Nothing is mine.

Harry sinks his teeth into a new subject (and Arthur Weasley).

Nothing is Hurt; Nothing is Lost

Harry glided across smooth, cold black stone, winding through the dark wooden feet of the towering shelves. On his flickering tongue, he tasted the cool still air, the thick ancient must clinging to the countless glowing glass orbs above him, and the faint heat of the prey closeby. He slithered on, his scales whispering across the stone steps.

Huddled beneath a thick coat and swaddled in a hand-knitted dark blue wool jumper, dozed Mr Weasley, his wand teetering on the edge of his lap, and black coffee dripping from the empty mug hanging from his hand.

Harry's muscles coiled as he lunged, fangs agape, a soft tingle swelling in the roof of his mouth. And he blinked awake, twisted up in the covers of his four-poster bed.

'That's not good.' Harry stifled a yawn and rolled out of bed, wriggling free of both covers and hangings as he hauled on his robes. Somewhere in the depths of the Ministry, he could almost feel Mr Weasley's life ebbing away, bleeding out like the dying rays of the setting sun spilling across the sky. 'Ron,' he hissed.

A loud snore rumbled through the dorm.

'Yeah—' he snatched his wand and the Marauders' Map from his trunk '—no time for that. I solemnly swear I'm up to no good.'

Lines of dark ink spread across the map as he sprinted down the spiral staircase and across the Common Room, ducking out of the passage and hurtling down the stairs.

Harry shook the map out and spotted McGonagall's name, longer than most of the rest, hovering in her office; he stuffed the map into his pocket and forced his legs fast, hurling his shoulder into her door and smashing through.

'Mr Potter!' Professor McGonagall cried. The teacup slipped from her fingers and shattered on her desk, splashing steaming tea across the stacks of essays in front of her. 'What—'

'Mr Weasley is dying!' Harry snapped. 'He is dying wherever he is inside the Ministry!'

'How do you…'

'I saw it,' he hissed. 'Go save him!'

Professor McGonagall stared back, her eyes brimming with disbelief. 'You saw—'

'Now!' Harry yelled. 'Are you trying to kill him?!'

She whirled on her heel, swiping her wand off her desk and jabbing it at the fireplace. 'Incendio.'

'Hurry!' Harry urged. 'I don't know if that snake is venomous, but I'd be really surprised if it's not! Do you somehow not remember what happened the last time you didn't listen to me warning you about things?!'

Professor McGonagall grabbed the small snuff box off the mantel and hurled it into the flames. 'Ministry Atrium.' She stepped into the flaring emerald flames and vanished.

Harry gazed at the tea-soaked essays, the bits of broken cup scattered across them, and the pool of light brown liquid dripping off the desk onto the stone floor, an ugly spot of mess at the centre of Professor McGonagall's neat, prim office with its stacks of essays, shelves of books, and the handful of silver-framed photographs. He scratched the back of his head and picked one small tea-drenched photoframe up, a flurry of guilt swooping through him.

Harry thought of how it had all been before and flicked his wand at the spilt tea trickling down her desk to the ground.

The shattered teacup dragged itself back together piece by piece; its sharp, pale china shards flowing back into the smooth curves of the cup and settling upon the saucer. Beneath the flower-patterned china, the tea bled from the soaked essays, pouring back into the cup in thin streams, and from the picture in his hand came a slim tendril of tea, leaving the old, sunlight-faded sepia photo of a tall handsome man in dark robes unharmed.

'Huh…' He glanced between his wand and the restored desk with a grin. 'That worked pretty well; it might even be enough to tidy Dudley's room.'

Harry returned the picture to its spot on the desk and dropped down in Professor McGonagall's chair, leaning it back onto its rear two legs and swinging back and forth, watching the minutes trickle past as the hands of the clock on the far wall crawled from one hour to the next. The steam rising from the teacup faded away as it cooled and the light slipping in through the tall, narrow windows crept across the floor from one wall to the other.

The fire roared behind him.

He spun the chair around on one leg and let it bang to the ground.

Professor McGonagall stepped from the green flames, brushing ash and soot from her shoulders, her face as pale as milk. 'Mr Potter…' She pressed her lips into a thin line. 'Did you fix all that?'

'Your stuff?' Harry glanced over his shoulder. 'Yeah. I felt a bit bad — not about the essays, about the photograph. It seemed like one you were fond of so…'

'Thank you,' she murmured.

