A/N: A big thank you to all the reviewers, especially for the constructive criticism. I've edited the previous chapters to correct some of the mistakes that were pointed out.

Neville looked down on his plate and waited for the gazes directed at him to move away again. For a moment, all that could be heard was the clinking of the cutlery on the plates, his among them. The merest mention of Harry. Stupid, stupid, he thought to himself. Why did he have to mention that he had said goodbye to Harry and Ron? Ernie had just been joking around, telling the adults how Neville had almost been too late for the Hogwarts Express back to London, and he had just blurted out his excuse — which was the truth, of course, but could he not just have said that he had been saying goodbye to his dorm mates?

"Well, I'm glad you made it in time," said Gran. "It would have been a shame if you'd left me all by myself over the holidays."

Neville saw her smile from the corner of his eyes. Others around their table smiled back. He took a careful bite, trying to relax. A glowing fairy sitting on a branch of the Christmas tree towering over him buzzed next to his ear, distracting him. There were noises of quiet conversations all around the tables in the Leaky Cauldron, people filling up every spare corner of the pub, as was usually the case on Christmas Eve.

"Yes, yes, Augusta, quite so," said Great Uncle Algie from the seat across her. "Neville all by himself at Hogwarts, at this time…" He shook his head, before focusing his gaze on his great nephew. "Really, Neville, if you continue to be this disorganised, you'll run into more than one sort of trouble, young man."

Neville gave a sheepish nod, hoping the topic of discussion would finally move on to something else. He noticed once again how many of his school mates seemed to be nearby, especially several second year Hufflepuffs, all friends of Ernie. Susan Bones on the other hand, who usually belonged to that group, was barely visible on the other side of the pub, her aunt's body almost completely obscuring her from his sight. Neville sighed as he watched one of the delivery owls flying in and out of the pub drop a last-minute Christmas gift in her lap. She had been less mistrustful of Harry ever since she had passed on his mysterious letters to her aunt. Once or twice she had even tried to argue against the paranoid fear directed at Harry—

"Harry Potter and his friends are the only ones staying, then?" Wayne Hopkins was asking Neville, interrupting him from his reverie. He was a halfblood boy in their year who was visiting the Macmillan family over the holidays. He exchanged looks with Ernie, who sat next to him. "You're friends with him as well, aren't you? How come he didn't ask you to stay?"

"Maybe he'd rather have the dorms all to himself – and his two sidekicks, of course," Ernie answered before Neville could think of a reply. "Maybe that was his goal all along-"

"Ernie!" admonished his mother. "Really, what nonsense you're spouting. This is no laughing matter." But despite her words, she did not seem to be trying to change her son's opinion of the matter.

"Harry never goes away over the holidays, haven't you noticed? I don't think he has that option," said Neville, his voice louder and higher-pitched than he would have preferred. Looking around, he could see Ernie's opinion reflected on many faces. "And Ron and his brothers stayed to be close to their sister. I think Hermione only decided to stay to keep them company." His voice grew quieter as he went on, but he could be clearly heard, as once again the people around him had become quiet.

"Well, I'm sure you know him better, dear." Mrs. Macmillan's smile did a good job of covering up her grimace.

Gran cleared her throat to cover up the silence around their corner of the table. She turned to her neighbour to ask her to pass something to her. The conversation was about to pick up again. Neville felt closed in, yet separate form the people around him, an observer. For one extended moment, his mind could only take in his surroundings, the clatter around the table, the uniform murmuring in the pub, the flitter of owl wings, delivering last minute presents.

"And what do you mean, his goal?" There was a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of Neville's stomach. He could not recall deciding to speak. Only, he had felt the need to stop the moment from moving on, from sinking into the lull of conversation. He had spoken quietly, but once again all eyes were on him. "Do you honestly think Harry had something to do with the attacks this year? Are you really that stupid?"

Now his voice had risen. But Neville no longer cared about drawing attention. All he cared about was the stubborn, petulant look on Ernie's face, and the rising anger that had been simmering for much longer than he had been aware of. He had wanted to say something for weeks now, he realised with a start, gearing up for a fight.

"Well, someone must be responsible—" began Ernie.

