Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

Flitwick was enjoying his return to the classroom. Harry had asked Dumbledore whether there was any indication yet of who had put the alarm spell on the classroom doorway; he said there was not. He wanted to ask him what he had asked Snape, whether his ability to conquer pain spells came from Voldemort, but he stopped himself every time. He just got a bad feeling that it was going to be yet another question that Dumbledore didn't feel like answering yet.

Lupin hadn't left Sirius' side since the day of the ceilidh. Sirius went with him to work every night, not just when Lupin was a werewolf. Lupin was worried about Sirius being alone if someone from the Ministry of Magic tracked him down; he wasn't worried for himself, he was already persona non grata in the wizarding world. He was strictly an unofficial operative, working for Dumbledore because he had asked him. Most of the time he was just a werewolf who had to work as a night watchman at a warehouse to pay his rent and buy food.

The world also seemed to have forgotten the Westminster tube station. Harry felt that there was too much that people were willing to let go. They didn't think about the people who had no choice, the people who lost loved ones in the tube station, or Madam Rosmerta having to rebuild the Three Broomsticks (although he didn't like her very much, he expected that the village would miss the pub a great deal). Of course, Dumbledore had said after that day that all Hogsmeade visits were canceled until further notice. Harry supposed that was to be expected, and he had warned them that might happen, in September.

Harry wondered if this was what it was like for his parents when they were at school and Voldemort was still in power. Constant wondering, waiting for the next disaster, not knowing whether it would touch you personally or be something you could afford to tuck into the back of your brain because that wasn't your sister who lost her eye, your father who was killed or tortured.

In the first class they had with Moody after the ceilidh, he was uncharacteristically quiet and reserved. He looked at them all when they had trickled into the room and taken their seats.

"Today," he began, "we will not be doing any hexes, curses, defense strategies or counter charms. What I want to do today is to find out whether you are a different person now, having seen some evil close up?"

He walked slowly around the room, his wooden leg clunking loudly on the floor. His good eye looked at each of them in turn, his magical eye for once seeming to be in sync with it. Ron looked uncomfortable; the gash on his cheek had healed pretty well, but there was a very fine line visible because of his freckles; there was a kind of border now, on his cheek, a line where the halves of some of his freckles didn't match up. He had decided to grow his facial hair to hide this, and now had the beginnings of a bright red beard and mustache, which Harry had heard Parvati complaining about. She obviously didn't share Hermione's opinion of red beards.

"Well?" Moody barked, making them jump. "Who was at the Three Broomsticks when it blew? I was there, but I was busy watching the damn Death Eaters and trying to keep people from getting killed." Only Ron and Parvati raised their hands. Moody came over to them; they were sitting together, near the windows. He looked Parvati over; she seemed very uncomfortable about this. "You look none the worse for wear," he said in a dismissing tone to her. Then he took Ron's chin in his wrinkled hand and turned his head so he could see his right cheek. "Almost undetectable scar. Good. But how did it make you feel, when the roof fell in, when you were lying under the rubble? How will this affect your attitude toward the Dark Arts and people who practice it?"

Ron looked at Parvati, then at Moody. Harry watched him. Ron hadn't ever really gone through something like this before. He sacrificed himself to get Harry and Hermione across McGonagall's enchanted chessboard when they were in first year, but it was Harry who faced Quirrell and a weakened Voldemort. And Ron was on the other side of the rockfall in the Chamber of Secrets while Harry fought the basilisk to save Ginny. He'd been pulled into the tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack by Sirius in his dog form, and he broke his leg and came face to face with Wormtail, but it was a sick, frightened Wormtail, and Ron had still been getting his mind around this little man being the pet rat he'd let sleep in his bed. He'd never been caught in a terrorist attack until now, he'd never really faced Voldemort, or even a memory of the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle, as Ginny had.

Ron looked down. "I don't know. I know that I think some things about Death Eaters even more strongly than I did before..." he said softly.

"Like what?" Moody spoke in a medium tone, as though they were having a private conversation. Ron shrugged.

"Well, I always thought they were real cowards, hiding behind You-Know-Who's power, and masks and hooded cloaks. Sneaking around and making a building fall on a bunch of innocent people seems like just another cowardly thing to do."

"Are you more vigilant now that this has happened to you?"

Harry remembered Crouch saying 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' when he had been pretending to be Moody. Ron looked irritated.

"How could vigilance have saved me on Saturday? There was nothing to see inside the pub; you only saw them because of your eye." Ron had never spoken to Moody this way before, but Moody didn't seem to be upset about it.

"Exactly. How could vigilance have saved anyone? Anyone without a magic eye, that is." He smiled briefly. "That's what terrorism is. It catches people by surprise, and even if you are not caught in the attack, the psychological effects can be just as damaging. If you are a member of the group that was attacked, you are now terrorized because you need to worry constantly about someone attacking you. That's the real purpose of terrorist attacks around the world. Moslems attack Jews, Jews attack Moslems, Protestants attack Catholics, Catholics attack Protestants, bigots of all kinds attack people with dark skin or some other characteristic they don't like. And the next thing you know, any person who shares that characteristic is having nightmares, worrying about whether they'll be next, or someone they love. That's the real effect of terrorism. The name says it all; it attacks us with our own terrors. Boggarts love to swarm in an area where there's been a terrorist attack. They hide in out-of-the-way corners and wait to be uncovered by people clearing rubble or looking for bodies. And people in those situations are going to be hard pressed to be able to laugh, to say, 'Riddikulous!' That's the real cost."

Parvati looked down at her hands on her desk and swallowed. She whispered, "I keep having nightmares. I'm under the beam again, and I'm calling and calling, and no one hears me..."

Ron put his hand over hers; she looked at him and tears started running down her cheeks. "And I didn't know where you were," she was saying to Ron now with a catch in her throat, "or whether you were all right..."

Ron pulled his chair closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders and she put her head on his shoulder, crying freely, while he held her and rubbed her back. Harry could not watch. He looked at Hermione, who had a stricken look on her face, worse than when she had seen that Ron was all right. She turned to Harry then, and the need in her eyes was overwhelming; he swallowed and tried to look away, but he couldn't. When Moody spoke again, he jumped.

"Now, this time, no one died, or even had particularly dire injuries. But now that Voldemort's back, it's just a matter of time until he touches all of your lives in some more tangible way. You've got to face it when it comes. Whether that means getting injured yourself or dying, or surviving, you've got to face it. Of those three, which do you think would be worse?"

Seamus, who had been at Honeyduke's when the Three Broomsticks blew, shrugged casually and said, "Dying."

Harry had a feeling this was not the answer Moody was looking for and braced himself for the old man to bellow, "WRONG, FINNIGAN!" But oddly, it didn't happen. Moody was very subdued today. He stared at Seamus for a full minute while Seamus squirmed in his seat, awaiting what he must also think was an inevitable shout of contempt. But the contempt was very quiet this time.

"Dying," Moody muttered, shaking his head. "No imagination...You probably also think dying is worse than getting a kiss from a Dementor, don't you?" Seamus squirmed some more. "I'd say," Moody went on, "that being injured--depending on the nature of the injury--and surviving without a scratch are neck and neck, and dying is dead last. So to speak."

Lavender looked annoyed, doodling with her quill and grimacing. She glanced over at Ron and Parvati, who seemed to be in their own little world; Parvati was still crying on Ron, and he was patting her back and murmuring to her, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

"AND WHERE WERE YOU?" Moody bellowed at her suddenly, making everyone jump again. Lavender jerked her head up at him, turning from her usual pale beige to pale ivory.

"I--I didn't go to the village on Saturday," she whispered. Moody nodded.

