AN: Thank you so much to everyone reviewing! I'm trying to break from Star Wars before Kenobi drops :D

Summer 1995 - The Shrieking Shack

Harry watched Leta spell the Shrieking Shack. Harry had already shielded the thing into oblivion. Well, the Shack itself was visible, but if anyone tried coming into, tried seeing into the rooms, they would forget what they were looking for.

Nothing like being on the run for a year to learn important life skills.

As long as they didn't apparate, no one would be able to trace them.

Leta's cleaning and decorative spells were impressive as she made the space livable.

The entire Wizarding World would be looking for Harry, and the whole time he would be right under Dumbledore's nose.

Harry didn't hate the man, but he wasn't all that opposed to letting him be the one with a lack of information.

He still wished desperately that Dumbledore had told him the truth in the beginning of his fifth or fourth year.

Now?

He didn't know how to talk to Albus Dumbledore.

Hell, Harry wasn't even sure how he would be able to return to Hogwarts at the start of term, not with the memories of it torn apart, littered with blood and bodies so fresh in his memories.

"I'll take the floor," Harry said, as Leta spelled herself into a conservative old fashioned —even by wizard standards.

"We can share the bed," Leta said without looking at him, before raising her dark eyes to level him with an impressive glare. "Touch me and I will hex you into oblivion."

Harry smirked, "Who says I'd want to?"

She rolled her eyes flopping onto the bed.

He took off his glass before getting under the covers, not particularly proud of his body that was skinnier than it had been when he was seventeen.

Funny, how being on the run, he had still eaten better than he had living with the Dursleys.

Leta followed after him, leaving plenty of space between them. The thin blanket was more than enough for the summer night. She flicked her wand to snuff the lamp.

Harry stared up at the ceiling, with his glasses on the side table and the dark of the room, there was nothing but darkness to see.

He missed Hermione.

He wanted her advice, he wanted to tell her everything. But he knew at fifteen, Hermione Granger would confide in Dumbledore, in the Order of the Phoenix, and Harry wasn't ready to face them.

He wasn't sure he ever would be.

"Did you have a girlfriend?" Leta asked.

"Yeah," he sighed. "You have a boyfriend?"

"No. Which I suppose is a good thing, seeing as they would be in their nineties now."

"I'll be eighteen soon," Harry said. "Currently, the girl I was dating is fourteen now."

Leta was quiet before she shared, "I fell in love with a boy who was too good for me. Too kind, too gentle."

Harry thought that over, Ginny hadn't been a gentle spirit, nor had she been particularly kind, but she never deserved the shite he brought into her life.

An image of Hermione sleeping on his chest flashed through his mind. Guilt swamped him.

Ginny was definitely better than he deserved.

He sighed again, "Guess that's something else we share in common."

Leta said nothing more and neither did he.

Chapter 2 - The Gift of Sarcasm

When Ron woke the next morning, Harry was already gone, his bed made.

His new trunk sat at the end of his bed with a complex lock on it.

Knowing Hermione would be downstairs already, he rushed to get dressed, threw his books in his bag after a quick check at his schedule —worst Monday ever— and ran down the steps.

Harry sat between Parvati Patil and Dean Thomas.

Fred, George, and Hermione sat across from him, and Ron sat down beside Hermione.

Harry's gaze was on a book on the table;

Arithmancy.

Ron's stomach sank as he realized what that probably meant.

"We were really worried about you, mate," George said, real concern breaking through his jolly demeanour.

"Seems logical," Harry drawled without looking up. "My cousin was kissed by a Dementor after all."

George faltered and Ron could tell Hermione was fit to burst into tears.

"We're your friends, Harry," Ron said. "We are your family. You don't have to shut us out."

That got a twitch out of him, but when Harry looked up, his eyes were the darkest green Ron had ever seen them.

"That's funny, Dumbledore said specifically that Arthur and Molly wouldn't be my new guardians."

Ron gawked at him, he wasn't sure he had ever used his parents' first names, and certainly not with so much disdain.

"That's not what he meant," Fred said, his voice pitched by shock.

Harry ignored them all. He made a show of looking down at the watch on his wrist and shut his hook as he rose to his feet.

Ron with Hermione scrambled to follow but they lost them in the crowd.

Hermione and Ron took their usual seats.

