Child of Hogwarts, Part II: The Marauder Legacy

by AimeretVivre

Sequel to COH, Part I. Follows Harry through Year Three at Hogwarts. See Part I for the premise... With Remus Lupin returned to Britain and Sirius Black on the move, Harry, Albus, Minerva and Severus continue to adjust to their changing realities and prepare for an uncertain future... while the ghosts of their pasts refuse to lie dormant. Mentorship; Training; Adventure.

33. The Limits of Friendship

A/N: New chapter again! Product, sadly, of horrible insomnia. A dire warning to all those who hope one day to be pregnant… for all the joys at the end of the road, nobody properly prepares you for the fact that in the final few weeks, you are exhausted and yet completely in capable of sleep. *Sighs* in any case, I hope you lot are pleased with the pace, because it's killing me over here! I expect the next one will not be quite so immediate.

Enjoy 'The Limits of Friendship,' and please read and review!

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

Chapter 33: The Limits of Friendship

It definitely wasn't Harry's best ever Christmas.

Snape marched all three of them off the pitch, straight through the doors of the castle, all the way up the grand staircase, down the corridor, and through the gargoyle. Harry still secretly hoped he might leave them on the magical spiralling stairs… but he knew his wishes were in vain.

Nobody spoke a word during the fifteen-minute journey. Snape was still seething so thoroughly, Harry could actually feel the waves of angry magic rolling off the Potions Master. Ron was looking rather ill, like he had done the time Snape had caught him and Harry after they'd crashed the Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow. Hermione, on Snape's other side, was still scarlet in the face, tears falling silently down her cheeks.

Harry wasn't sure what emotion he felt most acutely. On the one hand, he was furious with Snape for confiscating the Firebolt… and, perhaps, just a smidge, because he knew the Potions Master was right this time: about his rationalisation of his and Ron's trip into the grounds, and about the possibility that his new treasure might have come from a nefarious sender. He was annoyed he hadn't thought of that himself.

At the same time, he felt bad for getting Ron into trouble too, when it was really Harry's issues that prevented their being allowed in the grounds on a Christmas morning. And – though he knew in a rational part of his brain that she hadn't meant it maliciously – he was angry with Hermione for revealing them; for bringing Snape's wrath upon their heads.

But as Dumbledore's office drew nearer and nearer, Harry's primary emotion became trepidation.

Because he knew Albus would be severely disappointed. And Minerva… she'd agree with Snape, wholeheartedly. He'd lose this battle.

Snape raised the hand that was free of Harry's broomstick, and knocked three times on the door to the circular office.

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Albus and Minerva had just dressed for the day and were in the sitting area, sharing a pot of tea before breakfast, when the familiar knock came upon the door. Albus was slightly surprised – Christmas morning visits had never been a particular penchant of Severus'.

'Enter!' he called, placing his tea on the side table and standing.

Minerva kept her seat and her own cup, but her eyebrows rose at once as Severus, Harry, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger traipsed into the room – the Potions Master carrying a gleaming broomstick. One look at Severus' expression told Albus this would not be a visit of Christmas cheer.

'Headmaster,' the professor ground out, his dark eyes flashing. 'I have just apprehended Potter and Weasley on the Quidditch pitch, testing out Potter's new broomstick. A broomstick which, Ms Granger informs me, Potter received this morning from an anonymous benefactor.'

He held out the broom, on which the word Firebolt was etched in gold lettering. Albus took it, frowning as he rolled it in his hands.

'On the –' Minerva started, throwing herself to her feet and looking ready to burst. But Albus held up a hand to stay her fury.

'In good time, Minerva,' he said quietly.

He, too, had pressing questions about the morning's activities. But they were not the most paramount concern, given that the boy was hale and healthy in front of him.

'Harry?' he asked, turning his gaze to the frightened-looking teenager. 'Where did you get this broomstick?'

Harry swallowed hard. 'I – I thought it was from you,' he admitted.

Severus made a noise of disbelief, and two high spots of colour appeared in Harry's cheeks.

'Well… I didn't,' he corrected himself. 'Not really, I suppose. But there wasn't any other explanation that made sense, and Ron thought you or Minerva had given it to me. It came with the Christmas parcels. I opened it first thing this morning.'

Albus searched his face, but Harry appeared to be telling the truth. 'And there was no note from a sender?' he prompted.

Harry shook his head. 'We looked, sir,' he assured him. 'Ron and I – we checked all through the bedding and the other gifts and everything… but there wasn't a note or card at all. I thought maybe it'd just fallen off somewhere – got lost.'

'Did you?' Albus asked quietly.

Harry shuffled his feet.

Albus sighed. 'You have good instincts, Harry,' he said gently. 'But they come to nothing if you do not use them. This was not a difficult leap to make… and you would have done, if you were not wilfully blinding yourself.'

'So you think it's true, then?' Harry asked, raising his eyes. 'You think Sirius Black sent the Firebolt to me?'

'I think it is the most likely possibility,' Albus confirmed. 'And as such, I am astounded and highly concerned to hear you would take such a gift – from an unknown source – and think it remotely advisable to test it out in the air without seeking permission or supervision.'

'We… we weren't out there alone, sir,' Ron put in.

It was the first either of the other two children had spoken, and Ron's voice was high-pitched and terrified. Minerva gave him a sharp look at the interruption, but Albus turned to address him.

'Who was with you?' he asked politely.

'A House-elf,' Ron said. 'Harry didn't want to go out without someone… I suggested he call her. It was all my idea, sir. I was the one who convinced Harry to –'

'It wasn't your fault, Ron,' Harry spoke over him. 'It was mine. I knew I shouldn't go… and it's not like I needed any real convincing. And I was the one who decided to call her.'

'Mina?' Minerva asked, eyebrows raised again. 'I am surprised she would ever consent to take you… knowing herself of the headmaster's wishes and my own.'

But Harry was shaking his head, his cheeks reddening further. 'I didn't call Mina,' he corrected. 'I knew she wouldn't have let me go… so I called Lara instead.'

'Why, Harry?' Albus enquired. He gazed intently at the child again.

Harry hung his head. 'Because I knew she was new to the school,' he admitted. 'And I knew she… she probably didn't know it wouldn't be allowed.'

'You deliberately disobeyed me,' he said softly. 'And, worse, you took advantage of the innocence of another to do so.'

Harry's face was as brightly crimson as his scarf. He kept his eyes on the floor.