"And why must Harry Potter never be accused?" Wayne added. "Why is it, that he doesn't even get questioned, even though the most suspicious things all happened around him?"

"He's not being accused, is he? And what would you call what you're doing? And suspicious things? You mean when he saved Justin from Malfoy's snake? Don't even argue," Neville spoke over Ernie's attempted protestations. "Malfoy was the one who attacked Justin, as you all know! And Harry got rid of the snake, and Justin was fine. And he's still fine. And your ridiculous plans to, er, save him from Harry—"

"They were not ridiculous! We had to make sure he was safe—"

"Now, Neville, dear. You can't say it wasn't admirable that they were trying to protect their friend," said Mrs. Macmillan, interrupting the youngsters' discussion. She tried for a consoling tone, but it did not work.

"Why would he need protecting more than anybody else?" said Neville, not backing down. "Because Malfoy attacked him, or because Harry speaks Parseltongue?"

"Well, whatever the reason may be—"

"So that's a good enough reason, then? Being a Parselmouth?" Neville spoke over her.

"Neville, really, do stop being rude!" Great Uncle Algie raised his voice as well. "I do apologise, my dear—" he went on in a more conciliatory tone directed at Mrs Macmillan.

"I'm being rude, am I?" Neville could hear the petulant tone in his voice, to his chagrin, but he could not keep the anger in any more. "What of all of them? You! All of you, and everybody at school! You do nothing but accuse a – a second year! Or three second years – of, of sending monsters after their school mates! Even after Ron's sister was attacked, for crying out loud! His own sister! Are you listening to yourselves!"

"Neville, really, that's enough!" Great Uncle Algie's loud voice cut through his tirade, where the other guests' attempts at justifying themselves had not slowed him down.

Neville almost shut up, but Gran's expectant look stopped him. She was not trying to silence him. Not at all.

"It was the same thing last year," he said in a clear voice. Calm, but not quiet. "As soon as Harry got in trouble — you didn't even know — you still don't know what for — but suddenly everyone hated him! No one had ever wanted to be his friend, oh no—"

"Well, that's it, isn't it? He was in trouble, but no one found out what for—" began Ernie.

"Now, don't get upset, dear," his mother interrupted, and it was not clear which boy she meant. "It is natural to worry when you kids are exposed to unknown dangers at Hogwarts. And it's also natural to want all the facts to be known. I have the greatest respect for Professor Dumbledore and the rest of the staff at Hogwarts, but I wish they would simply keep us better informed—"

"But no one knows what's going on—" began Neville, but Mr Macmillan interrupted him with a shake of his head.

"You're right, of course, that no one knows anything for a fact," he said with a patronising smile. "And it's generally a wonderful attitude to assume the best of people and to be loyal to our friends. However, when the things we don't know start to add up — For example, Harry's muggle relatives he prefers not to see over the holidays. Who knows what sort of people they are? Dumbledore has always insisted on keeping Harry's family life, er, private. As a consequence, we don't know anything about his attitude towards muggles or muggleborns. Or anything else, for that matter—"

"We met his muggle cousin last year, actually—" Neville began to say.

"I know, I heard about it. Dumbledore made another exception for the boy," Mr Macmillan went on. "Which proves our point, Neville. We hear little snippets here and there, of Harry getting into trouble for unknown reasons, for getting himself hospitalised—"

"Dumbledore told us exactly what happened, actually! Quirrel tried to steal that stupid object they were guarding at school, and Harry stopped him. I was there!" Neville raised his voice to speak over the upcoming objections. "I was there with Harry and Hermione and Ron when we found the trapdoor and Fluffy, Hagrid's guard dog — cerberus, whatever — and I was there that night when they followed Quirrel. Only, I went to fetch Snape." That slowed him down for a moment, but he would not wait for his listeners to interrupt. "And, and I got detention with Harry and Hermione that time, Ernie. Or did you forget? He and Hermione were helping Hagrid with one of his stupid pets, that was all! And Malfoy, that stupid git, had to go and rat him out! And Harry was just too loyal to get Hagrid in trouble."

"What were you doing there, then?" challenged Ernie, trying not to show how interested he was in all the new information.

Neville deflated at the reminder, some of his anger turning inward, turning bitter. "I was trying to warn them, but I led McGonagall straight to them.'

