Harry Potter and the Fifth Year from Hell

Chapter 13 - Potions Class

Harry wouldn't have thought it possible that Snape's dislike for him could increase, but it certainly had.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Ch. 22

* * *

For the first, and probably the last, time in his life, Harry was looking forward to Double Potions. He wanted to see if Professor Snape would treat him any differently after their summer encounter. Since school had started, Harry had seen Snape several times in the Great Hall, but never made eye contact with him. So on Thursday morning, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were waiting in the corridor outside Snape's dungeon classroom a few minutes early. Ron, to Harry's left, made a grumble of disgust in his throat. Harry looked up - Malfoy and his two favourite goons were approaching.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had stayed up late discussing the disappearance of the Revealall, interrupting themselves frequently to cast the Occulte Patefacio spell. It was obvious that Malfoy had managed to steal the ball back - he'd been smirking every time they'd had seen him since the previous day. They'd soon worked out what must have happened. They should have been warned by Malfoy seeming not to notice them when they left dinner early to work out how to set the ball to a new view. He must have followed them out of the Hall, put on his Invisibility Cloak, and trailed them to the secret passage behind the mirror. He could have nicked the Revealall any time after they left.

It made Harry's skin crawl to think the nasty Slytherin had been close enough to them to hear the password and they hadn't known. At least we didn't show him one of the GOOD tunnels, thought Harry. But really, the one behind the mirror was one of the good ones, because it was one of only three that Filch didn't know about - along with the tunnel under the hump-backed witch and the tunnel under the Whomping Willow. Harry scowled as Malfoy leaned negligently against the wall opposite them, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Remember," muttered Hermione out of the corner of her mouth, "this is the one place we don't confront him." Over the summer, Hermione had pointed out that Malfoy always tried to push them into losing their tempers right before Potions class, when Snape was almost certain to swoop out of his classroom like a rabid bat and give them heavy punishments. This year, she was determined to break that pattern.

Malfoy was looking Hermione up and down in a way that made Harry want to strangle him. A quick check of Ron's face showed that he felt the same - he had turned bright red. Harry could almost see Malfoy's thought processes clicking as he considered and rejected insulting remarks. His eyes drifted past Harry towards Ron's red face; he smiled and opened his mouth to speak -

"How was your summer, Malfoy?" said Harry, suddenly and too loudly. Several Slytherins suddenly halted their conversations and swung their heads around to look at Harry. Pansy Parkinson frankly stared, her mouth hanging open. Harry ignored them and kept his eyes on Malfoy, his face casual and inquiring.

Malfoy's smile vanished and he stared challengingly into Harry's eyes.

"Productive, Potter," he said unpleasantly. "How was yours?"

"Mine was productive, too," said Harry. He didn't take his eyes from Malfoy's until Snape opened the door and curtly ordered them all into the classroom.

As soon as they had taken their seats, Snape started speaking.

"For most of you," he said, "this will be your last year of Potions instruction." His eyes lingered malevolently on Neville Longbottom, who reddened and shifted in his seat. Fortunately, Snape didn't seem to observe Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas banging their forearms together in glee. "Potions is a required subject through the fifth year," continued Snape in his most obnoxious silky drawl. "Thus, I am required to teach all of you." His gaze shifted to Harry, and then to Dean and Seamus. "However, only those students I personally approve may take Advanced Potions in the sixth and seventh years." Snape's gaze flicked briefly to Draco Malfoy, who lifted his chin. "I assure you," Snape said softly, "my standards are very high. I will require more than good marks in order to accept you" - now he gazed mockingly at Hermione - "your work habits and attitude must be exceptional, to handle Potions-making far beyond the elementary level you have shown yourselves barely capable of thus far." He swung around and strode to the front of the room. "You have this year to demonstrate to me that any of you are capable of taking that step."

"Like we want to," whispered Ron in Harry's ear. Harry grinned, but he knew that Snape's dart had found its target. On his other side, Hermione sat with her hands tightly clasped. She would want to take Advanced Potions - she actually liked making Potions, and she wouldn't be able to bear being left out of the class. Harry glared coldly at his professor. So much for his idea of a new, improved Snape.

As Harry set out the ingredients for the Levitation Potion he was making with Ron, he watched Snape surreptitiously. The professor was prowling around the classroom as usual, but Harry thought he seemed preoccupied. This was confirmed when he passed behind them just as Ron was flicking Billywig stings onto Hermione and Neville at the next table and didn't seem to even notice. Normally, Snape would never miss such an opportunity to take points from Gryffindor. Harry forgot about Snape as he and Ron were forced to concentrate on the tricky potion.

