Foreshadowing the Unexpected

Chapter 25 - Unfortunate Mistakes
Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.--Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray)

Connor was still angry with Lupin the next few times they met for Defence Against the Dark Arts. He chose a seat at the back of the classroom and refused to make eye contact with his uncle, even when called on to answer a question. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn't care. Family helped each other. Connor would have agreed to any kind of precautions or supervision that they could have asked for, if only they'd give him the chance to see if he could help to heal Lupin's wounds from the most recent full moon. Lupin wouldn't even listen to him.

Ivy had tentatively asked why Connor was acting so odd, but Connor had only scowled and said that it was a personal problem with his uncle, and that he didn't want to talk about it.

Valentine's day came and went with Connor receiving several anonymous cards and flowers delivered during breakfast, but he was almost sure that they had come from friends and cousins intent on giving him a hard time. He ignored them and went to Hogsmeade that weekend with his friends as usual.

During his brewing sessions with Snape, Connor forgot everything but whatever project Snape decided to set for him. Sometimes Connor simply stood off to one side and observed a particularly difficult potion, and sometimes he was asked to perform ingredient preparation or to answer seemingly random questions. It didn't escape Connor's notice that every potion they worked on had some sort of medicinal properties about it.

Always at the end of a brewing session, Snape assigned Connor the task of writing out everything he remembered about each potion and its procedure. He wasn't promised a chance to brew any potions on his own again, but Connor felt confident that the opportunity would arise at some point, and tried to be patient.

In the little spare time he had, Connor worked on securing potions ingredients for the magical steam for the test map he planned to try out, and found that his uncles Fred and George were only too pleased to help him find what he needed with few questions asked. There was nothing really dangerous in the list of things he had asked them for, so he didn't expect word to travel to his parents about it. Even if it did, there wasn't anything incriminating about it, really, other than the fact that he hadn't asked his parents to supply him with what he wanted.

With a little luck, he thought he should be able to imbue several sheets of parchment with the magical steam by the beginning of April. Then they could work with the powder and ink to see if they were on the right track.

Two weeks after their argument Professor Lupin gave up on trying to subtly put things right between himself and Connor, and not-so-subtly asked Connor to stay after class.

"Connor," Lupin began without preamble as soon as the last student had left the classroom one Friday at the beginning of March, "I understand that you're angry with me for not allowing you to try to help me, but I think that you can realise why it's not an option."

"Why isn't it?" Connor asked stubbornly. "You were hurt and in pain, and I could have helped you. I even offered to have Madam Cosgrove and Professor Lyra or anyone else you wanted as a precaution, but you wouldn't even listen."

"Because you already know why it's a bad idea," Lupin said patiently. "I'm a werewolf, Connor. You take on the wounds of anyone you use your Healing talent on--it would be ten times worse for you to bear than it is for me. Plus, there's the risk of passing the infection to you. There's no telling what might happen, and if there's even the remotest chance that you could be infected, it's not worth it."

"But it wouldn't work that way," Connor argued. "I could just heal your immediate wounds. You wouldn't be passing any blood to me, so I couldn't be infected."

"You don't know that," Lupin said flatly. "What if your cells mutated while you were trying to heal my injuries? There's no way of knowing how your magic will react. What if it decided to try to cure me of Lycanthropy, but couldn't fight it off once you'd absorbed it from me?"

"It wouldn't happen that way," Connor protested. "If your Lycanthropy was curable with my Healing magic, then my hands would itch when I'm around you all the time. They don't. They only itch right after your transformations, when you're hurting, and sometimes not even then!"

"I realise that you're not always affected by being around me," Lupin said calmly. "That's not the point. The point is that you don't know what trying to heal someone with my physiology would do to your system. We just don't know enough about how your Healing magic works. It's evident that it's even different from the other Healers--they don't absorb their patient's injuries or feel their pain the way that you do."

"So why not go to one of them?" Connor challenged.

"Connor," Lupin said quietly, "do you really think it hasn't been tried by now? Why do you think that these healers often live nomadic or solitary lifestyles? There are people who would go to almost any length to be cured of various conditions; some worse than Lycanthropy. If it was possible, I would have sought one of them out years ago. It's just not going to happen, and especially not for you, where there's a chance of you being irreversibly affected."

"But I want to help," Connor said in a choked voice.

