The first day of term was always something that Harry had a bit of a tragic relationship with. It was very much a love/hate sort of thing. On the one hand, Harry loved being back at Hogwarts and, once he had got the stupid school song out of his head, he'd be happy as a pig in muck, casting spells and brewing potions and looking forward to getting back on his broom for a few laps around the Quidditch pitch.

But on the flipside of the first day coin was the fact that Harry now had to get up at a painfully early time. For the two months of the holidays he had been at leisure to simply drag his carcass out of bed at whatever hour of the afternoon he chose, then loll around for equally as lengthy a time until he found something to occupy himself. Such pleasures were now replaced by breakfast, and the need to collect timetables, and then attend the classes listed upon them.

This particular first morning, however, brought a few new miseries that left Harry in a very sour mood.

The first one was wholly expected. The taunts of the Slytherins had begun the moment Harry stepped down from the Hogwarts Express, and therein proceeded to follow him around the school like a fart under a blanket, only more unpleasant. Draco Malfoy was, predictably, the chief architect of Harry's tormenting, and despite Fred and George Weasley's attempts to cheer him up, by pointing out that Draco had sprinted away from the Dementors to cower in their carriage on the train, Harry's mood darkened whenever he saw a flash of green and silver. Or worse, a shock of white-blonde hair complete with a devious little cackle.

The second cause of Harry's first day chagrin came when he arrived for breakfast that morning. After passing a group of Slytherins near the door, who all performed exaggerated swooning fits as Harry walked by them, he slumped down next to Neville and Dean at the Gryffindor table and began mutinously stabbing random bits of pork, namely from the platters of sausage and bacon that were within reach of his angry knife.

"Malfoy still getting to you?" Neville quirked, as Harry decapitated a particularly juicy Cumberland. "Or did you turn Vegan over the Summer and this is your subtle way of protesting about a lack of soya on the table?"

"Very funny," Harry hissed, stuffing the sausage into his gritted teeth just to make a point. "I'm going to get him back somehow. I swear to Merlin. I don't know how yet, but just watch this space!"

"That's the spirit," Neville guffawed. "But before you start getting all murderous for Malfoy, you might want to hitch those puppy-dog eyes back on for a bit. There's a note here for you from McGonagall. She wants to see you before first lesson."

"What for?" Harry asked, grabbing the note as Neville handed it to him.

"Dunno, she didn't tell me," Neville replied.

"Ooh, are you in trouble already, Harry?" Dean teased. "Maybe she thinks you cheated to get the first House Points before term even started."

"Maybe," Harry thought, glancing out of the Great Hall to the large contraption that collated the House Points in the Entrance Hall. Some people were stopping by as they passed, all probably wondering the same thing ... how had Gryffindor managed to get ten points already, when all that had happened so far was the Sorting and Welcome Back Feast? "I didn't cheat, though. Nev will tell you ... he was there."

"You don't need to convince me, Harry," Dean told him, supportively. "I just wish you'd been in my carriage. I had to share with Justin Finch-Fletchley and that Colin Creevey kid, and after the Dementor came they cried all the way to Hogsmeade, even after Professor Lupin gave us all chocolate. My ears will be ringing with their tinny sobs from now till Halloween!"

Harry finished his breakfast and trudged out of the Great Hall, scowling at Pansy Parkinson who taunted him that the Dementors were coming and did a frenzied impression of what Harry assumed was a cartoon ghost, for it was nothing like the Dementor she'd likely intended. From there, Harry made his way up the staircases towards Gryffindor Tower, turning away from the Common Room and heading towards Professor McGonagall's office, where he knocked and waited and wondered what this was all about.

"No need to look so alarmed, Harry," Professor McGonagall told him as she bade him into her office. "I just wanted a quick chat, that's all."

"About what?" Harry asked as he sat down.

"I understand you had something of a panic attack on the train yesterday," Professor McGonagall began, a light tug threatening the corners of her pursed lips. "Professor Snape told me all about it, and we are both very concerned for you!"

"This had better be a joke, Auntie Min!" Harry scowled, crossly. "And you'd better get to the punchline very quickly, or I might have to start calling you 'Professor' again!"

Professor McGonagall tinkled out a brief laugh. "Lighten up, Harry. Professor Lupin told me all about the incident on the train and I was very impressed with how you reacted to the situation. So was he, as it happens, and he is very enthused to be teaching you this year. You know, I understand, that Remus is very old friend of your father and Sirius?"

