Author's Notes: Hello friends. Yes, the Slytherins have noticed Harry's need to feel needed/loved. It's kind of sweet in a way.
Padded up and wearing his emerald Quidditch robes, Harry was bowed against the ferocious wind as he and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team slogged through the blowing rain and mud on the Quidditch pitch. Harry's Glaxxes repelled the water, and nothing seeped in along the sides. However, Harry had to remember not to breathe in a mouthful of rainwater.
If the crowd was cheering, Harry couldn't hear it over the fresh rolls of thunder. The Gryffindors staggered sideways opposite of them, wearing scarlet robes. The Captains walked up to each other and shook hands.
Harry saw Madam Hooch's mouth form the words, 'Mount your brooms.'
He pulled his right foot out of the mud with a squelch and swung it over his Nimbus Two Thousand, glad that the green grip that Goyle had given him was dry and easy to grasp. Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and gave it a blast that sounded shrill and distant—and they were off!
Harry rose fast, but his Nimbus swerved slightly with the wind. He held it steady, already feeling the burn in the scar on his back as he turned, peering through the grey rain. The weight of his wet robes was actually helping him stay course, though he would have liked to do without the feeling of ice-cold rain. Dodging a Bludger, he flew backward and forward across the field past blurred red and green shapes with no idea what was happening with the rest of the game. Even the announcer's commentary was lost to the wind, and the crowd beneath Harry was hidden beneath a sea of cloaks and umbrellas. Another Bludger came at him, and he swerved to miss it. A tumbling black and broken umbrella darted past him, caught by the wind.
The sky was getting darker as though night had decided to come early. Harry very nearly collided with another player, wearing water-logged red robes. Still Harry scanned the sky in vain for something that glinted, something that moved in a way he was accustomed to noticing.
With the first flash of lightning came the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle. Harry floated down towards Flint.
"Wood's called a time-out," the Team Captain hollered over the storm. "Everyone's holding up?"
Harry wondered why none of them looked as uncomfortable as him despite their hair being plastered with rain.
Montague looked about and then set his eyes on Harry. "Potter! Why didn't you cast a Repellant Charm on your robes?" He reached forward grasping Harry's arm. "You're as cold as ice! Merlin, you're thick-headed, aren't you." Pulling out his wand, Montague cast a Drying Charm and then, "Impervius!" Suddenly the rain wasn't soaking into Harry's damp robes any longer.
"Thanks," Harry said sheepishly, feeling loads better.
"Scarhead, catch that Snitch so we can get out of this," Bletchley the Keeper said, circling his hand at the sky above them.
Harry cracked a grin.
At the sound of another whistle, the Slytherins mounted their brooms and sped off to their positions. Montague's spell had done the trick. Harry was still cold where the water touched his skin, but his robes weren't chilling him to the bone. Full of fresh determination, he urged his broom through the turbulent air, staring in every direction for the Snitch, and narrowly avoided a collision with Ginny Weasley. Harry nearly slammed into the Bludger that had been following her above the pitch. He leaned and dove to avoid the Bludger.
There was a clap of thunder and forked lightning in the clouds above Harry. This was getting more and more dangerous. He needed to get the Snitch quickly.
"SCARHEAD!" Montague roared above the wind. "BEHIND YOU!"
Harry turned. Ginny was pelting up the field, a tiny speck of gold was shimmering in the rain filled air between them, moving upwards towards the angry black clouds. With a jolt of panic, Harry threw himself flat to the broomhandle and zoomed towards the Snitch.
"Come on!" Harry growled at his Nimbus as the rain whipped his face. "Faster!"
But something odd was happening. An eerie silence was falling across the field and stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to… roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though Harry had gone suddenly deaf—what was going on?
Then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over him and into him just as he became aware of something moving in the clouds below him. Harry took his eyes off the Snitch and Ginny and looked down.
At least a hundred dementors were floating beneath him, their hidden faces turned up towards him.
Forget the Snitch! His instinct screamed, and for once Harry did, reaching for the wand holster strapped to his leg. He yanked his wand out, forcing the cold away, forcing himself to remember the happiness he'd found among the Slytherins, among his new family.
It was as though freezing water were rising inside his chest, cutting at his insides. Harry fought it as the water on his skin iced. "Expecto Patronum!" He screamed.
White fog obscured his senses, and the dementors' frenzied feeding lessened. Harry saw an opening among the black ragged capes and dove through, the cold worsening as he formidably held out his wand.
But, he couldn't feel his fingers or his legs or his arms anymore. Numbness had filled him inside and out and Harry had the queerest sensation of flying. Big, blurred shapes were moving around him… then came a new voice, a man's voice shouting with panic—
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"
There was a sound of someone stumbling from the room—a door exploding into pieces—a cackle of high-pitched laughter and a flash of green light…
"He must've fallen over a hundred feet," Theodore was saying. "Madam Pomfrey said he didn't have any broken bones. The pads took the worst of it, Daphne."