'Did you save him?' he asked.

Professor McGonagall took a deep shaky breath. 'Arthur Weasley was discovered minutes from bleeding to death where he was… stationed in the Ministry and has been rushed to St Mungo's where they will hopefully be able to stabilise him. The venom of You-Know-Who's serpent prevented any clotting, I'm told if you had not… How?' she whispered. 'How did you know?'

'I told you,' Harry replied. 'I saw it.' He hopped out of the chair. 'What now? I feel like someone should probably tell Ron. And Ginny. And probably everyone else in his family.'

She nodded. 'We will wait a short while. Professor Dumbledore is on his way back from St Mungo's now and wishes to speak with you. We should have heard from the hospital if Mr Weasley is recovering or not by then.'

'Why does he want to speak with me?' Harry demanded. 'I'm not Ron. Or Ginny. Or any other Weasley.'

'He is worried by how you knew, Mr Potter,' she murmured as the fire flared green behind her. 'Here he is.' Professor McGonagall stepped aside.

Dumbledore stepped from the fireplace. 'Professor McGonagall,' he said, dipping his head. 'Harry.'

'Sir.' Harry poked his wand back up into his sleeve with the tip of his finger. 'How is he?'

'When I left, they were drawing the venom from Arthur's body and ensuring no further blood loss occurred, but seemed optimistic about his chances.' Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes were sharp and grave. 'Without your timely warning, Harry, he would not have had any chance at all.'

'Good.'

'I'm afraid, as fortuitous as this has been, Harry, that I must ask you how precisely you knew?'

'I saw it.'

'A vision?' Professor Dumbledore ran his fingers through his long, silver beard. 'Of what sort? Were you awake? Asleep? How did you see it?'

'I was dreaming. I have lots of weird dreams.'

'You dreamt of it happening,' he murmured. 'As if you were floating above it? From a distance? Forgive me, Harry, for all these questions when it must seem the most important thing is Mr Weasley's wellbeing, but more is at stake than you realise.'

'I was the snake,' Harry said. 'I was Voldemort. I'm always him when I dream of him. Well, not him, we're still separate, but somehow we're the same. He can hear me laughing at him; I think it annoys him.'

Professor McGonagall's face grew very pale and very still.

'I see.' Professor Dumbledore steepled his fingers before his beard and his face turned grave and grim. 'You say Voldemort is aware of you.'

'Oh yes. We had a lovely chat not that long ago.' He chuckled to himself. 'It was mostly him monologuing, really, but he's like that. Even when nobody else is there, he monologues.'

'You… spoke? In this dream?'

'Not this one, another one.'

Professor Dumbledore's forehead creased. 'This is something you should have mentioned, Harry. I understand if it scared you—'

'It's not scary.' Harry scratched the back of his neck. 'He's creepy, but not scary. He said we were brothers by the Old Ways, because he took my blood, and said he did something to the magic that binds us together so we could speak in the dream.'

Professor Dumbledore smoothed his beard down with a thoughtful expression. 'Even so, Harry. This conjoining of minds concerns me greatly; through you, Voldemort might discover much we would prefer he didn't. I think the best approach would be for Professor Snape to give you some instruction in an obscure branch of magic known as Occlumency. It will hopefully enable you to keep Voldemort from accessing your thoughts.'

'Sounds wonderful,' Harry said. 'Is he going to be as bad at this as he is at Potions? All his recipes are dreadful. He turns love potions into poisons, sir. I don't know what that says about him as a person, but it can't be good.'

'Professor McGonagall, if you would, please?'

She swept out.

'She's not getting Snape, is she?'

'Professor Snape, Harry.'

'That's a yes, isn't it, sir?' Harry sighed. 'He's going to be very upset at being dragged out of his coffin early. What if someone's accidentally left some garlic nearby; he might die.'

'I can assure you, Harry, that Professor Snape is not a vampire.'

'I hope not, sir. Professor Umbridge is an expert and would find out and banish him from Britain like all the others were ages ago.'

A little twinkle of amusement flitted through Professor Dumbledore's eyes. 'Let us hope, then, Harry, that Professor Umbridge's expertise has been overestimated.'

'I mean, she won't last longer than a year, will she, sir?' Harry laughed to himself. 'Our professors never do.'

