Chapter 10— Something's Missing

Unfortunately, once retrieved, the Marauder's Map did not reveal any clues to the identity of the Neville impersonator. They all bent over the map, but found no one that should not be at Hogwarts, and no one that was severely out-of-place.

"Alas, here is where the map fails us," Dumbledore said with resigned air. "Even if the perpetrator was still masquerading as Neville – which I think is highly unlikely – the map would only show us his true identity, not the person he is pretending to be." After that initial disappointment, he instructed Harry to carry the map around with him. "If you keep it in its blank form, then no one will be suspicious. Just be sure to be in a safe location when you activate it. Carry the map around with you and check anytime you have a suspicion, Harry. I fear that is the only way to proceed from here."

"Yes, sir." Harry was disappointed at the lack of immediate action, but felt that the idea was a good one. Hadn't Ginny said just this morning that Harry was a good judge of people? Maybe he could tell, especially with Hermione's help, when someone wasn't acting right.

"I will speak with Professor Flitwick about engineering the same sort of map for use in my office." Dumbledore paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe consulting one of the original engineers would help. My, that would be a good excuse to fetch Remus here, wouldn't it?"

Harry nodded, his outlook brightening immediately. Remus would understand about Dobby's death, Harry was sure. He'd gotten to know the Marauder better during their last few weeks at the Burrow before returning. Most of it was spent in training – Procclumency, Occlumency, shields, spells and the like – but all through it, Harry had found Remus to have a keen knowledge of how Harry was feeling, as well as an understanding of how to treat the subject of Sirius. He had never pressed Harry to talk, just shared a few reminiscences of Marauder memories. They were invaluable to Harry, even if he couldn't bring himself to actually talk about Sirius.

They were all dismissed, then, but not until Dumbledore asked if Harry and Hermione would mind checking in on the House Elves. Everyone looked at Harry, who was disturbed at the thought of the whole group in despair over Dobby's death, as they surely must be, and perhaps even blaming him for it as they should be. But after Hermione said staunchly that she'd go alone, Charlie told Harry the elves wanted to see him. In the end, he nodded, knowing that he owed it to Dobby to go.

As they parted from Neville, he turned to Harry, looking hopeful. "Harry, I was just thinking. I'd hate to have to go through all of this again, you know, if someone else decided to pretend to be me again. D'you follow?" Harry nodded. "And you know it's me right now, right?" Again, Harry nodded. "Well, what if you set a sort of password, or even better, a hand signal or something, that I would always give you to you when we first meet to prove I am the real Neville. Then if it's not really me, you'll know not to take toast from the imposter, or anything else. Is that a good idea?"

Harry blinked. "Very good, Neville."

"Yes, I had been thinking of something along the same lines," Hermione chimed in. "It should be something small, that would go unnoticed by anyone that wasn't looking for it." She looked at Harry, and frowned. Suddenly she turned back to Neville. "How about tracing your forehead with the shape of Harry's scar?"

Neville's eyes lit up. "Oh, you're so clever, Hermione! No one will wonder why I'm scratching at my forehead, and if Harry's looking for it, he'll know that it's not a random itch I'm tending to. Is that all right, Harry?" Harry smiled at his enthusiasm and gave another nod. "Something like this, then?" With careful concentration, Neville reached up and used his index finger to run a vertical lightning bolt on the center of his forehead.

Hermione frowned. "No, no, that's far too obvious." Harry had to agree. "Use your middle finger, so that the index finger blocks it a bit, and just do it more like a scratch—once up, then down and then back up again. Yes, that's better."

Neville gave them one more grin, scratched at his forehead and said quickly, "I'm off to Care of Magical Creatures, then. Thanks again, Harry! I'll keep my eyes out for you!"

"Let's go then, you two," Charlie said easily, leading the way down the stairs. "I reckon I should have a sign as well, eh, Harry?" He gave them a lopsided grin. "How about this?" He looked around to make sure no one was looking, then reached up nonchalantly with his right hand, closing it he were grasping a Snitch. The whole motion was so quick and easily covered with a scratch at his left side that Harry was impressed.

"Yeah, that's good."

