Dracaena Draco

CHAPTER SIX. OLD FOES, NEW LOVES.

"I don't think," said Hermione. "I've ever been happier than I am when I'm around you." It was Thursday night, quite late, and the Library was nominally closed. Hermione however, knew how to get around that particular obstacle ... it didn't bear thinking about, the number of times she had had to bend rules to partake of some late night studying.

Draco smiled. "I'm pleased," he said. "It makes me happier when you are."

"Don't be sappy," said Hermione. "You know I don't like it when you get like that."

Draco smiled again. "I can't help it," he said. "Being around you has done wonders for me ... I feel happier than I did before. Happier than when I had all those ghastly Slytherins milling around me all the time. Even I always realised that my jokes were crap ... and they always still laughed at them. That pissed me off."

Hermione nodded. "I like your jokes," she said.

"That's very sweet. But I bet it's not altogether true. Anyway ... I'm just pleased I have you," said Draco, he put his head on Hermione's shoulder. "Did anybody ever tell you that you have lovely hair?"

Hermione shook her head. "I can honestly say," she said, "that nobody ever did. Probably that's because I never did before."

"It goes well with your eyes," said Draco thoughtfully.

Hermione giggled. "I can't imagine your hair being any other way."

Draco put his hand to his hair, and felt it. "I like my hair the way it is," he said. "You like it then?"

"Yeah ... I just can't think how you would look if you were dark, I mean, had Harry's hair or something."

"Perhaps I should dye it," said Draco. "There must be some sort of hair colour spell floating around somewhere. Anyway."

"Anyway," agreed Hermione.

"You still bothered about Harry?" asked Draco, looking up.

Hermione nodded.

"He had a go at me this morning," said Draco. "Told me where to get off ... that sort of thing, you know the drill."

Hermione still felt bound to apologise for Harry. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "If you knew him ... I mean knew him well, as a friend ... you wouldn't ever have to see him like that. Harry is just like you in a lot of ways ... he's kind and gentle, and I know he wouldn't hurt anything if it wasn't hurting him first."

"I'm sure he is nice," said Draco, feeling a pang of guilt at his treacherousness. However much he tried to put such thoughts out of his mind, they kept coming to the front of his mind, like scum rising to the top of a coffee cup. "He's, just, well, he hates me, doesn't he?"

"I think, yes, I suppose he does," said Hermione, who knew he did. She thought she was trying to spare Draco's feelings, when what she hadn't realised was that he didn't especially want his feelings to be spared at that point.

"Spare me the claptrap, Hermione," said Draco. "I know he hates me ... don't worry, it doesn't really bother me."

"Why not?"

"Shouldn't it?"

"I don't know," said Hermione. "I would have thought it mattered to you. I mean, you said yourself you don't have any friends."

Draco fixed Hermione with his gaze, and then spoke. "Hermione ... I don't like Harry ... I won't make a secret of it. I don't believe we can ever get along ... I mean like, as he and Ron do. We can't be firm friends ... we're always going to be in some sort of cold war situation, we can only ever peacefully coexist."

"Carry on," said Hermione.

"I'd like for us to peacefully coexist," said Draco. "But, you know, I think, that isn't going to happen. Harry is stubborn as a mule, there's no denying that."

"Well, yes," conceded Hermione. "When he gets an idea in that head of his, it can be difficult to stop him acting on it ... even if it does mean breaking school rules," this was anathema to Hermione.

Draco nodded his agreement. "I'd like if I could get along with him," he said. "Not hostile, not bosom buddies though. That would be too awkward ... and you know, I appreciate that I did and said some things that were nasty, that, well, I think you know who I was being influenced by, and who was trying to turn me into an obedient little clone of himself. He did some pretty nasty things to me as well."

Hermione found there was no way she could deny this. "Shouldn't we talk about something nicer?" she asked.

"Are you trying to get me to flatter you again?" teased Draco.

"Not necessarily," said Hermione. "Though sometimes flattery is very nice."

"I've said what I think about your eyes and your hair and your face," began Draco. "I can't really say what I think about anything else without sounding sordid. Um," he cast about for something to say.

"How about I flatter you a bit?" said Hermione. "You have a kind face, Draco."

"Thank you."

Draco shifted his weight awkwardly ... their position was not a comfortable one ... but then the Library had never really been designed for such purposes.

"I think, actually, you're very handsome," Hermione went on.

"Hermione ... I," Draco began, but Hermione had put her arm around him, and was drawing him closer.

"Ssh," she said.

"I think I might have fallen in love with somebody," whispered Draco.

Hermione held him closer, and stroked his cheek with her free hand. "Just who might that be?" she asked.

"I think it's you," said Draco. "I don't think I ever remember feeling this way about anybody in the world before. Not even about my parents. This feels ... like it's so much more intense."

"What would your Father say?" asked Hermione, continuing to stroke him.

"I'd kill him if he tried to do anything to stop me," said Draco. "I don't care you're a ... not from a wizard family."

"That's very sweet of you," said Hermione. She could feel Draco's hands on her back, but she did nothing.

"Tell me, Hermione ... how do you feel about me?" asked Draco.

"Draco ... I don't know. This is coming very quickly," said Hermione, a little awkwardly, for in truth, she still did not know how she really felt. "I do think you are a very attractive young man. I do think ... I don't know ... but I think I do, and I think you think I know too, so there's no point ducking the issue anymore is there?"

Draco shook his head mournfully.

"Yes, Draco ... I do feel the same way," she said.

Draco felt funny inside. He couldn't help but wonder what his Father would say ... that made him feel happier still. It proved to him that such a man couldn't influence the way his child developed. With a sudden, overwhelming rush of joy, Draco realised that his Father had no control over his thoughts, over his actions, over what he felt, his emotions, over whether he cried or kept quiet, over whether he fought, backed down or made peace, on whether he spoke to whom he wanted to speak to, and not to who his Father decreed it would be fitting for him to speak to.

What was most important, his Father could no longer influence who he was to love. That was a choice Draco had now realised was open to himself to make. That was left for him to decide, not to some relic of a bygone age, cowering in a dusty old mansion. Not for someone like his Father, not for someone like Chaldean, or Voldemort. Now Draco knew for certain that he was magnificently, head over heels in love with Hermione Granger, and that must surely change his whole life from that point forwards. He felt warm, glorious sensations rushing over his body as he embraced Hermione, smelled her hair and her perfume, and then felt that itchy sensation in his eyes ... he was off again.

"Don't cry, Draco," sniffed Hermione, although in truth, she was doing exactly the same. "I'm here. You've won ... I think you've got me. I ... what am I saying, I know you've got me."

"I don't care anymore," said Draco. "I realised that I will still want to be with you, and to care for you, and cherish you, no matter what my Father might say, and then I realised I was free of him. I don't have to do anything he wants me to. I can do what I want to do, and the first thing I want to do is ... is to confess something to you. But first, I'd like to kiss you."