"And now you probably think you missed all the fun. Typical. But when I say 'surviving,' I mean BEING there and not getting injured. If you're injured, okay, you've got issues. You've got to get yourself mended up, or--" he pointed to his eye and leg, "get replacement parts." He clunked back to his desk. "But if you're there, and the bloke on one side of you dies, and the bloke on the other side of you is in hospital, missing half his brain, and you're physically fine, what you're going to be dealing with is survivor guilt. Why did he die when I didn't? Why is she going through the rest of her life with one arm, when I've got two? And of course, the big question: Why am I alive?"

He leaned against the desk. "We're facing dark times. You'll come face to face with evil and you'll have to choose a side. You'll have to get past survivor guilt and fear of dying and being maimed just to get up and go through your daily routine. It won't be easy. But you've got each other," he said, walking over to Ron and putting his hand on his shoulder. "That's the most important weapon you have. I've had you attacking each other with curses and hexes, sure, but when all is said and done, you're all still friends, aren't you? Members of the same house, united."

He came and stood in front of Harry. "That little Flitwick boy is one to watch, isn't he Potter?" Harry looked up at him and nodded, his throat tight. "More balls than all of the Death Eaters put together, in my humble opinion." Earlier in the school year, many of them would have been shocked by his language, but they were used to him now. He definitely was unlike any teacher they'd ever had--even Crouch, when he'd been pretending to be Moody.

"He wasn't afraid to speak his mind and stand up for someone he knew had been falsely accused. We need more people to show that kind of strength of character right now. We need to be united and strong. We'll have losses and scares, sure. And you'll be there for each other, helping each other through the bad times. But don't let it paralyze you or they'll win. Most of all, keep fighting the darkness within you, the urge to say, 'Oh, what the hell. What does it matter?'"

Then his voice became softer, but more adamant. "It matters."

He turned walked to the front of the room again, moving his magical eye over each of them in turn. His voice had become softer. The room was utterly still.

"It's all that matters."

Easter break came. Five of the first years were staying: Andy and Amy Donegal, Will Flitwick, Jules Quinn, and Gillian Lockley. Ginny's roommates were all staying, but Ginny and Ron were going home. Fred and George were staying, finally getting somewhat serious about their N.E.W.T.s; Angelina and Alicia were staying for the same reason; Seamus and Neville planned to stay, as well as Colin and Katie. Harry and Hermione were of course staying, but Parvati and Lavender were not. Harry heard Ron and Parvati talking about going out in Ottery St. Catchpole during the holiday. He hoped there were more things to do there than in Hogsmeade. Harry knew that Draco Malfoy was also going home, and he wondered whether he and Ginny might also be meeting up in the village near the Weasleys.

Halfway through the holiday week, Harry was up late reading by the fire in the common room; Hermione was working on a Potions essay at a far table while Neville and Seamus played Exploding Snap and George and Fred speculated on how bad the N.E.W.T.s would be. There was a comforting low murmur of conversation in the room, punctuated occasionally by explosions coming from the direction of Seamus and Neville. For once Neville wasn't down in the dungeons working on potions; he told Harry he was giving himself the week off, he wanted to actually relax during the holiday. Neville wasn't Seamus' first choice of a person to play with, but Dean was gone for the week, so he had sighed and asked him. Neville had never played before (no one had ever asked him before) so he jumped at the chance. Harry thought he looked odd, and jittery. There was something not quite right about his skin tone and eye color...

Harry had dozed off over his book, his Christmas gift from Ron. When he jerked his head up, there was no one left in the room. He checked his watch; it was almost two in the morning. Why hadn't Hermione at least woken him up and told him to go to bed? he wondered. He yawned hugely and stretched, picking up the book, which had fallen on the floor and cracked its spine. He frowned at it; that's not good, he thought.

He heard a footstep on the girls' stairs and looked up; Hermione was coming into the common room. "Harry? Haven't you gone to bed yet?"

"Fell asleep reading." He showed her the book; she came over and examined it, also frowning.

"Broken spine," she murmured. "That's not good." Harry smiled. Sometimes he thought she was psychic. He looked at her now, in her night shirt and dressing gown, hoping that she wasn't, or she'd know that he was thinking about--

Suddenly she smiled at him and crawled into his lap. Well, there goes the idea that she's not psychic, thought Harry, as she pulled his head down to hers in a deep kiss. He grunted happily; they'd had a little more opportunity to go off on their own for some kissing since the holiday had started, but while the rest of the school was awake, there was always the risk of being caught together in an incriminating situation.

He wrapped his arms around her now, hugging her to him as closely as he could, feeling her hand stroking his leg, remembering Ginny doing that to Malfoy. He moved his mouth down and she helped him, undoing a few buttons on her night shirt. Harry sighed at the result; her mouth was in his hair, her breathing changing as he moved his mouth farther down.

"Harry?" she said softly. He didn't answer with words; he gave her a kind of "huh?" noise while he was otherwise using his mouth. That seemed good enough for her though, as she continued. "You know what I really miss? Lying in the same bed with you to sleep."

He brought his face up now, looking at her, wondering what exactly she was suggesting. He swallowed, remembered New Year's eve, before Sirius interrupted them. Could he actually manage to do that again? Without going insane?

His heart was thudding painfully in his chest. "That--that would be nice. Except that we're not the only ones here now. Neville and Seamus are upstairs asleep."

She smiled coyly at him and stroked his cheek. "But I've got my dorm all to myself..."

Harry hadn't thought of that. Heart louder now, more painful. Buzzing in his ears. He swallowed. "But--what if someone sees me coming out of there in the morning?"

She shrugged. "Go up to your dorm and get your Invisibility Cloak." Of course! he thought; his brain felt like it was on overload. How was she so calm? Unless--she really did mean she just wanted to sleep beside him. That was probably it. That's all she had said. That was all she wanted, some cozy cuddling. Harry felt he should demur, insist it was wiser for him to sleep in his own bed. He did not want to spend the night being frustrated (although there was no guarantee he would not spend the night in his own bed being frustrated).

But he couldn't bring himself to reject her plan. He nodded, his throat tight. "I'll meet you up there in a few minutes." She smiled and kissed his cheek, then stood up, buttoning her night shirt. She went up the stairs to the girls' dorms without looking back. Harry thought about just plain running; going out the portrait hole, down the stairs, out of the castle, changing into a golden griffin and jumping into the sky, soaring over the lake, and forest...

But instead he walked on unsteady legs up to his dorm and undressed for bed, leaving on only his drawers, tying his dressing gown loosely and padding back downstairs barefoot, carrying the cloak. Before he went up the stairs to the girls' dorms, however, he had a thought. He drew Sandy out of his sleeve and held her up to speak to her.

"Sandy?"

"Yes, Harry Potter?"

"I'm not going to wear you to sleep tonight. You'll be warm; I'll leave you here by the fire."

"Why?"

"Well--I'd rather not get into that. You don't mind, do you?"

"I am merely curious about why."

"Sorry, Sandy."

He put her down on the hearthrug. If he didn't do this--but he put the thought out of his mind. Somehow, leaving Sandy here made it all seem so premeditated, like murder. He swallowed again and stood, putting the cloak on and going to the girls' stairs.

When he reached the door for the fifth-year girls, Harry realized he'd never been here before. He opened the door cautiously. Hermione had put the candles out, but there was an almost-full moon brightly illuminating the room. He took off the cloak, then the dressing gown. He sat on the edge of the turned-down bed; the others were neatly made up, deserted-looking. He had never felt more nervous in his life. Where was Hermione?

The door opened and she entered; he supposed she'd been to the lavatory. She turned and took out her wand, said something Harry couldn't hear, waving the wand at the door. Locking charm, thought Harry. She put her wand away and turned around, still standing by the door as if she were also a bit nervous. Then she had a determined look on her face, and Harry smiled; that was the Hermione he knew. She smiled back, still visibly nervous. Maybe they shouldn't be putting this kind of pressure on themselves, maybe they should just lie down and go to sleep, maybe...

