A/N: Another day – another chapter. I am doing my best to keep the updates prompt at the moment, as I am on holiday. Hopefully this is a treat for readers!

Note – this is Harry and Remus focused… I'm afraid everyone will have to wait until next time for the conclusion of the drama with Albus, Gellert and Bill; it was just too long for one chapter! :)

Enjoy 'Secrets and Lies' – and please read and review! (I know writers always harp on this – and I shan't ever hold out on posting updates because I want more reviews… but it really does help encourage the process!)

Happy New Year!

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

Chapter 29: Secrets and Lies

Harry had another difficult week following his convalescence.

As he'd feared, the entire school had witnessed his disgrace on the Quidditch pitch. Most of his own House were commiserating and supportive, but the Slytherins were not nearly so understanding. Draco Malfoy had finally shed his false bandages in celebration, and did not lose opportunity to taunt him in every lesson they shared. He only quit on Wednesday morning, when Professor Vector caught him throwing a valiant fainting impression and docked twenty points from Slytherin before setting him the next equation on the board. Wood's disappointment was clear, even while he attempted to talk bracingly of their chances for redemption, and it made Harry feel doubly anxious not only over the loss of the match, but also for the destruction of his beloved broomstick.

The Grim, meanwhile, continued to prey on Harry's mind. Though Dumbledore had tried to ease his concern, Harry knew he hadn't imagined the dog. He did not mention its appearance to Ron or Hermione, because he did not want to watch Ron's panic or Hermione's dismissal. But he could not help but feel this was the second time it had appeared… and the second time there had been near-fatal consequences. Perhaps Professor Trelawney had been right, after all.

And when he wasn't thinking about the Grim, Harry was kept awake at night with thoughts of the Dementors. He hated them, and he hated how powerless he always became when they were too near. He wanted more than anything to go to Remus about them – to beg him to resume their lessons, so that he could master the Patronus once and for all.

But Remus was as distant as ever. He had not come to the headmaster's quarters while Harry had stayed there the week-end, and he had not sent a note or any other inquiry to check in on him. Harry thought Remus' gaze had lingered on him longer than usual in their lesson on the Hinkypunk on Monday… but he had hurried from the room before Harry could catch him again, and Harry had decided that perhaps he was imagining things.

By Wednesday evening, Harry was thoroughly fed up once again with his lot. He could not get Draco Malfoy's taunts out of his head, try as he might; he hadn't yet been able to face ordering a new broom to replace his beloved Nimbus; and he was pretty sure his Arithmancy work was absolute rubbish, operating as he was on almost no sleep.

'I'll look it over for you, if you want,' Hermione offered kindly, watching Harry push the huge Arithmancy tome wearily out of reach and pull the equally large Defence book toward himself in its stead as they sat at a table in the Common Room late in the night.

'Would you?' asked Harry, elated. 'Thanks loads, Hermione,' he said gratefully, passing his scroll of equations to her more capable hands.

'What are you doing Defence for?' Ron asked in surprise, watching Harry leaf through the volume. He, Harry noticed, was flicking carelessly through Divination, apparently searching for ideas to complete his fire omens assignment. 'Lupin hasn't set us anything this week.'

'Snape's,' Harry said, a little bitterly.

The class had all received curt notices late on Sunday evening from Professor Snape, cancelling the assigned essay he'd forced on them the previous Friday. Most of the students had greeted this message with decided relief – none of them having schemed to do anything anyway until they'd voiced their thoughts on the injustice to Professor Lupin in their lesson on Monday. Harry, however, knew that Snape would be expecting his regardless. And even with Dumbledore's assurance over the week-end that he need not complete the assignment, he wouldn't put it past the Potions Master to give him actual detention all Thursday evening if he showed up without it done.

Ron muttered an expletive that made Hermione send him a stern look, but was distracted almost at once by the appearance of Crookshanks, who had taken their conversation for a perfect opportunity to attack Ron's shoulder bag and the sleeping rat in the front pocket. Ron aimed a kick at the cat that missed but caused a minor row with Hermione, then stalked off to stow Scabbers upstairs in a bit of a temper.

'Harry,' Hermione said in a whisper, turning to face him when Ron had ducked up the stairs. 'Listen, come and find me when you've done the essay, alright?' she asked, looking nervous.

Harry stared. 'Why?' he said, suspicious. 'You haven't got to do it. I'm sure Remus will cover it with us later in the –'

'I've already done it,' Hermione said quickly, biting her lip. 'And I… oh, just promise you'll find me after?'

'Er – right,' Harry agreed, still bewildered.

He wanted to press the point, but Ron stormed back into the Common Room at that moment, throwing himself back into his seat with a snort. Hermione gave Harry a quick shake of the head, and buried her nose in a book on Ancient Runes before he could ask anything further.

Harry flicked through the final chapter of the Defence book, looking for the information on spotting and identifying werewolves. He was still reading, eyes beginning to glaze and sentences repeating, when the other two at last bid him goodnight and headed off to bed. Hermione gave him a meaningful look as she tapped his arm in farewell.

A werewolf, or lycanthrope, is a human who becomes infected with lycanthropy, causing a physical transformation upon the complete rising of the full moon into a deadly near-wolf. Both wizards and Muggles can be turned, though the condition is more common in magical beings (in part because Muggle medicine cannot often save victims from a werewolf attack).

The werewolf is quite similar in appearance to the true wolf, though there are several minor distinctions which can distinguish the werewolf to the trained eye. Werewolves possess shorter snouts than the true wolf, a tufted tail, and retain their human eyes whilst in wolf form. Moreover, the werewolf is possessed of a manic bloodlust for human prey during the time of the full moon, whereas most true wolves will eschew humans whenever possible.

Werewolf bites should be treated with powdered silver and dittany, applied to a fresh wound to seal it. Scarring is inevitable and permanent. The bite of the werewolf received while the creature is in wolf form will cause infection in 100% of cases where the victim survives his or her attack, as the contact of saliva with blood creates an instant magical bond.

Lycanthropy has no known cure. The Wolfsbane Potion, invented by Damocles in 1982 and taken in the week preceding the full moon, will allow a transformed human to keep his or her mind during the transformation; a significant feat, as prior to its invention werewolves had no control over their actions when transformed. Though the werewolf will recall memories of his or her transformation, the mind belongs entirely to the monster during the hours of full moon.

Humans infected with lycanthropy often show visible signs of the affliction even while the moon is not full. Monthly transformations are quite painful, particularly if left untreated, and afflicted persons will usually suffer several days of ill health and pallor preceding and succeeding the full moon. Werewolves who are forcibly separated from possible victims during the cycle (except those under the influence of Wolfsbane) will injure themselves instead, often leaving the lycanthrope with scarring or premature signs of aging.

Despite Muggle rumour to the contrary and its efficacy in sealing werewolf bites, werewolves cannot be killed or harmed by silver in their wolf or human forms.