'I would like you to apologise to Lara, Harry,' Albus told him seriously. 'It is not admirable to play upon the ignorance of others for personal benefit – no matter how innocent the endeavour may be. Lara is probably punishing herself, for angering a Hogwarts professor. I hope you can see the injustice in this. And I hope you will seek to make amends.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry mumbled. 'I'll go and see her before luncheon. She shouldn't… she shouldn't be blamed, sir. She didn't know.'

'She did not,' Minerva affirmed. Her voice was barely under control as she stepped forward toward the group. 'But you did, Harry. Weasley – you were not ignorant either. What possibly could have possessed you to abandon all sense?'

Harry and Ron both winced. But Albus considered her words… was this a reaction, perhaps, to the revelations of the past few weeks?

'Harry, if you need to discuss further what happened in Remus' study,' he began, softening his expression slightly, 'Then I am more than willing to have that discussion with you. But I would much rather you came to me than –'

'Albus, this is not some angst-ridden act of self-destruction!' Severus interrupted, looking as though the very thought brought bile to his throat. 'Do not turn this to place blame upon yourself for the boy's actions. This is Potter's modus operandi – acting the foolhardy, arrogant teenager that he –'

'I'm not arrogant!' Harry cut across him, broken from his state of high embarrassment for the first time. 'I just made a mistake, alright? Why do you always –'

Minerva sent off a bang from her wand, so loud that it startled all six of the office's occupants. Harry and Severus both swallowed their rants.

'It's not about Sirius Black,' Harry confirmed in a calmer voice, once everyone had settled again. 'I know I messed up… I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to try out the broom. But I didn't do it because of what I heard, that day. I didn't do it to be reckless on purpose. And I am sorry, really sorry.'

Minerva drew herself up. 'You will be disciplined for this, the both of you,' she warned Harry and Ron sternly. 'I think –'

'Professor Snape's already taken fifty points each from us,' Ron told her, just barely managing to swallow his resentment. 'And he's given us a week's worth of detention.'

Hermione, who had not said anything of yet, whimpered slightly.

'An appropriate punishment,' Minerva agreed in a clipped voice.

'Severus, perhaps you would give us a moment?' Albus suggested meaningfully.

Harry and Severus were still glaring daggers at one another, and the headmaster knew he would be unable to bring the heated conversation to an appropriate conclusion if he did not defuse the situation.

Severus glowered, but he gave a short nod of acknowledgement and swept from the room. When the door had shut behind him, Albus gestured the children toward the sitting area.

'Sit down,' he invited them.

He pointed his wand at the tea set, multiplying it for three additional guests. Then he spent a few moments in silence, giving each child a cup. None of them were daring to raise their eyes. Minerva, who still looked barely more in control of her anger than Severus had been, remained standing at the hearth.

'How do you know the broom was from Black?' Harry asked at last.

'Know?' Albus repeated. 'I do not know, Harry. Not for certain. But it seems to me the most probable explanation.'

'There wasn't anything wrong with it,' Ron put in. 'Harry was flying before Sn- Professor Snape –' he corrected himself at the flash in Minerva's eyes – 'came out to get us. It didn't try to buck him off or anything, sir. Not like that time at the first match, when Quirrell was jinxing it.'

'There is no way to know that something similar wouldn't have happened, had Harry remained in flight,' Minerva said sharply. 'There might be a timed Hurling Hex, for example, or it might be charmed to become un-grippable at a certain height. Or it may be that the enchantment is not meant to alter the broom at all – but pervade the rider. It might be spelled to make Harry unable to maintain focus or control… it might even be coated in poison or dark magic that would injure him another way.'

Ron paled. Harry swallowed hard and Hermione whimpered. Harry did not protest as Minerva followed up her dire warnings by casting a full diagnostic scan on the boy.

'As Minerva has pointed out,' Albus went on while the golden light ran over Harry's form, 'The fact that nothing untoward happened this morning is not necessarily proof that the broom is safe for use. I did not detect any dark magic in holding it myself… but that, too, is hardly a definitive prognosis. It will need to be examined at length to determine the existence of any potential dangers.'

'At length?' Harry repeated, looking crestfallen. Minerva caught up the scroll of parchment from her spell as he spoke, frowning down at it.

'Indeed,' the headmaster said. He gave the child a penetrating stare over his half-moon spectacles. 'I would not return it to you today, Harry, even if I could guarantee its safety. I do think a period of time without it will be beneficial: will help you to reflect on the seriousness of your actions this morning.'

Harry blushed again.

'He's fine,' Minerva determined shortly. She banished the diagnostic scroll with a flick of her wand, and turned to glare at Harry again. 'It will take some time to ensure the broomstick is safe, Harry,' she told him sternly. 'Some of the necessary diagnostics may take several weeks –'

'Weeks?!' Harry repeated in alarm. Minerva's eyes flashed again, and he clammed up.

'Charms and most spellwork can be detected more quickly,' Albus explained patiently. 'But there are certain types of dark magic which will require potions to entirely rule out. They are not, at this time, potions that we normally keep on hand. Their preparation can be lengthy.'

As he said it, and thinking back on the events of the past few months, remembering Gellert's cryptic warnings, Albus made a mental note to ensure that Severus kept such detection potions and antidotes on hand in future… no matter that they still seemed to be living between the wars. He could not, after all, guarantee that they would remain so much longer.

'In the meantime,' he went on aloud, 'I shall investigate the source of this gift.'

'How can you do that, sir?' Hermione piped up in a small voice. She went scarlet as he turned his attention to her. 'I mean… without a note or anything to go off?'

Albus smiled. 'Fortunately, we have several advantages even without a note,' he said kindly. 'For one, there are few shops in Britain that currently offer broomsticks – even less this particular model. Of course, it is entirely possible the broom was purchased abroad… but the odds are much less likely. Moreover, every Firebolt is issued with one of these.'

He picked up the broomstick again, turning it so the numbers on the opposite side gleamed in the firelight.

'The serial number,' Harry said, understanding dawning in his face. 'They're unique to each broomstick.'

'Precisely,' Albus agreed with a nod. 'Even if the shop this broom was purchased in maintains poor records, the manufacturer will be able to enlighten us as to which seller the broom was issued. From there, I expect it will not be difficult to determine how it was purchased.'

'But…' Harry frowned. 'But, sir, even if Sirius Black did buy the Firebolt… how could he have walked into a shop and just got one off the shelf? Wouldn't someone have recognised him? Or… do you think he enchanted the shopkeeper, somehow? Or nicked it?'

'We cannot rule out enchantment, or theft,' Albus acknowledged. 'Though I think the latter less likely. But that, Harry, is the real mystery of it all. Perhaps he disguised himself somehow… perhaps he convinced another to purchase the broomstick on his behalf… or, perhaps, he sent an order by post, using an alternate identity. There are many ways he might have accomplished such a feat.'