"I think Fred and George use this one in their Tasty Tumblers," said Ron idly, as he strained the potion through a fine mesh sieve.

"Better them than me," muttered Harry, wiping sweat from his forehead. This potion had to be stirred constantly, and the heat was tremendous. "BUGGER!" Harry pulled his hand back sharply as the some of the potion Ron was pouring splashed up onto his hand. He tucked his scalded hand under his other arm and grimaced at the sharp pain. Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch!

Instantly, Hermione was at his side, wand in hand. "Let me see it, Harry." She tugged his hand out and turned it palm down. "Oh my." Harry felt blessed relief as Hermione did a Cooling Charm, and the angry red blotch faded to a mere throbbing pink. She stared at the back of his hand in concern. "You should go to the Infirmary."

"What a charming scene," said a voice behind Harry. He whirled to see Snape, sneering at his hand in Hermione's. Caught by surprise, Harry snatched his hand back and flushed. "How it reminds me of your father, Potter. He was rather a clumsy sort, too. He too liked to be comforted by the young ladies - especially by Lily Evans, your mother." Harry looked at Snape, stone-faced. Much as he enjoyed stories about his parents, he didn't want to hear any from Snape. All the Slytherins looked up with expectant expressions.

Snape twirled a glass vial in his fingers, then held it up to the light and studied it. "Of course, she never paid any attention to him until he was a fifth-year - that was when his father died and Potter came into his fortune. Another thing for him to swagger about." The classroom was dead silent. Snape looked down from the vial and held Harry's eyes. "After that, she pursued him rather obviously. Understandable, really, as her family was very badly off. No one blamed her for her - ambition."

Harry could feel his face whiten with fury. He was barely aware of Ron tensing beside him and of Hermione's indignant gasp. Snape's glittering black eyes bored into Harry's as he continued. "Most people thought she would talk him into an engagement before they finished school, but your father was too cagey for that." Snape's mouth quirked unpleasantly. "Yes, he thought he was getting off scot-free, but she got him in the end. In the usual way, you know - you came along." Harry could hardly hear Snape's oily voice now, for the blood pounding in his ears. Everyone was staring at him; Malfoy looked overcome with delight.

A voice in Harry's brain was protesting furiously, He's doing it on purpose - he's trying to make you lose control, but his body was shaking with fury. Snape was watching him with as if he were a cauldron about to boil.

"So you were that much use to your mother, at least..."

"SHUT UP ABOUT MY MOTHER!" Red rage poured from Harry in a glorious release. The vial in Snape's fingers shattered, spilling out a glittering purple liquid - Harry knew he had done it, just as he had broken his Aunt Marge's wine glass. Blood was mixed with the purple on Snape's hand - the broken vial must have cut him. Harry was glad. There was a collective gasp from the class.

Snape pulled a handkerchief from a pocket within his robes and wrapped it around his left hand. "That will be quite enough, Potter," he whispered, a nasty smile playing across his lips. He looked around at the shocked class. "You will all clean up your work areas and leave," he snapped. "Potter, you will remain."

Snape went to the stone basin and ignored the class as it set a new speed record for tidying-up-after-Potions. Harry saw that Ron, too, was shaking with rage as he cleaned up their table. Harry remained as he was, glaring at his professor's black-clad back. He was vaguely aware that Malfoy was trying to catch his eye, but he ignored him easily. The Slytherins crowded out first - Harry could hear them erupt into a babble of happy gossip as soon as they were out the door. The Gryffindors left silently, staring back over their shoulders at Harry. Neville's white face looked terrified.

"Granger, Weasley - you will depart or you will have detentions." Snape did not look up from washing and binding his hand. Hermione gave Harry one last worried look and dragged Ron out by his arm. Snape walked to the door and slammed it behind them; Harry had to turn to keep him in his furious gaze. Snape met his eyes briefly and waved his hand at a mop and bucket in a corner, which sailed over to Harry without spilling a drop.

"I suggest you repair the mess you made, Potter." Harry found he was still shaking as he bent to sweep up the shards of glass and mop up the purple liquid. Snape stalked back to his desk and seated himself. Harry finished cleaning up the spill and walked stiffly to the corner to return the mop and bucket. Snape ignored him. Harry wondered dully what kind of detention he would get and how many points he would lose. He found he didn't really care. The worst part was knowing that Snape had intentionally goaded him into losing control - in an obscure way, he felt that Snape had defeated him.