"Do I need one, Harry?" Hermione asked suddenly. Harry stopped on the stairs and looked at her, suddenly realizing how awful it would be if he couldn't trust her. She grew just as solemn as he nodded.

"Yeah. I think . . . Ron, too."

"Definitely. And Ginny. Um . . . let's see," she led the way back down the stairs and Harry contemplated the two signs he already had. He hoped all of his friends wouldn't need one. He could just imagine walking into a room and seeing twelve people start scratching, motioning and grabbing at the air as if possessed.

"Got it, Hermione," Charlie whispered from far in front. "Why don't you just dig for bogeys?"

Hermione made a face. "Oh, honestly!"

"Yeah, I guess that's no good, is it, because it has to be something you don't normally do."

Harry snorted out a laugh, and Hermione fwapped him on the arm.

"I didn't say it," he protested automatically.

"Ah—now that should be your sign, Hermione—slapping," Charlie said in a low voice, grinning up at them.

Hermione huffed out a breath. "Weasley men. How does your mother put up with the seven of you at the same time?"

"Ha! Well . . ." Charlie's smile disappeared. "She hasn't had to put up with all of us for a while. Not since Percy went barmy on us."

Hermione looked stricken. "Oh. I'm so sorry, Charlie—"

"'s all right," Charlie said, but he shook his head grimly. "He'll come back—either on his knees, or in a coffin. One way or the other."

Hermione exchanged glances with Harry, who was uncomfortable with Charlie's words. He still felt like he was at fault for at least part of Percy's falling out with his family—either part or all, he wasn't sure which.

After a decidedly uncomfortable silence, Charlie lightened up a bit and suggested that Hermione just tap her head twice to indicate that she was her own brilliant self. Hermione agreed quickly and quizzed Harry to make sure he remembered them all so far. He did: Neville was the lightning bolt scar, Charlie the snitch and Hermione tapping her head.

By this time, they were down near the Ravenclaw dormitories. Looking around carefully, Charlie stopped in front of the portrait of fruit and reached up to tickle the pear. It giggled, squirmed and then transformed to a bright green door handle. Charlie grasped it and swung the portrait open. "In you go," he said, gesturing for them to lead the way.

Harry did, reluctantly. He could already hear sniffling and sighing ahead in the kitchens. All of this was his fault. In his mind's eye, he saw Dobby there, with his green tennis ball eyes and pencil nose, smiling wide and running to throw his arms around Harry. Harry stopped. Hermione hesitated and then stepped in front of him. Over her shoulder, she whispered, "We have to do this, forDobby."

Harry gave a sigh that was almost a moan, and followed her. Listen to Hermione. Listen to Hermione.

Once they rounded the corner, the enormous kitchens at Hogwarts came into view. The tables, replicas of the ones above were covered in half-eaten food and House Elves dressed in Hogwarts tea towels were picking through it, some eating a bit, some waving it magically away, but all looked tearful and weary. No one noticed their entrance at first. Then a tremulous voice came from behind them.

"Mister Harry Potter, is it, sir?" Harry turned around, only to see Dobby's friend, the squash-nosed House Elf, Winky. "Oh, I is sorry sir. I is just being Winky, sir. Poor, little Winky." Harry felt another pang of grief as he took in the elf's appearance. She was swaying on her feet, wearing the same blue skirt, matching shirt and hat as the last time he'd seen her, only now they were quite a bit cleaner. Behind her, there were two empty bottles of Butterbeer on the table. "I is alone, sir, now that Dobby is gone. And Winky is having clothes, sir. Winky is able to go wherever Winky wants, but Winky—Winky—" and here, she burst into tears— "Wi—Wi—Winky is only wanting to go where Dobby goes, sir."

Harry just managed to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I know, Winky. I'm sorry."

Hermione exchanged a piteous look with him, then turned back to the elf, who had leaned so far as to rest on sharp little elbow on a small corner table. "Winky, is there anything we can do to help? We're so sorry that Dobby was k—killed just . . . just doing his job. It was an atrocity that will be avenged, I promise you."

"N—n—no, Miss. N—no, not an a—a—not a trocity, at all. No, miss, Dobby was not 'just doing his job.' He is working for his master, for Mister Harry Potter! Dobby is being a good House Elf and Winky is wanting to be like Dobby now! They is all wanting to be like Dobby now!" She gestured beyond Harry.