"I understand," Lupin said sadly. "And I appreciate it more than you know. You understand why I can't allow it, even if there was a possibility. There's just too much we don't know about the boundaries of your abilities. You don't have enough control to put a stop to a Healing if something begins to go wrong. There are too many factors working against you right now."

"What if I learn to control it? What if I find out some day that I could help you?" Connor asked, grasping at straws.

"That's still years away, Connor. I sincerely hope I find a solution to my situation before then," Lupin said with a half-smile.

--------0-------

Lupin's arguments and explanations made sense. It didn't stop Connor from being unhappy about the situation, though. He determined to learn everything he could about cell structure and human vs. werewolf physiology in an effort to find out if he would ever be able to help his uncle. He pored over Gray's Anatomy late at night when his friends were asleep and made notes with questions he had about what he read. He wasn't making much progress, but at least he was doing something.

It was mid-March when Quentin discovered that the Marauder's Map could show them the Quidditch pitch, and that they could watch the other teams' practices on it. Ivy thought it was too much like cheating to spy on the other teams that way, but Rachel pointed out that because the map didn't show the Quaffle or Bludgers or anything, it wasn't really that dishonest.

In the end, Quentin and Rachel began to keep track of the other teams' practice schedules and to watch the map with interest as the Hufflepuff/Slytherin match approached. Connor wasn't sure about the ethics of spying on the other teams, but he was glad that he now had a way to watch the matches that he was banned from attending. It wouldn't be the same, but he wouldn't be totally left out either.

Connor's grades improved as he was able to pay more attention in class and spend more time on his homework. Over the next weeks, things fell into a routine that Connor was comfortable with, and his friends all seemed to believe that things were back to normal. They stopped casting worried looks his way and even began a small, innocent prank war with Hufflepuff house to keep them all amused.

Connor was able to make the magical steam he wanted to try in the last week of March. He stayed up late into the night, using one of the many secret passageways to work in, and used up five entire scrolls of thick parchment, infusing the paper until the liquid in his cauldron was completely boiled away. He left the parchment in the passageway to dry and collected it the next day, pleased with the job he'd done. In fact, Connor was just congratulating himself on how well everything was going.

That's when he had the dream.

He couldn't decide if it was a precognitive dream, or if he was just the result of too little sleep and eating too many sweets just before bedtime, but he woke with only hazy memories, and an overwhelming feeling that Rupert was in danger. As he came fully awake at one thirty a.m., he was breathing heavily, and had an indistinct picture in his head of Rupert being dragged under the surface of the lake outside.

He lay back down against his pillows, but the image wouldn't leave his head. Finally, he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep until he was sure that Rupert wasn't out wandering the grounds. He retrieved the Marauder's Map from his trunk and activated it, looking for a label in the dungeons that read: Rupert Dursley.

When he found proof that Rupert was in his room, probably asleep, Connor put the map away with a sigh and went back to sleep.

-----------0----------

On the last day of March, Connor got caught sneaking back to Gryffindor from the Owlery, just three or four minutes after curfew. He thought he'd had plenty of time to make it there and back, but he hadn't counted on Clio's overly affectionate nature, and she'd spent fifteen minutes cooing over him and grooming his hair (which was growing back quickly) before agreeing to take a letter to Connor's family for him.

Sweeper had been at the base of the steps to the Owlery, seemingly waiting for him, and had startled Connor badly when he said, "You're out past curfew, Mr Potter."

Connor had been so surprised that he hadn't even thought to try to argue his way out of a punishment. He just stood there and nodded when Sweeper had told him that he wouldn't report the curfew violation to Connor's Head of House, but that he would issue a detention.

"Detention?" Connor asked warily, wishing that Sweeper would go to Lupin. He'd have a better chance of getting out of a punishment, then.

"I think cleaning the Owlery is a fitting punishment, since that was where the infraction was committed," Sweeper said with a creepy little half-smile on his lips. "There wouldn't happen to be a young lady up there, would there, waiting to sneak down after you?"

"No," Connor said, momentarily confused, then suddenly realising what the man meant. He thought Connor was using the Owlery to meet a girl. "No, I was just sending a letter home."

"Tomorrow night at seven, then," Sweeper said, seeming unperturbed. "Off you go, back to your common room, now."

Connor didn't wait to be told twice. He hurried back to Gryffindor, only looking back once to see Sweeper start walking up the Owlery stairs, presumably to check that it was vacant for himself.

"What took you so long?" Quentin asked when Connor crawled in through the portrait hole, breathing heavily. "You're lucky you weren't caught."

