Dudley walked past the small common room, looked inside, but did not enter. He caught a glimpse of a number of younger boys sat in front of the telly, watching Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog. Dudley knew the video game very well, but felt he was far too grown up to watch the show. For a moment he considered going in, just to see if he and Harry could use it in their secret code. Harry had heard him describe the game often enough to recognise the characters. Harry himself would be Sonic, of course, and Tails would be Ron—

Dudley saw Piers round the corner together with another classmate of theirs and turned to walk in the opposite direction.

He decided he would find Artie instead. Another boy from his computer club had suggested a computer game that Artie was planning to try out. Dudley could join him. It was apparently a puzzle game, and not an easy one. It was not Dudley's usual preference, but perhaps it would prove diverting enough to distract him from thinking about Harry's last letter.

Harry had used Scooby-Doo characters for the coded message, which was a bit awkward, because it had one too many characters. Harry and Sirius had been easy to identify as Shaggy and Scooby. They had had a run-in with the magical police, it seemed. Dudley had re-read that part of the message repeatedly, but there was of course very little detail given.

Ron and Hermione had been more tricky to identify as Fred and Velma, because Daphne had also made an appearance in the letter. Dudley was not entirely sure, but he suspected she was supposed to be Ron's sister – based mostly on the ginger hair. That meant then that Ron and Hermione had also crossed paths with the magical police, which would mean that Ron's sister had had a run-in with the rat – Pettigrew…

He had his own letter to Harry to finish before Hedwig arrived in the (very) early morning. The previous letter had been written in black ink, thankfully, but there was no knowing these days. One of Harry's coded messages repeated every few letters was his concern for Hedwig, and what all the surveillance spells might be doing to her. She did not seem unwell in any way, as far as Dudley could tell, but he was keeping a close eye on her, reporting his observations to Harry—

"Hey, Dudley, wait up."

Dragged away from his thoughts, Dudley realised the footsteps had been following him for a little while. He turned and saw Piers, now without their classmate, walking towards him.

"Are you going back to our dorm?" asked Piers, instead of telling Dudley what he wanted.

"No, I…" Dudley decided on a simple explanation. "I was thinking of watching the telly."

Piers snorted a laugh. "What, with them?" He pointed towards the common room a little distance away from them, filled with the first-year boys. It was only at Dudley's frown that he tried to school his face into something less mocking.

Dudley sighed. "No, not with them." He refrained from rolling his eyes. He and Piers had watched the similar enough shows as little as a year ago, and now the other boy thought it was something to be mocked. But Dudley did not bother to explain his thoughts. "I was just thinking about it."

"Well… we could try another common room. Maybe someone's watching something sensible—"

Dudley raised his eyebrows. "You… want to watch the telly with me?" He was beginning to get impatient with Piers. Again.

Ever since Piers had talked to Dudley's mother in the summer, the boys had virtually stopped speaking to each other. No easy feat, considering they shared a dorm room. Dudley and Artie never spoke of anything but trivial matters when Piers was around, and never discussed Harry with him.

Piers had realised why Dudley had suddenly begun avoiding him again in the summer, after slowly improving their broken friendship up until Aunt Marge's visit, helped along by their parents. He had confronted Dudley, had tried to downplay what he had said. It was true that he had not fully understood what he had done, Dudley could admit that now.

Piers shifted, made an attempt at a casual shrug. "Or we could just hang out."

"I… I'm going to meet with Artie in a bit." Not a lie, but an excuse.

Piers' face went to disappointed and then to angry all of a sudden. "What got into you! All high and mighty, defending your friends, defending your cousin—"

Well, if he was done avoiding the real issue, then Dudley would oblige. "Do you have any idea what you did?" he all but shouted back.

Piers looked taken aback. The guilt he felt was once again written on his face, as it had in the summer, when Dudley had first seen him after Harry had left. Despite this, Piers had not apologised back then, but had instead tried to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"What?" Piers said with affected unconcern. "Are you still mad about whatever happened with your cousin this summer?"

"Not whatever happened – What you said!"