Harry turned to see the other elves had stopped their work and were coming over to stand behind him, some wandering, some more purposeful. They looked up at Harry with huge, shining eyes, curtseying and bowing, a few pulling uneasily at their lumpy ears. "Oh, yes," said a taller House Elf near the front, "Oh, yes, Mister Harry Potter, sir. I is Duffy sir. Dobby is telling us of Mister Harry Potter's goodness and kindness and generosity and how Mister Harry Potter is giving Dobby clothes. We was thinking that Mister Harry Potter, sir, cannot be good if he is giving Dobby clothes, but now—now we is understanding."

"How's that?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Another House Elf stepped forward. "We is thinking that clothes means that we is not serving a master no more. We was thinking that Dobby is being dangerous. But he was not. Though he was free to go, he was serving Mister Harry Potter good: he was not letting any other House Elf clean his room and he is dead now for being so good a House Elf. Mister Harry Potter's Dobby is being a good House Elf and a—hero."

A rumpled mutter ran through the Elves, which Harry only barely realized was meant to be a cheer of agreement. It sounded more like a wail. They were serious. Dobby's death had somehow convinced them that being free was just another way to serve their masters better. Harry shook his head and turned to Hermione, who was just taking her hand away from her mouth.

"No, no," she said in a horrified voice, "that's all wrong. I mean, yes, Dobby was a good House Elf, but because he was a visionary, an elf who saw beyond the confines of an outdated and practically masochistic system and dreamed of a better world. And he was brave enough to stand up for his rights when given the chance and brave enough to try to show others the way to that world! That's why he was a good elf, not because of—of anything else." Her eyes, at once tear-filled and fierce, looked over at Harry for back-up.

Harry shook his head. He could see where this argument was going, despite Hermione's consternation, but his insides were in a permanent twist from guilt. Dobby had refused to let anyone else clean his room; that's why he'd gotten the toast. House Elves were wired to take leftovers and food on the floor as theirs; sometimes that was all they got to eat. It wasn't like that at Hogwarts, but obviously Dobby had been hungry.

Harry looked out at the dark walls of the kitchens, gut clenched tight. He tried to listen to Duffy's words, but couldn't really concentrate. The gist seemed to be that Dobby was a martyr now, a martyr because though he was free, he had continued to serve his master even unto death. Hermione couldn't quite understand their logic.

"Well, I guess all that really matters is that you want to be free," she said finally. "Dobby started this movement, with help from Harry, and as you discover the benefits of freedom and fair wages—then you'll understand what S.P.E.W. stands for and we'll spread your message of hope throughout the world!" The elves exchanged nervous glances and backed away from her. Even Duffy looked too unnerved to speak. Hermione wilted. "What's the matter? Don't you want all House Elves to be free?"

"Oh no, miss, and I is begging your pardon," said one timid elf from the rear of the crowd. The others parted so that the small elf could be seen. He was a thin, wrinkled elf with whiskers on each side of his face and Harry found himself wondering if elves shaved. "I is not wanting all House Elves to be free. I is just wanting to be like Dobby, miss."

"That's not good enough," she said through tight lips. "How can you let your brothers and sisters slave and toil away under unfair masters while you have it good at Hogwarts? Can't you remember what it was like before you came here? Winky!" Hermione whirled around and faced the despondent elf. "You know what it was like with Mr. Crouch. You know what it's like to serve a bad master—"

"Oh no," Winky wailed, throwing herself to her knees. "Oh no, Winky is not saying anything bad about her master. Oh no!"

"I didn't mean to—how can you—oh, honestly!" Hermione threw her hands up in frustration.

Harry hesitated, then stepped between the elves and Hermione. "Don't tell them everything—they're not ready for it. And don't push, because that will only make them feel like, you know, like you're not on their side. Offer to give clothes next week to everyone who wants it and then give them time. Maybe by the end of the year, it'll be something more like what you want." Hermione stared at him.

"I can't believe you're telling me to keep things from them," she said pensively.

