Harry spent the rest of the week drifting between a state of anticipation and a state of melancholy. He had continued to wake early each morning, then go down to the Great Hall with his viola to grab a stack of toast before wandering out to practice outside near the lake. It was peaceful, and was the one calm moment of his day, for the lessons and breaks were full of Ron and Hermione's constant banter. They did wonder why he no longer went down to breakfast with them, but as he met up after they had been down there for a while after replacing his viola in the dorm, they didn't fuss too much. He had been telling them that he had been going on more walks in the morning.

On the Saturday he was just pushing open the door again to exit the Hall when McGonagall appeared round the corner and called out to him. Knowing that this was probably concerning the quartet, he halted. He didn't normally see her quite this early; it was possible that she was doing this simply to talk to him.

"A little before four in my office, Mr Potter."

She waited for his nod of assent before sweeping inside. Harry, after standing for a moment in memory of her rendition days before, hugged himself in anticipation of hearing the music again.

He then headed up to the dormitory to fetch his instrument. It made for a lot of extra walking, but he didn't like to carry it into the Great Hall for fear that someone might see it. That Ravenclaw girl appeared each day, and Snape had been there often as well, always engrossed in a book. He couldn't bear for the man to see it. His viola was private, and anyone not a musician would not understand.

His session by the lake didn't run as smoothly as before, now that he had an actual time approaching. Usually, when he picked up his bow he was no longer the Boy-who-lived, or Boy, as his relatives addressed him, or even Potter. He was only Harry and the music. But this time he fumbled a little, and didn't quite find the usual calm.

That afternoon, Harry didn't quite know what to tell his friends. They had spent most of the day by the lake, though Hermione had griped about how they ought to be doing their homework. She had compromised with Harry and Ron by bringing some with her. It had lain mostly untouched, though. They had argued and chatted and watched Crookshanks stalk butterflies instead of more scholarly pursuits.

The day was a beautiful one, with bright sunlight streaming through the leaves of the tree they lay under. Harry might have fallen asleep if it wasn't for his slight case of nerves.

At a quarter to four, Harry shifted from his position on the grass, sitting up and replacing his glasses on his face. He had been lying comfortably for a while, his eyes closed while he listened to Ron and Hermione talk. His stomach clenched. He would have to tell them why he was leaving.

"Hermione, Ron? I'm going, now. I think I'll see you at dinner. I'm just… err… just going for a run." He could hardly believe that that was all he could come up with. "I need to burn off some steam."

They both looked up at him confused. "Harry-"

"Bye!"

He jogged off. Harry knew that he would pay for his lack of explanation later, but he didn't want to be late because he was bogged down explaining things to his tenacious friends.

The corridors were thankfully empty due to the fine weather as he walked along to McGonagall's office with his viola. Who would be there? What were wizarding techniques? Harry's stomach wasn't exactly calm anymore.

McGonagall was standing outside her door with her cello case leaned against the wall. She was holding a huge armful of paper. Looking at it, Harry could see pages and pages of sheet music.

"Harry- good. Hold this, would you?" She dumped about half the pile in his hand, leaving a much more manageable stack for herself.

"Good afternoon, Professor."

McGonagall was quite obviously distracted. She only gave him a non-committal "hmmm" whilst paging through the papers, probably to check that it was all there. Harry just stood there awkwardly.

When she was finished, she refocused on him and nodded, picking up her instrument case.

"Follow me, Mr Potter, if you would."

He trailed her up and down staircases and through various corridors to a part of the castle that he had never been to before. Harry tried to concentrate on the way, but still was hopelessly lost by the end.

In front of a door that was unremarkable except for its carvings, which were of various magical creatures- Harry recognised dragons, a phoenix and a hippogriff among others- McGonagall halted.

"Harry, there's a small ante-chamber inside, where I would like you to wait. I just want to inform them that you will be coming, not have them startled when we descend on them with no warning. Is that alright?"

Harry nodded numbly. He didn't feel ready for this at all anymore.

