It took a while before Harry and his friends could think of anything other than the dragon egg in Hagrid's hut. Ron was not the only one wishing for a more peaceful life at that moment, with only one problem to deal with at a time.

Soon enough, though, they were back to discussing the Philosopher's Stone.

"All right, at least we know for sure who's after the stone now," sighed Hermione.

"What, because Hagrid said that both Snape and Quirrel are protecting it?" Harry asked sceptically.

"Yes. Remember when you overheard them in the forest? Snape was asking Quirrel about Hagrid's protection of the Philosopher's Stone. Yet Quirrel was making it sound like he was not helping Snape – like he didn't even know what Snape was talking about."

"And if Quirrel really isn't helping him, Snape would've had no reason to think Quirrel would tell him," Harry agreed resignedly.

"Exactly! If Quirrel is also protecting the stone, Snape might've asked him about his own protection. But why was he expecting Quirrel to have found out all about Hagrid's protections? Unless he suspected that Quirrel was investigating Hagrid for his own reasons. I'm sure now Snape was trying to find out how safe the stone still was from Quirrel."

"Nah, I've known for longer than that," Ron waved her off. "The way Snape was shouting at the twins the other day – did that seem like he's expecting to get rich and leave teaching behind any time soon? I don't think so. He's stuck here, and he knows it."

"Quirrel, on the other hand, left last year, and came back changed!" agreed Hermione excitedly. "Well spotted, Ron."

The ginger boy looked very satisfied with the compliment, and Harry had to wonder at the notion of his friends agreeing on something for a change.

At Harry's silence, his friends noticed his sceptical expression. Hermione took on a determined look, ready to convince him, but Ron was quicker.

"Or maybe we got it all wrong. Maybe the rumours are true, and Snape really is a vampire, and—" he began with his favourite joke theory.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron—" Hermione sounded even less inclined than usual to go along with it.

"You never know—"

"Of course you do. We've seen him outside—"

"We have? When was the last time?"

Hermione had to think about that one, and nearly agreed with a giggle that that was a valid argument. "Oh, of course. He refereed that quidditch match!"

"But that was on a cloudy day!" said Ron triumphantly.

The boys laughed at Hermione's perplexed expression, and soon she joined in, resigned to the silliness of the moment.

"As I was saying, if Snape's a vampire," Ron tried again, "or if he's trying to become one – you can't argue against that one, Hermione – the black robes, his aversion to daylight—"

"His teeth," added Harry, and the boys laughed some more.

"Maybe he wants to brew the elixir of life to become undead, to complete the transformation."

"Stop it, stop being silly, you two," Hermione said with a sudden sharp note in her voice. At the surprised looks from her friends her expression mellowed once more. "It's just – Don't you see? That's probably what Quirrel's after! All those rumours that he got hurt during his travels – What if they're true?" She was going to say more, but she stopped at the boys' stricken looks.

"Okay, that makes rather a lot of sense," Harry said after a moment.

"So you agree now that it's Quirrel who's after the stone?"

"Yes. I—" Harry rubbed his nose under his glasses. "It's not that I didn't think your arguments made sense. I just wasn't sure why he'd want to do something like that," he said a little embarrassedly.

"Oh, Harry. Do you still think Snape's trying to kill you?"

"He is!"

"Of course he is!" Ron agreed as well.

"Well, I don't know. I mean, he hates you. That's obvious. But he attacked you in a quidditch match, and then refereed the next one... You did say he and McGonagall both take quidditch very seriously…"

"Merlin, do you really think he'd have killed Harry just for the Quidditch Cup?"

For Ron to ask that, showed how thin Hermione's argument really was.

"Oh, I don't know," she backtracked. "I just… I'm just sure it's Quirrel who's trying to steal the stone."

"Agreed," said Harry, and Ron nodded as well.

There was more to the whole thing, Harry was sure. He had a feeling he was involved in this in some way, even though it always sounded conceited when he tried to voice that thought. For the moment, though, he decided to see what would happen next.