'I suppose,' Harry agreed in a mumble.

'Now I think, Ms Granger, you deserve some commendation for your own part in today's events,' Albus said, turning to look at the girl again. Hermione started in surprise. Ron and Harry both stiffened, jaws clenched.

'I – pardon, sir?' she asked tentatively. 'I didn't… I don't deserve anything, sir,' she went on. 'I just wanted to fetch Professor McGonagall…'

'Yet you informed Professor Snape, and in doing so saved both your friends from possible harm,' Albus reminded her gently. 'That was not an easy decision – to put your friends' wellbeing ahead of their certain anger. The choice between what is right and what is easy is often the most difficult we ever face, Ms Granger. And the most important. I shall award you fifty points, for making the correct one.'

Hermione blushed more deeply than ever, looking away to hide renewed tears. The boys looked simultaneously outraged and embarrassed. Albus, considering the empty cups all around, decided the moment had come to end this discussion. He looked pointedly at Minerva, who nodded.

'I shall inform you if and when you may have the broomstick back,' Minerva said to Harry. She set her own empty tea cup upon the tray. 'Now come – it is time you changed for breakfast.'

She turned for the door and her three students scrambled to follow. Albus shadowed them toward the edge of the office.

'Harry,' Albus said, catching his shoulder and holding him back. He allowed Minerva to chivvy the other two from the study before he spoke again.

'Yes?' Harry asked, looking wary as the office door shut.

'I will not hide that I am disappointed by the events of today,' the headmaster said, fixing Harry with his most serious gaze. 'It is difficult, I know, for you to see this now… for you to appreciate all the precautions and safety measures that we insist you take. But I know that you understand the danger Sirius Black poses… and I know you realise that I am right.'

'I know,' Harry mumbled, shamefaced again. 'I am sorry, sir.'

Albus took his chin by the finger, lifting his head so their eyes met again. 'I know you are,' he said more gently. 'But I need you to promise me, Harry, that you will take more care in future. I cannot make you heed me, my dear child. I cannot ensure that you are protected without question from all the dangers in this world… but I cannot protect you from anything, if you do not wish to be protected; if you throw your life carelessly into the path of more danger. You must meet me halfway. Do you understand?'

'I… yes,' said Harry softly. 'I promise.'

Albus smiled. 'Good,' he said simply. He released Harry's chin.

'Now, let us get on with the Christmas celebration, and try to leave this unpleasantness behind us.'

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It was a frosty Christmas feast. Harry was still feeling ashamed of himself, not least because Lara was so quick to forgive him when he ducked into the kitchens between breakfast and luncheon to apologise to her. He thought he would have felt better if she'd shouted and raged; just like he felt it would be easier to deal with an angry Dumbledore than a disappointed one.

He and Ron weren't speaking to Hermione. Harry knew she'd done what she thought was best… but it did not change the fact that, save for her interference, Harry would not have got into trouble at all. He was sure there was nothing wrong with the broom: he'd been flying a good twenty minutes before Snape came upon them, and nothing whatsoever had occurred to give him anxiety. Although he understood Albus and Minerva's concern, and certainly their upset with him over his being in the grounds at all… he was miserable that they'd taken the Firebolt from him. And the petulant part of his brain maintained that it was Hermione's fault.

Ron wholeheartedly agreed. He was stung at the plethora of House points they'd lost, even with the headmaster's reward for Hermione's actions – or, perhaps, because Albus and Minerva had rewarded her for her snitching. His anger was compounded three-fold when they'd returned in silence to the common room and he'd tossed his cloak onto a sofa without considering that Scabbers still slept in the front pocket. Crookshanks lost no time in pouncing on the shabby fabric, tearing a deep rip in the cloak in addition to frightening Scabbers so badly that they'd had to spend almost an hour coaxing him out from under a chest of drawers. The incident – on top of an already tense morning – had led to the most blazing row Harry had ever witnessed between the pair of them. The shouting gave him a headache, and he didn't want to be involved… so he retired upstairs for a lie down while they went at it. When he'd got up again for the feast, Ron was too irritated for words at all and Hermione's eyes were swollen with hours of tears.

They made their way together into the Great Hall in stony silence. There was just one table set for the feast – with twelve seats. Harry and Ron plopped down next to the Slytherin fifth year, Stefan, that Harry had teamed with in the snow earlier that week. Hermione chose a seat next to the pair of first year students on the other side of the table instead. Apart from the six of them, only Albus, Minerva, Snape, Sprout, Flitwick and Filch were in attendance. Hagrid hadn't shown, to Harry's great surprise. Flitwick and Sprout both looked curious at the unusual gravitas pervading the table, and Albus glanced between the boys and Hermione with a frown. Even Stefan looked as though he wanted to comment, but he passed along the tray of rolls without opening his mouth.

Dumbledore put on a cheery air as he handed out crackers, but the gaiety felt false to Harry. He barely even cracked a smile as Snape's revealed a pointed witch's hat of uncanny similarity to the boggart-Snape's that Neville had dressed in his gran's clothing… though Ron caught his eye with an amused expression when Albus swapped out to wear it. When the doors opened again halfway through the first course and Sybill Trelawney waltzed dreamily into the room, Harry was almost glad of the surety of impending doom to follow.

Predictably, Trelawney made an absolute scene of joining them at all – which caused Minerva to scoff and Snape to look like he'd been forced to swallow a lemon. She direly predicted that her thirteenth chair would doom the first to rise to an early death… which, of course, turned out to be Harry at the end of the lengthy meal (though he'd shared the honour with Ron, so he wasn't sure it really counted).

They called it a fairly early night after that – Harry and Ron not feeling up to returning to the Great Hall for a late supper, and sufficiently full from the feast. Hermione retreated to the girls' dormitory on their return and did not emerge again. Neither of the other two felt like pushing the issue.

Harry could not help it. What sort of state would the broom be in, if he ever did get it back? After it had been put under all those unnecessary detection spells? If it weren't for Hermione…

The week between Christmas and New Year was not nearly as fun as the week that preceded it. As amusing as Harry always found Aberforth's company, he was less than cheerful on Boxing Day at luncheon. Aberforth seemed to find Harry's streak of rebellion highly entertaining (as Harry had not been injured and had succeeded in infuriating Snape, who Aberforth seemed to dislike), but his amusement was not shared by a still snippy Minerva or his quietly disapproving brother. Remus, perhaps in deference to his own newly repaired relationship with Harry, did not chastise him; but Harry could read disapproval in his face nonetheless.