The antechamber was small, a tiny room filled with shelves of what had to be music and a stepladder to reach the higher shelves. Harry sat himself on it, clutching his case to his chest. McGonagall gave him a short nod of approval that lifted his spirits before entering the room.

Harry could not hear a thing from inside, although they must have been talking or even tuning. It was probably soundproofed, perhaps with a silencing charm worked into the door. Was that possible? He'd have to ask Hermione, or even search for it in the library himself. She'd be sure to wonder why he was suddenly interested. The last thing he needed was Hermione's determined questioning of what he was getting himself into.

After a few minutes the door was reopened, and McGonagall emerged. "If you could follow me, please, I will introduce you to them."

Harry hesitated, struck by doubt. "Professor, I…" He gave her a pleading look.

She looked him in the eyes. "Nonsense, you will be fine. Come, now." And with that she entered the room. Harry could only follow her.

The first thing that Harry noticed was that the room was very light. There were floor to ceiling windows on two adjacent sides of the room, where light shone through. They were quite high up in the castle, so all Harry could see out of them was blue sky. The second thing that Harry saw was Albus Dumbledore in some horrifically bright orange robes, holding a violin. Harry wondered whether Dumbledore supported the Chudley Cannons like Ron, or simply had an extremely eccentric style of dress.

"Ah, so this is our mysterious new player. I must say that I did not expect this. Welcome." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at Harry.

Harry managed to tear his eyes away from the travesty of the robes and gave a weak smile to Dumbledore.

McGonagall had been standing beside him in silence while Harry took in the room, but now she spoke.

"Severus."

Harry had a moment of confusion. Who was Severus? Then it clicked. McGonagall wouldn't address a fellow teacher by their surname, especially if they were fellow musicians.

A sigh came from the corner of the room, where a figure in black was crouching beside a box, hunting through to find something. Wait. Black robes. It was a Saturday. Black hair. Oh. Long black greasy hair. Oh no. It wasn't- It couldn't- How could they?

"Minerva, I will meet your viola player in a few moments, once I find what I am looking for. Stop pestering me."

Oh, yes, Harry knew that voice. It was confirmed. He definitely had the worst luck. First Aunt Marge, then Dementors, and now this. Harry knew that it had been too good to be true. Of course, a quartet had four players. He would have been perfectly content with just the other two.

McGonagall tapped her foot impatiently.

Harry glanced up at her in desperation, pleading for this all to be a misunderstanding. This couldn't be happening.

Her gaze back at him was only somewhat reassuring, but it stopped him from opening his mouth and asking her a question. Did she tell them who he was beforehand? Or had she simply said that she had found a viola player from the students? Because he was willing to bet on his life that Snape had no idea that Harry Potter would be there.

McGonagall coughed pointedly. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more. Harry held his breath.

He would not run. He was brave, a Gryffindor. He had fought a basilisk, for Merlin's sake. Yet somehow this was even more terrifying, and Harry didn't feel very strong.

Snape straightened up. "Fine, Minerva. Fine." He sounded extremely disgruntled. Harry was so not ready for this. How could McGonagall and Dumbledore just stand there so calmly? They must have nerves of steel.

When he turned around, Harry tried to shrink into himself.

The outburst was not as immediate as he would have expected. Noticing him, the sallow man for a second was silent, his face a mixture of confusion, betrayal and ire. Then it came.

Snape burst out a "You!" in a loud, tight voice that screamed of tension to Harry. Then he turned to the woman beside Harry. "Minerva McGonagall, I-"

In a split instant, he turned a deadly calm that scared Harry more than his previous outburst. Pointing at the door, he said silkily, "Potter, out."

Harry went, glad that he hadn't set his viola down and was able to move with more speed. As he rushed to the door, McGonagall called after him.

"Just into the antechamber, Mr Potter. Close the door after you."

Harry shot through the open door and immediately closed it. Well, most of the way, anyway. He left a tiny crack, enough so that the silencing charm didn't kick in. He needed to hear this. It would determine his fate in the quartet, and while he hated the idea of working alongside Snape of all people, he would play nice if it meant he could hear McGonagall play again. He needed the music.