"To your mum? Well, big deal! Like it's a secret that you hang out with that weird Potter—" He fell silent at how menacing Dudley's face had turned.

"So. You're still pretending you had no idea what you were doing, are you?" Dudley drew back, felling like there was no point in bothering to talk to Piers at all.

Piers must have noticed the change in him. He had the good sense not to say something to prove Dudley right. "No," he said quietly. "I get that – that you get along with him, but your parents – don't. And maybe I might've guessed that," he almost mumbled that last part. The apologetic tone could not last long. When he went on, he was brash, defiant. "But so what? I know you and – and Artie still talk about him, about his school, or whatever. So it's not like your parents kicked him out, or sent him to prison, or anything!"

"You don't get it! You don't know anything!"

"Of course I don't! It's not like you're willing to tell me!" Piers shouted back.

Dudley hesitated, thinking this over. When talking to Artie, Dudley was now no longer as careful about mentioning Harry in front of Piers. In fact, he and Artie were now the friends in their dorm, with Piers the outsider, who was made to feel like an intruder more and more often. Dudley still thought of Piers as the bully, and himself as the protector of those bys they both used to bully. But if Dudley used to be the same, did he have the moral high ground? Moreover, if he had managed to change, then why not Piers?

Haltingly, hesitantly, he agreed to explain, to talk things out.

~HP~

Lupin was back the next day, still looking unwell, but everyone was relieved when he immediately told them not to bother with the homework Snape had set. Harry, Ron and Hermione were also beginning to feel relieved, but for a different reason. Lupin was the last of their teachers who did not seem to be treating them any differently than before, adding weight to their assumption that Dumbledore was keeping his word. Also, it looked like Lupin had not heard that they knew of his condition.

Hermione had berated Ron for reacting in such a thoughtless manner, mentioning to Snape that they knew Lupin was a werewolf, even though she had been the one who had been the most panicked after Harry had told his friends of his talk with Dumbledore.

Slowly, bit by bit, their worry abated, making room for them to think about other parts of their lives. Ron had finally found words for his animagus spell. The first one was straight-forward. It was 'chivalry'. The second word Ron knew had something to do with working on opposing sides to get them to come to an agreement. He tried several words that meant something similar and they all had reasonably high numerological values.

Hermione was perhaps not as eager to keep going through the dictionary and trying to find the best fit as Ron would have liked. She was much more intent on the next step. The actual transfiguration. It soon became obvious that she had been itching to try a partial transformation, but had held herself back, so as to avoid making Ron feel left behind.

She almost came to regret that. They were all a lot more hesitant about meeting up with Sirius – especially Sirius himself. Without him around, however, he did not want the teenagers to try the partial transfigurations.

"We're talking about one of the most difficult types of transfiguration – that of human to animal," he told them. "Even partial human transfiguration is NEWT level stuff. And of course the animagus transformation isn't taught at school at all." Seeing their disappointed, obstinate faces, Sirius relented somewhat. "Of course, that's partly because of the risk, and not just because of the difficulty. Still. The risk is well worth keeping in mind, especially with something you're supposed to keep secret. Going with that sort of accident to the school matron would raise some questions."

"But you said we could do it!" said Hermione, voice rising, looking combative. "So what have we been doing all this time then—"

Sirius raised his hand – the one not holding the mirror – in a conciliatory manner. "And you'll be able to do it – if you're careful and a little patient. Prongs – er, James was the first of us to try the partial transformations at the end of our third year. He was also the first of us to successfully complete the transfiguration at the end of our fourth year. But – and I don't say this to be discouraging – he was exceptionally gifted at transfiguration. It took me several more months. And he was around to help when I – and even more often Pettigrew – had accidents.

"Hermione, you're the most skilled of the three of you, meaning there would be no one to help you if something went wrong. I'd hoped to meet up again, of course, for exactly that reason, but now…"

This was quite likely the first time someone had told Hermione that her academic skills were not quite adequate. It did not matter that the skill in question was supposed to be very advanced. She spent every free minute she had reading transfiguration books, and making the boys do the same.

