Harry Potter and the Time of Good Intentions

Harry followed the other Slytherins down to the dungeons, walked for what seemed miles underground before they reached the nondescript stone wall that hid the Slytherin common room, and followed the others inside after one of the seventh-year prefects gave the password. Harry tried to listen hard; he thought he'd heard the large, surly-looking boy say "dragon's blood." He remembered the last time he'd been here in his second year, when the password had been "pureblood." Did all the passwords have "blood" in them? he wondered. At least it wasn't "Mudblood."

The common room looked as he remembered it, with the dank stone walls, high-backed chairs near the fire and eerie green lamps hanging from the ceiling, casting a sickening glow over everything. Harry hadn't eaten very much at the feast, but he felt he would spew what he had eaten if he had to sit in that dreadfully-lit room for one minute. He put his hand on his stomach to emphasize his queasiness and said to Draco, "I'm not feeling well. I'm going to bed. See you in the morning." Draco frowned at him.

"You promised to help me with the plans. You've been hinting all summer that you had something absolutely ripping up your sleeve to really get Weasley. You said that we could stay up all night after the feast, if necessary, working out the details. You know I'm no good at that stuff. I need your devious brain."

Harry grimaced; that's what he was afraid of. Not only wasn't Ron his friend in this life, it seemed that they were downright enemies. Well, he decided, that was going to change.

"I'm not interested in that anymore. It all seems so--childish. What do we have against him anyway?"

"What do we--do I have to remind you of the second Quidditch match of last year? Not to mention our last five years at school?" Draco was incredulous. Yes, Harry thought irritably, you do have to remind me...

"Is there a point to carrying a grudge like this?" he persisted, hoping that he might eventually talk sense into him. "Frankly, I think it's tied my stomach in knots..." He moved to leave again, hoping that his feet would take him to the right room on auto-pilot.

"Is there a point? To getting a Weasley?" Draco's voice squeaked, he was so incensed.

Harry frowned at him. "Oh, grow up," he said as condescendingly as he possibly could before turning away from him. He went through a doorway, looking around at the monotonous grey stone walls; he'd been in the common room here, but never the dorms, and he was tired and irritable and still feeling chilled to the bone after the Bloody Baron had confronted him. He had a choice; corridor on the right or corridor on the left. He chose the left, stumbling along the stone floor, waiting for something to feel familiar. Suddenly, someone opened a door and he ran into Mariah Kirkner, wearing a rather thin nightdress and no dressing gown, carrying a toothbrush. She had emerged from a room that Harry could see had several four-posters draped in deep green velvet. He glanced across the corridor; she seemed to be heading for a lavatory. The door was ajar and he could see celadon-green tiles on the walls. Mariah smiled at him, standing very close. He tried not to look down at her night dress, but it was so very thin that he was having a hard time bringing his eyes up to her face...

Not only did she not seem to mind this, she smiled even more broadly when she saw where his eyes had gone. He fixed his eyes on her face now, feeling a warmth move up his neck. Wasn't she with Draco? he wondered, remembering the two of them emerging from the horseless carriage before the castle. On the other hand, he didn't seem capable of monogamy; if she was the same that would make it an appropriate pairing.

"Harry!" she said liltingly, her Scottish burr as strong as ever. "Whatayver are ye doin' here?" She put her hand on his arm. "Ye shouldnae see me like this..." she said softly, her avid expression putting the lie to her words. Harry backed up, stumbling. Wrong corridor, he thought.

"S-Sorry," he stuttered, still walking backward. "I'm tired. Took a wrong turn. G'night."

He turned then and ran back the other way into the correct corridor, and after passing a few doors, he saw the one labeled Sixth Years. He sighed with relief, opening the door. There were four four-poster beds, with the same deep green hangings he'd seen on the girls' side. The same sickly green light shone from the green-shaded candle sconces on the stone walls, and a couple of lamps hanging from the low ceiling. Harry reached his hand up; he could touch the stone above him. It felt like the ceiling was sitting on his head. Of course, he was an inch or two taller than he'd been in his other life, but even if he were an inch or two shorter he thought he would find this equally oppressive.

He found his trunk by looking for his initials, HP, on the end. Of course, he first found the ones labeled DM, NN and BZ, he thought grumpily. BZ would be Blaise Zabini, and NN...Norman Nott. That was it. He vaguely remembered Nott from his other life, rather quiet and not a joiner. Harry also remembered that in his other life Nott's dad and Avery had been out-of-favor Death Eaters whom Lucius Malfoy had had killed. Was Norman's dad a Death Eater in this life? Undoubtedly, Harry decided. He felt an unexpected pang of sympathy toward the quiet boy he remembered; he hadn't really thought about the Slytherin student in his other life, he'd been so unobtrusive. He certainly hadn't thought about what he must have been going through when his father was caught after the pub explosion.

Once he'd found his trunk, he did some unpacking and then changed into pajama bottoms to sleep. He put his hand to his sternum, missing the feeling of the basilisk amulet. He examined himself in the mirror on the wardrobe door. His chest was thin and pale, his ribs far too evident. His hair was just like James Potter's. He sighed. He looked just like his father.

He climbed into the bed that had his trunk at the foot and pulled the covers up to his chin; at least the beds were as cozy as in Gryffindor Tower; the house-elves had warmed them and Harry sighed as the comfort seeped into him, finally driving out the cold from his ghostly encounter. He closed his eyes, weariness almost completely overcoming his body, but his brain continued to bash on, giving him no respite.

Fix it. Right, he thought. Easier said than done. Maybe I can try two things at once, he thought. Maybe I can try making this life better, and attempt to find Dumbledore or Hermione in case there's any chance at all I can change things back...But I can't do that unless I become acclimated to this life, understand the way things work. Of course, it would help if I felt like myself...

Then he knew what his first course of action should be: he would take up running again. That would be a good start. And he'd need to make sure he stayed out of trouble; no pranks played against Gryffindors. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble; he'd already been caught by the headmistress fighting with his brothers. Of course, he'd be trying to leave the school grounds without permission to try to locate Hermione...but he would cross that bridge when it was time.

He felt good about his decision to take up running again, and finally felt himself drifting into sleep, part of him hoping and expecting that the entire day, since ten o'clock that morning, had been a mere dream, and he would awake in his nice round room in Gryffindor Tower, with Ron and Neville and Dean and Seamus, and the sunlight would come streaming in the high windows, making the warm red bed-hangings glow, and everything would be all right...

Harry's eyes flew open. The room was pitch dark. He reached for his wand; no matter where he slept, he always put his wand on a table by his bed in exactly the same place and position so that he could pick it up quickly. His wand in hand now, he muttered, "Lumos!" Harry looked around, hoping against hope that he would find himself in Gryffindor Tower. But the feeble wandlight shone on the stern, cold Slytherin dorm, green velvet curtains pulled around the other beds, a Slytherin house banner adorning the wall near the heavy wooden door. He noticed now that the wall-sconces with their dormant candles were serpent-shaped.

Harry sighed, wondering what time it was. He felt wide awake and restless. He padded softly across the stone floor in his bare feet, wincing from the cold with every step. Sleeping in a dungeon for seven years would be bad for anyone's disposition, he felt. No wonder more dark wizards had come from Slytherin than any other house. Of course, I lived under the stairs for ten years, so maybe it's not just the environment that makes them turn dark...

He reached Draco's bedside and moved his wand over the table; he found his best friend's watch and put it on. It was six-thirty. He parted the curtains and peered down at the blond boy, sleeping with his mouth open, looking like he was about eight, instead of like the Lothario of Hogwarts. Harry shook his shoulder gently.

"Draco! Wake up!" He got no response. He'd been too gentle. Harry wondered how late he'd been in the common room, and whether he'd given up the idea of getting some kind of revenge on Ron. He shook him less gently and repeated his name a little louder. Draco finally started to stir, struggling to open his eyes.

"Wha--? Harry? Wha's up?"

"Me. But you don't have to be. I just want to borrow your watch. I'll give it to you at breakfast."

"My wa--is that all?" he said irritably, punching his pillow and turning over. "Take it," he mumbled into the pillow. "Go 'way." Draco closed his eyes again and resumed sleeping.

Harry closed the curtains. Would I have asked him to borrow his watch the day before yesterday? he wondered. Or would I have just taken it and let Draco wonder who'd nicked it?

After dressing, he left the dormitory, holding his wand aloft. He briefly visited the lavatory, grimacing when the candles on the walls flared to life, assaulting his eyes with far more illumination than his wand. After leaving the echoing, green-tiled room, he lit his wand again and proceeded to the common room. He was about to leave when he realized that he wasn't really dressed appropriately for running. He was fairly sure he had nothing appropriate in his trunk either, so he took off his shirt and transfigured it, then his pants, and lastly his shoes. Now he had a sweatsuit and running shoes. He decided to return to his dorm and retrieve a set of robes and some fresh clothes, shrinking them to pocket-size with some more transfiguration, so that he could shower, change and go to breakfast without returning. He had a feeling he would be spending as little time as possible in Slytherin house.

He walked through the dark underground corridors, trying to remember the turns and forks that he'd taken after the feast, in reverse. No, he said to himself. Don't try too hard. A part of you knows this, has known it for five years. He tried to blank his mind and just let his feet go where they wanted, and soon he was passing the Potions classroom, and soon thereafter he was going up into the entrance hall. He opened the heavy front door and smiled; he'd forgotten how nice sunrise at Hogwarts was. He was facing west, the sky still a deep velvet blue, but as soon as he walked round the castle and started down the dewy lawns to the Quidditch pitch, he could see the pale pink sky over the forest. He remembered waking there, after Fridwulfa had tucked him up for the night between the soft furs....So many things that had never happened now, so many thoughts and memories crammed into his brain...