Harry sighed, exhausted as he finished the passage. Slowly, he began to copy out the important sentences into an essay, trying to make it semi-coherent. It was well past 2 o'clock in the morning when his candle finally burned down to the stub, and Harry decided to finish the essay in the morning.

He trudged up the stairs and collapsed, fully clothed, on top of the covers. But as he dreamed, odd flashes of the passage began to replay in his mind.

The Wolfsbane Potion… taken in the week preceding Full Moon…

Several days of ill health… preceding and succeeding…

Premature signs of aging…

Despite his late night, Harry's eyes snapped open at half six, his heart pounding as if he'd just run a marathon, and the answer solidifying in his brain.

No… it wasn't possible.

Was it?

He hauled himself off the bed and into the shower, trying to work out his own thoughts. The first thing he noticed on re-entering the dormitory was a bushy-haired ginger cat slinking across the carpet.

'Crookshanks,' Harry growled, diving to catch the animal before he could take a flying leap onto Ron's bed. But his ire at the determined cat was perfunctory. 'Does that mean Hermione's up?' he asked the disgruntled animal.

He flipped Crookshanks around in his arms and tiptoed downstairs with his trainers in one hand and his hair still dripping. Hermione was seated on the one of the comfortable armchairs, her face pale and her arms for once devoid of books. Harry knew immediately from her expression that she'd got up specially to meet him – that she'd expected him to have worked it out by now.

'So…' she said, eyes wide and voice naught but a whisper despite the deserted room. 'Did you finish the essay?'

Harry flung himself into the chair opposite, almost afraid to voice his thoughts. 'Enough of it,' he confirmed in a low grunt.

'And do you think he's –'

'Don't, Hermione, not aloud,' Harry said, darting a panicked look around the empty Common Room.

'Alright, but do you?' she pressed, leaning forward a little so their knees were almost touching.

Harry forced his eyes to meet hers, wishing he could return a different answer.

'Yes,' he confirmed, jaw set. 'It makes sense – all of it. That's why he's been out for lessons, why Snape's been substituting. It's why he's ill at such regular intervals.'

Hermione nodded, looking caught between horror and scholarly appreciation. 'And I've checked, Harry – the moon was full that night you left your aunt and uncle's, when you said he had to go away. And it was again right before term started – and remember how dreadful he looked on the Express?'

Harry nodded grimly. 'There was potion too,' he recollected. 'He took it every day while we were at the Dursleys – the week preceding the full moon. And he told me himself the potion helped, but it wasn't a cure. And even Snape called it a "monthly affliction," when he was bullying me into doing the essay.'

'It makes perfect sense,' Hermione said in a rush. 'Perfect. You remember the boggart lesson? I thought his was a crystal ball – like he was afraid of prophecy or something… but it was the full moon. His greatest fear must be his impending transformation.'

'Not surprising, considering, is it?' Harry said seriously. 'When you read all that horrible stuff?'

'Not surprising he made Snape cancel the assignment,' Hermione noted, shaking her head. 'I suppose he wouldn't have wanted us all figuring it out.'

'He didn't,' Harry said, remembering suddenly. 'Make Snape cancel, I mean. That was Dumbledore's idea, I reckon. He looked furious when I brought it up at all. He knows – I'll bet the whole staff does. Remus told me Dumbledore knew everything about his illness when he was debating taking the job. I reckon this was why he was worried in the first place… didn't know what the students would say, or the parents, if he was found out.'

Hermione bit her lip. 'Do…' she glanced around again, warily, 'Do you think we should tell the others?' she asked in a small voice. 'I mean… it is a big deal, Harry. This isn't like having an odd skin ailment or bad asthma… this is a serious, serious disease. And it's dangerous. Somebody could be –'

'No,' said Harry, stubbornly. 'No, Hermione. That's what Snape wants. He did this on purpose, hoping someone would put the pieces together and get Remus into trouble… he hates him. But Remus… he doesn't deserve it.' Whatever he's been like lately, a small, bitter voice added in his head. 'Dumbledore knows already. The staff too, probably. There's no point dragging it all out.'

Hermione looked mildly relieved he'd taken this view on things. She leaned back, relaxing into the chair for the first time that morning. The sun was beginning to rise through the mullioned windows now, casting scarlet and gold glares over both their faces. The light caught in her hair, making it look more auburn than her usual deep brown. Harry had never noticed the highlights before. He was tired again, with the excess of adrenaline and discovery fading.

He yawned widely.

'You look done in,' Hermione noted, peering at him. 'How late were you up?'

'Dunno,' Harry admitted, shrugging as he wiped at the sleep caught in the corners of his eyes. 'Past two, for sure.' She opened her mouth as if to comment, but Harry held up a finger. 'Don't lecture, please,' he begged her. 'I know I ought to get more done on week-ends, but –'

'I wasn't going to,' Hermione said, looking miffed. 'I was just going to suggest you kip an hour or so before breakfast, as it's still so early. You won't be much use in Herbology like this.'

Harry nodded, getting to his feet again. 'Sorry,' he muttered, feeling a little guilty for his prejudice.

Hermione waved him off impatiently, gathering Crookshanks from the floor.

'Hermione?' Harry called, turning at the foot of the stairs. She paused, frowning at him over the cat's thick fur. 'Don't tell anyone. Promise?'

'Promise,' she assured him, with half a smile.

And Harry shuffled off back up the stairs, forgetting his trainers by the fire.

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The knock on the door came precisely at 8 o'clock.

'Enter,' Severus called, leaning against the edge of his desk.

Potter pushed through the door, looking tired and wary. His left hand was tightly clenched around a furled scroll of parchment. The professor held out his own, palm up.

But the boy didn't move.

'Your essay, Potter,' Severus said silkily, hand still out. 'And there had better be a second scroll wrapped up in the one your holding, unless you wish to lose thirty points before we even get started tonight.'

Potter shut the classroom door, but he pressed the scroll tighter to his chest. He frowned at the Potions Master.

'The others had it cancelled,' he noted, running his thumb over the rounded edge of the parchment. 'But I was pretty sure you'd still make me do it, sir.'

'A stroke of sagacity which both astounds and satisfies me, I assure you,' Severus said sarcastically. 'Pass it over.'

Still, Potter did not move. He looked down at the thick scroll, still frowning deeply.

'So this is why you don't trust him…' he said, almost to himself. 'It was a nasty trick, you know, going behind his back like that. Why didn't you just tell me, if you wanted me to know so badly, sir?'

Severus glared, his temper boiling at once. 'I assigned you the essay, you oblivious brat, because if you are simply told information every time you show dim-wittedness, you will never learn to be resourceful!'

This, of course, was not strictly true. But it sounded perfectly rational when he said it, and Severus congratulated himself inwardly on the excellent explanation.