'I am of the opinion that an obscure curse of ill-fortune may have been placed upon the role by Tom Riddle when I denied his application to teach here many years ago,' Professor Dumbledore said. 'I feared that he wished to use the influence the position would hold over the children here to persuade them of his own vision of the world.'

'Maybe you should rename the role, professor.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'If only it were so simple, Harry. I'm afraid that such curses, straightforward as they might appear, are curiously complex. Tom has placed a curse on the role he imagined holding, anyone who plays that role, regardless of its name, would suffer it.'

'Do you tell the people you hire, sir?' Harry asked.

'I do,' Professor Dumbledore said. 'Some, like Professor Lockhart, are convinced they will not succumb to it. Others, like Professor Umbridge, don't fear the superstitions of an old man like myself.'

'Ah,' Snape drawled from the doorway. 'I see Potter is at the heart of whatever trouble has occurred. How typical of him to go seeking attention.'

'It's actually Voldemort's fault,' Harry replied.

'In this case, Harry is correct,' Professor Dumbledore said. 'He had a vision this morning in which he saw Arthur Weasley being attacked by Nagini, and warned Professor McGonagall.'

Snape's dark eyes sharpened. 'A vision I assume was accurate or we would not be wasting all of our time here coddling him.'

'Very accurate,' Professor Dumbledore murmured. 'Arthur is in St Mungo's, where they seem optimistic that he will recover, but without Harry's timely warning, he would almost certainly have passed on to the next great adventure.'

'The next world, sir?' Harry asked.

'Who can say, Harry?' Professor Dumbledore steepled his fingers. 'Harry has described to us that he often dreams of being Tom and in these dreams, he and Tom are both aware of one another and have even spoken. Given your expertise, Professor Snape, I think it would be wise for you to teach Harry how to occlude his mind and thoughts, else Tom might use Harry to learn many pieces of information we are seeking to keep from him.'

'Very well, headmaster,' Snape muttered. 'I have little hope that Potter will master such a branch of magic, but if you believe it best.'

'Are you better at it than your terrible potion recipes?' Harry asked.

Snape's eyes flashed. 'Potter, those are OWL level recipes. They are not mine; they are not meant to be perfect; they are meant to teach children like you how to do the basics so that in your future studies you might build upon it.'

'I prefer my versions.'

'You have of late demonstrated some small amount of intuition and skill.' Snape's expression curdled, as if he'd bit into a lemon.

Harry laughed to himself. 'That caused you physical pain to say, didn't it?'

'I suggest you take this seriously, Potter. If you somehow find the same aptitude for Occlumency as you have recently brought to my lessons in Potions, you might have some tiny chance of frustrating the Dark Lord.'

'Harry.' Professor Dumbledore smoothed down his long silver beard. 'Given that we cannot be sure what Voldemort witnesses through your eyes, I think it would be best if you kept a distance from the rest of the Order of the Phoenix until Professor Snape can say with utmost certainty that Voldemort is unable to influence you or access your mind.'

'Isn't Snape in the Order?'

'Apart from Professor Snape,' he amended.

'We will meet once a week for Remedial Potions,' Snape drawled. 'This may not be entirely convincing, given Potter's recent spate of successful experimentation and his inability to resist indulging his pathological need for attention.'

Harry chuckled. 'Sorry, it's because my parents were murdered and I didn't get any affection as a child.'

Professor McGonagall blinked. 'Mr Potter…'

'Harry—' Professor Dumbledore dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a thin strip of parchment '—should you have any more dreams of this sort or should their circumstances change, I want you to tell Professor Snape precisely what you saw.'

'Even the weird ones?'

'I'm quite sure I don't need to hear about all of your incoherent teenage dreams,' Snape jibed. 'Only those relating to the Dark Lord.'

Professor Dumbledore nodded, unfolding the piece of parchment. 'Those of us who are sensitive to magic often have dreams in our early years. I did. As did my younger sister. My closest and dearest friend continued to experience them for much of his life. In most cases, they fade after a few years.'

Harry thought of her waiting in the snow and out beyond the stars. 'Well, I suppose they can't do any real harm.'

'Ah, good news,' Professor Dumbledore murmured, spinning the strip of parchment into a small paper ship with a flick of one finger and sending it sailing into the fire. 'Arthur's condition is stable. The venom has been removed, his blood loss alleviated, and he has been placed into a restorative sleep. They are hopeful that he will be sufficiently well again in a couple of weeks to return home for Christmas. Perhaps, Professor McGonagall, you would be so kind as to take Mr Potter to…?'

