Harry Potter is owned by J K Rowling, just so we're clear...


Author's Note

Wow. So this took longer than I thought it was going to. The joys of having a mid-chapter mass edit combined with a re-jig oc chapters. So now instead of this being a four chpater story as I had intended, it's going to run to five. Short stories hate me.

I hope you are all safe and well in this time of plague...and I hope you enjoy this chapter.


Chapter 3

Harry barely looked up from his breakfast when the post-owls entered the Great-Hall with their usual flurry of wings, too focused on putting as much porridge and bacon inside himself as he could physically manage.

Hermione's excited squeal though…he looked up, still wincing at the ear-piercing shriek. Sitting across the table Hermione was beaming with delight, the happiest he'd seen her in months, and the source of her excitement? She clutched the latest edition of the Quibbler in her hands, which had a very…ah…interesting picture of himself on the front cover, along with the headline, "Harry Potter speaks, the Quibbler listens."

Oh…brilliant. That ruddy interview.

"Any good?" he asked tentatively, but he only received a distracted nod from Hermione who'd already dived into the magazine which she had propped up with a strategically placed jar of marmalade.

"Hermione?" Ron prodded her with a spoon.

"What? Oh, oh yes," Hermione's satisfaction was so palpable he almost expected her to start purring, like some great shaggy cat. "Yes, our mutual friend has done an excellent job," she smiled, turning once more to the article.

Around them the Hall gradually filled with noise, as apparently quite a few people did subscribe to the Quibbler, despite its reputation for pure dottiness, and were now passing this latest edition along to their friends as they finished, the level of whispers and stares in his direction gradually building, leaving him feeling increasingly uncomfortable, the skin of his neck prickling uncomfortable, as if some large predator with saw-teeth was watching him from nearby.

When he quickly glanced at the High Table he saw that even the Professors were sharing a copy. Except for Umbridge. The horrible woman didn't seem to be getting in on the fun at all, as she sat glaring at the general unrest that had consumed the Great Hall.

There were students sneaking between the tables now, seeking out their friends from other Houses, copies of the Quibbler clutched in their hands, oblivious to the glares the ugly pink toad-woman was sending them.

Trouble the feathered part of his mind whispered, predator, avoid!

Harry did his best to shrug off his growing unease, attempting to return to his breakfast and block out the gossip and nosy stares from the surrounding students that were increasingly being sent his way.

"Erm…Harry,"

Harry turned to find a tearful Lavender had slipped onto the bench beside him, a Quibbler clutched in her hands, opened to the article. There were more illustrations inside he saw, an artist's impression of Voldermort rising from a giant cauldron, and they had definitely used their artistic licence, because round the cauldron they had depicted a huddle of cloaked and masked figures bowing and scraping as the gaunt, hideous figure of the Dark Lord rose from the cauldron.

"Harry, I'm so sorry I doubted you," Lavender wailed as she threw her arms around his neck, sobbing dramatically on his shoulder.

Harry froze, utterly horrified. What did he do? Did he hug her back? Or pull her off, or…or…

Tentatively he gave her shoulder (he hoped) a light pat in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "It's okay, honestly. I, err…nobody really knew what happened before, so…err…what were you supposed to think…it must have looked really weird my just reappearing like that, so…" he trailed off.

At least Lavender's grip seemed to have loosened "Yes, I suppose," she sniffled, thankfully withdrawing as she hunted for a tissue.

"It's okay," Harry tried giving her a smile, "I don't blame you…at all." Please leave me alone, he begged internally.

"Thanks Harry," Lavender gave him a watery smile, holding up her copy of the Quibbler. "You wouldn't mind signing it for me, would you?" She held it out to him.

"I err…sorry," he grabbed his bag, edging away as quickly as he politely could, "err…classes to get to you know," he speed-walked away.

"Oh rats," he heard Lavender exclaim.

"It was worth a try," Padma consoled her friend.

"Shame though," Lavender said. "Think how much it would have been worth if he'd signed it."

oOo

"I'm so sorry for doubting you!"

Harry barely had time to turn before he was suddenly engulfed in a soggy choking hug.

"It's fine," he croaked choking back his instinct to rip her throat out with his bare teeth. Skin crawling with discomfort he attempted to gently pry the seventh year Ravenclaw girl off him while trying to keep it minimally embarrassing for the both of them.

"Honestly, it's fine," he told the sobbing girl as kindly as he could, which at this point was through gritted teeth. All while trying not to catch the eye of her clearly unimpressed boyfriend who was lurking nearby. "I don't blame you for all the err…you know…"

The girl gave him a watery smile as she finally let go.

Harry watched her leave with her boyfriend. Finally, he heaved a sigh of frustration. He hadn't had a moment's peace all day, people constantly approaching him to tell him that he had their support, that they believed him, regardless of what he might be doing at the time. The worst had been in the toilets just after lunch, he shuddered.

And frankly he didn't believe any of them either.

"Yeah, until the next time," a cynical part of his mind muttered as he dragged himself after Ron and Hermione on their way to Defence.

At this point he would quite cheerfully throw himself off a cliff…or just do a Pettigrew, change into his other form and go and live in the Forest for the next ten years or something.

That had real possibilities, he'd soon find somewhere nice and cozy to sleep, well away from everybody. Lots of food of course, and so much exploring to do…

"Harry, we're going to be late for class," Hermione was glaring at him, actually grabbing his arm so she could drag him along.

"What?" he could only exclaim as Ron grabbed his other arm, and he was pretty much hoisted off his feet and carried along by the pair all the way to Defence.

Defence soon exerted its oppressive atmosphere, the pink-toad woman taking up residence at the front of the classroom. She smiled sweetly at them as she surveyed the room, eyes hard and cold, as they all got down to the grisly task o tackling today's chapter to read of the most-boring-defence-text-book-to-ever-exist, ever.

And the worst thing was, even though he could feel himself slipping towards sleep, just like History, there was no way he could actually allow himself to drop off, because who knew what Umbridge's reaction to that would be. So he found himself uncomfortably caught between sleep and wakefulness as he read the same page over and over again, as he thought up ever more elaborate ways he could get away with chewing the foul woman's legs off, or something…

"Professor Umbridge," Dean's voice broke the bored silence of the Defence classroom.

"Hand," Umbridge trilled. Harry hoped she chocked on her tongue.

"Umm, Professor, Seamus's got a horrible nose-blood. It won't stop, so…shall I help him to the Infirmary?"

Harry could practically hear Umbridge grinding her teeth from across the classroom. So he risked a glance, trying to make it as casual as possible, over the top of his text-book. Sure enough blood was gushing from Seamus's nose, covering the desktop and dripping onto the floor.

From the next desk he could hear Hermione's angry hiss as the two boys left for the attentions of Madam Pomfrey, her death-glare burning holes in their backs as they disappeared through the classroom door. Harry couldn't see her problem, looked like a sound investment in one of the Twins' skiving snack-boxes to him.

Unfortunately Hermione was still fuming when they finally escaped.

"Can't believe the irresponsibility of those two," she scowled once they got a safe distance away from the Defence classroom, "selling untested edible items to just anyone."

"Of course they tried testing them," Ron grumbled, "but guess who stopped them…"

Predictably Hermione saw red at that, and the bickering started in earnest. Reluctant to get involved Harry let them pull ahead of him as they made their way towards study-hall.

"Harry!"

He looked round to find a student he could swear he'd never seen before in his life making a bee-line for him, dreaded Quibbler rolled up in one hand.

"I just want to say…"

But Harry was already backing away, eyes frantically searching for an escape route. There…

He divided for the door that looked like wall except on Sundays, ignoring the shouts of "Harry! Harry?" that drifted after him, as he sprinted up the small spiral staircase that lay on the other side and led onto a little used passage on the fourth floor.

Like hell he was going to put up with all the pawing and meaningless platitudes and tearful smiles and people asking for forgiveness, for doubting him, when frankly he just wanted to bite them all for being stupid!

Darting around another corner he slipped through a door hidden behind a painting of a forest glade. The corridor on the other side was thick with dust, its windows heavily leaded, the glass thick and full of imperfections and bubbles that distorted and rippled the distant view of the Forest.