As soon as he had stretched and started running, he began to feel more like his old self. But when he found himself flagging after only three circuits around the sandy path he realized that this body was not used to the pace he was setting for himself. He remembered how winded he had felt after his first time running from the Dursleys' house to the park and back. He didn't feel as bad as that, but he didn't feel like doing more just now. I'll have to work my way up again, he thought.

After some warm-down exercises he started to head back to the castle, then stopped. He remembered that he no longer had carte blanche to use the prefects' bathroom, and he didn't know the password anyway, even if he'd wanted to sneak in. That meant going all the way back to the Slytherin dorm to shower. Instead, he headed back to the Quidditch pitch; there were showers in the changing rooms. He entered, shivering; for some reason it was colder in here than outdoors. He put a warming charm on the floor before he showered, then dressed and transfigured his running clothes again, this time to make them small enough to fit unobtrusively into his robe pockets (after transfiguring his other clothes back to normal size). He was about to leave, as it was now eight o'clock, but he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and frowned. He closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as he could. Finally, he felt a familiar tingling over his entire scalp. When he opened his eyes, he smiled. He had his old haircut, from his old life. Good. Something else to make me feel normal. He was about to shave, then decided that there wasn't that much of a shadow on his face, and he left for the castle.

When he reached the Great Hall, it was already noisy with breakfast conversation. The smaller number of students was starting to look normal to him, but he didn't notice that this reduced the noise reverberating from the stone walls. He sat down at the Slytherin table between his sister and his best friend.

"Where've you been?" Jamie asked between bites of toast. "And what did you do to your hair?"

Harry helped himself to some sausages and eggs; the running had given him an appetite he hadn't had during the welcoming feast. "Running. Down at the Quidditch pitch," he said shortly. "I changed it. My hair, I mean. Tired of the old look." He resumed eating, then turned to look at his silent sister. She had tears in her eyes. "Jamie--what's wrong?"

She snuffled, reaching for some jam for her toast. "So, you're tired of looking like our father, are you?"

He had not expected this reaction. "Er, I just--you know--wanted to look like myself." He squirmed, not wanting his sister to think he was showing disrespect to their father's memory. Did he have to make his appearance a permanent shrine to his father? he wondered.

"Well, You-Know-Who's going to have a melt-down when she sees you. And you haven't shaved."

"You-Know-Who is a she? Since when?"

Jamie looked around at the other students. "You know which You-Know-Who I mean. Don't act dumb."

He was going to say it wasn't an act, but he realized that wouldn't sound quite right, so he instead looked toward the head table, and sure enough, his mother was looking at him with her eyebrows raised and a pointedly disappointed expression on her face. Great, he thought. No one cared when I did this before; now I've got a sister and mother breathing down my neck about a simple change in hair...

But the reaction wasn't all bad. Pansy Parkinson was smiling very broadly at him, Millicent Bulstrode kept dropping her silverware and flushing every time he looked her way (she tried to pretend she wasn't looking back), and Mariah Kirkner simply kept gazing at him without pause, eating and drinking as though she found him so completely mesmerizing she had no choice but to remain riveted on him throughout. Harry turned to glance surreptitiously at the other tables; some Gryffindor girls had noticed him as well. Parvati Patil was giving him a look of surprise similar to that his mother had given him (without the hostility), and Ginny was smiling at him again. This time he smiled back at her, not turning away until Ron Weasley, next to her, turned and glared at him. Harry sighed, returning to his food; he had to do something about Ron. He missed his real best friend and wanted him back. He slid his eyes sideways to look at Draco Malfoy. Draco could be all right when he wanted to be. But he wasn't Ron, not by a long shot. He turned and looked back at the Gryffindor table; this time the Weasley at whom he gazed wistfully was not Ginny, but Ron.

When breakfast was almost over, Harry asked Draco, "So, what do we have today?"

"Why don't you have your stuff with you? We have Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, first thing. That's three flights up. You'll miss half of class, going back to the dungeons for your things. After that we have Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs. That's one floor up from Transfiguration. There's no way for you to get the stuff between classes without being late for that one, either."

That's funny, thought Harry. We never used to have those classes in combination with other houses. Then again, the school used to have a few more students...Suddenly he had a brainstorm about how he'd get his parchments, books, quills and ink.

"What's after lunch?"

"Potions, then Charms. Both with the Gryffindors, unfortunately. We have to put up with Weasley all afternoon. No free period today. What, are you going to wait until lunch to get your stuff?"

"Don't worry. I'll do it right now. What do we have, fifteen minutes or so before we have to start upstairs?"

"I think..." Draco began, looking at his wrist; then he looked at Harry's. "Oi! You took my watch!"

"I asked you and you said to take it and go away."

"When did I ever say to take it?"

"At six-thirty this morning."

"What in bloody hell were you doing up at six-thirty?"

"I told you; running. You were half-asleep; I was afraid you wouldn't remember. Here." He gave it back to him.

"You can get up for running at six-thirty, but you can't remember to bring up your things for class? It's a half-hour hike down to our dorm. An hour round trip."

"I know. I've got it covered. Something that's faster than walking. Come on."

He rose and his sister and best friend followed him. He led them out of the Great Hall, through the entrance hall and down the steps to the dungeons. At the foot of the steps he stopped. Flickering torches provided the only light. He pulled out his wand and stared into the semi-darkness, concentrating on his rucksack, books, parchment, quills and ink bottles in his trunk at the foot of his bed. He pictured each item in his mind, very clearly. Finally, he cried, "Accio!" The sound echoed off the stone walls, gradually dying out. A minute passed, then two, three. His brow still knit in concentration, he kept his wand out, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Finally, when almost ten minutes had passed, they could see the objects hurtling toward them at breakneck speed. At last, when it seemed that the three of them might be impaled by the quills, spattered by the ink bottles and battered by the books, Harry, his wand still pointed down the corridor, cried, "Impedimenta!"

The objects hung in mid-air, stopped dead by the second charm. Harry walked forward about ten feet and plucked his supplies from the air, including his rucksack. He put his things in the bag and slung it over his shoulder, then turned to look at his friend's and sister's shocked faces.

"What?"

They were speechless at first. Finally, Jamie was able to form words. "When did you get so good at summoning charms? And what was that other thing?"

"It slows things down so that they look like they've stopped completely. They're actually still moving, just really, really slowly. Oh, that reminds me." He pointed his wand at his bag. "Finite Incantatem!" He looked up at his sister again. "Can't have it continue to move--even a little--now that I've got it."

She continued to stare, then grabbed Draco's wrist, twisting it into an uncomfortable position that made him yell in pain. But he didn't do anything to stop her, or retaliate. After glancing at his watch she shouldered her own bag and ran for the stairs. "I'll be late for Charms. See you at lunch!"

They both called goodbye to her, then started climbing the stairs themselves. As they walked, they were quickly joined above the first floor by other sixth-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws. Harry saw that his friend kept looking sideways at him with a suspicious expression. Finally Harry couldn't take it any more.

"What's with you? You'd think you two had never seen a person do a summoning charm before."

"No, you'd think we'd never seen you do a summoning charm. There's a difference."

"Well, I got it right, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Well then let's drop it."

They had reached the Transfiguration classroom. Harry entered with a smile, looking forward to a class with his godfather. They filed in with the other Slytherins in their year, plus a half-dozen Ravenclaws that Harry remembered from his other life. Evan Davies wore a prefect badge, as did Mandy Brocklehurst. One of the other boys was Felix Moon and one was Terry Boot, but he wasn't sure which was which. He also recognized Lisa Turpin and Sally-Anne Perks. Along with Norman Nott, Blaise Zabini, Morag MacDougal, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, their number was thirteen. A perfect coven, Harry thought with a grin. Trelawney would be having a fit.

"Good morning!" Sirius said to them with a friendly smile as they took their seats. He again looked like the handsome best man in Harry's parents' wedding photos, instead of a fugitive from wizarding justice. "Sixth year Ravenclaws and Slytherins, correct?"

"Slytherins and Ravenclaws," Draco Malfoy corrected him. He smiled at Draco.

"Hello again, Draco. Had a good summer?" Draco smiled back at him; good, thought Harry, he and my best friend get along. And he's the sort of teacher who uses first names, instead of last. He smiled at Sirius too, and looking less jovial now, Sirius nodded at him.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry frowned just a little, wondering at this lukewarm greeting. The other students then began babbling to him about their holidays; he was clearly a very popular teacher, and he listened attentively for a few minutes before clapping his hands and gesturing for them all to sit.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you all had wonderful adventures on your holidays and I'll eventually hear about all of them. But right now we need to begin. This is your sixth year. You all did quite well on your O.W.L.s; I was very, very pleased with every one of you." He beamed at them all. "But now you have only two years to prepare for your N.E.W.T.s. That's not as much time as you might think. We are going to begin Advanced Transfiguration this year. In the past, you have Transfigured inanimate objects and small animals. This term we will begin to Transfigure larger animals and objects, eventually progressing to--" He paused, looking around at them all. "--Transfiguring each other."

A couple of people gasped; Harry and Draco looked at each other with alarm. Learning to do the Animagus Transfiguration was one thing, Harry thought. I'm not sure I want someone else Transfiguring me. He remembered Draco Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret, and almost guffawed from the memory, but caught himself in time, biting his tongue. His godfather gave him a stern look and his best friend frowned at him. It's a good thing Draco can't read minds, Harry thought.

