Enjoying the mild fame from his association to Thaddeus Nott, Harry had a good week. Due to the small, magically binding oath he'd swore to the elder Nott to not speak of anything he'd overheard, he was also afforded an excuse to not explain this sudden connection to such a famed upper year in any trouble-inducing detail. Lucinda Nott was quite cross with Harry and Lucian for not being able to explain why her older brother was involved with them... and what her brother was involved with at all.

However, Thaddeus did not account for Miles Bletchley to have also been present at the Owlery. So there was a bit of information that escaped that oath, and Miles was able to hold onto his free will to spread that on. Not that he did: he was fairly frightened of Thaddeus.

Lucinda's brother had a reputation for being as dark and dangerous as their family was and was only a fourth year. He'd been in trouble in his second year and nearly expelled for fighting - which apparently everyone knew but Harry, because they all shared similar tutors. His sister, Lucinda, was fairly unconcerned with those rumours.

"Miles," she said at lunch once. "You love a good story, don't you? A villain or a hero! You're being such a child. He's my brother and there's nothing to be frightened of - unless you go spying on him for whatnot." Harry couldn't fully disagree. Miles had, from the first moment he'd known Harry's name, been very interested in the 'tale' of the Boy-Who-Lived. Miles loved a good tall tale. He loved the idea of adventure, but was rather fearful (in an excitable way) when he happened upon it.

Outside of this affair, it was still a school. Class was fairly uneventful - Harry was a dab hand at nearly everything, it seemed, except being humble. It was only just when people would ask him how, and he finds this to be quite stupid. Simply do it! Magic!

Professor McGonagall was very strict, but Harry even rather thought she liked him despite it - nothing like the snide, vague comments his own Head of House would make in Potions.

"Well done, Mr. Potter," she told him, which is practically gushing praise, when he got the matchstick-to-needle on the first try. "Ten points to Slytherin for excellent wand work and a keen ear in class."

But there were still people like Viola Richmond, who seemed hateful for no reason (at least no good reason, as Harry had never met them). Many of these students comprised of upper year students, even in his own House, who would make small comments that burrowed under the skin. The worst was, he really didn't think he was even meant to hear it. It was so... off-hand.

The half-blood spare Potter. Son of a mudblood. Small, weak thing... family's all messed up, his brother... the famous one for murder. After all, not all were against the Dark Lord Voldemort. Or more aptly, their parents weren't.

Luckily, his own year didn't seem so prone to these thoughts (excluding Richmond!). Lucian went as far as telling off Peregrine Derrick and Easton Avery - both second years and Derrick already on the Quidditch team - on a Thursday in the library. They'd been talking about how the Potter spare wasn't meant to be in Slytherin, and how it was proof that Hogwarts was falling apart under Dumbledore. The typical spiel, really, though Harry didn't know what Headmaster Dumbledore had to do with his Sorting.

"I don't know," Lucian said loudly from their table. "From where I'm sitting, I think you lot should be resorted." Peregrine Derrick actually stood up, fast, and made as if to come over and give Lucian what for. Instead, with Easton tugging at his robes, he settled for saying back,

"Ah - Bole, isn't it? No wonder you two hit it off," he said. "Mudborn," the boy spat.

On another note, Harry was having ill luck cornering Graham Montague - who hovered between prideful and sulky. He'd begun a hesitant friendship with Warrington and Flint, but avoided Harry as he was clearly quite tight with Lucian (who the boy was really avoiding). Harry didn't blame him, he thought if the two talked then Lucian may beat him up. He was still very much angry for whatever line of questioning had happened on the train.

"We were friends," Lucian explained in the barest of detail. "We grew up together." He shouldn't have questioned me, Lucian didn't add.

Betrayal was a hard thing to heal and all this amounted to was Harry still being in the dark about something... something to do with Luce. For the meantime he was worming his way in with Cassius instead of directly to Graham, and was finding much more luck. Cass wasn't a fan of Colin, and after Colin had spelled Harry's curtains to trip him one morning the two were compatriots in victimhood.

Having loads of brothers can make one quite awful, clearly. Which to some extent Harry understood, already at his limits with the one brother he had.

Things passed in terribly regular manner, very little opportunity for trouble, and Harry found himself dedicating a sickening amount of time to Potions study. Still, Professor Snape was determined to not be pleased by anything. Though he'd expected worse due to his parents' warning, it rankled. He'd even gotten to practicing brewing alone - and had promptly burnt the skin off Miles' forearm, turned his own lips a worrying shade of blue, and burnt a hole in one of the wood tables in the abandoned classrooms. All of this was an accident, of course, if that wasn't clear. And since brewing unsupervised was banned until sixth year (which was still required to take place within the potions labs), when going to Madam Pomfrey the boys thought up some of the worst lies to grace the halls of Hogwarts.