"They should've for as much as I paid for them."
"I can't believe those ghastly things attacked him. When my father hears of this—"
"Draco," Harry groaned, finding the light in the room unbearable. "Do you know I could get rich if I got a Sickle every time you threatened to tell your father about something?" There was a round of warm chuckling at that, and he smiled weakly. Every inch of him was aching as though he'd been caught by Dudley's gang. Harry stopped shifting, finding it hurt less when he was still.
"I guess you can't be too bad off if you're making jokes," Draco said airily. "You gave us a right good scare falling off your broom in a swarm of dementors."
"Who won the match?"
"Slytherin, of course. As soon as I saw you fall, I took off. The Weasley girl looked frightfully distraught from the dementor attack and completely missed the Snitch darting about her head."
An uncomfortable Harry shifted again. "I guess I'm benched for the season?"
"I would hope my godfather had the sense to," Draco said.
"What happened with the dementors? Why'd they suddenly come on the field?"
"Wouldn't you rather rest, Harry?" Sally-Anne asked.
"I need to know."
There was a pause.
"No one knows why they came onto the field," Daphne said.
"Dumbledore was furious about it," Theodore answered, "He sent the dementors off right away with a corporeal Patronus in the shape of a phoenix. We heard him bellowing at them. I'm surprised that he didn't spew obscenities."
"He conjured up a stretcher and floated you onto it. And then escorted you personally into Hogwarts." Pansy's nasal voice was unmistakable.
"Did someone get my broom?" When there was no immediate answer, Harry cracked open an eye and saw the blurry shapes turning towards one another.
"Well…" Tracey said with a bit of anxiety, "It blew away... right into the Whomping Willow."
Harry closed his eyes. His mind did not want to put together the implication as his stomach lurched. The Whomping Willow was a very violent tree that stood in the middle of the Hogwarts lawn, and it had pounded the daylights out of Weasley's family car last year. His broom wouldn't have a chance. He reopened his eyes. "And?"
"Professor Flitwick brought… what was left of it while you were still out," she said. She lifted the lumpy bag. It was much too small for the length of a broomstick.
Harry's breath hitched; it felt as if someone had hit him in the gut. "What do I need a broom for anyway? It's not like I'll be Seeking for the rest of the season," he said to them.
The Slytherins standing around Harry knew without his saying anything that he was terribly heartbroken over the loss of his faithful Nimbus Two Thousand.
"Oh, quit being melodramatic," Draco said, "You can always get another broom."
"I don't want another one. I want the one you lot didn't save."
"See?" Pansy said with a sneer. "Even if I had brought him a new one, I told you he'd make an impossible demand."
"Maybe you should have told Tracey to hold off telling him?" Draco shot back. "Since you know how sentimental he gets."
"You were the one who said it'd be better to get it over with. If only I'd known it'd be like kicking an abused Crup—!"
"It was his first broom. What did you expect?"
"Would you two lay off?" Theodore said, likely noticing Harry's tight expression. When Draco huffed and Pansy hmph-ed, Theodore took a deep breath. "Alright then. What do you want to do with your broom, Harry?"
"Leave it, and you lot can go. I want to be alone. My head's splitting."
And so they left, Draco and Pansy squabbling on their way out. One of them had informed Madam Pomfrey of the pain, and Harry was given a potion.
As he stared at the blurry bag sitting on the chair beside his bed, he wondered if he was condemned to forever lead an eventful life.
Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the infirmary for the rest of the weekend. He didn't argue or complain about her decision, instead keeping her well-informed of his pain level, appetite, and mood. All throughout, he kept that bag of the shattered remnants of his Nimbus Two Thousand on the chair next to the bed, not allowing the Healer to throw it away. He knew he was being stupid, knew that the Nimbus was beyond repair, yet Harry had felt like he'd lost one of his best friends.
Besides his Slytherin year-mates, Harry had a stream of visitors all intent on cheering him up. Hagrid sent him a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, and Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, had turned up with a Get-Well card that she'd made herself, which sang piercingly unless Harry kept it shut under a bowl of fruit that Gilbert had sent him. Colin Creevey, naturally, offered the photographs of the Fat Lady's ruined painting, stand-alones of Sally-Anne and Theodore, Harry free-falling with the dementors swarming after him, the headmaster summoning a Patronus, Harry being put on a stretcher by the headmaster, and Harry being brought into the front door of Hogwarts trailed by several teachers. Harry accepted them of course; he rather liked having a third party deliver objective evidence of an event. Even Professor Dumbledore paid him a short visit that didn't amount to anything of import.