He did.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harry slowly parted the curtains. He could hear them ... hear them not very far away ...but he was not sure where they were, or even what they were doing, even though he could hear heavy breathing.

The next room was furnished luxuriously ... there was a roaring fire, leather armchairs set around it, a man's heavy travelling cloak slung casually across the back of one of them. There was an old horned gramophone, and some records strewn across the surface of an expensive table by the window. There was a Tiffany lamp on the table. One whole wall was lined with bookcases, filled with heavy and important looking volumes. There was another door at the far end of the room ... his feet tapping on the polished wooden floor, Harry walked over to the other door, taking care not to step on the beautiful Oriental rug, and opened the door cautiously. The noises from within stopped.

"Who's there?" Hermione's voice. Harry flattened himself against the panelled wall.

"I said, who's there?"

Harry's heart was pounding fit to bust. Should he reveal himself? Should he stay hidden? The hangings were drawn tightly around the four poster bed that stood in the centre of the room, so he couldn't see who else was there ... though he had a feeling.

"Draco ... go and see who it is."

Harry heard movement from behind the hangings. They parted, and Draco looked out ... but it didn't look like the Draco Harry knew ... his normally pale face was flushed a vivid red, and his normally immaculately groomed hair was all over the place.

"I don't see anybody," said Draco. "Want me to go look around outside."

Hermione didn't reply, though she had obviously nodded, for Draco got out of bed, Harry was shocked to see he was wearing Quidditch World Cup underwear, and picked up the silk dressing gown lying on the floor. He pulled it on, and tied the cord tight around his waist. Harry tried to move behind one of the chairs. Draco wasn't looking in his direction yet. He felt sick. He crouched down, fearing that his trainers would squeak on the wooden floor. Draco padded over to the window, and peered out ... then he scanned the room again.

"I don't see anybody, darling," said Draco. He removed the dressing gown again. There was a large red mark on his back. Harry suspected it might be a birthmark ... but then again.

"Then come back to bed," said Hermione.

"You probably heard a cat outside."

Draco disappeared behind the hangings again. A moment later, Harry heard Hermione's voice, whispering. "Oh ... Draco."

He woke up suddenly. His bedclothes and pyjamas were drenched in sweat, wrapped tightly around him. Slowly, he reached out, and drew back the hangings around his bed. It was still pitch dark outside, and Harry could hear rain drumming incessantly against the window panes.

"Ron, are you awake?" he hissed. There was no reply from any of the other beds. Harry assumed not, then. He held his head in his hands, and tried desperately to pretend there was no way he could have dreamed what he just dreamed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Draco pulled away from Hermione abruptly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't doing that right was I?"

Hermione smiled at him. "I wouldn't know," she said. What she did know was that she had somehow been awakened by Draco. She had done nothing like this before ... ever. But something inside of her was telling her that Draco had got it just right. She looked into his eyes. His face was slightly flushed. "I wouldn't know," she repeated. "I've not actually done ... you know, like that, before."

Draco smiled, his teeth appeared to glow in the half light of the Library. "I ... um, I wouldn't either," he said. "I've not ... rather, that is to say."

"Oh ... um," said Hermione.

Draco nodded rather meekly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm doing this all wrong. We, um, we, um, should have candles and stuff."

"Don't worry," said Hermione, who had never ever suspected that her first kiss would happen in the Library, though maybe she shouldn't have been so surprised, judging by how much time she spent there anyway. "I think you're being very romantic."

Draco looked hopeful. "You do?"

Hermione nodded.

Draco's face fell. "I must seem horribly naïve," he said.

"Not in the slightest," said Hermione.

"Um," said Draco.

"Don't worry, Draco. Nobody is ever going to judge you on how good you are at snogging somebody," said Hermione. "Least of all me."

"That's good to know," said Draco, looking sheepish. He was still a bit confused himself, his brain a minefield of conflicting emotions, each of which seemed to be being set off in close sequence.

"Would you like to ... try again?" asked Hermione, she stroked his face again. Draco smiled, and brushed a stray lock of her hair out of her face.

"I'd be honoured," he breathed.

This time, the kiss lasted a full two minutes.

"I'm sorry," said Draco. "That time I took too long, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "That time," she said. "You did it just right."

Draco looked surprised. "Oh," he said. His normally pale face was flushed a vivid red, and his normally immaculately groomed hair was all over the place.

"You sound disappointed," said Hermione.

"No ... um, not at all," Draco said, hastily. He smiled at her again. "Well ... actually, you know, it's kind of awkward and everything."

He shifted his weight slightly, as if trying to hide something.

"In what way?" asked Hermione.

"In ... it's just, well, just strange," said Draco. "A week ago you wouldn't have given me the time of day."

"A week is a long time in politics," said Hermione. "Anyway ... I think you realised what your capabilities are. I think you recognise that there's more to life than ... well, than what there was before. If you see what I mean?"

Draco nodded.

"It's just, I'm worried about Harry and Ron," said Hermione. "I already said how neither of them are talking to me."

"So talk to them," said Draco. "Stop being silly, and go talk to them. Believe me, you'll have nothing to lose, and anyway, you said you had them wrapped around your little finger."

"Whenever did I say that?"

"The other day," said Draco. "When we were talking, when I was first talking to you, you know, in the Library."

"That was then, this is now," said Hermione.

"Tomorrow morning," said Draco. "At breakfast ... I want you to sit next to them ... I want you to talk to them. I want to see you three friends again."

"You're being unusually diplomatic," said Hermione.

"You mean I'm not normally?"

Hermione shook her head hurriedly ... that was not what she had meant. "Not at all," she said. "That didn't really come out sounding quite how I had intended it to. I meant ... you seem to be very concerned for my welfare."

"One good turn deserves another," said Draco. "And God knows where on Earth I learned that with a Father like mine. I wouldn't have got through the last couple of days without you. You're to thank for the fact that I'm not up on the Astronomy Tower trying to kill myself right now. You ... you gave me the strength to go and get myself sorted out."

"I'm touched you think so," said Hermione. "But I think, really, that you did that. I just helped you along."

Draco looked up, into her eyes. "You know Professor Snape came back this morning," he said. "He was talking to Dumbledore. He had a word with me."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Snape's back?" she repeated. "Does that mean Doctor Jones is packing her bags?"

Draco grinned. "No, actually I asked him that. He's living in his rooms down in Hogsmeade, so as Doctor Jones can serve out her contract. He'll be back after Christmas."

"I thought he was on sabbatical."

"He said he came back," said Draco. "He said the south of France wasn't really what he thought it would be."

Hermione couldn't imagine Snape enjoying himself in the south of France. He was the sort of man who seemed as though he was eminently more suited to somewhere windswept, cold and barren. She could imagine him being happy in Newfoundland, the Falklands, or maybe Siberia. Not in St Tropez, however.

"Anyway," said Draco. "I, well, I had to tell him everything."

"You told Snape?"

Draco nodded. "I'm afraid so," he said. "It seems frankly ludicrous, doesn't it?"