They had a more immediate problem to deal with, anyway. Hagrid's dragon was growing rapidly, and they suspected Draco Malfoy knew more about it than was good for them. Still, whenever they passed the third floor corridor, they listened at the door, to reassure themselves that Fluffy was still there. They also started giving Quirrel sympathetic looks whenever they passed him in the corridors, convinced now that he was severely ill.

Harry still had his suspicions about Snape, but had decided to let them go – for the most part.

One afternoon, when he and Ron had grown tired of Hermione forcing them to revise the same material they had revised the day before, Harry walked out of the common room, saying he would take a walk.

"Wait, I'll come along," said Ron quickly, and followed him.

"Good idea, Harry," he said when they were out of earshot. "Hermione's getting worse, if that's even possible."

"And we still have weeks before the exams. We have to have a talk with her."

"You do it, then. I'm not suicidal."

They both laughed at that, and continued walking.

"Er, Harry, are we actually going somewhere?"

"I was going to the trophy room, but it's not important. We could go flying, if you like." Ron, unlike Hermione, had already passed his flying class, and was allowed to use the brooms in his free time.

"The trophy room? Whatever did you want to go there for?"

"Er... Just wanted to check something out," mumbled Harry.

He was not usually this reluctant, and Ron immediately grew suspicious. "What is this about? Wait. It's not something to do with Snape again, is it?"

"I just wanted to see if he or McGonagall ever played quidditch. I mean, maybe Hermione's right, and he really is that obsessed with his House winning. At least it'd give me one less thing to think about…"

"They don't need to have played themselves for that. There's always competition between Gryffindor and Slytherin, in pretty much everything!"

"I know. I just…"

Ron shook his head, but did not say anything, just followed behind.

The room was empty when they arrived. Ron opted to look for McGonagall as he was sure Harry was more interested in looking up Snape. The boys looked through the shelves, trying to guess their professors' ages. Soon there was silence in the room, as each of them was reading through the names written on the trophies.

"Harry, look! I've found her!" Ron called a little while later. "You were right – she used to play – for – let me see – three years, I think. And won the cup twice in that time! Used to be chaser – and even the captain in her final year!"

There was no reply.

"Harry? Did you hear me?" Ron said a little louder, and walked back to where he had left his friend.

Harry was not far from there, staring at a trophy.

"What? Did you find Snape?" asked Ron as he came closer.

"No," Harry finally replied quietly. "And I'm pretty sure I looked far enough back. He never played. But look whose name I did find."

Ron did. And realised what had his friend so captivated. There were two Cups won by Gryffindor in consecutive years, by almost identical teams, both having James Potter as captain.

"Huh. Your Dad was a chaser, too," said Ron.

"Yeah. He played quidditch – like me. And he was probably pretty good."

"Well, yeah! He was captain for two years, and his team won both times!"

"Wood would be so jealous."

"Everyone would be jealous of that. Charlie was captain for two years, as well, but the only time he won the Cup was in his third year."

"Might have been the rest of the team. It wasn't just my dad, was it? They kept six of seven players, so I guess they must have been good."

Ron nodded, looking over the names of the players of Gryffindor's past glory days.

Then both boys blinked in surprise.

"Huh. Sirius Black," Harry read the name out loud. "Didn't notice that before. Didn't you say the Blacks were all in Slytherin?"

Ron frowned. "I thought they were. Let me see. Maybe it's a mistake. Is his name written on the other trophy as well?"

"Nope. He was the one player that changed."

"Strange."

"What's strange is seeing the two of you loitering in this room."

The sudden intrusion made both boys jump. They turned around, and found themselves face-to-face with Filch.

"Er, we – we were just—"

"Looking up the previous generation of misfits, I can see that."

"Misfits?"