"I was caught," he said, throwing himself into an armchair across from the sofa where Quentin and Zack were sprawled.

Rachel and Aiden looked up from where they were playing chess. "You got caught?" Aiden asked with a grin.

"By Sweeper," Connor confirmed with a grimace.

Aiden's grin fell. "That's rotten luck," he said sincerely. "What happened? Did he give you a detention?"

"Got to clean the Owlery tomorrow night," Connor said glumly. "Probably without magic.

"Ew," Rachel said with feeling.

Connor nodded in agreement. "It's not going to be fun, that's for sure."

"Especially if Sweeper's there staring at you," Zack said, "like he's been doing for every detention he hands out."

"Who's got detention?" Ivy asked, coming down the stairs and squeezing onto the small sofa between Zack and Quentin.

"Sweeper caught Connor out after curfew," Zack said, scooting over to give her more room as she sat. "He's got to clean the Owlery tomorrow."

"That man is just gross," Ivy said with disgust. "He made Trina Borman cry by just looking at her last week when she was writing lines for him. What a way to spend a Friday night."

"Even Filch wasn't this bad," Quentin said.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd miss old Filch," Aiden said sadly. "Don't worry, Connor. We'll all write letters tomorrow and come up to mail them at different times tomorrow night, so you don't have to be up there alone with him."

----------0---------

Connor woke on Friday morning, dreading his detention that evening. The day seemed to speed by, and not even talk of the Hufflepuff/Slytherin match the next day was enough to ease the knot in his stomach.

There were April Fool's day pranks being pulled all over the school, but Connor couldn't even work up the enthusiasm to try to pull any himself. Though it had the effect of making others look at him suspiciously all day long, as if expecting something surprising to happen. In the end, the surprise was that Connor had done nothing to celebrate the day.

At a quarter to seven, Connor left his common room and met Mr Sweeper at the bottom of the steps to West Tower where the Owlery was located.

"I'll be taking your wand until your detention is over," Sweeper said in a dry voice that made Connor want to convulsively clear his throat. "You'll be doing this without magic."

Connor had figured as much from the reports of other detentions he had heard about.

"I didn't bring it," Connor said. "I didn't think you'd let me use it, so I left it in my room."

Sweeper eyed Connor silently for a minute, as if he didn't believe him, but then relented with a nod. "I've put everything you should need up there. Get go on and get started, and don't let me catch you talking to anyone. I'll be back to check on you in a few minutes."

"Yes, sir," Connor said, hardly daring to believe his luck. Maybe Sweeper wouldn't be spending the entire time staring at him while he worked.

Connor climbed up the steps to the cold spaciousness of the Owlery, wrinkling his nose at the droppings and bones littering straw strewn across the floor. There was an ashcan off to one side of the large circular stone room as well as a broom, dustpan, scrub brush, mop and two buckets full of soapy water. There was no ladder, so Connor supposed that he wasn't expected to clean the high rafter that the owls used as perches. In fact, the rafters already looked clean enough to make Connor suspect they were charmed to stay that way. Why the floors weren't charmed as well was anyone's guess.

"I think a rake might have come in more useful," he said to himself as he picked up the broom.

Surveying the area, it seemed to make the most sense to start at one side and work toward the other. First he used the broom to sweep the windowsills clean of debris, and then began to sweep all of the soiled straw to one side of the room. It wasn't long before he heard footsteps on the stairs and wondered if it would be one of his friends, or if Sweeper had returned.

It turned out to be neither. Professor Lyra appeared in the doorway, holding a small parcel in her hand. She looked surprised to see Connor there with a broom in his hand.

"Hello, Connor," she said. "I wondered why the bottom of the stairs was roped off. There's a sign down there that says closed for cleaning, but I needed to get this package out this evening. I expected it would be Mr Sweeper up here."

"Detention," Connor said, not pausing in his sweeping.

"Ah," she nodded, holding out her arm for a pretty screech owl that fluttered down to her. "What did you do?"

"Got caught out a couple of minutes after curfew," he admitted. "Mr Sweeper was at the bottom of the stairs when I left here, and he gave me a detention cleaning up here."

Lyra nodded as she used her wand to secure the parcel to her owl's legs, then went to the window to release it. "Tough luck," she said, making a face at the dirty straw.

Connor nodded as he retrieved the dustpan and scooped up some straw. He dumped it into the ashcan, which glowed green before Vanishing the pile that had just been dropped into it.