The sound through the almost-closed door was barely audible. Harry had to strain to hear what they were saying, and forced his breathing to slow and his heart to calm down. The charm or whatever it was on the door must have been partially in effect, as he didn't believe that Snape's anger would be particularly quiet or restrained.

Or maybe they were trying to be quiet, restraining themselves. Perhaps it was a combination of both.

Snape's voice, though faint to Harry, in no way sounded content.

"Minerva McGonagall, what were you thinking? How could you let that boy…? What possessed you… imbecilic…"

Harry wondered whether Snape was referring to Harry or McGonagall. He leaned closer, annoyed at the gaps he couldn't hear.

"Allowing the students to… private life of their teachers… especially that one!"

McGonagall's voice broke in at that. "Of course, Severus, it always comes back to that."

"… Reckless, inane, just like his… What?"

Harry could hardly resist a slight smirk at the surprised suspicion in Snape's voice. He suspected that McGonagall was going to get the better of the greasy git this time.

"Why, Severus, your hatred of the boy's father, and your determination to take revenge on the boy for that."

There was silence. Harry could almost picture Snape, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, stunned at her pronouncement.

Wait… what? His father? Snape knew his father?

Harry supposed that it could be possible. Did Snape teach his father? He dismissed that almost straight away. Snape couldn't be that old. Could he?

Maybe they had gone to school together.

McGonagall was talking again, and Harry threw his confused thoughts out of his head to listen in more. He was practically pressed against the gap at this point.

"Severus, I know that you don't like this, but really. I am the only one who has managed to find a replacement viola player for the quartet, and unless you want us to disband altogether as a quartet, and withdraw from the competition I'm afraid you will either have to find another player from Hogwarts or put up with it."

Snape's voice was weak as he protested.

"Minerva, I-"

"Severus, you know that we need someone from the castle for this. The logistics otherwise would be a nightmare, and it goes against our whole idea. Yes, a student is not ideal, but at least Harry has five years left at this school, so it isn't as it we are only taking on someone for the year.

"Harry is his own person, you know. Perhaps with some time you will be able to stop superimposing James over the top of him. He can play well, too."

Snape seemed to disbelieve this statement.

"Minerva, quite frankly, I do not see how a thirteen year old boy could qualify, especially one with as little academic focus as Potter."

McGonagall's reply was swift.

"Severus Snape, I heard him play. Trust me on this, he is capable. Yes, he needs more technique, and he seems somewhat rusty, but I can tell that he will improve. I would swear on it."

There was a silence for a minute, and Harry guessed that the two were at an impasse.

McGonagall sighed, breaking the tense atmosphere.

"I am just asking you to try it. Hear him play, let him play with us, learn a little technique, and we can reassess if we need to in a few weeks time. But really, Severus…" She trailed off.

"Fine. Fine. I see that I am outnumbered here, as you both are intent on this. But I will be watching and judging him all the way. One slip…"

"Shall we get him to return, then?"

Harry reared back, so not to get caught, but then leaned back in cautiously. Was that Dumbledore? He had been silent for the rest of the verbal sparring…

"… an idea. Perhaps, you would be able to relate to him better that us old ones, Severus?"

Snape's voice sliced through the air, precise and cutting. "Precisely what are you suggesting, Headmaster?"

"My dear boy, I simply thought that you could aid him in this venture… a little mentoring?"

McGonagall and Snape spoke in unison at that, and Harry could not blame them. That idea was absurd.

"Albus!"

Snape would never agree to that, and Harry would avoid it to the best of his abilities as well. McGonagall seemed to agree that Dumbledore's suggestion was ridiculous, and Harry was thankful of that.

"Of all the things… Sweet Merlin, the room would never be the same, Albus. I'll get him in now, I think, if we all agree?"

Harry quickly made his way back over to the stool and sat down, placing a bored expression on his face. That had been enlightening, and rather interesting, too.