The other boy snorted. "And they stayed friends with you after that?"

Before Neville could respond, Hedwig provided his answer for him. Her bright, white feathers made sure she was instantly recognised as she flew into the pub, and made a beeline to where he was seated, to deliver a small package, the neat wrapping giving away Hermione's handiwork.

"Yes, and they have yet to stop," Neville finally said in the quiet that had fallen around him again, but which no longer bothered him. "We were all treated like scum for weeks, but neither Harry nor Hermione ever held it against me. Actually, Harry thought I'd stop being friends with him."

Gran cleared her throat when it looked like he was done speaking. She reached for his package and shook it. It rattled. "What do you think is inside?" she asked him.

"Probably sweets."

"Oh, do you think it's one of those muggle sweets you were writing about?"

"Er, I don't know. Maybe," Neville said awkwardly. "I could open it—"

"Yes, yes," Gran agreed enthusiastically. "It's alright to open one Christmas present early, on Christmas Eve, isn't it?" She immediately accepted a sweet when Neville opened the colourful plastic wrap and offered her one. "You were right. They're quite good. Here, boys, have one as well. Have you ever tried them before?" she said to the stunned Hufflepuff boys.

~HP~

He was an arse and he knew it. Severus swirled the amber liquid around in his glass and watched the distorted reflections on its surface before he tilted up the glass and downed it. The grimace that followed was not entirely due to the firewhisky.

He had sent those children off into unknown danger. No, not sent them, to be precise. But he knew – he knew – that they were involving themselves in danger again, as they had the year before. And if the happenings of the year so far were anything to go by, the danger approaching this year promised to be no less devastating than the year before.

He had promised, though – the mere thought made him cringe – not to tell on them. Dumbledore needed to be told. However, he could no longer ignore the – sick, twisted – part of himself that did not want to go back on his word.

It was not until his door was opened that he realised someone had been knocking on his door for — he was unsure how long.

"You're late for Christmas Dinner, Severus," Minerva began talking while she stepped in, uninvited. "Come, now, leave whatever you're doing and come up to the Great Hall—"

His enraged look momentarily stopped her in her tracks, but the damage was already done. She could see where he sat in his armchair, empty glass in front of him on the table, next to the half-empty bottle, and surrounded by bits and pieces of the unmistakably muggle packaging. And still she kept walking towards him.

"Did I ask you to come in? No. So, please show yourself out!" Severus sat forward and gestured towards the door, trying to cover up his embarrassment with anger.

"Severus, you haven't come up for breakfast, either. It's the same thing with you every year. Unless Albus forces you to—" She stopped what she was saying as she finally took note of the items laid out in front of him on the small coffee table. "Are those muggle biscuits? And the leftovers of packaging—"

"That's none of your business—" Severus began to say, but before he could stop her, her hand shot out to grab the discarded Christmas card. He tried to reach first, but the alcohol had slowed his reaction. It was no use. She got there first. "Put that back down!" A sinking feeling of dread washed over Severus, as he tried to brace himself for the now unavoidable humiliation to come.

"Are you ashamed of receiving presents? I didn't think any of your students did that, to be honest, what with their parents sending you bribes instead—" she stopped talking as soon as she spotted the senders' names on the card. "What?"

Severus had wondered the same thing that morning, when he had found the package. Was it a way to thank him for letting them carry on with their plan to investigate Draco Malfoy? A way to improve his opinion of them? Some tasteless Gryffindor thing?

"That's what I'd like to know," he replied after a very noticeable pause. "I've been trying to detect what sort of poison or spell might be on the so-called present. The packaging and the card seem to be clear—" His attempt at being facetious fell flat. He stopped talking at her expression, which told him she was not buying it.

"I think we both know what the present means," Minerva told him gently. There was a wistful note in her voice she tried to cover up unsuccessfully.

Severus looked away from her knowing gaze. He was bitterly aware of the irony of the situation. She was jealous that the brats had given him a present, while he himself could barely handle the humiliation.

"You must have got over yourself a lot more than I had noticed. Oh, I did notice some of it. Albus told me it was you again they sought out for help when they were looking for Ginerva. But I had not grasped what that actually meant. They really have come to like you, haven't they?"