At the end was a yawning chasm where a staircase had once been. Knowing the Castle it had probably wandered off one day. With a little run up he leaped across to the opposite landing and the room he'd discovered one dark night while stalking a rat.

It had been a lecture theatre once, wooden seating rising in serried ranks around a central table that he couldn't help but notice was almost as large as his bed at the Dursleys, though why it had what looked like drainage channels he had no idea. The few scuffed diagrams that remained on the blackboard seemed to be anatomical, maybe the circulatory system, though his knowledge of the human body was on the hazy side…another thing to try looking up in the library. He was turning into a regular Hermione.

Feeling daring he hoisted himself up onto the funny table, settling himself with his books and parchment and quills, fishing out the precious communication mirror.

"Sirius Black," he muttered, his reflection staring back at him expectantly for a moment before the reflection abruptly rippled and shifted to reveal a distracted Sirius.

"Hey Harry," the man smiled up at him, his expression morphing into curiosity. "Where are you? I don't remember anywhere like that at Hogwarts, You haven't snuck out have you…because if you have," he gave Harry a theatrical glare, "I insist on being involved."

Harry laughed, "nah, just revision," he held up his Transfiguration textbook.

"The joy of OWLs," Sirius rolled his eyes. "So…where are you?" His face suddenly loomed large in the mirror as he attempted to see round Harry in the small space of the mirror.

"Er…well…" Harry stumbled a moment before holding the mirror away from himself so Sirius could get a better look at the unfamiliar classroom.

"Oh wow kiddo, I think you've managed to find the old Anatomy Hall," Sirius actually seemed quite impressed. "They used to do dissection and things back when Hogwarts used to offer further training, Masteries in things like Healing and Enchanting and stuff…but all the wars have hit our population really hard…"

"Wars?" Harry scratched his head, puzzled. He knew about the last war with Voldermort of course, and he had some idea about Grindelwald because Hermione had made him read some stuff about it…

"The one that Muggles call the Great War, we didn't really get involved in it, not the pure-bloods anyway. The Muggle-born did though…died in their droves too. So that reduced the number of students coming through the school, and the number of people joining Magical Society in general. Then there was the war with Grindelwald…and then along came He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"

"Which is why so much of the school is not used anymore," Harry said.

"Yeah…anyway…." Sirius paused a moment seemingly gathering his thoughts. "You know, there were vague rumours about a dissection theatre back when me and your dad were at school. We spent ages looking for it, never got anywhere though. You'll have to give me the grand tour sometime…and err…you're sitting on the dissecting table."

"I am?" Harry looked down at the table, its grooves and channels suddenly taking on new meaning.

"You wouldn't mind moving, would you?" Sirius asked with an awkward smile, "It's just you're giving me the err…Harry you're sitting on a dissecting table. Dead bodies have been cut up on it. Please?"

"Fine, fine," Harry sighed as he gathered up his books and parchment and shifted to the front row of the tiered seating, spreading out once again. Seriously, what was the issue? It was completely clean, not a trace of blood or gore or anything to be seen.

"So…I enjoyed reading your interview," Sirius held up the disturbingly familiar magazine, his illustration-self on the front cover giving him an awkward smile.

Harry grimaced. "Yeah…er, thanks, I suppose," he shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench,

"You-Know-Who was always a grand-standing egotistical bastard," Sirius said as he flicked through the magazine. "I mean…" he held it up to show the drawing of the cauldron resurrection.

"It didn't quite happen like that," Harry winced, "but I'm pretty certain that if he could have, he absolutely would have."

"Things any better in general?" Sirius asked.

Harry blinked at the sudden change in topic. "I suppose," he shrugged, "people are falling over themselves to apologise and pretend the last six months or so never happened. To be honest I'm not sure I really care anymore. One moment they're treating me like the second coming of Merlin or something and the next moment I'm the right-hand man of Voldermort. It's bloody stupid," he scowled.

"Hang on in there Harry," Sirius smiled reassuringly up at him, his face distorted oddly by the mirror. "Had any more thoughts on a name for your feathery self?"

Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated at the distraction and the change of topic. "No. Only thing I'm clear on is you're not naming it. Turkey-Legs? Seriously? Merlin help any child you manage to have, because they're going to end up called Snot-Bag or something."

Sirius just laughed. "So what's the revision today then? Transfiguration? Charms? Potions?"

"You know I don't give a stuff about their opinion, don't you?" Harry pushed, feeling Sirius wasn't quite getting his point. "I'm just going to please myself from now on."

"All right Harry," Sirius said, "but err…revision?"

"Oh…yeah," Harry reluctantly pulled his potions homework towards him, four feet on ingredients preparation techniques and their varying effects, and he had to provide contrasting examples. Hermione had been ecstatic.

"Potions huh…did I tell you about that time old Sluggie set his hair on fire?" Sirius's manic grin was back.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

the ferns surrounded him, tucking in around him, keeping him safe among the towering trees, the sounds of strange birds that weren't birds echoing among the trees…

No, he certainly wasn't sharing the comfort of his dreams with Snape, Harry heaved as hard as he could…

the familiar peach floral walls of No.4 Privet Drive closed in around him, the sound of Uncle Vernon's footsteps coming down the stairs, a slow heavy promise of future violence…

This wasn't a particular memory, Harry observed, more an amalgamation his overall impression of living in that wretched house, from the Dursley family pictures on the wall down to the droopy shepherdess figurine that lived next to the phone and the yellow pages. The only thing that jarred was a shadow slick presence…Snape…

He grabbed at that feeling of stranger, hustling it towards the cupboard under the stairs, shoving it in and slamming the door shut behind it.

The flimsy door rattled and bucked on its hinges as something heavy slammed into it repeatedly, the bolts coming loose even as he watched.

Applying his weight helped a little, but it was exhausting, fighting against this angry manifestation of Snape, all the while his mental control slowly slipping away between his fingers…

The stone flags of Snape's office were delightfully cool beneath his cheek, but he supposed he should get up, face the music and all that.

"Hmm…interesting," Snape's drawl cut through his thoughts, and Harry looked up to find Snape leaning against his desk, wand held loosely in his fingers, his normal sneer absent. "Did you mean to entrap me? Or, more likely, it was an accident."

"Err…" Harry tried to hide his mounting embarrassment. "It was…I think I acted on instinct…it seemed the obvious thing to do," he tried.

Snape didn't seem particularly impressed. "No doubt," his sneer was half-hearted at best. "We will leave things there tonight Mr Potter. You are clearly exhausted after such exertion. Go…and straight to your common room."

"Yes Sir, night Sir," Harry scuttled through the door intent on getting as far away from Snape as he could reasonably manage, and no way was he going straight back to the Common Room either.

As he turned the corner his form rippled and shifted, becoming like smoke for a moment until his feathered form resolved itself, hind claws tapping quietly on the stone paviers as he trotted down the corridor, his muzzle twitching as he tested the air.

Nothing human had been this way in several hours, but one of the Castle cats had scent marked that suit of armour maybe…half an hour ago…he'd give it five minutes either way…and there was the side door that everyone used as a short-cut to the Greenhouses.

Chuckling softly to himself he reached up, awkwardly manipulating the handle with his front arms. With barely a creak the door opened and Harry slipped through and out into the fresh evening air.

A light breeze tugged at his feathers as he made his way cautiously around the Greenhouses, the damp muddy scent of the Lake almost overwhelming.

So many living things, moving about their lives, living things that were so unfamiliar compared to all his dreams of that fern filled forest. His instinct screamed at him about large looming creatures, fast with sharp teeth, lying in wait in the shadows, and he found himself crouching in among some bushes near Greenhouse No.5, glaring suspiciously out across the shadowy lawns that ran down to the Lake.

Except the most dangerous thing he was aware of in the Forest were the Acromantulas, and maybe the Centaurs…He blinked, frustrated with his mind and its still new strangeness and odd tricks.