"Where is he?" Hermione whispered.

Ron's eyes scanned the room again and again.

Hermione elbowed him and pointed to the front of the class.

Ron felt as if he had been punched in the gut.

No one ever sat in the front row, but there he was, wild black hair bent over a book as Professor Binns began to drone on.

Harry sat unmoved, alone, and the room watched him, waiting for something.

Anything.

Harry turned a page of his book.

Ron sank back into his chair and shared a look with Hermione.

They both knew Harry was going to be mad at them.

Just as they knew that Harry had been in danger when Hedwig left before allowing Hermione to take the letter from her.

But really, how long could Harry hold a grudge for not letting him into the loop over the summer?

Ron was pretty sure Harry could carry a grudge for as long as he felt justified doing so. But he had at least thought he would be curious enough to integrate them.

Ron had made a mistake in the Triwizard Tournament, in doubting his friend.

But Harry had forgiven him for that and he had to be more hurt about everything else that had happened; after facing Voldemort, and his Death Eaters, and false Moody.

After watching Cedric Diggory die, after being tortured, after fighting Voldemort, and after almost dying again when he was supposed to be safe.

Ron and Hermione had talked about it. How Harry had been through all that then been forced back to live with his horrible Aunt and Uncle.

Harry had never precisely complained about them other than to lament going home to him. Ron knew Harry wasn't poor, but Ron had seen that house, seen how horrible living there must have been.

Harry had had bars on the window and where Harry looked half starved, his cousin had been rotund.

Ron didn't understand how any guardian could treat one son so well and treat Harry so poorly.

But Harry never really complained although he never spoke fondly of them either. Still… losing his cousin must have been tough and with no contact from anyone in the Order, including his best friends and godfather that wasn't telling him to stay safe and not doing anything; was it any wonder he had made a run away?

Bloody hell, before he went missing, there had been whispers that Harry was going to be accused of killing his own cousin.

But of course they couldn't have done, because Dudley Dursley hadn't really been murdered, he had had his soul sucked out and the attempts the muggles had made to 'revive' him and thrown his body into shock and ultimately killed him (as if electricity could bring back a soul; foolish muggles).

Still, Harry had a right to be angry, he just wished Harry knew that they were all still on his side.

Hermione couldn't stop watching Harry, couldn't stop thinking of all the horrible things he had been through and how angry he must be at them.

But the thing was, he didn't seem angry… well, he did, and he didn't.

Harry could be hot headed.

But right now, he was cold and his quips had become hardened barbs. She had never had him mad at her before and it made her feel so, so small.

She didn't know what to do, and she didn't know if Harry would ever be able to be happy again.

He seemed so alone—

"Harry!"

Hermione turned to watch a black haired Slytherin —who she had never seen before— run by her.

To Hermione's astonishment, the girl practically ran into Harry, who greeted her with a brilliant smile.

His voice was warm and genuine as swung his arm around her shoulders in a half hug as they walked down to the Dungeons, "Hey, Leta."

Hermione's jaw dropped, she had never seen Harry so casual with anyone before —let alone a girl— nor had she seen him look that… happy in a while.

Hermione wasn't the only one gawking.

Ron's eyes were so wide his eyes might have fallen out of his head.

Draco Malfoy looked much the same.

As they descended, Hermione noticed the other girls, from both Slytherin and Gryffindor doing double takes.

Harry had grown over the last year, but Hermione thought it had less to do with those few inches and more to do with the way he walked —not hunched down around himself as he often did as if trying to be invisible, hiding from those who watched him— but with shoulders back and his head held high. Even his stride was different and the open look of admiration he was giving the new girl…

Hermione had earned that look from Harry a few times, but there was something more to it. She had watched Harry pine over Cho Chang for a year, but he had remained self-conscious.

Whoever Harry had become, he was now was someone who gave the appearance of strength, self-confidence, and then—

Leta whispered something to Harry and he let out a laugh, a bright happy sound that seemed to fill the dungeons with an impression of sunlight and wind.

Every girl in earshot stared at Harry Potter, the famous kid, who had always been shy and antisocial, finally stepped up to maybe being the person the stories had made him out to be.

Hermione knew, of course, that Harry was one of the best people in the world. Sure, he didn't always apply himself to his studies, but he was incredibly talented and smart and clever and would put everyone's needs before his own.