"I do hope not!" Severus did not need to exaggerate his outrage. "That was an accident, I assure you. I just happened to be the closest – sane – teacher at hand." He ignored the fact that he was once again involved in one of the Troublesome Trio's little schemes, one Minerva would hopefully never learn about. "I couldn't tell you what goes on in Potter's mind – or his friends', for that matter – but I have neither wanted nor encouraged his good opinion of me. In fact, I have made it abundantly clear what I think of him—"

"And what would that be?" But Minerva did not wait for him to get over the strange tightening of his throat at the question, the delay at which his usual response at that question used to come. "No, don't answer that. I've heard it all before." She sighed. "Which only makes their gift all the more significant. I really hope you'll—"

"Oh, spare me." Severus scoffed. "Were they in any House other than yours, I'd have assumed it was an attempt to curry favour with me, or at least get me to be more lenient with them. But they're from your House of self-righteous bullies and reckless hotheads—"

"And you know they honestly meant it," Minerva cut across his speech. She would not take the bait and respond to his insults.

"I know no such thing." Severus had to fight back a sudden onslaught of anger. It was not because he suspected she might be right. It was – "If I were to guess, I'd say it's probably nothing more than some sort of a Gryffindor test of courage, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this – incident – to me in the future. In fact, you're more than welcome to these—" He held out the biscuits to her. "—if you find them so significant—"

"No, thank you," Minerva said primly. "I received quite enough presents this year, including one from Miss Granger and Messrs Potter and Weasley." She frowned at him. "I don't understand why—" She shook her head. "Really, Severus, if those children's present really had not touched you, you'd hardly be spending Christmas Day in your room, sulking and getting drunk."

"I'm not sulking!" Severus said after a pause, but by then Minerva had crossed his room and was already stepping out the door.

In the stifling quiet that followed, Severus finally admitted to himself that he knew Minerva was right. Potter and his friends had come to... like... him. His feelings were a jumbled mess, that would not allow for a simple, straightforward reaction.

Even after spending half the day deliberating (not sulking), the only resolution he had been able to reach was to be honest to Potter about his dislike of him – and his foolhardy friends, by extension. Severus had to grimace at that. It was not as if they could have remained oblivious of it thus far. And yet, the brat seemed to think that things could change – that things had changed, perhaps.

There was no use in speculating what those children might be thinking. He just had to make sure that they understood that there was no changing of his animosity towards Potter and his friends. There was no question of punishing them, or making his displeasure at their present be known by treating them badly – worse than he had thus far. Instead, he just wanted to be honest about the fact that he would always despise Potter and everyone associated with him.

Strangely enough, reaching this resolution did not make him feel better. On the contrary. He felt like the last rays of light, reaching through the lake water outside the narrow window just under the ceiling of his room: broken and bent passing through the depths of the water, fading swiftly as the sun set on the shortest day of the year.

~HP~

It was only at supper that Severus finally made an appearance in the great hall. Ever since her talk to him before Christmas Dinner, Minerva had been looking forward to seeing him around certain students of hers, wondering if she would be able to spot a change in behaviour on either side. Severus himself had been disturbed and embarrassed when she saw him, and the way Potter and his friends kept sneaking furtive glances towards the high table all through Christmas Dinner, she suspected that they were not too confident about how their present had been received, either.

Her curiosity was to be denied for quite some time, however. Severus did not make an appearance at lunchtime, during Christmas Dinner, and Potter and his friends were absent during supper. She was not the only one who noticed. Minerva followed Severus' gaze towards the Gryffindor table and heard his sigh of relief at not seeing a certain trio of Gryffindors.

"Missing your favourite students?" She could not resist the gibe.

Severus' face darkened. He sat down next to her. "I'd be much more concerned about your most disruptive students' whereabouts, than my avoidance of them." He said much more quietly than her comment had been.

Minerva felt, more than heard, Poppy's breath catch on her other side. The matron looked as if she wanted to say something, as Minerva turned her head towards her, but then her face reddened and she shook her head.

"What happened?" Severus asked immediately, with a degree of urgency in his voice that immediately alerted Minerva. His comment about the trio's whereabouts suddenly took on a very interesting meaning.