"That's handy," he said, more to himself than to Professor Lyra.

"I thought I told you no talking!" Mr Sweeper's voice called up the stairs, accompanied by the sound of his boots climbing up.

He appeared a moment later with a sour expression on his face, holding a thermos and a teacup in one hand and a folding chair in the other. He looked like he had been planning to make himself comfortable in the room while he watched Connor work.

"Sorry," Professor Lyra said cheerfully. "That was my fault. I asked him what he did to deserve a detention."

"Caught him out after curfew," Sweeper said, eyeing Professor Lyra with something akin to caution.

"Yes, that's what he said," Professor Lyra said politely. "But now that you're here, I wonder if I could impose upon you to help me a bit in my classroom? There's a stain on the stones by my desk that no amount of Scouring Charms seems to get out. Do you think you could come up and have a look at it and suggest something for it?"

"What, now?" Sweeper asked rudely.

Professor Lyra remained unperturbed. "If you wouldn't mind, terribly, yes."

Connor made sure that he was not looking in the adults' direction when he smiled at Sweeper's reaction.

"I, er, I should really stay to supervise," Sweeper hedged, clearly not keen on leaving.

"Oh, I'm sure Connor can be trusted to do the job without supervision for a little while," Lyra said, walking toward the stairs and giving him no choice but to agree or appear very unhelpful. "He's very dependable."

"Right," Sweeper said faintly, setting down the chair and thermos. He gave a final look at Connor before following Professor Lyra down the stairs.

Connor could have sworn that Lyra winked at him before turning to go, but he didn't stop to dwell on it. The more he could get done while Sweeper was occupied, the less time he'd have to spend under the caretaker's eerie gaze when he came back.

It didn't take too long to get rid of all the straw and sweep up all of the remaining dropping and animal bones littering the space. Before long, the work warmed Connor, and the cold air coming in from the pane-less windows didn't bother him. Once the floor was swept clean, Connor took a scrub brush and one of the buckets and set to work scrubbing the stone floor while owls flew in and out overhead, occasionally dropping feathers or less pleasant items onto the floor.

He was about half finished scrubbing when Sweeper finally reappeared. He was wearing brown robes this time, which Connor hadn't noticed before, but which made his presence all the more obvious in the room because he didn't blend into the walls as he usually did. Sweeper sat in his chair and re-warmed the contents of his thermos before pouring himself a cup of tea.

His gaze never left Connor, and Connor could feel the staring eyes on him as he worked.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was actually only about fifteen minutes, Sweeper broke the silence. "Never thought I'd have cause to say I had Harry Potter's son in a detention."

Connor paused in his scrubbing, but could think of nothing to say to that statement. He resumed working.

"Heard he had a kid with strange talents. Read it in the Prophet last year," the man continued.

Connor did his best to ignore the words since Sweeper hadn't really asked any questions.

"So it's true, is it?" Sweeper asked after a few more moments of silence except for the steady rhythm of the scrub brush on the stones and the fluttering of owl wings as the birds came and went. "You got strange talents?"

"Mr Sweeper?"

Connor had never been so glad to hear Ms Grayson's voice as he was when it floated up the staircase just then. "Are you up there?"

"Who's that?" Sweeper called down.

"It's Elizabeth Grayson," came the disembodied voice. "I was wondering if I could have a word?"

Sweeper looked over at Connor with an almost accusatory glare, as if Connor had conjured up the interruption through force of will, but called back down the steps, "I'm comin' down."

Connor could not hear whatever it was Ms Grayson was saying to Sweeper, but was sure to take advantage of the time to get the rest of the floor scrubbed.

Connor worked quickly and finished the scrubbing without doing a shoddy job that might make Sweeper ask him to repeat the job properly. Sweeper came back more than thirty minutes later, mumbling about teachers who couldn't do a thing for themselves and wondering aloud how Filch had lasted all of those years. Connor said nothing.

The second bucket and the mop became the next step, and Connor was careful to mop up the dirty scrubbing water as he went, and then to use the clean water to rinse the floor. Sweeper watched him but made no comment. Sweeper finally levitated a bale of straw through one of the windows and onto the centre of the floor, and told Connor that it needed to be spread evenly over the entire surface of the Owlery floor.

Connor was about halfway finished with the straw when Clio returned from Potter Headquarters with a letter tied to her leg.