After a few moments of waiting in vain for Snape to acknowledge him, Harry moved to stand by the desk. He looked at Snape's left hand curiously - there was rather a lot of blood soaking through the handkerchief.

"Perhaps you should go to the Infirmary," Harry said stiffly. Snape looked up with a flicker of surprise, quickly hidden.

"I think not," he said. He stared at Harry for a moment, his black eyes giving nothing away now. "I believe I must thank you for your contribution on my behalf." Harry blinked. Snape was choosing this moment to thank him for the drops of blood he had given over the summer? Well, maybe the sight of his own blood reminded him.

"Okay," said Harry. "I mean, any time." He thought Snape's lip twisted at the awkwardness of his response. He was aware that this was his chance to at last thank Snape for the first year Quidditch incident, but he couldn't get the words out. Snape seemed to be waiting for Harry to speak again. When he didn't, Snape opened his desk drawer and pulled out a piece of parchment.

"This is yours, I believe." Harry's jaw dropped as he reached out a nerveless hand to take the parchment. It was the Marauder's Map. The map of Hogwarts was visible on it. Harry reflected that he had not told the impostor Moody how to deactivate and activate the map, and Snape did not know either. He squelched an urge to say "mischief managed" immediately and make the fine lines disappear. Harry stared at the map, seeing his and Snape's dots in the Potions dungeon and two more labelled "Ronald Weasley" and "Hermione Granger" lurking right outside the door. Awkwardly, Harry folded the parchment and tucked it into the pocket of his robe.

"Why are you giving this back to me?" he blurted, unable to stop himself. Snape could have kept the map, or destroyed it, or turned it over to Dumbledore. Why had he returned it to Harry? "How did you get hold of it?"

Snape's strangely expressionless eyes once again glittered with dislike. "I did not 'get hold of it,' Potter. And I see no reason to explain my actions to you." Harry stood stiffly, angry and at a loss for words.

"I expected to be praised and thanked," drawled Snape mockingly, "but this excessive display of gratitude is embarrassing."

Harry flushed angrily. "Thank you," he ground out.

"Think nothing of it," said Snape curtly. "You may go now." He stood and began walking toward the classroom door. Harry followed him.

"Are you giving me a detention?" asked Harry.

"Not unless you insist." Snape reached the door and put his hand on the knob. Harry raised a hand to stop him.

"Did you do that - say all those things about my mother - those lies - just so you could talk to me in private?" he asked fiercely. Snape looked at him mockingly and opened the door.

"I had no need to tell lies, Potter." He shut the door with a snap as Harry passed through.

*

"He doesn't know what he's talking about, Harry."

"He's a blasted sodding liar, anyway - you shouldn't listen to him."

Harry looked straight ahead and kept walking. Hermione and Ron were trying to cheer him up. It was NOT working. As soon as he'd walked into the corridor and seen their wide eyes, Harry had known they'd heard Snape's last remark.

Harry walked faster. Did they think talking could solve everything? He remembered the Marauder's Map and pulled it from his outer robe pocket.

"Mischief managed," he said, tapping it with his wand, making the lines glimmer and fade. His two best friends launched into another burst of words, but at least he'd managed to change the subject.

"Harry! The Marauder's Map! - Did Snape give that to you?"

"He had it? Why'd he give it back? How'd he get it, anyway?"

"He didn't explain it to me," said Harry shortly. "He must have found it among Moody's things after Crouch was Kissed. Crouch talked about using it, so he would have known it was there."

"Maybe Dumbledore told him to look for it," said Hermione.

"I can't believe he gave it back to you," said Ron, shaking his head darkly. "Maybe he cursed it or something."

Harry looked speculatively at the blank parchment. He didn't think Snape had really cursed it, and right now he couldn't bring himself to care. It would be dead useful, though, in keeping track of Malfoy and investigating McGonagall... Harry looked around with a start. What the hell?

"This isn't the way to the Great Hall," said Harry. "Why aren't we going to lunch?"

"Oh honestly, Harry," said Hermione, "don't you remember you burned your hand? We're taking you to the hospital wing."

Harry scowled. "This is nothing. I don't need to see Madam Pomfrey."