In his anti-Dementor lesson on Wednesday evening, Harry felt like he struggled worse than ever. He spent more time on his back than his feet – his guilt over the Firebolt incident and his disappointment with Hermione seeming to block any attempt to reach a happy memory. After four unsuccessful tries, Remus suggested they might do better with tea than additional practise. His wandless lesson with Snape the following evening was not much better. Harry hadn't bothered to peruse his book from Remus yet, in the wake of all that had happened over the holiday; and he was completely incapable of channelling anything past his foul temper. This, naturally, only incensed Snape more, and he threw Harry from his classroom twenty minutes early with remonstrations of disgust and a threat of more detention if Harry didn't show some improvement the following week.

He hadn't seen Hermione much at all since Christmas Day. She'd taken to revising in her room or the library, and she seemed to be timing her meals so that she, Harry and Ron would not share the table. Ron, though not angry with Harry, had been in a mood almost as surly as his friend's all week. It was with relief that Harry reached Sunday, when the rest of the school filed back to the Great Hall off the Hogwarts Express. The Great Hall and the Common Room were both noisy and cheerful again with the flood of students fresh of holiday, and Harry found it was easier to ignore his own melancholy when the world around him did not seem quite so attuned to his distress.

Wood, who had clearly spent the whole of the holiday working out a strategy for the rest of the Quidditch season, sought him out within hours of his return to the school for an update. Harry told him, truthfully, that he was working on his Dementor issues with Remus… and about the Firebolt's arrival.

'But don't get too chuffed, Oliver,' he warned darkly, as Wood sputtered himself into delighted nirvana. 'I haven't got it, really. Not anymore. The headmaster and McGonagall have confiscated it.'

'What?!' Wood cried, looking like Harry had just announced a plot to give up his firstborn son.

'Yeah,' Harry said gloomily. 'They reckon it might be cursed. Sirius Black – he's supposed to be after me. They think he might have sent it.'

'You can't curse a Firebolt,' Wood said confidently, ignoring the information on Black as he shook his head in disbelief. 'And Black can't have just strolled into a shop and bought a broomstick – his face is plastered across every alley in Britain!'

'Yeah, well, you're welcome to have your go if you fancy it,' said Harry mulishly. 'But I don't reckon they'll budge until they've checked it over. McGonagall said they'd try to finish stripping it down by the end of the month –'

'Stripping it down…' Wood repeated, looking ill.

'But she wouldn't give me a promise,' Harry finished.

Wood rushed off through the portrait hole, his jaw set.

He wasn't at all surprised when the Quidditch captain reappeared an hour later, looking like he'd been set over Minerva's knee. He informed Harry sheepishly that they'd know more next week, and hustled off muttering about over-protective teachers not having their priorities straight.

January creeped by at a snail's pace, wintry weather and torrents of chilly rain vying for dominance in the skies. Lessons resumed in the same dull drone as the beating elements against the mullioned windows. Harry and Ron completed their revolting week's worth of detentions with Snape (disembowelling barrels of mountain newts and beheading horned toads), and Minerva's temper thawed toward him as the days rolled by. Ravenclaw and Slytherin faced off a fortnight into term, though the grounds were still muddy and half-frozen. Slytherin came out on top – though narrowly – and Wood upped their training to five nights a week in celebration… as this meant Gryffindor could bump up to second place if they beat Ravenclaw as well.

Harry had finally seen some improvement in Dementor training by the last lesson of January, capable of holding his feet for a full thirty seconds and producing that indistinct grey mist every time. The effort nearly exhausted him, but he was pleased that at least he hadn't completely lost his ability to cast in light of his current difficulties. He got around to Remus' suggested reading by about that time too, and he finally succeeded in unlocking the last of those damn chests on the final Thursday of the month. Though, as Snape reminded him waspishly, he had yet to master the re-locking portion of the task. Hagrid, in an improvement that almost stunned, gave them a few weeks' worth of Flobberworm-free Care of Magical Creatures lessons on the Fire Salamander, and Harry managed to share tea with the headmaster twice without feeling a heady weight of disappointment on his shoulders.

Even with these incremental improvements, however, one area of the Christmas disaster did not see any change.

Hermione had emerged from the dormitory, but she and the boys were still not speaking to one another. She could be found every evening in the common room, working diligently on her mountain of assignments. Twice a week, she and Harry used the Time-Turner together to attend Arithmancy lessons. It was awkward for both – travelling in this perpetual quiet and sitting together through the lessons. Where they had always had comradery in a classroom full of mainly Slytherins, there was now only chilly silence.

Draco Malfoy, unsurprisingly, had pounced on this tension like a striking cobra. Whenever Professor Vector had her back turned, he needled Harry under his breath from his place a few seats over. Harry tried valiantly to ignore him… but he had accidentally exploded his ink pot twice in the effort.

'Poor Potty,' Malfoy teased outside the Potions classroom as the students queued up for Snape one Friday afternoon at the end of the month. 'Gone off your little girlfriend, have you? Not that I'd call that mane little, mind.'

'Shut it, Malfoy,' Harry spat back through gritted teeth, refusing to face the taunt.

Hermione, who was several bodies up the queue, stiffened at the insult but did not turn. He saw her hand stroke the back of her bushy head self-consciously. Whatever his feelings toward her right now, the gesture sent a pang of anger and hurt through his chest.

'Don't misunderstand me, Potter,' Malfoy continued in a tone of mock offence. 'I'm proud of you, really. You must be growing up – recognising the fact that association with that long-toothed Mudblood will only –'

But Harry did not hear the rest of Malfoy's jeer. Before he even registered moving, he had dropped his bag to the ground and sprung at the Slytherin, socking him hard across the jaw with his wand-free hand.

Malfoy was completely taken by surprise. He staggered sideways into Daphne Greengrass, who was only saved from falling to the stone floor of the corridor by Blaise Zabini on her other side.

Goyle pulled Malfoy roughly to his feet again, while Crabbe raised his fist to pummel Harry in retaliation. Ron and Neville hurried forward to back him up, but –

'WHAT is going on here?' Snape's cold voice demanded.

Most unfortunately, the door to the Potions classroom had opened.

There was a bang and a burst of yellow light, and Harry and Malfoy were thrown back from each other as Snape swept smoothly down the corridor.

'The rest of you – inside, now!' he barked. The remaining Slytherin and Gryffindor students filed silently past, taking their seats in the dungeon.

'Explain,' Snape commanded, turning to Malfoy. His face was set in the lines of white-hot fury Harry recognised so well by now, and he felt his stomach drop out as Malfoy gave him a malicious smirk before replying.

