'd gifted to her at Christmas. The sight of the gleaming Mithril had a few students around them looking twice, especially when one Ravenclaw recognised the metal, but it also served to remind him that he still had his gifts from Cochenwaith to give to his friends.

"Bloody Hell, Granger – where'd you get something like that?" Zacharias Smith asked, his blue eyes locked firmly on the dipping pen.

"It was a gift." She answered, shortly, focusing her attention on arranging her desk.

"It's got carvings on it." A nearby Slytherin added; Pike Logg, one of Draco's sycophants.

"Is that Mithril?" Terry Boot muttered, leaning across his desk. "You could buy an entire street for that."

"Why'd she get something like that?" Someone else asked, sneeringly.

"Alright, that's enough, class. What Miss Granger chooses to write with is none of your concern, and should I hear another comment about it, or it reach me that the item in question has gone missing, I'll make sure the perpetrator faces the appropriate punishment – have I made myself clear?" Remus said over the noise, his voice gentle, but his amber eyes hard.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him, her hair falling over her shoulder as she smiled at him – he smiled back. She hadn't used it since he gave it to her, but knowing she was getting some use out of it, that she liked it – his chest tightened again.

"Now that I have your attention, allow me to introduce myself. I'm your new teacher for this class, and my name is Professor Lupin." Remus smiled, waving his wand as his name appeared on the board behind him. "Now, who can tell me what the third-year curriculum is for this class? Anyone?"

A hand went up on the far side of the room.

"Yes, Miss…?"

"Sue Li, Professor." Sue said in her soft voice. Harry almost had to strain to hear her. "Third-year is all about dark creatures."

"Excellent answer, Miss Li. Five points to Ravenclaw." Remus grinned, clicking his fingers as he turned to the rest of the class. "Now, who in here has dealt with a dark creature before?"

All eyes turned to Harry, and he cringed as he shrunk in his seat.

Remus chuckled. "Ah, yes, well, we all know that Mister Potter has battled with the Basilisk in the last year, but are there any others in here?"

Another hand went up, this time in the row next to Harry's own. The boy had straight, dark brown hair that was tousled stylishly, but still looked quite neat. "Graham Montague, Professor." He said when Remus pointed to him. "My father got rid of a Boggart a week ago."

"Brilliant, Mister Montague – five points to Slytherin." Remus called, spinning, and flicking his wand at the board again where the word appeared. "We'll be getting to Boggarts later in the year. Any others?"

Harry raised his hand and cleared his throat. "Dementors."

A tense quiet fell on the classroom, and more than one student shuddered visibly at the word. The only sound was the gentle creaking of the rope that held the skeleton up above their heads as it gently swayed back and forth, casting long shadows around the room.

"Ah yes, I thought they might come up after yesterday." Remus murmured, wetting his lips. Harry's eyes watched him as he slowly meandered to stand before his desk, both of his hands resting on the varnished surface behind him. "Very well, why don't we get this out of the way sooner, rather than later, and hopefully, I can put your minds at ease. I assume many of you have questions?"

Hermione's hand shot up first, and Harry had to stifle the urge to chuckle, despite himself.

"Ah, Miss Granger." Remus grinned, his eyes twinkling.

"What are they?"

"Ah – now that's possibly the most difficult question you could have asked, but nevertheless, I'll endeavour to answer it for you." Remus said, shifting his hands until they were clasped before him. "A Dementor is neither alive, nor dead. Neither are they creatures or beings – they simply, are."

"But sir, how's that right? Everything has to be alive or dead, right?" Shireen Hamell from Slytherin asked, shifting in her seat next to Seamus.

Remus pushed off from his desk and slowly made his way down the centre aisle of desks. "They are physical imprints of magic – Dementors were made in the thirteenth century by a Dark Wizard at the time, known only as Lord Azkaban. To this day, the Dementors remain tied to the ancient island fortress in the North Sea and are used as guards to our most secure prison – Azkaban."