"Yeah, Dad told me all about it over the Summer," Harry confirmed. "There were four of them, he said ... called themselves The Marauders. Funky name, but it makes them sound like delinquents!"

"And they lived up to that billing!" Professor McGonagall chuckled. "They were a nightmare at times, in a loveable roguish sort of way."

"Dad didn't speak much about the other member, though, that Peter Pettigrew guy," Harry went on. "He was the one who died, wasn't he? Killed by Voldemort for not giving up the secret of where my parents were hiding, before they decided to take the fight to him?"

Professor McGonagall nodded, sadly. "It was very brave of Peter, to protect you and your parents as he did. I believe his death was ultimately what stirred Lily and James to action. They didn't want anyone else to suffer on their behalf, and they knew that You-Know-Who wouldn't stop coming for them until either one of them was vanquished. Poor Peter ... he was always the runt of the litter, if you like. Socially awkward, nothing like as talented as the others in that group, a little bit like the youngest Mister Weasley, I suppose."

"I see he managed to get a new wand after," Harry observed. "Did he get the money from the Hogwarts Hardship Fund?"

"He did," Professor McGonagall confirmed. "And I believe that the Headmaster may have hinted that it was only down to the generosity of a certain young wizard that there was such an excess available. I must attribute Mister Weasley taking pains to be more pleasant to you as his way of saying thank you, as I don't think he has yet learned the humility to say the words to your face."

"I doubt he ever will," Harry replied, gravely. "He has such a chip on his shoulder that if you pulled it off and stuck it in a frying pan you could feed half the school for the rest of the year!"

McGonagall didn't laugh at Harry's quip, but her eyes did flash in a display of mirth.

"Was that all you wanted to see me about?" Harry continued. "Had you been thinking up that gag about Snape all night and couldn't wait any longer to use it on me?"

"No, I have another reason, though I did genuinely want to check how you were," Minerva replied. "I am planning to write to your mother to tell her how well you did on the train, and I know she will only be worried about your health when she knows what happened. This way I can tell her that you are fine, and still as grumpy as ever!"

"Thanks, Auntie Min!" Harry snickered, rolling his eyes at his former legal guardian. "So, what else did you want to see me about?"

"This reason isn't so much to do with you, Harry ... it concerns Miss Granger."

Harry tautened up in a flash. "What about her? Have you heard from her? Is she alright?"

Minerva raised a hand to halt Harry before he tangented off into a wild rant. "No, I have not heard from Miss Granger. This has more to do with the timetable request you submitted on her behalf."

"Oh, right," Harry breathed, relaxing but disappointed all at the same time. "If this is about the Music Club sign up, I didn't put down which instrument she plays on the form because I think she wants to learn one. Either that or she's just joining to sing. She's really quite a good singer, Auntie Min. I've heard her. She has a nice voice, probably the nicest I've ever heard. It's my favourite, anyway."

Minerva smiled fondly, knowingly, as Harry continued to gush about Hermione's vocal talents. "No, this isn't about the society sign-up, Harry."

"Well, what then?"

"It is about her class requests," Minerva clarified. "As you know, Harry, all Third-Year students were requested over the Summer to make a choice of four elective classes for the next two years, in addition to the four core classes you are required to continue with."

"Yeah, I know," Harry grumbled. "I wanted to drop Potions, but my Dad told me I just have to stick it out. Sirius suggested I just stick old Snape's head in a boiling hot cauldron if he bothers me too much. I have a lot of time for that idea, you know!"

"As much as I'm sure you see the merits of boiling our Potions Master's head in his own dungeon, I'm afraid I have to side with your father on this topic ... which is bizarre enough in and of itself!" Minerva quirked. "You must continue with Potions, along with Charms, Defence Against The Dark Arts and, of course, my own noble subject of Transfiguration."

"You know I'd never drop your class, Auntie Min!" Harry grinned. "You're worth a couple of hundred free House Points a year, after all!"

"I give out points on merit, Harry, not on personal preference," Minerva replied, her eyes sparkling. "Well, mostly."

Harry grinned at that. "Don't worry, Auntie Min, I wont tell anyone that you love me best!"

"Who said anything about you?" Minerva teased, lightly. "I'll have you know that I am far fonder of Miss Granger than you."