Hermione untied her dressing gown and let it fall open; it was the only thing she was wearing, and Harry gasped in surprise; he couldn't believe how beautiful she was. The idea of sleeping fled from his brain. He had tried to imagine her many, many times since Dudley had first handed him the photograph she had sent him. He had mentally removed the bikini in his mind, wondering...but this was so different. This was real. She was real. She was standing before him expectantly, almost looking like she would cry if he didn't do something, and the thought made him step across the distance between them swiftly and take her in his arms, pull her mouth up to his, push the dressing gown off her shoulders, clasp her to him tightly.

Her hands shook as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his drawers, pushing them down. He pulled his mouth away from hers and pressed it to her neck as he felt the cool air touch him and the fabric land on his feet. He kicked them away, loosening his hold on her, but only to move his hands over her, to explore every inch of her as he moved his mouth further down her body and she threw her head back, making, he thought, the most wonderful sounds, her hands wandering over his body.

They stood like that for what seemed a long time, hands and mouths roaming all over, pulses racing, sweat beading on hot skin only to be licked off ravenously. Then, Hermione looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Harry," she whispered. It seemed a time to whisper. "I want you to take something else off."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Sorry; I should have thought of that," he said, removing his glasses, moving to put them on the table.

He was on his way back to her when she said, "No. That's not it. Harry--take off the basilisk."

He stopped and looked down at the amulet on his chest, then back at her. Her curls were wild, her body was limned by the moonlight, looking amazing, and he swallowed, knowing that even as she stood before him like this, and he stood completely defenseless before her, she was somehow still unconvinced that he wanted her, only her.

Harry lifted the chain over his head and placed it deliberately on the table, next to his glasses, then went to the bed, holding out his hand to her. She walked purposefully to him, throwing her arms around him again.

This seemed so right now. Harry was glad that they'd managed to wait this long. But even as they touched and kissed and their heartrates increased, Harry wondered, how had they waited? How had they not done this before, how had he not moved his mouth up her legs, her hip, her ribcage, her breasts, her neck? How had they not ripped each other's clothes off and attacked each other in the corridors of the castle, in the classrooms, in the Great Hall? How had they shown so much restraint?

Time seemed to randomly slow down and speed up. Harry felt he could never grow tired of moving his hands and mouth over her, playing her like an instrument, feeling her hands and mouth on him, a never-ending surprise...After a while, Hermione threw back her head and arched her back; he looked up at her, moved up and took her mouth again; her breath like an inferno, her moans an aria of desire. She gazed up at him, shaken, trying to get her breath. "Oh, Harry," she whispered. "That was--I mean--my head--"

He smiled, wanting her more than ever. "We're not done yet," he said softly, kissing her chin. She nodded slowly.

"I know. I just meant--top of my head--blown off--" she gasped.

"In a good way, I hope."

She grinned. "Understatement," was all she said before pulling his mouth down to hers again. Then she broke the kiss, looking up at him. "You know, you sound like you've done this before," she said slyly. "Would you like to tell me something?"

Now it was his turn to be sly. "Nothing to tell. Except that I have--"

"What?"

"Done this with you before. In my mind. Only about a million times..."

"Oh, is that all? I thought teenage boys thought about it constantly..."

"And teenage girls don't?"

Her eyes were unfocussed with passion as she reached down and gently wrapped her hand around him, making him gasp. "Only about a million times..."

He pressed his mouth to hers again, then moved it down her throat. She began the process of wrapping herself thoroughly around him, her arms and legs, locking her ankles together in the small of his back as she finally pulled him into her, making him widen his eyes. He had never felt so vulnerable--and so safe, so protected, so enveloped.

Harry flashed back to the Yule Ball, the pretty girl with Viktor Krum, and then really seeing her, seeing that it was Hermione. He realized that he'd never thought of her as pretty until then. And her kissing him on the train platform before they separated for the summer...She definitely wasn't under any curse then. She hadn't kissed Ron. Other images unbidden came into his mind; Hermione running in the park in Surrey; Hermione working in the garden on Privet Drive with him, smudges of dirt on her cheeks, sweat running down her neck and then further down still...

Harry had wanted her last summer, he'd wanted her all year, and now they were finally together, really together, and it felt like it was always meant to be, even though he hadn't seen her, not actually seen her, for four years.

Time lost all meaning. Finally, he started to cry out, then lowered his mouth to hers, and she groaned against his tongue, shuddering throughout her body, and a moment later, he collapsed, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her earlobe, her jaw...It was like the polar opposite of the Cruciatus Curse. He had known pain coursing through his body; now he knew what it was like to feel the exact opposite in every fiber of his being.

Hermione's mouth was pressed against his shoulder, a warm suction. He raised himself to look down at her, then moved to lie at her side, still staring at her, stroking the side of her face. She beamed back at him. Harry was happier than he ever remembered being, feeling like he would never stop smiling.

"How's the top of your head?" he asked impishly.

"Flying somewhere over the Forbidden Forest," she answered softly, then laughed out loud; a real laugh, not a giggle or twitter. She had a woman's laugh, he realized, not a girl's. It was wonderful and throaty and made him want her all over again.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered. He was surprised when she scowled.

"Harry, you don't have to say that just because--"

"Hermione, stop it. You are. That's that. If you argue with me, we might not do that again," he teased. An obvious lie.

She smiled now. "Threatening me with frustration already? Giving me a taste of Harry Potter and then taking it away?" Now it was her turn to look mischievous. "I thought it was women who were supposed to use sex as a weapon."

He laughed, gazing back at her. "No threats. No games. Just two very happy people, feeling very, very lucky."

"I second that," she agreed, pillowing her head on his chest and throwing her leg across him, her arm on his stomach. He looked down at her as she closed her eyes, a peaceful expression on her face, and he closed his own eyes, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and hers, thinking how wonderful it was, how amazing and perfect.

Harry woke up near dawn. The pale light in the room made it possible for him to see where his drawers and dressing gown were. He extricated himself from her carefully and dressed, putting on the basilisk last. He picked up the Invisibility Cloak and went to sit on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep. He'd watched her sleep before, but this was different. This was a much bigger deal than kissing in the Charms classroom or being on the hearthrug late at night, or even just sleeping side by side in his bed during the Christmas holiday. This was huge.

He stroked her arm, then shook her gently, whispering her name. She finally stirred, looking where he'd been lying beside her first, then, as she became more oriented, she realized that he was sitting on her other side. She pulled herself to a sitting position, trying to keep her eyes open. The sheet fell to her waist, and Harry drew in his breath.

"Hermione, I was going to tell you I have to go, but you don't exactly make it easy, sitting there with--so little on--"

She smiled, then leaned over to kiss him. "I believe the word you're looking for is 'naked.' Actually, I was going to put on a nightshirt and get some more sleep." She stood up, walking to her wardrobe unselfconsciously, while Harry swallowed and fought the urge to tear his own clothes off again.

When she was covered up by a long T-shirt, she sat next to him on the bed and laced her fingers through his.

"I'd say let's meet for running at seven, but we've already had our workout, don't you think?" Harry grinned. "But don't go down to breakfast without me, okay? I want to spend as much time with you as I can while it's still the holiday."

He kissed her lightly, still smiling. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of eating a single meal without you." He paused then, wondering how to put this. "Hermione, I need to ask you a couple of things. Did you--did you go to see Madam Pomfrey for--"

"Yes," she said simply. "Two months ago."

"Two months ago!"

She smiled shyly. "I didn't have the nerve to do anything about it until last night. And even then--I was really nervous. I kept waiting for you to run screaming into the night...."

He stroked her hair with his hand. "Oh, Hermione...as if that would ever happen."

She looked up at him her eyes glistening. "What was the other thing you wanted to ask?"

Harry wasn't sure he should ask this now. It seemed to show such a lack of faith. But--he had to know. "Hermione--you don't feel like you're--under a spell, do you?"

She thrust her fingers into his hair and pulled him to her in a long, languid kiss. When she ended the kiss she looked into his eyes. "Only under the spell of Harry Potter," she said firmly.