They had already been doing their best to learn transfiguration, so much so that McGonagall had begun leaving positive comments on Harry's and even Ron's homework. But for the first time Hermione deemed it acceptable for the boys to neglect some of their other homework – in divination, for example – in order to have more time for transfiguration. She was determined she would become an animagus – even without Sirius' presence.

Harry, meanwhile, had quidditch to occupy his thoughts. The weather got steadily worse as the week progressed, leading up to the quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin on Saturday. The training got progressively more unpleasant. Worse, only a couple days before the match, Harry found out that they would be playing Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin, because Malfoy was still pretending to have a hurt arm. Instead of Malfoy, he would be against Cedric Diggory, captain and seeker of the Hufflepuffs, who was older and bigger, and potentially not as likely to be blown off-course by the strong wind.

It was an unpleasant day – beginning with Peeves waking him in the small hours by blowing hard in his ear – and getting worse as the thunderstorm greeted him as he walked to the quidditch pitch. The wind was so strong that Harry staggered sideways, walking from the changing rooms. Then there was the rain. The captains greeted each other – Diggory even attempted to smile – and they were up in the air. Within a few minutes, Harry was soaked to the skin and freezing. He could barely see the bludgers or Diggory, much less the snitch.

He should not have tried it, thought Harry. He had been disappointed that the animagus spell had not reacted when he had cast it during flying, even though he was a natural at it, even though he loved it. So trying again during an actual quidditch match had seemed a good idea. But he should have left it to the next match, seeing what the weather was like.

The problem was that the spell had done something. He was in the trance – on top of the cold numbing him and the rain making it almost impossible for him to see. Yet, his new word would not come…

Oliver called a time-out, Harry was vaguely aware. He even managed to ask after the score – they were winning by fifty points, apparently. Hermione was there suddenly, casting a spell – Impervious – on his glasses. Then they were back in the air.

The sudden clarity of sight was overwhelming. Everything was in sharp focus, beckoning his trance-addled brain to look for something – the snitch, surely. Harry was only vaguely aware of Diggory flying past his head, a bludger whizzing past his ear, the thunder and lightning in the sky…

Oliver had to shout at him to alert him that the snitch was behind him. Harry floated in the air, watching Diggory pelt up the field, and a part of him knew he was supposed to chase after him –after the snitch they were both supposed to catch. He made the attempt, though his eyes were refusing to focus on the tiny speck of gold shimmering in the rain-filled air between them…

Even before he felt them, his eyes were drawn to the ground. At least a hundred dementors were approaching, all of them assembling on the spot directly under him. An eerie silence fell. The storm was still there, but Harry no longer heard it. The cold and dark seemed to intensify. He slowed as the thoughts came, colder and darker still.

"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now…"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—"

As the shrill, loud laughter of that memory filled his mind, he became conscious of what it was he was hearing. He knew then that he would not be able to get away from them. He refused to be drowned by fear – he would face them with his eyes wide open. His final thought was of flying.

Flying, indeed. Towards death.

~HP~

Harry came to in the hospital wing, to the frightened faces of Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team – minus Oliver Wood, who had stayed in the shower in his grief. There was bad news to be had. They had lost the match, though only by a hundred points. Their chances of winning the Quidditch Cup were not entirely gone.

Once the quidditch players had left, Hermione and Ron filled Harry in on what had happened while he was passed out. Dumbledore had slowed his fall, scattered the dementors and then taken him to the hospital wing. Harry's broom had been blown into the Whomping Willow and destroyed.

It was more than enough to explain Harry's lack of cheer. His friends stayed with him almost until curfew, aware that he was in need of cheering up, though not quite correct about the reason why.

Yes, losing a quidditch match for the first time was a heavy blow. Losing his broom was even worse. It felt almost like Harry had lost a friend. The fact that the dementors had such a devastating influence on him, and had once again been close enough to prove it, was also difficult to bear in mind.

None of that was at the forefront of Harry's mind, though. None of it was enough to distract him for long enough from the memory the dementors had brought to the surface, or what the animagus trance had unearthed. Had it been that long ago that he had foolishly claimed he could be honest with himself? That he would be able to handle it?