Even though it chafed him to be around people all the time, Harry was grateful not to be left alone. When he was awake and the room became too quiet and still, he would hear his parents screaming. Without the Sleeping Draughts, Harry would doze fitfully, sinking into dreams full of clammy, rotted hands and panicked yelling and petrified pleading and high-pitched laughter...
On Monday, it was with great relief for Harry to return to classes... Despite Finnigan's rather spirited imitations of Harry falling off his broom during Hagrid's class, Care for Magical Creatures and Arithmancy were relatively dull classes. It was that very evening that Harry was frantically completing the assigned homework for Charms, Herbology, and Transfiguration, while Theodore and Draco were playing a fierce game of Wizard Chess as Crabbe and Goyle watched on either side of the board.
"Can't either of you help me out?"
"You don't believe in copying," Draco said dismissively.
"At least show me the wand movements," Harry implored, careful not to sound too desperate.
"You're on your own, unless you plan on offering a favor," Theodore said to the chess board.
Harry suppressed the urge to sigh and continued reading and writing and flicking his wand about. He wondered why they wouldn't help him without needing a favor. He still had a History of Magic essay to complete, a star chart for Astronomy, another poem for Ancient Runes...
"Harry Potter, DETENTION. DETENTION. DETENTION!"
Throwing down his quill in disgust, Harry stormed out of the room. At the base of the stairs, he went across to Snape's office and knocked on the door.
"Come in," a voice said.
Harry opened the door.
"Good evening." Snape's black eyes stared holes at him as he steepled his fingers. "I assume you've arrived for your assigned detention?"
Standing in the doorway, Harry nodded. Anger at the professor began to simmer under his skin.
"Report to the infirmary with Nott. Madam Pomfrey is ready to start your first therapeutic session."
"Yes, sir." Harry turned to go.
"Potter, if I ever discover that you've refused to disclose your well-being to Poppy again, you will never again mount a broom for the rest of your stay at Hogwarts."
"Yes, sir," Harry said with a resigned note to his voice.
Snape dismissed him, and Harry went to the third-year boys' dormitory to fetch Theodore.
By Thursday evening, Harry was exhausted. He'd managed to get everything he needed done that week, including the therapeutic sessions, without getting any more detentions. His arm was no longer hurting, though Madam Pomfrey insisted that he keep his arm in a sling; this meant that Ron Weasley had been forced to prepare Harry's potions ingredients again. Draco's taunting during Potions finally caused Weasley to crack, and the redhead had flung a slippery crocodile heart at Draco, pelting him in the face. Gryffindor had lost fifty points for Ron's actions.
Done staring at the bag of shattered broom, Harry finally asked his year-mates what he should do with his Nimbus Two Thousand.
Draco said to sell it, which nearly made Harry chuck the bag at him. Draco backpedaled and suggested that it be remade into an Enchanted Object of some sort. Nobody else had any suggestions, so Harry decided to bury it.
Outside in the dying sunlight, among the shrubbery surrounding the Whomping Willow, Harry had stuck two pieces of wood together with a Stickfast Hex and pushed it into the ground. He picked up the spade that Draco had conjured for him.
"You're really going to do this." Tracey observed Harry steadily. "Even when others would kill to have Enchanted Objects made out of a broom as high quality as yours."
Harry lifted the spade and it hit the ground with a dull thunk. He tore it up and slammed it into the ground again.
"I could conjure a hole in the ground. It'd be faster," Pansy said after a few minutes of watching.
"And you wouldn't get blisters," Theodore added pragmatically.
Harry sighed, looking at his nine friends ringed about the bag containing the pieces of his broom. They didn't get it; would he be consigned to never being understood by his housemates? "You think I'm being stupid?"
Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other as if daring the other to say a word about it.
Draco was the only one to burst into laughter. "Stupid, no. Overly sentimental, yes."
Shoving the spade in the ground, Harry left it. He left the bag where it was. Goodbye, Nimbus Two Thousand. You were a good broom. He closed his eyes and when he reopened them he turned to look at the others. "Somebody do something useful with what's left of my broom then."
Daphne picked the bag up. "I have an associate who excels at converting Broom Shards into useful objects. Would that be alright? I could insist that they give the majority away for charity...?"
"Yes, that sounds good." Grateful that he could stop being reminded of all the fun he had flying it when he saw the bag, Harry headed back to the castle. Behind him, he never saw the conjured flowers his year-mates laid by the grave marker.
Friday morning, the moment Harry stepped foot inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was the moment the Bewitched watch burned cold against his skin. Pausing behind his classmates, Harry yanked his sleeve back and saw the shadow of a dog… no, the snout was all wrong. It was a werewolf with sharp wicked teeth. Unbothered, Harry dropped his sleeve and entered the room.