After all, Potter wasn't to know about his battles with the headmaster.

'I'm resourceful!' Potter sniped back, looking stung. 'I worked out that business with the Philosopher's Stone on my own, didn't I? And all the stuff with the Chamber of Secrets last year. I mean, alright, Ron and Hermione helped a bit, and Hagrid, but still –'

'If you think you are making a case for confiding more sensitive information in you directly,' Severus interrupted, sneering, 'I must tell you the grave grows deeper with every word out of your mouth, Potter.'

The boy shut it, grinding his teeth in temper. Severus smirked in satisfaction.

'Pass it over,' he repeated.

And at last Potter did, pushing the essay roughly into the professor's hand. Severus undid the fastening with a snap of his fingers.

Two scrolls. Good.

'So,' he said, laying the essay on the desk and crossing his arms as he considered Potter. 'Locking and unlocking charms. Useful and necessary, should you find yourself in a captive situation, as we all know you have been alre-'

'What, no!' Potter interrupted, looking up from where he'd still been frowning at the essay the professor had set aside. 'We're not even going to talk about this, sir?'

Severus' eyes flashed. 'Ten points for impertinence!' he barked. 'You know better than to interrupt me.'

The boy scowled right back. 'That's not fair!' he complained. 'You trick me into doing this assignment, sir, because you know it'll make me realise Remus is a… a werewolf. Then you're not even going to talk about it?'

'I am not playing twenty questions with you today, Potter,' Severus snapped. 'I have rather more important things to do with my own time, and we have exactly ninety minutes remaining in this tutorial. You did the essay, you ought to know the pertinent information now. I assure you that if you wish to be tested on the material, I would be more than happy to compose a written exam for our next meeting.'

'But that's not –'

'Potter, I swear – if you whinge one more time in my presence, you will wish I'd leave you to the werewolf at the next Full Moon.'

They glared at each other, neither speaking, for thirty full seconds. Then Severus, cursing himself, realised with a surge of annoyance that Potter would be next to useless with the task he intended to assign him in this state.

Or, worse… he might go to the Werewolf for answers instead.

'Three,' he said curtly.

'What?' Potter asked stupidly.

'You may ask three questions, Potter,' Severus clarified. 'And then we will close this subject entirely, and return to the lesson. Do you understand?'

'Yes,' Potter agreed quickly, with the ghost of a grin. 'Thank you, sir.'

Severus rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms, waiting.

'When was Remus turned into a werewolf?' Potter asked, watching him closely.

'I have no idea, nor do I have a desire to know,' Severus said impassively. 'Sometime during his childhood. Before he started at Hogwarts.'

Potter frowned, apparently thinking. 'The book said that potion – the Wolfsbane – it wasn't invented until 1982,' he noted.

'Correct,' Severus confirmed. 'And not a question.'

'I'm getting there,' Potter grumbled. 'I just meant… how'd he come to Hogwarts then, if it wasn't available until he got out of school? Wouldn't that have been dangerous, having a werewolf here that couldn't keep his mind?'

'Extremely,' Severus said with a bit of a snarl. 'Dangerous, and reckless.' He pinched the bridge of his nose between a forefinger and thumb, forcing down the bile and temper. 'The headmaster, however, took precautions to protect the school. A sanctuary of sorts was arranged, where the werewolf would be able to transform during the monthly cycles but – theoretically – would not be able to escape and attack anyone. The entire affair was conducted in secret, and students were not told of the werewolf's presence.'

Potter nodded slowly. 'How'd you find out then, sir? Did you not known until he got here this summer, or had you figured it –'

'Next question,' Severus said firmly, over the end of Potter's sentence.

'But you said three!' Potter reminded him. 'That's my third, sir.'

'I said you get three questions, not that I would give three answers. I'm giving you a fourth. Ask, or don't, but this is the end of the discussion either way.'

Potter scowled, but he knew better than to push his luck.

'Fine,' he agreed. 'Do you make the Wolfsbane, then?'

Severus cocked his head, considering. It was an odd choice of query… he would have expected 'Has he ever killed anyone?' or 'Where does he go at the full moon?' or even – though he never would have answered – 'Why does it make you hate him so much?'

Why did he care about the potion?

'Yes,' he admitted, after a short pause. 'At the headmaster's request.'

Potter nodded, apparently satisfied. Severus pushed off the desk.

'To work,' he said, sweeping his arm once around the room so that the worktables zoomed up against the walls. (Potter nearly fell to his bum at this, having been leaning against one at the time.) With his wand, Severus conjured what appeared to be a large, silver chest.

Potter stared.

'Locking and unlocking,' Severus repeated, tapping the shining cover of the chest. 'There are six chests, encased in one another. Each has been sealed with a different lock. Some have Muggle fastenings, and some have been magically closed. Your task is to open each – wandlessly, of course. Then you will seal them once more, in order, again using wandless magic. I would prefer you to complete the assignment nonverbally, but as it seems you still struggle with that portion of our training –' he gave Potter a mocking smirk – 'I suppose I shall have to suffer the shouting for now. Begin.'

The first few chests were fairly successful – unsurprising, as these were those which had been Muggle-locked, and Severus knew Potter had already shown a proclivity for escaping Muggle confines while living at Petunia's. The fourth was more difficult, but eventually Potter's 'Alohomora!' was strong enough to break the spell.

It was growing easier, Severus noticed, for Potter to access his Magical Core on command – easier to master the initial connection that they had struggled so hard to enable over the summer. He still had difficulty with anything that resembled subtlety, and he could not seem to grasp the power of focus over brute force… but it was progress nonetheless. Impressive progress, Severus admitted grudgingly (and quite silently), for one so young and still years from magical maturity.

On the fifth, Potter gave seven attempts before Severus called a halt, watching the strain break a sweat across the boy's forehead and his hands begin to shake.

'Water, Potter,' Severus said curtly, conjuring a glass and pushing a chair toward the quaking boy. Potter sank into it gratefully, gulping the drink as his breathing evened out.

They'd been pushing a bit farther each time – gradually stretching and honing Potter's Core as he grew both physically and magically. It was always a risky process, no matter how methodical Severus tried to be. Magical Cores were too nebulous and unique to create a precise equation… to know when you'd pushed too much. He had to watch Potter for the signs; and they were slightly different every time. Magical Exhaustion meant they'd have to take a break from the lessons again.

And every week, Severus knew, the Dark Lord's return could be closer. Time was a luxury they could not count on.

'You are putting too much behind the spell,' Severus accused, fingering the boy's wrist to check that his pulse was stabilising. 'And it is the wrong spell, for this chest. You should have recognised that by your third attempt.'

Potter allowed the ministration begrudgingly, but he glared as Severus released him, refilled the water with a wave of his hand, and stepped back.