'Potter attacked me, sir,' he said, rubbing at the side of his jaw. 'I said something about him and Granger being on the outs these past few weeks, and he started a fight. Muggle duelling, of course, as he can't –'

'The facts are enough, Mr Malfoy,' Snape interrupted. His voice was not as fierce as Harry knew it would be when he addressed him, but his tone was much harsher than Harry had ever heard him use with Malfoy before.

'He insulted Hermione!' Harry put in defensively. 'He called her "Mudblood," sir. And I –'

'Feeble taunts do not excuse physical violence, Potter!' Snape snapped, whirling to face him. 'You shall return this evening for detention – eight o'clock.'

Harry ground his teeth, though he was hardly surprised at the punishment. 'Yes, sir,' he begrudgingly acknowledged, knowing any additional retort would only lose him house points.

'Go inside and join your classmates,' Snape said, turning back to Malfoy. Harry looked between them, frowning. 'Now!' Snape bellowed, throwing him a glare again.

Harry nodded and scampered off toward the open door. It slammed shut behind him without admitting Snape or Malfoy.

Shaking his head at the odd end to the scene, Harry fell into his usual seat. Hermione was bent over her books at the work table to his left with her long hair hiding her face. Ron, to his right, looked incensed.

'That evil git!' he hissed to Harry as the latter unpacked his bag. 'Rotten timing, but it's not like I'm surprised. How many points he dock you this time?'

Harry shook his head, still stung from the entire interaction. 'None,' he admitted. 'But he gave me detention. Like I haven't spent half my life in this sodding dungeon late-'

But he cut himself off as the door to the classroom banged off the stone wall again. Snape strode into the room, still looking furious, with one long-fingered hand clenched on Malfoy's shoulder. He released the boy as he reached his desk. Malfoy hurried to his own seat with one, scathing look for Harry as he passed. Harry thought his cheeks seemed rather pink.

'What are you all dawdling for?' Snape spat at the class, crossing his arms as he leered at them over the desk. 'You are all aware that today's lesson will be focused on brewing the Sinus Solution we discussed last meeting. I see no reason for idleness. Well? Turn to page 748 at once!'

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Severus was still seething, awaiting the boy in his classroom that evening. He'd given Draco Malfoy a chastisement the likes of which he doubted the spoiled child had ever received… though he was not sure the decision had been wise. It would not do, after all, to give Lucius a reason for anger with him.

'I might need a bruise balm,' the pale boy had said, rubbing his jaw again as Severus sent the door slamming behind Potter. 'That git struck me pretty –'

'Turn your face,' Severus said impatiently.

Draco complied, and Severus brightened the tip of his wand to examine the boy's jawline. He felt it gently with the tips of his fingers. Draco gave an exaggerated hiss, but Severus did not think the damage significant enough to warrant a diagnostic or a trip to the hospital wing.

'It is minimally bruised,' he said, dropping his grip on Draco's face. 'It will heal without marking.'

'But it hurts,' the boy whinged.

Severus glared. 'Good,' he said coldly. 'Let it be a reminder, Draco, that foolish actions beget foolish consequences. You should not antagonise him so, whatever this petty rivalry between the two of you. The headmaster will not take kindly to damage to his precious Golden Boy… and I grow weary of playing referee. My classroom will not be the scene of childish quarrels. You are growing too old for them, and the lessons we will be covering in the coming terms are too volatile on their own for further tomfoolery.'

Draco dropped his mouth in horror. 'You hate Potter!' he pointed out, shocked. 'What's it to you if I make life a bit more difficult for him?'

'I care not what you feel for Potter or whether you choose to continue your foolish games with him,' Severus said impassively. 'But you will keep your nonsense out of my classroom, Draco. Or you will find you do not enjoy the consequences. Let Potter and his lot alone inside the walls of this dungeon.'

'Well, we weren't in the dungeon yet,' Draco mumbled petulantly. 'And Granger… she just begs for it. Always showing off – the Mudblood with –'

Severus grabbed his shoulder – hard. Draco stopped speaking, suddenly looking frightened.

'DO NOT use that word again, do you hear me?!' the Potions Master spat, his nose inches from the boy's.

'Why?' Draco challenged, recovering enough to shove out from under Severus' grip. 'It's what everyone calls them.'

Severus forced his temper into check again. It was difficult. 'You are not everyone, Draco,' he said firmly. 'You are of my House, and I expect you will conduct yourself with more reserve and more foresight than this. To use such a term in mixed company is likely to advertise your allegiances unnecessarily… even your father would not thank you for that.'

It was true enough, though not why he took issue with it.

Draco sighed. 'Yes, sir,' he agreed begrudgingly. 'Am I allowed to go to the lesson, now?'

Severus' eyes flashed. 'You may, yes,' he agreed. 'But you will use less cheek the next time you speak to me. Whatever rapport we may enjoy, Draco, I will not be disrespected by a child. And you have lost Slytherin House twenty points today for your actions.'

'Twenty points?!' Draco repeated in horror. 'For what?'

'For putting pettiness above cleverness,' Severus said simply. 'Now come, before one of your cohorts blows my classroom to pieces in our absence.'

He doubted, on the whole, Draco was likely to repeat the lecture. He had been embarrassed by the reprimand, and he was probably too frightened by the possibility of his father's shared disappointment to go to Lucius for assistance.

At least, Severus was counting on that assessment.

The other part of this quandary he had been pondering for weeks. And he still was not quite sure how – or even if – he should deal with it. But it was too late to turn back now. It had been too late, really, for more than a decade.

Potter's knock came on the door at precisely eight o'clock.

'Enter!' Severus called, and the boy pushed through the door, looking taciturn.

'Shall I get another barrel, sir?' Potter asked mulishly.

Severus set aside the essays he'd been marking before the boy's entrance and considered him with a frown.

'No,' he said. 'I wish to speak with you first, Potter. Sit.'

Potter held in a groan with difficulty, but he plopped down in the student chair the professor indicated. Severus leaned back in his own, studying Potter closely over the desk. Lily's eyes stared defiantly back at him. As they always did, in James Potter's face.

'When did you become friends with Ms Granger?' he asked suddenly.

Potter started in surprise. Then his gaze grew calculating. 'Why?' he challenged.

'Just answer the question, Potter!' Severus snapped.

Potter sighed. 'I don't know, precisely, sir,' he said, playing with the turn-ups of his robes. 'It sort of creeps up on you. But I suppose… in first year, about halfway through autumn term. Remember that thing with the troll? When Quirrell let it in at Hallowe'en?'