"That sounds awful." He heard Hermione mutter, and around them, everyone nodded their heads. Everyone raised in the magical world knew just how terrible Azkaban was as a prison sentence – it was often said that convicted criminals would beg for execution, rather than be sent there.

There were other, less severe prisons, of course – but the absolute worst were sent to that place. That he knew Sirius had come remarkably close to being incarcerated there himself, was enough to make a chill run down his spine. It was said that few retained their sanity for more than a few weeks – to think that Sirius could have suffered as much…

"Can anyone hazard a guess as to why Dementors are considered so terrible if they're imprints of magic?" Remus asked, slowly pacing up and down the room between the aisles.

Susan raised her hand, slowly. "Something was done to them to make them so bad?"

"Excellent – five points to Hufflepuff, Miss Bones." Remus nodded. "Indeed, they are considered foul because the very nature of those they are derived from, was twisted, warped, and corrupted to such a degree, that they became totally unrecognisable. Dementors will feed only on humans; they were created by a wizard so terrible that the only name we now know him by, is that of the fortress he raised and waged war from."

"How do they feed?" Daphne asked, and Harry found himself frowning. The last thing he wanted to think about was how those awful things ate – especially if his spells did little to stop them from approaching.

"Magic." Remus answered, clicking his fingers. "I believe some of you in this room experienced that just last night when a dozen Dementors boarded the train. By chance, did some of you feel an inescapable sense of dread? The icy chill of pure, unadulterated fear?" Many, including himself, nodded. "That is the feeling of a Dementor feeding. They consume the magic that makes you who you are. When they have consumed that, they perform something called The Kiss."

"I'd rather not snog a Dementor." Seamus muttered, staring at the wood of his desk, just loud enough to be heard by the class – a low rumble of awkward chuckling passed through the class.

"Indeed, and I wouldn't blame you, Mister Finnegan." Remus said, grinning at Seamus's startled look. "Oh, I've heard much about you from my colleagues, my boy. I believe you have quite the gift with pyromancy, as unintended as it often is?"

"Yes Professor." Seamus groaned, burying his face in his hands while those around him laughed at his expense.

"Not to worry, Mister Finnegan – but as I was saying, The Kiss is the last, terrible act a Dementor performs on its victim. Nobody knows what it does, but suffice to say, the common belief is that they consume the very soul of the victim."

"And they're guarding the school?" Neville growled. "What was the Ministry thinking?"

"I won't claim to know all of the answers, nor will I give reasons for their actions. However, the fact remains that the Dementors are, indeed, here, and will remain for as long as needed. Like the Headmaster said last night at the feast, I don't want to hear of anyone going near the Dementors – is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor Lupin." The entire class intoned, each of them glancing at those around them anxiously. Harry met Neville's gaze and swallowed nervously, the weight of just it was he'd done, and how close he'd come to something terrible reverberating in his mind.

"Now, back to the topic at hand – Mister Potter, take five points for Gryffindor for your earlier answer. Anyone else? Yes, you in the back…"


Defence had passed quickly after that, and he had to give credit to Remus – the mood had quickly picked back up after the terrifying discussion about Dementors. Remus had kept the entire class engaged, and he had more than three whole sheets of notes for the assigned homework – an essay, only thirteen inches long, on how to counter a Grindylow.

They'd left the classroom in surprisingly high spirits, everyone talking about how excited they were for the next class – he'd stayed behind waiting for everyone but his friends to leave the room, before throwing his arms around Remus.

Remus had laughed, and asked if he'd done a good job, to which they'd all hurried to tell him just how brilliant his class had been – it was a far cry from the stuttering Quirrell, and the incompetent Lockhart; even now, almost a full year later, he still got nervous at the thought of any Cornish Pixies getting loose in the classroom again.

They'd left the room after that, Remus hurrying them out so he could go about some of his duties as a professor – apparently there were quite a few things they had to see to that the students never really saw – and hurried to the Great Hall.