"As seventh years, you will then learn how to Transfigure yourselves. These will be spells of short duration, and require wands, unlike the Animagus Transfiguration, which is done thusly," he said, suddenly disappearing, to be replaced by a large black dog. In a blink, their teacher was back, with his black hair and eyes and deep maroon robes. "However, even if we determine during your seventh year that one of you--and I would be very surprised if there is even one of you among all of the seventh years--who has the aptitude to become an Animagus, you may or may not be able to study to become one. The Ministry must now approve an application to begin Animagus study, with detailed information submitted concerning why you wish to become an Animagus. The last I heard, the application process is up to sixteen months, and no one has been approved since I received my Animagus license fifteen years ago. They only instituted the application requirement ten years ago, but still, no one has even been approved to attempt it in all that time. So I wouldn't exactly expect to become an Animagus before finishing your seventh year, any of you."

Harry pondered this; why was the Ministry controlling this so tightly now? Professor McGonagall had simply begun training him after she'd discussed it with Dumbledore. "It's a good thing they didn't have that rule when you were in school," he said to Sirius, smiling.

Harry's smile evaporated a second later when his godfather, glaring at him, said softly, "In the corridor, Potter. Now." No more first name.

Harry rose with trepidation and followed Sirius out the door, looking over his shoulder at his best friend, who was grimly waving goodbye to him, as though he didn't expect to see him again. Once in the corridor, his godfather turned to him, looking as though he was barely under control.

"What did you mean by that?" he demanded of Harry. Although Harry had seen Sirius Black angry, he had never seen him angry at him, in this life or his previous one.

He stared at the older man, unsure where to begin. "Well, um," he struggled. "You know. The way you and my father and--and Pettigrew became Animagi so you--so you could be with Remus Lupin when he--you know--" he peered at his godfather nervously. He glared even harder at Harry.

"How do you know about that?"

Oh no, Harry thought, remembering his conversation with his stepfather the previous evening. Not again. "Oh, you know. I've--heard things. Over the years. Here and there."

"Here and there," his godfather repeated, pacing, running his hands through his hair restlessly. "Not 'down at the Quidditch pitch?'"

Now Harry was the one who was confused. "Down at the Quidditch pitch? How would I hear about this down at the Quidditch pitch?"

Sirius straightened up and cleared his throat. "Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything." His expression softened. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's just that you have to remember that in the classroom, you're just another student, not my godson. You're very good at Transfiguration--I gave you two O.W.L.s, didn't I? But I can't risk anyone thinking I'm giving you preferential treatment."

Harry bristled. "I earn my marks."

"Yes, you do. I just--let's not make any more remarks concerning things you've heard in private conversations in your home, hmm? Let's not remind people we have a personal connection." He looked more kindly at Harry now. Harry nodded. "Oh, and Harry--nice haircut." He smiled even more now, and Harry smiled back. So, he could get along with his stepfather and--to a certain extent--his godfather. Why not his mother?

Harry and his godfather returned to the classroom and the rest of the class time passed without incident. They didn't do any spells but took copious notes on the hazards of Transfiguring oneself or others, which made splinching oneself while Apparating sound like a holiday at the seaside. Harry remembered Viktor Krum's botched shark Transfiguration during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. He wondered whether he could still do the golden griffin Transfiguration, and he decided to try later, when he could find someplace private. He'd managed to alter his hair, after all. That seemed like a good sign.

One father down, one to go, he thought, as the Slytherins split from the Ravenclaws, who were going to Binns' classroom next. The Slytherins ascended the stairs to the Dark Arts classroom, meeting up with the sixth-year Hufflepuffs.

"Where are you lot coming from?" Millicent asked Ernie MacMillan, standing rather close to him.

"The greenhouses," Hannah Abbott answered her, coming between her and Ernie. "Herbology with the Gryffindors."

"Of course it was with the Gryffindors, who else would it be? Why bother to say?" Draco sneered at her, then rolled his eyes at Harry and muttered, "Hufflepuffs."

Harry felt bad for Hannah, who gave Draco a hurt look, which he seemed to find amusing. As he scanned the half-dozen Hufflepuff students, he again noted the absence of Justin Finch-Fletchley. I suppose he's at Eton, Harry thought, playing football and cricket, and wondering why he sometimes makes strange things happen when he gets over-excited. At least he's never known what it's like to be petrified by a Basilisk.

Harry and Draco took seats front and center. Severus Snape was not deigning to notice that students were entering the classroom, despite the noise and jostling that unavoidably accompanied the advent of thirteen teenagers. He continued to placidly write on the blackboard; not a speck of chalk dust dared to leap onto his pristine black robes. Must have put a dust-repelling charm on them, Harry thought. It would be like his stepfather.

He finally finished writing, punctuating his final sentence with an emphatic period that broke the piece of chalk he had been using. He ignored this and turned around, surveying all of the students, including Harry, with what appeared to be intense dislike. Hmm, Harry thought. Maybe some things haven't really changed. He still doesn't seem to actually like being a teacher.

But suddenly, his dad's face was split by an absolutely blinding smile. "Welcome back! It's good to see you all again!" Harry could have fallen off his chair in shock. Also shocking was the way Pansy and Millicent were looking down at their parchments shyly, and even Hannah seemed to have forgotten that Ernie existed momentarily. His dad's dark hair gleamed, brushed back from his brow, and his beard was neat and close-trimmed. His nose still had that downward hook, but that hardly seemed to matter; the girls all seemed to think it was charming. Then Harry realized that his new haircut was identical to his stepfather's. And since he hadn't shaved, he appeared to have a close-trimmed beard and mustache. It looked as though he'd been imitating him! Harry sank down into his chair, wondering what his dad would say (and making a mental note to shave before his afternoon classes).

But no comment was forthcoming on his hair, facial or otherwise. "Please take out your quills and parchment and copy down the notes on the board! Then we will be going on a little trip, as it were."

He sat down at his desk to wait for the class to finish copying the notes. Harry started copying, then paused when he realized that the notes were all about boggarts. Haven't we covered boggarts yet? he wondered. That's odd...but try as he might, he could not dredge up a memory of learning about boggarts in this life. He shrugged and wrote quickly.

When everyone had put their quills down, his dad stood again. "Now! We will be going down to the kitchens. Mr. White, the caretaker, has reported that the house-elves have found a boggart in the potato pantry. We will flush it out and then confront it. Now, since the boggart takes on the form of your worst fear, do any of you think you know what form your boggart might take?"

Slytherin and Hufflepuff alike looked at each other in bewilderment. Only Harry slowly raised his hand. His dad nodded at him.

"All right. Potter. That's one." Now Fiona Fawcett also raised her hand, looking nervous. He acknowledged her, then said, "No one else?" The others still looked baffled. Well, Harry thought, we'll find out soon.

They marched down the stairs to the entrance hall, then continued down to the kitchen. When they reached the painting of the bowl of fruit, Harry instinctively reached out to tickle the pear to get it to turn into a doorknob. His best friend and stepfather frowned at him.

"How did you know to do that?" his dad asked him quietly as Harry held the door open for the others. Harry felt like kicking himself. Instead, he shrugged and raised his eyebrows. His dad surveyed him suspiciously as they entered he kitchens.

Everything was as Harry remembered it. House-elves were zipping about, busily preparing lunch dishes. They ignored Severus Snape and his students, dancing nimbly around them with their burdens or disappearing with abrupt pops! or cracks!, and appearing again across the room. Harry found it quite entertaining, actually (now that he wasn't trying to wrestle cleaning flannels from them) and could have happily watched the house-elves work until lunch, but he followed his classmates to the area behind the large black stove. He noticed that Crabbe was looking at the house-elves with large eyes and scurrying behind the stove as quickly as possible.

They had to descend a flight of steep stairs to reach the potato pantry; its location was even further underground than was necessary, so that the potatoes were guaranteed to be cool and dry. They passed a door labeled ONIONS which Harry's stepfather gave a wide berth. Finally, he stood with his hand on the knob of the room labeled POTATOES. The tall professor looked round at them all.

"Now, then. We have been practicing hexes and curses for five years. Certainly by now you should be able to combat almost anything this creature will become, no matter how horrible. Wands out! Is everyone ready?"

The students nodded nervously. Harry thought he was probably ready, but then he doubted; what if in this life he had a different fear? What if it wasn't a dementor? He tried to remind himself to be prepared for whatever he would see, and he tried to remember all of the things he'd learned for the Triwizard Tournament and the Dueling Club. Concentrate, he told himself. And remember--it's just a boggart. Whatever it seems to be, it's not, really.

Severus Snape put his hand on the door handle and prepared to pull back the catch. He then reached out and randomly grabbed Pansy Parkinson's arm and pulled her toward the door.

"You will be first. Everyone else, hang back. Give her a clear field. As I call your name, come forward to confront it. Do not hesitate. You will lose marks if you do. I will be judging your work based on your promptness and the appropriateness of the response. I am not here to judge your fears. Now, give Parkinson some room." He nodded at her. "Ready?" She looked like she might cry. "Too bad. It's time." Harry thought that was a bit callous, but suddenly, the door was opening and his stepfather had backed off with the others, leaving Pansy standing alone in the pantry doorway, peering into the darkness. Nothing happened. They all waited.

"He-hello?" she inquired uncertainly into the silence.

Suddenly, a roaring yeti appeared in the irregular polygon of light in the open doorway. Pansy screamed and ran up the stairs to the kitchen. Professor Snape sighed.

"Fawcett!"

Fiona stepped forward, looking nervous but determined. The boggart immediately became a werewolf, fangs slavering, eyes red and unfocused. She uttered a charm and turned the end of her wand into a silver-tipped spear, stabbing the beast viciously in the breast. Harry was jolted; he didn't know her well, but he wouldn't have thought her capable of violence, even in self-defense. Then she withdrew (his stepfather was smiling and nodding at her) and Millicent Bulstrode took her place. The boggart was now a twelve-foot high mountain troll, and Harry remembered with a pang how he and Ron and Hermione had become friends in their first year...