"No, Auntie Min ... I don't think anyone is fonder of Hermione than me," Harry frowned a little in his misunderstanding.

"I meant that I have a lot more time for her as a pupil, Harry," Minerva replied with a wry smile.

"Oh ... right, yeah," Harry blushed. "Well, she is the best in the year. Didn't beat me by much, but second place in the first loser, isn't it? But it is Hermione ... brightest witch of the age and all that. It's no shame finishing runner-up to someone so special and clever."

"And very noble of you to say so," Minerva smiled. "Though despite her obvious talents, I still wanted to talk to you about this elective request you gave to me."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Your own classes are fine," Minerva began. "Ancient Runes, Alchemy, Magical Theory, though I must admit Care Of Magical Creatures is a surprise choice."

"It's only because of Hagrid, to give him a bit of support, you know," Harry explained. "He bought me and Hermione copies of that horrendous Monster Book of Monsters so we thought we'd better take the class. Now we know why ... as he's teaching it. About that, Auntie Min ... will we have to write essays for it, as I'm not entirely sure that Hagrid can read or write? I'd hate to lose marks for correct spelling, just because Hagrid spells things in his, er, unique way."

"Care Of Magical Creatures is very much a hands-on, vocational type of subject," Minerva reassured him. "I am reasonably sure that Hagrid wont want to read and mark essays any more than you would wish to write them."

"Sounds like a freebie couple of years then! Glad I signed up!"

"I still expect you to work hard in the class, Harry," Minerva admonished, sternly. "If I hear from Hagrid that you have been slacking ..."

"I was kidding, Auntie Min! Jeez!" Harry chortled. "So, you still haven't told me the problem with the timetables."

"The issue lies in Miss Granger's choices," Minerva went on, still frowning at Harry. "For she has selected seven electives, rather than the required four."

"I know," Harry nodded. "I think she would have signed up for all twelve elective classes if she could have."

"Well surely you must see the problem, here?" Minerva pressed. "Miss Granger has chosen three more classes than necessary ... or possible. Timetable scheduling means there would be clashes say, between Arithmancy and Muggle Studies on a Monday morning."

"Hermione expected that, but she was very keen to take both those classes," Harry told Minerva, vigorously. "She has a thing for numbers ... don't ask me why, I'm borderline terrified of them, I think I might have that number dyslexia thing that some people get ... and she also wanted to do Muggle Studies, to get an insight into how Muggles view magic. I don't get that either, as most Muggles don't know anything about magic, besides seeing rabbits getting pulled out of hats at kid's parties, or in shows in Las Vegas casino lounges, do they?"

"Muggle Studies is more concerned with how the magical community views the Muggle world," Minerva clarified, patiently. "It is a useful study, especially for those interested in working in Magic/Muggle Relations or associated disciplines."

"Oh yeah, I suppose," Harry sniffed. "Didn't really think about it like that."

"Anyway, this does nothing to clear up the issue with Miss Granger's elective choices," Minerva went on. "Now, ordinarily, I would insist that a student whittle down their selection to just the four requested subjects."

"Ordinarily?" Harry queried, eyebrow raised.

"Ordinarily," Minerva parroted. "But as this is Miss Granger we are talking about ... quite possibly the most exceptional young witch I have ever seen pass through these halls ... there may be a way to bend the rules for her."

"How's that?" Harry guffawed. "By bending time so she can reach all her classes?"

"Actually ... yes."

Harry blinked as his mouth fell open. "You can bend time? How?"

"Not bend, Harry, so much as repeat," Minerva replied, mysteriously. "By use of one of these."

Minerva stood and crossed to a glass cabinet in the corner of the room. Harry had always been fascinated by what might be inside, because Minerva had enchanted the glass to swirl with dark grey smoke, thus concealing the contents stored behind it. She opened it now, but blocked Harry's view. When she turned, however, the object she offered to him was more than enough to satiate his curiosity.

"What is this?" Harry hushed.

For he was holding a necklace of sorts, made of two interconnecting gold bangles, densely engraved with ancient runes around the thick edges. It looked like a wheel within a wheel, held on a long, fine, golden chain, and between the wheels was hanging a sparkling silver hourglass full of brilliant white sand.

"This is beautiful, Auntie Min!" Harry whispered, reverently. "But what is it?"

"That, Harry, is my Time-Turner," Minerva explained with a wide grin. "My late husband gave it to me on our wedding day ... his symbolic, and very soppy, way of saying that our love had all the time in the world. I do miss my dear Angus."