"What is going on?" Minerva looked from one colleague to the other, to be met by one stony and one apologetic expression. "If either of you know something about one of my students, I insist that you tell me at once—"

"You know I'm bound by healer-patient confidentiality, Minerva," said Poppy.

"Well, I'm hardly going to miss their absence, if it's anything serious! So you might as well tell me—"

"It is up to her to tell you what she deems necessary—"

"Miss Granger?" Minerva drew back, surprised. Of the three of them, Granger was the least likely to be trouble. In fact, Minerva thought her to be a very sensible, serious sort of girl. "What happened to her?" When she saw Poppy's resolutely sealed lips, she turned back to Severus. "And you! What do you know about my students that I don't?"

Once again, Poppy had to suppress an exclamation, but as Minerva turned towards her, she resolutely avoided looking back, instead choosing to keep her eyes fixed on her plate.

"Do you suspect an accident with a potion?" Severus asked through clenched teeth. He rolled his eyes in exasperation, or frustration, when he noticed the women's looks.

"She said it was a charms accident," Poppy said slowly. "But a potion does seem rather more likely."

"Would it help you cure her faster if you knew what potion it was?" Severus asked curtly.

"I'm tempted to say yes, just to find out what sorts of dangers you find it acceptable to expose second-year students to," Poppy said coolly. "But I don't think it will help her get better sooner. It will take me several weeks to reverse the damage safely either way."

Severus looked chastised. It was such an uncommon expression on his face that Minerva had to do a double take.

"The potion itself was fine," he murmured. "What sort of damage are you talking about?" he asked briskly. He rolled his eyes at Poppy's obstinate look. "I'll keep the information confidential. Honestly, isn't it clear by now that I know more about this than you do?" His harsh tone could not disguise his discomfort.

"She seems to have acquired some animal traits. Feline, I think—"

Severus groaned. "Stupid. So stupid. What was she thinking?"

"I'm more concerned about what you were thinking, Severus," Minerva said coolly. "Putting those children in harm's way—"

"I did no such thing!"

"Well, I've heard enough." Minerva pushed her chair back to get up. "I'm going to see how my student is doing—"

"Wait," said Severus. "If you think Granger and her sidekicks will just confide in you, by all means, go. But I, for one, doubt you'll learn anything from them. I was planning to talk to them anyway, to convince them to see Albus, after supper. You're welcome to come along."

Minerva wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face. He knew, of course, how much it riled her that he knew more about (some of) her Gryffindors than she did, and he just had to rub it in.

"Is that so? How come they confided in you, then? Have you suddenly become their favourite teacher, the one they they go to for advice—"

"Of course they didn't confide in me! It's precisely because I'm not — and am not trying to be — their favourite teacher — just as they're far from my favourite students. I don't have any illusions about their behaviour, Minerva. I know — and don't delude myself otherwise — that they break rules as often as they breathe — if not more often. I. Watch. Them."

"You mean you spy on them!"

"I investigate them."

"Without any cause! They have a right to privacy—"

Severus crossed his arms with a self-satisfied smirk. "Really, Minerva, do you still doubt that I had cause? Even now that you know for a fact that they were up to no good?"

Minerva had no reply to that. In fact, she turned around to talk to Poppy and would not say another word to Severus all supper.

~HP~

The boys were huddled around Hermione's bed, conveniently blocking her from sight from the entrance to the hospital wing. They were discussing what Draco Malfoy had told Harry and Ron. Disappointingly, they had not found out the Heir of Slytherin's identity, but there was still much to consider. Hermione, of course, wanted to know almost every sentence Malfoy had uttered word-for-word, and as long as it distracted her from her unpleasant predicament, her friends were willing to oblige her.

Their animated, if quiet, conversation stopped when they heard the door to the hospital wing open, followed by footsteps. The boys turned around, growing alert and wary, as they saw McGonagall and Snape walking towards them, who only caught a glimpse of strange, yellow eyes and black fur, before the third member of the trio was hidden behind her friends' backs.

"That potion is not designed for animal transformation, Miss Granger. The instructions were quite careful. I don't know how you overlooked that," said Snape.

