2

For Harry the last two days had crept past in seconds which seemed like hours. Ron was still not speaking to him and the Hufflepuffs had upped their offence. Throughout the school buttons supporting Cedric Digory had popped up like mushrooms on a warm spring day.

The only friend he had was Hermione. Spending time in the library, though, wasn't his idea of a fun day.

Light in all that dreariness provided Minerva. She regaled Harry with stories of his mother and entertained him with some of his father's pranks. Outside her classroom Harry discovered that his stern Transfiguration professor had a wicked sense of humour and a deep appreciation for practical jokes. He found her laughing over the Weasley twins and their antics, and even trying some of their tricks on her husband. At least that was what she told him.

Harry noticed right away that Minerva was still very angry with Albus for letting him compete in the Tournament. He had even tried to mend the rift between his adoptive parents, not very successfully. But he had never been one to give up easily.

"Mother, I think I can handle the Tournament," he said, packing his Quidditch gear onto the stack of clothes already in the trunk.

Minerva didn't look up from her task of folding his shirts neatly and placing them into the trunk. Then she frowned and Harry thought she would finally acknowledge his attempts to kit her marriage.

"Harry, these clothes are all in tatters! Didn't your aunt at least provide clothing? She was supposed to take CARE of you!" she ranted, clearly in shock over Harry's wardrobe.

'Yeah, I pretty much cover them up under my uniform and robes,' he thought wryly. Then he placed both his hands over his mother's and gently turned her to face him. He had just opened his mouth when Minerva shook her head and covered his mouth with her index finger.

"Harry, I know you're concerned but this is something between your father and me. Please, stay out of it," she said softly, smiling at him and raising her hand to cup his cheek. "You're a good boy with your heart in the right place."

"Well, I have good genes," he said, blushing a little over the unexpected praise. "Mum, don't get that wrong but I think this fight concerns me ... especially since it started because of me ..."

"No," she said and shook her head vigorously. "This fight is not your fault. Never think that. Albus has always made all decisions on his own. He can't do this anymore because I won't take it!"

"But, Mum ..."

"No, Harry. I'm serious. He hasn't told me the reasons for trusting Severus, just expecting me to go along with his judgement and following him blindly. Lucky for Severus, I know him a lot better than he would care for."

Harry's ears pricked up at that last information. For him the Potions master was a vile, even cruel man he distrusted and yes, hated with every fibre. His eyes must have held a suspicious glint because Minerva narrowed her own eyes at him. "I won't get into a discussion about either man with you, Harry. Do you understand?" she asked with a voice like the quite before the storm.

Harry, knowing that tone of voice very well after years in Hogwarts, nodded quickly and turned his attention back to his trunk. "When will we leave for McGonagall Manor then, Mum?"

Minerva smiled at that very obvious attempt to change the subject. Coming close to Harry, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his forehead gently. Harry was still not really comfortable with expressing his feelings and this show of love from his new mother. Stiffening slightly, his first reaction was to pull away but then he made himself relax in her arms and to actually hug her back. Minerva's smile spread into a grin and she tightened her arms around him, brushing her cheek against the bristle of his hair.

"We wait for your father to finish his paperwork and then we collect Hermione for a trip to Diagon Alley. I simply can't let my son walk around in these ragged, filthy clothes. What will people think? That I can't provide for you? That is out of the question," she announced firmly, not letting any protestations escape the boy.

Harry, though, had no intentions of protesting. Grinning from ear to ear, he was looking forward to visit Diagon Alley with his family and his best friend. For a moment a small, sharp pain rose but he battled it down.

"So I best go and see that Dad gets going," he said and joined in his mother's chuckle.

"Do that. The sooner he is finished the sooner we'll leave that madhouse behind us."