'Charms, sir,' Harry replied.

'To Charms, and inform Mr and Miss Weasley, and Miss Granger of what has occurred. I will inform everyone else.'

'Come with me, Mr Potter.' Professor McGonagall ushered him out of her office with one hand. 'You have Professor Flitwick, don't you? I recall him telling me you have shown great improvement this year in his lessons as well.'

'I have?' Harry shrugged.

'And in Potions too, it would seem.' She nodded to herself as she led him through the quiet corridors, her expression softening. 'Very well done, Mr Potter. I have no doubt that concentrating on classes and exams is not the thing that most concerns you this year, so very well done indeed.'

'Thanks, Professor.' Harry scratched the back of his neck. 'Honestly, I think it's just that I'm feeling a lot less bothered by it all this year. I had a rough summer for a bit, but after a while, I think I just had enough of being afraid, so I decided I wasn't going to be. There were a lot of weird dreams involved.'

Professor McGonagall clicked her tongue. 'A positive outlook is a very important and admirable thing to have, Mr Potter. Both your parents had it—' she paused at the Charms' corridor entrance '—they would be very proud of you, I'm sure.'

'Hermione will have to be proud of me in my mum's place; closest I've got.' Harry watched Peeves drift toward them, freeze, then zip away through the wall. 'You might want to go find out what he's up to.'

'No good, I'm sure,' Professor McGonagall said, a touch acidly, as she knocked on the open door to Flitwick's room.

Among the desks, the class swished and flicked their wands, sending bright cushions of blue and red and green and orange flying across the room, scattering parchment, quills and textbooks to the floor; Seamus and Dean fired them back and forth at each other along the second to last row, laughing as Lavender was caught in the crossfire. Behind them, sitting as still and silent as fallen snow in the corner by the window, Daphne folded her arms, her cool blue eyes drifting to Harry as she cocked her head at him. Her hair was half in loose, slim braids and full of crimson ribbons as thin as threads of silk that shone in the sun of the window like rubies, yet that lone lock of gold hung wild and free over her slim pretty nose, fluttering with each soft breath she took through her lips and a gleaming garnet fang swung from her right earlobe. A stream of butterflies swept through Harry and he gave her a little wave, but she turned away to stare outside at the sun instead and some of those butterflies sank, spiralling down like sycamore seeds in the wind.

Professor Flitwick fought his way out from underneath a pile of cushions in the centre of the room. 'No more casting until I can give you a hand, Mr Longbottom.'

'Professor Flitwick,' Professor McGonagall called. 'Might I borrow Miss Granger and Mr Weasley?'

He straightened his waistcoat. 'Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, please step outside with Professor McGonagall. Everyone else, keep the wand motion small when you're casting, please. We don't want any serious accidents.'

Ron and Hermione exchanged a swift look and hurried over.

'What is it, Professor?' Hermione worried at her lip, her brown eyes full of anxious light.

Professor McGonagall glanced into the class and lowered her voice. 'I'm sorry to say, Mr Weasley, that this morning, your father was attacked while at the Ministry assisting the Order with a very important task. He was bitten by You-Know-Who's snake and, if it were not for the intervention of Mr Potter, would not have made it.'

Ron stared back at her, frozen on the spot.

'As it is, he's now recovering in St Mungo's and will hopefully be able to have visitors tomorrow.'

'He's okay?' Ron whispered.

'He lost a lot of blood and is now resting,' she said. 'But St Mungo's are confident he will recover.'

Ron leant back against the wall. 'Oh.'

'If you wish, you may take the rest of the day to yourselves,' Professor McGonagall said. 'It would be perfectly understandable.'

'No, I'm fine,' Ron replied. 'He's going to be fine, isn't he? Because Harry was there.'

'I wasn't there,' Harry said. 'I just knew it was happening and warned people.'

Ron studied the floor between his feet. 'We should probably go back in. Don't want to drag Hermione away from her favourite lesson for too long, right?'

Hermione reached out and took his hand. 'There are more important things than lessons, Ron.'

'But he's fine.' Ron drew himself up. 'Harry saved him and now he's going to be okay, like Ginny. No point getting all wound up about nothing.'

'If you're sure,' Hermione whispered.

'I'm sure.'