The boys remained silent, eyes shifting between their professors, before settling on Snape. They had broken about a million school rules – by Hermione's assessment – in order to question Malfoy. If Snape had wanted to punish them for it, he could have done so by now. But even with their Head of House there, his calm approach did not seem like it would be leading up to trouble. So instead of panicking, Harry looked at him expectantly, with a degree of trust mixed with the wariness that made Snape scowl.

"I know," said Hermione miserably. "It was an accident. I picked Milicent Bulstrode's hair, but I guess she must have a cat..."

"What happened? What is going on?" asked McGonagall. The confusion on her face immediately told her students that Snape had yet to tell her much of anything.

"I..." Snape's lips curled in something that should have been distaste, but had a healthy dose of pain mixed in. The words would not come easily. "I gave you my word that I would not stop you from going through with your plan. And I believe, you already did-"

"It's true, he hasn't told me anything," said McGonagall. If Snape wanted to undo whatever changes the children had affected in him, and their mutual opinion of each other, he would have to do it himself. She would not help him destroy the fragile peace – if that was what it was. "I just found out that you were hurt, Miss Granger, and I'd very much appreciate it if you'd tell me how."

"It was an accident," Hermione said after a pause. "We were, er..." She hesitated.

"If you did learn anything new, you ought to tell the headmaster," said Snape.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then back at Hermione, who had turned her head away, so that her hair was obscuring most of her face. The pointed ears were in full view, however.

"We didn't find out all that much," said Harry, after a little silent deliberation. "Malfoy doesn't know who the heir is. His father does, as far as we could tell, but that wasn't really news any more, not after we knew about Dobby-"

"What exactly is Lucius Malfoy saying?" asked Snape, who seemed to be following the cryptic explanations, much to McGonagall's surprise.

"Draco Malfoy said that his father knows all about the first time the Chamber was opened, even though it was before his time," said Ron. "But he won't tell anything to his son, because it would look suspicious if Draco knew too much."

"He also said that whoever was involved last time was expelled. But Professor Dumbledore told us that he actually suspected someone else was responsible and then framed another student," said Harry. He remembered not to mention Riddle's name, as Dumbledore had avoided doing so before.

"That just shows how much Malfoy Senior trusts his son," said Ron.

"But think about what you were just telling me!" said Hermione excitedly. "If Draco thinks the attacks might be over, then that must be because his father knows Ginny was petrified-"

"Hold on, Miss Weasley," interrupted Snape. "Did Draco say the attacks have stopped?"

"Actually, would anyone please explain what is going on?" said McGonagall. "Did you two gentlemen question Mr Malfoy? How did you get him to answer? And how is Miss Granger's unfortunate accident related to that?"

Harry took a look at Ron's miserable face and decided they were unlikely to get out of explaining themselves. "We took polyjuice potion and turned ourselves into Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione's potion had cat hair." He shrugged.

"And Malfoy doesn't know for sure that the attacks have stopped," said Ron, in answer to Snape's question. "He just said that the last time the Chamber was opened a muggleborn died and his father was, er, worried that it might not come to that this time around. Malfoy thought the way his father said it might mean that the attacks have now stopped, before the Heir managed to, er, rid the school of, uh..."

McGonagall pursed her lips at the implication of what Malfoy was wishing for. "And would you mind explaining to me how you came to suspect Mr Malfoy, or how you came into the possession of polyjuice?"

"We, er, brewed it," said Harry.

"And, as I said, the potion was fine – I did not help them, Minerva," Snape forestalled her complaint. "I merely did not stop them when I found their potion. I thought it would not hurt to try."

"Why Mr Malfoy, though? There must have been an awfully convincing reason for you to allow a student to be spied on," said McGonagall with unmistakeable sarcasm. Some silent communication passed between the teachers, as Snape's lip twitched, before he rolled his eyes.

"The Malfoys' house elf kept giving me cryptic hints about what was going to happen," said Harry, and then explained about the charmed bludger that broke his arm and the blocked entrance to Platform 9¾.

"Lucius Malfoy had a fight with Mr Weasley when we were all shopping in Diagon Alley," said Hermione. "Ginny was there, too. He could easily have cursed her then! So of course he would know that the attacks have stopped now that Ginny is petrified!"

"But that's the thing!" said Ron. "She herself was attacked-"

"But she was also, er-" Harry stopped before he said too much.