He let his mind wander and didn't see how Millicent handled the troll, but she was now stepping aside for Ernie MacMillan, who was confronting a low-slung five-legged beast covered with reddish-brown hair. It had a gash of a mouth, numerous jagged teeth, and each of its five legs (which protruded from its head like a five-legged spider) ended in a club foot. Ernie cried out his charm and the beast immediately became a Scotsman, complete with kilt, sporran and ghillie shoes, tam and bagpipes. The Scotsman looked quite confused.

Ernie was waved aside and Susan Bones took his place. The Scotsman was gone; in its place was a spherical, mottled fish standing on two long legs which ended in webbed feet. Susan hexed it and stepped aside for Hannah. The fish disappeared and became a small, smooth grey rock. Hannah stood facing it, sweat standing out on her forehead, her wand out, when finally hairy legs appeared beneath it and it stood; it was barely a foot tall. Hannah cried out, "Stupefy!" and it immediately rolled over. Draco came forward now, and the unconscious rock immediately metamorphosed into a cat, which reminded Harry remarkably of Crookshanks. Large, orange and truculent, the cat sprang at Draco's head. He screamed and pointed his wand at it, crying, "Expelliarmus!" Harry grimaced; the stupid cat wasn't armed; what was he trying to do, declaw it? He looked at his dad, who waved Draco aside.

It turned into a leprechaun for Goyle and a fire for Morag (who correctly used the Fluvius charm to aim water at it from her wand). Then his stepfather cried, "Potter!" and Harry stepped forward nervously, wondering what he would see. The boggart sensed a new presence, a new fear, and it changed.

It was a dementor.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He glared at it, fighting against the cold that wanted to seep into his bones, into his soul. He drew on his happiest thoughts (which all involved Hermione) and cried, "Expecto Patronem!"

Immediately, a white stag sprang from his wand tip, running around the dementor, driving it back into the pantry. Before it could retreat altogether, his dad pulled him aside and cried, "Crabbe!"

The stocky, confused-looking boy stepped forward and the dementor became a dozen house-elves, flitting about Crabbe, cracking! in and out of the space around the boy's head. He looked like he was going to cry. Like Pansy, he went running up the stairs, only to come back immediately, crying, "There's more up here!"

The collected students found it impossible not to laugh. (Harry tried not to but it was just too hard.) Amid the laughter, his stepfather cried, "Riddikulus!" and the boggart burst into small pieces like minute shards of glass, and those shards broke up too, smaller and smaller, until there was nothing but a fine powder on the already-dusty floor of the corridor outside the pantries.

Professor Snape was smiling and nodding at them all. They climbed the stairs back up to the kitchens, (Crabbe still trying to avoid the house-elves) and then left and proceeded up to the entrance hall. Once there, he turned to speak to the class.

"Well, almost all of you did very well. I see some weaknesses that we can address, but it is just the first day of term. There will be time for all that. I am sorry that you did not get a chance, Nott and Zabini," he said to the other two Slytherin boys, "but after all of that laughter," and his eyes actually twinkled at Crabbe, "the boggart just wasn't going to survive much longer. We'd played with it long enough. Class dismissed."

It was just a few minutes before lunch, and the sixth-year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins entered the Great Hall with relief, talking excitedly about the whys and wherefores of their various fears.

"What was that thing, Ernie?" Hannah asked him.

"My mum told me about it; I haven't been able to forget it. Her family's from northern Scotland. It's a Quintaped, sometimes called a Hairy MacBoon. But it's actually a Transfigured Scotsman. It's a long story..."

"Harry," his dad said to him softly, before he could follow Draco into the Great Hall. Harry turned to his stepfather, wondering what he wanted to say that warranted him using his first name in a place where others might hear. The older wizard walked to the front doors and opened them, and Harry followed. After the doors were closed again, his stepfather sat on the top step of the entrance stairs, and Harry sat next to him. He looked at Severus Snape's profile for a minute, then turned to look out at the road to Hogsmeade, and the homely skyline in the distance, the thatched and tiled roofs, the bell tower of the village hall. Home. The sun was almost overhead, but not quite; there was still a small amount of shade to protect his stepfather's sensitive skin.

It was Harry who finally spoke. "You want to know about the Patronus."

"Yes."

Harry shrugged. "There's not much to tell..."

"Well, how about this: why are you more frightened of dementors than anything else?"

Harry shrugged again. "I suppose my greatest fear is--fear."

His dad nodded. "Very wise. And you knew about this being your greatest fear? That's why you learned how to conjure a Patronus?"

"Yes." It was a completely truthful answer. It was a skill learned in another life, but he wasn't being asked where and when he learned it, just why. His stepfather didn't press the issue.

"That was some Patronus."

"Yes."

"Interesting form it took."

Harry squirmed now. "Yes," he said more softly. Partly to change the subject and partly because he really wanted to know, he asked, "What does it become for you?"

Severus Snape looked startled. "It--never mind." Harry wondered if it would have been a werewolf for him, as it was for Fiona. He'd looked very satisfied about her reaction to it. Harry remembered the Pensieve, watching James Potter save his life...

His stepfather stood, brushing some nonexistent dirt from his flawless robes again. "Never mind," he repeated. "Let's go eat," he said simply. Harry nodded and followed him back into the castle.

He paused near the doors after they were closed, watching his dad stride purposefully into the Great Hall. The bell rang and suddenly Harry heard a rumbling noise, and the floor where he stood actually began to shake as almost the entire population of the school descended (or in some cases, ascended) the steps to the entrance hall, which was suddenly full of students in black Hogwarts robes with bulky rucksacks. Harry stood back as they streamed into the Great Hall. In a few minutes it was quiet again. Harry put his hand up to his face, feeling the progression of the hair growth since the morning. He looked around, ducked down the staircase to the dungeons, then pulled out his wand and started to shave. He hadn't gotten very far, however, when a girl who was one of the last to emerge from the Potions dungeon ran right into him.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" She hadn't been looking at him but at her companion. Harry recognized the girl who apologized as Annika Olafsdottir. The other girl was Ginny Weasley. For no reason he could think of, Harry felt himself blush; Ginny smiled warmly at him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him teasingly. Harry didn't know what to think.

"I--er--well--this may sound strange, but I forgot to shave this morning. I was going to take care of it before lunch."

She looked at him appraisingly and Harry shivered. "You look all right to me." She smiled at him again over her shoulder as she followed Annika up the stairs to the entrance hall. Harry swallowed, staring after her. Am I crazy? he wondered. Or is she giving me the come-hither in big, bright neon letters? Or whatever wizards use instead of neon? Or maybe wizards discovered neon first? Or--oh hell, he thought. What is she doing?

He turned and started going down the stairs again and ran right into his mother. He hadn't noticed that she hadn't emerged from the dungeons yet. He wondered whether she preferred to come this way instead of using the short-cut from her office to the Great Hall.

"Harry," she said, not sounding especially pleased. "What are you doing here?" She didn't comment on his hair and unshaven face.

"I--um--wanted to put my bag in the Potions dungeon before lunch. Is that okay?"

She scrutinized him; he tried to remember whether she had appeared to believe a single word he'd said since yesterday morning. "That's fine. After that you'd better get upstairs for lunch. Don't be late for class."

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly, continuing down the steps past her and proceeding to the classroom. Once inside, he put his bag down in the corner and finished shaving himself with his wand. At least now he wouldn't look like he was completely emulating Severus Snape. He wondered if Ginny would still think he looked all right...No, no, he shouldn't be thinking about Ginny.

Why shouldn't I be thinking about Ginny? a different part of his brain said. He remembered the way she'd been smiling at him since the welcoming feast. She certainly didn't seem to harbor bad feelings toward Slytherins, even if her brother did. (He had no evidence of this as yet, but based on Draco's complaints about spending all afternoon with Weasley and given that he was supposed to be planning some sort of spectacular revenge with Draco, he didn't think this was going out on a limb.)

He thought about Ginny again, and then he thought about her in a different way...A memory rose up from somewhere in his muddled, crowded brain, something from when he was younger...

He was ten years old and more excited than he ever remembered being. The Quidditch World Cup hadn't been canceled after all, as the International Confederation of Wizards had threatened to do because of rumblings of dark wizard activity. It was to be held in Spain, in some unplottable foothills near which Basque separatists had supposedly been fighting for years. That was just a wizarding ruse; the Basque separatists were actually magical communities trying to keep Muggles at bay, and the seeming-political instability in the region had accomplished that goal. Harry and his stepfather and brothers were going; his mother didn't want to come, and his sister was staying home with her. Jamie wasn't overly fond of Quidditch.

Sweden was playing Greece. Harry's dad and brothers had to spend a lot of time covering themselves with salve to protect themselves from the harsh Spanish sun, and Harry found himself growing bored while he was waiting for the match to start; they had middling seats, near Sweden's goals. Harry was still undecided about whether he was cheering for them or for Greece. He much preferred the Greek food he'd had so far (he'd finished his spinach pie quickly and was getting very sticky from some delicious baklava), but just in case, he'd collected small flags from each country, which were in his pockets.

He wished for a pair of omnioculars when he saw a tall red-haired man buy some for his children, but Harry knew that wasn't going to happen. Before they'd left, his mother had cautioned his dad against being badgered for "trinkets;" he knew they were on a very strict travel budget. A wizard ferry had brought them across the English Channel; the magical ferries never had the dreadful accidents experienced by Muggle watercraft, as they actually hovered slightly above the surface of the ocean. These ferries appeared quite normal from a distance (if one ignored the fact that all of the passengers were wearing wizarding robes).