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. 'Very well, then. But if you change your mind, you can just leave whenever you want. I will inform your teachers that I have given permission as soon as I can.'

'Thanks, Professor,' Ron mumbled.

Hermione led him back in.

'Keep an eye on him, Mr Potter,' Professor McGonagall said. 'It might take him a little while to really process what's happened.'

'I'll keep an eye on him,' Harry promised. 'Can't have Ron going insane, he's the only sane one of the three of us left as it is.' He laughed to himself and strolled back in after them, leaning on the desk as Ron banished cushion after cushion into the wall between the windows.

Hermione watched him, chewing at her lip. 'What happened, Harry?' she whispered. 'Like, what actually happened?'

'Oh I had a dream,' he said. 'And I saw it happen, so I warned them he needed help.'

'A… dream.'

'Yeah, I have loads of weird dreams. Most of them are just weird dreams, but sometimes I'm Voldemort. We had a nice chat once. Well, he monologued and I didn't really listen.'

'That's impossible, Harry.' Hermione shook her head. 'Dreams aren't real.'

'Oh, he said it's because the resurrection thing he did kind of bound us together,' Harry replied. 'It's not so bad. I occasionally dream of him doing creepy things, which is quite funny, really. And sometimes it's helpful, like today. I have to have secret lessons with Snape to try and keep Voldemort out of my head, though, so that's not all that great.'

Ron stacked all his cushions back up in a neat tower and started again.

'Just leave him to it for a bit,' Hermione whispered in his ear. 'You know he needs a bit of time for stuff and I don't think your weird sense of humour is what he needs right now.'

'What are we meant to be doing then?' Harry asked.

'The Banishing Charm. It's the opposite of the Summoning Charm. The incantation is Depulso, but you have to make a U-shape with—'

Harry took careful aim at Malfoy and imagined him sent tumbling through the air like a snowflake swept across smooth dark ice by a cold, cutting winter wind. 'Depulso.'

Malfoy went flying across the class and smacked into the stack of cushions in the middle of the room.

'Perfect,' Harry declared.

Daphne's stare lingered as Malfoy staggered to his feet out of the cushions, the corner of her mouth crooking upward.

'Stop staring at Greengrass,' Hermione muttered. 'You two flirt in the weirdest way. That time a few days ago in the Room of Requirement, I wasn't sure if she was going to kiss you or bite you.'

'Hopefully kiss.' Harry considered it, wondering, as his heart found itself snagged somewhere in the middle of that tangle of fluttering hot and cold flashes, if Daphne would taste like redcurrants or raspberry or spearmint. 'But the idea of biting doesn't really upset me, now that I think of it, you know; so long as she doesn't, like, rip a chunk of me out or anything like that. She has nice teeth. And nice lips. So—'

'No, I don't want to know.' Hermione buried her face in her hands. 'Just… what was Mr Weasley even doing?'

He mulled that over, doing his utmost to ignore the fluttering little tingle in his stomach at the feel of Daphne's gaze on the back of his neck. 'I think he's protecting a prophecy. Voldemort told me that he was after one from the Ministry and I guess we don't want him to have it.'

'Obviously not.' Hermione watched Ron banish his cushions one after the other with single-minded focus and perfect accuracy, a small frown creasing her forehead. 'He's part of that horrible Pure-blood cult; it's probably all about the world dying or something.'

'Yeah…' Harry shrugged, thinking of how his parents might still be a part of the world all around him and finding it not horrible at all. 'It sounds much nicer when Greengrass talks about it, I think Voldemort might be off in the deep end of all that.'

'You'd think anything sounded nice if Greengrass said it,' Hermione muttered. 'Idiot.'

'Guilty,' he confessed, still very much full of swirling, tickling butterflies at just the thought of her watching him. 'She's actually looking really, really pretty today with all those ribbons in her hair, too; I could listen to her lecture me about the Veiled World and pure magic and death all day.'

'Well, don't,' she said. 'Her Pure-blood nonsense is awful.'

'Not as awful as Voldemort's Pure-blood nonsense.' Harry chuckled under his breath. 'Someone really needs to make sure he doesn't get that prophecy, who knows what it says. Maybe I should just go and get it. All his convoluted plans always fall apart when I'm involved.'

'They didn't last year.'

'That was all Fleur Delacour's fault,' he decided. 'I would have quit the tournament before the whole portkey-maze-kidnapping-death-trap part if I'd known the third task wasn't another event involving bathing costumes.'