Hermione nodded. "I do have to admit."

"Well ... he was saying ... actually, he was very nice. He's always been nice to me."

"That's because you're a Slytherin," said Hermione, stroking his hair. "If I were you, I wouldn't read anything into that."

Draco made a face, though Hermione could tell it was only in pretence. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. "I told him everything," repeated Draco, looking down at his shoes, which were badly scuffed ... he had not bothered to clean them for some days now. "You understand ... everything?"

Hermione nodded.

"About my Father, and stuff like that," Draco went on. "It was the most difficult thing I ever had to do in my life. I would have liked you to have been there. I think ... I don't mean to be bigheaded, but I will be ... I think you would have been proud of me," he said.

Hermione did not take this statement to mean Draco was being at all boastful, and she told him so. Draco smiled his thanks.

"It was very difficult," repeated Draco. "I kind of, well, I always saw Snape as a teacher, first and foremost, and you know what teachers are like. They aren't really the sort of people you can reliably have that sort of relationship with. They're not really the sort of people you would actually want to have that kind of a relationship with. But, well, he listened to me, and that helped a lot."

Hermione could somehow not imagine Snape ever being voluntarily nice to anybody, listening and providing an ear, or a shoulder to cry on ... the concept seemed alien. She took Draco at his word however.

"Anyway," said Draco. "Let's backtrack a bit ... I really think you should talk to Harry and Ron ... just give it a whirl."

"Perhaps I should," said Hermione.

Draco was smiling at her. Privately, what he was about to reveal to her was something he had decided a couple of days before. There was no way he could brew that potion. No way. This was a decision he had made as soon as his Father had left his bedside. No matter how dire the consequences became, he was not going to lower himself to those depths. This was the first time he had ever given voice to his fears about what he had been told to do.

"What's the matter?" asked Hermione.

"I wanted to tell you something," said Draco. "I thought you ought to know the reason I tried to become friends with you ... because ... if you found out from anybody else, or after this was all over, I think you might never forgive me."

Hermione was slowly moving away from him. "Draco?" she said, her voice wary.

"Please," said Draco. "I know you'll think less of me for it ... but I just want you to hear me out ... I just want you to know the truth, because I'm fed up with lying."

"I'm listening."

"I told you about a visitor my Father had. His name was Artemis Chaldean."

"I know that name," said Hermione.

Draco nodded. "I know you do," he said. "Artemis Chaldean was once a Death Eater ... but, well, he didn't like the way You-Know-Who was going ... so he walked out on him. Now that You-Know-Who is undergoing something of a renaissance, he is running scared, and he believes You-Know-Who must be destroyed."

Hermione was looking at him, open mouthed.

"But I thought you ... your Father, wasn't he a ...?"

"My Father turned," said Draco. "My Father has been lying to me for the last fourteen years. He has been supplying Chaldean with information, helping him, working for him. Hermione, he was calling him Master, he was bowing, it was sickening."

"Wait, you still support ... you've confused me."

"I'm confused ... I don't know what I want, or who I support anymore," said Draco, staring at the floor. "It's partly the reason. Anyway, Chaldean believes there is only one person who is strong enough to defeat Voldemort once and for all, and that is Harry. So he wanted Harry ... and that was why I had to try and make friends with you guys ... he, he gave me drugs to do it with."

"What drugs? Magic ones?"

Draco nodded. "That cutting you read to me ... those plants. Dracaena Draco ... they're called Dragon Trees in popular parlance ... mind altering, they can be used as a truth drug, the taker cannot help but reveal everything, and submit to anything he is asked to do ... they," he choked slightly, and Hermione could see he was once more on the verge of crying. "They were used by Voldemort and the Death Eaters when he was powerful, first time round, to reveal the whereabouts of his enemies ... he used them on Secret Keepers, ordinary wizards, even Muggles. You're Mu ... Muggle born ... you could have no idea how horrible it must have been ... that fear is still lingering today. But, he wanted me to use them on Harry ... and they said I'd be punished if I didn't."

"So this running to me ... this, all this," Draco could see a look of disgust on Hermione's face. "It was an act? An act, to get close to Harry?"

"At first..."

"Did you mean any of those things you said to me?" asked Hermione, who was looking tearful. "Did you actually mean any of them. They, they aren't things I take lightly. I thought we had something."

Draco's face was a mask of horror. "No, please," he started. "At first, yes, at first it was an act ... but then, then, well, I fell for you ... big time. You helped me, and got me through all this ... and then I started to realise that I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it at all. That's why I wanted to tell you this. I wanted to put it behind me, to get rid of it. Please believe me?"

Hermione threw her arms around him, and kissed him again. "I do believe you," she said. "You ... what you told me, it isn't something you tell on the spur of the moment."

She released him, and fixed him with her gaze. "I think you really thought about telling me that, didn't you?"

Draco nodded.

"That proves how much you must love me," said Hermione. "Draco ... that, that kind of a ... that was selfless of you. I feel I should be thanking you."

Draco was looking at his shoes again.

"What about your Father? You said you couldn't possibly use the drugs now."

"My Father told me that no Malfoy has ever been disowned before," said Draco. "Well, disowning people works both ways ... I think I might make him the first."

"He'll cut you out of the inheritance."

"Then I'll just have to make sure I amount to something, won't I?"

"You amount to plenty in my eyes," said Hermione, which was pretty sickening, but people say things like that when the relationship is still in its early stages.

"So it's all okay?"

"Draco ... it's fine," said Hermione. She looked up at Draco's earnest face ... so strange, she thought, how once she had thought it was harsh and pointed, and now, she felt so differently about that fundamentally unaltered visage.

"Perhaps you'd, like to try that, um, thing again?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sirius closed the office door behind him, and stole quietly into the deserted office. Taking out his wand, and whispering, "Lumos," he proceeded over to the other side of the room. Doctor Jones' elderly barn owl, Ophelia, was dozing in her cage, her head snuggled underneath her speckled wing.

There were several large metal filing cabinets ... which should they contain what Sirius hoped they did, would confirm to him the suspicions he had been hiding to himself for the last fourteen years. He thought he had seen it in her eyes when they had been introduced the previous week. He hoped it could still be true.

Taking care not to wake Ophelia, Sirius pulled open the drawer of the first filing cabinet he came to. As he suspected, inside were literally hundreds of buff coloured files, which somebody had very carefully and conscientiously sorted into chronological order. Sirius suddenly understood why she had been giving so many detentions lately.

He pulled open the file marked '1981' and tipped the contents onto the already untidy desktop. As he had suspected, there were old cuttings, a couple of yellowing copies of the Daily Prophet. One of them, Sirius noted morbidly, bore the dateline 'November 1st 1981' and beneath that, the banner headline 'Voldemort Presumed Dead; Four Men In Custody.' Beneath that were smaller headlines, 'Ministry in Crisis; Melchett Claims Nothing to Live For', 'Reign of Terror Over?', 'Who Served the Dark Lord?', and right at the bottom 'Ministry's Bright Stars Extinguished. Harry Potter Only Survivor of Voldemort's Last Attack.' Sirius baulked a little ... this had been the last paper he had ever bought, on his way to track down Pettigrew. His copy was probably still lying on his dining room table back home ... the one place he had not dared go since breaking out of gaol. He read on.