He swallowed and looked at her. "Did I mention that you don't make it easy to go?"

She grinned. "Good. Except that you really should, before Neville and Seamus wake up."

"I know." He rose and donned the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione picked up her wand and went to the door, undoing the locking charm she'd put on it. She cautiously opened it and glanced around the landing.

"Deserted. Go ahead."

Before he left, he reached out with his hand for just a moment, then quickly slipped out the door. Hermione squeaked a little when she felt the contact, then laughed.

"Being groped by the Invisible Man," she said musingly. "Kinky."

He smiled under the cloak, having to make an effort to suppress his laughter. He felt positively giddy. He padded lightly down the girls' staircase, wanting to skip, and then he went up the boys' staircase cautiously, hoping Neville and Seamus would still be fast asleep, hoping they hadn't checked his bed, then the common room. He hoped a lot of things.

But the two other boys were still snoring softly behind their bedcurtains when he entered the room. He removed the cloak and placed it carefully in his trunk, then removed his dressing gown and climbed into bed. Without her in it, it seemed absurdly large and lonely. Harry pulled the covers up to his chin, remembering her, remembering the night. But that only lasted for a few seconds before he was fast asleep, a large smile plastered across his face.

Harry woke up again at eight o'clock. He opened his bedcurtains and saw that Seamus was dressed and ready to go out the door.

"Oh! Morning, Harry. Thought you'd sleep in. You were downstairs pretty late, weren't you?"

Harry nodded. "Fell asleep reading. But I've slept enough now." He rose and went to the wardrobe. Seamus left. While he dressed, Harry listened to Neville breathing peacefully in his sleep. Was Ginny possibly considering breaking up with Malfoy? he wondered. Did she think Neville would be less pushy about a physical relationship? Harry could see that she might. He had a hard time picturing Neville groping a girl. Just hold out a little longer, Ginny, he thought. Until Malfoy's dad is in Azkaban...

But now his thoughts turned from Ginny to Hermione, who was only about seven months older than Ginny. Not only had she been ready, she pretty much orchestrated the whole thing. And she thought he'd run screaming into the night! But then, he remembered hiding from her during the Christmas holiday. He'd had his share of jitters as well.

He left Neville still snoring away behind his bedcurtains and went down to the common room. He collected Sandy from the hearth. When he picked her up, he said happily, "Good morning, Sandy!"

"Good morning, Harry Potter. Why did you not wear me last night?"

"Well, Sandy--I spent the night with Hermione, and I kind of wanted it to be just the two of us..."

"You have spent the night with her before, with me on your arm. Why did you not want me with you last night?"

"This was different."

"How was it different?"

He frowned. "It just was. I'm not sure how to explain it to you, or if snakes even have any way to understand..."

He looked up and saw Hermione at the foot of the girls' stairs, her prefect badge on her robes like him, a glow about her that made him think, Surely someone will notice...

"My ears were burning," she told him.

"What? You couldn't understand..."

"No. It's all just hissing to me. But I had a feeling I knew what you were talking about anyway."

"I wasn't--I mean--"

She smiled at him, and laughed. "Don't get so jumpy on me now, Harry! I was just joking around." He smiled back at her, putting Sandy around his arm again. No one's going to mistake that glow, he thought. Everyone will see...

But no one did. They sat on opposite sides of the Gryffindor table to eat breakfast. Harry tried not to meet her eyes too often. He grunted thanks when she offered him some of her Daily Prophet to read. He didn't really want to read it, but then he saw that there was a section he'd never noticed before, the financial section, called Your Daily Profit. He skimmed the stories about the up-and-coming wizard businesses, and those that were slipping into bankruptcy (one of the textbook publishing houses was up to its neck in red ink). I'll have to get Sirius to invest some of my money, he thought. Better than it just sitting in a vault.

He wanted to fly on his Firebolt for some reason, but he realized Hermione would probably not be interested in sitting around and watching him fly. But maybe she'd want to fly with him. He thought of their brief flight together, when they escaped from the Charms classroom through the window. He'd flown since then, to demonstrate to McGonagall that he could. They'd gone down to the edge of the forest after dinner one night, and after transforming, he'd spread his wings and leapt into the sky, going higher and higher, finally feeling the tree tops brushing his stomach as he flew over the forest.

He almost changed back and plummeted out of the sky when he saw the clearing deep in the forest where the giants were living. He spent a few minutes circling overhead, just watching them move about their campsite, a fire in the center where several were sitting, cooking, some of them off to the side looking like they were tanning hides; Harry didn't want to know what animals the hides were from. They didn't notice him up in the air above them, and he was glad, although he needn't have worried; he was too high up for them to reach him. He'd flown back to McGonagall and changed back without telling her what he'd seen. He knew that the teachers knew about the giants, but he knew that the students weren't supposed to know.

It had been exhilarating; he felt like it was worth the aching he experienced in his bones afterward, to be able to do that. He remembered the first time he'd ever flown a broom, how he felt so at home in the air. Now he knew why; he was born to do this, to soar on a thermal with his wings at just the right subtle angle to catch the warm wind, spiraling toward the ground in a carefully-controlled descent...

After breakfast, Harry and Hermione walked into the entrance hall, close together but not touching. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, saw her looking back and couldn't suppress a small smile from curling up the corners of his mouth. Hermione looked like she was trying not to grin maniacally. He walked toward the doors and then went outside, sensing her right behind, following him. No one else came outside. Harry slipped into the shrubbery near the doors, ducking behind a tall topiary that had been cut to resemble a hippogriff. That seemed very appropriate, somehow. Hermione was with him in a matter of moments. He pulled her to him, and she slipped her arms around him, one hand behind his neck, the other in the small of his back, but as the kiss deepened, that hand slid down, making Harry moan against her mouth. He pulled away from her, smiling, and she kept her hand right where it was.

"Miss Granger," he said in a teasing voice. "Are you trying to compromise my virtue?"

"Already done," she reminded him, kissing the base of his neck. "Anyway, lately, I've been trying to avoid touching you in--certain places--and I don't exactly have to bother doing that anymore, do I?"

Harry showed that he agreed by leaning down to kiss her again, letting his own hands wander into previously-forbidden territory. After a minute, Hermione came up for air, saying, "Not that this isn't nice, but are we going to spend our holiday snogging and groping in the bushes? There are more comfortable places where we can--um--do more--" she was planting kisses on his neck again while moving her hands once more.

"Actually," he said, trying not to go insane from what she was doing, "I was wondering if you'd like to go flying."

She pulled back at him and looked like she was considering this. "Hmm. That might be a good idea. I really have to get over my acrophobia sometime; someday I'll be able to Apparate, but in the meantime, I really should get more comfortable with a broom."

"Well--I wasn't talking about brooms."

She frowned at him, then widened her eyes when she realized what he meant. "Oh, no you don't, Harry Potter! I am not doing that again!"

"Hermione, it worked out fine..."

"You were a basket-case afterwards! What if you pushed yourself too hard and changed back while you were a hundred feet in the air? You'd be killed! Not to mention your passenger. Besides, you've got Sandy, haven't you?"

"I've flown two-hundred feet in the air now, Hermione, and McGonagall is convinced that I'm fine. Oh, come on. It'll be fun. I can leave Sandy somewhere so she won't be alarmed."

Hermione drew her mouth into a line. "I'm sorry Harry, I just--can we just work on me and brooms right now?"

He sighed and kissed her on the forehead. "Of course. I'm not putting pressure on you."

She leaned against his chest and looked up at him. "No," she said musingly, "you never do. That's why I had to go and seduce you." She laughed then, in that wonderful throaty way he remembered from the night, and he kissed her soundly before leading her out of the shrubbery, her fingers laced in his. They went up to Gryffindor Tower; Harry was going to get his Firebolt and ask Fred or George whether Hermione could borrow one of their brooms, so she wouldn't be stuck with one of the poky ones the school kept for students who didn't have their own.