"Well, it's not really keeping things from them, it's just . . . not telling them the end from the beginning."

"You wouldn't have said that last year," she pointed out.

"Well, yeah," he said with a grimace. "I know."

Hermione looked past him at the elves. "Oh, all right. But they really seem to like you; you explain it to them!" she said in a huff. "I just seem to make things worse." When he hesitated, she grabbed him by the arms and turned him around. "Talk."

Harry stared at the upturned faces for a moment, and noticed a shift in their stances. Most turned toward him and took their hands away from their ears, hopeful trust written on their faces. It was a bit unnerving.

"If you really want to honor Dobby, then take clothes when they're offered. We'll give you a week to decide, then Hermione'll come back down and give them to as many as want to try it. Actually," he glanced over at her, "she'll be down here once a month to offer clothes and counsel anyone who needs help deciding what to do. I know she seems a bit . . . forward at times, but that's only because she cares as much or more about the way you have to live your lives than you do. But give her a chance; she knows what she's talking about. Thanks. And . . . I'm really sorry about what happened to Dobby." With that, he stepped back and watched the elves look amongst themselves apprehensively.

"Mister Harry Potter sir," asked Duffy.

"Yes?"

"We is wanting you to come back down in a week, sir, if you is not too busy, sir," he said with a hopeful look in his round eyes. Harry couldn't say no and smiles were passed around the group now. They left, after Hermione said a few soft words to Winky, and Charlie grabbed a handful of biscuits.

"Well, they were just going to waste," he said as he chewed through the first. "Nice going there, Harry. I thought they might be about to toss Hermione down in the refuse bin."

Hermione harrumphed. "Some people just don't know what's good for them. But," she patted Harry on the arm, "thanks to Harry, there might be a future for S.P.E.W." As Hermione beamed at him, Harry just hoped she wouldn't want him to start wearing the stupid button again. But as they started back up the stairs, he felt the burden in his heart ease a little. It was a good thing that was happening. Maybe, just maybe, Dobby's death wasn't going to be a total waste. Maybe it would be the beginning of change for House Elves. And surely, that would please Dobby even more than the fact that he had died in Harry's service—that Harry knew for sure.

By the time they made it back to the Great Hall, there was only half an hour left in Care of Magical Creatures, so they headed that way in a hurry. Harry suddenly realized that he had left his bookbag in the Great Hall, and hoped that Ron had picked it up for him. Hermione scolded him for that, of course, and the normalness of it was comforting in a small way.

It was a gorgeous day. The sun had burned away all the early morning mist and the green of the hills was brilliant. Harry was struck once again by the fact that even after death, life goes on—however unkindly or calloused it might seem. The sun had not stopped shining, even though Dobby would never again see it in his lifetime. It was like that and always would be like that, even when Harry himself died.

Things seemed to fade out around Harry as he tried for a long, horrible moment to imagine what Hogwarts would be like after he died—if he faced Tom down this year and failed, or succeeded, but died in the attempt. What would death be like? Was it really just the "next big adventure", as Dumbledore had said?

With a deep breath, Harry clenched his left fist and felt the comforting tug of the universal antidote band against his bicep. No. He didn't want to die. It had taken him all summer to make that decision, but he was sticking by it. It just wasn't time. He acknowledged Charlie's questioning look and tagged along after him and Hermione, reminding himself to stay alert. The field around them was wide open.

"Beaut of a day," Charlie said, looking up. "Makes me want to take a turn up in the air on that Firebolt of yours, Harry."

"Sure," Harry said, having no problem sharing after all the Weasley brothers had done for him this summer. He still couldn't believe they had faced down two hundred Dementors like that, all trying to protect him. "Any time," he added.

"Super," Charlie grinned. "Though today might not be the best day for it. Hard to believe, but I heard earlier one of the Divination classes predicted a storm later on."

Hermione sniffed. "I didn't think they taught weather forecasting in Divination class."

"Yeah, well, I heard Trelawney's gone all practical after last year's run-in with Umbridge," Charlie said with a grin. "Old bat can't compete with Firenze, I guess." Harry thought that sounded likely, and agreed that weather forecasting was probably as much as the batty Professor should be attempting. If she came out with another Prophecy anytime soon, he sincerely hoped he was no where near her.