'What do you mean, it's the wrong spell, sir?' Potter asked with a frown. 'You said to unlock the chest. That's what I was –'

'You were using the same spell you'd applied to the past two, Alohomora,' Snape explained impatiently. 'A simple unlocking charm. Effective against the simple magical locking spell or Muggle barriers. Useless where a wizard casts the relatively easy Anti-Alohomora charm, or uses a stronger magical sealing spell. You will have to branch out, Potter.'

Potter was still frowning. 'I don't know any others,' he admitted after a moment.

Severus crossed his arms. 'Then I suggest you practise your resourcefulness,' he said, 'And do some research between now and next lesson. We will tackle this project again at that time.'

The boy heaved a sigh, but wisely did not attempt to argue. 'Do you want me to seal these up, sir?' he asked, indicating the four chests he'd managed to open.

Severus considered him for a moment. 'Do two,' he decided. 'You may finish the remainder with your wand.'

It was a good decision. Unlocking was more based in force than finesse – a task that catered to Potter's strengths. Locking charms, on the other hand, were far more delicate. It took Potter eight attempts to successfully finish the first, and he was visibly shaking again by the time the second had been sealed. His wand gave a shower of sparks when Potter at last retrieved it from its place on the desk, sighing gratefully, and muttered 'Colloportus!' to complete the stack.

Severus nodded once, satisfied enough. He let Potter catch his breath in the chair again while he waved his own wand around the room, rearranging the furniture and banishing the chests. Then he retrieved a phial of Invigoration Draught and refilled Potter's glass of water.

'The potion then the water, Potter,' he said, pushing both at the boy.

He followed the order without complaint. This was another part of the lessons Severus had made near to routine by now; the Invigoration Draught always reduced the chance of magical complications… and it kept Minerva from poisoning his tea if Potter showed up a disaster the following morning.

'Shall I take this back then?' Potter asked, reaching for the essay on the Potions Master's desk after he'd finished the potion and gathered his bag.

Severus slid it quickly out of reach, glaring. 'Oh, I think not,' he said silkily.

Potter stared. 'But… I wrote it, and you already said we weren't going to discuss it anymore…'

'True,' Severus said with an evil leer. 'But I have not yet marked it, Potter. You will receive it back in due course.'

Potter's mouth fell open. 'You're marking it?' he asked, incredulous. 'But why? These aren't normal lessons… it's not like it matters what I get on an essay.'

Severus' eyes glinted maliciously. 'Oh, you think so, do you, Potter?'

The boy gulped visibly, and the professor's smirk grew.

'Oh I assure you,' he promised. 'If I find your work is falling below par, I shall certainly conceive of some way to ensure you are penalised for it.'

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By the middle of December, Harry was beginning to come out of his melancholy somewhat. There had been no additional sign of Sirius Black – in or out of the castle – and his constant stream of bodyguards seemed to be relaxing slightly. The Dementors had not put in another appearance since the disaster that was their first Quidditch match, and Ravenclaw had destroyed Hufflepuff in the final match of the term – greatly levelling the Gryffindor odds for a continued chance at the Cup. Snow had begun to fall steadily, covering the grounds in a sea of white and promoting snowball fights (or wars, if Fred and George tagged in) during morning and afternoon breaks. Inside the castle, Hagrid could be seen hauling the traditional twelve Christmas trees into the Great Hall, and Professor Flitwick superintended their decoration every evening, sometimes allowing requests from the gathered crowd. Many of the teachers (Professors McGonagall and Snape decidedly not among them) had given in to student distraction, setting them more enjoyable or festive tasks in lessons rather than burying them in the usual onslaught of work. Harry, Ron and Hermione had all signed up to stay at the castle for Christmas this year, and Harry was excited for the holiday and the fortnight of relaxation.

As the final week-end of term approached, however, the wind began to leave Harry's sails again. He made his way wearily back to the Common Room after a rather difficult Friday. It had started in Arithmancy lessons, where he'd failed to complete the assigned equation for predicting the next lunar eclipse, and been humiliated in front of the entire class when Pansy Parkinson had caught and corrected his mistake. Then he'd nearly missed travelling back with Hermione to attend Divination, after Moaning Myrtle had decided to pop up unexpectedly in the boys' loo… and Harry had refused to complete his business until she zoomed up the pipes back to her own toilet. Professor Trelawney – who Harry suspected might be indulging for Christmas already – had broken her three-month silence on Harry's impending demise and nearly fainted as she gazed into his candle and pronounced his 'Omen' was the Grim again… which sent Harry to Transfiguration in a foul temper as much due to his own fears about the black dog as the rest of the class's muttering.

All in all, he was looking forward to an early night, some actual sleep for a change… and perhaps a celebratory day of games and food with Ron and Hermione the following morning.

But the sandpit in that idea was waiting on the Common Room notice board, a dozen excited students gathered around it.

Harry groaned as he saw the note – Hogsmeade week-end visit, set for tomorrow. Ron and Hermione were understandably thrilled, but it made Harry miserable to think he would be left alone, again, while everyone traipsed to the village without him.

'You can take my copy of Which Broomstick,' Wood offered, coming over to Harry at the breakfast table the following morning. 'Nobody around to disturb you today – an excellent time to get cracking on an order, Harry. You can't ride that bloody Star against Ravenclaw, you know.'

No, he couldn't. Harry knew he needed to get going on buying a new broom of his own… but the thought made him feel ill. It was like replacing a favourite childhood pet.

'Yeah… alright,' he agreed half-heartedly, pocketing Which Broomstick with a false smile.

Wood clapped him on the shoulder in a brotherly sort of way, and hurried off after a group of seventh years headed to the village.

'We'll bring you presents,' Hermione promised as she wrapped a Gryffindor scarf tightly around her neck.

'Yeah, and loads of sweets,' Ron added, fastening his worn-out gloves. 'Honeydukes always has a holiday fudge – it's supposed to be the best ever.'

'Have a nice time,' said Harry, in the same false tone of happiness he'd given Wood.

Neither Ron nor Hermione seemed as convinced as the Quidditch captain.

'We could stay, mate, if you want,' Ron offered, hesitating as the three of them entered the Great Hall. 'I mean – they'll be loads of other trips, you know. Not like we have to join this one.'

Harry appreciated the gesture. But he didn't want to spoil their fun. 'No, you go,' he said, giving a more genuine smile. 'Have a good time, and bring me back some of that fudge.'

But as he watched Ron and Hermione hurry off to join the other third form students in the queue to pass Filch, he wondered why he kept telling everyone he was so fine with being alone.

He wasn't.

The thought led him back to Remus again. Remus… who was still maintaining the stony silence he'd started after the Hallowe'en feast. As Harry mounted the stairs for Gryffindor Tower, he felt his anger at the man growing stronger and stronger, until he wanted to scream. He'd kept Remus's secret, hadn't he? He hadn't breathed a word, because he knew in his heart that Remus was a good man, whatever his recent behaviour toward Harry had been. And he'd figured, at some point, Remus would have to warm to him again.