But when he entered his dorm, he heard a strange sound. It seemed to be coming from Neville's bed. Frowning, he walked to the bed and pulled back the curtains, shocked by what he saw.

Neville was shivering and sweating all at once, a strange bilious green color; his eyes were an eerie yellow; Harry suddenly realized that he didn't know what color Neville's eyes were supposed to be, but he was quite certain it wasn't yellow. He was wearing blue cotton pajamas that were soaked through with sweat, and he was staring straight up, his mouth wide open in a silent scream as he continued to shake and sweat.

Harry felt panicked; he did the only thing he could think of; he ran to the door and bellowed down the stairs, "Hermione!"

He went back to Neville's bed; he was convulsing now. It seemed to be some kind of seizure. He was afraid to touch him, or make a sound. He felt paralyzed. All he could do was stand and watch this boy he'd known for five years suffer.

He heard her feet on the stairs, could hear the note of panic in her voice as she cried out, "Harry! Are you all right?" Of course, she'd think it was him, he realized. But when she was in the room, she saw where he was standing, and ran to Neville's bedside.

"Neville!" she cried, going to her knees. She immediately put her hand on his head, then felt for the pulse in his neck.

"His heartbeat is irregular; it's galloping, then jumping about, then galloping again," she said after holding her hand there for half a minute. Harry marveled at the way she wasn't afraid to jump right in, to put her hands on him, when he was terrified. Not for himself, but in case something he did caused Neville harm. We'll take the cup together... he remembered saying...

"We need to get him to the hospital wing," she said urgently.

Harry thought. "What if we stun him? It might put in into a kind of--" he floundered for the meaning he was looking for.

"A stasis? Good idea. And then we could use that Mobilicorpus spell to get him there." So that's what they did, and when they emerged into the common room with Neville's body, everyone present looked up, shocked. Alicia had been sitting at a table with Angelina, preparing for N.E.W.T.s; she came running over when she saw them. The twins were by the fire, also doing N.E.W.T. preparation, also clearly alarmed by Neville's state. As far as they knew, he was the closest thing their sister had to a boyfriend.

"We stunned him so we could move him to the hospital wing," Hermione told them all.

Harry said hoarsely, "When I went in our room, he was making strange noises, and sweating and shaking, and--and he looked like that--" he said, referring to his green cast and his yellow eyes, which were still open.

"We'll come with you," George and Fred said, and Alicia and Angelina were right behind. The six of them escorted Neville's body to the hospital wing, and Harry's head was spinning the whole time with gruesome thoughts.

There are six of us, his brain said. The same as the number of pall bearers you need to carry a coffin. Neville will be all right, said a different voice in a different part of his brain. Don't talk about pall bearers. Does he look all right to you? his brain said now. Harry felt his head had been split down the middle; it wasn't his scar, it wasn't Voldemort. He felt like he didn't know how to handle this, that Neville of all people should be a victim of--of what? What had happened to him, and who had done it? His throat was tight; he couldn't swallow.

When they reached the infirmary, George opened the door and Harry and Hermione guided Neville in. Harry ran to find Madam Pomfrey in her office, but she wasn't there. He thought he heard a noise in the Apothecary, so Harry opened the door, not bothering to knock. Instead of Madam Pomfrey, however, Harry found Snape reaching for a jar labeled Powdered Spleenwort, which he presumably was going to add to the bubbling cauldron that hovered over a purple fire.

"Oh!" he said with relief as soon as he saw Snape. "I'm so glad it's you! Come quick. It's Neville."

Snape put the jar down on a work table with a loud thunk and strode through Madam Pomfrey's office and into the infirmary in the blink of an eye. Hermione had put him in one of the beds and had taken the traveling spell and stunning charm off him. He lay there as he had before, in his own bed, twitching and sweating, pale green skin offset by eerily yellow eyes. Snape leaned over him; he put his ear to his chest and then put his fingers on his neck, as Hermione had. He looked in Neville's eyes, looked at his skin, then in his mouth; his tongue was swollen terribly. It was amazing he hadn't choked on it.

"Longbottom!" he shouted in his face, holding his head still with both hands over Neville's ears. He looked in Neville's eyes; they moved slightly. "What do you see, Longbottom?" he said in a fierce whisper.

Neville opened his mouth; a hoarse rasp that had the sound of a death rattle in it was all that came out. "Scorpions. Beetles. All over my body. All over the wall..." Suddenly, he started gagging, then his whole body was convulsing. Harry clenched his jaw, unable to stand the sight of Neville like this. His voice had sounded horrible--not like Neville at all.

Snape pulled out his wand and whispered, "Reducio," waving it over Neville's mouth. The gagging stopped, but the seizure continued. Snape looked up at Alicia, who was watching with her fist in her mouth.

"Does Professor McGonagall know?" he said to her suddenly. She shook her head. He pointed at Angelina. "You. Go tell her. You--" he pointed at Alicia. "You're Head Girl--you remember the password to the headmaster's study?" She nodded. "Go get him. Now."

Alicia and Angelina turned and fled. Fred and George still hovered nearby, looking more serious than Harry had ever seen them. "And you two!" he barked at them suddenly. "Make yourselves useful for once and find out where in the bloody hell Pomfrey is!"

"I'll check the greenhouses," Fred said, running toward the door.

"I'll check the library," George called over his shoulder as he also ran out.

"Just find her!" he bellowed at their backs. Hermione was sitting on the opposite side of the bed from Snape, holding Neville's hand steadfastly, murmuring meaningless but soothing-sounding reassurances to the senseless boy. He had stopped convulsing and Snape was checking his pulse again. Harry saw how solicitous Snape was with him, how careful. Perhaps he'd been hard on Neville all this time for the same reason he'd given Sirius for being hard on Harry--to toughen him up. What had happened? Harry wondered. What was wrong with him?

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked softly. As soon as he thought it, he couldn't not say it.

Snape didn't look at him; he stayed focused on Neville. "Withdrawal. I'm not sure what he became addicted to, but he's definitely in withdrawal. I have a few guesses, but if we could just find out what he was taking--"

"I know who'd know," Harry said suddenly. Snape turned and raised his eyebrows. "Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy were usually working in the dungeons at the same time as Neville. They might know."

"Snape nodded. "Use my office," he said, turning back to Neville. Harry strode quickly from the room and then ran down the corridor, down the marble stairs, through the blurs that the entrance hall and Great Hall had become, to the door to the secret passage to Snape's office, down the steep stairs. This was why he'd started running, he felt. To help a friend in need.

He panicked momentarily, unable to find the right place on the damp stone wall to apply pressure. Then suddenly, it gave way and he shoved his shoulder against the wall, squeezing into the room.

"Incendio!" he cried with rather more feeling than he should have, as he pointed his wand at the fireplace. His emotions were a runaway train. He reduced the roaring flames that had sprung up in the fireplace to a reasonable level, then, with a shaking hand, threw some powder from the bowl on the mantel into the fire. The flames burned green now, and he said more loudly than was necessary, "The Burrow."

After a few moments, Mrs. Weasley's face appeared.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "How nice to see you! How's your holi--"

"Mrs. Weasley! I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have to talk to Ginny! It's urgent!"

Mrs. Weasley looked unnerved by his behavior; he was always unfailingly polite with her. "Of course," she said softly, then called for Ginny. Mrs. Weasley's head disappeared from the flames, to be replaced by Ginny's. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail.

"Harry, what--"

"It's Neville. He's in the hospital wing with withdrawal symptoms. Snape wants to know what potions he's been taking, because whatever it was, he became addicted and then stopped, and now he--oh, Ginny, he looks like death--" he whispered.

Ginny blanched. "Well," she said shakily, "he was always working on the same two potions. One was called something like Youth Or Souse, Youth Are So--"

"Eutharsos Potion?"