By the time they reached the class down at the entrance to Hagrid's hut, it was easy to see that this was to be the largest of Harry's N.E.W.T.-level classes so far. Sixth-year students from all four houses were in attendance, sprawled out on the grass, listening to what apparently had been a lengthy lecture from Hagrid and taking notes, or as in Millicent Bulstrode's case, ignoring Hagrid and ripping the heads off of dandelions. Charlie gestured that he would standing in the back, wand at the ready. Harry nodded him on, then turned to follow Hermione over to where Ron sat in the midst of the Gryffindors. Hagrid gave Harry a smile, but kept lecturing.

Trying to make himself as small a distraction as possible, Harry stepped where Hermione had stepped as she made her way between two clumps of students—the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws. Heads turned his way, and Harry acknowledged Padma Patil's smile with a nod but stopped short when he felt someone's hand grasp his pant leg. Looking behind, he was shocked to see that the hand belonged to Pansy Parkinson, and was even more shocked when her pug face twisted into a very slow, sly smile. Harry froze, but jerked away the instant her fingers slid beyond the fabric onto his skin. He nearly fell over Crabbe and Goyle, the big lifeless lumps in front of her.

"Hey!" one of them said and hands shoved Harry on his way.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly, dodging the Hufflepuffs and making his way to a gesturing Ron. Neville, beside Ron, was scratching at his forehead furiously until Harry caught his eyes and gave him a pointed nod. Neville relaxed.

Hermione, shaking her head, sat on Ron's other side and they whispered a few sentences back and forth before Ron leaned over her to speak to Harry. "You holding up all right, then?"

Harry nodded.

Ron looked relieved. "Good. I think Hagrid knows something about that Manticore, mate." Harry frowned at him and Ron gestured to Hagrid. "Just listen."

"Oh, aye, they be right big brutes, but that doesn't mean that understandin' 'ems impossible. Let's say you was born with a scorpion tail and all that extra gear…guess people might be a bi' afraid o' you, too." Harry was amazed that the students only looked half-awake. Manticores were pretty scary stuff.

"He's been going on like that for over an hour," Ron whispered. "Think he's been over to the Shrieking Shack or what?"

"Guess so." Hagrid had that glow on his face that he got when huge, impossibly dangerous animals were available for adoption. Harry shook his head, hoping that his big friend knew what he was doing. "Did you find out what he wanted?"

"Oh, yeah," Ron said with a serious look, "and it's bit of a favor all right."

"After class," Hermione hissed at him.

"All right, all right," Ron groused back quietly, "don't get your knickers in a twist."

Harry picked up his book bag from where it lay on the grass. "Thanks," he whispered to Ron and gestured at his bag.

"What?" Ron asked, puzzled. "Oh, yeah. Well, Ginny grabbed it and stuffed it in my hands or I'd have forgotten. Sorry," he shrugged.

Harry nodded, his thoughts automatically shifting to Ginny . . . and that little kiss she had given him earlier. Just one on the cheek, yeah, like that time Hermione did it, only . . . well, with that look in Ginny's eyes and what she had said . . . it had felt completely different. His whole body tingled just remembering. He wished she were here right now. What would she do when looked at her or—what if he got close to her and smiled? Would she blush and stammer like she used to?

He remembered the crush she'd had on him quite vividly. At the time, it hadn't made sense to him. He had just felt sorry for her because it made her so uncomfortable. But ever since Cho, well . . . Harry understood those feelings now, even if he didn't understand why Ginny would ever feel that way about him. And yet . . . she had, and now there were quite a few questions he'd like the answers to: like, had she really given up on him, and how interested in Dean was really she and what would she say if she knew that his to-do list now said "Kiss Ginny Weasley" instead of kiss just any old girl. What would she do if he kissed her?