But now it was nearly Christmas, and Remus still hadn't come round.

On impulse, Harry turned off at the third floor landing, deciding he'd give one more go at Remus' door. Minerva was gone to the village with most of the others, and Albus hadn't been at breakfast – Harry supposed the headmaster too was in the village, or perhaps running errands outside the castle. He had almost nothing to do, given that there were no upcoming lessons next week, and he didn't fancy being shut up in Gryffindor Tower with Colin Creevey, or whiling away the time choosing a replacement for his Nimbus.

He might as well give it one last shot.

He stopped at the second to last, familiar door, and rapped three times with his knuckles.

No answer.

He rapped again. 'Remus!' Harry called.

Still no answer.

Irritated, he tried the handle. But the door was locked.

'Alohomora,' he muttered, trying the knob again. But the door still refused to budge.

Harry swore under his breath, rapping more insistently. 'Remus, go on, let me in,' he called.

But the door remained shut in his face.

It was a bit like being back at the Dursleys, trying to get Aunt Petunia's attention through his locked cupboard. Except, of course, this time Harry wanted in rather than out.

He pressed his ear to the wood, straining to discern whether Remus was inside at all. He couldn't hear any sounds or movement beyond, but he supposed the professor might have set a charm on the panels.

'Fine,' he muttered, pushing away from the resolute door again. 'Fine.'

He turned moodily back up the corridor in defeat and annoyance with both Remus and himself, watching the snow fall softly through the mullioned windows as he scuffed the toes of his trainers against the marble floor.

He knew better than this, didn't he? He'd learned from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, years ago. Grovelling and begging for affection would not earn him anything, except perhaps more exile. It would not gain him notice. It would not give him love.

He was almost back to the staircase when he heard it.

'Psst – Oi, Harry!'

Harry snapped out of his introspection, turning toward the sound.

Fred and George Weasley's heads were stacked – one on top of the other – leaning around the side of a large statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch.

'What's up?' Harry asked, distrustful at once. 'Why've you not gone to Hogsmeade with the rest?'

'Oh, we're going,' George promised, giving a wagged eyebrow. 'But we've got –'

'A bit of festive cheer to impart before we do,' Fred finished with a wink. 'Come along, Harrykins.'

He jerked his head toward an empty classroom at the statue's left. Harry crossed his arms, glaring suspiciously.

'What's in there?' he asked, searching the twins' eager faces.

'Ah-ah, that would be telling!' George chastised in a saint-like voice.

'It's not a trap, we promise,' said Fred, when Harry still didn't move. 'Get a move on, or we'll be found out.'

Harry sidled in despite his misgivings, though he was careful to gaze about the classroom with his eyes before entering with his body. And he let the twins precede him into the room. Fred shut the door softly, and he and George turned to Harry with identical, beaming smiles.

'We've got an early Christmas present for you, Harry,' said George.

Fred gave a drumroll with his lips, as he pulled something from the inside pocket of his cloak with a flourish and set it carefully on one of the student work tables. Harry stared. It appeared to be nothing more than a rather large, square and worn bit of blank parchment.

He didn't get it.

'What's it supposed to be?' he asked, searching for the joke.

'Possibility, young Harry,' said George, stroking the parchment with clear affection. 'This is the secret to our success.'

'It's a wrench, giving it up,' added Fred with a sigh. 'But we've thought about it, and we decided last night you're in need of some Christmas cheer… and your need's greater than ours at the moment.'

'And anyway, we've memorised the important bits,' George put in, shrugging. 'So it's yours – we don't really need it anymore.'

'And exactly why do I need a bit of old parchment?' Harry asked, still not getting the joke.

But ten minutes later, he understood.

When Fred and George had gone, looking quite satisfied with themselves and hurrying off to meet the others in Hogsmeade, Harry fingered the incredible gift alone in the classroom, thinking hard.

He knew he really shouldn't. It was dangerous to trust unknown magical objects with intelligence of their own – Harry knew that. And after everything that had happened with Sirius Black… all of Dumbledore and McGonagall's warnings… they would murder him if they found out he'd snuck out of the castle. And what if Black was using these passages, after all?

But no… that seemed very unlikely. Filch knew about four, and two weren't usable at all. That only left the one outside this room… and Dumbledore's ward should protect it, even if the headmaster didn't know of its existence. Plus, to get in, Black would have had to get through the village and break into Honeydukes… and surely someone would have noticed if that had been the case.

Nobody was around right now. And nobody would be any the wiser… he'd be able to sneak out and back in before the others had ever returned to the school; and he wouldn't even pass the dementors.

Hermione wouldn't like the idea one bit. Snape would probably take so many points from Gryffindor, they'd be in the negatives until Harry graduated. Remus…

But who cared what Remus would do. He probably wouldn't give a rat's arse, the way he'd been with Harry lately. What did it matter what Harry did, really?

And, with a sudden reckless abandon, he pocketed the map and ducked out of the classroom.

Some half hour later, Harry was pushing open a trapdoor in what appeared to be the cellar of Honeydukes. It wasn't until he was carefully sneaking up the stairwell that he realised: perhaps he ought to have brought the Invisibility Cloak. Minerva was here, after all. If she spotted him, Harry would be in detention faster than he could blink. He hesitated just behind the door, wondering if he ought to go back… but then he heard the shuffling footsteps of someone approaching the door, and recognised that he was out of time to change his mind.

'Sorry,' he said, bursting through the door and bouncing right off the round stomach of the shopkeeper, 'Thought it was a back way out.'

The man mumbled something congenial in reply, but Harry was too busy keeping his head ducked and scar out of sight to catch it, making quickly through the crowd of Hogwarts students. It was lucky there were so many – people did not look twice at another black-clad teen. He pulled his pointed hat out of his robes and shoved it quickly over his head, hoping it would keep him even more incognito among the masses.

Ron and Hermione, mercifully, were in the shop as well, squabbling over a display of sweets in a corner. He snuck between them and pinched both in the side, sending Hermione squealing and Ron to nearly upending a barrel of Cockroach Clusters.

'Harry!' Hermione exclaimed in a whispered hiss, whirling to look at hm. 'How on earth did you get here?' Her face changed, growing anxious almost at once. 'Oh Harry, you really –'

'Wow!' Ron said, giving a low whistle. 'You never said you'd learned to Apparate!'

'Course I haven't,' Harry scoffed. 'There's a passage…' he motioned for them to lean in a bit, and whispered the story to them. Ron was immediately offended that the twins had never thought to give the map to him instead, while Hermione's anxiety only grew.

'You ought to turn it in to Professor McGonagall, Harry,' she told him seriously. 'What if Black is using the passageways to get into the school?'