Severus inclined his head. He remembered perfectly, unfortunately for Potter… and the reminder nearly drove him into a rant again.

'Yeah, well, that was sort of our fault – Ron's and mine. We'd set off to find Hermione… because she'd been hiding – crying, because of something Ron accidentally said that she overheard. We just wanted to warn her about the troll, since she wasn't at the feast with everyone else. On the way though, we saw it – it went into a girls' loo… so we locked it in there. But then, of course, we realised…'

'That is not how I recall the events, as you told them to your professors previously,' Severus interrupted silkily. He couldn't help it.

'Er – no,' Potter admitted with a look of chagrin. 'We… we didn't tell everything that time, I suppose. That's sort of where this goes.'

'Do go on,' Severus invited sarcastically.

Potter hesitated, frowning again. 'You can't take points for something that happened so long ago! Er – right, sir?'

Severus stared at him, deadpan. 'I make no such promise, Potter. But as to the events of your first term at Hogwarts… I think it unlikely I will see it as worth the hassle of pleading the case for retroactive action to the headmaster.'

'Er – right,' Potter said, though he still looked nervous. 'Anyway, you already know most of the rest… we saved her, and the troll got knocked out. You turned up with Quirrell and Minerva, and Hermione took the fall for us. She made out like it was all her fault… I suppose, in the end, we were all grateful to each other. And it sort of became the three of us after that – Hermione, Ron and I.'

'Touching,' Severus said in a bored voice. 'Now answer me this, Potter. Why are you friends with Ms Granger?'

Potter's frown deepened. 'Why do you care, sir?' he volleyed back.

Severus continued to stare without reply. Potter sighed.

'I don't know,' he said irritably. 'She's just… she's always there for me, alright? She understands me, and Ron. She helps with stuff. She talks through things… sometimes things you don't even really know you want to talk about. She does what's right – even when it means we're going to be in a lot of danger doing it. And she's really loyal, Hermione. Maybe even more than Ron sometimes. She never complains. She's just… I don't know. Why is anyone friends with anyone? Because Hermione has my back, always, and she's there when I need her to be. There isn't a cost to it. She doesn't ask for anything in return.'

'And why did you strike Mr Malfoy this afternoon?' Severus shot at him, before Potter had recovered from his musings.

'Because he was horrible to her!' Potter nearly shouted. 'He insulted her – right in front of the entire class. He made fun of her hair… He called her "Mudblood"! He deserved to get socked for it. If you want me to say I'm sorry – I won't. She's my best friend.'

Severus nodded once. 'Interesting,' he said. He straightened in the chair. 'But, clearly, that is no longer the case.'

Potter bristled. 'What are you talking about?' he demanded heatedly.

'Well, you have not spoken to Ms Granger in weeks,' the professor pointed out. 'As Mr Malfoy so unwisely pointed out… the Golden Trio has become rather more a duo, of late. I fail to see how Ms Granger can summon so strong a reaction, in light of her current exile from your little clique.'

Potter glared. 'That's different, sir,' he insisted tersely. 'I can be angry with her for snitching on us and still not want Malfoy to be a prat. It doesn't mean I don't still want her to be my… that I don't…' he broke off, looking frustrated. 'Why do you care anyway?' he challenged instead. 'What's it to you who I'm friends with, or whatever problems we have? Don't tell me you feel guilty because you were the reason –'

'Watch your tone when you speak to me, boy!' Severus snapped. 'Or I shall give you more detentions than you have days remaining at this school.'

Potter stopped speaking, but he continued to glare.

'Believe me,' Severus assured him with a return to his silky drawl, 'I have no wish to involve myself in the emotional affairs of ridiculous Gryffindor students.'

He paused – allowing the words to bring the child's face to boiling again.

'However,' he continued, 'I think it important to emphasise the foolishness of your actions, Potter, whenever that particular talent of yours might surface. It is a necessary part of your education and therefore – most unfortunately for both of us – a sad trial of my own as your instructor. Particularly when the result of this folly is the uprising of emotions which seem to inhibit your ability to channel wandless magic.'

Potter was biting at his lip. More in temper, Severus suspected, than in nervousness.

'I did loads better this past week,' Potter countered. 'I got through all those –'

'You made mediocre progress,' Severus disagreed. 'Mediocre progress in a field of magic, Potter, that does not condone mediocrity. You will never master the art at this pace.'

'Remus says it takes a lot more time,' Potter muttered churlishly. 'He says not to push it, that it will –'

'The werewolf is not your instructor!' Severus spat, his glare intensifying. 'And he would do well to keep his paws out of it. While it is true that you will not master wandless casting overnight, it is also true that you will never master it at the pace you are currently working. Which leads us back, Potter, to your petty feud with Ms Granger.'

'You think in order to get better in lessons with you, I have to make up with Hermione?' Potter said sarcastically.

'No,' Severus disagreed. 'I think in order to improve in wandless magic, you must make a choice, Potter.'

Potter frowned again. 'What choice, sir?'

Severus stood, walking around the desk. He leaned against the edge of the wood, crossing his arms as he stared down intently at the boy.

'I think you must decide, Potter, whether she is a friend to you at all. And, if so, whether you are prepared to return that friendship.'

'Of course we –'

But Severus held up a hand for silence. 'Friendship, Potter, is both more durable and more tenuous than you seem to understand. True friends are those who are able to point out what you need to hear, when you do not wish to hear it. Come to your aide when you do not wish for help. Stand by you, when the world turns its back… or when you turn on yourself. It is too easy, at your age, not to recognise the value of friends like that. But it is essential that you grasp this.'

His eyes bored into Potter's. The boys were wide and slightly frightened.

'The people we choose to surround ourselves with, Potter,' Severus said carefully, 'Will shape us more fully than any other factor in our lives. You must be careful who you confide in… careful who you choose for companions… because not only do you give those closest to you the power to destroy you utterly; you also place in them the power to shape your very being. To aide or destroy your destiny. No person who we sustain such closeness with leaves us without imprinting their mark upon us – no matter how that friendship ends.'

As he spoke, the literal embodiment on Severus' left forearm seemed to twinge – a ghostly reminder of the terrible truth in his words. He ignored the phantom pain.

'So in coming to a decision on this petty argument,' he continued, pulling himself back from the past, 'Choose with the knowledge that you will bear some responsibility in the choice. And with a true friend, Potter, it is a choice which must be made for a lifetime. You cannot afford to push away those who care for you… for one day you will try to pull them back, and they will not come.'