"Yes, that's it. I don't know what it's for. And the other was some kind of memory-enhancing potion. Name On Iss, or something--"

Harry had a sudden image in his mind of the page from the Potions text. "Mnemonis Potion?"

"Yes! That's the one. I'm quite sure that's it. Oh, Harry, how bad is it? Will he be all right?"

"I don't know. I need to go tell Snape. Thanks, Ginny."

Her face disappeared from the flames and Harry was about to extinguish the fire when he had a sudden thought. He threw some more powder into the firebox and said, "Alastor Moody." After a few moments, Moody's disfigured face appeared in the flames.

"Yes, Potter?" he said kindly, on seeing who it was.

"Come to the infirmary right away, Professor. It's Neville Longbottom."

Moody didn't answer him. His face had already disappeared. He knew Moody didn't see the point in small talk at a time like this. Good, Harry thought, he'll be there fast. Then he wondered how fast, thinking about how far Moody's office was from the infirmary, and thinking about his wooden leg. Well, Harry reckoned, maybe that's why he ended the call so quickly.

Harry put out the fire and squeezed out into the passage again, pushing the wall back into place behind him. He realized suddenly that it would have been much easier to find people if he'd simply gone to get his map. Why didn't he think of that? Or George or Fred? They were all so addled by this unexpected turn of events; Harry felt like he had no brain any more, he was operating on pure animal instinct.

He sprinted up staircase after staircase, finally arriving again at the door to the infirmary. When he pushed it open, he saw that Madam Pomfrey had finally arrived. Dumbledore and McGonagall stood by her side as she poked and prodded Neville, while Snape looked on. Hermione and the twins had retreated to a spot near Pomfrey's office door along with Angelina and Alicia. Fred discreetly put a piece of parchment into Harry's hand; he looked at it before stuffing it into his pocket. The map. So they had thought of using it. He nodded at Fred. Not enough people gave the twins credit for being smart, he realized. You don't just think of all those pranks without being fairly bright. Hermione turned to him with an anguished look on her face. He grimaced, then went to the adults standing around Neville's bed.

"It's two potions," he told them. "Eutharsos and Mnemonis."

Snape blanched. "Eutharsos Potion is addictive if it is taken in large doses, or too often. And the main ingredient in Mnemonis Potion is gingko biloba, which discourages blood clotting. There are other anti-coagulents in it as well. And if a person takes enough of it--"

"What?" Harry wanted to know.

"They lose the ability to form clots at all. Worse than hemophilia."

"And in combination?"

He turned and looked at Neville again. "That's what we don't know."

Madam Pomfrey backed up from Neville and motioned to Snape, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Harry to join her in her office. Harry glanced over his shoulders at the others, who were not being included in the conference. Being treated as another one of the adults was slightly unnerving; there was something so comforting about being permitted to continue one's childhood, to let older, wiser people handle the crises. Then he thought of the night, and what he and Hermione had shared. He thought of Voldemort in the graveyard where the elder Tom Riddle was buried...He'd left childhood behind forever.

In the office, Madam Pomfrey turned to them, looking very grim. "He's in withdrawal from the Eutharsos Potion. That's my opinion. The Mnemonis Potion is not known to be addictive, although as Professor Snape noted, it can have a disastrous long-term effect. My main concern is that he has only begun the withdrawal process. This is merely the first stage, the greenish skin tone, the yellow eyes, the hallucinations. As it progresses, he will have violent outbursts, followed by crying and laughing jags and suicidal tendencies. We need to keep him restrained and someone should be with him at all times. Should he injure himself and bleed, there is the risk that his abuse of the Mnemonis Potion could lead to his bleeding to death if someone is not on hand to bind up the wound immediately with the right charm. I would feel more comfortable having him transferred to St. Mungo's--"

"No!" Snape said suddenly. Harry looked at him in surprise. Neville's parents were in St. Mungo's. Because of Barty Crouch, Jr. Whom Snape recruited. Harry looked at him searchingly. "He should be with familiar people. I--I will make up a schedule for his friends to sit with him, and any teachers that wish to participate as well. We should of course contact his grandmother." He nodded at McGonagall, who looked like she was taking umbrage at having him make important decisions about a student in her house, although she didn't argue about those decisions. Dumbledore nodded at him.

"I agree. Are you all right with that, Poppy? If we have coverage around the clock?"

She looked at Dumbledore as if she wished he weren't the headmaster, so she could argue with him. "All right," she said reluctantly. They filed out of the office. As Dumbledore explained to the others what Neville needed, Harry felt like he was in a fog. He remembered Neville asking him about Eupatorium fistulosum on the day before the ceilidh. Now he remembered why the name of that plant was familiar. It was the main ingredient in Eutharsos Potion. Harry was glad he had only taken it once. Snape had taken it too, when he was in school. Had he also become addicted to it, and gone through withdrawal? Or had he only taken it the one time?

He was vaguely aware of Hermione and Alicia volunteering to canvass all of the students who were still at the school for the holiday, to see who was willing to take their turn at Neville's bedside. Harry turned and looked at Neville again during this frenzied planning. He slowly walked over to the bed and picked up one of Neville's hands; it felt awful, cold and clammy. What if he had decided to take dose after dose of the same potion? That could be me lying there right now, he thought.

"I'm right here, mate," he said quietly to the only one in the school who had beaten him in the Dueling Club. That was probably the potion, Harry realized. But he didn't begrudge him the win; Neville would probably never have another moment like that the rest of his life, if he had a rest of his life...

No. Harry pulled his brain back from this thought. He'll be fine, he will. He has to be...

He sat in the chair where Hermione had been, still holding Neville's hand, as if he could will some of his good health to seep into Neville's body that way. Behind him, he heard the others depart, heard Madam Pomfrey go into her office and close the door. He was alone in the infirmary with Neville. Without saying anything, they all knew he'd volunteered to take the first watch. He sat staring at Neville, memory after memory of him flitting through his mind. At one point, he heard Sandy hiss something at him, but he couldn't process it, his mind was whirling, so that he was surprised when he looked up and saw Moody standing at the foot of Neville's bed. That's what she had been telling him; Mad-Eye Moody was coming (although she'd said a cyclops with one leg).

He nodded at Harry. "How is he, Potter?" he said in a low, gravely voice. Harry explained the two potions to him, the withdrawal process, the round-the-clock vigil that would have to be kept. "But Pomfrey says he'll recover?"

"Yes. He just--" Harry's voice caught.

"That's all right, Potter. Don't try to say more. I understand you found him." Harry nodded. Moody heaved a great sigh. "I found them." Harry looked perplexed for a moment, but then he realized what Moody meant. Neville's parents. After they'd been tortured with Cruciatus by Barty Crouch, Jr. and his Death Eater friends.

"They'd been shopping in Diagon Alley for Christmas presents for their son. He was with them. Not quite two years old at the time. Roly poly, healthy little tyke. Happy as you could wish. When I found them behind a pub in Knockturn Alley, he was bawling away, trying to get his mother to pick him up. Poor Gemma! She just stared up at the sky, like Frank. I remember going to their wedding...I was at school with Frank's mother, Verity. She was Verity Gillespie then. Verity was heartbroken over what happened to Frank and Gemma. She adored Gemma. Brilliant, beautiful...she'd have adopted her if she could have. No mother-in-law/daughter-in-law tension there!" Moody sighed. "A beautiful, picture-perfect family."

Harry turned and looked at Neville again, at his sickly complexion and eerie eyes. He tried to picture him as a happy toddler, and couldn't.

"I just went to visit them, you know, Frank and Gemma. On Monday," Moody went on. "And now their son will be there too..."

"No!" Harry cried, as vehemently as Snape had. "He'll be fine. He has to!" The tears he'd been holding back finally ran down his cheeks and into the corners of his mouth. He didn't bother wiping them away. He clasped Neville's hand convulsively and glared at Moody. "He'll be fine!"

Moody frowned. "Now, Potter, I'm sure you want to think that. He's your friend; you've known him now for five years..."