Harry ducked his head, feeling his cheeks start to go hot. He tried to get his mind back on the lecture. Hagrid was doing a surprisingly great job, throwing in so much information that it sounded as if he had been studying a good bit. Perhaps after that run-in with Umbridge, Hagrid felt he had something to prove. But still . . . Harry couldn't keep focused. Ginny had been in his dreams last night, standing so close to him that he'd felt a force like gravity kick in. He'd had to reach out to her, and had run his hand through her hair. It had felt intensely real and completely—

Harry shifted. He took a deep breath and looked around, noticing an owl flying by, the cluster of clouds in the East and the dirty roof of Hagrid's hut. Gentler thoughts of Ginny tickled at his mind again until he had to let them in: how her long hair whipped around when she played Quidditch, and how deep and dark her eyes were when she was looking at him, and then how her freckles weren't all over her face like Ron or the twins, but instead just sprinkled over her nose in this really cute way. And the thought brought a pang to his heart, an almost painful one.

It surprised him, and yet, somehow none of these were actually new thoughts, just . . . deeper thoughts, like Ginny was suddenly a N.E.W.T.-level class—a familiar subject with a whole lot more depth and complexity than before. Only, of course, she was something he wanted to study.

Harry's cheeks had heated up again, and he felt like the whole class was staring at him, knowing what he was thinking about instead of the lesson. The paranoia had persisted through most of the time he was there. Glancing up in the direction of the Slytherins, he caught Pansy watching him, smiling that sly smile again. Holding his gaze now, she licked at her lips and . . . winked.

"She did what?" Hermione gasped as they headed back up toward the castle later. She stopped so suddenly that Ron ran into her and started grousing at her. "Shush, Ron. Didn't you hear what Harry said?"

"Uh, yeah, Pansy was coming onto him, right?" Ron said, looking from Harry to Hermione, eyebrows raised.

Harry suppressed a shudder. "I just don't understand. Why on earth would she want to flirt with me?"

"Well, isn't it obvious, Harry?" Hermione said with a touch of superiority.

"Yeah," Ron agreed.

"She's trying to confuse you and distract you from your purpose."

"Ye—what?" Ron looked at Hermione as if she'd just sprouted a pair of horns, "That's not it. She just thinks he's . . . you know, cute."

Hermione scoffed. "A Slytherin…liking Harry?"

"Hey!" Ron protested loudly. "Harry's got very good-looking—I mean, well, that's what Mum and Ginny say, anyway," he said with a quick, embarrassed smile. "And he's not so squirty now, and he's dead famous. Why wouldn't girls want to snog him?" he finished with a loyal nod in Harry's direction.

Harry wanted to crawl under the grass. "It doesn't matter. We'll just keep an eye on her, too, right?"

"Of course," Hermione said promptly. "She might be up to something."

"Yeah, well, she can make eyes at him as much as she wants; she's not getting close enough to get her hands on him," Ron said stubbornly. "Not with me around."

Harry started walking back up the castle, tossing a question at Ron. "So, what did Hagrid want, anyway?"

"Oh, well, it's like this," Ron said as he fell into step beside Harry, "you know that the Death Eaters saw something large and hairy that shouldn't be here when they attacked you outside Hogwarts, right?" Harry nodded, remembering the surprise of seeing Grawp in plain sight. "Well, the only reason the Ministry hasn't been beating down the doors to find him is because the only people who saw him besides the staff were Death Eaters and it's not like they could go to the newspaper or anything because then they'd be confessing who they really were, you know?"

"Yeah—and," Harry prompted him.

"Well, right now there's an underground cave that Hagrid's hiding him in, just in case. It's like a pen where he kept Fluffy back in the day, you know? And he enlarged it when he thought he might keep Norbert. But Junior isn't too happy there, you know? He's got to have another place, a bigger, safer place and so Hagrid went to Dumbledore."

"And he suggested the Room of Requirement, right?" Harry supposed.

Ron stopped walking. "Right. How did you know that?"

Hermione smiled. "It's the only logical place, Ron."

"Oh, right." Ron looked at the two of them, colored slightly and started walking again. "So, there's a bit of difficulty in getting him there."

"A bit?" Hermione echoed.

Harry stopped, the others pausing beside him. "So he wants us to come up with a way?"

"Got it in one, mate."

Hermione went pale. "I don't . . . think I can . . ."

"Well, of course not," Ron said loudly, "I already told Hagrid that, what with how he kept grabbing at you and all—"

"Harry?"