'He can't be,' Harry said confidently. And he explained his reasoning. Ron looked satisfied, but Hermione remained sceptical.

'Even if he isn't getting in through the passage, you'll still be in loads of trouble if you're spotted here,' she pointed out. 'Not to mention how dangerous it is, Harry. You might be –'

'Oh, let him a break, Hermione!' Ron needled. 'He can't give it up, or McGonagall will know Fred and George nicked it from Filch, and they'll get into serious trouble. And anyway – it's Christmas! Let's just… let's grab a butterbeer in The Three Broomsticks or something.'

Hermione bit her lip, but she nodded reluctantly. Ron hurried through the queue to purchase his sweets, and they bustled from the shop.

Once in the street, Harry regretted even more his lack of a cloak. And not just the possibility of sneaking invisible through the village… he would have given anything for his winter cloak. The snowfall had turned nearly to a blizzard, and it was bitter cold in the high winds. The three of them hustled through the snowbanks quickly, desperate to get out of the chill. Harry was shivering when at last they entered the steaming warm of Madam Rosmerta's pub.

He was grateful to see she too was busy with holidaymakers in town for the festive season. A number of drunken warlocks were claiming her attention, and she did not turn as the three new arrivals entered the room.

'Let's get a table,' Hermione suggested, tugging at Harry's arm as she caught his wary glance at the bar. 'Ron can get the drinks – he likes the barmaid.'

'Oi, can't a man appreciate a good brew?' Ron protested, his ears going a bit pink.

Hermione scoffed, but pulled Harry around the corner without deigning to reply. They slid into a corner booth in a quieter section at the back of the pub, between a frosted window and a beautifully decked Christmas tree. Ron found them a few minutes later, balancing three foaming tankards in his hands.

'Cheers!' he said with a smile, raising his own.

Harry and Hermione clinked theirs too, and all three of them enjoyed the warmth as the drink coursed through their chilled bodies.

They'd barely been seated five minutes, however, when a number of chattering voices entered their section.

'Bullocks,' Harry swore, recognising the emerald-cloaked woman in front in an instant.

Hermione and Ron were just as quick. Before Harry knew what was happening, they'd shoved him hard on the top of the head, sliding him off the table to crouch on the floor beneath. He heard a whispered incantation, and the Christmas tree floated just a foot or two to the left, blocking their booth from view as the party of adults filed into a table nearby. Harry recognised the voices of both Minerva and Flitwick now, and he thought the third belonged to Cornelius Fudge, the Minister. A few moments later, Hagrid thumped over to join the gathering, and even Madam Rosmerta came round for a pint. Harry sat, frozen in fear and dripping in butterbeer from his now-empty tankard, hoping that this would not be a long visit for the staff and Minister.

By the end of the conversation, however, Harry barely registered the ache in his knees from his uncomfortable crouch on the pub floor… nor the vaguely sticky film of butterbeer that had dried on his robes and skin. He hardly remembered that he ought to be keeping quiet and out of sight… that he wasn't to be in the village at all. He scarcely recalled his anxiety over Minerva's presence… nor his concerns about sneaking back up the passage to school before the others got back.

All he could see was red. All he could feel was his own pulse thumping against his ears, thrumming in his skull.

Sirius Black… his Godfather… his father's best friend – BEST friend.

How could nobody have told him?

Dumbledore, McGonagall, Remus, even Snape. How could nobody have told him that his parents had died because they had been betrayed by their best friend? Hagrid – he'd seen Black at the cottage, when he'd come to collect Harry. Pettigrew… Remus had spoken of him, told Harry he'd died. But he'd left out a few key details, in the telling… Like always, they'd kept things from him. Thought him too young, perhaps, to know. Just like Fudge had said.

Was this why Snape had been so angry, telling Harry he mustn't run after Black?

Harry didn't care, now. He wanted him dead. He wanted to murder him with his own two hands.

'Harry?'

Hermione's voice came, vague and off, as if he were hearing it through a long tunnel. Her face was before him, leaning down under the table. He hadn't even noticed the coast was clear.

'Harry, I –' She trailed off, apparently at a loss for comforting words.

Harry didn't care.

'I've got to go,' he muttered, scrambling out the end of the table.

He couldn't stand to be here… couldn't stand one more moment in this village, in this pub, feeling the weight of his own disillusionment crashing down around his ears.

All was ashes.

'Harry!' Ron pleaded, reaching to grasp his wrist as Harry straightened up.

But Harry dodged the attempt, spinning away from the table.

'I'll see you – back at the school,' he promised, not meeting either of their eyes.

And he threw himself, staggering, through the doors of the pub.

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Remus was sitting alone in his study, perusing a lesson plan for next term. He knew most of the staff had gone down to the village – ostensibly to supervise the children, but really to blow away some of the cobwebs of term themselves. Hogsmeade, he remembered, was always beautiful at Christmas. Like painted scenery from a play: the little houses and shops snow-covered and candlelit, holly and festoons of Christmas draped in the windows and wrapped round the lampposts. There would be villagers bustling in and out of the tinkling doors, carollers on the corners… Hogwarts students laughing as they threw snowballs at each other in the street and toasted the end of term with butterbeers in the pubs. It was lovely, and festive, and happy.

But Remus could not bring himself to be there.

Christmas, even more so than Hallowe'en, was painful for him every year. It was too much a reminder of everyone who had gone – everyone who had left Remus alone. He knew that if he went to the village, he would see James and Lily in every couple twirling in the streets as snow caught in their hair; Frank and Alice in those ogling one another in the little teashop at the end of the high street. He would see Peter in every nervous boy trying to be seen over the counter to get a pint from Madam Rosmerta; Sirius in every prankster bewitching the snowballs to chase his mates around the village square.

So Remus kept to his study and his books, plotting out his January timetables while the wireless thrummed in the background. Alone, and at peace.

Until his door burst suddenly open.

Remus whirled in surprise, sending a stream of emerald ink down 18 January's O.W.L. lesson.

Harry stood framed in the doorway, pale and shaking – whether with cold or fury, Remus was not sure. His eyes were red-rimmed as though he had been crying, and his hands were clenched in fists. There was an almost electrical charge emanating from the skinny child, and Remus was fairly certain the door had opened to his magic, rather than his touch.

'Harry?' he asked, climbing out of his chair in a rush and hurrying toward the door, forgetting his own forced apathy as he took in Harry's acute distress. 'What is it? What's happened?'

'Don't you touch me!' Harry roared, throwing himself out of reach as Remus went to place a hand on his shoulder.

Remus shut the door with the hand instead, taking his time to do so in the hopes that the child would calm. When he'd turned back from the menial task, Harry was pacing the floor, rubbing his hands through his hair and breathing heavily.

'Harry, what –'

'I didn't tell anyone, you know,' Harry said suddenly over him, stopping his pacing and turning to glare at Remus over the back of the shabby sofa. 'I didn't tell anyone, and I've known for weeks.'