"Hello, girl," Connor greeted her quietly, stroking her breast feathers gently as he took the offered letter.

"You can just hand that over to me until you're done, Potter," Sweeper said, standing to take the letter from Connor's hand. "You aren't here for fun."

Connor would simply have shrugged and completed the job if it hadn't been for Clio. She took immediate offence at Sweeper presumption with the letter she had just delivered and nipped angrily at the man's fingers as if to say, That letter doesn't belong to you!

Sweeper waved his arms at Clio, but the owl was not having any of it. She began to squawk and hoot wildly, flapping her wings and agitating the other owls in the rafters to noisy complaint as well.

"Make them stop!" Sweeper demanded as Connor watched in fascinated delight.

"I can't," Connor said. "Only the one is mine. Clio! Stop that!"

Clio was not inclined to listen to a reprimand and continued to harass Mr Sweeper and beat her wings at him.

"Clio!" Connor admonished. "Leave him alone!"

After a few more moments of a disgruntled owl assault, Sweeper thrust the letter at Connor and told him to leave.

"You're done here," Sweeper said, arms over his head for protection against wings and claws. "Just get out!"

Once Connor took the letter, Clio calmed at once, landing on Connor's shoulder as he fled down the stairs and to his common room.

---------0---------

The next morning at breakfast, the Great Hall was abuzz with students speculating about the Quidditch match that would take place in just a couple of hours. Connor was slightly depressed that he wouldn't be allowed to attend, but took comfort in the fact that he could at least follow some of it on the map. He was curious to see what the Quidditch stadium would look like in the map when it was full of people.

"I can't believe Clio attacked Sweeper!" Rachel said with amazement over breakfast after Connor had told her about his detention.

"Brilliant," Ivy said with a laugh.

It hadn't been too late when Connor had gotten back to Gryffindor, but Rachel and Ivy had already disappeared with half of their room mates to do girl stuff in their dormitory before he'd returned.

"Circe doesn't like him either," Ivy said of her pet Kneazle. "I had her with me the other day, and she kept growling and hissing at him when he passed me in the corridor."

"I don't blame her," Zack said as he scooped up more porridge. "There's something off about that man."

"Well, I think I got off easy," Connor said around a mouthful of bacon. "At least he wasn't there to stare at me the whole time."

"You know," Quentin said thoughtfully. "I think some of the teachers are showing up during detentions on purpose."

"How do you mean?" Rachel asked, curious.

"Just, I've heard that a first year Slytherin boy got a detention earlier in the week, and Snape showed up during part of it to talk to Sweeper, and I heard the same thing happened to a Ravenclaw sixth year, except it was Professor Thompson that showed up."

"I'm surprised Lupin didn't show up for you, as well," Zack said.

"Full moon started at four this morning," Rachel said. "He'll have been getting ready and will probably be out until at least Tuesday."

At least he has his potion this time, Connor thought gratefully, distracted for a moment from the conversation.

"You think the teachers suspect something about Sweeper?" Zack asked.

Quentin shrugged. "Maybe they're just checking him out or something. He's new here, and there's been a lot of talk about him making kids cry and stuff."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll get sacked before next term," Zack said hopefully.

"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you," Connor warned. "They kept Filch around for ages, and that man was just plain mean."

They all looked gloomy at that statement, and Connor simply shrugged. "So who's the favourite for today's match?"

"I think Slytherin," Rachel announced, "but Hufflepuff has been doing really well, too."

"They play fair, though, and Slytherin don't," Quentin pointed out. "Hufflepuff's going to get eaten alive."

---------0--------

Connor had assured his friends that he didn't mind that they were going to the match without him, practically pushing them out through the portrait hole when they hesitated.

"I'm going to watch it on the map," he murmured to them quietly. "Go on and have fun!"

He'd climbed the stairs to his room then, and taken out the map to watch their progress as they walked down to the pitch. The stadium was about half full by the time Connor activated the map, and people were sitting so close together that the dots that usually represented each person were invisible behind the overlapping labels for each person's name.

The stadium filled quickly, Connor soon lost sight of his friends, though he knew the general area they were sitting in.

It soon became obvious that Hufflepuff didn't stand a chance against Slytherin. Watching the players' dots speed up and down the pitch on the map, Connor could see that the Hufflepuff Keeper was a reserve player and that he wasn't up to playing in a real match. It didn't take long for the Slytherin team to pull ahead by almost two hundred points by Connor's calculations, even without being able to see the balls-- and that was before the Snitch was caught.