The sound of cautious steps on damp grass cut through his attention. A tall and shadowy figure was making its way towards him. Backing away he froze in the shadows as Snape crept forward, wand held up ready to hex anything that moved.

Did he dare try working his way round to the Main Entrance and risk the wrath of Filch…but then he'd have get into the Forest and walk around the edge. Sprinting across the lawns in full view of an angry Snape was not an option…

Snape was moving now, edging cautiously towards him, an ominous red glow hovering at the tip of his wand now. "Show yourself," the man's voice snapped out, startlingly loud in the night. "I know you're there."

Like hell he was showing himself. Cautiously he backed away, around the other side of the Greenhouses, desperate now to make it back into the Castle. He made it to the wall, but to his utter frustration he was nowhere near the side-door, and here came Snape, moving back around the Greenhouses, faster now, still carrying that glowing red ball of light.

Panic rising now he dived for the nearest bit of cover, the deep shadows of a great stone buttress, but Snape was still coming and if he caught him…instinct took over, demanding he got higher to get away from this possible predator. He found himself climbing up the rough stonework of the Castle wall itself, claws finding purchase in the most surprising of crevices as he pulled himself up and away from the danger Snape presented.

He was fairly certain that Snape wouldn't eat him, the reasonable part of his brain pointed out, but potions ingredients…he climbed faster.

Shaken and relieved he pulled himself over a low parapet, finding himself standing in the gutter of a leaded roof. Safe at last, he breathed a sigh of relief. At least, he was fairly certain that Snape wasn't some sort of rock-climbing prodigy.

Cautiously he peered over the edge, half expecting to see Snape's pale face coming towards him up the wall, black eyes full of malice as the man crawled upwards like a dark and sinister spider.

To his intense relief he could see the small red glow of light moving about down by the base of the Castle wall, frustrated muttering drifting up to him.

Now all he had to do was actually make it back inside, somehow. He scanned the bulk of the Castle that towered above him, lights gleaming from windows, its collection of turrets and towers silhouetted against the night sky. Surely there had to be an open window somewhere, or maybe…there was that inexplicably open-to-the-air corridor on the sixth floor that everybody avoided like the plague when it snowed.

It took some clambering, careful skirting of windows and a potentially nasty encounter with a gargoyle, but with much relief he hopped over the railing and into the sixth floor corridor, a wind-swept, cold and desolate part of the school, even in summer.

He hobbled back to the Common Room, his hands and feet complaining about the rough treatment they had just received the entire way. The school was quiet at this hour and he didn't meet a single person, not even Filch, for which he was extremely grateful because there wasn't a chance of his running away if the man had appeared.

Maybe the Common Room would be the same and he'd be able to sneak up to his dorm, and the comfort of his bed, without anyone being any the wiser.

Of course his luck being what it was the instance he stepped through the portrait…

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione demanded, clearly torn between worry and anger.

"Oh…you know," Harry grinned as he tried to sidle past. "I just erm, fell asleep after the err…detention. You know how it is." He laughed nervously as he edged towards the safety of the dorms.

"You. Fell. Asleep." Hermione ground out, her face a mask of stony, furious disbelief.

"Yep," Harry nodded, foot on the dorm stairs. "You know how it is, just got out of detention, just need to clear the mind, settle down for a good brood, and then…" he shrugged, "it's suddenly…"

"It's nearly midnight Harry," Hermione snarled, doing her best hands-on-her-hips Mrs Weasley impression.

"Yeah, midnight," he retreated further up the stairs. "Definitely time for bed then. Sleep well Hermione." He bolted the rest of the way, happy to put distance between himself and the angry snarl that followed him.

Cautiously he entered the soft darkness of the dorm. The others were all asleep, their soft breathing and occasional snores the only sound. Ron had fallen asleep on top of his covers, curtains wide open, and Harry suspected he had tried staying up waiting for him. Seemed a pity to disturb him.

So he didn't and went to bed.

oOo

"Harry…Harry…Harry," the hissed almost shout woke him up. Groggy and still half-asleep Harry looked round confused, he'd been having a wonderful dream about eating an egg he'd stolen out of some creature's nest, and it had been delicious, and…

"Was'iii ?" he asked trying to gather his thoughts and make sense of his surroundings.

"Harry!"

"Si…Sirius," he managed through a yawn as he scrabbled around under his pillows, desperately trying to find the communication mirror, pushing aside the book of reverse divination.

When he pulled it out from where it had become tucked inside his pillowcase he was greeted with the sight of a frantic and rumpled looking Sirius.

"All right?" he asked, puzzled. Had something happened? Was Sirius okay?

"All right?" Sirius seemed incensed, "all right…where the hell were you last night? You didn't call me, and…and I've been thinking the absolute worst," frustrated he thrust shaking fingers through tousled hair, wincing as they snagged on tangles.

Harry sat bolt upright, feeling as if someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water over him. "I am so sorry," he stuttered apologies, feeling like the worst sort of person, until Sirius interrupted him.

"So, what were you doing kiddo?"

"I err…tried sneaking into the forest," he shifted awkwardly, "and err…nearly got caught…"

Sirius's anger evaporated as if it had never been. "Tell me everything," he demanded, a manic gleam growing in his eyes.

"Err…okay," Harry shrugged off the man's complete u-turn in mood as he began recounting his adventure in the forest, Sirius becoming increasingly relaxed, misty eyed almost.

"…ruddy Snape lurking near the Greenhouses," he sighed in frustration, "so I couldn't get back in that way, so I err…I err, climbed up the side of the Castle."

"What?" Sirius's eyes were wide with delight and excitement. "You climbed up the side of the Castle?"

"Errr…yeah?" Harry shifted, his embarrassment beginning to grow.

"Brilliant," the man breathed. "I wish I could've seen it." He sighed wistfully. "Your Dad and I, we got up to all sorts of things, but we never managed to climb up the side of the Castle. We did use brooms to get in through an upper window on a number of occasions but…" Harry caught a glimpse of a hand being waved, a chopping off motion.

Beyond the bed curtains there was a rustle and a thump as someone began to stir.

"Harry," Ron's voice drifted through the curtains. "You awake?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"How about Feather-Duster? Terror-Toes?"

"What? No!" Harry gave his laughing godfather a horrified look. Where did the man come up with these awful ideas?

"Harry, you okay?" Ron's voice demanded from the other side of the bed curtains.

"I'll talk to you later. Have fun," Sirius grinned wickedly up at him before disappearing, the mirror suddenly reflecting Harry's face back up at him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The silence in the DADA classroom was oppressive, broken only by the turning of pages, quills scratching across parchment, and the occasional yawn.

Harry blinked as he tried to keep his eyes open, the text swimming in front of his eyes as he attempted to focus long enough to actually make some coherent notes. Though he was certain he could sum up the entirety of his text book in a few lines…

Get to a safe place…

Send up sparks…

Notify the Aurors…

Which was possibly the most useless approach to self-defence he'd ever come across.

A quick glance up showed Umbridge surveying the bored and weary class with an air of smug satisfaction; he caught her eye a moment, the level of pure loathing in their stony depths breathtaking.

He so desperately wanted to rip the stupid pink velvet bow off the top of her head and make her eat it…or he could chew through her ankles until her feet fell off…

Oh, the possibilities.

He let his mind drift as he scratched idly at his half-hearted notes, more doodling than writing, a funny looking almost chicken beginning to take shape. He'd never been much for drawing; seeing Dudley's animal-like smears being praised to the roof by his Aunt and Uncle, and his own efforts ignored no matter how hard he tried hadn't exactly encouraged him…

Just needed to make the tail a little longer…and add his foot talons… there, perfect, he admired his efforts…

Terror-toes, that was Sirius's latest awful suggestion for calling his feathered-form. He'd rejected it utterly of course. The annoying man had threatened to come up with name suggestions until he agreed to something.

But the question was what? Sirius's ideas were out. They were all universally awful, but what did he want? Something nice and simple but that still suited his taloned, feathered other self, something like…something like…like Talon or Claw, or Quill?

He blinked at the writing implement clutched in his hand. Yeah…Quill, nice and simple.