Harry looked up startled. "You were married? You never said!"

"You never asked," Minerva smiled back, shrewdly. "Another time I will tell you all about it. But, for now, let us stay on track."

"So, this turns time, I'm guessing?" Harry asked, to which Minerva nodded the affirmative. "How?"

"Simply by turning the hourglass and concentrating your magic," Minerva explained. "Dials on the side of the bangles can change the setting of time scale that you wish to use, then one turn of the hourglass equals one unit to go back ... an hour, a day, a century, etc."

"I see," Harry nodded. "Have you ever used it?"

"Only a handful of times, just to test it out when I first had it. I prefer to live in the present, rather than dwell on the past. I see it mostly as simply a fine piece of costume jewellery."

"So why are you giving this to me?" Harry asked. "And what's it got to do with Hermione's timetable?"

"Well, I eventually intend to give it to her," Minerva continued. "If she wishes to try and attend all these classes at once, this is the method she can use to achieve it. I have no doubt the experiment will not last more than a year. The poor girl will soon get exhausted, especially when she attempts the dense and complex homework required for things like Arithmancy. But Miss Granger strikes me as a sort that will not be satisfied until she tries, and this admirable determination should be encouraged, if only to teach the valuable lesson of not over-stretching oneself."

"That sounds like a pretty cruel scheme," Harry smirked. "But I think I get the point ... better to learn for yourself than to be dictated to by someone else. So where do I fit in to this wicked little learning tool?"

"Miss Granger is yet to return to us," Minerva pointed out, sending a painful spike right into Harry's heart. He really did miss her more than could be healthy. "And these early foundation classes are vital to providing the groundwork for the rest of the year. Not only would she be disappointed to miss them, but it would also be very difficult for her to catch up, especially as we have no idea as to when she will rejoin the school."

"And this involves me ... how?"

"I am sure, Harry, that you would want to help Miss Granger if you could," Minerva ploughed on. Harry nodded that of course he would. "So, with that in mind, my proposal is to give you the Time-Turner for now, so that you can attend the classes in Miss Granger's stead, at least until she returns to Hogwarts."

Harry baulked at that. "You want me to sit twice as many classes as I need to? Have double the amount of homework? That hardly seems fair."

"You would not be sitting the classes, merely attending them," Minerva cleared up. "And any homework assignments must be considered null and void until Miss Granger is here to complete them herself."

"Okay, but wont people notice me sat in the class and doing no work?"

"I believe you have, in your possession, an Invisibility Cloak?" Minerva quirked. "The first rule of using a Time-Turner is that you must-not-be-seen ... being invisible is vital to achieving that, and your Cloak provides the perfect method."

"Okay, I'm onside with that idea, but what about the content of the lessons?" Harry asked. "How will Hermione know what went on in them?"

"This is where your attendance in the class is key," Minerva told him. "For once you have observed the lesson, you can extract your memory to be viewed later ... by use of one of these."

Minerva reached back into the glass-fronted cabinet and withdrew a deep bowl made from shiny black onyx. This, like the Time-Turner, was intricately engraved around the rim with ancient runes and other symbols that Harry didn't recognise. The bowl itself seemed full of more of the swirly grey mist that was present in the cabinet glass.

"This is a Pensieve," Minerva explained. "An enchanted device used to view memories. Once extracted from the brain, the memory is deposited into the bowl, the user then places his or her head inside and is drawn into the memory, to relive it as though they were there as an outside entity. Very handy tool for analysing confusing memories or delicate situations."

"Wow. Is this the one Hermione used, when you locked her up in here last year?" Harry asked.

"Miss Granger was isolated for her own safety," Minerva frowned. "But yes, this was the Pensieve she used."

"So, just so I've got this straight," Harry began. "You want me to take this Time-Turner, go to my own classes, then go back in time under my Invisibility Cloak to attend the classes Hermione wants to take, then put the memories of them into vials so that she can sit the classes themselves when she gets back? Is that about right?"

"It seems to be a fairly complete summary, yes."

"One question ... when am I supposed to sleep?" Harry cried, incredulously. "I told Hermione she was a lunatic for attempting so many subjects, now you're asking me to? I'll be knackered!"

"You would not be doing it for me, or even yourself ... but for her," Minerva pointed out, persuasively. "You must know how pleased she will be, when she finds out that you have made such a sacrifice for her?"