Once in France, they'd taken a Portkey to Spain. The British and Spanish Ministries of Magic were not on speaking terms and so they could not take a Portkey directly to Spain from England. France's Ministry of Magic was--for a time--friendly with both countries' Ministries and so agreed to act as a way-station for travelers to the World Cup. Harry had never before experienced that sickening feeling of the hook behind his navel, rushing-through-space sensation, and the awkward landing. Because of these side-effects of traveling by Portkey, it was not recommended that people use Portkeys to go to France, then another to Spain. One needed a proper rest spell between using Portkeys or one could become quite ill.

When they arrived in Spain, his dad and brothers immediately started in on the salve; usually at least one of the twins complained about this, but they were so anxious to see the World Cup that for once there was no whinging.

Harry glanced again at the red-haired man; he seemed to have quite a lot of children, all red-haired like him. Harry saw two who were calling him dad but were clearly already grown up (the stocky, muscular one looked familiar); a thin bespectacled boy of around fourteen, mischievous-looking twins a little younger than that, a tall, thin boy about ten years of age, like Harry, and a delicate-looking girl who was probably a little younger. Oddly, the stocky grown-up brother and the girl and youngest boy seemed most interested in being there. The boy with the glasses had his nose buried in a book and the eldest brother was flirting with a dark-haired witch who was gazing at him appreciatively. The twins were huddled together, laughing, in a world of their own.

Harry noticed that the girl especially had shining eyes as she watched the pre-game show. There were Quidditch players from Spain's national team (which had been eliminated a year earlier) doing flying formations that were quite impressive. She looked like she was itching to grab a broomstick and emulate them. Harry watched them for a minute; he knew exactly how she felt. He wanted to be on a broomstick right now, going into a dive, banking and twisting...

When he looked at her again he discovered that she was gazing back at him. She had very large brown eyes in a rather thin face, and her hair was a bit messy, like her father's. She was extremely pale and seemed almost more likely to burn in the hot sun than Harry's dad and brothers, who had gone to speak to his dad's uncle from Dunoon. Harry grimaced, looking over at him; he liked Uncle Duncan and all, but he had actually worn a

kilt to the World Cup. In Spain. Harry was glad that he wasn't near his dad and brothers and uncle at this moment; he didn't want the girl to know he was with them. He smiled nervously at her; she was pretty in a waifish way. He wondered whether she was from Sweden, or maybe Germany. She probably didn't speak any English. Oh well, Harry thought; maybe I can learn a little of another language.

He edged over to her; she was only about five seats away, on the same level as Harry, and the intervening seats hadn't been taken yet. The brother with the glasses had taken the twins and the boy around Harry's age somewhere, and the eldest brothers were keeping an eye on their little sister. Harry hoped they didn't think he looked threatening.

"Hello," he said to her. She smiled back. Harry felt sure she wouldn't be doing this if she understood, but he pressed on. "Do you speak English?" he asked her, very distinctly and slowly. She laughed then, her eyes crinkling up and dimples appearing in each cheek; Harry wouldn't have thought it possible for her to be any prettier, but now she was.

"Do

you? Of course I speak English!" She was still laughing. Harry felt himself flush. She had an English accent, although not precisely like his. He couldn't place it.

"Oh. I thought you might be Swedish. Where do you live?"

"Just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole."

Harry nodded as though he knew where that was. "I live in Hogsmeade."

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up. "Hogsmeade! I wish we lived there. Then maybe mum would let us go to school..."

"You don't go to school?"

"Mum used to be a teacher at the Hogsmeade school. She teaches us at home. Well, just me and Ron now. He'll be a first year at Hogwarts next September. Fred and George just finished their first year--they're twins. They can't wait to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team in September. There's openings for Beaters. That's their favorite pastime; wreaking havoc." She smiled; Harry wasn't sure he'd ever met a nine-year-old girl who talked like her.

"I'll be a first year next year too."

"Really? What house do you want to be in? Everyone in my family's always been in Gryffindor, but Ron's really worried he'll be a Hufflepuff or something."

"My mother and father were both in Gryffindor, but my dad--" He was about to say his dad was head of Slytherin house, but he remembered that Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't get along as a general rule, and decided against it.

"What about your dad?" Harry realized that she probably thought his 'father' and his 'dad' were the same person.

"Oh, nothing. Is your mum here?"

"Nah. She's not interested."

Harry smiled. "You mean she's

sick of hearing about Quidditch morning, noon and night. That's what my mum and sister said. That's why they're not here."

"You have a sister? How old is she?"

"Eight. She's all right too, as sisters go. She's actually one of my two best friends in the whole world."

"Wow." She was silent for a moment, looking down. "None of my brothers would

ever call me one of their best friends. I'm usually just in the way." Harry thought she looked rather sad. She sighed and looked up again, as though she were determined to put a good face on things. "I can't wait to go to Hogwarts. My brother Charlie works there. That's him." She pointed to the stocky brother, and now Harry knew why he looked familiar; he was the gamekeeper and also keeper of the keys of Hogwarts. He'd started after the old gamekeeper had left and the former headmaster had resigned. He'd only seen him once, though, and doubted that he would recognize Harry. "This September he's going to be a teacher, too. He'll be doing Care of Magical Creatures."

Harry smiled at the obvious pride she felt in this particular brother. "Is he good with magical creatures?" Harry asked, watching her face.

"Oh, yes. He spent a few years in Romania studying dragons, but when the gamekeeper job came up at Hogwarts dad and mum wanted him to apply, so he'd be closer to home."

Suddenly she turned and met his eyes; he'd been gazing at her profile, and now he was caught out, but somehow he couldn't take his eyes away from hers.

"Your eyes are nice," she said softly.

Harry swallowed. "People say I have my mum's eyes," he croaked, his voice catching. They still looked at each other. Time seemed to have stopped. Harry never knew it was so nice to just sit and look at someone. He felt like he could look at her forever, count those freckles across her nose...

"Oi! Harry!"

Harry jumped, almost startled out of his skin. But it was his best friend, Draco Malfoy. He grinned and motioned him to come over.

"I finally found you! Dad's getting programs. Mum's gone to the loo...Oh, hello," he said brightly to Ginny, a broad smile splitting his thin, pale face. She smiled back uncertainly. Harry leapt fill the social void.

"Oh! This is my best friend, Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is, er--" but then he realized he didn't know her name. And he hadn't told her his, either, although she had probably heard Draco when he'd called out his name.

"Ginny Weasley," she said softly, smiling. But she wasn't smiling at Draco; it was directed at Harry. She seemed to be amused that he was trying to do formal introductions. "And you're Harry--" she prompted him. He stared at her like a dunce for a long moment.

"Oh! Potter. Harry Potter."

"Well," she laughed. "Hello, Potter-Harry-Potter." He flushed again, but couldn't resist smiling back at her. Then Draco's dad caught up with his son and stepped down to where they were sitting.

"Draco! Our seats are further along! Who are you talking to? Oh, hello Harry. Where are--"

But he was interrupted by Ginny's father yelling, "Here now!" and striding over to them. "What are you doing near my daughter, Malfoy?" Mr. Weasley demanded of Draco's father. Harry looked nervously from one man to the other. Ginny looked acutely embarrassed.

"Oh, is this one of

yours?" His voice was dripping with disdain. "I had no idea. I was getting my son; he'd found his friend talking to her." Lucius Malfoy glared at Arthur Weasley.

Suddenly, the youngest brother was standing next to his father; he grasped his sister around the upper arm and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, Gin! What're you doing talking to

them?"

She followed her brother, her brow creased, looking at Harry over her shoulder. Harry heard the word "Slytherin" as they moved away. He felt a stab of sadness in the middle of his chest as she was dragged further and further from him. Harry turned to look at Draco, who shrugged.

"It's just a girl. We're here for some serious

Quidditch."

Draco would, of course, change his tune about girls in a few short years, but neither of them knew that yet. Harry remembered now that what would have been the next World Cup, in 1994, had been canceled because of the threats from dark wizards were taken more seriously this time. In his old life, that had been when he'd gone to see Ireland play Bulgaria...He sat and closed his eyes. Concentrate, he told himself. Remember. And as he sat, he began to see images in his mind, he began to be more of this world again...

There had been something of a cold war on ever since 1982. It was unclear who in the Ministry was supporting Voldemort and who was supporting Crouch, and there were periodic departmental purges to try to clear out people supporting the "wrong" side. For every atrocity committed by Death Eaters, there seemed to be another instance of wizarding rights being revoked by the very people who were supposed to be protecting the wizarding population from dark wizards. There were frequent inquisitions; those hauled in for questioning were usually sent to Azkaban. It wasn't clear whether all of those in the wizarding prison were really dark wizards or deserved to be there, but the Ministry seemed to operate under the assumption that it was better to be safe than sorry.

There were also a number of witches and wizards somewhere in the middle, who didn't support the Death Eaters but also didn't support the police state under which they were living by order of the Minister of Magic. This made them as suspect as any Death Eater. Aurors were both revered heroes and an endangered species; Neville Longbottoms's parents were two of the most successful. Harry swallowed, considering the world he'd created. True, it wasn't completely overrun by Death Eaters and ruled by Voldemort; but was it a just world? Did all of those people in Azkaban deserve to be there? He was willing to bet that none of them had had advocates to speak for them in wizarding court. Kangaroo court is probably more like it, he thought. And yet, the Death Eaters were still committing atrocities and Voldemort was no closer to being vanquished...

Harry thought about this sad state of affairs. It wasn't completely dissimilar to the way things had been when he'd left the other life. Harry had the feeling he was seeing the future of the other timeline, if it had been allowed to continue. If he managed to return to that life, he had to warn people of what could happen, how the situation could degenerate.

"If he managed to return. That was a very big "if." Even if he found Hermione, what if she just thought he was barking mad? What if she still couldn't help him?