Connor sighed. He wasn't really missing much of a match, at any rate. A handful of people were already leaving the pitch Ð most likely in disgust at the slaughter going on. Connor didn't blame them.

Looking more closely at the students heading back to the castle early, Connor saw that one of them was Rupert Dursley, and he was moving relatively fast, and walking alone.

"What are you up to, Rupert?" Connor asked the dot on the map.

He followed Rupert's progress back to the castle, and it didn't take long for Connor to realise that Rupert was heading for the statue on the third floor that would open up into the passageway to Honeydukes' cellar.

Connor toyed with the idea of going down there to try and stop him, but shrugged and watched Rupert eventually disappear off the edge of the map. He hadn't had any problems with Rupert in weeks, and didn't really want to start any now. He'd send Rupert a note later today about making sure he paid for anything he took from the sweet shop, and then mind his own business.

A few minutes later, Connor watched as the players came to a halt on the map, presumably landing on the ground. The Slytherin team appeared to be piled one atop the other, and Connor had no real doubt that they had won spectacularly.

The stadium began to empty of spectators, Connor was about to put the map away when he noticed Rupert reappear at the boundary of the map, moving quickly back in the direction of the castle. He appeared to be running, which was no easy task in that tunnel, but Connor supposed that Rupert was trying to get back to his common room to share his ill-gotten gains with his housemates for the party that was sure to be in the making after the Slytherin victory.

There were sounds of feet on the stairs outside of his room, so Connor wiped the map clean and stowed it back in his trunk before anyone could spot it, then went down to the common room. It was another ten minutes before his friends showed up, pink cheeked from the cold.

"That wasn't a Quidditch match," Aiden said as he burst into the common room. "That was a massacre!"

"What was the final score?" Connor asked as Rachel, Ivy, Zack and Quentin came in.

"Three hundred and fifty to sixty!" Zack said with a groan.

Connor winced. "Ouch."

"You can say that again," Ivy said. "I'd bet Yuri Mikelov is resigning from the Hufflepuff team right now."

"Reserve Keeper," Aiden explained to Connor, unaware that he'd been able to see some of the game on the map. "He was complete rubbish."

"Too bad," Connor said. "What happened to their regular keeper?"

"Rumour has it that a Slytherin accidentally tripped her and made her fall down a flight of stairs this morning," Aiden said with disgust. "Broke her arm."

"They should really know better than to let their players walk around by themselves just before a match," Whitney said from her place by the fire.

Connor agreed with her, but thought it was a shame that it was true.

-------0------

"I've got some stuff to work on in the library," Connor said to his friends Sunday morning after breakfast, giving them a meaningful look. "Do you guys need to finish up any homework?"

On Saturday afternoon, Connor had received the last of the Potions ingredients he needed. He had spent a good portion of the evening with a mortar and pestle, making a fine powder by crushing all of the components together, and readying them to be added to a bottle of ink. Now he was ready to try it out on the parchment he had prepared a week ago.

"Let's go get our books, and we can all go down together," Rachel said brightly.

The others agreed, and they were soon ensconced at the tiny table they had used before.

"I used a pencil to lightly sketch the common room," Connor said. "I didn't want to waste any of the parchment or ink by messing it up now. It's copied straight from the Marauder's Map, and I'm going to draw it in the special ink by making the lines right beside the pencil marks so that the graphite doesn't interact with any of the ingredients of the ink."

Everyone nodded, and Connor got started, mixing the powder and the ink. He made slow, deliberate strokes as he went, his tongue caught unconsciously between his teeth.

Sitting at the little table, shoulder to shoulder, everyone leaned away from Connor, so that he wasn't hampered in his movements. They all sat silently watching as he completed the last line with the ink.

"Nothing happened," Ivy said as the map was completed.

"It has to be charmed first," Zack said.

Connor nodded in agreement. "It also has to be done while the ink is still wet," he said, moving to stand up. "I asked Zack to do it, since he's the best of all of us at Charms."

"You'd better hurry," Quentin urged. "The ink is beginning to dry."

"The powder I added should keep it from drying too quickly," Connor said. He nudged Zack forward, though, gesturing for him to do the charm.