"That is such an unfair bribe!" Harry huffed. He crossed his arms brusquely. "Okay, fine ... I'll do it. But I want lots of coffee on standby, and special dispensation to hand my homework in late when I turn into a sleep-deprived zombie!"

"I will consent to provide you with coffee," Minerva quirked, that grin pulling on her mouth again. "This is a very good thing that you are doing, Harry. Hermione will be ever so happy with you."

It was Minerva's use of Hermione's first name that evaporated all of Harry's, admittedly weak, protests to this plan. Not to mention the idea of making her happy, which had always been the strongest inducement known to Harry. Aside from the impending tiredness, he didn't really mind if he was honest. There would be no extra workload, and some of those other classes did sound really interesting. At least he'd be able to test out if they were now, in case he decided to switch mid-term or something.

"Okay, what do we do?" Harry asked. "I suppose you'd better teach me how to pull out my own memories. Give it a week and I'll probably be getting rid of today's ... to try and forget that I ever agreed to any of this madness!"

By the end of the first week back at Hogwarts, Harry was reasonably sure that his brain had melted. It felt that way in any case. It was hard enough trying to remember things for his own classes, and Harry soon became convinced that he'd forgotten everything he'd learned in the past two years of magical schooling, as his foggy mind struggled to dredge up even the simplest of spells or potion ingredients. And when he tried to remember any of the new things he was being taught, Harry tended, more often than not, to draw a blank.

At this rate, Harry fancied that he'd be using the Pensieve to relive his own lesson memories, let alone giving it to Hermione to view the records of the classes he was trying not to sleep through in her place.

At least on Saturday, Marici started speaking to him again. Harry hadn't been able to resize her at all, what with spending most of his time crouched under his Invisibility Cloak in some crowded classroom or another, and this made her very cross and pouty with him. But the weekend allowed for a break into the vast grounds of Hogwarts, particularly on the secluded far side of the Great Lake, where Harry could rest out of sight with his back-to-size lioness dæmon, and watch as she frolicked merrily in the cool shallows of the water.

Sunday morning brought with it some unexpected, and rather worrying, extra-curricular news. Harry was sat with Neville and Lavender Brown at breakfast, having just swerved to avoid yet another Slytherin impersonation of his fainting fit. In truth, only Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle seemed interested in it anymore. Most of the other students were now practically fainting, themselves, under the weight of their own first-week-back homework assignments to really have a care to tease Harry about his unhappy meeting with a Dementor.

But Dementors were still the subject of breakfast conversation ... for the Daily Prophet was reporting that during their absence from their normal guard duties of the wizard prison, Azkaban, to harass the children on the Hogwarts Express, a break-out was staged by person or persons unknown ... and the whole terrified country was talking about it.

"They targeted a maximum security block," Neville was telling them. "One where the worst prisoners are kept. Dark witches and wizards, former supporters of You-Know-Who, that sort of scum. A few were busted out in the break-in, so now they are on the run."

"Who broke them out though?" Lavender asked anxiously. "And why?"

"Who knows, but stuff like this always gives people the willies that You-Know-Who might be coming back," Neville replied, darkly. "Most people in the know don't really believe he died, you know ... my Gran always told me that there wasn't enough life left in him to be killed. So when Dark stuff happens, they think it's him. And after what's gone on in this place for the last two years, who can blame them?"

Harry shuddered slightly at the notion. "So do we know who got spirited out? Did the Prophet give names?"

"The worst one was a witch called Bellatrix Lestrange," Neville replied. "I'm sure I've heard the name before, but when I asked my Mum and Dad about it, they wouldn't tell me who she was. They totally shut me down, so I can only guess that it means she's bad news."

"And now she's running loose around the country!" Lavender squeaked frightfully, casting worried glances towards the door, as if expecting Lestrange to burst through it at any minute.

"I wouldn't worry, Lav," Neville told her reassuringly. "I'm sure we're quite safe. That witch can have no reason to target us here ..."

Just then a handful of owls flew in from the vaulted arch of the main door. The morning influx had already happened, so these new arrivals drew plenty of attention from around the room. One of the owls was so old and decrepit that Harry was amazed it could even fly. It fluttered tiredly around the Gryffindor table a moment, before crash-landing in front of Ron and Ginny Weasley, knocking the full jug of cranberry juice all over the latter, staining her white t-shirt in fetching splodges of scarlet.