Stop that, he commanded himself. This is Hermione. Then he had a thought: He could get other help as well. There were other Muggle-born witches and wizards...Justin Finch-Fletchley, Dean Thomas, Alicia Spinnett...Once he found Hermione, she could help him find them.

As much as he'd been trying to remember more about this life, this world, now that it had come rushing back, he struggled to push the thoughts out of his mind and think of slightly pleasanter things. He'd met Ginny when he was ten. She hadn't been biased against him then, and she didn't seem to be now. Well, he thought, she was a very smart witch in his other life. If she's my friend in this life, maybe she could also help me fix the timelines. Or maybe when I find Hermione, she can help me explain to her what it means to be a witch.

Harry wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting in the Potions dungeon, but suddenly his mother came sweeping into the room, stopping short when she saw him. Harry was startled by the look of concern she wore on her face; that was how a mother was supposed to look, he thought. But it was quickly replaced by her imperious look.

"You've missed lunch," she said crisply. The first bell rang. "And class is about to start."

"I'm not hungry," he lied, and a moment later his stomach moved noisily inside him. She looked like she had heard. A thunderous noise overhead told him that the students were leaving the Great Hall for their afternoon classes. It was only a matter of minutes before the sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins entered the room, still chattering noisily. The second bell rang. Draco immediately strode over to Harry and took a place next to him.

"Where were you? Jamie was worried. You've been behaving queerly. Here--I threw a sandwich together for you." Under the table, he passed Harry a ham sandwich on thick, hand-sliced brown bread. His stomach moved within him again. He ducked down and took a large bite out of it, closing his eyes in relief as he chewed. But his relief was short-lived; he sat up and opened his eyes, the sandwich still in his right hand, under the desk. His mother was standing next to him looking very stern. She held out her hand and Harry reluctantly gave her the sandwich. He wished he'd had a chance to take another bite. He still had the first bite in his mouth, but he didn't dare chew while his mother was standing there. She took the sandwich and strode to the front of the room, dropping it unceremoniously in the dustbin.

"What," her voice rang out against the stone walls, "have you all been told about food in this room?" The assembled students stared at her, silent from fear, not ignorance. "The moment you bring food in that door you risk contaminating both your food and your work space. You apparently don't know enough to go to lunch at the appropriate time, Potter," she said snidely, "but you should know that much. Ten points from Slytherin."

Harry wished that a hole would open up at his feet so he could fall into it. The bite of bread and ham still sat in his mouth like a lump. Everyone was looking at him. He caught Ron Weasley's eye; Ron looked quite smug.

As soon as she turned to the blackboard and started writing the potions ingredients they would need, he was able to resume chewing, but when he swallowed, the food sank like a stone, and he felt as hungry as ever. His stomach continued to make noise all during class. Draco looked at him sympathetically. He's all right, Harry thought. Getting me the sandwich was nice. But I still don't want him touching Jamie.

The rest of the class was as successful for Harry as the first five minutes. Nothing he did pleased his mother. She praised Ron lavishly and awarded Gryffindor house points. Harry was baffled, because he was following all of the instructions very, very carefully, measuring to the finest grain of every ingredient, timing all of the additions with pinpoint precision, using the second hand on Draco's watch. At the end of the class, he felt mentally and emotionally drained from trying to please her and failing.

Harry plodded out of class feeling extraordinarily dispirited. Draco clapped his hand on his shoulder when they were in the corridor.

"You okay, Harry?"

He shrugged, not wanting to admit that she'd gotten to him. He followed Ron and Neville and Seamus with his eyes; the three of them had done well in class, and seemed to be very good friends. Ron had no beard, but he didn't appear to have a scar on his cheek, either. His prefect badge glittered on his robes. He looked up and caught Harry's eye. Harry's stomach clenched when he saw the reflexive look of hatred on Ron's face.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

Harry was startled. Suddenly, Draco stepped between the two of them. "Nothing much, Weasley. What're you looking at?"

Ron looked around him to Harry. "I think I'm looking at someone who can't make a simple potion after five years..."

Harry lost it and pushed Draco aside. "I did everything perfectly. She just has it in for me. Not that it's any of your business."

He stood toe to toe with Ron now, his chin raised slightly so he could look in his eyes. It was slightly disorienting to see no flicker of friendship there, no recognition of shared hardships and adventures.

"Oh, but it is my business. I'm a prefect and what I'm hearing is a student accusing a teacher of gross unfairness. That's insubordination, Slytherin."

Harry clenched his jaw and glared back at him. Ron's blue eyes looked very hard. Harry was startled when he felt a hand on his arm. It was Draco.

"C'mon, Harry. We have Charms."

Harry gave Ron another good glare before following Draco up the stairs. Harry noticed that Neville and Seamus were also giving him looks of contempt. Neville not looking friendly; how odd, Harry thought.

They would be with the Gryffindors again, of course, for their Charms class, so there was no getting away from this. When they arrived, little Professor Flitwick was as cheerful as ever. Harry was encouraged by that.

"Welcome, welcome! Come in everyone!"

He was positively chirping. "Everyone take a seat and get out your quills and parchment. I will begin by telling you about various charms that are useful in dueling, and then we will do something new for all of you!" His eyes twinkled as he looked round at them all. "We will actually duel!" He clapped his hands together excitedly. Harry smirked and tried not to give an outright grin. Yes, remembered now. They had never dueled in the last five years, not in this life. But he had lived another life for fifteen years, and in that life, he was the captain of the Dueling Club. His heart beat quickly in anticipation, and he glanced at Ron Weasley.

He blindly wrote what Flitwick said about spells and counterspells and technique. He was only covering a small fraction of what Harry had learned in his other life. Finally, when the class was about half over, he had them stand, and with a wave of his wand, he made the chairs fly to the walls, leaving the middle of the room clear. Harry sidled up to him while he was doing this and spoke to him softly.

"Professor--can we use any other spells during the dueling? I mean besides the ones you mentioned."

"Certainly, Harry. I'd be delighted to see what you might have up your sleeve."

Harry tried to suppress a smile. Oh, I've got things up my sleeve, all right...

They were paired up with Gryffindor against Slytherin, except for Millicent Bulstrode, who was dueling Professor Flitwick himself, since there were seven Slytherins and only six Gryffindors.

Harry found himself facing Parvati Patil, experiencing more than a little déjà vu. But he wasn't planning to use any particularly painful hexes or curses, as they'd done in Moody's class in his old life. Just some simple, painless spells...

"Impedimenta!" Harry cried as soon as Parvati had opened her mouth. He didn't even know what she was going to say; he simply stepped forward and plucked her wand from her grasp, then took the spell off her. She looked around, disoriented. Harry nodded at her.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked with a benign smile. She shook her head dumbly. Seamus was very nearly as easy; before he could say anything, Harry used the disarming charm. Before they had begun, Harry had noted that about ten feet directly behind Seamus was a pile of cushions used for summoning and banishing charms, so he would have a soft landing. Harry helped him stand up from his prone position on the cushions; Seamus had a baffled look on his face. Harry similarly disarmed Lavender. Padma managed to hit him with a tickling charm before he did the Reverso charm on her, and while she stared right at him, seeing only what was behind her, he plucked her wand right out of her hand (chuckling the whole time). After they took the spells off each other, he explained that he hadn't been laughing at her.

"I know," she said irritably. "I'm the one who put the tickling spell on you."

Facing Neville was like facing a stranger. Harry dodged a disarming charm and cried, "Emagi rorrim!" Neville blinked, looking down at his hands, and then Harry put the disarming charm on him and he went flying backward toward the cushions, his wand in Harry's hand. He went to help Neville stand, but he irritably waved Harry off, looking furious. Harry was saddened by seeing this.

The next person he faced was Ron. Ron narrowed his eyes, looking at him with more sheer antagonism than Harry had seen on his face since the night of his sixteenth birthday, when he'd put the Cruciatus Curse on him. Harry swallowed. He's only beat me dueling once; I've beat him loads of times. Of course, all of that was in another life, but still...

"Locomotor mortis!" Ron began.

Harry almost laughed. He immediately countered with, "Inverso!" knowing how disoriented Ron would be. Sure enough, he screamed in surprise upon finding himself (he thought) suspended in the air upside down. Harry finished by saying, "Accio!" and catching Ron's wand handily, before taking the leg-locker spell off himself and the Inverso charm off Ron. Ron was glaring at him more intently than Neville had been. Harry sighed; he knew that this wasn't exactly a way to make friends with Ron, but all the same, it had felt good.

Finally, he was to duel Flitwick himself. I won't let him fool me this time, he thought. I'll bring out the big guns early; he won't be expecting that.

The little wizard pointed his wand and opened his mouth, but Harry was crying, "Aegis!" and in a split second, the invisible shield around him deflected the spell his professor was aiming at him. Flitwick frowned; that wasn't supposed to happen. Harry followed up with "Petrificus totalus!" The little wizard went stiff as a board and fell to the floor. Harry ended the shield charm and plucked Flitwick's wand from his stony grasp, then revived him. Oddly, when he sat up, he was even more cheerful than he'd been at the start of class.

"Excellent, Harry! Excellent, excellent!" Harry helped him to his feet and handed him his wand. The small man bowed deeply to Harry, and Harry, feeling self-conscious, returned the bow, although it was nowhere near as deep. Flitwick was very excited. "Now, how did all of you do? Each of you dueled seven times. I won six. Did anyone else win six?" Only Ron raised his hand. Flitwick smiled and nodded at him. "Five?" Draco and Neville raised their hands. Seamus had four while Zabini, Parvati and Padma had three. Nott and Millicent Bulstrode had only two wins, and Pansy, Morag and Lavender had one each. Flitwick turned to Harry now. "You didn't raise your hand, Harry."

He looked at his teacher levelly, trying not to look smug. "You didn't ask who'd won seven."