The large room was abuzz with activity; students excitedly chatting about their morning classes – at the tables at the far end of the room, two dozen members of staff talked among themselves, while keeping a surreptitious eye on the goings-on of the Great Hall.

The five of them had quickly slid into their regular seats at the Gryffindor table once they'd spotted Astoria waving over to them excitedly. He'd heard Daphne's quiet, pitiful groan, though his quiet snickering had instantly disappeared at her fierce glare.

He had taken a position between Astoria and Hermione – Neville relegating himself to a spot next to Tracey, the two of them butting elbows as they fought for space on the table; a pointless argument in his mind, for there was plenty of space on either side of their group.

They'd all listened to Astoria's excitable retelling of her first mornings, and he'd apologised profusely for missing her first breakfast, promising to make it up to her in the coming days, and even offering to have Clara join them sometime. The Phoenix had been starved for attention in Care of Familiars, and even as he made the offer, he knew it was going to be a mistake.

Ten minutes after arriving, Luna and Arlo arrived – Luna was just as slight as she'd looked propped up in her bed earlier; she reminded him of a little doll, and Astoria had wasted absolutely no time in asking why her eyes were so strange. A question that had mortified Daphne and caused him to quickly clamp a hand over Astoria's mouth, even as she struggled against his grip and elbowed his sides.

Luna wasn't at all bothered by it – thankfully – and Arlo had been more amused than anything, and they'd all quickly fallen into an easy conversation, especially once Astoria promised, quite sulkily, not to ask any more questions so thoughtlessly.

The most surprising thing about it all, had been the quick camaraderie that was struck up between Luna and Tracey – both girls having a love for animals and creatures of all sorts. Luna spoke of fantastical and wonderfully crafty beings, like Nargles, Wrackspurts, Blibbering Humdingers, Heliopaths, and a particularly enigmatic creature, the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

To Harry, it sounded like nothing more than made up creatures, and he heard the quiet murmuring of Hermione to his left as Luna described impossible creature after impossible creature and didn't quite blame her. Hermione was a girl who believed in facts, in irrefutable proof that something existed – the fact that not a single one of these creatures was documented in any of her many, many books no doubt rankled, and sat uneasily with her.

However, Tracey seemed truly captivated, explaining some of the many creatures she'd gotten to see in the various zoos she'd visited – she described just as many Muggle creatures as she did Magical, her face full of excitement and wonder; especially when she went on to describe the dragon she loved so much.

Arlo, while more reserved than Luna appeared to be, was still a friendly person – he had a certain charm, and his thick accent was a pleasant change from the norm, though he'd be the first to admit there were some terms he was unfamiliar with.

It didn't take long to realise that he was also rather intelligent, and had a remarkable curiosity about just how spells were made, and it wasn't long until he, Hermione, and Daphne were swept up in a conversation about the applications of Arithmancy – a subject he understood the basic premise of, and could use with some degree of confidence, but unfortunately one he lacked the innate talent for.

Besides, he was much more happy throwing spells around than making them up from scratch.

The lunch hour progressed quickly, and before they knew it, the bell for the first of the afternoon classes rang – he had History of Magic. He bid Luna, Arlo, and Astoria goodbye, and joined the others in their trip up to the fourth floor.

By the time they arrived, the majority of the class was already there – he recognised Draco's mop of platinum-blonde hair, and realised, for the first time, that it wasn't slicked back like it had been for the two previous years.

Instead, it fell in a short, stylish centre-parting that ghosted the top of his sharp cheekbones. At his side, Pansy Parkinson clutched his arm and batted her eyelashes up at the boy, her voice thankfully lost in the din on the corridor.

He sighed as he leaned against the stone wall and looked at Hermione when she nudged him with her hip. "What's wrong?" He asked, noticing the way she chewed on her bottom lip.

"I was just thinking – about how you rushed out against that Dementor. I just wanted to say, I'm glad you're alright."

He shrugged, but felt the heat rise in his cheeks regardless. "It all worked out fine. I don't even know what it was that drove it off."