"Heh hem. Is there a problem Mr Potter?" Umbridge's sickly sweet tones brought his triumphant mood crashing down.

"Er, no Professor," he looked up to find her staring at him with cold unfriendly eyes, just waiting for him to do something, anything…

He went back to his note-taking ignoring the foul woman as best he could. Three more months of this; where was the ruddy DADA curse when you needed it.

oOo

He knew he should be able to get down this way, he'd been able to climb up it all those weeks ago. The main parts of the Castle had been relatively easy with all its decorative features, gargoyles, decorative beading, window stonework and the like providing plentiful hand-holds, but now he was balancing on the parapet of the outer wall he was having second thoughts.

Below him the lawns were in deep shadow as they swept down towards the glimmering darkness of the black lake. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

He hadn't got here by being cautious though, had he?

Carefully he lowered himself down, claws scratching to find some sort of purchase.

It was slow and awkward going, as he manouvered his way down, his hands and feet (or did he call them paws) tiring until in one frightening moment, still easily fifteen feet or so above the lawn he slipped.

Scrabbling frantically at the stonework for some sort of purchase he suddenly found his slow descent turning into a terrifyingly rapid fall.

It was on instinct his hind legs kicked out, propelling him away from the bulk of the Castle, turning his tumble into an ungainly leap, his winged limbs now spread in an effort to slow his fall.

And it worked, his fall turning into a glide of a kind. It felt so right, his mind supplying vivid imagery of leaping between distant trees, gliding safely to a lower branch…

He slammed into the lawn in an untidy heap, the breath knocked out of his lungs. Groaning, he pulled himself to his feet. Nothing appeared to be broken when he carefully stretched his limbs and examined his feathers, giving them a carful groom and a good shake to resettle them.

Looked like he'd got away with it, but he definitely needed to work on his landings.

Chuckling to himself he darted across the shadowy lawns, towards the fringes of the Forest, a shadow among shadows as he plunged in among the low hanging branches and stinging nettles, his instinct screaming at him that this was where he belonged, surrounded by trees, undergrowth he could hide among, soft mulch beneath his feet, the scent of living, growing, dying, rotting things filling his nostrils. The sound of the wind in the trees above him was like how he'd always imagined the ocean, a soft roaring that grew and retreated as the trees sighed and creaked in the wind.

Lost in an overload of sensation he followed where his nose led him, deeper and deeper into the Forest, from one enticing smell to the next, the marking posts of various Forest creatures full of information, health, age, readiness to mate…the faint remains of something's kill from more than a week ago, carefully picked over until only a scattering of pale bones and fur remained…fresh droppings from something large and herbivorous, a deer he suspected…

Above him came a rustling and a faint clicking sound that sent the feathers on his back rippling in alarm.

In the twilight gloom above something moved, a something he couldn't see at all clearly, but his mind helpfully filled in the details of a large powerful jaw full of teeth and sharp hungry eyes that looked at him and saw nothing more than a small snack. He squawked in alarm, leaping away.

Turning tail he blindly fled, weaving a zig-zagging path through the trees, his instincts screaming at him to flee and hide. He might be a predator himself, but as he was learning, he was small enough to be prey for things much larger, his mind throwing up terrifying primal memories of scales and horns, and large powerful jaws, filled with scythe-like teeth that could snap his spine with a single bite. Terrifying creatures whos' territorial calls haunted the forest he stalked in his dreams.

…except they weren't real, where they? He came to a crashing halt in a shrubby bush covered in new growth that gleamed in the growing twilight.

These creatures weren't real, not like unicorns or dragons, he stalked around the inside of the bush, scratching at the bare earth with his talons, trying to settle his disordered feathers.

They weren't…couldn't be real despite what his animagus form's instincts were screaming. He refused to believe that something so terrifying could exist. More terrifying than Dementors? his sub-conscious helpfully asked.

A shudder rippled down his back, disturbing his feathers once more. Of course Dementors were scary, they sucked out your soul and left you a living vegetable, but they didn't crunch your bones and flesh up while you were still alive, did they? Various parts of his mind helpfully pointed out.

He dreaded to think what a Boggart would change into for him at this point, if he met one again, he hoped not.

Maybe he should get back to the Castle, it was getting late.

Reluctantly he left his refuge and started his way back towards where he thought Hogwarts should be. Of course that was when he caught the scent of something warm, small and furry.

Not quite what his animugus form considered a suitable prey, but close enough to peek its interest, and so he followed it, drifting deeper into the Forest, the ground gradually becoming steeper as unknowingly he made his way up the lower slopes of one of the mountains that surround the small valley that Hogwarts inhabited.

He lost the trail at some point as it drifted away among the rocky bed of a little beck that rushed down the steep hill towards the lake.

Maybe he should have been worried, so far from the Castle, deep among the trees but part of his mind was insisting that he was exactly where he should be, surrounded by trees, though apparently there should be more ferns…yeah, a distinct lack of ferns…

Above him something shrieked, the sound thunderous in the growing shadows as instinct found him diving into the cover of some bracken, eyes frantically scanning as much of the surround trees as he physically could.

An owl, it was an owl, Harry saw as he followed it, a flicker of movement in the gloom.

Twisting round to groom away an itch among his feathers, he thought about his next move. Maybe he'd followed the scent trail the wrong way, literally moving away from its creator, so he'd need to do…what, he paused in his grooming, tongue forgotten as it stuck sideways from his jaws…wasn't he supposed to get a load of natural instincts with this whole animagus thing? Wasn't he just supposed to know what to do?

He grumbled to himself as he stalked along the steep bank of the beck, checking every possible surface for interesting odours, tail swishing irritably.

Another trail lit up his senses, and he circled it carefully this time trying to judge its age and the direction of travel. Did it get stronger this way…no definitely this way, he thought.

He gave chase, following his nose through the trees and along the slope of the craggy hill, round outcrops and trees, through patches of dead nettles and frosted grass, all the while the scent getting stronger as it led him back towards the lake.

From a break among the trees he caught a glimpse of the Castle, its windows glittering sparks of light in the dark, on the far side of the Lake. So he was definitely in for a bit of a walk later.

A rustle of movement froze him to the spot, and he slunk forward into the shadows of an old pine tree. Beyond a little way there was a rustle of movement as something scratched around in the thin grass near a scraggy bush, pausing every so often to check its surroundings.

Slowly, carefully, he slunk forward, mind totally focussed on this warm, moving meal, lifting his feet with unusual care, placing them down as silently as he knew how as he crept closer to his next meal.

A rabbit he saw now. It was looking around, nose twitching, clearly suspicious.

Without thinking he leapt forward, wing-arms spread as his hind-legs came forward talons reaching out, as for a glorious moment he glided in the air. He slammed down on the unfortunate creature, his large hind talons clumsily piercing the screaming rabbit as he hung on to it as it slowly stilled beneath him.

Triumphantly he tore into its soft belly, his sharp teeth making easy work of its fur and skin, and then he was into meat, intestines, liver, he wasn't sure but it tasted delicious, filling a hunger he wasn't aware he had felt…

Movement in the distance caught his attention, the snapping of twigs as something large moved through the forest. He looked up, rabbit intestines still hanging from his jaws as he angled his head, trying to catch the source of the elusive sound.

He tore another mouthful from the rabbit carcass as he listened hard, giving it up as a loss, frustrated at having been disturbed from his first kill. Darting beneath one of the silent pine trees, he waited.

A centaur paced into the small clearing, his human torso covered with a simple leather tunic against the chill of the night. Around his neck he wore a necklace of teeth, the sharp canines of some great predator, while at his hip a re-curve bow and quiver of arrows hung from a leather harness that was decorated with copper plaques embossed with swirling designs.

He was followed by a female, also armed with a re-curve bow, her human half covered in a more poncho like garment made of scraps of leather stitched together like a quilt. Her dark hair was in many braids, pulled back from her face, a necklace of wooden and semi-precious beads around her neck.

They were both beautiful, like a mountain, he decided, hard, cold, distant, and dangerous.