"Now, Harry, there were only seven--" He stopped and looked shrewdly at Harry, then addressed the rest of the class. "Did no one best Harry Potter in a duel?" Harry was a little irked; I beat you, he thought. But then, Flitwick wasn't throwing the kinds of things at him he had during Harry's O.W.L.s in his other life. He'd expected it to be easy, and when it wasn't he probably thought it was an anomaly.

The room was very quiet as Flitwick scrutinized Harry. Finally, he cried, "Class dismissed!"

Most of the students started moving toward the door, but Padma was saying, "But Professor, it's not--"

"Are you arguing with an early dismissal?" Harry was surprised by his sharp tone. He could tell Padma was too.

"No, Professor."

"Well, then." He bustled out of the classroom. Once they were in the corridor, Harry saw him go off in the direction of Dumbledore's office--wait, he corrected his thoughts. That would be McGonagall's office now. Or not. He could be going somewhere else...

Harry turned away and found himself faced with a wall of Gryffindors. Ron, Neville and Seamus stood across Harry's path, blocking him from going anywhere. "What was that?" Ron demanded. Harry recalled their earlier run-in. How was he ever going to make friends with Ron if he kept being so confrontational?

"That," Draco said smugly, slapping Harry's back, "was my best friend wiping the floor with you, Weasley, that's what that was."

Harry grimaced; Draco meant well, but he was not helping. Harry looked at Ron and shrugged. "I know a few things about dueling. That's all."

Ron drew his mouth into a line. "You got lucky. That's all." He and the other Gryffindors turned and walked away from the Slytherins in a crowd, although Parvati, oddly enough, looked over her shoulder at Harry as she walked away. Harry swallowed.

"Come on," he said hoarsely to Draco. "What does Jamie have right now?"

"Transfiguration," Draco said without hesitation.

"Go wait outside her class for her. Then both of you come down to the Great Hall."

Draco frowned. "But it won't be time to eat for another hour and a half after class is over."

"Good. I don't want to be disturbed. Let me borrow your watch."

"Again? Guess I know what I should have given you for your birthday." But Draco handed him the watch and set off in the opposite direction to meet Jamie outside Sirius Black's classroom.

The other Slytherins were having an animated discussion about the dueling. Harry walked with them, not participating, and he waiting for them to go down the steps leading to the dungeons from the entrance hall before he went into the Great Hall. He strode across to the anteroom where Professor McGonagall had conducted his Animagus training in his other life. I don't care about applications, he thought. I don't have sixteen months. Once in the room, he put a locking charm on the door and lit a fire in the fireplace for both light and warmth. He flexed his arms and closed his eyes, trying to bring on the change, thinking about becoming the golden griffin...

But instead, excruciating pain ripped through his body, sending him sprawling onto the floor. It was the first magical thing he'd failed to do that he'd been able to do in his old life. But this involved a body he hadn't had before; this body wasn't accustomed to the transfiguration. And, he remembered, this body wasn't used to the morning run, either. He was able to alter his hair, but that was something he'd done without thought in his old life. The Animagus transfiguration was another story. Harry sighed. I'm going to have to start from scratch with both the running and this...

So he did. He began again with making his fingernails grow and shrink, grow and shrink...He lost track of how many repetitions he'd executed when he noticed the time and realized that Jamie and Draco should be arriving any minute. He removed the locking charm from the door and stepped out into the Great Hall once more, just as his sister and best friend were entering. He motioned to them to come to the room where he'd been. Once the three of them were inside, he locked the door again and turned to face them. I'll need their help, he realized, but they can never know why I'm doing this...

"I need your help," he said, his words echoing his thoughts. They looked at each other, then at him. "I need to be able to get out of Hogwarts sometimes and into a Muggle town. You're going to have to cover for me. I need to be able to go someplace where they have Muggle phone books or something similar; maybe a university, or a library. I need to find someone who's living in the Muggle world."

Jamie frowned. "Why?"

Harry drew his lips into a line. "I can't tell you that."

Draco looked dissatisfied with this answer. "Well, who are you looking for, then?"

Harry looked at them levelly. "A Muggle-born witch."

They stared at him. The silence stretched on. Then suddenly Draco burst into laughter, and after a confused moment, Jamie joined him, also thinking it was some big joke.

"Yeah, right!" Draco said, trying to get his breath. "A Muggle-born witch!" He leaned on Jamie, covering his face with his hand. Jamie looked like she didn't mind a bit, and she continued laughing as well.

"Shut up!" Harry screamed at them. They straightened up and stared at him.

"You're not serious," Jamie said softly, swallowing.

"I've never been more serious. And I'm also going to be an illegal Animagus, so you'll have to cover for me on that, too."

More silence. They looked at each other again. Harry thought they seemed far more likely to recommend that he check into St. Mungo's than support him in these illegal activities.

"Well? Can I count on you or do I have to look up memory charms so you won't turn me in?"

Jamie drew her mouth into a line. "We'd never turn you in Harry, you know that. But all this you're proposing...leaving the school grounds without permission, looking for a Muggle-born witch, trying to become an Animagus...I mean Harry. It's the first day of term. Are you trying to see how many wizarding laws or school rules you can break in one day?"

Harry frowned at them. This he was not expecting. "Oh, for crying out loud! Are we Slytherins or not? Jamie, do you have any idea how many rules our mother and father broke on a regular basis? And they were in Gryffindor and were Head Boy and Girl. Sirius and Remus were involved too. And then there was our stepfather. Did you know he and mum were dating each other before she dated our father? And they were sneaking around the castle together in the middle of the night, too."

Jamie's jaw had dropped even further than when Harry had been proposing the rule-breaking extravaganza. "Mum?" was all she could say. Harry was glad she didn't ask how he knew so he didn't have to engage in another round of I-Can't-Tell-You.

"That's right. So I ask you two again: Are we Slytherins or aren't we?"

Jamie and Draco looked at each other once more, then back at Harry. "We're in," Draco said, and Jamie nodded. "But," his best friend said, "there better be something in all this that involves getting Weasley back, but good. Not that I didn't enjoy seeing you whip him in Charms class...And when did you get so good at dueling, anyway? You know Flitwick used to be a champion, don't you?"

Harry nodded. "He was caught off guard. He didn't think he had to worry about me. Any time you think that, you're liable to lose a duel. Remember that. And no, this has nothing to do with Weasley. This is much more important than juvenile grudges."

They looked perplexed again as to why he was being so serious.

"Then tell us what's really going on," Draco said. "I mean, what's more important? You've conveniently left that part out."

Harry floundered a bit. "Do--do you really like the wizarding world the way it is now? The purges and the so-called trials and the Death Eater violence and no Muggle-borns at Hogwarts? Is this how it should be?"

They both grimaced and shrugged. "It always has been," Draco said; Harry knew he didn't think about politics much.

"No," Harry said, "it hasn't."

"And I suppose you're going to 'fix' it all on your own," his sister said skeptically.

Harry thought for a moment; yes, let her think that. Far better than the truth. "In a manner of speaking, yes. But not really on my own; that's why I need your help. And the help of this Muggle-born witch. Actually, two witches. And two Muggle-born wizards."

"Four?" Draco sputtered. "You didn't say that. Whatever for? What will that accomplish? And how do you expect to find any Muggle-born witches and wizards?"

"Not just any Muggle-borns; specific ones. I already know their names. So it's just a matter of getting to a Muggle town..."

"How do you know their names?" Jamie demanded. She was sounding more and more frustrated with him. Harry swallowed before giving her the now-familiar answer.

"I can't tell you." They frowned at him and he looked back at them, grimacing. He was asking a lot of them; blind faith, really, with precious few details. Maybe I can explain this a little better, he thought, wracking his brain. He tried to figure out how to frame his argument so he didn't have to say anything about trying to fix the timeline.

"One reason why things have gone so wrong in the wizarding world is that people who are obsessed with bloodlines don't have enough people to counter them. No Muggle-born witches and wizards coming into the magical community means that the pureblood-obsessed are gaining strength with every year."

"You mean like my dad." Draco's voice was very quiet.

Harry hesitated. "Well, er--"

Now his best friend laughed. "Harry, what's the matter with you? You know I bloody hate my dad. Stupid pain in the--"

"Anyway--" Harry pushed on, relieved that Draco wasn't the pureblood fanatic here he was in the other time; "the magical world needs new blood, not purer blood. The Muggle-born witches and wizards need to know who they are, and what they can do. If Voldemort is ever going to fall..."

"Aaah!" Jamie and Draco cried together. Draco looked very, very annoyed. "Don't say that name!" There were times he really reminded Harry of Ron.

He frowned at them. "I bloody well will! No egotistical megalomaniac is going to control the way I speak and think! He killed my father, and I will name him!"

Draco swallowed. "I never knew you were so set against being a Death Eater. The very thought--well, let's just say it's featured prominently in my nightmares for years. But I knew your dad was one, like my dad, so I just thought...You could have said something, Harry. I thought I was the only Slytherin who felt this way. You think the Sorting Hat made a mistake with us?"

Harry hesitated; he remembered how promptly the hat had declared Draco a Slytherin. Should he tell them that the hat had given him a choice? He decided against it. "The hat doesn't make mistakes. Mad Eye Moody was a Slytherin, you know. Amazing Auror. Sometimes it takes a Slytherin to catch a Slytherin."

Now his friend laughed. "Oh, right. You're going to catch the Dark Lord. That's rich."

"We have to do this. You don't want to be a Death Eater. And neither do I. I'd rather do just about anything else in the world."

Draco swallowed. His voice had become very quiet. "But what choice will I have? What choice will you have?"