'James and Lily Potter (22), both described as 'rising stars' in the Ministry of Magic's firmament by Prime Minister Arcturus Melchett, and as the 'last, best hope for peace' in the pages of this volume just last week, were the last victims of a senseless and tragic reign of terror in which many hundreds of people, both wizards and Muggles, perished. Information at this time is limited to that disclosed by the MCID and the MLES in the last few hours, and details of events will become clearer as time goes by, but it is believed that the Potters and their young son Harry were attacked in their Godric's Hollow home by Voldemort late last night. Early rumours state that Harry, fifteen months old, is the sole survivor of the attack, which has left officials puzzled. It remains unclear exactly how he survived the use of the forbidden Killing Curse, and the exact details will probably never be known. Harry is currently in the care of Muggle relatives, where he was placed by Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore shortly after the attack. This paper would like to pay tribute to the bravery ... ' here Sirius choked ,' ... of the Potter family and their son, on behalf of all the writers and editors of this edition.'

Sirius replaced the paper in the folder ... and it was then that he spotted what he had been looking for. A small, folded piece of purple notepaper. He picked it up, and unfolded it. A couple of pressed rose petals fell into his hand, and the smell of the cologne he had doused it in hit him hard. It was the letter all right ... he could recognise his handwriting.

6 Tennyson Mansions,

Palmeira Drive,

Headingley,

W. Yorks,

September 16th 1981,

Dear Gwyneth,

Please answer my calls. I am getting desperate. I know I still love you, and I believe you still feel the same way. I pray that what we are going through is just a temporary problem, and that we can sort it out, and return things to how they were. Please answer this letter, my life depends upon it.

Yours, as ever,

Sirius.

She had kept it! The very fact that she had kept it surely confirmed that she was still harbouring feelings for him.

He smiled as he remembered how it had been, and how they had met. It had been one of those literal, movie cliché moments. It had been during Sirius' sixth, and her seventh year at Hogwarts ... the Halloween Ball. They had danced together until their feet were sore, and then they had danced again. For nearly five years everything had been perfect ... Sirius had been on the verge of proposing marriage, indeed, he had even been to the classiest jewellers on Diagon Alley to buy a diamond engagement ring, and then, then she had told him she was seeing someone else.

He had been so distraught, he had turned down the job of Secret Keeper, and it had fallen to Peter Pettigrew to ... to. He stopped, he had never looked at it that way before in his life.

He heard a key in the lock. Quickly, he scooped up the spilled papers, and tried to stuff them into the file, but he was not quick enough. The door creaked open, and Doctor Jones came in. She gave a start when she saw Sirius standing over the desk, but did not seem altogether surprised to see him there.

"Sirius," she said, turning a brilliant shade of red. "I wasn't expecting to see you ... I just got in from the pub."

"I ... um ... shouldn't you be screaming and hurling things at me at this point?" asked Sirius.

"Only if you want me to," said Doctor Jones. "Actually, to be honest, I'm surprised you didn't do this sooner. It's just like the Sirius Black we knew and loved."

Sirius put his hands behind his back. "I was, just reading some of the old newspapers, reliving old memories," he said. Doctor Jones, however, had caught sight of the purple notepaper, which had somehow slipped off the desk and was lying on the floor.

"And to catch up on your old love letters," she said, stooping to pick it up.

"Ah ... yes, sorry about that," said Sirius.

"It truly doesn't matter," said Doctor Jones. "I've been expecting you to be curious ... actually," she took a step closer to him ... she was still holding the letter. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I was hoping you would be."

"How do you mean?" asked Sirius.

"The thing with, with that other guy," said Doctor Jones. "Well, let's just say it didn't last very long at all. He dumped me for a younger man, and I, well, I would have waited for you, but you were in Azkaban, so I threw myself into my work, at the complete expense of allowing myself any semblance of a normal social life," she added. "My work became my spouse. I was at the Institute until 1990, and then I decided I wanted a change of scenery, and so I moved into teaching. When I heard you were out ... my heart leapt ... I hardly dared hope you would contact me."

"I didn't dare," said Sirius. "That would have been the first place they would have looked for me."

"I understand that," said Doctor Jones. "Then, when I took the job here, to replace Professor Snape for a term, I, when Dumbledore told me about his plans, to keep you safe here, disguised and unrecognisable ... oh Sirius, I was ecstatic."

She looked up at Sirius. He was smiling broadly.

"Do you think it could still work?" he asked.

"We could, we could give it a go," said Gwyneth.

"Whatever would the students say?" asked Sirius.

"You wouldn't tell them," said Gwyneth. "It would be our little secret. Besides, imagine how Harry would react!"

"How do you mean?" asked Sirius.

"Well ... Harry doesn't like me at all," said Gwyneth. "He doesn't remember me at all, obviously ... and I know I'm strict around kids ... but that is just the way I am, and there isn't anything I can really do about it."

"I could have a word with him," said Sirius.

"What would you say?" laughed Gwyneth. "Harry, please be nice to Doctor Jones, I want to shag her!"

Sirius grinned. "I always loved your laugh," he said

"Do you remember the day we met?" asked Gwyneth.

Sirius nodded. "I was sixteen, you were seventeen."

Gwyneth laughed. "I was Welsh, you were an English bastard!"

"Remember how happy everybody was? Do you remember James and Lily?"

Gwyneth was smiling. "We could have taken on the world," she said. "I think James wanted to ... pregnancy slowed him down a bit, as it does tend to," she added.

"Do you remember the party they threw when they moved to Godric's Hollow?"

"I remember dancing to Buck's Fizz and the Weird Sisters," said Gwyneth. "And I remember everybody had their cameras out for Harry. He was having a great time! You remember he was trying to eat his toes all evening?"

"That's one thing the kid has to be thankful for," said Sirius. "No baby photos."

"I wouldn't be so sure," said Gwyneth. "Not all of them got blown up when the house did. I still have some."

"I have a whole album full," said Sirius. "I'll have to show him some day. Tragically though, the one Lily took of him naked on a rug perished along with her. They had it framed on the mantelpiece ... must have been blown up in the explosion."

"That was probably for the best," said Gwyneth. "At least as far as Harry is concerned."

"I will have a word with him," said Sirius. "Perhaps I can bring him round."

"It won't do you any good," said Gwyneth. "I know that he's set dead against me ... and, well, I don't like that, but, I don't think things are going to change so easily. I still bear a lot of hurt from what happened."

"How do you mean?" asked Sirius.

"When Lily and James were murdered, and Harry survived," said Gwyneth. "I suppose I was, angry with Harry for living, when my dearest friend had perished in her prime. I resented that for several years ... and, oh Sirius, you're the first person I've ever opened up to about this! It isn't easy for me."