It was nearer to the end of September when the weather took a dramatic turn for the worse - the golden crisp autumn of Scotland was veering towards an unforgiving winter. The typical group were picking at their food on a late Saturday morning - in fact, the thirtieth, the last September day of the year. Reagan and Flora were arguing over a History of Magic essay which everyone was trying to block out. It was Saturday... it was no time for schoolwork, and the weather looked sopromising according enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. As these sunny days had become sparser, they became more coveted.

"Oh look, you've a letter back," warned Lucian.

"I hadn't noticed," Harry said, picking the envelope by one corner out of his porridge. The bird that had flung it down was long gone.

This was maybe the sixth or so letter from home, not including a short letter from Sirius directly that told him to be careful with Death Eater children but otherwise was very congratulatory. He even offered to get Harry a new Cleansweep that summer for the following year's tryouts. It was transparent, but Harry didn't say so, that Sirius wanted to prove he didn't care what House Harry was in or which team he would play for. Not that Harry wanted to even play for the House team.

Dear Harry, it began.

We're very glad to hear you're enjoying Hogwarts, still, and that the rest of the classes have posed no problem. No that we truly thought they would. And Professor Snape does indeed seem stayed by the fact you are a member of his House. You know, your mum is still cross she guessed Ravenclaw wrong (Archie is still terribly sad it wasn't Gryffindor - he's already got his eye on the red and gold).

We'll see if we can find anything on that Bryson-Keller theory - but I hate to say that if you haven't found anything more in the Hogwarts library, it's unlikely we'll find anything. Transfiguration was your dad's favourite class and best by far, but he was much more for the practical than the readings.

Harry thought to himself perhaps, unless the books he wanted were in the mysterious and alluring Restricted Section. But he wasn't entirely stupid. He had heard enough of what those books could do to an unsuspecting or not-trained-enough wizard, and would unfortunately have to quell his interest in the hidden books until later.

Archie misses you! You should write him.

This was a bit of a parental command, more like. Harry bit back a sigh.

"You know," Miles says conversationally. "I reckon if you asked you could get a Restricted Section pass. You've charmed the pants off McGonagall, at the very least."

"I don't think McGonagall would do that," Harry said. "And I'm not sure I feel like picking up the wrong book and going permanently blind, no matter how tempting. Which is exactly why she won't give a pass to a first year. And Miles? Stop reading over my shoulder."

"You're the one that opened it at breakfast," he shrugged and reached over for more sausages.

Harry was starting to see why snoopy people were so terribly annoying, and pushing his porridge away - already tainted by the crash landing letter from his parents.

The letter ended similar to the rest of them: wishing him well, saying they knew he would do well, and the reassurances that if there were any problems in Slytherin because of his family (his brother, his Auror father, his muggleborn mum) that he could go to a Professor about it anytime. There was ' no shame in asking for help '. Except there was, and Harry also read between the lines of ' don't bother asking Snape '. Not that he would, even though he's Head of House, but Harry wouldn't be asking anyone for help just because of stories about his family. It was ancient history, and it wasn't him. HE was his own person.

It was easy to reconcile when his own dormitory lacked this political element.

Colin launched some beans at Cassius, which unfortunately was spotted by McGonagall. He got two detentions clipping Venomous Tentacula under Sprout's supervision, but the others worried this wouldn't dampen his penchant for trouble making - it might end up inspiring, according to the look of slight awe on Colin's face while McGonagall prescribed him that.

After seeing Colin out on the grounds heavily invested in 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi, the boys began to discuss this worrying new development on the way out of lunch. The morning had been spent wading into the Black Lake, which was icier than ever as the seasons shifted. But under the weak sun the students braved each other as far as they could go off the shores from the greenhouses. A couple elder students, maybe paired with Warming Charms or whatnot, dove from the boathouse dock across the viaduct, also drawn out by the clear skies.

Harry and Lucian had found a more worthy opponent in Peregrine Derrick since that Thursday in the library, some weeks ago - after all he wasn't a girl, no matter how awful Viola Richmond was, they couldn't absolutely hammy her the way they could against Peregrine. Inspired by the most truthful rumours about what they did with Viola, Lucian and Harry tag teamed the older boy - Harry could hold his breath very long underwater, and Derrick had screamed - certain it was a grindylow's spindly fingers wrapping around his ankles.

All in all, a lovely morning, despite Derrick and his friend Avery trying to drown him back in retaliation.