Harry did the arithmantic calculation that night, still kept in the hospital wing by Madam Pomfrey. It took a bit of manoeuvring, he had to convince Hermione to bring him his notes – he did not know it from memory. Then he had to wait for Madam Pomfrey to go to sleep. But he wanted to make sure he would be unobserved, away from even his closest friends.

First he tried the one he had so recklessly chased after: 'Flying'. 'I fly'. The calculation was done easily enough. There it was. He had been right to think it would be one of his words. A little obvious, a little underwhelming.

He sat there, on the hospital bed, his notes spread out in front of him, unable to stop and unwilling carry on. He had not looked away, came the disquieting memory. When he had finally recognised his mother's voice, pleading with Voldemort not to kill him, moments before Voldemort had murdered her, the actual danger of the dementors below him had merged with the danger of Voldemort – within the memory, about to attempt to kill him, but also still very much ongoing, because of the prophecy. And yet, he had not tried to flee uselessly. There had been a very strong conviction in him, brought along by the trance, that he would keep on flying on his set course.

He would not hide, would not run now either. He would face the truth about himself the spell had unearthed. Besides, his mind was so full, he would hardly be able to fall asleep if he did not do this now. It had to be done. Putting it off would only make him have to go through the same agonising mental preparation the following night – after having to wait all day.

He did not know how long it took, but finally, he drew the parchment closer again, and began a new calculation. It went surprisingly fast, reaching the inevitable result. 'Death'. Harry stared at the word, his mind blank – the calm following the storm. Once again, he did not know how long it took until he swept everything into his bag and lay down. He thought he would be unable to sleep, his mind blank but fully awake, alert. He was asleep before he had finished thinking that.

~HP~

Harry had to stay in the hospital wing on Sunday. He waited impatiently for his friends to visit him. His mind was still filled with the fragments of disquieting dreams, where the memories of the clammy, rotten hands of the dementors merged with his mother's petrified pleading.

He had a lot of visitors, intent on cheering him up. Hagrid sent him a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, and Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, turned up with a get-well card she had made herself, which sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his bowl of fruit. The Gryffindor team visited him again, and Wood told him (in a hollow voice) that he did not blame him.

As soon as Ron and Hermione were his only remaining company, he asked them how Sirius had taken the news – having asked his friends to call his godfather in his stead the day before, while he was stuck in the hospital wing.

"The thing is… it wasn't really news to him," said Ron.

He and Hermione exchanged a troubled, serious look, much to Harry's surprise.

"That's why there were all those dementors," said Hermione in a quaking voice. "Snuffles saw Wormtail on his map. So he came to investigate. He was still in the Forbidden Forest when Wormtail disappeared from the map – inside a toilet again, Harry—"

"Like last year," said Ron. "He really must be travelling through the actual sewer system." He looked so grossed out, he was likely remembering that Wormtail used to be his pet. "Snuffles figured it out, too. He guessed that Wormtail must've swam across the lake – and he was right!"

"What? The sewage flows into the lake?" asked Harry. He ought to focus on more important things, but—

"Not… exactly," said Hermione. "It – kind of – flows under the lake. It's not explained in detail in Hogwarts, a History, it only says that it wouldn't work without magic, but—"

"Alright, so what about Wormtail, then?" Harry did not want her getting distracted.

"Snuffles cast the untransfiguration spell across the lake, and there he was—"

"Wait, he got close enough to the school to do that?" Harry had raised his voice, he noticed. He looked around, to make sure Madam Pomfrey was not close by.

Hermione nodded. "He was by the train station, which isn't as regularly patrolled by the dementors. It's deserted usually, and they don't like that much. Snuffles says they're much fonder of the path to Hogsmeade. But when Snuffles transformed back into a human and then transfigured Wormtail as well, they noticed soon enough. Don't worry, Harry. Snuffles was close to the edge of the anti-apparition wards and managed to get away."

"But so did Wormtail. He fled to the opposite edge of the lake – closest to the quidditch pitch. The dementors were after him at first, but I guess he – as a rat – wasn't as, er, interesting to them as you were," said Ron.