And most of all; Harry was kind. He almost always saw the best in people, and he always, if given the opportunity, was willing to understand or help someone.

Still, this new confident Harry, clearly was going to attract admirers of his own.

Ginny was going to be pissed.

The weirdness did not stop there.

Harry hated Potions, he just did, which was sort of a shame because Harry could do magic with a cutting knife and he had an instinct for Potions if no one bothered him.

Like Professor Snape.

Or Ron.

Or Draco and his goons.

Or Neville blowing something up.

Or Hermione lecturing Ron and Neville on how to not blow things up.

Today, however, Harry seemed wholly amused with the entire class, sitting towards the front, on the Slytherin side.

With Leta.

The new girl in Slytherin whom Hermione decided she needed to know everything about. Given the glares the girl was getting from the other female Gryffindors present, Hermione knew she would have help in that effort. She was probably someone who transferred who had been homeschooled.

Snape glowered at Harry.

Harry smirked at the professor, leaning back in his seat and combing a hand through his hair, making him look like he had just walked off the Quidditch pitch.

Hermione kind of thought it made him look like a prat, but Lavender and Parvati giggled.

Hermione couldn't quite be sure, but she could have sworn that the temperature in the room dropped as Snape's nostrils flared as if Harry had just called him the most vulgar of names, or if he said something that had hit way too close to home.

And by the way Harry's smirk grew, he knew exactly what he had done to enrage Snape.

The class only got more bizarre from there.

The girl —Leta— seemed overly comfortable with Harry, and they worked shoulder to shoulder together as if they had been working with each other for years.

They weren't talking loudly, but they were the only ones talking as everyone eavesdropped on them.

It was the weirdest type of flirting, or maybe, they were merely joking around at Snape's expense as they narrated what they were doing, occasionally picking on each other. But because they were talking about the potion, Snape didn't tell them to shut up.

They talked about the properties of each ingredient.

How it mixed with other things.

How it was harvested, when it was best to harvest it for different Potions.

Hermione wondered when and how Harry had learned so much about Potion Theory. As for Leta… Leta might have been a genius.

Hermione couldn't even follow all the theories they were discussing. Harry, admittedly, asked more questions as they quizzed each other, while Leta answered and gave instructions, she had Harry do most of the cutting and preparing.

The strange thing was, Hermione learned more from eavesdropping on them than she ever had from Snape.

Also, listening to Harry talk, Hermione wasn't sure she had ever heard him happier or more comfortable with not just someone else, but with himself, with what he was saying and doing.

She had only ever seen him like that on a Quidditch pitch, or when he was in life or death circumstances.

When Harry laughed again, Hermione felt herself shrink a bit more.

Whoever this Leta girl was, she had probably only known Harry for a couple of weeks, yet even surrounded by other Slytherins, Harry was more comfortable with her than he had ever been with either Hermione or Ron.

She felt as if she had failed Harry, failed him more than she had believed she had this summer.

Ron wasn't surprised when Harry didn't show up to lunch.

Leta No-Last-Name didn't show up either.

Which seemed to get everyone, particularly the girls, talking.

No one knew a thing about Leta so she was either muggleborn or a foreigner, even if her accent made her sound like she was from one of the highborn Purebloods.

The only Leta anyone seemed to have heard of was Leta Lestrange, a Hogwarts student who had gone missing eighty years ago.

Ron ended up sitting with Neville during Divinations, and Trelawny seemed honestly devastated that Harry had dropped out of her class.

Ron felt her pain.

More than slightly put out, Trelawny gave them all gloomful predictions but nothing particularly graphic or creative.

Ron wasn't hopeful Harry would sit with him or Hermione in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

He was correct.

It was enough for him to wish Harry had been made prefect so he would have been forced to spend time with at least one of them.

Ron was so busy worrying about Harry he almost didn't notice Hermione raising her hand that the Professor tried admirably to avoid.

But finally, Umbridge had to call on her, "Yes, dear, did you have a question about the chapter."

"Not about the chapter, no," Hermione said.

Umbridge tried redirecting her, but Hermione Granger wasn't one to redirect.

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Umbridge raised her eyebrows, then said in a voice of determined sweetness, "Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."