"But that's just it," Harry choked. "I haven't known him. None of us have. Seamus and Dean are friends, and Parvati and Lavender, and Ron and Hermione and I...Neville was always the odd man out. I only just last year found out about his parents by accident, and Dumbledore didn't want me to tell anyone. I don't think--I don't think any of us really knows Neville."

Moody nodded. "There's always some like that. Keep to themselves. Well, with what happened, it's not surprising. Especially when that idiot from the Ministry showed up..."

"What?"

"Well, it was a big deal at the time. Frank and Gemma Longbottom! They were the only husband-wife Auror team I knew that could figure out how to balance the work and home situation. They were amazing together. We all figured it must have been a complete ambush for anyone to do what they did to them. And then this idiot shows up, Longlegs, Locklegs, Longheart..."

"Lockhart? Gilderoy Lockhart?"

"Yeah. That's the git. Memory charms specialist at the Ministry. Fresh out of school. Decides if he doesn't step in, little Neville, having seen his parents tortured, would be traumatized for life. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't completely, not before some damage was already done. I don't know how bad it would have been if the git had been allowed to do a full-fledged charm on a not-quite-two-year-old. Probably wouldn't have two brain cells left to rub together. I managed to get him sacked after that, thankfully."

Harry stared in disbelief. And Lockhart had almost put memory charms on him and Ron when they were down in the Chamber of Secrets. Thank goodness for Ron's broken wand, he thought, looking at Neville again. So it was a bad Lockhart memory charm that had been hampering Neville's thought processes all this time. And it had finally seemed that he'd gotten over that problem. He must have taken a huge amount of that Mnemonis Potion, Harry realized.

Moody patted him on the shoulder and said, "You're a good friend to him, Potter." As he turned to go, Harry thought, No, I wasn't. But from now on, I will be...

Harry wasn't sure when he dozed off. His head was on the mattress beside Neville's leg. Neville twitched his hand and hit Harry in the face. He jerked up and looked around just as the door to the infirmary opened. How long had he been asleep? he wondered. He checked on Neville, who looked the same as before.

Hermione walked over to the bed and put her hand on Harry's shoulder, leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Go get some rest," she said softly. "It's my turn now." Harry checked his watch; it was two o'clock. He looked at the windows, at the spring light and the flowering tree branches visible through the glass. It was only early afternoon. He looked at her, feeling suddenly an overwhelming desire to kiss her, to see her naked...He stopped himself from continuing this line of thought. How could he be thinking that, when Neville...Harry stood and gave her his chair, went to stand at the foot of the bed, looking at Neville, before turning to leave. His hands shook; he felt that he was in withdrawal almost as much as Neville was. Somehow, between the previous night and the morning, he had the feeling that nothing would ever be the same.

The rest of the holiday passed in a blur of sitting by Neville's bedside or sitting around the common room with other shell-shocked-looking people who barely talked, sometimes saying something about Neville, "remember when," stuff, that always seemed to trail off and resulted in someone starting to cry. Harry was sitting by Neville's bedside on Sunday night before the new term was to start when Ginny came running into the infirmary; she dashed to the bed, standing on the side opposite where Harry sat, taking Neville's hand and looking into his face with an alarmed expression that conveyed all of the fears they all held for him.

She asked about his progress shakily; Harry tried to dispassionately tell her the things Madam Pomfrey had explained to Hermione, which she had explained to him. Hermione was impressed that there didn't need to be intravenous fluids for nourishment; such things were carefully Apparated into his body, and the waste was carefully Apparated out as well. Harry grimaced when she told him this, thinking about how many things he took for granted just because he was conscious and walking around and fully-functional. Neville was also levitated for about half the day, floating just an inch or so above the mattress and pillow, an hour on and an hour off, so he wouldn't get bedsores. He hadn't progressed to the second stage of withdrawal yet. Harry dreaded that, dreaded having to restrain Neville and prevent him hurting himself. It will be all right, he had to keep telling himself. He'll be all right.

"I'm taking this watch," Ginny told him softly. She held Neville's hand and looked at Harry. In spite of his current condition, Harry couldn't help think that Neville was very, very lucky just now. He nodded at her and rose to go, not saying goodbye. She moved to sit in the chair he'd vacated, holding Neville's other hand now, pushing his hair back from his forehead tenderly.

The summer term began, and it seemed so strange for Neville not to be in class with them. Many of the teachers were also taking turns at Neville's bedside; once when Harry went into the infirmary, McGonagall was there, another time Flitwick. Hermione told him she found Professor Sprout crying silently while she held Neville's hand. Snape and Moody were also taking turns.

One day, Harry was going into the infirmary to bring Ron his Transfiguration homework, since he had missed class to sit with Neville, and before he could put his hand on the knob, the door flew open and Draco Malfoy came out. Harry tried to stem the wave of anger he felt coming over him when he saw him, remembering the way he'd treated Ginny on her birthday, remembering that he was in the dungeon with Neville and never said anything about the potions he was making.

Malfoy looked at him warily, closed the door of the infirmary. Then he nodded curtly at Harry.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

He looked back at the door, then at Harry again. "I was just--visiting Longbottom. There weren't any slots open on the sign-up sheet...but then, I thought I probably shouldn't be on there. No other Slytherins were. Have to think about my reputation."

Harry felt the anger in him starting to get out of control. "He could have died because of you!" he whispered fiercely. Malfoy's jaw dropped.

"Me?"

"You knew what potions he was making..."

"So did Ginny! Neither one of us knew that stuff was addictive."

"One was addictive. The other simply removes your ability to form blood clots. A paper cut could result in him bleeding to death."

"Oh, surely not--"

Harry pushed him up against the wall. "If he doesn't recover--"

Malfoy pushed him off. "You'll what?" he shouted. "Stop me from--" then he remembered they were in a public place. He whispered, "Stop me from putting my father in Azkaban? Stop him from turning you into a Death Eater?"

Harry had no response. He stared at Malfoy; if possible, he hated him more than at any other previous time in his life.

"I was just sitting in there," he pointed at the infirmary, "having a civilized conversation with Weasley, of all people, who, you might remember, I found covered in exploded pub and helped rescue. Don't you get on me about Longbottom! He's--" he faltered. "He's not such a bad bloke. Even if he is after Ginny. I never would have wished this on him. Don't you think I wish I'd known he was doing something dangerous? Don't you think I'd have stopped him?"

"Would you? Do you care about anyone? Ginny turns fifteen, and all you can think is 'shagging time!' Is that how you treat people you care about?"

Malfoy looked shocked. "Did she tell you that?"

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it. "Never mind."

Suddenly Malfoy shoved him up against the wall and spoke very close to his face. "My relationship with Ginny is between the two of us. You do not talk to me about her. Not if you want my father..."

Harry pushed him off, sending him staggering into the opposite wall. He held his arm painfully.

"Stop telling me you're not planning to do anything to your father. You want him where he can't touch you. That's all the motivation you need."

Malfoy glared at him. "Maybe. But watch your back; maybe the act I'll catch him in--the one that will get him sent to Azkaban--will be your murder."

And with that, Malfoy went tripping down the stairs, leaving Harry seething outside the infirmary. He had dropped Ron's homework. He gathered it up, his head whirling as he wondered how capable Draco Malfoy was of carrying out that last threat...

Then, after the first week of the term, Neville entered the second stage. George was sitting with him when he starting flailing around; he gave George a bloody nose and a black eye, and from then on, he was tied securely to the bed. He was eating food now and sometimes talking, but usually it degenerated into incoherent raving, sometimes even cursing, followed by crying and wailing, followed by hysterical laughter.

On the last Saturday of the month, Slytherin and Ravenclaw played their Quidditch match; Slytherin won. Harry watched listlessly as Roger Davies and Draco Malfoy shook hands again at the end. He was trying to think of Neville, and instead kept thinking of Hermione walking across her dorm room with nothing on...