"I heard you talking about Sirius Black. I should give you detention for discussing dark wizards in secret like that—"

"Detention!" exclaimed Ron. "But we haven't done anything! We just found his name on the Cup here, next to Harry's dad's."

"Of course. Potter and Black! Never far apart, and always out to make my life miserable. And look how their lives turned out – one's dead, and the other's rotting in Azkaban!" said Filch rather happily. "And if you two don't want to come to a similar end, you'll stop this unruly behaviour at once."

"What unruly—" began Ron, but Harry interrupted him.

"We'll go back to the common room, then."

The boys turned and started walking back, Filch following not far behind. Harry still heard his muttered, "Potter looking up Black, of all people. But, no, no trouble intended, of course."

Harry was quiet the rest of the evening, and even winning exploding snap against Hermione and seeing her charred, dumbstruck expression could not distract him from his thoughts for very long. He went up to his dorm early, before the other occupants, and pulled out the wizarding genealogy Ron had given him for Christmas. He had just found the name Sirius Black on the Black family tree, when Ron and Hermione came in.

"So that's what had you so distracted," said Ron as soon as he spotted the genealogy on Harry's bed.

"So what's this about, then?" asked Hermione, causing the boy next to her to throw Harry an apologetic look.

Harry shrugged. It had been difficult to keep anything from Hermione before she became their friend, and it had become quite impossible since then. He proceeded to tell her about their encounter with Filch, noting that she did not ask why they had been in the trophy room at all. Ron grimaced when Harry shot him a look. Ah, so Hermione had already managed to get that part out of the other boy.

"I just – I wanted to see if there really was a Sirius Black in this book. It just seemed – odd. A member of a Slytherin family in Gryffindor – and friends with my dad. I thought, maybe he was a muggleborn, or something, and his last name was just a coincidence."

Ron shook his head. "I think I've heard the name, actually. Maybe something to do with the war, but I'm not sure. Mum doesn't want us to know too much about such things."

"It is odd, though. A Gryffindor quidditch player, friends with Harry's dad of all people – who is famous for having fought you-know-who – and now he's in Azkaban, and you think it's because he was a supporter of you-know-who." Hermione frowned. "Harry, would it be all right if I looked up this Black person?"

"Go ahead. Actually, I'm curious, too. So if you do find out something, please tell me."

"Me, too. I'd never have thought a Gryffindor would have joined you-know-who, much less a quidditch player." Ron scowled, looking like his pride had been hurt.

Not long after that, Filch finally got his wish, and managed to catch Harry and Hermione as they were leaving the Astronomy Tower at one in the morning, after sending Norbert off with Charlie's friends. The adventure cost them a hundred and fifty points, fifty for Harry and Hermione each, and another fifty for poor Neville who had heard Malfoy and had tried to warn them.

After being sent to bed, Harry could not sleep for a long time, listening to Neville's muffled sobs, and berating himself for their botched rescue mission.

Sometimes, it only takes a little nudge – a single thought – to change someone's course of action. This time, as well, very similar reasons – a feeling that they had not been a very good friend to the other – suddenly convinced both boys that something needed to be said between them after all. Neville stopped sobbing, and an expectant silence fell in the room.

"I'm sorry," they said simultaneously.

"Why are you saying sorry, Harry? I'm the one who got you caught," said Neville with a hitch in his voice.

"What? No, it wasn't like that. Filch caught us long before McGonagall found us. He's been trying to give us detention all year, and he finally got his wish. But I'm sorry you got involved in this mess. We didn't even notice you had heard us. But then, we were careless about the whole thing. We knew Malfoy might have found out something, but we ignored it. I don't even know what we were thinking – That he'd just go away and leave us in peace?" he added bitterly.

Neville felt relief wash over him. His secret fear – that he had refused to admit to even himself – that Harry and his friends had noticed Neville overhearing them but had not cared if it would get him in trouble – or even worse, that he had been an intended target as well – disappeared, and he almost felt like smiling, despite all the trouble he was in.