'Known what, Harry?' Remus asked warily.

'Known your secret,' the boy said, grasping the back of the sofa so hard that his knuckles clenched white. 'I know you're a werewolf.'

Remus felt his own heartrate accelerate, his vision tunnel slightly as Harry delivered the blow. He sank into the chair nearest the door, running a hand down his face.

'How?' he asked, studying at the threadbare carpet instead of Harry's face.

'Snape's essay,' Harry said curtly. 'I did it, even though the assignment got cancelled. He made me for our lessons. Obviously, he wanted me to know.'

'Naturally,' said Remus, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone. 'He must have been thrilled you'd succeeded in working it out.'

'First time I've ever seen him truly smile, I reckon,' Harry replied, and there was no smile in his own voice. 'Hermione figured it out too. You know her – she'd done the assignment already. But I made her keep the secret. I made her protect you – because Dumbledore knows, obviously. And if it were really a problem, he wouldn't have let you come. He trusts you… and I did too.'

Remus did not miss the past tense. He felt his pounding heart kick up another notch.

'I should have told you,' he said, looking back at the hard-faced boy. 'I should have told you months ago, Harry. But I didn't want you to… it's a hard thing to accept, I understand that. I was afraid you would –'

'Would what?' Harry challenged, cutting him off again. 'Would think you were a monster? That you couldn't be trusted?' He gave one, hollow laugh. Devoid of any true mirth. 'No, Remus. That's not what I thought at all. I felt bad for you. I thought maybe that was why you've been avoiding me ever since Hallowe'en… that you knew I knew, or suspected I did, and that you were ashamed of it. I kept telling myself, after Snape's lesson and the essay – that that had to be it. Because you wouldn't just vanish from my life… you wouldn't just give up on me, decide you didn't care. You felt bad, maybe, because you'd been lying to me about your secret. And you were afraid I'd be upset about it. But that was before I knew that you'd been lying about everything since the day we met… that you never cared…'

He was getting louder as he spoke now, his breathing becoming more laboured again, like it had been when he'd first entered the study. The cold tea set from the afternoon began to shake on the coffee table, skidding toward the edge and then finally tipping to shatter on the floor. Remus, stricken at the accusation, barely noticed it.

'Harry…' he said, getting to his feet. 'Harry, of course I care,' he assured him, moving toward the boy again. 'I don't know what you're –'

'You've avoided me for weeks, Remus, weeks!' Harry bellowed, dodging Remus' attempts to console him again and striding around the room toward the fireplace instead. 'Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!'

'I – I have, Harry, I know. I admit it,' Remus said in shame. 'I thought it would be better for you, in the long run. Associations with werewolves are not always –'

'Don't LIE!' Harry screamed, rounding at the hearth with his fists clenched again. The old vase on the corner of the mantle shattered, sending shards of glass everywhere. Harry brushed a few impatiently out of his hair, smearing red across his palms.

'Harry, come, let me see your –'

'You've been keeping lots of truths from me Remus, since the day we met!' Harry railed at him. 'Did you think I would never find out? Did you, Albus, Minerva – everyone I've ever met think you could just hide it from me, that I wouldn't discover it for myself one day?'

'Harry, I –'

'Or what about those memories, eh? How'd you manage to suck him out of those? Did some editing, did you? Or did you just pick and choose real careful like… so I wouldn't see things he was at? Was that why there was just one from Christmas, and none from my birthdays or anything?'

Remus felt a dull weight sink into his stomach. He knew, now, what had sent Harry over the edge like this.

'How did you find out?' he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

But Harry heard. He gave another hollow laugh. 'Does it matter?' he asked turning to face the fire again. 'You never said… you never said they'd died because Sirius Black had been their best friend, and he sold them to Voldemort. Never told me – not even when I found out the bit about them being mates in the Forest this summer. He practically told me, for Merlin's sake… and I just stood there, with no idea…'

He slammed a fist against the marble of the mantel.

'Harry, sit, please. I'll get something to help you calm –'

'I don't want to sit!' Harry bellowed, whirling to glare at him again. 'I don't want to calm down, Remus! Albus told me about the Fidelius Charm, did you know? Ages ago: in our lessons this summer. He told me how it works… you can't betray the secret by accident. You have to want to give it up; want to sell out the protection. He was their friend, he was my godfather, and he gave us all to Voldemort like –'

There was a sudden, sharp knock against the door to the room, and Harry cut himself off as both he and Remus turned to stare at it.

'Not a good time!' Remus called, in a false-cheerful voice. 'Leave a note, please, or come back later.'

He turned to face Harry. 'Listen, Harry, I know you're upset – you have every right to be,' he assured him. 'But you have to understand. None of us kept this from you because we didn't trust you, it's just that it's –'

'He KILLED THEM!' Harry screeched. 'He KILLED my mum and dad – your friends! How can you just sit here and act like it's –'

The knock came again on the door, more insistent.

'Later, please!' Remus shouted at it. And he threw up a silencing charm for good measure, hoping whoever it was would not raise an alarm from all the racket Harry was making.

'Harry, please! Just sit –'

The caller ignored him and the door flew open.

Severus was revealed on the threshold. His dark eyes swept the scene, growing darker as they did. He set the steaming goblet of Wolfsbane Potion he held on the front table immediately, drawing his wand in an instant as his lips furled back in anger.

'Lupin, what the hell is going –'

'Did you know, too?' Harry demanded, rounding on the Potions Master.

'Know what, boy?' Severus snapped back, his wand still raised.

Harry stared hard at him. 'Of course you did,' he said, seemingly to himself. 'You would – all of you. You were at school together, after all. All those hints over the summer that Dumbledore ought to tell me more… that odd advice about trusting the wrong people… all those times you warned me off Remus –'

Remus shot a furious look at Severus himself at this, but the other professor was too busy snarling at Harry to catch it.

'What are you talking about, Potter?' he demanded viciously. 'And you had better mind your tone, or you'll be –'

'What?' Harry challenged, firing up again. 'Chucked in detention? Big deal, you're already giving me those on a regular basis anyway. Docked House points? Like that matters to me right now… Black betrayed my parents! He was their Secret Keeper, and he sold them out like they were nothing – like they didn't matter… like they'd never been friends at all. Did you know? He was my godfather. Albus never told me. Did you know?'

Severus had frozen, his expression growing more calculating as he watched Harry rant. Harry was nearly breathless with his advanced state of distress now.

'Do you have any Calming Draught on you, Severus?' Remus asked, setting aside his own anger at the man for the moment.

Snape did not turn his eyes from Harry, but reached deftly into a pocket with his left hand, retrieving a little phial of the blessed potion.

'Here, Potter, take –' he began, but Harry cut him off again.

'Did you know?' he repeated, his voice actually cracking with all the shouting.