"Still – I'm glad." She said, smiling at him as the door opened and the rest of the class began filing in. Neville, Tracey, and Daphne led the way, and Harry stifled a yawn as he stepped over the threshold and into the room – he'd eaten far too much for his lunch, and it had settled into his stomach in the way that made his eyelids heavy, and made time go that little bit slower.

His eyes swept the room, even as he felt the mild annoyance at those that had pilfered the benches at the back of the room – their books already being used to prop their chins up as a chorus of yawns greeted him.

He followed after his friends, sliding into the benches in the middle of the room, this time finding himself, once again, sat next to Hermione, though this time he had Tracey on the bench to his left, who was sat with Daphne, while Neville was on the far bench, with Lavender Brown.

The noise of someone clearing their throat drew his eyes to the front of the room, where a middle-aged man with neatly combed, brown hair sat, perched on the edge of the desk. He wore a grey suit with a black bowtie, and a short beard, cropped close to his skin covered the bottom half of his face. Large, round glasses saw on the bridge of his nose, which he pushed up with a single finger.

"Welcome, class – I'm your professor for the year; Professor Harvey Grant. I hold qualifications in various histories, from various schools around the world. It's a pleasure to be here, and I'm looking forward to seeing how each of you do in my class." Professor Grant got to his feet and slowly, removed his glasses as he peered at the students in the room. Harry glanced at Hermione, raising an amused eyebrow at her look of joy. She blushed prettily and set about beginning her notes. "Now, our focus for this year will be on third century Britain, all the way up to the ninth – is there anyone in here without the required textbooks?"

The Professor looked around the room, and Harry looked around him – nobody raised a hand.

"Excellent – who in here can tell me what they know about Druids? Anyone?" Professor Grant asked. The room remained quiet as he slowly walked back and forth in front of the desks. "If you're worried about offering incorrect answers, then don't – we're all here to learn. There might even be little things here and that that you know that I don't. Don't be shy."

Across the room, Harry watched as Parvati slowly raised her hand, her face flushed.

"Ah, excellent, and you are?"

"Parvati Patil, Professor." She said, glancing around her nervously. "Didn't Druids make Stonehenge, or something?"

Professor Grant grinned handsomely, and he thought he heard Hermione sigh happily next to him – he glanced at her again and winced when she stepped on his foot beneath the table. "Very well done; yes, Stonehenge was made by Druids, though we don't know which order – that much has been lost to time. What is interesting, is that Stonehenge, and others like it, found all over Britain, have become visible to Muggles, while others have remained hidden, protected by their innate magic. Anyone else? Yes – you there."

"Pansy Parkinson, Professor." Pansy answered, airily. "Merlin was a Druid, right?"

"Excellent – yes, Merlin was a Druid; though his true name, from what we have gathered from historical references at the time was Myrddin Emrys, or Myrddin Wyllt. Take ten points for Slytherin, Miss Parkinson – not many realise that, though he came much later than the third century, but we'll get into all of that later in the year. Very well done, indeed."

Harry scratched out the notes on his own parchment, his lips pressed tightly together as he focused on keeping the letters neat – the neater his notes, the more use he'd get out of them when it came to revising them at the end of the year.

"Now, a commonly missed subject, when we're talking about the Druids, is the Fae – tell me, are there any in this room that know anything about them, outside of the children's books?"

Daphne's hand shot up, an excited grin on her face, and Harry barely held back the snort of amusement, instead, he quietly coughed into his fist while Hermione bumped his shin with the heel of her shoe.

"Daphne Greengrass, Professor. Nobody knows much of anything about the Fae, only that they were around up until the seventh century, where they then suddenly disappeared from the world. There are references to the Fae all over the world, but nobody knows what they looked like. The only human that is associated with them, was Morgana."