And then they were gone. He was left alone in the little clearing, just him and his kill. Which was when a strange thought occurred to him…what did Acromantula taste like?

He left the remains of the rabbit for the foxes.

oOo

He crept closer through the dense undergrowth, a mixture of straggling bracken, shrubby growth and fallen branches.

There, hanging up in the branches of a dead tree was a webby sack that had looked from a distance as if it were full of rocks, but now he was closer…could this be an Acromantula's egg sack?

A shadowy bulk of an adult picked its way across the surface of the hanging egg-sack, picking off twigs and other debris that the wind had deposited on it. Another giant spider joined her, the sounds of a hissed clicking conversation drifting on the breeze for a moment, the two finally parting as each continued with their own tasks

He knew the adults were far too large for him to take on, and survive, but they had babies, didn't they?

Looking at the egg-sack, clearly he was a little early, though some of the pearly eggs did seem a little translucent, a hint of something dark pressing up against the inside, so maybe…soon.

Frustrated and fascinated he began to pick his way round the edge of the clearing, careful to keep out of sight as he tried to find any sort of crack or blind-spot in the Aromantulas' constant care of their brood, not that he could see one.

He kicked at the dirt in frustration, ducking in among some bracken at the slight noise. He could go and hunt somewhere else he supposed, but there was something just so fascinating about those eggs. He wondered what they tasted like…

There was rustling nearby. Intrigued, he stalked it, following the faint squeaks and chittering what-ever-it-was was making.

A tiny acromanutla hatchling, so small it must have been only hours old. The adults didn't seem to have noticed its existence, or maybe they didn't care about the hatched babies, only the eggs.

Seeing his opportunity he struck, hind claws messily smashing the baby spider's head to a sticky pulp. Gleefully he grabbed the still twitching baby in his jaws and sprinted away through the trees, making his way towards the Centaur village and comparative safety.

It was rather disappointing, definitely didn't taste like chicken. Bit bitter actually. Maybe he should have just stuck with the rabbit. The crunchy texture was interesting though…but the taste was getting increasingly unpleasant, bitter and burning in his mouth.

He abandoned it after that, curiosity sated, leaving it for whatever forest dweller would tolerate such a meal, probably another Acromantula.

Feeling a little off, his meal sitting heavily in his stomach, he made his way back to the Castle and his bed.

Hopefully he'd sleep it off, he thought as he climbed into bed, stomach churning.

oOo

It was the over-powering wave of nausea that woke him up.

Head swimming, he only just staggered to the toilet in time, where he promptly threw up what felt like everything he'd eaten for the last week.

At least none of it went up the back of his nose. That felt like quite an achievement at the moment. Now all he had to do was find the energy to actually stand up, but the floor by the toilet was so cool and comfortable, and it seemed like just too much effort.

Signs of life began to drift through into the bathrooms as the other boys began waking up and getting ready for the day.

He'd have to do the same soon, but his legs didn't seem to want to cooperate, his knees seemingly made of jelly, and every time he tried moving he had to turn so he could throw up in the toilet again.

"Harry? You alright?"

He turned carefully to find Ron, half-dressed, standing in the doorway of the toilet cubicle, clutching his toothbrush, his face a rictus of concern.

"I'm fine," he tried to say, but the end of his sentence disappeared as another wave of nausea overtook him and he threw up again. How was it possible for one person to contain so much sick? Weird.

"Crap…Harry," Ron breathed. "I'm going to get Madam Pomfrey."

"Honestly, I'm fine," Harry objected, but his stomach betrayed again, and by the time he'd recovered from the latest round of vomiting Ron was gone and Neville and Dean were watching him with concern.

His attempts at reassuring them that he was absolutely fine between bouts of vomiting fell on deaf ears.

"Mate," Dean laughed uneasily, "your face is pale green. Hope this isn't contagious, because I don't want it."

"Dunno," Harry shrugged, brain far too foggy to really think about it, the proximity of the toilet being far more important at the moment.

oOo

"Wake up Mr Potter."

Harry started looking up to find Madam Pomfrey crouching next to him, as concerned as he'd ever seen her. Her wand was out he hazily saw, wavering around him in feathering strokes that would have made Professor Flitwick gush about her technique, leaving behind trails and shimmers of coloured light. He tried poking one, wondering what it did, what it meant.

"None of that Mr Potter, keep still for me if you can."

Chastened, Harry let his hand drop. The dorms seemed weirdly quiet now. Had he fallen asleep? "Classes?" he croaked.

"Not today I think Mr Potter," Pomfrey said kindly. "Let's get you back into bed shall we."

Which ended up being easier said than done, the floor having taken on all the substance of a really bouncy trampoline, at sea, rolling and flexing under him in unexpected ways as he staggered back to bed, Madam Pomfrey steadying him all the way.

Lying down did make him feel a little better, though the bed seemed to swing and sway beneath him.

"…worried he's been poisoned," he faintly heard Madam Pomfrey say, then to his intense horror Snape replied, "more concerned with how he came into contact with it…more students at risk of exposure…"

He wanted to hear more but everything seemed so muddled and far away and he drifted down into a troubled sleep.

oOo

He was dreaming, a tangled jumble of tall trees and ferns, wild ancient insects darting among the foliage, when voices pulled him awoke once more.

"…really sick," Ron's voice sounded as if he were speaking underwater.

"…never seen them so worried…" Hermione seemed to be there too. "…get behind…his OWLs…missed…paper…"

Definitely Hermione, he struggled to open his eyes. "Wha…lo…" he croaked as he squinted at the two fuzzy figures that hovered over him, the arched ceiling of the Hospital wing hovering behind them, to his complete lack of surprise.

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked.

There was a flurry of activity that left him reeling, Madam Pomfrey appearing to prod and poke him and force disgusting concoctions down his throat, completely ignoring his protestations that he was "fine really, just a little tired."

Eventually she left, leaving him dazed and propped up with pillows with strict instructions that he was to alert her if he felt in the slightest bit nauseous. Like hell he was.

"Wait…what?" he rasped as he attempted to figure what Hermione had been trying to tell him.

"Oh, sorry," Hermione finally paused for breath. "You missed the paper yesterday…"

"What?" Harry stared at her, horrified. An entire day had just vanished?

"…it's err, Skeeter. She's written the most outrageous article…well, she's clearly done some digging…" Hermione pulled a folded paper out of her school bag, handing it over. "You'll see what I mean."

Dreading what he would see, Harry unfolded the dog-eared copy of the Prophet. He blinked in surprise as he read the headline, read it again in case he was seeing things…

"The Dark Lord and his Daddy Issues?"

"Yeah," Ron's laugh had an edge to it. "Bit of an eye opener if she hasn't made most of it up. Dumbledore seemed…startled by it. Actually poured a cup of tea down his beard and didn't even notice."

"We'll leave it with you," Hermione said as she gathered up her bag edging towards the door. "Afternoon classes start soon."

Ron reluctantly followed her. "Yeah, see you later mate. Hope you're feeling better soon."

And then he was alone, with just the Daily Prophet for company.

He'd made some comment about Voldermort when she'd done that ruddy interview with him, hadn't he, about him having a muggle father. Skeeter had taken that simple statement and run with it, leaving no stone unturned, not even in the muggle world. She'd even found a picture of Voldermort's dad with his parents, very formal and stiff they looked.

The resemblance between the muggle Riddle and the shade of Tom he'd met in Slytherin's Chamber was uncanny. Spooky even.

Of course he'd already had some idea that Voldermort had attended Hogwarts too, but to see it laid out like this, with an actually class photo from the 40's with Riddle standing near the back, actually seeing him as a student who'd walked the same halls as him, attended classes, handed in homework…how had Skeeter managed to get her hands on Voldermort's end-of-year reports? For every year?

Or what about the fact that the Dark Lord had once had detention for testing an experimental potion on a classmate, and had ended up polishing the school trophies, for a couple of hours one evening.

It made him look like an evil, slightly demented version of the twins.

He couldn't imagine Voldermort appreciating this revealing of his past at all, and his response…it was likely to be violent…

"Mr Potter."