"Carry on," said Sirius.

"I don't think I like Harry anymore. I don't think I ever can. I fell in love with their baby, not their son. I, well, I think I hate him Sirius. I hate him for surviving, and I don't want to hate him. I'm sure, I'm sure he's lovely. But I just can't stand to look at him. I caught myself being, oh, horrible, so horrible, and so out of character for me, but I was saying things to him in the lessons, this last week or so. I regret saying those things," she looked up into Sirius' eyes. "Believe me ... I don't want it to be that way."

"I don't know what to say."

"You can tell me ... why do I have to feel this way?" asked Gwyneth. "Believe me, I don't want to."

"I believe you," said Sirius. "There is no question at all of that. But I don't see what I can do."

There was a sudden knock on the door that made both of them jump.

"Come in," said Gwyneth, hurriedly drying her eyes on the hem of her robes.

The door opened a crack, to reveal Snape, who was wearing a very long woollen robe, and looked soaked to the skin.

"Can I help you, Severus?" asked Gwyneth.

"Actually, it was Sirius I was looking for," said Snape, stepping into the office ... he appeared to be looking at the new decoration with something approaching disgust. "Dumbledore would like to speak with you, urgently."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dumbledore was sitting at his giant desk, with Fawkes perched on his shoulder, eating birdseed from his hand. He looked up as Sirius came in.

"Ah, he returns," he said. "Do take a seat, Sirius ... I have some things to discuss with you."

Sirius sat down, and waited while Fawkes finished dinner.

"I know it's late," said Dumbledore, as if anticipating what Sirius was about to say. "However, this is quite important. It concerns your Godson."

"What's he done?"

"It is more a case of what he isn't doing," said Dumbledore. He released Fawkes, who flew away back to his perch. "Professor McGonagall brought the matter to my attention just the other day."

"What's happening?" asked Sirius.

"He appears to have fallen out with Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "Neither he nor Ronald Weasley are actually talking to her at the minute. It is as if they wanted to have nothing to do with her. She has been sitting on her own at mealtimes, and during classes."

Sirius thought back to the Care of Magical Creatures class he had given that morning. Now that Dumbledore came to mention it, he had indeed noticed that Hermione had been sitting on the opposite side of the classroom to Harry and Ron, and both parties had been stoically ignoring one another throughout the course of the entire lesson.

"Professor McGonagall has spoken to both boys," said Dumbledore. "Yet she has drawn a complete blank. They both seemed to have clam up completely the moment she tried to talk to them. Now my theory is that this has something to do with you know what."

"Voldemort?"

"No, silly ass," said Dumbledore. "Sex, Sirius, sex. After all, would you feel comfortable talking to Professor McGonagall about such matters?"

Sirius shook his head. Dumbledore seemed to empathise. "You see, neither would I. The very thought leaves me dumb with fear," he said.

"You think Harry and Hermione are...?"

"Not in the least," said Dumbledore. "I believe they are both far too sensible for any such shenanigans. Nevertheless, there can be no denying the fact that this is a school, and in this school we have a large number of teenaged children, and these matters do need to be dealt with. I was wondering ... could you have a word with Harry?"

"You think he needs a ... the talk?" asked Sirius.

"Maybe," said Dumbledore. "But I rather think that whatever the reason for this tryst may be ... he will be more willing to talk about it with you."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sirius left Dumbledore's office in something of a state of shock. When he had taken the job at Hogwarts, he had assumed that his duties would be limited to the same ones that Hagrid had always undertaken. Now it appeared he was being press ganged into the role of some kind of guidance counsellor, which didn't suit him at all.

Even though it was getting on for half past midnight, he headed up to Gryffindor Tower anyway ... it had, after all, been eighteen years since he had last seen it, and he was anxious to have a look around.

To his surprise, he found it had changed very little ... the large armchairs were still there, and the tables, and the fireplace of course. He was mildly gratified to see that his name was still carved onto the wall, together with a date, 25.12.75. He remembered the day well. It had been one of the best Christmases he had ever passed at Hogwarts. Sighing as he reminisced, he sat down in one of the armchairs ... just as comfy as they had been back in his day, and closed his eyes. The fire was still smouldering and giving out heat.

A noise startled him and made him jump. He turned round in his seat, to see the portrait hole swinging open, and somebody come in ... an invisible somebody. Sirius got to his feet. Whoever was under the cloak stopped dead in their tracks.

"Is that you, Harry?" asked Sirius.

"Um, no," said whoever it was ... it was a female voice.

"Hermione?"

"Um, yes," said the invisible someone.

"You shouldn't go wandering around the school past lights out," said Sirius. "It can be very dangerous these days. I think you should give the cloak to me."

"It isn't really mine to give," said Hermione, pulling the cloak off. Her hair was a mess, and her face flushed, evidently through running.

"Give it to me anyway," said Sirius.

"Mr Wilmot, Harry will be furious with me ... he'd probably kill me if he even knew I took it."

Sirius had completely forgotten he was still under his alias. "The cloak is Harry's?"

Hermione nodded.

"In that case, it is doubly important you give it to me," said Sirius, his paternal instinct stepping hurriedly in front of his other instincts, which were telling him that the whole thing was really rather funny.

Hermione reluctantly handed over the Invisibility Cloak. "Can I ask you something?"

"Fire away," said Sirius, folding up the cloak, and putting it on the arm of a nearby chair.

"What are you doing in our Common Room?"

"I ... well, that is a good question," said Sirius. "I ... I was a Gryffindor myself, a very long time ago. I wanted to come back and have a look around."

Hermione nodded ... that made sense.

"Can I ask you something, Hermione?" asked Sirius. "Why were you out late?"

Hermione looked down at her feet. "Well," she said. "As I've been caught ... do you promise not to take points away or anything?"

"From Gryffindor ... heaven forbid," said Sirius.

"I was sneaking out to see my ... well, yes, I suppose he is my boyfriend," said Hermione, as she recalled the events of the evening.

"Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?" asked Sirius.

"Neither," admitted Hermione.

"Ah, does that, I suppose it's not Harry, either, is it?"

Hermione made a face. "Why does everyone seem to think I spend my entire life getting off with Harry?"

"I'm sorry, but if he isn't a Ravenclaw, or a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, then that must mean..."

Hermione was nodding. "Yes, he is," she said.

Sirius suddenly understood. "Well, that would explain why Harry and Ron aren't talking to you."

"How do you know about that?" asked Hermione.

"I've just come from Dumbledore's office," said Sirius. "We've been talking about you three. He asked me to have a word with Harry about things in general."

Hermione nodded. "Why you?" she asked. "Why not somebody who knows Harry ... you're just, well, no offence, but you're just a supply teacher, Mr Wilmot."