Professor Lupin looked as though he was still recovering from a severe illness; since the full moon hadn't been that long ago this wasn't surprising. His old robes were hanging a little more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. Nevertheless, the professor smiled at the class as they took their seats.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson turned out to be a very enjoyable one. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke; it was rather frail and harmless-looking by the looks of it, which meant to Harry that it was very sinister indeed.
"Lures travelers into bogs," Professor Lupin told them as they took notes. "You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? He hops ahead, people follow the light and get stuck in the bog, and then once his prey drowns he skins them with his toenails."
The hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise with what passed for toes.
When the bell tolled, the Slytherins gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry among them.
"Wait a moment, Harry," Professor Lupin called. "I'd like a word."
Harry didn't hesitate to double back around, though Theodore waved to let him know he was out in the corridor. Professor Lupin was covering the hinkypunk's box with a cloth.
"I heard about the match… I'm glad you're alright." The adult went to his desk and began to pile books into his briefcase. "And I'm sorry to hear about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?"
"No. Thanks to the Whomping Willow it fits into a bag about the size of a large pumpkin." Harry mimed its size to the professor with his hands. "I gave it away so someone could make use of it... You didn't need some Broom Shards, did you?"
"No, no. I don't." Professor Lupin sighed. "That tree was planted the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance."
"Is that all you wanted to talk to me about, sir?" Harry said with politeness.
The professor smiled. "I can't get anything past you, can I? I heard you successfully cast a proto-Patronus at the dementors during your match and wanted to know where you learned that spell."
"Professor Snape taught our class about dementors and how to defend against them when you took... ill."
"Oh, really? He must've taught the same lesson to the Ravenclaws then," he said. His hands kept fiddling with the stacks of parchment, shuffling them around to no purpose.
"Did he teach the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs something else?"
"Yes, a chapter from the unit on nocturnal beasts. A little advanced for third years who can't tell the difference between a serpent and a Chinese Fireball, don't you think?"
Harry blinked. "Sir, I know you're a werewolf."
The briefcase slipped from his desk, and Professor Lupin's lightning-fast reflexes caught it before it hit the ground. "Oh… How… how long have you known?"
"Well, only a week or so. Professor Snape gave me a special assignment from the unit on nocturnal beasts. Page three hundred ninety-four: Werewolves. I had to write two rolls of parchment in three days; managed it in four."
"Was it the boggart or the lunar cycle that clued you in?"
Harry started. The orb hadn't been a crystal ball after all. It'd been a full moon! "Technically, the lunar cycle. But, I didn't think on it much until Professor Snape was acting strangely around you. What confirmed it, was this." Harry pulled up the sleeve of his robes and showed Professor Lupin the Bewitched watch. The professor stared at the face with intense interest. "I received this for my twelfth birthday last year, but I haven't been wearing since I stepped on the train since I was—"
"Bringing Lionsnakes to Hogwarts. I know, even though I was warned, I could smell them on you."
So, the professor hadn't been asleep at all? Or had he deduced that after the dementor on the train attacked Harry? "The headmaster knows about you then?" Harry asked.
"I would not have been able to enter Hogwarts had he not been informed. The other teachers are aware of my condition as well."
"And Snape—"
"That's Professor Snape," Professor Lupin admonished.
"Professor Snape brews you a Wolfsbane Potion every week then?"
"Yes, and I'm very grateful for it. It is not an inexpensive draught, and people talk when you purchase large quantities of it, unless you pay even more to keep their silence." Professor Lupin gazed at Harry with an unreadable expression.
Harry nodded thoughtfully. It made sense why Professor Lupin never frittered his money away on new robes or possessions. "So, here's what Theo and I'll do for you. We'll cover for you in exchange for extra lessons in casting the Patronus charm."
The DADA professor startled. "You… that's what you want? Tutoring lessons?" Professor Lupin's expression melted into light amusement for some reason.
"Yes, Theo can only produce a proto-Patronus and I have trouble doing even that much." Seeing the werewolf's eyes flicker in hesitation, Harry added, "And I can't ask Professor Snape; Madam Pomfrey has forbid him from unleashing a boggart on me again." Not to mention, that Harry disliked standing in the greasy-haired git's presence.
"I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry… quite the contrary…"
"But if I find myself surrounded by dementors again, I need to be able to fight them." In addition, Harry might be able to find out why Snape thought Professor Lupin would help Sirius Black into the school. If the adult really did have contact with the madman, then perhaps Harry might be able to arrange a meeting without too much difficulty.
Professor Lupin looked into Harry's determined face, hesitated, and then said, "Well… all right. I'll do what I can. But we'll have to wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before holidays." With a wry grin, the professor's head seemed held higher than when Harry had first entered the classroom. "I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill."
Harry laughed at that.