"Firmare!" Zack said, pointing his wand at the parchment and smiling in satisfaction when the lines on the map glowed blue. He tapped the surface of the parchment, and small black dots appeared scattered over the surface of the map of the common room. By the patterns of the dots, it was easy to tell where the tables and sofas were situated, and where the staircases and portrait hole were by the way the dots appeared and disappeared at the boundaries of the test-map.

"Brilliant!" Ivy said breathlessly, while Quentin nodded fervently and Zack jumped up and punched the air in excitement.

Rachel was grinning from ear to ear. "Now we just have to figure out how to make the map recognise who the dots represent," she said eagerly.

They spent the rest of the day in the library, until Madam Pince chased them out at three so she could close, but they didn't learn discover anything new. Their spirits weren't dampened at all, though, since they had unlocked a part of the puzzle of the map.

"Next, we need to figure out how to make a password for the test map," Quentin said as they went back to their common room. "We don't want anyone finding out what we've been up to."

----------0---------

On Monday morning, Connor noticed that Rupert was sitting in the middle of a group of Slytherins that were a year or two ahead of him. Connor reckoned that showing up with a bunch of sweets for their victory party on Saturday had earned Rupert a large group of fair-weather friends. It didn't escape Connor's notice that one of Rupert's hands was crudely bandaged, and he wondered if he had gotten his hand caught in the trapdoor that led to Honeydukes' cellar. If Rupert had hurt it any other way, why hadn't he gone to Madam Cosgrove to have it healed? Maybe he was afraid of getting into trouble if the truth about it came out?

Connor reminded himself to send Rupert a note about paying for the sweets.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, though Connor and his friends worked continually on researching ways to improve the test map of the common room. They took copious notes and even made up three more identical test maps in case anything went awry with the first one. With the end of year exams approaching, no one seemed to think that the extra amount of time that Connor and his friends were spending in the library, or with their noses in books, was odd.

Rachel found the spell to protect their works-in-progress with a password, and chose the simple words "Test Map!" to make the lines appear and "Done Now" to wipe it clean. Perhaps not overly inventive, but effective, just the same.

Connor's extra lessons were progressing nicely.

Professor Lyra felt that there was really not much more that she could teach him about Occlumency. Her time spent with Connor in the Divination tower was cut down to once a week, and even then only for about twenty minutes while she checked to make sure that he was coping well.

Madam Cosgrove was letting Connor heal small abrasions and bruises with his wand almost every weekend by the end of April, with Professor Snape as the test subject more often than not. Connor wondered how he was going to get a chance to heal more serious wounds in the future. Surely they wouldn't go so far as to deliberately break Snape's bones or burn his skin or anything like that just to give Connor practice at wanded healing, and Connor wasn't keen on Healing such things without a wand, for obvious reasons.

Potions continued to be Connor's favourite subject, he was a quick and eager student both in class and as Snape's assistant on Wednesdays. Snape continued to treat him as harshly as anyone else in class and seemed to hold his written essays to a higher standard than the other students when grading. Wednesdays, though, were not graded, and began to have a much more relaxed atmosphere once Snape seemed assured that Connor knew his place and what was expected of him.

In mid-April, Connor received a visit from his parents. They met in Professor McGonagall's office where he learned that he was, indeed, going to be spending a portion of his summer in South America. Drina Ayala had made an arrangement with the Potters, and agreed to take Connor into her home to teach him what she knew. Drina apparently lived in a small village in Peru near a huge lake, and she asked that Connor make some effort before arriving to learn some basic Spanish phrases.

Connor only sighed a little when Ms Grayson gave him a book and offered to help him learn Spanish during the remaining weeks of school.

Finally, the beginning of May arrived and with it, warmer weather and stressed out fifth and seventh year students with O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s approaching. It was as if the Easter holiday had transformed normally calm, happy students into frightening shadows of themselves, capable of nothing but eating, sleeping and studying. Connor spent a lot of time studying out on the grounds in order to avoid the angry glares that inevitably came his way at a quill that scratched too loudly, or a conversation above a whisper.

On the first Wednesday of the month, classes were over, and Connor was sprawled on a blanket beneath a giant oak tree with his friends, going over his History of Magic notes without enthusiasm. He had to make up for months of inattention in class before his exams in six weeks.

"So what are you working on with Snape tonight?" Zack asked as he tossed down his Transfiguration book with a loud sigh.

"Probably a Calming Draught," Connor said with a chuckle. "Snape says that Madam Cosgrove dispenses gallons of the stuff this time of year."

The others laughed as well, but Connor's prediction turned out to be correct.