"None taken," said Sirius. "Well, actually, plenty taken, but I'm good at hiding my emotions. Hermione ... I, well, this may be difficult for you to believe, but I know Harry better than you think. When I say I was in Gryffindor ... I was there at the same time as James and Lily Potter ... in fact, I was one of their greatest friends."

Hermione was looking at him with the faintest outline of a smile playing across her lips. "I know," she said. "I think I know, anyway ..."

"You know what?"

"You can't fool me," said Hermione. "I thought I recognised you straight away. I'm surprised Harry didn't try and tell me."

"I told him not to," said Sirius.

"When he got himself in hospital ... that was because you told him who you were, right?"

Sirius nodded. "Yes, he fell off his chair," he said. "Um, does anybody apart from you and Harry know who I am."

"I can't think of anybody," said Hermione. "Relax, Sirius, I certainly am not about to tell anybody."

"I appreciate that," said Sirius. He picked up Harry's Invisibility Cloak. "Well ... I think we should probably think about heading our separate ways. I don't know about you wild young things, but us old grouches need our beauty sleep."

Hermione nodded. "Um, well, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Hermione," said Sirius. He unfolded the cloak again, and draped it over himself. Hermione smiled.

"Long time since I did this," said Sirius. "Dare me to kick Mrs Norris?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At breakfast the next morning, Harry noticed that Sirius and Doctor Jones appeared to be passing photographs around the staff table, and that whatever the pictures were of, they were affording the teachers much merriment, and also that Hermione appeared much happier than she had done in several days. She kept smiling at him across the table, and even though they weren't speaking, he felt duty bound to return the smile.

Ron was stuffing sausages into his mouth. He leant over to Harry. "Quidditch team list goes up today. Think you'll still be on it?"

Harry smiled ... he was sure of it, indeed, he was more worried that Ron wouldn't make the team, as competition for places had been particularly strong. He was looking forward to finally getting to play properly with his friend. It had always felt kind of wrong to him, somehow, that he, brought up amongst Muggles and never having played much sport during childhood thanks to Dudley ... he, Harry, who had never even touched a broomstick before coming to Hogwarts, except when he had been forced to sweep the garden at Privet Drive, should have landed a plum position on the team within days of arriving, and that Ron, on the other hand, had had to wait four years.

"Training starts tomorrow," said Ron. "Hope you're up for it."

"You don't seem worried about not getting on the team," said Harry.

"If I do, I do," said Ron. "If not, there's always next year. Anyway, there are only two places going, and nearly twenty of us went for them," Oliver Wood and Angelina Johnson had both now left, and so one Chaser and a new Keeper were needed, as well as a Captain. Nobody was in any doubt that that was going to be Harry.

"Next year you'll have a better chance," said Harry. "There'll be three places going," he looked up, and smiled as Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet came to sit down with them.

"Lists are up," said Katie, scooping enough hash browns to feed an army onto her plate. Alicia was helping herself to tea. "Guess who's the Seeker?"

"Couldn't possibly," said Harry.

"Well done, now guess who's Captain," Katie went on.

Harry shrugged.

"You, you bloody great oaf," said Katie. "I was up for that ... you'll have to watch I don't try and overthrow you."

"And," said Alicia. "Ron ... you made it too You're a Chaser ... and some fourth year is the new Keeper. You know Colin Creevey?"

Harry hit his head on the table. The last thing he needed was to have Colin on the team ... they would never get any work done. Resignedly, Harry began to cut up his bacon. Ron was veritably glowing with pride. Alicia leant over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Always knew you had it in you, darling" she said, provoking a dark look from George, who was sitting next to them. "Oh, and guess who's Captaining Slytherin this season?"

Ron's face fell. "You're kidding!"

"Nope, Draco Malfoy," said Alicia, sighing. "I know ... I couldn't believe it either, but hey, he's, like, totally thick, so they should be a walkover."

Their first Quidditch game of the season was scheduled for a couple of weeks time, and it was against Slytherin. Harry had already pencilled it into his diary.

"I hope you have some nice new tactics up your sleeve," Katie was saying. Harry looked up in alarm.

"Tactics?"

"You know, you have to live up to Oliver," said Katie. "It wouldn't be the same if we didn't get the twenty page flipchart before every training session now, would it, Harry?"

In the excitement, Harry had completely forgotten that his new responsibilities would include tactics and motivation. His heart sank.

"You do have a flipchart, don't you Harry?" badgered Alicia.

Harry shook his head.

"Ooh, I dunno, we might have to have a word with McGonagall about that," Katie went on. "There is a proud Gryffindor tradition to carry on with ... that of the Captain being a boring sod."

"Perhaps we can get one for you," said Alicia. "Take it as an early Christmas present."

"We could get Colin to raid the Harry Potter Fan Club's petty cash box," said Ron. "The subscriptions alone could buy us all Mark 2 Firebolts."

Harry, meanwhile, had noticed that Sirius was laughing uproariously at one of the photos, and he and Professor Flitwick kept casting conspiratorial glances in his direction. It was making him distinctly uneasy. He began to eat his breakfast.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Friday passed quietly enough. Hermione seemed to be much more pleasantly disposed towards him, and even came back to sit with them at lunch, smiling politely at their jokes. Harry wondered if she was buttering him up in the hope of a favour. Sirius kept looking at him oddly during Care of Magical Creatures, and then told him to stay behind for a little chat ... which sounded decidedly ominous. He stopped behind afterwards as he had been asked, and watched as the rest of the class filed out. Hermione disappeared somewhere with Draco in tow, but Harry was too worried about what Sirius wanted him for to be bothered about what she was doing.

"If you'd like to sit down, Harry," hinted Sirius. He had borrowed Professor McGonagall's office, which Harry had visited before, usually in unhappy circumstances. It was a well appointed room, with fine carpets, adornments and old photographs hanging from the walls, and a view of the main courtyard, across which groups of students were hurrying in a bid to escape the cold and wet weather that was once again plaguing them.

"Have I done anything wrong?" Harry asked, sitting down before the desk.

"Quite the contrary," said Sirius. "Dumbledore wanted me to have this little chat with you about ... well, you know, things."

"What things?"

"Dumbledore is concerned that you and Ron don't seem to be talking to Hermione. He thinks it might have something to do with ...um," Sirius stumbled. "He thinks it might have something to do with ... well, how shall I put this? With affairs of the heart."

"He thinks I'm lovesick over Hermione? I'm not," lied Harry.

Sirius nodded. "He mentioned the other thing too," he said.

"Sirius, stop speaking in riddles," said Harry.

Sirius scowled. "Give me a chance kid. This is hard for me too. I was never cut out for this Fathering lark. Give me the life of a bachelor any day. He thinks it might be because you're confused."

"I'm confused because you aren't telling me what you're on about," said Harry.

"Confused about things that are happening within you," said Sirius. "You know, there comes a time in every young man's life when ... well, when this sort of thing, comes out, and it can be, awkward. Well, very awkward and generally confusing."

Harry shook his head. "I'm still not with you," he said.