"Yes you do," said Hermione firmly. "That's a first-degree burn, and it will blister." At her words, Harry suddenly became conscious that his hand was throbbing, so shrugged and gave in.

"Sorry I splashed you," said Ron. "Did Snape give you a very bad detention?"

"He didn't give me a detention," said Harry dully. "As far as I can tell, he just made me lose my temper so he could see me alone." He lowered his voice. "I reckon he thinks it would blow his cover to be seen talking to me."

Hermione and Ron were not able to answer because they had reached the Infirmary. To Harry's dismay, Madam Pomfrey noticed a bruise on his cheek, and he had to tell the whole story of Peeves and the Gobstones. At least he didn't have to say anything about the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.

*

At lunch, they found their fellow fifth-year Gryffindors frantically practicing hex revealing and hex disarming spells in preparation for their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Nobody met Harry's eye. Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins were staring at him from their table, smiling unpleasantly. Malfoy mouthed something, which Harry didn't bother to try to interpret. Harry tried a Weasley Terror Glare of his own, but it didn't seem to have much effect. He rose slightly as if to stand up and pull out his wand. Malfoy swung his gaze toward the Head Table, then turned around and gave his attention to his meal. Harry looked up at the Head Table - both Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were glaring at him. Harry turned back to his classmates.

Parvati Patil was looking very sulky without her usual bracelets and dangling earrings. "I know it will be my chair that's hexed," Parvati said darkly. "I could tell she didn't like me."

"Nah, it'll be Hermione's," said Ron authoritatively, without looking up from his plate.

"Did she tell you?" asked Lavender eagerly. "Being your cousin and all?" Everyone looked at Ron questioningly. He shook his head.

"I know Annie," he said. "She won't want to hurt anyone. She knows Hermione's the best we have, and there's no way she'll mess up." Hermione, Harry noticed, was pink-cheeked.

It turned out that Ron was right. Hermione found the Scalding Spell on her chair and disarmed it before most of the students had even reached their desks. Then she insisted on thoroughly scanning Harry's and Ron's desks before letting them sit down.

"Malus Patefacio," she said, pointing her wand carefully.

Professor Weasley clapped her hands for attention.

"Very good, Miss Granger," she said. "Take ten points for Gryffindor." Then she frowned sternly. "I do appreciate your, err, vigilance, Miss Granger, but if I ever see you doing your classmates' work for them again, I will take points. Next time you will let Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley struggle along on their own, do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor Weasley," said Hermione, flushing. Harry glowered. Professor Weasley didn't have to make it sound like he and Ron were incompetent.

"Mr. Longbottom!" said Professor Weasley. "Will you please take your seat?" Neville, who was hovering uncertainly beside his desk, grinned weakly and sank gingerly into his seat. His classmates laughed.

"From now on," Professor Weasley said, "I will not tell you how many desks I plan to booby-trap, so it will do no good to use the strategy Mr. Longbottom has just demonstrated." She smiled kindly at Neville. "However, this does bring up an excellent point. Let's say you are entering a room which you suspect contains magical traps - what is your best defence?"

She surveyed the room. Hermione started to raise her hand, but the Professor gave her a subtle headshake and Hermione put her hand back down.

"Well, then, let me rephrase the question," said Professor Weasley. "Mr. Longbottom, what would you do in that situation?"

"I wouldn't go in," said Neville fervently. "I wouldn't touch anything!" The class laughed again, but Professor Weasley nodded approvingly.

"Exactly!" she said. "The best defence against a trap is to avoid it. The second best is to disarm it. Five points to Mr. Longbottom. Now -" She conjured the orange mattress again. "I will form you into pairs to demonstrate the over-the-back throw. Let me see - Miss Patil and Miss Brown please."

The rest of the class was one of the most entertaining Harry could ever remember having. Everyone stripped off their robes and took it in turns to throw their classmates onto the mat. It was hilarious to watch, and a lot of fun to do. Lavender Brown proved unexpectedly good at it, and the professor paired her with Neville instead, putting Hermione with Parvati. Dean and Seamus upended each other so enthusiastically that Professor Weasley enlarged the mattress to prevent them being hurt. Harry had difficulty at first flipping the taller, stronger Ron, but he soon caught on to the trick of using his opponent's weight against him. The physical struggle was an excellent release for the grinding anger Harry had felt ever since Snape's nasty comments that morning. Even though it was Ron and not Snape he was throwing to the ground, it still felt satisfying.