"Very well done, Miss Greengrass – take ten points, yourself." Professor Grant nodded, flicking his wand as the words appeared on the large blackboard. "There are a number of references to these enigmatic beings in a number of texts from prominent Druids at the time, some of them will be referenced in your textbooks; by our next class, I will want each of you to have read chapters one to three – understood?"

They all nodded, and Harry made a little note of the reading assignment on his parchment.

"Very well – now, there are a number of families, some still around and prominent in our culture today, that have been linked to the Druids and the Fae. Can anyone in here name any?"

"Lilith Kullens, Professor." Lilith said, lowering her hand when Professor Grant pointed at her. "My own family, House Kullens rose to power in the third century."

"This is true – can you tell the class how?"

Lilith's head bobbed as she nodded. "Our House thrived on various trades at the time, the most notable being the breeding of magical creatures, and the acquisition of arable land. Without these trades, my House wouldn't be in the position it is today."

"Excellent answer. Now, does anyone know, besides Miss Kullens, of course, which Family House Kullens came to blows with in the third century? I'll give you all a clue – they took part in the battle of Chiltern Hills."

Neville raised his hand.

"Neville Longbottom, Professor. It was House Gryffindor, right?"

"Excellent – ten points to Gryffindor, Mister Longbottom!" Professor Grant called, clicking his fingers. "Many forget that House Gryffindor's ancestral lands in Britain, bordered those of House Kullens in the South-East of England, forgetting that, despite their name, they were not a Welsh family. Now, for forty points, can anyone tell me why House Gryffindor and House Kullens went to war?"

Hannah Abbott's hand rose in the front row, and Professor Grant pointed to her as he put his glasses back on his face. "Hannah Abbott, Professor. Didn't a son of House Kullens defile a daughter of House Gryffindor?"

Murmurs broke out throughout the classroom, and Harry caught Lilith glaring daggers into the back of Hannah's head.

"Close, but not quite right. Firstly, from sources at the time, we know it was in fact a son from House Gryffindor, and a daughter from House Kullens. We also know the two were engaged in an illicit affair that shamed both Houses equally – when the two families went to war, both involved were killed. Yonwin Gryffindor died in battle, and Hilda Kullens was murdered by her brother six months later."

"Is that true?" Someone asked, their voice carrying in the ensuing silence of the room.

"It is." Lilith answered, tightly – turning to glare in the direction of the voice. "My family aren't the only ones like that."

"Indeed, Miss Kullens – do you think you can name another family from the same period that have a similar history?"

"House Dumbledore." Lilith sniffed, ignoring the cries of outrage around the room. Harry grimaced – House Dumbledore had a reputation for falling on either side of the coin; on the one side, there were some truly, truly great men and women, and on the other, some wizards and witches that were best forgotten.

"Settle down, settle down!" Professor Grant called, raising his hands. "Yes, House Dumbledore has a varied past, and this is why history is so important. It gets us thinking, it gets us looking at the past and forming a picture of what life was like, what motivated people." The professor said, tapping a finger to the side of his head. "There will be no greater story than our own history. Now, can anyone tell me why House Dumbledore is significant today?"

Harry raised his hand, and the professor pointed at him.

"Harry Potter, sir." He winced as Professor Grant's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "House Dumbledore will go extinct in our lifetimes."

"Correct! Ten points to Gryffindor, Mister Potter." Professor Grant grinned, looking to the rest of the class. "We know from our own documents, managed independently from the Ministry of Magic, that there are two living descendants of the Dumbledore line – our Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, the current head of the family, and his younger brother, Aberforth. Neither have children of their own. Furthermore, there are no cadet branches to inherit the name – the last having died out over a hundred years ago."

"What happens to them when they're gone?" Eirene asked from her spot next to Blaise in the front row.

"Their lands are divided up, as is their wealth, and taken into the control of the Ministry of Magic, often used to encourage new families to purchase the land, settle, and join the ranks of the Noble Families themselves." Professor Grant sighed, perching himself against his desk once again. A moment later, Harry felt the eyes of the man on him. "Mister Potter, would you be able to share some of your family's exploits from the period?"