"Well, I don't," Hermione replied bluntly."'There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

Everyone except Harry and Leta, who for some reason, remained reading their books, undeterred by the disruption.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

Harry laughed out loud.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

Harry flashed her a charming smile, "Of course not, Professor, I mean it isn't as if our first Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor was possessed by a malevolent spirit, followed by a charlatan who was willing to feed students to a basilisk, or even an escaped terrorist who was a fanatical devotee of a dark lord. But of course, you are right, those are such petty concerns, now that a representative from the Ministry is here, I don't think any of us will have to worry about our safety ever again."

There was a long silence. He was clearly being sarcastic, but no one could truly argue with him about the content, well aside from the last bit, but that would be counterproductive for the professor.

Umbridge must have realized that, because she said boldly, taking Harry's words at face value, "I am glad we understand each other, Mr. Potter."

Hermione's hand shot back up.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but—"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the "whole point" of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way."

Harry raised his hand.

Finally, Ron thought. He's going to act like himself.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge said with a smile that seemed more like a baring of teeth.

"I just wanted to agree with you, Professor Umbridge," Harry said peaceably.

At this point, Ron was pretty sure his jaw was going to become permanently unhinged.

Umbridge smiled and nodded for Harry to continue.

"Self-defence would only be needed in a society that was less civilised than our own. I mean, can anyone really think of a witch or wizard who would be so uncouth as to throw a hex, much less a jinx, or Merlin forbid, a curse, at someone younger than themselves. No, Hermione, Defence Theory is only useful for its historical, not practical, purposes."

Malfoy was giving Harry the side eye and Leta was smiling down at her book.

Hermione just stared at him as if he had grown an extra head.

Umbridge, realising she was losing control, said sharply, "Everyone, back to reading now."

Dean raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr—"

"Thomas, Dean Thomas. We were told that the Dark Lord had come back by Headmaster Dumbledore. And everyone knows Harry's muggle cousin was Kissed this summer—"

Umbridge interrupted, "Let me make a few things quite plain." She stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead; this is a lie."

There was another silence in which all eyes swivelled to Harry, including the professor's.

Harry shrugged at them all, as if to say, What do you want me to do?

Ron could have screamed.

"And your name is?" she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had risen.

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Professor Umbridge dismissively.

"Without ever practising them beforehand?" said Parvati incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"

Harry raised his hand.

Umbridge hesitated but nodded to him.

Ron wondered if she was just waiting for Harry to trip up and give her a reason to dock points or hand out a detention. Her pinched expression said plainly that she disliked him.

But Harry merely said, "Again, Professor, I must agree with you, Professor Umbridge. Everyone knows the best place to perform a spell for the first time is during a formal exam that may very well dictate our future careers and livelihoods. I think everyone should write home and tell their parents and guardians what a wonderful teacher the Ministry has sent. Finally, we have a professor who cares about our well-being.

"I certainly feel safe. Thank you, Professor Umbridge, for leaving your important job in the government to teach us. We are truly unworthy of your—" he paused dramatically as if trying to come up with something Umbridge had actually done, which on day one, was literally nothing. He glanced down at the book in front of him and finished with false sincerity, "reading selection."

Every student stared at him then to the professor.

There was no way Umbridge could have missed the sarcasm, but Harry had put her in a corner. What was she going to do? Argue with him about his tone?

Snape would have, but Snape had never tried being polite to students, Umbridge clearly wished to present herself as sincere and sweet.

Ron would bet on every galleon he didn't have that she was neither of those things.

"You are most welcome, Mr. Potter," she said before redirecting the conversation. "Now, if you would all turn to page five."

Ron waited for something to happen, waited for someone to say something.

Although Harry had been joking, his words had been more impactful than if he had shouted or argued with the professor.

They were students, they had no power here. The only thing they could do was write home and hope their parents had more sway over the government than they did.

When class was dismissed, Ron watched Harry and Leta be the first ones out the door, side by side as if it was them against the world.

Just as it had once been with himself, Hermione, and Harry.

"So much for the Golden Trio," Blaise Zabini said to Theodore Nott.

Ron's shoulders rounded a bit as a sombre Hermione joined him on his way to the great hall.

Ron had never imagined there would be a day where Harry would desert him. But as Sirius had warned them before they left for the start of term, Things at Hogwarts were changing.

AN: Thoughts, a jaguarundi, or feedback, pretty please?