They pulled their robes back on over their clothes as they left the classroom, flushed and exuberant. Professor Weasley had warned them that the next booby-trap would be a Singsong Charm, which would make the unlucky recipient sing everything he or she said for the rest of the day. Harry wasn't worried - he knew Hermione would come up with the proper method to detect and disarm it.

Lavender and Parvati were complaining loudly about Defence Against the Dark Arts being directly before Divination. Apparently, it contributed to the serenity of their inner eyes if they were dressed in full skirts, lacy shawls, and loads of clinking, flashing jewellery. Parvati usually went to Divination with colourful ribbons threaded all through her braids. The two girls were trying to dress each other up as they walked - the North Tower was too far for them to have time to stop and primp properly. Harry thought the whole subject was ridiculous - but what did he know? His inner eye never saw anything. Maybe if I tie a lot of ribbons in my hair?

Harry was enjoying Divination even less than usual this term. They were supposed to be making predictions based on the movements of white mice. The boxes of little mice were cute, but Harry could see no patterns at all in their random scurrying. At least, not for the mice in the box at his and Ron's table - apparently the mice in the box at Parvati's and Lavender's table were moving around in stars, parallelograms, spirals, and figure eights.

Harry eased open his robe pocket and whispered, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The lines of the Marauder's Map appeared. Craning his neck, Harry could see the dots on the map. Hermione was safely in Arithmancy, sitting between Li Su and (Harry flicked his eyes nervously at Ron) Terry Boot. Malfoy was in the History of Magic classroom with the rest of the Slytherins. Professor McGonagall was in her classroom, probably teaching, because her dot moved back and forth as if she were pacing. Professor Snape was in his dungeon, also apparently teaching a class - Harry briefly wondered who the unlucky students were. Professor Weasley was walking across the grounds towards Hagrid's - or rather Penelope Clearwater's - cabin.

"What do you see, boys?" Professor Trelawney's mournful voice spoke behind Harry's right shoulder. He closed his pocket hastily and looked hopefully at Ron. Obligingly, Ron pointed to one of the mice.

"That one just moved in a kind of spiral," he offered. Professor Trelawney looked intrigued.

"An inward spiral or an outward spiral, dear?" she asked, illustrating the two patterns with her hands.

"Uh, an inward spiral," said Ron. Professor Trelawney gasped, and her face turned white.

"The Death Spiral!" she said, with her two hands pressed to her cheeks. "The inevitable, unstoppable progression toward disaster, death, and despair!" She shook her head sadly at the two of them. Harry scowled and turned his face away. I hate this class, he thought.

*

At dinner that night, Harry ate hastily and pulled out a parchment and quill. Ron leaned over to see what he was writing, and Harry shifted his hand to let Ron read:

Priorities for Tonight

1 - help Ron practice for Saturday's tryout

2 - read Charlie's Quidditch strategy book (chapter on choosing reserves)

3 - watch Malfoy on Map, find out if using R'All and where

4 - read about Simon Potter in Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts

5 - finish Charms homework

6 - finish and send letter to Snuffles

Harry grinned at Ron and added another item:

7 - throw Ron on the floor some more

Ron took the parchment and quill and wrote on it in his scrawl:

8 - kick Malfoy's skinny white arse (has he taken Annie's class yet????)

9 - find out about Prof. McG. & letter

10 - put Dungbombs under Snape's bed

Harry laughed. Hermione reached for the parchment and Ron handed it to her. She rolled her eyes and started scribbling. After a few minutes she handed the parchment back to them:

REVISED Priorities for Tonight

1 - finish Charms homework (due tomorrow)

2 - do reading for History of Magic and Transfiguration (due tomorrow)

3 - finish Ancient Runes translation (due tomorrow - Hermione only)

4 - watch Malfoy on Map (check Map for curses first)

5 - help Ron practice (tryouts Saturday)

6 - read Quidditch chapter (decision to be made Saturday)

7 - begin Hist. of Magic essay (due Monday)

8 - finish letter to Snuffles (Harry, you haven't written to him YET?)

9 - research Order of the Phoenix

10 - read Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts (you should read the whole book, Harry)

After crossing off number seven (which really didn't need to be done until Sunday) Harry and Ron reluctantly agreed to Hermione's revisions. After all, as Ron whispered to Harry, they could make Ron's three suggestions priorities eleven through thirteen.