The afternoon plans of trying to break into greenhouse five were interrupted by Lucinda Nott running after them, stopping Harry in his tracks by grabbing his robe sleeve. "You," she said crossly. "I've got something for you, because apparently I'm an owl."

"Cheers," Harry said, taking a carefully folded parchment out of her hand.

"What's it say, then?" She asked. "I couldn't unfold it, it kept biting me - must be charmed for only certain people to read - " Harry leaned back from her.

"Then you're not meant to read it," he guessed.

"It's from my brother," she protested.

"Ask him then," Lucian said.

"Come on," Lucinda said.

"No," Lucian very maturely stuck his tongue out at her. They refused to even open it in her presence, fearing the shadowy presence of Thaddeus which lingered over the whole exchange. Once his sister had flounced off irritably, Harry began to unfold.

The note read as follows:

You have been sworn to secrecy on the words in the dorm... but if you want to know more, take a look into the book bag of Neriani Shafiq. If you're still curious, come see me and I'll give you an answer in exchange. She tends to leave her things about in the commons, easy pickings.

"Exchange for what," Lucian murmured. "An answer in exchange for what? What could he want?"

"Who cares," Miles said. "Don't do looking about that girl's stuff. She's an upper year too - fifth year, I think. I really don' t think we should get any more involved." He looked right at Harry. "He already hexed you and made you swear a secrecy oath, there's no way this means any good."

"Right," Harry, who was quite curious, said slowly. "But what happens if I do say no?"

"Nothing," Miles said uncertainly.

"Or something," Harry thinks aloud. "I imagine saying no to Thaddeus Nott isn't too bright either..."

"Cool," Lucian said. "So we're on a mission, are we?"

Miles was gnawing the inside of his cheek but was also alight with energy. "He just said to look," Harry said. "That's nothing."

Thaddeus' interesting note couldn't have come on a better afternoon, and this was clearly no mistake.

It was surprisingly good weather all day, and not to be wasted - thusly everyone would definitely be outside. It was prime time, so to speak, to carry out Thaddeus' strange bidding. Suggestion? Harry wasn't able to parse out what exactly Thaddeus had him looking for - yet naturally Lucian and Miles were right behind him for it. Even though one was more hesitant than the other.

Trooping down back into the dungeons on such a day was a slight travesty, and Miles was adding his excitable, nervous commentary to the trip back. "I don't want my knees to be reversed - do you know there's a spell to wrap your intestines around like bows inside your stomach - or the one that makes you cough up your lungs, literally - "

"Afternoon," came a smooth, awfully familiar voice. It was Professor Snape, emerging from the stairs. Miles stopped talking with his mouth open, Lucian and Harry exchanged a fervent look. It was beyond hope that Snape hadn't heard Miles, and Harry dearly didn't want to be sharing a detention with Colin Cresswell and those Venomous Tentacula. It sounded a recipe for disaster... the only hope was Snape's unwillingness to dock points from his own House. But right now, at the mouth of the dungeons, there was no other House to take the fall for the Professor's sharp tongue.

Snape's face twisted into something unrecognisable; if Harry were more gullible he'd have called it a smile. Snape didn't do those.

"And why are we inside, on such a warm afternoon?"

It took all of Harry's strength not to respond snidely, 'well I don't know why you are, sir...', but he managed it.

"One may think you are, up to something," Snape said delicately. Eyes darting between the three boys, he stood between them and the dungeons. It was not an avoidable question.

"No, sir," Miles said obediently, thinking quickly. "We were just... getting my gobstones set, sir."

"A task that requires three sets of hands, naturally," Snape said drily. Harry felt his dark eyes bore a hole into Harry's skull. "A task that would have nothing to do with a blossoming antagonism with one of my second years, is that right?"

Each eleven year old affected a look of confusion - to be fair, the Professor could be referencing a few things. But most thankfully it didn't sound Nott-related. Which would be eerie if he knew of that. Snape raised a disbelieving brow.

"Such innocence," he said. "Yet I heard the most curious tale from Mr. Derrick... suspicions... " Harry nearly rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe the older boy went and tattled when all they did was give him a scare for being a prat.

"Derrick's a foul liar," exclaimed Lucian.

Snape whipped his head to face him, "Do not take that tone with me, Mr. Bole, or you shall not enjoy the consequence."

"Sorry, sir - I meant, he's prone to making things up, sir."

Snape looked briefly to the ceiling, but Harry found nothing up there to catch his attention. Once he looked down again, he sniffed. "We shall see. Hurry on."

They did as bid, cheerful that Snape was not omnipotent as to know that they were on their way to carry out Thaddeus' plots.