Harry looked up to find Madam Pomfrey hovering at the end of his bed.

"Do you feel up to some food? Some beef broth perhaps?" she asked.

Food? His stomach gave an angry rumble of protest at having been starved for so long.

"I'll take that as a yes," Madam Pomfrey smiled.

oOo

He was released from the confines of the Infirmary the next morning with strict instructions to take it easy, keep to light meals for the next week (strictly no sweets), and to limit any strenuous exercise; which made Harry want to go for a sprint through the Forest, while eating as many chocolate frogs as he could physically get his hands on.

But it seemed Madam Pomfrey had had words with various people and beings as he spent much of the next week being stalked through the school by various teachers, prefects, the Head Boy and Girl, even the Headmaster at one point.

Meals were even more frustrating as anything heavier than chicken soup would move away from his reach, or even disappear from his plate that one time he'd persuaded Ron to give him a pork chop.

It was all totally unfair. He was absolutely fine. It was just a big fuss about nothing.

Even Sirius hadn't been sympathetic over his plight, actually laughing over his lack of sausages and bacon, when he'd finally been able to tell him about the whole eating a baby Acromantula thing. And then he'd had the audacity to lecture him over "responsibility" and "common sense". He was certain he could hear Professor Lupin laughing in the background.

The highly predictable response to Skeeter's article happened several days after Harry had been released from his medical jail. On page six of the Daily Prophet there had been a small article detailing the fire that had mysteriously broken out in the early hours, the morning after the release of Skeeter's shocking article.

It had utterly gutted her home leaving nothing but a gently smoking heap of bricks and debris. She'd survived and had spent a couple of days in St Mungo's being treated for smoke inhalation and a burn to her arm, but was now recuperating in an undisclosed location.

The Aurors were currently investigating but nothing had really come to light so far, other than the obviously magical nature of the conflagration.

"Cause we all know what that's about," Ron muttered as they conferred over the paper at an unpopular table tucked away in a rarely frequented corner of the Library.

"They might not have used the Dark Mark, but…" Harry agreed.

"Quite," Hermione sniffed. "In other words, he's trying to stay hidden as long as possible, lurking in the shadows until he's ready for…" she shrugged, "whatever it is he's got planned, the takeover of the Ministry, conquering the World...in the meantime I expect we'll see a lot of very similar incidents, mysterious fires, strange disappearances. In fact, I suspect we already have."

"And Skeeter would have been one of them, if she hadn't got so lucky escaping," Harry said, imagining Skeeter as many bags of barbecue charcoal.

"Exactly," Hermione nodded.

That was a cheerful thought, Harry considered the matter. Though if Death Eaters came after him directly he would probably end up biting them.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Raise your wand Potter," Snape droned, seeming almost bored. "And let us investigate the infinitesimal possibility of your improvement."

Harry did his best to avoid rolling his eyes as he braced himself for Snape's latest attempt to breach his mental defences.

"Legi…" but that was as far as Snape got, the gloomy atmosphere of the Potion Master's office broken by frantic knocking.

Growling under his breath Snape strode across the room, wrenching the door open, snarling at the poor unfortunate in the corridor outside. They didn't seem put off through, urgently babbling, until Snape demanded "Umbridge did what?"

Harry's ears perked up. Had the evil pink toad managed to put herself out of their collective misery…or had she done something so truly awful she'd have to be kicked out of the Castle?

But there was no answer forthcoming. Snape had swooped out of his office, heading towards the entrance hall, one of the sixth year Slytherin prefects hurrying after him. Curious, Harry followed in their wake.

In the middle of the Entrance Hall was a pile, a tumbled mixture of boxes, carpet bags and a large trunk. Seated in the centre of the chaos sat a sobbing Sybil Trelawny. She looked dowdier and more frazzled than he could ever remember seeing her.

"This is my home," Trelawny wailed as a couple more bags tumbled down the stairs to join the sad and pathetic pile of her belongings. "Where am I supposed to go?" she hiccupped.

"As if I care," Umbridge sneered as she sauntered gleefully down the main stairs. "Take your belongings and leave." She toed a bottle of sherry that had slipped from a hastily packed bag causing it to skitter down the stairs, smashing noisily, its contents spreading out to mingle with the strewn bags.

Snape took a step forward, clearly intent on doing something, but then McGonagall stormed down the main stairs, arriving flushed and breathless. Clearly she had run all the way from her office. "What in Merlin's name is going on?" she demanded as she helped Trelawny to her feet.

Umbridge began a very smug explanation, which went down faster than the proverbial lead balloon, setting McGonagall off into a ferocious rage that not even the Twins had ever managed to achieve.

This he had to admit was pretty entertaining, watching the two women scream at one another, faces just inches apart, McGonagall having to stoop rather uncomfortably.

But were they actually going to physically fight? He wondered.

A snort came from beside him, and he glanced round just in time to catch Snape smothering a look of amusement, quickly hiding it behind his usual disapproving glare. The prefect didn't bother though, giving him an amused smirk.

Blast, he hadn't meant to say that out aloud.

Trying to hide his embarrassment he looked round just in time to see the main doors slowly ease open and the Headmaster casually stroll into the Entrance Hall.

"It appears I have arrived just in time," Harry heard him say, but McGonagall and Umbridge seemed too caught up in screaming abuse at one another to notice.

There was a huge bang, the shouting match abruptly grinding to a halt, Umbridge turning her glare onto the Headmaster. "This disgrace to magic," she jabbed a stubby finger at Trelawny, "is fired, and needs to leave the Castle right now."

"I see," the Headmaster's normally mild expression had turned into something cold and hard. "Except, there is a tiny, infinitesimal flaw in your decision Delores."

Umbridge glared up at him with utter loathing as he made his way through the strewn luggage to Trelawny's side.

"I am still the Headmaster of this school Delores, and I am responsible for staff hiring decisions…all of them." He glared down at the horrible pink woman. How she didn't spontaneously turn into a slug Harry could only guess.

"Sybil," he gave the distressed Divination Professor a kind smile, "the Castle is your home for as long as you need it to be, and also you are not fired. Why don't you return to your quarters my dear. I'll have some of the house-elves return your belongings to their rightful places very shortly."

McGonagall lead Trelawny away then, arm in arm, talking quietly to her as they made their way slowly up the main staircase. The strewn luggage began to disappear in a series of quiet pops as something very fast or very invisible stole it away.

"You will be pleased to know Delores," the Headmaster had turned to the glowering pink toad, "that I have indeed hired a new Divination teacher, as it is clear our dear Sybil could do with some assistance…Firenze, if you would."

There was a faint rustle, then the distinct clip-clop of hooves on stone flags as a centaur eased himself into the Entrance Hall.

Harry stared, wide-eyed, as the man-horse hybrid slowly made his way over to the Headmaster's side looking extremely uncomfortable at being in such a man-made environment.

Firenze looked so tall standing next to the Headmaster, his pale dappled flanks and blonde hair gleaming in the candle light of the Entrance Hall. Though it looked like he'd been in a fight recently, there were streaks of dry blood and his haunch as well as a semi-circle of rapidly crusting blood, faint bite marks on his muscular arms, and as the centaur glanced round Harry caught sight of a nasty bruise developing under one eye.

Clearly centaurs fought dirty.

Umbridge was screeching now, hateful rubbish about the mental and magical capacities of magical creatures, all of it Harry was sure could be easily disproven by a quick glance in the Library and a conversation with the creature in question.

"Enough," Dumbldore snapped, the Entrance Hall ringing with silence. "My decision on this matter is final. You have no power here Delores." With that he stepped round the women, Firenze following him, Umbridge watching them leave with an ugly expression on her face.

Huh. Being taught Divination by a Centaur. Harry considered it for a moment as he watched the Headmaster lead Firenze deeper into the Castle. Certainly shouldn't be boring.

oOo

Harry got his opportunity to experience the new teacher several days later.

"Wait…why aren't we going up? Ron was asking.

Lavender and Pavarti looked back over their shoulders, smirking.

"Can you imagine a centaur trying to climb up the ladder in the north tower," Pavarti giggled. "Of course they had to change the classroom."