Connor arrived in the usual Potions classroom and automatically donned his apron, stowing his dragon hide gloves in a pocket.

Snape was already in the room, setting out the necessary ingredients. Connor wasn't sure if he'd be allowed to help this time, or simply observe. He wasn't left wondering for long.

"I'll need the essence of hellebore measured out and the fluxweed pulverized," Snape instructed as soon as Connor rounded the worktable.

"Yes, sir," Connor said, careful not to show how excited he was. That was a sure way to earn a sneer from the Potions Master.

They worked silently for the most part, with Snape issuing instructions or explanations as they went. Connor made sure to measure accurately and work efficiently, and was pleased with himself until, two hours later, the door to the room burst open, making him drop a jar full of powdered moonstone.

"Mr Dursley!" Snape snapped angrily. "Explain yourself!"

Connor looked up in surprise to find Rupert had stumbled into the room looking ghastly.

"Sick," Rupert groaned. "Can't make it to hospital wing."

Connor was already halfway to the other boy when a strong arm was flung out to stop him. Snape had practically knocked him down before saying harshly, "I'll handle this."

Connor nearly blushed. He hadn't been thinking, and reacted out of instinct before he even realised it. He watched as Snape strode toward his charge, and Connor winced at the dark circles beneath Rupert's eyes and sweaty forehead. It also looked like Rupert had recently dropped some weight very quickly, though he was still very fat.

Snape peered into Rupert's feverish face, turning the boy's face back and forth in the light. "What happened to your hand?" he asked, seizing Rupert's wrist to stare pointedly at the bandage wrapped around it.

Surely that's not the same injury from after the Quidditch match? Connor thought to himself as his hands began to itch: just a mild irritation, but growing steadily. Maybe it got infected, and Rupert was too scared to go to Madam Cosgrove.

"I got bit by a dog," Rupert admitted with a whimper.

Snape began to swear quietly as he tore the bandage from Rupert's hand, revealing an ugly, swollen, puss-filled wound with bruising all around it.

Connor felt the bile rise in his throat at the sight of it and took a step forward.

Nothing could have prepared him for what Snape did next.

"Right," Snape said briskly. "You're an absolute sodding idiot!" The last two words came out as a shout that made both boys recoil.

Snape then grabbed Rupert by the back of his robes, by the nape of the neck, and literally dragged him over to a supply closet, where extra cauldrons of all sizes were kept. "Of all the dunderheaded, dangerous, stupid things you might have done!" Snape roared, spittle flying.

The next moment, Snape had his wand pointed at Rupert and was telling the boy to step back into the closet.

Rupert stumbled backward in surprise.

Snape simply said, "Stupefy!" watched as Rupert crumpled to the ground in a heap, then slammed the door, locking the boy in.

Connor stood with his mouth hanging open for a full five seconds before he could force himself into action. He pulled his wand out and rushed at the door to the closet even as Snape was muttering several different charms over the door.

"You can't do that!" Connor cried, trying to shove his way past Snape. "He's ill!"

Connor gasped as his hands flared. He had the overwhelming urge to get through that door at all costs.

"Alohamora!" Connor tried the only real unlocking spell that he knew, but of course, Snape's charms were stronger than that. Nothing happened. "You have to let him out! He needs Madam Cosgrove! He needs help!"

"Calm yourself!" Snape snapped, grabbing hold of Connor's arm and jerking him away from the door. He dragged Connor over to the fireplace on the back wall, and Connor wondered wildly if Snape had finally lost his mind and was going to toss him into the fire.

Snape let go of Connor, confiscated his wand, then turned to a bowl on the mantle and grabbed a handful of glittery powder.

Not waiting to hear who Snape was calling, Connor abandoned his wand and ran back to the closet where Rupert lay ill and stunned behind a locked door. He bit his lip against the furious itching and began pounding on the wood and pulling on the handle.

By the time he was frantic enough to begin throwing himself against the door in a panic to help Rupert, he was unaware of anything else around him. There was a roaring in his ears that blocked out all sound, and he could feel his heart beating painfully in his chest. There didn't seem to be enough air to drag into his lungs, and his hands felt as though they might burst into flame at any time.

Connor turned to look for something he could use to batter down the door only to find that Snape was pointing a wand at him and Madam Cosgrove, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Lyra were all staring at him, wide-eyed. He didn't hear the spell that hit him a moment later.

The world went black.