"Snuffles didn't go far. He wanted to keep an eye on what'd happen to Wormtail. He… saw you fall, Harry," Hermione said meaningfully. "And then he had to wait for hours before we called him…"

Harry nodded in understanding. Sirius must have still been upset when talking to her and Ron, he realised.

"We did our best to convince him you're alright, but he wants to talk to you as soon as you get out of here," said Ron.

Harry had to wait for that until late that evening, when Madam Pomfrey finally let him leave. Instead of handing the mirror over, Hermione and Ron followed Harry out of the common room to talk to Sirius as well. After thinking things over, Hermione had decided that if Sirius could take such risks, then so could they. Ron had tempted her into wanting to meet up to begin learning the animagus transfiguration.

For a moment, it seemed like Sirius would disagree, but then he sighed harshly. "You'll hardly be in more danger around me, with how easily Pettigrew's managed to infiltrate Hogwarts again. And at least you'd be that much closer to managing the animagus transfiguration – and what little safety that can give you against the dementors."

He held Harry's gaze for a moment, his own eyes shadowed and bloodshot. "You need to learn a way to protect yourself against the dementors, Harry," he said at last. "The animagus transformation is useful, but there are other options – like the Patronus charm. Unfortunately, that's really not something I could teach you remotely, through a mirror." He thought it over for a moment, before coming to a resolve. "Talk to Moony. He's teaching you tomorrow, isn't he? Ask him to teach you the Patronus charm. It may be difficult, but at least it's easier than the animagus transformation. It's still on the school syllabus. Besides, it's really very effective."

Harry agreed to try.

It was a relief to return to the flurry of school activity the next morning, to be distracted away from their worries. There was Malfoy though, beside himself with glee, having finally taken off his bandages now that they had served their purpose. He did impressions of Harry falling off his broom all through potions, until Ron finally cracked and threw a crocodile heart at his face.

Snape took fifty points from Gryffindor, and then told Ron to see him that evening for his first detention, among the jeers of the Slytherins.

At least the defence lesson was very enjoyable. Lupin was entirely recovered from the full moon and had brought along a glass box, containing a hinkypunk. Harry was once again fully engaged in the lesson and almost forgot his promise to Sirius to talk to Lupin, but at the end of the class it was his teacher himself who asked him to stay behind.

Lupin wanted to secretly apologise for the Whomping Willow breaking his Nimbus 2000, Harry realised. Lupin told him that the tree had been planted in his first year at school, though of course he did not explain the reason for it. Harry knew, though, that it concealed the passage to the Shrieking Shack, and he was once again forced to keep a poker face as the realisation hit him while Lupin recalled with obvious guilt how the tree had almost lost a boy from his school days an eye.

"Did you hear about the dementors too?" said Harry, remembering Sirius' instructions.

Lupin had, and tried his best to reassure Harry that it was not a sign of weakness that they affected him.

"When they get near me—" Harry stared at Lupin's desk, his throat tight. "I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum."

He had not told Sirius about that the night before, not after seeing how badly his godfather was taking his own involvement in the dementors' attack on Harry. He had yet to tell Ron and Hermione, even.

Lupin made an aborted gesture, as if to grip Harry's shoulder, and Harry suddenly became fully conscious of the fact that he was talking to his dad's other best friend. His parents' friend.

"The dementors keep coming after me, because I'm easy prey," Harry said after a pause. "They don't much care if you're guilty or not, do they? They'll come after whoever's easiest to prey on," he went on bitterly, thinking of Pettigrew and how they had let him get away.

"You're right." Lupin shut his briefcase with a snap. "They're never too keen on letting the prisoners go from Azkaban, even after they've served their sentence. Nor do they care if those prisoners are guilty or not. As long as they have a couple hundred humans to feed on… And yet, Black managed to get away from them…"

For once, Harry had not been steering the conversation to Sirius. Lupin himself had brought up the question of the prisoners' guilt— "Azkaban sounds like an awful place. Have you ever been there?"

"No." Lupin regarded him with some surprise.