Harry looked at his grey eyes, remembering the boy in the ring at Dover on Christmas night, the agony he went through...It was odd; when Voldemort had no power to speak of, Lucius Malfoy was raising Draco to be a good Death Eater, even though it was unlikely he would become one, and Draco had eaten it up. But as soon as Voldemort returned to power and Draco found himself in that ring of wizards, it immediately lost its appeal. It became all too real. Perhaps that was why the Draco in this life had already decided he didn't want that; it had been real for his whole life. Voldemort had never lost power. It was always something in his future that he was dreading, and now it was drawing very, very near.

"I'm choosing to do this," Harry said to him quietly. "To fight. And if we don't manage to get out of being initiated, then we'll just be spies and let him think we're loyal to him. But I'm never really going to serve that--that--personification of evil." He refrained from telling him that his stepfather had been working as a spy for years; what Draco didn't know couldn't be pulled out of him by Veritaserum. Harry almost wished he didn't know; but he was also glad he did, glad that he knew that Severus Snape was a good man who was doing a just and dangerous job.

He wished that he could tell his sister that their dad wasn't half bad either, but stopped himself. Perhaps she simply thought he had had no choice in becoming a Death Eater and forgave him because he was a good dad to them. Harry nodded at her. "Listen--there are some things our father had when he was a student that we could really use. That's one of the first things I'm going to need help with."

Jamie frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He had an Invisibility Cloak. Try to find out from Mum what happened to it. I'll try Sirius. Or maybe Remus will know. I'll have to write to him. And there's something else...but maybe I should do that one myself..."

"What's wrong with me?" Draco sounded hurt. "Am I Mr. Useless now?"

"No, you're Mr. Money. You know our mum and dad are tightwads. Well, mum, really. You get a good allowance. You need to start setting aside some of it so we can get it changed into Muggle money. When I go into the Muggle world, I'll need something other than Galleons and Sickles. I'm going to work on getting the other item that used to be our father's; I thought I might use a summoning charm to try to find it. It's a parchment that looks blank, but it's really an enchanted map of Hogwarts. It's a plan, really, of all of the floors in the castle and it shows the grounds too, but not the forest. It has secret passages marked on it--although I know where all of them are, so I don't need the map for that. The really great thing about it is that it shows the names of people who are moving about the castle and grounds. It's amazing; it was created by our father and Sirius and Remus and--" he licked his lips and dropped his voice, "--Peter Pettigrew."

"Pettigrew!" Jamie spat the name.

"Never mind him. He probably didn't do much important in creating it. But it would be very, very useful to have it...For years it was in the caretaker's office. It may still be there. We need to work out a plan for one of us to get hauled in there, someone else to create a diversion so I can try to find out whether it's still in there..."

Jamie looked confused. "Harry! What are you talking about? If you knew it was in there the last five years, why didn't you get it before now?"

Harry clamped his mouth shut. "I--I can't tell you. And like I said, it used to be there and I don't know whether it still is. Someone else may have gotten to it first." Had the Fred and George in this life also found the map in the caretaker's office? Had some other student? Harry had no way of knowing. There were so many uncertainties...

Draco threw up his hands. "We're back to that. I can't tell you. Fine. Don't tell us. What, do you think you're a spy already? Give it a rest for now, Harry. We don't have to worry about being Death Eaters yet." He checked his watch on Harry's wrist. "It's almost time to eat. Listening to crazy, revolutionary plans has given me an appetite." He smiled at his friend.

Harry smiled back. Complete trust and loyalty were going to be necessary for this, he thought, and I'm damn lucky that my sister and best friend are willing to give me that. He suddenly missed Hermione and Ron with a great pang, but looking at the two of them, he realized that he had the next best thing at the moment. As they went back out into the Great Hall, he looked wistfully at his sister for a minute. If I do manage to fix the timelines, she won't exist any more. He drew in his breath; how can I ask her to unknowingly contribute to her own non-existence? No, he said to himself sternly. She should never have existed to begin with. This whole world is wrong. I just have to keep them convinced that all of these plans have the goal of preventing me and Draco from becoming Death Eaters. They can't know the truth.

Harry sat down between the two of them at the Slytherin table; a few students had started trickling in, and soon they weren't the least bit conspicuous as more and more students and finally teachers made their way down to the hall for the evening meal. Harry turned his head to look at his sister's profile again. I'll just have to appreciate her while I can. At least I've had this opportunity.

She turned and smiled at him, her green eyes glittering, her features so like their mother's. But, he thought, I'm still not letting Draco touch her.

They went back down to the dungeons when they were done eating. Harry felt mentally and emotionally exhausted. He didn't know when he'd had a more tiring twenty-four hours. Then he remembered that he'd also been up early running, and he said good night to Draco and Jamie and stumbled blindly to his dorm to go to bed. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

When he woke hours later, the dorm was filled with the sounds of snoring. Harry couldn't differentiate between Draco's, Zabini's or Nott's noises, but between the three of them he was having a hard time getting back to sleep. Finally, he decided to make good use of being awake and he climbed out of bed, slipping on his shoes with no socks and throwing on his dressing gown without tying the belt. He slipped his wand into his pocket.

Once in the common room, he paused; the plan he'd come up with was for one of them to get caught prowling around and hauled to the caretaker's office, then another one of them creating a diversion that allowed the first person to search the office (or use a summoning charm). Draco had sounded fast asleep, so he decided to see whether Jamie might be awake. He entered the corridor where he'd been before and checked each door, passing the First Years, then the Seventh Years, then the Fifth Years. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason. He grimaced; the Fourth Years were probably dead last...

Then he heard a door open behind him; he whirled; it was the Fifth Year door, and the person who'd opened it was none other than Mariah Kirkner. Oh great, Harry thought. Just what I need right now.

Mariah looked sleepy and started to cross to the lavatory, but she noticed Harry and perked right up. She walked toward him, smiling, and Harry braced himself. Don't look at her, he commanded himself. Ignore the fact that her night-dress is very, very thin...

"Harry!" she whispered. "What are ye doin' here? Ye wouldn't be lookin' fer me by any chance?" she lilted at him, looking rather hopeful, standing far too close for comfort. She put her hand on his arm and drew even closer. His heart thudded painfully.

"I, um--I wanted to talk to my sister--"

"I see," she said, sounding unconvinced. "Maybe ye can talk ter me instaid. I'm a good listener." Closer still. Harry could smell her minty toothpaste. He was shaking. This is not good, he thought. He felt slightly out of control. Hermione, he reminded himself. Hermione Hermione Hermione. Whom I haven't touched in how long...?

He shook himself. Get a grip, Potter, he ordered himself. Mariah was smiling at him very, very suggestively. He swallowed and tried a different gambit.

"Uh, listen, Mariah. Not that I'm not flattered and everything, but I thought--well I thought that you and Draco were kind of, er, involved, and I wouldn't want to--"

She laughed. "We have an understandin', me and Draco. We're not aixclusive. And anyway; this was kind of his idear..."

He furrowed his brow. "What?" He forgot to keep his voice low.

"Wail, not this specific time an' place, but he was writin' to me this summer about yer--virginity problem."

"My what?" He was in danger of waking up every girl in the Slytherin dorms.

She shrugged. "What are friends for? You've got a good one. And I have to say; the idear is quite appealin'..."

"But--but--" he was trying to find some plausible explanation for why he wouldn't want what practically every teenage boy wanted; "I don't really want a girlfriend right now--"

"I dinna say I was goin' ter be yer girlfriend, Harry. We're jest talkin' about shaggin'." He tried not to choke upon hearing her say this. Just when I thought I had Draco figured out, he does this. "And anyway," she continued, "what about that 'mystery woman'?"

He frowned. "'Mystery woman?'"

She smirked. "Thought so. Ye made 'er up. I tol' Draco she wasn't real. Oh, wail, ye look a bit shocked an' all. Think about it. Ye don't have ter decide right now. Just so's ye know the opportunity is here..." She smiled coyly, then retreated into the fifth-year dorm again. Harry lost his enthusiasm for his original mission and returned to his room, his mind whirling while he lay in bed, listening to the Snoring Trio. So; he'd made up a girlfriend to get Draco off his back. But it hadn't worked. He sighed and rolled over. Maybe he could convince his best friend that the work ahead of them would make other kinds of social activities impractical...

He just hoped he stayed strong and didn't give in. He saw Mariah standing in the corridor again, the torches on the wall showing just how thin her night dress was. With another shudder, he rolled over again and punched his pillow, then placed his arm over his exposed ear to try to muffle the snores, trying to will himself back to sleep...

The next day was uneventful. He went to Herbology with the Ravenclaws, to History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs (living Binns was even more boring than dead Binns) and Ancient Runes, taught by Professor Wimple, of the horns. Harry was actually interested in this class; he remembered the book Sirius had given him about spells one could do with snakes; there were some runes in there he'd been unable to read, and some of the material they were covering in class seemed to address things that might help him understand that book better, if he ever got back to that life...

When, he said sternly to himself. When I return.

The last period of the day was a free one for all sixth years, regardless of house, and Harry and Draco relaxed by flying around the Quidditch pitch. It was early for team practice to begin, but Harry knew he should start thinking seriously about honing his Keeper skills. I'm not the Seeker any more, he thought. He watched enviously as Draco raced after a Snitch. He remembered how hard it had been not to pursue it during the one match in his fifth year (in his other life) when Ginny had played Seeker. He turned away, trying not to think about it too much.

The next day when he was eating breakfast, he received a note when the post-owls came flying into the Great Hall. His legs weren't aching as badly as they had the day before; he was getting acclimated to the running again (and he was remembering to take his rucksack with him now, so he wouldn't have to summon his school supplies every morning). The note read:

Stand me up will you? That's two days in a row. Be behind greenhouse #3 today after the last class if you know what's good for you.