"So you weren't trying to get Malfoy in trouble?" he asked the less important of his nagging questions, the other one having already been answered.

"No." Harry hesitated a moment, before continuing. "We were trying to help – a friend – in a tight spot. Please don't ask," he added hastily.

Neville gave a tiny, snorting laugh.

"We might have acted without thinking, but we did have a reason. We'd never have done something so foolish just to get Malfoy in trouble. He isn't worth it," said Harry with feeling.

The sincerity in his tone finally dissipated all lingering doubts in Neville's mind. Of course they had been trying to hep someone. That was how they were, had he not learned that about them already?

"And did you manage to do whatever you were doing? Or – Ron? Did you get caught so you could cover for him? So he could finish whatever it was you were doing? Is that why he wasn't with you?" he asked excitedly, wanting to know more about their secret adventure.

"Er, no, he, uh…" Harry mumbled something unintelligible.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said, Ron got bitten by the dragon. He doesn't even know what happened, because he's still in the hospital wing."

There was silence for a moment, and then Neville began to giggle. "So there really was a dragon?" he asked.

"Yeah. And it took us a while, but we finally convinced … uh, our friend, that he couldn't keep it."

"So where is the dragon now?"

"It's gone. We got some people to take it away to a dragon reserve."

"That's so cool. You always help when someone's in trouble. Me, though… I wish I could have helped," he finished softly.

"And I wish we didn't always land you in so much trouble. We haven't been very good friends to you, have we?"

"You have! You're the best friends anyone could wish!" He stopped, becoming aware that that was a strong statement. He did not take it back, though, glad to hear that the other boy considered him their friend. "All my other friends are connected to my family somehow. Ugh, 'family connections'. How that sounds! Before I was sorted into Gryffindor, and met you, I could have passed for a Slytherin!"

Both boys laughed, the air between them cleared once again.

"I want to be a real Gryffindor," Neville said silently in the calm quiet that had started to settle over them. "I want to really help next time."

"Okay," Harry mumbled sleepily, not entirely sure what he was promising.

In no time at all, both had drifted off to sleep.

~HP~

"Where are you, you stupid bird?" muttered Dudley and shifted from one foot to the other. Ever since his fight with Piers, when his other dorm mate had let him know how much he had noticed about Dudley's letter exchange with his cousin, he had become more paranoid about Harry's letters being discovered.

Dudley had written to Harry, and they had decided Hedwig would arrive on previously agreed on times at a corridor window, not far from the dorm the blond boy shared with Piers and Artie. The system had worked well enough so far. Hedwig had shown herself more than up to the task, and had learned quickly not to be spotted. At least the sneaking around had become easier, now that he and Piers were no longer as close as they used to be, and the other boy rarely paid attention to him any more.

Dudley still worried, though. In part, because the days were getting longer, and it was already broad daylight no matter how early he forced himself to get up.

He shifted his weight again, and almost jumped on the spot. Partly because he was getting nervous waiting here, worried that someone might see him. Partly because he was getting chilled, standing in his pyjamas in front of the open window.

Once again, his eyes scanned the horizon, and he looked at his watch. What was taking that bird so long? Usually she had already arrived by that time. Yet, that morning, he could not even spot her on the horizon.

A soft hoot next to him almost made him jump out of his skin. He had to look around himself a few times, until he spotted Hedwig perched on the windowsill, right in front of him. How had she managed to creep up on him?

"You really gave me a fright, you know that?" he grumbled. "Don't do it again."

Dudley took the letter from her and gave her some of the owl treats he had bought for her in secret, now hidden in the farthest corner of his trunk. (And what an odd notion it was, to be buying, and hiding, treats not meant for himself).

"I'll have a letter for you after class. I'll come here as soon as I can. Don't be late again."

Hedwig hooted, sounding offended, and flew off.

Dudley ripped the letter open and began to read.