"I just meant, because you used to be friends with my parents and Sirius Black. I thought maybe you visited him there, to ask him why—"

Lupin's briefcase slipped from the desk; he had to stoop quickly to catch it.

"No," he said, straightening up, "I never went to question Black. I never wanted to know why he'd done what he—" He broke off. "Anyway, even the dementors couldn't break down his defences, and that's supposed to be impossible. They're supposed to drain any human of all their powers if left with them for too long. I'd hardly have managed to get any useful answers out of him."

"You made that dementor on the train back off," said Harry suddenly, seizing the opportunity to bring up the Patronus lessons.

It worked. Lupin was easy to convince to teach him the Patronus charm. He did put it off until the next term, however, saying that he had too much to do before the holidays.

Harry was reasonably content with his efforts when he rejoined his friends and recounted his conversation with Lupin back to them. He told them everything, including the memory the dementors had made him relive. With an, "Oh, Harry," Hermione threw her arms around him, and Ron clapped him on his shoulder, his face showing the compassion he would not put into words.

Harry still did not say what new words the animagus spell had led him to discover.

They waited in the common room for the evening, when Ron would be having his first official detention with Snape. After talking it over, they had agreed that Snape probably meant Harry and Hermione to go along as well, to start working on the Wolfsbane potion. Ron received a number of sympathetic words from their classmates that evening, knowing what awaited him. Or at least that was what they thought. In fact, even Ron, Hermione and Harry did not know what to expect.

Harry and Hermione left the common room before Ron, so it would not be obvious that they had left and returned together, when only Ron was supposed to be having a detention. They met up on the way and arrived together at Snape's office. Ron knocked. The door was pulled open at once by the surly potions master, glaring down his large nose at them.

Harry began a disjointed explanation of his and Hermione's presence there. "Er, we, er, weren't sure if this was meant to be an actual detention, or if we're supposed to help with the Wolfsbane—"

"Come in," Snape told them curtly and stepped away from the doorway. He closed the door behind them as soon as they were inside, then led them through the connecting door to the potions classroom. He had already set up a number of potions ingredients there in preparation. There was however no cauldron to be seen.

"So what are we doing first, then?" said Hermione, walking over to take a closer look at the ingredients lined up on one of the tables.

"First, Weasley will tell me what possessed him to throw a crocodile heart across the potions classroom – and at a fellow student," said Snape.

Harry was not sure what exactly he had been expecting, but Snape being exactly the same as he was in his lessons was not it. In fact, he had been hoping for something quite different.

Ron must have been thinking along the same lines. "Malfoy was being outrageous – as usual! And I get that you have to take his side, but really, fifty points!"

"You think I took points because I'm – deliberately trying to be – unfair?" Snape's voice was quiet, but with an unmistakeable undercurrent of menace. "You don't think your actions deserved that punishment?"

Ron scowled. "Fine. I assaulted a fellow student," he ground out. He set his jaw at the unmoved face of the potions master. "And I wasted a valuable potions ingredient." He stopped. It was clear, he thought he had said enough.

"It, maybe, was a safety hazard," Hermione said very quietly, and grimaced when Ron stared at her.

"Go on, Granger," drawled Snape.

"The calming draught we were brewing," she went on haltingly. "It uses hearts of animals that can have a very slow heart rate. But if you add too much, the potion could slow a human's heart below what we can handle—"

This was not an unusual explanation. A great many of the potions they brewed came with dire warnings about safety hazards, about simple substitutions and wrong dosages turning them into poisons or other hazardous substances.

"Now imagine that potion being splashed at various students – Slytherin students to be precise—"

"It went nowhere near Malfoy's cauldron!" came Ron's mutinous reply.

"But we do know to take safety precautions – for the Wolfsbane potion," Hermione quickly interjected, before Snape's ire had been let loose on them.

"Do you now?" Snape sneered at them. "I wonder. Do you have any idea what sorts of dangerous ingredients you'd need to handle? Or the danger you'd be putting this entire school in if the potion does not turn out exactly as intended?"