Severus pushed back off the desk, leaving Potter to think as he retrieved the pile of filthy cauldrons he intended to have the boy scrub out tonight. He dropped them on the desk with one final piece of advice.

'The best way to keep your friends, Potter, is not to give them away. And she will only walk away should you push her out the door.'

He held out the brush and the all-purpose mess remover. Potter took them wordlessly, giving him a very odd look. Severus spun on his heel.

'So do work out if it's worth it for Ms Granger, won't you?' Severus growled, seating himself behind the desk again. 'Because I cannot suffer the mediocrity much longer.'

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Harry was so distracted by the odd conversation with Snape that he ran straight into Professor McGonagall in the corridor as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower from his detention.

'Harry!' she said in exasperation, clutching at his shoulder to steady the both of them from the collision.

'Oh! Sorry, professor,' Harry said in apology as she straightened her bun.

'Is everything alright?' she asked, peering at him curiously. 'You were miles away.'

'Oh – er, yes. Just tired,' he hedged. He barely heard the inquiry – for his eyes were drawn to the broom clutched in her left hand. 'Is that…?' he started, looking hopefully up at her.

Minerva was beaming. 'It is,' she confirmed. 'You may have it back, Harry. The headmaster, myself, Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch have all inspected it, but we were unable to find any untoward enchantments. It seems if Black was the one who gifted you the broomstick, whatever efforts he might have attempted to jinx it were unsuccessful. Or, perhaps, some other benefactor has managed to circumvent Albus' fanmail charms somehow.'

'Albus' what?' Harry echoed, confused.

She cocked her head. 'You have not heard?' she asked in surprise. 'No… perhaps not. Albus placed a charm the day after your parents' deaths, to divert letters from admirers and… others, while you were still underage. You will have to ask him directly for the details – I am not sure exactly what parameters were involved in the spell… but I know one of the stipulations is that you should be unable to receive post from any individual you have never met before – excepting the school and official correspondence from the Ministry, of course.'

Harry frowned. 'Why would he set something like that?' he asked curiously.

Minerva rolled her eyes. 'You are the Boy Who Lived,' she reminded him, stroking his cheek fondly. 'I dare say you would receive more post than any other wizard alive. But, in any case, that is one reason we feared this gift must have come from Black. Unless someone has worked out a loophole, possible senders would be restricted to those you had interacted with before.'

'Er – right,' said Harry without really thinking on it. The broomstick was singing to him. 'Can I… May I have it back, then?' he asked, trying to keep the longing in his voice to a minimum.

She smiled in understanding, and held it out at last. Harry couldn't help a stifled whoop as he took it in his hands. Nor could he help running his fingers down its smooth surface… just to be sure.

'I assure you it remains in pristine condition,' Minerva said, with just a touch of complacency. 'And you'd better be sure to practise hard, if we are to beat Slytherin for the championship. I don't think I could stand the smugness on Severus' face…'

Harry grinned. 'We will,' he promised cockily.

She laughed and brushed a hand through his fringe. 'Off with you then!' she said, gesturing him toward the Tower entrance.

Harry, on impulse, gave her a brief embrace. Then he rushed for the portrait hole, and the two people he knew he had to speak with behind it.

'YES!' Ron whooped in delight as soon as Harry tumbled into the room clutching the new broomstick. He punched a triumphant fist in the air.

'You knew?' Harry asked as he straightened, considering Ron's strategic positioning.

He shrugged. 'McGonagall was in here before, looking for you,' he explained. 'Listen – can I come down to your training tomorrow? Have a go once you've finished?'

'Yeah, of course,' Harry agreed. He was still grinning at the broom's return, but his eyes roamed the common room in search of Hermione.

'Brilliant,' Ron said with a sigh. 'Listen – I'm going up to tell Fred and George. They're in the dorms working on some mad project… want to keep it a "surprise" for the afterparty…' he gave an exaggerated shudder.

'Yeah, alright,' Harry said distractedly. 'I'll just be…' he gestured vaguely toward the common room, where a few students still remained despite the late hour. Hermione was seated in a corner table, bent over another long sheaf of parchment. Her eyes were on the notes, but Harry could tell from her unmoving lashes and stiffened shoulders that she'd been listening to their exchange.

She will only walk away if you push her out the door.

Ron bustled off up the stairs, and Harry sighed. Snape was right.

He made his way over to the table, fending off a few fervent admirers of his brilliant new broom as he went.

'Hey,' he said.

She looked up for just a moment, then back at the papers again. 'Hi,' she whispered back.

'Alright if I sit?'

She shrugged, but moved aside the books and scrolls on his side of the table. He sat himself in the chair opposite her.

'Minerva gave it back,' he added, setting the broom carefully on the table's surface to his left.

'Mmm, that's good.'

He sighed again. 'Hermione – look at me a moment.'

She raised her eyes, and Harry was ashamed to see they were tearful again.

'I was coming to talk to you tonight, even before I ran into her,' he told her earnestly. 'I… I'm sorry, for the past few weeks. Not talking to you – holding you responsible. I know you didn't mean to –'

'I didn't, Harry!' she interrupted pleadingly. 'I didn't mean for you to get in trouble. I was just so worried and –'

'I know,' Harry assured her. 'Just let me finish, alright?'

He waited for her nod before he went on.

'Look, I was angry,' he said bluntly. 'I was angry, and I blamed that on you… but it wasn't really you I was cross with. It was me.'

Hermione looked bursting to say something again, but she held her tongue.

'You're always there, Hermione,' said Harry with a sad smile. 'Always. Even when I don't really deserve it. Even when I'm being an utter prat. And I shouldn't get to hold that over you… I've been taking advantage – just like I did with that House-elf. I've been stewing, working myself up to forgive you… when really it's me who needs your forgiveness, this time. You didn't do anything wrong; in fact, you were probably right. I just didn't want to see it at the time. Still don't, really,' he admitted with the ghost of a grin. She gave a tentative, watery smile in return.

'Anyway,' he continued. 'I'm sorry I made out like it was all your problem. You're my best friend, Hermione – much as Ron is. And I can't do this… can't be me, without you. So, I hope you can forgive me.'

'Oh Harry, of course I do!' she blubbered, reaching across the table to grasp his hand. 'And I'm sorry too… for the way things worked out that day. I never imagined it'd be Snape who came out to stop you.'

He brushed off the apology, feeling his face glowing with embarrassment from the conversation. But he squeezed her hand gently.

'So, working on Defence?' he asked, clearing his throat as he pulled one of her books toward himself. 'I started on this one last night. We could finish it together?' he suggested. She grinned at the peace offering, clearing him some more space, and Harry pulled his half-written scroll from his bag.