Morning, Dudley,

Hope you got the letter all right. Hermione and I – well, mostly Hermione, but I'm getting there as well – learned a new spell to make Hedwig less noticeable. We asked our Charms professor, and he modified a third-year charm so we could learn it. I'm not sure how effective it's going to be – he said he simplified it quite a bit. Let me know how it works.

It worked just fine, thought Dudley, Hedwig's arrival making a lot more sense all of a sudden. He could not decide whether he should feel awed or scared.

Hogwarts is exciting as always. Hermione and I were caught smuggling Norbert out of Hogwarts, and we're going to serve detention in a few weeks. We even managed to drag another kid into our mess. Ron only managed to stay out of trouble because Norbert had bitten his hand the day before, and he had to stay in the hospital wing.

So I've decided to stay out of trouble from now on. I'm doing my homework, and revising for the exams, and training for this year's final quidditch match. If Gryffindor loses the House Cup because of all the points I've lost, the least I can do is help win the Quidditch Cup.

How about you? Have you made up with Piers? And what about that other boy in your dorm? Is he still asking questions about my letters?

I'm afraid I don't have many new things to tell you about the magical world this time. The next sentence was crossed out, and then the letter continued with: But I did find out about Azkaban. That's a prison for magical folks. Not sure if you ever wondered about it, but obviously witches and wizards can't be held in ordinary prisons. They'd just disapparate. (That's like teleportation – remember I told you about it?) So they have Azkaban instead. I don't know much about it, but from what I've learned, it's a pretty awful place, and the guards are the foulest of magical creatures, called dementors.

I have to go now. Ron just challenged Hermione to a chess game, and she accepted! I have to see that. It's not often you see her struggle at something after all.

Harry

His cousin's life seemed interesting as ever. Dudley wondered how long his resolve to stay out of trouble would last. He gave it a week. At most.

Dudley sneaked back into his dorm after classes. He pulled out his own letter from the same place where he kept all of his cousin's letters. It was almost finished, but Dudley wanted to see if he had something to add as a response to what Harry had written. Maybe ask why his cousin had wanted to know about wizarding prisons – not that Dudley was not glad that they existed – knowing that witches and wizards could be punished did wonders to make him feel safer thinking about the magical world. He snorted as another thought occurred to him. With a soft laugh, he began writing his cousin about St Brutus.

He looked over his reply one more. Maybe ask about Ron's health, he decided. Harry was very fond of his two friends, and it just seemed the right thing to do, stupid though it sounded, no matter how he phrased it.

"Oh, sorry."

Dudley looked up, startled. Artie was standing in front of him, looking like he had been caught doing something he was not supposed to.

"I – I didn't notice what you were doing," he went on before Dudley could grasp the situation.

Oh. Of course. Artie had recognised the written paper in Dudley's hand for what it was – correspondence with his mystery cousin. Before Dudley could decide how to respond, the smaller boy scurried over to his table, and pulled out some things which he put in his bag.

"I'm just going to the computer room, that's all. I'll be out of your hair in a second." He was as good as his word, already heading for the door.

"Right," snorted Dudley. "Can't study enough." He was trying not to let the other boy notice how much it worried him that Artie was aware what he was doing.

"Uh, yeah, that too," the boy mumbled, and Dudley all of a sudden spotted the computer game sticking out from his bag.

"That stupid fantasy game? That's what you do for fun?" he asked in surprise.

Artie shrugged self-consciously.

Dudley thought it over quickly. Ever since his row with Piers his life at Smeltings had been no fun. The situation with Piers had not improved, and he had no other friends – in part, because he and Piers had tried bullying most of the boys in their year at some point or other. He had tried hanging out with older troublemakers, but though they thought his attempts to be like them amusing, for the most part they thought him too young to let him join their groups. He had been so bored the last few weeks, he had even tried doing his homework.

In the end, the decision did not seem nearly as momentous as he would later feel it had been.

"Ever tried playing Mega Mutilation?" he asked Artie.