By the end of the weekend, he had stopped the violent outbursts, but he was still restrained. A week after that, Madam Pomfrey took the restraints off and allowed him to go for escorted walks on the grounds. Finally, a couple of days later, he was pronounced recovered, and released from the infirmary.

Harry would never forget when Neville returned to the common room. He moved slowly; he was very thin and pale, but his eyes were dark blue again. Fred and George escorted him to an armchair, Ginny came and sat down on the floor next to him with her cat, Mackenzie, who was now more than six months old and had the personality of a kitten still, while starting to have the body of a full-grown cat. Mackenzie climbed up the arm of the chair and crept onto Neville's lap. He looked nervous about this, but cautiously reached out to pet the cat, who purred and rubbed the side of her face against his hand. Harry watched with his heart in his throat.

Once back in the classroom, Neville seemed to be a little more alert than he had been before he started taking the Mnemonis Potion, but not as alert as he was on it. Harry realized that that was the other secret to Neville's dueling success; the ability to remember a large number of obscure spells and the ability to think very quickly (because of the potion) when deciding which one to use next. Neville dropped out of the Dueling Club. Harry tried to talk him out of it, to no avail.

Neville's first Potions class after he was released from the hospital wing was more than a little tense. Snape did not comment on his absence or the reason for it, but Harry did think it was significant that he was paired up with Malfoy, and that the two of them had been placed at the front of the class, closest to Snape.

Snape was writing the name of the day's potion on the blackboard: Euphemos Potion, page 477 in the potions text. Harry started; that was the potion Ginny and Malfoy were making on the day he had made Eutharsos Potion. The day he asked Snape about his mother...

"Potter!" Snape's sharp voice brought him out of his head again. "Give your potions text to Longbottom and Malfoy. They have both forgotten theirs today. I see Granger has hers, so you can share that one."

Harry sighed and carried his book to the front, handing it to Neville, then walking back to the rear work station he was sharing with Hermione. He marveled at Snape's ability to make it seem like Harry was the one at fault for not knowing his potions text was needed up front, delivering it before it was asked for. He also managed to make Hermione sound like she was at fault for having her potions text. There was a time when he would have castigated Neville for not having his book. Now he mostly seemed intent on ignoring him.

Harry remembered Snape sitting by Neville's bedside, sometimes checking his pulse, feeling his forehead. Harry wondered how much he blamed himself for what happened to Neville, both when he was a baby and his addiction to Eutharsos Potion. Then Harry realized that Snape may or may not have known about Lockhart's overenthusiastic memory charm work. If he knew, that might explain why Snape didn't like Lockhart. Then Harry realized that no one really needed an extra reason to dislike Gilderoy Lockhart.

Harry was brought out of his head again by hearing his name, but this time he heard his first name, not his last. It was Neville. He was handing a small cardboard rectangle to Malfoy, who gaped at it. Both boys turned to look at Hermione and Harry. Sandy hissed at Harry.

"Much will be revealed." What did that mean? he wondered. But he didn't dare start talking to her.

Malfoy handed the rectangle to Crabbe, behind him, who squeaked, a noise Harry had never heard him make. Harry looked around, wondering where Snape had gone; Then he saw that the office door was open. Snape must have gone to get something. What was Crabbe holding? Why had Neville said his name? He wasn't actually addressing Harry. Crabbe leaned over to Goyle, next to him, showing him the rectangle. Goyle's jaw dropped. He turned and handed it to Parvati, in the row in front of Harry and Hermione. She gasped. She turned it over and read softly; this time Harry heard "birthday," and Hermione's name.

Oh, no no no no no, he thought desperately. Tell me I didn't leave that in my potions text...

As if in a dream, he watched Parvati hand it to Ron, who was working beside her, with a smirk on her face and an appraising look aimed at Hermione. Harry's stomach clenched as he waited for Ron's reaction. He saw Ron standing utterly still staring at it; he turned it over and moved his lips while silently reading the inscription. Slowly he turned and looked at Harry, stony-faced, then Hermione. He dwelled on Hermione, though.

His expressions were a succession of hurt, betrayal, sadness and anger. Oddly, anger seemed less than the other emotions. Hermione had only met his gaze for a moment, then looked down, coloring.

Harry didn't see Snape come out of the office, but suddenly he was standing next to Ron, holding out his hand expectantly with a grim set to his sallow face. Ron promptly handed the photo to him; Snape's eyebrows rose, and the look of surprise Harry saw on his face was one he'd only seen a few other times. He looked at Hermione, who was still staring down at the table, starting to seem like she was going to cry from embarrassment. Then Snape did it; Harry had felt it coming.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," he read from the back of the photo, his voice dripping with irony, "With love from Hermione."

He held it out to Harry as though it were covered in dung. "I believe this is your property, Potter." Harry took it hastily, shoving it into his rucksack, feeling a heat moving up his face starting from his neck. "And," Snape continued, "Twenty points from Gryffindor for bringing--inappropriate material to class."

Harry sputtered with the injustice of it; Neville and Malfoy forgot their books and he was the one who got points deducted for Gryffindor. Hermione held her lips in a grim line, shaking her head at him almost imperceptibly.

"All right," Snape said now. "For arguing with a teacher--" although he hadn't said a word "--that will be a detention. Tonight at eight o'clock right here."

Harry was seething now; he had to remind himself that he and Snape were on the same side, they were allies. He looked up to see Malfoy looking smugly at him, then turning a frankly lascivious gaze on Hermione. Harry remembered the Hogwarts express and his reaction to Krum kissing Hermione. Neville also had turned to look at Hermione, as well as Crabbe and Goyle. Of the boys who'd seen the photo of her in her bikini on Corfu, only Ron would not look at her now.

It was worse than the time Snape had read the Rita Skeeter article in class. Harry went through the rest of the class in a daze, only speaking to Hermione when he absolutely had to in order to make the potion. It was bad enough he felt like he wanted her all the time, especially since they hadn't so much as kissed since he found Neville; seeing the photograph again, and knowing that others had seen it was almost unbearably distracting...

When class was over, Ron and Parvati strode out before anyone else, arms around each other's shoulders. Ron avoided looking at Hermione still. Harry and Hermione looked at each other for a moment, then packed up their potions supplies and cauldrons, the last ones to leave.

"Potter!" Snape said imperiously as he was going out the door. Harry waved Hermione on.

"I'll catch you up."

She nodded and went out; it looked to Harry as though she couldn't bear to meet Snape's eyes. Harry stood waiting, his stomach still roiling with anger from the reprimand he'd received earlier. If only I'd remembered I was using that photo as a bookmark...

When they were alone, Snape said tersely to him, "Good potions work today, Potter. Twenty points for Gryffindor." First Harry thought, Has he gotten into the Euphemos Potion? Now he can't say anything that's not nice? Then Harry realized that that would balance out the points he'd taken earlier. "And--your godfather wanted to speak with you tonight, at eight. My office."

Ah, thought Harry, that explains the detention. The anger that had been like a clenched fist in his stomach suddenly evaporated. He had to stop reacting this way. Snape had no choice but to put on a good show for the Slytherins. And the photo! If he had let it pass without comment of any kind, it would have been most un-Snapelike, which was proving to be a very convenient word, to Harry's mind.

"Yes, sir," was all he said to Snape before shouldering his bag to leave. Hermione was waiting for him in the corridor.

"Oh, Harry," she said, tears in her voice, "why did you have to leave that in your potions text?"

They walked up the stairs to the entrance hall. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered. "When Snape told me to give my book to Neville, I forgot it was there..."

They had arrived in the entrance hall now. It was deserted except for one person: Ron. He stood before them, all six-foot-three of him, looking like a volcano getting ready to blow.

"Would you like to explain to me," he said to Harry, "why in the bloody hell you have a photo like that in your bloody potions text?" He turned to Hermione. "And why you gave it to him in the first place?"