Harry felt his own ire rise, not liking the way Snape talked about Lupin, though he was not sure why. A werewolf without the Wolfsbane potion was indeed dangerous. He knew, though, not to let himself be provoked. "We know how important this is," he said, keeping his voice level. "We'll be more careful – just as we did with the Polyjuice."

Snape's dark eyes assessed them for a long moment, until they began to squirm. Then his lip curled almost imperceptibly. "By all means. You can help, if you feel that that's a valuable use of your time."

Harry bristled again, muttering, "It is," under his breath.

Snape did not react to that as he walked over to his own desk at the front of the classroom, producing three long parchments that he handed to them. They were instructions to the most complex potion Harry had ever come across.

"We'll be preparing the ingredients for the first few days," Snape went on in what Harry recognised as his lecturing mode. "The brewing process itself takes almost three weeks and consists of three parts. The first uses advanced techniques in an unconventional way. It hold a few surprises, even for the seasoned potioneer. The second part is the shortest, and while by no means easy, it is somewhat more conventional. The final part is—" He paused, considering. "Interesting," he settled on saying, almost grudgingly. "You won't be helping with that part."

Hermione had already taken her place behind the desk, and the boys joined her. She was looking down the long list of ingredients – everything from the common aconite to things Harry had never even heard of.

Hermione muttered something along those lines, sounding awed.

"Well, we do know sugar isn't one of the ingredients. Makes the potion ineffective, apparently," Harry muttered back. He was not sure how he felt, brewing something that Lupin clearly could not stand the taste of, but was forced to drink anyway. It was supposed to help him, of course—

"Sugar?" Snape sounded repulsed by the very thought. "The potion turns ineffective if you so much as get the temperature wrong, much less adding a random ingredient. It is the most delicate balance of volatile, contradictory elements – designed to force a most unnatural state—"

"Yes, we get it," said Harry.

He was beginning to get fed up with the underhanded comments about Lupin. He had wanted to help, to give Snape less reason to complain about Lupin, but also to be in a situation where he could trust Snape to voice his actual thoughts, unhampered by the constraints of being a spy. But Harry would not stand to listen to hours of Snape saying awful things about Lupin – if that was his actual opinion after all.

"Do you? Was it Lupin himself, complaining about the taste of the potion, contemplating adding sugar to make it more palatable for himself—"

"No, he wasn't! He just needed to explain to me why he had to drink something that made him grimace!"

Snape did not respond to Harry's raised, aggressive voice. Instead, he regarded him and his friends curiously. There was a hint of a disturbing smile on his face. "So. You three are willing to put in all this work to help Lupin with his condition. But he doesn't even know you're aware of his lycantrophy."

"It's his choice to tell us or not to tell us," said Hermione. Her voice was quiet, but firm. A clear opposition, containing a not-so-subtle criticism of Snape's attempt to get Harry's class to figure out Lupin's condition.

"Is it? And yet, you three already know. You're not unaware of the potential danger he poses, unlike the other students—"

Harry had had enough. "He's not a danger. That's what this potion is for, isn't it? He's not callous about taking it, about putting anyone in danger. If he keeps his condition a secret, it's because of everyone's prejudices—"

"You barely know him," Snape cut across him. "Such a high opinion you have of him. Based on what? Him being your father's old friend?"

Harry shrugged. "I've heard nice things about him," he repeated almost the same thing he had told Lupin himself.

"So are we preparing the ingredients or not?" said Ron, effectively ending the discussion.

Snape did let go of his criticism of Lupin after that, instead focussing on the work they had to do. He set them clear instructions – clear to Hermione at least. But he did not complain about her explaining things in more detail to the boys. They worked for the better part of an hour, until Snape dismissed them. At the end of that hour, they discussed future meeting times. Snape actually took Harry's quidditch schedule into account, as well as their need to do homework. They agreed to two meetings a week, Monday and Friday evenings, for the time being.

Once they had left, Harry and Hermione hung back, to make sure they would arrive in the common room later than Ron. Harry contemplated the time spent helping Snape as they meandered, and had to come to the startling conclusion that it had not been so bad after all.