"Albus implied that she might've been possessed," said McGonagall. "He was suggesting that she might have been used as an instrument, by whoever is responsible, to actually execute the attacks."

The students nodded their heads – even Hermione, though her head was mostly hidden from view. They had discussed this point all evening. Lucius Malfoy might be responsible for some things, but that still left Ginny's cryptic message on the window. Who was Tom Riddle and how was he involved?

"This has gone on for long enough," said McGonagall. "I don't know what Professor Snape was thinking, but I for one will not have you three put yourselves in so much danger from now on. Come along to the headmaster's office, now."

Hermione made a choked off sound. Harry and Ron turned to look at her. Even through the fur, they could tell how horrified she found the idea of having to walk through the school.

But of course Hermione did not have to go. Even Ron was allowed to stay to keep her company. Harry alone followed her up the now familiar staircase behind the stone gargoyle. Once inside the office, Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait and left him there, alone.

Without the troubles of his last visit to Dumbledore's office, Harry could enjoy the beautiful circular room with the strange noises that he could not discover the source of. One surprising thing he noticed was Fawkes. Or rather, the young interloper standing on Fawkes' golden perch behind the door.

Harry hesitated. He cast a wary eye around the sleeping portraits of the headmasters and headmistresses on the walls and the beautifully singing little bird. Quite an audience. But Dumbledore would be here soon, and who knew when he might have another chance like this.

He walked around the desk, to the shelf behind it, where a shabby, tattered wizard's hat sat just as he remembered. He lifted the Sorting Hat from its shelf and lowered it slowly onto his head. It was much too large and slipped down over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he'd put it on. Harry stared at the black inside of the hat, waiting.

Then a small voice said in his ear, "Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?"

"Er, yes," muttered Harry. "Er – sorry to bother you – I wanted to ask-"

"You were wondering whether I could tell you a little more about Tom Riddle," said the hat smartly. "I'm afraid I can't help you there. One of the reasons I'm trusted to read every magical child's mind is that I never give away their secrets. Just as I would never tell anyone what we discussed when I sorted you, or what I saw in your mind," he added pointedly.

"But I'm not asking for secrets!" Harry tried not to think about his sorting. "I just want to know if he was – is – Slytherin's descendant-"

"Been wondering the same thing about yourself, have you, ever since you realised that you're a parselmouth? It's one of the reasons why I think you'd have done well in Slytherin-"

Harry felt like flinging the hat off his head at that point, but he tried again. "What about Riddle, then? Was he a parselmouth as well? Or – What about the Malfoys? Are they Slytherin's descendants?"

The hat did not answer for a long moment. "Being descended from Salazar Slytherin does not make one responsible for those attacks. Being born in a certain family, or being sorted in a certain House, does not determine what someone will do. As you should know."

Harry thought of his godfather, Sirius, and what Ron had told him of the Black family. Had people been more willing to believe him a traitor because of the family he was from?

"Something to think about, isn't it?" The hat sounded almost smug. "I may know you all at the age of eleven, Harry Potter, but if it were so easy to predict what children will grow into, I could have foreseen all of the events in the magical world! But I can not. People change. Oh, how they change." He sounded very old as he said that. And infinitely sad.

Offhandedly, the thought of Snape popped into Harry's head. "Sometimes for the better," said he.

There was another long pause, and Harry almost pulled the hat off, thinking he would not respond.

"I cannot tell you anything about what I saw in Tom Riddle's mind. All I can tell you is that his closest magical ancestor, the one qualifying him for Slytherin house, was his grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt." The Sorting Hat fell silent then and would not say any more.

Harry was not sure if the hat's comment would prove at all helpful, but he tried to remember the name anyway.

Not too long after that, the door was opened and Dumbledore and McGonagall stepped in. They were arguing, as they seemed to have done for quite some time. Harry soon realised, with an elated heart, that the headmaster had been defending Harry's and his friends' actions to their head of House.

"Yes, Minerva, it is indeed our responsibility to protect our students, but when we fail at our duties, we cannot fault our students for looking after themselves and after their friends and siblings. All we can do is listen and help and try to do better the next time, not make their lives more difficult."

McGonagall bit her lip at the criticism, and would not say more, but remained to listen to Harry tell Dumbledore of his and his friends' investigations.