*

Harry gave Ron as good a workout as he could without having any other Chasers to pass to. Ron adamantly refused to tell Fred and George that he was planning to try out - and he considered telling Angelina, Alicia, or Katie the same as telling Fred and George. Harry had suggested getting Ginny to help them, but Ron didn't want to tell her either. With Ron on Harry's Firebolt and facing only one Chaser, he easily stopped everything Harry could throw at him. Perhaps this wasn't the best way to practice, Harry mused, but it was a great way to build Ron's confidence.

Harry didn't know much about judging Quidditch talent (shouldn't I, though, as captain?), but it seemed to him that Ron was pretty good - maybe not another Oliver Wood, but plenty good enough to make the team. He definitely had the quality mentioned in Charlie's book as essential for Keepers - he instinctively sacrificed any part of his body by throwing of it between the Quaffle and the goal.

"If it was up to me, I'd sign you up right now," Harry said. Ron's face briefly lit with pleasure, but then clouded over again.

"I'll be facing three Chasers on Saturday, not just one," he said curtly.

"Yeah," said Harry encouragingly, "but I just took about fifty penalty shots against you and you stopped every one. What Keeper have you ever seen do that in a game?" Again a smile flitted over Ron's face, only to be replaced with a frown.

"Don't want to offend you, Harry," he said, "but you're not exactly Alicia Spinnet.

Humph. So much for encouraging Ron. They went to the Broom Shed to replace the school broom Harry was using. Harry carefully locked the door with his new key ring.

"Why do we even bother with this, when everyone from first year on knows Alohomora?" he asked Ron. Ron shrugged.

"Keeps Filch out, anyway," he said. "Look, Harry -" Ron broke off, and didn't say anything more until they had fallen into step on the way back to the castle. Harry waited patiently.

"Did I ever tell you that my mum and dad got married right after Hogwarts?" Harry shook his head. They'd never talked about that, and he wasn't much interested, anyway. Ron continued.

"Well, they did," he said. "And then Bill was born the next February." Ron turned his head to make sure that Harry saw his point. Harry set his jaw and stared furiously straight ahead. Just when he'd started to forget about Snape's snide comments... why did Ron have to go and start talking about this?

"Dad told me about it a few years ago," Ron continued relentlessly. "I reckon he figured I was old enough to count months and be upset about it. Not that I would have been - I know they'd have got married anyway." Ron laughed. "Well, they'd have had to, with both of them having the Curse and all - come to think of it, the Curse probably explains Bill, too."

Harry didn't answer. If he had been going to say something, he might have pointed out that his parents didn't have the damn Weasley Curse. Ron peered at him worriedly.

"Harry, if your parents did have you a little early - not that I believe Snape for a minute, but let's say they did - so what? Nobody cares now, and I bet nobody cared then except a bunch of nosy, jealous Slytherins who hated them anyway."

Harry was silent. Ron tried again.

"If you want to know the truth, why don't you ask Sirius or Remus? They'd tell it to you straight without Snape's slimy hints."

Harry knew Ron was right. He managed a short nod.

"And in the meantime, forget about it," said Ron firmly. Harry nodded again.

But he wasn't allowed to forget it. Harry finished his letter to Sirius, telling him all about Malfoy and the Revealall. After some hesitation, he explained their suspicions about the address on the envelope as well. He didn't say anything about Snape's insinuations. Maybe he could bring that up the next time he saw Sirius in person. Hermione surprised him by accompanying him to the Owlery to give Hedwig the letter. They hadn't gone many steps when she started in.

"Look, Harry -" Harry stifled a groan. She isn't going to talk about it too, is she? Yes, she was.

"I hope you're not paying any attention to what Snape said today," Hermione said briskly. "When you think about it, the only thing he said was what the gossip was about your parents. 'Everybody thought,' 'we all knew.'" She sniffed. "He should remember - he was probably the one spreading it. And what's the worst he could say, after all? That your mother started liking your father in fifth year - what's wrong with that? That everybody thought they would get married, and then they did. Big deal." She looked at Harry, trying to gauge his reaction.

"I'm sure your mother wasn't really interested in your father for his money," she continued. "That's just silly. Boys always think girls care about things like that, but - we don't." Hermione blushed slightly.

Harry didn't say anything, but he was pretty sure some girls cared a lot about things like that. Pansy Parkinson, for one. Though he really didn't think his own mother was one of them.

When they got back to the common room, Harry retreated to his bed with The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and firmly closed the curtains. He would try to forget all these questions about his family history by - reading about his family history.