'It was nice of you to stick up for me with Malfoy,' she said as he rummaged for a quill. 'Though I am sorry it got you detention.'

Harry emerged with the eagle feather. He shrugged. 'I'm not,' he confessed. 'I should thank Malfoy, really. If I hadn't got locked up with Snape for two hours tonight, I might not have come to my senses.'

Hermione looked up curiously. 'What do you –'

But she was interrupted, as a furious bellow rang out from the staircase. Harry and Hermione both jumped, and the room fell silent in trepidation as someone came tromping down from the boy's dormitory. A moment later, Ron was charging across the common room, his face burning in rage and his clenched fist dragging the bedsheet from his four-poster.

'Ron?' Harry asked in shock. 'What are you –'

'LOOK!' he bellowed, ignoring Harry and shaking the fist with the sheet inches from Hermione's nose, nearly striking her. 'LOOK!'

'Mate!' Harry protested. He jumped up and dragged Ron a foot or so back from the bewildered Hermione, saving her the possibility of a blackened eye. Ron shrugged him off with a snarl.

'Ron?' Hermione asked, her voice breaking as she leaned back from his fury. 'What's the ma-'

'THAT BLOODY DEMON CAT, THAT'S WHAT!' Ron shouted back. His hand shook the bedsheet harder. 'SCABBERS! LOOK AT THE SHEET, HERMIONE!'

Harry and Hermione both looked. Though it was hard to discern at first, with Ron's hand was brandishing the sheet in a way that reminded Harry strongly and unpleasantly of Uncle Vernon, Harry thought he could make out several spots on the white fabric. Ominous, scarlet blotches.

'BLOOD!' Ron confirmed in a shriek. Everyone in the common room was staring at him. Nobody moved.

'BLOOD!' Ron repeated. 'AND SCABBERS HAS GONE – THESE ARE ALL I FOUND, HERMIONE!'

He chucked the contents of his other hand onto the open Defence book. Harry saw several long, distinctively ginger cat hairs.

'Ron,' Harry said, pushing Ron toward a chair as Hermione put a hand to her mouth, 'Mate, we've no way of knowing it was Crookshanks. Those might have been there from –'

Ron recoiled, looking disgusted. 'Harry, you can't be serious!' he shouted. 'Of course it was that damn cat! How many times have I said, Hermione?' he demanded, whirling to face her again. 'HOW MANY BLOODY TIMES? AND DID YOU EVER LISTEN?'

'Stop it,' Harry said firmly. He yanked Ron down into the chair. 'Everyone's staring, you prat.'

'Ron, I'm so –' Hermione started.

'I don't want to hear it!' Ron snarled, though he'd thankfully stopped shouting now. 'I don't, Hermione. You never took me seriously, did you? Never bothered to keep an eye out. That cat's a menace!'

There were tears falling down Hermione's cheeks again. 'Ron, he might… might just be hiding, or –' she tried to say, but she broke off at the glower Ron levelled at her.

Harry shook his head once in her direction too, warning her off this line. He tried to keep his expression sympathetic. He wanted them all to be friends again… wanted to go back to the way things normally were. But he also, privately, thought Ron was probably right about Crookshanks' culpability… whatever he'd said to calm him down. And he knew Hermione would only make it worse if she defended her cat.

The rest of the remaining students in the common room, at least, had been distracted. Neville and Seamus had just climbed through the portrait hole, Neville moaning about losing a list of passwords he'd convinced the mad Sir Cadogan to give him in advance. Several fifth year girls had popped up from their sofa to help him search the room.

Ron put his head in his hands.

'He was my pet,' he said gloomily. And Harry wondered if his rage was giving way to tears as well. 'He was fat, and lazy, and basically next to useless… but he was mine, Hermione.'

'I know,' Hermione moaned. She was shaking. 'I know, Ron. And if it was Crookshanks, I really am so sorry! I didn't think he –'

'I'm going to bed,' Ron said, not looking at her.

He got up from the chair again, and bent to pull the sheet off the floor. He left for the dormitory staircase without another word.

And Harry, watching him go and listening to Hermione's quiet tears, wondered if they really ever could reach 'normal' again.

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Review Responses, Chapter 32:

SpringRoll: Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you liked the Lily and Severus moment… although, of course, you're right – it was a little bit heart-breaking in a chapter I promised would be lighter. Might have forgotten I'd slipped that in…

Severus at the piano! It just feels like him, I thought. All complicated and capable of anything, really… from soft to harsh; sharp or flat; both black and white.

Oh, Severus is livid with Harry at the moment. Absolutely ready to kill. And you are right – Albus and Minerva would not have acted quite the same had they been the ones to run onto that pitch. Or, at least, Albus would not have… Minerva – well, she'd have used softer words, at any rate. Poor Hermione… she's in for a rough go of it this round. But she is that true friend that everyone needs – the one who is willing to both be there through anything, and also go for help when we are too far gone to realise we need it, even when she knows it will push her friend away.

I hope you are right on the children's arrival… though I promise I will do my best to keep posting regularly. In the meantime, I'm happy you're finding the chapters a welcome respite from the day, and I do hope you enjoy the next instalment!

AlsoKnownAsMatt: Thanks for your review! Very happy you liked the chapter – and I'm glad it felt original. Initially, I had actually planned on Minerva catching Harry on the pitch, but the situation felt much more Snape, somehow. And I thought it might make an interesting change. Harry… yes, he is growing up some. I loved more innocent Harry, of course, but to me he gets more interesting and complex as a character as he grows a little. And he is a teenager…. So I am sure they'll be plenty of mistakes and poor judgments (I know I made plenty myself at that age!). I hope you continue to like them as they unfold. Thank you for the well wishes – alas, I too suspect twins will pose a challenge… certainly, if they are like me; but even more so if they turn out like their father.

I hope you like Chapter 33!

AECM: Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you liked that chapter, and am trying to post as quickly as possible. I think you will get something close to what you've asked for in the next chapter, although the players are not quite the same. I hope you enjoy Chapter 33!

Valkyrie-Sythe: Thanks for your review! Haha, I promise I'll try to go easy on you. And I will give you this one, cryptic shred of hope – you should remember that nothing is necessarily what it seems. Glad you liked the chapter – finally moving forward from that one, very emotional day (thank Merlin, because my nerves are shot!). This next update will be nearly as quick, I expect… I am about halfway through as I write this response… so hopefully that will be well-received. Enjoy Chapter 33!

Mwinter1: Thanks for reviewing! Hope you like chapter 33!