"I heard he's really handsome," Lavender said in hushed gleeful tones.

"With beautiful blue eyes," Pavarti sighed.

"Bloody stupid," Ron grumbled as the girls pulled ahead, "only one thing on their minds."

Which was hilarious, considering some of the conversations Ron tended to have with Dean and Seamus about the girls in their year, and some of the ones in the year above, even the year below…

"I think we're nearly here," Harry said as they entered a rarely used corridor on the ground floor he'd actually explored one particularly boring night a month ago. "Classroom 6b I think."

"How do you know?" Ron asked him accusingly.

"It's been on the Common Room notice board the last few days," Harry gave him a sideways look as they joined the small gathering of students outside the classroom.

"Like I ever check that," Ron muttered, "only for Quidditch stuff."

Behind them the classroom door silently swung open. "Enter," a deep rich voice commanded. Quietly, unsure what to expect, they filed in.

Harry blinked as he suddenly found himself in what looked like a forest clearing, breathing in deeply as he took in the scents of damp earth and trees.

"Cool," he breathed as he gazed up at what looked like a clear summer sky, fringed by the lush foliage of the trees.

"It is indeed a pleasant approximation of the forest."

Harry jerked round searching for the source of the voice, only to find Firenze watching him with a knowing smile.

"Please be seated," the centaur gestured to a semi-circle of tree stumps. The class shuffled forward, taking their places even as they continued to look round curiously.

"The books will not be necessary,"

Lavender and Parvati reluctantly put their copies of Unfogging the Future bag in their bags.

"Now…let us consider the nature of the heavens…"

What followed was probably the best, and the most confusing Divination lesson Harry had ever had. Firenze took everything he'd ever learnt about Astrology and completely dismissed it as utterly useless.

Though Harry had to admit watching Lavender and Parvati spending most of the rest of the class sending Firenze dark looks as they quietly defended Trelawny's honour was hilarious.

Instead Firenze had turned the classroom to darkness by some unseen signal, and had them all lie on their backs so they could gaze up at the now star strewn sky.

He lectured them on the moods of the planets and their relationships with one another, and the relevance of their locations among the stars and how it changed over time.

Harry was left wishing he'd had a dicta-quill just so he could get all that Firenze was telling them straight in his head, for the Centaur spoke in riddles and allusions, hinting and suggesting, sometimes outright contradicting himself.

In his way he was just as airy-fairy and mystical as Trelawny, but with less death predictions…which was nice, relaxing even.

"Mr Potter, a moment of your time please," Firenze's voice stopped Harry in his tracks. Ron gave him a questioning look from where he stood by the classroom door, the forest floor petering out underneath his feet.

"It's fine," Harry told him, "I'll catch you up."

Reluctantly Ron left, the door closing slowly behind him.

"Sir?" Harry gazed up at Firenze questioningly.

But he was met with silence, as the centaur considered him carefully, his shockingly blue eyes inhumanly intense in their consideration.

"Hmmm, something has changed," Firenze finally said, just as Harry was about to ask him if he was alright. "a small decision…you have made a small and seemingly insignificant decision…but like a pebble rolling down a mountainside, who knows whether it will be of little significance, or set off an avalanche…" he gazed up at the now sunny artificial sky. "Such a small change…"

Okay, it was official, Harry thought as he slowly sidled towards the door, Firenze was just as weird and creepy as Trelawny.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"…a few months now till you will begin your OWL exams," Professor McGonagall said as she strode around the classroom handing back essays. "It may seem like a long way away, but I can assure you it will arrive with alarming speed, especially if you do not prepare yourself adequately," she gave Ron a severe look as she slapped his essay down in front of him.

"Well done Mr Potter."

Harry startled in surprise as the Professor gave him a rare smile. Cautiously he looked at his mark, his eyes widening in shock.

An outstanding. He'd actually got an outstanding. Wow. He couldn't wait to show Sirius.

"How did you get that?" Ron demanded, glaring at his own acceptable, his writing swimming in a sea of red corrections.

"I err, answered the question?" Harry said, now feeling a little defensive. "And I did some extra reading too…" he trailed off at Ron's disgusted expression.

"Who are you?" Ron demanded, apparently only half joking, "and what have you done with Harry Potter?"

Before Harry could tell him to get lost the Professor had called the class to order and began taking them through some advanced theory relating to inanimate to animate transformation that she was insistent they would be needing for the exams.

By the time class finished Harry felt as if his brains were trying to escape through his ears.

"Thank Merlin that's over," Ron muttered as they escaped, joining the stream of students making their way to study-hall. "My brain's never going to be the same again, all scrambled," he complained.

"Would anyone actually notice?" Hermione asked cattily.

Of course the bickering then started up, and Harry allowed his friends to draw ahead of him, too engrossed in their fighting to notice his absence.

As he darted down a hidden corridor, disguised by a tapestry of a herd of unicorns, a faint cry of "Harry" followed him. But honestly, he didn't want to deal with whatever-that-was that was going on between Ron and Hermione. Life was far too short.

Far, far too short for all this sodding homework and revision as well, Harry sighed to himself as he settled down to work in the Library, picking the most isolated underused corner he could.

A few hours later his stomach rather grumpily pointed out that it was dinner time, lunch had been hours ago, and could he kindly do something about it, pretty please. Preferably a nice juicy rat, his stomach demanded, the very thought sending his salivary glands into over-drive.

Overcome with hunger he made his way down towards the kitchens and the bit of the dungeons that butted up to it, and of course its storage areas.

It was probably the safest place in the Castle to hunt them. Sure, the library occasionally had a rodent problem, but Madam Pince poisoned her traps, and as for the rats that haunted the area around the Potions lab…he didn't want to consider what they ate, how it affected their taste, or even if they were edible in the first place. If he was really unlucky they might kill him…or just make his feathers go pink, or something. It just wasn't worth it.

Typically some of the Castle cats were in the area, that black and white fluffy thing that lived in Ravenclaw tower, a skinny white one, and Crookshanks.

The ugly ginger prowled elegantly towards him, tail twitching in interest. A quick glance round and he transformed, touching his snout to Crookshank's nose in greeting. Good hunting? He asked.

Fair, fair, Crookshanks settled down beside him to wash a paw. You are to hunt also? Excellent. It is always heartening to see a youngling keen to hone their skills.

Ridiculous, the white cat glared at him as she slunk past, why hunt when you can just collect tribute from the hall of big sky.

Harry shook himself, feathers rustling. Yeah, and he'd just love to see the reaction if he turned up in the Great Hall during dinner and tried begging sausages off someone. It probably wouldn't end well.

Movement at the end of the corridor caught his attention, a house-elf had appeared, clutching in each hand the tail of a frantically wriggling mouse.

Ah, house service, Croockshanks' tail twitched in approval, nice and fresh. If you would release dinner, young being, he mewed at the house-elf.

The house-elf complied, setting down a mouse which promptly made its escape, Crookshanks hot on its heels. The other mouse quickly followed, the black and white cat charging after it.

May I have a rat please? Harry bumped the startled house-elf with his snout, but to his disappointment it squeaked in fright and vanished with a sharp pop of air.

Looked like he was going to have to do this the hard way…but then the house-elf reappeared, holding a struggling and frightened rat at arms length.

Harry wriggled in anticipation barely able to contain his excitement as the house-elf practically threw the struggling rodent away from itself.

He leapt on instinct, arms held wide to stabilise him as his feet came forward talons extended. He landed roughly on the screaming creature's back, the large curved talons flexing downwards on reflex as he landed, piercing the rat's back with a tiny crunch.

It shivered for a moment against his grip before going still. The scent of fresh food filling his nostrils Harry tore into the rodent tearing chunks off with his sharp teeth, small bones crunching as he chewed, gulping it down.

Another? He asked the house-elf head tilted, trying to look as appealing as possible.

Later, hunger sated, Harry wandered the upper floors, feeling warm and content, letting his feet take him where they would. There was something he knew he should be doing, but it wasn't homework, he was fairly certain. He'd got an essay for History, but that wasn't due till next week, so, what…

Oh…Defence Association…

He jerked round, speeding up as he made for the stairs and the seventh floor, ignoring the shouts form indignant portraits complaining about "young people these days."