All eyes in the room turned to him, including Hermione's, and he found his cheeks heating, despite himself. "Yes, Professor." He muttered, clearing his throat. "At the time, my family were one of the few whose lands were never conquered by the Romans."

"Bollocks!" Someone scoffed, causing Harry to scowl and straighten on reflex.

"Language! Twenty points from Ravenclaw." Professor Grant snapped. "Mister Potter is telling the truth – there are many records from the period corroborating his words. Would you mind, Mister Potter, if I expanded on a few points?"

"No, Professor." He said, shrinking in his chair slightly. Hermione nudged his elbow and smiled when he looked at her.

Professor Grant nodded slowly and pushed off the desk, wandering back and forth slowly before the rows of desks. "Thank you. Now, it's interesting that we have a member of the Potter family in our class for a few reasons – obviously, they've had a large impact on our modern history, but they also have quite the fascinating ancient history too! Very few families, after all, can claim they descend from Kings."

He groaned and buried his face in his hands as Hermione gasped at his side – he could feel the eyes of the room on him, and he just wanted the floor to swallow him up. "Harry!" Hermione hissed. "You didn't tell me that!"

"I'm not bloody royalty!" He hissed back, wiping his hands down his face.

"King Harry!" Someone cried, and he shot them a glare.

"Now, now!" Professor Grant chuckled. "Young mister Potter, the future Lord of House Potter, is no king, nor will he ever be one. At the time in question, House Potter were recognised kings over their domain in the north of Wales – however, they would surrender their crown in the coming centuries, and pledge fealty to another family, House-"

"Professor." He called, levelling a look at the man at the front of the classroom. "If we could move on?"

Professor Grant blinked owlishly before adopting a rather sheepish expression. "Ah, yes – my apologies, I tend to get a little caught up in it all at times. Back to House Potter – can anyone tell me why they were able to amass so much land and power for themselves, and defend themselves consistently from the Romans?"

Harry could feel Hermione's curious look, but studiously ignored it, instead, focusing on writing his notes.

"Tracey Davis, Professor. They're all secretly Werewolves."

Harry genuinely laughed at that one, and a few others in the class joined in, and when he glanced at Tracey, he could see her impish grin across the aisle from him. He nodded at her, thankful, while the professor settled the class.

"While it would be amusing, there is no record of any from House Potter being infected with Lycanthropy. Does anyone else have any clue? No? Very well, the answer, like many you'll find in history, is actually the simplest – House Potter has a reputation for being particularly adept at combat. A talent, I've heard, that our own Mister Potter inherited and put to good use in slaying the oldest ever recorded Basilisk."

Harry groaned again, this time into the crook of his elbow. It was a quiet, pitiful sound, that only subsided at the feel of Hermione's gentle hand on his back.

"A Basilisk, I understand, that was left behind by one of the Founders of Hogwarts, correct – Salazar Slytherin? Can anyone tell me anything they know about the man, or even his family? After all, House Slytherin were quite prominent during this time as well."

"He was a Dark Wizard." A Hufflepuff called out. "He was a Parselmouth, and he argued with Godric Gryffindor and was expelled from the school."

"That's not true!" Hermione snapped, causing him to raise his head from the desk. "Sorry, Professor." She hurried to add, bowing her head slightly. Harry bumped his knee with her own.

"No, that's perfectly fine – what's your name, Miss…?"

"Granger, sir. Hermione Granger."

"And why do you claim what this young man said is untrue?"

"Last year, my friends and I read the journals of the Founders in the Library when we were searching for the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. There are accounts from Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff that talk about their argument – Godric Gryffindor drew his sword on Salazar after drinking too much. Salazar left the following day. Rowena was heartbroken over it."

"Indeed – there's a theory, among historians that study the period, that Salazar Slytherin was the father to Rowena's daughter, Helena, but that's neither here nor there. While we're on the subject of Salazar, allow me to set one thing straight for everyone in this classroom – there is absolutely no historical evidence that Salazar was a Dark Wizard. A dangerous, and powerful Wizard, yes, but not a Dark Wizard."