"Oh, Errol!" Ginny squealed shrilly, jumping up as the juice spread rapidly over the tablecloth and her top. She caught Harry's eye, blushed redder than either her hair or the spilled juice, then hurried away from the Great Hall to change.

Neville looked over with a deeply amused smirk. "Now that's what I call second-class post!"

"Nev! You're terrible!" Lavender giggled, as they all watched Ron try to revive his ancient owl with a saucer of water.

Then Harry's attention was drawn to another owl overhead. Now he wasn't expecting a visit from Hedwig, as she'd already been in that morning to steal some of his toast and nip affectionately at his ear. But this other owl was making a beeline for him ... and his heart began to pump rapidly as it swooped down and hopped onto the table in front of him.

For he'd know that coal-black plumage and those amber eyes anywhere.

"Pantalaimon!" Harry hushed in awed shock. He wished he knew how to cast a Privacy Charm, desperate to hear what Lyra's dæmon wanted to say ... but luckily he had Marici in his pocket to perform some dæmon chatting in his place.

"Harry!" Marici cried excitedly in his mind. "Pan has some good news!"

"What? What is it?" Harry thought back quickly, his heart thumping rapidly in his neck. Harry rolled his jaw as he thought about at that, considering how strange it was that it was always his heart that responded to Hermione. That probably meant something important, but he was too eager to hear the news that Pantalaimon had brought to really pay much attention to it.

Harry fidgeted impatiently in his seat, drawing odd looks from Neville and Lavender who, as far as they were concerned, could only see him bobbing up and down like a spring-loaded tiger waiting to pounce, as the dæmons talked away inside his head. They probably thought that he was going mental, or something.

"Hermione has sent Pan with a letter for you," Marici thought to Harry. "Take it and we'll go somewhere private to read it."

"Good idea!" Harry nodded, or his mind did. Sort of ... this was all very dizzying.

Harry unhooked the envelope from around Pantalaimon's leg and slid it into his robes and out of sight. Message delivered, Pantalaimon took flight again, circled Harry as close as another person's dæmon dared to, then soared out through an open window. Harry sat back, honestly a little stunned, and tried to compose himself. Lavender, who seemed perturbed by Harry's odd behaviour, left the table to go and meet up with Parvati. Neville turned to Harry as soon as she was out of earshot.

"What was that all about?" he demanded.

"That wasn't a normal owl, Nev," Harry whispered. "That was a dæmon!"

"I worked that much out myself," Neville quirked back. "But who's was it ... and what did it want?"

"That was Pantalaimon, and he belongs to Lyra ... Hermione's, well, other mother," Harry replied cryptically. "And he brought me a message from her by the looks of things."

"Is she coming home?" Neville asked. "Is that what the letter's about?"

"Maybe, I don't know," Harry mumbled. Then he leaned in, conspiratorially close. "Look, Nev, I haven't been entirely honest with you about Hermione."

"So you have been snogging her! I knew it!" Neville whooped triumphantly. "Ron owes me five Galleons ... wait, do you think Ron even has five Galleons?"

"Probably not, his family aren't the wealthiest, are they?" Harry considered. Then he turned to Neville with a scandalised expression "But, hang on a minute ... are you betting with Ron that I'll snog Hermione at some point?"

"No ... well, not just with Ron, anyway ... Dean and Seamus are in on it, too! It's just a friendly wager between dorm-mates," Neville grinned smugly. "Actually, I think it technically qualifies as an accumulator, you know."

"And why's that?"

"Because the bet is invalid if you don't get the dates, times and kiss-type right," Neville sniggered. "It's sort of like Harry and Hermione Cluedo: The Snogging Edition. So, you could have a bet like, say, 'Harry and Hermione, in the library at midday on a Saturday, with tongues'. That's the idea, anyway. But you aren't allowed to play, as you have insider knowledge, so it wouldn't be fair!"

"What!" Harry shrieked, colouring crossly. "You're doing what!"

"Calm down, Harry!" Neville hooted out. "I'm just kidding with you!"

"You'd better be," Harry fumed. "Betting on me and Hermione ... well, you know ... that's down right immoral, that is!"

"Don't worry, Harry, there is no Snogging Cluedo going on," Neville reassured him. Then he smirked wickedly. "After all ... we'd have no way to police it, so how would we confirm the details!"