Harry jerked around. Susan Bones was standing there, with Padma, both looking sober. Harry's face hardened and his wand jumped into his hand before he could stop it.

"We just wanted to say that we're sorry about Dobby. Parvati told us that some of you Gryffindors were friends with him."

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Dobby. For just a moment, he'd forgotten.

Ron pushed his way in-between Harry and Susan. "Yeah, well, Harry's not feeling very well. You understand?"

Susan backed up a step, looking confused. Padma frowned, watching Harry closely. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"He's fine," Hermione replied. "But Susan, is it all right if I talk with you a minute?" Harry closed his eyes, turned around and headed for the castle. He heard Susan say yes and then Ron was by his side again.

"I don't think Parvati's forgiven me for that Stinging Hex yet. You should have seen the glare Padma gave me. Thought it'd singe my eyebrows off! Hey, I'm half-starved. Want some chocolate frogs?"

They spent a good deal of time snacking and coming up with Ron's covert signal for Harry. There were plenty they didn't use: rubbing his stomach (too common), mimicking a save in Quidditch (too big), mimicking kicking the Prat's arse (too likely to make Harry laugh) and scratching his bum (again, too common). They finally went for scruffing up his hair, which he had stopped doing because Fred and George had teased him unmercifully about it.

That done, they grew quiet. Harry's thoughts were on Dobby and the imposter, which made him very poor company. Ron had cottoned on and just lay on his bed reading Quidditch magazines. By the time dinner rolled around, Harry was glad to go to the Great Hall, just to be up and doing something.

Once there, he wished he'd stayed in the dorm. Harry could hardly eat for all the students coming up and saying hello, offering condolences or, in some cases, reporting suspicious persons like Malfoy or Snape. Harry was beginning to wish he'd never made that stupid speech. He was in a foul mood from a really foul day, compounded by the report Hermione gave after talking to Susan, who not only claimed she hadn't talked to Harry alone after the Feast, but was vexed to tears by the accusation that she'd foisted herself upon him. With all of that on his mind, Harry didn't taste one bite of his food, nor did he manage to give Ginny a smile with even one-third of the dazzling brilliance he'd planned. It came out as a grimace when she asked how he was doing.

"Well, at least it wasn't Neville," she said with a relieved expression as she dug into her creamed potatoes. "I feel much better now."

Neville looked over at her, mild hurt showing on his face. "Did you really think it was me?" His gaze shot around to Harry and the others as well. Harry looked down at the table. He hadn't known what to think.

"I didn't want to, Neville," Ginny said softly, "but I know better than anybody how people can be made to do things they don't want to do." Harry remembered, with a little shock as always, that she'd been possessed by Tom's diary in her first year. Since they hadn't told many people about that, there were plenty of confused looks around the table until Ginny went on. "I knew you wouldn't want to do it, if that helps."

Neville looked down, thinking it over. Then he nodded. "Yeah, it does."

"I never doubted you for a second, mate," Dean said with a sideways glance at Ginny. She glared back.

Interesting, Harry thought, with sudden uncharitable thoughts toward Dean. Just after that, Tobias Wafting came up to the table, the only first year to brave Harry's mood. Harry knew someone had appeared at his shoulder again when Ron looked up and his gaze narrowed.

"What you want," he half-growled, obviously picking up on Harry's vibes.

"Just to have a quick word with Harry, if that's all right," the high, reedy voice replied.

It sounded so much like Collin Creevy's voice back when he first came to Hogwarts that Harry had to turn around. The thin boy with messy blonde had his hands shoved in his pockets and swallowed nervously as Harry's eyes met his.

"Tobias, right?"

The boy's eyes widened and he gave a quick smile, "Yeah, yeah, that's me." He swallowed again. "I wanted to ask your advice, see?" He looked around at Harry's friends, who were staring at him. Quickly, he knelt and spoke up to Harry. "There's a Slytherin first year who came up to me after Potions class. I'm not sure if I can trust her. Some of the things she said sound . . . nutters." His eyes met Harry's and then slid away.

"Like what?"

"Well, like she says there's a whole lot of the older Slytherins who are planning to kill you, but I know that can't be true, right?" His voice broke on the last words and he cleared his throat.