Hermione groaned. 'Is this you finally hitting puberty?'

'My voice broke like two years ago, thank you,' Harry retorted. 'If anything, it's you we should be worried about. You're still hung up on Gilderoy Lockhart.'

'I am not,' she hissed. 'He was horrible.'

'What was his favourite colour?' Harry asked.

'Lilac,' she muttered. 'But that's only because I have a good memory!'

'And what is the airspeed velocity of a coconut-laden swallow?'

A snort of laughter escaped Hermione. 'Pure-blood or Muggle-born?'

'I have no idea what effect that would have on their airspeed velocity,' Harry mused. 'Maybe the Muggle-borns are faster, though, because the Pure-blood ones all have thin skulls and are afraid of flying too fast.' He grinned. 'I should ask Greengrass, she's been avoiding me since she came to the DA—'

'Since the two of you had a weird conversation by the wall, she got so close everyone thought she was going to kiss you and stopped to watch, and then she threw sweets everywhere and ran off instead.'

'I don't think she was going to kiss me,' Harry said. 'But she was being very not-antisocial, maybe she wasn't feeling okay or something. She's made up for it recently by only staring at me when I'm not looking.'

Hermione sighed. 'She likes you, Harry.'

'She says she doesn't.'

'What she says and what she feels might not be the same thing, you know.'

Harry shook his head. 'I think the fact I'm a Blood-Traitor probably means she can't date me or something like that. Astoria looked really worried by it, and now I think about it more, maybe she wasn't worried about her sister getting murdered, but what their parents might say or do when they found out.'

'Maybe. Even so, Harry, she definitely likes you. She's just… not very good at showing it.'

'Maybe I should buy her blood pops? Girls like sweets, right?'

Yes, Harry.' Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Sometimes I feel a lot like your mother,' she muttered.

'It's because you're the brightest witch my age,' he said. 'Wait… if you're the brightest witch my age and I'm the guy with messy hair who plays quidditch, aren't we meant to get married? Is that why you're so upset about Greengrass? She's ruined all your plans of snaring the next best Pure-blood wizard after your fling with Malfoy fell apart?'

'No…'

'Yeah, no, right, I forgot about Secret Project Little Sister. You need to find another redhead for me now, that's why you're upset.'

'It's Ginny or Susan Bones,' she replied. 'Both are better options than Greengrass, so ask either out. Or both.'

'Together?'

'Still better than Greengrass.'

'I quite like Greengrass,' Harry said. 'She's just… I just do.'

'Because you're thinking with… some part of you that isn't your brain.'

He laughed. 'You bottled it. You were going to say dick, weren't you?'

'Shut up.' She flushed. 'I was just worried Professor Flitwick would hear.'

'He's busy teaching Neville how to magic,' Harry said. 'I think you wussed out.'

'I can say dick, Harry.' The colour climbed a little further up her cheeks. 'It's just… Weird to talk about it when it's you.'

'It's because you see yourself as my mother.' Harry ran his fingers through his long imaginary beard as Professor Dumbledore did. 'Which makes this whole plan you have to make me date a girl who looks like my mother all the more curious. Yes… most curious indeed. Does Susan Bones have green eyes?'

'Her eyes are blue.' Hermione took one of Ron's cushions and placed it over her face. 'You're impossible, you know.'

'There, there.' Harry patted the top of her head. 'At least now we know the reason you keep focusing on Lavender's relationship with her father so much and push me at girls who resemble my mother. We'll make sure you get the help you need, Hermy-ow-knee.'

'I hate you,' she mumbled into the cushion. 'Go talk to Greengrass.'

'No, I always go and talk to her. She has to come and talk to me.' Harry chuckled. 'We'll see who's all haughty and weird and pretty then.'

Hermione groaned. 'Harry, if you're not going to stop talking about Greengrass can you press hard on this cushion for about two minutes?'

'And reduce our trio to one sane and one insane person? No, we have to stick together, Hermione. Safety in numbers. Otherwise the Muggle-borns will rise up and overthrow us. Like angry house-elves, which, coincidentally, reminds me of what those Muggle-borns should be in the Pure-blood utopia you're seeking to one day build.'

'Never mind,' she said. 'I'll put myself out of my misery without you.'

AN: Follow the link below to find more chapters, more stories, how to support me, and more besides that too!

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