'Potter, you are –'

'WHAT?' Harry challenged, drowning Severus out. 'Just like my arrogant father? As if I haven't heard you give that insult before!'

'Actually, no,' Severus said, crossing his arms as his dark eyes flashed. 'Not this time, Potter. The temper is all your mother's.'

Remus shot Severus a curious look, surprised he would have remembered that bit about Lily after all these years. Not that the comparison was anything but accurate, right down to the blaze in the almond green eyes.

Harry looked momentarily stunned out of his anger.

'Harry, take the Calming Draught,' Remus pleaded wearily. 'And we can talk about this like –'

'I am not getting dosed up so you can pat me on the head and tell me everything's just peachy!' Harry bellowed. 'I'm not a child, Remus!' Several books came flying off the shelf as he ranted, and the table began quaking again.

'Control your temper!' Severus snarled at him. 'If you demand to be treated as an adult, do not give in to petulant acts of childish accidental magic! Take the potion and sit down, if you wish to be told the truth.'

Harry dropped his arms, but continued to huff angrily. The room gradually stopped its quaking.

'Give me the potion, then,' he finally relented through gritted teeth. 'But somebody had better start talking.'

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Review Responses, Chapter 28:

Me (Guest Reviewer): Haha, apologies! I know I'm awful – the title was absolutely meant as a tease. Alas, it is definitely too early for that particular reveal. I promise it is coming though… eventually. And yes – Bill is back! This is our second POV from him, and I couldn't wait to get here. I always envisioned him taking part in the Albus/Gellert scheme, but the moment just wasn't right until now… and you are right – Albus is a bit too trusting of the man. Or, perhaps, he still has a vulnerability there. He does recognise it, at least in part – which is why he chooses to involve Bill just at the moment that he begins to suspect the Horcrux hunt and the Hallows quest might have intersecting paths. We'll see how that all plays out shortly. Thanks for reviewing, and I hope you enjoy Chapter 29!

Valkyrie-Sythe: Thank you for reviewing! Yes… so much drama. Poor Harry, poor Albus, poor Morfin, poor Remus… and poor Severus! I dare you to hug him – I'm fairly certain the first to do so would be hexed into 2017… But yes, our plot is quickly thickening on all fronts. How will our characters cope? Stay tuned…

Anyeshabaner: Thanks for your review! The title…. :) Yes, I did a little bit of unfair teasing with that, for which I apologise. But I'm glad you liked the chapter anyway! We won't see a lot more of poor Morfin's current life, but we'll definitely be following Bill's new adventures. As for Albus' motives… I sort of discussed this to another reviewer above, but essentially my thought is that Albus is beginning to recognise the signs – he realises that 1) the Horcrux research and the Hallows might be intersecting, and 2) he does not entirely rust Gellert… but he also does not entirely trust himself. His solution to this is to bring in a third party – a buffer, if you will. Exactly how much Bill will be told (by Albus or Gellert) remains to be seen. I hope you like Chapter 29!

MoonshineMadame: Thank you for reviewing! Happy to hear you liked the chapter! Though I've discussed the Bill/Albus/Gellert team-up in a couple of the earlier review responses, I do agree it's a bit surprising that Dumbledore's willing to put this trust in Bill. I think it's really about creating that buffer – that safety bubble for himself – more than anything; and he knows it has to be someone who knows Occlumency, which pretty much rules out everyone except the Aurors (who are all Ministry creatures), ex-Auror Moody (who is most definitely not a great choice to send to chat with a Dark Wizard), Snape (who's teaching, dealing with some 'issues' at the moment, and probably also a poor choice to send to a second manipulative Dark Lord, particularly as it's likely he'll eventually have to go back to the first), and possibly a couple of Order members (there have been hints that Remus knows at least rudimentary Occlumency in this story, and its theoretically possible that someone like Hestia or Emmeline know it as well… though of course they have their own occupations). Ultimately, I think he goes with Bill because he knows Arthur and the family so well, because Bill is young and highly intelligent, because he will be making his excursions from outside Britain and is less likely to be noticed, and – most importantly – because he actively uses Occlumency on a daily basis for work, so his skills are likely to be sharpened.

The question on Legilimency is an interesting one. I imagine it is rather like having musical skill. Goblins are another race of course, so they are sort of like birds in this analogy – they are born capable of creating song, and it is their pride and joy. This relates directly to their cleverness: they are readers of people; which of course is also why they do not imagine that a wizard would be able to out-manoeuvre them. Some wizards, like Snape, are born with a slight inclination toward Legilimency which they are able to hone and train into great skill: think of someone who plays the piano expertly – they still had to learn the talent, even though they were born with a gift for music. Some wizards, on the other hand, are born with tremendous natural ability – like Queenie, in this case. It is like being born with a wonderful voice. You can still take lessons and learn to wield it properly, of course, but that skill is something you innately have: a part of your essence. In Queenie's case, I think it relates directly to her empathetic nature. Anyone can learn to play piano, if they sit down with the music and bang out the notes enough times. But unless you have an inclination toward musicality, you will never be great at it. The greater the natural affinity for Legilimency, the greater skill a wizard is capable of. And I do not think that being a great Legilimens necessarily means you are a great Occlumens – or vice versa. They are related, but they are inverse… and so it is possible to be great at both, or only at one. I hope this helps address the question!

Poor Harry – he does end up doing himself a fair amount of injury, doesn't he? Those dementors… haha and I couldn't help but make the Pepper-Up joke… it was too great an opportunity to put Snape in a foul temper and lighten a bit of a dark chapter for a moment. Glad you found it amusing :) Dumbledore is definitely suspicious about the Grim. Especially as he knows – just as Snape said – that it can't really be a Grim at all. Though he tells Harry it might be a figment of his Dementor-addled mind, I do not really think he believes that himself. But no… this particular visit to the fortress was all about Mr Gaunt, and the follow-up to our Moody conversation.

We'll have more Obscurial information – though it shan't come for a little while. The detention, however, is featured this chapter… so I hope you enjoy that! We've had a lot of 'adult' perspective lately, or Harry with adults, so there is more of Harry with the other students this chapter, and will be a bit more next time too. Not too much Minerva/Albus in this particular instalment, but we have a big section between the two of them coming next time, so I hope you'll like that when we get there!

Have a great New Year!

Guest: Thanks for your review! I'm happy you liked the chapter, and hope the update was speedy enough! Unfortunately, this chapter was already fairly lengthy as it was… so there's not a lot of Minnie and Albus in this particular instalment, but I promise the next chapter is very heavy on Minerva/Albus scenes, so I hope you enjoy that! I'll try to get it up quickly. Enjoy Chapter 29 in the meantime!

AECM: Thank you for reviewing! Very happy to hear that you enjoyed the chapter so much and that you have been finding it fits with the tone of canon-Potter. I hope you like the next chapter!