As he approached the seventh floor corridor he slowed, moving more cautiously as he did his best to move unseen, taking little used short-cuts and secret passages where ever he could.

He slid into the Room-of-Requirements to find the Defence Association meeting well under way, the members already paired up and practising. Ducking a stray stinging hex he reluctantly went looking for Hermione.

"Where were you?" Hermione's hissed demand caught him off guard, and he spun to find her glaring at him, arms crossed, expression demanding that this had better be good.

"I err…I'm sorry Hermione," Harry sighed, trying to hide his embarrassment, "I had dinner, and then got…distracted, and lost track of time."

Hermione seemed utterly unimpressed, not believing a word of it. "Well now you're here you might as well help," she growled. "I thought it would be a good idea to do some revision since the OWLs are less than two months away."

"Er…okay," he looked around the room the small gathering. An air of grim acceptance seemed to hover the other students as they plodded through this practical exam revision, going over charms, hexes and curses they had been told over and over again that they would need for their OWLs and NEWTs. What they needed was something fun but practical, something like…

"Why don't we have a go at the Patronus charm?" he asked Hermione as she bustled past to help a pair working nearby.

She came to a grinding halt, face thoughtful underneath the frown. "That's…that's actually a very good idea. Okay then," she gestured to the room.

"What?" Harry stared at her blankly.

"It was your idea," Hermione pointed out. "Get on with it then."

"Fine, fine," he muttered. Erm..guys!" he sent a crackle of sparks up from his wand, clamping down hard on his instinct to run and hide in some ferns when they all turned to stare at him.

"So I'm pretty certain that we're all pretty sick of revision at this point," he ignored the grumbling coming from behind him. "I was thinking we could try a new charm, something fun…and useful. How about the Patronus charm?"

The mood of the room instantly perked up, a few shouting their approval.

"What's that any good for?" someone complained from the back of the room. He was certain one of the shouts of "cool!" had come from Cho.

"Oh, it's only the most effective way of protecting yourself from Dementors," Harry shrugged. "If you're not interested…"

Oh, they were really interested now.

"The incantation is Expecto Patronum with just a sharp jab of your wand. It's really important to concentrate very hard on your happiest memory while you do so…come on Hermione," he turned to her. "You can demonstrate for me," he grinned as she gave him a blood curdling glare.

"Fine," she grumbled as she took her place, wand ready.

"Remember, happy thoughts," Harry reminded her.

The glare she gave him promised a future hexing if he wasn't careful. She had to catch him first of course…

"Expecto Patronum," Hermione clearly enunciated, sharply jabbing her wand. To her delight a cloud of silvery mist erupted from her wand, swirling for a moment before dissipating, leaving behind a sense of warmth and cheerful anticipation.

"That was pretty impressive for a first attempt," Harry nodded approvingly, "this is a really hard bit of magic so don't get disheartened if you don't get anything at first."

The room soon filled with cries of "Expecto Patronum" and excited chatter as wisps of silver appeared for a few moments, the mood of the room lifting even further as an aura of excitement built, the sort of anticipation he normally associated with Christmas.

And then…"Wow,"…"Cool!"…

A silvery otter gracefully slipped past, and Harry grinned in delight, turning to see Hermione gazing in awe at the creature that now circled her playfully.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Harry demanded of the others who had all stopped to admire

Excited, they got to work, and slowly the room soon became crowded with silvery animals of every kind, swooping, running, crawling, their mere presence lightening the mood. Harry couldn't help but smile as he watched someone's Shetland pony trot playfully around the edge of the room.

"Hey Harry, aren't you going to have a go?"

He looked round to find Ron watching him with concern, his terrier circling him, sniffing the air cautiously.

"Oh…er, yeah, of course." He pulled out his wand, thinking hard about how happy he'd been when he first transformed into Quill. "Expecto Patronum," he muttered, mind focused clearly on the joy of feathers and claws and freedom.

Silvery mist erupted from his wand, quickly coalescing into a misty version of Quill. The strange sort-of-bird stared back at him for a moment, head tilted in curiosity. It ruffled its feathers, grooming an itch for a moment. With one last glance back at him it set out to explore the room, trotting along in a funny sort of scurry, arms held out for balance as it soared among the other patroni that patrolled the room.

Harry watched it explore, shock and amazement warring in his mind. He was a little sad he'd lost Prongs, but Quill was…did he really look like that when he ran?

"Harry?" Hermione caught his attention. "Your Patronus, it's changed!"

No, really?

"Harry, what is it?" Cho asked. "It's really cool, but…is it magical?"

"Dunno," Harry shrugged, unwilling to share what he knew, "pretty certain it's not magical though. Some sort of bird maybe…" he offered, trying to edge away from a curious Hermione.

He was saved when Dobby abruptly appeared in front of him with a thunderous crack of displace air, throwing himself at his legs.

"Master Harry Potter Sir!" he squeaked through gasping breaths. "The Pink-toad-woman. She knows. You'se here. Going to. Arrest you!"

The cheerful atmosphere of the room disappeared like morning mist in the sun.

"Oh crap," he and Hermione exclaimed at the same time.

"We need to leave, now!" Hermione told the gathering as she moved towards the door. "Everybody in twos and threes. I'll let you out, but then you need to scatter and go back to your dorms the most hidden way you can manage."

Trust Hermione to have an evacuation plan, Harry thought as he watched her letting the others go as quickly as she could. It was fascinating. She would let a group of three out and then wait a minute before letting the next group out, and so on until a small motley group remained, himself, Hermione, Ginny who had out-right refused to leave, had even kicked Ron in the ankle over it, Neville and that odd Ravenclaw Luna Lovegood.

That was of course when Umbridge burst into the room, just as Hermione was about to let Neville, Luna and a still protesting Ginny out.

The door shattered, showering them all with little splinters of wood, Umbridge waddling triumphantly through the wreckage, a rag-tag group of students, mainly Slytherins, but a couple were Ravenclaws, alone and surly looking Hufflepuff, and a very uncomfortable looking seventh year Gryffindor.

"Caught in the act," Umbridge leered at them as she waddled triumphantly towards them, kicking the remains of the door out of her way. "so this is what Dumbledore has been planning."

What? Harry stared at her uncomprehendingly. She actually believed that?

"…I have foiled his plans. The Minister will be so pleased. What are you waiting for?" she demanded of her reluctant minions. "Seize them!"

They stood no chance, despite their best efforts and soon Harry found himself being frog-marched through the school by a smug Crabbe.

"Finally, I have evidence," Umbridge cackled as she led them towards the Headmaster's office. "The Minister should all ready be on his way to confront Dumbledore and his treachery. As for you…" she shoved into Harry's personal space, "your nasty little rebellion is about to be squashed, once and for all."

There was a little ripple of sniggers from her minions, Malfoy smirking and smug. Harry had never wanted to punch him in the face more than in that moment.

A wave of depression and resignation washed over him as they continued with their march to their fate, Umbridge continuing with her increasingly fanatic monologue of the rewards the Minister was about to heap upon her.

Harry listened to her ranting in disgust, the desire to rip her throat out ever growing, and then a wonderful, glorious and dangerous idea occurred to him. If he could pull it off that was…

"Professor Umbridge," he barged through the awful woman's rant. "Err…the Headmaster's secret weapon. I err….I err know where it is."

The little procession came to a grinding halt, Umbridge striding towards him in a way she clearly felt was intimidating until she stood face to face with him. Almost. To his secret glee he was at least a few inches taller than her.

"Well?" Umbridge asked sweetly, her eyes cold and pitiless.

Harry swallowed nervously, trying to ignore the terrified expression of the others. "Dumbledore's secret weapon," he said, trying to look more confident than he felt. "I can show you where he's hiding it."

"Oh Harry," Hermione moaned, "don't do it."

Umbridge's smile broadened even more, her eyes as chilly as the Antarctic. "Good boy," she cooed.