*

A few minutes later, Harry was sitting straight up in bed, stifling the urge to throw the book across the room. The writer, this Winchell B. Waterhouse, seemed to be a damned Voldemort sympathiser! He thrust the curtains back from his bed.

"Ron, listen to this!" Ron, who was settled on his back watching the Marauder's Map, looked up questioningly.

"'We cannot regret He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's encounter with the Potter boy, or its dramatic result,'" read Harry. "'After all, it is an undeniable fact that killings and torturings, especially of Muggles, were sharply reduced after the Dark Lord's fall (whether these atrocities were ordered by the Dark Lord, as some have charged, or simply the result of overzealous followers is not at issue here).'"

"WHAT?" Ron threw down the map and sat up straight. "What a load of crock!" Harry nodded and continued reading.

"'However, it is clear that the Dark Lord had progressed much further along the road to immortality than any other wizard before or since - his apparent survival of a rebounded killing curse tells us that much. One wonders - indeed one must wonder - how much knowledge, possibly of inestimable value to wizardkind, was lost with him.'"

"Oh, right, because he was so going to share it," Ron said sarcastically. "That settles it - I'm not getting that book for Hermione."

"What?" Harry looked at Ron, puzzled. Ron picked up the Marauder's Map and returned his gaze to it.

"Oh," he said casually, "Ginny told me some of Hermione's favourite books were on her bedside table when her house was torched - Hogwarts, a History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Proud and Prejudiced, or something like that. I thought I'd get them for her for her birthday."

"But we already got her those - you know - the things we bought in Diagon Alley," objected Harry. Ron hunched his shoulders and traced a finger carefully along the corridors of the Map.

"I know," he said, "but that was before I found out she lost her favourite books."

"I don't know," said Harry slowly. He was frowning thoughtfully and reading over the passage again. "'Further along the road to immortality' - that sounds exactly like something Voldemort once said. I wonder..."

"What?" said Ron.

"I think we should get our own copy of this book, and read it very carefully," said Harry firmly, "and mention Mr. Winchell B. Waterhouse to Dumbledore. I think he's probably a Death Eater."

"All right," said Ron reluctantly. "If I can find a used copy, it won't be giving that blighter any money. Did you find the part about your grandfather?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "It's just a footnote." He read:

"'In connection with his similarities to the dark wizard Grindelwald, some have asked why the Order of the Phoenix was never convened against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, given its previous success. Various theories have been advanced. It must take some time for the Phoenix's envoys to find an acceptable candidate from every race of intelligent Beings - perhaps the Order simply wasn't yet complete when the Dark Lord met his untimely fate. It has been speculated that some of the races that have suffered most from the interference of Muggles may have been reluctant to oppose the Dark Lord in his campaign against them.

'A second, and contrary, theory is that the Order indeed met and selected a Defender, but that the chosen one was unsuccessful in his or her challenge of the mighty Dark Lord. It has long been rumoured that the Welsh wizard Simon Potter met his premature end in direct combat with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. One wonders why Mr. Potter, a prominent and talented wizard to be sure, but no match for the powerful Dark Lord, would dare such an undertaking. Under this theory, the Dark Lord's subsequent pursuit of the youthful James Potter and his infant son can be seen in the light of a traditional wizard's vendetta. It would seem to have been the Dark Lord's policy to utterly destroy those who dared to assail him.'"

Harry's voice trailed off as he read these last words. He, Harry, had never meant to assail Voldemort. But there was no doubt the Dark Lord wanted to utterly destroy him. Snape had said that James Potter's father had died when James was in his fifth year - the same year that Harry was in now. Did my father know what his father was up to? He chose to marry, and to have a child. Maybe he didn't know what Voldemort would do to his family. But I know, thought Harry, and I can never...

"Harry?" Ron was staring at him. Harry shook off his black mood and looked over at the Marauder's Map.

"Well," he asked, "what is Malfoy up to?"

"Sitting in his sodding common room working on his sodding homework, as far as I can tell," said Ron disgustedly. "He's probably getting a good start on that History of Magic essay, the little swot." Then Ron laughed and tapped the map. "Lavender and Parvati have been in the bathroom for almost an hour - I have no idea what they're doing in there - and McGonagall is in Dumbledore's office, along with Madam Pomfrey."

Harry looked at the Marauder's Map uneasily.

"You know what, Ron?" he said. "If we keep looking at this thing, we're going to know way more than we really want to about the professors and students at this school."