Ron swore vehemently into his food.

"It might be," Harry finally said. "Can you tell me who the girl is?"

"Zimmy Twitchtie."

Harry saw Ginny stab a meat pie fiendishly before glaring over at the Slytherin table. Looking back at Tobias, Harry sighed. "Yeah, it might be true. What exactly did she say?"

"That Blaise Zabini's been in contact with Volde—Voldemort," he said looking around nervously as there was the inevitable flinching and wincing around the table. "Sorry. And there's some sort of bet going on, that's all I know."

"A bet about me being killed, you mean?"

Ginny threw down her fork. "How can you just sit there and talk about it?" she hissed across the table. "Like it doesn't matter?"

Harry stared at her, wondering how in the bloody hell she thought he actually had a choice in the matter.

"Shut it, Ginny," Ron said under his breath.

Harry turned back to Tobias. "Thanks. It all helps. I don't know how trustworthy she is, so don't give her any information, but if she gives you names, let me know."

Tobias' eyes were wide and his jaw dropped slightly before he snapped it shut. "Right. I'll—I'll find out whatever I can. You were—you were completely serious, then, weren't you? In that speech?"

Harry nodded.

Ron leaned over. "This isn't a game, all righ'? If you're getting involved, they'll know. Watch your back, mate."

Tobias' eyes grew even wider. He turned to look at the Slytherin table, where several students were watching them. With a deep breath, he turned back and looked up at Harry again. "I'll do it. I'll let you know," he added with a nod.

"Thanks," Harry said with a slight smile.

"Good luck, mate," Ron nodded at him.

"Tobias, let me know if anyone bothers you," Hermione called in her Prefect voice as he stood. "I can help."

Tobias stared at her for a moment, then nodded tensely. "Bye," he half-waved and walked back down to his end of the table.

"We've got to do something," Ginny said, eyeing everyone at the table. "Tell Dumbledore, tell someone."

"I'm fairly sure that Professor Dumbledore already knows," Hermione said quietly. "One of the Headmaster's portraits said something along those lines while we were in his office earlier. Remember, Harry? Professor Dumbledore didn't look surprised at all."

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm not just going to sit around while everyone in Slytherin takes a shot at Harry," Ginny said, standing and slamming her hand down on the table. "I'm going to talk to Luna."

As she stormed off, Ron called out after her, "Yeah, you do that! I'm sure that will help a whole lot!" He shook his head as he turned back to the table, grumbling, "Maybe she ought to go have a chat with Peeves as well."

Harry watched Ginny uncomfortably as she walked over to the Ravenclaw table. If she stayed in that frame of mind, she was very likely to be right in the thick of things if and when things did happen. Not good. He pushed the food on his plate around a minute, swirling his potatoes and gravy until they appeared to be a tiny volcano. He picked up a dollop of steak sauce and poured it in the middle until it burst out and dripped down like a lava flow.

"Coo'," Ron said with his mouth full of food. "Too ba' yo' don' 'ave itty people to pu' in it."

"Like ickle Slytherins," Seamus said with a snort.

As Hermione chided him for playing with his food, Harry's gaze was drawn back over to the Slytherin table, where Pansy was again watching him openly. She took a bite of food and drank from her goblet, her eyes never leaving Harry's. It was creepy. Beside her, Millicent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini were talking quietly. Malfoy—the Prat—whatever—still hadn't shown up. Probably hiding under a rock.

At any rate, the Slytherins didn't scare Harry. They couldn't do any worse than Tom had done, and Harry had survived it all. And here, at Hogwarts, there were teachers, friends and allies who would be watching out for him. No, surely he was better off here than he had been this summer, at home and at the mercy of the Dursleys.

But then again, the Dursleys hadn't had instantly-fatal poison, Polyjuice Potion, and the Dark Lord on tap. If they had . . . well . . .

Bloody hell.

Harry might not be afraid of the Slytherins, but right now, odds were certainly stacking up in their favor.

> > > > > > > > > > > > >

A/N: Have you figured out what's missing yet?

A shout out of thanks to Beta Musings and pre-Beta Melindaleo!

Maaaaaaan, do I love you guys!