"But he was a Parselmouth!"

Harry stiffened, and he noticed Lilith doing the same. "Being a Parselmouth isn't a staple for being an evil bastard, Higgins!" Harry snapped, glaring at the Gryffindor. He continued to scowl at the boy until his fellow Gryffindor looked away.

"That was an interestingly uncommon opinion, Mister Potter – may I ask why you feel this way?"

"I'm a Parselmouth, Professor. It came out last year."

"Fascinating – I assume you're receiving instruction?"

"Yes, Professor, but you were talking about Salazar?"

"Oh, of course – my apologies! Yes, Salazar, as far as we are aware, wasn't a Dark Wizard. Now, what else can anyone tell me about the Slytherin family?"

"Harry's descended from them?" A Slytherin girl with short, blonde hair asked, timidly. Harry blinked, stupidly.

"Are you?" Hermione whispered, leaning into him.

"What? No!" He hissed back.

"What would make you say that, Miss…"

"Otoole. Amy Otoole." The blonde girl said, shifting in her seat. "Well, last year, there were some messages painted in the corridors, going on about the Heir of Slytherin – we all thought it was Harry, especially after the Parselmouth thing."

"Ah. I see – I'm afraid I'm still quite unaware of a lot of the goings on in the last few years of the school, so you'll forgive me if there's gaps in my knowledge. Now, as I mentioned before, Salazar didn't have any children that we know of. Additionally, Salazar was also the younger brother of the Lord Slytherin at the time; what the Heir of Slytherin means, is anyone's guess. However, House Potter never married into the Slytherin line. That much is clear from the records."

Harry's eyes swept across the room, taking in the reluctant nodding of many of his classmates, and stifled the urge to sigh.

"Now, seeing as we've gotten away from the topic at hand, can anyone name another family that was around during the third century? Yes – Miss Greengrass, was it?"

"House Black."

"Excellent – ten points to Slytherin!" Professor Grant called, pointing to Daphne. "What can anyone tell me about House Black?"

"They were the main rivals to House Potter until recently." Harry sighed, lowering his hand when the professor pointed at him. "The rivalry ended when my Grandmother, Dorea Black, married my Grandfather, Charlus Potter."

"Very well done, Mister Potter – ten points! Yes, many attribute the healing of the divide between House Black and House Potter to the close friendship between the late James Potter, and his best friend, the current Lord Sirius Black – however, this isn't true. It helped, certainly, but the foundation of that healed divide was Charlus and Dorea. However, that's modern history – can anyone tell me anything they did, specifically, in the third century?"

Pansy's hand went up again.

"They cemented their hold on the Midlands." Draco said, in a rather bored voice that had Harry rolling his eyes.

"Your name?"

"Draco Malfoy, Professor."

"Mister Malfoy is correct – House Black cemented their hold on the Midlands during this period, but can anyone tell me how they managed it?"

Hannah raised her hand once again, and Professor Grant pointed at her. "Through combat? Like House Potter?"

"Yes and no." Professor Grant said, flicking his wand at the blackboard again. "House Black, like House Potter, has a reputation for excelling in combat, but that's where the similarities end. House Potter, if you'll forgive me for saying so, Mister Potter, are historically, rather blunt and to the point. House Black, on the other hand, have cultivated a mean, cunning streak a mile wide."

Harry snorted, and winced as Hermione's heel caught his shin once again, though, she too, was smiling as she scribbled away at her page of parchment.

"What is the one thing that links all of these families together? Anyone?" Professor Grant asked, holding his arms out to his sides. When nobody answered him, he grinned. "Druids! Each and every single one of these families had extremely close ties to the Druids of Britain for hundreds of years until the practice fell away a little over a thousand years ago."