"Well," said Sirius, crossing and uncrossing his legs. "I think, that is to say, that, things happening within, um, within yourself are, happening. Yes. This is confusing, I think, probably for you too, that these things are unexpected for you, and you don't know what to do about them."

"Me Harry Potter, me speak English."

"What I mean to say is, this has something to do with the unexpected changes that are occurring."

"Do you mean puberty?" asked Harry, latching onto a concept. He noticed Sirius had gone pink.

"Well," he said, taking his time and enunciating every syllable. "That is to say, unexpected changes within things, at this time of life ... and to put it quite bluntly. Yes."

"Dumbledore thinks I'm confused because I'm about to get pimples and sprout hair everywhere," said Harry.

"In a manner of speaking," said Sirius.

"I know what to do about them," said Harry. "I'm not stupid. Why does Dumbledore want you to give me sex education sessions, albeit very abstract ones?"

Sirius was now so pink you could have fried an egg on his face. "That is, probably, because of the changes," he said, meekly.

"If there was a prize for beating about the bush, you'd get it, hands down," said Harry. "Is this going to take long? I have to sort out tactics. The guys are getting me a flipchart."

"Dumbledore thinks you might not, be talking to Hermione because of this."

"Because I have a couple of spots on my chin?"

"Well," said Sirius. "That and other things."

"He thinks me and Hermione are ... um ..."

"Um," said Sirius.

"Ah," said Harry, understanding. "Well, you can tell him from me that my sex life is still ... abortive to say the least. Why exactly does he think I'm not talking to her because I'm in love with her, which is not to say I am?" even though he was.

"Could you tell me then, why exactly Hermione isn't ... um, doesn't appear to be your friend anymore?"

"We don't hate each other," said Harry. "It's just, she seems to like Malfoy all of a sudden, she was going on about him earlier in the week, and I'm convinced they keep disappearing off together."

"That is as I feared," said Sirius.

"Then why go through all the birds and the bees rubbish if you already knew what I was going to say?" asked Harry.

"I ... um," it was dawning on Sirius that this was an incredibly good point. "I think you'll have to ask Dumbledore that particular question."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harry had spent most of the night sitting up in bed, with the hangings drawn around him, worrying about Quidditch. He had kind of expected, all along, that he would wind up being the Captain, but somehow, he had always hoped and prayed that they would choose somebody else. However, he had once again been thrust forward into the limelight... as seemed to be happening to him increasingly often. It was, frankly, causing him increasing annoyance. He did want to be Captain ... but he didn't. It was very confusing.

To top it all, he had no idea exactly how he should go about doing it. To copy Wood and spend ages before every single match or training session poring over flipcharts and diagrams of fancy movements, and earn their contempt, or at the very least, to bore them to tears. Or to play it by ear ... to just let them do as they wanted. Surely that choice could never produce any kind of results. It was a dilemma, and one Harry did not want to have to face. Nevertheless, their first training session was coming up, and he knew he would have to do something. He wished he could have had Wood there with him, to give him help, guidance, and steer him in the right direction. But he didn't, instead he had a self help manual called 'Coaching Quidditch Successfully - How To Go About Achieving The Bloody Impossible.' It did not bode well. He fell asleep fretting, and once again, his dreams were not pleasant ones.

Harry had decided to book the Quidditch pitch for training early on Saturday morning, before breakfast, so that they would not have to worry about spectators putting them off. However, as he headed down to the changing rooms in the early morning sunlight, his heart sank to see that most of the rest of the House had beaten him to it. There were about fifty Gryffindors packed in a tight knit little group at the front of the South Stand.

The others were all already changed and waiting for him by the time he got there. Harry hurriedly pulled on his Quidditch robes, and then went to join them. Fred, George and Ron were looking at him expectantly, but he had no idea what to say to them.

"What do you want to work on then, Harry?" asked Katie.

Harry shrugged. "I really don't know," he said. "What do you guys want to do?"

"Harry, Captain's call," reminded Alicia. Fred and George were nodding keenly. "We are but your minions ... here to flatter your desires, though not all of them, obviously."

"Should we just fly around a bit and get used to being back on brooms?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, but what do you want us to do when we're up there?" asked Fred.

"Well, what did Wood always do?"

"Bore us to tears," said George. "How about we try some passing ... release a couple of bludgers, and we'll try and work our way down the pitch, as if we're playing a match, but without any opposition."

"And as we're not playing anybody, it'll be a walkover," said Fred.

"We could try that," said Harry. "Let's try that then. Colin, you're in goal. Stop as many of our shots as you can."

Colin grinned at the mention of his name. He was wearing a very thick pair of goalkeeping gloves which looked more suited to soccer than Quidditch, though as nobody had yet commented, he hadn't bothered to take them off.

"Sounds good," said Alicia. "So, Harry, do you have any balls?"

"Ah," said Harry.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It took about ten minutes to track down a full set of Quidditch balls, during which time the entirety of Gryffindor House had shown up, as well as some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. As they walked out onto the pitch, the noise was almost as loud as a real game. Harry very nearly turned and went back inside. He caught sight of Sirius sitting in the stands, waving to him ... for some reason Doctor Jones was with him.

Though Harry had flown a couple of times since the start of term, it still felt brilliant to be back in the air again. It was only now that he could play again that he realised how much he had missed the game during the previous year. He soared around high above the pitch, basking in the faint heat from the Autumn sun, keeping his eyes open for the little flash of gold that indicated the presence of the elusive Snitch, and watching the other players shooting about below him. Fred and George were taking it in turns with the Bludgers, one shooting them at the other players, and the other trying to defend them, whilst the three Chasers, Katie, Alicia and Ron moved up the pitch, passing the Quaffle between them. Colin Creevey was flying around in one of the goalmouths, not doing much, but evidently having great fun.

The morning breeze was refreshing at such a height, and up here, the shouts from the crowd sounded like the shouts of a crowd on television ... so isolated and far away that it didn't really matter.

Harry gave a start ... for a moment, he thought he had seen the Snitch, but it turned out to be the rising sun glinting off one of the floodlights. He swerved to avoid a speeding Bludger, which missed him by inches, and turned rapidly for another go. Harry, without pause for thought, dived towards the ground so steeply he was almost vertical. He could feel the wind whipping at his hair as the pitch got closer and closer. Two hundred feet, a hundred feet, now seventy five, now fifty, forty. He pulled out of the dive, felt a rush of exhilaration surge through his veins as his toes skimmed the newly mown grass, and he heard a sharp crack as George deflected the Bludger away from him. Down here, he was once again in the thick of things ... he could hear and feel the raw energy radiating from the crowd. He turned sharply as he reached the goal, and scanned the pitch again. Ron had just taken a tricky pass from Katie, and had already knocked the Quaffle up field towards Colin, who moved rapidly to block it. Harry watched as Colin missed the ball, which flew straight through one of the goal hoops, and narrowly avoided Fred, whom he hadn't noticed flying around nearby, protecting him from Bludgers.