"Neville ..." Harry grumbled, warningly.

"Joking, Harry! Merlin you're wound tight today!" Neville chuckled. "Teasing you about Hermione really sets you on edge, doesn't it?"

"Then don't do it!" Harry snapped. "Listen, I did want to talk to you seriously about Hermione ... but it's got nothing to do with all that nonsense you've been going on about. No-one is kissing anyone ... but I'm starting to think that maybe you can kiss my bum, and I'll go and share my secrets with someone else! Someone who isn't a complete gimp!"

Neville snickered deeply again. "Look, I'm sorry, Harry. There're no bets going on, honest. I was just winding you up. But ... and don't jump down my throat at this ... why haven't you kissed Hermione yet? I'm sure she wants you to ... and, before you say it, that thing in the Chamber of Secrets last year totally doesn't count!"

Harry trembled unexpectedly at Neville's words. Was he right? Did Hermione want Harry to kiss her? And if so ... why? She'd never said that she did, so how was Harry supposed to know? And how come Neville seemed all clued up about this when Harry didn't have a inkling himself? This was confusing, and worrying, and Harry didn't have time to think about it right now. Time ... perhaps that's what he needed! Maybe he'd whip out the trusty Time-Turner later and have a proper think about all this ... three years would be about right, that should give him enough time to work out just what the hell was going on in his topsy-turvy world these days. Merlin ... who knew that being a teenager would make everything so warped all of a sudden?

"Look, just forget about all this snogging stuff for a minute, will you?" Harry begged, somewhat faintly. "If you still want to be my right-hand man ... and be part of all my proper secrets about Hermione ... then shut up about me kissing her and listen to me."

Neville sobered up in a second. "Oh! Is that what this is all about? Was the dying Granny just a cover story to fool Ron, then?"

"Him and everyone else," Harry muttered lowly. "She's not in Australia, Nev ... she's not even in this world. I want to be able to talk to you about it, I need to, but I cant if you're going to be all dickish and keep going on about all this snogging silliness."

"Sorry, Harry, truly," Neville replied, suitably chastened. "I want in on this secret. I meant what I said last year ... you can trust me, Harry. I want to know all I can about this, because Mum and Dad haven't told me very much at all about what happened to them in that world, or how they even ended up being there in the first place, and I'm pretty sure they are hiding things from me about it. I'm hoping that maybe I can find out stuff from you and Hermione instead. So, I promise ... no more teasing."

"Good ... and thanks," Harry grinned, shyly. "Because I'm finding that confusing enough as it is, without you all going on at me about it!"

"I bet," Neville nodded vigorously. "It's all so bloody weird, isn't it, all this girl stuff? But I want you to know something, Harry, in all seriousness ... I hope you know that you can talk to me about that sort of thing, too, if you feel you need to. I'm kind of hoping you might be able to give me some insight, actually, as you seem to have a better handle on managing a proper relationship with a girl ... whatever type yours and Hermione's might be called."

"What do you mean?" Harry quirked, grinning slyly. "What secrets are you keeping?"

"Nothing as big as yours," Neville flushed. "But you're not the only one who can get an owl from a girl, you know. I've been swapping letters with that Daphne Greengrass girl over the Summer. I don't know what it all means, but maybe you can help me with that, in exchange for me listening to your problems."

"Sounds a fair deal," Harry grinned. "Look, I'm going to go and read my letter, before the anticipation burns a hole in my robe. But after that, if you're not doing anything, meet me in the grounds in about an hour and I'll tell you all about what's really going on with Hermione ... and you can tell me all the juicy gossip about you and Daphne!"

"Okay. Where?" Neville asked, his face on fire with his coyness.

"Somewhere private, where we wont be overheard," Harry replied ponderously. He frowned as he tried to think of a suitable location, then it came to him. "On the very far side of the Great Lake, on top of the ridge that looks down onto the school farms, the ones where the house-elves grow all our food, there's an old sort of rickety cabin jutting out of the hillside. No-one ever goes inside it, because they think it's haunted by an evil spirit, or some other nonsense. That'll be perfect, nobody will disturb us in there. Meet me there in an hour ... just be careful of the sheer drop and all the craggy rocks ... they are easily sharp enough to rip your flesh to pieces."

"Alright, I'll try and find it," Neville nodded. Then his eyes lit up. "Oh! ... do you mean the Shrieking Shack?"