Harry quickly made his notes, making sure to underscore the word Druid to make sure he would be reminded later in the year. Just as he finished, the bell rang throughout the school, signalling the end of the class, making him blink in confusion – had it already been an hour? Surely not – as much as he loved his classes, History of Magic had never gone so quickly before!

"Alright, everyone – that was a wonderful first class, and I'm looking forward to seeing you again next time. Don't forget, chapters one to three by the next class, and I'll be in my office every day from three to six if you have any questions!" Professor Grant called over the din of everyone collecting their books and hurrying from the room.

Harry hurried to store his ink, dipping pen, parchment, and books in his satchel, and offered Hermione the last of her books on the desk as he slung his bag over his shoulder. She smiled at him, gratefully, and somehow managed to squeeze it into her own.

They made their way to the front of the classroom and were just about to leave when the voice of Professor Grant brought him to an abrupt halt. "Mister Potter, a moment please."

He nodded at his friends, who lingered by the door, and turned around to face the professor. "Sir?" He asked, noticing that everyone had left the room – the quiet click of the door behind him signalled the departure of his friends.

"I just wanted to make sure I didn't overstep during class today – I'm aware of the focus on your family, and I understand that talking of your ancestors might have been a little uncomfortable."

Harry pressed his lips together and shifted his weight from foot-to-foot. "It's fine, Professor. There were a few moments when I could've done without the attention, and I'm sure to get an earful from Hermione later for a few things, but really, it was fine."

Professor Grant smiled and nodded. "Good. If there's ever a time when it gets uncomfortable, especially when we start discussing the more modern history, you'll make sure to let me know, won't you?"

"I will, Professor." He smiled, inclining his head slightly. "I really appreciate it."

"Here – I'll write you out a pass for your next lesson and save you getting a detention on your first day." The professor said, scratching a few words out on a piece of nearby parchment he pilfered from his desk. "Here you are."

Harry accepted the parchment gratefully. "Thank you, Professor."

"Any time – now, get going; I have another class to teach, and you have one to get to." Professor Grant smiled, shooing him out the door.

Harry hurried down the corridor, past the waiting sixth years, and broke into a slow jog down the stairs, which, thankfully, didn't spontaneously decide to change direction. The corridors were empty, and so he found no further delay in making for the dungeons.

When he came into view of the classroom door, he paused and took a moment to even out his breathing: deep through the nose, and out through the mouth. With it back to something resembling normal, he eased the door open as quietly as he could and slipped through.

The room was immediately familiar, and he instantly cursed himself for not recognising it in the corridor. It was brighter than in the previous two years, and it was easy to spot the new desks, chairs, and all of the different ingredients of all shapes and sizes that sat in glass jars on the shelves on the far wall.

"Ah, Mister Potter – I suppose you believe you can turn up to my class whenever you feel like it, hm?" Professor Snape said, his voice deep, and dripping with barely concealed scorn. He fought the urge to glare at him.

"No, Professor. Professor Grant wanted to speak to me after class – he wrote me a note." He said, instead, approaching the front of the class quickly and offering the piece of parchment to the Potions Master. Snape snatched it from his fingers and turned it over, his dark eyes sweeping the page with a suspicious look.

"Indeed. Take your seat, Mister Potter, so you stop holding up the lesson for everyone else."

He hurried to the fifth row, jogging up the few stairs to the elevated row in the theory classroom, and quickly slid into the empty space Daphne had left for him. She shook her head at him, her dark curls bobbing left to right from the movement, even as she smirked fondly at him.

Harry rolled his eyes and hurried about getting his parchment and other supplies out of his bag as quickly and efficiently as he could. Below, in clear view of everyone in the class, Snape stepped up to the table in the middle of the room and tugged the cuffs of his long sleeves back.

"Today, we shall discuss the theory of antidotes for common poisons – turn to page twenty-one of your textbooks."

He blew out a breath through his nose; as much as Hogwarts had changed over the summer, it seemed, plenty of it had stayed the same – including a greasy-haired, foul-tempered professor.