Harry signalled for time out, and they all flew back to the centre of the pitch, and landed softly on the ground.

"Something up?" asked George.

Harry shook his head. "How are we all feeling?" he asked. "Is it going okay?"

"You tell us," said Katie. "You're the man, Harry."

Harry scratched his head. "Colin," he said. "Try and move quickly. You've got the hang of that pirouette, but Quidditch isn't ballet, and if you try and pull off fancy moves like that, you'll start conceding points. Try just moving in front of the Quaffle, and don't worry about Bludgers. Try that for me."

"Okay, Harry," said Colin, grinning from ear to ear.

Harry thought he saw Hermione in the crowd, and turned to see. Sure enough, she was sitting in the front row, waving to them.

"Above all, don't let anybody distract you," said Harry. "Play your game ... blank the crowd if you have to. Ron, I don't know how you felt about that, but you looked as though you were worrying about Bludgers ... you kept changing tack for no reason. Fly straight. George, watch out for Ron, give him no cause to be scared. Fred, just fly."

Katie and Alicia were smiling. "You see," said Alicia. "Being Captain isn't so hard! You're doing it, Harry!"

Harry grinned. He hadn't realised. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I suppose I am," his confidence boosted, he kicked off from the ground again, and soared off into the sky whilst the rest of the team scattered to their various positions.

Again, high up above the pitch, it felt like another world. He stayed slightly lower this time, to keep an eye on how the others were flying. He was pleased to see that his advice seemed to be being taken to heart, especially by Colin Creevey, whom Harry suspected was very anxious to please.

A flash of something gold ... right by his ear. He turned sharply, and sure enough, the Snitch was hanging in the air right in front of him. Surely it wasn't going to be that easy. Harry reached out, but the Snitch shot away towards the ground. Harry kicked his broomstick into gear, and dived in pursuit. Now the sheer power of his world class Firebolt really came into play, and he was glad Sirius was able to be there and see his Christmas present in action. Trying not to think about the crowd, as he himself had said, he stretched out his hand, and felt the fluttering of the Snitch's tiny wings against his palm as he closed his fingers tight around it, keeping his left hand always on the broom to stabilise it. The crowd, evidently realising what was happening, whooped and cheered as he slewed the Firebolt to a halt at the far end of the pitch.

"Nice one," he said to himself.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hermione came running up to him as they trooped off the pitch, looking hopeful about something.

"Have you got drinks?" she asked. "It looked thirsty work. I ... I, uh, could get some. If you'd like."

"We brought water," said Harry, fishing in his kitbag, and withdrawing a large plastic bottle which he had filled from one of the taps in the boys' bathroom before coming out. He handed it over to Ron.

"Thanks," said Ron, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig.

"So ... what brought this on?" asked Harry. Ron gave him back the bottle, and he clasped it tightly.

"Yeah, why isn't Draco with you?" asked Ron.

"Draco? Why on Earth would Draco want to come and see you practice Quidditch?" scoffed Hermione. "Now me on the other hand ... I like nothing better than to come down and see my two favourite boys flying their hearts out."

If this struck Harry as at all odd, considering her attitude towards them over the past few days, he was clearly doing his best not to allow Hermione to see it. He unscrewed the cap from his bottle, and drank.

"Do we ... um, take it the Malfoy thing is over then?" asked Ron, shouldering his broomstick as they started to walk back towards the changing rooms.

"As good as," said Hermione, though secretly, she was thinking ... not on your life.

"That's a relief," said Ron. "I was beginning to think you were out looking for a personal relationship with him."

Hermione laughed along with them. "Look," she said. "I'll see you guys later ... I'm going to run up to the Castle, grab a spot of breakfast and get ready for Potions. You run along and do whatever it is guys do in changing rooms."

Harry and Ron didn't exchange conspiratorial winks. Hermione waved a farewell to them, and carried on back up the path towards the Castle. Harry drained the bottle.

"Coming?" asked Ron.

Harry was about to follow him into the changing rooms, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned round to find himself looking into Sirius' eyes.

"Good flying this morning, Harry," he said. "I kind of wish I'd been up there with you."

"Thanks," said Harry. "Can I ask you something?"

Sirius nodded. "Whatever you like," he said.

"Why is Doctor Jones hanging around you so much?" Harry asked.

Sirius looked around furtively to check that Doctor Jones wasn't within earshot ... she was walking along in the middle distance, heading back up towards the Castle.

"You don't remember Gwyneth do you?" asked Sirius.

Harry shook his head. "Should I do?" he asked.

Sirius nodded. "Well, maybe not directly," he said. "Your Mother would be very disappointed to learn you weren't getting on."

"She knew Mum?"

Sirius nodded. "They were good friends. Gwyneth was a year above us at Hogwarts, and she was always kind of a mentor to your Mother ... whenever us four got too much for her, as happened more often than you'd think, she'd slope off to have a girly chat with Gwyneth. She remembers you very well ... she was quite often round your house when you were a baby. She was there when you were born too."

"How's that?" asked Harry.

"Your parents were living in a flat in Diagon Alley at the time," said Sirius. "Gwyneth and I were there when your Mum went into labour. Your Dad, well, he was drinking himself silly in the pub. I believe it's called wetting the baby's head ... anyway he was practicing for it. Your Mum and Gwyneth chucked me out, and sent me down to the pub, and then Gwyneth, she helped her through it ... your Mum told me afterwards there were moments when she was screaming about wanting to kill James, and Gwyneth comforted her, and she weighed you, and cleaned you up afterwards. She suggested your name too."

"Why, what were they going to call me?"

"If you'd been a girl, I believe it would have been Rosemary," said Sirius. "Your Mum wanted to call you Septimus, because you were born in the seventh month, so count yourself lucky ... if you had been born a day later, you might have been called Octopus Potter. As for your Father ... well, he liked the sound of Ringo," Sirius shuddered ... there had been quite a fight over that one. He looked down at Harry, who was somehow looking even more childlike than he usually did.

"Are you okay?"

"It ... it just has this effect on me," said Harry, who was starting to feel slightly woozy ... he couldn't be getting tipsy off tap water could he?

"If you don't want me to carry on," said Sirius.

Harry looked up. "Actually, I do," he said. "It helps, you know?"

Sirius nodded. "I think I can understand why," he said. "Well, she was your Mum's greatest friend, and she was my girlfriend, for a very long time. We were about to get married too. You would have been about fourteen months old when we split up."

Harry was looking at his shoes. "I feel I ought to apologise," he said.

"Whatever for?" asked Sirius. "It wasn't your fault ... actually, it was hers. Look, Harry ... if you don't hurry, you'll miss breakfast, and you'll give her an excuse to shout at you. If you want to talk ... you know where I am. And, just try getting along with her, for me? I know she's a Slytherin now ... but she used to be a Gryffindor."

He turned, and began to walk back down the hill towards the Quidditch pitch.

END OF CHAPTER SIX.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER SEVEN ... THE LOST BOYS.